Summary: Mr. Molesley could never be sure how the subject of tattoos came up in the servant's hall one evening after dinner, but he did notice the interest that Miss Baxter showed in the subject.

Disclaimer: I do not own Downton Abbey or these characters.

A/N: This is a not-quite-a crack fic. I must thank my faithful researcher for his expertise and prompting on this story which is based in part on the hilarious Text Santa skit. Reviews are always appreciated.

Mr. Molesley could never be sure how the subject of tattoos came up in the servant's hall one evening after dinner, but he did notice the interest that Miss Baxter showed in the subject.

"My brother had one," she said. "He was a sailor in the navy, and he had one done on his arm once when he went on leave."

Daisy seemed incredulous at the very thought. "But don't they use a needle?" she asked, quickly following the question with an equally aghast, "Wouldn't it hurt?"

"A lot of things hurt, Daisy," Anna told her gently, "and people still do them."

Molesley's curiosity could not be contained. Keeping his voice as low and even and uninterested as he could, the footman asked, "But isn't that a rather... low class sort of thing... to have done?"

Ms. Baxter's frown immediately forced him to regret his observation, and she looked down at the table in embarrassment. Realizing he'd just inadvertently insulted her brother, he wished he could call back his words. But they hung in the air like the smoke from one of Thomas' cigarettes, and his mouth was left open as he struggled for something to say to her.

Anna glanced at him and could tell he needed rescuing. She answered gently, "Actually, its becoming quite popular among the aristocracy."

Beside her, the ever present and ever quiet Mr. Bates piped up, "King Edward the Seventh had a tattoo."

All eyes turned to the valet. "Really?" Daisy asked, beating Molesley to the question.

He nodded solemnly. "A Jerusalem cross."

"I never knew that," the assistant cook stated, clearly enamored with Mr. Bates' sudden display of worldly knowledge.

Behind them, his cigarette nearly finished, Thomas glared at the valet and the attention he received from the others in the room. He reached across the table between Anna and Ms. Baxter to put out his cigarette in an ash tray on the table.

"King Edward isn't the only one," he stated archly. He allowed a few seconds of anticipation to build before he clarified, "His Lordship has a tattoo."

This revelation gained him everyone's undivided attention and all eyes turned to the underbutler.

"You're joking," Molesley said uneasily.

"He does. I've seen it."

Bates glared daggers at the other man but said nothing, even as a few looked to him for confirmation of the wild claim. But his lack of response lent even greater credence to Thomas' statement.

Daisy was the first to break the poignant silence with a question. "Where?"

Thomas seemed ready to withhold the information just for the sake of meanness, but after a moment he stated simply, "On his upper arm." He moved his hand to touch the portion of his arm just below the slope of his shoulder. "Here."

Anna kept her eyes on the table, not looking at the others but clearly with her attention on her husband beside her. She did not join into the speculation that followed as to what image the Earl of Grantham had on his arm, one detail Thomas refused to disclaim no matter how much Daisy pestered him.

Mr. Molesley overheard Anna quietly ask Mr. Bates, "Are you ready to walk home to the cottage?"

"Yes, thank you. If you are ready."

"I am."

The couple said their good night's and slipped out of the servants' hall to retrieve their coats in the hall before leaving out the back door. Molesley envied them as he glanced back across the table at Ms. Baxter. With the Bateses gone, their lively party had died down and others were slipping off to their own beds.

"Goodnight, Mister Molesley," the lady's maid told him, favoring him with a sweet smile before gathering her mending to take upstairs with her.

Feeling a bit awkward, he responded, "Goodnight, Miss Baxter."

Anna waited until they arrived home at the cottage to broach the subject she knew was bothering her husband. She did not even need to ask, having already worked out the matter on the long walk home.

"Thomas had no business discussing something so private with the others," she stated with clear disapproval.

"No, he didn't," Bates agreed, his tone marking that he was in a right proper state.

She was quiet for a time, matching his somber mood with thoughtful reflection. They had already had their evening tea in the servants' hall, so they went directly up to their bedroom. Anna changed more quickly than her husband, so she was already sitting on the edge of her side of the bed as she watched him finish his own evening ritual.

His jacket had already been hung up along with his trousers. Next came his shirt, which he buttoned to keep on the hanger. Finally, he pulled off his undershirt, and in that instant, she glimpsed what she'd been waiting for, what she herself would have never mentioned to another living soul: her husband's tattoo.

It was on his upper arm, the same one Thomas had pointed to earlier, an image so ingrained in her understanding of the man that she no longer noticed it as being out of the norm. He never talked about it beyond their first night together, when she'd discovered the secret along with everything else about him that his clothes hid. Bates was more willing to discuss with her most of his scars than that tattoo. But he had told her he got it in the army. Anna knew what it looked like without catching another glimpse of it, but she looked anyway.

The grenade was circular with stylistic flames coming from the top, and in the center was Queen Victoria's royal cypher, the letters VR reversed and interlaced with themselves. Anna had traced the bends and loops of the black lines on many an occasion, and Bates had even told her the meaning behind the symbol. But he never spoke of his decision to have the image permanently inked into his skin.

"I know you won't talk about it, and you know I would never ask," Anna said quietly, "but it seems more than a coincidence that you and his Lordship both have one."

It was an invitation to discuss the matter rather than a request. She never pushed him on matters related to his time in the army, not even when he occasionally woke up in a cold sweat from nightmares that left him shouting in fear and panic. But she did wonder, as any wife might wonder about her husband's past.

"It is not a coincidence," he confirmed. She could tell from his tone of voice that he was not resistant to answering her questions, but he would volunteer no information.

"Is his the same as yours?" she ventured.

"Yes. We both got them in the army, as I'm sure you've worked out."

Bates looked at her, and she flushed with a bit of embarrassment at having pried into that part of his life. Anna knew that she should drop the matter now, that going forward would likely bring her no answers and only upset her husband by trying to divert her from such questions. But she could sense something underlying this story he did not wish to reveal, something that weighed on him unnaturally.

"It seems like an odd thing for you to do."

He did not respond. Having never been able to picture him as a man to get a tattoo of his own accord, it suddenly occurred to her that perhaps he'd done it at Lord Grantham - then his commanding officer's - urging.

"You did it for him," Anna suggested.

The truth was too complex to explain to his wife, even if he had wanted to tell her about that part of his life, which he did not. But he could not fault Anna for her curiosity. For reasons he never understood, she truly enjoyed every morsel of history he revealed about himself, sitting patiently beside him or lying next to him in bed as she gave him her undivided attention. He sometimes shared with her tales from his childhood - the good memories - or certain anecdotes from his military career.

The latter were more rare as he preferred not to talk about his time in the army. Some memories were too painful to think of, let alone put into words, and others were simply private remembrances of men he'd known and lost in the violence of war. Bates could not impose such memories on Anna, nor did he wish her to hear from his lips the stark realities of battle.

But the tattoo... it was something else altogether, and yet it was also a symbol of everything of which he never spoke.

"He didn't really want one, but they were highly fashionable for officers," Bates said aloud, surprising himself. "I agreed to go with him, so he wouldn't lose his nerve."

Anna said nothing, but took in his words with wide, curious eyes and an expression showing no judgment.

"I would have preferred the regimental crest, but he wanted the grenade. There was a man who did them for the officers, an artist."

The recantation was to end there, he decided. Anna did not need to know what had prompted the young Captain Crawley to seek out the tattooist in December of 1899, in the shadow of Black Week, when the British army had suffered disastrous defeats in Stormberg, Magersfontein, and Colenso. With thousands of casualties in the span of a single week, everyone began to realize that the war in South Africa with the Boers would be neither quick nor easy. Anna was likely too young to remember.

He did not wish to tell her that one of his reasons for getting the tattoo was practicality - to help identify his body if he were killed. And he had believed that he would die, as did so many of the other men. Putting a permanent mark on his body seemed unimportant when his days were already numbered.

"Did it hurt?" she asked, the pad of her finger pausing in its soft exploration of the skin on his arm. He heard the hitch in her voice, a sudden fear that she might be causing him pain with her touch, that she might have always been hurting him without him admitting or her realizing.

"It hurt when I first had it done, but not any more," he assured her. The dark lines which were once pristine black ink had faded to a dull greenish blue. In a way, it mirrored his own memories of the war, blurring the crispness of the lines and dulling the pain with time. And while the tattoo was a reminder of the war, at least it was one that he had chosen, unlike the rest of the scars on his body.

Anna gave a little sigh of relief, and her touch on his arm resumed. Bates did not mind her curiosity, and in fact, he thoroughly enjoyed the feel of her hands on him, wherever they dared to venture.

"I think it is beautiful," she pronounced after a time. "And it suits you."

"You think so?"

"Oh, yes."

With an expression of delight, Anna grinned at him like an imp with a secret, one that only she knew. Indeed, his wife was the only person of his acquaintance besides Lord Grantham who knew of the tattoo, and he knew that it was something she would never tell anyone else.

A fortnight passed, and Bates had forgotten all about his discussion with Anna and the others in the servants hall. At least, he forgot until Lord Grantham asked him a pointed question one evening as he was dressing for bed.

"Bates, can you tell me why the servants have been staring at me so strangely? I swear, the past couple of weeks or so it seems as they though every time I walk into a room, they don't take their eyes off of me." He paused and looked at his valet. "I suppose that sounds rather vain and paranoid, doesn't it?"

Smiling despite himself, Bates responded, "I doubt you are paranoid, milord. Most likely they are trying to reconcile themselves to the knowledge that your Lordship has a tattoo."

He made the statement jovially, but he knew the reaction it would engender. Lord Grantham did not disappoint. For several seconds, he went very, very still. Neither men talked of this experience they'd shared during the Boer War, and Bates hoped that his employer would realize that the information had not emanated from him.

"I take it you know the source of this rumor?" the Earl asked finally, his voice betraying only a hint of amusement.

"Only that it was not me, milord. And given the low number of individuals who would be privy to such information..."

He let his voice taper off even as he recognized the understanding in Lord Grantham's eyes.

"Barrow." It was not a question.

Knowing the other man would want context, Bates ventured, "There was some conversation in the servant's hall about tattoos. It was brought up that they are popular among the nobility."

The Earl nodded, and while he did not seem pleased to be the topic of discussion among those in his employ, he was not terribly upset about it either.

"Well, it is nothing to be ashamed of."

"Of course not."

Neither of the men conversed for several minutes as Bates finished assisting Lord Grantham as he changed for bed. As he helped the man on with his dressing gown, his employer said carefully, "I never thought I'd be here, now. Not back then."

With a nod, Bates answered, "Neither did I, milord."

"But we made it back."

Returning from the war had been a difficult road for the valet, much more so than his employer, but Bates did not need to point out that fact. Lord Grantham knew perhaps better than anyone the trauma he had gone through in Africa, even if he was not privy to the intimacies of his recovery in London afterwards. Some things were simply better left unsaid.

"We did," he agreed with a smile.

The Earl nodded before looking away with a tinge of pink in his cheeks. "I don't suppose they know about yours?"

Bates shook his head. "I was not forthcoming, milord. No one knows besides Anna."

"As it should be. Well, let them gossip among themselves then. Not much to be done for it."

With a nod, he acknowledged, "As you say, milord."

As Bates descended the stairs to the servant's hall, he paused as he spotted Mr. Molesley skulking about, still in his street clothes, his hat in hand.

Pausing, the valet waited until the man looked up and noticed him. When he did, he seemed both surprised and pleased. "Mister Bates!" he said. "I was hoping to run into you."

Something seemed a little... off about the footman. He could not quite place his finger on the difference. There was a way that he stood, almost stooping a bit, which was not typical for the man.

"You seem to have done so," Bates observed, attempting to sound friendly when all he really wanted was to find Anna and head home for the evening. He waited for Molesley to explain himself, but when he did not do so after a moment, the valet asked, "Did you have a pleasant half day?"

"Oh. Oh yes, thank you. Actually, that was something... Er..."

He looked around as though someone might be listening in on their conversation. Then, in an attempt at casualness that spoke of anything but, the man nodded his head towards the boot room. Bates followed him there and waited as he checked it thoroughly for occupants, as though he were worried spies might be stashed in the cupboards. Finally, he shut the door behind Bates and locked it. The entire encounter was becoming rather uncomfortable.

"I was hoping you would give me your opinion," the footman said, when he finally deemed himself safe to speak.

"My opinion on what, Mister Molesley?"

"Well, on this..."

The man proceeded to begin taking off his jacket and then to unbutton his shirt. Bates straightened at this strange turn of events but said nothing. He had no fear of Molesley, nor did he believe the man shared Thomas' predilection for members of the same sex. Besides, he could read in the man's body language that he was nervous and seeking out reassurance. And finally, as he'd stripped his upper torso to his undershirt, Bates understood the source of his concern.

The man must have traveled all the way to York to find someone to do the work. The tattoo started on his shoulder went across the man's back and seemed to be in stages, with a portion of it having healed while a different section still seemed raw and crusted with blood in places. A large portion of it was still unfinished.

Unable to say anything for a moment, Bates simply looked at the expansive tattoo and let his eyes go wide. The lines were thick and swirled with designs hidden in odd places, but the effect was not a bad one.

"Well?" Molesley asked expectantly. "What do you think?"

"That is quite a statement."

He allowed the valet a bit longer to look, and then began to pull his shirt back on. As he buttoned it, he glanced at Bates. "I'm sure it isn't anything like his Lordship's..."

It certainly was not.

"But I actually find I rather like it. But it isn't finished, of course. I still need to go back and have more added."

"How much will you do?" Bates asked.

The footman shrugged. "I was thinking my back and my arms." He put his hand across his left upper arm. "Except here. I have something special planned for here."

The valet nodded in understanding, although he refused to reveal that was where his own tattoo was located.

"And what brought on this sudden desire to be so... inked?" he asked the man.

"I don't know," Molesley admitted. "I suppose I just wanted something that was an expression of myself. Everyone always thinks they know me and know who I am. I like the idea of this being the real me, under all the formality and such like."

With a smirk, Bates noted, "And perhaps to impress a certain lady's maid?"

Molesley's eyes went wide. "What, Anna? No, of course not, Mister Bates. I haven't felt- Not in years, at least, but..."

Interrupting, he clarified, "I meant Miss Baxter."

"Oh." The footman's mouth dropped open. "Oh yes, well I hadn't thought of that."

Clearly, the footman very much had thought of that, but he had no wish to make such an admission to Bates.

"I wish you the best of luck, Mister Molesley."

Months passed, and the subject of tattoos died away in the servant's hall. Whatever fascination had erupted over his Lordship's inked arm quickly lost traction when it became apparent no one else but his valet and her Ladyship would ever see it.

But Bates kept an eye on Mr. Molesley as the weeks went by. He noticed that the man always disappeared on his half days, returning to Downton late in the evening on the train from York. He rarely expressed discomfort, but his facial expressions showed that the tattoo he'd had began was making progress.

Rather than allowing the obvious pain and discomfort to slow the footman down, Molesley seemed somehow lighter and more unburdened than he ever had before. He stood tall and walked proudly, ever with a smile on his face rather than an expression of hesitance or frustration. He flirted with Miss Baxter more confidently, and even stood up to Thomas when the underbutler made sniping remarks.

Late one evening after Bates and Anna had made their way home to the cottage, they were sitting in their parlor enjoying tea and discussing their day when there came a knock on the door.

"Who could that be at this hour?" Anna asked.

Bates stood automatically, reaching for the cane hung over the back of his chair. He glanced at his wife to ensure she stood well behind him as he made his way to the door and opened it.

"Mister Molesley," he greeted the visitor, a little confused to see the man at their home. "What can we do for you?"

The footman glanced from Bates into the cottage, spying Anna. While neither of them had changed for bed, the fact that he had disrupted their evening was apparent.

"Oh, I... I'm sorry to interrupt. I only wanted... Well, that is to say-"

Anna took mercy on him. Stepping forward, she pulled at her husband's arm, forcing him to open the door more widely as she invited Molesley, "Won't you please come in? We were just having tea."

Reluctantly, the man passed over their threshold, and Bates shut the door behind him. He looked from Anna back to Bates with a pleading expression, as though he had intended to seek out the valet's counsel alone. Bates sensed that he knew what this conversation was about.

Molesley perched on the couch next to Anna awkwardly, holding his tea cup in a nervous hand he attempted small talk. Had they a fine afternoon? Wasn't the weather grand of late? The cottage was lovely and rather cozy. He liked the curtains and the color they had selected for the walls.

Finally, Bates took control and asked pointedly, "Was there something in particular you wanted to share with me, Mister Molesley?"

Another nervous glance at Anna before he answered, "Well, yes... about that..."

Sensing that her presence was impeding matters, she quickly stated, "Actually, I was about to go up to bed. I trust you two won't stay up until all hours if I leave you alone?"

She gave her husband a smile along with a look warning him that she expected a full report before she took the stairs up to their bedroom.

"Well, now then," Bates said with as much of a friendly smile as he could muster for the man currently keeping him from his bed and his beautiful wife. "Would you like to tell me the purpose of your visit?"

Molesley glanced in the direction Anna had gone, as if to assure himself that she would not overhear, before looking back at the valet with a delighted expression. "It's finished!"

Bates waited for more, but the footman did not elaborate. Finally, he prompted, "What is finished?"

With a confused look that bordered on hurt, Molesley explained, "The tattoo. I've just come back from York, and it is finally finished. Well, almost. I have one spot I'm holding off on."

He nodded and permitted the man a smile. "Congratulations. I'm sure you're very-"

"Would you like to see it?" the footman asked, his eyes lighting up.

"No, that's perfectly all right-"

"I don't mind showing you, really."

With a sigh, Bates realized based on the other man's excitement that he would not be getting out of this situation so easily. It was not as though he had a problem seeing the man in his undershirt. Indeed, the male servants living at Downton often ran into each other when they were not fully dressed, to say nothing of his time in the army. It was the nature of such things.

Rather, he hesitated on account of not wanting to establish such familiarity with Mr. Molesley.

But as the man unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it out of his trousers, Bates realized that particular ship had sailed.

The completed tattoo itself was much the same as the piece he'd seen before except on a much grander scale. It twined like an organic thing, perhaps a vine or a creeper, along Molesley's arms and across his back. It stopped well above his wrists, of course, so it would never show while the man had on a proper shirt. A patch on his left arm had been deliberately left bare with the design styled around the open space as though it were a garden freshly tilled and ready for planting.

"What are you saving for there?" Bates asked, nodding to the empty area.

Here, of all times, Molesley colored. "Oh, that's just... for something special." He added almost inaudibly, "I hope."

Choosing his words with care, Bates stated, "Well, that is- quite a work, I must say."

If Molesley was disappointed in the response, he did not show it as he pulled his shirt back on and hastily began tucking the shirttails into his trousers. At that moment, Bates noticed a sudden movement in the doorway and seconds later, Anna appeared, a candle in hand.

"I forgot my book," she explained as she entered the sitting room, but then paused at the sight of their visitor in his state of being half undressed. "Oh, pardon me. I had no idea-"

Her eyes went wide as they swept over to her husband, who was still sitting in his chair. She looked ready to beat a hasty retreat, but Bates implored her with his eyes not to go. "Anna," he said. "Mister Molesley was just-"

The footman began, "Oh, I was only-"

Anna quickly jumped in with, "You don't have to explain-"

For a moment, they were all talking over each other in a confused jumble of misunderstanding, embarrassment, and need for restraint. Finally, disappointed that he would need to out the footman to Anna but needing her to understand the circumstances she'd just walked in on in her own parlor, Bates said firmly, "Mister Molesley was just showing me his new tattoo which he acquired in York."

This information took a few beats of the clock to sink in for Anna, but when it did her impression of discomfort faded and her expression turned to one of both understanding and amusement.

"Oh, is that all?" she asked. Looking at the footman, she said with approval, "Well, good for you, Mister Molesley. What sort of tattoo is it?"

The footman resembled a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming train, helpless to save itself. "Well, I..."

"He may wish to keep that private," Bates ventured. "In fact, I overstepped myself by mentioning it at all. I apologize, Mister Molesley. But I am sure Mrs. Bates will not mind keeping it to herself."

Instantly understanding, his wife said quickly, "No, of course not. And I did not intend to interrupt. I can leave you alone-"

But the other man simply shook his head, appearing resigned. "No, you may as well stay, Mrs. Bates. I was actually come to ask some advice, and you may be as able to help me as Mister Bates."

Curious, Anna took a seat on the sofa and waited to hear him out. A quick glance in her husband's direction confirmed that she found the entire situation far more entertaining than he did. For his part, Bates communicated to her silently that he very much wished to be upstairs in their bed and not doling out advise in such an uncomfortably familiar manner. But a gentle shake of Anna's head admonished him that Mr. Molesley was their friend, and that sometimes friends must assist each other in unexpected ways.

"You see, I was hoping to... that is to say, Miss Baxter had expressed an appreciation... Or rather..."

The footman was hopelessly lost in his explanation, but thankfully, Anna had a far better understanding of the man's mumbling explanations and underlying intentions than Bates ever could.

"Miss Baxter did seem rather interested in the subject of King Edward's tattoo," she filled in, "when the subject came up some months ago. I'm sure she'd be curious to see your..." Anna paused, looking for the right word. "Yours," she settled on awkwardly.

"Yes, I think she would," he acknowledged eagerly, as though she had read his mind. "But the problem is..."

"Propriety," Bates filled in quickly and succinctly. The other two looked at him and nodded. Molesley could not exactly strip to his undershirt in front of the lady's maid. Doing so in front of Bates had been absurd enough.

"Then it must come up as something innocent and unexpected," Anna suggested.

"Yes, that would be preferable," Molesley agreed.

After a bit of thought, she began to sketch out an idea she had to accomplish just such a goal - to impart the desired information to Miss Baxter without it seeming too forward or untoward in its presentation. As well, minimizing Mr. Molesley's embarrassment was desired but of less importance.

"I'm rather used to feeling outside my skin," he said, his tone a mixture of self pity and resignation. "At least now it actually feels like my skin."

"Well, I'm sure you'll impress Miss Baxter as much with a sense of self confidence as you will with your tattoo," Anna stated knowingly. Bates allowed his eyes to rest on his wife, as he recognized and appreciated her gentle tone. She always had a way of offering well needed reassurance and thoughtful asides, no matter who she was addressing.

They decided to implement the plan in a fortnight, which would give Molesley time to muster his nerve and his skin a chance to finish healing from his latest trip to the tattooist. "Did it hurt?" Anna asked the footman as he stood up to leave.

"Oh, it hurt like the dickens," he responded without censorship. "But I couldn't turn back once I'd started, now could I?"

He left to walk up to the Abbey, certain to receive a scolding from Mr. Carson for staying out so late. Once he was gone, Anna turned to look at her husband with naked curiosity.

"So Mister Molesley got a tattoo," she stated. "Did you have something to do with this, Mister Bates?"

He chuckled. "Nothing at all, I assure you. But somehow I have become a confidant in this endeavor, although I have no idea why."

"And what does it look like?"

"His tattoo?" Bates paused, unsure how much to reveal about the footman. Molesley had not requested that it be kept a secret, but he also had not given the valet leave to share such information. Given his own inclination toward privacy in such matters, Bates said simply, "It is quite a bit more expansive than I would have initially thought."

Anna's eyes widened. "You have me intrigued, Mister Bates."

"Any more on the matter you should probably request from the source," he suggested, suddenly feeling extremely conflicted on the matter. He would hate for others to discuss his tattoo behind his back.

Anna granted him a smile as she said good-naturedly, "I won't press you to betray a confidence. We should get to bed so we can get some sleep before dawn."

He followed her up, grateful for a wife as kind and thoughtful as she. And after they had changed for bed, the habit a routine he always enjoyed for the view as much as the comfort of sleeping clothes, Bates sat on the edge of the bed. Anna stood in front of him and very deliberately put her hand on his upper arm over the fabric covering his own tattoo.

She gave him a wink before leaning down for a kiss.

The day had arrived for their plan to go into action. Or rather, the plan belonged to Anna and Mr. Molesley as Bates wanted no part of it. While he would never speak against the brilliance of his wife, he was not in agreement as to this particular idea.

"We have to wait until Miss Baxter is down from taking care of Lady Grantham," he heard Anna tell the footman. Molesley seemed a nervous wreck despite Anna's assurances, and he wondered if the man would know what to do with Miss Baxter's attention even if he succeeded in obtaining it.

Ultimately, the plan did go off just as Anna had designed it. Bates had to admit that there were a few intricadies he had not expected, but she accounted for them flawlessly. The pitcher of water she carried into the servants' hall was hot but not scalding, so when he pushed his chair back at just the right moment and it was sent tumbling over his head, Molesley's shriek was one of surprise rather than pain.

"Oh, I'm so sorry-" she began, even as the footman stood up from his place at the table. His eyes were wide as he looked at Anna, suddenly stupefied. Water dribbled down his head to collect on the floor. The few others in the room besides Miss Baxter - two of the younger maids and an experienced hall boy - were attempting to hide their laughter behind raised hands. They were not terribly successful.

Molesley looked down at his soaked clothes morosely before pausing, then sniffing the substance which had just been poured over him. "Did that have... rue in it?" he asked.

While Bates knew the water was free of any such substance, Anna stopped short and with the acting skills befitting any silver screen star answered tentatively, "Yes, it had some rue oil. The kennel master asked me to brew up some for a bath to give to the hunting dogs because of a flea outbreak."

"But... I'm allergic to rue," he said, sounding so genuinely concerned that Bates wondered if perhaps his wife hadn't added some of the herb to the water just for authenticity.

Whether the alarm was real or imagined, the footman's eyes went wide with panic as he began snatching off his coat. Anna likewise began to show concern as she looked from Molesley to her husband. His part in this skit was optional and fairly limited - he simply shrugged his shoulders - and her eyes turned to Miss Baxter, who was seated across the table. Thankfully, the lady's maid did as Anna had anticipated. She stood up from her spot and quickly rounded the table to where Molesley was beginning to snatch at the collar of his suit.

"Here, let me help you," she said. Then looking at the wide-eyed maids and hallboy just watching them, Baxter suggested, "Perhaps we should..." She inclined her head towards the hall, likely indicating that they should make haste to the wash room.

Once the two of them were gone, Anna's distress slowly changed to one of satisfaction. Glancing at her husband, she flashed him a smile and then went to find some towels to mop up the water she'd spilled on the floor around Mr. Molesley's chair.

The first indication of a change in the relationship between the awkward and earnest Mr. Molesley and the quiet and thoughtful Miss Baxter was the giggling. Alas, the small laughs that ought to have belonged to a young maid instead originated in the unlikely throat of the footman who had already seen five decades of life and should have known better than to be caught flirting in the servant's hall. Bates said nothing on it, of course, but Mr. Carson gave Molesley and Miss Baxter a pointed look as he entered the room. Whether the look was to quell the noise or to stop the footman's undignified laughter, he could not tell for sure.

"Have you finished with the silver?" Carson asked the man directly.

"Yes, Mister Carson."

This answer seemed unexpected, at least in Bate's observation of the butler, who stopped short before following up his question with another. "And the upstairs rooms have been arranged?"

"Yes, I just finished with that."

"And there is plenty of wood for fires in all the rooms?"

Molesley hesitated. "I believe so, Mister Carson, unless they've been burning it at thrice the usual rate."

Carson eyed him severely. "And has the table been set for dinner?"

This question confused even Bates, who raised an eyebrow even as Molesley acted in a similar manner. "No, but-"

"Then you best get on it," the butler advised before turning on his heel and leaving the room.

Molesley, appearing like a young lad who had just been informed the sky was indeed pink and not blue, looked back at Miss Baxter. "But they've just finished breakfast and his Lordship is still in the dining room."

Bates shook his head at the exchange, amused both by Molesley's sudden increase in confidence and his freedom to show a natural interest in the lively conversation of Miss Baxter. As the subjects of his observations departed the servant's hall, Anna passed them on her way in. She took a seat beside her husband.

Noting his amusement, she asked, "What's so funny?"

"Your plan seems to have worked. Miss Baxter and Mister Molesley are inseparable. And yet, Mister Carson still cannot invent enough tasks to keep him busy enough to stop him from finding spare moments with her."

Anna's smile was impossible to mistake even as she hid it behind a faux frown. "Mister Carson is a spoilsport. I'm just glad we had Mrs. Hughes on our side when that was the two of us."

Bates eyed his wife for a moment before dropping his voice even lower. "So has Miss Baxter informed you of whether she saw the infamous tattoo?"

Keeping her eyes on the mending before her, Anna did not react for several seconds. Slowly, she answered, "She did mention something about it."

"And what did she say?"

"She said she was... surprised."

"Surprised in a good way?"

Anna teased, "She didn't seem to be in a bad way. But Miss Baxter is a quiet sort. She plays things very close to the vest."

"You don't know anyone like that," Bates murmured, smiling at her in turn. She grinned at him cheekily.

A bell on the wall interrupted them, and the valet noted with a sigh, "That's his Lordship. He wanted to sort through some things before we go to London tomorrow."

Standing from the table, he gave Anna one last look before going about his duties. But on his way up, he paused momentarily outside the closed door to the boot room as he recognized the low tones of Miss Baxter followed swiftly by the indignant man-giggles of Mr. Molesley.

"So I've heard a rumor, Bates," Lord Grantham said as they looked through the clothes his valet had brought down.

"What's that mi'lord?"

"Is it true that Molesley has gotten a tattoo?"

Bates froze. He paused for half a second too long before answering, "I couldn't say."

The Earl eyed him suspiciously, recognizing the man's hesitation. "You can't say or you don't know?"

With a pointed glance at his employer, he emphasized, "I can't say, my lord."

To his surprise, Lord Grantham chuckled. "So that's a yes, then. Her Ladyship heard it from Baxter, I think."

Quirking a smile, Bates observed, "Miss Baxter is a wealth of information."

"She wouldn't confirm that Barrow was the source of the rumor about mine, but she's still better than O'Brien. However, that does surprise me about Molesley. He doesn't seem the sort."

"And what sort is that, mi'lord?" he asked, not trying very hard to hide his smile.

The other man stopped and looked at his valet for a moment, the memory of an earlier time passing between them. Bates would never have been such a 'sort' but for his Lordship's influence. And the Earl was so uncertain about getting a tattoo in the first place that he'd asked his batman to accompany him so he wouldn't lose his nerve. It seemed a long time ago now, and looking back on the memory with fondness made them both lighthearted.

"You make a good point, Bates. To each his own."

They shared a knowing look and a smile and nothing more was said on the matter.

fin