Chapter 11 - so little time pt. 1

Things changed quickly once there was too much Catherine to be contained by her corsets. The Lady's weight quickly became a hot topic in the servant's quarters. Delia often felt embarrassed hearing her co-workers gossip idly about the size of Catherine's busum or the amount of stew she'd eaten for dinner.

"I found three serving platters tucked away under her bed this morning. Three! They weren't there the day before." Lorianne would say incredulously. "Am I to believe she's eaten three platters of food in addition to her meals?"

"We took her riding a few days back," the stable boy would cut in. "Her riding trousers looked set to split like sausage skins. When she stood in the stirrups, they tore right down her arse!"

Suddenly, Catherine felt that all eyes were on her. She didn't so much mind the half-disguised glances at her suddenly soft stomach or the sudden silences when she walked into a room. The help, as her mother had once told her, will always talk. No. The real problem was that all the attention made what she was doing significantly more dangerous.

Each of the past three nights, Catherine and Colette had met. They arranged the time and place of their rendezvous through notes ferried too and fro by Delia. Last night they had met in the shadow of the garden hedges and eaten fondue in the moonlight. Lighting candles for the chocolate had been risky, but inside there were risky things, too. Footsteps and laughter and other noises. It was hard to remember to keep quiet sometimes, no matter how severe the punishment for being caught was.

The evening after their moonlit meal, the entire staff were treated to a yelling match between Catherine and the elderly head maid, Mrs. Grissum. It erupted without warning outside the servant's dining room while they ate, and everybody went silent to listen.

"-behavior is simply not acceptable! It is my duty to your father-"

"To make me miserable? Well, congratulations! Your duty is done."

"Catherine, please. Be sensible! We all knew you were to be wed eventually. You had plenty of chances to make a choice, and-"

"To make a CHOICE?" Catherine roared. The emotion in her voice made several maids gasp. "Is a prisoner who chooses their cell any more free? The only choice I've been given is which Hell I'd call home!"

"Catherine, please!" Grissum wailed, but Catherine's footsteps were already retreating down the hall.

The room sat in stunned silence for a moment before the crowd began to mutter. Delia turned to Colette.

"That didn't sound good..."

Colette chewed her cheeks nervously. Her handsome face was flushed.

The door opened and the room fell silent as Mrs. Grissum entered. Her perfect posture and tight-lipped scowl gave one the impression of an elderly matron. People shifted out of the way as she approached the spot where Colette and Delia were sitting. Colette turned around in her seat to face her.

"Colette?" Grissum chirped menacingly. "Would you like to tell me how Lady Catherine has managed to outgrow her entire wardrobe in a matter of months?"

"Unlike jou, I am not in a position to deny direct orders from my mistress. I make what iz asked of me. No more, no less,"

"You are supposed to be keeping her on a diet!" Grissum spat through her tight lips. Colette clenched her fists in anger.

"She is 'eartbroken. 'Ow can I keep 'er to zat terrible diet? She needs comfort now, not punishment!"

"What she needs is to fit into her mother's wedding gown," The old woman said, her tone dangerous. "From now on, Lady Catherine will stick to her diet. She will be back to her old size by the time she is wed, or there will be consequences. Do you understand me?"

Colette met Grissom's sweltering stare and nodded tensely. "Yes. I understand."

"Good."

Delia shrunk back as Grissum's stern black eyes turned to her. She looked for a moment at the small gut sitting in the handmaid's lap.
"That goes for all of you, as well." she announced suddenly, making Delia jump. "No more sweets. You're all getting fat."

There was much grumbling when the door closed behind the crotchety old woman. Delia felt a hand on her shoulder.

"I must go to her," Colette said. She was already standing.

"To... Catherine?"

Colette nodded. "Oui."

"But... hey, wait! I'm coming, too!"

The french girl's long, determined strides carried her up the stairs and through the halls so quickly that Delia could hardly keep up. It had been months since the chunky girl had done anything more strenuous than stretching to dust the bookshelves, and she quickly found that her wobbly thighs and bouncing belly made even a light jog unsustainable. By the time she reached Catherine's room Delia was huffing and puffing, with one hand holding up the hem of her dress and the other clutching the stitch in her soft side.

She stopped outside of Catherine's room for a moment, bracing herself against the wall as the sound of her thumping heart faded from her ears. When her breath began to return, she heard the ugly sound of sobbing coming from Catherine's cracked door.

Delia approached the door and pushed it open just enough to peek her head in. By the dim light of a bedside candle, Delia saw Catherine and Colette kneeling atop the great four-poster bed, locked in a fierce embrace. Catherine had her head buried into the crook of Colette's shoulder, her body heaving. Colette stroked her tangled golden hair and rocked them slowly back and forth, murmuring a low, tender lullaby.


"Au clair de la lune, on n'y voit qu'un peu.
On chercha la plume, on chercha du feu.
En cherchant d'la sorte, je n'sais c'qu'on trouva.
Mais je sais qu'la porte sur eux se ferma."


As Colette sang, Catherine's sharp sobs dwindled to whimpers and sniffles. When the song was finished, Colette glanced over Catherine's shoulder to Delia and shook her head. Delia nodded, and Colette began humming her song again, resting her cheek atop her lover's head as they swayed together to the tune.

Delia backed out of the doorway and shut the door as quietly as she could. Seeing her ever-aloof mistress in so much distress shook her nerves, and the desperation with which the pair had clung to each other made Delia feel strangely guilty, as if she'd walked in on someone changing. A lump rose in her throat. Though she didn't fully understand why, Delia began to cry.

(Continued)

A/N: Colette's Lullaby is "Au Clair de la Lune", which probably didn't exist in the mid-17th century. Oh well.