Philippa (11 page)

“You have weathered the storm, I see,” Maybel said, reentering the hall and coming to sit by Rosamund.

“Barely,” Rosamund replied. “She is very angry. I have told her she will not go back to court until I see a change in her demeanor. She has replied she will go back even if she has to walk the whole way by herself. I do not ever remember being that headstrong, Maybel.”

“You were,” Maybel responded, “but your passion was for Friarsgate, and those for whom you were responsible as its lady. Philippa has become selfish. Perhaps she always was selfish, and we did not notice it because she was a child. I fear for Friarsgate, for your eldest daughter has absolutely no interest in it at all. Her passion is for this court of hers, and for herself. If you could but see, but of course you will, how scornful she is of Bessie who loves the land so greatly.”

“I must speak with Tom,” Rosamund said.

“Not your husband?” Maybel was surprised.

Rosamund shook her head. “Nay. Logan may be my husband, but he has never really understood me where Friarsgate is concerned. It is his one weakness.” She smiled. “Tom understands, and he will know what we are to do about Philippa. Logan would marry her off to the first suitable husband he could find, and devil take the hindmost. My husband will most certainly not put up with my daughter’s bad behavior. Nay, Tom must come quickly, for if I remain too long here right now Logan will come. He will not put up with Philippa’s haughty ways. As her stepfather he has the right to beat her, and I have no doubt he would take a hazel switch to her bottom should he feel she needed it. And though I would never admit it, I think she does.”

“Surely the man would not beat his children,” Maybel said, horrified.

“He’s a rough man, Maybel, and while he is not cruel, he has taken a switch to Alexander once or twice. And my wee Jamie as well. Rowdy laddies both, I fear. ’Tis his John who is the gentle lad. Nay, we must send for Tom right away.”

“Edmund did, when he sent for you,” Maybel told Rosamund. “He should be here if not late today, tomorrow for certain, and Banon with him. Mistress Philippa will certainly have her nose put out of joint when she sees our Banon, for she is surely the most beautiful of your lasses. When she was young I thought she would resemble you as does Philippa, but she has grown into a mix of both you and lord Owein, may God assoil his good soul. With those blue eyes of hers you would think she was the laird’s child.”

“My uncles have blue eyes,” Rosamund noted. “But aye, Banon is lovely even at thirteen. Imagine what two more years will do for her.”

“Another one to find a husband for,” Maybel said almost grimly.

“I am leaving that to Tom,” Rosamund replied. “She is his heiress. Let him choose the man who would husband Banon, and be the next lord of Otterly. It is not my concern, although I will want some small say in the matter, of course.”

The evening meal was a grim one. Philippa hardly spoke a word except to criticize her little sister. And Elizabeth Meredith was not one to sit meekly with her hands folded and accept the unkind words her sister spoke. At first Rosamund attempted to keep the peace between her eldest and her youngest daughters, but finally she gave up.

“Go to your beds, both of you! I am not of a mind to listen to your quarreling. If you cannot be civil to one another then I do not want you at my board.”

The two sisters departed the hall, still quarreling angrily with one another.

Rosamund sat back and closed her eyes for a long moment. Life had been so peaceful before Philippa arrived home. She was beginning to feel some strong antipathy towards the second son of the earl of Renfrew. This was really all his fault. If the life that her eldest daughter had envisioned had vanished in a puff of smoke, with Philippa’s return so had the life that Rosamund now led and loved. The girl was contentious beyond all belief. “I am going to bed,” she said to no one in particular, and then she stood up and left the hall.

In mid-morning the sound of a horn was heard from the hillside, and Sir Thomas Bolton came riding down the road accompanied by Banon Meredith. Ahead of them rode a young man blowing a trumpet, while sleek greyhounds and a wolfhound loped along beside the riders. Lord Cambridge and his heiress were accompanied by six men-at-arms. Up to the front door of the house they rode, where Rosamund, alerted, was already there to greet them. Lord Cambridge slid from his mount, and lifted Banon from hers.

Banon Mary Katherine Meredith was a beautiful girl on the brink of young womanhood. She was dressed in a deep blue silk riding gown that matched her eyes. Her auburn hair was simply dressed beneath a gabled hood that had been set back to display her hair, and from which hung a small neat lawn veil. “Mama!” she said, slipping from her uncle’s grasp. She kissed Rosamund sweetly. “Where is Philippa? I am anxious to see her!” She smiled, and Rosamund was reminded of her mother whom she could but barely remember.

“Wait, my child,” Rosamund advised. “Philippa is not as you remember her. She is unhappy, and angry.”

“She is selfish and mean,” Bessie Meredith said, overhearing as she ran up to greet Banon. “Banie! How lovely you look!”Then she turned and flung herself at Tom Bolton. “Uncle Thomas! What have you brought me?”

“Bessie!” Rosamund gently scolded her daughter, but Tom Bolton laughed.

Reaching into his elegant velvet doublet he drew forth a sleepy kitten, of a deep orange hue. “Will this do, madame?” he asked her.

Squealing with delight Bessie took the kitten, holding it up to admire its golden eyes, and kissing its nose. “How did you know I wanted a kitten?” she demanded of him.

Thomas Bolton laughed. “You always want some living thing to love, Bessie, and I have brought you enough puppies to make a hunting pack. I thought a kitten for a change would suffice your greedy nature.”

“Oh, thank you!” Bessie said, and turning, she put an arm through Banon’s, and walking off began to whisper most earnestly.

“Now what is that all about, dear girl?” Lord Cambridge asked his cousin.

“Philippa, if I don’t miss my guess,” Rosamund said as they walked into the house. “She has come home angry, and argues constantly with Bessie, of whom she very much disapproves now. I am worried, Tom, and I need your advice on how to deal with my eldest child. I am at a loss as to what to do.”

“Where is Logan?” her cousin asked. He took a cup of wine from the servant holding the tray, and sipped slowly as they entered the hall to seat themselves.

“Up at Claven’s Cam with our lads, and may he remain there, Tom, for I know he would beat Philippa if she spoke rudely to him, and she is that way with everyone now. She says she hates Friarsgate, and she almost hates me as well for loving it more than I do my children. There is no reasoning with her at all, I fear.”

“And all because of Renfrew’s lad? They are a nice enough family, but I would not have thought any of them could arouse such passion in a woman’s breast, dear girl. It has to be more than just that,” Tom Bolton said, sipping thoughtfully at his wine.

“She was sent home, Tom,” Rosamund said low. “Oh, she has been asked back when she has recovered from her disappointment, but that decision is to be mine.”

“And why was she sent home?” His look was both curious and amused.

“She and some friends, three young men and another lass, climbed to the top of the Canted Tower where they got drunk and were caught gambling. My daughter had lost all her coin, and so was pledging items of her wardrobe. She had divested herself of both shoes and stockings, her bodice, and had just stepped from her skirts when the king and the duke of Suffolk arrived to study the constellations.”

Thomas Bolton burst out laughing. “My dear, dear girl, I should have never suspected that Philippa had such devilment in her. How too too amusing!”

“Oh, Tom, it is not funny at all! If I were not considered a friend of the queen’s Philippa might have been ruined. Fortunately just about everyone had left court for the summer, having no wish to tramp from one hunting site to another with Hal, and needing to be on their own lands. The incident could have been a disaster. We need to find a husband for Philippa, and I simply do not know where to begin!” Rosamund declared.

“Why, cousin,” he said, “I have not seen you so distressed in a long time. This is indeed serious then. I think I must speak with Philippa, and hear what she has to say before I can make any decision as to how we may surmount this difficulty that has arisen. I trust that Logan will remain on the other side of the border while we consider the problem. Your wicked Scot has a good hot temper on him, and if Philippa is as out of control as you believe, then there must not be a clash of wills between the two.”

Rosamund nodded. “I will have one of the servants fetch Philippa to you. I will leave the hall, for she and I cannot speak these days without quarreling. I am breeding another son for Logan, and I do not enjoy controversy” She arose. “I will be in the garden if you wish to speak further with me before the dinner hour.”

Thomas Bolton watched as his cousin glided from the hall. He sometimes thought it was a pity that he was not a man for marriage with a woman, for his cousin would have been a good wife for him. They had from the first gotten on, and she always seemed to come to him with her problems, but not so much of late. Well, it was only proper that she confide in her Scotsman. But this was obviously an issue that would require the most delicate finesse to solve. And Logan Hepburn had never been a man noted for finesse.

“Uncle.”

Thomas Bolton looked up and saw Philippa standing before him. He gave her a quick smile, and then said, “My darling girl, while I am ecstatic to see you, the gown you are wearing is a total disaster! Surely this is not the new fashion at court?” He looked genuinely distressed, and not just a little appalled.

A tiny smile touched the girl’s lips, but it was as quickly gone as it had come. “I left my court gowns at the London house, uncle. I would not bring them here. They would be most unsuitable, and besides the journey with all its dusty summer roads would have ruined them.”

“Then what on earth is it that you wear, my darling girl? It is most unattractive.”

“I had some old gowns I left behind in my trunks altered,” Philippa explained.

Thomas Bolton shook his head wearily. “Your figure has, um, er, ripened in your time away, Philippa. There is obviously not enough fabric in the gown to do you justice. It will not do. No, no, darling girl, it will not do at all! We must have new gowns made at once. Not the kind, of course, that you are expected to wear at court, but gowns for a country visit that will at least fit you properly. God’s foot, my dear, what you are wearing makes your shoulders look quite broad, like a peasant girl who pulls the plow for her husband.” He shuddered with distaste.

Philippa had to laugh. “Uncle,” she told him, “finally I have a reason to be glad I am here. Why do you persist in isolating youself here in Cumbria when once you so loved the excitement that only being at court can engender?”

“Indeed, darling girl, I did once very much enjoy the court. When I first came to Friarsgate I was astounded that your mother could love it here so. But after a time the glory of the court pales when one sees a winter’s sunrise from a hillside, or the first of the spring flowers pushing through the snow to catch the eye with splashes of quick color. Perhaps it is my age, dear Philippa, but I far prefer Cumbria now myself, else I should not have sold my house in Cambridge.”

“Yet you kept your houses in London and Greenwich,” Philippa noted.

“I kept them for you, darling girl,” he told her. “I saw what you were from the first time we took you to court.”

“Oh, uncle, I knew you would understand!” Philippa cried. “Mama does not understand, for Friarsgate is her whole life. But it is not mine! I love the court! I want to remain there, but how can I now? I will soon be too old to be one of the queen’s maids of honor. As the wife of Giles FitzHugh I might have been able to remain at court. Now what is to happen to me? The queen will have me back, but for how long? And Cecily is to be wed shortly, and soon all my friends will be gone while I remain, an old maid.”

“Is that the problem?” Lord Cambridge asked Philippa.

“Just part of it, uncle,” she answered him. “How am I to find a husband at court when my estates are so far north as to be practically in Scotland? Giles himself said he would not have been able to live here because it is so far from civilized company. And mama will never approve a match for me if the man does not agree to husband this land one day. And she is right there. Friarsgate is a great responsibility, but I do not want it. I am a creature of the court, and content to be such.”

“You are certain you do not want Friarsgate, Philippa? It may be in a northerly clime, darling girl, but it is a most impressive inheritance,” Lord Cambridge said.

Philippa sighed. “I cannot have Friarsgate and a life at the court. If I must choose then I choose the court. I know mama thinks I am simply speaking out of pique. While her great ardor is for this land, mine is not. I could not wait to get away. I would have gone the day I reached twelve years, and the few weeks she made me wait after my birthday were an agony. I lived in terror that mama would change her mind.”

He saw the difficulty now, and it was going to break Rosamund’s heart, but Thomas Bolton could see that Philippa was as determined in her fervor for the court as Rosamund was and always had been for Friarsgate. He nodded. “I must think on this, dear Philippa,” he told her, “but I will help both you and your mother to resolve what would appear to be an insurmountable problem. Will you trust me to do this?”

“Yes, uncle, I will,” Philippa replied, and she smiled.

L
ogan Hepburn rode across the border with his clansmen. Riding with him on matching black-and-white ponies were his two oldest sons, John, aged five and a half, and Alexander, aged four. Before him on his saddle the youngest of his sons, James, sat proudly. Jamie was just beginning to learn to ride his own pony, and had been furious that his elder siblings would make the trip to Friarsgate on their own beasts, while he would be forced to ride with their father. He had kicked and shrieked upon learning it, but a smack on his fat little bottom had quickly sobered him. But Logan had grinned behind the child’s back, well pleased by Jamie’s temper. While John was a quiet lad like Jeannie Logan, his mother, who had been the first wife of the Hepburn of Claven’s Cam, Alex and Jamie were more fiery. Logan Hepburn had always known that Rosamund would give him strong sons. And come midwinter there would be another bairn, he considered, well pleased.