My Lady Deceiver

by June Francis

  Philippa nodded. ‘You are right, of course.’ She straightened her shoulders. ‘If only I could have decided for myself — if only I knew really how he felt about me. Wanting perhaps is not enough. Loving? But we have made no such declaration. This time tomorrow, how will I feel about it all, Rose?’

  The maid did not answer, but only squeezed her hand. Together they went downstairs to where Guy was waiting to take Philippa to his brother.

  Philippa gazed down at the huddle of grey stone buildings in the valley with trepidation. She was tired. Only once had they stopped since early morning — to partake of a silent meal among the hills. So many hills, some dotted with sheep, others wooded. So much moorland, but few towns had they seen. They had passed through Knaresborough a short time ago, gazing at the castle on its perch high above the river Nidd. The Duke of Lancaster had it in his honour, so Guy informed her briefly. Now they overlooked Sir Hugo’s manor.

  The house looks so forbidding,’ murmured Philippa, half to herself.

  ‘It is fortified because the Scots have been known to raid as far south as this. Lately we have been at peace, although the truce has been broken on both sides. That is why Lancaster was sent north by the king’s council to mend the truce once more. England has enough trouble without the Scots invading us again,’ explained Guy, his face sombre.

  ‘I remember now.’ Her fingers stifled a yawn.

  ‘The journey was tiring?’ He covered her hand with his.

  ‘Not as tiring as some,’ she said in a low voice. For a moment her hand rested beneath his and they exchanged glances, and she surmised that he, too, was remembering the flight to London. She withdrew her hand and saw a shadow darken his face.

  Barely had Guy swung out of the saddle when a man appeared in the doorway of the house. Old in years, he came limping down the steps towards them, a huge smile on his crusty face.

  ‘Master Guy, and glad it is I am to see you! The rumours we’ve been hearing — and the trouble it’s caused in some places. Fair worried, we’ve been.’ Briefly his glance went to the women before settling on Guy’s face again.

  ‘What trouble? And where’s my brother? How is he?’ Guy eased the gauntlets from his hands and stretched his aching fingers.

  A crease furrowed the man’s forehead. ‘He’s up and gone to Knaresborough. There’s been such a to-do about Duke John freeing his bondsmen and going to set himself up as king. Then there have been riots in York and Beverley — attacks on monasteries, and the clerks assaulting merchants!’

  ‘I don’t believe it! Lancaster set himself up as king — never!’ Guy pulled his gauntlets through his fingers with some violence.

  ‘That’s what the rumours say — it’s because Richard declared him a traitor. The Duchess Constancia was refused entry at Pontefract and had to travel by torchlight through the forest to Knaresborough.’

  ‘Sweet Jesu!’ A grim smile played about his beautiful mouth. ‘What fool would believe that the king would do such a thing! The peasants destroyed Lancaster’s palace in the south, and Richard’s not going to believe such a rumour. It is a lie set about by his enemies.’

  ‘That’s what Sir Hugo said, and the reason why he has gone to Knaresborough to discover what Duke John’s going to do.’ The man shook his grizzled head.

  ‘What were you thinking of to let him go to Knaresborough? His health must have improved dramatically,’ Guy said sardonically.

  ‘You know you can’t tell him,’ said the man gruffly. ‘And if there’s a fight, he’ll want to be in it.’

  Guy frowned and was silent a moment, then said, ‘Is my aunt still here? I have business of my own to attend to.’

  ‘Ay, but right muddled she’s getting with old age.’

  ‘No matter. She’s a woman, isn’t she, and can see to our visitors. Rob, this is Mistress Cobtree and Mistress Rose. I’ll see Aunt Margaret before I go.’

  ‘Go, Master Guy? Home, you mean?’

  Guy nodded.

  ‘Sir Hugo won’t be pleased! Been giving much thought to your return with the lady — and a wedding,’ Rob said in a worried voice.

  Guy shrugged. ‘See to the horses, and find me a fresh one if that’s possible. My agent is sending a lad for these in a day or two.’ He turned towards the steps that ran up the side of the wall at a slant to a door on the first floor.

  ‘Guy!’ cried Philippa, swinging down from the horse without waiting for assistance. A shock had rippled through her as she listened to their conversation. Had she escaped London only to be engulfed in another rebellion? ‘You would leave so soon?’

  He stared down at the ground, watching her swirling skirts settle about her ankles. ‘I’ll see you inside, and introduce you to my aunt. I’ll take a goblet of wine with you, and then leave. There’s no more to be said,’ he muttered. He turned and strode quickly to the steps.

  Philippa was suddenly furious. ‘Rob, is it? You will untie the baggage and bring it in before you see to Master Guy’s horse.’ She did not wait for a reply, but crossed the courtyard and climbed the steps, and came to the hall with aching legs.

  Guy stood by a settle, talking to an elderly woman dressed in grey. They both looked up as she approached. Only briefly did she take in the woman’s appearance, seeing a thin, sallow face framed by a goffered veil. The eyes were blue and vague. She seemed agitated.

  ‘Aunt Margaret, this is Mistress Cobtree — my aunt Colby,’ he explained impersonally, before moving over to a table on which stood a pitcher.

  Mistress Margaret’s hands fluttered halfway up to meet Philippa’s and then dropped before touching them. ‘You’ve come a long way, child, so Guy informs me. You must be tired. Sit down.’ She smiled rather sweetly as she peered short-sightedly at her.

  ‘Thank you, but I would rather stand. I have been on horseback all day.’ She could barely control her impatience. She heard footsteps behind her, and Rose was at her back. Moving out of the way, she went over to Guy.

  He turned to face her, two brimming goblets in his hands. She took the one thrust rather unceremoniously at her, but did not drink even when he raised the vessel in a salute. There was a look on his face that hurt.

  ‘Well? Aren’t you going to drink to my happiness now?’ he sneered. ‘I do to yours — and my brother’s.’

  ‘Guy, please,’ cried Philippa in a brittle voice. ‘Don’t! Not after … ’

  ‘After what?’ His eyes were like two hard blue stones. ‘If you had not been my brother’s betrothed, matters would have been different. I … ’ The beautiful mouth twisted. ‘Best forget the last two weeks and everything that happened between us.’

  ‘Will you?’ Her voice was unsteady.

  For an instant, he almost smiled, and he half stretched out a hand to her, only to snatch it back before their fingers touched.

  Her expression hardened, and her eyes sparkled as she tossed off the wine. ‘I pray that you will be happy. As happy as it is possible for me to be — married to your brother!’

  Guy rammed the vessel down on the table. ‘Goodbye, Philippa!’ He did not look back as he stalked out of the hall. There was such a rage in him that only by riding until he was exhausted would he be able to despatch its hold on him.

  Philippa gazed stonily at a distant tapestry across the large hall, listening to his retreating footsteps. They faded. Now she could hear the drone of Mistress Margaret’s and Rose’s voices. Rob came in, dumped the baggage on the floor and went out again. How long she stood there, stemming the flood of short-lived memories, she did not know. Hoofbeats sounded, and then it was as if she breathed again and knew she had to see him one more time before he left.

  When she reached the top of the steps, he was already riding under the gatehouse arch. Her cry came out as a croak, so tight was her throat. How stiff her muscles were! He was out of sight! As she quickened her pace, the skirts tripped her and made her over-balance. She tumbled, and her head hit the wall.

  *

  It was Rose who found her. When she
saw the hunched-up figure, she thought that Philippa was dead, until she knelt and discovered that her heart still beat. Gazing frantically about the courtyard and wondering at its deserted appearance at such a time, she was relieved to see Rob come out of the stables. She called him, waving wildly. Limping, he came over and barely listened to her babbled, almost incoherent, words, but lifted Philippa in his arms and carried her slowly up the steps.

  In no time at all she settled Philippa as comfortably as she knew how in a bed in a turret room, after some confused advice from Mistress Margaret. She showed no sign of coming round and lay still and quiet in the narrow bed, the covers pulled up to her chin.

  Later, getting up from a stool by the bed, Rose went over to the window that let little of the evening light in. She had asked Rob to fetch a physician, but he had refused.

  ‘Little use, mistress,’ he muttered, scratching his head. ‘Nothing they can do. I’ve seen this before when one of us grooms came off a horse. Just lay as dead for days. He woke up in the end, but his wits had gone begging. Never the same after that.’ He shook his head and left the chamber.

  Guy’s aunt, who had been listening, suffered a nervous spasm. ‘Does he mean that she’ll be mad?’

  Rose had answered noncommittally, and had put aunt Colby to bed, so agitated had she become. She was far from calm herself as she looked out at the quiet countryside. What if Philippa died? Clasping her trembling hands together, she turned and walked slowly to the head of the bed. How had she come to fall? She had rushed out of the hall a short time after Master Guy — but why? She had not been able to hear all that had passed between them, trying to keep hold of the thread of the old lady’s rambling conversation, but had heard enough to make her feel sorry for both of them. How would he feel if she died? How would Sir Hugo feel if she died? He would not grieve as much as Master Guy, that was for sure! Nine years since he had seen her. She pulled herself up. What was she doing, dwelling on death! Reaching out, she stroked Philippa’s cheek, and it moved slightly. Rose’s heart seemed to collide with her ribs, and sinking on to her knees, rested her head on the bed. All night she would keep vigil, if need be — and all the nights to come, if necessary! But she would not leave her alone.

  *

  Philippa stirred, opening her eyes on an unfamiliar room. The flickering brightness that enabled her to see Rose came from a rush-light in a metal bowl near at hand. Her tongue tried to form words, but it was too much of an effort. But the breath she drew sharply sounded loud, and caused Rose to waken.

  ‘Praise the Virgin, you are awake at last,’ cried Rose, relief lighting her face.

  Philippa moved her head uneasily and winced, and her eyes closed again.

  ‘Oh, don’t go to sleep again!’ Rose gripped her hand tightly.

  ‘I’m … sorry.’ It was just a whisper of a sound before she drifted into semi-consciousness.

  The maid got up and went to stand by the window, glad of the cool air on her heated cheeks. Light-headed with relief, her spirits rose. There would be no need for greeting Sir Hugo with the news that his betrothed was dead, praise God!

  The next time Philippa woke, it was daylight. Her eyelashes fluttered open, and Rose smiled, and asked if there was anything she wanted.

  ‘A drink?’ She ran the tip of her tongue over dry lips.

  Rose went to fetch some water, glad that there seemed little sign of madness.

  She took only a couple of sips of the water before pushing it away, and lay back with a sigh. ‘I don’t know this room,’ she said fretfully.

  ‘That is because you have never been in it before,’ explained Rose. ‘Would you like me to help you to sit up, so that you can see better? We only came here yesterday.’

  A small frown puckered her brow. ‘Yesterday? I can’t think … How did I come here?’ She attempted to lever herself up on her elbows.

  Rose moved quickly, adjusting the pillows behind her shoulders. Anxiety dragged at her mouth once more. ‘We came with Master Guy. This is Sir Hugo’s manor. You fell down the steps outside. Don’t you remember?’

  Philippa flopped back against the pillows, her eyelids drooping. Her fingers moved restlessly on the coverlet. ‘I can’t remember anything about falling. Steps, you say?’

  ‘Ay!’ Rose’s mouth was dry, and she sank on the stool. Had the fall scattered her wits? ‘Master Guy had just left. You must remember him,’ she added, leaning towards her mistress.

  ‘Guy,’ she said in a subdued voice. An image snapped into her mind — blue eyes, a beautiful mouth, dark hair. There was pain, not only in her knees and an elbow, but in her head and heart. She shut her eyes.

  ‘Mistress Philippa! Don’t go away again — please!’ Rose clutched her hand tightly, but she did not answer. What was she to do if Philippa did not regain her wits? Rob’s words came to her again, chilling her blood. Her glance rested on the still figure in the bed, then, crossing the room she sat down again to keep vigil.

  Not long after, Philippa woke again, and her eyes met Rose’s. For a moment neither of them spoke. Both were afraid to ask questions. Then Rose cleared her throat. ‘Would you like something to eat? Or to drink, perhaps?’

  ‘A drink,’ replied her mistress in a low voice. ‘Rose … ’ Rose turned quickly. ‘You know me?’

  ‘Of course I know you! Shouldn’t I?’ She rocked her head on the pillow as if it hurt.

  ‘You said you couldn’t remember — I thought you had forgotten everything!’

  ‘I haven’t forgotten you, Rose.’ She eased herself higher against the pillows, her gaze intent. ‘Did we talk earlier? You said … I fell?’

  ‘Ay. Down the steps outside. It was just after Master Guy left.’ She filled a cup with water. ‘Do you remember now?’

  Philippa pressed the tips of her fingers against her forehead. ‘Vaguely I remember you speaking to me in this chamber, but I can’t recall anything about falling — or coming here. You say Master Guy — has left?’

  Rose nodded, handing her the water. ‘You rushed out of the hall just after you had a goblet of wine together, and he had departed.’

  ‘A goblet of wine?’ She tried to concentrate — to remember, but could not. ‘I have no recollection of doing what you say.’ Her fingers trembled on the cup. ‘If he has left — does that mean I have seen Sir Hugo?’

  ‘No, he is not here yet. He has gone to some town or other on Lancaster’s business. Something to do with him being declared a traitor, and the rebels up here. I didn’t catch it all from the groom who was telling Master Guy.’

  ‘Who’s a traitor? Sir Hugo?’ She was getting confused, and took a sip of water as if that could help her to work out her bewilderment.

  ‘No! Lancaster! And it’s only a rumour. I presume Sir Hugo’s gone to find out what’s truth and what isn’t.’

  ‘I understand. Or think I understand.’ She took another drink. ‘Where’s … Master Guy gone?’ She did not look at Rose.

  ‘Home. Wherever that is. You don’t remember what he said to you yesterday?’ asked Rose anxiously.

  ‘I — I can’t remember. I wish I could,’ she said soberly.

  ‘I heard some of what you said — and he said,’ murmured Rose in a slow voice. ‘It was difficult with Mistress Margaret talking.’

  ‘Mistress Margaret?’

  ‘Master Guy’s aunt. She rambles a bit, and I had to listen, but she has a quiet voice. I couldn’t help overhearing.’

  ‘I’m glad you did — if you can tell me what he — he said.’ Philippa gave a ghost of a smile.

  Rose wrinkled her dainty nose. ‘He said if you had not been his brother’s betrothed, matters would have been different.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘He didn’t say, but what he did go on to say was that you had best forget the last two weeks and everything that had happened between you.’ She sighed.

  ‘Oh!’ There was a long silence while Philippa stared bright-eyed at the window slit. Then, ‘What did I reply to that, Rose?�
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  ‘I didn’t catch your answer with you speaking so softly. But a few moments later I heard you say something about — being happy — and about being married to his brother. Then he rammed his cup down so hard that we turned and looked at you both. And he said “Goodbye, Philippa!” and left the hall.’

  ‘Did he sound angry?’ Closing her eyes wearily, she felt the tears prickle her lashes.

  ‘Sounded sort of hard — hurt, like, I would say. Looked like a thundercloud. If he’d had a tail, he would have lashed it,’ Rose muttered, sensing her mistress’s anguish, and hoping she would never fall in love herself. Didn’t seem a very comfortable state to be in, all things considered!

  ‘Oh, Rose, if I weren’t so unhappy, you would make me laugh. Thunderclouds with tails!’ She gave a watery smile. ‘Do you think you could fetch me some water to wash?’

  ‘Of course! You rest, love.’ Rose touched her cheek tenderly. ‘You’ll get over it. We’ve seen through other tragedies together. We’ll see through this.’

  ‘Of course we shall! But — But if he’s unhappy, too? Do you think he was?’

  Rose’s lips pursed. ‘Ay. But men are different from us. You don’t hear many tales where it’s the men who languish or die for love’s sake! What he says makes a lot of sense if you are to wed his brother. Forget, and look forward to the future.’ She turned and walked to the door. ‘I’ll go and get some water, and a clean shift. If Sir Hugo returns, you don’t want to greet him in that one. Perhaps an undergown would be best. Prettier, anyway.’ She smiled as she opened the door. ‘You rest now.’

  Rest! Philippa stared at the closed door. Pretty herself for Sir Hugo! Hmmph! Forget! She did not want to forget! What had Guy said? If she had not been his brother’s betrothed, matters would have been different. How different? Forget what was between them? Which meant he accepted that there had been something! What was it on his side? He had told her he wanted her. Was it more than just a carnal desire? She remembered how he had looked at her in the cabin and how her limbs had seemed to melt with the sweetness of that moment. Could Sir Hugo make her feel like that? If only there was a way out of this betrothal. But she was here in his house, and Guy was gone. It seemed that the future mapped out for her nine years ago would take place just as planned, after all, and there was nothing she could do.