Chapter 66
The days passed, with Dr. Braly continuing her efforts to smuggle amusements into my chamber. The guards had returned, ensuring my confinement remained absolute. I could not so much as step beyond my chamber. Yet, Dr. Braly persisted in her covert missions.
Her methods of delivery were creative. Thin books appeared between my meal trays, hidden as though they were the most illicit contraband in existence. One tray, then the book, then another tray, and atop it, my meal. Most times she strapped items to her legs, concealed beneath the folds of her skirts. The sight of it never failed to unearth an old, familiar ache in my chest, for it reminded me of Millicent. She had once done the very same, smuggling medical supplies to me in prison. My heart faltered at the thought, a cruel contradiction of longing and resentment clawing at me. Fool that I was, I missed her. After all that she had done to me, I still missed her. I could only mock myself with a bitter smile.
"Lady Florence, look what I have brought," Dr. Braly's voice tore me from my spiraling thoughts.
She lowered herself onto the chair beside me, pulling a sizeable pouch from beneath her skirts. She placed it in my hands.
I peered inside.
"Beads. I purchased them on my return to the capital."
I exhaled slowly, pushing aside my lingering melancholy in favor of the present. Even if my circumstances remained bleak, I would make the most of what little amusement I was granted. I reached into the pouch, letting the smooth beads slip between my fingers. Red, blue, green, an assortment of tiny circle beads. One escaped my grasp, rolling down my stomach and onto the wooden floor.
At that very moment, my child stirred within me. A warmth bloomed in my chest. My child had been moving frequently as of late.
"Shall I fashion you a necklace, then?" I mused aloud.
Another movement, stronger this time, as if my child was answering me. I let out a breathless chuckle. "Ah, I see. One for you and one for me, a matching set it is."
"I shall make one for myself as well," Dr. Braly added, setting to work with a quiet smile.
As our hands busied themselves, I considered the design. "My child and I shall have chains of white beads, with diamond pendants set in violet. White hair, violet eyes, I have no doubt my child will resemble me."
I rested a hand against my stomach, awaiting another sign of agreement, but there was none. Perhaps the child had drifted into slumber.
I turned my gaze toward the delicate flower bracelet resting upon my bedside table. Beside it lay another, slightly larger, its petals curling inward as time stole their vibrance. Mine and my child's. They were wilting now, succumbing to their inevitable fate, yet it was the sentiment that mattered.
"Now we shall have matching bracelets and necklaces," I murmured.
And so, the days continued their ceaseless march forward. Dr. Braly would return from the capital brimming with gossip, her pockets laden with trinkets and distractions. I found myself growing fond of her in a way I had never expected. She was warm, attentive, and oddly maternal. It was an unfamiliar presence in my life. I had never known my mother, not even the image of her in a portrait, but if I were to imagine what a mother ought to be, I supposed she would be something akin to Dr. Braly.
Whether she offered her kindness out of a genuine affection for me or merely as a means to keep me sane, to ensure I remained light-hearted for the sake of the child, I did not know. It made no difference. I did not care to question the motive behind a kindness bestowed upon me.
Time slipped through my fingers like sand, and soon, the ninth month would reach its end. The inevitability of what was to come loomed over me, a specter that whispered of the child's fate and the certainty that these fragile attempts at love I had crafted for it would be discarded the moment it left my arms.
There was one last thing I wished to do.
One evening as Dr. Braly prepared to leave, I lifted my chin and met her gaze. "Would you procure for me parchment, ink, and a quill?"
She paused.
A wistful smile ghosted my lips. "I wish to write a tale for my child and read it aloud."