Disclaimer: the views and opinions expressed in this chapter, and in this story as a whole, are solely those of the respective characters and do not necessarily reflect the views of MoonDriver. In plain language: O'Brien's bitching is O'Brien's bitching, and Violet's intolerance and crass ignorance of other cultures are hers only.
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As simple as it may have seemed at first glance, different ladies actually had, in Sarah's experience, very different expectations when it came to getting dressed – some of the women she had served would want to play more or less of an active part in the process, putting on their jewellery, brushing their hair, or even fastening the occasional reachable button; others preferred to be waited on hand, foot, and finger and couldn't be bothered to put on their drawers and chemise themselves. Lady Grantham obviously belonged to the latter category.
Seeing her standing around in her white nightgown waiting to be undressed had Sarah wonder if the countess really was as clumsy as she had seemed to be when they had first met. She was in any case every bit as kind as Sarah remembered, and despite the knot of nerves in her stomach, she couldn't help but feel a gentle warmth envelop her in the wake of Lady Grantham's reassuring words and friendly smiles. She had felt both happy and anxious when Mrs Hughes had left the room, shooting her one last, fully unwarranted warning glance, and her Ladyship had risen from her seat at the dressing table to go stand before the cheval glass.
Sarah's fingers trembled slightly as she grabbed the edge of the silken garment. The countess instinctively raised her arms and she pulled it over her head, leaving her completely nude before her.
It took all of her willpower and professionalism not to stare, and she hastily turned aside to reach for the bloomers that lay on the bench at the foot of the bed. Sarah had only caught a fleeting glimpse of her nakedness before she had dutifully averted her gaze, but it had been enough to steal her breath away.
With her impossibly long legs and tiny waist, Cora Crawley was all slenderness and elegant lines. Her body was flawless, the pale skin of her breasts and stomach looking so incredibly soft to the touch. Add to that her icy blue eyes, shiny dark locks and finely chiselled features, and she truly was the most perfect creature Sarah had ever seen. She felt privileged to be allowed to see her when she was so exposed, at her purest, without any artifice and yet so beautiful that Sarah had to blink back the tears welling up in her eyes.
Sarah came back to her four times in the course of that day, wrapping her in layers of cloths which she would then peel off mere hours later, lacing and unlacing until time became a blur of cotton and linen, muslin and satin, mingling with the texture of the woman's skin under Sarah's fingertips, the delicate scent of her perfume, the velvety sound of her voice, and the feel of Sarah's fingers sliding through her silky hair.
She enjoyed the evening dressing most of all, knowing that dinner was the time for the most luxurious fabrics, the most elaborate hairstyles. Once she was done, Sarah watched as Lady Grantham, clad in burgundy satin with black embroidery, inspected her reflection in the mirror. The countess turned this way and that, considering herself from every angle, before spinning around and flashing her a radiant smile.
1902
As time passed, Sarah got acquainted with a much less pleasant part of her duties.
One late summer morning, Mrs Hughes had her sent up during one of her daily meetings with the Countess of Grantham... Even her Ladyship's smile and the prospect of a pay rise couldn't stop Sarah's heart from plummeting in her chest when she was told that the eldest daughter, who was about to turn twelve, would now be making use of the services of a proper maid. And the second sister was soon to follow.
Although she had never had much interaction with the Granthams' offspring, Sarah wasn't fully inexperienced when it came to children. After all when she was just a girl herself, she had watched over many a bawling, snotty brat. Unfortunately, the grown woman that she was now was painfully aware that asserting her authority by liberally handing out slaps wouldn't be an option this time around. Based on the little she knew about Lady Mary, it would have been the ideal course of action if she were to retain her sanity.
She put up with the little nuisance's every whim for months without batting an eyelid, lest she antagonized starry-eyed Lady Grantham, whose gullibility knew no bounds when it came to her eldest child. It was during that time that Sarah finally began to see the countess for who she really was – not perfection made woman like she had believed, but a human being with faults and weaknesses, a mother who did love all of her daughters but still had her favourites. Since she was neither pretty nor endearing, Sarah had never been anyone's favourite, whether at home, at school or even at work. Therefore, she supposed it must be only natural that she would side with the family's black sheep.
Quite surprisingly, Sarah had come to realize that she might have coped well enough with – if not enjoyed – her task, had Lady Edith been her only charge. She couldn't help but pity her, the ugly duckling among her sisters, who wouldn't have seemed nearly so ugly if she hadn't been perpetually starved of love and attention. The unassuming young lady faded away into the background next to an older sister who ruled the roost and a little princess who was their mother's pride and joy.
Sarah eventually ran out of patience on the day when she caught Lady Mary red-handed during a particularly cruel instance of bullying, but, although tempted, she knew better than to lay even a single finger on her. After all, words were powerful enough of a weapon to one who knew how to wield them. Lady Mary had overstepped the mark by a long shot, and Sarah later got her to understand that she would keep her mouth shut only as long as she didn't mess with her. But not before giving her a nasty fright for good measure.
The incident obviously did nothing to improve their already strained relationship. Lady Mary loathed her in silence and Sarah quietly loathed her back, all the while never neglecting to address her as 'Milady'. She had prevailed in the end, and that was all that mattered.
1904
Sarah tolerated the situation, just barely, because it was an indispensable step on the way to her ultimate goal; she still needed more time, and many more of the little scraps of confidence she gleaned from the countess during the quiet moments they spent together in the privacy of her rooms every Monday afternoon, as they went over the outfits Sarah intended the girls to wear that week.
Lady Grantham seemed to have taken a liking to her, and despite all the efforts she had devoted to making it happen, Sarah could scarcely believe her luck. Little by little, she could feel herself relaxing around her mistress, until one day she ended up blurting out a comment whose consequences could have gone far beyond a half-hearted rebuke.
Sarah was distractedly listening to another of her Ladyship's rants against the Dowager Countess of Grantham, thinly disguised as an anecdote from yesterday night's dinner, while she folded and piled up the dresses the woman had strewn across her bed and sorted them into two neat piles – one for each of her daughters. The dowager countess was Lady Grantham's nemesis and also happened to be one of her pet subjects.
According to the unspoken rules governing this type of interaction between lady and maid, Sarah knew perfectly well that she wasn't expected to contribute to the discussion beyond making a few sympathetic noises, and so she did, until she heard something that almost caused her to drop all of Lady Edith's clothes on the floor.
The old hag had gone and ridiculed her Ladyship's choice of attire in her own house and in front of the entire family, casually remarking to Lord Grantham that she wouldn't be surprised if 'Cora next went down to dinner wearing a feathered war bonnet'. As it happened, Sarah had been the one to dress her on Sunday evening, serving as a last-minute replacement for Miss Adams, who had been taken ill, and she thought that she now understood all too well why Violet Crawley got up the nose of her usually placid daughter-in-law.
"She's one to talk. With those ghastly bustles of hers..."
Sarah twitched as she suddenly realized that she had thought aloud and nearly bit her tongue in panic. That would teach her to let her guard down in that way.
Lady Grantham's head whipped toward her, her eyes wide in shock, her mouth slightly agape. She stared at her for a few seconds... then suddenly dissolved into laughter, one her hands coming up in order to try and smother her uncontrollable giggles.
In that moment, Sarah knew that she had waited long enough after all.
A.N. The whole part about Mary bullying her sister is a direct reference to a one-shot that was published years ago on Tumblr. I highly recommend it, not only so you can find out exactly what I had in mind while writing, but also because it is a really nice read. I doubt Fanfiction would let me directly link to it, so here is how you can find it easily. Just Google 'Sarah O'Brien support group Sarah is a lioness' and enjoy!