"Lily's beautiful, isn't she, Mama?"
Sarah paused, hairbrush poised at the crown of her daughter's head. She could see Sophie's reflection in the tiny vanity mirror, saw the starry eyes and shy smile, and felt her stomach twist in unease.
"She is pretty, bobbin." Sarah allowed, carefully drawing the brush through her daughter's bright hair. "But she's not as pretty as you, and don't you forget that."
Under her mother's hand Sophie stubbornly shook her head, her brow furrowed.
"Nay, Mama, Lily looks like an angel! She's got the lovely golden hair, an' such eyes- they look like forget-me-nots!"
Sarah set down the brush and stared down at her child, head canted slightly to the side in thought. To her mind Lily Mallard was something of a grubby girl- blonde, yes, but her hair was lank and dirty, forever falling into an equally soiled face. Were Sarah her mother, she would've sooner died than let the girl out of the house in such a state. But then, Mrs. Mallard had near a dozen little Mallards to mind, and it was little wonder that some of them slipped through the cracks.
The fact of the matter was, Sarah didn't think that 'angel' was the best word to describe Sophie's little friend. 'Urchin' hit closer to the mark.
At last Sarah licked her lips and said,
"You're that fond of her, then?"
"Yes!" Sophie grinned, and she happily swung her feet about under the stool until Sarah gave her a gentle rap upside the head. "She's the prettiest, loveliest girl in Withernsea!"
"After you."
Sophie ignored her mother, and tilted her head down in sudden shyness. Sarah's breath caught in her throat in recognition.
"She lets me hold her hand, sometimes." the girl mumbled, and squirmed in equal parts ecstasy and embarrassment in her seat. Sarah swallowed, opened her mouth to say something- oh my, or be careful- but thought better of it. She gathered her daughter's hair in her hands, soft and shining in the lamplight, and began plaiting it for the night.
"Do you like that, bobbin? Holding her hand?"
"It's the best thing in the world."
"You hold hands with some of other girls about town- is that the best as well?"
Sophie shook her head again, very carefully.
"No. That's just playin'. It's special when it's Lily."
Oh, God.
Sarah swallowed hard against the sudden tightness of her throat and reached for a hair ribbon- white, like Sarah used on her own hair, just as Sophie insisted. Without a word she tied a neat bow at the end of her daughter's plait and tenderly laid her palm over the girl's head. She watched her child worry at her bottom lip, glance back at her over her shoulder.
There was something else.
"What is it, flower?"
"She let me kiss her on the cheek." Sophie whispered, and giggled. Sarah felt the air go out of her lungs and she breathed deep, steadied herself. Sophie's daft little smile faded slightly as the silence stretched, and she turned in her seat to stare up at her mother.
"Are you mad?"
Sarah mutely shook her head and reached down to cup her darling girl's face in her hands, kneeling down so she and Sophie were eye to eye.
"No, m'little beauty, I'm not mad. This isn't something to get mad over- it's…I'm thinkin' it's natural to you." Sarah paused, wanted to give a thousand warnings -don't be too familiar in public, don't ever let them catch you at it, always know the way out- but she stopped herself.
It was early yet- she was only eight. It happened to some children this way, fixing on someone of their own sort and letting go as they grew up.
It wasn't time for the warnings, not yet. Certainly not before bedtime.
Sarah kissed Sophie's forehead and pulled her into a ferocious hug, nuzzling at her as the girl wound her arms about her neck and squeezed. If you are, oh, my little beauty, if you are then let them come, I'd love to see 'em try to get past me.
"I'm glad for you, bobbin. Now run to the washroom and see to your teeth."
She released her child and watched her scamper out of the room, oblivious to what had just transpired. Sarah stood and drifted from her and Andrew's bedroom, needing comfort with an urgency she'd not felt in a long while.
She found Andrew sitting on the couch in the living area, idly flipping through Thursday's newspaper. Sarah settled and tucked herself into his side, head on his shoulder. Andrew glanced at her.
"What's this, lovely?"
"Our daughter is in love, Mr. Lang."
Her husband smiled faintly and kissed her forehead.
"Hardly a funerary occasion, Mrs. Lang."
"It's the littlest Mallard girl. Lily."
Andrew went still, and the understanding sparked silently between them.
"D'you think she's…like you?" he asked gently, abandoning his paper in favor of putting his arms about her. Sarah shook her head.
"Too soon to be certain. She might grow out of it."
"But you don't think she will."
Sarah had no answer. Andrew kissed her again, properly.
"I've had moments where I wondered. She looks at Lily in the strangest way- goes all soft at the sight of her. Like-."
"The way you look at me." Sarah said, very quietly, and they both smiled a bit at that. She nestled closer to her husband (I picked you, I picked you) and they sat quietly until Sophie came barreling out of the bathroom and leaped at them, demanding her nightly story.
Disclaimer: Sarah O'Brien, Andrew/Henry Lang and Downton Abbey don't belong to me. Sophie Lang does belong to me, though the aforementioned characters would like to have a word with me about that.
Dedicated to my mother and grandmothers, who sensed it long before I had a bastard clue and prepared accordingly.