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 solicitously.
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.”
