By the time Celia reached the comfortable familiarity of the bedchamber she shared with her siblings, her gown was sticking to her back with sweat and she felt nauseous.
She didn't really want to see her family, for fear her mother would immediately guess what was wrong, or make her confess it. But if it wasn't to her bedchamber, where else could a child like her run to?
Her brothers and sister were stacking blocks in a corner of the bright, airy room and bickering amongst each other like they always did. They all looked at Celia as she burst through the doors.
Her mother was sitting in an armchair to the side, mending what looked like one of the children's smocks. She rose to her feet in alarm when she saw her eldest daughter.
"Good heavens child, what's wrong? Are you ill?"
Celia quickly nodded, seizing the excuse at hand. "My belly hurts, Mama." It wasn't exactly a lie.