As the winter melted away into spring, Anna's health finally began to return. She recovered the weight she had lost, and with it some of her bloom. John was relieved to see her looking more like her old self again.
Their return to a truly married life had been slow and halting. Extremely cautious on his part, hesitant on hers. But John was a patient man, with everything in the world to wait for. He had seen that, when he returned at Christmas to take his wife in his arms once more. There had been, for want of a better term, a second courtship. Long evenings sat in quiet companionship by the fire, learning to hold hands again, to hold each other and be near one another. Touches, kisses, and eventually caresses and an eventual return to love making had followed in their own good time.
Their cottage became a haven once more. A safe space for them, alone. They entertained no guests, and wanted none. The problem wasn't their home. The problem was Downton Abbey.
John first saw it after Anna returned from a week away in London with Mary. When she came back, she was bright faced, affectionate, looking younger in spirit and years. But within a couple of days, the strain was back in her face. She jumped when taken by surprise, held her spine straight to the point of strain. Eventually, John noticed that she never went into the boot room alone.
Downton Abbey had become the problem. Filled with the worst memories Anna was ever likely to endure, alongside the people she loved and owed her loyalty to. The conflict of emotions was driving her to the brink of breaking. Something had to be done.
If only he could get her away from Downton for a while. But where could they go? John's mother's house was let, they had no family to go to, and their savings were becoming increasingly precious as they hoped and prayed to start a family. But as John had once heard said, anxiety was the enemy of pregnancy. He had no doubt that the strain was weighing on them both physically as well as mentally.
"Penny for 'em Mr Bates? You look miles away..."
Daisy bustled in with the tea pot, filling up the mugs for break time.
"Wishful thinking Daisy, that's all."
John intended to let the conversation lapse there, but a few minutes later he was aware of Daisy hovering, slowing down her tasks, occasionally looking up at him. He met the kitchen assistant's eyes.
"Mr Bates...?"
"Yes Daisy?"
"Is Mrs Bates alright?"
Alarm bells started ringing in John's head.
"What makes you ask Daisy?"
"It's just..."
Daisy stepped closer and lowered her voice.
"Sometimes... I see her when she passes through downstairs and her eyes look all red. Like she's been crying or summat. And she looks really tired sometimes. As though she ain't slept a wink."
Daisy suddenly clammed up, and bit her lip.
"Is there something else Daisy?"
"Well... I know we shouldn't gossip Mr Bates, and I try not to gossip, but sometimes people forget I'm there and they say things..."
"What sort of things?"
"About what happened to Mrs Bates. With Mr Green."
John could feel his face setting into a mask, as his features always did when someone mentioned that name in his hearing.
"And... I don't mean to upset anything really I don't, but Mrs Bates has always been nice to me, and it's horrible to see her so upset, and if there's anything any of us can do, you know we would, don't you Mr Bates?"
John was touched to the heart by Daisy's outburst, along with her quivering lip and damp eyes.
"I know Daisy. We both know. She is tired, and I think she does get sad, being in a place where something horrible happened to her."
"Sounds like she needs to get away."
"It's funny that's just what I was thinking, when you asked me earlier. But there isn't really anywhere we could go. So we shall just have to do the best we can and hope that she starts to feel better soon."
John smiled with a brightness which did not reach down to his heart. Daisy looked thoughtful and nodded.
"DAISY! These Yorkshire puddings aren't going to make themselves, you know, stir your stumps lass!"
Mrs Patmore's dulcet tones thundered through the downstairs rooms like a freight train. Jumping out of her reverie, Daisy gasped and hurried away, calling "Sorry Mrs Patmore!" as she scurried off.
John sighed to himself as he sipped his tea and the servant's hall started to fill up. It would be really lovely if he could take Anna away, but it was unlikely to happen any time soon.