Philippa

by Bertrice Small

  “Lucy has gone to fetch us a meal,” Philippa said. “It is a perfect day, Banie. The air has a warmth to it, and smells so fresh.”

  “I’ll be glad to escape back to Otterly before the plague season,” Banon remarked.

  “We don’t have plague every year,” Philippa said.

  Lucy pushed her way into the bedchamber with a heavy tray which she set upon the oak table in the center of the room. “Come along now, you two, and have your breakfast. I’ll get the tub ready, for the footmen are on their way now with the hot water. Wrap your shawls about yourselves. I’ll not have either of you flaunting yourselves before those sharp-eyed London lads.” She snatched up Philippa’s shawl and put it about her shoulders, then scampered into the room next door and came back with a shawl for Banon with which she enveloped the girl.

  The two sisters sat and began to eat. There were eggs in a sauce of cheese, cream, and dill. There was ham, and fresh bread with sweet butter and cherry jam. There was a single trencher, neatly hollowed out, filled with oat stirabout. There was honey and cream for the cereal. Philippa and Banon shared the trencher. Philippa might have been at court for over three years, but she had never lost her country girl appetite, and Banon equaled her sister at the board. They ate until there was nothing left. They had sipped goblets of watered wine, for Lucy assured them it was better for the digestion and their nerves this morning than ale, which would only give them the bloat.

  The footmen paraded up and down the stairs carrying their buckets of hot water. They had pulled the tall oak tub with its strong iron bands from its wall cabinet and into the room before the fire. When the tub was finally filled, Lucy shut the door to the chamber firmly and set about preparing the water.

  “Don’t put lily of the valley oil in,” Philippa said. “Banie is going to share my tub, and I don’t want her smelling of my fragrance.”

  “I don’t like lily of the valley,” Banon remarked. “It gives me the headache.”

  “I’ll do damask rose then,” Lucy replied, uncorking a narrow flask and pouring a thin stream of oil into the water. “Hurry and get in, you two. You’ve eaten enough for an army. Not even a crust left for the poor, or a crumb for the birds.”

  The sisters giggled as they got up from the table. They laid aside their shawls and pulled off their night garments.

  “Your breasts have grown,” Philippa noted to her sister as she climbed into the tub. “They are bigger than mine, and you are the younger. ’Tis not fair!”

  “Yours will grow too when you let your husband fondle them on a regular basis,” Banon responded with a grin. “They don’t grow when you keep them to yourself. Oh, I envy you, sister! I wish tonight were my wedding night!”

  “If your mother could hear the pair of you,” Lucy said disapprovingly.

  “Oh, Lucy, she wouldn’t fuss at us,” Banon said. “She slept with our stepfather before they were wed, you know, and she was the earl of Glenkirk’s mistress. And your own sister became with child before she wed. All Philippa and I do is speak on passion.”

  “You were barely old enough to know such things,” Lucy said, shaking her head.

  “No one pays a great deal of attention to children,” Banon said wisely, “but they listen, and they hear.”

  “Wash your hair, both of you!” Lucy said.

  The two sisters grinned, but did her bidding, helping each other to rinse their long auburn hair free of soap, then pinning it up so they might continue their bath. When they had finished they climbed from the tub, one at a time, and Lucy wrapped them each in large towels that she had been heating before the fire. She handed Banon a towel for her hair, but sat Philippa down and began to dry her hair herself. Philippa was, after all, her mistress, not Banon. By toweling and brushing the hair before the heat of the fire Lucy soon had the bride’s hair dry.

  “I’ll dress you first, Mistress Banon,” she told the younger girl. “I have your gown all ready.” She helped Banon into her stockings and garters, and her round-necked silk chemise. Then she held out the bodice for Banon to fit her arms into the attached sleeves which were fitted to the elbow, and then folded back in a wide cuff to show the puffed sleeves of her silk chemise. Finally came the shake fold and the petticoats followed by the skirt of the gown. The garment was rose silk brocade. It had a square neckline embroidered with a band of gold and silver ribbon. The wide cuffs were rose and gold brocade. Banon’s slippers were covered in the same brocade fabric as was her neat little English hood with its gauzy short veil. She wore a simple gold chain about her neck with a pearl, ruby, and gold cross.

  “That color is so flattering on you,” Philippa said. “I think it must be your blue eyes. Our hair is so similar, and yet that shade of rose is not a good color for me at all.”

  “I want to see your gown now,” Banon said. “The material was simply gorgeous.”

  Philippa had already dressed herself in her stockings and undergarments while Banon was being dressed. She smiled at her sister’s comment, and then Lucy fitted the bodice of Philippa’s ivory silk brocade wedding gown onto her mistress. The wide sleeves were slashed, and tied with gold cords, but fitted at the wrists and edged with a lace ruffle. The neckline of the gown was square, and decorated with embroidered gold ribbon and pearls. The skirts of Philippa’s wedding gown were split in the front to reveal the ivory and gold velvet underskirt which was embroidered and quilted.

  “Oh, sister,” Banon breathed admiringly, “you simply must be painted in that gown! I so wish mama were here to see you.”

  “You know the spring is a bad time for her,” Philippa said. “She will be at your wedding, and I shall see her then. Crispin and I must marry today, for the queen wishes us to be man and wife when we join the court to go to France.”

  “Will you always serve Queen Katherine?” Banon asked.

  “Of course,” Philippa said.

  “There have been rumors that the king is not happy with her because she cannot give him an heir,” Banon murmured.

  “They have Princess Mary to follow the king,” Philippa said. “The king has no choice unless the queen dies. She is his wife, no matter her deficiencies, until death.”

  “I have heard it said the king could divorce the queen should he choose,” Banon replied. “That he could wed a new, younger, and more fertile wife. Other Christian kings have done it in an effort to get an heir.”

  “That cannot be so!” Philippa snapped. “A Christian marriage is until death, Banon. I hope you have not repeated such dreadful gossip around the court.”

  Banon shook her head. “I listen,” she told her older sister. “Nothing more.”

  “Good,” Philippa replied, slipping her brocade slippers onto her feet.

  There was a knock, and the door sprang open to reveal Lord Cambridge. He entered the bedchamber and, one hand over his heart, he stepped back dramatically, exclaiming, “My darling girl, you look magnificent! You really must be immortalized in that gown. I shall speak to the earl myself.” He took her hand and kissed it.

  “Banon said I should be painted too,” Philippa responded. Then she stepped up before him, and kissed his cheek. “Thank you, Uncle Thomas, for everything you have done for me. You have obtained a far better match for me than I could have ever hoped for, and I am grateful.”

  “You seem to like him, darling girl, and I do want you to be happy,” Tom Bolton said. “And I believe it is more than just the land for him now. He seems quite taken with you after these last few weeks. He is a good man, Philippa. That I know in my heart. I should not let you wed him today if I did not believe that. I promised your mother to look after you, and you know that she is dearest to my heart of anyone else living in this world. I would not fail her nor you.” He took a lock of her unbound hair up in his fingers, and kissed it.

  “Aye, I know,” Philippa replied. Then she smiled at him. “Uncle dearest, you are dressed most soberly today. No embroidered doublet glistening with gold threads and pearls? No brightly colored silk hose
or a bejeweled codpiece? Today is my wedding day, and you appear in a midnight blue velvet coat with furred sleeves? If it were not for the outrageous gold chain upon your chest with its great sparkling pendant, I should hardly recognize you,” she teased him. “Even your shoes are plain.”

  He chortled. “Today is your day, darling girl. I would not outshine the bride, but I have seen to your bridegroom’s apparel. He is a vision in Tudor green. His sleeves are slashed and embroidered. His shirt collar has a pleated edge. His coat is full, short and pleated as well, and his codpiece! My darling girl, it is a work of art, as you shall soon see! I am most envious of the fellow, and should be quite jealous were he marrying anyone else but you. He is in the hall now, his sisters alternately twittering and weeping about him. I have left young Neville with him. Where are your jewels?”

  “I was just about to adorn her when you come in, my lord,” Lucy said, and then she put a great rope of pearls about her mistress’s neck and affixed the matching pearl earbobs in the girl’s ears. “There now, don’t they look just fine!”

  “Are we all ready then?” Lord Cambridge asked. “Lucy, you too.”

  “Me? Oh, my lord, thank you! Give me but a moment to fetch my apron,” she cried.

  “Be quick then, lass!” he told her. “The vessels are ready to take us to Richmond, where one of the queen’s chaplains will perform the sacrament. Go along, Banon, and your sister and I shall be behind in but a moment.” He gently shooed the girl out the door. Turning, he looked to his young relation. “I should not be the one to speak with you of such things, but who else, darling girl, is there?” He appeared extremely uncomfortable.

  Philippa giggled. “It’s alright, Uncle Thomas. I know exactly what it is I need to know about such matters. The queen, the other maids, my sister, and Lucy have been most kind about sharing their wisdom with me. And I have been advised by the queen that too much knowledge is not a good thing for a bride.”

  “Thank God!” He breathed with a great sigh. “I fear I should have swooned before I could have spoken to you of such delicate concerns.”

  “I’m ready, my lord!” Lucy was back, her simple black silk gown covered with a lace and lawn apron.

  “Then we are indeed ready to go,” Lord Cambridge decided.

  They found everyone else awaiting them in the hall. The earl’s eyes met Philippa’s, and she gave him a tremulous smile. Lady Marjorie and Lady Susanna admired the bride’s gown effusively.

  “The barges await, my lord,” William Smythe said as he came up to Lord Cambridge’s elbow.

  “My dears,” Thomas Bolton said, “I shall take the blushing bride and her maidservant in the smaller vessel. The rest of you are to go in my own personal barge. Come along now. We mustn’t keep the priest waiting.”

  As always, Lord Cambridge had planned everything perfectly. The river was between tides, and as smooth as glass. Their barges moved easily through the water the distance down to Richmond Palace. There was but one servant at the stone quay, as most of the servants had gone to Greenwich with their royal masters. He helped them from their elegant crafts, and they hurried up the stairs to the palace. Another servant met them at the riverside door, and with a bow escorted them through the silent corridors to the queen’s favorite little chapel where the ceremony would be performed by one of the queen’s own priests, a Spaniard of indeterminate age, who was waiting for them. Philippa recognized him as Frey Felipe.

  She left the wedding party and went to him. “Thank you for remaining behind, Frey Felipe, to perform the sacrament.”

  “I am honored, my lady,” he replied in his accented English. “You are dear to her highness’s heart, and you have served her well as has your mother.” He gave her a slight bow, and then said, “Shall we begin?”

  The earl of Witton stepped forward to take Philippa’s hand. He gave it a little squeeze, and smiled at her. Lord Cambridge stood on the other side of the bride with Banon, Robert Neville, Lady Marjorie, Lady Susanna, and Lucy pressing about them. The chapel was very quiet but for the murmur of the priest’s voice as he intoned the Latin words of the ceremony. The chamber’s windows faced the river, and the sunlight on the dancing waters reflected and flickered upon the stone floor. There was a lace cloth and heavy gold candlesticks with beeswax tapers on the altar. There was a matching carved and jeweled crucifix in the center of the altar. There were crimson velvet cushions for the wedding party to kneel upon. Frey Felipe was aided by a little boy in a fine white linen and lace surplice.

  It was suddenly very much like a dream, Philippa thought, as the sweetly scented incense was wafted over them. She reacted instinctively, saying the Latin words she had been taught by Father Mata at Friarsgate. This was her wedding day. The ceremony was even now being performed. A small wave of panic hit her. Was it too late to change her mind? Then she felt the gentle pressure on her hand, calming her, reassuring her. Was she breathing? She opened her mouth perfunctorily to receive the host. She repeated the words as she was instructed. The earl slid a heavy gold ring encrusted with rubies on her finger. Frey Felipe was briefly binding their hands together with a silken band, speaking about their union being unbreakable. And finally he was blessing them, and it was done. Philippa Meredith was a married woman in the eyes of both English law and Holy Mother Church. She was no longer plain Mistress Meredith. She was Philippa, countess of Witton. The earl tipped her face up to his and gently brushed her lips with his. There was much laughter and clapping.

  “You can breathe now,” he said softly in her ear. “It’s over and done with, and we are properly shackled till death parts us, little one.”

  And she smiled at him. “It was like a fantasy,” she told him as he led her from the chapel. “A maid waits all her life for this day, and then it is done in a trice.”

  Lord Cambridge had stayed behind to press a small bag of coins into the priest’s hand. “Please thank her highness for her generosity towards my young relation,” he said.

  “My mistress is always pleased to see her maids well matched, and this match was a particularly good one for the girl. She is deserving, my lord, for she has always been chaste and devout and most loyal to her mistress,” Frey Felipe said. “More so than many,” he concluded.

  “The flesh is weak, good father, and men weaker yet, and kings are men too,” Lord Cambridge replied.

  “Indeed,” the priest said dryly. Then he bowed. “Good day, my lord.” And, his brown robes swaying, he departed the chapel through a side door.

  Thomas Bolton knew to what the priest had referred. Bessie Blount might be gone from court, but the knowledge that her child was due to be born shortly was hardly a secret. Her child, and the king’s child. God help the queen if Bessie birthed a healthy boy. There had been rumors, and Lord Cambridge was always privy to the latest gossip when he came to court. The rumors whispered of the king’s unhappiness and growing concern that perhaps God was not happy with his marriage. I think I am glad to be going home to Otterly shortly, he thought to himself.

  Hurrying to the larger of his two barges, he squeezed himself aboard. “I see,” he said archly, “that our love-birds have already headed upriver back to Bolton House. I have arranged a small feast to celebrate this event. And afterwards I have a wonderful surprise for you all.”

  “Oh, Uncle Thomas, tell us now!” Banon pleaded prettily.

  “Nay, darling girl,” he replied. “Philippa and Crispin must hear it too.” And he chuckled to himself.

  “It is always something marvelous when he chortles like that,” Banon told Robert Neville. “He is the kindest and most generous of men, Rob.”

  The tide had turned, and was with them now. It swept both vessels up the river, making it far easier for the oarsmen who rowed. Philippa and Crispin had already disembarked as the larger barge nosed itself into the quay. Lord Cambridge’s servants were there to help their master and the ladies out. They walked chattering through the garden into the house, finding their way to the lovely hall again. Settling the
mselves at the high board they waited as the servants brought in the feast.

  There were raw oysters fresh this morning from the sea. There was creamed codfish, the sauce flavored with celery and dill. There was whole trout lying on beds of watercress and surrounded by carved lemons, and large fat winesteamed prawns. There was duck in plum sauce, lark pies hot from the ovens, a roasted peacock redressed with its tail feathers, a large haunch of beef encrusted in rock salt, and another of venison, as well as a whole country ham. There were platters of artichokes that had been steamed in white wine, braised lettuces, and roasted leeks. The breads had been baked into fanciful shapes, and came to table hot. There were crocks of sweet butter to spread upon them. There was cheese: a French brie and a hard English cheddar.

  “I have never seen such a feast in all of my life,” Lady Marjorie whispered to her sister, Susanna. “He is odd to my way of thinking, but Thomas Bolton is a host without peer. The food is so fresh, and so beautifully cooked it has little need of spices.”

  Lady Susanna nodded. “I wonder what his surprise is to be?”

  When the main meal had been cleared away the servants brought in jellies, candied violets, and bowls of strawberries with thickly clotted Devon cream. There were sugar wafers served with the sweet wines poured. Several toasts were drunk to the couple’s health and happiness. The afternoon was growing late, and finally Lord Cambridge stood up.

  “Now, my dears,” he told them, “I have a surprise for you. I am taking Banon, Robert, Lady Marjorie, and Lady Susanna to my house at Greenwich. Your trunks are packed, my dears, and already on their way with your servants. We will bid the bride and groom farewell, and depart immediately afterwards.” He turned to Philippa. “You shall have Bolton House to yourselves, my darling girl.” He looked most pleased with himself.

  “Greenwich?” Lady Marjorie gasped. “That is where the court is now.”

  “Indeed, dear lady, it is. And tomorrow is May Day, and one has never celebrated May Day unless they have done so at court. I will wager you have never been to court on May Day. ’Tis the king’s favorite holiday of them all. My house is right next to the palace, and we are invited to join in the celebrations.”