A/N: I had to change Sara's age to fit the rest of the story. She is about 14. I'm not a very good writer, but I love this story – please R&R – constructive criticism rather than story - bashing.
Sara heard the door slam behind her. She looked over her shoulder to see if, somehow, someone was there to save her. But of course there wasn't. A tear grew in the corner of her eye and fell down her cheek. "Oh Papa," she whispered, "Is this what you have wanted for your 'Little Missus'?" She sighed, wiped her tears away and gathered up her shawl, picked up her bag and was about to start walking.
But she suddenly remembered that she had nowhere to go. So she went to Baker Street station to get a map. When she had been rich she had passed it many times and knew is as the place to go if you were lost. Her shoes were holey and thin and her dress barely covered her knobbly knees, so a lot of thin, white leg was exposed. She shivered and wrapped her woollen shawl around her. It had been her dear Mama's, so Miss Minchin couldn't take it. All that she had in her bag was Emily and her birthday present from Becky. Oh Becky! She remembered a time when she had pitied Becky. Now she envied her, she had a place to sleep at night and food. Sara had almost nothing.
She woke up against a wall in Baker Street Station. She had remembered seeing other such miseries in the same position, and at least there was under floor heating. But she was so very hungry. Miss Minchin WOULD throw her out on the day when she hadn't eaten. She reached into her homemade cloth bag and picked up her present from Becky. She saw a man passing her.
"Excuse me sir..." she began. But instead of stopping to answer he ignored her and continued on muttering under his breath about good-for-nothing ragamuffins. Sara learned a huge lesson at that moment. She realised that no one was going to like her anymore. No one would care to hear her opinion; no one wanted to be associated with someone like her. It was a disheartening thought, and if it had been Lavinia or Jessie in Sara's position, they probably would have given up and gone crawling to Miss Minchin. But Sara Crewe was different. This realisation just strengthened her resolve NOT to go back. She had her dear Papa to think of.
She looked at her things. One too-short black dress, a pair of thin holey slippers, a woollen shawl, a patched, cloth bag, a pincushion and Emily. Only two things that she could sell. She picked up Mama's shawl and Emily and regarded them. She loved them both. They were both such beautiful things and she couldn't bear parting with them, for the shawl symbolised Mama and Emily symbolised Papa. But just then the wind picked up and blew snow into Sara's face and eyes. She wrapped the shawl around her without thinking and smiled slightly at the sight of Emily on the ground. It seemed that her parents in Heaven had chosen for her.
She walked farther than she'd ever gone. She had never been farther than George Street with her maid and she had never desired to go there. It was the "rough side of town" and she had had strict instructions from Miss Minchin never to set foot in the place. Now, she needed to go into that neighbourhood. She walked down the road and smiled, seeing the shop she had been looking for. She walked in the pawnshop and looked around.
A woman of about forty was over in one corner, which was presumably the counter. She might have been pretty, but one couldn't know it as her faces was covered in enough make up she might have used a trowel to apply it. Sara had never seen anyone wear make-up, except at the circus or in the theatre. She gulped in fear. But she bravely walked over to her. "Excuse me Miss?" she said prettily. "Wotcha want lil' un?" she said in a loud and raucous voice. Sara gulped again. She was afraid and Sara Crewe did not, as a rule, become afraid. But, still in her own pretty little voice she replied, "I want to sell my doll to you." The woman laughed, or, more precisely, she cackled. The sound shot through poor, shaken Sara like a bullet. "We don't take dollies in 'ere. Be off with ya!" Sara's face fell. She tried once more. "She's very valuble and - "But the scary woman with the painted face cut her off. "VALUBLE...ya say? Hmmm...give 'er 'ere." Sara handed over Emily. The woman grabbed her with long, painted nails and her face lit up. "'Oly Christ! She's..." the woman started muttering and then looked up with a start. "I'll give you 50p for your pretty lil' dolly." She said in a wheedling voice. Sara was young, yes, but she was no fool. Emily had been 25 guineas when she was new and Sara had kept her in beautiful condition. In a voice much firmer than she felt she replied, "I won't take a penny under 20 guineas." The woman turned white, which looked rather odd with all that make-up and muttered to herself but nodded sagely. "OK, kid. You win this round."She held Emily reverently and reached inside her shirt, which appeared to be VERY low-cut at the front and Sara was a little shocked, but looked down at her short dress and said nothing. The woman counted out 20 guineas and handed them over. "Now gerrout of my shop!" she yelled and Sara promptly did so, stowing the cash in her cloth bag.
Sara was worried. She had money, but now she needed a place to stay, food and, hopefully, a good job. She cast her eyes around the square that she was in and grimly headed for another doorway. It was going to be a long, cold night...