In a time caught overlapping the dissolving and disintegrating romantic period and the birth of the elegance and insidiousness of the Victorian era, a high society woman hadn't the time to take care of young children. Mrs. Vargas was a mother well aware of this; however, she didn't find the need to stress over a small trifle such as this. In this time, there was a simple solution to a seemingly complex problem that didn't involve a mother at the top of the social scale to rearrange her bustling schedule. Instead, one would go about hiring a nanny.
Contrary to what one might think at first glance of the appearance of such a dazzling era, this wasn't typically a pricey affair. Where there was abundant wealth, there would always be the indignity of poverty, for that is the way of the world. With a profusion of people who'd pour away a chance of undependable happiness for a life of reliable income slaving away for those who'd been born into financial privilege, it was hardly a challenge to find one who was a good house-hand. One of these unfortunate souls was about to sign her life away at the young age of thirteen, barely having anytime for herself to experience the innocent outlook upon life one would have during the ignorantly blissful stretch of time we call childhood. One of the awful things about poverty was the way it managed to manifest itself even in young children's minds, and the way it taught them these unfortunate traditions of society.
The youth who called herself Anita would be going to visit the Vargas manor to be interviewed for this demeaning position of a nanny, and once the children had no need for a caretaker, she would transition into whatever the family needed next. It was best to harvest young maidens for jobs like this, as without proper schooling, there would be nothing else they could work as. If they were to leave them to try and seek employment in another home for a fairer price, awful words would be exchanged between the head of households, branding her unfit for any other lifestyle, besides perhaps becoming the unfathomably desperate women of the night.
In her room, Anita had gotten up even before the first ray of rosy dawn laid foot upon the land. In the dim glow of a lantern, she'd already bathed and rubbed her supple skin of honey forcibly with the finest oils her family was able to afford, as if to scour the grimy social status she was born into and her shameful pedigree from the pours of her skin. She then wrung out the water from her thick, brunette locks of hair to pin it up neatly into what might pass for a practical bun. She picked herself apart in the mirror, tightening her hand-me-down corset until it dug into her waist, constantly tugging down her petticoat she'd spent last night patching up, and pulling every loose strand of hair into her bun. The only thing that stopped her from continuing to quibble unnecessarily over her appearance was hearing the rooster crow, signaling that she had no time for such caviling.
She rushed out to the kitchen to meet her mother who had a meal prepared for her. "Gracias, mama," she murmured softly, sitting down at their table and eating every piece of breakfast, even the whites of her eggs she despised. She knew that she'd need every ounce of strength she could draw from her meal to keep a smile on her face and optimism in her heart through this day.
"Remember, stand up tall and smile pretty, you'll do great, I know it, Amorcito" her mother murmured softly, wanting to allow the rest of the cramped and crowded wake on their own accord. Anita offered a smile in response, one of stunning excitement that her mother wouldn't see again for a long time. The elder of the two pulled back a stray piece of hair into Anita's bun, encouraging her to "do your best, they'd be a fool not to take you,"
Anita smiled bravely for her mother and waved goodbye as she left to be assessed by who she hoped to be her future employer. She skipped down the beaten path of her shabby looking neighborhood of cramped houses and miniscule, claustrophobic houses shared by poor families. She dodged puddles and held up her skirt as to avoid tracking dirt onto it- first appearances were important- or so she had heard. The walk was long and winding, passing through or alongside two different towns before reaching the extravagant manor of the Vargas's. The sight of such homes always left the young woman stunned; from the extravagant bay windows, to the intricate patterns throughout the home's exterior, or the ornate stonework on the home, it made her heart skip a beat. Money was what separated immigrant families like the Carriedos from immigrant families like the Vargas.
The Spanish teen straightened her posture and glided towards the front door of the estate, tapping the deep mahogany wood with her knuckles to alert someone of her presence. This someone was the sharp-eyed Mrs. Vargas, and whom Anita would come to know as the mother of two very different daughters. The girl quickly bowed her head to the woman before her, prior to saying, "my name is Anita Carriedo, and I'm here in regards to the position of nanny you placed a request for in the bulletin." She said politely and concisely, having rehearsed this line in heard the entire hour she first discovered her ad.
"Hm. My name is Mrs. Vargas, however, in this house you will refer to me as mistress." The woman responded to her in a cold, flat voice. Her voice was one that was pleasant, as one would expect from a songstress, but the tone was stern, serious, and demanded authority. Her appearance wasn't any less intense; with a crown of ebony waves held tight under her lace cap, an icy gaze, and not a flaw to be seen, she was the picture of intimidation. "You may come in." she allowed, turning around and leading Anita to the foyer.
The young Spanish woman tried to keep her gaze onto the path being made by her upperclassman and not be distracted by the wonderland of wealth that the Vargas family called home, nor the faint, pretty sounds of fingers drumming expertly onto the alabaster keys of a piano. She followed Mrs. Vargas to the room where the elder of the two would conduct her interview to deem whether or not Anita was fit for the position of nanny. Anita sank down into the plush, regal, claw footed chair directly across from the seat the black haired woman had chosen for herself. "What has you to believe that you would do well to take care of my daughters or to work in my house?" the woman of the house asked bitterly.
Anita folded her hands in her lap and straightened her posture to answer, hoping to calm the surges of nervousness crackling beneath her skin. "Well, I can cook, clean, and have had prior experience to watching over children." She said politely, listing off her skill set, "in addition to that, I really love children and am very good with them."
The scornful woman's glade green eyes shot anxieties foreign to Anita down her spine. "Is that all? What makes you better than another who would be willing to fill the position? A mother, a midwife? I don't plan on…" The mistress of the house was interrupted in her spiel by a young woman entering the hall of an ivory complexion and waves of brunette curls falling down to her mid-back. "Is the lesson over already?" she groaned towards her.
The young maiden couldn't have been a year older than Anita who had caught her attention. She only glanced in the Spanish girl's direction, but it was a glance of scrutiny, making it known to Anita that she did not belong in a place of such high esteem. "Yes. The month's lessons have ended, and if you'd like to continue the lessons throughout next month, arrangements must be made now." She stated in a voice of refinement. "I assume our visitor can watch the girls while we discuss the scheduling?" the brunette said dryly.
The eldest nodded, raising her hand to gesture towards the children standing in the doorway to a room accommodating a piano. "Prove yourself capable of keeping watch over them while I leave for the briefest of moments." She said curtly before turning on her heels and exiting the room with the brunette beside her.
The youngest daughter of the sharp-eyed mistress bounced out of hiding, skipping over to meet the mysterious new visitor. She rocked on the heels of her feet, back and forth rhythmically, "hiya!" she giggled in a silvery singsong. Looking up to Anita with bright amber eyes, a grin fell onto her lips. The little one was an energetic little thing dressed up in the fine attire of Venetian laces, chiffon, and an odd little cap she donned proudly adorned with handpicked flowers. "My name's Felicia, what's yours?" she asked innocently.
Anita kneeled down to reach the youngest child's eye level, "it's a pleasure to meet you, Felicia," she said softly, "my name's Anita." The Spaniard responded politely. "How old are you?" she asked, smiling at the little girl's melodious voice.
The back and forth of answering and asking questions continued on for a bit with Anita humoring the Felicia's tireless curiosity. Throughout this conversation, she came to learn that the little girl was the sweet age of five and she favored playing in the garden, picking flowers, and listening to extravagant stories that were recounted to her. One of the most important things out of the list that she told her about was about her elder sister Lovina. Later on, looking back on this moment, the things she told her now would be what her life pivoted around in a careful, intricate dance of fate.
"That's my big sister over there," she pointed to the other daughter of the prickly mistress who bore more resemblance to her than Felicia had, carrying her trait of eyes of a piercing green hue, intermixing with another force who she assumed to be her father, that calmed them into a most alluring shade of chartreuse. "Mama had to find a new nanny 'cos she was really mean to our last one and she quit." She told her in the most serious tone a five year old could muster. "She says she doesn't like to play, but I know she does. She has a hard time making new friends…" The little girl explained, her eyes glancing over to her sister and her once vibrant smile fell into a pout. "I wish I could see her happy like she used to be before we moved…" She confessed.
"Really now?" Anita said, the thin line of her lips turned into a smirk of determination, "if I get to be your new nanny, I'll make sure you get to see her happy again." She vowed, rubbing the little girl's back confidently. If Anita could do anything, it was make friends. She was a ray of sunshine and a black hole all-in-one; she could light up anyone's day, and once she was set on something, there was nothing you could do but stand back and watch.
Felicia smiled up at her, "you really mean it?" she beamed, hugging her tight around the neck and planting a kiss on her cheek. "That makes me so happy!" she cheered.
After Felicia was satisfied with their conversation, Anita left to go meet her elder sibling who was currently scrutinizing one of the house plants. The young woman knelt down on one knee beside the small child, "hello," she greeted softly, "you must be Lovina. I'm so glad to meet you."
Lovina gave her one glance before looking back to the plant, partly surprised she was going to pay any mind to her. "I'd say the same, but I would not wish to perjure myself so early in the day," she scoffed.
Anita just laughed boisterously, "You're pretty bold! I like that about you." She chuckled giving her a little pat on the arm. "What a beautiful orchid," she said in admiration at the flower Lovina was eyeing, "they don't grow here, would you happen to know where your family got it?" the eldest of the two asked inquisitively.
Lovina, surprised she wasn't trying to tell her how 'rude' and 'un-ladylike' her statement was, didn't know what to tell her. She hesitated and answered almost timidly, "…I don't know." She admit, embarrassed at how easily Anita had dismantled her childish façade.
Their conversation was disrupted abruptly by the clack of heels belonging to Mrs. Vargas sounding in the hall, and the other girl whom she would come to know as Analeise had arrived. The petite brunette came to collect and watch over the children while Anita and Mrs. Vargas discussed business. The mistress sank back down into her chair, and before she could ask her another question to demean her, Anita smiled to her, "you have such a lovely daughter." She complimented.
Mrs. Vargas nodded, "yes. It is nothing new. Everyone loves Felicia." She said simply, dismissing her statement. However before she could open her mouth, she was interrupted once more by Anita.
"I meant Lovina." She corrected her in the most polite manner one could. "although, Felicia is a very nice little girl, as well. They are both very precious." Anita commended.
Mrs. Vargas's eyes widened, her mouth agape and her face paled. Hearing praises about her well behaved daughter was by all means a common occurrence, but never had she ever heard anyone voice an opinion about her firstborn. "Are you… Are you trying to be smart with me?" The elder stammered in complete and total shock at what she thought was audacity.
"Oh, never. I can hardly see why you would think so. Lovina was a darling for me, shy, even." Anita wasn't completely lying, after Lovina's initial shock of Anita's reaction to her, she was nothing but stammering and rosy cheeks.
The mistress had never witnessed any behavior of Lovina's to match this description. Had the answer to her daughter's behavioral problems come in the form of a lowly immigrant? What kind of godsend was she? "I see… so you would like to take care of Lovina and see that she grows up learning proper etiquette?" she verified, leaning forward.
"I would love to." Anita agreed, "If you were to hire me."
Mrs. Vargas drummed her fingers along the hem of her sleeve. She wasn't about to let this one slip away if she would be the one to tame her eldest daughter's unruly personality. The only question now was how much of her pride would she swallow in paying the pitiable young woman. "How does the pay of fifteen pounds a month sound?" she asked her quietly.
"That sounds lovely," Anita grinned, so lucky for the way everything panned out. She no longer had to fear her mother's disappointment upon returning home to gather her things. She was indescribably exhilarated to be useful.