Philippa

by Bertrice Small

  “And why have you not gone home, my pretty maid?” Lord Robert Parker leered at her, his eyes going to her chemise, which was now open and revealing her breasts.

  “To Cumbria? With naught but the company of sheep?” Philippa responded. “Even being closeted with the queen at Woodstock is better than that.”

  “Cum-cum-Cumbria,” Lord Robert singsonged. “Poor Mistress Philippa! Who wants a lass with a Cumbrian estate and flocks of sheep?”

  “Let’s have another drink!” Roger Mildmay said, taking a swig from the jug, and passing it around to his companions.

  “I ... hic ... hate Cumbria!” Philippa declared. “Let’s dice, and see who will win my skirts. Or perhaps I can win back my bodice from you, Hal Standish.” She threw the bones, and then sighed, disappointed. “Well, have my skirt then. What is a bodice without its skirt?” She stood, and struggled with the garment’s tapes again. The skirt fell about her ankles.

  “What the hell is going on up here?” a familiar voice roared, and the king stepped out onto the roof with Charles Brandon. His outraged glance swept the quintet of young courtiers. “Mildmay! Standish! Parker! Explain yourselves immediately.”

  “We’re dicing, your majesty,” Philippa said tipsily. “And I can’t seem to win back my clothing. Luck is against me tonight, I fear. Hic!” And then she giggled.

  Charles Brandon swallowed back his laughter. The girl was obviously drunk as a lord. “Hardly the proper young lady her mama was, eh, Hal?” he murmured low.

  The king scowled. “Mistress Blount. You will help your companion back on with her garments, and then see that she goes to bed. And you will bring her to my privy chamber tomorrow morning after the mass. Is that understood?”

  Elizabeth Blount was pale, and suddenly very sober. “Yes, your majesty,” she whispered low. She began gathering up Philippa’s discarded clothing and aiding her to dress, but Philippa was very drunk now. She began to sing about the cowherd and the milkmaid once again.

  The king looked horrified. The three young men, also shocked into sobriety, struggled to restrain their hilarity, but when Charles Brandon burst into hearty guffaws they were unable to do so. The masculine laughter rang in the deepening twilight as it finally slipped into night. But when Philippa, hastily but fully clothed now, was pulled to her feet by Bessie Blount her legs gave way beneath her, and she slowly sank into a heap at the king’s feet, her auburn head using his boots as her pillow.

  “So tired,” she murmured. “Tired. Hic!” And then in the sudden silence her actions had brought about they heard her begin to softly snore.

  After a long moment in which no one seemed to be breathing, the king said in a weary voice, “Mildmay, take the little wench to her bed. Standish, you and Parker carry her down the stairs, then give her to Sir Roger. Mistress Blount, escort them, and you are both to remain in the Maidens’ Chamber until you bring Mistress Meredith to me in the morning. As for the three of you young gentlemen, you will return here where I will give you a lecture on the stars that can be seen tonight from this tower top. That way I can be certain that you are not in the Maidens’ Chamber. Mistress Blount, you will bar your door and I shall check it when I come down again. Do you all understand me? There will be no more nonsense here tonight. And as for you three gentlemen, I will expect you to be gone back to your own estates within the next two days. I am going to Esher, and you are not invited. Is that understood?”

  “Yes, your majesty,” the trio chorused as one, looking very chastened already.

  “You may come back at Christmas if you will,” the king continued, “but I do not wish to see you until then.”

  “Yes, your majesty,” they said again. Then Lord Parker and Lord Standish picked Philippa up, one taking her feet, the other her shoulders. Followed by Sir Roger and Elizabeth Blount, they descended the Canted Tower with their burden.

  Charles Brandon laughed again when one of the young men was heard to complain, “Jesu! The wench weighs more than I would have thought.” And another voice said, “ ’Tis deadweight, you fool!” The duke of Suffolk turned to his brother-in-law. “By God, Hal, Rosamund Bolton would have a fit if she knew how badly her daughter has behaved. What are you going to do?”

  “The poor girl is heartbroken over the damned FitzHugh boy,” the king said. “And then Renfrew and his wife would not let her come to their daughter’s wedding for fear the Meredith lass’s sadness would spoil Cecily FitzHugh’s day, yet the two girls are the best of friends. I never expected that she would react in such a lewd manner. I must speak with the queen, although I believe I know what must be done.”

  “And will you really make certain the Maidens’ Chamber is bolted and barred?” Charles Brandon teased the king.

  “I will!” the king replied.

  “Mistress Blount is a charming girl, isn’t she?” the duke of Suffolk noted.

  “Aye,” the king answered him, and his gaze was thoughtful.

  In the morning Philippa awoke with the worst headache she had ever had in all of her life. The morning light was hurtful. Her temples throbbed unbearably. She could barely move, but Bessie forced her from her bed. “I am going to die,” she insisted.

  “Nay, you are going to get dressed, and we are going to mass. It is not like it is when all the girls and the other ladies are here. The queen will miss us if we do not appear. She can count those near to her right now on one hand.”

  “What happened?” Philippa asked. “How did I get to bed, and in my shift?”

  “Don’t you remember?” Bessie replied, grinning.

  “Nay,” Philippa said, groaning faintly as she shook her head.

  “You were gambling with your garments when you ran out of coins,” Bessie began. “Your luck was not running well last night. You lost your slippers and stockings. Both of your sleeves and your bodice. We sang bawdy songs, and drank a great deal. And then you lost your skirts as well.”

  “I was only in my chemise?” Philippa looked horrified. “Oh, Jesu!”

  “That was not the worst of it,” Bessie continued cheerfully. “The king came up to the roof of the Canted Tower with the duke of Suffolk to explore the heavens. He caught us. You sang him the same bawdy song with which you had earlier entertained us. He had me clothe you properly, and then before we might take our leave you collapsed, and fell asleep on his boots, snoring.”

  “Ohh, sweet Mother Mary,” Philippa moaned. “I am ruined!” Her complexion looked almost pale green. “What happened next?” she asked nervously.

  “The king had you carried downstairs to the Maidens’ Chamber. He told Roger and the others they were to go home and not come back until Christmas. He wants to see you after the mass in his privy chamber. I am to escort you there.”

  “I am going to be sick,” Philippa said suddenly.

  Bessie grabbed an empty chamber pot and, giving it to the younger girl, turned away as the sound of Philippa’s retching was heard. When it seemed as if all was well again she turned about. “We’re going to be late for the mass,” she said. “Rinse your mouth with rose water, and let us go. But whatever you do don’t drink any water right now. It will only make you vomit again. I’ll get you some wine later.”

  “I will never drink wine again!” Philippa declared.

  Bessie laughed. “Trust me. A bit of the hair of the dog who bit you will solve all of your problems. Well, perhaps not your headache.”

  “I am going to die,” Philippa repeated. Then she rinsed her mouth, but she could not rid herself of the sour taste.

  They hurried to the Chapel Royal, reaching it just as the queen was entering. Katherine turned, and looked at Philippa. Then turning away, shaking her head, she walked to her place. She knows, Philippa thought. Three years without a misstep, and now I have disgraced myself well and good. And all over a man who decided that he would prefer to be a priest rather than my husband. What was I thinking? Was I thinking at all? I don’t want to live at Friarsgate for the rest of my days. I want to stay here at court.
What am I to do if I am sent away? I’ll never see Ceci again. Oh, damn! And all over Giles! I am a fool! A great and featherheaded booby. Oh, Lord! I think I’m going to be sick again, but I can’t. I just can’t! She swallowed back the bile in her throat, praying she might keep it down, and not embarrass herself further.

  The mass was finally over and, escorted by Bessie Blount, Philippa made her way to the king’s privy chamber. The two girls stood waiting in the antechamber among petitioners and secretaries and foreign merchants seeking an audience with the king. Finally a page in the king’s livery came to fetch them.

  “The king says that you may go, Mistress Blount,” he told Bessie, bowing politely to her. “Mistress Meredith is to follow me.”

  “Good luck!” Bessie said, giving Philippa’s cold hand a quick squeeze, and then she hurried off to find her breakfast.

  “This way, mistress,” the page said, leading her to a small door. He knocked upon it, and then flung the door open to usher her inside. Then he closed the door behind her.

  “Come, my child,” she heard the queen’s voice say.

  “Yes, come forward, Mistress Meredith, and explain to me your behavior of last night,” the king said sternly.

  The royal couple were seated side by side behind an oak table before her. Philippa curtseyed, but she thought her head would fall off when she did. She swallowed hard, attempting to find her voice, and finally said, “There is no excuse for my wretched behavior, your majesty. But in my defense I can say I have never before acted in such a terrible manner, and I can assure your majesty that I never will again.”

  “I should hope not, Philippa Meredith,” the queen said softly. “Your mama will be most upset to learn of this breach of good manners on your part.”

  “I am so ashamed, your highness,” Philippa told the queen. “I remember little. Bessie Blount told me what happened when I awakened this morning. I have never done anything like that before. You know that to be so.”

  “You were drunk,” the king said quietly.

  “Yes, your majesty,” Philippa admitted, hanging her aching head.

  “And most disorderly as well,” he continued.

  “Yes, your majesty.” She felt the tears beginning to run down her face.

  “You sang bawdy songs. A song I was surprised to find you knew,” the king said.

  “I heard it in the stables,” Philippa told him.

  “You gambled with your clothing, and had I not come upon you when I did who knows what else might have happened,” the king scolded her. “Why would a girl of such a good family endanger her reputation so? I knew your father, Philippa Meredith. He was a most honorable fellow. And your mother has always been a good subject as well, despite her marriage to a Scot. Her own service and kindness to this house ensured you a position with our queen. Would you throw away this chance given you?”

  Now Philippa began to sob noisily. “Oh, no, your majesty! I am so proud that I serve my queen. I always want to serve her. I am so sorry! You must forgive me, your majesty. I cannot bear it that I have disappointed you so!” And she wept, her small hands covering her face.

  The king looked uncomfortable. He did not like crying females. Getting up, he came from behind the oak table and put an arm about Philippa. He took out his own silk pocket square, wiping her eyes and face. “Do not wail, lass. It is not the end of the world,” he assured her. Then leaving the pocket square with her he retreated behind the table once again.

  Philippa struggled to pull herself together. This was terrible. One did not howl like a baby in front of the monarch. But her head was aching so terribly, and her belly was roiling horrifically. “I ... I am so afraid you are going to send me away,” she finally managed to say. She wiped her wet face, and straightened her carriage.

  “We are,” the king said, and he held up his hand to still further defense of herself. “But you will be allowed back, Philippa Meredith, when your family believes you are ready to come. The queen and I think you need to return to your family for a time. You have not been home in several years. We can see that your disappointment in Giles FitzHugh has unnerved you badly. And then to be forbidden your best friend’s wedding was a cruel disappointment as well. Your mother will need to see and speak with you about a possible new match, for you must certainly be married within the year, my child. And when your heart is at peace again, Philippa Meredith, and your mother is content to let you return to court we will welcome you gladly. We have arranged for you and your servant to begin your journey tomorrow. You will go with the queen’s party as far as Woodstock, and then continue on under our protection.”

  I cannot argue, Philippa thought silently to herself. One does not argue with the king. And they have said I may come back. She curtseyed. “Thank you, your majesty.”

  “Be thankful few remain here at Richmond, Philippa Meredith,” the king said, “that few know of your indiscretion. It will be forgotten by the time you return, I am certain.” He held out his hand to her, and Philippa took it, and kissed the king’s ring.

  “Thank you, your majesty. Your highness. Please accept my apologies for my unthinkable behavior of last evening. It will not happen again.” She curtseyed.

  “You will carry a letter to your mother,” the king said, and then with a wave of his hand he dismissed her.

  With an almost audible sigh of relief Philippa backed from the little privy chamber.

  The queen turned to her husband. “Be as diplomatic as only you know how, my lord, when you write to Rosamund Bolton. I do want to see Philippa back at court in the future, and I know she does not wish to live her entire life in the north as her mother does.”

  “ ’Tis strange,” the king remarked. “Rosamund never really liked the court. Her heart and her thoughts were always with her beloved Friarsgate. She could scarcely wait to return to it each time she was forced to visit the court. But her eldest child adores court, and is, I suspect, a born courtier. I wonder what will happen when mother and daughter meet this time. Philippa will not be content to remain in Cumbria.”

  “But she is Friarsgate’s heiress,” the queen noted.

  “I suspect that matters not,” Henry Tudor replied.

  Philippa hurried back to the Maidens’ Chamber where she knew Bessie would be waiting. “I am being sent home,” she declared dramatically as she entered the room.

  “What happened?” Bessie wanted to know. “You will be allowed back, won’t you? It would be terrible if you were exiled forever.”

  “Aye, it would,” Philippa responded, “but I am to be allowed back eventually. The decision will rest with my mother, but I shall make her see reason. Both the king and the queen were there in his privy chamber. They scolded me roundly.”

  “Did you cry?” Bessie asked.

  “I did,” Philippa admitted. “I was so embarrassed to do so before them too.”

  “You were probably spared worse because you did. I have heard it said that the king hates a weeping woman,” Bessie told Philippa with a grin. “So, when do you depart?”

  “I’m to go with the queen’s party as far as Woodstock, and then I will be escorted to Friarsgate from there,” Philippa explained. “Lucy has almost finished the packing. She will be delighted to learn we are going home. She, at least, has missed it.”

  “Is it really so dreadful, this Friarsgate?” Bessie asked. “I come from Shropshire, you know. ’Tis said we have the worst winters in all of England. And my family name is not particularly great either. While I, too, love the court, I am always happy to see Kinlet Hall, and my mother. And I have not your good fortune in being the heiress to my family’s estates.”

  Philippa sighed. “I know I am probably foolish, but I would gladly settle for a small estate in Kent, or Suffolk, or even Devon. My mother’s lands need especial tending. She and my uncle Thomas, who is Lord Cambridge, raise sheep, from which cloth is woven at Friarsgate, and then transported by means of their own ship to several countries for sale. They control, if I understand it corre
ctly, just how much of their cloth they will sell, and to whom. While I am grateful for the revenues raised, most of it goes back into their business, and into Friarsgate itself. If I have learned one thing from my mother, it is that when you have responsibilities such as hers you must tend to them yourself. There are few, if any, who can be trusted to shoulder your burdens, even in part. I don’t want to spend my time in such labor, Bessie. I don’t want Friarsgate, because to possess it I must take responsibility for it. The court is where I want to live, in service to the king and the queen. I want a husband who is a man of the court, and will understand that because he also is in service to the monarch. My father, Sir Owein Meredith, was in service to the house of Tudor from the time he was six. He was knighted on the field of battle. I can just barely remember him, Bessie, but I loved him, and I admired him. I am probably more like him than I am my mother. In fact I am not at all like mama except in our features. Some at Friarsgate who remember back say I am like a great-grandmother of mine, but I would not know that.”

  “Yours has always sounded like a loving family. Will your sisters join the court someday?” Bessie wondered.

  “Banon is certainly old enough,” Philippa said. “She is the heiress to Lord Cambridge’s home, Otterly Court. And then there is my littlest sister, who like you is called Bessie. I don’t know them anymore, I fear.”

  “But you will soon reacquaint yourself with them both,” Bessie Blount replied.

  “Aye, and my little stepbrother, John Hepburn, and my mother’s sons by my stepfather. I shall certainly be a stranger to them all now,” Philippa remarked. “It is very strange having a stepbrother, and half brothers who are Scots, and not English.”

  “Your summer will be interesting then,” Bessie concluded, “unlike mine, which will be uneventful. I had thought Maggie, Jane, and Anne were to remain with the queen this summer.”

  “Jane’s mother grew ill, and she was needed at home. I am not certain if she will return. Maggie’s mother is Irish. She asked the queen for her daughter’s company so they might visit Maggie’s grandmother in Ireland. She is elderly. As for Anne, her family may have found a suitable match for her. They wanted her home so the gentleman in question might inspect her, and she him,” Philippa explained. “Aye, I fear your summer may be very dull, but I shall try and get back as quickly as I can.”