The Traitor's Daughter. Joanna Makepeace
“Good. We do not wish for any delay as I am sure your grandmother will be anxious to see you, Lady Philippa. Now, if you will come at once, supper will soon be served and your mother will wish you to join her.”
He held out his hand commandingly and she was forced to take it and allow him to lead her from the stable after a murmured “thank you” to Peter.
Outside she snatched her hand from his grasp and rasped. “I wish you would not insist on spying on me when I am with Peter. I have told you before, he is my father’s trusted squire and companion and nothing more to me than a friend.”
He regarded her quizzically. “Since you give me your word on that, Lady Philippa, I must believe you, but I do regard it as my duty to keep you safe from…” he paused, thoughtfully eyeing her speculatively “…all harm.”
She flounced ahead of him into the inn and hastily went to join her mother at the table. Lady Wroxeter was puzzled by the strange gleam she saw reflected in her daughter’s eye. She had known throughout the journey that Philippa had strongly resented their need to accede to Sir Rhys Griffith’s desire to escort them to Gretton, but tonight she thought something further had passed between them. She sighed inwardly but said nothing. This problem would soon resolve itself. Tomorrow they would arrive at Gretton and she doubted if they would see more of their protector. Her father had written on several occasions that his neighbours were inclined to shun him, since he was found to be under the displeasure of the King and her parents had become virtually isolated on their own manor.
Philippa was particularly interested in the small market town of Ludlow next day as they rode in. This was their nearest town and her mother knew it well. Unlike Milford Haven, it seemed relatively clean and peaceful in the afternoon sun since today there was no market and no vociferous traders. Most of the shops were closed apparently over the dinner hour and there was a sleepy air about the place, dominated as it was by the former Yorkist stronghold of Ludlow Castle. She glanced at the grim walls curiously as they passed through. Here it was that Edward, the elder of the two Yorkist princes, had finally ridden out to meet his uncle, Richard, on his momentous journey to London to be crowned. It had never happened. He and his brothers and sisters had been declared illegitimate, the two boys placed in the royal apartments of the Tower of London from which they had mysteriously disappeared. She thought how furiously angry her father had been to learn only days ago that a proclamation had been made that Sir James Tyrell, recently executed, had confessed to their murder on the instructions of their uncle. She bit her lip uncertainly and cast a glance at her mother, who had turned in the saddle, finding her also tight-lipped. Did her mother believe the slanderous tale, despite her father’s avowals that the confession was a lie which had either been forced from Sir James while in Tudor hands or fabricated after his death, a lie which could not be denied? Sir Rhys had reined in his mount in order to allow the two ladies to view the castle. Philippa cast him a venomous glance. Undoubtedly Sir Rhys believed it.
As they left the town Philippa was impatient to reach their home manor, but her anticipated pleasure was shadowed by the fear that they might not find her grandfather alive.
Sir Rhys gestured her forward as they entered her grandfather’s lands so that the two women could be together. Philippa saw that her mother’s eyes were bright with unshed tears and she reined in close and, reaching out, took her gloved hand in her own encouragingly.
“We have come as soon as we could, ma mère, I am sure we shall be in time to—” She broke off, too emotionally choked to continue.
Sir Rhys said quietly, “I saw your grandfather just before I left for Milford Haven. I was able to conduct some business for him there. He was incapacitated but able to talk and was as well as could be expected. Your grandmother informed me that the physicians had told her they had no reason to fear the worst.”
Lady Wroxeter nodded, grateful for his reassurance. So he did visit her parents, apparently, undeterred by his neighbours’ unpopularity. Her mother must have had cause to be grateful to him during those recent difficult and anxiety-ridden weeks.
Philippa was filled with surprised delight when she caught her first sight of Gretton Manor. The evening sunlight caught the mellow building with its strong rays. The undercroft was stone built, with an upper storey of timber and plaster lath painted yellow which showed to advantage against the dark-stained oak beams. The manor house itself was approached through a gatehouse arch which at one time had housed a guard room but, probably due to the settled times and King Henry’s proscriptions against the keeping of retainers, was now disused. From the front it was not possible to see the outbuildings and stables but, as the small party approached, grooms ran quickly forward to take the lead reins of their horses. One gabbled to Sir Rhys in Welsh, which he answered fluently. Any hopes Philippa might have had that he would leave them now, having delivered them safely home, were dispelled as both Sir Rhys’s horse and his squire’s were led off with their own. Peter Fairley lifted her down and she turned, a little flustered, to see a woman standing upon the top step leading to the hall to greet them. She came down immediately the moment she recognised the new arrivals. Cressida, who had been assisted to dismount by Sir Rhys, ran to her with a little choking cry of mingled delight and anxiety. Philippa could see little of her grandmother’s features as her head was bent over the shoulders of her weeping daughter. She could just distinguish that Lady Gretton was of no great height, like her daughter and grandchild, and was plumply rounded in build.
Philippa came hesitantly towards the two and just caught the whispered questions each gave to the other.
“Father, is he…?”
“Well enough, child, and very anxious to greet you, but not sufficiently recovered to come from the hall yet.”
Lady Gretton had posed her question even more softly.
“Martyn, is he safe?”
Philippa’s mother’s answer was even softer, barely whispered. “He was safe in Malines and well when we left him a sennight ago.”
Lady Gretton gave a little satisfied sigh. “Good. It was unsafe for him to venture with you. Times are troubled here, even yet.”
She looked up and held her arms wide for Philippa to run into them. “Come, child. You will never know how long we have waited to have a sight of you.”
Philippa was enveloped in a motherly embrace, scenting the fresh, country fragrances of rosemary and lavender. She was hugged so tightly she could hardly breathe and withdrew finally a little breathless, half-laughing and half-crying in the sudden emotion of greeting.
Now she could see that Mildred Gretton was indeed short and plumply attractive still in late middle age, but with nothing about her of her daughter and granddaughter’s famed ethereal beauty. Her pleasant features were relatively unlined except for the little crinkles around her round, dark eyes, which betokened good humour. She was dressed in a dark green silk gown, somewhat outdated but of excellent quality, and she wore a small tight-fitting linen cap, but had not yet adopted the new French fashion of attached velvet veil Philippa had seen worn at the English court.
Still holding her grandchild by one arm, she turned smilingly to Sir Rhys Griffith.
“Rhys, how good to see you here, and in the company of my loved ones. As always you are very welcome to Gretton. Daniel will be so pleased to see you.”
He bowed courteously. “Thank you, Mildred, but I will not stay. I have business to conclude at home and you both will wish to have this time with your loved ones alone. I found them on the harbour at Milford Haven and made it my business to see them safe to Gretton. How is Sir Daniel?”
“As you saw him a week ago, Rhys. He frets that he cannot yet walk well or sit a horse. He sleeps below stairs as getting him above to our bedchamber has proven irksome, but the physician has hopes that he will soon be able to proceed further afield with the aid of a stick.”
Philippa gazed from her grandmother to Sir Rhys. So, they were obviously on good terms, which she found puzzling. She could but hope that Sir Rhys would honour his acceptance of their need for privacy and stay away from Gretton for some time. He was bidding