The Last Heiress (45 page)

“I have work to do, Mama. You know that.” Elizabeth replied.

“I will wager all your books are up-to-date, the lambs counted, the wool shipped off to Holland, and I can see the fields are thick with new growth. You are managing admirably, Elizabeth, but you are soon to give birth and must spare yourself now for a short time. I have seen Edmund, and he is well enough to help out a bit, and he wants to help out. And Maybel is not going to allow you to give birth without her.

Does Baen do nothing to help you?”

“Baen is an excellent steward,” Elizabeth found herself defending her husband. “He is gone from morning till evening, Mama. Never has Friarsgate had a better man.”

“I am happy to hear it,” Rosamund said with a small smile. “Then you are getting on better, Elizabeth?”

Elizabeth was silent, and then she said, “I want to, but I cannot forgive him, Mama.”

Rosamund shook her head. “I have never known such a foolish girl as you, my daughter. Is there nothing I can say to you?”

“If he would only stop defending himself, Mama,” Elizabeth wailed.

Rosamund shook her head. “Of all my children you are the one who has suffered the lack of my company. You did not like Claven’s Carn and so I let you return to Friarsgate to Maybel’s care. I should not have. You are too independent, Elizabeth.”

“You were independent!” Elizabeth protested.

“I was indeed, but I knew when to retreat from an impossible position. You do not. Well, you and Baen must work it out between you, my daughter,” Rosamund decided. “Now tell me how you are feeling?”

“I sometimes think this will never be over, and that I shall never see my feet again, or be able to sleep on my side,” Elizabeth admitted.

Rosamund laughed. “I know,” she sympathized.

“But none of your bairns was as big as this one, I’m sure,” Elizabeth said.

“Baen is a big man, but you will birth the bairn well, and I will be with you,” Rosamund promised her child.

“I am so glad that you are here, Mama!” Elizabeth said.

“I am glad I am here too, Bessie, and do not scold me. In my heart you will always be Bessie to your mother,” Rosamund said with a smile.

Chapter 15

R
osamund watched in distress as Elizabeth and Baen attempted to mend their difficulties. Actually she admired her son-in-law’s patience with her daughter, who could not, it seemed, resist snapping at him at every opportunity. Several times she almost re-monstrated with her daughter, but realizing it would only make matters worse, and that Elizabeth would consider that her mother was taking a position in Baen’s favor, Rosamund bit her tongue in defeat.

She had thought Philippa difficult in the matter of marriage, yet Philippa had been easy compared to her youngest sister. But then Philippa had a goal in mind, and having attained it was content. And Banon had never resisted the idea of marriage. She found her Neville, and was happy to settle down as wife and mother.

“Do you love Baen?” she asked her daughter one afternoon as they sat in the little walled garden belonging to the house. It was filled with rosebushes now coming into bloom, and the air was fragrant with them.

“I thought I did,” Elizabeth admitted. “I should not have lain with him if I did not love him.” Her hand went to her belly.

“But do you love him now?” Rosamund persisted.

“I do not know.”

“Either you love him, or you don’t love him,” Rosamund said impatiently. “You had best consider it, Elizabeth. One heir is not enough for Friarsgate, and ’tis better to couple with a man you love.”

“At last I am beginning to understand Philippa,” Elizabeth said sharply.

Rosamund laughed, not in the least offended. “Her reluctance was your gain, daughter. You are as passionate about Friarsgate as I am. My first husband was a strong child, and yet he was felled by the spotting sickness. Children are fragile.”

“This bairn will not be. He is a great lazy lump of a lad, and if he is not born soon, I think I shall go mad. And as for having another, Mama, this is surely not the time to consider that,” Elizabeth said.

“He is a good man,” Rosamund said.

“I know it,” her daughter admitted.

Several days passed, and Rosamund thought her daughter was surely due to birth her child, but Elizabeth showed no signs of it. And then on Midsummer’s Day Rosamund was awakened by the sounds of a woman shrieking. Jumping from her bed and pulling her cloak about her, she hurried from her room to Elizabeth’s chamber, from where the sound came. Her daughter stood in a puddle of water, and Nancy was staring, frozen. Immediately the older woman took charge. “Nancy, tell Cook to have plenty of hot water and the clean clothes ready. You have prepared them in anticipation of this birth?”

Nancy stared at Rosamund, puzzled. “M’lady?”

“Really, Bessie, you didn’t make the clothes? What else haven’t you done while you have sat complaining these past few weeks?” She turned back to the tiring woman. “Go to the kitchens and tell the cook that Mistress Elizabeth is about to go into labor. Then find the laundress and tell her we need clean clothes. She will have them, I am certain. Tell Albert to find the birthing table. It should be in the attics. Bring it to . . .” Rosamund paused, deciding where the table should be brought. “Bring it to the hall, and set it up by the fire. Is the cradle prepared for my grandchild?”

“The cradle!” Elizabeth exclaimed.

“Really, daughter, it is not ready? I am glad you are such a fine mistress of Friarsgate, but now you have another responsibility to consider as well, and you must care for it in an even better fashion. The cradle will be in the attics too, Nancy. Go along, girl! Hurry!”

“I am having my baby?” Elizabeth quavered.

“Yes. Your waters have broken, and now the child will be born,” Rosamund said.

“When?”

“When he decides to be,” Rosamund answered with a laugh. “Some labors are quick. Others are not. Are you in pain?”

Elizabeth shook her head.

“Let us get you out of this wet garment,” her mother suggested.

“Then we will go down to the hall.” And Rosamund helped her daughter from her wet chemise and into a clean one. She sat Elizabeth down and brushed her long blond hair out, then braided it into a single plait. “Your father’s hair was like this,” she told her daughter.

“Mama?” Elizabeth’s voice was suddenly plaintive. “I am afraid.”

“Nonsense!” Rosamund said briskly. “I have birthed eight bairns with little or no difficulty. You are a healthy lass, and your confinement has been a good one. Come along now and we will go down to the hall. Since you have neglected to make the necessary preparations for this birth, then I must. Shall I send for your husband? He was out early, I see.”

“Baen is very reliable,” Elizabeth said as they slowly descended the stairs. “Edmund says we are very fortunate in him. Where is Maybel? I want Maybel!”

“I will have Albert send a lad to fetch her,” Rosamund said quietly, assisting her daughter into a high-backed chair by the fire. She took a goblet of wine from the intuitive servant who hurried to their side, nodding a small thanks. “Drink this. It will help,” she told Elizabeth.

I will see to what needs to be done while you wait for your labor to begin.” Then, as the younger woman nodded, Rosamund moved away.

Several manservants came into the hall, struggling under the weight of the oak birthing table. Albert followed, carrying the old cradle, which was blackened with age. Both Rosamund and her deceased brother had lain in that cradle, as had their father and his brothers before and after him. Her own daughters had been rocked in it. She felt the tears pricking at her eyelids and blinked them back. Time, it suddenly seemed to her, was passing by so quickly.

“Send a lad for Maybel,” she said to Albert. “And have someone find the master.”

“At once, my lady,” he said, and shouted to a young serving man to attend him.

Elizabeth watched as everyone about her moved quickly to their tasks. The large birthing table was scrubbed by two red-cheeked serving girls. Then it was carefully dried by hand. Several pillows were set on it at one end. The cradle was first carefully dusted, then polished.

Maybel bustled into the hall and, seeing the cradle, beamed as she brought forth a new mattress she had spent weeks making. She laid it in the cradle’s bottom. Her eyes met those of Rosamund first, and the two women smiled as if in some secret understanding. Then she hurried over to Elizabeth.

“How do you feel, my chick?” Maybel asked the young woman.

“Nothing is happening,” Elizabeth said.

“It will soon enough.” Maybel chuckled. “The laddie obviously has manners, and is but waiting for all to be ready for him.” She took the empty cup from Elizabeth. “I’ll fetch you a bit more wine,” she said so-licitously.

Rosamund, now with Maybel’s aid, soon had the hall in readiness for the birth. Nancy had returned from the lower regions of the house with a large pile of clean clothes. She set them upon a small table which already had a large basin and a small pitcher of olive oil. Servants were placing several pitchers of hot water in the coals of the hearth. There was wine on the sideboard. There was a hushed expectancy now in the hall as they awaited the arrival of the next heir to Friarsgate.

Albert came to Rosamund’s side. “The cook wants to know what he is to do about the dinner today?” he asked her.

“Everything is to be as usual,” Rosamund replied. “The family will need to eat.”

“Very good, my lady,” he replied.

“Now go and ask your mistress the same question,” Rosamund gently admonished the hall steward. “You should have gone to her first, and then consulted me.”

“I apologize, my lady,” Albert murmured, flushing.

“I understand,” Rosamund returned quietly. “You were a lad when I ruled in this hall, but it is my daughter who for so many years now has held sway.” Then she watched as Albert moved to Elizabeth’s side and spoke to her, then, nodding, moved away.

Towards midmorning a look of surprise crossed Elizabeth’s face.

“Mama!” Her tone was an urgent one. “I felt a pain.”

“Then your labor is beginning,” Rosamund responded calmly.

“Come, stand up, and let us walk together for a bit. It will help you.”

For several hours Elizabeth’s pains came slowly. Then towards late afternoon they began to come with greater frequency, and they were harder, lingering longer, it seemed. It was the longest day of the year, and the servants were anxious to get outside to join the revelry of the summer’s night. The Midsummer fires were already springing up.

“Where is my husband?” Elizabeth demanded petulantly.

“Here, wife,” Baen answered her. He had come into the hall earlier, but had been wise enough to keep out of the way. “How may I help you, love?” He knelt by her side, and took her small hand in his.

“Stay with me,” Elizabeth said, to his surprise. Her mood had barely softened over the past weeks, even after her mother had come.

“I am here, and I shall go nowhere,” he replied.

“Put her on the birthing table,” Rosamund said to Baen. “It is time.”

“Is the bairn to be born now?” Elizabeth asked her mother.

“He will come in his own time,” Rosamund answered, “but I believe you have done all the walking and sitting by the fire that you should. Now you must encourage your child forth, Bessie.”

“Do not call me Bessie!” Elizabeth wailed. “Ohhhhh! That hurts, Mama.”

“Of course it hurts,” Rosamund said calmly. “You are about to push a bairn forth from your body. There must be pain if there is to be joy, daughter.”

The long summer’s twilight lingered until it was almost midnight, and then it grew briefly dark. The pains were coming faster and remaining longer, one barely fading away before the next. Elizabeth could feel a fierce pressure in her nether regions as her child struggled to be born. Droplets of sweat beaded her smooth forehead. Tendrils of blond hair, no longer fully constrained by her plait, hung limply about her face. A sharp pain, like a knife slicing into her vitals, tore through her. She screamed piteously with the hurt, her eyes like those of a trapped animal.

“Mama!” she cried.

“You are doing very well, Elizabeth,” her mother’s calm voice reassured her. But Rosamund was not as assured as she appeared. Her eyes met those of her son-in-law. She stood up. “I need to walk about a moment, dearest,” she said. “I will come right back,” she told her daughter. She patted Elizabeth’s cheek and moved away.

Baen was quickly by Rosamund’s side. “What is it?” he asked her.

“The child is very big,” Rosamund said, “and it is her first birth.”

“How can I help?” he wanted to know.

“Have you ever helped an animal to be birthed?” she queried him.

“Aye. One of my father’s prize heifers had difficulty with her first birthing. I put my hand up her to help the calf along.”

“Then you must, I think, do the same with Elizabeth’s bairn. If we could just get the head and shoulders free I believe she could do the rest,” Rosamund told him.

“The child is ready?” he wanted to be reassured.

“Aye, and growing tired with his efforts, I have no doubt,” she responded. “That is dangerous for them both, Baen.”

He nodded. “Then let us bring my laddie forth from his mother’s body,” he said.

They returned to Elizabeth, who was but half-conscious now. She opened her eyes. “What is the matter? Am I going to die, Mama? Is my bairn all right?”

“The lad is big,” Rosamund began.

“I knew that,” Elizabeth replied. “Did I not tell you he was big?”

“You need help in birthing him. You are growing weary with your efforts, and so is the bairn. Therefore his father must help him into the world, Elizabeth, and then you will complete the birth yourself,” Rosamund explained.

“No!” Elizabeth cried. “I can do this myself!”

“In God’s name, woman!” Baen roared at her. “I can take no more of this! I love you, Elizabeth. Do you understand what I am saying? I love you! I apologize to you for leaving you last October. I should have had the wit and the courage to ask my father if he would let me go. As it turned out he was more than willing, and my own foolishness cost me your love. I am sorry. But I will not allow your stubborn nature to cost you your life and that of our child! Now let me help you.”