BARGAINING

Part 3

Valet John Bates and Lord Robert Grantham entered the dark pub anonymously, just two men stepping in for a pint. They hadn't said much on the ride, with Bates riding up front with the driver and Robert sitting alone behind them. Robert had started to tell Bates he needn't ride with the chauffer, but the valet had hopped in before the words were out of the lord's mouth. They may be closer to friends in private, but publicly they would remain employer and valet. It was no secret upstairs or down that the two shared a bond that challenged the usual class divide, but Bates had no desire to embarrass Robert, or to flaunt their unorthodox friendship.

Once seated at a table in a corner, they sat in a companionable silence for some time; enough for Robert to finish two whiskeys while Bates slowly nursed a single pint. After several false starts, it was the valet who finally spoke up.

"With all due respect, my lord, you are wrong."

Robert raised an eyebrow at his drinking partner. "About?"

"About what you are thinking."

"Oh, you know what I'm thinking, do you?" He cocked his head dismissively and took another draw from his drink. "I wasn't aware that reading minds was one of your many talents."

"It's not mind reading," said Bates, "I believe I know your thoughts because they are the same ones you had in Africa. They were as unjust then as they are now."

Robert looked up over his glass, partly in surprise at being called out by his valet, and partly because, valet or not, he knew Bates had him pegged.

The usually reserved Bates continued speaking. "You thought it when I was wounded; whenever anyone in your command was wounded or killed in action. You think it should have been you."

Exposed, Robert fidgeted in his seat, but didn't bother to deny it. He didn't often speak of their time at war, not even to his former batman. It seemed a world away from Downton, and he was determined that at least one unpleasant experience remain in the past. "Bates, you took a bullet meant for me," said Robert. "You cannot deny—"

"I deny nothing, my lord," Bates cut him off, "just as I regret nothing. Everything I am, everything I have or have become is a result of every other moment in my life, however painful."

"So, you are saying you believe life is part of a greater plan?"

Bates gave a sad smile. "I used to want to believe it. I am not so sure I do anymore, but I do know that I wouldn't trade even the most unpleasant events in my life if I could not end up where I am today."

Robert came as close as he could to a smile himself. "With Anna?"

Bates nodded. "And at Downton. My injury changed my life. I'll admit at first, it was for the worse, but after a long rocky road look where it's taken me. Would I be here now if things had gone differently in Africa? Or if I hadn't had the adversity I faced afterward and turned to you? Would I have met Anna?"

Robert thought about what Bates had endured since their time as comrades. "I know it must seem petty, my grievances. My life must appear rather charmed in comparison to others, and my problems minor. Money, heirs, titles."

"Death is a reality that crosses social boundaries, my lord. Your losses have been great."

Robert nodded in painful acknowledgement. "For hundreds of years, Crawley men have served Downton. I believed that as long as I stayed the course and saw to my duty, my life was mapped out for me and things would progress as they always have. Now, I must confess I see no great plan in the past few years of my life, nor for my future, for that matter." He sipped his drink, steeling himself for the rest of it. "I was prepared for the loss of my father, in some ways my entire life was about preparing me for it. And I sadly accept that my mother's time may be growing short. But to lose children…" He drifted off, unable to voice more. He changed course. "The war seems to have knocked the stuffing out of me. I lost my way—more so than you can imagine." He stopped there, not prepared to share more, even with Bates. "Every time I think I've found my footing, I get knocked back again. And now this…"

Bates stared at Robert, both touched and saddened by the lord's honest self-appraisal. "You have managed. As we all have. Things are different and change is hard for everyone."

"That's what Tom said."

"He would know." They drank in silence for a few moments. All too familiar with the power of alcohol, Bates could see the lord's perfect posture slouch slightly as the whiskey did its' bidding. He'd have to cut him off soon, or face Carson's ire for bringing Lord Grantham home in his cups, though if anyone deserved to drink to forget this week, it was Robert Crawley.

"His life was only just beginning," mumbled Robert softly. "He had it all ahead of him. He was a dashing future earl with a newborn son to raise. I just don't understand it, Bates. After the turmoil and chaos and uncertainty in our house these last years, things were finally stable again. How can this have happened?"

Robert's voice choked, but Bates let him speak. He'd seen him cry before, just as he had heard the earl's honest proclamation of fatherly love for Matthew long before he married Lady Mary. He knew that one of the aspects of their friendship Robert valued most was Bates' willingness to listen without challenge or judgment.

"My work here was done," continued Robert. "I'd survived it. Survived not having a son of my own, survived the loss of two cousins and heirs on the Titanic. Even Sybil." A tear escaped Robert's eye, and he quickly wiped it away, as if he could wipe the painful memory aside with it. He glanced around the deserted pub, wanting reassurance that no one was taking any notice of the Earl of Grantham. "I survived my own financial folly. I had two heirs in place. Mary would sit as Countess someday. The estate was stable again. I was ready to sit back and bounce my grandchildren on my knee until the time came for my portrait to join the others on the dining room wall. Downton didn't need me anymore, Bates. It doesn't need me. It needs Matthew."

A waiter approached the table from behind Robert, and Bates quietly waved him off. Already wallowing in the depths of despair, the last thing the Earl of Grantham needed was a refill. "With respect, my lord, I think Downton has needed you more than ever lately. It still does. In a house and village whose very existence is so deeply rooted in tradition, you are the constant. I can only speak for those downstairs, but people who've chosen a life of service need the assurance and purpose that the earl's continued presence gives them, even especially in these difficult times."

Robert harrumphed. "And I nearly cost them their jobs by foolishly playing at being a tycoon."

Bates shrugged at him. "I'm sure financial troubles are not unique to any era. You've said your father faced losing Downton himself. You and Lady Grantham saved it then, and you found a way to save it again now. It doesn't matter how. You saw the estate through a world war, and the coming of a new age full of social and political changes."

"And I fought those changes every step of the way," snorted Robert, "and I gambled away my wife's fortune. Downton survived in spite of me, Bates, not because of me."

"Does it matter? Someone once told me that the true test is not how you got into a crisis, but how you come out of it."

"It's bad form to throw a man's words back at him."

"Still, Downton survived. You survived. You have no idea what your ancestors did or didn't do when they ruled Downton, only that they managed to hand it down more or less intact. And that is all your descendants need to know." Bates spoke firmly, confident that he was giving his lord what he needed. Still, there was another, more personal, matter left unspoken. Bates knew it would be the arrow to the other man's heart. "And as for being needed, well, you've a boy to raise now. A future Earl of Grantham."

Robert's eyes glistened at the thought of his grandson. He shook his head sadly. "A boy needs his father. And a titled boy needs him more than most."

"My father did me no good," said Bates, though there was no malice in his words. "I learned what it is to be a man by watching other men that I respected. I'm still learning." He raised his glass in salute to his employer and friend. "There are lots of people in the house who will care for him and love him, but he is your heir and he will need you to show him who he is and what that means. I daresay not even Mr. Crawley could have done that. Not yet. I mean no disrespect, but he was not yet ready to sit at the head of the table. He may have been someday, but be assured, my lord, that upstairs and down, you are still Downton. They don't expect perfection, no one can, but your family still love and need you to pilot the ship."

Robert reached for his glass, only to find it empty. "I hope you are right. I just hope I can see us through this newest nightmare. I suppose I must, for my grandson's sake."

"Nights are darkest just before the dawn, isn't that what they say?"

"You've had a few dark nights yourself," said Robert.

"And knowing Anna and you and the others wouldn't let me give up, gave me the strength to wait for the dawn." Satisfied with Robert's nod that at least some progress had been made, Bates checked his watch. "Now," said Bates, "It's nearly time for tea. I think we need to get you back or we'll get a dressing down from Mr. Carson and her ladyship."

"I am lord of the manor, Bates. I don't fear my wife," said Robert with mock firmness. "Carson, however, is another story." He stood, only momentarily unsteady while his head cleared, and clapped his valet on the back with one hand. "Thank you. I think I did need to get away for a bit, but I suppose I owe you an afternoon off."

Bates shook his head, nearly imperceptibly. "On the contrary, my lord, as it is my off hours, I can choose to spend them any way I wish."

"Then I suppose I owe Anna." Robert let Bates help him on with his coat, and grabbed his hat. "Let's go home." He paid their tab, left a generous tip for the barman and led them out.

Again, Bates insisted on riding with the chauffer, and it was just as well as Robert dozed off and on during the ride home. Bates assumed the lord, like most of his family, had little rest the past several nights. As they pulled up the long drive, Bates made a quiet request of the driver. "Drop me at the servant's entrance." It was the usual practice when any of the servants traveled with the family, but he didn't want to raise Robert's ire at the chauffer if the driver had made that assumption himself.

"Nonsense, this was a social outing," said Robert sleepily, though he might have thought better of it had they been somewhere other than a pub, or if he had known Carson would be waiting when the car pulled up in front.

Bates sheepishly exited the vehicle and shrugged helplessly at Carson's raised eyebrow, trying to silently convey his lordship's wishes as a footman opened the car door for Robert. The valet dutifully stood off to the side so as to allow Robert and Carson to enter the house first, but Carson couldn't resist a jab.

"I assume you will be joining the family at table tonight, too, Mr. Bates?"

"Relax, Carson." Robert cocked an eyebrow of his own as he passed his butler. "It's his afternoon off. He can spend it any way he chooses."

More to come; wrapping Bargaining with Mary & Tom, Robert & Cora; Edith, and Isobel is feeling a bit lost…and more stages to follow.