The Heir and the Spared

Chapter Twenty-Four

"I'll stay with her, Bess," Philip assured Bess, though his eyes begged her to stay. "If I leave, I won't be able to sleep a wink, at any rate."

Bess had busied herself with fluffing the pillows and arranging the bed-coverings. For his part, Philip remained out of Bess' way, but he was occupied with supporting Sarah when the birth-pangs seized her.

"You will have to work tomorrow," Sarah put in, once she had caught her breath enough to allow for speech. "It would not do to have you tired. I will be fine; the midwife will come to see me in the morning, as she always does."

Turning from peeling back the bedclothes, Bess looked at Sarah intently.

"I will stay," she insisted. "At least until morning, then."

Sarah nodded gratefully, and she saw the relief seep into Philip's expression as well.

"Thank you, Bess," she whispered, and squeezed Bess' hand gratefully when her friend came closer.

"Someday, we will repay you for this," Philip promised.

Bess quickly gave a little shake of her head and carried on with her business.

--

Sarah stood against the back of a wooden chair, nearly doubled over as another birth pang racked her body. Philip had gone to fetch more water at Bess' request, and in his absence, the chair was her strongest support.

Gone was the hour when she had wished for her child to be born. Why had she wished it? Her mind, almost feverish, no longer remembered. Racked with pain, she thought only of how nice it would be to have her child safely ensconced in her womb for a bit longer, until perhaps she was a bit stronger and had had a bit more rest...

The squeezing let up for a moment, and she sank against the chair, breathing hard.

"Bess... you are a saint," she panted.

"Don't say that," Bess chided gently. "It's Popish."

Despite herself, Sarah laughed. Dear Bess - ever modest, ever pious.

She realized that Bess still did not know the truth. Of course, even now, she would not - could not - tell Bess the truth in its entirety. Yet it occurred to Sarah now, as she felt the agony of giving birth, more acute than she could have imagined it, that she really might die. Something in Sarah did not want to die with Beth thinking her immoral.

"Bess," she breathed. "I have to tell you something."

Coming over with a wet cloth, Bess tsked her tongue and gently smoothed the cool fabric over Sarah's neck. Sarah closed her eyes again and sighed in gratitude and relief.

"Save your breath, if you can," Bess said gently, dabbing the cloth around Sarah's skin. "You will need all your strength."

For a few minutes, Sarah obliged her. She focused on regathering her strength, and used up some of it to go around the chair and kneel on it instead of standing behind it. Though it was not as comfortable, with her belly pressed against the slats, it was growing too tiring to stand.

Finally, though, she had recovered enough to go on. Bess had gone to the wash-basin to ring out the cloth, now that it had been heated by Sarah's skin, and she dipped it once more in the cool liquid.

"Philip and I," Sarah said quietly, "we're married. We have been since August."

Bess was still and quiet for a moment. She stood there looking at Sarah in silence, the cloth dripping onto the floor.