25. “Small Bump” - Ed Sheeran
“Small Bump” - Ed Sheeran
I’m still rolling that obnoxious excuse of a PI’s words around in my head when my phone rings again. I flip it over to reveal Bea’s name and face on the screen, then drop it back down unanswered. Her current drama will have to wait.
Why would Elizabeth visit William? Is she trying to get information from him?
Trying to win favors with Henry? If the latter, she should have done her homework better.
Visiting his father will only drive Henry further away, not closer.
Maybe they’re working together on a plan titled “How to Wreck the Entire Nation.”
My phone lights up once more. I sigh at the sight of Bea’s name and connect the call. I know my sister well enough to know that she’ll keep calling until I answer.
“Hello?”
There’s only silence.
“Bea? Are you there?”
She lets out a noise of surprise, as if she didn’t realize I was on the other end. “Celia?”
“Yes. Is everything okay?”
“I—I don’t know.” Tears percolate in her voice.
I fight the urge to roll my eyes. She probably broke a nail.
“Can you please explain what’s wrong? I can’t help you if you don’t tell me.” I do my best to tamp down my irritation.
A hiccuping sob fills the phone, and I shift it away from my ear. “Bea, what’s wrong?”
Another wail comes through the line. I switch on the speaker.
“Bea, you need to calm down and tell me what’s wrong.” The sooner I can tell her what a loser her latest boyfriend is, the sooner I can go back to figuring out what’s going on with William and Elizabeth.
“It hurts,” she whimpers.
I have a flashback to my own experiences with heartbreak, lying sick in bed, feeling as though the world was ending and leaving me behind. I soften my tone. “It’s going to be okay. Want me to bring some wine?” I say before remembering that she’s pregnant.
She mumbles something I can’t make out.
“I can’t understand you,” I say. “Can you say that again?”
“There’s . . .” Her voice sounds distant. “There’s so much . . . blood.”
The words make my own blood freeze. “Bea?” Panic laces my voice. “Bea, where are you?”
There’s no answer.
I try again. “Bea! Talk to me. Where is the blood coming from?”
She still doesn’t respond, and I’m not going to waste any more time trying to get info from her. I use the location finder Henry installed on all our phones. Bea’s red dot shows she’s inside the palace, probably in her suite.
I dart out the door, nearly colliding with Maisie as I do so. “Sorry!” I yell over my shoulder. “It’ll have to wait!”
The corridors are blessedly empty as I make my way to my sister’s apartment. I don’t have time to stop and greet staff members or explain why I’m running like a crazy person down the three-hundred-year-old galleries.
Her door is unlocked, another relief. I was planning to call Davies to break it down if necessary. I rush inside, calling her name as I go. There’s a sound coming from the direction of the bedroom, so I head there first.
The room is empty, save for the huge bed hung with purple tapestries and gold brocade. The scent of vanilla and plum fills the air.
“Bea?” I call.
A moan sounds from the bathroom. When I push the door open, what I see brings me to my knees.
My sister is crumpled on the floor, half leaning against the tub.
She’s wearing a satin bathrobe that exposes her tanned and toned legs.
Her head is bowed to her chest, and she doesn’t look up when I enter.
I register these things distractedly. What my eyes can’t stay away from is the blood. A dark red stain is seeping out from beneath her robe. It’s spreading across the floor, growing larger the longer I look.
I shake myself out of the stupor I’m in. “Bea!” Grabbing her shoulders, I give her a shake. I know I can’t let her go into shock. Her head lolls backward, and I place my hands on either side of her face. “Bea, look at me.”
Her eyes remain closed.
“Oh my god,” I whisper desperately. “Beatrice, answer me!”
She still doesn’t move or open her eyes.
I fight against my tears as I pull out my phone. Davies’s contact card is still pulled up, and I press the call button.
When he answers, I explain the situation.
As soon as I hang up, I call an ambulance.
Davies arrives less than two minutes later.
I’ll never know if he silently follows me around the palace in case I’ll need his help or if he has superhuman abilities when it comes to movement.
Whatever the case, I’ve never been more grateful.
As soon as he spots Bea, a guttural sound slips past his lips. I’ve never seen him express emotion, but the look on his face is enough to make me blink a few times. “Is she—” His voice breaks.
“She’d better not be.”
He drops to the floor beside her, paying no attention to the blood beneath his knees. “Bea!” he says urgently. “Beatrice!”
“I’ve already tried that. An ambulance is on its way.”
Davies doesn’t seem aware of my presence. His eyes remain focused on Bea, and he’s clutching her hand as if she’ll slip away if he doesn’t keep a firm grip on her. While we wait for the EMTs to arrive, he checks her pulse, lifts her eyelids, and gauges the amount of blood on the floor.
“Do you know what’s wrong?” I ask.
“I think she’s hemorrhaging,” he says. “Which is highly unusual, unless—”
“Unless what?” I need to know what is wrong with her, nothing spared.
He glances at me, Bea’s wrist still pressed between his fingers. “The most common cause is miscarriage. But she’s not—”
The floor seems to drop out from beneath me, the world slowly tilting me forward.
“Celia?” Davies reaches his other hand toward me. He’s never called me by my name before.
“She’s pregnant,” I whisper.
His face grows even more ashen. We both turn our attention back to Bea, looking for a way to make her more comfortable, even though we both know that it will take more than a pillow to fix her now.
A bustle of activity in the suite announces the arrival of the emergency personnel.
They make their way into the bathroom, which has shrunk to half its usual size, pushing a stretcher between them.
They lift Bea’s still unresponsive form onto it, then strap her in as they listen to Davies update them on the situation.
As if he’s asking for permission, his eyes cut to me before telling them she’s pregnant.
It hadn’t even occurred to me to keep this secret. If my sister’s life is hanging in the balance, there is nothing I won’t do to save her—including throw away my crown.
They whisk her away, and I attempt to follow, but Davies pulls me back. “I can get you there just as fast,” he says.
I try to pull away. “But I should be with her.”
“I know. We’ll be there soon.”
Our ride to the hospital is quiet. Davies must sense that I want to be left alone with my thoughts.
I consider calling my mother, but since I’m not sure Bea has broken the news of the pregnancy to her yet, it seems best to wait.
Of course, rumors of the Princess Royal being taken to the hospital by ambulance are bound to be circulating the halls of the palace within minutes, and it would be better if she heard it directly from me.
I settle for a text, but in true Rosalind fashion, she calls me immediately. I fill her in as best as I can, leaving out the part about the blood and the baby, instead telling her that I found Bea passed out in her bathroom and that we’re taking her to the hospital.
“I’m on my way,” she says.
“Mum, that’s not necessary. I’m sure she’s fine. We’ll probably be home in a few hours.” If there’s a way to save Bea and keep my mother and the rest of the world from discovering her little secret, so much the better.
“Nonsense,” she says. “She’s my daughter.”
Davies has managed to arrange a private entrance for us at the hospital, and we’re led up to a private waiting room where a nurse assures us we’ll be notified as soon as there is any word on Bea.
Time takes forever to pass. I keep my eyes glued to the clock on the wall, watching each second tick away. The loud clicks each time the hand moves are the only thing keeping me sane.
Davies hands me a cup of tea, and I accept it with a confused grimace. I didn’t realize he’d left the room. He points to the small kitchenette pushed against the back wall, complete with kettle, tea bags, and suspicious-looking biscuits.
After what feels like a bazillion hours, a youngish-looking doctor steps into the waiting room. He bows his head and murmurs, “Your Majesty.”
“How is she?” I bolt out of my chair when I spot his clipboard. Those things mean updates.
“She’s doing fine now,” he says. “Unfortunately, she had an early-term miscarriage. I’m afraid she lost the baby.”
I slap a hand over my mouth, refusing to fall apart in front of this man. Davies will make sure the entire hospital staff signs an NDA, but I don’t care about any of that right now. Bea is going to be devastated when she finds out.
“She’s resting right now,” the doctor adds. “We performed a D and C to remove any pregnancy tissue from the uterus, and she’s sleeping off the general anesthetic.”
I don’t know anything about miscarriage, or pregnancy for that matter, but this sounds serious. “Is she going to be okay?”
He nods. “She’ll be fine. We’ll keep her here for around twenty-four hours, just to ensure there are no further complications, but recovery only takes a few days.”
My mind is whirling. How can Bea have come in pregnant and be leaving without her baby? It’s the exact thing I was trying to pressure her into doing, and the universe intervened, granting my wish and stealing hers.
“The main concern is heavy bleeding and infection,” the doctor says. “We’ll prescribe a few antibiotics to help avoid that.”
“Will she ever be able to have—” I can’t finish the question.
The doctor’s brows lift. “To have another baby? I don’t see why not. At least 80 percent of women who’ve had a miscarriage go on to have normal pregnancies. I haven’t seen anything in this case that leads me to believe this would prevent a future pregnancy.”
“Then why . . . ?”
He shakes his head and flips the pages of his clipboard back into place. “No one really knows. Sometimes the body decides it’s not meant to be. Sometimes the baby isn’t viable.”
Sometimes your sister wishes your baby away.
I thank him, and he leaves, assuring me that I’ll be notified as soon as I can visit Bea. When my mother arrives, I fill her in on everything the doctor said, including the fact that Bea was pregnant.
“Oh my god,” she says, pressing her hand to her mouth. “My sweet girl.”
I can’t stay here any longer. Davies follows me down the hall, looking as ripped apart as I feel.
“You okay?” He stands just behind my elbow, ever the watchdog.
I clench my jaw in an attempt to stem the tears. I can’t fall apart now, not when Bea needs me. “I will be,” I say.
Bea is awake an hour later, but the nurse says she’s still groggy and that I shouldn’t take more than a few minutes. I nod and step into the room. Davies paces the hall outside.
“Hey.” I force a smile. “You gave me quite a scare.”
Bea looks at me, her eyes already regaining their sparkle. “Sorry ’bout that.” Her voice is slightly slurred from the medication lingering in her system.
She looks so fragile in that bed, so delicate and feminine. Even in a hospital gown, she manages to look beautiful. She has an essence about her, not dissimilar to Elizabeth’s, that draws people in.
“Is Henry the father?” The words are out before I can stop them.
Bea blinks rapidly. “What?” she squeaks, then clears her throat and tries again. “The father of . . . what exactly?”
“Your baby.”
Her eyes go wide, a picture of horror and innocence mashed together. “Oh my god, Celia. Are you serious?”
“Just answer the question.” I may regret asking, but now that it’s out there, I need this answer like I need air.
“You cannot seriously think I would sleep with my brother-in-law.”
“Stranger things have happened.”
She fixes me with a glare. “No, Celia. Your husband isn’t the father of my illegitimate baby. God.” Crossing her arms over her chest, she turns away from me.
I feel equal amounts relieved and stupid right now. It was ridiculous to think they might have slept sleeping together, but when my brain started spiraling, it just made sense.
“I’m sorry, Bea. Things have been really crazy lately. I should have known you wouldn’t do something like that.”
Her eyes tell me that yes, I definitely should have, but my apology softens her a bit. “You’ve been under a lot of stress, what with that hoyden claiming her kid is Henry’s and all.”
The corners of my mouth tug up in a small smile.
“Trust me,” she says. “My baby is not Henry’s, and I have no intention of exploding your life with my choices.” She rubs her belly through the hospital sheet.
It hits me like a freight train. The strong set of her jaw, the spark in her eyes, the way she’s already bouncing back to her usual self. The way she’s rubbing her belly and using the present tense . . .
They didn’t tell her. They didn’t bloody tell her about the baby. They must have decided that as queen, I’m more than qualified to be the one to inform my sister that the thing she loved the most in the world is gone.
“Bea . . .” How do I even start? I don’t have a clue how to break news like this to anyone, let alone someone I love.
My eyes must convey something my mouth can’t, because the smile drops from her face. “What is it?”
“Do you know why you’re here? In the hospital?”
Her brows scrunch together. “I had some pretty bad pain in my stomach. There was a bunch of blood on the floor. I assumed it was my gallbladder or something, but I haven’t talked to the doctor yet.”
Gallbladders don’t bleed like that. “It’s a little more serious,” I say, fighting to keep my words from wobbling.
“What are you saying?”
“I’m sorry, Bea.” I press my lips together to keep a sob from slipping out. “The baby’s gone.”