Uttering a piercing cry, she flung herself despairingly upon a couch, burying her head in her hands.
Lady Rochford flew towards the door, to prevent intrusion; but ere she could reach it, Cranmer entered. She recoiled on beholding him.
“I must speak with the Queen,” said the Archbishop.
“You cannot speak with her now, my lord,” replied Lady Rochford. “You see her Highness’s condition.”
“Alas!” exclaimed Cranmer, compassionately; “I must stay till she revives.”
“Who is it?” demanded Catherine, in a faint voice, and slightly raising her head.
“’Tis I, madam,” replied Cranmer, approaching her. “I come to you from the King.”
“Why does not the King come to me himself?” asked Catherine, rising from the couch, with Lady Rochford’s assistance.
“Madam,” said the Archbishop, solemnly, “you will not see the King again. Learn from me, if you know it not already, that the wrongs you have done him — your contract with Francis Dereham — your infidelity with Adrian Culpepper — have all been discovered. ’Tis merciful in his Majesty to spare you his just reproaches. With what countenance could you meet his angry gaze?”
“I should not shrink from it, my lord, because I am not guilty of the crimes imputed to me,” replied Catherine.
She then added earnestly, “I have never been faithless to him.”
The Archbishop shook his head mournfully.
“Madam, I deem it right to tell you that Adrian Culpepper was seen to enter your chamber, privily, and at midnight, at Pontefract Castle,” he gravely said. “He was there more than an hour; for the two pages, who saw him admitted by Lady Rochford, waited till he came forth.”
“The witnesses were wrong in their suspicions,” said Lady Rochford. “He came to see me, not the Queen.”
“That is disproved by the evidence of the witnesses,” rejoined Cranmer. “They distinctly beheld him, through the partly-opened door, bidding the Queen a tender adieu.”
“Appearances are against me, my lord,” replied Catherine, “but they are fallacious.”
“You do not deny that Adrian was in your room at that late hour — long after his Majesty had retired to rest?”
“I do not deny it, my lord. But that does not prove my guilt.”
“It is proof sufficient for the King,” said Cranmer.
“But I can offer him such explanation as will remove his doubts,” cried the Queen. “Adrian came to remonstrate with me for retaining Dereham in my service. Was it not so?” she added, appealing to Lady Rochford.
“He came to urge my interference with your Highness,” was the reply.
“That may be the fact, and yet it does not exculpate you, madam,” observed the Archbishop.
“Has Adrian been examined?” demanded Catherine. “If so, he would corroborate my statement.”
“He will be interrogated by the Privy Council, at the Tower, and put to the torture should he not confess his guilt,” replied the Archbishop.
“Oh, spare him that, in pity!” cried Catherine. “He has no crime to confess!”
“Alas, madam! you know full well that I have no power to spare him. All rests with the King,” said Cranmer, compassionating her anguish.
“I must see the King, my lord!” she cried passionately. “Adrian is wholly guiltless. I have done wrong — very wrong, in concealing my contract with Dereham. Let me suffer for the offence. If Henry puts me from him — nay, if he dooms me to death — I shall not murmur against the sentence. But, as he is just, let him not punish the innocent.
“Go to him, my lord,” she added, throwing herself at the Archbishop’s feet. “Entreat him, by all the love he has borne me, to come to me. When he has heard my pleading in Adrian’s behalf, he can deal with me as he deems fit.”
Cranmer was greatly moved.
“Rise, madam,” he said; “I will bear your message to the King, and will add my own entreaties to yours; but I cannot promise you a favourable result. His Majesty is in a terrible state of mind. I shall say naught of your anxiety to save Adrian, since that might still further exasperate him, and prevent all chance of his compliance.”
“Use your discretion, my lord,” cried the unhappy Queen. “Bring him to me — that is all I ask.”
With a sorrowful heart, and full of misgiving, the Archbishop departed on his mission.
XXII. Adrian is committed to the Tower.
ADRIAN was taken by the Earl of Hertford to a large, tapestried chamber, in which sat the King beneath a canopy of state, surrounded by such members of the Privy Council as chanced to be staying at the Palace. Among them were the Dukes of Norfolk and Suffolk, the Lord Chancellor, and Wriothesley.
All eyes were fixed upon the prisoner as he was brought in, except those of the King, who averted his gaze from him.
Adrian’s firmness did not desert him on this trying occasion, though deep anxiety was visible on his countenance. Had he been permitted, he would have prostrated himself at the foot of the throne, but Wriothesley motioned him hack.
“Sire,” he exclaimed, “your Majesty has not a more loyal and devoted servant than myself; yet I am charged with treason. What act have I committed that can be so construed?”
Henry vouchsafed no reply.
“Thou art the most infamous of traitors!” interposed Wriothesley. “Shamefully abusing the confidence reposed in thee by his Majesty, who hath treated thee with a favour infinitely beyond thy deserts, thou hast not hesitated to sully his honour! Thou art a monster of perfidy and ingratitude!”
“I should be the monster of ingratitude you represent me, my lord, if the charge made against me were true,” replied Adrian; “but it is false! I repel it with indignation! It affects not me alone, but one whose name ought to be held sacred, and than whom a more virtuous princess doth not exist, as I would maintain, were I permitted, with my life. Oh, sire!” he added, turning towards the King, “believe not those accusations against your consort. They are made by her enemies, and are as malignant as they are false!”
“’Tis not for thee, who art the partner of her crime, to undertake her Highness’s defence,” said the Lord Chancellor. “Thy advocacy injures her cause.”
“Learn, to thy confusion,” said Wriothesley, “that we have proofs of thy guilt.”
“Proofs? Impossible!” cried Adrian.
“We have witnesses, who saw thee in the Queen’s chamber, at midnight, at Pontefract Castle,” rejoined Wriothesley.
“Ha! does that confound thee, traitor?” exclaimed the King, turning his countenance suddenly upon him, and regarding him with a terrible look.
Adrian, indeed, was visibly troubled, and, for the moment, could make no answer.
“’Tis idle to put any further questions to him now, sire,” said Wriothesley. “His silence shows that he cannot refute the charge. The rack will extort full confession of his crime.”
“Do not think so!” cried Adrian. “I will die, protesting the Queen’s innocence. Hath her Highness no friends here?” he added, looking round at the nobles. “Will no one defend her against these foul aspersions? Why is his Grace of Norfolk silent when the life of his niece is at stake?”
No answer was made to this appeal.
“’Tis plain you have condemned her already,” said Adrian, mournfully.
“Take him hence!” cried the King. “His presence is hateful to me!”
“To the Tower, sire?”
“Ay — to the Tower,” rejoined Henry.
Adrian was then removed.
“My lords,” said Henry, “we will proceed no further in this painful business now. My mind is too much troubled. I were more than human if I could receive a blow, annihilating my matrimonial felicity, without feeling it deeply. I loved the Queen, as ye know, most tenderly; and I thought my love was reciprocated. Alas! I have been bitterly deceived. These regrets will quickly disappear, and give place to thoughts of that vengeance which my injured honour imperatively demands. Be
fore I leave you, let me say that all implicated in the affair must be arrested without delay.”
“Your injunctions shall be obeyed, sire,” replied the Lord Chancellor. “We sympathise with you profoundly in your distress, and will take care that the injury done to your honour shall be fully avenged.”
“I thank you, my good lords,” replied Henry.
He then descended from the throne; and motioning Wriothesley to approach him, said, in a low voice, “The old Duchess of Norfolk must have known of Dereham’s betrothal to her granddaughter.”
“’Tis almost certain, my liege.”
“And Lord William Howard could scarce be ignorant of his niece’s folly.”
“Scarcely, sire.”
“Let them forthwith be arrested, indicted of suspicion of treason, and committed to the Tower.”
“It shall be done, sire,” replied Wriothesley.
And he glanced significantly towards the Duke of Norfolk.
Henry understood him.
“No; I acquit his Grace of all ‘complicity in the affair,” said the King. “But look to the others. Let the Duchess’s chests be searched — some criminatory paper may be found.”
“Nothing shall be neglected, sire,” replied Wriothesley.
Satisfied with this assurance, Henry quitted the council-chamber, and shut himself up in his private cabinet.
XXIII. Cranmer brings the King’s Response to Catherine.
FOR some hours, Henry remained alone in his cabinet. At last, Cranmer was admitted, and the exceeding sternness of the King’s countenance alarmed the Archbishop.
“I come from the Queen, sire,” said Cranmer.
“Well!” cried Henry. “Hath she confessed her transgressions?”
“No, sire. And since I have spoken with her, my belief in her guilt has been greatly shaken — so far, at least, as Adrian Culpepper is concerned.”
“You are not proof against her wiles, Cranmer.”
“If ever affliction was real, sire, the unhappy’ Queen’s is so. It passes my power to describe her anguish. Oh! if you could listen to her frenzied accents, they would move you!”
“Move me to what?” interrupted Henry, in a freezing tone. “Not to pity. No, Cranmer. She is a mass of perfidy and deceit. For three hours, I have been alone in this closet; and during that interval, I have reviewed, with as much calmness as I could command, all that has passed since I have known her, and I see plainly how completely I have been duped. There were a hundred occasions when my suspicions ought to have been aroused; hut I was blinded and infatuated by passion. All that is over now. The mask is torn off, and the false visage beneath it is revealed.”
After a moment’s pause, he went on.
“Thou hast a message to me from her! I knew it. She would try the effect of her enchantments on me, once more. ’Twould be vain, but I will not see her. ’Tis beneath my dignity to load her with reproaches for her perfidy; and I would not have her perceive how much I suffer — for I do suffer, Cranmer, stoic as you may deem me.”
“Your wound bleeds inwardly, sire, — that I doubt not,” rejoined the Archbishop. “I will not urge you to see her, though I came with that design. But let me give her a hope of mercy.”
“Give her no hope, Cranmer,” said the King, in an inexorable tone. “My heart is steeled against her.”
“Divorce her, sire, but do not put her to death.”
“That were not vengeance, Cranmer. Contracted to another, she married me. For that offence I might divorce her, as I divorced Anne of Cleves. But since her marriage, she has been faithless. She must die!” Cranmer fell on his knees before the King.
“She is too young to die, sire. Grant her some years for repentance. She will lead a new life. Her prayers will be ever for your Majesty.”
Henry remained inexorable.
“I tell thee I have weighed the matter well, and can find no excuse for her,” he said. “From the first, she has deceived me, and in deceit she has continued until now. I owe it to myself to avenge the wrongs done me. Her blood will not satisfy me. All who have aided her, or concealed her guilt, shall share her fate. The old Duchess of Norfolk, the Lord William Howard and his wife, will be committed to the Tower. If they perish on the block — as they will — Catherine will be the cause of their destruction. Urge me no more. Her offence is too heinous to be forgiven.”
“Would you could see her, sire!” said the Archbishop, making a final effort, though he felt it would be unavailing.
“I will never see her again in life,” replied Henry. With a sad heart, Cranmer had quitted the Queen. With a far sadder heart, he returned to her.
During his absence, she had become somewhat calmer. A ray of hope visited her breast. The King had always yielded to her fascinations. If he came, she might regain her influence over him.
When Cranmer appeared, she was struck with mortal terror on perceiving that he was alone.
She flew towards him, and in an agonized voice exclaimed, “Will not the King come to me?”
“Alas! madam, I have failed,” replied the Archbishop.
“Then I am lost!” she ejaculated.
And she fell back, insensible, in the arms of Lady Rochford.
XXIV. The underground Dungeon.
BENEATH the inner walls of the Tower of London, at the time of which we treat, there existed a range of dungeons, in which State delinquents of inferior rank were confined.
These subterranean dungeons were solidly constructed of stone, but being below the level of the moat, they were exceedingly damp, and frightfully cold, and it is almost needless to say, were totally deprived of the light of day. The moisture that trickled down the walls, gathered in little pools on the paved floor of the cells, and added greatly to the misery of the captives. Yet some victims of the King’s tyranny had languished in these horrible vaults for years, and were only released by death.
Into one of the worst of these dungeons Dereham was thrust, and as he gazed at the humid walls and slimy pavement, his stout heart almost gave way.
A lamp, a three-legged oak stool, and a rotten straw pallet, were provided for him — nothing more. The cold froze the very marrow within his bones, and he was obliged to move about constantly to keep his blood in circulation.
Several hours — how terribly wearisome they seemed! — elapsed before he received a visit from the gaoler, who brought him food and wine. It was Jerome, who had aided him in his attempt to liberate Cromwell.
Overjoyed at the sight of a friend, Dereham exclaimed, “Do you not recognise me, Jerome? When you beheld me last, I was disguised as a Franciscan friar.”
“Ay, I thought it must be you, from the glimpse I caught of your features as you were brought here from the lieutenant’s lodgings,” replied the gaoler. “I am sorry to see you again. I wish I could render you any service, but time will not permit. To-morrow, you will be interrogated by the Council, and I much fear it will go bard with you. Meantime, take a cup of wine.”
“I thank you, good Jerome!” cried Dereham, emptying the horn cup proffered him by the gaoler. “To-morrow must not find me here. I count on you to set me free. Fill the cup again, and then I shall be better able to talk to you. Would it were aqua vitae! This is not the first time I have been imprisoned, though I was never treated so infamously before. The Corsicans would be thoroughly ashamed to clap a man into such a vile dungeon as this.”
“Ay, it is a wretched hole, I must own,” replied Jerome, commiseratingly. “But you are placed here expressly by the lieutenant’s orders.”
“It is not my intention to remain here long, good Jerome. You must aid me to fly, I will make it well worth your while. Would you guess from my looks that I have been a pirate?”
“I know not what a pirate is like,” replied the gaoler, evasively.
“Well, I will not scruple to confess that I have been one, and while engaged in that hazardous profession, I obtained some rich prizes. I have wherewithal to make you wealthy — two large chests full of go
ld!”
“But your treasure will be seized now that you are committed to the Tower,” remarked the gaoler.
“Fear nothing,” said Dereham; “my chests are safely hidden. The King’s myrmidons will never find them. You shall share the gold with me.”
Jerome’s eyes glistened.
“I know there is a secret outlet from the Tower,” pursued Dereham; “you must be acquainted with it. Consequently, my escape will be an easy matter to you; and your reward is certain.”
“Are the chests large?” asked the gaoler, eagerly.
“Immense,” replied Dereham.
“And filled with gold?”
“Each is full to the top.”
“Hum!” exclaimed the gaoler, reflectively. “The affair is more difficult than you seem to imagine. It is true there is a secret outlet from the Tower; and it is also true that I am acquainted with it. But the place of exit is guarded by a dragon.”
“The dragon must be put to sleep,” observed Dereham.
“That can scarcely be accomplished,” rejoined Jerome.
“Wherefore not?” inquired the other.
“Hear what I have so say, and judge. There is a secret passage under the moat, which issues forth at the postern gate, standing on the embankment on the summit of Tower Hill; but the outlet is barred by a strong door, of which Mauger, the headsman, who dwells in the postern, alone keeps the key.”
“Ah, I perceive! Mauger is the dragon whose vigilance has to be overcome!” cried Dereham. “Well, we must give him a share of the treasure.”
“I am not sure that he will take a bribe,” rejoined the gaoler. “He is an obstinate churl, and like enough to refuse; but I will see what can be done with him. The plan must be executed to-night, for to-morrow it will be too late. I will about it at once. If I succeed with Mauger, you will see me again before midnight; if I come not, you will understand that I have failed.”
“Talk not of failure, good Jerome,” cried Dereham. “A golden key, like mine, ought to open any door. You may rely implicitly on what I have told you concerning my treasure-chests. I have gold enough to make both you and Mauger wealthy.”
The Works of William Harrison Ainsworth Page 634
