The Other Elizabeth

Chapter XI: Lammastide 1450

"Nooooooooooo-" My scream carries on. I tear away, jumping down from the dais, still screaming. My chest aches as I run. My feet slide. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. NO. I hear Henry behind me. I keep running. I must know if this is true. I throw the door open to the nursery. I stand there looking, clutching my stomach as I almost heave. I see her. Wrapped in her blanket. My knees quiver. I fall to the ground, screaming no. Screaming no. This cannot be true. Hot tears fall into my lap. I feel Henry's arms about me.

"No!" I screech, pushing him away, sobbing. I scramble up frantically and run over and pick her up, shaking her. My daughter. Cold. Unmoving. Still. Lifeless. Dead. My daughter is dead. My Isabel is dead. Isabel is dead.

I look up at Henry, holding her at arm's length, gasping in horror. "I beseech you, bring her back!" I whisper. Tears fall down his face too. He swallows. He shakes his head.

"Elizabeth." My Lady appears in the doorway.

"She's dead!" I cry, "SHE'S DEAD!" I clutch her, looking at her perfect face. I will not ever see her eyes again, her big blue eyes. Henry buries his head in his hands. My Lady walks across the room.

"Hand her to me, Elizabeth," she says softly. I shake my head, still crying. I do not want to let go of her. She is mine and Henry's daughter, our little baby. Our baby... I look down again, and close my eyes, squeezing them tightly shut as I cry. My Lady takes her namesake from me gently, murmurs to Jane and passes my baby to her, who begins to walk away. Taking her away. Forever. Henry stares after them, his hands to his mouth.

"You should have cared for her better!" I yell, "Why did she die, Jane, why? Why did you let my babe die!" My Lady puts her arms about me, and I sob into her chest, my knees weakening again. How can it be so that my little baby is dead, as I feared would occur all along? Everyone told me not to worry so much for her- but I was right, all along, as if I had some terrible premonition that this was her fate. She is with the angels in heaven, and nothing, nothing, will ever bring her back. 

The sun is high in the blue sky, and down in the village the new crops, the new harvest, bob their heads in the slight breeze. The flowers, streaked and dappled, with the softest petals, and the hay-like grass, are too sharp, in focus, yet blurry to mine eyes at the same time. The entire colour is too bright- everything seems riddled with falsehood. I do not think I will ever laugh and feel the grass between my toes again. My Isabel will not. My Isabel will never.

She is gone. Her existence as a mortal being upon this earth is ceased. She is not a person as such that you could converse with, but she was my child. She fought to survive for two months- a fever took her away like it did my brother Thomas. She was my baby. There was nothing any person, not even the most experienced midwife, could do to save her. Her fate was inevitable; I knew it was a possibility, yet now it is true. She breathes no more. At this moment, she is being put into the ground, five feet down. There will be no tomb or effigy, just some small stone, to resemble her short existence. How can she be gone, vanquished so suddenly? I did not even get to say goodbye.

I sit staring out in the horizon yonder, waiting for My Lord, and my Bourchier brothers to return from the church. Henry has locked his bedchamber door; My Lady sits silently beside me. She held me all night as I let out ravishing screams, until my throat was sore, my eyes stung, and my person could not convulse any more. I fell asleep exhausted and drowsy from some rather strong ale I was given. I feel like I failed to protect my child. How can I bear to hear any person address her so as 'Isabel', when her namesake is dead? How can it be that my little daughter, my daughter, she is... dead. I, of only four and ten years myself, was with child for nine months, and then that child died. All the worrying from my part that every other person dismissed was proven true. She is dead now. Isabel is dead.