Philippa (37 page)

The housekeeper’s head nodded. “Thank you for your trust in me, my lady.”

“If my husband trusts you then so do I,” Philippa responded. “I have brought my tiring woman with me. She is to have her own chamber, a small one, but hers nonetheless, and it should be near mine. Her name is Lucy, and she is no London slut, but a lass from my own home in Cumbria.”

“I will see to it, my lady,” Marian said. “May I show you your apartment now?”

“Go along,” the earl encouraged his wife. “I must speak with Barto and Robert before the day ends.” He kissed Philippa on her lips, and then went off.

“You are in service to Queen Katherine?” Marian sounded impressed by this knowledge. She led Philippa from the hall and up a wide flight of stairs.

Philippa noticed that the banisters were beautifully carved, even on the edges of the handrails. “My mother was a friend of the queen from the days before she wed with King Henry. I have been in her service since I was twelve years of age. I am now sixteen. The earl and I are invited to join the summer progress to France when our king and the French king will meet. I will remain with my mistress until she no longer requires my services. It is an honor to serve her. She is the kindest of ladies.”

“We are fortunate in our queen, yet the king has no heir,” Marian said.

“Princess Mary will rule us one day,” Philippa replied.

“Mayhap the queen will yet bear a living son,” Marian responded hopefully.

Philippa shook her head. “Alas, there is no hope of that now, I fear, unless God grants England a miracle.”

Marian stopped before a pair of double doors, and flung them open. “These are your apartments, my lady,” she said, ushering the young countess inside.

Lucy was already there, and she hurried forward, stopping to curtsey to her mistress. “It’s lovely, my lady!” she burst out. “We will be so happy here, I know.”

Philippa laughed. “When we are not at court, Lucy, I’m sure we will. Have you been properly presented to Mistress Marian, the housekeeper, yet?”

Lucy nodded politely. “Mistress,” she said.

The older woman smiled. “Lucy,” she replied, “if you feel you can leave your lady for a brief time, I shall take you and introduce you to the rest of the staff. You have traveled with Peter, my lord’s valet. He is my brother. He has already said you are a mannerly lass, with no high London ways about you.”

“My lady?” Lucy looked to Philippa.

“Go along,” Philippa said with a nod. “I shall explore while you are gone.”

“I realize you will not have had time for a proper meal today, my lady, but we did not know when to expect the earl home. The supper will be simple,” Marian told her new mistress.

“We are both tired from our travels, Marian, and more anxious for rest. Whatever you have prepared will do us tonight. Tomorrow we will discuss food. You will tell me what pleases the earl, and I will tell you what I like best.”

“Very good, my lady,” Marion said with a bow, and then together she and Lucy departed Philippa’s company.

The new countess of Witton looked about her. She was in a paneled dayroom. There was a single fireplace even now blazing to take the damp off the May afternoon. The floors were almost black with age, but they were clean. There were three casement windows that overlooked part of the gardens. The furniture was oak. A rectangular table with twisted legs stood before the window. Upon it was an earthenware bowl of potpourri. There was a matching table in the center of the room with a second bowl of fragrance, and two heavy silver candlesticks. Before the fire were two high-backed chairs with woven cane backs and upholstered cushions. There was a small woven rug between the chairs before the fire. To Philippa’s surprise there was a gray tabby curled up directly in the center of the rug. She laughed softly, but the beastie never even twitched an ear.

Philippa now opened a door on one side of the fireplace and stepped into the adjoining room. There was another fireplace that backed up on the one in the dayroom. The walls in this chamber were also paneled in light wood. The windows here, however, looked out over the river as well as the garden. They were hung with natural-colored linen and deep green velvet brocade draperies. There was a wooden settle to one side of the fireplace. It had a tapestried cushion. A table was set before the windows. A large wooden chest stood at the foot of the bed, which was draped with deep green velvet curtains hung from old brass rings. The bed was more than spacious. Indeed it was a very large bed. It had a linenfold headboard, and heavy twisted bedposts that held up its wood-paneled canopy. There was a small table on one side of the bed.

The furnishings in both rooms were old-fashioned, Philippa thought. Much like the furnishings at Friarsgate and Claven’s Carn. It was a country house, and country people did not concern themselves with the latest styles in furniture. Any item in a household that remained sturdy and serviceable stayed in its place forever. She smiled to herself. Had she but traded one country house for another? Nay. At least Brierewode was within easy traveling distance of the court. They had spent several days drifting on the river, but Philippa suspected that if they had ridden straight through they would have cut their travel time by half. She opened another door on one side of the room. It was obviously a garderobe where her clothing could be stored, for she saw her husband’s clothing there.

With Mistress Marian in her place as the longtime housekeeper it would be an easy establishment to run when they were here. She wondered if her husband would come to court with her all the time, or if he would choose to spend his time in Oxfordshire. She had decided that she liked Crispin St. Claire. He was intelligent, and he was witty. And she certainly enjoyed their bedsport. It did not matter that he was plain of face. She wondered what their children would look like. Philippa knew she was a very pretty girl. At least if their daughters resembled her, she thought.

Daughters. Sons. Just how many children did he want? Would she have? Her mother had borne eight babes, of which seven had lived. Would she have any more? She knew her mother well enough to know that it would be Rosamund who made that decision, and not her stepfather, Logan Hepburn. How did a woman make decisions like that? This was the disadvantage of marrying without her mother. But come the autumn when they met again she would ask Rosamund what to do. And Philippa knew that her mother would offer her knowledge to her eldest child.

She sat down on the settle by the warm fire, and before she knew it Philippa had fallen asleep. Lucy awakened her gently when she returned. Philippa yawned and stretched.

“I do not think I can even eat my supper,” she told her tiring woman.

Lucy nodded. “I’m fair worn out myself, my lady. Let me get you out of your gown and into a fresh night chemise.” She began to unlace Philippa’s bodice. “ ’Tis a very nice house into which we have come, my lady. The other servants are friendly and pleasant. Much like our Friarsgate folk. We won’t be unhappy here.” She worked briskly, divesting her mistress of her garments. “You have to eat something,” she counseled Philippa. “There’s a nice rabbit stew bubbling down in the kitchens. I’ll bring you some water to wash the dust of the road off of you, and then go and fetch a nice bowl of it for you.”

“In the morning I want a proper bath,” Philippa said, yawning again.

“Of course you do,” Lucy said. “I found the tub before you arrived. It’s most satisfactory, my lady. Now you sit down while I get your basin of water.”

Philippa sat down in her chemise upon the bed. Then unable to help herself she lay back upon the coverlet. Her eyes closed, snapped open as she attempted to keep herself awake, and then closed again. Finding her dozing, Lucy set the brass washbasin in the warm ashes of the fireplace, and tiptoed out to go down to the kitchens. Passing the hall she saw the earl in conversation with the bailiff. She stopped, and walking up to her master, caught his eye.

“Yes, Lucy?” he asked her.

“Your pardon, my lord, but I thought you should know that her ladyship is exhausted from your travels, and will be having a bowl of stew in her chamber.” She curtseyed politely to him. “She cannot remain awake, poor lass.”

“I will go to her as soon as I can,” he said.

Lucy hurried off to get her mistress her supper. When she returned with a tray containing the stew, bread and butter, and a mug of cider, the earl was already there watching his wife sleep. Why, bless me! Lucy thought. He cares for her, or I am a gypsy whore. The look in his eye is tender. She set the tray down upon the table. Then going to Philippa’s side she gently shook her shoulder. “My lady, come and eat. You will feel better for it, I promise, and here is your good lord waiting for you.”

“Ummm,” Philippa said, and then she opened her eyes. “Crispin,” she said.

He smiled down at her. “Lucy is right, little one. A bit of food before you go to sleep again. Come,” and he took her hand. “I will sit with you. Lucy, bring the tray here, and your mistress will eat in bed.” He helped Philippa to sit up, propping pillows behind her back.

Lucy set the tray on her mistress’s lap, and then stepped back.

Philippa looked sleepily at the bowl of stew, and shook her head. It smelled delicious, but she did not think she could eat.

The earl took up the spoon from the bowl and began to feed his wife. She opened her mouth, accepted the food, and swallowed. He repeated his actions until the bowl was empty. At that point Philippa took up the piece of buttered bread and mopped the gravy from the bowl with it before popping it into her mouth. She sighed, and reached for the cider which she drank as if parched.

“I cannot believe how exhausted I am,” she told them.

“Your duties at court are tiring,” the earl said quietly. “I hope that once we have children you will consider foregoing the pleasures you seem to enjoy there.”

“I cannot simply dismiss my duties to the queen,” she told him. “I owe her my loyalty.”

“Lucy, remove the tray. I will call you when you are needed,” the earl said. Then when the tiring woman had left the room he said to Philippa, “You have been a maid of honor for four years, madame. You are now a married woman. Your place will be assigned to another very shortly.”

“We were invited to accompany the court to France,” she reminded him.

“The queen knew how much you wanted to go, little one, and she has rewarded your loyalty. But once the summer progress is over you must take up your role as the countess of Witton first. I want an heir, and it is your duty to give me one. No one knows the obligations of a wife better than Queen Katherine, and should you ask her she would counsel you thusly, Philippa.”

“You said you would let me remain with the court,” Philippa replied.

“I said we would go to court. If you are not with child, then we shall go twice a year. For the Christmas revels, and for the month of May. I did not marry you because you were a maid of honor, little one.”

“Nay, you did not!” she snapped at him. “You married me for Melville’s lands.”

“Aye, your dowry was of consequence in the matter,” he agreed sanguinely.

Philippa glared angrily at him. “I could hate you!” she told him fiercely.

“Aye, I expect you could,” he admitted, “but I hope you will not, little one. I find I am becoming used to your company. I should be lonely without it now. Is it really so terrible, not being at court?” He took her hand and kissed the palm, and then each finger.

“From the time I was ten years old and first went to court it has been all I have ever wanted,” she told him.

“A girl’s dream,” he responded, “but you are now a woman, Philippa. Did you not dream of marriage and children, like other girls?”

“With Giles FitzHugh,” she said, “aye, but then he deserted me for the church.”

“And Lord Cambridge sought another husband for you, and by coincidence found me,” the earl reminded her. “You said you were willing, little one, and you have hardly been reticent in my arms at night, or in a willow glade by the Thames.”

“Should I not like our coupling then?” she demanded of him.

He chuckled. “Aye, you should like it, and I am well pleased that you do, Philippa, but part of the purpose of our bedsport is that you give me children. You cannot do that if you spend all your time at court, for I will not be with you. I will be here at Brierewode looking after my lands as I should.”

“You are beginning to sound like my mother,” she huffed at him.

“And you are beginning to sound like a spoiled child who will not accept the responsibilities that belong to her,” he said seriously.

“If you feel that way, then why don’t you just stay home while I go to France with the court?” she snapped. “You can husband your precious land then by yourself, for you surely do not need me for that.”

“Because you are my wife now, and you will not go to France if I am not accompanying you, Philippa,” he told her.

“Are you forbidding me to go?” she demanded, and he saw the light of battle in her hazel eyes.

“Nay, I am not, for I know how much it means to you, and I believe this meeting between King Henry and King Francois will be an amazing event that we will want to recount to our children one day.” He kissed her little hand again. “Come, little one, release your anger, and make peace with me now. We have many years ahead in which we can fight with one another.”

Philippa laughed in spite of herself. Her husband had great charm, and there was no denying it. “I will forgive you for upsetting me, Crispin,” she told him wickedly.

He chuckled. She would always want the upper hand, he realized in that moment, and it would be up to him to let her think she had it most of the time. “I will send Lucy back to you so you may prepare yourself for bed, little one,” he said. “I shall go down to the hall to eat now. You shall rest undisturbed tonight.” Then he arose from his place at her bedside and, bowing, left her.