The Lady in the Tower (2 page)

‘Two,’ I said with some satisfaction. I was very fond of my cousin, but he had only been at Farleigh a year. He had come here as pageboy to my father. Tom, on the other hand, had been a friend and confidant all my life. He was also the best source of useful vocabulary anyone could want. My mother would have fainted on the spot if she had heard half the stable language I knew.

‘Are you two laughing at me for falling off?’ asked Gregory and grinned good-humouredly. He never minded me teasing him.

‘Only a little,’ I promised him. ‘Come, Walter!’ I cried, wanting to shake off my disappointment. ‘Let us ride to find Mother!’ I neighed and crouched down on the cobbles ready to be his steed. Tom swung Walter onto my back and I cantered him across the stable yard and over the bridge into the inner court of the castle. I snorted and whinnied as I went and Walter shrieked with delight. Gregory caught me up, neighing and pawing the ground.

‘Faster, Eleanor!’ shouted Walter, kicking me as if I were really his pony. ‘Gallop!’

But we had reached the steps to the keep now, and I slowed as I mounted them.

‘You are growing heavy, Walter,’ I complained.

‘Horses don’t talk,’ shouted Walter.

So I raced across the Great Hall and along the passageways of the castle, my skirts swishing around my ankles, and entered the family apartments in a riot of noise.

Mother covered her ears and raised her eyes heavenwards in mock anguish as we passed, but once we had taken a couple of turns about the room and returned to her, she was laughing. We collapsed in a breathless heap on the sheepskin rug before the fire, Walter’s arms still twined tightly about my neck. Gregory threw himself down beside us, a huge grin on his face.

As we calmed down, I saw Mother compose her face and look serious: ‘Eleanor,’ she said. ‘There is a grave matter about which I must speak to you.’

I untangled myself from my brother at once and stood before her, hands folded, eyes downcast.

‘Yes, Mother?’ She looked at me severely and I searched my mind for some transgression, but could think of none. She rarely disciplined us, and I could not imagine what I might have done wrong.

Mother fished in her workbox and lifted out a piece of embroidery. It was much crumpled and stained, with every stitch either strained tight or loose and sagging. I knew it well. Mother held it distastefully between finger and thumb and frowned mightily.

‘What, may I ask, Eleanor, is this meant to be?’

‘My most recent sampler, ma’am, if it please you,’ I replied, sweeping her a deep curtsey, peeping through my lashes to see whether she was serious or merely teasing. I thought I could see a twinkle in her eye.

‘I feared as much. It does not please me, Eleanor. In fact it offends the eye. I would expect better craftsmanship from the gong farmer.’

Little Walter, who had been looking anxiously from one to the other of us, hooted with laughter at this. ‘But, Mother, he’s the man who mucks out the moat below the latrines! He doesn’t sew!’

‘My point exactly,’ agreed Mother cheerfully. ‘I fear there is only one thing to be done with this, Eleanor,’ she told me, and cast it into the fire. I gasped as it caught and shrivelled. I did not care about the hated sampler, but turned and stared at Mother, looking for some sign of how angry she really was. She tried to look severe, but then her dimple peeped out. I heaved a sigh of relief and grinned mischievously.

‘And what is my punishment to be, ma’am?’ I asked.

‘You will begin a new one tomorrow. And I shall pray that we can find a husband for you who cares little for the domestic virtues, my daughter.’

‘Lord, yes!’ I agreed cheerfully. ‘For I’ll be damned if I’ll ever be good at stitchery.’

‘I am aware of it,’ remarked Mother, a genuine frown now furrowing her brow. ‘But in all seriousness, Eleanor, you must rid yourself of the language of the stables! It is one thing to be unable to sew, but quite another to swear like a groom.’

‘Sorry, Mother,’ I murmured, aware that I had gone too far.

She smiled, and her face lit up. ‘And now that I have done my duty by you, shall we all have a game?’

We had just had time to become engrossed in a round of tables when we heard the commotion of an arrival below in the outer court. Not just one or two horses. By the sound of it there were many.

‘Who can that be?’ I asked Mother. ‘Surely it cannot be Father?’ Mother shook her head, but I could tell by the light in her eyes and the softening in her face that she thought it was.

‘I dare not hope so,’ she said. ‘He is not due back from London for another week at the least. When last he wrote he was much taken up with business at Court. We are fortunate that he finds so much favour with the king.’

I thought as she spoke that she did not look very happy about it. I was surprised. We were all so proud of Father. But before I could say anything, my brother interrupted.

‘The king is King Henry the Eighth, and he lives in London,’ Walter announced importantly, showing off his knowledge. He had climbed up to one of the narrow windows, and was craning his neck to get a view of the stables. Then his voice changed abruptly. ‘It is! It is Father!’ he screeched. My cousin grinned, I felt a rush of excitement and saw the joy written plainly on my mother’s face.

‘Mother, can I run down and see if he’s brought me a present from London?’ begged Walter.

‘No, Walter. We shall receive your father here with dignity, if you please.’

Breathlessly, we awaited the familiar tread across the main hall, and for Father’s cheerful, blustering voice. He would be pleased to see us, and to be home again. He would pretend not to have presents for us, but of course he would have. He always did. He would stroke his red beard and guffaw and eventually bid us look in his saddlebags.

But today we heard only silence. For a long time. Even the usual castle bustle seemed hushed.

Then came the sound of tramping feet across the hall. Several pairs of boots, but no cheerful voices. I was still excited, but the first icy trickle of premonition ran down my back. Something was not right.

Two of my father’s knights entered, their faces expressionless. I looked to my father for reassurance as he came in, but received none. His face, usually red, was pale and sickly. Another man stood beside my father. His clothes were plain, and he had not the look of a fighting man about him. As he stood there, slightly stooped with inky fingers, he seemed sinister somehow. Then I recognized him: Thomas Cromwell. He was a close friend of my father, and adviser to King Henry.

We stood in silence a moment. I felt Gregory take my hand and gripped his fingers, taking comfort from the clasp. I could feel the happiness draining out of me, leaving me hollow and sick. Something was terribly wrong. Gregory felt it too.

My father glanced at us and looked irritated at the sight of our clasped hands.

‘Hungerford,’ he snapped, using my cousin’s surname, ‘there is a gift awaiting my son in the schoolroom. Please take him there!’

Gregory cast me a frightened glance as he left the room.

Little Walter looked surprised, but went willingly enough, giving Father a hug on the way out.

‘Sir Walter?’ asked Mother tentatively. ‘Is something amiss?’

‘Amiss? Indeed it is!’ he barked, with none of his usual warmth. ‘
You
are amiss, my
lady
!’ The emphasis turned my mother’s title into an insult, and she paled, grasping at a chair for support.

I stared at my father in disbelief. Where was my happy, loud, blustering father? He was transformed.

One of the men stepped forward.

‘Lady Elizabeth, you are under suspicion of practising witchcraft and of infidelity,’ he stated coldly. ‘You are to come with us.’

I felt my insides freeze as the words sank in. Witchcraft? Not my mother. The memory of the village woman who had been burned at the stake as a witch returned painfully to my mind. I was eight when it happened. I remembered her screams, the stench of burning flesh, and the way her long hair had caught and burned like a torch.

I began shuddering, my breath coming short. I looked at my mother in disbelief. She was white about the lips.

‘Walter, dearest … ?’ she faltered. ‘Is this some terrible jest?’

That’s it, I thought. It’s a jest. He’s teasing, just like she teased me about my dreadful sewing earlier. Like he teases us about the presents. In a moment he’ll laugh and they’ll hug each other.

‘Do you deny, ma’am, that you have lain with other men in my absence? That you have brewed potions to ensnare me anew on my return?’ My father’s voice was cold and hard. I gasped with shock.

‘Walter, please … our daughter. Eleanor,’ whispered my mother disjointedly.

‘Do you deny the charge?’ Father demanded, his voice icy, and his eyes not quite meeting hers.

‘I never … no, I mean yes. Of course I deny it. Walter, please, what madness has come over you? I pray you, end this foolish game.’

‘I’m ending it now, ma’am.’ He turned to his knights. ‘Seize her. Take her to the top room of the south-west tower. My chaplain has prepared it for her reception.’

‘No! Walter, no!’ my mother cried out. She reached out her hands to him, desperation in her face. ‘God be my witness, our children have been my companions by day and my only bedfellows by night! Who has told you such lies?’

Sir Walter ignored her, merely nodding to his men.

At once they seized Mother by the arms and began dragging her away. She struggled and cried out, but then went limp, as though resigned to her fate.

Until that moment, shock and disbelief had held me frozen in passive horror. It suddenly lifted. I ran to my mother and flung my arms around her.

‘No, Father!’ I cried. ‘You can’t! It’s not true … ’

I could not believe this could be happening. What was my father thinking of? Or was it another man, a stranger, pretending to be my father?

Another guard stepped forward and tore me away from my mother. As she was taken from the room, I wrenched myself free of my captor and seized Sir Walter by the arm, shaking it urgently.

‘Father! She’s done nothing wrong! Tell them to let her go!’

‘Be silent, girl!’ He glared at me a moment, and I saw his eyes dancing madly and beads of sweat standing out on his forehead. I recoiled slightly and he shook me off in disgust, as though I were a rat or a cockroach, giving me a shove so that I fell to the floor. I was furious. My mother had often deplored my temper. It flared now. Here I was in this room which just a few moments ago had been bright with happiness. It was all gone, and in its place were swirling mists of pure rage. I got up and punched Father in the stomach. He did not flinch. I had forgotten his chain mail beneath his tunic. The pain in my hand merely fuelled my anger. I began to kick his shins and yell.

‘You piece of filth!’ I shouted. ‘You madman! Let Mother go, at once!’

He went to push me again. This time I caught his hand and sank my teeth into it until I tasted blood.

Sir Walter’s scream of pain echoed around the chamber. I heard him yell. ‘You witch’s spawn, you’ll pay for that!’

His voice had a high-pitched, almost insane note in it. I heard him yell an order and the next thing I knew I had been lifted bodily off the ground and was being carried out of the room. I lashed out with my feet at my captors. My foot sank into soft flesh more than once. They grunted, but didn’t slacken their hold.

‘Lock her in one of the top rooms,’ snarled my father. ‘Perhaps a couple of days with no food will tame her.’

I was dragged roughly up the spiral staircase. I fought the men every step of the way. Then, sitting on the dusty floor of an empty room with the door locked behind me, I wrapped my arms around my knees and rocked myself to and fro, shaking.

‘I’ll rescue you, Mother,’ I vowed quietly, in a voice that sounded quite unlike my own. ‘If he doesn’t realize his mistake first, I’ll set you free myself.’

I was young then, and did not realize that the very power and wealth I admired in my father would be turned against me. Petted and indulged as I had been up to that point in my life, I did not understand how impossible it is for a child to set herself against an adult.

Spring 1540 (four years later)

My dearest Eleanor,

Thank you for the new embroidery. It helps to pass the time, which crawls by so slowly. I do believe I have counted almost every minute of the four years that have passed since I was locked in here. It feels like a lifetime. A nightmare that will never end.

I saw you out riding today and imagined I was with you.

Your loving mother,

Elizabeth

I ran the brush vigorously along Arianna’s flank, and then stroked her gleaming coat. She was a grey, but so light as to be almost white. She shone in the sun.

‘I’m to be betrothed again, Tom. Have you heard?’ I asked.

‘Aye, Mistress Eleanor. Everyone knows it, I reckon. Why the sad face? The last one died before you could be married, and no harm done.’