“What does it say?” she asked him.
He scanned the parchment rapidly, then looking up, said, “Her majesty welcomes you back to London. You are called to court tomorrow before the noonday meal. It is not particularly informative, dear girl.”
“At least it doesn’t tell me to report to the Tower, Tom,” she teased him.
He laughed. “A bath! That is what I need. A bath. An excellent meal prepared by my own chef, and blessedly, my own bed tonight.”
“Mama, there are two boats at a dockage at the water’s edge,” Philippa said.
“They are barges, my daughter. The one with the blue velvet trappings is mine. They are made fast at a quay, which is pronouncedkey. London’s streets are narrow, and the traffic can sometimes be difficult. We find traveling by river to the palace far easier, quicker, and much more preferable.”
“Oh, mama, there is so much I don’t know,” Philippa said nervously. “Do you really think I am ready to go to court?”
“You are,” Rosamund assured her child, “but perhaps not tomorrow. Tomorrow mama must go and see what it is the queen wants of her. After I have done my duty, Philippa, then I shall bring you to see what court life is all about.”
“And once I have had a day there myself,” Tom chimed in, “I shall have all the latest gossip for you, my little one.”
Rosamund shook her head, grinning. Then she said, “Very well, cousin. Let us get down to business. Will you bathe before or after the meal? The poor servingmen will be run ragged bringing us both hot water.”
“Before!” he said. “I do not want the stink of the road interfering with my palate, dear girl. You, on the other hand, eat like the countrywoman you are.”
“I do not consider food a holy experience, cousin,” Rosamund told him.
They separated, Rosamund taking Philippa upstairs to her apartment. Lucy was awaiting them, and her enthusiasm at their quarters reminded Rosamund of Annie’s very reaction when she had come to court after Owein’s death.
“The majordomo said this little room is for me,” Lucy told them.
“Where am I to lay my head?” Philippa asked.
“Why, Mistress Philippa, you have your very own room. Come, and I’ll show you. It’s right next to your mama’s.” She led them into Rosamund’s bedchamber, and after going to a paneled wall, pressed a hidden lock allowing a door to spring open. “See! It’s your very own bedchamber, and you can see the river from the windows. And,” she continued, looking at Rosamund, “there is no other entrance into this room but through your mother’s chamber. You will be as snug as a birdling in its nest.”
Rosamund realized she had not seen this door before or even known it was there. There had been a tapestry covering the door. She wondered if there was such a room at the Greenwich house or at Otterly. Still, it was the perfect chamber for her young daughter to sleep in, and its decor matched the rose velvet of her bedchamber.
Several hours later, as the twilight deepened, they sat down to dinner in Lord Cambridge’s hall overlooking the river. The cook had outdone himself. There were large prawns in a mustard sauce and pickled eel. There was a capon stuffed with apples, raisins, bread, and sage; a leg of lamb; a game pie made with venison and another filled with pieces of duck in a red wine gravy. There was a small country ham and a platter of asparagus in white wine, along with bowls of peas and small whole beets. There was fresh bread, sweet butter in a stone crock, and several cheeses. And when the remains of the meal had been cleared from the table, a basket of fresh strawberries and a large bowl of thick Devonshire clotted cream was placed upon the board. Philippa was permitted just a small goblet of wine, not watered. She nursed it carefully.
Sated, Tom pushed himself back from his table. “An excellent meal,” he told his majordomo. “Tell Cook I said so.”
“Indeed, my lord, I will.” The majordomo looked to Rosamund. “Your bath will be ready in half an hour, my lady,” he told her.
“Thank the men,” Rosamund answered him. “I know the work involved in bringing the water upstairs, and I appreciate their effort.”
“Yes, my lady,” the majordomo said. From the beginning, the lady of Friarsgate had always been thoughtful of her cousin’s servants. She was a most unusual woman.
“I am so tired, mama,” Philippa said, yawning.
“Then you shall bathe first, my poppet,” her mother replied, “but bathe you will, for you have not had a bath since we departed Friarsgate. While many in the court do not bathe regularly, you will find the king has a most sensitive nose and is most put out when a courtier stinks.”
“What shall I do tomorrow when you go to see the queen?” Philippa asked.
“You shall stay in your bed, resting from our journey, and then you may walk in your uncle’s gardens. The river is a most fascinating sight, and you will enjoy it. Especially as it is summertime,” Rosamund told her daughter.
Finally the majordomo came to tell the lady of Friarsgate and her daughter that the tub was now filled and awaiting them.
“Good night, dear Tom,” Rosamund said to her cousin as she excused herself.
“Good night,” he called as they departed the hall. “Sleep well, cousin, for tomorrow you must be at your best.”
Upstairs, Lucy had scented the bath with her mistress’ white heather, and the room was perfumed with the smell.
