The Lady in the Tower

by Marie-Louise Jensen

  When next I opened my eyes, they were half leading, half carrying Father Bird to the scaffold. He appeared to be shaking uncontrollably, almost unable to walk. But unlike my father, he did not attempt to resist his fate. They made him kneel at a block already slick with my father’s blood.

  I did not want to watch as this miserable man’s life was snuffed out. I turned my face into Stanton’s shoulder once more and breathed in the scents of rosemary and lavender that hung about his clothes, shutting out the rank, unwashed stench of the mob around us.

  I heard the axe come down; there was no blocking out the sound of it. I heard the collective gasp of the crowd, but this time I did not make the mistake of looking up. Then it was over. The crowd slowly began to disperse around us. I made a move to disengage myself from Stanton and he released me at once. I sat as straight as I could on the front of the saddle.

  ‘You are unwell, Eleanor,’ Stanton said, his voice concerned. ‘Do your uncle and aunt know you are here?’

  I shook my head, not meeting his eyes. I felt as though I might be sick if I tried to speak. I wondered for a moment how he knew where I was staying. Then I remembered he had spoken to both my mother and my aunt.

  ‘I will escort you home,’ he said, and turned Caesar away from the scaffold and back towards the Tower that loomed nearby. I sat, weak and shaking, allowing him to support me with an arm about my waist. I could think of nothing but my father. He was dead. What that might mean to me was not yet able to penetrate my frozen mind.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  We passed the Tower and continued towards the city. My mind was filled with the sights and sounds of Tower Hill. I became aware of my surroundings when Stanton pulled Caesar up outside an inn. He dismounted and held his arms up to help me down. I slid down obediently and was set on my feet. To my great shame, my legs refused to carry my weight. I stumbled and would have fallen, had it not been for Stanton catching hold of me.

  ‘I thought as much,’ he said. ‘You are hungry and exhausted. Can you walk a few steps if I help you?’

  ‘I do not need help,’ I insisted, pushing his arm away. I managed to walk into the inn unaided, though my legs shook under me. Stanton engaged a private parlour and in no time at all, I was handed into a chair by a table and had a goblet of wine pressed into my hand.

  ‘Drink it,’ Stanton was urging. His voice sounded distant and for a moment I wondered whether I might be about to faint. I took a sip of the wine, shuddered and choked a little. I took another sip and the world seemed to come back into sharper focus.

  ‘Is that better now?’ my companion asked.

  I nodded. My mind was a whirlpool of guilt and shock. The guilt was the worst. I had to tell someone. I could not keep the secret any longer. At that moment I forgot that Stanton was my enemy. He seemed a safe person to tell.

  ‘It’s my fault,’ I said in a low voice.

  ‘What is your fault?’ Stanton asked.

  ‘The executions,’ I told him. ‘It was I who betrayed them.’

  ‘That is not possible,’ stated Stanton calmly. ‘These were state matters. In what way could you have been involved?’ He spoke soothingly, but it only inflamed me.

  ‘You know nothing of the matter!’ I said fiercely.

  ‘Then tell me,’ was the calm rejoinder.

  ‘I overheard them plotting against the king,’ I said, my words coming out in a rush. ‘Cromwell and my father. At the banquet, the night Walter won the joust.’ I paused and swallowed. My mouth felt dry with fear as the memories came back to me. I sipped my wine again and then put the goblet down.

  ‘I would have done nothing about it. Only the king summoned me to his chamber some nights later,’ I explained. I heard Stanton catch his breath.

  ‘The king summoned you? I knew nothing of this.’ He grasped my wrist as he spoke, but I pulled it away.

  ‘I told him of the conversation I had overheard, that was all.’

  There was a moment’s silence before Stanton spoke:

  ‘And what had you overheard?’

  ‘It was to do with the divorce of Queen Anne. Cromwell was afraid it spelled ruin for him and for my father. They spoke of putting a boy king on the throne. And of the horoscope Father Bird had cast.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘What do you see? That I am guilty? It was dreadful to have betrayed them. I did it because I was so afraid. But I did not mean it.’ I hung my head and waited for Stanton to say something. I did not know what to expect. Would he despise me for being an informer or would he tell me it had been my duty?

  Stanton sat silent. I looked anxiously at his profile. There was a frown on his brow, but he did not look angry. At last he turned to me. Drawing his chair closer to mine, he took my hand and held it firmly. I did not pull away this time.

  ‘You are mistaken, Eleanor,’ Stanton said at last. ‘You are not responsible for these deaths. You must not think that you are.’ He paused again, as if unsure how to continue. When he spoke again, his voice was gentler:

  ‘Cromwell was right. The king has been looking for an excuse to be rid of him. Many of the old nobility have been fiercely jealous of his influence. Until recently, their slanderous talk fell upon stony soil. Cromwell was too efficient, too clever, too favoured. But the marriage he arranged with Anne of Cleves was disastrous. From that moment, it was only a matter of time.’

  ‘But it was still I who gave him the excuse,’ I said. ‘I still bear that guilt.’

  Stanton shook his head. ‘No. The king has—forgive me, Eleanor—better sources of information than a fifteen-year-old girl. You told him nothing he did not know already. He has spies everywhere. When people are investigated for treason, there is no hiding anything. Not even crimes they did not commit.’

  I did not know whether Stanton was telling me the truth or not, but I wanted to believe him. Perhaps I had not caused my father’s gruesome death. I could feel the knot of dread and guilt, which had been in my stomach since the night in the king’s chamber, begin to loosen.

  ‘Thank you,’ I said simply. There was a short silence.

  ‘How came you to be at Tower Hill this morning?’ I asked. I was surprised I had not thought to ask this sooner.

  ‘I had been visiting my own father, who is also being held in the Tower,’ replied Stanton. ‘I did not intend to watch the executions.’

  ‘So … why did you?’

  ‘I saw your cousin Hungerford. He and his father were making arrangements to collect Lord Hungerford’s body after the … Well, in any case, after I had spoken to him, I saw you. I was concerned to see you alone and followed.’

  ‘I see. So my father’s body will be buried? They … they boil the heads, don’t they? My aunt told me.’ I could not prevent my voice from shaking.

  ‘Try not to think about it.’ Stanton lifted my hand to his lips and kissed it tenderly. I withdrew it in some embarrassment.

  ‘And your father: will he be executed too?’

  ‘He fell under suspicion because of his association with Hungerford,’ Stanton replied. ‘But I am hopeful we may yet persuade the king that he is innocent of any crime.’

  ‘And is he?’ I knew I should not ask such a question, but I could not stop myself. ‘And what about you?’ I asked before he could reply. ‘Were you involved?’

  ‘Eleanor, no!’ exclaimed Stanton. He looked shocked. ‘Can you really suspect me of such a thing? I have no interest in politics or intrigue!’

  ‘You knew of Sir Walter’s plot to kill my mother. You were involved in that,’ I accused him recklessly.

  There was a moment’s silence. I bit my lip; half wishing I could unsay my words, half curious to know what he would say in his own defence.

  ‘You are misinformed,’ cried Stanton passionately. ‘I have never plotted against anyone. Not against the king, and certainly not against you or your mother. I had rarely ever seen Sir Walter before I came to Farleigh. The proposed marriage had been sprung on me just days before the visit, as it d
oubtless had been on you.’

  ‘I had known of it for weeks,’ I replied bitterly. ‘Though I had not been told your name or anything else about you.’

  ‘What made you think I knew about the plot?’ Stanton asked.

  ‘Sir Walter told me himself.’

  ‘It is not true,’ Stanton breathed. He looked as though I had slapped him.

  I sat still, waiting for him to say more. I hoped he would convince me that it was not true. I wanted him to reassure me.

  From the beginning, I had been determined to dislike Stanton and to suspect him of everything bad, and he had proven me wrong at every turn. The realization struck me with some force. I did not think of Stanton as an enemy any longer. On the contrary, he had been good to me and my family, despite his teasing ways. But the possibility that he had plotted against my mother remained a barrier between us.

  ‘You say nothing,’ I pointed out when Stanton remained silent.

  ‘What can I say?’ he asked in a low voice. ‘If I could produce proof that I am innocent I would do so. But as it is, I can only swear to you that it is not true.’

  I didn’t reply, but I wanted to believe him. I wanted to believe my father had lied to me and that Stanton was telling the truth. But I felt confused.

  ‘If that is what you think of me, no wonder you have hated me,’ said Lord Stanton sadly. ‘You still do, don’t you?’

  Stanton took my chin in his hand and made me look up at him. I tried to hate him still, and found I could not. I forced myself to meet his eyes. It wasn’t easy. He looked both hurt and vulnerable. I had never seen such a look in his eyes before.

  ‘I don’t dislike you … any longer,’ I admitted. It cost me an effort to tell him so.

  Stanton scanned my face for some moments, before releasing me.

  ‘I’m glad of it,’ he said, but he sighed. When he spoke again, his voice was strained.

  ‘Eleanor … I must ask you something else,’ he said hesitantly. ‘Although I hardly know how to voice it.’

  ‘Yes?’ I asked, surprised.

  ‘One of the king’s charges against Lord Hungerford. The one concerning yourself. Was that your accusation?’

  ‘Concerning me?’ I asked blankly. ‘I know nothing of this.’

  What had my uncle omitted to tell me?

  ‘Did you tell the king … that during your mother’s imprisonment, that … that monster, I mean your father, had committed unnatural crimes against … you?’ Stanton’s voice shook as he spoke.

  ‘Unnatural crimes?’ I asked, at a loss. ‘I don’t understand.’

  Stanton looked at me eagerly. ‘Then it is not true?’ he asked. ‘Your father did not … did not force you against your will.’

  It suddenly dawned on me what he was saying. I recoiled in disgust.

  ‘No!’ I cried. ‘He was not accused of such a thing, surely? For the whole of England to hear?’ I felt my face flame red with shame and covered it with my hands.

  ‘So it is not true?’ asked Stanton.

  I shook my head, too embarrassed to face him.

  ‘No. Never, not ever. Not that,’ I mumbled.

  I felt Stanton’s hand on my shoulder. ‘I’m so relieved, for your sake, that it was a lie,’ he said softly.

  I nodded, my face still in my hands.

  Stanton knelt down before me and gently pulled my hands away from my face.

  ‘You have nothing to be ashamed of,’ he told me. ‘Even had the charge been true, it would not have been your fault, Eleanor. You see now how the king invents charges where none exist?’

  I met his eyes briefly, and saw kindness there. But then the shame of it all overwhelmed me again. I had some inkling of the scandal that would be attached to me.

  ‘I should go,’ I said abruptly.

  ‘You have already agreed to let me escort you home,’ Stanton reminded me.

  ‘I have? I do not remember that. I am quite able to go alone.’

  ‘I am aware one should never contradict a lady, but I am afraid I must insist. You have had a great shock.’

  I was almost glad of an excuse to quarrel once more, to put the shocking news of my father’s supposed crimes further from me.

  ‘You have no right to make any decision concerning me,’ I told him.

  Stanton bowed his head at once. ‘I have not forgotten that you withdrew that right, Mistress Eleanor,’ he said meekly. ‘But though you do not wish to marry me, and cannot trust me, can you not at least accept my escort? I am concerned for your safety.’

  Truth to tell, I was weary and footsore, and glad not to have to face the long walk home.

  ‘Very well,’ I said, giving in. ‘I will go with you.’

  I followed Stanton out into the yard. Caesar stood ready and Stanton swung himself into the saddle. He reached down a hand for me as he had done at Tower Hill. I grasped it and placed one foot upon his boot where it rested in the stirrup. Stanton pulled me up and settled me sideways across the pommel before him, one arm about my waist to support me.

  ‘Are you comfortable like this?’ he asked.

  I nodded. It was not true. The pommel was awkward beneath me and my back was twisted. Moreover, I had not noticed Stanton’s closeness to me at Tower Hill. I had been preoccupied by the scene on the scaffold. I found that I was acutely aware of his close proximity now. I was forced to lean against his chest, and I could feel the warmth of his hand where it rested on my side. The painful discussion we had just had made my embarrassment worse.

  Stanton appeared not to notice it however. He turned Caesar, holding the reins in one hand, and headed him out of the inn yard. We threaded our way along narrow streets, circling out of the centre of the city.

  ‘You seem to know London well,’ I commented at length, feeling the need to make conversation.

  ‘I have been obliged to spend more time here than I would have chosen,’ was Stanton’s response. ‘My father is much involved with the king’s court, and has insisted on having me with him ever since he deemed me old enough to be trusted.’

  ‘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 la
ugh 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.