The Lady in the Tower

by Marie-Louise Jensen

  ‘Another parcel! What are you so busy carrying out of the castle every day?’ he demanded.

  ‘I am not yet answerable to you for my actions!’ I cried. ‘But if you must know, it is food for the poor of the village.’

  Stanton held out his hand. ‘Show me!’ he asked. It was more of an order than a request.

  ‘It is none of your business what alms Sir Walter chooses to give his tenants!’

  ‘That is true,’ he agreed solemnly. ‘But I have an insatiable curiosity about you, you see. So when I see you leaving the castle every day with a bundle—there’s no point denying it—I have to know what you are doing. You are always so busy, Eleanor, so rarely to be found with the other ladies. One cannot pay court to you in the usual manner.’

  ‘I do not want you to pay court to me,’ I replied angrily. ‘I just want you to let me alone.’

  ‘So you keep telling me.’

  In one swift movement, he caught me round the waist, deftly twitched the bundle out of my hand and shook it open.

  ‘You must not! Truly!’ I cried in alarm, as my mother’s precious provisions rolled onto the dirty stone floor.

  ‘How interesting.’ I heard Stanton’s voice above me as I scrabbled on the floor attempting to salvage the food. ‘Such luxury items for the poor of the village! Pie, sweetmeats, and apples. It must be a most valued tenant.’

  I blushed and didn’t look up.

  ‘How unlikely, Eleanor. And how very shocking that you are such an accomplished liar. Do you have any other surprising talents that I should know about before we are wed?’

  I did not reply, but my face was burning with fury as much as with shame. As I stood up, I stamped hard, aiming for his foot, but he moved it just in time, and my foot thudded painfully on to the stone floor instead.

  ‘You cannot catch me out with that one twice, dearest,’ he said provocatively.

  Stanton was still holding the napkin that my bundle had been wrapped in. With a sickening jolt of fear, I saw my note to Mother flutter out of it. I dropped the food I was holding and dived for it, but Stanton snatched it away and my fingers closed on air. He straightened and waved it tantalizingly out of reach.

  ‘A love letter, Eleanor?’ he asked, brows raised. ‘That would certainly explain why my suit is so repugnant to you. You have a rustic lover in the village. A rustic who can read, no less. Tell me it’s not the blacksmith’s son!’

  ‘No, the blacksmith has no son,’ I replied, confused and flustered. ‘I have no lover.’

  Stanton thought he was merely teasing me, having fun, but if he read that note, all would be at an end. What had I written? Dear God, I had urged Mother to flee, and described Stanton as a monster. I quailed at the thought of him reading it. If he could read, that is. I had no way of knowing. He would take it to Sir Walter … I dared not think further.

  ‘You have no chivalry in you, my lord, to use me like this. Please, will you not give it back to me and let me go my way?’ My voice wanted to tremble, but I governed it. I would show him no weakness.

  ‘Indeed, I cannot, Eleanor,’ Stanton replied. His voice was serious now, the smile gone from his face. He took a step towards me, and I felt suddenly breathless and afraid. I backed away. The tension was unbearable.

  ‘Will you give me back my letter?’ I pleaded.

  Stanton smiled again. ‘I will, but only upon certain terms.’

  ‘Terms? What do you mean?’

  ‘I wish to ride into the tournament with your favour upon my lance. And you will bestow it publicly. With the appearance, at least, of goodwill. That pretty scarf you are wearing would be most suitable.’

  He reached out and touched the scarf. I flinched with annoyance. To bestow my favour before all our guests, to appear to acknowledge openly my feelings for Stanton, would be intolerable. But I had no choice.

  ‘Agreed,’ I said reluctantly, my eye on the note in Stanton’s hand.

  ‘I wasn’t finished.’ Stanton bowed slightly to acknowledge my agreement. ‘When I win the tournament, I also win a kiss from you, fair Eleanor. The kiss that you owe me.’

  ‘I owe you nothing. I’d as soon kiss a dung beetle. Sooner, in fact,’ I flung at him.

  ‘I’m sure I could find you one,’ Stanton responded without a flicker of a smile. ‘But do you not think you would prefer to kiss me when it came to it? I am not generally considered ill-looking.’

  ‘Your horse looks better from behind,’ I remarked.

  ‘I have a very fine horse,’ Stanton responded gravely.

  ‘You are certainly arrogant. What if you do not win the tournament?’

  ‘Oh, in that case, I shall relinquish the note to you without a kiss,’ he grinned.

  ‘And if I refuse your terms?’ I asked. I could feel the net closing in. I saw I would have to agree, but if there was an alternative, I would find it.

  ‘I would be most loath to read your private correspondence. I fear I should have to lay it before Sir Walter. He, as your father, would not scruple to read it.’

  ‘He cannot read,’ I retorted, trembling with fear at the thought.

  ‘A detail, Eleanor. There are people in the castle who would read it for him.’

  I stood before him, fists clenched, breathing hard. I considered the options. I could try and snatch the note now, and perhaps bite him as I once bit Sir Walter. But as I glanced at the note again, Stanton tucked it inside his doublet, as though he had read my intention. He patted it, a satisfied smile playing about his lips.

  I had no choice. I had only the hope that he would keep the note to himself and I would be gone before the tournament was over.

  ‘Very well,’ I agreed ungraciously. ‘As long as I have your word that you will not pass the note to Sir Walter.’

  ‘Word of a gentleman,’ he nodded, and handed me back the napkin. I snorted derisively.

  ‘A gentleman? No, indeed. You are only a nobleman,’ I told him. He chuckled appreciatively.

  I quickly picked up the food, even though most of it was spoiled now, and bundled it into the napkin. This time Stanton let me go. For the rest of the day I trembled with fear at the thought of the note in Stanton’s possession. What if he read it after all? What if he took it to Sir Walter? I could not be easy now until I either had the letter safe once more, or was gone from the castle.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  I am alive still, but very sick. Poison.

  Mother

  I felt such relief when I reached the village and Alice handed me a note from Mother. I opened it at once, fumbling with eagerness. The shock of her few scrawled words in a hand that clearly shook as it wrote, almost undid me.

  ‘Sit down, Mistress Eleanor! You’ve gone white as a sheet!’ exclaimed Alice. She helped me into a chair and I sank into it gratefully.

  ‘Oh, Alice! They have poisoned her again! How is that possible?’ I cried, my breath coming short. ‘She would not touch the food the chaplain takes her, I’m sure of it.’

  I don’t know, Mistress,’ said Alice shaking her head. One of her many children tugged at her skirts, whining, and Alice turned and picked him up. She hushed him, her tired face gentle with care. Then she turned to me again.

  ‘Are you sure?’ she asked, a worried crease on her brow.

  I nodded. ‘It says so here. Poison. In her very own hand.’

  Alice did not even glance at the parchment. She could not read, of course. But her expression was concerned.

  ‘Who has poisoned her? The poor angel that was so good to us. Is there not something we can do?’

  I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself after this shock. The fear for Mother’s life, never far from me, flooded through me. What if she died? I could not bear to imagine it.

  ‘I suppose it was the chaplain,’ I said. ‘I must free her somehow, Alice. But I am beset by enemies. Why, just now on my way here, my note to Mother was taken from me and the food I was bringing her dashed on the ground.’

  Alice gasped. ‘We a
re discovered?’

  ‘No, not yet. You are not. It’s … complicated.’ I felt anger with Stanton surge through me again. How dared he take that note?

  ‘If only I had some poison, I’d put it in the chaplain’s cup,’ I said bitterly. ‘It is he that holds the keys to Mother’s room.’

  ‘You don’t mean that, Mistress!’ exclaimed Alice. ‘You’d never do something so wicked!’

  ‘How else am I to get the key?’ I asked, a note of desperation in my voice. ‘I need to have him out of the way somehow.’

  Alice stared at the floor for a moment. Her son, perched upon her hip, and no doubt bored by our talk, grabbed her hair with one hand, and tried to push his other grubby hand into her mouth. She disengaged herself absent-mindedly.

  ‘I wonder … ’ she began. ‘Could you make use of a sleeping draught? That would not be so bad as poison.’

  ‘Yes, indeed, if I could procure such a thing.’

  ‘Joan might be able to help,’ said Alice tentatively.

  ‘Joan?’ I asked. The name was not familiar to me.

  ‘The wise woman. Would it help you free her ladyship?’ asked Alice.

  ‘Oh, it would!’ I breathed. All sorts of possibilities floated through my mind. If I could drug the chaplain, I was sure I might be able to free Mother.

  ‘Joan’s at the end of the street, Mistress. In the last house, with the chickens in the front garden. But she’ll want paying. Food or goods.’

  I thought of the unwanted gifts from Maria, lying in my chest. ‘I have no money, but perhaps I can trade something. Thank you, Alice. I’ll go to her now.’

  ‘Yes, Mistress. Oh, and, Mistress? Be careful. They say she’s a witch.’

  Her words sent a brief shiver down my spine. A witch! Here in the village. Mother had never mentioned a witch since the last one was burned.

  I walked between the rows of cottages, past the church, until I reached the last dwelling of the village. The garden was a profusion of colourful plants. There was nothing eerie about it, but still my skin prickled as I pushed open the broken gate and went to the front door. It opened at my first knock, taking me by surprise. A young woman not much older than myself stood at the door.

  ‘I am looking for … Joan?’ I asked, embarrassed.

  ‘That’s me. You’d better come in,’ the woman said.

  She did not look remotely like a witch, I thought, as I stepped over the threshold. I found myself in a small room, with straw upon the floor, and a few sticks of shabby furniture. It was neither clean nor dirty, neither comfortable, nor yet destitute. There were no signs of witchcraft as I understood it. But there was an intriguing and not unpleasant smell of herbs pervading the room.

  ‘What can I help you with?’ Joan asked abruptly. ‘It’s usually babies with girls of your age. You’re not with child, are you?’

  ‘No!’ I exclaimed, embarrassed. ‘Certainly not.’

  ‘Good. Cos I don’t hold with getting rid of babies,’ continued the unnerving young woman.

  ‘I’m … I’m Eleanor Hungerford,’ I began by way of explanation.

  ‘I know that,’ interrupted Joan.

  ‘Oh.’ I was finding this surprisingly difficult. ‘Then you’ll know that my mother, Lady Elizabeth, is imprisoned in the castle?’

  Joan nodded.

  ‘Alice sent me. She thought you might be able to make me up a sleeping potion or some such thing, that I can give to the chaplain who guards her. I want to help her escape.’

  ‘I can do that,’ she said. ‘What will you pay me?’

  ‘I have … an ivory comb, or some embroidered cushion covers … ’ I began uncertainly.

  She sighed.

  ‘Do I looks like I needs an ivory comb?’ she demanded. ‘Food’d be more useful.’

  ‘But much more difficult for me to bring out of the castle,’ I explained. ‘I already bring some food out for my mother and it’s risky. Can you not trade the goods?’

  She looked at me for a moment and nodded. ‘As it’s for her ladyship. Come back in two days, and I’ll have it ready.’

  ‘Thank you.’ I stood up to go, and at the door I paused, remembering Alice’s warning.

  ‘It won’t kill him, will it?’ I asked.

  ‘No. But he’ll have a head fit to bust next day,’ she said caustically.

  ‘Good.’ I gave a satisfied nod and made my way back to the castle. My fear for my mother, a few moments ago all-consuming, was now tempered with hope.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Dearest Mother,

  I am so afraid for you!

  How did this happen?

  Are you well enough to flee Farleigh? Betsey sends her best foods to make you well again.

  I love you,

  Eleanor.

  I sought out Gregory at breakfast the next day.

  ‘Good morrow, Ella,’ he greeted me cheerfully. ‘And so—the tournament begins!’

  ‘Indeed,’ I answered distractedly. ‘And do you ride?’

  ‘Nay, cousin. It is the junior event today. Shall we cheer on your brother Walter? I hear he is a true Hungerford and talented in the lists.’

  ‘Yes, he is very skilled for his age,’ I answered. I lowered my voice. ‘And what of Lord Stanton. How good is he?’

  ‘He will not be riding today either, cousin,’ replied Gregory, a twinkle in his eye.

  ‘I know that,’ I sighed impatiently. ‘But is there any danger he will win the tournament?’

  To my dismay, Gregory nodded. ‘He’s nigh unbeatable,’ he replied simply. My jaw dropped. I had not expected that.

  ‘Truly?’

  ‘Most truly. He has won almost every event he entered in years.’

  I sagged a little against the table. Then I straightened and said briskly: ‘No one is unbeatable. Who has the greatest chance of defeating him?’

  My cousin became suddenly preoccupied with his goblet, twirling it in his hand. Then, a little colour in his usually pale cheeks, he replied hesitatingly: ‘Well, I am generally considered … that is to say, I have come second to him a number of times. But Sir Peter is also … ’ He stopped and grinned. ‘What must I sound like, boasting of my own prowess?’

  ‘You sound very modest,’ I assured him at once. ‘You do not boast, and you are not arrogant like Stanton.’

  ‘Has he been boasting?’ asked Gregory, his brows lifting in surprise.

  ‘Yes, indeed. From what he said to me, I believe he expects to win. And I would dearly love to see him lose.’

  ‘How I wish I could beat him!’ exclaimed Gregory.

  ‘Is he always so arrogant?’ I asked.

  ‘I am not one of his cronies,’ shrugged Gregory. ‘But I believe him to be generally liked. His sporting prowess makes him popular and his manners and temper are generally considered good. I’ve never heard ill of him. At least not until you—’ He broke off uncomfortably, not wanting to refer to the conversation we had had the day of the hunt.

  ‘Well, I think ill of him, as you know,’ I said. ‘And I should like it very much if you were to win this tournament. In fact it is vital that you do so.’

  ‘I shall do my best, for your sake,’ bowed my cousin. ‘But tell me. Is it because you dislike him so much, or do you have a wager?’

  ‘Both,’ I replied promptly. ‘I’m relying on you, cousin!’

  As the guests left the breakfast table and made their way out to the lists, I was caught by Mistress Maria.

  ‘I expect the pleasure of your company at the lists, Eleanor.’

  I felt annoyed and suppressed it with an effort. I could see Sir Walter standing within earshot, a frown upon his brow. I curtseyed politely.

  ‘Of course,’ I said meekly. ‘I am quite ready to accompany you.’

  The event was entertaining. There was a large crowd, and many of the youngsters rode well.

  I could not help but feel excited when my brother’s herald announced him. Walter looked splendid on his sturdy mount, his legs reaching barely
halfway down its sides. His horse bore the Hungerford coat of arms on his cloth: a griffin and a long-beaked bird. The Hungerford device of the sickle was emblazoned on Walter’s tunic.

  As usual, Walter rode fearlessly and defeated his first opponent easily. I was less sure how he would do against the other contenders, especially as some of the boys were a few years older than him. But I need not have feared. Walter won round after round to resounding cheers and applause.

  There was a break for refreshments at midday, and then the event continued, with more youngsters trying their skills. The standard was high, and I cheered my brother on each time he rode.

  My cousin came by briefly in a pause between contestants.

  ‘So Walter is in the final round,’ he said excitedly. ‘A great day for the Hungerfords. He rides against the winner of the next round.’

  ‘I hope you will be as fortunate,’ I told him warmly. Gregory smiled, pleased.

  ‘Well, someone needs to defend the family name,’ he said. ‘It is a shame Sir Walter is not riding, for he was a great champion in his youth.’

  ‘Indeed, he still is,’ objected Maria, beside me. ‘The only reason he is not competing this week is because he is hosting the event. It would scarcely be fair to win it. Nor is he so very old!’ she chided. Gregory and I exchanged grins as soon as she looked to the lists once more.

  Walter rode to victory, of course. I felt jealous watching him showing off his skills. I was much better than he, and yet must sit watching, trammelled by my petticoats as he had so unkindly predicted.

  My father was glowing with pride as the king presented Walter with his prize, nicknaming him ‘Knight of Farleigh’.

  ‘Well done, Walter my boy,’ roared Sir Walter, slapping his son on the back. ‘I did the same at your age. You do our name honour.’

  Honour. Do you dare to speak of honour, I thought resentfully. I imagined my mother waiting patiently in the tower, sick from her recent poisoning. There is no honour in you. I bit my lip and glowered at my father as he continued to speak.

  ‘We will have dancing tonight, if it pleases Your Majesty,’ Sir Walter declared, bowing low to the king. ‘To celebrate my son’s victory!’ The king nodded his gracious consent, and my father hurried away to make the arrangements.