During the day, just enough light filtered in through the window to illuminate the staircase so I could see without needing a candle. The steep stairs creaked under my weight as I rushed down, running my hand along the smooth stone wall so I didn’t lose my balance. I shouldn’t have tried to rest while cooking supper, but I was tired after washing my stepmother’s and stepsisters’ dresses. I was also upset about my birthday and hoped to have just a few minutes of rest. Now my cassoulet might be burning.
Thankfully, the kitchen smelled divine as I hurried in. There wasn’t even a whiff of burned stew, only the rich smell of cooked pork and garlic wafting through the air. Just to be sure, I grabbed a rag and lifted the heavy pot off the hearth and set it down on the table as carefully as I could without dropping it.
The cassoulet had been simmering over the hearth since the night before. I couldn’t imagine the disappointment if my hours of work went to waste, or Lady Catherine’s anger if she had only bread and cheese for supper. The dining room table was already set. All I needed to do now was serve the food, hopefully without any objections. It was rare that either Lady Catherine or Severine didn’t complain about something, but a girl could dream.
With the pot in one hand and a ladle in the other, I made my way into the dining room. My stepfamily was already seated at the table, which was laid with Maman’s finest silver dishes and Venetian glass goblets, a gift from her mother at her marriage to Papa. They sparkled in the low light emanating from the crystal chandelier.
“Finally. You’re late and we’re starving,” Severine said with a groan.
I set the pot down on the table next to the trencher laden with the bread I’d baked yesterday. I was quite proud of that bread. It was the first time I’d made one myself instead of buying it from one of the bakeries in town. Baking it might have been born of necessity, as there wasn’t enough money to buy bread this week, but that didn’t diminish my sense of pride. I’d had to learn so much about cooking and cleaning in the past year, and even minor accomplishments were incredibly gratifying.
“The dish took a long time to cook. I’m sorry for the wait,” I said, beginning to ladle the stew into the silver bowls.
Alexandre whispered her thanks with a small smile, but Lady Catherine wrinkled her nose.
“What is this?” she asked, lifting up a spoonful to inspect.
“Cassoulet. It’s a new recipe I learned while I was at the market a few weeks ago. It has pork sausage, white beans, and a little bit of duck. It’s lovely, isn’t it?”
“It isn’t exactly high cuisine,” Lady Catherine said, dropping the spoon back into her bowl with a plop.
“I didn’t have enough money to go to the market again this week,” I said, trying very hard not to cry.
“Are you saying that I don’t give you enough money to do the shopping? We have more than enough for simple groceries, of all things. If this is the best you can do with what we have, I’ll give you more money, and you can go back to the market tomorrow,” she said, her words clipped and cold. “Now pour the wine, please.”
“Yes, Lady Catherine.”
I picked up the bottle of wine from the sideboard and uncorked it quickly. It wouldn’t do to press her about money anymore today. Our finances—or more appropriately, our lack of finances—had become an incredible touchy subject. Lady Catherine told me the allowance from the king given to the Louvois household was barely enough to keep us fed and housed but not anywhere near enough for the purchase of luxurious dresses and jewelry every month. Or to employ a household staff.
I walked around the table, pouring wine into each glass. As I extended the bottle to Severine’s glass, she shifted in her seat, bumping her shoulder into my arm and splashing wine up onto my sleeve and all over the table.
“Cendrillon! You’ve made a complete mess of things. Why are you always so clumsy?” she said, blinking up at me with wide eyes, not looking put out in the slightest.
I ran to the sideboard to get a rag, drying my hand on my freshly washed apron, which was now stained with red wine. Alexandre stood up to help, but Lady Catherine waved at her to remain seated. “Leave it be. Cendrillon made the mess—she can clean it up.”
Alexandre mouthed I’m sorry to me as she sat back down. I nodded at her briefly as I returned to the table with the rag.
“I don’t want you wandering around with a stained outfit,” Lady Catherine said in between slurps of stew. For such a meticulous lady, she had terrible manners when no one was around. “You’ll need to wash it tomorrow. In fact, I just pulled a few of my older dresses out of storage that need to be washed too. You might as well do them at the same time.”
“But . . . you told me to go to the market tomorrow. And I just did the washing. Can they wait until next week?”
“I’m sorry that completing your chores and helping your stepmother is such a burden. Your stepmother, the woman who keeps a roof over your head and food in your stomach.”
Lady Catherine wasn’t looking at me, but her voice was deceptively pleasant and neutral. I knew that tone. She was on the precipice of losing her temper. Any more pushback would result in the both of us tumbling off that cliff.
“It’s fine. I’ll wash the dresses tomorrow,” I said, taking the pot of stew and the wet rag with me as I left the dining room.
“Thank you, ma choupette,” Lady Catherine called after me, Severine giggling in the background.
The tension in my shoulders eased when I finally made it back to the kitchen and its blessed solitude, sinking into a chair with a heavy sigh. My stomach rumbled, reminding me that I hadn’t eaten since this morning. I hadn’t eaten in the dining room since right after Papa died. I wasn’t allowed.
The bowls were in the cupboard, but my limbs were achy and my eyes heavy. For a moment, I considered eating right from the pot, but the image of Claudine’s disapproving stare as she lectured me about how unladylike it would be popped into my mind. I stood up again with a groan and walked to the cupboard to take a bowl and spoon.
“Psst! Cendrillon! Let us in.”
The loud whisper was coming from the kitchen door. I turned to see Elodie’s face pressed up against the glass, a silly grin on her face. Laughing, I ran to the kitchen door and unlocked it. Elodie and I hugged in the doorway.
“What are you doing here? You’re not supposed to be back for a few more days,” I said, my mood instantly brightening.
I wouldn’t have been able to survive the past year without Elodie. It wasn’t that I wanted her to be trapped in the château with me, but I appreciated her being here. It helped having someone to hold me when I cried, to commiserate with when Lady Catherine or Severine did anything that was particularly humiliating. Elodie was suffering too, making dresses for Lady Catherine until her fingers bled. We needed to leave. Hopefully, soon.