I sat in the cart next to my father, not speaking to him for the whole way to the town.

Finishing school? A preposterous idea, me thinks.

I 'ad te say g'bye to all I loved, only te hafta suffer the likes of the daughters of dukes an' earls an' trash like that.

There would be nothin' for me there, in the Finishing Academy for the Young Women of London.

I s'pose it'd be best not te resist me father's way, b'cause his way will stand in the end, no matter 'ow stubborn I am. And I'm pretty stubborn.

Anyways,

We pulled up te the school, a fine establishment. So fine I 'ad the obligation te spit upon the sidewalk, b'fore my father boxed my ears for 'at display, gave me my bags, and road off, after seeing me enter the buildin'.

I was seen insaide by Madame Bissette, a rather scary lookin' woman, with a drawn, gaunt face, that made 'er look like the establishment regularly tortured 'er by pullin' 'er guts out an' makin' her watch.

Wow, that was pretty disgustin' o' me ter say. But that's what Madame looked like.

'You must be Ms. Silver, late for the start of term of course, I expected no less from the likes of your family. Come along, I will show you to your room, and bring you the proper attire, and then I will personally escort you to supper with the other girls.' She said all 'at b'for I could protest her comment about the likes of me.

I meekly followed 'er to the green room, where everythin' was green. The carpets, rugs, walls, curtains, bedsheets and linens, and the plants and lamp shades as well. It was very rich compared to the ol' farm, but still, not my taste at all.

I was brought a green (go figure) dress with a square neckline, many petticoats, and puffy sleeves. It was gorgeous, I had to admit, if only to m'self.

I didn't like dresses an' such, I'd been too poor to afford them, and I felt out of place in this. I picked up a thing that resembled a bodice. 'What's this?'

Madame snorted, 'it's a corset.'

''Ow do you wear it?'

'for one thing, I will show you today, and second, if you are truly worthy of this school, you will speak like a proper lady, instead of rattling off Cockney.'

I rolled my eyes and cursed under my breath.

'Use of such colourful language is not permissible in this house either, Ms. Silver.'

Was this woman a witch, or was it just good hearing? I guess I didn't want to find out, so I changed into the petticoats and everything, and she returned in two mintues to help me with the corset.

I immediately coughed, and gasped. I couldn't breathe.

'How old are you, Ms. Silver?'

'Going on fifteen.'

'Good.' 'Why?'

'So I know how to tighten your corset, of course!'

ahh, so my waist had to equal my age. I literally flet my waist shirnk and me boobs pop up, a new phenom'non te me. That doesn't mean I liked it. I choked.

'you'll have to learn to keep that gasping in,' Ms. Silver.'

'I'll try my best, Madame Bissette,' I said through m'teeth.

This school would be the death o' me yet. I s'pose when I learn te write, I'll write home, and as da and ma know how te read, I'll tell 'em that I hate it here.

Five minutes in the school, and I was already learnin'. How to not breathe. Five minutes and me life was bein' threatened.

I s'pose tha's a new record for me.

Maybe I'll write that letter.

Or take more drastic measures.

I haven't gone down to dinner, and though I'm famished, I'm already plannin' an escape. I truly must be going mad here. I'll crack by the end o' term...unless I'm gone by then.

I went ter dinner with the other girls. I was late and the Etiquette Mistress was most displeased .

I took the empty seat she gestured to. Everyone was apparently waitin' for dinner te be served.

A girl came in with a big bowl. She took a ladle and spooned soup into every girl's dish. Nobody said thank ye. This surprised me.

I'd never been ter finishin' school, and I knew better than t' not say thank ye when I was given summat.

When the maid came to my dish, and ladled the soup into my bowl, I uttered, 'Thank you.'

She looked utterly socked t'hear thanks going to 'er.

'Ms. Silver!' Mistress had apparently learned me name. 'We do not speak at the dinner table!'

(An: I got this from A little Princess, but I thought it was cool.)

'sorry ma'am.'

She was taken aback by my 'colloquialisms' as she put it. I guess it's a good thing we can't talk at the table, because the only reaction the girls had was silent sniggers.

I was near the head of the table, right next to Etiquette Mistress. I started swinging my legs as I looked around at the finery of the hall.

My leg struck something, and Etiquette Mistress stiffened.

DAMN IT! HOLY SHITE!

I'd just kicked my teacher! I was not getting' a good start. I looked her way, and was the recipient of the most evil looking expression I'd seen. My eyes widened and I looked away, trying t'play innocent.

After dinner, we were to go to our lessons. I had writing first. How lucky.

We had to copy from the blackboard. I tried, I really did, but my letters were shaky. I had learned t'draw with coal when I was young, but I'd never 'eld a quill b'fore, and cursive wasn't as easy as it looked.

Writing Mistress came over. 'You don't know how to write?'

I heard sniggers.

'Young ladies, need I inform the Etiquette Mistress just how many nosey parkers we have yet to educate?' The girls shut up and kept writin'.

'I don't.' I mumbled in shame.

Writing Mistress' blue eyes looked on me kindly. 'No matter, see me after class. I'll take it upon myself that you catch up with the class by the end of the week.'

'I don't think that's possible ma'am.'

'Why ever not, Ms. Silver?'

'I don' know 'ow t'read either.'

Her look changed to one of a little more concern. 'Then we'll have to work harder.'

Somethin' about 'er made me like her, made me smile. I decided to try a hand at copying the paragraph on the board anyway. My quill broke under my hand.

After the lesson was over, I reported to the teacher.

'Ms. Silver, I want you to come see me everyone afternoon for an hour after all lessons, and I can teach you to read and write. You have catch up to the class, or there won't be a point in teaching you.'

'yes, ma'am.'

'All right. Now, I assume you have sewing next. You best be going.'

I ran off to the garden, where the lesson took place. It was spring, and I'd be missing what the winter had promised would be the most beautiful spring my home had seen in years. I had to watch it from the isolation of a brick mansion full of rich people.

I took a seat on a bench under an oak tree. Soon Sewing Mistress came over, handed me some supplies, told me ter sew a rose onto the cloth. Then, she left.

Sewing, I could do, as my mum had taught me. I think my stitches were too big, and none too gracefully done, but I didn't get the thread tangled up in knots and the rose came out pretty well at the end of the hour. I'd spent enough time making my own clothes and mending those of my brothers' when they'd gone and ripped them and didn't want mum t'find out.

After that class, I had speech in the library, where I was told to drop the Cockney dialect, because it made me sound like I'd been raised in a barn.

That made me snort and say, 'Well, I DID grow up on a farm, ma'am.madam.'

The teacher just gave me a pained looked. I was given a list of things to say out loud, and ter practice.

For instance, it's to, not ter.

Before, not b'fore Thank you, not thankye You're, your, not yer Somewhat, not summat

I looked over the list again, after evening tea, when we were free to do as we pleased. I felt so fake to be speaking so proper.ly. What would it be to talk to my family when I returned home? I suppose I would speak to them as always. But then, I'd feel as if I were putting on airs, if I spoke to strangers.

Anyhow, I retired to my room, where I met the other four girls who'd be living there.

There was Hatty Smith, who was the snobbiest, and likely the richest of them. She had to best friends. The blonde, thin one was Jane Shaw, from Canterbury. She had a miffed look on her face. The other was from Liverpool, and named Fiona Harrison, the daughter of some duke or other. She had a pleasant look about her, which said nothing about her personality. She was extremely thin, yet dressed in a corset like the other girls.

Here is this room was also the girl who had served the soup. I found out her name was Annette DuBois Valjean. She was from France, of a family as poor as mine. She and I struck up conversation.

She told me she worked her to earn her keep. At first, the other girls had liked her, as she was French, and French was the language of refined people according to this school. And so they had assumed her rich. But when they saw her serving soup for the first time, they immediately began to mock her, and no longer found her accent nor heritage charming.

I found her to be attractive to me as a friend. She was polite, and had a wonderful sense of humour.

She taught me a few French phrases, in exchange I would help her speak as the English do. I almost said no, but she laughed and said she would love tolearn to rattle off Cockney like I did. So I agreed.

We went out to the garden. I told her of my first acquaintance with Hatty and the other girls. They assumed I was rich, because Hatty assumed despite my dialect, I lived on a fox farm, where my father bred them to make fur coats. I didn't have the chance to respond and say no, that my father would never do such a thing to an animal, so I wasn't tormented terribly by the other girls.

Annette and I finished our walk when it was dark.

My first day had been an nightmare at this school, and I had many more to come.