Tabatha sat, tight lipped. The infant writhed in her arms, she gripped it tighter.

Lady Cassandra lay still, in the bed next to her, pale as the sheets which wrapped her as if she were already mummified. Lord Alfred had brought in the other children and they looked worried, as well they might.

It wouldn’t be long now. Tabatha would comfort them when their mother was dead. As she had comforted them all their lives. Wet-nurse, nanny, governess, she’d always been in this house. 

Shh, shh. Soon, child, soon.

Soon, she thought, Alfred would be mine.

I wrote this short piece using this painting as a writing prompt. 'The Saltonstall Family' by David Des Granges. I might develop it into something longer, but I really liked the brevity of it.