No, nor had Philippa. It was a blow to her but never mind. She would not brood on it. She was to see him again. They would renew their friendship and it would be as though they had never parted.
She had to be happy, even though it was the Bishop who had chosen her and not Edward and it was because of her age.
There was another scare.
Her parents explained it to her.
‘You know that your mother and Edward’s mother are first cousins,’ said the Count. ‘Their fathers were both sons of the King Philip the Third of France. This means that there is a very close blood tie between you and Edward and because of this the Pope must give his permission for you to marry.’
‘What if he does not?’ she cried in dismay.
‘There seems to be no reason why he will not,’ replied her mother. ‘We are sending an embassy at once to Avignon and we hope very soon to hear that the dispensation is granted.’
So there were further anxieties. How she wished that Edward himself had come for her. In her fantasies she imagined his coming and saying: ‘Never mind about the Pope. Nothing is going to prevent our marrying.’
But all was well after all. The Pope readily gave the necessary dispensation and the King of England, now that his bride was settled on, wanted no delay. Philippa was to be married by proxy and immediately after that ceremony, to leave for England.
There was a great bustling preparation through the castle of Valenciennes for Edward was sending the Bishop of Lichfield to perform the proxy marriage.
Every morning when Philippa awoke she had to assure herself that it was really happening. She wondered how long it would be before she saw Edward. Over the intensity of her happiness there hung a faint shadow. It was there because Edward had not chosen her but had let his Bishop choose and the implication was surely that that idyllic week they had spent together had not meant the same to him as it had to her.
I will make him love me in time, she assured herself; but still the shadow persisted.
Her mother said: ‘Your father is determined that you shall go richly equipped to England. Your husband-to-be is by no means rich, King though he may be. A great deal of his treasure has been spent in war and his father was not a provident man.’
‘I do not care to be rich, dear lady.’
‘My dearest child, I think you are very happy to be going to Edward.’
Philippa clasped her hands and said: ‘I think I should have died if I had not been the chosen one.’
‘Oh, my dear daughter, you must not speak so extravagantly. But I know your feelings for your husband and I am glad of them because whatever happens that love will remain constant I know and it will enrich both your lives.’
The Countess wondered whether to warn her daughter. She had betrayed her feelings too easily, and she wondered whether Edward would appreciate such blind devotion as Philippa seemed prepared to give. A little restraint should perhaps be practised. No, perhaps it was better that her daughter should behave in her natural way which had endeared Edward to her when he had come here as a prince.
‘You are both very young,’ went on the Countess. ‘Fifteen years old. And you, Philippa to go to a new country I ‘
‘But, my lady, it is not like going to a stranger.’
‘No, dear child, and I rejoice that you are going to a husband whom you already love.’
It was better to leave it thus, the Countess decided. Philippa’s frank nature, her inherent unselfishness and goodness would carry her through whatever lay in store for her. It was to be hoped that the boy King would recognize those qualities and appreciate them.
Her sisters revelled in the preparation; they were often present during the constant fitting sessions; they cried out with admiration at the richness of her garments.
‘Just fancy our sister will be a Queen! ‘
‘Oh Philippa, how does it feel to be a Queen?’
Philippa said that it was the most wonderful thing in the world. She was completely happy ... well not quite completely because to go to Edward she had to leave them—and, she added to herself: he did not really choose me. It might have been any one of you.
As the days passed her happiness was more and more tinged with sadness at the thought of leaving her home. It would be so strange not to see her sisters and her parents every day.
‘You must all visit me in England,’ she said; and the thought struck her that in a short time all her sisters would be married and be gone from this lovely old castle in Valenciennes where they had been so happy. She saw the sadness in her parents’ eyes; her sisters were too excited by all the fuss to think very much about the parting. How sad it was that there could not be complete happiness.
The days were passing quickly. Soon the time would come when she must really say good-bye.
‘Your Uncle John will meet you when you arrive at Dover,’ her mother told her, ‘so it will not be like going to a land of strangers.’
She said it would be pleasant to see Uncle John again.
‘He is greatly enamoured of England and the English,’ replied her mother. ‘He was a great friend to the Queen, Edward’s mother.’
Philippa felt again a faint twinge of uneasiness. She remembered Edward’s mother, the Queen---a strikingly beautiful woman, indeed one of the most beautiful she had ever seen. It was Isabella who had said of her: ‘She is a witch, I believe, a beautiful witch. The sort Satan makes more beautiful than anyone else so that they can get the better of other people.’
Philippa also remembered a big man with flashing dark eyes and heavy brows who was always at the Queen’s side and who also for some reason had aroused her misgivings.
But the excitement of those days swallowed up her uneasiness and she could think of little else but Edward.
At last the day came. The Count had said that it would be better for the family not to accompany her. They would say their farewells in the privacy of the castle and they would all go to the topmost turret and watch her ride away with the large company of knights, squires and ladies who would be her companions until the end of the journey.
Her parents embraced her with fervent affection, her sisters tearfully.
‘How strange it will be without you,’ said Isabella. ‘There are only three of us now.’
And soon only two, thought their mother, for a marriage was being arranged for Margaret.
She looked sadly at her husband. She was reminding him of the inevitability of losing their daughters.
And so, riding at the head of the cavalcade, Philippa set out on her journey to England.
The crossing was comparatively smooth and in due course Philippa stood on deck and saw the starkly white cliffs coming nearer and nearer. And there looking out to sea was the fortress castle rising more than four hundred feet above the level of the water—formidable, warning off invaders and yet seeming to welcome her who came as a bride of the King.
As she came ashore there, as she had been told he would be, was her uncle Sir John of Hainault waiting to greet her. He embraced her warmly and said that this was one of the happiest days of his life. He had always wanted a link between England and Hainault and here was his dear little niece Philippa to forge it.
They would stay the night in Dover Castle and then they would travel on to London by way of Canterbury where of course they must pause to make an offering at the shrine of St Thomas à Becket, to thank him for their safe passage and to ask his blessing on the union.
Philippa slept little during her first night in her new country and she was ready at dawn to begin the journey to Canterbury.