Eleanor was aware of her mother behind her, holding her daughter. She shifted her position slightly and Eleanor tried to settle against her, despite her discomfort. Though her mother's touch offered her comfort, it was not enough to sooth all of Eleanor's fears. She had built up to this moment for months, sure she would never reach it, that some cruel twist of fate would take her baby's life long before then. She should be relieved to have made it to now, to be so very close to presenting James with his heir and finally having the one thing she had desired with such ardour for years. But now, she was even more afraid than ever. For the closer she got, the more she was promised her baby, the bitterer she was afraid the loss would be. She could feel her whole body shaking with fear in her mother's arms, her frame quaking with terror at what was to come. She tried to take deep breaths, in order to calm herself, but she felt as though each was being snatched from her prematurely by panic, forcing her attempted calm to become panicked, hyperventilated gasps.
“My darling, it’s time to bring your child into this world. It won’t be long now and you’ll be holding that little bundle within your arms,” her mother smiled down at her. Her words were clearly designed to reassure her child, and Eleanor expected them too. But, instead, she felt a shudder run through her body and unexpected, hot tears burnt in her eyes. They slipped down her cheeks and she let out a small sob. The image her mother had tried to create for Eleanor was such a beautiful one, one she so desperately longed for. It was perfect. All she had ever wanted. Yet it felt unattainable, like that wonderful dream was about to be taken from her once more, and to be reminded of how beautiful it could be only made her cry. She was also so very afraid. She was in terrible pain and everyone was rushing around her. Eleanor felt her dress being unlaced and taken off her. Her lower half was covered with a sheet to preserve her modesty, but truly, Eleanor was at the point of being beyond caring. She didn't care who saw her, if it would simply make the pain go away. Her hair was taken out of its usual, complex plait and allowed to fall loose around her face.
"Mother, I'm afraid," Eleanor whimpered desperately. "I'm afraid he'll die..."
She felt the physician's hand between her legs and then another wash of pain as her muscles contracted. She screamed through tears, her hand tightly gripping her mother's in a way that Eleanor was sure must be hurting the older woman.
"It hurts, it hurts," she gasped, her chest heaving with effort. Her cheeks were flushed and skin already glazed with a thin layer of sweat. There was movement at the foot of the bed and hurried whispers. The physician seemed absorbed in his work, inspecting her. But the midwives were glancing at her with concern in their eyes, as though there was something they didn't want her to know.
"What's wrong?" Eleanor's voice rose in decibels. She stumbled over the words, her voice shaking slightly. "What is it?" she demanded again, when she received no response. She turned her head desperately to look at her mother, hoping to find answers with her. "Mother, what is it?" Her voice was high pitched now, verging on hysteria.
Then Eleanor saw it. On the sheets. Only for the briefest second. So short her eyes could easily be betraying her or it could just be a flicker of the low lighting, a shadow from the flicker of a candle. Just the tiniest flash of crimson.
"Am I bleeding?" she asked fearfully.