Chapter 4 A Storm in Waiting

The next day, Catherine woke up tense. She could barely sleep last night. She remembered the note, and her throat tightened. The rumors were now venturing into threats.

Elizabeth had asked what was in the envelope, but she had shrugged, lying that it was one of the maids playing a prank on her. She didn't want her mother to feel more worried about her than she already was.

Could it actually be a prank? She thought to herself as she entered the palace to start her shift. Every glance at her seemed loaded. Could it be her? Could it be him? Catherine was starting to become paranoid.

The palace itself felt changed. There was a new curfew in place, posted quietly on the wooden notice boards along the hallway in the staff quarters. New schedules slipped into kitchen tables, instructions whispered by supervisors.

Each message was the same: Staff were to avoid royal corridors after dark, keep interactions brief, and "hold themselves to the highest standards." There had been no grand announcement, only the slow, suffocating tightening of a net she hadn't realized she was caught in.

Catherine tried to shake off her paranoia as she continued with her day. But as soon as she walked into the staff dining hall, she caught flashes of conversation:

"Something's brewing," muttered a young footman to his friend.

"There was a maid found near the prince's wing one night" a senior butler whispered to two royal advisors, their heads close.

Catherine ducked her head, hoping she wouldn't draw their attention. She hurried to the kitchen, where Isla was already bustling about, stacking trays beside the great stone washbasin.

Isla saw her fear. "Ignore them," she said quietly, stepping in when Mrs. Harrow barked an order at Catherine. Isla took on the brunt of the task, arranging the trays with precision, blocking the worst of the barbs. Catherine's shoulders sagged with relief.

Isla knew how Catherine felt, as she herself had searched for warmth in a cold place. Before coming to work in the palace, her father's excessive drinking had broken up his marriage, and it had destroyed her mother. She never felt love in her home. She remembered the sting of shame from being blamed for a missing coin and the general feeling of always wanting to be a part of something.

When she met Catherine, she understood that pain and quickly defended her against the other maids. Catherine had also vouched for her in one particular incident. "If you accuse Isla, you accuse me too." ,and since then, Isla's loyalty was forged, vowing to always protect her.

No one saw the flash in Isla's eyes or the fear coiled tight inside her. She said nothing more, just continued working while keeping Catherine's panic at bay.

As the afternoon light slanted through high windows, Catherine passed through a quiet corridor, still feeling on edge. She saw Prince George coming the other way towards her. He looked tired, like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders, his hands jammed awkwardly in his pockets.

She hadn't seen him for days. Obviously, by choice, because she still didn't know how to act around him. So, she tried to avoid him, but there was nowhere to hide this time. It was no use, he'd already seen her.

"Catherine," he said, voice softer than she expected, "can we talk?"

She nodded and followed him into a small alcove out of sight.

He hesitated, choosing his words. "Did something really happen that night between us? I... I've tried to piece it together, but I can't. I have this feeling something's changed between us because I think you've been avoiding me. Please, I need the truth."

Catherine's breath hitched. She tried to come up with something to say. "Umm... I... I was with you. You... you were drunk, so I helped you to your room. That's all. Nothing more."

He looked at her, searching for any sign of lies. And for a moment, something filled the space between them.

The first time he met Catherine, she had just arrived at the Palace with her mother. She was this 6-year old girl in the gardens beside the palace, clutching a wildflower he'd picked up for her. His face was rosy with a shy smile. He did like her. Back then, the world felt simpler.

"Catherine..." he whispered, reaching for her hand, but just then, footsteps echoed as Mr. Alden, the King's junior royal secretary, appeared around the corner. He paused, eyeing them both with shrewd calculation.

"Your Highness, you're needed at the library," he said. His tone was polite but held an edge, a hint that nothing in this palace went unnoticed.

George turned and left, casting Catherine one last, uncertain look as he disappeared.

She waited a moment, trying to steady her heart beating erratically, before she left as well.

During an afternoon tea training, Catherine fumbled a tray, the cups rattling, nearly falling. Maids gasped. Mrs. Harrow's eyes narrowed in on her, lips pressed in a thin line.

Later, Mrs. Harrow cornered Catherine in a stone-lined corridor.

"Appearances matter," she said, her voice low. "You may think you're invisible, but you're not. Staff position is earned with discretion. If I find you in the wrong place again, things will change for you... and your mother."

Isla walked in just in time to hear the threat, placing herself firmly at Catherine's side. "With all due respect, Mrs. Harrow, Catherine's only ever put the palace first. We all make mistakes. If you want someone to help with extra work, I'll do it."

Mrs. Harrow glared at them, huffed, and walked away.

- - -

As dusk began to settle, Elizabeth was called into the administrative offices. A senior supervisor greeted her, words formal but heavy.

"Mrs. Elizabeth, I'm sure you've heard the rumors about your daughter. We do not take things like that lightly, and we require absolute transparency. Any staff caught up in a scandal will be dealt with accordingly. I trust your daughter is aware of the risks."

Elizabeth bristled with anger, even though she was feeling a bit scared on the inside. "My Catherine has never brought shame to the palace. And she never will."

The supervisor nodded and dismissed her, but Elizabeth could not forget the chill in their warning. She's been here before, and she will not allow her daughter to go through the same thing she did.

She returned to their quarters shaken, hoping to talk to her daughter about the situation. But as soon as she walked in, she saw Catherine doubled over by the washstand, retching violently.

"Catherine?" Elizabeth rushed to her side, her heart in her throat. "Are you alright?"

Catherine wiped her mouth, her eyes tired. "I don't know, ma. I just feel sick."

Slowly, Elizabeth pieced everything that's been happening in the last few days together: the rumors, Catherine's odd behavior recently, and now, the nausea.

If what she was thinking was true, then nothing would ever be the same.