“ ’Tis strange,” the king remarked. “Rosamund never really liked the court. Her heart and her thoughts were always with her beloved Friarsgate. She could scarcely wait to return to it each time she was forced to visit the court. But her eldest child adores court, and is, I suspect, a born courtier. I wonder what will happen when mother and daughter meet this time. Philippa will not be content to remain in Cumbria.”
“But she is Friarsgate’s heiress,” the queen noted.
“I suspect that matters not,” Henry Tudor replied.
Philippa hurried back to the Maidens’ Chamber where she knew Bessie would be waiting. “I am being sent home,” she declared dramatically as she entered the room.
“What happened?” Bessie wanted to know. “You will be allowed back, won’t you? It would be terrible if you were exiled forever.”
“Aye, it would,” Philippa responded, “but I am to be allowed back eventually. The decision will rest with my mother, but I shall make her see reason. Both the king and the queen were there in his privy chamber. They scolded me roundly.”
“Did you cry?” Bessie asked.
“I did,” Philippa admitted. “I was so embarrassed to do so before them too.”
“You were probably spared worse because you did. I have heard it said that the king hates a weeping woman,” Bessie told Philippa with a grin. “So, when do you depart?”
“I’m to go with the queen’s party as far as Woodstock, and then I will be escorted to Friarsgate from there,” Philippa explained. “Lucy has almost finished the packing. She will be delighted to learn we are going home. She, at least, has missed it.”
“Is it really so dreadful, this Friarsgate?” Bessie asked. “I come from Shropshire, you know. ’Tis said we have the worst winters in all of England. And my family name is not particularly great either. While I, too, love the court, I am always happy to see Kinlet Hall, and my mother. And I have not your good fortune in being the heiress to my family’s estates.”
Philippa sighed. “I know I am probably foolish, but I would gladly settle for a small estate in Kent, or Suffolk, or even Devon. My mother’s lands need especial tending. She and my uncle Thomas, who is Lord Cambridge, raise sheep, from which cloth is woven at Friarsgate, and then transported by means of their own ship to several countries for sale. They control, if I understand it correctly, just how much of their cloth they will sell, and to whom. While I am grateful for the revenues raised, most of it goes back into their business, and into Friarsgate itself. If I have learned one thing from my mother, it is that when you have responsibilities such as hers you must tend to them yourself. There are few, if any, who can be trusted to shoulder your burdens, even in part. I don’t want to spend my time in such labor, Bessie. I don’t want Friarsgate, because to possess it I must take responsibility for it. The court is where I want to live, in service to the king and the queen. I want a husband who is a man of the court, and will understand that because he also is in service to the monarch. My father, Sir Owein Meredith, was in service to the house of Tudor from the time he was six. He was knighted on the field of battle. I can just barely remember him, Bessie, but I loved him, and I admired him. I am probably more like him than I am my mother. In fact I am not at all like mama except in our features. Some at Friarsgate who remember back say I am like a great-grandmother of mine, but I would not know that.”
“Yours has always sounded like a loving family. Will your sisters join the court someday?” Bessie wondered.
“Banon is certainly old enough,” Philippa said. “She is the heiress to Lord Cambridge’s home, Otterly Court. And then there is my littlest sister, who like you is called Bessie. I don’t know them anymore, I fear.”
“But you will soon reacquaint yourself with them both,” Bessie Blount replied.
“Aye, and my little stepbrother, John Hepburn, and my mother’s sons by my stepfather. I shall certainly be a stranger to them all now,” Philippa remarked. “It is very strange having a stepbrother, and half brothers who are Scots, and not English.”
“Your summer will be interesting then,” Bessie concluded, “unlike mine, which will be uneventful. I had thought Maggie, Jane, and Anne were to remain with the queen this summer.”
“Jane’s mother grew ill, and she was needed at home. I am not certain if she will return. Maggie’s mother is Irish. She asked the queen for her daughter’s company so they might visit Maggie’s grandmother in Ireland. She is elderly. As for Anne, her family may have found a suitable match for her. They wanted her home so the gentleman in question might inspect her, and she him,” Philippa explained. “Aye, I fear your summer may be very dull, but I shall try and get back as quickly as I can.”
“I thought you said it was your mama’s decision as to when you return,” Bessie Blount said.
Philippa smiled. “I shall not be happy at home. If I am not content then no one will be content until they allow me to return to court, and the company of civilized folk.”
Bessie shook her head at her companion. “You really should learn to be more biddable, Philippa Meredith. Men do not like headstrong women.”
Philippa laughed. “I do not care. I am what I am, and no more. At least I am honest, unlike some. Millicent Langholme simpers, and blushes, but we both know that once she has a ring on her finger, Sir Walter will have one through his nose by which she will lead him to her ways and none other.”
Bessie laughed. “I cannot argue with you there,” she agreed.
The following day the queen and her party departed for Woodstock, while the king and his friends moved on from Richmond to Esher, where they would go hunting. Philippa was given a day to rest once they reached Woodstock, and then she departed with her servant, Lucy, for Friarsgate. She carried little luggage, for she had left most of her clothing at Lord Cambridge’s house near London. Her beautiful court garb would have no place at Friarsgate. And while she did not relish several months at Friarsgate, Philippa did not look forward to the long trip, and believed that with less baggage they would move more quickly.
Late in the afternoon before her departure Philippa was called to the queen’s privy chamber where a gentleman stood waiting by Katherine’s side. The queen was seated, and looked rather pale today.
“Come in, Philippa,” the queen beckoned her.
Philippa entered, and curtseyed to the queen.
Katherine smiled. “This is Sir Bayard Dunham, my child. He will escort you and your servant safely home to Friarsgate. He has his instructions, and carries a letter for your mother. You will be accompanied by a dozen men-at-arms from my own service. You will leave at first light in the morning.”
“Thank you, your highness,” Philippa replied, and curtseyed again.
“You will take with you our kindest regards to your mother, and tell her that I hope you will be returned to my service by the Christmas revels,” the queen said. “If you are ready, of course, and cured of your malaise over the FitzHugh boy.”
