Philippa (8 page)

“I am so ashamed, your highness,” Philippa told the queen. “I remember little. Bessie Blount told me what happened when I awakened this morning. I have never done anything like that before. You know that to be so.”

“You were drunk,” the king said quietly.

“Yes, your majesty,” Philippa admitted, hanging her aching head.

“And most disorderly as well,” he continued.

“Yes, your majesty.” She felt the tears beginning to run down her face.

“You sang bawdy songs. A song I was surprised to find you knew,” the king said.

“I heard it in the stables,” Philippa told him.

“You gambled with your clothing, and had I not come upon you when I did who knows what else might have happened,” the king scolded her. “Why would a girl of such a good family endanger her reputation so? I knew your father, Philippa Meredith. He was a most honorable fellow. And your mother has always been a good subject as well, despite her marriage to a Scot. Her own service and kindness to this house ensured you a position with our queen. Would you throw away this chance given you?”

Now Philippa began to sob noisily. “Oh, no, your majesty! I am so proud that I serve my queen. I always want to serve her. I am so sorry! You must forgive me, your majesty. I cannot bear it that I have disappointed you so!” And she wept, her small hands covering her face.

The king looked uncomfortable. He did not like crying females. Getting up, he came from behind the oak table and put an arm about Philippa. He took out his own silk pocket square, wiping her eyes and face. “Do not wail, lass. It is not the end of the world,” he assured her. Then leaving the pocket square with her he retreated behind the table once again.

Philippa struggled to pull herself together. This was terrible. One did not howl like a baby in front of the monarch. But her head was aching so terribly, and her belly was roiling horrifically. “I ... I am so afraid you are going to send me away,” she finally managed to say. She wiped her wet face, and straightened her carriage.

“We are,” the king said, and he held up his hand to still further defense of herself. “But you will be allowed back, Philippa Meredith, when your family believes you are ready to come. The queen and I think you need to return to your family for a time. You have not been home in several years. We can see that your disappointment in Giles FitzHugh has unnerved you badly. And then to be forbidden your best friend’s wedding was a cruel disappointment as well. Your mother will need to see and speak with you about a possible new match, for you must certainly be married within the year, my child. And when your heart is at peace again, Philippa Meredith, and your mother is content to let you return to court we will welcome you gladly. We have arranged for you and your servant to begin your journey tomorrow. You will go with the queen’s party as far as Woodstock, and then continue on under our protection.”

I cannot argue, Philippa thought silently to herself. One does not argue with the king. And they have said I may come back. She curtseyed. “Thank you, your majesty.”

“Be thankful few remain here at Richmond, Philippa Meredith,” the king said, “that few know of your indiscretion. It will be forgotten by the time you return, I am certain.” He held out his hand to her, and Philippa took it, and kissed the king’s ring.

“Thank you, your majesty. Your highness. Please accept my apologies for my unthinkable behavior of last evening. It will not happen again.” She curtseyed.

“You will carry a letter to your mother,” the king said, and then with a wave of his hand he dismissed her.

With an almost audible sigh of relief Philippa backed from the little privy chamber.

The queen turned to her husband. “Be as diplomatic as only you know how, my lord, when you write to Rosamund Bolton. I do want to see Philippa back at court in the future, and I know she does not wish to live her entire life in the north as her mother does.”

“ ’Tis strange,” the king remarked. “Rosamund never really liked the court. Her heart and her thoughts were always with her beloved Friarsgate. She could scarcely wait to return to it each time she was forced to visit the court. But her eldest child adores court, and is, I suspect, a born courtier. I wonder what will happen when mother and daughter meet this time. Philippa will not be content to remain in Cumbria.”

“But she is Friarsgate’s heiress,” the queen noted.

“I suspect that matters not,” Henry Tudor replied.

Philippa hurried back to the Maidens’ Chamber where she knew Bessie would be waiting. “I am being sent home,” she declared dramatically as she entered the room.

“What happened?” Bessie wanted to know. “You will be allowed back, won’t you? It would be terrible if you were exiled forever.”

“Aye, it would,” Philippa responded, “but I am to be allowed back eventually. The decision will rest with my mother, but I shall make her see reason. Both the king and the queen were there in his privy chamber. They scolded me roundly.”

“Did you cry?” Bessie asked.

“I did,” Philippa admitted. “I was so embarrassed to do so before them too.”

“You were probably spared worse because you did. I have heard it said that the king hates a weeping woman,” Bessie told Philippa with a grin. “So, when do you depart?”

“I’m to go with the queen’s party as far as Woodstock, and then I will be escorted to Friarsgate from there,” Philippa explained. “Lucy has almost finished the packing. She will be delighted to learn we are going home. She, at least, has missed it.”

“Is it really so dreadful, this Friarsgate?” Bessie asked. “I come from Shropshire, you know. ’Tis said we have the worst winters in all of England. And my family name is not particularly great either. While I, too, love the court, I am always happy to see Kinlet Hall, and my mother. And I have not your good fortune in being the heiress to my family’s estates.”

Philippa sighed. “I know I am probably foolish, but I would gladly settle for a small estate in Kent, or Suffolk, or even Devon. My mother’s lands need especial tending. She and my uncle Thomas, who is Lord Cambridge, raise sheep, from which cloth is woven at Friarsgate, and then transported by means of their own ship to several countries for sale. They control, if I understand it correctly, just how much of their cloth they will sell, and to whom. While I am grateful for the revenues raised, most of it goes back into their business, and into Friarsgate itself. If I have learned one thing from my mother, it is that when you have responsibilities such as hers you must tend to them yourself. There are few, if any, who can be trusted to shoulder your burdens, even in part. I don’t want to spend my time in such labor, Bessie. I don’t want Friarsgate, because to possess it I must take responsibility for it. The court is where I want to live, in service to the king and the queen. I want a husband who is a man of the court, and will understand that because he also is in service to the monarch. My father, Sir Owein Meredith, was in service to the house of Tudor from the time he was six. He was knighted on the field of battle. I can just barely remember him, Bessie, but I loved him, and I admired him. I am probably more like him than I am my mother. In fact I am not at all like mama except in our features. Some at Friarsgate who remember back say I am like a great-grandmother of mine, but I would not know that.”

“Yours has always sounded like a loving family. Will your sisters join the court someday?” Bessie wondered.

“Banon is certainly old enough,” Philippa said. “She is the heiress to Lord Cambridge’s home, Otterly Court. And then there is my littlest sister, who like you is called Bessie. I don’t know them anymore, I fear.”

“But you will soon reacquaint yourself with them both,” Bessie Blount replied.

“Aye, and my little stepbrother, John Hepburn, and my mother’s sons by my stepfather. I shall certainly be a stranger to them all now,” Philippa remarked. “It is very strange having a stepbrother, and half brothers who are Scots, and not English.”

“Your summer will be interesting then,” Bessie concluded, “unlike mine, which will be uneventful. I had thought Maggie, Jane, and Anne were to remain with the queen this summer.”

“Jane’s mother grew ill, and she was needed at home. I am not certain if she will return. Maggie’s mother is Irish. She asked the queen for her daughter’s company so they might visit Maggie’s grandmother in Ireland. She is elderly. As for Anne, her family may have found a suitable match for her. They wanted her home so the gentleman in question might inspect her, and she him,” Philippa explained. “Aye, I fear your summer may be very dull, but I shall try and get back as quickly as I can.”

“I thought you said it was your mama’s decision as to when you return,” Bessie Blount said.

Philippa smiled. “I shall not be happy at home. If I am not content then no one will be content until they allow me to return to court, and the company of civilized folk.”

Bessie shook her head at her companion. “You really should learn to be more biddable, Philippa Meredith. Men do not like headstrong women.”

Philippa laughed. “I do not care. I am what I am, and no more. At least I am honest, unlike some. Millicent Langholme simpers, and blushes, but we both know that once she has a ring on her finger, Sir Walter will have one through his nose by which she will lead him to her ways and none other.”

Bessie laughed. “I cannot argue with you there,” she agreed.

The following day the queen and her party departed for Woodstock, while the king and his friends moved on from Richmond to Esher, where they would go hunting. Philippa was given a day to rest once they reached Woodstock, and then she departed with her servant, Lucy, for Friarsgate. She carried little luggage, for she had left most of her clothing at Lord Cambridge’s house near London. Her beautiful court garb would have no place at Friarsgate. And while she did not relish several months at Friarsgate, Philippa did not look forward to the long trip, and believed that with less baggage they would move more quickly.

Late in the afternoon before her departure Philippa was called to the queen’s privy chamber where a gentleman stood waiting by Katherine’s side. The queen was seated, and looked rather pale today.

“Come in, Philippa,” the queen beckoned her.

Philippa entered, and curtseyed to the queen.

Katherine smiled. “This is Sir Bayard Dunham, my child. He will escort you and your servant safely home to Friarsgate. He has his instructions, and carries a letter for your mother. You will be accompanied by a dozen men-at-arms from my own service. You will leave at first light in the morning.”

“Thank you, your highness,” Philippa replied, and curtseyed again.

“You will take with you our kindest regards to your mother, and tell her that I hope you will be returned to my service by the Christmas revels,” the queen said. “If you are ready, of course, and cured of your malaise over the FitzHugh boy.”

“Yes, madame!” Philippa smiled broadly. She was already cured of her pique over the duplicitous Giles FitzHugh, for her little adventure at the top of the Canted Tower had done that, but the queen would not believe it, she knew.

“Go along now, my child. May the Blessed Mother protect you in your travels, and bring you safely home,” Katherine said.

“And may God and his gracious son, our lord Jesu, protect your highness, and give you your heart’s desire,” Philippa said, curtseying a final time as she backed from the room followed by Sir Bayard Dunham.

The queen acknowledged the girl’s prayer with a gracious nod of her head.

In the queen’s antechamber Sir Bayard said, “I hope you understand that first light means just that, Mistress Meredith. We shall not waste half the day away waiting for you to finish your toilette. How large a baggage cart will you have?”

“My court clothing is hardly suitable to Cumbria,” Philippa said quietly. “Both my servant, Lucy, and I will carry what we will need, sir. I am not fond of long journeys, and while I do not relish a summer on my mother’s estates I am anxious to get there. We will ride until dark each day, I hope. And I assume you have arranged for our accommodations along the way, Sir Bayard.”

“I have,” he said, not in the least offended by her tart manner. Then he bowed neatly. “I shall see you in the morning then, Mistress Meredith.”

Philippa curtseyed to him politely and then, turning, walked away. Finding Lucy she told her, “Our escort is Sir Bayard Dunham. He’s a tough old bird, and I have seen him about the court. We are to leave at first light, and he means it.”

“I’ll see we’re up, and have some food in our bellies,” Lucy responded. She had matured since that day she rode into Edinburgh with Philippa, both of them openmouthed at the sight of the first city either had ever seen.

“Will you come back to court with me, Lucy?” Philippa asked suddenly. “I know you have missed Friarsgate far more than I have.”

“Of course I’ll come back with you!” Lucy exclaimed. “If you brought someone new they would be of no use to you at all. A few months at Friarsgate, and I’ll be cured of any desire to remain there indefinitely.” The tiring woman chuckled, patting her young mistress’s arm. “Why, I can already smell the stink of the sheep!”

Philippa laughed. “Aye, just thinking about it I can too.”

In the morning with the sun not even up yet, but their stomachs full of good oat stirabout, freshly baked warm bread that had been covered in butter with plum jam, and the queen’s finely watered wine, they awaited Sir Bayard by the stables where the grooms held their horses, and a troop of armed men were already mounted. Their escort rushed up, obviously embarrassed that he had overslept.

Philippa and Lucy mounted their animals, and Philippa said, “Where is the food basket, please?”

“Right here, m’lady,” the captain of their guard said, pointing to the back of his saddle where a wicker container had been strapped.

Philippa turned to Sir Bayard. “Are we ready then, sir?”