A/N: If I hated the last chapter, I hate this one even more. I wanted to add some conflict in - after all, no garden is always rosy - but it's not turned out how I wanted it to. I can barely bear to look at it. But I'm completely worn out right now. So this is what it is - at least until I get back from my holiday and re-read it with my hands over my eyes.
As is seemingly becoming customary, there is a sex warning with this. It's safe until almost the end of the chapter. If you're not keen on that, you'll be able to figure out quite easily where to stop. ;) The last section is perfectly safe, though!
4. 1923
The sound of the birds cheeping outside the window slowly dragged John from the realms of sleep. With a weary groan, he rolled over, expecting to come into contact with the warm, milky skin of his wife as she lay curled up at his side. Instead he was met with cold sheets. Forcing his eyes open, he reluctantly sat up and surveyed the room, hoping to see her smiling as she pulled on her clothes.
Nothing. No Anna.
His heart sank.
So it seemed as though today was going to be one of those days again.
They'd begun just a couple of months ago before, not long after the death of Anna's father, who had always been a reassuring pillar of strength in the family home. The funeral had taken its toll on his wife as she worried and mourned his passing, and John had been unable to reach her as she grieved; her decision to shut him out had rocked their comfortable relationship. He'd hoped that as time passed, Anna would return to her normal, mild tempered, sweet self. Unfortunately, she was still moody and waspish, with her moods changing like the wind; sometimes, he could barely keep up with her. They'd never really argued before, so the first stirrings of discontentment had shocked him to the core. John had tried to appease her, but her bad moods had left him feeling confused and scared. Because he had seen this change before. It was how the beginning of the end had started with Vera. They'd fallen out of their tentative companionship to row furiously with each other every night. The thought of it happening again frightened him. The last thing that he wanted was his relationship with Anna to go the same way, because he loved Anna more than he'd ever loved Vera. If it did, he didn't know what he'd do. He couldn't bear the thought of her growing to hate him.
Glancing at the clock, he cursed as he ran his fingers through his hair. He had overslept. In all of his time in service at Downton, he had never once overslept. When he'd lived up at the big house, sleep had usually eluded him from the early hours of the morning, the biting pain in his knee enough to ensure that he never had the peace of mind to sleep. Even now, lying with Anna in his arms or by his side, her body a comforting, warm weight, he had trouble sleeping through the night. This sleeping solidly through the night was an unknown phenomenon.
But why hadn't Anna woken him when she'd risen?
He sighed, throwing the sheets back and searching for the gown he had discarded last night. He thought that he'd better get ready for work before making his way downstairs. If he was fast, he might just have time for a hasty slice of toast. Opening the bedroom door, his ears were assaulted by the sound of Anna clattering about in the kitchen. At least she hadn't left without him.
He washed rapidly at the little basin in the bathroom, then returned to the bedroom to quickly make himself presentable for work. Anna was still clanging about beneath his feet, and the growing volume of the slamming of cupboards indicated that her agitation was far from abating. Deciding he couldn't put it off any longer, John grabbed his jacket from the wardrobe and slung it over his arm, intending to throw it on just before he left. Taking ahold of his cane, he lumbered downstairs. Inhaling deeply, he took a moment to compose himself before entering the kitchen.
Anna was standing at the sink when he entered tentatively, scowling fiercely at the poor tree in their tiny garden. At the sound of his entrance, she turned her head to regard him, and John inwardly braced himself for the assault that was sure to follow.
"Good of you to finally drag yourself out of bed," she snapped as she clashed her breakfast pots together in the sink.
He tried for a sheepish smile. "I'm sorry, love. Why didn't you wake me?"
"I did," she retorted. "You just grunted and rolled over."
He walked towards her, slid his arms around her waist as she worked. "I'm sorry, Anna. Look, you go and finish getting ready, I'll finish up here."
"I might as well finish now I've done all this," she barked, pushing his arms away. She reached across the counter, thrust a cold plate under his nose.
"What's that?" He tried to keep his voice neutral. It smelled pungent.
"Porridge," she growled. "What else would it be?"
"It looks perfect," he said quickly, noting the dangerous flash in her eyes.
"Good," she hissed, then left the room.
John sighed despondently, sinking to the table. This didn't look good. And on their anniversary too. John heaved another sigh, dropping his head into his hands. He wondered if Anna had even remembered. It wouldn't surprise him if she hadn't – she'd been so out of sorts recently. And surely if she'd remembered then she would not be in such a foul mood. At least, he hoped she wouldn't. He'd been hoping that they'd be able to enjoy a nice, leisurely day together, perhaps stealing a few minutes together in the corridor at work to share secret kisses before returning home to exchange gifts and perhaps even make love.
But it seemed as though it wasn't to be.
The walk to Downton was tense. John offered Anna his arm but she refused it, stepping a few paces ahead of him. He gritted his teeth against the biting pain in his leg (it was stiffer today due to the extra strain he had been putting on it over the last few days) as he tried to keep up with her, silent to keep his wife pacified. She had barely spoken two words to him since her outburst in the kitchen. He hoped her bad mood would pass soon. Not all of them lasted all day. Sometimes she'd be subdued by the end of the working day and by the time that they returned home she was close to being in a state because of the way that she'd been. He couldn't count the number of times that she'd broken down and sobbed and apologised for her poor mood once they'd passed through the door. He'd always taken her into his arms and kissed her soundly, telling her it didn't matter, but in truth he was worried. He was worried about her, he was worried about them. Still, he didn't want to let on and cause her to get even more stressed. It wasn't as though their lives had changed dramatically. They still had many good days where they laughed and teased and fooled around as though they were young sweethearts. They still enjoyed many nights where they barely slept because they were too wrapped up in each other's bodies to care. It was natural for them to argue sometimes; healthy even. But that didn't mean he had to like it.
Give her time, he told himself firmly. She's still coming to terms with her father being dead. You were a mess when your mother died. She's entitled to grieve for as long as she needs, in whatever way she wants.
He hoped that he was right. And he was due to leave for London tomorrow with Lord Grantham, who was meeting up with some wartime friends. Perhaps she'd be feeling better for his return.
When they'd moved through the back door, Anna slipped away to begin her duties, and John moved towards the servants' hall morosely. There was already a flurry of activity inside, hall boys coming and going, maids grabbing bites to eat between tasks. Seeing that Lord Grantham was yet to ring for his services, John busied himself with making a cup of tea. He wondered if he could manage to sneak a bowl of whatever Mrs. Patmore had decided to make without anyone teasing Anna that she wasn't feeding him enough – he hadn't been able to stomach the porridge and had tipped it away, but hadn't had enough time to make himself something else. He didn't need Anna dogging him for not eating when she'd put so much effort into making it for him.
"You look a million miles away," said Mrs. Hughes as he distractedly stirred two sugars into his tea. "Is something wrong?"
"Nothing at all," John said automatically. The last thing he wanted was the rest of the staff gossiping about the rocky couple of months that they'd had and making it worse for them.
"You're quite sure?" the housekeeper said kindly. "I don't want to intrude, Mr. Bates, but if I can help you with anything…"
"You can't," he said with a smile. And then he paused. The housekeeper had always shown a certain fondness towards Anna. She'd told him that it was because Anna had been the maid that had caused her the least problems in her time in charge of the house, always willing to work hard and never complaining about her lot. The testimony to that, she'd said, was the fact that Anna had become one of the most senior members of staff in the household at such a young age. And, during his time in prison, Anna had frequently mentioned that Mrs. Hughes had shown her more support than she could ever have expected. Perhaps Anna would talk to Mrs. Hughes. She certainly wasn't communicating well with him. Perhaps Mrs. Hughes could help.
John glanced around to ensure that the rest of the staff in the servants' hall were engrossed in their own conversations before lowering his voice. "That is to say, perhaps you could be of some assistance in one matter."
"Of course," said the housekeeper, sitting back in the seat that she had half-risen from. "What is it?"
He waited until Daisy had passed him before speaking. "It's Anna."
Mrs. Hughes' eyebrows knitted in concern as she dropped her own voice. "Anna?"
He nodded. "She's been acting strangely lately, ever since the funeral. I've been contributing it to the stress of that, but now I'm concerned that it might be more. She won't talk to me about it, so I was wondering if you might have a word with her."
The housekeeper nodded at once. "Of course I will. I'll do it this minute."
At that moment, Lord Grantham's bell began to ring, and John rose with a sigh. "Thank you, Mrs. Hughes. Truly."
"It's no problem," she replied. "I'll report back to you as soon as I can."
With that promise, John took his leave.
Anna was hard at work dusting in the library. Heaving an exhausted sigh, she wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. Her mind was fuzzy and her stomach was turning and she longed to lie down, even if it was only for a few minutes. The stress of the last two months was catching up with her more aggressively with every day that passed, and she didn't like it. She hadn't meant to shout at John earlier, but she'd barely slept all night, kept awake by his gentle snores and her own roiling stomach, and it was irritating that he didn't seem to notice that she wasn't coping.
Well, that was slightly unfair. There was no questioning his concern for her; yesterday he'd asked her if she was okay enough times to have her snapping at him for being overbearing.
Oh God, it was a wonder that he hadn't left her yet, what with the way that she'd been acting towards him lately. Hadn't he told her once that his relationship with Vera had been like this at one point? With the sniping and the bickering and the petty nit-picking; love trickling out of their lives like the sunlight on a darkening night? If she was on the verge of losing him – Christ, he must hate her –
She hadn't even been aware of the fact that she'd started to sob until Mrs. Hughes' voice broke through her misery.
"Heavens, girl, what's the matter?" she cried, stepping into the room. The younger housemaid did not even attempt to mask the tears on her face as she wept openly, and Mrs. Hughes' concern grew as she pulled the young woman into her arms, much like she had on the night when Anna had talked about leaving for America if her husband was not reprieved. Mrs. Hughes said nothing as she waited for her to collect herself. Anna would not be able to talk in that state anyway.
Finally, Anna collected herself enough to pull back. She looked pale and drawn despite her freshly scalded cheeks.
"I'm sorry," she muttered as she pulled out a handkerchief and began to dab her eyes.
"Don't be silly," said Mrs. Hughes, dismissing it with a wave of her hand. "Now, will you kindly tell me what on earth is going on?"
Anna took her time collecting herself, mortified now that the housekeeper had walked in on her at such a vulnerable time. She swallowed hard. She didn't want anyone to know that she feared losing her husband because of her inability to keep her temper in check.
"I'm just tired," she supplied, making a show of stowing her handkerchief away. "I haven't been sleeping well lately."
"And you're sure that's it?" Mrs. Hughes pressed. "Only I know funerals can be a harrowing time and there's no shame in admitting that."
"I'm still coming to terms with my dad being gone," she admitted. "But Mr. Bates has been a great comfort. He's helped to keep my spirits up."
"Has he been a comfort?"
The question caught her off-guard. "Of course he has. Why wouldn't he have been?"
The housekeeper hesitated a moment, obviously attempting to find a way to formulate her next words. "Well, I think he's a little worried that you're shutting him out."
Anna's heart left her chest to pound in her stomach. She felt sick. "How do you know that? Is that what he told you?" So her fears weren't unfounded; John was feeling as though she was neglecting him.
"Well, not in those words," she admitted. "But it's obvious that he's concerned about your wellbeing. He needs some reassurance from you."
Anna stared at her for a moment. Tears were still shining in her eyes. She looked oddly small and scared. Mrs. Hughes wasn't accustomed to seeing the younger woman looking like that, at least not since Mr. Bates had been released from prison. In fact, she'd positively been glowing over the last two years. No wonder Mr. Bates was so worried.
Anna had lowered her voice, glancing at the doorway to ensure that they were alone. "Can I tell you something?"
"Of course you can," Mrs. Hughes said at once.
The housemaid hesitated for a moment longer. "I think I'm taking my stress out on Mr. Bates because I haven't been myself lately."
"Not yourself? What do you mean?"
"I've been feeling strange for a while now. I've been sick in the mornings for a few weeks now and I feel so tired all of the time but I haven't been resting properly. And I think it's made me lose my temper with John unreasonably. I didn't want to bother John with it because I know he'd worry and I didn't want him to."
Now Mrs. Hughes looked even more worried. "Oh, why didn't you say something to him? You know he's going to worry about you regardless."
Anna lowered her eyes. She twisted her fingers together. "I don't like to add to his burdens. He's had enough of those to last him for the rest of his life."
"We both know that he'd be more than happy to bear them. Don't shut him out because of that."
She shrugged a little helplessly. "John hasn't noticed the sickness, so I didn't want to tell him. And I've been coping with the tiredness and the stress."
"Except you haven't," Mrs. Hughes interrupted. "And I think you owe him the truth. He's very worried about you."
"He's going to London tomorrow with his lordship anyway," Anna interjected. "It might have cleared up by the time he gets back. He'd only worry the entire time that he was there and that wouldn't do anyone any good."
Mrs. Hughes shook her head. "He'll worry whether you tell him or not. So tell him, Anna. He'll feel better knowing. And you'll feel better telling him."
Anna sighed, wiping her hands distractedly on her apron. "Really, Mrs. Hughes, I appreciate you trying to help –"
"We'll go and see Dr. Clarkson," Mrs. Hughes interrupted firmly. "If he tells you that there's nothing wrong with you, then we'll say nothing more about it and you don't have to mention it to Mr. Bates. If he tells you that you are unwell, then you'll tell him regardless of him going to London or not. It's not normal to be nauseas all of the time, Anna. If you tell him, then at least his mind will be a little easier knowing that you'll be in good hands when you move back into your old room this week, because he'll know that someone will always be around to help if you need it."
"All right," relented Anna finally.
Mrs. Hughes smiled. "Good. Have you nearly finished here?"
The housemaid nodded.
"Then grab your coat. I'll send Lily to finish the rest of your tasks and I'll let Mr. Carson know that we're just running a couple of errands. I'm supposed to be reporting back to Mr. Bates, but that can wait until we've got you down to see Dr. Clarkson."
Anna nodded, unable to argue. Mrs. Hughes left to find Mr. Carson, closing the door behind her, leaving Anna alone with her niggling fears and worry.
An hour later, she was sitting in the waiting room at the doctor's surgery, twisting her hands together in her lap. Mrs. Hughes cast her a sympathetic glance, reaching out to pat her arm motherly. The door to Dr. Clarkson's office opened with a harsh sound, and Anna's head snapped up.
"Mrs. Bates?" Dr. Clarkson's eyes twinkled kindly. Anna swallowed hard, glanced at Mrs. Hughes for moral support, and stood on shaky legs.
Dr. Clarkson stood aside as she neared him, allowing her to pass by him into his little examination room. She stood awkwardly in the middle of the room as he closed the door behind her.
"Take a seat please," said Dr. Clarkson, gesturing to the seat near his desk. Anna did as instructed, her stomach clenching unpleasantly. She didn't understand why she was so nervous – she couldn't explain the constant nausea, but she was certain that nothing was wrong with her and this was simply a waste of time. And yet Mrs. Hughes had planted the seeds of doubt in her mind.
"Now, what seems to be the problem?" asked Dr. Clarkson as he took a seat behind his little desk. He steepled his fingers together and regarded her seriously.
"Well, I'm not sure," Anna admitted, feeling foolish. She was bound to be just wasting the doctor's precious time; there was probably someone out there who needed him more than she did. "I've just been feeling out of sorts lately, ever since my father died, and Mrs. Hughes thought it best if I came and consulted you just in case."
"Quite right," the doctor agreed. "Family deaths can be terrible times to have to live through. I imagine that you've been suffering from a lot of stress."
She nodded. "And I'm just feeling more tired than usual and I seem to have some sort of sickness that I just can't shake."
At this, Dr. Clarkson sat up straight, fixing the young woman with a piercing gaze. "Nausea? How many times has this occurred? Can you remember? When did it start?"
Anna frowned at the barrage of questions, attempting to cast her mind back. "It started a couple of months ago. I've not been sick much; maybe a couple of times a week. I thought it might be down to the tiredness. I don't think it's an illness or anything because it hasn't stopped me working."
"No, I don't think it's an illness either," the doctor agreed. He was smiling. Anna wondered why. "Mrs. Bates, may I enquire as to when your last cycle was?"
Anna's frown deepened at this. "Probably when my father died…sometimes, when I'm stressed, they stop for a while. They've done that since I was a girl."
"And what about your temperament?"
She wondered this was going. "I suppose I've been a bit shorter tempered than usual lately," she admitted reluctantly.
"May I examine you further?"
Anna's eyes widened in confusion. "Why? I thought you said you didn't think it was an illness?"
"I did. But I still need to confirm my suspicions. Please, Mrs. Bates. It will only take a few minutes. Go behind the curtain there and lie down."
Casting him a doubtful look, Anna did as she was told. Her heart had begun pounding anew in her chest. She thought she might be sick now. Dr. Clarkson didn't seem worried, though. He was still smiling, still relaxed. It was all so perplexing.
When she was settled, Dr. Clarkson rounded the curtain. He crouched down beside her.
"I need to feel your stomach, Mrs. Bates," he explained. "Is that alright?"
She nodded, but furrowed her brow. "But why…?" And then it hit her, with the clarity of a holy epiphany, as though God had just shone a light down on earth and illuminated the answer for her to see. She gasped sharply, shooting upright. "Dr. Clarkson, you don't think I'm pregnant, do you?"
"I do," he confirmed gently. "You seem physically well looking at you, and this is the only explanation I can think of."
"But…but I thought I couldn't get pregnant." Anna was trying desperately to grasp onto the remaining sense of reality that she had. Unfortunately, this was proving difficult.
"Well, evidently your thoughts were wrong," Clarkson answered wryly, and Anna flushed. It had not been an unfeasible thought. She and John had been happily married for two years now since his release from prison. During that time she has lain many times over with him. They'd hoped for a baby every month, but Anna had never had anything to report and in time both had stopped getting their hopes up, content with the knowledge that they were only ever going to be a twosome. John had confided to her one night that perhaps he was the problem; after all, he had never had children with Vera, either (something he would eternally be grateful for given the way that their marriage had ended up). It hadn't mattered to Anna. She wouldn't deny that she'd been looking forward to the day when she could bounce a beautiful little baby on her knee, to being a mother to a child that would be half of her and half of her husband, but she'd wanted John first and foremost; had ached for him for so long. Anything else was a delightful bonus. If it wasn't meant to be, then it wasn't to be.
Now, however, everything had changed.
Anna laid there quietly as the doctor inspected her. Although he hadn't confirmed it yet, she couldn't help but let her dreams take hold. It was a dangerous policy – if it turned out to be a false alarm then she'd be crushed – but it still didn't stop her imagining a fair haired little boy or a dark haired little girl, the perfect marriage of the two of them in one tiny being.
At last Dr. Clarkson looked up. For a moment her heart stopped beating, held in suspension between her throat and her stomach. And then he smiled at her, and she felt tears of relief welling up in her eyes. He didn't need to speak. She knew. She was carrying John's child after all this time.
"Now, everything should run smoothly," he said as he stepped around the curtain to give her the privacy of getting herself presentable again. "But I'd still like to keep an eye on you. It's not unheard of, but it's still more unusual for a woman of your age to be expecting her first child. I want to make sure, as far as possible, that there won't be any complications."
"There shouldn't be, should there?" Anna asked as she emerged from behind the curtain. Her brow was creased with worry.
"I shouldn't imagine so," he reassured her. "I just want to take all the precautions possible. Now, I'd like to see you back in a month's time; I might pay you a call before that just to ensure that you're well. I don't want you to work too hard; it would be advisable for you to leave as soon as they've found a suitable replacement to ensure that you're not putting yourself under any undue stress."
It all seemed so surreal, but Anna nodded anyway.
"Thank you," she said, blinking away the tears which had accumulated behind her eyes.
"Not at all, Mrs. Bates," he replied, showing her to the door. "It's wonderful news, and I'm sure that Mr. Bates will be overjoyed."
John. Anna's smile intensified as she tried to imagine his reaction. Yes, he was certain to be overjoyed.
When she stepped into the waiting room, Mrs. Hughes sprang to her feet, hurrying over to her side. Dr. Clarkson nodded at her, then called forward the next patient, and Anna and Mrs. Hughes moved towards the exit, where the sunshine streamed; apt weather to reflect her mood, Anna thought happily.
"So, what did Dr. Clarkson say?" pressed Mrs. Hughes as the two began their journey back to Downton.
Anna mulled over the question for a moment. The housekeeper was regarding her with a mixture of concern and trepidation and Anna wanted to confess all, shout her joyous news from the rooftops. But she also wanted John to be the first to know the news. She didn't think it would matter if she evaded the question until John returned from London. She'd need to tell Mrs. Hughes as soon as possible so that arrangements could be made, but one week where the secret was just hers and John's was too hard to resist.
"He said that I was just overworking myself and I should slow down a bit to relieve some of the stress," she answered decisively. The dazed grin that was plastered across her face didn't exactly complement her words, but Mrs. Hughes didn't push the matter any further. Perhaps she suspected.
The return trip to Downton was made in companiable silence, and Anna lost herself in a world of baby booties and clothes and little toys. At the entrance to the servants' hall, the sounds of the servants' afternoon tea could be heard. Anna smiled broadly to herself. How she would manage to resist throwing herself into her husband's arms and declaring her news at once, she didn't know. Depositing her coat on one of the hooks by the door, she practically flew into the servants' hall. Once inside, however, she stopped short.
"Where's John?" she asked Mr. Carson, who was in the process of helping himself to a scone.
"He asked to be excused from tea today," the butler replied. "He said he had too much work to do and wouldn't be finished if he stopped now."
"Oh," said Anna, disappointed. Glumly, she made her way to her seat and reached for a cup to pour herself some tea. She took a scone, too, but it tasted stale with her disappointment. John had never missed tea. They'd always used the short break in the afternoon as an opportunity to catch up with each other after a morning of not crossing paths. Anna always enjoyed his gentle conversation, the way his hand would drop to her lap to squeeze her knee affectionately. There had been a couple of tense teas over the past few weeks, though, and Anna felt guilty of the way she'd curtly cut him down, but he'd always accepted her apologies. But…perhaps…perhaps today was different. In her elation, she had forgotten about the fact that she'd been irrationally furious at him that morning. Perhaps he was weary of her snapping. Perhaps he hadn't put in an appearance on purpose.
…Perhaps he was avoiding her.
Her duties consumed her for the rest of the afternoon, and she spent the time in a haze of worry and fear, the elation she'd felt at the joyous news overshadowed by her husband's absence. She took her mending to the servants' hall in hope that she would find him there, completing some mending of his own, but only Lily sat in there. Anna sighed and slumped down in her seat, yanking her needle and thread towards her and beginning to stitch crossly. It was monotonous work, and Lily's silence gave her plenty of time to mull her situation over. She wasn't sure if she was thankful or not for that.
There was a clatter in the hallway and her head jerked up, hoping to hear the familiar tap of his cane. It didn't come, however, and instead she was greeted by the stoic face of Mr. Carson.
"Anna," he said in his usual gruff manner. "Message from Mr. Bates. He says that he's decided to stay here for the night, so you're not to waste time waiting for him after dinner."
"What?" Anna's mouth had gone dry, and she swallowed hard. This was beyond ridiculous. Her heart felt sick in her chest.
"He says that because he's going to London early tomorrow morning, it will be more practical if he spends the night in his old room. That way he doesn't run the risk of being late and he doesn't have to leave your cottage unreasonably early."
"And he expects me to walk home on my own?" Her voice sounded strangled, and she fought to keep her composure, knowing that her safety was one of John's weaknesses. Surely he wouldn't leave her to make her way home in the darkness? Downton was a fairly safe area, but he'd never allowed her to take the risk before.
"No, of course not. He's spoken to his lordship and he has consented to Jones making a stop at your cottage when he's returning after taking the Dowager Countess home. You will ride in the front with him."
"And why hasn't he told me any of this himself?" The world around her was too loud, and she wondered if her quiet voice would be heard in the throng of anger and hurt. She was thankful that only Lily was bearing witness to her humiliation. At least the gossip about her wouldn't travel as fast.
"He's occupied," Carson informed her. "He and his lordship are busy discussing their plans for London."
"How long will that take?" she demanded to know, eyes flashing and colour rising in her cheeks as she sprang to her feet.
"Time cannot be put on such important matters," the butler said, swelling with self-righteousness, as though thinking that a housemaid – even the head one – could never understand such things. Taking her silence as confirmation that the conversation had come to an end, he took his leave to ring the dressing gong.
Torn between wanting to burst into tears and give her husband a jolly good piece of her mind, Anna went about dressing Lady Mary in relative silence, only answering when it was deemed absolutely necessary. Evidently realising that something was wrong, the line of conversation soon petered out, and they spent the remaining time in silence. She could tell that Lady Mary wanted to ask her if she was all right; she was glad that she refrained from doing so. Lady Mary knew that sometimes it was better to steer clear of matters that she knew nothing of.
Anna was determined to catch her husband before dinner, knowing that she had to be on hand in case Mr. Carson required her services, so she finished dressing Lady Mary as quickly as she could before racing towards Lord Grantham's dressing room. She was relieved to hear the voices emanating from within the room; slowing her pace, she loitered a few feet away so that when his lordship exited, he wouldn't think that she was eavesdropping.
The door to the dressing room opened about five minutes later, and Lord Grantham stepped out into the corridor.
"Anna!" he exclaimed when he noticed the young woman. "There's nothing the matter, is there?"
Well, actually, there is, she thought to herself, but shook her head. "No, milord. I just wanted a quick word with Mr. Bates, if that's all right."
"Of course it is," he replied with a smile. "You don't have to ask for my permission to speak to your husband!"
Anna tried to smile as he excused himself for a pre-dinner drink with his family in the drawing room, but it disappeared as she turned back to the task at hand. Taking a deep breath, she crossed over the threshold.
John's back was to her as she loitered in the doorway, organising the cufflinks on the cabinet. She cleared her throat loudly and he jumped before turning around quickly to greet whoever had disturbed him. When he caught sight of her, his face blanched and his expression fell. He looked very much like a puppy that had been kicked. In that instance, her fears were confirmed. He was avoiding her. He was tired of her. And it hurt to know that. For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Anna was the one to break it, as was usual in their relationship. Mr. Bates always seemed to lose faith in the face of adversary, and she had always picked up the pieces. She wondered if things had been broken beyond repair today. She felt terrified at the mere thought of it. Still, anger was the overriding emotion in her heart. Was he ever going to fight for her, for them, when things were difficult?
"Were you ever actually going to say goodbye to me yourself?" she asked quietly, deliberately. "Or were you just going to leave it in a message for Thomas or Miss O'Brien to pass on to me?"
The hurt in her voice was evident, and he winced at the sound of it. The cufflinks that he'd been sorting lay forgotten behind him. "I just didn't want things between us to get any worse. I thought that if I gave you some space you'd feel better for when I got home."
"And how would that have stopped things from getting worse?" she demanded to know. "Knowing that my husband has been avoiding me and doesn't even want to spend his last evening before going to London at home with me…yes, that certainly makes me feel so much better! I'm sure I would've been so overjoyed when you returned, mulling that one over all week!"
"I just thought that you were so angry with me this morning that you'd prefer it that way," he replied softly. "And when you took Mrs. Hughes on your errands with you rather than coming to fetch me, I thought you were glad that I was leaving you alone, that you didn't want to see me."
Anna's laugh sounded hysterical even to her own ears. "It was Mrs. Hughes' idea to run the errands, not mine! And we only did that because she talked me into visiting Dr. Clarkson!"
John paled even further at her outburst. "Dr. Clarkson? Anna, why would you need to see him?"
Tears sprang to her eyes, and she blinked them away furiously. "Oh, don't worry, you needn't start feeling guilty!"
He'd strode across the room in two seconds, panic making his grip on her upper arm rough. She could read the fear in his eyes. "Dammit, Anna, you have to tell me what's wrong!" His voice quivered as he brought his other hand up to cup her face. His fingers trembled against her skin. "Please, Anna. Please don't scare me like this. I love you. If anything ever happened to you, I wouldn't be able to bear it."
She pulled away from him, unable to stand the look on his face. Her voice was barely more than a whisper. "Enjoy London, John." And then before he could utter another word or even try to begin to comprehend what had just happened, she fled from the room, choking back a sob. Anna May Bates never cried. He could count on one hand the number of times when she had broken down: on the night when he had broken her heart and returned to Vera; on the day when he had been sentenced to death in that terrible courtroom; on what they'd both thought was the last day that they'd ever see each other; in the days following her father's death. Most of those times had been because of him. And this time was because of him too. Here he was, with only the intention of ensuring Anna's happiness, but all he seemed to do was bring her pain.
Just what had he done to her?
And, more importantly, could he fix her again?
He made his way downstairs as quickly as he could, cursing his leg for hindering his progress. At the top of the stairs he was waylaid by an irate Carson, who spent almost five minutes complaining about the standard of footmen. By the time John had managed to shake him off and clatter down to the servants' hall, Anna was nowhere in sight.
"Have you seen Anna?" he asked Mrs. Hughes, who was supervising the hall boys as they set the table for dinner, feeling desperate enough to ask for help.
The housekeeper raised her eyebrows. "She was here a few minutes ago; she asked if she could go home now because she didn't feel well. I should have told you earlier, but I thought I was doing the right thing, refraining from telling you, but we went to go and see Dr. Clarkson earlier. Apparently he assured Anna that she was perfectly well, but I'm still worried about her, especially now. I told her that I'd see to Lady Mary for her so she could go home. Didn't she tell you where she was going, Mr. Bates?"
He forced a smile. "Of course she did. I was just wondering if she'd already gone; I don't like her walking home on her own."
"I'm sure she'll be all right," she smiled at him. "Aren't you staying here for the night anyway?"
He closed his eyes, took a deep breath. "I was. But I think perhaps I might go home after all. It would put my mind more at ease knowing that she was okay."
I have to fix this.
Mrs. Hughes nodded understandingly. "Of course. See to his lordship after dinner and then get off. I'm sure Anna will appreciate it."
John's smile was strained as he turned away. It would look too suspicious if he insisted on going home now. It would be better to wait until he'd finished his tasks.
He just hoped it wouldn't be too late then.
Even though he'd left the house as soon as it had been deemed humanely possible, it was still past eleven when John quietly unlocked the front door to their cottage. It was plunged in darkness, and he moved carefully up the stairs, leaving his jacket next to Anna's coat on the hooks by the door. At the top of the stairs, he took a deep breath, preparing himself for what was to come.
At the bedroom door, he paused. Anna was lying curled up on her side of the bed, the moonlight from the chink in the curtains illuminating half of her face. She looked so small and vulnerable. He was sure he could detect tearstains on her cheeks. Tears of his own threatened to overwhelm him. He hated seeing her like that. He hated being the cause of her pain. Why hadn't he tried harder these last couple of months?
Gently, he settled himself on the edge of the bed, shrugging his braces from his shoulders and kicking off his shoes and socks. Then he slipped out of his trousers, reaching for the pyjamas that were strewn over the little chair in the corner. Once he was dressed again, he slid into bed beside his wife and reached tentatively out for her, shivering as the coldness of the sheets seeped into his bones. His fingertips brushed against her, and he realised with a lump in his throat that she'd gone to bed in a dressing gown to combat the cold. Self-loathing rose within him. He should have been there to wrap her in his arms and keep the cold at bay.
She sighed in her sleep as he wrapped his arms firmly around her middle and settled resolutely against her back, and he stroked his hands softly up and down hers, which were hugging her stomach. For a moment he simply drank in the feel of her body in his arms, the smell of her hair against his nose. He was loathe to disturb her now that she had found some respite, but he knew that it would be unforgivable if he went off to London without putting matters between them right first. Anna would accept it, he knew, would never mention it again if he didn't, but he knew that he would never be able to live with himself if he didn't try to fix this.
With that, he began to lay kisses against her neck, pulling her dressing gown down so that he had access to the pale flesh underneath, feather-like touches in the places that he'd learnt with experimentation that she loved the most. She stirred underneath his touch, humming lightly in appreciation as she stretched out her coiled limbs, only to stiffen cautiously as she realised that John was in bed beside her. Confidence dashed now that she was awake, he settled for dropping his mouth next to her ear and squeezing her tightly.
"I know you're angry with me," he whispered, "I know you have every right to be. But I love you, Anna, I love you more than anything in this world and I would do anything to put this mess right. I've never been any good with words when it comes to articulating my thoughts and feelings but please, give me the chance to show you how sorry I am for everything."
For a moment he held his breath, waiting for her reaction. She remained still for a moment, before wriggling out of his embrace; however, his heart barely had time to stop before she'd rolled over and thrown her arms around his neck, pulling herself tightly against him. His own arms wrapped themselves tightly around her back, pressing her as firmly against him as he could. He continued to whisper apologies to her as he rested his chin atop her head, lips ghosting across her hair. He could feel her trembling against him, but when she finally pulled back to gaze into his face, he noticed that her cheeks were dry.
Perhaps she's cried all the tears that she can, he thought bitterly.
"I'm sorry too," she breathed. "I should never have said the things that I did. I know I've been a complete nightmare to live with over the last couple of months and I've coped with everything so wrong. I should never have taken my bad moods out on you because you're the one person I love more than anything else and I don't want to treat you so badly, not after everything we've gone through to be together like this. It wouldn't surprise me if it made you contemplate just leaving."
"Never!" he overrode vehemently, tightening his grip on her. "I would never leave you, Anna!"
Anna still seemed unconvinced, lowering her eyes from his face. "But you must see Vera whenever you look at me now…"
John cursed himself for his earlier thoughts as they came back to haunt him. "There is no comparison. You at your worst is still a million times better than Vera at her best. And how can I possibly blame you? The things you've gone through for me! You stood by me when I couldn't be open with you, you were prepared to throw your honour away so that we could be together, and you stayed so strong while I was in prison. I would be lost without you, Anna. If you left my life, I don't know what I'd do. The only person I see when I look at you is you. If anyone should grow tired and leave, it should be you. You've put up with so much and I wouldn't blame you if you found someone who could give you more than I can offer you."
The first tears began to slide down her cheeks as she listened to him speak. "Don't," she said softly, voice tremulous. "Don't say that."
He brushed her tears away, his own threatening to fall. "I'm sorry, Anna. I am."
"We've both done things we're sorry for," she replied softly. "So please, let's leave it there. Let's put it behind us."
He nodded against her hair, lying there quietly as she stroked her fingers down his chest. Silence reigned for a moment before he spoke again, fearful of her reply.
"You said you went to see Dr. Clarkson," he said tentatively, easing back slightly so that he could see into her face. "Will you tell me about it now?"
She stared at him, a mixture of guilt and contentment on her face at his words. "I shouldn't have told you like that."
"You certainly worried me when you wouldn't say anything more about it," he agreed gently, his eyes anxiously searching hers. "There's nothing seriously wrong, is there?"
Anna shook her head, taking his hand in hers. "No."
"So why did you go?" he asked in confusion as she began to drag his fingers down her front. He shivered at the contact.
"It was Mrs. Hughes' idea, like I told you," she whispered. "She said that you'd spoken to her, told her that you were worried about me. She told me that we'd go together and then if there was nothing to worry about then I wouldn't need to mention it to you."
He stopped his hand just below her ribcage, cold fear freezing his movements. "So why are you telling me now?"
"Because it's going to change our lives," she said quietly.
"How?" His heart reluctantly began to speed up in his chest. "Anna…?"
She forced his hand to move again, stopping only when it was cradled against the flat of her stomach. Evidently he had not taken the hint, because he still looked terrified. She couldn't bear to see the tortured look on his face for a second longer, so she laid her hand on top of his and whispered, "he told me I'm pregnant, John. The little one is part of the reason I've been so moody lately. You're going to have to get used to me being volatile and just know that it's not you that I'm angry with, and –"
"Pregnant?" he interrupted her then. "Oh, Anna!" He lost the power of speech again then, but she could tell by the tears in his eyes and the trembling smile on his lips that he was happy. Her own lips quirked upwards to answer his. "This is the most wonderful news I've received since being told that I was getting out of prison!"
She giggled weakly, his happiness infectious, and the final piece of awkwardness between them dissolved. He dipped his head to kiss her, his hand strong on her naval, and she sighed in response to the feel of his lips on hers. Presently they broke apart, and John lowered his head to rest it against hers.
"I never thought that this day would come," he said, and she could detect the emotions in his voice. "I know it's something that you've always wanted, and I'm glad that I could give it to you."
"If it hadn't, though, I would have been perfectly happy with just you," she was quick to reassure him, caressing the fingers on her belly.
His gaze turned wistful. "How am I going to leave you now for the week when I know you'll be here with our child? It was hard enough knowing that I was leaving you."
"Of course you'll leave us," she told him firmly. "His lordship needs you. You've got to do what's required of you."
"But you'll be alone."
"I'll be moving into my old room for the week up at the big house, like we agreed. There will be plenty of people around and I'm sure Mrs. Hughes will keep an eye on me."
"Does she know, then?"
Anna shook her head. "I don't think she believed me when I said that everything was normal, but I wanted you to be the first to know. I won't mention it to anyone else until you're back from London, so we can tell people together."
John's fingers traced patterns through her dressing gown, his tone wistful. "I won't rest easy knowing that I'm not going to be here for you."
"I don't like the thought of being away from you, either," Anna admitted. "I know it's silly of me, but ever since your prison sentence…"
"I know," he shushed her then, shifting so that he could cup her face between his palms. Gently, he kissed her, and she deepened it immediately, clutching his shirt in her hands, hooking her leg over his so that she could roll him onto his back.
"Anna…can we…?" John gasped as she squeezed him with her thighs and bent down to smother his face in kisses that were softer than a butterfly's wings.
"Of course we can," she answered between kisses, threading the buttons on his nightshirt through the loopholes.
"It won't…hurt…the baby?" How he could concentrate on forming a cohesive sentence when her hands were sliding his shirt from his shoulders, he couldn't answer.
"Dr. Clarkson would have mentioned it if it would," she breathed in reply, nipping at his ear as she positioned herself above him and began to rock her hips against him, the material of his bottoms and her undergarments the only things keeping them separate. He gave himself over to trust then, slipping his hand underneath her nightgown so that he could graze his fingers against the skin of her waist, and she continued to rock against him until she felt the stirrings of his response against her. His breathing was harsher as she began to work him, snaking a hand between their bodies so she could rub him with nimble fingers and a confidence born out of years of learning him. She knew he was ready when he groaned aloud, and she smiled in satisfaction as she rose from his body long enough to allow him to wriggle out of his bottoms. Using this time, she shrugged her dressing gown off and slid her nightgown up over her head, shivering as the cold bit into her skin. She ridded herself of her undergarments with practised ease, throwing them blindly into the darkness as she wrapped herself round her husband again.
John's hands were on her in a second, chasing the cold from limbs as he sought out the places which affected her the most. She whimpered in response, clinging sightlessly to him as he readied her for what was to come.
All too soon, she shifted her body and sank down on to him, their mutual sounds of pleasure harmonising as she set up a steady rhythm for the two of them to rock to. Her hands anchored themselves to his shoulders as she rolled her hips to his, her blue eyes locking with his dark ones and delighting in watching the wave of emotions flicker across his features.
"Oh, Anna," he whimpered as she bent in to kiss him, and she soothed him with her lips on his cheeks. She could tell in the way that his limbs were tightening with pressure that he was close to his end already, days of pent up emotion unleashed in the most beautiful of actions. Heartened by this, Anna put every effort she had into grinding her hips hard against his. His head lolled back uselessly as he moaned his appreciation, his hands gripping at her hips as though she was his lifeline.
"Anna," he gasped ardently, moving his right hand inward so that he could caress her in the place which always had her crying out with trembling fingers.
"No," she breathed in reply, one of her hands leaving the anchor of his shoulder to grab at his wrist. "Don't."
"But why not?" he panted, feelings hurt despite the pleasure flaring out of every part of his body. "Anna, you have to let me – I can't hold on much longer…"
"Good," she breathed, twining their fingers together and leaning down to pepper kisses against his jawline. She bit his earlobe for good measure, then raised his hand until it closed over the softness of her breast, the hard nipple straining for attention, a heady juxtaposition…and he was lost, his hips bucking desperately into hers her name an unintelligible cry as it lost itself within his moan of pleasure. Anna kept rotating her hips against his, keeping his erratic thrusts steady, until they slowed then petered out completely, leaving him fighting for breath, lethargic and sated. She bent in to kiss him sweetly, sliding from his hips and moulding herself against his left side.
Presently, he'd recovered his senses enough to roll on his side to face her. His fingers trailed across her delicate cheekbones, tucking errant blonde hair behind her ears.
"You didn't finish," he stated softly. He blushed a little, shy now that their lovemaking was over.
She lowered her eyes. "I didn't want to get distracted. I wanted to make sure that I pleased you."
John wasn't sure whether to grin in bemusement at her selflessness or be hurt that she felt that she had to see to his pleasure and not take her own. "Anna, you know that I would never ask that of you. I want it to be as enjoyable for you as it is for me."
"Well, I wanted to say sorry to you."
Silence for a moment.
"Then can I say sorry to you, too?"
"What?"
He shifted so that he was on all fours over her, wincing as his knee protested. "I've done some unforgivable things over the last couple of months as well. Let me make love to you. Let me make you feel as good as you make me feel."
"You don't have to," she protested weakly as he began to kiss her neck gently, his fingers moving to graze the sides of her breasts.
"I don't have to," he conceded. "But I want to. And you must've been close yourself earlier. It wouldn't be fair to leave you unsatisfied. Let me ease the ache."
Anna found that she could not protest when his mouth followed the path of his fingers, kissing and worshipping her pale skin with his lips, teeth and tongue, wreaking havoc on her breasts…moving lower to her naval…teasing the top of her thighs…moving in to –
Oh, my.
She groaned loudly, and John smiled against her heat. Full of nervous energy, she allowed her hands to sweep through his hair, pressing her thighs against his ears. Although she had never admitted it out loud (and never would, due to the fact that it made her irrationally feel like a wanton creature), John seemed to know that she loved this particular brand of lovemaking very much. She had been mortified the first time that he had slid between her legs like this, wondering why he'd ever want to touch her in such a place in such a way, but he had encouraged her to relax with loving words and deft touches. When he had lowered his mouth to her again, he had shown her a world of pleasure that she had never even dreamed of. It was the intimacy that did it, she supposed hazily; having his mouth touching such a private part of her body. It illustrated the amount of trust that existed between them; the fact that he was willing to do that for her when it brought him no relief of his own, and the fact that she was prepared to let him touch her in such an unconventional way when she knew the sneers that would dog her if it ever got out.
"We can do what we like as man and wife behind closed doors," he'd breathed into her heated skin that first time, and she'd known that he was right. How could any expression of their love for each other be wrong? Especially when it felt so good?
Now, Anna arched her hips against her husband's tongue, gasping incoherent words of encouragement and satisfaction as he moved across her. If this was John Bates' idea of getting back in her good books, then it was certainly working.
"You know," John commented lazily as he propped his chin on her thigh afterwards, smirking in satisfaction as she panted for breath, her body lax after such an onslaught of pleasure, "I do believe you've forgotten what day it is today."
She opened one eye to peer down at him languidly, sighing as he kissed her knee. "You were good, Mr. Bates, but you weren't good enough to make me forget the days of the week. It's Wednesday."
His smirk broadened as he wriggled from between her legs so that he could flop onto his side of the bed and gather her up in his arms. "So you have forgotten what day it is! I should be hurt by that."
"What do you mean?" she asked in confusion as she found the energy to snuggle against him.
"Well," he said, kissing her briefly, "today is our wedding anniversary. Well, technically," he squinted at the clock, "it was yesterday…"
"What!?" she exclaimed, shooting backwards in horror as his words registered. "You're teasing me!"
He shook his head. "I'm afraid not, love."
She truly looked devastated. "I'm so sorry, John! Oh, what a terrible anniversary it was!"
"It wasn't completely bad," he said lightly, stroking a hand down the outside of her thigh. "And we found out about the baby. Go to sleep now. Otherwise you'll have no energy for the rest of tomorrow."
She nodded against him, seemingly reassured by his answer, and tucked her head under his chin.
"We can exchange gifts when I come back from London," he continued to muse into the quiet. "That'll give us both something to look forward to."
"John?" Anna's voice was muffled.
"Yes?" he answered at once.
"You've just told me to go to sleep. Only I can't, because you're still talking. I love you, but be quiet."
He grinned into the darkness, glad that his old Anna was back.
"Sorry, love. I was just thinking about how the baby is a perfect anniversary present for the both of us…"
"John."
He quietened at once, and soon the sound of each other's breathing had lulled them to sleep.
The next morning, Anna stood at the front door still dressed in her night things, her shawl drawn around her shoulders to keep propriety content. John stood in front of her, dressed impeccably for work, valise by his feet.
Anna stepped into his arms when he opened them for her. "I'll miss you this week."
He dropped a kiss into her hair, holding her tight to him. "I'll miss you too. Both of you."
"We'll be right here waiting," Anna said, voice muffled by his jacket. "Hurry home safely."
He nodded, then pulled her head back so he could drop a kiss onto her mouth. "Look after yourself."
"I will. Don't worry."
He grinned, eyes twinkling. She couldn't remember the last time he had looked to free and relaxed. "Well, you know I'll do nothing but worry. But I promise that I won't get myself into a panicked state."
"Good," she smiled, then reluctantly disentangled herself from his arms. "Now go on, get going. You'll be late if you don't."
"If the train left without me then I wouldn't have to go," he murmured.
"And then his lordship would be annoyed with you. I know how despondently you'd take that."
John chuckled, then pulled her into his arms for a final embrace. "Fine, I'm going." He dropped his hand to her stomach, stroked his fingers over it. "Bye, baby. Be good to your mum."
Anna giggled, capturing his lips quickly before stepping back. John tipped his hat to her, picked up his valise, and turned away. She watched him amble down the path away from her. Her heart warred with the powerful emotions of sadness and joy. She hated to see him leaving her. She knew she would be immeasurably lonely for the rest of the week, even when she was surrounded by the people at the big house. And yet he hadn't left her alone; he'd left her with the gift of their child to keep her company on the long nights when he wasn't slumbering by her side. She also took some solace in the fact that he'd miss her just as acutely as she would him.
At the gate, he turned and offered her one last wave. She returned the gesture, feeling her lips tug upwards in a smile.
It hadn't been a conventional anniversary at all. She doubted that many spent their time in such a ditch of miscommunication on such a joyous day. They still had a way to go to fix things between them. And yet Anna knew she would remember it for the rest of her days, because it had ultimately brought them closer together.
She thanked the baby for that.
A/N: And thus ends this installment. The final chapter is written on paper, so when I get back from my holidays I'll be able to type it up, edit it and post it. Hopefully it'll be around for the beginning of August. :)