The Heir and the Spared

Chapter Four

"It is from Lady Penelope," the queen said.

Her voice had gone cold, and her pronunciation of Penelope had slipped deeper into the accent of her childhood home. For an instant only, Sarah's hands froze, but then she kept curling, lest the queen's wrath turn upon her.

"It seems one of the Fitzroys has returned to London from the country, and is believed to have spoken with a prominent MP." Her Majesty tossed the letter onto her vanity in disgust. "Have they not learned from Monmouth?"

Though she knew the queen spoke only to herself, Sarah struggled to remember the meaning of Her Majesty's words. She remembered that Fitzroy was one of the king's nephews, an illegitimate son from Charles II. Monmouth had been executed around the time of her arrival, she believed for trying to usurp the throne. Sarah's hands trembled slightly as she worked.

"They will, of course, try to make him next in line for the throne, the queen added for Sarah's benefit. "That is, if he does not try to take it now."

The queen's tone, and her face, had darkened. Sarah wished for some words of comfort, but could only commiserate in silence.

When her hair was finished, the queen rose to be dressed. Her face was pensive in the looking-glass as Sarah helped her with her petticoats and corset.

Finally, when the queen was attired, Sarah glanced at her and saw with surprise that the queen was smiling.

""But this is perfect," Her Majesty murmured, and Sarah wondered whether she was meant to overhear. "It is just the thing..."

The queen reached for her box of cosmetics, rifling through the drawers of her vanity.

"Under the revival of this threat," she explained to Sarah, "His Majesty will have a renewed interest in producing an heir."

The queen turned to her then, and Sarah swallowed hard.

"I will need your decision, Sarah. And soon."

--

At mid-day, the dining hall was loud with laughter, but Sarah slunk to eat at the edge of the table. Bess sat beside her in sympathetic silence, and Sarah blessed her for it.

"I'm alright," Sarah murmured, though she suspected unconvincingly. "Just tired."

She picked listlessly at her food for a few minutes, before Mrs. Smith barked that they would need to get back to work soon. Sarah sighed and started to eat half-heartedly. Whatever decision Philip made, she would be glad of it, for the agony of waiting in uncertainty would be over.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Philip, but she didn't approach him. Their time to eat was limited, and she did not want to press him.

At the end of the meal, however, she glanced up to see him moving her way. He had to push his way through the crowd of servants who were moving in the opposite direction.

"Sarah, are you alright?" he asked. For a moment he lifted his hands, as if to touch her face, but he checked himself.

She nodded, and tried to offer him a smile. "And you?" she asked, endeavoring to keep her voice light.

Philip nodded. "Yes." His eyes locked with hers for a moment, his gaze intent. "Yes," he said again, firmly. "I am sure of it."

Weakly, Sarah exhaled, and she nodded, as well. His gaze gentled, and she knew he had understood her.

"I must see to Her Majesty," Sarah said faintly, beset by fear and excitement together. She expected Philip would catch her meaning.