by Lisa Olsen
“You can call me Sara.” It felt strange with everybody my Ladying her over and over.
“No, my Lady, I most certainly can not,” Mrs. Poole replied, her voice grave with disapproval. “Is there anything else you require before you retire for the night?”
Chastened, Sara shook her head before realizing Mrs. Poole wanted her to say something. “No, I’m good, thanks.”
“Very well. If you have need of anything at all, you can ring for assistance, day or night,” she pointed to a tasseled rope hanging next to the headboard.
“Oh,” Sarah blinked; it was like something straight out of the movies. “I’m sure I’ll be fine. Thanks again for everything, have a good night.”
“Thank you, my Lady, sleep well.”
By the time Sara got her toiletries unpacked and arranged in the cabinet next to the sink and changed into her nightgown, the house had settled down for the night; the only sound the crackling of the fire. The fireplace was big enough to stand up in if she ducked slightly, and she was afraid the Pooles had been a little overzealous in their attempt to keep her warm. “I won’t need the blankets at all,” she murmured, moving to the set of corner windows to see if she could crack one of them open.
The frame was hard to manage at first, stuck from years of disuse, but it popped open with a groan when she pushed a little harder, leaving a three inch gap. The cool night air rushed in, heavily laced with scents from the gardens and Sara glimpsed neat rows of flower beds below. Lilac, lavender, hyacinth, and roses most probably, though it was hard to see from the height through the narrow gap. Delighted with such a find, Sara pulled the window closed so it was only open a crack to let in a little fresh air and hopped into bed.
Immediately enveloped in downy comfort, she wriggled down into a sea of pillows. “I am Sara J. Darling, millionaire,” she yawned. “I own a mansion and a yacht.” The dreamy smile stayed fixed on her lips until well after sleep claimed her for the night.
