Philippa Page 8

  “I am surprised that mama allows her to be so rough,” Philippa noted as her youngest sister disappeared from her sight.

  “She is the youngest of your father’s children,” Maybel explained. “Now your mama has a new family, and they need her too. So does her husband.”

  “Bessie should not be allowed to run wild as she is obviously doing,” Philippa said primly. Then she turned to Sir Bayard. “Come, sir, and sit at the high board with me. The servants will bring us supper too.”

  Edmund Bolton came in, and greeted Philippa warmly. He thanked Sir Bayard for his careful shepherding of the girl from Woodstock to Friarsgate. He saw that a messenger was dispatched to Claven’s Cam across the border. Then when Philippa and her sister had gone to their beds he sat with Sir Bayard and his wife by the fire, drinking the fine whiskey that Rosamund’s husband brewed up.

  “It seems odd to me,” Sir Bayard began. “An English landholder, a friend of our queen’s, married to a Scots laird.”

  “There are many such marriages here on the border,” Edmund responded. “And our Rosamund is also a close friend of Queen Margaret.”

  “I am told she is now called the king’s mother,” Sir Bayard said.

  “By some, but never in this house,” Edmund replied. “The lady of Friarsgate would not tolerate such disrespect of her old friend.”

  “The Scots make fine whiskey,” Sir Bayard noted.

  “Aye,” Edmund agreed with a small smile.

  Rosamund arrived two days later, just as Sir Bayard was preparing to depart. She thanked him for his care of her eldest daughter, and insisted he have a small purse for his troubles. While he demurred at first, he took the purse as he kissed her hand, and bid her farewell. Rosamund watched as he rode off with the dozen men-at-arms. Then turning, she reentered her house. “Where is Philippa?” she asked Maybel.

  “In her chamber, sulking,” came the tart answer. “I do not know what has happened to our sweet child, Rosamund. She is disdainful of everything, and fights constantly with Bessie. And that Lucy ain’t much better, with her airs. They brought virtually nothing with them, and Philippa has had the seamstress run ragged altering several of her old gowns which barely fit her because she has grown breasts. She has been wearing the same clothing in which she traveled. When I asked her why she brought no luggage with her she said ’twas because she would not be here long, and did not wish to take any longer getting to so distant a place than was necessary. The Philippa I helped you raise is long gone, I fear, and I am not certain I like this girl who bears her likeness and name.”

  “It is the court,” Rosamund said quietly, putting an arm about her old nursemaid.

  “We went to court, and did not come back all hoitytoity,” Maybel said.

  “Remember the Bolton family motto, Maybel?” Rosamund said quietly. “It is Tracez votre chemin. Make your own path. That is, I think, what my daughter is doing.

  “But she is young yet, and she has been hurt. Not so much in the losing of Giles FitzHugh, but in the embarrassment he has caused her at court.”

  “The gentleman who escorted her home brought a letter for you from the queen. I imagine there is much in it that Mistress Philippa has yet to share with us,” the older woman said. “She has been anxious for you to come home on one hand, but on the other not in so much of a hurry to see you.” She handed Rosamund the packet.

  Rosamund laughed. At twenty-nine she was still beautiful, although she was even now ripening with a seventh child that would be born in February as her ewe sheep were dropping their lambs. “Well, I suppose it is better to get it over with, Maybel. Send one of the girls up to bring my daughter down into the hall.”

  “Mama!” Elizabeth Meredith ran into the large chamber. “I saw your horse being led to the stables. You didn’t come alone, I hope. Papa will be furious.”

  “Nay, my darling Bessie, I was escorted by several of our clansmen.” She cocked her head, and looked closely at her youngest daughter. “Well,” she said, “I see no outward signs of violence.”

  Bessie burst out laughing. “I am too quick for Mistress Fussy-Prissy, mama. I don’t remember Philippa being so mean. I really don’t think I like her anymore.”

  “Be patient, my darling Bessie,” Rosamund counseled her child. “Philippa is unhappy right now, and so we must be kind. The match that was to be made for her was a particularly good one, and it will be difficult to replace Giles FitzHugh. Philippa has lived at court long enough to know that. Beneath all her anger and superiority she is frightened. Fifteen is the age many girls wed. To find herself unexpectedly bereft of a proposed husband at this time is a catastrophe in her mind, but Friarsgate is an excellent dowry, and she will have gold and silver as well. She is more than well dowered enough to attract the right man. We must just be patient.”

  “Philippa says she hates Friarsgate, mama. She says if her lands weren’t so far north Giles would not have deserted her,” Bessie replied.

  “Telling tales already, brat?” Philippa entered the hall. She was dressed in a plain green gown. “Mama, I am happy to see you. But gracious! Are you breeding yet again?”

  “Bessie, pet, go to the kitchens and tell cook I am home. Philippa, come and sit by the fire with me. And aye, I am breeding again. The bairn will be born in February. It will probably be another lad, for Logan, it seems, can sire only lads on me.” She sat down, the packet Maybel had handed her still unopened. She saw Philippa eye it warily.

  “Will you tell me what is in the queen’s letter, or shall I open it now, and read it before we speak?” she asked her daughter.

  “Do what you will, mama. I’m sure the queen has overreacted to my situation. She seems to believe that I am pining for Giles FitzHugh, and I am not! I hate him for discarding me in so hasty a fashion. Now I am to be the old maid of the court. I am not happy, mama, but I am not weeping over that pious fool.”

  Rosamund broke the seal on the queen’s letter, and opening it out began to read. Once or twice her left eyebrow lifted itself. Once there was almost the hint of a smile about her lips. She actually read the queen’s missive twice to make certain she understood Katherine’s position. Finally she set the letter aside on the bench where she sat and said in a quiet voice, “Were you anyone else’s daughter, Philippa, I expect that you would have been dismissed from the queen’s service, and sent home in total disgrace with no invitation to return.”

  “But I have been asked back! At Christmas, and I am to resume my old place in the ranks of the queen’s maids,” Philippa said quickly.

  “Because the queen values our small friendship, Philippa.”

  “The king stood up for me too. He was so kind,” Philippa told her mother. “They say Inez de Salinas once caught you in a compromising position with the king, and that you got her dismissed from court when she gossiped about it, but the queen forgave you.”

  “That is a lie,” Rosamund said. She would not share her secret history with her daughter. It was not Philippa’s business. She continued calmly. “I knew the king as a boy when I lived in his grandmother’s care. You know all of that. You are foolish to listen to gossip, Philippa, especially such old gossip, but we are not speaking of my days at court. We are speaking of your shameless behavior. What possessed you? Drinking to excess? Dicing, and removing your clothing when you lost as payment for the debt? How am I to find you a respectable husband when you exhibit such behavior? King Henry was kind to you? Aye, he would be. He well remembers your father, and Owein Meredith’s faithful service to the house of Tudor. Would that his eldest daughter could prove as honorable.

  “And the queen says while she hopes you may return at Christmas, that decision is to be mine, and mine alone, Philippa. I am very angry at you, and I do not know if I shall ever allow you back at court!”

  Philippa jumped up from the chair where she had been seated. “I will die if I am forced to remain in this backwater, mama! Is that what you want? Do you want me to die? I must return to court! I must!” Her eyes w
ere wild with open distress.

  Rosamund remained seated. “Sit down, Philippa. I can see why the queen was concerned. You have lost all sense of proportion, and your behavior is out of control. I am not pleased with you, my daughter. What Giles FitzHugh did was childish, selfish, and thoughtless. He might have written his father of his decision before he returned home to announce it to one and all.”

  “I lo-loved him!” Philippa began to weep.

  “You barely knew him,” her mother replied bluntly. “You saw him first when you were ten and I took you to court to present you to the king and queen. A match was proposed that I did not decline, but neither did I accept. I said we must wait until you were older. By the time you returned to court Giles was on the continent studying. You have built up this romantic fantasy in your mind about Giles, Philippa. I suspect it is a good thing that Giles is not to be your husband, for I honestly doubt that he could live up to that dream lover.”

  “Mama!” Philippa sniveled, “I never thought of him like that!”

  “Didn’t you? Then he was absolutely not the man for you. A woman should lust after the man she is to wed. I might have been shy, but I could scarcely wait for your father to bed me. And believe me when I tell you that I lusted greatly after Patrick Leslie, and Logan Hepburn. Do you not remember the passion between Glenkirk and me?”

  “I thought it wonderful, but odd,” Philippa admitted. “Most people do not love like that, mama. A good marriage is intended to improve your family’s connections and wealth, and for the purpose of procreating children. That is what the queen teaches the maids.”

  “Does she?” Rosamund said. “Well, I suppose it must be enough for a princess of Aragon who weds a king of England. But it would not have been enough for me, nor should it be for you, Philippa.” She reached out and brushed the tears from her daughter’s cheek. “Giles has hurt you, my darling girl. Accept it, and then when your heart is once again content we will find you a young man you can love as I have loved the men in my life. You are no queen, Philippa. You are simply the heiress to Friarsgate.”

  “You don’t understand,” Philippa said, drawing away from her mother. “I don’t want Friarsgate, mama. I don’t want to live here for the rest of my life. That was your dream. I love the court! I love the excitement, the pageantry, the intrigue, and the color. It is the center of the world, mama, and I want to be there forever!”

  “You are upset, Philippa, and you do not understand what you are saying,” Rosamund said calmly. Not want Friarsgate? Certainly Philippa didn’t mean it. Of course she wanted Friarsgate. She was just distressed, and now was certainly not the time to discuss it. “I am sending to Otterly for Tom, and your sister Banon,” she said, turning the subject away from what was obviously an uncomfortable place for both of them.

  “I hope Banon is cleaner than Bessie is. And better bred,” Philippa told her mother sourly. “How can you allow your daughter to run about barefoot and dirty, mama? She spends all of her days in the meadows with the sheep. I never found sheep to be of great interest. Does she not take lessons anymore with Father Mata?”

  “She is far better read than you are, Philippa,” Rosamund said. “She is extremely proficient in several languages including Latin and Greek. She can speak Dutch, and German, which I certainly cannot.”

  “Why would she speak Dutch and German, mama? French is a far more cultured tongue,” Philippa replied. “My French is much improved by my service at court. I know papa would be very proud, for he taught you to speak it. Who is there to teach Bessie such clumsy and coarse tongues?”

  “Bessie is much interested in our wool business. She has accompanied me to the Netherlands twice. We have a factor in Amsterdam now who apprenticed his son to us. The boy’s name is Hans Steen. He is learning the business of wool from the sheep onward. And he teaches your sister the languages she will need to deal with northern Europe. I don’t think Bessie will ever want to go to court, Philippa.”

  Philippa looked absolutely scandalized. “Bessie would prefer to act like a man of business, mama? Oh, how can you permit it? We are not common merchants. I should be totally ruined socially if anyone knew my sister behaved in such an unladylike fashion. You cannot really want her to do this. I know we are not old nobility, mama, but we have certainly climbed the social ladder a short ways since your birth.”

  “Your youngest sister is landless, Philippa. While she will have a good dower portion thanks to my cousin, Tom, she would not make a good farmer’s wife. But she will one day be a valuable spouse for a successful merchant’s heir. Besides, she is intelligent, and would be unhappy being an ornament for some man.”

  “I cannot believe that you would allow my father’s child to fall so low,” Philippa replied disapprovingly.

  “Philippa!” Rosamund exclaimed. “Where do you think your own wealth comes from, you foolish lass?”

  “Uncle Thomas is rich,” Philippa said naively.

  Rosamund laughed. “And where do you think his wealth came from? Trade. Tom’s great-grandfather and mine were twins. Martin Bolton was sent to London to wed the daughter of the merchant to whom he was apprenticed. They married, and she bore a son, but she was a pretty girl, and King Edward IV saw her, and seduced her. She killed herself in shame. King Edward felt guilt over the matter, especially as Martin Bolton and his father-in-law were staunch adherents of this king, and had been generous financially to him. So the king gave Martin Bolton a peerage, and that is how it came into the family, Philippa. But trade of one kind or another has always kept this family prosperous. I am sorry you do not understand that, and think it shameful to earn one’s bread. You have lost your sense of morality and ethic while you have been at court. I think you will not go back until you have regained these virtues, my daughter. And do not scowl at me, Philippa. My mind is made up, and you will only change it when I see a change for the better in your attitude.”

  “You do not understand, mama!” Philippa cried. “You have never been young!”

  “Only in years, Philippa, but then I was never allowed to be young. The burden of Friarsgate was on my shoulders from the tender age of three. There was little time to be young as you know it. Perhaps, my daughter, I have been too generous to you. You have come to believe it is your right to be spoiled and selfish, but it is not! Now go to your chamber. I am disappointed in you.”

  “I will go back to court at Christmas if not before!” Philippa cried. “Even if I have to ride all the way to Greenwich myself! I will not stay here. I hate Friarsgate, and I am near to hating you, for all you can see is this damned estate. You do not understand me, and you never have!” Then Philippa ran from the hall, and up the stairs.

  Rosamund sighed deeply, and taking up the queen’s letter read it a third time. She had known from the first time she had taken Philippa to court that her daughter was lost to her. That was why she had kept Philippa from going until the summer she was twelve. And in that time before her daughter’s first visit and departure Philippa had practiced her French and Greek and Latin. She had struggled with her embroidery until it was perfect. She had learned every dance that anyone could teach her. She sang, and she played upon her lute and small Irish harp until her music was almost angelic. She bathed far more often than either of Rosamund’s other daughters, and tended to her complexion as if it were the rarest of flower gardens. Each morning and each night she had Lucy brush her long auburn tresses one hundred strokes. Everything she did was to prepare her for court, and her position as one of the queen of England’s maids of honor. And when she was fifteen she would be betrothed and married to the second son of an earl. Philippa’s life was exactly as she had wanted it. Until now.

  “You have weathered the storm, I see,” Maybel said, reentering the hall and coming to sit by Rosamund.

  “Barely,” Rosamund replied. “She is very angry. I have told her she will not go back to court until I see a change in her demeanor. She has replied she will go back even if she has to walk the whole way by herself. I
do not ever remember being that headstrong, Maybel.”

  “You were,” Maybel responded, “but your passion was for Friarsgate, and those for whom you were responsible as its lady. Philippa has become selfish. Perhaps she always was selfish, and we did not notice it because she was a child. I fear for Friarsgate, for your eldest daughter has absolutely no interest in it at all. Her passion is for this court of hers, and for herself. If you could but see, but of course you will, how scornful she is of Bessie who loves the land so greatly.”

  “I must speak with Tom,” Rosamund said.

  “Not your husband?” Maybel was surprised.

  Rosamund shook her head. “Nay. Logan may be my husband, but he has never really understood me where Friarsgate is concerned. It is his one weakness.” She smiled. “Tom understands, and he will know what we are to do about Philippa. Logan would marry her off to the first suitable husband he could find, and devil take the hindmost. My husband will most certainly not put up with my daughter’s bad behavior. Nay, Tom must come quickly, for if I remain too long here right now Logan will come. He will not put up with Philippa’s haughty ways. As her stepfather he has the right to beat her, and I have no doubt he would take a hazel switch to her bottom should he feel she needed it. And though I would never admit it, I think she does.”

  “Surely the man would not beat his children,” Maybel said, horrified.

  “He’s a rough man, Maybel, and while he is not cruel, he has taken a switch to Alexander once or twice. And my wee Jamie as well. Rowdy laddies both, I fear. ’Tis his John who is the gentle lad. Nay, we must send for Tom right away.”

  “Edmund did, when he sent for you,” Maybel told Rosamund. “He should be here if not late today, tomorrow for certain, and Banon with him. Mistress Philippa will certainly have her nose put out of joint when she sees our Banon, for she is surely the most beautiful of your lasses. When she was young I thought she would resemble you as does Philippa, but she has grown into a mix of both you and lord Owein, may God assoil his good soul. With those blue eyes of hers you would think she was the laird’s child.”