I shone the lantern onto the walls, taking care not to allow any light to fall upon the sleeping man.
There. Suddenly I saw them. They were lying on a small chest next to his bed. I took a step closer to him. And then another. I put out my hand and took hold of my prize. There was a faint clinking as I picked them up. It sounded loud in my ears but the chaplain did not stir.
I crept backwards out of the room, crossed the outer chamber and then I was out in the fresh air, flying across the inner court. Abandoning my lantern at the foot of the Lady Tower, I fumbled with the bunch of keys, searching for the right one. It was the biggest and the newest key and it turned easily in the lock. I tore up the spiral staircase, heedless now of noise, and hammered on the topmost door.
‘Mother!’ I cried. ‘Mother, it is I, Eleanor!’
This key was harder to find and fit to the lock in the deep darkness of the stairway. But at last the lock clicked back and I flung open the door.
I could see Mother like a deeper shadow in the darkness.
‘Eleanor, is that really you?’ I heard her voice utter faintly.
I dropped to my knees beside her and threw my arms around her.
I hugged her tight in the darkness, noticing how thin and frail she felt.
‘Eleanor, it’s the middle of the night,’ protested Mother, half crying, half laughing. We clung to one another, and Mother was kissing me on the cheek, and stroking my hair. It was comforting.
‘What are you doing here?’ Mother asked.
‘Mother, you are in such danger. I am so afraid for you,’ I said. ‘Did you get my note?’
‘I did, an hour since, and I penned a reply by candlelight. You must not fear. I shall eat or drink nothing that does not come from you, my dear one.’
I pulled back, trying to look at her face, but I could not see it in the darkness. The window was closely shuttered. I got up and threw open the shutters to let in what little light there was. It turned the room a ghostly grey, but I could still not see the expression on Mother’s face.
‘Does the chaplain not wonder that you eat and drink nothing?’ I asked her.
‘Eleanor, my dearest girl, I am not stupid. I throw the food and drink he brings into the moat.’
‘Mother, leave Farleigh with me,’ I begged her. ‘Right now, while I have the key.’
‘In the middle of the night?’ asked my mother gently. ‘How would we get out?’
‘We cannot, but we could hide in the stables and leave at first light, when they let down the drawbridge,’ I urged her. ‘Before they discover you are missing. Please. I cannot bear being parted from you like this. I cannot live with the dread of what they might do to you.’
‘Eleanor.’ Mother stroked my hair back from my face. ‘Do you really think the guards would let me pass? And if they did, where would we go? Do you have money? For I have none.’
I shook my head despairingly.
‘Not a single coin.’
Mother hugged me again, and rocked me a little in her arms.
‘We must pray that your father relents, my dear daughter,’ she whispered. She took my face in her hands and they were thin and dry like birds’ feet. ‘Are you well, at least, Eleanor? Does he treat you properly?’
‘I am well enough,’ I replied. ‘But I am to be betrothed again. I dread to think who my husband will be. If he is half as old and repulsive as the last one, I would rather die than marry him. And if I am forced to wed him and leave Farleigh, who will take care of you?’
‘Perhaps,’ said Mother, ‘he may be a good man. You could tell him of my situation. He may be able to help. To speak to the king or to Thomas Cromwell.’
‘I could try,’ I replied doubtfully. ‘But, Mother, Cromwell will not help you. He is Sir Walter’s closest friend. And I overheard him the other day, ordering the chaplain to … ’
‘Hush … ’ said Mother suddenly, clutching my arm. ‘I hear something.’
The words had barely left her when the door behind me swung open. There was the click of a lantern being unshuttered and a light shone into my eyes. From somewhere behind the light a male voice spoke.
‘Well, well. What a nice surprise, Mistress Eleanor.’
CHAPTER FIVE
I jumped to my feet. I could not see who the speaker was, but I knew his voice. The chaplain was standing in the room with us, and I could well imagine his malicious glee. But there was another man with him. A second lantern moved into the small room, and lit up the angry face of my father, a tunic and leggings hastily pulled over his nightshirt by the look of him. His hair was tousled and his eyes were wild. He had none of the chaplain’s calm enjoyment of the situation.
‘Father?’ I faltered. My lips felt numb with shock as I tried to speak. I realized my hands were shaking and took hold of the folds of my gown to steady them.
The chaplain stepped forward and stopped right in front of me.
‘Did you really think we were so easy to fool? That I did not hear you sneaking into my room like some shameless wanton? Like a thief in the night?’
His breath was in my face, smelling of wine and meat.
I turned away from the chaplain. It was useless to appeal to his finer feelings. He had none.
‘Father,’ I begged. ‘I miss Mother. Is it so very bad to want to see her?’
‘Address me as Sir Walter, if you please,’ he snapped.
‘And don’t pretend you had no motive in coming here. We have been at the door long enough to hear what you are planning.’
My heart jumped into my mouth as I remembered urging my mother to flee.
‘Bring her,’ ordered Sir Walter abruptly. The chaplain nodded. He grasped my arm in a painfully tight grip. I resisted, twisting around to look at Mother. But she sat huddled on the bed, hugging her knees, moaning softly. I wondered what they had done to her to break her spirit so.
The chaplain marched me out through the door which Sir Walter held open. I gave one last anguished backwards glance. The banging of the door echoed round the tower, and I heard the stolen keys rattle in the lock.
I was pushed and pulled all the way to my father’s great chamber, my arm twisted painfully behind me. The chaplain left us alone. My father locked the door behind him and pocketed the key. I felt fear beginning to rise in me. The father I had once loved was long gone. In his place stood a wild animal. Unpredictable and dangerous. He might do anything.
Sir Walter leaned back against the wall and folded his arms.
‘So you sneak around the stables eavesdropping on private conversations, do you?’ he asked.
‘No, Sir Walter,’ I said, forcing my voice to be meek and casting my eyes down in what I hoped was an apologetic, submissive way. I had discovered over the years that it was the way to provoke the least anger from him. ‘I overheard you quite by chance that day.’
And how much had Sir Walter heard of our conversation, I wondered, casting my mind back over what had been said. Had he overheard that I smuggled food and notes to Mother? If he had, we were in very serious trouble. Surely he could not have followed me up the staircase in time to have heard that?
Sir Walter stepped forward, took hold of a handful of my hair and twisted it so that I cried out and was forced to my knees.
‘Don’t even think about talking to your future husband about me or my business,’ he hissed in my ear. ‘He knows everything. He is deep in my confidence. And you breathe one word to him, or to anyone else, about your mother, I will know at once. Do you understand me?’
‘How can I, when I don’t even know who he is?’ I cried angrily.
‘You’ll know soon enough. I asked you if you understand me!’
‘Yes, Sir Walter,’ I gasped, the pain of my twisted hair making my eyes water.
‘You went to Doctor Horde at the priory once. Do you remember? I found out the very same day.’
‘I remember,’ I said bitterly. Dr Horde was the prior of the monastery at Henton Charterhouse. I had gone to him for help ye
ars ago, but my father had somehow found out. I had been locked up without food for days. I wondered what my punishment would be this time.
Abruptly, I was released, and got to my feet panting with relief. Sir Walter was looking at his hand, with the strangest expression on his face. I saw several long auburn hairs lying across his palm. The same colour his own hair had been before it was touched with grey.
He spoke again and his tone was changed.
‘Why, Eleanor?’ he asked. Sir Walter was now gazing at me with such intensity that it made me uncomfortable. ‘Remember you are my daughter,’ he said softly. ‘Why don’t you forget that evil witch, and you and I can be friends? We can be allies.’
‘She’s not an evil witch,’ I cried. ‘She’s Mother. And you are wrong to lock her up.’
‘How dare you question my actions?’ roared Sir Walter, making me jump. ‘I’ll teach you some manners! And I’ll teach you what will happen to you if you dare to defy me.’
He stepped back from me and began to unbuckle his belt. There was a look of hard anger on his face. I felt my legs give way in fear and I fell once more to my knees. I had never been thrashed. Surely he would not do so?
‘Father, please. Sir Walter, I mean. I’m sorry if I’ve angered you.’
He took hold of the buckle end of the belt and twisted it firmly around his right hand, drawing the leather through his left hand in a menacing way. Cold terror gripped me.
‘Please, please, don’t hit me,’ I begged him, despising myself even as I spoke the words.
My father said not a word. As the blows began to rain down on me I could not help crying out, though I stifled my cries as much as possible, gritting my teeth together and clenching my fists. I tried to turn from him, to evade the lashes, but he pursued me relentlessly, delivering blow after blow. He struck me hard on my back, my arms, and my legs—I had never felt such pain. The stinging leather struck every part of me except my face. Even at the time I noticed that he avoided my face.
Eventually I lay curled in a tight ball on the floor, my arms over my head, whimpering like a baby. I am ashamed to admit it, but I fear it’s the truth. At last the blows ceased and I dared look up. Sir Walter was leaning against his desk, panting and sweating, his face a contorted mask of hate and rage. The disgust I felt for him gave me a little strength.
‘Get up!’ he snarled. I struggled to my feet, hurting and smarting all over. The floor swayed under me and my legs felt unsteady.
Sir Walter passed a hand over his face, and his mood changed abruptly once more.
‘Do you understand now, Eleanor?’ he asked, and his tone was haunted. ‘I did not want to hurt you. But I cannot have you turning out like your mother.’ Sir Walter’s tone was pleading, like a small child who had been naughty. I felt a wave of sickness sweep over me, and recoiled from him. My father approached me closer and took my hand. My skin crawled at his touch. I forced myself to remain still and neither flinch nor look at him. When he got no response, he flung me from him. Sir Walter unlocked the door and threw it open. ‘Go,’ he snarled, his voice surly.
I did not need telling twice.
CHAPTER SIX
My dearest Eleanor,
I hope you have not been punished for what you did last night. I shall not be easy until I have heard you are well. It was wonderful to see you and I shall pass many days enjoying the memory of holding my dear daughter in my arms once more. But please, Eleanor. Never take such a risk again.
Elizabeth
I lay face down on my palliasse for two days after that fateful night. My body was bruised and cut and I could not move without grievous pain. No one knew what had occurred and so no one came to tend me.
Eventually, thirst and my fear for Mother drove me downstairs.
‘Mercy, Mistress, whatever happened to you?’ cried Betsey as she saw me limping, stooped and faint, into the kitchen. I knew I must look a sight. I had not washed nor even put a brush to my hair in two days. My mouth and skin felt parched from lack of water.
As briefly as possible I told Betsey what had occurred and she threw her hands up in horror. She made me sit down on a footstool and drink some milk, fussing over me like a mother hen.
‘What about Mother?’ I asked. ‘She’s had nothing for two days either.’
Betsey looked concerned, but said, ‘Perhaps that’s just as well, Mistress, if they’re watching her at the moment. You could have put her in real danger with that jaunt of yours.’
‘I was trying to help,’ I murmured.
‘I knows that,’ said Betsey, grasping my shoulder. I winced and she released me.
‘Perhaps I can take something to Alice today,’ offered Betsey.
‘No,’ I cried. ‘Do not! If I am caught leaving the castle with food, it is alms for the poor. If you are caught, it would be stealing.’
Betsey acknowledged this with a reluctant nod.
‘But you’re not well enough, Mistress,’ she said anxiously.
‘I will be in a few moments,’ I said firmly. ‘This milk is giving me new strength already. Oh, and Betsey, I promised Alice some milk. Her baby is ailing and her other children are suffering hunger.’
Betsey nodded and bustled away to get the provisions together.
It was a struggle to walk to the village, but I was well rewarded by Alice’s joy in seeing me safe and in receiving the gifts of bread and milk for her family. She also tended some of my cuts with vinegar. It stung greatly, but gave some relief.
‘We wondered what in the world could have happened to you, Mistress,’ Alice said. ‘I knew you’d never stay away on purpose. We took your mother some water last night, but we had no food to spare but a crust of bread.’
‘Bless you for your help,’ I told her gratefully.
Sir Walter sent a message to me that very night: one of the kitchen maids knocked on the door of my attic room.
‘Begging your pardon, Mistress Eleanor, but master says you’re to dine in the hall with the guests tonight,’ she said nervously, bobbing a quick curtsey.
I heard her with dismay, and merely nodded a silent dismissal. I did not want to set eyes on my father. It was repugnant to have to show him smiles and obedience. Moreover, I was still so sore, it was hard for me to move about. But I knew I had little choice.
So I was ordered to dine with the guests. I was to be a part of the Hungerford family once more, no longer banished to the servants’ table. I felt anxious about this, quite apart from my bodily hurts. I no longer felt sure I knew how to dine in polite company. I also feared it meant my betrothal was approaching. Perhaps my future husband was already in the castle.
Moreover I had a practical difficulty. What was I to wear? While my brother had had clothes and gifts aplenty from Sir Walter, I had had nothing in four years.
I pulled all my old clothes from my linen chest and searched through them for a kirtle or a gown that might still fit me. One by one, I pulled them on, wincing as they chafed my maltreated body. I shook my head in despair. Here was nothing that would not shame me before visitors. No fifteen year old can look presentable in dresses made for an eleven year old, and to make things worse, I had grown tall for my age. My skirts did not cover my ankles, my sleeves were strangers to my wrists, and my breasts pushed uncomfortably against the too-tight fabric of the kirtles. Finally, and with great reluctance, I pulled on the green kirtle and cloth of gold gown I had worn for my previous betrothal, covered it with a shawl, and sought my father. He was in his office, giving audience to a long line of tenants who doubtless had many complaints and requests to make of their landlord. He had been little enough at Farleigh over the last four years.
I went to the front of the queue. The steward stopped me at the door.
‘Mistress Eleanor?’ he asked, a questioning lift to his brows.
‘I must see Sir Walter about an urgent matter,’ I explained in a low voice. He nodded and soon ushered me into my father’s presence. I was met with a hefty frown.
‘What
is it, girl? I have much business to conduct today.’ He shifted impatiently in his seat. I dropped a curtsey and kept my eyes lowered. This was the room where I had been beaten so recently. It was not pleasant to be here again.
‘Sir Walter. I am sorry to intrude. I received your message about dinner tonight and I find myself in a sad difficulty.’
I did not wish to argue or provoke him today either. I was safer if he believed me to be compliant.
‘What?’ he barked. ‘Spit it out!’
I lifted my eyes briefly to his face to gauge his mood then cast them humbly down once more. ‘I have nothing to wear that will not shame you, my lord,’ I said apologetically. You mean, traitorous dog, I added silently.
I lifted my arms to show him the shortness of my sleeves and saw his eyes wander over my ill-fitting bodice.
‘Damnation,’ he swore loudly. ‘This should have been thought of.’ He banged his fist down on the table suddenly. I jumped, but held my ground. ‘More expense to deck you out in finery,’ he muttered. There was silence for a few moments except for the impatient drumming of his fingertips on the desktop. Then he rose suddenly to his feet and kicked a chair brutally across the floor.
‘A curse on your head, you little witch!’ he shouted. ‘Stay in your room for a few days until you can be suitably dressed. Eat your meals in the kitchen. None of your sneaking about. I’ll give out that you are indisposed.’
I was trembling with fright, praying that he would not let his anger loose on me again. I managed to curtsey and was leaving as quickly as I could, when my eye fell on a Bible lying on Sir Walter’s table. I paused, without realizing what I did, and stared at it. It was bound in leather and I could see it was printed, not scribed.
‘What are you staring at, girl?’ demanded Sir Walter irascibly. ‘Oh, the new Coverdale Bible. That cost me more than my three best tournament horses. Aye, I can see you are dying to look at it. Well, you may borrow it, if it will keep you in your room. It’s no use to me. I bought it to please the king.’
The Lady in the Tower Page 4
