Disclaimer: I do not own anything from A Great and Terrible Beauty.
Author's Note: Okay, I'm back! Yay! Well this fic will be a collection of one-shots about Ann's life before A Great and Terrible Beauty and after Rebel Angels. It will be written in first person, present-tense form. Please review! I want to know what you think of it and what you think my next chapter should be on.
It is my first day at this imposing castle of a school. I know that I will not be welcome. I am a scholarship girl, a poor girl given enough pity to attend school. To make matters worse, I know I am not great beauty.
It is so hard not to mitigate my life when these things I read-these stories of girls like me- give me hope. The books tell me that if I am good enough, that I if I am kind and graceful and charming, some Prince Charming will come to save me. Sometimes I dream that I am a beautiful princess, locked away in a forbidding tower, just waiting for someone handsome to rescue me and sweep me off my delicately shoed feet.
"Miss Bradshaw," a rather large maid beckons me. "I am Brigid."
"How do you do?" I ask politely, hoping to give the right impression.
There is no answer. This makes me feel so much better, knowing that not even the house-keeper can be bothered to talk to a scholarship girl. I cannot help but dwell on that fact- it keeps springing up in my mind.
"The Missus will take you in soon," she tells me me. I nod.
Since there is no one here to accompany me, I wait alone. I hear the loud giggling of a group of girls coming up the stairs. They come racing up, red-cheeked and breathless. They are a few years younger than my age of twelve, possibly nine years old.
"Who are you?" one of them inquires boldly, staring openly at my shabby dress and small suitcase.
"Ann Bradshaw," I tell them quietly.
"Why is your dress so ugly?" another girl asks. I feel a blush work my way into my cheeks and wish it would fade away quickly. If only my cousin would have given me a suitable dress for traveling!
"It is what m-m-my cousin gave me," I say. That bloody stutter has worked its way into my speech once again. I speak little to avoid letting it out of the cage. I do not feel like informing them that I have been given a scholarship, not when they will spread it around to all of the girls. I would rather tell them myself- face the danger knowing what I have come to.
"Oh," they giggle and skip away, whispering behind their hands. One of them looks back at me and whips her head back around to gossip more with her friends.
How long is the Headmistress going to take? It seems like it has been at least an hour since Brigid the housekeeper has left me here.
I might as well occupy my mind with something while I am waiting.
Once there was a beautiful poor girl that was mercilessly teased by all of her classmates. I start a story in my head, but before I can get any further, the door opens and a voice commands "Enter."
Feeling slightly uneasy, I obey.
"Hello, Miss Bradshaw," the woman says. She is heavy-set, with stern features. "I am Mrs. Nightwing. I trust your journey was pleasant?"
"Yes, Mrs. Nightwing," I answer politely. Thank goodness my stammer has not worked in again. I shall have to work on control of it.
"Miss Bradshaw, here you will learn French, art, dancing, and music," Mrs. Nightwing informs me. Music! I suppose my face must have brightened, because the corners of her lips have an upward turn to them now. "Unfortunately, because of your…" she searches for the proper word to describe my situation of being poor, "financial situation, we cannot offer you the best room. You will be granted the same furniture in your room as the other pupils."
She waits for me to say something. I rack my mind for something, anything, to reply.
"Thank you." How creative of me. The corners of her mouth are back into their straight-line position.
"I shall show you your room and your uniform now. Follow me," she instructs. I comply, as always. Now it will be more important than ever; no one will want a governess that does not obey the rules.
We walk briskly through many halls, all lined with the same doors, the same carpet. As we pass through the third floor corridor, she points out the class pictures. I shall be in one of those some day, a plain girl alongside glowing beauties.
Mrs. Nightwing stops abruptly and I nearly knock into her.
"This is your room," she tells me. Her face is solemn; no sympathy for a poor new girl is shown.
I walk through the door and into my new home. It seems to be a forgotten room; it hangs off the edge of the building. There are two beds- am I to have a roommate?
"The extra bed is for any other of your age that comes," Mrs. Nightwing clarifies, "For now you have this room to yourself."
I suppose that is a small mercy. The desk has been water stained, and one of the beds is directly under a precipitous eave that could possibly do injury, if the one in the bed were to sit up to quickly.
"The view is marvelous," she tries to make things a little better for me. I walk over to the window and open the shutters. She was right; it is marvelous. It will be a good place for me to sit and read my books. That reminds me: I need to start my new story; my cousin bought it for me as a going-away present- a bribe of sorts, as I think of it.
"Your uniform is in here. Please try it on so I can see if adjustments need to be made," the Headmistress orders. I open up the door to the wardrobe and see a white skirt; a white blouse with lace insets, hooked and laced white boots, and a hooded dark blue velvet cape. I run my hand over the soft fabric, wondering if it will fit me.
"Please excuse me," I say meekly and go behind a screen to change. Mrs. Nightwing does not move; it's rather rude of her.
The clothes fit now, but in the next year or so, I will have to get a new one; I seem to growing out not up and it worries me. Perhaps I should eat less.
I walk out behind the screen and in front of the imposing figure that will be a mother of sorts for the next long years of my life.
"Good," she says briskly, "We will supply new clothes if you should ever outgrow your current ones."
"Thank you," I say once again.
"I will lead you down
to the main hall; the girls are having free time in there. There are
quite a few girls in cross," Mrs. Nightwing supplies in an attempt
to be helpful, "There is a Miss Pippa, Miss Cecily, Miss Elizabeth,
Miss Martha, and Miss Felicity Worthington." She adds the last name
rather suddenly, seeing as she never did for the other girls.
Worthington…Worthington… Admiral Worthington?
"The daughter of Admiral Worthington?" I gasp. Admiral Worthington is famous throughout England.
"The very same." She presses her lips together a bit, making the wrinkles seem sharper.
We walk in awkward silence- at least for me. I do not like talking to adults; they always look down on me for being poor.
"Here we are," she says. I take a look at the vast hall, taking it all in slowly. There is a cluster of four great pillars in the middle of the room- interesting decoration. Now I scan the girls, looking for someone, anyone who looks like they might be in my position.
"Girls!" Mrs. Nightwing claps her hands for attention. "We have a new girl here today, Miss Ann Bradshaw." At first I think that she is not going to say it; she is not going to announce my situation to everyone. But of course, she has to ruin everything. One final hesitation and then, "A scholarship student."
What looks of curiosity that I had been feeling now turn to looks of scorn. I here a muted giggle and look at a small group of girls gossiping to each other. They look to be about my age- they must be the girls Mrs. Nightwing was talking about. I stare quite plainly at them and my breath catches in my throat for a moment. There is a girl of unsurpassed beauty there- the kind I wish I could be. Her skin is perfect: ivory pale with no blemishes. Chestnut ringlets hang around her face. She turns to look at me, with a smirk on her face and I see her lovely violet eyes. She turns back, suppressing a laugh and I see the girl next to her. Her white-blonde hair seems a bit wild, though tame at the same time. She laughs loud and long at something the perfect beauty has said and I instantly know that she is the leader of the group.
"Those are the girls in your class," Mrs. Nightwing points out the obvious. She pushes me down to them, though I wish I could bolt back to my forgotten room.
"This is Miss Bradshaw," she says again when we have reached them. The floor is quite interesting from here- so much more interesting than their faces. I have never seen my shoes in such detail either.
I hear another snicker and immediately blush again. Footsteps echo around me and I realize that Mrs. Nightwing has left me alone.
"H-h-hello," I whisper.
"H-h-how do you do, Miss Bradshaw," a smoky voice says. I look up and see that it was the blonde, the leader. My throat aches from the cruelness of her imitation of my stutter- and I haven't even done anything to make her mock me.
A squeak comes out from my throat, but nothing else.
"Didn't you hear us, Mademoiselle Scholarship?" she inquires, putting a thin mask of politeness over a taunt.
"V-v-very well, M-miss…" I answer softly, not trusting myself to look at them yet. This awful stammer is making a fool out of me.
"Worthington," she says proudly. "This is Pippa, Cecily, Martha, and Elizabeth." She points to each of them in turn and they each give me a half-smile, half-sneer. I understand now that the beauty is Pippa.
"You should do well to stay out of our way," Pippa threatens. "People of your class shouldn't be in the same world as us." I feel my eyes scratch and burn but force myself to keep control. I cannot cry in front of them.
"Please excuse me, Miss Worthington." I only say her name, for it is the only one I know. I try to stumble away, but they do not let me yet.
"You forgot me," Pippa says cruelly. "You must have meant to add Miss Cross."
"And me," Cecily adds, though she does not say her last name.
I rush away without answering, because I know that the tears are going to spill out at any minute. I sweep by Mrs. Nightwing, blabbering something about being tired from traveling. I race up to my room and flop on my bed. The sobs come thick and fast and soon I am gasping trying to get air back into my watery lungs.
What a perfect start to my new life. Desperate to do anything to take away the pain, I spy my scissors from my bag. I savagely take them out and make a little scratch in my wrist. The xpain sends more tears in my eyes, but in a way, it feels good- I feel something new.
