The Greatest of These – Details


The Greatest of These

For years I have had this image in my mind of a small girl being escorted to take up her first post in the vampires’ household, because it was such an obvious and simple way to hunt. Millie never quite made it properly onto the page though because I always found Darla so hard to write. Until one day I began to realize that for many Victorian women the key to an autonomous and meaningful existence was charity, and the opportunities for independent action that it gave them.

Dedication
Written for Shapinglight’s Darla Ficathon. Many thanks to her for organising the ficathon and then performing an excellent beta job.
Summary
Darla engages in a routine piece of hunting.
Spoilers
None.
Period
1883
Written
October 2009
Word Count
5,920 words
Rating
All Ages
Characters
Darla
Content
Events involve a small child and vampires, but nothing graphic is described.
Footnotes
2 footnotes

Teaser

‘Don’t dawdle, Green!’

Nurse Clouter’s voice sounded even harsher and more scoursome than usual, Millie thought. She bent over her boot, retying the bow of the lace with great care, getting the halves exactly even. In fact, if it hadn’t been Nurse Clouter – who told everyone only babies were afraid of the dark as she snapped the gas off at night – with anyone but Nurse Clouter, Millie would have thought her voice sounded scared.

Millie stood up carefully and considered her two feet in their new boots. ‘It’s Greenly.’ She looked up into an outraged O of a mouth. ‘My name is Greenly, not Green. Millie Saint Greenly.’ She had only discovered the middle part recently herself, when The Master of the Institute had summoned her to The Office, where he had told her that she was eleven years old and when a child reached eleven years old the Guardians, being good and generous people, for which she must be very grateful, arranged for that child to earn her own living in Gainful Employment. And she – Millie Saint Greenly – was to be a scullery maid, and what did she think of that, eh?

Millie hadn’t really known what she thought of it, the question catching her out sudden like, but she had said she was Very Grateful because that was always a safe reply and The Master had seemed pleased. And so she had been given two yards of cotton print and one yard of canvas, all at The Parish’s expense, for which she must be grateful, and told to make a new dress and two new aprons and three caps to go away and be a scullery maid in.

And while she had worked, Millie had brooded on her new discovered name. She would have liked to ask if being a Saint meant she would one day be with her Mother. Her Mother was an Angel in Heaven Singing With God’s Heavenly Choir, which her friend Sarah Boggs had assured her was a very good thing. She knew that if you were very lucky then one day an Angel might come down and take you up to Heaven, and she had rather hoped that being a Saint might help if the Angel knew about it, but Sarah Boggs had gone away three months before to be a tweeny, so she had nobody to ask.

‘Oh you dawdling little slut!’ Nurse Clouter pinched her arm and then pinched it again on exactly the same spot which she always managed to do even if you moved your arm away really quickly. ‘Dirty, idle, lying, ungrateful, little slut. And don’t you dawdle. Do you want to be late? Late for them’s as good and kind enough to give the likes of you Gainful Employment. Oh the wicked ingratitude of it! Just you come along of me right now!’

She grabbed Millie’s hand and dragged her along the street, presumably because Millie had now proved herself too untrustworthy to walk under her own locomotion.

Millie wondered how she could be considered a liar for mentioning her correct name instead of agreeing to the false one, but she also knew that she must be in deep disgrace, because to be called Ungrateful was the worst epithet there was in the Marylebone Institute for Destitute and Foundling Children. She knew that she should have hung her head and accepted Nurse Clouter’s pinches as her just due, and fixed her eyes humbly on her boots as they scuffed through the dirt and dust of the streets.

Except that the boots were new – not new to the world, perhaps, but certainly new to Millie, and black and shiny, with eight eyelet holes on each side rather than the mere two of the regulation boots in the Marylebone Institute for Destitute and Foundling Children.

Besides, the streets weren’t dirty at all. They seemed quite fresh really, as if someone had worked very hard with a broom in front of every house to push the dust into the little piles in the gutter which a man in a brown coat was shovelling up neatly into a small hand-barrow. The leaves on the fine young trees that marched along the streets were a lovely transparent sort of green, and the sky was blue, blue, blue, and her feet weren’t shuffling at all. In fact she couldn’t seem to stop them skipping sometimes. And when the man in the brown coat winked at her as they walked past she felt a little smile bubbling up inside her so she had to clamp her lips very tight shut to stop from laughing.

Read on…


Disclaimer

Buffy The Vampire Slayer and Angel, and all the characters in them, are the property of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Twentieth Century Fox, the WB, UPN, and just about everybody else on the planet except me. I acknowledge this fully; and I promise I’m only playing with them without hope of profit. I will put them back in the box carefully when I’m done and apologise if they got a bit hurt while I was using them. But come on, they are vampires, they can probably take it.

Please be aware that since the stories involve vampires some of the subject matter may be unpleasant or otherwise not suitable for children. To help protect minors and those of a sensitive nature, all the pages on this site are labelled with ICRA.