Warnings/Spoilers: none
AN: Written for Trope Bingo square: au: all-human

When she was small, Jenny loved to hear stories. Adventuring pirates, lost boys searching through mysterious jungles in search of adventure, even the tales of young girls swept away by (what she learned later to identify as) tawdry romances with mysterious, broken, unhandsome yet attractive men. She loved them all, not caring a whit for the whys and wherefores, too caught up in imagination.

Stories helped her cope.

Jenny's life was not full of adventure, not mystery, and definitely not romance. She was in service from a young age, with little chance of more education than that she got by arranging to dust whilst the Master's children had their lessons. She wrote her sums in the fine dust before erasing them with her cloths, and made up stories in her own head, learning the rules of proper English, and she ducked the blows that came from both Master and Mistress when they saw her idling.

At nineteen, Jenny and the governess of Master's children were both sent to a friend of their Mistress, a highborn lady lately returned home after long years abroad. She brought with her two daughters and (what Mistress didn't say softly enough) a suspicious reputation. But there were debts to be paid, and among them were the needs of a woman returned to her homeland and in need of servants.

Jenny liked Bess the governess. They shared a bedroom in Master's house, and had shared a bit more than that. But Bess had her eye on a young man these days, even moving so far from their home. Her kisses had stopped. Jenny chose not to feel offended. In the new house, she'd been told, she would have her own bedroom, a luxury she was already dreaming about as the carriage holding all their possessions deposited the pair outside the gates of their new home.

"What 'ave you 'eard?" Jenny asked Bess in a harsh whisper. Bess narrowed her eyes at Jenny until, annoyed, Jenny swallowed and repeated the question in proper form.

"The same as you. Madame Vastra is a woman of great wealth. She's spent her last decade travelling abroad, primarily India and even Africa. And ... "

The "And" caught Jenny's attention. "And what?" What gossip had Bess gleaned from her own privileged position with their former household?

"Mistress said she's scarred. Injured. There was a fire, see. That's why she came back to England."

Scars didn't sound bad to Jenny, but perhaps she needed a nurse to care for her.

The great doors of the house opened slowly, and two small figures emerged. Green skirts flying, they ran without decorum or care straight up to Bess, dancing around her with matched grins.

"I'm Nellie!"

"I'm Sally!"

"Are you here to play with us?"

Bess laughed and knelt to the ground, her bags forgotten. Bess was amazing with children. Jenny herself stood back.

Jenny stood, keeping close watch on the door. A manservant stood there in his crisp uniform, a stout fellow, brown and scowling at the new women.

The door opened further, and another figure stepped out. Jenny could only see her veil, and the vermillion shimmer of her gown. The mistress of the house wore dainty gloves, concealing (Jenny would learn) the scar tissue running down her arms.

"Greetings," said a warm, thrilling voice, which Jenny felt suddenly was for her alone. "Welcome to Siluria Manor."

Jenny bobbed a curtsey. Beside her, Bess scrambled up to do the same. "Ma'am," they said in unison.

"I am Madame Vastra," said their new employer, and again, Jenny felt the words bypass her friend. Despite the black gauze, she felt the appraising gaze of the woman searching her face and form, determining her worth. Jenny's spine went straight. She knew her worth, thank you.

Madame Vastra tilted her head in an almost respectful incline. At last, her piercing inspection passed to Bess. "You are Elisabeth Peason?"

"Bess, if it please your ladyship."

"Bess." The word was warm, and Jenny felt a sick thud in her belly, not dissimilar to the gnaw she'd felt when Bess first told her of her beau. "The children have been begging to take a walk along the grounds. As soon as your things are inside, would you be so kind as to take them?"

"Of course, Madame."

Bess quickly gathered her bags and scurried to the door, past the grim-faced manservant. (Mister Strax, Jenny learned eventually, but today he was merely, "That unpleasant fellow who keeps looking as though he wishes to strangle me.") Jenny stood still.

"And you are Jennifer Flint."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Are you a Jennifer, or a Jen, or a Jenny?"

"Jenny, ma'am." She was tongue-tied, and didn't know why. She settled for bobbing again.

"Jenny." Later, she would think back to the first time Madame said her name. Her own body pressed comfortably along the length of her lady's, her fingers tracing each beloved line of each perfect mark and her lips brushing over the equally gnarled and treasured face and neck, she would remember the way Vastra lingered over what had up until right that moment been a sadly common name. On her tongue, Jenny's name sounded like a sin, one of the deliciously naughty sins that made the priests sweat.

Jenny liked it.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Tell me, have you ever used a sword, Jenny?"

She answered honestly, "Only in my dreams, Madame." She remembered dreaming she was one of the pirates, one of the lost boys, one of the enraptured girls. A sword would be a perfect fit.

"Then I will teach you to make your dreams come true."

The End