Philippa

by Bertrice Small

  “If you are not back in seven days I shall travel north without you,” Philippa said.

  “You will remain here at Brierewode until I return, little one,” he replied. “I have told you that you will go to your sister’s wedding, and I always keep my promises. But if you disobey me, so much the worse for you, Philippa. I will be the master in my own house, madame. Do you understand me?”

  The earl departed the following morning with the cardinal’s messenger and a small troop of his own men-at-arms for protection. Reaching Hampton Court, he was kept waiting for two days until the cardinal could see him. Wolsey was very busy in his master’s service even as the king was on progress. Ushered into the cardinal’s presence at last, the earl of Witton bowed and was waved to a chair. He sat, and waited.

  “I need your eyes and ears again, my lord,” the cardinal began.

  “I can be of no help to your grace in the country,” the earl replied, “and my estates are where I intend remaining. At least until my wife and I have heirs. I apologize, your grace, but I am past thirty, and I cannot get an heir on Philippa if I am not at Brierewode. The king would understand, I know.”

  “It is the king’s business I am about, Witton,” the cardinal said sharply. “What I say to you this day must not be repeated. Buckingham and Suffolk and several others are under suspicion. Some of those involved with them, men of lesser rank, are your neighbors. Henry Tudor has no male heir. There are some who would attempt to overthrow the Tudor throne and put another in its place. Buckingham descends from Edward III. He and his ilk have always been ambitious. And it is said by some that his claim is stronger than the king’s.”

  “It would be foolish to voice such a thought aloud, your grace,” the earl replied.

  “Aye, but then the court is peopled by foolish men. You must be my eyes and ears in Oxford, my lord. I need a man I can be certain of, Crispin.”

  “Suffolk? But he is the king’s friend. His brother-in-law,” the earl mused.

  The cardinal laughed a harsh laugh. “He married Mary Tudor without the king’s permission, didn’t he? And remained in France until his wife had gained her brother’s forgiveness, didn’t he? Suffolk has no loyalties except to himself.”

  “So all you seek of me is to report anything I hear which might cause the king difficulty, your grace?”

  “That is all,” the cardinal replied. “I did not dare trust my wishes to parchment lest it be read by the wrong people. Even I have spies in my household, although I do try to have them weeded out regularly. You are not the only one recalled to my secret service, my lord.” Then he engaged the earl’s gaze and said, “And how is your fair wife? Is she proving satisfactory? Was Melville worth the wench?”

  The earl of Witton smiled, and nodded. “Aye, it was, and she is proving most satisfactory as a mate. Her mother and the queen taught her well.”

  The cardinal nodded. “Then go home, Witton, and my thanks for coming,” he finished. “I know I can trust in you.”

  Crispin St. Claire stood up, bowed, and left the cardinal’s privy chamber immediately. It was not yet the noon hour. There was no need to remain. He gathered his men up, and they took the road to Oxford. Arriving home several days later, however, the earl of Witton learned that his wife had departed two days previously for her mother’s home at Friarsgate. He swore angrily, and Mistress Marian looked askance.

  “My lord!” she exclaimed, having never heard him utter such foul words before. She waved to one of the servants in the hall to bring their master a goblet of wine.

  The earl snatched it from the servant and drank it down. “How did she go?” he asked his housekeeper. “Who was with her?”

  “Lucy and my brother among others, my lord, but they did ride with six men-at-arms. It was all she would take, and Peter had to insist at that. I do not know what possessed her ladyship, but from the moment you departed she grew more and more agitated. She told me that she had to see her mother. That she needed her mother, my lord. I think she would have gone the day after you left but that Lucy dissuaded her.”

  “What did she take with her?” the earl asked Mistress Marian, growing a little calmer now.

  “She took nothing but a small saddlebag, my lord. She said that Friarsgate was not a place for fancy gowns, and she needed to get there quickly. She could not be kept by a baggage cart trailing behind her. What will she wear to her sister’s wedding, my lord? I cannot believe the wedding will not be a grand one,” Mistress Marian fretted.

  “Lord Cambridge will supply her with a gown, I have not a doubt. His family, especially my wife, seem to rely upon him for such things.”

  “You have ridden long, my lord. Come to the board, and I will see that you are fed,” the housekeeper coaxed her master.

  “I must ride north,” he said grimly.

  “Aye, my lord, you must, but it will soon be dark. The days are shorter now than a few weeks ago,” Mistress Marian said. “A good supper, and a good night’s sleep in your own bed, my lord, and you will be ready to go in the morning.” She gently drew him to the high board, signaling the servants to hurry to the kitchens for food.

  “Ah, Marian, though she drives me to distraction I love her,” the earl said softly.

  “I know, my lord, and she loves you too,” the housekeeper replied, seating him.

  “She has never said it,” the earl said mournfully.

  “Have you told her that you love her, my lord?” Mistress Marian asked. “A woman will never say those words to a man unless he has said them to her first.”

  The earl put his head in his hands. “I am a fool,” he groaned.

  “Most men are, my lord,” the housekeeper replied low, with the familiarity of a trusted and well-loved servant. “But she has not left you, my lord. And there is time to correct your omission.”

  “But why would she not wait?” the earl asked.

  “I do not know,” Mistress Marian responded, “but it was suddenly very necessary for her ladyship to leave Brierewode and go back to her mother. Now here is a nice hot rabbit pie for you. It’s just come from the ovens. I want to see every bit of it eaten, my lord. And there is bread, and butter and cheese. And I think there might be an apple tart to finish the meal.”

  He looked up gratefully at her. “Tell the men we ride tomorrow for Cumbria.”

  “Yes, my lord,” the housekeeper said with a small smile, and she bustled off.

  She was right, of course. He felt better after a good meal. And even better in the morning after a sound sleep in his own bed. With Peter gone he had one of the other men pack for him, and he took one pack animal with them. Perhaps they might even catch up with his headstrong wife before she reached Friarsgate.

  Philippa, however, was determined to reach her mother as quickly as possible. She rode hard, surprising the men with her, who had not thought such a dainty lady could manage such a trip without all the fripperies necessary to a woman’s existence. One day the night caught up with them before they could reach the shelter of an inn or a religious house. They bedded down in a hayfield, sleeping in the haystacks, and there was no complaint from their mistress. At last they crossed into Cumbria, heading even further north. And then late one morning they topped a rise, and the lake lay below them while in the meadows below the vast flocks of Friarsgate browsed contentedly.

  “Thank Gawd I can die in my own bed,” Lucy sighed.

  “You’ll have to get down the hill first,” Philippa laughed. It was just like she remembered it. Beautiful and peaceful. She pushed her horse forward.

  “Your mother may be up at Claven’s Carn,” Lucy said.

  “They can fetch her easily if she is,” Philippa said in a determined voice.

  But Rosamund was not in Scotland. She was at her own holding, and very surprised to see her eldest child so soon. “It’s almost a month until Banon’s wedding,” she remarked, and then she said, “Welcome home, my darling! Where is this husband of yours of whom Tom speaks so highly? Indeed he gushes so abou
t him that Logan is determined to dislike him.” She hugged her daughter.

  Nothing had changed, Philippa thought. Except for the two cradles by the hearth. She walked over to them and looked in. “My new brothers?”

  “Aye. Are they not beautiful? Praise God, though they came from my womb at the same time they do not look much alike. There is a woman in our village with sons born as Tommy and Edmund were, but they are as alike as two peas in a pod.” Her eye went past her daughter. “Lucy, you look exhausted. Welcome home. And who is this fine fellow with you?”

  Peter stepped forward. “I am Peter, my lady, the earl’s valet.”

  Rosamund nodded. “And just why are you here, Peter, but not your master?” she asked.

  “I believe that is a question that her ladyship should answer, madame,” the valet said politely, stepping back.

  “Philippa?” Rosamund’s face was serious with her concern.

  “I warned him if he was not back in seven days that I should start north without him, mama. There is nothing more to it than that,” Philippa answered her mother.

  “And just where had your husband gone?” Rosamund persisted.

  “To Hampton Court. The cardinal wished to see him,” Philippa said. “Mama, I am tired, and I am filthy. I want my bath, and my bed.”

  “You have still not explained to me why you departed Brierewode without your husband. Why did you not wait for him?”

  “And miss my sister’s wedding?” Philippa cried. “Please do not treat me like a child, mama. I am a married woman, and the countess of Witton.”

  “Banon and Robbie will not be wed for several weeks, Philippa. You might have waited for the earl,” Rosamund murmured calmly. “There was no need to come rushing. When did you get home from France?”

  “Over a month ago,” Philippa said.

  Her mother nodded. “Go along then, my daughter, and the servants will bring your bath. Lucy, introduce Peter to the other servants, and show him where he may lay his head. Ah, here is Annie. Annie, run and find Maybel. Tell her Philippa is home.” Rosamund looked and saw her daughter was already gone from the hall. “Lucy, attend me. Annie, find Maybel, and take Peter with you. He is the earl’s servant.”

  When Annie had gone from the hall with Peter, Rosamund motioned to Lucy to sit down. “Now tell me,” she said, “just what is this all about?”

  “I am not certain, my lady. The marriage is a good one. The earl is the kindest of masters, and a good husband to my lady. But no sooner had he departed for Hampton Court than my lady began to fret. She said she was afraid if the cardinal kept the earl too long she would not be with her sister on her wedding day. She fussed, and she fumed, and then nothing would do but that we leave and ride posthaste for Friarsgate. We have no clothing but what we wore, my lady Rosamund. But I do not believe my mistress tells the truth. She thinks she does, but she does not.”

  Rosamund nodded. “She has been taking the draft each morning but for the days of her monthly flow?”

  Lucy flushed. “Nay, my lady.”

  “Then she wants a child sooner than later? Well, I cannot disagree, for it is her duty to provide her husband with an heir. I know I was eager to when I married her father, may God assoil his good soul.” Rosamund crossed herself.

  “Nay, my lady, she wanted to wait so she could go back to court,” Lucy said. “There was no opportunity for my mistress and her husband to cohabit in France. Our quarters were very close, and there was no privacy at all. She had to bathe in a chemise just like the queen. I didn’t think it was necessary to give her your potion while we were there, but I gave her a drink of water mixed with celery seeds each morning so she would believe she had had the draft. And then when we returned from France my mistress began talking about perhaps having a child, and not going back to court since the queen had dismissed her from her service. I thought that there would be no need for the preventative then.”

  “But you continued to feed her the celery seed and water,” Rosamund said softly.

  “Yes, my lady Rosamund,” Lucy responded. “When my mistress makes up her mind to something there is no reasoning with her. She is very stubborn. I thought, let God decide the matter, and I will not have to argue with her, or be a disobedient servant.”

  Rosamund laughed softly. “When did my daughter have her last bloody flux, Lucy? I will wager she has not had one since her return from France.”

  Lucy thought a moment, and then her eyes widened. “Oh, my lady, you are correct! She had her flow in Calais, but none since. Oh, my lady, what have I done?”

  Rosamund nodded. “I will wager that Philippa is with child, Lucy, and the charming little fool is so wrapped up in herself and her husband that it has not occurred to her yet.” She shook her head. “Tell me how angry the earl will be when he gets here?”

  “You would have to ask Peter that,” Lucy said. “All I’ve ever seen of him is goodness to my mistress, although she has sorely tried him at times.”

  Rosamund laughed again. “Do not tell her what I suspect, Lucy, nor anyone else either.” She arose from her seat. “Watch my two bairns. I must go upstairs and deal with my oldest.”

  “Mama!” A young girl had come into the hall. She was tall and willowy, with long dark blond hair. “I am told Philippa is back.”

  “Aye, Bessie, she is. Come, and Lucy will tell you all. I must go upstairs and see your sister.” She hurried from the hall.

  “Well, she’s home early for Banie’s wedding,” Elizabeth Meredith said. “What’s her husband like, Lucy? Is he handsome and gallant? Is he rich?”

  “How old are you now?” Lucy asked.

  “I’ll be thirteen my next birthday,” Bessie said. “Now tell me everything, Lucy!”

  “I thought you wasn’t interested in all the goings-on of the fine ladies and gentlemen,” Lucy teased.

  “Well, I don’t want to be one of them,” Bessie said, “but it cannot harm me to learn about them. I’m not like my older sisters. I have no need to go to court and kneel to the high and the mighty. But hearing about them is like listening to a fairy tale.”

  “Going to court ain’t no easy life, I can tell you,” Lucy began.

  Upstairs, Rosamund had gone to Philippa’s bedchamber. Her daughter had finished her bath and was drying herself off as Rosamund entered the room. “I always felt better getting the dirt of the road off of me,” she said. “Where is your hairbrush? I’ll brush you dry, darling child.”

  “Here it is.” Philippa handed the requested item to her mother. “Just let me get into a clean chemise. I left some from my last visit.” She pulled out a silky garment from the chest at the foot of her bed, and drew it on. Then sitting next to her mother she let Rosamund brush and towel her long hair dry.

  “Now tell me, Philippa,” her mother said quietly as she brushed. “What is troubling you? And do not say naught. You did not dash pell-mell to Friarsgate because of Banon’s wedding.”

  “What is love?” Philippa burst out. “And how do you know you are in love? And why will he not say it to me after all these months?” She began to cry. “Oh, mama, I cannot explain it in a way which I understand, but I love him! Yet he does not love me! He is passionate, and tender, but he says nothing to me that would indicate that he loves me. Yet how can he make love to me the way he does, and not love me?”

  “I. don’t believe he can,” Rosamund responded calmly. “What is love, Philippa? It is the most elusive emotion in the world. It defies a rational explanation, but the very fact that you don’t understand it, yet know in your heart that you love him, is your answer. As for your husband, I suspect if he is gentle and tender with you that he does indeed love you. But men are most reticent to say it aloud. More often than not it is up to the woman, but she must be very certain before she voices her emotions that they will be reciprocated. Consequently a woman is loath to cry love, and a man is no better. It is an age-old conundrum, Philippa.”

  “When we were in France I overheard a plot against the king,
and I told Crispin. At first he was angry, and then I realized that his anger wasn’t directed at me, but at himself. He was afraid for me, and that he had not been with me when I escaped the assassins,” Philippa said.

  Rosamund smiled, and put her daughter’s hairbrush aside. “Aye, he loves you,” she said.

  “He must say it without my prompting or I shall never be certain,” Philippa cried, and then she flung herself in Rosamund’s arms and sobbed.

  Rosamund held her daughter and caressed her tenderly. She was going to be a grandmother. There was absolutely no doubt in her mind that Philippa was with child. The wild emotional outbursts made her certain. Her elegant and sophisticated Philippa had fallen in love, and was going to have a baby. “Are you hungry?” she asked her daughter. “We’re having rabbit stew for supper tonight.”

  “Nay, mama, I am just so tired. I needed to get here, find you, and now I feel better, but I am exhausted. I want to go to bed.”

  “Then you shall,” her mother answered her soothingly. Standing, she helped Philippa into the bed and drew the coverlet over her. “Sleep well, my darling. You are safe home now. And your earl will be here soon, I am quite certain.”

  Two days later the earl of Witton arrived at Friarsgate. Lord Cambridge had been summoned from Otterly the day of Philippa’s arrival, and Logan Hepburn had come over the border from Claven’s Carn. Rosamund had decided that she would need every bit of help her family could give her to bring Philippa and Crispin to an understanding. At her first sight of her son-in-law Rosamund knew she was going to like him. And she could also see he was perfect for Philippa.

  “How did you know, you old dear?” she whispered to Thomas Bolton.

  “It’s an instinct,” he murmured softly, and then he moved forward, his hands outstretched to greet the earl of Witton. “My dear boy, how delightful to see you once again. May I present your mother-in-law, the lady of Friarsgate. Cousin, this is Philippa’s husband.”