The Heir and the Spared

Chapter Five

Sarah stared, stunned, at the queen as Her Majesty swept down the aisle of the chapel. The queen removed her hood, and though her pale cheeks were slightly flushed, her countenance was otherwise devoid of any emotion. There was nothing to indicate to Sarah why her wedding to Philip must be suddenly canceled.

"Sarah," the queen said quietly, stopping a few paces from the altar.

Though her legs were shaking and it seemed to take all of her strength, Sarah obediently went to meet the queen. They were a small distance from Philip and the priest, but Sarah did not know if they would overhear - if the queen intended them to.

"Catherine Sedley is back at court," the queen murmured, her voice so low it was nearly a whisper.

Sarah shivered and clutched her cloak closer despite the warmth of the candle-filled chapel.

"The king knows that Fitzroy is in town, and must have sent for her," added the queen. "I suppose he thought she would be some comfort to him." Then she went silent, as if she did not trust her own voice not to betray her.

"I see," Sarah said, her voice small, though she endeavored to keep it even.

If Catherine Sedley was at court, then the king would be lying with her instead of the queen. There would be no way to convince the king that his wife had conceived a child with him. And so the wedding was off, for it would have no advantage to the queen.

Even though Sarah had feared partaking of the queen's plan, knowing that it might lead to death for her and Philip, she had foolishly let herself dream. While she worked, she had imagined their life in the country, having a home with Philip, and children. She had dreamed of a little stove all her own, and a table that was crowded with no one but their own family, and waking up in the morning at whatever time she pleased, warm and comfortable in Philip's arms.

For the last two days, she had struggled mightily to compose herself. Under the strain of fear of discovery, even fear of death, she had nonetheless gone about her day's business, and done her best to show no sign of her distress to anyone. The exhilaration of the idea of being with Philip, the anticipation of the unknown, the premeditated grief she felt about giving up their firstborn son... All of it had weighed upon her, and she had borne it the best she could. Now, all at once, it pressed in one her.

And along with it, she mourned for the queen's happiness, even as she knew she ought to feel relieved that she would no longer be endangered by such a treacherous plot.

Overcome, Sarah felt tears well up in her eyes. She tried to blink them away before the queen could see.

"We move to Whitehall tomorrow," the queen said finally.

Sarah bowed her head, as much to hide her tears as to indicate her acquiescence to the queen's will.

"As Your Majesty commands," she whispered.

Despite her best efforts, her relative composure of the last few difficult days failed her. She was soon wiping hastily and impatiently at her eyes with her free hand, desperate that the queen not see. Yet it would be nearly impossible for her not to. Her one hand was ineffective against the tears that streaked her face. Delicately, she set on a pew the rose Philip had given her, and tried to press her palms against her closed eyes.

"Forgive me," she whispered, sniffing indignantly. "I pray you, pardon me, your Majesty."

In the silence of the holy place, Sarah was sure her pathetic sniffling and hiccuping breaths could be overheard by both Philip and the priest. She had scarcely had time to feel the shame of it when there were light footsteps behind her, and a warm hand rested at the small of her back.