Philippa by Bertrice Small Page B

as she folded up several pairs of sleeves, and tucked them into Cecily’s little trunk.
    “Nay. We will go to Everleigh, the original manor of the FitzHughs, in the Marches. We are to remain a month, and then move on to Deanemere, which will be our home,” Cecily said. “Everleigh is quite remote, and small. It will suit us perfectly, as we will be unable to entertain any visitors. My family hasn’t lived there in some time, but the house has always been kept up and in good repair.”
    “I will miss you,” Philippa said.
    “And I you,” Cecily responded.
    “It will never be the same again between us now that you are to be wed, and I am not,” Philippa remarked.
    “But we will always be best friends,” Cecily replied.
    “Always!” Philippa agreed.

Chapter 3
    C ecily FitzHugh was gone. Even the detestable Millicent Langholme was gone. All of the younger girls had gone home now. Only Elizabeth Blount and Philippa Meredith remained. And in two days they would be moving with the queen to Woodstock. Dull, quiet, boring Woodstock for a dull, quiet and boring summer. The king and his remaining friends, for many had gone to their own estates now, would go on to Esher and Penhurst. They would spend their days hunting, and their nights in eating and laughter. The queen would spend her days in gentle pursuits and prayer. They would retire early. There would be few, if any, visitors. Oxfordshire was a pretty place, but without the company of a gay court it lacked interest for Philippa. But the queen loved its bucolic charms, and Woodstock’s five chapels where she might worship. She was particularly fond of the Round Chapel. Philippa despaired.
    “Come,” said Bessie Blount the evening after Cecily’s departure. “We must have some amusement with the remaining gentlemen before we are off to the queen’s convent for the summer.” She handed Philippa a small goblet of wine.
    “Where did you get this?” Philippa inquired.
    “I stole it,” Bessie answered with a laugh. “It was some of that particularly fine Spanish Madeira wine Maria de Salinas left behind when she married last year. No one has used her rooms here at Richmond ever since. It was in a corner, on a shelf, in an alcove. It was obviously overlooked. I left it there until now. It would be a shame to waste it, and I think we need it considering the summer before us. God’s foot, I wish we were going with the king! Woodstock is so dull without him.”
    Philippa downed the contents of the little goblet, and held it out for more. “ ’Tis good. I always wondered what this particular wine tasted like.” She sipped a bit more slowly on her second portion.
    “Some of the lads are still here,” Bessie said. “I’m going to join them.’Tis probably the last time we’ll have the company of young men for a while. Would you like to come with me?”
    “Who is here yet?” Philippa wanted to know.
    “Roger Mildmay, Robert Parker, and Henry Standish,” Bessie said.
    “Why not,” Philippa agreed. “I am already bored by the lack of lively company. I never thought I should miss even Millicent Langholme.”
    Bessie laughed. “I know,” she said. “Come on then, and bring your goblet, for I am bringing the wine.” She stood and started out the door of the empty Maidens’ Chamber, turning to make certain that Philippa was behind her.
    “Where are we going?” the younger girl wanted to know.
    “To the top of the Canted Tower. No one will find us there,” Bessie said mischievously. “We don’t want to be caught dicing and drinking now, do we?”
    “Nay,” Philippa agreed. She sipped from her goblet as they hurried along. The Spanish wine was so very good. It felt like sweet silk on her tongue.
    They walked across the Middle Court, joined by the three young men as they went. The summer twilight lasted for hours, but they still carried a small lamp. The Canted Tower was four stories high. It was one hundred and twenty steps to the top. They made the