Author's note: My apologies, this has taken longer to come up with than expected; hopefully it has turned out okay.

I'd like to thank those of you who have reviewed this story; it's wonderful to get feedback. Also to Annie (I'm afraid I cannot reply to you personally as you're not a registered user) I'm glad you stuck with it, hopefully the italics don't annoy you too much!

Enjoy :)

7

It's not what she expected, not at all. She thought being a mother would get easier the more children she had; wrong. She thought daughters would be a walk in the park; wrong again. She thought she'd be the one in control; wrong, wrong, wrong. Nothing in her life had prepared her for motherhood. No one had seen fit to warn her that, at best, daughters were demanding and difficult; she was raising Little Ladies, not Little Women, and apparently they were quite a different breed. Mary's bossy and overly opinionated, Edith's clingy and far too sensitive, and Sybil won't sit still for a minute and feels the need to question anything and everything.

An hour with the three of them together gives her a headache, an outing with them is enough to send her to bed for a week, but this, this, is beyond anything she's steeled herself for. Robert, of course, cannot possibly fathom what the problem is. He doesn't understand; he's been in London with Cousin James so often this year that he's barely seen the girls all together. He thinks his wife exaggerates, a trait common among Americans according to his mother, and that the girls are just a little spirited, she can think of a few other words to describe them. Needless to say, her husband and their dear Mama always get their own way and all Cora can do is smile and pray to God it's over quickly.

When the dreaded day arrives it brings the rain and her mother-in-law to the house and she feels she cannot possibly face the day without a sip of brandy maybe two. Her first task, once she's settled the Dowager with some tea and has left her and Robert to await their final guest, is to get her daughters dressed for the occasion. It's with a heavy heart that she ascends the stairs to the girls' nursery and pushes open their door to find...an empty room. Their clothes are all laid out on their respective beds but her daughters are nowhere in sight. She's about to ring for one of the maids when O'Brien arrives, slightly out of breath and pink cheeked, looking both formidable and determined in equal measures. "Mi'Lady" she puffs out, "I'm afraid we have a slight problem". "Can I assume this has something to do with my missing children, O'Brien? Or is there some other catastrophe I am to deal with, as well?" Miss O'Brien doesn't shrink under Cora's withering glare, only straightens her shoulders and inclines her head back down the corridor, "You best come with me, Mi'Lady".

She follows O'Brien down the corridor and the servants' staircase, neither woman speaking a word, until they reach the kitchen. The first sight to greet her eyes is Mrs Patmore rocking herself on a chair and wringing a cloth between hands that are almost as red as her face; the poor woman looks traumatised, and it's very evident why. Cora views the rest of the kitchen with mounting horror; the air is thick with settling flour, the floor is strewn with broken crockery and food and the kitchen maids are looking more bedraggled and dirty than a chimney sweep. Her eyes eventually settle on three little figures sat directly in the middle of all the chaos; Mary looks bored out of her mind and is distractedly dislodging some remnant of God knows what from under her nail, Edith is quietly sobbing and hugging herself whilst Sibyl delightedly licks jam off her hands. Cora is livid. She glares at the girls until, one by one their eyes are drawn to her. She finds she cannot speak to them and just points one trembling finger at the staircase. The two youngest dash past her quickly but Mary stands more slowly and, instead of doing as her mother bids her, makes her way over to the now sobbing cook. She places one lily-white hand on the woman's arm and says in a softer voice than Cora's ever heard her use before, "I'm very sorry Mrs Patmore, we never meant to upset you. We just wanted to help you make some cakes, we didn't realise it could get so messy". She lets out a nervous chuckle which is immediately lost amidst Mrs Patmore's strangled sobs and Cora forcefully manoeuvres her towards the stairs before directing her own apology towards the entire kitchen staff. She feels a pang of sorrow when she takes a final glance at the mess her daughters have made that the staff will now have to clear up before she follows her children up the stairs with O'Brien trailing in her wake.

They allow themselves, for once, to be washed and dressed with almost no fuss although Mary must insist that she should be allowed to bathe without her sisters- a request that is vehemently denied. They're a subdued, and chastised, little party when they arrive in the drawing room. Cora expects some remark of surprise at their melancholy state but one look at her husband and mother-in-law tells her they're already aware of the whole sorry tale. She almost feels sorry for the girls when Robert starts to berate them for their behaviour, but then she remembers Mrs Patmore's distraught face and decides it can't hurt for them to be further shamed. She manages barely to withhold a smile when Sybil innocently interrupts her father's sermon with a, "But Papa, have you tried Mrs Patmore's strawberry jam? It was so terribly nice; I do hope we can have some for pudding".

Eventually it's time for the main event; she's almost lost her dread of it now, surely it can't be as bad as what's already occurred today. She's pleasantly surprised that the whole thing goes off without a hitch. The girls are meek and polite and allow Mr Garner to direct their positions, and how to hold their hands, and when to smile. He takes six photographs in all and promises to have them delivered by the end of the week. The girls are praised for their good behaviour, but Cora insists they should not go unpunished for their earlier indiscretion. They're marched down to the kitchen after dinner to formally apologise to the staff, and present Mrs Patmore with some flowers, before being sent to bed without any supper and no chance to play. At least, Cora thinks, her husband can be in no further doubt of their daughters' spirits.

When the pictures arrive a few days later Cora is a little disappointed. Oh, they're of a fine quality, and the girls look so pretty, but they just don't look like her daughters. In two of them Mary's eyes are downcast and she looks almost humble, Sybil's only managed to smile on half of them and Edith's eyes are not once directed at the camera. They all look so dispirited and there's not a hint of mischief to be found in any of them; it isn't natural. She refuses to have them framed and placed about the house; instead she gives half of them to Violet and allows Robert to put the rest in his dressing room. Two weeks later she orders the photographer back and, this time, when she receives the photographs she chuckles and has them framed immediately. There're only two this time, Sybil wouldn't stay still long enough for more, but she thinks they're the most beautiful pictures she's ever seen. Her favourite one she puts in her bedroom and she smiles fondly at it every night; Edith sulking in the background, Mary mid-argument with the photographer, one little eyebrow raised haughtily, and Sybil sat on her knee happily munching on a biscuit. Oh, so her daughters are not perfect – who is? – and they are a constant test to her nerves, but she wouldn't change anything about them for the world, not one little thing.