Title: This Woman's Work.
Rating: T for the moment, but subject to change with future chapters.
Genre: A mix of everything, nothing too heavy or fluffy for the moment.
Summary: After everything goes wrong for Sara, she finds herself giving up on the future she wanted, to go to the Grissom household, to work for the heir to the estate. Love soon gets in her way, as she falls for the heir to the estate, who is to be married to the daughter of one of the wealthiest families in town; the Kesslers. Her life would never be the same.
A/N: An A/U world, inspired loosely on Girl With a Pearl Earring, but with many changes. Taken a break from my other fic, to work on this for a while. This is a WIP. Hope you enjoy!
xxx
Prolouge.
November 16th, 1665, London.
"Sara, promise me something..."
"Anything, Father."
She leaned forward, taking his hand tighter in hers. She repositioned the cloth on his head, hoping to take down the fever, but she knew it was a futile attempt. The plague was rampant, and her father had succumbed to the illness.
"Promise me you will not let this change you. You have your whole life ahead of you. You are brilliant. You can do anything you want." He wheezed, his breathing becoming more and more laboured, as he strained to keep his eyes focused on his daughter before him.
Sara held back her tears, refusing to let him see them fall. "I.. I promise, Father."
"Most of all... Never stop thinking. That mind of yours...Iis something people would pay to have. Use it, Sara... My sweet Sara. I love you."
"I love you too, Father." She whispered back, this time unable to stop her tears from falling.
xxx
Chapter 1: The Beginning of the End.
February 2nd, 1666, London.
She couldn't believe that her entire life had been reduced to one bundle. One small bundle sat on her bed, waiting to be wrapped up and taken with her.
She couldn't believe she was leaving her home. She had spent her entire nineteen years here, in this village, and now she had to leave. She had been assured it would not be forever, and she knew she could come home every Sunday, only because she was not Catholic.
Right now, she was filled with a lot of disbelief.
She had been angry, but she let that go, she had to. She knew this was what she had to do. Everything came down to her now. She was strong, and she knew she could do this. It was just for a little while, that was her promise to herself.
Her whole life had changed once more, yesterday, when that knock came on her door.
She busied herself chopping the vegetables for lunch. She heard the absent humming from the small room just off of the kitchen, drawing a soft sigh from her lips.
She was growing tired of pottage, but over the last few weeks since losing her Father, it had become a speciality of hers. It was the easiest thing she had found to be able to feed her mother, without much effort on both parts.
Ever since her father died, her mother had only become more and more unstable, and Sara was finding it more and more difficult to care for her, especially since they had to move homes, giving up everything they had, everything that had become familiar to them.
They stayed with a close family friend, Margret, a long time friend of her fathers, who said she owed a lot to her father, and had been more than willing to take them under her wing.
That knock on the door meant the end of her life, her dreams and hopes for her own future. She was losing the independence her Father had worked so hard to ensure that she had gained and known in her life. She worked, but never labour. This was different.
She had always worked with him, helping him with his experiments, loving every minute of it, as she got to learn so much,
Margret answered the door, and led the small, stout woman through to the main room which doubled as a kitchen and living room.
"So, this is to be our new maid. She looks young, small. Has she any experience?" The high voice filled her ears, making her shiver slightly as she turned to face the two women standing in the doorway, setting the knife down on the makeshift chopping board.
She took in the appearance of the woman before her, smaller than her, probably only reaching her chest. She had a rounded figure, and slightly greying hair, pulled back into a tight bun, with loose strands framing her face. her eyes were narrow, her lips tight, yet she gave off an almost warm and welcoming presence.
"Sara is more than capable of handling any task given to her. She works hard, and doesn't stop until she has it right." Margret said with a soft smile to Sara.
Sara didn't like being spoken about as if she was not there, but in that moment she found that she could not speak.
She also didn't like the way the small woman was looking her up and down, the way she had previously seen some people eye up a piece of meat at the market.
"Are you ready to work, and work hard?" She asked of Sara.
Sara took a moment, to find her voice, nodding. "Yes," She paused, "Yes, I will work very hard."
"Very well. You will begin tomorrow, and as long as your work is satisfactory, you will get eight shillings a week, which may be docked depending on how you preform." She said in a matter of fact tone.
Sara nodded, unable to stop herself in thinking how far those shillings would go in helping her mother. It was not a lot, but it was more than so many others could hope to ger. "I look forward to beginning my time with you, and I promise I will maintain a high standard of work." She said as she offered her hand. She was nothing if not well mannered, her father had ensured that.
A small smile crept up on the older womans features, and she shook Sara's hand, but Sara could sense she did not believe her, but Sara would prove to her that she could do this.
"I'll see you out." Margret offered, leading her fro the room, knowing Sara needed a moment to breathe.
She turned back to her task, quickly choppiing the onions as she fired them into the already simmering pot of water and grains.
One more day of freedom.
Once again, she looked at the bundle that sat on her bed. Margret had given her a little extra to buy an extra set of clothes. Her first pay would go to Margret for that. She had three sets of caps, aprons and collars so she had a clean set for every day, and a spare just in case.
Wrapped in tissue to protect it, was a small gold chain that her father had given to her mother for their first anniversary. She did not wear it, but held onto it as it was a reminder of how things used to be for her, when her life was good, before her mother got sick, and her father died.
One of her most prized possessions, was something her father had gifted her with. A small collection of Shakespears works, handwritten out by himself, from copies he had taken out on loan from friends, when things were good, when they were better off, when they had income. She banished those thoughts from her mind.
Her eyes found the most valuable treasure she had in her possession. Her fathers journal. It was not any journal, it documented his experiments. As a local teacher, he was more educated than most in their small town, but his passion lay in the arts; in literature and even in science. It was something Sara had most definitely inherited from him.
He had always insisted on having his daughter well educated, and he had become her own personal tutor. She knew how to read and write, a privlidge among people from their class.
Not only could she read and write, most importantly for her father was that she was able to think. He wanted his daughter to be able to think, to have her own opinions, and she most certainly did. She had a mind that even stunned him some times.
She knew he would be turning in his grave at the thought of her having to waste her talents, as he always referred to them, as a maid for some rich family. She sighed slightly, but knew there was no other option. It was the only way to survive right now.
Margret insisted this was only until she found a nice husband, a respectable man who would be able to care for her so she no longer had to work like this. Sara was not too hopeful on that count.
Almost forcing her limbs to work, she tied her belongings up in the apron, to hold them until she reached her new home. She looked around the small room she had shared with her mother since moving in with Margret, ensuring everything was neat and tidy before she left.
Running her slightly shaking fingers over the bed, ensuring it was smothed out for her Mother later, she gave herself a rueful smile. This would be her life now, ensuring everything was neat, tidy and smoothed over.
She slipped out of the room, hearing the soft voice from the small kitchen, she entered knowing she would find her mother there beside the fire. She had not been disappointed. Margret sat before her, trying to coax her to eat a little more of her breakfast.
Sara motioned to take over, and Margret nodded, knowing Sara had little over half an hour left here before she had to make her way to her new lodgings, and she probably wanted to spend that time with her mother.
Sara took the left over pottage from yesterday, and seated herself before her mother.
"Come, Mother, you must eat. We do not have time for your stubborness today." Sara said as she managed to get her mother to take a little more.
It was stressful for her, and she was not as patient as she should be, as her father had been when her mother would fall into these moods. It had been constant since his death, and Sara had feared that it was permanent.
She spent all day sitting, staring blankly ahead of her, with minimal conversation. If it were not for herself and Margret, Sara feared she would not eat, drink, wash or even sleep. She knew she was leaving her in capable hands, that Margret would care for her, and would not allow her to be taken to the asylum, as she had heard many whispers of in the streets. Still, she was glad she was allowed home every Sunday, so she could ensure things would be okay.
"You're leaving me. Just like he did." Laura Sidle whispered to her daughter, her voice barely audible.
Sara shook her head, her heart lurching slightly. "No, mother, I am not leaving. I will return every week to see you. I need to do this for you, to make sure that you are looked after. But I will always return to you. I promise you."
Laura shook her head, "No, no you're leaving just like him. You promised you wouldn't go, you wouldn't let them take me. You don't care about me, you just want to leave, you've always wanted to leave!" Her voice had raised, shocking Sara slightly, she had not known her mother had the strenght to do even that.
She felt guilty, she could not deny it. She had always wanted to leave the confines of this opressive background she had. Her father always said she would, made her believe that she was better than her class. This was a sharp reality check, that nobody could escape.
"Mother, nobody is taking you. You will stay here with Margret, she will look after you, and I will return every Sunday, and take you out to sit by the river like I always have. I am doing this for you." Sara tried to soothe her, reaching out to cover her hand with her own.
Laura lashed out, slapping Sara's hand away, and in doing so, knocking the ceramic bowl containing the pottage from Sara's hands. Itcracked slightly, but the pottage spilt everywhere.
Sara heaved a frustrated sigh, holding up her hand to Margret as she came through to them, signalling that she had things under control.
Sara picked up the bowl, and set it aside as she went about cleaning the mess her mother had made, unable to stop herself from thinking she should just get used to it.
After a few minutes, she sat back in front of her mother. "Despite what you may think, Mother, I am doing this for you, in your best interest. If you hate me for that, then so be it." She couldn't help her anger from surfacing slightly.
She was giving up everything, her promises to herself and her father, her independence and her pride, to go and work for a rich family on the other side of London, to ensure her mother was looked after correctly. She was doing the right thing.
Laura remained silent, and Sara stood, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead, "I'll see you next Sunday."
She gathered her belongings from where she left them at the door, and took a quick look in the small mirror they possessed. The dark dress, and white apron she wore was not her usual attire, it was the clothing fit for a maid. She looked clean, respectable and well presented.
Margret was waiting outside for her, as she stepped out into the early morning, the air was crisp with springs chill.
"Sara, she didn't mean what she said, I am sure of it." Margret reassured Sara.
Sara gave a small smile, and shrugged her shoulders, "Look after her for me. She's all I have left."
"No, Sara, you have me also."
With an exchange of kisses, and a tight hug, Sara was walking away from them, from everything she knew.
With each step it became a little harder, but she continued, knowing once she turned the corner, she would find it easier, when she could no longer sense Margret's eyes burning into her back.
She tightened her grip on her bundle, clutching it tight to her chest. She was glad the streets were reletively quiet, as it was not a market day, and it was still early. There were a few puzzled glances from neighbours, but they did not ask questions, and she did not stop to give them any answer.
She continued on her way, noting how the condition of the streets and the houses seemed to improve as she moved from the east side of London to the west, the clear distinction between the wealthy and the poor.
She had never been poor, she had always had enough to get buy, but she was nowhere near wealthy.
She stopped near the river for just a moment, closing her eyes to breathe deeply the fresh crisp air. She soon continued on her way, knowing she would be early, but she did not mind. That would be a good thing.
It did not take much longer, walking at her brisk pace, to reach her destination.
The household was located at the end of a street, yet it was not attached to the other houses, as every other appeared to be. It had a small sized garden out front, lined with blossoming flowers, which she was sure come Summer would look astounding.
It was a massive house, wich made her three room hut with her mother and Margret pale considerably. It was two stories high with an attic from what she could see, with a red brick finish and wraught iron railings seperating it from the street. She could see smoke rising from the top of the house, from the chimney. She could count on one hand how many houses she had seen with a chimney. It was a new found invention, a luxury only a few could afford.
As directed by the head of maids who had visited yesterday, Sara was still aware she did not know her name, she had not thought to ask, she made her way down the little alley beside the house, to the side enterance to the kitchen, the maids enterance.
She was never to enter or leave through the front of the house. From what she could see, the kitchen was located at the back of the house, which also had a sizeable garden, but it seemed to be of more labour use. She could see a shed over the railings, and many lines which laundry hing from, and a sizeable tub she assumed would be used for doing the laundry.
She swallowed hard before stepping up to the door and knocking sharply. After a few moments, the same woman from yesterday appeared. She wore the same brown dress from yesterday, an apron much dirtier than Sara's, and this time she sported a cap much like the one Sara had in her own belongings. She was glad she had picked the right attire.
"Ah, good, you're here. Early too. Huh, let's see how long this lasts." She scoffed, looking over the girl before her once more.
"Well, come on, don't dawdle there on the streets, lots of work to be done." She said as she ushered Sara inside the kitchen, strong fumes instantly overpowering Sara's senses.
"Sorry." Sara muttered as she looked around, taking in the size of the kitchen, which was almost treble what her own kitchen and living room was at home.
"No time for apologies. Welcome, to the Grissom household, Miss Sidle."
The door swung shut, and that was it. The end of Sara's life as she knew it, and the beginning of her new one here in the Grissom house.
She could already tell, this would be an interesting journey, and she was not sure if that was a good thing.
xxx
A/N: Leave a review, let me know what you thought. The more reviews, the sooner I post the next chapter. Want to see how the Grissom household reacts to their new maid? Tap that button!