The Lady in the Tower (32 page)

‘Old enough?’ I asked, surprised. ‘But you are quite old!’

‘I am but three and twenty, Eleanor. But no doubt that seems ancient to you.’

‘Now you are teasing me again,’ I said, uncertainly.

‘Not at all,’ he assured me, and looked down at me with a smile that made me feel strangely breathless. It’s because he is so close, I told myself. I have never been so near to a gentleman before.

Caesar was walking at a leisurely pace, and the streets, though busy, were not thronged with crowds as they had been further back. The pommel of the saddle was beginning to cause me pain, but I was not sure how to say so.

‘May I not walk again?’ I asked at last. Stanton’s arm tightened a little around me.

‘It is a long way,’ he objected. ‘Are you not comfortable?’

‘Not very. Can you not at least stop one moment?’ I asked him. As Stanton pulled Caesar up, I leant back against him and swung one leg over the pommel, so I was sitting astride. It was a great relief to sit straight, but I could not help sliding back against my companion. He did not seem perturbed, and threaded his arms under mine.

‘Will you not allow me to take the reins?’ I asked.

‘I am the one who knows the way,’ he said, giving Caesar the office to move on again.

‘Or perhaps you prefer to direct your own horse?’ I hazarded. ‘Rather than trusting me to do so?’

‘Not at all,’ Stanton said at once. He handed the reins to me and placed his hands on my waist instead. I suspected I had been somehow outwitted again. I felt Caesar’s mouth with the reins and he blew gently through his nose in response. He was a fine horse, far better mannered than my cousin’s mount.

‘Do your skirts not incommode you, Mistress Eleanor?’ Stanton asked.

‘Oh—I had them made full so that riding would be no problem.’

I felt rather than heard Stanton chuckle.

‘You choose to laugh at me?’ I demanded.

‘Not at all. I admire your forethought. A side-saddle must be most restrictive, though I confess I had never thought on the matter before.’

‘Of course not. You are a man!’ I pointed out. ‘My cousin thinks it is immodest for me to ride astride,’ I added. ‘No doubt you agree.’

‘On the contrary, I find it intrepid.’

‘Now you are laughing at me again,’ I accused him.

‘I am sometimes serious, Eleanor,’ Stanton responded.

I was surprisingly at ease now, enjoying the rhythm of Caesar’s gait. I had not been on horseback since I had arrived in Bath, and I had missed it. We rode down street after street, and through a park, with Stanton giving me directions from time to time. I relaxed, leaning against him, guiltily enjoying his warmth against my back. There was a comfortable silence between us.

At last we turned into a street that was familiar to me, and I realized we were nearly at my uncle’s house. I sat up a little straighter and began to wonder what my aunt had made of my long absence. Stanton spoke once more.

‘Eleanor, before we reach your uncle’s house, there is something I need to say to you.’

‘Yes?’ I asked, nervously, for his tone was grave.

‘You told me in Bath that you did not wish to marry me. You expressed yourself strongly on the subject. I know why now.’

I felt my cheeks grow hot and found I had not enough control over my voice to reply, so I merely nodded slightly.

‘Our fathers arranged the marriage. Yours is now dead, and mine imprisoned. I want you to know that if you still wish it, I release you from the betrothal, freely and unconditionally. I will not hold you to the promise you made. It was made under duress.’

There was a pause. I was not sure what reply to make. I felt confused and hurt. Was he releasing me for my sake or for his own? I could imagine it would be intolerable to be connected with the scandal attaching to my father’s death and particularly given the charges of incest against him. No one would wish to take a bride who was thought to have lain with her own father. My throat was tight, and stupidly, I felt inclined to cry. But I never cry, I told myself angrily, fighting to regain control over myself.

‘Do you understand, Eleanor?’ asked Stanton at length.

‘I understand, my lord,’ I said. ‘And I still wish to be released.’ It almost choked me to utter the words, but I managed it. My pride required me to say them. I could not force such a scandal on any man.

‘There will be no breach of promise,’ Stanton assured me.

I cleared my throat and said: ‘I understand, my lord. You are very generous.’ My voice wobbled a little, but I hoped he would not notice.

Stanton reined in outside the front door and dismounted. As he reached up to help me down from the saddle, his face looked unusually grim. I slid down into his arms, and attempted to smile at him, and to find a lighter note for our parting:

‘I am persuaded your lordship never cared for an unwilling bride,’ I said brightly. There was no answering smile in his face as he looked down at me.

‘No, Eleanor,’ he said gently. ‘I do not wish for an unwilling bride.’

I could feel the blood rushing to my face again. Stanton was so close to me that I could see every fleck of colour in his dark eyes and the outline of a small scar on one cheek. The thought came to me that he was near enough for me to reach up and kiss him. I wondered at myself. What had put such a thought in my head? He no longer wanted a kiss from me.

Stanton stepped back from me, took my hand and touched it to his lips.

‘Farewell, Eleanor,’ he said and turned and pulled on the bell rope beside the door. I heard the familiar peal within and heard footsteps and voices approaching.

The front door was flung open, and my aunt issued from it, crying: ‘Eleanor! Thank the Lord! Where have you been?’

‘I found her at Tower Hill, Ma’am,’ Stanton replied for me.

‘We guessed as much. Oh, Eleanor, do you not know how worried we have been? Your uncle is out searching for you, we were so afraid … How could you? Lord Stanton, I cannot tell you how grateful I am that you have brought her safely back to us! Truly, you are our good angel.’

I remained silent, whilst my aunt hugged me and fussed over me, clicking her tongue over the state of my gown. ‘Come inside, Eleanor. You must be worn out. Lord Stanton, you will come in also? My husband will want to thank you, I know. Come and take a glass of ale or wine.’

‘Thank you, Madam, I have much business to attend to today,’ Stanton excused himself, bowing courteously to Lady Jane. ‘I will not intrude.’ So saying he swung himself back into the saddle and took his leave. I watched him ride away up the street. He did not look back. As he turned the corner and disappeared from view it struck me that I would never see him again.

I slept uneasily for several hours and awoke feeling miserable. I told myself it was my father’s death that lay heavy upon me, but it was more than that.

My aunt was in the garden, seated in the shade, fanning herself. It was a hot day and the stench of the city was everywhere: in the garden, but also stealing into the house. It was a smell of things rotting; of death and decay.

I was heavy and listless, and could not concentrate on anything. Not on my stitching, not on my aunt’s conversation. Aunt Jane wanted to know everything: how I had got to Tower Hill, how the two men had died, and how Lord Stanton had found me. When she asked what had passed between Lord Stanton and myself, I fell silent. I was still pondering all that he had said to me; turning his words over in my mind. I was not ready to share them. My aunt must know, I thought, of what my father was accused. She must wonder about the truth of it. But she does not ask.

I understood that my uncle and aunt were trying to protect me by keeping silent. It would have been a relief to talk about it. But when I thought of broaching the subject, I squirmed with shame and embarrassment.

‘Eleanor, you look so very sad,’ my aunt’s voice broke in.

‘I’m sorry?’ I asked her, focusing my eyes on her with some difficulty.

‘My dear girl, you have been miles away! I’ve been watching you staring into the distance. You haven’t yet set a stitch. Are you unwell?’

‘Just tired, Aunt,’ I assured her.

‘Or still shocked by what you witnessed this morning. It is hardly surprising.’ She reached forward and clasped my hand warmly. ‘I think you need to give your thoughts a new direction. How about an outing?’

‘Oh, Aunt Jane, please, no. I could not … ’ I uttered distractedly.

‘Nonsense, my dear! A little shopping always does one good when one is feeling dismal. I shall order the carriage at once.’

I made a slight move to beg her not to, but she shook her head at me. ‘It is vital that we both go into mourning as soon as possible. There will be scandal enough surrounding your father’s death. We must take care not to add to it. So we shall go to my dressmaker and select some fabrics for her to make up. Will you not like to have a new dress? To be sure, it will have to be black, which is not what one would choose at this season, but still, it will look very handsome with your hair colour.’

‘You are very good to me, Aunt Jane. I am sorry to be bringing such disgrace and so much expense upon you,’ I told her.

My aunt looked sharply at me, but waved my apology away.

‘Nonsense, Eleanor. You are the daughter I never had. It is a pleasure to have you here.’

I doubted her truthfulness, but I could not doubt her kindness. I made no more objections to the outing, which took the rest of the day. I made an effort to appear interested and engaged, but it was hard work. I was drained when we returned home.

A few days dragged by. My uncle and aunt were very kind to me. They talked about Sir Walter, about the loss of Thomas Cromwell and what that would mean to the kingdom, and about my mother and her probable marriage to Sir Thomas now that she was widowed. In fact they talked about everything and anything they thought might interest me. But none of it did. My thoughts were bleak.

Often, I found myself dwelling on the emptiness of my future. I saw myself an unwanted member of Sir Thomas’s household, with nothing to look forward to but an endless spinsterhood. Not even the thought of being with Mother could comfort me when I contemplated it. I also wondered what she had thought when she heard the accusations against her husband. Perhaps she even believed them.

One morning a visitor was announced. My aunt had gone out to call on an elderly friend, so I went to greet the caller alone. He turned as I entered the room.

‘Cousin,’ I cried in delighted surprise.

‘Eleanor,’ Gregory said, stepping forward and grasping my outstretched hand. ‘I can only stay a moment. I am on my way out of London. How are you?’

‘I am well enough,’ I told him. ‘And you?’

‘It has been a difficult time,’ my cousin said sombrely. ‘You have lost a father, and I an uncle.’

‘Thank you for taking care of … the burial and all such matters,’ I said awkwardly.

‘Not at all. Eleanor, there is something I must tell you. The night before the execution, I stayed with your father in the Tower. He was no longer sane. He raved and shouted. But he also had lucid spells, where he could speak rationally. I asked him about Lord Stanton. I have never believed he was involved in the plot against your mother. Sir Walter admitted that he was not. He only told you that to prevent you confiding in him. Do you see? If you believed him to be involved, you would not seek his help. It was a lie.’

‘That possibility had occurred to me. Do you think Sir Walter was telling the truth, Gregory?’ I asked timidly.

Gregory took my hand again. ‘Yes, I do. He did not say this with any tone of regret. In fact I felt he was still congratulating himself on the cunning of his plan. But I believe he was telling the truth.’

‘I think he was too,’ I said quietly.

Gregory stayed only a few moments more. He had urgent business on his father’s estates, he told me. I was disappointed. I would like to have spoken to him at greater length. We stood looking at each other awkwardly, and then impulsively I embraced him. Gregory hugged me back.

‘God bless you, Eleanor,’ he said, and took his leave.

My aunt found me in my uncle’s library, staring at a book without reading it, and laid a gentle hand upon my shoulder.

‘What is the matter, niece?’ she asked gently. ‘We are worried about you, Edward and I. We cannot account for your lowness. You are so pale and wan. My dear, I do not think I have ever seen you cry before.’

‘I never cry,’ I gasped, even as the tears ran down my cheeks. My aunt drew me gently into her arms and held me. This was my undoing and I began to sob in earnest. ‘Oh, Aunt Jane, I am so unhappy!’

‘I can see that, my love. We cannot understand that you grieve so deeply for your father.’

‘It is not that,’ I said, covering my face with my hands for shame. The tears trickled through my fingers, and I sniffed hopelessly.

‘Can you not tell me? Here, take this.’ My aunt released me, and held out her clean handkerchief, which I accepted gratefully, dabbing at my eyes.

‘What then?’ she urged, as I wiped my face. ‘What else can distress you so? Was it Lord Stanton? Does he hold you to your betrothal? I confess, I had not thought he would do so.’