December 27, 1998
I spoke, read, and wrote English fluently by the age of one year old. From that time on, I would occasionally ask Father why he only had one portrait of Mother. He would smile nervously and pat me on the head, claiming that she died before any others could be made. I would then inquire as to what caused her death, and every time that I did, a frightened look would come into his eyes, an expression similar to the one worn by the animals that Alfred and I would experiment on; the look that prey gives its predator before the slaughter. He would always declare the same thing, his voice jovial with an undertone of panic: "Alexia Veronica Ashford, you are too young to ask these kinds of questions. Your mother, God rest her soul, wouldn't want you to be so curious." Before I could utter another word, he would cross himself in the fashion of some sort of pious priest, instruct me to do the same, and insist that I get back to my studies.
I never believed him for a moment.
But perhaps I am straying from the main purpose of these diaries. I shall continue.
Before my birth, Father had insisted that the bodies of deceased Ashford predecessors be exhumed and transported to the Antarctic base in order to preserve their privacy and respect. He appended a spacious room to the mansion that would shield our loved ones' remains from the biting wind and indescribable cold, and it was an area that only an Ashford could enter. It was truly a work of art; the ground beneath had been thawed, lush grass and wildflowers had been planted, and a holographic scene of a beautiful blue sky dotted with cotton-shaped clouds had been applied to the walls. Many times, I would visit the Ashford Cemetery, surveying the final resting place of my ancestors when I grew weary of the endless amount of lessons. I would leisurely pass by the gravesites of Our Lady Veronica, Great-Great- Grandfather Stanley, Great-Grandfathers Thomas and Arthur, and Grandfather Edward in respected silence, placing a single red rose near the entrance of each enormous stone mausoleum. However, I would keep walking until I reached a grassy plot situated in the far corner of the room. Only a petite, rectangular marble headstone crowned with the statue of a weeping angel marked its existence, and the austere inscription read "B. L. Rockfort - Mother". I would sit there a few hours a week, making sure that the grass was clipped, the flowers watered, and the tombstone polished, but not out of love or devotion, mind you. It was simply out of respect; honoring my mother even in death. Father would sometimes scrutinize me from the entrance, a stony, disapproving glare crossing his face, his arms folded firmly across his chest. When I'd grudgingly acknowledge his presence, his eyes would become unreadable slits and he would give a melodramatic sigh before slamming shut the door.
I was surprised that Father buried her in the family cemetery; I'd expect him to have thrown her lifeless carcass into the Antarctic elements, as such measures would go hand in hand with his callous character. Perhaps he had more compassion than I gave him credit for. Or perhaps he was trying to avoid future questions from his super-intelligent children. Either way, I feel no pity for him.
As soon as this confrontation is over, I will retrieve Alfred's body from the cryogenic case and bury him next to Mother. The poor soul deserves that, at least, after his years of unrelenting service to me. I could clearly see it in his pale, dying eyes; the sadness of his final breaths coupled with infinite happiness to see me alive once again. Intermingled with a death rattle deep in his lungs were the words "I love you, Alexia. I love you, my Queen." All I could do was run my fingers through his hair, sing softly, and try to comfort him before he closed his eyes permanently. There was no use in attempting to save his life, as his work had been done. In his own inept and elementary style, he kept my secrets safe from those who would seek to destroy my research.
Even so, I wish that he would have lived just a bit longer, as he would have enjoyed seeing our plans fruit into reality. I would have killed him in the end, for sharing my power with any other Ashford (or anyone else, for that matter) is out of the question, but I suppose that, much like the Queen Ant, I must make sacrifices to best serve the colony. In any case, his memory will live on in my mind and his dedication will always be appreciated.
-Alexia Ashford
________________________
"Harman, for godsakes, will you take the damned picture?" Alexander huffed, an irritated frown plastered across his face. He loathed photos almost as much as he detested having his portrait painted; it was a waste of his valuable time, time that he could use to resume his research into Umbrella's newest commodity, the T-Virus.
"Alexander, stop being so cross," Beatrice scolded, wagging a commanding finger in his direction. "Besides, the children will be arriving any day now. I'm sure that they would enjoy seeing what their mother and father looked like before they were born." She patted her swollen stomach delicately, suddenly lost in her own world. "I cannot believe that they will be here soon. What do you think, Alexander? Two boys, two girls, or one of each?"
Alexander rested his head in his palm, feeling extremely fatigued and irritated. "For the hundredth time, Beatrice, I'm sure I don't know," he spoke through clenched teeth, his words coarse and exact. "Right now, all I care about is whether or not my bungling butler can snap this photo so that I can get back to the study."
"You're such a spoil-sport," Beatrice grumbled, her bottom lip jetting forward in a pout. "You don't seem to want these babies one bit. I'm sure that I'll be the one doing all the work for them, while you're up in that room, reading that incessant amount of paperwork."
"Beatrice, sometimes you can be such a..."
"I believe the camera is ready, my Lord," Harman interjected, maneuvering the tripod to an acceptable angle. "Ms. Rockfort, please sit up just a tad higher so that we can see the twins. Lord Alexander, rest your hand on her left shoulder. Yes, perfect." Harman gazed through the viewing lens, adjusting the focus. "On the count of three. One...two...three."
The flashbulb lit up the room with a sudden burst, causing Alexander to see stars dance before his eyes. "Thank God that's over. Harman, I'll take my brandy inside the study tonight. I do not wish to be disturbed under any circumstances." Before giving anyone the chance to respond, he lightly kissed Beatrice's pallid cheek and stalked out of the room, slamming the door behind him.
"Was it something I said?" Beatrice sniffled, tears forming in her eyes.
Harman forced a quiet chuckle. "No, my Lady. That is just the way the master is. His research is very important to him." He approached her, resting his hand on her shoulder. "He has been that way for as long as I've known him, always striving to be the best that he can be."
Beatrice nodded thoughtfully but didn't seem convinced by the butler's words. "Even so, I hope that he plans on changing his behavior after the children are born. They need a father that takes part in their lives, wouldn't you say?" She looked up at him with hopeful doe-brown eyes, pleading with him to agree to her side.
Harman nodded solemnly, feeling guilt flush his face. 'Oh dear Beatrice, if only you knew what was to come,' his mind told her in secret, and how he wished that he could hear his thoughts. He tried to smile reassuringly, although his lips felt like dead weight. "Indeed. But let us not worry about that now. You never know what will change when the twins are born. Lord Alexander will surely become a wonderful father figure for the children; of this I am most positive."
She seemed appeased, her mouth forming a genuine smile that showed her straight, white teeth. She dug her fingernail into the fabric of the oversized chair in which she sat, her eyes level with the fireplace. "I'm sure that you are right, Harman. When he sees the beautiful children that we have created, he'll realize how important it is to spend time with us. We'll be a family." Her hand moved to her midsection, and her index finger drew lazy, imaginary circles on her large stomach, as if tickling the fetuses inside her womb. "Any time now, they will be here."
The butler made a small choking sound in the back of his throat and instinctively turned himself away from the young mother-to-be's innocent eyes. "Yes, Ms. Rockfort. The children will be lucky to have a kind, caring mother such as you. I cannot wait for the day that they arrive," he lied, hoping that she would not see through his unsteady voice or notice his quaking hands. With that, he began to amble away, fearing that he would allow his guilt to overwhelm him. "I must take the master his brandy, but I will routinely check on you during the night. Good evening." He looked toward her once more, bowed, and left the room before his conscience required him to do the right thing.
________________________
May 13, 1971
My dearest ancestor, Veronica Ashford,
Please excuse my lack of devotion. Although you are my top priority, I fear that I have not had the opportunity to correspond with you as much as I would like to. However, it is rather late in the evening, and I have finally acquired a break from my research. I will give you a summary of the events that have occurred in the past nine months.
The implantation procedure has gone exceptionally well! The surrogate mother is not aware that the process even took place, but instead is under the false assumption that the pregnancy came about through...natural methods. I could not have had the situation any better if I had planned it! She has not asked pertinent questions, and thus, I have been able to keep my research a secret without having the irritating problem of lying to the girl.
We still have not found names for the children (as their sexes cannot be determined), but I have a feeling that you will tell me when the time comes. For now, I have nothing more to do than wait. Ms. Rockfort's due date is quickly approaching, and the children could arrive at any time.
I hear someone approaching my study as I write this entry. I will inform you of more once all is settled.
Your Loyal Servant,
Alexander Ashford
________________________
Alexander hurriedly hid the leather book in the second drawer of his desk, locked it, and plucked up the book lying haphazardly across the floor. Trying to appear enthralled in the pages, he muttered a non- committal 'Come in' when the forceful knocking resounded from the door.
Harman entered the study as a hurricane would, sweat dripping from his brow, his breathing shallow and quick. "My Lord! It is time! When I went to check on Ms. Rockfort, I found that her water had broken. I'm unsure how long that it has been, although she claims that it has been hours. She requires your assistance!" he spoke, his voice high-pitched and nervous.
Alexander flew to his feet as if someone had shocked him, the book flying from his grasp onto the soft carpet. "Excellent. I must retrieve my instruments from the lab, but please assure Ms. Rockfort that I will arrive momentarily." He swiftly pushed past the butler, sprinting from the study and into the main hall. "And Harman!" he exclaimed, his voice echoing through the airy entranceway. "Get a tub of warm water and some towels. Quickly!"
________________________
Beatrice's screams could be heard throughout the sprawling mansion, and it grated on Alexander's nerves. Did the woman have to make such a fuss? She was probably just experiencing latent contractions, ones that would be cake in comparison to what she would soon experience. Could she not bite her lip and try to see through the pain? He shook his head and scooped up the bag of instruments that he had prepared for this very day, the metal tools clanking together as he left the lab and strode down the long hallway. He desperately hoped that the labor process would be relatively brief, as the thought of listening to Beatrice screeching for hours on end did not appeal to him.
'Relax, Alexander,' an aristocratic female voice echoed in his brain. 'This will be over shortly, and then, you will be able to commence your plan. You must be patient.'
"I know, my dear Veronica, but waiting is the most difficult part," Alexander spoke aloud. "And I have a feeling that the woman will not make this much easier, with all of that yelling and carrying on when contractions have probably not even set in."
The tinkling voice laughed softly, seemingly amused by his behavior. 'Worry not. This is her first child, and she is only going through the motions. Assure her that she is secure. I will be there with you, guiding your hands. When you see the faces of your children, I will be there, applauding your achievement. And as you lovingly clean them, I will give you their names.'
Alexander beamed, feeling at peace, and the soothing tone inside his head evaporated like water on a sweltering day, leaving only a fine, reassuring mist in its wake. Before he realized it, he was in front of Beatrice's door, only the sounds of soft whimpering escaping to his ears. 'At least she has calmed herself,' he reasoned. 'Perhaps Veronica is right. This may be a smoother process than I first suspected.' He entered, Beatrice's deep gasps meeting him.
"Ah, my dear Beatrice. How are you feeling?" he inquired, taking a chair and pulling it near her bedside. He took a seat and crossed his leg over the other, resting his elbow on the chair's arm.
"It hurts, Alexander. I had no idea that it would be this painful," Beatrice rasped, her speech somewhat slurred. "When will it be time?"
Alexander smiled thinly, taking a handkerchief from his coat pocket and dabbing at the rivulets of sweat coursing down her forehead. "I am not sure. You must be patient and concentrate on your breathing. That will be the only way to ease the pain, my dear. Let me see your wrist." He didn't wait for her to offer it, but plucked her delicate hand from the bed and placed his fingertips on her pulse, timing it with his watch. "Very good. Let me take a look at you."
He picked up the chair and placed it near the bed's end before instructing her to part her knees. The examination was relatively short, and after a few minutes he spoke, his voice strong and unwavering. "It is not yet time. How far apart are your contractions? And how long do they last?"
Her eyes were glazed, and her lips were pale and quivering as she growled her response. "How the bloody hell should I know? Do I look as if I have a watch handy?"
"Can you give me an estimated time?" he spoke coolly, rubbing the stubble on his chin thoughtfully. He retreated to the window, his mirror image speckled with stars from the night sky. 'The moon is beautiful tonight,' he thought, surprised by his lack of concentration.
Beatrice was silent for a few moments, and he could see her reflection's delicate fingers gripping at the bed sheets, her mouth set in a grim line. Irritation radiated from her body, and Alexander could sense it, whether he was gazing in her direction or not. "I'd say every ten minutes or so. They usually are rather short, but are getting worse as time goes by."
Unmoved by the gravel evident in her voice, he twisted back to face her. "I'm think the best advice I could give you would be to try and rest. And concentrate on your breathing." He squatted down near her, giving her a tender smile. "I will be here until the time comes. But as I said, we must be patient. Has Harman already come?"
She concurred, her hair sticking to the damp pillow. "He told me that you would be here soon. Then he left to get some water and towels. When will this pain cease, Alexander?"
He furrowed his brows. "It usually averages close to fifteen hours, although it can often times be more..." He halted when she began wincing and clutching her stomach, her teeth clenched forcefully together. "Breathe. As we have practiced."
Many seconds later, her face resumed calmness, the contraction easing. "They seem to be getting closer, Alexander."
"Good. Perhaps the labor process will not take as long as I suspect."
________________________
"Push, Beatrice!" Alexander called, his nerves on edge. "You can do this!"
"I'm trying!" Beatrice screamed back between breaths. Her eyes were pinched shut, her breathing erratic, and her back arched.
Alexander saw the first baby crowning; the time was near. "Alright, Beatrice. Relax for a moment, take some deep breathes. When I say push, I want you to give it one more shot. Are you ready?" He saw Beatrice give a silent affirmation, her muscles jerking in spasms, her feet clamped into tight semi-circles. "Okay...Push!"
Beatrice bit her bloodless lip and pushed, her cries echoing throughout the room. Within moments, Alexander saw one shoulder, than two, then the rest of the baby. It was a boy, a beautiful boy with light hair and piercing, blue eyes. Alexander cut the umbilical cord and cleaned the infant's face before handing him to Harman.
"It's a boy." Alexander smiled, his voice ecstatic.
"Can I see him?" Beatrice sighed, an exasperated smile on her lips.
"No, not yet. You still have a little more work to do. Don't forget that there is still one more child to come," he spoke, although he wished that the opposite was true. One perfect boy, that's all that he needed. "Are you ready to begin again?"
Beatrice nodded her agreement. Minutes later, another child was born, this one a girl. The two children squealed in synchronized time, arms flailing about, and Harman held them both close to his body as Alexander washed his hands and work area.
"You did wonderful, Beatrice. A boy and a girl. I could not be happier," Alexander spoke proudly, and for the first time, he realized how difficult the next stage of his plan was going to be. He sat down next to her on the bed and lovingly stroked her perspiration-soaked hair, melding his other hand with hers.
Beatrice sobbed quietly, insisting that she wanted to hold her children. Harman gently placed the blanketed babies in the crooks of her arms, and she cooed to them, her tears falling on the forehead of the girl. "What shall their names be, Alexander?"
The wispy voice returned into Alexander's head, demure and rich in his mind. 'The boy shall be called Alfred Edward. The girl, the one that will return the Ashford name to its greatness, she shall be called Alexia Veronica.'
"Alfred Edward and Alexia Veronica Ashford," Alexander repeated, his lips turning upward in a smile. "Exceptional names for exceptional children."
Beatrice giggled, her tone near euphoria. She returned her attention to the bundles, cuddling them near her body, adoringly kissing each one on the forehead. "That's absolutely perfect. My little Alfred and Alexia. I love you both so very much."
"Now Beatrice, I should take them to the bath and wash them. They need to be kept warm. While I do that, I will have Harman give you a sedative that will help you sleep. You need your rest after such a tiring ordeal," Alexander recommended as he lifted the twins into his arms. He was amazed by how similar they looked, how you could barely tell them apart. "I will be back soon. Say good-bye to the children."
"Good-bye, my loves. I cannot wait to see you again!" Beatrice called as Alexander anxiously left her bedside.
The lord subtly motioned his head at Harman, instructing him to follow behind his master. He whispered at the doorway, his voice almost tinged with sadness. "Harman, you know what to do. She will not suspect a thing. As far as she knows, you are simply giving her a sedative to help her sleep. She does not know that she will not wake from her slumber."
Harman paled as if he'd seen a ghost, and his breath quickened. "Are you sure that this is a good idea, my Lord? Must she die? The children need a mother to help raise them."
"I am all that they need. We cannot risk the detrimental evidence falling into the wrong hands, and she will surely begin to suspect something odd when the children's intelligence begins to blossom. What would happen if she somehow found out the truth? All of the work that I have put into this would be a waste, and the Ashford name would be ruined forever. Do you think your father would want that?" Alexander added in a hushed tone, his eyes burning. "You have to do this. It is the only way to ensure the prosperity of the children. The syringe is located inside of the medical bag that I brought inside. Inject her quickly and all will be accomplished."
"Yes, my Lord," Harman ground out, his heart aching inside of his chest. Alexander nodded to him and left with the content children in tow, leaving Harman to an unknowing Beatrice. He approached her, his eyes flat and unemotional. He spied the black bag that contained the...mixture, and he took it in his hands, rummaging around for the box containing the syringe.
"Weren't they beautiful, Harman? Perfect in every way!" Beatrice gushed. She laced her fingers together and brought them to her chin, the light in her eyes dancing as she spoke.
Harman could only smile wanly. To speak of the children would prove too difficult now, and it would be a dead give away for what he was about to do. "Here is the sedative that Lord Alexander has provided for you. You will finally get some rest, my dear. May I see your arm?"
"Of course," she agreed. The woman extended her arm towards the butler and rolled her sleeve upwards to expose a vein, unaware of his ill intentions. "I always hated needles before, but after childbirth, this should be a breeze."
"Indeed," Harman spoke gravely, thumping the crook of her arm with his index finger. "Here it goes." The needle penetrated the skin, then the vein, and Harman quickly pressed on the stopper, allowing the clear fluid to violate her blood. He removed the syringe and patted her head. "Close your eyes now, Ms. Rockfort."
She grinned at him, oblivious that the poison was making its way to her vital organs. "Thank you, Harman. I appreciate everything that you have done for me." She coughed lightly and shut her dark lashes, a pleased expression softening her features. Her face looked so peaceful, and Harman had to choke back the sobs that were attempting to escape his throat.
Within a matter of minutes, she was gone.
"Good-bye, Beatrice Rockfort. I pray that you pass to Heaven undeterred," Harman offered solemnly, tears streaming down his flushed cheeks. He removed the beaded rosary from his pocket and placed it flatly on her unmoving chest, crossing himself as he did so. Without another word, he covered her serene face with the bed sheet and fled the room.
I spoke, read, and wrote English fluently by the age of one year old. From that time on, I would occasionally ask Father why he only had one portrait of Mother. He would smile nervously and pat me on the head, claiming that she died before any others could be made. I would then inquire as to what caused her death, and every time that I did, a frightened look would come into his eyes, an expression similar to the one worn by the animals that Alfred and I would experiment on; the look that prey gives its predator before the slaughter. He would always declare the same thing, his voice jovial with an undertone of panic: "Alexia Veronica Ashford, you are too young to ask these kinds of questions. Your mother, God rest her soul, wouldn't want you to be so curious." Before I could utter another word, he would cross himself in the fashion of some sort of pious priest, instruct me to do the same, and insist that I get back to my studies.
I never believed him for a moment.
But perhaps I am straying from the main purpose of these diaries. I shall continue.
Before my birth, Father had insisted that the bodies of deceased Ashford predecessors be exhumed and transported to the Antarctic base in order to preserve their privacy and respect. He appended a spacious room to the mansion that would shield our loved ones' remains from the biting wind and indescribable cold, and it was an area that only an Ashford could enter. It was truly a work of art; the ground beneath had been thawed, lush grass and wildflowers had been planted, and a holographic scene of a beautiful blue sky dotted with cotton-shaped clouds had been applied to the walls. Many times, I would visit the Ashford Cemetery, surveying the final resting place of my ancestors when I grew weary of the endless amount of lessons. I would leisurely pass by the gravesites of Our Lady Veronica, Great-Great- Grandfather Stanley, Great-Grandfathers Thomas and Arthur, and Grandfather Edward in respected silence, placing a single red rose near the entrance of each enormous stone mausoleum. However, I would keep walking until I reached a grassy plot situated in the far corner of the room. Only a petite, rectangular marble headstone crowned with the statue of a weeping angel marked its existence, and the austere inscription read "B. L. Rockfort - Mother". I would sit there a few hours a week, making sure that the grass was clipped, the flowers watered, and the tombstone polished, but not out of love or devotion, mind you. It was simply out of respect; honoring my mother even in death. Father would sometimes scrutinize me from the entrance, a stony, disapproving glare crossing his face, his arms folded firmly across his chest. When I'd grudgingly acknowledge his presence, his eyes would become unreadable slits and he would give a melodramatic sigh before slamming shut the door.
I was surprised that Father buried her in the family cemetery; I'd expect him to have thrown her lifeless carcass into the Antarctic elements, as such measures would go hand in hand with his callous character. Perhaps he had more compassion than I gave him credit for. Or perhaps he was trying to avoid future questions from his super-intelligent children. Either way, I feel no pity for him.
As soon as this confrontation is over, I will retrieve Alfred's body from the cryogenic case and bury him next to Mother. The poor soul deserves that, at least, after his years of unrelenting service to me. I could clearly see it in his pale, dying eyes; the sadness of his final breaths coupled with infinite happiness to see me alive once again. Intermingled with a death rattle deep in his lungs were the words "I love you, Alexia. I love you, my Queen." All I could do was run my fingers through his hair, sing softly, and try to comfort him before he closed his eyes permanently. There was no use in attempting to save his life, as his work had been done. In his own inept and elementary style, he kept my secrets safe from those who would seek to destroy my research.
Even so, I wish that he would have lived just a bit longer, as he would have enjoyed seeing our plans fruit into reality. I would have killed him in the end, for sharing my power with any other Ashford (or anyone else, for that matter) is out of the question, but I suppose that, much like the Queen Ant, I must make sacrifices to best serve the colony. In any case, his memory will live on in my mind and his dedication will always be appreciated.
-Alexia Ashford
________________________
"Harman, for godsakes, will you take the damned picture?" Alexander huffed, an irritated frown plastered across his face. He loathed photos almost as much as he detested having his portrait painted; it was a waste of his valuable time, time that he could use to resume his research into Umbrella's newest commodity, the T-Virus.
"Alexander, stop being so cross," Beatrice scolded, wagging a commanding finger in his direction. "Besides, the children will be arriving any day now. I'm sure that they would enjoy seeing what their mother and father looked like before they were born." She patted her swollen stomach delicately, suddenly lost in her own world. "I cannot believe that they will be here soon. What do you think, Alexander? Two boys, two girls, or one of each?"
Alexander rested his head in his palm, feeling extremely fatigued and irritated. "For the hundredth time, Beatrice, I'm sure I don't know," he spoke through clenched teeth, his words coarse and exact. "Right now, all I care about is whether or not my bungling butler can snap this photo so that I can get back to the study."
"You're such a spoil-sport," Beatrice grumbled, her bottom lip jetting forward in a pout. "You don't seem to want these babies one bit. I'm sure that I'll be the one doing all the work for them, while you're up in that room, reading that incessant amount of paperwork."
"Beatrice, sometimes you can be such a..."
"I believe the camera is ready, my Lord," Harman interjected, maneuvering the tripod to an acceptable angle. "Ms. Rockfort, please sit up just a tad higher so that we can see the twins. Lord Alexander, rest your hand on her left shoulder. Yes, perfect." Harman gazed through the viewing lens, adjusting the focus. "On the count of three. One...two...three."
The flashbulb lit up the room with a sudden burst, causing Alexander to see stars dance before his eyes. "Thank God that's over. Harman, I'll take my brandy inside the study tonight. I do not wish to be disturbed under any circumstances." Before giving anyone the chance to respond, he lightly kissed Beatrice's pallid cheek and stalked out of the room, slamming the door behind him.
"Was it something I said?" Beatrice sniffled, tears forming in her eyes.
Harman forced a quiet chuckle. "No, my Lady. That is just the way the master is. His research is very important to him." He approached her, resting his hand on her shoulder. "He has been that way for as long as I've known him, always striving to be the best that he can be."
Beatrice nodded thoughtfully but didn't seem convinced by the butler's words. "Even so, I hope that he plans on changing his behavior after the children are born. They need a father that takes part in their lives, wouldn't you say?" She looked up at him with hopeful doe-brown eyes, pleading with him to agree to her side.
Harman nodded solemnly, feeling guilt flush his face. 'Oh dear Beatrice, if only you knew what was to come,' his mind told her in secret, and how he wished that he could hear his thoughts. He tried to smile reassuringly, although his lips felt like dead weight. "Indeed. But let us not worry about that now. You never know what will change when the twins are born. Lord Alexander will surely become a wonderful father figure for the children; of this I am most positive."
She seemed appeased, her mouth forming a genuine smile that showed her straight, white teeth. She dug her fingernail into the fabric of the oversized chair in which she sat, her eyes level with the fireplace. "I'm sure that you are right, Harman. When he sees the beautiful children that we have created, he'll realize how important it is to spend time with us. We'll be a family." Her hand moved to her midsection, and her index finger drew lazy, imaginary circles on her large stomach, as if tickling the fetuses inside her womb. "Any time now, they will be here."
The butler made a small choking sound in the back of his throat and instinctively turned himself away from the young mother-to-be's innocent eyes. "Yes, Ms. Rockfort. The children will be lucky to have a kind, caring mother such as you. I cannot wait for the day that they arrive," he lied, hoping that she would not see through his unsteady voice or notice his quaking hands. With that, he began to amble away, fearing that he would allow his guilt to overwhelm him. "I must take the master his brandy, but I will routinely check on you during the night. Good evening." He looked toward her once more, bowed, and left the room before his conscience required him to do the right thing.
________________________
May 13, 1971
My dearest ancestor, Veronica Ashford,
Please excuse my lack of devotion. Although you are my top priority, I fear that I have not had the opportunity to correspond with you as much as I would like to. However, it is rather late in the evening, and I have finally acquired a break from my research. I will give you a summary of the events that have occurred in the past nine months.
The implantation procedure has gone exceptionally well! The surrogate mother is not aware that the process even took place, but instead is under the false assumption that the pregnancy came about through...natural methods. I could not have had the situation any better if I had planned it! She has not asked pertinent questions, and thus, I have been able to keep my research a secret without having the irritating problem of lying to the girl.
We still have not found names for the children (as their sexes cannot be determined), but I have a feeling that you will tell me when the time comes. For now, I have nothing more to do than wait. Ms. Rockfort's due date is quickly approaching, and the children could arrive at any time.
I hear someone approaching my study as I write this entry. I will inform you of more once all is settled.
Your Loyal Servant,
Alexander Ashford
________________________
Alexander hurriedly hid the leather book in the second drawer of his desk, locked it, and plucked up the book lying haphazardly across the floor. Trying to appear enthralled in the pages, he muttered a non- committal 'Come in' when the forceful knocking resounded from the door.
Harman entered the study as a hurricane would, sweat dripping from his brow, his breathing shallow and quick. "My Lord! It is time! When I went to check on Ms. Rockfort, I found that her water had broken. I'm unsure how long that it has been, although she claims that it has been hours. She requires your assistance!" he spoke, his voice high-pitched and nervous.
Alexander flew to his feet as if someone had shocked him, the book flying from his grasp onto the soft carpet. "Excellent. I must retrieve my instruments from the lab, but please assure Ms. Rockfort that I will arrive momentarily." He swiftly pushed past the butler, sprinting from the study and into the main hall. "And Harman!" he exclaimed, his voice echoing through the airy entranceway. "Get a tub of warm water and some towels. Quickly!"
________________________
Beatrice's screams could be heard throughout the sprawling mansion, and it grated on Alexander's nerves. Did the woman have to make such a fuss? She was probably just experiencing latent contractions, ones that would be cake in comparison to what she would soon experience. Could she not bite her lip and try to see through the pain? He shook his head and scooped up the bag of instruments that he had prepared for this very day, the metal tools clanking together as he left the lab and strode down the long hallway. He desperately hoped that the labor process would be relatively brief, as the thought of listening to Beatrice screeching for hours on end did not appeal to him.
'Relax, Alexander,' an aristocratic female voice echoed in his brain. 'This will be over shortly, and then, you will be able to commence your plan. You must be patient.'
"I know, my dear Veronica, but waiting is the most difficult part," Alexander spoke aloud. "And I have a feeling that the woman will not make this much easier, with all of that yelling and carrying on when contractions have probably not even set in."
The tinkling voice laughed softly, seemingly amused by his behavior. 'Worry not. This is her first child, and she is only going through the motions. Assure her that she is secure. I will be there with you, guiding your hands. When you see the faces of your children, I will be there, applauding your achievement. And as you lovingly clean them, I will give you their names.'
Alexander beamed, feeling at peace, and the soothing tone inside his head evaporated like water on a sweltering day, leaving only a fine, reassuring mist in its wake. Before he realized it, he was in front of Beatrice's door, only the sounds of soft whimpering escaping to his ears. 'At least she has calmed herself,' he reasoned. 'Perhaps Veronica is right. This may be a smoother process than I first suspected.' He entered, Beatrice's deep gasps meeting him.
"Ah, my dear Beatrice. How are you feeling?" he inquired, taking a chair and pulling it near her bedside. He took a seat and crossed his leg over the other, resting his elbow on the chair's arm.
"It hurts, Alexander. I had no idea that it would be this painful," Beatrice rasped, her speech somewhat slurred. "When will it be time?"
Alexander smiled thinly, taking a handkerchief from his coat pocket and dabbing at the rivulets of sweat coursing down her forehead. "I am not sure. You must be patient and concentrate on your breathing. That will be the only way to ease the pain, my dear. Let me see your wrist." He didn't wait for her to offer it, but plucked her delicate hand from the bed and placed his fingertips on her pulse, timing it with his watch. "Very good. Let me take a look at you."
He picked up the chair and placed it near the bed's end before instructing her to part her knees. The examination was relatively short, and after a few minutes he spoke, his voice strong and unwavering. "It is not yet time. How far apart are your contractions? And how long do they last?"
Her eyes were glazed, and her lips were pale and quivering as she growled her response. "How the bloody hell should I know? Do I look as if I have a watch handy?"
"Can you give me an estimated time?" he spoke coolly, rubbing the stubble on his chin thoughtfully. He retreated to the window, his mirror image speckled with stars from the night sky. 'The moon is beautiful tonight,' he thought, surprised by his lack of concentration.
Beatrice was silent for a few moments, and he could see her reflection's delicate fingers gripping at the bed sheets, her mouth set in a grim line. Irritation radiated from her body, and Alexander could sense it, whether he was gazing in her direction or not. "I'd say every ten minutes or so. They usually are rather short, but are getting worse as time goes by."
Unmoved by the gravel evident in her voice, he twisted back to face her. "I'm think the best advice I could give you would be to try and rest. And concentrate on your breathing." He squatted down near her, giving her a tender smile. "I will be here until the time comes. But as I said, we must be patient. Has Harman already come?"
She concurred, her hair sticking to the damp pillow. "He told me that you would be here soon. Then he left to get some water and towels. When will this pain cease, Alexander?"
He furrowed his brows. "It usually averages close to fifteen hours, although it can often times be more..." He halted when she began wincing and clutching her stomach, her teeth clenched forcefully together. "Breathe. As we have practiced."
Many seconds later, her face resumed calmness, the contraction easing. "They seem to be getting closer, Alexander."
"Good. Perhaps the labor process will not take as long as I suspect."
________________________
"Push, Beatrice!" Alexander called, his nerves on edge. "You can do this!"
"I'm trying!" Beatrice screamed back between breaths. Her eyes were pinched shut, her breathing erratic, and her back arched.
Alexander saw the first baby crowning; the time was near. "Alright, Beatrice. Relax for a moment, take some deep breathes. When I say push, I want you to give it one more shot. Are you ready?" He saw Beatrice give a silent affirmation, her muscles jerking in spasms, her feet clamped into tight semi-circles. "Okay...Push!"
Beatrice bit her bloodless lip and pushed, her cries echoing throughout the room. Within moments, Alexander saw one shoulder, than two, then the rest of the baby. It was a boy, a beautiful boy with light hair and piercing, blue eyes. Alexander cut the umbilical cord and cleaned the infant's face before handing him to Harman.
"It's a boy." Alexander smiled, his voice ecstatic.
"Can I see him?" Beatrice sighed, an exasperated smile on her lips.
"No, not yet. You still have a little more work to do. Don't forget that there is still one more child to come," he spoke, although he wished that the opposite was true. One perfect boy, that's all that he needed. "Are you ready to begin again?"
Beatrice nodded her agreement. Minutes later, another child was born, this one a girl. The two children squealed in synchronized time, arms flailing about, and Harman held them both close to his body as Alexander washed his hands and work area.
"You did wonderful, Beatrice. A boy and a girl. I could not be happier," Alexander spoke proudly, and for the first time, he realized how difficult the next stage of his plan was going to be. He sat down next to her on the bed and lovingly stroked her perspiration-soaked hair, melding his other hand with hers.
Beatrice sobbed quietly, insisting that she wanted to hold her children. Harman gently placed the blanketed babies in the crooks of her arms, and she cooed to them, her tears falling on the forehead of the girl. "What shall their names be, Alexander?"
The wispy voice returned into Alexander's head, demure and rich in his mind. 'The boy shall be called Alfred Edward. The girl, the one that will return the Ashford name to its greatness, she shall be called Alexia Veronica.'
"Alfred Edward and Alexia Veronica Ashford," Alexander repeated, his lips turning upward in a smile. "Exceptional names for exceptional children."
Beatrice giggled, her tone near euphoria. She returned her attention to the bundles, cuddling them near her body, adoringly kissing each one on the forehead. "That's absolutely perfect. My little Alfred and Alexia. I love you both so very much."
"Now Beatrice, I should take them to the bath and wash them. They need to be kept warm. While I do that, I will have Harman give you a sedative that will help you sleep. You need your rest after such a tiring ordeal," Alexander recommended as he lifted the twins into his arms. He was amazed by how similar they looked, how you could barely tell them apart. "I will be back soon. Say good-bye to the children."
"Good-bye, my loves. I cannot wait to see you again!" Beatrice called as Alexander anxiously left her bedside.
The lord subtly motioned his head at Harman, instructing him to follow behind his master. He whispered at the doorway, his voice almost tinged with sadness. "Harman, you know what to do. She will not suspect a thing. As far as she knows, you are simply giving her a sedative to help her sleep. She does not know that she will not wake from her slumber."
Harman paled as if he'd seen a ghost, and his breath quickened. "Are you sure that this is a good idea, my Lord? Must she die? The children need a mother to help raise them."
"I am all that they need. We cannot risk the detrimental evidence falling into the wrong hands, and she will surely begin to suspect something odd when the children's intelligence begins to blossom. What would happen if she somehow found out the truth? All of the work that I have put into this would be a waste, and the Ashford name would be ruined forever. Do you think your father would want that?" Alexander added in a hushed tone, his eyes burning. "You have to do this. It is the only way to ensure the prosperity of the children. The syringe is located inside of the medical bag that I brought inside. Inject her quickly and all will be accomplished."
"Yes, my Lord," Harman ground out, his heart aching inside of his chest. Alexander nodded to him and left with the content children in tow, leaving Harman to an unknowing Beatrice. He approached her, his eyes flat and unemotional. He spied the black bag that contained the...mixture, and he took it in his hands, rummaging around for the box containing the syringe.
"Weren't they beautiful, Harman? Perfect in every way!" Beatrice gushed. She laced her fingers together and brought them to her chin, the light in her eyes dancing as she spoke.
Harman could only smile wanly. To speak of the children would prove too difficult now, and it would be a dead give away for what he was about to do. "Here is the sedative that Lord Alexander has provided for you. You will finally get some rest, my dear. May I see your arm?"
"Of course," she agreed. The woman extended her arm towards the butler and rolled her sleeve upwards to expose a vein, unaware of his ill intentions. "I always hated needles before, but after childbirth, this should be a breeze."
"Indeed," Harman spoke gravely, thumping the crook of her arm with his index finger. "Here it goes." The needle penetrated the skin, then the vein, and Harman quickly pressed on the stopper, allowing the clear fluid to violate her blood. He removed the syringe and patted her head. "Close your eyes now, Ms. Rockfort."
She grinned at him, oblivious that the poison was making its way to her vital organs. "Thank you, Harman. I appreciate everything that you have done for me." She coughed lightly and shut her dark lashes, a pleased expression softening her features. Her face looked so peaceful, and Harman had to choke back the sobs that were attempting to escape his throat.
Within a matter of minutes, she was gone.
"Good-bye, Beatrice Rockfort. I pray that you pass to Heaven undeterred," Harman offered solemnly, tears streaming down his flushed cheeks. He removed the beaded rosary from his pocket and placed it flatly on her unmoving chest, crossing himself as he did so. Without another word, he covered her serene face with the bed sheet and fled the room.