Chapter One

"How's that?" Emma pressed her fingers against the sides of Matthews neck. When the old man cringed, Emma asked him to swallow. He did so, but with a grimace.

"Does it burn or simply ache?" She asked him.

"Like me throat's on fire Mrs H." Matthews confirmed, his voice hoarse.

"Hmmm..." Emma said absently. She turned to the row of vials on her table and shook her head. Then she dug through her boxes of powders until she found what she wanted. "Ah, here we are." Turning back to her patient, she stopped as the room spun and gripped the edge of the examination table. "Oh dear." Damnation, her head felt as if it were constantly about to drift up off the rest of her body. She'd read that she'd have to tolerate that for another month or so.

"You all right, ma'm?" Matthews asked reaching to steady her.

"Yes, Matthews. Thank you. It's a rather inconvenient thing feeling as if you're drunk as a lord for most of your day."

"Aye, but I imagine having a wee one at the end of it all is a right prize." He reminded her with a grin.

Emma gave a small smile in agreement. "Though at the rate he seems to be growing I imagine 'wee' will only be a figure of speech." She patted her stomach, already noticeably starting to round and thicken. "Now, for you Matthews," She paused to tap the red powder contents of the small tin black box into a glass of water. "This should help ease the pain for a bit."

Matthews stared down into the glass skeptically and then sniffed. His bushy, salt and pepper eyebrows drew together. "What is that in there, Mrs H?" He sniffed the contents.

"Matthews, my dear man. Haven't you learned by now not to ask me that question?" Emma smiled. "Drink up like a good lad now." She'd never admit it, but it was always highly entertaining watching her patients reactions to any treatments she chose to administer to them.

Matthews didn't disappoint. He sipped from the glass gingerly and then his eyes widened.

"Bleedin' Christ!" He said sputtering. Emma took the glass from him so he wouldn't spill it while he coughed and shuddered. " 'at's pepper in there!" The old man glared at her as if she'd pulled off the lowliest betrayal.

"Indeed, now the rest, if you please." Emma insisted pushing the glass towards him.

"But Mrs H..." He groaned with dismay.

"It'll ease your throat. I promise. Then once more after dinner and I'll have another look before you turn in. It's more effective than salt water and quicker as well. Let's hope the soreness is gone tomorrow or we might be looking at tonsillitis I'm afraid."

Matthews swallowed nervously and took another sip. Under her watchful gaze, he finished the glass. When he got up off the table she watched him favouring his right leg.

"Storm coming?" Emma asked amused. Though she was not one to be given to superstition, Matthews was convinced that knee joint on his right leg began to ache whenever there was a storm brewing. True, it had actually had been rather overcast today but really, weather forecasting bones?

"Mark my words, Mrs H. This time tomorrow, we'll have us a blower." He nodded nervously. On his way out, Matthews stopped in the doorway and then put his fingers to his throat. Turning to Emma, he cleared his throat.

"Better?" Emma asked smugly.

Matthews glowered at the empty glass on her table but shrugged and gave a small nod.

Emma sat on her bed to rest her sore back for a moment, then decided against it when she found her eyes beginning to drop closed. Shaking her head she forced herself back on her feet then felt the all to familiar urge to use the privy. Oh bother! If it wasn't one thing it was another. She was either dead on her feet or in the ward room half the time.

"Clear the privy everyone!" Styles joked when she scurried past him in the corridor. Emma decided the needs of her bladder superseded any need to retort and ignored him.

The novelty of pregnancy was quickly beginning to wear off. Between losing her breakfast every morning and rushing to the privy every five minutes, she was becoming disillusioned with what was supposed to be the 'gift' of maternity.

Then there was the matter of her body becoming a foreigner to her. It was twisting and expanding in rather off-putting ways to make room for this tiny entity inside of her. Later, as Emma stood in the sick berth, with a rare moment alone. She placed a hand over her breast, wincing at the tenderness there. She'd admit that vanity took precedence there as she liked that change the best. As she noticed Horatio did too. Her breasts were fuller. Though he rarely displayed his desire for her, she could see a twinge of appreciation when he gazed there. Yet, when she caught him at it, he'd blush and look away. As if he had no right to look upon his pregnant wife in such a manner. Relations had come to a near stand still as well and Emma began to wonder if Horatio's excuses about not wanting to hurt the baby were just an excuse because she was becoming fat.

Her mother-Emma stopped herself. No. Rowena was not her mother. It was sometimes hard to reconcile her relief that such a hateful woman had not borne her with the anger that the one that did, had no desire to raise her. Horatio had tried to make it sound so noble. Her real mother, a woman named Katherine who had probably died while fighting for her country, had left Emma to be raised in safety and comfort and could not have raised Emma herself.

Safety and comfort. Emma snorted at that. She'd have given it all up for an ounce of maternal love. But no, instead she was taunted by the whisperings of a hateful woman who assured her that all men were loving and attentive in the beginning, but once settled into marriage, a wife lost her lustre and her figure and he would surely look elsewhere.

Was that what was happening now? Emma's eyes burned with tears. Did Horatio not desire her anymore?

"Oh for goodness sake." Emma sniffled turning to her apothecary table. Everything made her cry these days. Or nauseous. Emma shuddered, as her stomach lurched. The nausea had abated somewhat but the smell of food still made her somewhat queasy. She imagined seeing one's wife with her head constantly over the chamber pot would kill anyone's desire.

Still, she missed it though. Horatio still held her at night and was still wonderfully sweet and kind but she missed his hands on her in that fevered passion they had shared before she'd become pregnant.

Pulling a book out, she settled onto the mattress. Emma wondered if it made her abnormal, to enjoy her husband's attentions in bed. She enjoyed the feel of his hands stroking her, the feel of him full and hard inside of her. His breath, hot and sweet against her face as he slid back and forth above her.

Emma shivered in memory and shook her head, trying her best to put such memories from her mind. She had to hold onto the belief that those things would all return once the baby was born.

She placed a hand on her stomach and unconsciously her mouth curved in a soft smile. There was an actual person inside of her, Emma marvelled. A person who would someday have it's own ideas and emotions. She couldn't wait to meet this little one.

"Hello in there. And are we well this evening?" She flipped open the book she'd brought with her. An anthology of Shakespeare's works. She felt slightly guilty keeping the volume when she'd turned over all of Archie's possessions to his family but she wanted to keep a piece of the dear man with her. And lately, she was glad she had. When she was able to grab a quiet moment, like now, she liked to read to the child inside of her, certain that the baby could hear her. When she read the words on the page, she imagined the baby there, curled up peacefully in her womb, tiny ears pressed and soothed by lyrical words.

What did it matter if Emma didn't understand the words half the time? They flowed like music.

Emma cocked an eyebrow and stared down at her stomach. "Not the cheeriest of verses is it? Hmm, perhaps when you grow up, little one, you could tell mummy what it means?" She asked with a laugh. Emma regretted that she'd never been one for literature and wanted her child to be able to enjoy it right from the beginning.

"Who knows? Perhaps you'll grow to write as beautifully as our lad, Will, here, hmm?" She giggled at that fanciful thought and continued to read.