“I would not have thought you so devious,” Philippa remarked, as her servant, Lucy, set the English hood on her head and settled the veil that went with it.
Elizabeth grinned. “I go the sheep and cattle markets, sister, and bargain better than most men. I may not be the courtier you are, but I still know how to dissemble in order to gain what I want. You do not have to live at court to learn such things. ’Tis the way of the world.”
Philippa thought a moment, and then she chuckled. “I suppose it is,” she agreed.
Together the two sisters exited the house, their serving women behind them, making their way down to the barge. It was the time between the two tides on the river, and their bargemen were able to row swiftly through the city, beneath the London bridge, and down to Greenwich Palace. When they arrived at the stone quay with its steps leading up to the lawns they were met by servants who helped them from their barge.
“Row back to the Greenwich house quay,” the Countess of Witton said. “We will be staying there, and will not need you again today.”
“Yes, m’lady,” the head bargeman said politely.
Their tiring women in their wake, Philippa, Countess of Witton, and Elizabeth, the lady of Friarsgate, moved across the lawns. To Elizabeth’s relief she spotted the king and the soon-to-be-crowned queen walking with a group of courtiers. Nudging Philippa, she whispered softly and set their direction towards Henry and Anne. Reaching them, Elizabeth made a deep curtsey, and then waited for Anne to acknowledge her.
“Why, look here, sweetheart,” the king’s voice boomed jovially. “’Tis the Countess of Witton and her sister, both come to do you honor.”
Anne looked not at Elizabeth, but rather to Philippa. “Do you come to do me honor, my lady?” she demanded to know.
Elizabeth held her breath.
“First honors must go to the king, your highness,” Philippa answered. “And then to the queen.”
“Well said! Well said!” The king chuckled before his prickly bride could demand to know which queen. He could see how difficult it was for Philippa, and he appreciated her loyalty. His gaze swung to Elizabeth. “You have answered my wife’s request to join us, Mistress Elizabeth,” he said. “I am both flattered and surprised.”
Request? Elizabeth almost laughed aloud. “I was honored, majesty, to be asked to join the court at such an auspicious time,” she murmured. “My mother sends her kind regards to your majesty, and to your highness.”
“Still wed to her Scot?” he demanded to know.
“Aye, your majesty.”
“And am I to understand that you have followed in her footsteps?” Henry Tudor said, his small blue eyes narrowing.
“I fear so, your majesty,” Elizabeth admitted. “I seem to have a weakness for Scots gentlemen, as your majesty may recall from my last visit.”
Philippa poked her sister nervously.
The king chortled knowingly. “The gentleman still resides with us. I am sure you will renew that old acquaintance, Mistress Meredith.”
“Mistress Hay, your majesty,” Elizabeth gently corrected him. “My husband’s name is Baen Hay.”
“Baen? ’Tis an odd name,” the king remarked.
“It means fair-skinned, and he is a most fair man,” Elizabeth said, “and every bit as big as your majesty.”
“Indeed,” the king said. “He did not come to court with you?”
“Nay, your majesty. He is the steward of my manor, and of necessity needed to remain home,” Elizabeth told the king. “He is no courtier, but a man of the land.”
“But he let you come?” Again the blue eyes narrowed.
“He would never disobey the king’s command,” she replied.
“Then you have tamed this Scot of yours, Mistress Hay,” the king responded.
“I have indeed, your majesty,” Elizabeth said.
The king laughed loudly. “You may both walk with us,” he said.
The sisters slipped in amid the favored courtiers. Philippa knew some of the women, and spoke to them as they strolled along. Finally, however, the king’s wife made plain her desire to sit, and a comfortable chair was sent for and hurriedly brought.
