The Falconer's Daughter, Book 1

Chapter 3 - Part 3

Simon Pole left the children momentarily on pretext of taking a walk. But they knew better. He was on the chamber pot, and would probably be away a good while. Philip, Elisabeth, and Cordaella looked at each other for a long moment, considering their unexpected reprieve. Eddie was in the nursery taking his afternoon nap.

"I am sick of learning," Elisabeth grumbled, closing her book with a bang.

Cordaella glanced up and said nothing. She waited for Philip to speak. Inevitably, Philip intervened, carrying the conversation and easing tensions. "Just another hour," he said to Elisabeth, "and then Eddie and I take our fencing lesson."

Cordaella's face crumpled. If the boys were fencing it meant that they-she and

Elisabeth-would be stitching. "Ha!" Elisabeth said, with a triumphant little laugh. "There is something for you, Cordy. Embroidery. Tapestries." She knew how much her cousin hated sewing. "Just wait until you have to stitch an entire one by yourself. It will take you a year, at least."

"At least," Cordaella agreed, returning to her book.

"You can't read," Elisabeth said interrupting, "so don't try to pretend." She stared at

Cordaella, ignoring her brother. "Why do you bother with it, anyway? You were too old to begin with and you'll never really need to know how."

"All ladies should know how to read." Philip stood up and restlessly paced the floor. "It's important."

"I don't agree. It's silly to fill your head with stories from old civilizations. Things that happen now are more important." Elisabeth fidgeted with her skirts. "I would rather read about court and what is happening in London. I want to hear about the expedition in France. Those stories are exciting-not ancient epics."

Cordaella rose up on her heels, looking longingly out the window. "Why can't we go outside?"

"Because Mr. Pole told us to read twenty pages each. I haven't even read seven," Philip said.

"I don't care what old Mr. Pole said." Elisabeth rose. "And I am sick of this chamber."

"Then let's go out," Cordaella proposed.

"We can't." Philip stubbornly buried his nose in the book.

"Fusspot!" Elisabeth said, sticking her tongue out at him. "You are a stuffy old man already, Phil."

"Do come, Philip," Cordaella urged. "Let us go have a look outside. It would be so nice to walk-"

"But we'll get in trouble."

"We will get in trouble anyway," Elisabeth retorted.

"She's right, Philip," Cordaella said, suddenly desperate to be outside and free. She longed for the mountains with the open space and the huge sky and the smell of heather and pine. "And I am going," she said, putting the book down. "I don't care if I do get in trouble."

"Me, too." Elisabeth pulled her cloak over her dress. "I will go with you. Besides, I haven't had a whipping in years."

Reluctantly, Philip rose. "But where will we walk?" He and Elisabeth turned expectantly to their cousin.

Cordaella was still staring out the window and little by little her expression lifted, the dark brows arching as a thought came to her. "Why," she said with a quick laugh, "perhaps we can try the mews."

"The mews?" Elisabeth said, darting a hasty look at her brother. "To the falconer's? But how would we get past the gatekeepers? You know they won't let us out without Father's permission." She was still watching her brother who had picked up his book again. "Maybe we shouldn't," she said after a strained moment. "We would get caught."