The Heir and the Spared

Epilogue: Sarah

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.