Spark

by Catherine Friend

  After we lifted our glasses and toasted with ale, I once again took Jacob aside. “Because we are now married, and this is legally your child, I would like to go to St. Paul’s tomorrow, early in the morning, in order to pray for the health of our child. Would you take me?”

  He took my face in his hands and kissed me like he meant it, leaving me a little lightheaded. Blanche had better be grateful. “Yes, I will take you, even though Westminster is much closer.”

  “It’s St. Paul’s for me,” I murmured.

  An hour later when Jacob’s friends folded themselves into deep bows, I turned toward the open door and sank into a curtsy as Elizabeth walked into the cottage. I gasped as I began to sink too low, weighed down by my belly. Thoughtful Jacob caught me and helped me up.

  Elizabeth took both my hands. “Our Spark has made a most unusual marriage, but we wish you both good health and many children.” She motioned with one finger, and a servant dashed forward with a small box. He handed it to me.

  “We wanted to give you a gift,” she said, “as a token of our affection.”

  I opened it to find an exquisite baby gown, ivory with pearl beads stitched onto the front panel. It was The Dress. Too choked up to speak, I just stared at the delicate, brilliant white piece of my life nestled into the box.

  “Ma’am, it’s lovely,” Jacob said.

  The Queen and I exchanged happy looks.

  Then it hit me. This would be the last time I would see Queen Elizabeth I alive. If the lightning returned me to my own time, all I would see of Elizabeth again would be her tomb. I would squeeze through the narrow entrance at the left side of the Henry VII Chapel in Westminster Abbey. I would stand next to her tomb, with its black iron railing surrounding the tall columns that supported an elaborate platform. Beneath this platform would be her marble effigy, reclining on a marble bed and wearing a large neck ruffle and beautiful crown. She would be holding a scepter in those long, elegant fingers. In the coffin beneath this cold white sculpture would be Elizabeth’s bones, long since turned to dust.

  I swallowed hard to fight back tears.

  “Oh, dear Spark, you are moved by our gift. Pray, it is nothing. Now do not forget. When you have delivered this child, you shall find a wet nurse and come back to court. I long to hear the rest of Harry’s story.”

  I blinked through my tears. Elizabeth was just at the beginning of her reign and had so much ahead of her—Sir Francis Drake and Sir Walter Raleigh would explore the world. Elizabeth’s navy would defeat the Spanish Armada. She would meet and encourage Shakespeare. And the religious turmoil boiling through the country would calm under her leadership. For more than a second, I was tempted to stay here, living in this fantasy, so I could watch it all unfold.

  Elizabeth was still holding my hands. She gave them a slight squeeze, then gathered up her skirts and swished away. I turned away so Jacob would not see my tears.

  After our evening meal, Jacob chose to sleep in his own quarters because I was so large and the bed so small. Relieved, I lay down to rest, and Vincent hopped up. He barely fit, but as usual, he curled up behind my legs and kept me warm. I was going to miss him.

  * * *

  I could not sleep and soon began to feel restless. My legs ached. My back ached. Maybe I just needed to walk, so I stepped outside and paced around. The sun had long since disappeared behind the trees, leaving the cottage shadowed, but the path still visible.

  Would my plan work? Would the lightning take me on the morrow? Would I end up back in my body, or remain stuck in this time period?

  Vincent stopped, staring into the trees as I gasped at a cramp in my lower back. I tried massaging it out, but the cramp moved south. God’s knees. I could not have this baby yet. It was Blanche’s baby to have, thank you very much. But what if the child were to be born before the lightning strike tomorrow? Could I give birth then leave the baby behind?

  “No, I couldn’t,” I said to Vincent, who was whining at something. “Once he or she is born,” I said, “I’m not sure I trust Blanche to take care of the baby.” Since hope and I had reconnected, the life I carried within in my body had become real.

  A twig snapped behind me. Ears flying, Vincent leapt toward the sound. When I turned, two men stepped out from behind the trees and grabbed my arms. I struggled, but one of them put a cloth over my mouth, and my knees went limp. Vincent barked frantically, and one of the men yelled out in pain. I fought to stay conscious but failed.

  * * *

  When I came to, I was lying on the bottom of a boat that smelled of fish and feet and mold. Oars splashed regularly into the river. I curled up, holding my stomach protectively. This was not part of my plan. Whatever had been on that cloth to knock me out made me sick to my stomach.

  The sounds of revelry somewhere along the bank penetrated the blanket the men had thrown over me. Slowly, so they wouldn’t know I was awake, I moved my head to the gunwale and peeked out from under the blanket. Lantern reflections danced all around us, but I couldn’t tell where we were. Then the boat turned to the left toward a stone arch directly over the water. Two metal gates swung open toward us.

  Fire truck. It was the Traitor’s Gate, the way prisoners could be slipped by boat into the Tower of London at night. Princess Elizabeth had been brought in this way when her sister had her arrested.

  Two lanterns walked down the stone steps as our boat bumped against the wall. Then one of the men in the boat dragged off the blanket. “Ah, the little fishy we caught is awake.”

  They helped me out of the boat, then two men each grabbed an arm, squeezing so tightly I knew they’d leave bruises. The lantern barely lit the cobblestone street so I stumbled, but the iron grips kept me upright. I considered screaming, but I was in the Tower of London. No one would come to my aid. My jaw tightened as the men dragged me up the stairs and along the walkway. If this was really happening, then I was screwed. If this was all in my head, then what kind of wacko gives herself the hope she’ll escape only to then create men who capture her? Sick, sick, sick.

  They led me into the Salt Tower, Ray’s room. The two men who’d kidnapped me waited until the guard muttered to himself, then dug out some coins and tossed them each one. Without a word, they left.

  The guard stood in the doorway. He wasn’t the one who’d let me visit Ray. “Bed’s there. No wood for a fire. Food comes midday on the morrow. Be quiet and you won’t be harmed.”

  I stood as tall as I could. “I am Blanche Nottingham, and I demand to be released at once. The Queen will be very upset to learn her favorite has been wrongly imprisoned.”

  He snorted. “Don’t be daft. You yourself arranged this, so don’t be bringing the Queen into it.”

  “I arranged this?”

  “Last fall, ye dropped the coins in my very hand and said to throw you in the Tower the night of April second and that I was to keep you there for one night and one day, no matter what you said.”

  I closed my eyes. Blanche, while I’d been back in my own body, had been very, very busy while in hers. She’d known about the lightning strike tomorrow. While she might have won this round, I was not giving up just yet. “I’m with child. Are you prepared to deliver a baby in the Tower?”

  “Won’t be the first time, m’lady. Now get some sleep. If your time comes while you be here, I’ll see to having a midwife sent around.”

  The heavy door clanked shut and a key turned the lock. The guard shuffled away, coughed, and spit.

  When an intense cramp hit my back, I stumbled to the bed and slowly lowered myself. The cramp disappeared, but twenty minutes later, it returned, stronger than before, taking my breath away.

  Excellent. I was locked in the Tower of London and going into labor.

  This just could not be happening.

  But it was.

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  For most of the night—the longest night of my life to date—the contractions remained at twenty minutes apart. I knew because I counted. I managed to sleep a litt
le between contractions.

  Finally, a tiny glow of daylight appeared in the window slots.

  I worked my way to the door and pounded on it. “Hey! Hey! Let me out!”

  My hand began to hurt so I somehow got my shoe off and banged it against the thick wood. “I do not belong here! Let me out! I am in labor.”

  Finally, shuffling footsteps neared the door. “M’lady, please. You’re frightening the other prisoners.” The asshole chuckled to himself.

  “I need a midwife.”

  “I’ll see to it sometime today.”

  Idiot. I waddled back to the bed.

  But by midmorning, the contractions were ten minutes apart. Clearly, this was not a false pregnancy like Queen Mary’s but the real thing. I lay on the bed, sweating with each contraction, furious I was going through this instead of Blanche…or furious because I’d put myself in this position in my fantasy. Why hadn’t I thought ahead and put something in place as Blanche had done? No wonder Chris preferred Blanche—she was smarter.

  I tried telling myself I was okay, but I wasn’t. I was in labor, locked in the Tower, with no one to help me. I was going to die, and the baby with me.

  I nearly cried with relief when a key jingled in the lock and turned. I rolled to my feet and tried to stand. Would this be the midwife?

  But when the door creaked open, it was Harriet standing there with the key in her hand.

  “Harriet?”

  “Good God, woman, you’re as big as a house.” The brown eyes twinkled.

  “Meg!” In two steps we were in each other arms, me crying and Meg comforting me. I struggled for control, since the next contraction would soon hit. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  “Long story, but basically I let one of the Tower guards cop a feel in exchange for the key. Not one of the more pleasant memories I’ll have to look back on, but still worth it. C’mon, we’ve got to get to St. Paul’s.”

  I grabbed her hand and bent over. The intense pain moved up my torso and down my legs. “I’m in labor.”

  “Sorry, love, we still gotta go.”

  When the contraction ended, I sort of stood up. Meg threw her arm around me and helped me out onto the walkway. The sky was steel gray, with heavy slate clouds galloping in from the west. The wind was cold on my sweaty skin.

  I managed to reach the next tower in the walkway before doubling over again. I tried to breathe into the pain, huffing like I’d seen in movies, but it really didn’t help. “This is never going to work,” Meg muttered. The tower room was cluttered with gardening tools, chairs, and tables…and a wheelbarrow in the far corner. “Perfect.”

  “I can’t get into that.”

  But in less than a minute, I was sitting in the wheelbarrow, clinging to the sides while Meg pushed me to the end of the walkway. She helped me out of the wheelbarrow, then bounced it down the stairs, leaving it there to come back up for me. “Down the stairs, then we just walk down the street and out the gate.”

  We stopped on the stairs for another contraction. “Fire truck, this hurts,” I said, gritting my teeth. Then I was back in the barrow, moaning in my discomfort. Pain truly was not my thing.

  Two guards approached us from the gate.

  “We need help,” Meg said. “This woman is giving birth. I need one of you to deliver the child and the other to deliver the placenta and cut the cord. I hope you don’t mind getting a lady’s private area blood on your uniforms.”

  “Hell’s gate,” one of the men muttered. They both stepped back as Meg pushed me out onto the street. I would have laughed if the pain hadn’t been so distracting.

  “Now what?” I said through chattering teeth.

  “Give me a minute.”

  “Meg, if the baby comes before the lightning strike, I have to stay here for the baby. I can’t trust Blanche to do the right thing.”

  “Yes, you can.” Then Meg jumped out into the middle of the street and waved her arms. A stately black carriage, decorated with gold tassels and being pulled by four stunning bays, came to a clattering stop. By now I’d sort of fallen out of the wheelbarrow and onto my feet.

  Meg yanked the carriage door open. “Okay, everyone out.”

  “What is this? What right have you—” sputtered the gray-haired man sitting with two women.

  “You’re being carriage-jacked, my friend.” She grabbed his arm and yanked him out. “Ladies, I don’t mean to be cheeky, but I’m putting a pregnant woman on the floor of this carriage and she’s going to give birth in about thirty seconds. If you’d like to get blood all over your nice slippers, then by all means keep your big bottoms planted on the bench.”

  The carriage rocked as the two women nearly fell out the other side. That’s when the rain started lightly tapping the dusty street.

  Somehow, Meg got me up into the carriage, where I knelt on the floor and rested my face and arms on the smooth leather seat. Then she climbed up onto the driver’s bench and yelled in the guy’s face. “I will cut your penis off if you don’t take us to St. Paul’s immediately.”

  Then she was back inside with me and we were moving. “I bribed him with some cash. The threat was just for his boss’s sake.”

  Another contraction hit, nearly making me scream. I clenched my teeth. “How did you know I was here?”

  “You kept wondering ‘Why Blanche? Why not some other woman?’ So as I said I would, I did my research, and I found out that you actually are related to Blanche Nottingham.”

  My hot, wet skin stuck to the seat, but I didn’t care. “Please don’t tell me I’m carrying my own ancestor.” How else could The Dress have ended up in my family? I could barely hear myself over the rain pounding sharply on the carriage roof.

  Meg rubbed the base of my back, which helped my breathing slow down, then leaned close. “No, you’re carrying the brother of your ancestor. Blanche and Jacob Maddox go on to have five children. You’re descended from the last one, James, so that’s why you can relax about this baby. Blanchy and Jacob will take good care of Paul.”

  “Paul. Cute. But that still doesn’t—” I gasped.

  “Breathe, Jamie, breathe.”

  I did my best, huffing until the contraction passed. My entire body felt limp as a noodle, and my wet skirts clung to my legs…wet from the rain and from when my water broke during the wheelbarrow ride.

  “Your contractions are getting much closer together, aren’t they?” Meg’s breath was warm on the back of my chilled neck.

  I sighed. “This is a nightmare. Aren’t we there yet?”

  Meg pulled away and looked out the window. “No, too many carriages clogging the street, despite this rain.”

  “How did you know where I was?”

  “You were worried that Blanche would find a way to outsmart you. Then it occurred to me—what if she had? I checked the Tower records from September 1560 through April 3, 1561 to see if that had happened, and there you were: Blanche Nottingham Maddox, imprisoned April 2, 1561, for treason. Congratulations on the marriage, by the way.”

  We giggled like girls until the next contraction. I powered my way through that, then wiped my eyes. “So even though Blanche got the jump on me by having herself locked up, I got the jump on her by raising questions that you answered.”

  Meg kissed my ear. “Precisely. Hang on, this stretch of the street is going to be bumpy. Then we’ll be there.” By now the rain could barely be heard over the thunder. This storm was nasty.

  “And you? Who is Harriet to you?”

  Meg laughed. “That was harder. History isn’t interested in recording the lives of the little people, but luckily, Harriet did something that was recorded, and I managed to find it. With some help of a genealogy organization and a few very large leaps across time, we managed to learn that yes, I am a descendent of Harriet Blankenship.”

  “What did she do?” I cried out as the carriage bounced like an inflated play toy, then bit my lip. I pulled Meg down close behind me, and I fell back into her lap.


  “She published a brilliant and descriptive treatise on her visit to Purgatory. Both Protestants and Catholics lapped it up. She wrote of metal birds in the sky, and metal rats racing down roads. Of huge metal towers and people who did nothing all day but follow the small, flat box everyone held up in one hand. She even mentioned the London Eye as a turning wheel with people trapped at the end of each spoke.”

  I was glad for Harriet, but then doubled over in pain. “Christ, this hurts. But why are you here? Didn’t you get the serum?”

  “I did.” She nuzzled my hair. “But you never showed up. So Dr. Raj gave me your address. I hung around until a woman matching your description came out—you are so cute, by the way—and you were right. Her clothes could have come from my mom’s costume box. I ran up to her and said ‘Jamie!’ She just sniffed and turned away. Then she yelled at me over her shoulder, ‘That bitch is dead, so you might as well accept it.’”

  “But you didn’t.”

  “Of course not. I just kept track of Blanche all winter, watching and waiting for the clothing to change, but it never did. And then I thought to do the Tower research and learned you wouldn’t be able to get to St. Paul’s on your own. I’ve been trying since then to ride the lightning back, but not until this morning did it happen.”

  I closed my eyes and moaned at the next contraction, struggling to breathe. “If you came back, that means the serum doesn’t work,” I managed to whisper.

  Meg held me tight against her chest. “The serum does work. In order to come back and help you, I took more GCA.”

  For a few seconds I was too choked up to speak, but then managed to form words around the lump in my throat. “Dr. Raj let you do that?”