The Lady in the Tower (24 page)

The other guests all departed too, including my cousin Gregory, and even Lord Stanton. The latter had departed with my horse, as Maria took great pleasure in informing me. He did not take his leave of me.

With no guests in the house but Maria and a couple of her friends, I was kept locked in my room around the clock, allowed out only for breakfast and dinner, and not always then. In between, I paced my small chamber in a fever of boredom and anxiety. How slowly the hours passed. How had my mother endured four years of this? I forgave her every sign of weakness during our brief escape, and longed only to hear that she was well. I had no news of her, and no way of knowing whether she was safe.

I was measured for my bride clothes one morning. I was to wear a long kirtle of white satin under a gown of white brocade edged with lace, stitched with tiny pearls. A white veil was to cover my face and reach almost to the ground behind me. Maria’s friends sighed over the fabrics and the length of the veil, and told me they envied me. I, however, thought of the man I was to marry, the man who had ridden off with my horse with no word of apology.

A few days before the wedding, they began to decorate the castle. The chapel was hung with lengths of white fabric draped from the ceiling in long elegant folds. Flowers were brought in by the armful and arranged in both the chapel and the great hall. Every time I saw them, I was reminded of what lay ahead. I wondered if Dr Horde was trying to do anything to help us. If he did not come soon, it would be too late for me, though he might be able to free Mother.

After a week of dark thoughts and loneliness, and only two days to go before the wedding, there was a soft knock at my door. It was midday, and I was expecting no one till supper time. I was lying on my bed, and raised myself up on one elbow.

‘Who is it?’ I asked, wondering who, now, had the courtesy to knock.

‘Johnson, the castellan,’ came the response. ‘There’s a letter come for you, Mistress Eleanor.’

I rose from my bed and hurried to the door.

‘For me?’ I asked, surprised. Then I thought the letter might be from Dr Horde, and felt renewed hope.

‘Yes, Mistress Eleanor. All letters are supposed to go to the steward. But I … intercepted this one. Are you well?’ His voice sounded kind and concerned.

‘I am well enough,’ I said. ‘Can you not let me out?’

‘I’m sorry, Mistress. I do not have the key.’

I was disappointed. But there was still the letter. It might contain good news.

‘Who is the letter from?’

‘Mistress Eleanor, I cannot read, but I understand it’s from your aunt.’

As he spoke, there was a rustling sound, and the corner of a piece of parchment appeared under the door. I bent down to tug it through, but it stuck. We both tried to wiggle it under the gap, but to no avail.

‘Please would you break the seal?’ I begged him quietly. ‘If it were opened, it might fit underneath.’

‘Aye, if you are happy for me to do that, Mistress,’ he answered. I could hear the sound of the wax seal being broken away from the parchment, and then the crackle as he unfolded the page. The letter came through this time, only slightly torn.

‘I have it!’ I said. ‘Thank you!’

‘You are most welcome,’ he said and then I heard the sound of his footsteps fading away. Eagerly, I took the letter to the window and spread it out to read:

London June 1540

Dear Eleanor,

You will scarcely remember me, my dear niece, but I am your Aunt Jane. It has been many years since we met.

I am deeply concerned about the welfare of both yourself and my sister, Lady Elizabeth. If I tell you the good prior, Dr Horde, came to call on me several days ago, you will comprehend the rest. With this in mind, and in the knowledge that Sir Walter is currently in London, I journeyed immediately to Bath. From here I shall undertake the drive to Farleigh in my carriage in hopes of seeing you. I intend to be in Farleigh tomorrow, June the 22nd. If you cannot contrive to meet me on the road, I shall call at the castle.

Your loving aunt,

Lady Jane Cranbourne.

My aunt! I could not remember her, but I recalled Mother speaking of her. I experienced such a mixture of emotions on reading this letter that it took me some time to untangle them.

So Dr Horde had been true to his word, even after all the trouble I had brought upon him: that was kindness indeed. I felt joy and hope that others cared about us still. I also felt anxious that my aunt would be fobbed off. Perhaps she would be told that my mother was not here when she came. I had no problem imagining Maria telling her some such convincing lie. And here I was under lock and key, as helpless as Mother while my aunt was arriving tomorrow.

I needed to get out. I shook the door handle in frustration. Though I knew it was locked, I tugged at it and kicked at it in my frustration. ‘Damnation!’ I shouted.

I raged helplessly for some time before the first inkling of an idea came to me. It would take some courage, but it might just work.

I poured some water from my jug into my washbowl and washed my face, in an effort to calm myself. Then I lay down upon my bed and attempted to compose myself and rest. But, alas, I had never learned patience, and soon found myself pacing the chamber again.

The weather was wet the following morning, with the kind of rain that soaks into everything and turns the fields to bogs. It was cool for June, so it drew no remark from Maria that I took a shawl down to breakfast. I noted the chaplain was at his usual place in the hall, looking no worse for the effects of the sleeping drug I had given him.

During the course of the meal, when Maria was engaged in conversation, I seized a sharp knife from the table and concealed it quickly under my shawl. I felt my quickened heartbeat and breathlessness as I looked around to see if anyone had noticed. My hands shook a little as they clutched the knife.

As Maria escorted me back to my room after breakfast, I gripped the knife tightly, steeling myself to threaten Maria with it, or even use it. But in the event it was not necessary. As she stood before me, unlocking my door, she said over her shoulder:

‘Your wedding gown is ready. The seamstress is bringing it for you to try on this afternoon.’

‘I can hardly wait,’ I replied. As Maria half turned, looking puzzled, I gave her a great shove. Caught off balance, she tumbled full length into the chamber with a cry of pain and shock. Quick as a flash, I slammed the door shut between us and turned the key. Maria’s howl of rage when she picked herself up and discovered she was locked in made me glad that this room was so far from the main castle apartments.

As I turned to go, I had a shock myself. The castellan was a few paces away, looking at me with a worried expression on his face.

‘Mistress Eleanor! I saw you take the knife at breakfast. I was afraid … ’ He looked from me to the locked door in some trepidation.

‘I did not use it,’ I hurriedly assured him, as Maria screamed and banged on the door behind me. He looked relieved. ‘Are you willing to help me?’ I asked the castellan. ‘You have done so much for me over the years, will you do me one last service?’ He hesitated a moment, and then nodded.

‘I’ll help you, Mistress Eleanor,’ he assured me. ‘And I’m not the only one.’

‘What do you mean?’ I asked him, moving away from my door and Maria’s furious shrieks, down the corridor.

‘You and Lady Elizabeth have more friends here than you realize,’ he replied. I was surprised and pleased, but had no leisure to ponder his words. I had to succeed in escaping today.

‘What I need is some of Maria’s clothes,’ I explained. The castellan looked at me blankly. I explained: ‘So that Mother can wear them, and pretend to be her. Oh, and her horrid little black veil as well. Can you get those for me, please?’

‘I can. That’s a better plan than setting the stables alight,’ he said with a grin. ‘But what are you going to do? I cannot be party to you sticking that knife into anyone. Not even Father Rankin.’

‘I do not intend to
actually
stab him,’ I replied earnestly. ‘But I may need to threaten him.’

‘I should come with you,’ said the castellan at once. ‘You cannot deal with him alone.’

‘I can and I want to,’ I assured him. ‘No one must know that you helped me. I can’t let anyone else suffer for us. But … ’ I hesitated, thinking of a better plan than searching for the chaplain myself, ‘you could ensure that he goes to the tower. Could you perhaps find him and ask him if I have permission to be visiting Mother, as you saw me going up the stairs?’

The castellan thought about this for a moment, then he smiled his slight, thin-lipped smile.

‘Certainly,’ he told me. ‘And, Mistress Eleanor, can I once more advocate caution in the use of that knife?’

‘I promise,’ I said seriously.

He hurried away to find the chaplain, and I ran to the Lady Tower, heedless of who saw me. I had barely concealed myself behind a door near the foot of the tower when I heard the chaplain’s wheezing breathing as he approached. He was not hurrying, and he was carrying Mother’s tray. I watched Father Rankin, wondering whether the castellan had had time to find him, or whether he had come unprompted. As he jangled the keys, and then thrust the right one into the lock, I crept softly up to him and pressed the knife to his neck. He gasped and froze.

‘Keep unlocking that door,’ I ordered him. ‘And do not turn around. If you do, this knife might slip. Right into your throat,’ I said with relish. I did not feel sorry for him. My mother had suffered for four long years at his hands. The chaplain gave a strangled whimper and slowly turned the key in the lock. The door swung open.

‘Good. Now hold that tray with both hands and walk very slowly all the way up to the next door.’

I followed him, keeping the knife at his throat as he mounted the stairs before me.

It was dark on the stairs. They were lit only by arrow slits in the walls, and it was as gloomy as a winter’s day out there. I could hear the rain falling as we passed each opening, and feel the cold damp air on my skin. It seemed to take forever to shuffle up the stairs, but we reached Mother’s door at length. ‘Now open it,’ I ordered the sweating chaplain.

There had not been a sound from Mother, and I almost feared to look upon her as the door swung open. I was sure she would be thinner and weaker than ever. She stood quietly on the far side of the room. Her eyes were wide with surprise as we entered, but she looked no worse than before.

‘Mother,’ I ordered her, ‘go to the foot of the stairs and wait for me there.’

‘That man,’ said my mother, her voice quivering slightly. ‘Eleanor, I’m not leaving you alone with him. You do not know what he is capable of.’

As she spoke the chaplain twisted round, smashing the tray into my elbow. I cried out in agony as the tender elbow bone was struck. The pain almost blinded me, and I felt the knife fly from my hand. Plate, goblet, jug, and food all went flying through the air, striking me and smashing onto the floor. The noise was incredible. Gasping, eyes watering, I looked frantically for the knife. It lay at some distance from me on the floor. I dived towards it, heedless of the pain in my arm, but the chaplain was faster. Stretching full length, he snatched it up.

I gave a yell of mingled pain and fury, but even as I cried out, I saw Mother’s foot come down on the chaplain’s hand, crushing his fingers. There was a sickening crunch, and he released the knife. ‘Take it!’ shouted Mother over the chaplain’s screams. I did so, and pushed myself up to kneel beside the chaplain, the knife tip now pressing against his ribs.

‘I would dearly love to stick this into you,’ I told the man as menacingly as I could. He stilled his cries, lying still but for his panting. ‘In fact,’ I continued, ‘I’d like to slice you right open and spill your guts like a pig on butchering day. If you give me any more trouble, I shall do just that. Do you understand?’ The chaplain gave the faintest of nods, seemingly frozen with fear, but I did not trust him. ‘Shall we tie him up?’ I asked Mother. As I looked up at her, I saw her looking down at the chaplain, her face a mask of disgust.

‘If I broke your fingers,’ she told him, ‘I’m not sorry. It can be a reminder to you of all the unnecessary suffering you’ve caused me these four years.’

She turned and pulled the sheet off her bed, tore it into strips, and bound the chaplain with them. She pulled the knots tight, and then went to the door, waiting for me there. I stood up, and felt dizzy for a few seconds with the pain that was still throbbing in my elbow. Then I threw the knife onto the floor and left, locking the chaplain in. Mother and I did not speak. We simply hurried, hand in hand, down the steep spiral steps. As I locked the second door behind us, the castellan appeared, clutching a bundle of clothing. He bowed respectfully to Mother and held the bundle out to her.

‘Put them on,’ I urged her, ushering her into the privacy of a nearby room. ‘You are to be Mistress Maria. We are riding to Bath to meet your sister.’

‘My sister Jane?’ asked Mother. I could see the curiosity in her face.

‘She sent a letter, I’ll explain later.’

I left her to change and went back to thank the castellan.

‘There’s precious little to thank me for,’ he said dismissively. ‘The chaplain was already on his way here. Are you hurt?’ He indicated my dishevelled garments. There was a wet stain down the side of my dress where the water from the tray had spilled, and my gown had been torn slightly in the scuffle.

‘I’m well enough,’ I told him shakily.

‘Are you going to give me the keys?’ asked the castellan gravely.

‘No.’ I shook my head. ‘No indeed, I have quite other plans for them.’

He frowned but did not press me.

‘And so I am to lose my pupil,’ said the castellan quietly. ‘And Walter will lose his jousting partner.’

‘Whether I run away, or stay here to be married, it makes no difference.’ I shrugged. ‘But I shall be sad to give up the training. Tell me. Were you satisfied with your pupil’s performance at the tournament?’