Undone - Virginia Henley

by Virginia Henley

  She spoke to Queenie as she would to any friend. "For the next two months I intend to be happy every single moment. Perhaps tomorrow I'll ride my favorite pony, and one day soon I'll get the falconer to let us fly a hunting bird. What's that you say? Will Mother let me? I spent a dozen years in the Irish countryside, keeping out of her way and learning to be a master of deceit."

  Queenie's tongue lolled out as she laughed up at her new friend.

  Chatelherault turned out to be a rustic palace with every comfort. A cleaning staff went there weekly to dust the furniture and polish the gleaming wooden floors and paneled walls. In spite of the fact that the place was seldom used, it was always kept in readiness for the duke or his guests. Elizabeth often accompanied the servants and as autumn arrived she enjoyed seeing the squirrels gather nuts and watching the leaves turn brilliant red and gold before they fell to blanket the forest floor.

  Everyone at Cadzow soon learned to love Elizabeth, from the servants to the stewards and gamekeepers. When the weather turned cold she spent a lot of time in the castle kitchens learning how to cook and bake, knowing it was a place that her mother avoided. Elizabeth and Emma began to fashion baby garments and welcomed the Cadzow maids who joined their sewing circle.

  As the babe inside her became more active, she talked to it continually. Her face was full, her breasts lush, though she hadn't gained a great deal of weight. She carried the child high and delighted in the maids' predictions about what such a sign signified. She wrote letters to her sister and her friend Charlie. Maria never replied, but of course Lady Charlotte did.

  Dearest Elizabeth:

  It was lovely to receive your letter and learn how much you are enjoying your stay in Scotland. I am so happy that you regained your strength and that you now bloom with health. Baby William is fat as a little piglet. The time goes so quickly. I can't believe he will soon be four months old. In no time at all, you will be a mother too, and I know you will enjoy it as much as I do.

  I have a shameful secret, and you are the only one I dare tell. Will and I are having another baby! It happened in July, and though others will be shocked that I'm breeding again so soon, Will and I are very happy about it.

  Here in London, all the talk is of war. French hostilities in America and India have flared up again, and Will says war between England and France cannot be avoided. You and I are lucky that our husbands chose politics rather than the military.

  I wish I could be with you when you have your baby. I shall never forget the comfort you brought me when I had baby William. My second is due in April, so as soon as the Christmas festivities are over, I shall withdraw to Uppingham. It would be wonderful if you stopped for a visit on your journey back from Scotland so I could see you and your new baby.

  Fondest love,

  Charlie

  Though Elizabeth was surprised that Charlie was already carrying another child, she was not shocked. Charlie and Will had such a happy marriage, and it was expected that a dynastic family such as the Devonshires would produce a large number of children.

  That night as she reread the letter, the words about war filled her with dread, and she could not get the picture of John in his uniform out of her head. He had said that he might be tempted to come to Chatelherault, but in her heart she felt that he never would. Both of them knew it would be too painful, forever longing for what might have been. When they met she had needed someone to love, and she had lost her heart. But soon she would have her baby and Elizabeth felt certain she would never be lonely again.

  An impulse compelled her to find her old cloak in the wardrobe. She cut the brass button from the lining and decided to put it away in a drawer. She vowed to put away her memories of John too; it was far safer to stop thinking of him. But when she fell asleep, Elizabeth had the token of John's love clutched firmly in her hand. That night, as usual, John Campbell haunted her dreams.

  *Chapter Twenty-Six*

  "The Douglases have more royal blood and more right to rule as Kings of Great Britain than that upstart German George Hanover!"

  The Duke of Hamilton arrived at Cadzow Castle on October 31 still livid from an insult the king had delivered at his monthly levee. When James had hinted that he'd like a royal appointment, King George had asked if the Douglas clan had Jacobite leanings. Hamilton ordered his duchess and her mother to the library, where he spread fading genealogy charts across his desk to prove his point.

  "Anne, daughter of King James the Third, married James Douglas, the first Lord Hamilton. King James the Fourth had a natural daughter who married the next James Douglas. Not only that--the king's widowed queen, Mary Tudor, married Archibald Douglas, another Hamilton noble." His thick finger jabbed at the chart as he documented his royal blood. "The Hanovers were never kings until they usurped Britain's throne--they were nothing but _electors_."

  The duke's arrival ruined Elizabeth's tranquility and destroyed her peace of mind. She knew better than to point out that his ravings were treasonous and instead tried to calm him. "We must be thankful that King George never comes to Scotland, Your Grace."

  "He doesn't need to! He has nobles like me to represent him. How dare he sneer down his German nose at the leading Lowland clan? As Duke of Hamilton I am Hereditary Keeper of Holyrood Palace!"

  To mollify him, Bridget added, "You are also Duke of Brandon and Marquis of Clydesdale. Perhaps the king is envious of your ancient titles, Your Grace, and I warrant he is secretly jealous that you married Elizabeth and took her from his Court."

  "Death and damnation, you are right, madam! He's been a peevish old swine since I informed him I was anticipating an heir." He swept Elizabeth with a speculative look from head to toe, as if assessing her pregnancy to make sure she had nearly another month to go.

  Elizabeth suddenly went icy cold. Only this morning she had felt her baby move about as if it were doing a somersault, and now she seemed to be carrying it much lower. If her child was born today, Hamilton might suspect she had conceived before their marriage. She resolutely pushed the thought away, telling herself that such a thing was not possible.

  "Start packing. Pack everything. We are going to Edinburgh!" Hamilton smiled with smug satisfaction. "The heir to the dukedom of Hamilton will be born at the Royal Palace of Holyrood."

  Elizabeth felt a rising panic. She was happy at Cadzow Castle; she knew the staff and felt at ease with them. The thought of a journey to Edinburgh frightened her. Fear of the unknown engulfed her. "Your Grace, I would like to have my baby at Cadzow."

  He dismissed her words and banged his fist on the desk. "It is in my heir's best interest to be born at Holyrood, as is his due. It will also send a clear message to the king regarding the power of Douglas. 'Tis only forty miles away, and an Edinburgh midwife is just as competent as one from Glasgow, I warrant."

  Bridget, ever a glutton for status, was not about to argue with the powerful Hamilton. "There is no need to fret, Elizabeth. You have at least three weeks to go yet--plenty of time to get you settled in. Come, we have much packing to do."

  The mother-to-be struggled to her feet. To Elizabeth it was like a recurring nightmare, where other people always decided her fate. A woman facing childbirth for the first time had little enough control, but what little she had was being swept away. She placed protective hands on her kicking child and spoke to it silently. _All will be well I won't let anything or anyone harm you, little one_. To her amazed relief, the baby quietened.

  As the carriage rumbled along, Elizabeth appreciated the sable cloak for the first time. Bridget and Emma both had fur lap rugs tucked about their legs, yet still the three women were far from warm. When they spoke, their breath was visible in the cold air. Hamilton had ridden ahead with his valet, his secretary, and one of his stewards, ostensibly to make arrangements for the arrival of his duchess and their expected child, but Elizabeth knew he refused to be confined in a coach with three females.

  When the carriage jolted over a particularly rough patch, Emma saw the strained loo
k on Elizabeth's face and asked, "Are you feeling all right, my dear?"

  Elizabeth hesitated. A nagging pain had begun in her back, but when she glanced at her mother's stony countenance, it clearly conveyed that she had better not be in labor. "I'm fine, Emma."

  An hour later, just as dusk began to descend, the coach drove through the iron gates and swung to a stop in Holyrood's courtyard. A gaggle of servants stepped from the main entrance and formed a line to welcome the Duchess of Hamilton. Emma opened the carriage door, stepped out, and held up her hands to assist Elizabeth, who climbed stiffly down the step. "Straight to bed with you. I hope they have roaring fires to thaw us out."

  "My legs are cramping ... I need to walk a little, Emma."

  Bridget stepped from the coach ready to do battle with the servants of the royal household. "I take it you have prepared the Queen's suite of rooms for Her Grace, the Duchess of Hamilton." It was not a question but an assumption. She no longer played a role; her regal demeanor had become an integral part of her.

  As Elizabeth walked slowly through the luxuriously appointed chambers she found the atmosphere strangely oppressive. She tried to dismiss the feeling: _I'm being fanciful because I would rather be at Cadzow_. She put her hand to her back as another spasm of pain took her breath then slowly eased away. She denied to herself that she was in labor. _Labor pains would be in my belly_! An inner voice answered her: _You'd better find your rooms and Emma, just in case_! She turned to find a palace maid who had been following her at a respectful distance.

  The maid bobbed a curtsy. "I'll show ye the way, Yer Grace."

  When they reached the suite of rooms that had been prepared, Elizabeth found the atmosphere even more foreboding, though the sitting room was large and a cheery fire had been lit. She entered the bedchamber and saw Emma already unpacking her things. "I have a recurring pain in my back, but it's far too early for labor, don't you think?" she asked apprehensively.

  "Oh, my love, I've never had a child. Let's put you into bed and I'll get your mother."

  "No, no, Emma! I'm sure if I lie down the pain will go away." Moving slowly and with great care, she undressed and slipped into the bed, but her mind was racing, her thoughts chasing each other in circles. _If you admit the truth, you want your baby's father to be John Campbell_. She answered the inner voice: _No! No! That is a wicked thing to say. My child is Hamilton's! If he is a boy, he will be heir to the Dukedom of Hamilton. There must never, ever be the slightest doubt about his paternity. There must never be even a hint of scandal connected with my name_. Suddenly her abdomen went rigid, and she was gripped with a heavy pain that tore a cry from her throat. When it eased away, she threw Emma a look of apology. "I'm sorry ... I'll try to be quiet."

  "Elizabeth, you must let me get your mother. We don't want any harm to come to this child."

  Elizabeth bit her lip, knowing she had no choice. Her baby's welfare was paramount, so she gave Emma permission.

  The minute Emma told Bridget about Elizabeth's pain, her mother sought out Hamilton. She found him ensconced in the state apartments. "We need a midwife without delay, Your Grace. The coach ride has brought on early labor!"

  "Damn and blast that coach driver! He always sets a reckless pace. If aught happens to this child, I'll have him hanged! I have already summoned the royal physician. He will no doubt know of a competent midwife." Hamilton turned to his secretary. "Go and see what's keeping the man." He turned back to Bridget. "I gave orders to have the royal nursery refurbished, but they'd better start work tonight." He spoke to Morton, "Summon the steward and the housekeeper."

  Bridget did not want her competence called into question. "I made arrangements for a nursemaid and a wet nurse at Cadzow, Your Grace, but that won't help us here in Edinburgh."

  "Have no fear. All will be taken care of, madam. Make sure that Elizabeth is comfortable and gets whatever she needs. Inform me immediately of any developments."

  "I shall, Your Grace, but keep in mind that the birth of a first child can be a lengthy process. She will be in labor most of the night, and the child likely won't be born until tomorrow."

  "The length of her labor matters not, madam, so long as she has a safe delivery and my child is unharmed."

  Bridget returned to Elizabeth's rooms and confronted a uniformed maidservant. "I asked that my daughter be put in the queen's suite of rooms, but I have just learned that the state apartments are the ones used by the royals."

  "These rooms belonged tae Queen Mary, madam."

  Bridget frowned. "Surely you don't mean Mary, Queen of Scots?"

  "The very same, madam. That most ancient and sacred chamber in Holyrood Palace is where Queen Mary gave birth tae King James."

  "Very well. I suppose it will have to do. See that a fire has been lit in my bedchamber, and see that we get some food. We are like to starve to death in this _sacred_ place!"

  Elizabeth, who had heard the exchange between her mother and the maid, shivered as if a goose had walked over her grave. She slid from the curtained bed and walked in her night rail to the fire.

  _Mary's life was tragic. She imprinted her sadness on these rooms._

  Emma, seeing her shiver, wrapped her sable cloak about her shoulders. "Keep this around you while I look for a warm bedrobe."

  "My pain has moved to the front. I don't fancy any food, Emma, but I would like some watered wine, if I may."

  When two maidservants arrived with trays of food, Bridget took hers to her bedchamber, which was a few doors away down a corridor. Emma diluted a goblet of wine with a little water and brought it to Elizabeth at the fireplace. "This should warm you and take the edge off."

  Elizabeth took a sip then spoke to the serving women. "Show me where Rizzio was murdered."

  The two women exchanged a speaking look that told her there was no need to explain that Rizzio was Queen Mary's Italian secretary, stabbed to death before her eyes on the order of her husband, Darnley. The maids beckoned her, and she followed them into the adjoining sitting room. The women pointed to a stain on the floorboards.

  As Elizabeth gazed down she did not know if this could possibly be a bloodstain from two centuries past, but the evil deed had somehow left its indelible imprint upon Mary's private chambers. She felt the sinister .memories and the ghosts they left behind.

  "Thank you," she murmured sadly. "Could you bring more wine, please?" Her hand went to her belly, and she knew the baby's head had moved to the birth canal. She sent up a fervent prayer: _Please don't punish my baby for the sins I have committed_.

  By ten o'clock the doctor had arrived and examined her. Bridget emerged from her room to consult with him. "My daughter has gone into early labor from a rough carriage ride. I advised His Grace that it would be dangerous to undergo a journey this late in her confinement, but he insisted that his heir be born at Holyrood."

  "The Douglas is a law unto himself, madam," he said dourly. "How far apart are her pains?"

  Bridget consulted Emma then replied, "Her pains seem to come on an hourly basis, doctor. Do you foresee any difficulties?"

  "Too soon to tell. The midwife is on her way, but I don't expect the child will be delivered before morning."

  Bridget was about to take the news to the duke when the midwife arrived. She examined the young duchess and agreed with the doctor. He advised the woman to have a trundle bed set up for herself, just in case the patient went into hard labor during the night. Then he took a bottle of laudanum from his bag and set it on a bedside table. "In my experience, duchesses refuse to suffer like mere mortals. If she starts to scream, dose her before her caterwaul alarms the duke." The doctor then informed Bridget that he would relay the news to the Duke of Hamilton himself.

  By midnight Elizabeth was exhausted by her efforts to remain silent when the heavy pain gripped her body, and between contractions she closed her eyes and tried to doze. She was aroused from light slumber by a voice.

  "Elizabeth!"

  She opened her eyes, thinking it was Emma, bu
t her faithful maid was asleep in her chair. Then she saw a woman standing at the foot of the curtained bed who, inexplicably, looked like Queen Mary.

  "Never let any learn your secret!" she whispered urgently. "Guard it with your life, as I guarded mine. Promise!"

  "I promise," Elizabeth breathed. As the vision faded, her body was suddenly racked with a strong persistent pain. Her low cry awoke Emma, who jumped up from the chair and took her hand.

  "I'll stay with you, my lamb. You are so brave."

  As the spasm eased, Elizabeth laughed. "I'm not brave, Emma. I'm frightened as a little rabbit... I'm afraid of Hamilton ... afraid of Mother ... afraid for my baby ... oh, Lord, I hope it's a girl!"

  "Don't wish that. He expects a son and heir, not a daughter!"

  Elizabeth's eyes widened as another pain, greater than the one she'd had a few minutes ago, sank its vicious fangs into her and would not let go. She heard a scream and realized it was her own.

  The midwife arose from her trundle bed and, a minute later when Bridget appeared on the scene, confirmed to her that Elizabeth had gone into hard labor. "Make note, her water broke at two o'clock."

  Emma, with the help of a maid, changed the bedsheets, then she poured water into a basin and sponged Elizabeth's face and neck, which were drenched with perspiration.

  For the next two hours the mother-to-be writhed with an agony that gripped her every few minutes. She panted, she laughed, she cried, and she cursed. At four o'clock when the baby's head crowned, her screams began in earnest. She reached up and tore down a thick cord that held back the bed-curtains, then she wrapped it about her fists as she obeyed the women's orders to push, wishing she had not stubbornly refused the laudanum.

  Suddenly she was convulsed with an unendurable paroxysm of pain, blessedly followed by a gushing feeling of release that made her lose consciousness. When she opened her eyes, she obediently gulped down a spoonful of laudanum her mother proffered.