‘My … indisposition, Your Majesty?’ I faltered.
‘It must have been a strange affliction, my dear,’ he murmured. His hand was now caressing my neck. ‘It began with a lack of appearance at the dancing, where I, you know, had been looking forward to dancing with you. Then it continued with a fire in the stables, I have been told. Most odd. And then it necessitated Lord Hungerford riding out from the castle for much of the night, and even entailed a warrant for the sudden dissolution of Henton Priory.’
His hand crept up into my hair, which he began winding around his fingers. I concentrated on breathing steadily, trying to keep from fainting.
‘I … don’t understand, Your Majesty,’ I attempted to say. It came out as a croak. The king released my hair and sat back with an impatient sigh.
‘I am many things, Mistress Eleanor, but I am not a fool. I am also an early riser, and observed your dawn return to the castle, bound at the wrists. I dislike being lied to. So do not dissemble, I pray.’
I shook my head, trying to clear it. I realized the king could be the one person who could perhaps help me. This spurred me into action. I threw myself upon my knees before him, heedless of my dress and the closeness of the fire.
‘I am sorry you have been lied to, Your Majesty,’ I pleaded. ‘It was not me who wished it so.’
‘Spare me your protestations, and tell me the truth,’ interrupted King Henry. ‘Where were you going and why?’
‘Sir Walter has my mother, his wife, locked up in the south-west tower, Your Majesty,’ I began. ‘She has been there four long years.’
The king waved his hand impatiently.
‘I know this. The poor woman is mad. Sir Walter told me so himself.’
‘Please, Your Highness, she is not mad, she is as sane as … ’ I had been about to say ‘as you are’, but realized at the last minute that this might be deeply disrespectful. I bit my lip and continued after an awkward pause: ‘As sane as anyone in the castle. I believe Sir Walter thinks of a new marriage to increase his wealth and power.’
The king observed me steadily. His small black eyes gave little away. He looked as though he were weighing my words, trying to sum me up. I sought desperately for something more to say. Something that might convince him.
‘You could help us, Your Majesty,’ I pleaded. ‘You could see to it that she was set free.’
He made an impatient gesture, a slight shrug. He was not interested. Instead, he took my hand in his and drew me back onto the settle. He put an arm around me and held me close, placing a whiskery kiss on my cheek. His stinking breath fanned over my face, making my eyes water.
‘And is that all this little adventure was about?’ he asked coaxingly. Now his free hand was stealing round my waist. I felt sick. ‘There was nothing more to it than that? It seems unlikely that Sir Walter would lie to me for so slight a reason.’ He was pulling me round to face him now. I knew he was going to kiss me any minute and I had to prevent him.
‘Sir Walter is a traitor, Sire,’ I heard myself say. Then I gasped at my own words. I was terrified of what I had said. Of what the king might do.
‘Go on.’
I swallowed hard and forced myself to go on: ‘I overheard him plotting against you.’
King Henry released me so suddenly, I almost toppled into the fire. The look on his face was thunderous. I was suddenly terrified; no longer for myself. ‘Tell me!’ he ordered, his voice like iron. I wished that I could have taken back what I said. But I could not.
‘I … he … ’ was all I could utter at first.
‘Who was he speaking to at the time?’ demanded the king.
‘Lord Cromwell,’ I admitted in a very small voice. I felt dreadful. Like a thief or a murderer.
‘And what was said? The exact words if you please.’
‘Um … something about a boy king being easier to control,’ I told him reluctantly. I dared not repeat the part about the king himself being unstable and dangerous. I was afraid I might be cast into prison just for repeating the words.
‘I see. My son Edward, no doubt. I knew it!’ He stood up with some difficulty and began to pace up and down the chamber, striking one fist into the other hand. The relief of having him at a physical distance once more was great, but I could not relax, given what I had done to achieve it. ‘And were they plotting to kill me?’ he demanded abruptly, his voice enraged. There was a dark and twisted expression on his face that I had never seen there before.
‘Not that I heard, Your Majesty. They were interrupted.’
‘And did anyone else overhear this conversation?’
I thought of my cousin hiding beside me in the dark, his hand in mine. I remembered his fear afterwards, and I quickly shook my head. ‘No, Your Majesty.’
Slowly all the sordid details were dragged from me. I had no honour left in me. I had descended into being an eavesdropper and a sneak. I had not even secured a promise of help from him. When I told him of Father Bird and the horoscope, he flew into a fearful rage, snatching up a jug from the table and smashing it on the floor.
‘By God, they will pay for this,’ he swore. ‘Leave me!’
I dared not try again to interest him in Mother’s plight, but fled the room at once. Maria was awaiting me outside the chamber, on the edge of a chair. She leapt to her feet when she saw me.
‘So soon?’ she exclaimed. ‘What was that crash?’
‘A jug,’ I replied shortly. I felt ashamed and exhausted. I did not want a conversation with Maria.
‘You clearly did not give the king much pleasure!’ she remarked.
‘I believe I did not,’ I replied, knowing she meant something quite different. She asked me questions all the way back to my chamber, clearly consumed with curiosity. I told her nothing of what had passed. She lingered in my room, but I lay down upon my bed, turning my back on her until she gave up and withdrew, locking the chamber door behind her.
I lay there in silence. I was unable to cry, I certainly could not sleep. The conversation with the king went over and over in my mind until dawn. With first light came sleep at last which released me from my troubles for a few short hours.
I awoke with a headache. I was living in a nightmare and there was no prospect of it ending.
The king wasted no time. At breakfast the next morning, he announced his departure for later that very day. I was seated at the top table under Maria’s and Sir Walter’s eye, and so had a clear view of their reactions.
‘So suddenly, my liege?’ asked Sir Walter. It was clear the king had not announced his intentions to his host before he told the company at large. His face betrayed an almost ludicrous disappointment.
‘I hope you know, Sire, that you are welcome to return here whenever you like,’ Sir Walter assured his king.
‘I know how to value such loyalty as yours, Lord Hungerford,’ said the king with a wolfish smile. My heart jumped in my chest and I watched my father closely to see how he took this dubious compliment. Apart from a small furrow on his brow, however, he appeared to take the remark in good part. I could not see that the king treated Cromwell or Sir Walter any differently to before. They still spoke together and laughed and toasted each other. It was only that sour, down-turned pout to King Henry’s mouth, I thought, that gave him away. And perhaps I only saw it because I knew.
As the king took his leave, and everyone gathered in the outer court to see him off, it was freely whispered that Catherine Howard had sent him word to join her, and it was to her side that he hastened. People were only surprised that he had lingered at Farleigh so long. I hoped that they were right, but in my heart I knew there was another reason.
I felt no satisfaction in my betrayal. A younger Eleanor might have rejoiced at paying back her father for all the cruelties he had inflicted. But I was wiser now. I knew there was neither virtue nor satisfaction in such revenge. The consequences were too grave.
Locked once more in my chamber, I spent some anxious hours imagining Mother alone in the
Lady Tower with only the chaplain for company, if he was well enough to attend her. She would also be suffering from hunger and thirst. I imagined her faced with the choice of slow and painful starvation or of taking nourishment that might be poisoned.
Sir Walter drank heavily at supper that night. His temper, soured by my attempted escape, had been strained to breaking point by the sudden departure of the king. The servants were nervous and careful around him, expecting him to explode at the slightest fault.
Our company was much reduced. Many of the tables had been removed and the great hall felt echoing and spacious once more. My father sat at the top table, scarcely touching his meat, but downing goblet after goblet of wine. He was silent and brooding, often casting repulsive looks in my direction. I knew he was deeply disturbed by the king’s sudden departure, but he was also furiously angry with me. I could be punished, while the king could not. I grew fearful, and longed for the meal to end.
Suddenly my father stood up and hammered on the table for silence.
‘My lords, ladies, and gentlemen,’ he called, his voice only a little slurred from all the wine he had taken. I noticed he was gripping the edge of the table to hold himself steady on his feet. ‘I find I must reduce my stable!’ he announced. ‘I have a horse I would like to auction.’ There was a hush then a sudden buzz of interest around us. Sir Walter was looking directly at me. I felt my stomach tighten with sudden fear. Surely he would not?
‘What’s wrong, Walter?’ called out one of my father’s cronies from another table. ‘Got an unsound beast you want to be rid of?’ There was a burst of good-humoured laughter. Sir Walter waved the suggestion away, his hand not quite steady.
‘Not unsound, William!’ he cried. ‘Don’t have unsound horses in my stable! She is no longer needed, that’s all. And I must retrench, you know. You have been eating me out of house and home, my good friends.’ There was more merriment at this, and Sir Walter was toasted uproariously.
‘You’ve been a good host, Sir Walter!’ called another of his friends. ‘None better! We’ll buy all your horses from you!’
‘Just one that needs to go: an eight-year-old grey palfrey. A fine horse, Arab blood in her. Currently known by the ridiculous name of Arianna.’
Sir Walter was looking at me. I pressed my lips tightly together and remained silent. There was nothing to be gained by betraying my emotions to Sir Walter. Inside, I was in turmoil. My beloved Arianna was to be sold. I could not bear it.
‘She’s used to carrying a lady,’ Sir Walter continued, ‘but will bear a gentleman just as well. Who will bid for her?’
I held my hands tightly clasped in my lap, gripping my fingers together to stop them from shaking and to stop myself from crying out. There was a lump in my throat. Surely he could not do this to me. I would rather he beat me.
‘Are we not going to see her first?’ demanded Sir William. ‘Or do we take our chances on a mystery horse?’
‘Do you expect me to have her brought in here to dine with us?’ demanded Sir Walter belligerently. ‘You take your chances. Who will open the bidding?’
I caught Maria casting sideways glances at me. She looked highly amused, as were many of the guests. They were bidding goblets of wine and boots in exchange for Arianna and the hall was echoing with laughter. But to me this was deadly serious. Arianna, my dear friend and companion of the last years, was being taken from me. I sat as still as a statue and prayed that Sir Walter would declare this a bad joke, and stop the auction. But he did not. Small sums of money were now being offered and he was grinning stupidly as he took the bids.
I saw Stanton raise his hand, and I felt a stab of betrayal.
‘I’ll give you two sovereigns for her!’ he called out lazily.
‘Two sovereigns?’ roared my father. ‘Gad, you insult me, sir!’
Someone else bid three and then four. Those who were not bidding cheered on those who were, calling out advice, sensible or otherwise. Everyone seemed delighted with this new form of entertainment. Through it all, I sat sick and silent. I wanted to get up and leave, but I knew I would not be permitted to do so. I also had a grim need to know Arianna’s fate.
The price rose. My cousin Gregory caught my eye. He looked sympathetic. He was not bidding, but there was nothing he could do to help me.
Arianna was almost sold to a Sir John, a heavy-looking, bad-tempered man, for twelve sovereigns. But at the last minute, Lord Stanton raised his hand again. ‘I’ll give you twenty sovereigns,’ he offered. There was an audible gasp from the assembled guests. It was a fantastic sum for an unseen horse. Sir John shook his head, and Sir Walter banged his fist on the table. ‘Sold!’ he shouted. He gave a bark of satisfied laughter and sat back down again. I glared at my plate, choked with misery and anger. I found I could hate more than I had ever imagined. I hated Sir Walter for selling my beloved Arianna. But I hated Stanton just as much for buying her. Just as I thought we had reached a slightly better understanding, he turned on me.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Sir Walter left Farleigh the next day. He said he had business to attend to in London, and would return in time for the wedding. If I thought his departure would bring about any increase in my freedom, I was gravely mistaken.
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.
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