28 September 1959
Lucien came careening down the corridor, skidded to a halt and then all but flung the door to Li's suite open. His heart was pounding, but all thought seemed to have left his head; he was acting on instinct, now, determined as a doctor and as a father to do whatever he could to help his daughter, and bring his grandchild safe into the world.
The suite that had been given to Li upon her arrival was small but finely appointed. It was intended for use as guest quarters, meant for lower-ranking dignitaries who, while they were afforded lodgings in the castle, were not so highly placed as to command rooms on the same floor with the royal family. The suite's main virtue was its location on the first level of the castle; Lucien did not want to force Li to go trudging up and down the stairs in her condition, and she seemed grateful for his thoughtfulness in that regard.
The main door opened onto a modest sitting room, with wide, glittering windows set in the far wall to let in the cheery autumn sunlight. To the left was a door that led to a private bathroom, and to the right was the entrance to the bedroom. At present those three small rooms bustled with activity; there were quite a few maids milling about, clutching clean towels and speaking to one another softly. As Lucien watched one of them came racing out of the bedroom towards the bathroom, carrying a pitcher she no doubt intended to fill with water. She left the bedroom door open behind her, and from that room there came the sound of raised voices; he could hear the midwife, her tone warm and cajoling, could hear the doctor - whom he had not sent for, and of whom he did not entirely approve - barking orders, could hear the murmur of maids who had been pressed into this most unusual service, and above it all he could hear Li, in halting, broken English, desperately trying to make herself heard.
"No," she was saying as Lucien made his way into the bedroom. "No bed. No touch. You go."
"Step away from her at once!" Lucien demanded as the scene in front of him resolved itself.
Li was standing at the foot of her bed, both of her hands braced against the footboard, looking over her shoulder with panic in her eyes. The doctor and the midwife, dressed in white gowns, had laid out their terrifying-looking instruments on the dressertop, and had each taken hold of one of Li's arms, no doubt trying to lead her towards the bed. The maids, who no doubt only wanted to be of assistance, made moving through the room difficult, and a tense sort of terror seemed to fill the air. They made room for Lucien, however; one of the perks of being King, he had discovered, was that everywhere he went people cleared a path for him. At the sound of his voice Li's shoulders had sagged in relief, and the doctor and the midwife promptly removed their hands from her person, had each taken a step back though they were watching Lucien mistrustfully as he approached his daughter.
"Papa, please," Li begged him, her voice ragged from crying. "Please, tell them to go. They shouldn't be here."
The doctor was watching him warily; Li had switched back to Mandarin when she caught sight of her father, and Lucien had found that most people when faced with someone who did not speak their language tended to react as if any words they could not understand were surely some sort of personal affront.
"Of course, my darling," he told her, laying a gentle hand on her shoulder. "It's going to be all right. I'll tell them to go."
Though Lucien himself would have gladly accepted help from any quarter it was plain that all these people were making Li terribly nervous, and that simply wouldn't do. She needed to be calm, she needed to feel comfortable, needed to feel as if she had some sense of control over what was happening, and being manhandled by strangers would only agitate her, and place both Li and her baby at risk.
"Right," he said in English, turning to those who had gathered around him, "I need everyone except Lillian to go back to the sitting room, and wait there for instructions. And close the door behind you."
"Your Majesty, I really must protest," the doctor said earnestly. "There is a way these things are done. We must do everything we can to insure that the Princess's baby is born properly, and she needs-"
"She needs a bit of peace!" Lucien cut him off sharply. "I am as much a doctor as you, and I will see she gets the care she needs."
"Your Majesty, this really is most improper-" the flabbergasted doctor seemed determined to overrule him, but he appeared to have forgotten that in addition to being a king, and a doctor, and a father, Lucien had also been a soldier, and was not afraid to use his fists to get his point across when the situation called for it. Trembling with anger as much as with fear Lucien took a single step towards the doctor, and the man's face paled as he looked up into the wild eyes of his king.
"You will leave," Lucien growled, "or so help me God I will make you leave."
The maids had already fled, and the doctor was left with no one to defend him or his cause save for the midwife, and she did not seem willing to support him. His shoulders sagged in defeat, and he slunk from the room, closing the door sharply behind him. They were alone, now, just Lucien and Li and Lillian the midwife, and the entire room seemed somehow lighter for the absence of all those people.
"Lillian," Lucien said to the girl, his hand still resting on his daughter's trembling shoulder. "Do we have everything we need?"
"Yes, sir," she answered, not daring to look into his eyes.
"Right," he sighed. "The Princess has lived most of her life in China. I've no doubt that things are done a bit differently there. The important thing now is to keep her comfortable, yes?"
"Yes, sir," the girl said again.
"Very good. Now you stay right there, and I'll let you know when we're ready for you."
The midwife nodded and stayed rooted to the spot, clutching a towel to her chest and giving every appearance of accepting his commands, for which Lucien was very grateful. He had delivered a few babies during his medical training, but that had been a lifetime ago, and while he was confident that he understood the mechanics he was nonetheless grateful to have an expert of sorts on hand, and one who would not ask too many questions or push Li too far. This is going to be a very long morning, he thought, but he squared his shoulders, and turned his attention back to Li.
"There now," he said to her softly in Mandarin. "That's better, isn't it?"
Li smiled at him wanly. "They were making too much noise," she told him. "They act like I'm dying, but I'm only having a baby."
"They're just very excited," Lucien told her. "Now, would you be more comfortable on the bed?"
"No," Li answered at once. "No bed. It's better to stand, or to kneel, that's what my mother told me."
For a moment Lucien was shaken by her words; he was certain Mei Lin had never said any such thing to Li, who had been so very small when her mother died. And then it occurred to him that she was not talking about Mei Lin at all, but instead referring to the woman who had taken her in, the woman who had raised her, the only mother Li could remember now. Surely they must have discussed it, Lucien realized then; surely this woman who had loved and raised his daughter would have tried to her prepare her for what was to come, once the baby came. Where is she now? He wondered as he looked at Li. The family who had adopted her, raised her, loved her, where were they? Why had she not been able to go to them, and stay in her home? Had she left them behind, or had they suffered the same fate as her husband? And why had it never occurred to him to ask before now?
A question for another time, perhaps, he thought sadly.
"All right," he said aloud. "All right. If you're comfortable here you can stay where you are."
As he spoke Li's face went pale and her eyes closed sharply, her grip on the footboard so tight her knuckles went white from the strain of it. She made no sound, but her whole body was tense, and Lucien did not doubt that it was a contraction, one of many.
"Have you been timing them?" he asked the silent midwife in English.
"It's been about fifteen minutes since the last one, sir," she answered at once.
"Right." There was time yet, then, if the contractions were still that far apart.
Beside him Li had relaxed somewhat, and she was watching him expectantly, no doubt hoping he might have some news for her after speaking to the midwife.
"I'm afraid you have a long way to go, my darling," he told her, and to his surprise she laughed.
"I've waited so long already," she said, somewhat wistfully. "But now the time has come, and everything is happening so quickly. What difference does a few hours make, when I've waited so many months?"
Lucien smiled down at her, and rubbed his hand gently across her back. "It will all be worth it," he told her. "You'll see."
They passed the time the best they could; Lucien cleared everyone out of the sitting room, and Li paced for a while, making a slow, ponderous circuit around the suite while holding tight to her father's hand, stopping every now then to squeeze him fiercely through the pain of a contraction. He coaxed her into drinking a bit of water, and nibbling on a biscuit; she would need strength to see her through to the end of this ordeal, and while he would have preferred her to eat an actual meal, he supposed he ought to take what he could get. Lunchtime came and went, and the three of them - Lucien and Li and Lillian - got to know one another quite well. Li and Lillian could communicate with no more than one or two words at a time and so Lucien was often forced to act as translator, but for all that they seemed to manage.
As the day wore on Li's time drew near, and they retreated once more to the bedroom, where Li took up her post at the end of the bed. The contractions were coming quite close together now, and Li's face was haggard and wan from exhaustion. Lucien wanted, very much, for her to lie down, but she remained adamant, and he decided it might be wise to pick his battles, and let it go, for now.
"Li, my darling," he said to her as he stood beside her, watching her face for the smallest sign that something was amiss. "Lillian needs to check the baby's position. We need to make sure that everything is all right. Will you let her look?"
For a moment Li seemed to be deliberating with herself, torn between her fierce desire for privacy and her concern for her baby. As they walked she had told him that she'd heard stories of women in the rural parts of China giving birth in the fields, wrapping their babies up and going straight back to work; she seemed to admire them, seemed too proud to accept any sort of coddling from her anxious father.
"Yes," she said at last, and Lucien breathed a sigh of relief. He gave Lillian a nod, and held his daughter's hand while the midwife knelt at her feet and lifted her nightdress to check her progress.
"I hope it's a boy," Li told him as she closed her eyes, no doubt made uncomfortable by this intrusion but submitting to it just the same. "I could name him for his father. And for you. A grandson, to carry on your legacy. A boy would be an honor."
"A girl would be a blessing," Lucien told her earnestly. "You are the most wonderful gift I have ever received, my darling."
Li looked up at him then, her lower lip trembling, her eyes full of tears, and Lucien could not help but lean over, and press a kiss against her forehead.
"Your Majesty?" Lillian said sharply from her position on the floor. "Can you tell her to set her feet further apart and brace herself? I think we're in the home stretch now. Baby's getting ready to put in an appearance."
Lucien's heart gave a great leap in his chest, but he relayed her instructions to Li at once, and thus began the final stage of their endeavor. There was weeping, as much from Lucien as from Li, and though she did her best to contain the sounds of her pain as her labor wore on the shrill call of Li's voice grew louder, and louder still. Towards the end Lillian helped Li down onto her knees, and Lucien knelt behind her, braced himself and held his daughter up while the midwife dove beneath her nightdress, and with deft hands and gentle encouragement she coaxed Lucien's grandchild at last into the world.
Li slumped back against him, weeping and spent, and Lillian emerged triumphant, holding a squalling newborn in steady hands.
"The towel if you please, your Majesty," she said, grinning fit to burst. Lucien did as he was bid, and Lillian had the baby wrapped up tight in a moment, passing the child to Li.
"Tell her not to cut the cord yet," Li said to her father as she took her child and held the baby close, tears streaming down her face. "I want to keep him with me, just for a little while." Lucien relayed her request, and Lillian nodded, sitting down on the floor with her back against the footboard of the bed, her legs stretched out in front of her as exhaustion began to set in for her, as well.
"Tell the Princess she has a beautiful baby daughter," Lillian said. "We can stay like this for a while, but when the afterbirth comes I'll need you to take the little one."
"Of course," Lucien said. He was still kneeling behind Li, his arms around her, and when he looked down over her shoulder he looked into the beautiful, delicate face of his granddaughter, and a ragged, choking sob lodged itself in the back of his throat. In that moment he wished, more than anything, that Mei Lin had lived, that she could have been here to support their daughter, to share in the joy that filled that room, the beauty of the moment. We have lost so much, she and I, he thought. But we can share this, now. And that must be enough.
"Li," he said raggedly, "Li, you have a daughter."
"A daughter?" she repeated faintly. For a moment he was afraid that she would not be pleased, that she would be disappointed not to have a son as she had dearly wished for, but then she laughed, and relief flooded him. "Hello, beautiful girl," she said to the baby, and then she bowed her head, and kissed her daughter's brow.
The midwife had been right, of course; they could not linger there indefinitely. The cord was cut, and then Li and Lillian turned their attention to the afterbirth, and Lucien rose to his feet with his granddaughter in his arms. She had a dusting of fine dark hair, and though her eyes were closed he knew when she opened them they would be dark like her mother's, like her grandmother's, and he was glad of it. The fan of her eyelashes rested against porcelain cheeks, her features delicate and lovely; to his eyes she looked exactly as Li had done on the day of her birth, beautiful and perfect, and he loved her so much he felt as if his heart might burst in his chest.
Standing there in the corner of the room, swaying with that precious baby held tight in his arms, a sense of peace flooded him, a contentment he had not known since the day Jean left him. They would be all right, he thought, Lucien and his girls, so long as they had one another.
"Welcome home, little one," he said, and held her close.