The Lady in the Tower

by Marie-Louise Jensen

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  When the door had closed behind Stanton, the three of us looked at one another.

  ‘What a charming young man,’ my aunt remarked. ‘And so handsome! How very fortunate that you should have chanced upon him on the road. I was just telling your mother, my dear Eleanor, that I was forced to delay my visit to Farleigh as a result of the atrocious weather. Now, shall we not remove to my lodgings at once? We can be more comfortable there.’

  ‘Indeed, it was not fortunate!’ I cried, springing to my feet. I ran to the door and opened it a crack, to see that Stanton had really gone. ‘Stanton knows now where you are staying. He is not to be trusted. I have tried to warn Mother. I believe he will go straight to Sir Walter with the news of our whereabouts.’

  ‘Surely not?’ asked my aunt, shocked.

  ‘I have already told Eleanor I do not believe it,’ said Mother.

  ‘We can trust no one from Farleigh,’ I insisted. ‘They pretend to be my friends, and as soon as I trust them they betray me. Maria already has. Stanton’s father is a close friend of Sir Walter: they arranged our betrothal between them. Can you really believe he is on our side?’

  ‘But, Eleanor, he is such a gentleman!’ implored my mother. ‘He has honesty written all over him.’

  ‘I admit, I, too, was most favourably impressed,’ agreed my aunt.

  ‘Having a handsome face and polished manners does not make him honest!’ I cried in frustration. ‘And even if he is and wishes us well, he may still feel it is his duty to tell Sir Walter where we are.’

  It seemed I had struck a chord at last. As Sir Walter’s wife and daughter, we had no status, no rights of our own. He practically owned us, and society would condemn our running away.

  ‘But in that case, what are we to do?’ cried Lady Jane. ‘Where will you go if you cannot come to me?’

  ‘Can we not remove to London at once?’ I asked. ‘It would be easier to hide there.’

  ‘It is far, and we would be easily traced along the way,’ said my aunt doubtfully. ‘Are you really so certain that Sir Walter will come looking for you?’

  ‘We are sure,’ I said. Mother and I related the story of our previous escape.

  ‘Dr Horde told me some of this,’ nodded Lady Jane. ‘It seems in truth that the utmost secrecy and discretion are required. Eleanor, do you have any ideas on what course we should take now?’

  ‘We should remove to somewhere which has no connection to either us or you, Aunt, and stay there awhile under false names.’

  Mother nodded her agreement. ‘Indeed, I think Eleanor is right,’ she said. ‘We cannot be too careful.’ I smiled at her gratefully, glad of her support.

  ‘Well, there are any number of modest lodging houses in Bath,’ said my aunt at last. ‘But it is not what I wished for. I wanted to have you to myself and spoil you, after all you’ve been through, my dear sister.’ She took Mother’s hand and pressed it affectionately as she spoke.

  ‘After my quarters in the tower, almost anywhere with a fire and my daughter’s company will be luxury,’ Mother assured her with a wan smile.

  My aunt heaved herself to her feet. ‘If it will make you feel safer, I will go and find somewhere for you now. Landlord!’ she called, opening the door.

  The man came hurrying in so quickly, I suspected him of hovering outside the room. ‘Yes, ma’am?’ he asked, with a low bow.

  ‘My friends need their gowns and cloaks, if you please. And I would like their bill.’

  ‘Oh, madam, that’s very kind of you, I’m sure, but the gentleman what was here earlier—a real gentleman, by his fine manner and generous ways—settled the bill already. But is there nothing else you’d like before you go? My missus has a nice leg of lamb roasting as we speak, and it’s always a pleasure to be serving such honoured guests … ’ The landlord bowed low again.

  My aunt looked surprised for a moment, then said: ‘Just the cloaks, please,’ and nodded dismissal to the man. ‘Well, that was generous of Stanton, at any rate,’ she remarked to us once the landlord was out of earshot. ‘He’s not all bad then, Eleanor, you see.’

  I put my chin up defiantly, and refused to be drawn.

  I had to prevent Aunt Jane from asking the landlord the names of some decent lodging houses, pointing out how easy it would be to trace us that way. We enquired instead of a respectable passer-by in the street, and an hour later Mother and I were installed in the top floor of a small house in Cheap Street under the names of the Mistresses Wilson, two sisters travelling from Oxford. It was the best I could think of, tired as I was.

  The lodging house was modest, but we were content. We had a small fire lit to ward off the damps of the evening, and we felt safe and comfortable at last. I requested a small bathtub be carried up to our room, so that Mother could bathe as I had done at Farleigh.

  When Mother climbed into the bath, she sighed with pleasure. ‘It is so many years since I had a bath,’ she said softly. ‘This is luxury indeed.’ She reached out one of her wet hands for mine, and pulled me down to sit beside the bath.

  ‘Thank you, dear daughter,’ she said. ‘I owe you so much. This feels like a dream, but if we are left in peace, God willing, I may come to believe it by and by.’ I felt proud at her acknowledgement, and smiled. After a few moments silence, Mother asked: ‘Have you had any thoughts on what we might do next? Once it is safe to leave here?’

  ‘I had dreamed we might find a little cottage somewhere, where we could live together, you and I,’ I said. It had been the picture I had had of our future for several years, but as I said it out loud, I realized how silly it sounded.

  ‘A cottage?’ asked Mother with a laugh. ‘How romantic. Should we have roses growing over the front door and keep a cow at the back?’ I laughed with her at this image, but felt rather hurt to have my idea treated as a joke. ‘And what should we do for company?’ Mother asked me.

  ‘We would have each other, of course,’ I said, but Mother shook her head.

  ‘It might do for me, Eleanor. But you are young and need friends of your own age as well. You will wish to marry. And you are the daughter of a nobleman. You cannot spend your life in some obscure cottage.’

  ‘I would be happier than I was at Farleigh,’ I assured her fiercely. ‘I shall never marry. I made up my mind about that long ago.’

  ‘My marriage turned out badly, Eleanor,’ said Mother sadly. ‘But not all marriages do.’

  I shook my head sceptically. ‘I will not risk it,’ I declared.

  ‘Few of us have the good fortune to decide over our own destiny,’ said Mother seriously. ‘Women least of all. You will be fortunate indeed if you have any sort of choice. And you are forgetting something. How shall we manage for money? We have nothing.’

  ‘I had not forgotten that,’ I said, my voice low. In every dream I had ever had of our future, in every plan I ever formulated, I had come up against this one insurmountable problem.

  ‘The best future I could wish for you is marriage to a good husband who would care for you,’ said Mother.

  I gasped with shock.

  ‘Like Sir Walter cared for you?’ I demanded. ‘I’d rather marry a dung beetle and live in the midden.’

  I bit my lip once the words were out, remembering how Mother disliked it when I was unladylike in my speech. But to my surprise, Mother threw back her head and laughed. It was the laugh I remembered from my childhood: like a peal of merry bells. I could not help but join in. I was so pleased to hear her laugh again.

  ‘I doubt you would find that a comfortable way of life, my dearest,’ she chuckled. ‘Now, pass me that soap please, before the water grows quite cold. I am going to wash my hair.’

  I slept deeply that night, and woke, much refreshed, to the sound of a quill scratching. I sat up and saw Mother, wrapped in a blanket, sitting up writing.

  ‘What are you doing, Mother?’ I asked her curiously, rubbing my eyes and yawning.

  ‘Writing to Thomas Cromwell,’ re
plied Mother.

  ‘What?’ I asked, astonished. ‘Why?’

  ‘He should know,’ said Mother. ‘Sir Walter should not go unpunished for what he did to me.’

  ‘He does know!’ I exclaimed. ‘Have you forgotten he was present when you were arrested four years ago? That it was he who took us from the monastery? He’s been in the plot all along.’

  Mother continued writing, the quill scratching rhythmically. ‘I cannot believe he knows the full story,’ she replied. ‘He would not let me explain that day at Henton. But he will have to read a letter.’

  ‘Please yourself,’ I said, snuggling back down between the sheets. ‘But he’s Lord Cromwell now, Earl of Essex. And he’s plotting treason against the king.’

  Mother cried out in shock. ‘Eleanor, do not say such dreadful things! What do you understand of treason at your age? Now I have made a blot, and shall have to begin again.’ She took a fresh sheet of parchment. I lay in bed feeling once more the sick sense of guilt that I felt every time I thought of my conversation with the king. I tried to tell myself nothing would come of it. That it had been my duty. But these excuses brought me no comfort.

  The day was long and tedious. Once Mother had finished her letter, we waited for Lady Jane to come. She had promised us some books and embroidery to pass the time, but she did not appear. By mid-afternoon, we were both fretting with impatience and anxiety.

  ‘Perhaps she has been taken ill?’ suggested Mother.

  ‘She would have sent us a message. Perhaps she has been kidnapped by Sir Walter.’

  ‘Now you are being ridiculous, Eleanor,’ said Mother nervously. ‘Perhaps she has had an idea for our future, and wishes to surprise us.’

  Our speculation was fruitless. By the time evening arrived, I was feeling confined and bad-tempered as well as anxious. I began to admit to myself that perhaps a small cottage might not suit me after all. At last, under cover of dusk, a knock came upon the door. Lady Jane entered, shrouded in a cloak. She looked flustered and had spots of red on her cheeks. She sat down plump in a chair and began to fan herself energetically.

  ‘What a day,’ was all the response we got to our exclamations and questions. ‘Oh dear me, what a day. I need to catch my breath before I can tell you.’ She sat breathing heavily while I bit back my impatience to know what had happened.

  ‘I have been entertaining Sir Walter … all day,’ she said dramatically after a suitable pause. Our reaction was all she could have wished. ‘Oh yes, ’tis too true! He brought the constable with him and had the confounded impudence to search my rooms for you!’

  ‘No,’ said Mother faintly. ‘And is he coming here?’

  ‘Not if I have anything to say to it,’ declared my aunt. ‘I took great care not to be followed, I can promise you! Would you believe he had some doctor with him—nothing but a mountebank if you want my opinion—who he claimed had certified you insane, Elizabeth!’

  ‘What?’ cried Mother, quite overcome.

  ‘It is the story he has put about concerning you,’ I told her sombrely. ‘To explain your confinement to the world. He has told everyone you are sick in mind.’

  ‘A dangerous lunatic was the term they used, no less!’ exclaimed Lady Jane indignantly.

  Mother sat down limply on a chair, her face grey. Her sister leaned forward and patted her hand reassuringly. ‘Never fear, sister. I shall take care of you. He won’t come anywhere near you if I can prevent it. And my husband will aid you, too, never fear. No, Sir Walter got nothing from me this day. I expressed shock and astonishment. I admitted I had come to Bath in hopes of seeing you, but denied that I had done so. I wept for my poor sister till Sir Walter became quite embarrassed. I considered having hysterics, but that would have been too fatiguing. I contented myself instead with clinging to him in the most irritating way, and begging him to protect me from you!’

  I could not help a small chuckle escaping me at the picture my aunt’s words conjured, but a glance at Mother showed me she was far from amused. She was leaning back in her chair, clutching her side, her lips tinged with blue. I rushed to get her a glass of wine, while my aunt chafed her hands, and comforted her with soothing words.

  When Mother seemed to be recovering, I asked my aunt in a low voice whether Sir Walter was searching the town.

  ‘That he is,’ she replied in the same low tones. ‘His men have orders to enquire for you at every hostelry in the city. So you were quite right, my dear, to come here and give a false identity. But it wasn’t his lordship who betrayed you. I had the story from Sir Walter himself. He arrived at Farleigh some two or three hours after you left it, to find all in an uproar, the chaplain locked in the south-west tower, and the key nowhere to be found.’

  I nodded, thinking of Stanton. I had been unwilling to trust him the day before, but I was pleased to know I had been mistaken in this at least.

  ‘But Eleanor said Sir Walter was in London,’ said Mother faintly. She appeared to be recovering from the shock.

  ‘He was returning for my wedding,’ I replied in a low voice. ‘It was supposed to be today.’ It was a strange thought that I should have been married by now.

  ‘And why does my own husband want me dead or certified?’ asked Mother.

  ‘He wants to marry again,’ I replied hesitantly. ‘Mistress Maria, whom you met, is certainly expecting him to marry her.’

  ‘Maria Sheldon?’ asked my aunt knowledgeably. ‘Yes, she’d be a very wealthy bride: and her father and uncle are close to the king. It is power and influence he seeks. Much good may it do him. Mistress Maria! Ha! I could tell some stories about her!’

  I was curious, but Mother was weeping now, tears trickling down her cheeks. ‘We cannot stay here!’ she sobbed. ‘Where can we go?’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  We agreed to stay overnight in the lodging house, mainly because we could think of nowhere safer to go. The following morning, when we went downstairs to breakfast, Mother paused in the hallway to exchange a few words with our landlady. She was a business-like matron past middle age. The house door opened and a man walked in. Mother jumped and made to withdraw at once, but he had recognized her.

  ‘Lady Elizabeth!’ he lisped, stepping forward, his hand held out.

  I stared at the man. He was a stranger to me. He was tall, thin, and dark haired, with a very dainty, fussy air about him. And he looked completely oblivious to there being anyone else present.

  ‘Why, Sir Thomas!’ Mother responded, putting her hand in his without hesitation. And then she blushed. Mother actually blushed.

  ‘Lady Elizabeth?’ asked the landlady. ‘Do you know something I don’t, Sir Thomas?’

  Her voice seemed to bring the man back to a sense of his surroundings. I was biting my lip, looking for some sign from Mother, because it seemed to me we were undone. The landlady had heard her real name.

  The man called Sir Thomas turned to the landlady and said: ‘Yes, indeed, Mistress Myers, this is … was Elizabeth Hussey. I was page to her father for a number of years, and we have met infrequently since. Elizabeth, Mistress Myers is my old nurse. She runs the boarding house now, and I visit her from time to time.’ He bestowed an affectionate smile upon the landlady, who beamed back at him. ‘But in the name of all that is wonderful, Elizabeth, what are you doing here? You married Lord Hungerford and were living at Farleigh—I heard you were ill.’

  ‘It’s a long story,’ said Mother, with a glance at me.

  ‘Well then, don’t stand in the hallway telling it!’ exclaimed Mistress Myers good-naturedly. ‘Come into my parlour and sit down comfortably. I’ll bring your breakfast in there.’

  I tried to send Mother a warning glance as we were ushered into the parlour, but she was not attending. And after all, I thought, it was a little late for caution now.

  ‘Eleanor, dear,’ said Mother a little breathlessly once we were in the room with the door closed behind us. ‘Can I introduce to you my good friend, Sir Thomas Throckmorton? Thomas, this is m
y daughter, Eleanor.’ Sir Thomas shook my hand warmly.

  ‘Delighted to meet you,’ he said, but it was clear that he had eyes for no one but my mother. I stood by and listened while she poured her whole tale into his ears. I was vexed. I could see no reason to trust him, but Mother seemed to have no hesitation in doing so. Under his adoring gaze, she blossomed. A delicate colour rose to her cheeks and her weary eyes glowed with pleasure.

  I felt left out. After a while, I slipped away, fetched a veil from our room and made my way across the city to the stables where we had quartered our horses. I unlatched Beau’s loosebox and slipped into the gloom, stroking his nose and breathing in his comforting horse scent. He was not a beautiful horse like Arianna, but he was familiar and I felt soothed as I leaned my face into his neck.

  ‘What is to become of us?’ I asked him softly. ‘Mother trusts anyone who smiles at her and Sir Walter is hunting us all over Bath. If he thinks to search for our horses we shall be in trouble.’ Beau let out his breath in a snort and shifted his weight. ‘Is that all you can say?’ I remarked. ‘I expected more sense.’

  Mistress Myers knocked and entered our room in an anxious flutter early the next morning.

  ‘Two guest houses in the next street have been searched this morning!’ she gasped. ‘What shall I do if they come here? They may have a warrant to search the building!’

  Mother and I exchanged frightened glances. We did not know what to say.

  ‘Mother,’ I said, ‘we must leave Bath. We cannot stay here another day.’

  Mother nodded, looking pale and drawn. ‘Perhaps Sir Thomas may be able to help us,’ she said hesitantly.

  ‘Who is this Sir Thomas?’ I flared up immediately. ‘Why do you trust him so unreservedly, Mother?’

  ‘He … I … we loved one another, Eleanor,’ said Mother. Her eyes took on a faraway look. ‘He asked to marry me. I wanted to say yes, but in those days he was not wealthy. His family live quietly and have no influence at court. My father hesitated to agree to the match. And while he was hesitating, Sir Walter offered for me: Lord Hungerford, the Earl of Heytesbury. There was no comparison. I was ordered to forget Sir Thomas.’