Epilogue Part One: Sarah
Sarah woke throughout the night to tend to Elizabeth. Though the queen's apartments should be undisturbed for the next month, with the queen completing her lying-in in the king's apartments, Sarah could not be too cautious. As soon as she heard Elizabeth's little mewling cries, she woke instantly, as if she were designed to do it. She made sure the baby was fed and kept clean and warm.
She found herself wondering about Isaac - who was nursing him and caring for him. She felt quite sure that the queen would not do so herself, at least not on a long-term basis; it simply wasn't done by ladies of such high station.
Sarah hoped that in the morning, someone would send for her - that she would get to serve as Isaac's wet-nurse. It would certainly be a convenient thing, as the queen would not have to hire anyone else. The idea of seeing Isaac again filled her with a pleasant warmth.
She knew, of course, that getting to nurse Isaac for the next year would only make it harder to part with him when she and Philip eventually left the palace and made their own home. Yet somehow, getting to see him for the coming months seemed more bearable. Even after seeing him for less than an hour, Sarah loved him, fiercely and instinctively.
When there came a knock on her door in the morning, she watched eagerly; she was too sore to get up unless she truly needed to. Philip entered a moment later.
"How are you?" he asked, before his eyes moved from Sarah's face to Elizabeth's. "How is she?"
"As well as can be expected - both of us," Sarah replied, with a small smile.
He came to her bedside, and she took his hand.
"I wish I could have stayed last night," he admitted.
"I know."
Gently, Philip lifted her hand and kissed it.
"Someday," Sarah said softly.
Now that she had done her duty, now that she had given the queen a son to raise as an heir, she and Philip could go, wherever they pleased. She only waited on the queen's word.
"Philip," she started softly. Glancing over at Elizabeth - who was still too young to show enough personality to be dubbed a "Lizzie," "Eliza," or "Bess" - she saw that the babe was still asleep. Reassured, she looked back up at Philip. "I meant to talk to you of that - of the future."
Slowly, gingerly, Philip eased down onto the bed next to her.
"What about it, love?" he asked, choosing his words with care.
"I know we wanted to get a house of our own," Sarah began, "but I was wondering if we might delay it a year. If I might stay here to nurse Isaac - if the queen wishes it, of course - and if we might give some of the money to Bess. She was such a help..."
She trailed off then, and she saw a muscle jump in Philip's jaw; his teeth had been clenched tight.
"Sarah," he said after a moment, very quietly, "perhaps... perhaps you should not call him that."
Those were not the words Sarah had been expecting. Her stomach dropped, and she lowered her gaze from Philip's face to their interlaced fingers.
"Why not?" she whispered. "He is still our son."
Even though Philip did not speak, Sarah knew what he was thinking, or he would not have spoken a moment ago. In some respects, at least, Isaac was not their son; not anymore. She had given him up.
"I've done the wrong thing, haven't I?" Sarah said softly. She reached out to touch the tiny hand of Elizabeth, sleeping peacefully beside her, on the opposite side from Philip. Glancing up again, she looked at Philip. She was too tired to cry now; if she had not been so exhausted, perhaps tears would have glittered in her eyes, yet all her tears seemed spent. "What happened, Phil, to Hagar?"
Stiffening, Philip didn't answer. "That doesn't matter, Sarah."
"You won't tell me, because things went ill for her, didn't they?"
"Of course they did," Philip owned finally. "She slept with another woman's husband, Sarah."
Sarah bit her bottom lip, rather too hard. "Her mistress asked her to," she murmured. "How could she have refused?"
With a sigh, Philip looked heavenward for a moment, as if for guidance. Sarah wondered if he would stride out of the room. Instead, he wrapped an arm gently around her.
"You aren't Hagar, Sarah," Philip insisted. His voice was firm, but not unkind. "You're a servant of the queen, and you did her bidding. Whatever your motives were, right or wrong, it's done now, and we must face up to it."
Slowly, Sarah nodded.
"If there's one lesson we might learn from that story, though," Philip continued cautiously, "it is that things do not go well between women after such an agreement. The queen is deceiving her own husband. She's going to want any evidence of that, any threat to her security, gone."
"You don't think she'll let me stay as... as her son's nurse?" When Sarah heard herself speak, she realized how small and foolish her voice sounded, like that of a child.
Philip shifted. Very gently, he touched the side of Sarah's face.
"You asked me to be ready to leave weeks ago," he reminded her in a murmur, "and so I am. I think perhaps it would be wise, as soon as you are healed, for you to make ready as well."
Somehow, after all this time, dreaming of finding their little cottage with her own stove, Sarah felt herself daunted by the prospect of it, so real and immediate before her. The prospect of leaving this place, her home for almost three years, so secure, was terrifying. Her lower lip began to tremble.
"You really think we must?" she whispered.
Philip paused; Sarah knew he was weighing his words. That only frightened her more.
"I think," he said, "if we wait for the queen to tell us we must, things will not go well for us."
Sarah swallowed. "And Bess?"
"Bess can come with us, of course." Philip rubbed his hand thoughtfully along the bedsheet, and his expression darkened slightly. "I'm afraid she'll have to, now that she's helped us."
--
Once Philip had gone back to the assistance of the duke, Sarah fed and changed Elizabeth. It wasn't long until the girl after whom the baby was named appeared.
"Bess," Sarah said with relief. She had not known what would happen to her dear friend after Bess went back to work. "Are you alright?"
Though pale, Bess nodded. "I dressed Lady Richmond this morning. She was none too pleased with me, I can tell you that, but she said I could at least stay until the end of the week. At the end of that time, she'll tell me whether I may stay on."
"Oh," Sarah said quietly.
It was not quite the mercy she had hoped for, that she was sure Bess deserved, after years of faithful service with no other slip-ups. Yet at least it was something; she could not have borne it if Bess was turned out of the palace that very day, and only for helping Sarah.
"When the queen sends for me, I will ask about procuring a pardon for you," Sarah assured Bess. She was sure that the queen would send for her soon, perhaps when they had both healed for a few days. After all, even though Queen Mary had longed earnestly for a son, she must still miss her daughter.
"Don't trouble yourself," Bess murmured. "You have quite enough to do already." She smiled down at her sleeping namesake.
Sarah reached to stroke Elizabeth's head lightly with a fingertip. "I'd no idea they sleep so much," she confessed.
Softly, Bess laughed. "Yes, you'll be learning quite a lot about babies and mothering," she assured her friend.
"And you'll help me, won't you?" Sarah asked, unable to help herself. "You'll stay with us?"
Eyes widening, Bess looked down at her friend. Though her mouth opened, she said nothing, and closed her mouth again.
"If you have lost favor with the duchess, you will need a place to go," Sarah explained, needlessly, "and as it is only on my account that you have lost it..."
"It is a kind offer," Bess said finally, "and I will think on it."
"Alright." Sarah nodded, relieved. She could ask for nothing more than that.
--
Nearly a week passed, and Sarah still heard nothing from the queen. She was beginning to consider marching to the queen's bedchamber in the king's apartments. As she was the queen's servant, she doubted anyone would have stopped her.
In fact, she had nearly determined to act on this resolve when, on the fifth day, Mrs. Labadie entered her chambers.
As no one else had knocked on the door - no one knew she was even here - but for Philip and Bess, Sarah had been alarmed by the midwife's entrance. She had forgotten that Mrs. Labadie, too, knew she was residing here. Without thinking, she had cradled Elizabeth closer to her chest; the baby made soft cooing noises, only pleased to be nearer to her mother.
"What are you doing here?" Sarah asked, feeling too much apprehension to disguise the hostility in her tone. Her glance flitted to Mrs. Labadie's hands, holding a pouch.
"I've come to see how you fare," Mrs. Labadie replied evenly, "and the babe as well."
"Right as rain," Sarah insisted. She was not willing to have the woman come any closer. It might be that the midwife was just another pawn of the queen's, but Sarah still did not trust the woman who had taken Isaac away.
"Come now, there's no need for that." Mrs. Labadie clucked her tongue.
Though Sarah watched her warily, Mrs. Labadie made no threatening moves. Sarah did not quite let her guard down.
"You've nothing to fear from me, girl. The queen already has all that she desires; she only wished for you to have this."
Mrs. Labadie held out the pouch.
Carefully, Sarah shifted Elizabeth so that she could take the pouch.
"The queen bids me to tell you that this is all you will need to start your new life," the midwife explained. "She encourages you to start it right away."
With furrowed brows, Sarah weighed the pouch in her hand; it was rather heavily. She set the pouch on the bed and struggled to open it one-handed. Thrusting her fingers inside, she felt cool coins - a whole fistful of coins.
"There will be more if you agree to go quietly," Mrs. Labadie added. "A thousand pounds, in all."
Sarah's breath hitched. A thousand pounds... That would double the amount she had already saved. Two thousand pounds would certainly make for a good start for her, Philip, Elizabeth, and Bess.
"May I see her?" Sarah said finally. "May I see... him?"
Mrs. Labadie looked at her steadily, with something that looked like annoyance flickering in her eyes. "A thousand pounds, if you go quietly," she repeated.
Sarah pressed her lips together; for a moment, she was too furious to speak. She must not forget herself, and who she was. If she stormed into the queen's room and demanded an audience with her, she would lose more than a thousand pounds - she could lose her freedom or even her life.
"And where am I to go?" she finally managed to ask, endeavoring to control the tremble of anger in her voice.
"That is no concern of mine, but if I were you, I would suggest going out of the country. France is quite close."
Though that country had been one of Sarah's options, one that she had even discussed at length with Philip, that had only been if things had gone bad. The country was Catholic, and they did not even speak the French language. Perhaps that was why the queen wished for them to go there: if Sarah tried to reveal the queen's plan, no one would be able to understand her.
It was not fair, Sarah knew, to place any fault with Mrs. Labadie. But Mrs. Labadie was the only one present at which she could vent her anger.
"Why are you doing this?" Sarah demanded. "Why are you helping her?"
Unperturbed, Mrs. Labadie looked back at her steadily. One eyebrow raised, and her haughty countenance made Sarah's blood boil even more.
"For the same reason you did, I expect: she is the queen."
--
A few days later, on the day that Bess' employment with the Duchess of Richmond was due to possibly expire, the trio quitted St. James'.
They had few worldly goods to their name, but Sarah was ever conscious of the two pouches secured among their scant luggage - two pouches of money that would be the basis on which to build a future. A few pounds had been spent to rent a carriage and hire a driver, which would take them to Dover. From there, they would cross the Channel to Calais, France; and from there, Sarah knew not where they would go.
Philip helped Sarah into the carriage first; it was no easy task climbing in while carrying little Elizabeth, but Bess helped. Once the ladies were settled into the carriage, Philip followed. The driver shut the door, and climbed back to his seat.
The carriage rattled as it lurched into motion; Sarah held Elizabeth a little more tightly, but the baby slept soundly.
The carriage turned onto a side street, and despite herself, Sarah glanced out the window, looking back at St. James' Palace. The bricks seemed to glow in the warm sunshine. She gazed steadily at the palace, imagining that if she looked hard enough, she could see Queen Mary in the window, perhaps holding Isaac, or whatever he was to be called now. She looked back at that place, the place that could be the making of her or the breaking of her; only time would tell. She looked at it until it faded from view.
Then she shifted again to face forward, and was conscious of a solicitous look from Bess, and Philip's hand on her knee, and Elizabeth warm in her arms.