Another foray into this pleasant little world. For beauty0102, who seems to be the only one reading.
Too Hard
Sara sits in her comfortable, decorated room, watching the carriages and people pass by her window. The big, dull, brick house next door was no longer a "Select Seminary for Young Ladies." In ten years' time, Miss Minchin had decided that running her establishment under the watchful eye of her former pupil – turned scullery maid – turned rich again - was quite enough. The cruel woman retired and moved away to live in the countryside with a distant relation. Her sister, the friendlier albeit a bit silly, Miss Amelia Minchin had settled down with the milkman, of all people!
And wasn't the concept of settling down the root of Sara's problems?
The girl was quite past the initial stages of "being out." Most females debuted as soon as they exited their school years, and wed a handsome beau within a year or so. The few who did not, either settled with the first man who offered, or grew to be eccentric old maids.
Ermengarde had married a nice man who didn't mind a slow-witted girl like her. The bespectacled woman was already expecting a little one any day now. Lottie was engaged to a foppish gentleman, one who she laughed with a great deal. Sara's dear friend and greatest companion in the dark days, Becky, had found her heart taken with a shopkeeper, and both settled in a house nearby gifted by the Little Princess herself.
When talk had first started about prospects for Sara, her dear Mr. Carrisford waived them off, wanting his "Little Missus" to have a few years of extra childhood to make up for the two lost to her. The time had come and past, and even he began to grow worried at his charge's lack of suitors.
Kind, motherly Mrs. Carmichael had things in hand however.
And so, Sara Crewe waited for her first suitor to arrive.
Lord Percival Smythe descended from his fine carriage, stepping onto London's paved street in shiny, newly blacked boots. He sneered at the non-opulence of the house before him. He had expected the girl to live in the wealthier part of London, not this sub-par neighborhood. He adjusted the exotic flower in his boutonniere. In his hands he carried its sisters grown specifically in his estate's hothouse, an offering for the grand heiress of several diamond mines. She had been the talk of the town after her discovery, but mostly due in part to her fabulous wealth. Yes, Sara Crewe would make him a fine wife.
The young man rapped smartly on the door with his gold tipped cane. As the dwelling's maid opened the door, he swiftly thrust his coat and hat towards the bewildered woman.
"Your mistress, girl! Fetch her now!"
The poor confused girl could only lead him into the front sitting room, where she bolted out of the room in fear.
The man glanced around. The furnishings were just as simple as the exterior of the house. There were some fine rugs and a few paintings or so, but nothing eye catching with wealth. To his disgust, there were items from a savage land spread throughout the room. What kind of proper woman had such images permitted in her home?
The lady in question stepped into the room.
She… was not a beauty, was Percy's first thoughts. The girl was tall for her age, and quite thin. She did not possess the classical traits looked for in women – the pale skin, gold hair, and rosy cheeks. Her eyes were a dull grey-green, and her hair was dark with hardly a curl.
Nevertheless she was rich, that was all that mattered to the nobleman.
Sara curtsied to him, and he gave her a formal bow. As they were seated, and the tea things brought out, he began to engage her with pretty compliments.
"Miss Crewe, you have been the talk of town for quite some time now, but I can see now that you far surpass the rumors they say about you."
Sara's eyes flickered with emotion. When the maid had arrived to her room breathless with worry and anxiety, Sara immediately had misgivings about the man who Mrs. Carmichael had insisted she meet. She knew what he meant about the rumors. Her reclusiveness and extreme wealth provided fuel to the gossip mill that was the London social scene. The girl would not draw conclusions now. She merely observed him with intense eyes, thanking him politely after a moment or two.
Lord Smythe's thoughts shifted further in disappointment. The rich foundling did not speak in the high-pitched voice and twittering giggles used to attract most men his age. Her voice was actually quite low. With surprise, he noticed that she did not have a quick and pleasing retort most women practiced daily in response to his comments on her charms.
"I heard you live close to the museum district, Lord Smythe," Sara queried, remembering the only bit of information that interested her from Mrs. Carmichael's description of the privileged man.
He preened noticeably, "Yes, I inherited my father's estate after his death. It's the largest manor in the richest part of London." This was the part most women were interested about him, and he was glad to elaborate on his property.
The woman noticed the callous way he tossed about the fate of his father, and the fact that he neglected to mention ever setting foot in a museum. The man continued on about the extent of his possessions, enough so that Sara was glad to see someone come in to take away the tea set and dishes.
Unfortunately as the teapot was being picked up, Lord Percy gave an enthusiastic wave with the hand holding his grand cane, knocking the woman to the ground.
"Watch where you step, you fool!" he snarled at the unfortunate victim, irked that the servant girl had gotten in his way.
He gave a glance over to her mistress, expecting her to provide the same rebuke.
Sara gave no such reply, not even a startled scream at the falling of delicate china. She merely stood from her chair calmly.
Percy gave a nervous smile. Perhaps Sara was angry that he had chastised her maid. The lowborn girl was only property. He must be intruding on Sara's territory. After all, when they were married, the house would be her domain; the rest of the world would be his. He was prepared to stand back and watch her lecture her maid into submissiveness, however, her next words stunned him instead.
"I believe, we've taken up enough of each other's time, Lord Smythe." she murmured in that strange low voice of hers, and to his surprise, Sara bent to actually assist her housemaid to her feet!
The lady paid no attention to the lord, instead seating the fallen girl in her actual chair, mindless of the dirt or crumbs the servant girl could have possessed. It was all quite unheard of to the bourgeois man!
He stood when she did as politeness dictated with his mouth agape and mind spinning.
"You cannot be serious!" he exclaimed still struggling to understand. "You do realize why I am here, you silly girl?!"
When she was young, back in the nightmare that was Miss Minchin's Seminary, Sara had pretended to be a princess, keeping her decorum and poise in all of her actions. Now that she was older, and a little more world-wise, Sara had knew how important it was to remain so.
But now was not the time.
Fire flashed in the heiress' eyes, turning the smoky green into bright emeralds. This was no meek, weak-willed girl. Everyone had revered Sara Crewe as an angel, a princess, but few had encountered her strong temper. Percy thought if she had been a man, Sara would have knocked him head over heels to the ground by now.
"You are only here because of the extent of my wealth and perhaps the prospect of a pretty doll for you to parade around town!" Sara bit out whirling to face him. All pretense of being polite company was long gone by now. She took a deep breath.
"Did you know, Lord Smythe, that we've met before?"
From the expression on his face, Sara could judge that he had no idea what she was talking about. He, on the other hand, was positive he would have remembered meeting a wealthy woman such as Sara Crewe.
Her eyes took on a distant look.
"I was much different than how I look now. You, however, are exactly the same. Several years ago, dressed in your fine clothes, you knocked aside a shabby girl dressed in black carrying a basket of heavy groceries."
She looked at him dead in the eye with her flashing eyes. "You didn't even acknowledge me. You were in such a hurry to jump into your grand carriage. I thought time would change you, but you are exactly the same – cold and callous towards anyone not of your social sphere!"
Sara continued on.
"It was an accident why I became who she is. It was an accident why I am still not in her shoes," the angry girl gestured to the resting servant girl. "It is an accident why she is not me! But even so, even before I lost everything, I still knew to treat others kindly, no matter how much money they had or their status in life. You have never learned that." She turned her back to the irate man, "I will not accept any idea of court ship from you. Good day, sir."
The servant girl who had answered the door when he first arrived now appeared behind him with his hat and coat. She was lucky. She had a fine mistress to set an example for her. The girl looked at him steadily, with no fear, merely handing him his belongings without even a curtsey.
With shaking steps he staggered out the door, pondering how he had lost the chance at her riches.
Sara shook her head sadly as she knelt and took the fallen maid's worn hands in her own. The rich lord would never understand why she had dismissed him so coldly. Had it been another servant girl, perhaps Sara would have held a more civil tongue, but it was her dear friend.
Becky, who had played handmaid to Sara when the poor girl was too stupefied from her father's death and change in fortune to do anything at all.
Becky, who Sara asked to support her in evaluating her first suitor.
Becky, who had taken time from her own tasks to play tea maid to a fop.
Becky, who was worth more than all the diamonds in the world.
