Approaching the queen, she curtseyed and waited for permission to speak. It was given almost immediately. “What is it, my child?” Queen Katherine asked, smiling.
“Your highness has undoubtedly heard of my misfortune by now,” Philippa began.
The queen nodded. “I am sorry, Philippa Meredith,” she said.
Philippa bit her lip, for she suddenly found herself near tears again. She swallowed hard, and then forced herself to continue. “Lord FitzHugh is sending a message north on the morrow. I should like the courier to also carry a letter from me to my mother. With your highness’s permission I will withdraw to write it.” She curtseyed again, giving the queen a weak smile.
“You have our permission, my child,” the queen said. “And you will give your mother our kind regards, and say that if we may be of help to her in seeking a new match for you we shall be glad to come to her aid, but I remember your mama likes to do everything on her own.” Queen Katherine smiled with fond remembrance.
“Thank you, your highness.” Philippa curtseyed once more, and backed away. She slipped from the queen’s rooms, hurrying to the maidens’ dormitory where she might be alone with her troubled thoughts as she wrote to Rosamund. But the girl Philippa liked least among the maids was there preening as she prepared to join the queen’s ladies.
“Ohh, poor Philippa!” she cried with false concern as she saw her enter the chamber. “I understand you have been jilted by the earl of Renfrew’s son. What a pity.”
Philippa’s eyes narrowed. “I do not need your concern, Millicent Langholme, and besides it is none of your business.”
“Your mother will have some difficulty finding you a decent husband now, and especially as your estates are so far north,” Millicent murmured. “Did I hear aright? Giles FitzHugh is to become a priest? I wouldn’t have thought it of him. He must have wanted to get out of marrying you quite badly to do that,” she tittered. Then she smoothed her velvet skirts, and adjusted her gabled headdress.
Philippa had never wanted to hit someone so much in all of her life, but her situation was bad enough without deliberately bringing disgrace upon her family by assaulting another of the queen’s maids. “I have no doubt that Giles’s vocation is an honest one.” She found herself defending him although what she really wanted to do was pound the wretch who had deserted her with both of her fists. Then she said, “You had best hurry, Millicent. The queen was looking for you.”
Seeing she could not bait Philippa into bad behavior, Millicent Langholme hurried off without another word. Philippa opened the chest that held her possessions, and drew out her writing box. Opening it she sat down on her bed to write, and when she had finished Philippa gave the sealed letter to a page who saw it was dispatched with the earl of Renfrew’s messenger, who rode north the following day.
Reading her daughter’s missive some days later, Rosamund gave a little shriek. “Give me Lord FitzHugh’s letter, Maybel. Quickly! Just when I thought all was well, it would appear we have difficulties again.”
“What is the matter?” Maybel handed the younger woman the packet from Lord FitzHugh. “What does the earl say?”
“A moment,” Rosamund replied, holding up a delicate hand. “God’s foot and damnation!” Her eyes quickly scanned the parchment, and then she set it aside. “Giles FitzHugh has decided to enter the priesthood. There will be no betrothal between him and Philippa. The wretch! Well, I never liked him that much anyway.”
Maybel gave a little shriek of outrage.
“The earl apologizes,” Rosamund continued, “and says he still thinks of Philippa as a daughter, and always will. He offers to aid me in finding another husband for Philippa. I must send to Otterly for Tom. Even though he has been away from the court for several years he will still be wiser than I in this matter. Poor Philippa! Her heart was so set on that boy.”
“A priest,” Maybel lamented. “That fine young man! ’Tis a pity, and now our lass left bereft at her age. That selfish lad might have told her sooner, I say.”
Rosamund laughed. “So do I,” she agreed. Then she picked up her daughter’s letter again, and began to read it completely, shaking her head as she did so. When she had finished she set it aside with the other. “Philippa says there is nothing for her but to become a nun. She asks that I consult with my uncle Richard as to a good convent.”
“Stuff and nonsense!” Maybel said. “The lass is overwrought, although who could blame her under the circumstances. However, I do not see Mistress Philippa taking holy orders at all, no matter what she says.”
Rosamund laughed again. “Neither do I, Maybel. My daughter has too great a love of all things fine to give them up. Tell Edmund to send to Otterly for Tom today. And see that the earl’s messenger is properly cared for, Maybel.”
“As if you should have to tell me such a thing,” Maybel muttered as she made her way from the hall to find her husband. Thank God Rosamund was sending for her older cousin to help in the matter. Tom Bolton would know just what to do, unlike Rosamund’s husband who would simply lose his temper.
Thomas Bolton, Lord Cambridge arrived from his estates at Otterly two days later.
“What is the emergency that I have been summoned to come with such haste?” he asked his cousin. “The children are alright, aren’t they? And where is that reckless Scots husband of yours, cousin?”
“Logan is at Claven’s Cam seeing to a strengthening of the defenses. The border has been unruly ever since Queen Margaret was driven from Scotland,” Rosamund replied. “The children are fine. It is Philippa with whom we have difficulty, Tom. I need your advice and counsel badly. Giles FitzHugh is entering the priesthood.”
“Jesu and all the beautiful angels in heaven!”Thomas Bolton swore. “And now our lass is left high and dry, having just turned fifteen, without prospects. ’Tis a caddish thing to do. Surely the lad might have given us more warning. These churchmen are so thoughtless. All that seems to concern them is God, and amassing great wealth.”
“Uncle Richard should not like to hear you saying such a thing,” Rosamund laughed. Then she grew more somber. “What am I to do, Tom? Oh, I know, another husband must be found for my daughter, but how will I go about that? We had an earl’s son for Philippa. How will we do as well again? And to make matters worse my daughter is threatening to take the veil!”
Thomas Bolton burst out laughing, and he laughed until the tears rolled down his face, staining his elegant velvet doublet. “Philippa? A nun?” He laughed some more even as he brushed away the evidence of his humor. “Philippa has too great a love for the good life and for beautiful things to allow her disappointment to drive her to a convent,” Lord Cambridge finally said. “Of all your daughters, dearest cousin, Philippa was always my best pupil. Her knowledge of gemstones astounds even me, and the finely woven woolen underskirts she wears in the winter must always each be protected by a layer of silk lest her fragile skin be chafed. The rough linen robes of a holy woman would certainly not do for our Philippa. Well, dear girl, there is nothing for it. She must come home until the ignominious fate Giles FitzHugh has left her to can be forgotten. Send a message back to court to that effect, directed to the queen. Certainly Katherine will understand, and be gracious enough to welcome Philippa back to her service at some later date. In the meantime I must think on possible matches for our lass. She is ripe for marriage now, but if we allow too much time to pass her chances will be gone.”
Rosamund nodded. “I agree. Of course when Logan learns of Philippa’s predicament he will begin suggesting all the sons of the men he knows.”
“No Scot will do for Philippa,” Tom Bolton said, shaking his head. “She is too in love with her life at the court of King Henry, and more English surely than you are, cousin.”
“I know,” Rosamund agreed, “but you will have to help me with my husband, cousin. You know how obdurate Logan can get when he sets his mind on something.”
“The trick, dear girl,” Lord Cambridge answered her, “is not to l
et it get that far with your bold Scot.” He chuckled. “Do not fear. I know how to handle Logan Hepburn.”
“Indeed you do,” Rosamund laughed, “and Logan would be most annoyed if he realized it, Tom.”
“Well, I shall certainly not tell him,” Tom Bolton said with a wink. “In the meantime what does the queen say, other than she will make an attempt to find another husband for Philippa? This is not something I would choose to leave in her hands, cousin.”
“I agree.” Rosamund nodded. “However, if we call Philippa home now I fear it will make her plight more difficult to solve, Tom. Unless the queen sends her home let us leave her where she is. She is no longer a child, and she must learn to handle the difficulties that life will hand her. This is not the last serious disappointment she will face, and the lady of Friarsgate must be strong to hold this land.”
Lord Cambridge sighed. “The court is a very different world from our world,” he reminded Rosamund. “I have come to realize that I should rather face the bitterest of cold winters in Cumbria than the court. I am astounded that I survived it all. Still, if you think it best we leave her there for now I will bow to your motherly instincts.”
Rosamund laughed at him. “Oh, Tom, do not tell me you have come to love Otterly after all these years. And the quiet life as well?”
“Well,” he huffed, “I am not as young as I once was, cousin.”
Rosamund laughed again. “Nonsense,” she said. “I am quite certain that Banon keeps you on your toes. She has always been a lively lass.”
“Your middle daughter is a delightful girl,” he replied. “She has brought life into the house since she came to live with me last year. I was frankly astounded when she asked to come, dear Rosamund. But as Banon has so wisely observed, if she is to be the mistress of Otterly one day she must know all about it, and its workings. A most clever lass. We shall have to find a man worthy of her one day.”
“But first we must consider Philippa’s vicissitudes,” Rosamund reminded him. “We are agreed then? She will remain at court in the queen’s service unless Katherine sends her home. And I will thank the queen for her offer, but assure her that Philippa’s family can handle the matter of finding another husband for her. One to whom the queen and the king will, of course, give their blessing.”
Thomas Bolton smiled archly. “You have not lost your touch, dear girl,” he told her. “Yes, write the queen just that. It is perfect. And tell Philippa when you write to her that I send her my love. Now, cousin, having settled your problems I find I am ravenous. What have you to feed me? And do not drag out a pot of rabbit stew. I want beef!”
Rosamund smiled fondly at him. “And you shall have it, dearest Tom,” she said, but her mind was already considering what wisdom she would impart to her daughter when she wrote to her. It was difficult to know whether to be soft or hard with her eldest daughter. Too much sympathy was every bit as bad as not enough. It would not be easy.
And Philippa Meredith, reading her mother’s missive some days later, was neither moved to tears nor comforted by her mother’s words. Indeed she flung the parchment aside in a fit of pique. “Bah! Friarsgate! Always Friarsgate!” she said, irritated.
“What does your mother say?” Cecily FitzHugh ventured nervously.
“She offers me ridiculous advice! Disappointment, she says, is very much a part of life, and I must learn to accept it. A nunnery is not the answer to my problems. Well, did I say it was, Cecily? I am hardly the type to enter a convent.”
“But just a few weeks ago you said you were going to take the veil,” Cecily replied. “You mentioned relations who were nuns. Of course we all thought it highly amusing. You are hardly the type to be a nun, dearest.”
“So!” Philippa snapped. “You and the others are laughing at me behind my back. And I thought you were my best friend!”
“I am your best friend,” Cecily cried, “but you have been so filled with histrionics, and we all knew you were not going to become a nun. It is funny to even consider it. Now, what else does your mother say?”
“That they will find me another husband. One who will appreciate me and help me to prudently manage Friarsgate. Oh, God! I don’t want Friarsgate, Cecily. I don’t ever again want to live in Cumbria! I want to remain here at court. It is the center of the very universe. I shall die if I am forced back north. I am not my mother!” She sighed dramatically. “Oh, Cecily! Do you remember the first Christmas we had at court as the queen’s maids of honor?”
“Of course I do,” Cecily responded. “They called it the Christmas of the Three Queens. Queen Katherine, Queen Margaret, and her sister, Mary, who had been queen of France until she was widowed. They hadn’t all been together in years, and it was so wonderful. Every day offered us a new excitement.”
“And Cardinal Wolsey had to give Queen Margaret two hundred pounds so she might purchase her New Year’s gifts. The poor lady had virtually nothing, having fled Scotland after the lords there overturned King James’s will and made the duke of Albany the little king’s guardian. She should never have remarried, and especially to the earl of Angus.”
“But she was in love with him,” Cecily said. “And he is very handsome.”
“She lusted after him,” Philippa said. “She was a queen dowager, Ceci, and she threw her power and authority away just so she might be swived by a younger man. The other earls, the other lords, did not want the Douglases running Scotland. That is why they chose a new regent for little King James.”
“But John Stewart is French-born,” Cecily said. “I don’t think he had ever set foot in Scotland before he was sent for to come and be the king’s regent. And he is the king’s heir, you know. I can understand why Queen Margaret was frightened.”
“Yet his reputation is one of great loyalty and integrity,” Philippa answered.
“Twelfth Night!” Cecily said, changing the subject. “Remember that first Twelfth Night? Was it not wonderful?” Cecily looked dreamy-eyed with her remembrance.
“How could anyone forget it?” Philippa responded. “The entertainment was titled ‘The Garden of Esperance,’ and there was an entire artificial garden set upon this enormous pageant cart. The ladies and gentlemen taking part danced within that garden before it was hauled off I remember how our little baby princess Mary clapped her hands in glee.”
“How sad there are no other princes and princesses,” Cecily murmured softly. “Despite our good queen’s faithfulness, her many pilgrimages to Our Lady of Walsingham, her charitable works, there is no other child of her body.”
“She is too old,” Philippa replied as low. “She has aged even in the three years we have been here. She becomes more religious by the day, and withdraws early now from the court revels. The king’s eye has begun to wander. Do you not see it?”
“But she has never shirked her royal duties,” Cecily noted. “And she and the king have always had much in common. They still hunt together, and he goes every day after the midday meal to visit her in her apartments.”
“But he comes always with courtiers,” Philippa said. “They are rarely alone now. How does a man make a son when he hardly ever visits his wife? The king complains much, but does little to change the situation.”
“Hush!” Cecily cautioned Philippa.
“Have you noticed how he has begun to look at Mistress Blount? It’s rather like a large tomcat considering the plump and pretty little finch before him.”
Cecily giggled. “Philippa, you are dreadful! Elizabeth Blount is a charming girl, and I have never known her to be mean like Millicent Langholme.”
“The king calls her Bessie when he thinks no one else is listening. I have heard him do it myself,” Philippa murmured. “Watch his face when she dances for him again some evening.”
“She’s named after the king’s mother,” Cecily said. “Her mother was a Peshall, and her father fought for the old king at Bosworth when he defeated King Richard III. She comes from Shropshire, and isn’t that almost as far north as your C
umbria?”
“You will notice that she doesn’t live in Shropshire,” Philippa said dryly. “Like me she is a creature of the court, and she has excellent connections too.”
“It doesn’t hurt that she is quite pretty either,” Cecily remarked. “But you are right. Her cousin, Lord Montjoy, is quite in the king’s favor. And the earl of Suffolk and Francis Bryan like her too. Have you heard her sing? She has quite a lovely voice.”
“I should like to be like her,” Philippa replied wistfully. “She is so popular, and everyone notices her.”
“Especially the king, as you have noted,” Cecily said. “What if he should ... well, you know. Wouldn’t she be ruined? I mean, who would wed a girl who had ... well, you know, Philippa.”
“A lady does not refuse a king,” Philippa said. “And kings take care of their mistresses. At least King James did. Do you think our good King Henry would do any less for his mistress? It would be unchivalrous, and our king is the most honorable in all of Christendom, Ceci. Remember last summer when the sweating sickness struck England, and the king moved the entire court from London to Richmond, and then Greenwich until it had subsided. How he feared for his people. He is a great king.” Then she grew glum once again. “Are people talking about me, Ceci? Because of your brother?” She sighed deeply. “What am I to do? I am not the most eligible marriage prospect with my northern estates. Let us be frank. Your brother was a big catch for me, and my estates would have given him his own lands.”
“All the girls feel awful for you,” Cecily said. “Except, of course, Millicent Langholme. Yours was really an excellent match, but now she will do nothing but brag on Sir Walter Lumley and his estates in Kent. He is negotiating with her father, you know, and she expects to be married by year’s end.”
Philippa Page 2
