III.

Marianne is sequestered in the bedroom loft, combing through some old clothes that have been kept locked away in a wardrobe. She is doing what she can to tidy herself: having already cleaned her face, and washed her hair, and shined her shoes; now, if only she could find something a tad nicer to wear, instead of her usual pithy selection of patchwork blouses. 

Queen Elizabeth hovers at her side, watching with a slightly amused grin. 

"I understand that you wish to look more presentable, for your second meeting with Miss Lafferty..." She says. "However, if I may be so blunt, it is highly unlikely you will impress anyone dressed in such threadbare rags as these."

Marianne casts her a glare. "These are my mother's old things."

"I should think you're better off presenting as you are, rather than dressing up."

Marianne stares into the mirror, trying on a dress in her reflection.

Looking at herself, all she can feel is revulsion.

Luella should be ashamed to be seen in the company of pne so hideous.

A whole week has passed. It is now the Sunday when she and Luella had agreed to meet again, just before parting ways. Marianne has gone without food ever since, out of a desire to not spend any of her hard-earned savings; she is exceptionally weary, insofar as she is exceptionally desperate for this arrangement to yield results.

She continues her search until she finds the nicest dress of the bunch, as well as the primary reason for why she'd thought to consult the wardrobe in the first place…

Retrieving it from out of the dusty confines, she smiles exuberantly.

Queen Elizabeth stares at the item in horror.

"Please reconsider! By wearing such a thing, you'll look positively ridiculous!" 

But Marianne, not paying her criticisms any mind, proceeds to try on a wig, in the style of a short brunette bob. Even though, much like with the clothes, she knows it is perhaps a little too big for her, but sees no recourse but to wear it anyway. She tops off her newly acquired look with a soft ladies' hat, crested with vibrantly colorful feathers, and now is finally ready to check herself in the mirror.

At the first sight of her reflection, little Mariane is struck speechless.

In an instant, all the precious memories come flooding back to her: Memories of long strolls through the park, feeling the warm sun on her face; of waking up early to the smell of a fresh bread loaf rising in the kitchen; of buying candies at the market: all these recollections of a distant, happier time, now inextricably tinged with sadness.

She wonders, if perhaps her mother could see her now: whether she'd be more proud, or sad, for all that she'd had to endure in order to survive on her own this far.

Could this be a kind of life you wanted me to live?

**********

Luella is already at the fountain when Marianne arrives. 

"Marianne!" She exclaims at the sight of her. "I didn't recognize you!"

Only, this time--as  planned--she isn't alone: here accompanied by two adults.

 "I was telling my mum and dad all about you--and now, here you are."

"Mum, dad...this is my friend, Marianne."

Ms. Lafferty waves, smiling brightly. She bears a striking resemblance to Luella, with much the same endearing physicalities and charm; only with longer locks of the same autumn colored hair, as well as a claim to a certain quiet grace that one only acquires with age.

"Luella has spoken kindly of you." She says. "I'm afraid she doesn't have very many friends within our circles, so I do hope you'll get along."

"Mother!" Luella snaps. "Don't embarrass me!"

She giggles. "Pardon me, dear; I am simply so glad for you."

Mr. Lafferty, meanwhile, appears to make no note of Marianne's presence. He is tall, most notably in contrast to the pair of petite ladies beside him, with his back turned to her so that he faces the fountain.

"Darling..." Ms. Lafferty whispers to him sweetly.

At this prompting, the gent initially only offers a sideways glance toward Marianne, at which moment their eyes meet: his is a cold, steely grey gaze, pouncing on her with an unbridled intensity from his handsomely carved, ashen-pale face bearing mutton chop sideburns that were very much 'the style' in those days; with blonde hair that is cut short, and slicked back with expensive oils. He wears a dapper half-buttoned gray suit and pants, with black cravat. In his right palm rests a dark walking cane, and unlike the many lesser folk who walk the street barefoot, his shoes are finally polished to a sheen.

He speaks in an imposing, manly voice full of seriousness; at once commanding and powerful, and yet simultaneously as smooth as silk to the ears; bearing a refined Londoner's accent.

"That is...quite the shoddy wig you're wearing."

Marianne gasps, her face at once flushed red with embarrassment--somehow he'd been able to see through her disguise right away, before even having a full look at her! 

Luella is quick to jump to her defense. 

"Father!" She snaps. "Why must you say something so cruel!?"

Marianne says nothing. She merely locks eyes with Luella briefly--sending a message of discomfort--only to be met with a meek, apologetic look, and a defeated sigh.

"I thought I smelled a fire, when my daughter was acting so excited."

"I say, is that old thing your best attempt to impress?" He says, allowing a sliver of contempt to materialize in his stone cold face, in the form of an arched brow and sneering, stern lip. "My step-daughter, bless her heart, has a habit of bringing home stray kittens. I suppose that I shouldn't be surprised she's now graduated onto begging street urchins."

"Where do you live, hm? If you even have a place to call home."

Marianne begins to sweat, unable to get a single word in as Mr. Lafferty's rant resumes, unabated:

"Making garments is hard, meticulous work, you know."

"I pride myself on delivering high quality products to my customers--so why place my faith in a mere child?"

He pauses briefly, staring expectantly at Marianne for a response.

Seconds pass in silence. She opens her mouth, but her mind is completely blank; dismal as her life may be, never before has she been put on the spot to apologize for being an orphan, such as it feels like is happening right now.

Mr. Lafferty eventually sighs, looking disappointed.

"Of course, I pity you in your situation…"

"The fault clearly lies with your parents, but it is you alone that must pick up the  pieces they left behind."

"Such a shame. It breaks my heart to see such tragedy."

Luella suddenly springs forward, to stand in between him and Marianne.

"Father, stop it already! Can't you see Marianne is about to cry!?"

The other park goers nearby start to notice the unfolding scene. Some are laughing amongst themselves, with the general mood being one of detached amusement.

Marianne, with her arms shaking at her side and pouted lip trembling with fury, can feel their many gazes. She knows a spectacle is what they crave--for her to throw a screaming tantrum, or to lunge at him like some escaped circus animal: so they could laugh and point at her, and call upon a constable to chase her out of the park. However, Marianne won't let them have it: no matter how wicked this man might be, she remembers he is still a potential employer. That this meeting could mean life or death.

In a scenario like this, Marianne knows there is no room for pride.

"My apologies, sir." She says hushedly, accompanied with her best attempt at mimicking the curtsy Luella had given her yesterday.

In one swift motion, she tears her mother's hat and wig off simultaneously, amidst the horrified gasps of the crowd of curious onlookers at the reveal of her bald head. Luella and Ms. Lafferty both react in much the same way, exchanging concerned looks between themselves; whilst Mr. Lafferty, if anything, looks pleased.

It isn't enough to satisfy this creature of power, though. Not by a mile. 

Marianne knows that she must prostrate herself much more than this, in order to earn his approval. She'd dealt with many people like him in the past, such that she had become well-versed in that most universal of languages that they all shared; the most ancient of all languages that is called power. So it is, without any preamble, she acts in the only way she can think to: using both hands, she forcibly stretches the weak fabric until it rips apart, starting from the collar downward. Even as tears fill her eyes, she continues--making it as far down as her waist, before being abruptly halted by Mr. Lafferty himself, by way of him signalling with a slowly raised palm for her to stop.

Everyone in the fountain square is silent. Even the children in the water have stopped their playing, to observe the commotion.

Mr. Lafferty stares daggers at Marianne. 

"Enough with the theatrics." He says, his voice has fallen to a low, angry growl. "What exactly is your goal behind this stunt you're pulling?"

"I wish only for a job at your factory!" Marianne proclaims--unconcerned with the blatant exposure of her pallid, underdeveloped chest, and horrendously malnourished and marred state of her: covered in ghastly scars, bruises and whip marks.

 "I'll do anything you ask--just please, give me work!"

Ms. Lafferty quickly lunges forward, wrapping her scarf around Marianne to conceal her as Luella stands away, visibly shaken.

Mr. Lafferty casts a quick look between the disgusted faces of them, as well as the crowding onlookers, then lingering for a moment again on his wife before returning to Marianne--with what could best be described as a downright "fiendish" smile.

"Fine." He sharply says. "I might have some use for you yet, little orphan."

**********

Marianne begins her new job, at Lafferty's factory, the very next day, when she is shown by him into a small workshop, far secluded from where all the other women work on the main floor: the likes of whom she is instructed, most sternly, to never interact with.

Officially, she is taken on as an apprentice seamstress: tasked with finishing and fixing defective garments, by way of the hand and a so-called "sewing machine," with which she has had no experience handling before. The work is tedious, and her fingers and palms ache and bleed by the time her shift is through, but at least the pay is good. Good enough that she can afford a cup of coffee every morning plus a bread loaf for lunch and to pay the rent, while still having a little extra left over to put into her savings. 

Ms. Lafferty serves as her teacher throughout the initial days, and always seems impressed in her regular evaluations. 

"Fabulously done, Annie!" She would exclaim, whenever she bursts into the rather forlorn and abandoned storage room where Marianne was put to work. "You're a natural at this." To which Marianne would simply nod in response--not even bothering to glance up from the sewing machine. Visits from Mr. Lafferty, on the other hand, are infrequent; sometimes with several days in between them. Seldom do they entail more than a few, characteristically bitter words spoken on his part, but it is his icy presence alone that serves as the crack of a slave master's whip--always keeping her on her toes, for fear of its sting. 

"I think I have a proper nickname for you." He greets her one day by saying.

At this Marianne glances up, meeting his stare expectantly.

"My little machine girl, aren't you more like a cotton weaver machine than a human?" He taunts her, with a detachedly amused air. "Lacking any purposeful mind of your own, or any semblance of a soul to speak of; you're a thing that exists solely to do as it is told, to serve the benefits and whims of others."

Marianne stomachs his insults with a solid face, but even a girl with her uncanny grit has her limits as weeks of this torturous new (yet not so new) lifestyle painstakingly drip into months, and the long hours of mostly solitary confinement inevitably start to take their toll. All the while, her relationship with Luella only grows stronger: with many a Sunday spent just walking and talking with her through the park; swimming in the river, eating at restaurants or shopping at the nice stores in town; doing anything and everything together. Whenever Marianne needed it, Luella would always be there to whisk her away to forgotten glades, to blissfully lose herself a while; and in turn, Marianne would represent a much-desired form of rebellion for the nobly rich young lady, against her increasing pressures and responsibilities.

A more poetic pair--insofar as they were so highly contrasted, and unlikely--there could never be.