He glowered at her, certain she was mocking him, but her face showed no sign of humor, and so he nodded first to her, and then to the captain. They left Woodstock Palace, moving through the town of the same name, and out onto the road north. When they had ridden for about an hour Philippa reached out to touch Sir Bayard’s sleeve. Startled, he looked at her. She handed him a small wrapped napkin, but said nothing. Opening it as they rode along he saw a thick piece of buttered bread with a sliced egg and a piece of ham atop it. Philippa had already looked away, and was engaging her servant in conversation. His belly rumbling, Sir Bayard Dunham ate the breakfast she had so thoughtfully provided for him, thinking that perhaps this young girl was not as flighty as he had assumed she was. As were all the queen’s maids of honor usually.
They traveled almost the same exact route Philippa had taken when she had come to court. The route her mother had taken those many years ago. They rode through beautiful Warwickshire with its great castle and green meadows. The justly famous dreadful roads in Staffordshire had not changed at all, and while it did not rain, the river crossings were still difficult.
“Outrageous! No excuse for this!” Sir Bayard muttered to himself.
When they reached Shropshire Philippa remembered that Bessie Blount had said that her father’s hall was there. “Will we stay at Kinlet Hall?” she asked.
“Nay, worse luck,” Sir Bayard responded. “ ’Tis not on our direct route.”
At that moment a large flock of black-faced sheep began to cross the road, and her escort swore beneath his breath.
“Get those damn animals out of our path!” he ordered the men.
“No, no!” Philippa cried. “If you scatter the flock the shepherd will have a difficult time gathering them all up, and they may lose some of the beasts. We must not cost the farmer who owns them any of his animals. We can wait.”
“You are knowledgeable about sheep?” Sir Bayard said, curious.
“My family’s wealth comes from sheep, and their wool,” Philippa answered him. “These are a breed named after the county. Their wool is particularly fine. My mother has several flocks of them.”
Sir Bayard Dunham looked surprised by her answer. Then he said, “I knew your father, you know.”
“I can still remember him even though he died when I was very young,” Philippa said.
“A good man,” Sir Bayard replied brusquely. “Loyal. Honest. Knew how to do his duty. He had no sons?”
“Nay,” Philippa answered. “Not living.”
The flock of sheep had finally crossed over the road, and the shepherd gave them a friendly wave as he pulled his forelock in a gesture of thanks. They moved on north and west towards Cumbria, going through the flat county of Cheshire and into the forested Lancaster. The desolately barren hills they next traversed told Philippa that they were finally in the tiny slice of West-moreland they needed to go through.
“We should be in Carlisle tomorrow,” Philippa said. “And then just another day and a half of travel to reach Friarsgate. We have been extremely fortunate, Sir Bayard, for it has not rained upon us one day.”
“Aye,” he agreed, nodding. “Traveling at this particular time in the summer is usually dry.”
“Will you join the king at Esher when you return?” Philippa asked him.
Sir Bayard shook his head. “I was assigned some years ago to the queen’s service,” he told her. “I am no longer young enough to keep up with the king.”
Reaching Carlisle the next afternoon they stayed in a guesthouse that belonged to the monastery of St. Cuthbert’s. Philippa’s great-uncle, Richard Bolton, was prior, and it was by chance that he was in Carlisle when they arrived. Hurrying from the church to the guesthouse, he greeted her. He was a tall, distinguished man with bright blue eyes.
“Philippa! Your mother did not say you were coming home. Welcome!” He lifted her down from her mount.
“I have been sent home, great-uncle, but whether in disgrace or not I shall not know until my mother reads the queen’s letter. I am, however, invited back to court at Christmas to resume my former duties.” She kissed his cheek.
“Well, if you are invited back,” Richard Bolton said, “the infraction cannot be too serious, I suspect. Would it have to do with Giles FitzHugh, my child?”
Philippa’s hazel eyes grew stormy. “That dastard!” she told her great-uncle.
“Ahh, then it does,” he replied, the tiniest of smiles touching his lips at her expletive. “My dear Philippa, when God calls, as I can certainly tell you, you must listen. There simply is no other solution, and Rome can weave a magnificent spell. I understand he will have a place in the Vatican itself. Obviously the church sees great things for Giles FitzHugh. I am afraid that marriage and a northern estate pale in comparison.”
“Obviously,” Philippa responded dryly. “I have gotten past my disappointment, great-uncle, but the second son of an earl was quite a coup for mama. What she will do now I do not know. There are no young gentlemen of my acquaintance who want a girl with estates like mine. Far from court, and a vast responsibility. And I am now past fourteen. I am, I fear, doomed to spinsterhood.”
“I am certain that Rosamund will find a solution to your problem, my child,” the cleric answered her quietly. “Perhaps this is God’s way of bringing you home to us.”
“I will be returning to court, great-uncle. Of that you may be certain,” Philippa said grimly. “I shall not be shackled to some bumpkin because my mother thinks he will take good care of her beloved Friarsgate. I know it means more to her than I do, than anything else does. But I am not my mother.”
Richard Bolton’s eyes grew troubled. Philippa might not love Friarsgate, but she was every bit as stubborn as his niece, Rosamund, was. It would not, he suspected, be a peaceful summer for the extended Bolton-Meredith-Hepburn family.
Chapter 4
P
hilippa looked down from the hills surrounding the valley of Friarsgate. The lake sparkled in the afternoon sunlight. The fields looked well tended as always. The sheep, cattle, and horses grazed in their meadows. Her mother had obviously added to her flocks, for there were more sheep than Philippa remembered.
“It looks a prosperous and peaceful place,” Sir Bayard said.
“ ’Tis both,” Philippa noted dryly, and Lucy snickered. Philippa nudged her mount, and they began to descend the hill. The peasants in the field stared openmouthed at the beautiful young woman passing by. Only a few recognized her after two years, for Philippa had grown from a young girl into a young woman.
Sir Bayard Dunham had spent most of his life as a courtier. The landscape around them was indeed lovely. The people looked content. Yet he suddenly realized that he himself could not possibly be happy in so quiet a setting for very long, and he had sympathy for his charge. Philippa Meredith was a creature of the court, and not the country.
Arriving at the house they were immediately greeted by stable boys who came to take their horses, and the door to the house swung open to reveal Maybel Bolton, wife to Edmund, Friarsgate’s bailiff. Edmund and his brother, Prior Richard, had been the eldest born of Philippa’s great-grandfather’s sons, but both were bastards of the same mother. Their births had occurred prior to their father’s marriage, which had also yielded two sons. Philippa’s grandfather, Guy Bolton, was the eldest legitimate son. He had perished along with his wife and son, leaving Philippa’s mother, Rosamund Bolton, an heiress, and Rosamund’s uncle Henry, his younger legitimate brother, his daughter’s guardian.
Maybel gave a shriek of surprise, turned as if to go inside, and then reversed herself. She came from the house, enfolding Philippa in her arms, sobbing. “My baby is home at last!” she wept noisily. “Why didn’t you tell us you were coming, you bad lass?”
“Because I didn’t know myself until several days ago,” Philippa said. “You might as well know, Maybel, that I have been sent home to recover from my broken heart, although it is already healed.”
“Oh, my poor baby,” Maybel sniffled. “To be jilted by the likes of that dreadful Giles FitzHugh! Bad luck to him, I say.”
“Maybel, this is Sir Bayard Dunham, my escort. He is the queen’s man, and we have the men-at-arms to feed and house as well for the next few days. Where is my mother? And my sisters?”
“Your mother is up at Claven’s Cam with the Hepburns. Banon is at Otterly being the lady of the manor. Bessie is about somewhere however,” Maybel said. “Come into the hall, child. And you also, Sir Bayard.” Maybel looked out at the dozen men-at-arms. “You lot as well.” She gestured towards them.
They entered the hall, and Maybel was quickly ordering the house servants to set up the tables and benches for the men. “And feed them now. ’Tis late and they will be hungry.” She turned to Sir Bayard. “The weather is warm enough for your men to sleep in the stables, sir. I don’t think it proper they remain in the house with my master and mistress away.”
“I agree,” Sir Bayard said. “When they have eaten I shall take them out myself.”
“You may remain here, sir,” Maybel responded. “I’ll have a servant make up a nice bed space for you. You are not in the flush of youth any longer, and need the warmth the hall will provide.”
“Thank you, madame,” Sir Bayard said. This country woman was most bluntly spoken, but kind. He could not remember the last time someone had shown a care for his personal well-being. The thought of a warm bed space to sleep in was very comforting.
“Perhaps you should send for mama,” Philippa said. “Best to get it all over with as soon as possible. I’m sure she has much to say to me. I do not intend remaining at Friarsgate for long. I am asked to return to my position. The queen will need those of us with experience in her service. Many left this summer to be married. Banon may be invited to court, Maybel. I think she would like that.”
“Banon to go into the queen’s service too? Oh, my dear child, what an honor, and all because of your mama’s friendship with the queen,” Maybel gushed.
At that moment a little girl came into the hall. She was all arms and legs, and her long blond hair was unruly. She wore a gown that appeared to have seen better days, and that hung straight on her shapeless form. She stared at Philippa and Sir Bayard.
“Come and welcome your sister Philippa home, Bessie,” Maybel said.
Elizabeth Meredith came forward, and with great dignity curtseyed to Sir Bayard and her sister. “Welcome home, Philippa,” she said.
“Why are you dressed like some peasant child?” Philippa said sharply.
The younger girl looked at her oldest sister. “Because I have no grand garments like you, sister, and what good gowns I have I prefer to keep clean. One can hardly herd animals done up for court.”
“I am hardly done up for court,” Philippa replied. “I left all my beautiful gowns in London at Uncle Thomas’s home. And why are you herding animals?”
“Because I like to,” Bessie replied. “I do not enjoy being useless, sister.”
“I am a maid of honor at court, and believe me I am not useless,” Philippa snapped. “To be in service to Queen Katherine is an honor, and we maids scarcely have time to sleep, we are kept so busy.”
“Do you enjoy the court? But of course you must, for you have not been home in ages, sister,” Bessie remarked.
“King Henry’s court is the center of the world,” Philippa said, her eyes shining. “I cannot wait to go back!”
“Why did you bother coming home then?” Bessie queried.
“That is not your business,” Philippa said in lofty tones.
Bessie laughed. “It is because of that boy, isn’t it? Boys are stupid. I shall never involve myself with a boy, sister. Worthless fellows, except perhaps our little brothers.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Bessie Meredith,” Philippa replied. “Someday you will be married, although who will marry you I don’t know. You have no land of your own, and a woman must have land to be an acceptable match for a good family. But why would you know something like that? How old are you now?”
“I am eleven,” Bessie said, “and any man who marries me one day will do so because he loves me, and not because I have or have no land.”
“Girls, girls, cease your quarreling. What will Sir Bayard think?” Maybel scolded them. “Bessie, go and wash the dirt from your hands and face.”
“I’ll only get dirty again when I go back outside,” Bessie said, but she was already moving up the stone staircase to her chamber.
“I am surprised that mama allows her to be so rough,” Philippa noted as her youngest sister disappeared from her sight.
“She is the youngest of your father’s children,” Maybel explained. “Now your mama has a new family, and they need her too. So does her husband.”
“Bessie should not be allowed to run wild as she is obviously doing,” Philippa said primly. Then she turned to Sir Bayard. “Come, sir, and sit at the high board with me. The servants will bring us supper too.”
Edmund Bolton came in, and greeted Philippa warmly. He thanked Sir Bayard for his careful shepherding of the girl from Woodstock to Friarsgate. He saw that a messenger was dispatched to Claven’s Cam across the border. Then when Philippa and her sister had gone to their beds he sat with Sir Bayard and his wife by the fire, drinking the fine whiskey that Rosamund’s husband brewed up.
“It seems odd to me,” Sir Bayard began. “An English landholder, a friend of our queen’s, married to a Scots laird.”
“There are many such marriages here on the border,” Edmund responded. “And our Rosamund is also a close friend of Queen Margaret.”
“I am told she is now called the king’s mother,” Sir Bayard said.
“By some, but never in this house,” Edmund replied. “The lady of Friarsgate would not tolerate such disrespect of her old friend.”
“The Scots make fine whiskey,” Sir Bayard noted.
“Aye,” Edmund agreed with a small smile.
Rosamund arrived two days later, just as Sir Bayard was preparing to depart. She thanked him for his care of her eldest daughter, and insisted he have a small purse for his troubles. While he demurred at first, he took the purse as he kissed her hand, and bid her farewell. Rosamund watched as he rode off with the dozen men-at-arms. Then turning, she reentered her house. “Where is Philippa?” she asked Maybel.