The Heir and the Spared

Chapter Twenty-Three

Something in her tone - perhaps desperation - had made Philip's countenance alter. In the flickering candlelight, she saw his brows furrow and his mouth harden slightly. Sarah hadn't meant to wound him; it wasn't as though she didn't want to see him. Yet Bess, daughter of a midwife, was the person she now needed most.

"Her mum is a midwife," Sarah explained. "She gave me... She gave me tea! Chamomile tea. She said not to drink it before my time...

This memory had just resurfaced. The tea... Bess hadn't wanted her to drink it because it would cause the baby to come, and Bess didn't want the baby to come early and die. Yet this very tea could be what finally brought the babe into the world. Surely, with the child grown so large, it must be time to deliver, even past time. By Sarah's count, it had been at least nine months since their trip to Bath, when she was sure she had conceived - perhaps even longer.

She started to push herself from her seat but faltered. Noting her distress, her gallant husband came to her aid and helped haul her to her feet.

"I'll give you my eternal thanks to fetch her," Sarah said, steading herself with her hands on Philip's shoulders as she looked up intently into his gaze.

"I don't know, love; people might think I'm up to something if I'm sneaking around the young ladies' quarters," Philip said, trying to smile.

"Oh, yes, you could really get a girl into trouble, you could," Sarah replied, trying to smile as well.

Philip leaned down then, and kissed her with more intensity than Sarah had anticipated. For a moment, she forgot her pain and discomfort, and melted into him - or at least as much as she could, with her prominent belly between them.

"I'll be back quick as I can," he promised, and after a final kiss to her forehead, he was gone.

Once the door was closed once more, Sarah turned to her little secret hiding-place under the bed. It was the only place where she could keep any of her own things without them being discovered. The rest were still in the queen's rooms.

Though groaning quietly with the exertion of getting down on her hands and knees - and rather doubting that she'd be able to get up again without aid - Sarah searched the floor beneath the bed. Her hand pushed past the bed-skirt and sought out the little packet of herbs, now dried. Withdrawing the parcel of flowers, she brought it to her lips and kissed it. Then she crushed them into her water-basin. It was certainly not proper tea, but it would have to do.

She hoped it would do.

--

Mary flattered herself that, for the most part at least, she had been patient during the first month of her lying-in. Now, however, a week into June, her patience was wearing thin.

The mornings were spent in prayer for a healthy birth and for a son. Then in the afternoons, she would pray again; then once more in the evening. Prayer would never tire her, for her desires still burned within her just as fervently. If she did not bear a son - and if Sarah did not bear a son as well - all of this would have been for naught. She wondered whether she would have the strength to make another attempt. She wondered, if this endeavor did not prove successful, if God did not answer their prayers affirmatively, whether James would keep his promise to her.

After all these months, she simply wanted to know.

"What is your will, Your Majesty?" Lady Anne asked courteously.

Mary looked over at the woman from where she was propped up in bed. What she willed was something the countess could not grant.

"Continue to pray," she murmured. "You may go to chapel tomorrow morning if it pleases you."

It would be something of a relief to have a few moments to herself, or at least, to have a few minutes alone with Frances and Penelope. They had done their best to keep her occupied for the last few weeks of bedrest.

"Yes, I would like that," Anne agreed, inclining her head gratefully. "Only you must call for me if you have need."

"I shall."

Mary stretched for a moment as discreetly as she could. The false labor pangs had been growing more bothersome lately. Even though the last time she had felt their like was years ago, she still remembered the difference between this, the precursor to labor, and the true pangs. These were only mildly uncomfortable - and unfortunately, meant little.

She felt her child move within her, and despite her impatience and discomfort, she could not help but smile. Touched, she decided to extend a bit of magnaminty.

"Here, Lady Anne," she offered, extended a hand to the countess. "You may feel if you wish. The babe is awake."

Anne looked at her in surprise before taking a hesitant step closer. She had not yet been permitted the honor of touching the queen, and Mary knew that she would be flattered - just as she should be. If the Countess of Sunderland vouched for her that the pregnancy was real, then it would be one more line in her favor in the deposition of the privy council.

"It is wondrous, Your Majesty," Anne said softly, as the prince or princess shifted beneath her palm.

Sighing softly, Mary gave her belly an affectionate pat. If the child was still moving this high in her belly, it would still be a few days yet before she delivered.

"It will be more wondrous still when I hold him in my arms."

--

There was another light tap on the door and Sarah woke from a light doze. Immediately awake, she got to her feet and lumbered to the door.

"Sarah, are you alright?" Bess asked, looking bleary-eyed and still half-asleep. Philip was standing by her side, repeatedly clasping and unclasping his hands nervously.

Sighing, Sarah wrapped her arms around her friend in the closest embrace she could manage at present.

"I am, but for being miserably uncomfortable," she admitted. "I thought the baby would have come by now."

She ushered them into the room and closed the door again behind her.

"I drank the chamomile tea, Bess," she added. "I thought it might help."

Bess nodded. "Yes, that was wise."

"Nothing has come of it yet, but that was only perhaps twenty minutes ago."

"I'll stay as long as I can, then," Philip put in. He took a few tentative steps closer and put his hand at the small of her back.

Bess looked at them for a moment, but said nothing.

"It might help for you to stretch for legs," Bess added at last. "I suspect you've been kept here for some time, haven't you?"

Though it was not much relief, and walking while heavily pregnant was inherently difficult, Sarah agreed to take a few turns about the tiny room. On one side, Philip supported her; on the other arm was Bess. Sarah decided that whatever befell her in the coming weeks or months, she would not forget this moment, supported on each side by the two people she loved most dearly in the world.

"We can stop whenever you're tired," Bess assured her, but Sarah shook her head. It was a nice change to be standing for once. As small as the room was, she was more likely to become dizzy than exhausted.

Sarah was not certain just how many circles she had made around the bed-chamber before a pain gripped her. In the previous weeks, she had felt some pangs, but they had never lasted, and they had gone away if she'd only gotten up and walked around a bit. It had felt like a strange tightening in her belly. This, however, was different: strong and sustained, and seemed to radiate from deep in her belly into her back.

Almost surprised by the pain, she leaned more heavily on Philip, and her other hand went instinctively to the low, firm point of her belly.

"Are you alright, love?" Philip asked anxiously, his voice a note higher than she'd heard it before.

For a moment, she could not answer; her attention was concentrated on breathing and getting through the next minute. When it was over, she looked at Philip, whose eyes were wide. Then she looked to Bess, who had a small and resolute smile.

"It's begun," Bess said softly.