by June Francis
The rain came suddenly, mercilessly heavy as it poured down in great sweeping sheets. They slipped and slithered as they moved towards the raised stern, needing to hang on to what they could — rope — beam — cargo. Past the squawking, wing-flapping hens they went, and for a fleeting second Philippa pitied them, but at least their cage was firmly wedged between a couple of beams. The sail was being lowered. Guy was with the seamen, his hat gone, and wet Medusa-like locks clinging to his neck. His attention was on his task. She saw the wet material tight over the muscles at his shoulder, arm and leg. Then they reached the ladder. As she climbed down, first and uppermost in her thoughts was relief at being out of the worst of the storm, and they both sank on the bottom bunk.
‘We’ll have to get out of these wet clothes,’ stuttered Rose, ‘or we’ll catch our death.’
‘I know,’ shouted Philippa. She got no further, as the plunging ship flung them to the floor. It righted itself a moment later, and they slid across towards the bunk.
Philippa hoisted herself back on to it, and lying flat, she began to peel off her gown beneath the cover of one of the blankets, more for warmth than out of modesty, for Rose had often dressed her. She wrapped herself in a blanket, and her maid followed suit, sitting, her feet outstretched, at the bottom of Philippa’s bunk. They were both exhausted.
The storm continued, until eventually the movement of the ship appeared to be less violent, and Philippa began to stir. Some time later the dull thud of feet shook the ladder, and half dazed, she sat up, pulling the blanket closely about her. Rose still slept.
First Guy’s sodden hose-clad legs appeared, then the rest of him. He stood, swaying with fatigue.
Philippa got up from the bunk. ‘You look exhausted!’
‘I am. I just wanted to make sure you were all right, and to reassure you that the storm hasn’t caused too much damage to the ship,’ he muttered in a dull voice. He swayed again, putting out a hand to steady himself, but missed the ladder completely. Philippa made a grab for him as he lost his balance, only to trip over the blanket. They both fell in a tangle of arms and legs.
‘Damn!’ the utterance came from Philippa as she struggled to rise, but Guy was beneath her, lying on an end of the blanket.
‘Such language from a lady — but ouch!’ he groaned, trying to move. Raising himself on an elbow, his blue gaze fixed on her.
‘I wish you could get up from my blanket,’ she said in a whisper, her cheeks pale.
‘So do I.’ There was the slightest hint of laughter in his eyes. Their glances locked, and she experienced a honeyed sensation that melted her limbs. He reached up and pulled her down on top of him. ‘I think you’ll have to help me … perhaps if we rolled over together?’
Philippa nodded, unable to trust her voice to reply. His doublet was damp against her skin, roughening it, when his arms suddenly tightened as he rolled with her.
‘You pull part of the blanket free,’ he murmured, giving a yawn.
She carefully obeyed him, attempting to stem the treacherous wave of colour, and praying that Rose would not choose this moment to wake up. Part of the blanket worked free, so that she was able to bring a fold of it across her breasts. It took a few minutes, and when she looked at him once more, his eyes were closed. Exasperated, she groaned. If Rose should wake! ‘Guy,’ she whispered, putting her mouth against his ear. ‘We can’t stay here. Wake up.’ She could not bear any more emotion!
His one good eye blinked open sleepily, and rested on her face. ‘Where … ? Damn! Beg your pardon, Philippa. Almost asleep.’
‘I do have eyes, Guy,’ she muttered. ‘Could you move off the blanket so that we could both get up now?’
‘Get up?’ He grimaced. ‘Just when I’d found a warm dry spot!’ He did not make a move.
She expelled a long breath. ‘Master Milburn,’ she snapped, ‘I cannot believe you are comfortable like this! I can’t believe we are having this conversation — not after last night!’
‘Last night?’ He blinked, then suddenly seemed to pull himself together. ‘Of course! Brother and sister! Hell!’ He reached out and managed to grasp the ladder and pull himself off the blanket. Then, staggering to his feet, he leaned against it. His expression was sombre as he stared down at her, swathing herself in the blanket’s folds from neck to feet. ‘You know, Mistress Cobtree … ’ he paused to yawn, ‘the only way we seem able to stay out of each other’s arms is by keeping away from each other.’ His tone was derisive.
Philippa stared up at him. She had to agree! ‘I think I understand what you are saying,’ she returned brusquely, ‘and I will do my best to stay out of your way while on this ship.’ Awkwardly she got up, folding her arms across her breasts.
‘It would be wiser, perhaps.’ He sighed, and turning away, was soon out of her sight.
Her throat aching, Philippa crossed the short distance to her bunk. She was suddenly near to tears, and had to swallow them back.
‘Well!’ Rose’s hazel eyes were wide with interest.
‘How long have you been awake? No! Don’t tell me!’ commanded Philippa, determined not to consider that Rose had heard and seen all that passed between her and Guy.
‘I think that perhaps you should have been betrothed to this brother, Mistress Philippa! I wonder what Sir Hugo would think … ’
‘That’s enough, Rose! Get off my bunk.’ She swept the maid’s legs down with an angry gesture.
Rose moved hurriedly without saying another word, and climbed up to her own bunk. Philippa stretched herself out, thinking that it was going to be a long voyage if she was going to steer clear of Guy Milburn — and difficult — but somehow she would do it. She had to, for it was just as he had said. Distance, perhaps, would lend disenchantment to the feelings she had for him, and then she would find it easier to recover from them.
*
‘Mistress Philippa, you can’t go on like this,’ declared Rose in a rough voice. ‘’Tis pleasant on deck. The sun’s shining, and the sea’s reasonably calm. There’s even gulls overhead now. You’ve spent too much time down in this cabin — it can’t be healthy!’
‘Don’t talk nonsense!’ Philippa raised her head. ‘Is he on deck?’
‘You mean Master Guy?’ the maid responded in a sly voice, smiling slightly. ‘He is, and he admired my gown.’ She smoothed her skirts with a caressing hand.
‘Then I shall stay here,’ murmured her mistress, adding, ‘When did he say we would reach Kingston-on-Hull?’
‘Some time this evening,’ replied Rose affably. ‘You’ll have to speak to him then, and be in his company. Over a week, and not a word exchanged between you.’
‘It’s none of your business, Rose!’
‘He asks after you.’ Rose sat down on the bunk, staring measuringly at her mistress. ‘Whenever I go on deck, his face lightens, until he realises it’s me and not you. Why should he do all these things if he doesn’t feel something for you?’
‘Because he is responsible for me, and wishes me to be in prime condition when he hands me over to Sir Hugo. And maybe, Rose, he is pleased to see you — and does not think about me at all.’
‘I don’t believe that,’ Rose laughed, ‘or he would be more pleasant instead of so grim. That is, when he’s not passing the time telling tales to the mariners.’ She closed her eyes, and a dreamy expression came over her face. ‘They’re of knights and fair maidens — of giant beasts and battles. Of Paradise he speaks also,’ she declared in admiring tones.
Philippa’s face clouded. ‘I think he’s bewitched you! What else does he speak of?’
‘We talk about my life and yours on the manor. If you care for hunting, or whether you like music. I told him you can’t abide hunting, but play the lute prettily. He seemed pleased.’
‘And you think he is concerned about me?’ snapped Philippa, her green eyes dilating. ‘He doesn’t want me to be happy.’ She swung her legs to the floor.
‘Perhaps he doesn’t,’ murmured Rose pensively. ‘He�
�s a good man, is Master Guy. He cares about people — even me. But I don’t think he’s happy.’ She toyed with the plaited leather girdle about her hips.
‘You say he’s good, and yet at the same time you don’t think he wants me to be happy? Where is the good in that, Rose?’ She gazed at her thoughtfully. She was pretty! And Guy had admired the gown she wore. A twist of jealousy curled inside her. ‘Has he kissed you, Rose?’ Her tone was sharp.
‘Kissed me?’ Rose frowned. ‘That he has not! What are you thinking of, Mistress Philippa, when you know it is you he wants,’ she said boldly. They exchanged glances.
Philippa flushed. ‘Don’t say such things! Forget what you overheard the night of the storm.’
‘I don’t think he has,’ said Rose softly, her eyes on her mistress’s face. ‘I think he would have liked to spend the night in your arms.’
‘Rose!’ She went over to the ladder, suddenly in need of fresh air.
The sun was shining, just as Rose had said, when she came out on the deck in a swirl of scarlet skirts. How good it was to be out of that cabin! Deep breaths of salty air refreshed her lungs. She climbed over a coil of rope and stood gazing towards the distant coastline. Guy was on the poop, his arms resting on the rail — she had taken that in when emerging on deck.
‘At last!’
Philippa started, although she had heard his footfalls. ‘I had the headache — and thought some fresh air … ’ Her voice was cool, her manner composed, despite the swifter run of her blood.
‘Sensible of you. You look pale.’ He had missed her company and the sight of her diminutive figure, her smile — and the way she sometimes met his eyes with hers, and they lit up. Had she been dreaming lately, he wondered, not wanting to ask, in case his words triggered off the bad memories.
‘Perhaps that’s just as well. Only a week ago I was quite burnt by the sun.’ She turned and looked at him. The bruising and swelling had all but vanished, only a faint smudge of yellow under his eye and a healing scar on his cheek remained. It was a mistake coming on deck, she realised instantly. Nothing had changed. That tug of attraction was still there, and the look she gave him held a hint of greed as her eyes took in every feature of his face.
‘You still have your freckles.’ He smiled slightly.
Her mouth curved just a little. ‘They are the bane of my life! Nothing will banish them.’ It seemed a strange conversation after not seeing each other for a week, but it was something to be talking to him. ‘Rose — Rose has been telling me how you kept the crew — and herself — spellbound with your tales.’ She moved slowly away, towards the prow.
‘Has she?’ He walked at her shoulder. ‘You dressed her up just like a lady, Philippa, but why? She has a look of you, but she isn’t you,’ he said ill-humouredly.
‘What do you mean by that?’ she countered, her brows knitting. ‘She could no longer wear the gown she had when we found her in London.’
‘Is that the only reason you sent her to me dressed so finely?’ His features were serious.
‘What other could there be?’
Guy pulled a face. ‘I thought you might have sent her to me instead of you. As a replacement, you understand?’ She stared at him. ‘To satisfy my carnal lusts, so that I don’t bother you,’ he added softly, a flush darkening his cheeks. ‘There is no need, you know. I won’t bother you again.’
‘You think I could do that to Rose?’ she asked, her voice furious. Her face was upturned to his, and the green eyes sparkled. ‘I never sent her.’
Guy gave a twisted smile. ‘It seems that I was wrong again!’
‘I have known her all my life. We have been companions since her mother acted as maid to mine before they both perished in an outbreak of the plague a few years ago.’ Her fingers twisted tightly on a fold of her gown, and her eyes were angry as she stared out over the water.
‘You have made your point,’ he said tersely. ‘There is no need to labour it. It was you who seemed to hate the serfs that day in Canterbury. In a day or two you will be under my brother’s protection, and after that, I doubt we shall meet for a long time,’ he declared bluntly. ‘I shall not linger at Hugo’s. There is the shearing, and all that that entails. Then, most likely, I shall go to Calais. So you do not have to fear that you will have to put up with my company much longer.’ He inclined his head stiffly, and left her standing.
If Philippa had wondered what they would do after landing at Kingston-on-Hull, she would have supposed that they would hire horses and go on their way as soon as possible, and she said as much.
‘Not possible! Too late in the day! Tomorrow!’ said Guy roughly, taking the bundle of clothing from Rose’s hand and slinging it over his shoulder.
‘What do we do now?’ She stood on the quay, the ground seeming to rise and fall beneath her. It was a peculiar sensation, and she felt disorientated.
‘We’ll have to stay at my agent’s house. It’s not far.’ Guy began to walk swiftly ahead of them wishing they could have gone on, and praying that they would not have to spend more than one night in Kingston. Not that he did not like the place. The first Edward had planned its buildings, purchasing land and having the harbour extended. He had had streets and markets laid out, and roads built to link the town with Yorkshire’s hinterland. It had a royal charter, a mint, and two weekly markets. No small honour! But he would rather be gone, to get on with his life, and to forget the would-be sister who trailed at his heels.
They stopped at a house, where the door was opened by a man of middle years, tall and gaunt, with a crop of greying hair. His surprise was swiftly masked, and they were made welcome. His wife, a woman of ample proportions, wore a wimple that concealed her hair and neck. Her gown was brown, with little material in the skirts, and her disapproval of the two women was obvious. She showed them to a bedchamber upstairs, with only a crucifix to adorn one whitewashed wall.
‘We have supped, but I shall prepare something for you. But come when I call you, or it will spoil.’ She sniffed, as her gaze ran swiftly over them once more, before leaving the room.
‘Somehow I don’t think she approves of us, Rose,’ said Philippa, sitting wearily on the double bed.
‘It’s ’cos we’re young. She likely thinks we’ll make eyes at that longshanks of a husband of hers!’ The maid yawned and sat beside her mistress. ‘No feathers here … I was hoping, after that bunk … ’
Philippa nodded. ‘Help me out of this gown. I shall wear the blue one.’
With a sigh, Rose started to undo the fastenings. After Philippa had washed, she helped her on with the blue silk gown that fitted closely at breast and waist. The skirts fell in folds from the hips. She braided her hair, fastened it up in a silver net, and looked her over appraisingly and with a frowning envy. ‘This isn’t a feast you are going to, mistress.’
Philippa stared at her and pulled a face. ‘I know, Rose.’
‘Then this is for Master Guy’s benefit?’
‘No, Rose, it is for my own.’ A nerve quivered in her cheek.
‘Is it? You would tease him, perhaps?’
‘You presume too much!’ Philippa’s brows drew together stormily.
‘Mourning! We should both be in mourning!’ Rose’s voice shook.
Philippa’s mouth trembled. All her pleasure in wearing her finery, given by Beatrice because they were too small for her now, evaporated, and she buried her face in her hands, aghast at her own thoughtlessness.
Rose looked down at her bowed head, and the bitter jealousy eased. Shared grief was not new to either of them. She put an arm about her shoulders. ‘Hush, now! Tomorrow you will have to say your farewells to Master Guy, and your smiles will have to be for Sir Hugo. Tonight … ’
Philippa lifted her head, attempting a watery smile. ‘I wanted … to pretend … ’ She halted. What had she wanted? To have him look at her again with that dark desire in his face? Not to part angrily from him?
‘Why not pretend?’ Rose shrugged. ‘It is a game I have play
ed myself. If I was rich! If I could wear fine clothes! If a man might look at me in the way Master Guy looked at you on the ship and would speak so prettily to me.’
Philippa rubbed a wet cheek. ‘I never thought about your feeling like that, Rose. How selfish I am!’
‘Not really selfish — you weren’t brought up to consider that serfs dreamed and hoped, could think that they had a right to more than they had.’ Rose picked up a towel. ‘Your eyes are red, but maybe that’s for the best, if they’ve been told about your loss.’
‘Ay!’ Philippa scrubbed at her eyes with the towel, thinking of Rose’s words. You don’t know what it’s like to be a serf, she had said on that night her father was killed. ‘Let’s go down, for there is little point in delaying. The sooner I go, the sooner tomorrow will come — and it might be easier, once the parting is done with.’
They went.
Chapter Nine
‘It was a waste of effort, Rose.’ Philippa moved her head restlessly under the maid’s hand. It was morning, and there had been no chance to talk last night. They had shared the double bed with the agent’s wife, while Guy and their host slept downstairs. ‘He barely looked at me the whole evening.’
‘Perhaps one look was enough,’ murmured Rose. ‘It is not important that he didn’t gawp at you.’
‘You think not?’ Philippa gave a low laugh.
‘I didn’t notice you gazing at him all evening. You kept your eyes on that agent, seeming to hang on to his every word.’ Rose looped a plait about her ears.
‘I wasn’t listening at all.’ She sighed. ‘A madness has seized me that I should still think of him in that certain way, Rose. What am I to do?’
‘There’s nothing you can do, and you know it.’ Deftly Rose began to plait again. ‘There’s an end to it, Mistress Philippa.’
‘An end,’ agreed her mistress in an unsteady voice.
‘There’s many a young life blighted in this age we live in,’ said Rose. ‘But at least we are alive.’ She stepped back. ‘There, you’ll do! That dark green suits you, despite its plainness. And, in the circumstances, an air of sadness will be expected.’