The Makings of a Modern World

A/N: Written when series five spoilers indicated that Mary had bobbed her hair.

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Lady Mary's new hairstyle sent ripples throughout the entire house. Never one to cower from the modernisation of fashion, the young woman had not cared one whit about anyone else's opinion on the matter, from her father's spluttering indignity to her grandmother's jibes.

Downstairs, the news was equally scandalous. Mr. Carson's horror could not be contained at such a turn of events, but several of the younger maids looked on in admiration, exchanging opinions on what styles that they would like to go for.

"What do you think of it?" John asked her one night. Anna sat in front of her vanity, braiding her own hair with contemplative slowness, but she blinked at the sound of her husband's voice, raising her eyes to his in the mirror.

"I think it suits her," she said. "It angles her face nicely."

"Ever the lady's maid," her husband teased.

"Well, it's true. She's not the first woman to do it. They were wearing boy's cuts in France after the end of the war. But it does suit her. Brings out the line of her jaw. I'm sure certain men will appreciate that. And it's a lot less work for me, I can tell you. No more curling and braiding and complicated styles. Now I just shape it, pop in a few pins, and I'm all done."

"I can certainly see why you would appreciate it," he said. "And I have to admit that you're right. It does add a certain charm to her."

"Why, Mr. Bates," she said playfully, "were you admiring her?"

His chest swelled with vexation. "Certainly not. There's only one woman for me."

"I have to admit, I am very glad about that."

"Come over here. Perhaps I'll show you how much."

She cast him a smile, crawling up the bed towards him. He'd opened his arms for her and she was more than glad to slip into his embrace, pillowing her head against his chest.

It had taken them a long time to reach this point once more. For a horrible time, Anna had wondered if she would ever want her husband to touch her in that way again, had shrunk back at the mere thought of that physical contact. But John had never pushed, leaving everything on her terms. They had rebuilt the foundations of their relationship first, on friendship and mutual trust, before slowly but surely re-erecting the pillars of their former life. Their first few times had been shy and fumbling, as if they had never done it before. But it had got better with time and practice, and the reclamation of their past happiness made the rest of it fall into place. The teasing quips. The flirting. Almost two years on from that awful night, Anna could finally say she was content.

John nuzzled against her as she anchored her arms around his waist, pressing a kiss to her hair. Anna smoothed her palm down the front of his pyjamas, revelling in his little sigh.

Hands still moving idly, she said, "Maybe I should cut my hair too."

John paused his actions at once, easing back. "What?"

"Well, what do you think? It would be a lot simpler, and a lot less messing for me too."

"No doubt Mr. Carson would be utterly outraged," John murmured, and she giggled. "Can you imagine? It's bad enough that one of the young women has taken such a daring decision, never mind the servants following suit."

"You men don't understand the irritations of a woman's hair," she argued. "You comb a bit of pomade through and you're done."

"And the pomade has been cut down significantly over the last few years, Mrs. Bates," he murmured, and she felt the curve of his smile against her cheek as he kissed her. She pinked a little, slapping him.