They stood at the window watching.
‘Edward is not with them,’ observed Isabella.
‘As if he would be,’ Philippa had found her voice. ‘He is a king now. He has a country to rule.’
‘Kings sometimes pay visits,’ retorted Isabella. ‘Do they not, Margaret?’
‘Indeed they do. Edward must be one of the youngest kings that ever were.’
‘Some people are kings when they’re babies,’ added Jeanne. Philippa was not listening. Why had the messengers come from England? What could it mean?’
They were soon to discover. Later that day they were summoned to their parents’ apartment and there they found the Count and Countess looking more sombre than they usually did.
‘Come here, children,’ said the Countess.
They came and stood before their parents, Margaret first, then Philippa, Jeanne and Isabella in order of age as was expected of them.
‘You will have heard the arrivals,’ the Countess went on. ‘Yes, my lady,’ Margaret answered for them all.
‘They come from the King of England. You remember Edward who stayed here with his mother and whom your uncle John conducted to England?’
‘Yes, my lady.’
‘I believe you all grew fond of your cousin.’
‘Oh yes, my lady.’ It was Philippa that time, speaking a little ahead of the others.
‘I am glad,’ she said.
‘I also,’ said the Count. ‘You girls will know that time must come when you must leave home to marry. Your mother and I know that you will not want to go. Alas, it is the fate of girls. The point is that the King of England is asking for the hand of one of you in marriage.’
‘One of us!’ cried Margaret.
‘Which one?’ Philippa’s voice had sunk to a whisper.
‘That is what has to be decided,’ went on the Count. ‘An embassy has come from the King and it is led by his Bishop of Hereford. Over the next day or so he will observe you and choose the one whom he considers most suitable to be the Queen of England.’
Philippa felt sick with fear. Oh, she thought, Margaret is prettier than I am; Jeanne is more graceful and Isabella has beautiful eyes; they are all cleverer than I. I shall die if they don’t choose me ... and how can they when my sisters are so much more attractive?
‘I was not surprised,’ went on the Count, ‘when the embassy arrived for your mother and I had already agreed when the Queen and the King—Prince as he was then—were our guests, that we should put no obstacles in the way of a marriage between one of you and Edward. This is our bargain. We are very happy that the King, now he has his throne, has remembered it.’
‘I am sure,’ said the Countess, ‘that whichever one of you is chosen, she will be happy. Edward is young—he is only a few months older than you, Philippa, and whichever one of you is chosen will quickly learn his ways and perhaps he some of yours.’
‘When ... when,’ stammered Philippa, ‘will the choice be made?’
‘That is for the Bishop to say. He will watch you, I daresay and then he will come to us and tell us which one of you he thinks will suit his master best. There, now you may go. I think the Bishop will not want to delay long. So perhaps within a few days we shall know.’
For the first time in her life Philippa felt the need to hide her feelings.
She prayed that night. Oh God, let me be the chosen one.
Then she hated herself for being so selfish for it seemed to her that marriage with Edward must be the pinnacle of every girl’s ambition and this would be denied to those who were not selected.
But I love him, she told herself. I was the one he rode with alone. I was the one he talked to. He said that he would come back for me. How could he send a Bishop to choose one of us!
Had he forgotten then? He must have. She meant no more to him than Margaret, Jeanne or Isabella.
One of the daughters of the Count of Hainault! Was that all that mattered?
It was a terrible time to live through. In her anxiety she looked less attractive than her sisters. She was clumsy at table. She saw the Bishop observing her gravely and she fancied he talked more to the others than to her.
He would not choose her, she was sure, and she would spend her life in misery. She would beg her parents to let her go into a convent. It was the only way. She could not marry anyone else.
They were once more summoned to their parents’ apartment. Philippa was praying silently. ‘Dear Lord, let me hide. Don’t let them see my grief. I must not weep. I must kiss and congratulate Margaret ... Jeanne or Isabella. But of course it will be Margaret. It is sure to be the eldest. The eldest always marries first. And he does not care. All he wants is a daughter of the Count of Hainault because he promised that he would marry one of us when he was crowned King of England. Which one was of no importance. Oh, why did I let myself care so much!’
Her father was speaking in a tender voice for he found the prospect of the marriage of one of his daughters deeply moving. Much as he wanted a grand marriage he did not want to lose any one of them.
They stood before him in order of age. They were all overexcited and the two younger ones were inclined to giggle. Margaret was serious for, like Philippa, she believed she might well be the chosen one. Philippa’s emotions were too pent up to be described. She could only continue to pray that she, who had always been frank, did not betray them.
‘My lord Bishop has come to tell us that he has chosen the future Queen of England,’ said the Count. ‘You will tell my daughter that she is the one you consider most suitable, I beg you my lord Bishop.’
The Bishop cleared his throat and frowned slightly. ‘My lord and lady,’ he said, ‘your daughters are all charming. For me this has been the most difficult task. The lady Margaret ...’ He seemed to pause for a long time and Philippa thought: I cannot bear it. Oh how wicked I am. It is so wonderful for dear Margaret but I cannot bear it! ‘The lady Margaret is gracious and charming. The lady Jeanne equally so as is her sister Isabella. I and my embassy have talked much of this and we have come to the conclusion that the lady Philippa being closer to the age of my lord the King would be the most suitable to be his wife and Queen and it is for this reason, my lord Count, my lady Countess, that I beg, on behalf of my lord the King, for the hand of the lady Philippa.’
She was swooning. I am dreaming, she thought. It cannot be.
They were all looking at her. She had turned white and then red; she was trembling. Pray God the tears would not fall. So she was the chosen one. She ... and because she was nearest to his age!
Her father had taken her hand and he was placing it in that of the Bishop.
‘She is young yet, my lord,’ he said.
‘She will be an enchanting Queen of England,’ said the Bishop.
She was more important now, the betrothed of the King of England.
Her sisters talked all at once about the marriage. She was relieved that they did not mind too much. Isabella was a little regretful but then she was young and she had merely thought it would be fun to be a queen.
‘Of course,’ said Margaret, ‘you are closest to him in age.’ ‘Of course,’ she said demurely.
‘I thought he would have asked for you,’ said Jeanne. ‘He seemed to like you best when he was here.’
‘I daresay he forgot all about us as soon as he left,’ put in Margaret. ‘He had to get his crown didn’t he, and there was something about his father. It seems strange not to be friendly with your own father.’
‘Oh, there were reasons,’ declared Philippa coming immediately to his defence.
‘I thought he would have asked for you,’ said Margaret, ‘and not left it to his bishop to choose.’