Philippa

by Bertrice Small

  Philippa laughed. “Ceci is right. You are nice,” she said.

  “Then we are agreed? I shall have your first kiss. And several others I hope,” he replied. “But first I would tell you that I know your family will be in the market for another husband for you. I cannot, alas, be he. I will return home at the end of summer to wed the daughter of a neighbor. We have been pledged since childhood, and I am content to marry Anne Brownley. I would not lead you astray.” He looked directly at her, and smiled a small smile. “I know your young heart must be broken by what has happened, and I would not add to your miseries.”

  “Ceci said you were a true gentleman, and she did tell me that you were pledged to another. Besides, it is unlikely anyone will offer for me now. I am fifteen, and my estates are practically in Scotland they are so far north. My stepfather is a Scot, and he and my mother spend part of the year in England and part of the year in Scotland.”

  “But you are very beautiful,” Sir Roger told her. “Certainly the right man will come along for you.”

  Philippa shook her head in the negative. “My mother will want a man who will live at Friarsgate, and husband it as well as me. She never enjoyed the court as much as I do, and she loves her lands. I, on the other hand, do not want to live at Friarsgate. I want to live at court, or at least be near enough to visit it regularly,” she told him. “If only my estates were nearer London.” She sighed. “I have not a great name, nor important family connections.”

  “How came you to court?” he asked, for he was curious.

  “My mother was the heiress of Friarsgate. She was orphaned at three of both of her parents, and her older brother. Her father’s uncle came to be her guardian. He married her to his five-year-old son, but when mama was five her little husband died. Several families would have had her for their sons, but her uncle wanted Friarsgate for himself and his heirs. He married my mother off to an elderly knight in order to keep her from anyone else. He meant to marry her to his younger son eventually. The old knight, however, thought of mama as a daughter, and taught her how to manage her own estates. Then before he died he wrote a will, and he put his widow into the care and keeping of King Henry VII. Mama’s uncle was foiled, and most angry about it, but it was then that my mother came to court. She was first in the care of Queen Elizabeth, and after she had died she went into the household of the Venerable Margaret, our King Henry’s grandmother. Her two best friends were Margaret Tudor and the princess of Aragon.”

  “How fortunate for her,” Sir Roger murmured, impressed.

  “Mama went home again when Margaret Tudor became queen of Scotland, but first a marriage was arranged between her and my father, Sir Owein Meredith. My father was Welsh, and had been raised in the Tudor household, serving them since he was six. He was well thought of by all. They traveled much of the way home to Friarsgate in the queen of Scotland’s wedding train. My father loved Friarsgate every bit as my mama. They were a good match, and it was a tragedy when he died so suddenly in a fall.”

  “And your mother remarried?” Sir Roger inquired.

  “Several years later,” Philippa said. “Mama and the two queens always kept up their friendship, which is why I was given a place at court. Mama brought me to court when I was past ten. I loved it right from the beginning, and Queen Katherine said I should join the maids of honor when I turned twelve. And so I did.”

  “No wonder some of the girls are jealous of you, Mistress Philippa. For a girl of little importance you have traveled high up the social ladder. The loss of an earl’s son is a serious privation for your family. I can understand your difficulty, but I will wager that if your estates were nearer London it might be easier to find you a suitable match,” Sir Roger said.

  “I know,” Philippa agreed sadly.

  Seeing her attitude flagging he said, “Come, lass, and let us dance. The lanterns are now lit, the air is soft, and the evening fair. I know you like to dance, for I have seen you with the other maids at other revels.”

  They joined the circle of dancers forming, and Philippa was soon caught up in the music and the rhythm. She danced well, and when Sir Roger lifted her high and swung her about Philippa laughed happily, her sadness gone now. She was totally unprepared when, the dance finally ended in much merriment, Sir Roger quickly kissed her pretty lips.

  “Oh!” Philippa gasped in surprise, and then she laughed again.

  With a wicked grin he took her hand, and they slipped into the darkness near the river. “Your lips are sweet,” he told her. Then stopping, he gathered her into his arms, and kissed her well and truly.

  When he finally released her Philippa smiled up at him satisfied. “That,” she told him, “was most pleasing, my lord. Will you do it again?” And when he had obliged her Philippa said, “I am a fool for having waited so long to be kissed. In retrospect I wonder how a maid can know if her husband kisses well if she has not some small experience. Ceci says you kiss well, and while I lack any comparison, I am inclined to agree with her. I hope you will continue to offer me your kisses while you are yet unmarried.”

  Sir Roger Mildmay laughed aloud. “Mistress Philippa,” he said, “I think I am envious of the gentleman who will one day husband you. Now let us return to the others lest we be gossiped about for our absence. Kissing is an innocent pastime, but I would not have your reputation disputed or misunderstood by remaining here with you in the dark for much longer.”

  “I think I should like to go on kissing you for some time, sir,” Philippa told him.

  He smiled. “I shall be most happy to oblige you, sweetheart, but when we are in a less public venue,” he told her as they returned to join the rest of the court.

  In the bed they shared in the Maidens’ Chamber later that night Philippa and Cecily spoke softly behind the drawn curtains, and Cecily giggled as her friend recounted her kissing adventure with Sir Roger.

  “Didn’t I tell you?” Cecily said. “He really is the nicest man. It is too bad that he is promised to another.”

  “I don’t care,” Philippa replied. “I just enjoy kissing him, but I cannot see him as my husband. Now tell me, was Millicent angry? What did she say?”

  “Not a great deal, for the queen was there, but I know she was angry that Sir Walter was paying such close attention to you. When I pointed it out she pretended it wasn’t him at all, but then one of the other girls said it was. She was very silent, but she watched you both like a hawk, and when you disappeared by the river for a brief time you could tell she was angry. After you had left him she excused herself from the queen’s presence, and ran to find him. But I could tell she was not scolding him. Her position is not yet that secure with him. She clung to his arm, and gazed up at him. She looked quite like a ewe sheep gazing at her lamb, I vow.” Cecily giggled. “Will you play with Sir Walter again, or are you now satisfied? Tony told me you pretended not to know how to dice. You are the best player amongst us girls!”

  “You were right earlier when you said Millicent is not worth bothering with. She isn’t. I have far more important things to do now. I want to kiss as many men as I can so that when I am forced back north to marry some bucolic dullard I will have wonderful memories of my last days at King Henry’s court!”

  “Sir Roger has certainly inspired you,” Cecily said with a small laugh. “He really is a darling. Now let’s get some sleep while we may. Tomorrow we move on to Richmond before the summer progress. I think we go north this year.”

  The following day the court decamped Greenwich for Richmond. To everyone’s relief there was no sign of the sweating sickness or the plague now. It seemed to be dying out. Many of their companions began to depart the court as the time for the progress drew near. Some of the girls were going home to marry as Millicent and Cecily soon would be doing. The thought of losing her best friend began to tell on Philippa, and she began to grow more reckless in her behavior: dicing with the young gentlemen of the court, losing just enough to keep them coming back; paying off her debts with kisses, and of
late if the gossip were to be believed, cuddles. Her servant, Lucy, scolded her but it did no good. Lucy would have written to her mistress’s mother but she did not know how to write, and had not the means to hire someone to do it for her.

  The queen was more tired now than she had been recently, and it was being said that it was her age. Her last pregnancy had worn her out entirely, it seemed. The queen intended to retire alone to Woodstock for the month of July rather than accompany the king on his progress. Henry was most displeased by this, but agreed. There were few to tell the maids of honor what to do now, not that Philippa would have listened.

  Cecily would not be going to Woodstock. She would be returning to her family’s home where she would be wed in August. It had originally been planned that Philippa come with her, but now with Giles having repudiated any match with Philippa Meredith, the earl of Renfrew and his wife felt it best that Philippa not come.

  “I fear a visit to our hall at this time would but bring back memories of Giles for you, my dear,” Edward FitzHugh had told Philippa. “Your previous visits were such happy ones. Your righteous sorrow, and your anger over my son’s decision, or any attempt you might make to conceal it, would but put a pall upon Cecily’s wedding day. I know you would not want to do that to she who has been your best friend, even as I know you will understand this decision that the Lady Anne and I have made in this matter.”

  Wordlessly, quick tears running down her cheeks, Philippa nodded. He was right, of course, but still to miss Cecily and Tony’s wedding day ...

  “I have told my daughter of our decision, Philippa. I did not wish to put that upon you, my child. I am so sorry. My son’s thoughtlessness has made it difficult for us all. You know that my wife and I would have gladly welcomed you as our daughter, Philippa. I have told your mother I will help in any way I can to provide you with another match.”

  Suddenly Philippa found herself angry. “I believe, my lord, that my family is quite capable to finding me another match without your help,” she said coldly. “I will return now to helping Cecily pack for her departure tomorrow.” She curtseyed stiffly, and turning, walked away from the earl of Renfrew.

  A small smile touched Edward FitzHugh’s lips. What a simpleton Giles was. This proud young girl would have brought so much to their family. And then he thought that perhaps Philippa was too good for his foolish son. It was a great loss, and he forgave her her rudeness. She had borne up remarkably well in the face of her great disappointment and the embarrassment she had been caused by his younger son.

  Philippa returned to find Cecily weeping. Sitting down on their bed next to her best friend, she put an arm about the girl’s shoulders. “Your parents are right,” she began. “Damn your brother for this new unhappiness he has visited upon both of us this time. You will write me and tell me all about the wedding, Ceci. And Mary and Susanna will not have to feel you are neglecting them for me.”

  “I am closer to you than to my sisters,” Cecily sniffed.

  “You will come to my wedding someday,” Philippa said. “Believe me, my mother is already seeking eagerly for just the right bumpkin to husband Friarsgate, for it is far more important to her than I am.”

  “Will you go home this summer?” Cecily asked.

  “Heavens no!” Philippa exclaimed. “I only went for a few weeks that first year because the queen insisted. I have never been more bored in my life. Nay, I shall not go back to Friarsgate unless forced to it.”

  “Your life will not be particularly exciting this summer, as you must go to Woodstock with the queen rather than on progress,” Cecily noted.

  “I know,” Philippa groaned. “We leave in just a few days, but you go tomorrow, Ceci, and I shall be devastated by your going.”

  “Tony has promised that we will come back to court for Christmas. Until then we will live on his estate.”

  “Will you go there after the wedding?” Philippa asked as she folded up several pairs of sleeves, and tucked them into Cecily’s little trunk.

  “Nay. We will go to Everleigh, the original manor of the FitzHughs, in the Marches. We are to remain a month, and then move on to Deanemere, which will be our home,” Cecily said. “Everleigh is quite remote, and small. It will suit us perfectly, as we will be unable to entertain any visitors. My family hasn’t lived there in some time, but the house has always been kept up and in good repair.”

  “I will miss you,” Philippa said.

  “And I you,” Cecily responded.

  “It will never be the same again between us now that you are to be wed, and I am not,” Philippa remarked.

  “But we will always be best friends,” Cecily replied.

  “Always!” Philippa agreed.

  Chapter 3

  Cecily FitzHugh was gone. Even the detestable Millicent Langholme was gone. All of the younger girls had gone home now. Only Elizabeth Blount and Philippa Meredith remained. And in two days they would be moving with the queen to Woodstock. Dull, quiet, boring Woodstock for a dull, quiet and boring summer. The king and his remaining friends, for many had gone to their own estates now, would go on to Esher and Penhurst. They would spend their days hunting, and their nights in eating and laughter. The queen would spend her days in gentle pursuits and prayer. They would retire early. There would be few, if any, visitors. Oxfordshire was a pretty place, but without the company of a gay court it lacked interest for Philippa. But the queen loved its bucolic charms, and Woodstock’s five chapels where she might worship. She was particularly fond of the Round Chapel. Philippa despaired.

  “Come,” said Bessie Blount the evening after Cecily’s departure. “We must have some amusement with the remaining gentlemen before we are off to the queen’s convent for the summer.” She handed Philippa a small goblet of wine.

  “Where did you get this?” Philippa inquired.

  “I stole it,” Bessie answered with a laugh. “It was some of that particularly fine Spanish Madeira wine Maria de Salinas left behind when she married last year. No one has used her rooms here at Richmond ever since. It was in a corner, on a shelf, in an alcove. It was obviously overlooked. I left it there until now. It would be a shame to waste it, and I think we need it considering the summer before us. God’s foot, I wish we were going with the king! Woodstock is so dull without him.”

  Philippa downed the contents of the little goblet, and held it out for more. “ ’Tis good. I always wondered what this particular wine tasted like.” She sipped a bit more slowly on her second portion.

  “Some of the lads are still here,” Bessie said. “I’m going to join them.’Tis probably the last time we’ll have the company of young men for a while. Would you like to come with me?”

  “Who is here yet?” Philippa wanted to know.

  “Roger Mildmay, Robert Parker, and Henry Standish,” Bessie said.

  “Why not,” Philippa agreed. “I am already bored by the lack of lively company. I never thought I should miss even Millicent Langholme.”

  Bessie laughed. “I know,” she said. “Come on then, and bring your goblet, for I am bringing the wine.” She stood and started out the door of the empty Maidens’ Chamber, turning to make certain that Philippa was behind her.

  “Where are we going?” the younger girl wanted to know.

  “To the top of the Canted Tower. No one will find us there,” Bessie said mischievously. “We don’t want to be caught dicing and drinking now, do we?”

  “Nay,” Philippa agreed. She sipped from her goblet as they hurried along. The Spanish wine was so very good. It felt like sweet silk on her tongue.

  They walked across the Middle Court, joined by the three young men as they went. The summer twilight lasted for hours, but they still carried a small lamp. The Canted Tower was four stories high. It was one hundred and twenty steps to the top. They made the climb, stopping now and again to giggle as the wine began to take its effect upon the two young women. The roof of the tower gave a fine view of the river and the countryside to the southwest of London. The ro
of was filled with azure and gold weather vanes adorned with the king’s arms. The men knelt, and began to dice. Soon both Bessie and Philippa joined them. The wine jug was passed around.

  “I have no more money,” Philippa complained after a time. The dice had not been favorable to her this evening.

  “Then let us bet with items of our clothing,” Henry Standish suggested, mischievously grinning.

  “I’ll bet a slipper,” Philippa said, taking off her left shoe and tossing it into the center of their playing field. But soon she had lost her shoes, her stockings, and two sleeves. “Unlace my bodice for me, Bessie! My luck must turn soon,” she said. Bessie did not hesitate, and the bodice was shortly lost as well. Philippa began to struggle with the tapes holding her skirt up, but she was drunk now; and her fingers were clumsy.

  Just as tipsy but a little more experienced, Bessie decided it might be wise to stop the younger girl from her rash action. The three young men were laughing uproariously. They, too, were half-undressed at this point. Only Elizabeth Blount seemed to be blessed with good fortune this evening. She had lost but two slippers.

  Philippa began to sing a bawdy song she had heard in the stables one day, and her gentlemen companions joined in.

  The cowherd cuddled the milkmaid. He cuddled her in the hay.

  He kissed her in the hedgerows, for that is where they lay.

  And then he swived her merrily, for it was the month of May!

  With a hey nonny nonny, and a hey, hey, hey!

  They collapsed laughing in a heap, delighted with their own drunken humor. Even Bessie was laughing, her hair undone and about her face.

  “Hush, hush,” she said to them. “We shall be found out!”

  “By whom?” Philippa demanded to know. “Everyone who might be fun except us has gone home to their own estates.”