Isabella and her mother, 25 years ago

Isabella rocked and glared at the washed out sky, pincered between the person beside her and the thing within her. It kicked sometimes, squirming violently as the carriage rattled down the crooked path so that nausea came from within and without. Her mother reached to clutch her hand but Isabella yanked it away. "It won't be so bad, Bella." she said, "The doctor says the procedure will be painless, and you won't have to worry about it any more. One night and you'll be right as rain!" Isabella looked at her and was struck by how old she was. Her mother was forty but wore heavy, girlish makeup; her hair was piled into a twisting black mound and she dripped with amethysts and lace. The woman's painted smile and the rouge that bruised her cheeks couldn't hide the dark shadows that etched her face or the terror that glistened behind her eyes. Nevertheless she prattled on, as if to gossip her fear away.

"I was going to wait until after it was finished, but given that you seem a bit grumpy I might as well spoil the surprise – I've asked the chef to cook rosewater and cream cakes as a special treat for you being so brave! I know they're you're favourite. We'll have a little party for you as soon we get back!"

Her mother was an idiot, that much was obvious. Isabella used to think that she spoke to her like a child because she was being patronising, but now she believed that the woman was practically a child herself.

Huddled hills and chalky cottages drifted along beside them. This was orchard country and their destination was fairly remote, well away from the city's prying eyes and chattering tongues. Isabella swept a curtain of dark hair out of her eyes.

"Are you excited about the cakes, Bella? No? I do wish you'd stop being such a baby and say something. Not a lot of girls in your situation an opportunity like this."

"What, to marry a disgusting old brute?"

"You promised we'd have no more of that talk, dear. You're lucky, very lucky. Captain Garrick is a good man."

"Well why don't you marry him, you're both the same age. Maybe he could borrow some of your stupid hair."

"Love has nothing to do with age. You're father is fifteen years older than I am."

"And look how happy you are." Ring encrusted knuckles whitened.

"Now listen here, Isabella. Say what you like about me, though the gods know how much it hurts me after everything I've done for you. But you won't be able to be such scorpion when you're married to Captain Garrick. He won't allow it."

"So he's going to beat me as well as fuck me?"

Isabella's mother slapped her hard across the face.

"That ship is well and truly out of the bottle. If you're going to behave like a harlot you could at least have the decorum not to speak like one in front of your mother."

The sugar in her voice had blown away. Isabella bit back tears, the sting still lingering on her cheek. It kicked inside her.

"This is just about you, isn't it? You care more about your reputation than your child."

There was silence. Her mother looked like one of the grim statues in the temple, heavy lids hid any expression in her eyes. After an excruciating minute Isabella felt sure that she wasn’t going to say anything at all, but then she spoke, in a calm, cold tone.
"I didn't tell you this because I thought it would upset you, but perhaps that wouldn't be such a bad thing given the way you've behaved. When we found out what you did your father wanted to throw you out into the street. I talked him out of it, but then the church came. They wanted... they wanted to kill you. I begged them not to. I paid them, I petitioned them, I wrote to the Hagiarch, but nothing would change their minds. Then Captain Garrick ­– who's a widower might I add – listened to me and stepped in. Instead of execution, they agreed to let you have the procedure and become Garrick's wife. He'll provide you with the discipline and spiritual guidance to help you atone for your sin. He was very generous. You owe that man your life."

Isabella snorted dramatically, but she knew her small white hands were trembling. She tried to hide them from her mother.

"You're being hysterical. Why would the church want to kill me?"

"I've only heard pieces, but they seem to think that this bastard you're carrying is somehow unnatural. They believe you are a witch."

"Do you?"

Her mother didn't meet her gaze.

"I don't know."

It kicked.