The Last Heiress (16 page)

Philippa said. “I watched you until he broke his word and took you from my sight. Was it then he involved you with that creature? You cannot speak to her again, Elizabeth. Mother would be most distressed. The queen is our friend.”

“The queen is not here. Nor is she likely to be again,” Elizabeth snapped. She was wet, and she was chilled. She could smell the river on her skin, and it was not a pleasant scent at all. She stank of garbage, offal, and brackish salt water. “I like Anne Boleyn, Philippa. But more important, the king likes her.”

“ ’Tis a passing fancy, and that is all there is to it,” Philippa replied weakly.

“It has not passed in eight years,” Elizabeth shot back, “nor is it likely to, sister. The queen is finished unless a miracle occurs and she produces a healthy son for the king. Do you see that happening, 
Philippa? He does not even live with her any longer, which means he does not bed her either. I am mindful of Queen Katherine’s kindnesses to our family, but she is not here, and she is no longer in favor.”

“How can I possibly find you a good husband,” Philippa said, “if you will not behave properly? I know the queen is out of favor, but her favor was of value to us once. Without it, I am at a disadvantage, Elizabeth, yet it is my duty to help you make a proper match with the right man.”

“There is no man here at court who would suit me, Philippa. I could not keep Friarsgate as well as I do had I not learned to judge men’s character quickly. When I went into the river today the men with Mistress Boleyn just stood there gaping. Not one of them would soil his fine garments, and not one of them had the wit to remove them so they might enter the river and aid me. I saw that at once, which is why I saved myself. The Scot might have come to my rescue had he not been facedown in the muck, but he was. How could I en-trust Friarsgate to men like that, sister?”

“If you will not cooperate with me,” Philippa said as if Elizabeth had not spoken, “I shall wash my hands of you for good and all.” She was near tears, for failure was not a part of her nature, and her younger sister was being so stubborn.

But Elizabeth would not give way to Philippa’s bullying. “You must do what you think best,” she said softly, “but there is no man here worth my time.”

“Then why did you come to court if you did not mean to take a husband?” Philippa demanded, now angry.

“I came to please our mother, and to please Uncle Thomas, who really did need an excuse to come south this spring. Did you not, Uncle?”

“I think I shall avoid quarreling with either of you, my darlings,”

Lord Cambridge said. “We are here. It is May. Let us enjoy the good times.”

“Philippa”—Elizabeth attempted to placate her elder sibling—“it is just the first day of May. My mishap will be quickly replaced by someone else’s faux pas by the morrow. Let us not war with each other, I beg you.”

“If you do not want a husband, then what good am I to you? To Mother? You asked for the responsibility of Friarsgate, and you have done a fine job of caring for it, if our mother is to be believed, and she is. But I feel a certain obligation to Friarsgate, as it was to have been mine once. You have a duty to supply Friarsgate with the next heir, Elizabeth, and refusing to do so because you do not wish to give up your own authority is both selfish and childish!”

“Ho! Is the pot calling the kettle black, sister? You did precisely what you chose to do to live your own life as you wished to live it. You renounced Friarsgate. How dare you tell me what to do!” Elizabeth cried. “I took up the burden you cast aside.”

“Aye, I did not want Friarsgate, but I do know how to accept my duty and do it well,” Philippa shot back. “Do you think you will be young forever? You will be twenty-two on the twenty-third of this month. You are an old maid, sister. Mother had birthed all of us by the time she reached that age. You are growing long in the tooth, and you must wed soon if you are to have a child of your body to inherit in the next generation. What will happen if you do not? It will go to one of Logan’s lads for want of another. Is that what you want? Mother will have no other choice.”

“The choice of the next heir is not Mother’s,” Elizabeth said quietly. “It is mine.” Aye! She needed a husband, but from what she had seen today there was little hope of finding one among the king’s court.

Still, she did not want to quarrel with Philippa, who really was trying to help. She sighed. “I am sorry you were embarrassed by my accident today, sister. I shall endeavor to have no more mishaps while I am here, but know that I shall begin my journey home in June.”

“It is not enough time,” Philippa complained.

“If there is a man I can consider, and who will consider coming north with me, he will be found in that time. But if, as I believe, there is no one here who will suit me, there is no use in my remaining. I will have been gone almost three months by the time I return. Edmund is old now, Philippa. He is no longer used to shouldering the entire burden of Friarsgate, as he did when our mother was away. No one else can but me.”

“Which makes it even more important for us to find you a hus
band,” Philippa said eagerly. “You need a helpmeet. A woman should not be managing such an estate as yours, Elizabeth. A husband would be more suited to the task, I am certain.”

Lord Cambridge waited for the explosion certain to follow Philippa’s words, but to his surprise it did not come. He actually believed he saw Elizabeth bite her tongue.

The footmen had been lugging pail after pail of steaming water through the dayroom and into the bedchamber. Now Nancy came out to announce to her mistress that her bath was ready, and likely to get cold if Elizabeth did not come quickly.

“I appreciate your kindness, Philippa, but you will understand my adventure has left me chilled and stinking. I must bathe. Go back to your friends. You also, Uncle. I believe it best that I spend the rest of my day in bed recovering from my ordeal.” She smiled sweetly at them both.

Lord Cambridge wasn’t in the least fooled, but he bowed, saying, “I believe, dear girl, that you are absolutely right. By tomorrow all will have blown over. Will is here should you need him. Come, Philippa, my angel. ’Tis May Day, and the celebrations have only just begun.”

“You will be all right?” Philippa’s tone had softened, and she evinced concern for her younger sibling. “Uncle is correct, of course.

Few if any will remember your mishap by the morrow. Ohh, I hope Crispin comes soon!” She kissed Elizabeth’s cheek, and then, taking Lord Cambridge’s arm, they departed the dayroom.

Elizabeth sighed gustily with her relief. “What a pother Philippa makes over naught,” she said to Nancy. “Did you hear?”

“Enough,” Nancy said. “Gawd! I hope they can find that punt.

Them sleeves was beautiful, mistress.” She was a tall, lanky girl with a plain but pretty face. Her braids were nut brown, and her eyes a light blue. Like Elizabeth, she had never before been away from Friarsgate, but she had to admit she was enjoying her adventure. She helped Elizabeth out of the remainder of her sodden garments and into the hot tub. “I’ll take these to the laundress,” she said. “I think they’re sal-vageable. Are you really going to spend the rest of the day in bed?”

Elizabeth laughed. “Nay, but at least I won’t have to spend it glid-ing up and down the palace lawns being inspected by snobs and par
venus, being gossiped about and having my wealth speculated upon. I shall rid myself of the river’s stink, re-dress, and sit in Uncle’s gardens listening to the music from the palace.”

Nancy hurried out, and Elizabeth washed first herself, and then her long blond hair, which had been soaked in the river. Climbing from the oak tub, she dried herself off with one of the towels on the warming rack by her fire, then wrapped her head in another towel. Nancy had laid out a clean chemise on the bed, and Elizabeth donned it.

Then, sitting by the fire, she unwrapped her hair from the towel and began to rub it dry before the heat of the hearth.

Returning, Nancy came to stand behind her mistress and began to brush the long hair. “ ’Tis like thistledown,” she noted. “Golden thistledown, and straight as a poker. Now Lady Philippa has all them fine curls, and Mistress Neville’s hair has a bit of a curl to it too, but not yours.” She plied the brush vigorously now as the damp hair dried, becoming thicker with each stroke of her brush.

“It suits my nature,” Elizabeth said, “as curls suit Philippa. She is all fussy and intent on being the perfect courtier.”

“And you are happiest being a wild child,” Nancy teased her mistress.

Elizabeth laughed. “I suppose I am, but I am not irresponsible, nor unmindful of my duties. And before I had to jump into the river to save myself I met two gentlemen, the king, and Mistress Boleyn, Nancy.”

“Ohh,” Nancy said, “was the gentlemen handsome?”

“One is related to me. His name is Rees Jones, and we share a great-grandfather. The other is a Scot. He is King James’s personal messenger, and sent to live at court so that should King Henry need to send to his nephew he has a messenger to do it. Uncle Thomas says he is a spy, though he denied it.” Elizabeth chuckled.

“What was the king like?” Nancy wanted to know.

“Very handsome. Quite tall, with wonderful red-gold hair and a beard. His eyes are small, but they’re quite a brilliant blue. He’s a big man too. And Mistress Boleyn is not at all beautiful, but she is so elegant, and her wit is swift. I quite liked her, but I also felt sorry for her, Nancy. She hides it well, but she is afraid. I sense it.”

“Probably fears for her immortal soul, stealing the queen’s husband away from her,” Nancy said with a country woman’s practicality.

“The queen’s plight is of her own making,” Elizabeth said. “The king needs a son, and she cannot give him one. There must be a new queen.”

“But the old one ain’t dead,” Nancy said, and then she put the hairbrush aside.

“Find me something simple to wear,” Elizabeth said, “if indeed I have something like that anymore.”

Nancy found a long, deep-green silk skirt with a plain square-necked bodice that had long, fitted sleeves. Elizabeth donned it and, sliding a pair of house slippers on her feet, she went out into the garden. She had left her hair loose but for a green silk ribbon with a small oval crystal she wore about her forehead. In the garden the first of the early roses were coming into bloom, and the statuary, while as flam-boyant as the London garden’s, was of both men and women in various poses of an erotic nature. Sitting on a bench by the water, she watched the river traffic.

Suddenly a small punt appeared around a little bend in the river, and it was headed directly for Lord Cambridge’s quay. Looking closely, Elizabeth saw it was poled by Flynn Stewart. He waved at her and, reaching the dockage, jumped from the little boat, making it fast. He carried in his arms the skirts and petticoats she had left behind earlier, and atop the pile of silk and fine lawn were her sleeves. “Mistress.” He bowed and laid the pile on the bench next to her. Then, reaching into an interior pocket of his doublet, he drew forth her two shoes, setting them in her lap.

“How did you find them?” she asked him, truly surprised. “And thank you, sir! My sister was most put out by my loss of the sleeves.”

“It was my fault,” Flynn said. “In my efforts to help you from the punt I fell, and in reaching for the damned little boat set you adrift instead. And I could not rescue you because I was facedown in the riverbank. Then those bloody fools who accompany Mistress Boleyn everywhere and haven’t the sense to come in from the rain stood there gaping while you were in danger. If you hadn’t had the presence of mind to do what you did, you’d be halfway to the Wash by now. I took 
a barge, and we rowed after the punt. When we reached it, we took it in tow back to the palace, and then I rowed it from there.”

“I am most grateful, sir,” Elizabeth said. “It was a kind thing to do, and I doubt anyone else would have done it.”

“You were right earlier. Neither of us belongs here,” he said.

“Sit down,” Elizabeth said, and he sat in the grass next to her. “Are you really nothing more than King James’s messenger?”

He grinned engagingly at her. “Nothing more,” he said.

“They say your father was a very loving man, and it angered his queen. I heard that she once discovered his large family living in the same palace she inhabited, and sent them elsewhere. Were you among those unfortunate children, Flynn Stewart?”

“Nay,” he said. “I am the only one of my father’s known bastards who was never officially recognized, although my father knew I was his, and saw to my well-being, and visited with me regularly. It was because of the way in which I was conceived.” He chuckled. “Would you like to hear the tale, or would it shock you?”

“I breed sheep,” Elizabeth said dryly, “although I suspect my older sister would swoon at such an admission from my lips. Respectable virgins are not supposed to admit to knowing such things.”

“And are you a respectable virgin, Elizabeth Meredith?” he teased her.

“I am a virgin, sir, but as to the other that is a matter for debate,” 
she answered. “Now tell me your shocking tale, and of how you were bred.”

He grinned. He liked Elizabeth Meredith. She was exactly what you saw. Plainspoken with no foolishness about her. No. She didn’t belong at court. “It was at my mother’s wedding to Robert Gray, the laird of Athdar, who is my stepfather. Rob was a friend of the king, and he had invited him to the wedding. It was a grand affair, my mother recalls, and there was much drinking involved. The king was mourning his separation from his great love, Meg Drummond. My stepfather knew it, and sought to comfort his friend. As my mother tells it, he said, ‘Jamie, my Nara looks much like yer Meg. Would ye accept the droit du seigneur of her this night, and let her comfort ye?’ ”

“He didn’t!” Elizabeth gasped. She knew what the droit du seigneur 
was. It allowed the bridegroom to offer his bride’s virtue to his overlord.

“Ah, but my stepfather did. Both he and the king were very drunk.

My mother was fair with dark hair and eyes, like Meg Drummond. She says she was just drunk enough herself to feel sorry for Jamie Stewart.