I slept a deep sleep. Claire and the Doctor had both exhausted and satisfied me. As the sun began to pour into my room, my eyes opened up to the dawn. I had time. Madame never awoke so early. I had lotions and lanolin put away, so as the doctor suggested I applied some to my nipples. It was cold on my warm flesh and made my nipples stand out, which sadly was painful, not pleasurable. But I continued to rub the balm into my deep red areola and into the flesh of my breast. It did feel better and I'm sure over time it would be beneficial.
I began to rub my belly and spread a thinner lotion into my skin. This was wonderful. I lay back on the bed with my knees up and rubbed my tummy. 'I wish Madame would do this for me' I thought to myself. 'Her fingers would send shivers through me.'
At eight a.m. I was dressed in a crisp, fresh uniform. This one fit marginally better because I had let it out, but it showed a very deep cleavage. I opened Madame's door to find her still asleep with her body flung naked across the bed. A brandy bottle and glass on the night table suggested she did not go to sleep when I did.
Madame Claire can be delicate in this condition, also grumpy.
I sit on my heels so my head is near Madame's on the bed. "Madame Claire." my voice soft and lyrical. "It is morning, Madame."
Gently I brush a strand of raven hair from her eyes. "Madaaaame." I sing.
Slowly an eye opens. "What time is it?" she grumbles.
"Just past eight, Madame." Still speaking softly and light
"Good, I have to be in London by noon." The other eye opened. "That should give me time to collect myself. I have a meeting; you know what I'll need." Madame slowly became animated.
"I will get your clothes now, Madame." I began to get up.
"No, draw me a bath first." She looked me up and down, obviously catching sight of my 'dΓ©colletage' in my altered dress. "Did you change that?" she pointed.
"Yes, Madame." I admitted. "To make it fit better."
"You need new clothes. You're coming with me." Claire decided instantly and got off the bed, moving towards the bathroom.
"Of course, thank you, Madame." I was a little stunned but it seemed I was going shopping. With Claire, one must be able to shift to her whims. 'But shopping is nice.' I thought.
I was still in my maid's attire but wearing my coat. Madame took me to her tailor in London who suggested a suitable shop for our needs. It was only a block further into the district.
"I have business to attend to. You will go yourself." Claire said.
"Of course, Madame." I nodded.
"I will come for you when I am done." And Madame was out the door.
It was a simple dress makers shop but there were a few servant liveries on display. None looked like mine. British fashions were different than Paris. Mr. Shipmore, the tailor looked at me with raised eyebrows when I took off my coat.
"You are quite pregnant." He said the word as if distasteful. His eyes were not only on my belly though.
"Yes Sir, I know." I said in exasperation. Why do people tell me what I now?
"Most women would leave their post and be with their husband." He said.
"I have no husband." I said quickly. "Can you make something in this style that fits?" I wanted this over with. Madame would have given instructions and he would have done it.
"That short skirt? Not very practical...for most things." He didn't hide his assumptions as he looked down his nose at me.
"My Mistress does not like long skirts" not on me anyway. I didn't say that.
"Perhaps if she did The Master of the house wouldn't have got the goodies." He said quietly.
I was beet red. I could feel it. I was angry, I was ashamed, mostly I wanted to hit him.
"Well, I am sorry I wasted your time." I said coldly and turned to leave.
"I didn't say I couldn't help you." He spoke up behind me.
"Oh and you have been so helpful up till now." I said bitterly and stormed out to the street where I began to cry.
I pushed away tears as I walked. It was the garment district after all, there were other tailors. I could sew if need be. I looked back. Madame would expect me at that shop though, but I couldn't go back, not now. More tears came because I didn't know what to do. She would be furious if I wasn't there and she would be furious if I had no new clothes. I moved to the side as people bustled by me, trying to stop crying but I couldn't. I turned to a wall and put my head against it and sobbed for so many reasons.
"Are you alright, dear?" I heard a woman with a cockney accent at my left shoulder.
I tried to wipe my eyes again as I turned to her. "I'm sorry. Am I in the way?" I said apologetically.
She was probably in her fifties with ginger hair going to gray and only came to my shoulder. And now she looked a touch confused.
"No, dearie. I just get concerned when a young mother-to-be is crying in front of my shop." She smiled at me. "Come on in, dear. You can collect yourself inside."
She guided me to the door. "Thank you" I said and then she maneuvered me to a stool.
I wiped my eyes once more and blew my nose and I heard a sewing machine. The small round woman went back to working on the garment that I interrupted.
"You are a seamstress?" I asked the obvious.
"No, dearie. I herd sheep." She laughed a little. "What else would you find in the garment district?" She made fun of me, but not wickedly.
"Well, do you take orders?" I asked hopefully.
"Depends on what you need done." She shrugged as she kept working.
I took off my coat and before I could speak... "Ah, I see. It hardly fits, does it dear?"
She got up and came over to me. "You jumped at least 2 cup sizes. The girls really got bigger, didn't they?" She had her tape measure out and was already busy. "I could make it in this same style but your belly is going to grow more. Plenty of pleats to be let out would help and they could be re-sewn after the baby, but the skirt will just have to be longer."
"Not too much longer?" I was hopeful, she sounded as if she knew what she was doing. "Are you sure you can do it?"
She stopped and cocked her head at me. "Just who is paying for this and how many will you need?"
I smiled at her self-confidence. "My employer, Lady Claire Bathurst, and four I would think."
She continued to measure me. "Then yes, I can do it." She stood up straight and patted my cheek. "Is that what all the crying was about, dear?"
I was not to able beat Madame Claire back to Mr. Shipmore's. My Mistress was already inside and asking where I was. I came in the door out of breath and rushed to her side.
Madame looked at me puzzled. "Mr. Shipmore says you left."
"Mr. Shipmore did not seem to like the job at hand." My eyes cast daggers at him. "Or it's wearer." I finished.
Madame looked from him to me. "I see." She said shortly. "Go wait outside, Andrea."
"Of course, Madame." I quickly turned to obey and waited a few minutes outside until Claire came out.
"You made other arrangements?" She looked at me expectantly.
"Yes, Madame." I gave quickly.
Madame gave a small smile. "Very good, dear." And we went home.
Madame Claire never shows affection or attachment to me in public or in front of the few other servants. I am "Girl" or "Andrea" or at times "Dear", but in the tone that one would address a subservient or younger charge. And of course my response is always, "Yes, Madame." No matter the situation. But it always was, even before we started this...arrangement.
Madame requested her dinner in her room, so I had to retrieve it from the kitchen. The cook and the downstairs maid no longer talked to me. They would be civil of course but the banter of co-workers was no longer there. I missed the gossip most, but I am sure at this point the subject is me.
Claire sits at a corner desk behind the door. The house has a study but I have never seen her use it. She is pouring over an old leather bound book and seems to be comparing things in a modern hardcover text.
"Your dinner, Madame." I stand waiting for instruction.
Claire moves some things at the corner. "Here." She points and I put it down.
I wonder what she is doing but I'm not sure how to ask. Madame seems deep in her research, so I move to straighten the room and put her things away. Madame will toss things everywhere in her room, but she grew up with someone always cleaning after her. Still, it is just her room; Madame does not treat the rest of the house this way. 'The nobility are strange.' I think to myself.