“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.
