The Lady in the Tower (4 page)

Mother,

Do not touch ANYTHING the chaplain gives you. You are in grave danger.

Sir Walter is returned with guests. There is to be a tournament.

Eleanor

With fingers that shook, I took out my quill, ink bottle, and a tiny scrap of parchment and scratched a brief note to Mother. When it was done, I stared at it hopelessly. It was inadequate. I needed to do more.

As soon as the stables were quiet once more I had crept out of the hayloft and fled to my bedchamber. For the past four years a tiny room high in a remote part of the keep had served as my quarters. I had no furniture save a palliasse stuffed with straw that served as my bed, and a wooden chest that held my few possessions. It was a servant’s room. No fire warmed it and no shutter shielded the narrow window from the weather. But it was mine.

I bit my lip, thinking hard. What could I do to help my mother?

I would think of something. But first it was vital that I take this note to Alice so that Mother would get it this very night. I tucked it hurriedly into my sleeve and then, snatching up my cloak, I made my way down to the kitchens where I would be able to collect Mother’s daily bundle of food.

The kitchen was the busiest place in the castle. And with all the guests that had to be provided for, it was more bustling and noisy than ever. Dozens of servants were chopping vegetables, scouring pans, baking bread, and stirring cauldrons. The noise was deafening. The smells of meat roasting and gravy bubbling made my mouth water, despite my anxiety. The bundle of food Betsey, the cook, had made ready for Mother was lying neatly in its usual place.

I hunted through the steam and smoke. Seeing Betsey shouting at a lad roasting meat on a spit over the fire, I went to her.

‘Keep your eyes and hands off the maids and on the spit! And if I ever catch you burning so much as a crumb again, let alone a roast for the master’s dinner … oh, Mistress Eleanor,’ she broke off distractedly.

‘Can I speak with you?’ I asked her urgently. Betsey was one of the few people in the castle I could trust. She was Mother’s devoted retainer, and would do anything for her.

‘Yes, Mistress,’ she said, casting one last, dark look at the hapless lad before the fire, who was turning the spit now as though his life depended on it.

‘I’ll box your ears!’ she threatened him. Then turning away, she hurried to the stillroom where the pickles and preserves were kept. Betsey disappeared inside, and I squeezed after her into the tiny room. It was quieter here, and we would not be overheard.

‘It’s Sir Walter,’ I told her. ‘He has ordered the chaplain to poison Mother.’

The high colour in Betsey’s plump cheeks faded.

‘You heard him do that?’

I nodded.

‘I did. If I had not, I could never have believed that even he could be so wicked.’

‘They’ve tried it before,’ said Betsey. ‘Your mother told you herself.’

I shook my head. ‘No. We knew that she thought she had been poisoned. We did not know that Father himself had given the order. Mother would not have believed that. I can scarcely believe it even now.’

I realized I was shaking. The overheard conversation in the stables had come as a huge shock to me.

‘My own father!’ I exclaimed. ‘How could he do such a thing? Surely nobody could be wicked enough to kill their own wife?’

‘Oh, couldn’t they indeed?’ retorted Betsey swiftly. ‘It wouldn’t be the first time. Not even the first time in this family.’

It was as though the stone flags rocked under my feet. I was suddenly short of breath.

‘What are you talking about, Betsey?’ I demanded.

Betsey put her hands to her mouth and moaned.

‘Oh dear. Oh dear. I’m forbidden to speak of it,’ she said, her voice hushed. ‘I’d lose my place if I did.’

I grasped her sleeve and shook it slightly.

‘You have to tell me now,’ I told her. ‘Or I shall fear the worst.’

‘The truth is bad enough, Miss. It don’t get much worse.’

‘Tell me, Betsey! You know I would never breathe a word that might harm you,’ I urged her.

Betsey took a deep breath and began to speak in a low hurried voice. ‘Sir Walter had a bad start in life. His mother died. And his father, Sir Edward, fell in love with one of his own servants. Agnes, she were called. But she were already married, weren’t she? So what do you think she did?’

‘I don’t know,’ I whispered.

‘She had her husband murdered,’ said Betsey.

I gasped.

‘I have heard nothing of this,’ I replied faintly.

‘Of course not. None of the servants is allowed to speak of it. But his body was chopped up and burned, here in this very oven,’ said the cook. She looked at me anxiously, as if wondering how I’d take the news. I gulped, feeling sick and faint. After a moment, Betsey continued:

‘No one discovered it at first. She married Sir Edward, your grandfather. But then Sir Edward himself died mysteriously, leaving all his money to Agnes.

‘That’s when it affected your father. Sir Walter lost his inheritance and his home by the will. Well, that ain’t normal. Noblemen don’t leave their property away from their sons. So there was an investigation. And it all came out. She was hanged at Tyburn for the murder of her first husband. They found the men what did it. They admitted it. But no one could prove Agnes had murdered Sir Edward. And your father, he was not much older than you then. Imagine that going on around you. No wonder it soured him.’

‘So Father’s stepmother murdered his father? My grandfather? Is that what you’re saying?’

The cook shook her head. ‘I’m saying nothing. They couldn’t prove it.’

My head was reeling with all this information. But Betsey was still speaking.

‘And then … your mother is not Sir Walter’s first wife you know, Mistress,’ she said darkly.

‘I know that,’ I replied. ‘He was married twice before. There’s no secret about that. His previous wives died … ’ My sentence trailed into silence as I took in the significance of what I was saying. ‘What are you suggesting?’ I faltered. ‘That my father murders his wives?’

Betsey shook her head, but the expression on her face frightened me.

‘I’m just saying they died. Nothing more, nothing less. And he weren’t happy with them. Treated them something terrible. But your mother was different. He did well married to her. Till these last years.’

‘Why is he doing this, Betsey?’ I asked, my voice choked. ‘She’s never done him any harm.’

‘I don’t know any more than you do, Mistress,’ Betsey replied, shaking her head.

There was a shout and a clatter from the kitchen and we both jumped.

‘I must get back to work before the supper is spoiled,’ said Betsey, her mind veering back to her duties. ‘But you warn her ladyship, Mistress Eleanor.’

‘I am about to, Betsy,’ I told her, holding up the note I intended to lay inside the bundle of food. Betsey nodded grimly and we left the stillroom together. At once she became distracted by a dozen kitchen servants’ questions. And we could both see the lad who was supposed to be minding the spit. He had his back to the fire and was leaning over the shoulder of a young kitchen maid as she kneaded dough, one hand on her slim waist. Judging by her blushes he was whispering in her ear. Betsey sallied over before he knew she was there and boxed his ears.

I grabbed the bundle of food and fled the kitchen, the spit-boy’s howls ringing in my ears.

I was deeply shaken by what Betsey had told me. I had grown used to my mother being locked away now. It no longer shocked me, though I still missed her terribly. But this news had shaken me to my very bones. Suddenly, murderers lurked around every corner. I imagined phials of poison in the chaplain’s hands dripping their deadly contents into Mother’s mouth. As I crossed the court and walked to the gatehouse, my mind filled with images of dismembered bodies consumed in flames, I was breathing in short gasps, my limbs heavy and unresponsive as I walked.

The guards at the gatehouse let me pass without comment. They were used to my daily outings to Farleigh Hungerford village. I went sometimes to visit the poor and the sick as my mother used to do, so my regular visits to Alice went unnoticed. I walked across the wooden drawbridge, my bundle concealed beneath my cloak.

I tried to push the images of murder from my mind and focus instead on how I could reach Mother. I took several deep steadying breaths. It would not do to frighten myself so that I couldn’t think.

I poured my woes out to Alice when I reached her tiny cottage. Alice had been very sick some years ago and Mother had cared for her, bringing her food and even calling a doctor. Alice had recovered from her illness, and had been devoted to Mother ever since. She would do anything for her, convinced Mother had saved her life.

Alice listened, while she rocked her tiny newborn baby in its cradle. It was crying fretfully, its face pinched and sallow.

‘And so you see, I must find some way of speaking with Mother, before they … before anything dreadful is done to her,’ I concluded, twisting my hands together in distress.

Alice laid one rough, work-worn hand on mine.

‘Her ladyship will not take food from the chaplain again,’ she said soothingly. ‘Not as long as I and the other women take her food each night.’

‘But he might find some way to trick her,’ I protested.

Alice shook her head, but asked: ‘There’s no way you can get to speak to her, is there? They keep the Lady Tower locked.’

‘Yes. The chaplain has the keys. I see them every day, Alice. He has them hanging from that cord around his waist. He grows fatter with every month that passes, eating most of the good food he pretends to take up to Mother. The keys bump against his belly at every step, but he doesn’t seem to mind. I never see him without them. He pretends to be a man of God, but in truth he is no better than a gaoler and an assassin.’

‘Except that he has not killed your mother, Mistress,’ said Alice. ‘He must have had chances aplenty, these past four years, but he has not taken them.’

‘What I don’t understand,’ I said, ‘is why it is suddenly so urgent now? Mother has been locked up for four years. Has something happened to make Sir Walter more angry?’ I shook my head, at a loss to know what to think. It made no sense to me.

‘I can’t help you there,’ Alice said. ‘I don’t know nothing about the ways of noblemen.’

I got up to go, leaving the bundle of food for Mother and the precious note.

‘Is there anything you need, Alice?’ I asked. ‘I’m sorry. I was so upset today that I forgot to pack a loaf for you.’

Alice shook her head. ‘Never mind, Mistress. I’ve hungry mouths to feed but we can manage.’

I looked at the baby, still grizzling in its cradle. The thought of this family’s poverty drew me from my own troubles for a moment. They had helped Mother without hesitation, even though, if caught, they could lose their home and their employ for defying their landlord.

‘Can I bring you some milk, Alice, or some cream? I’m sure Betsey would spare some.’

‘That would be most kind, if it’s not too much trouble,’ said Alice gratefully. ‘The older children would love to have some milk to drink. They’re out in the fields helping their father this morning, but they are always hungry when they come in.’

‘I’ll bring something tomorrow,’ I promised her.

I returned to the castle deep in thought. The day was drawing to a close and it was chilly as I walked along in the shadow of the curtain wall towards the drawbridge. I had the beginnings of an idea in my mind. It was not possible to take the keys without the chaplain noticing, I knew that. But what about when he slept? Where did he put them then? The very idea of creeping into his rooms at night made me feel dizzy with fear. Did I have the courage to carry such a plan out? For Mother’s sake, I thought perhaps I did.

My dearest Eleanor,

Fear not. I will touch nothing. Tell me more of the tournament. Every piece of news is like a breath of fresh air,

Elizabeth.

I went to the chapel as darkness fell that night. I had not gone in to supper, feeling too excited and terrified at the thought of what I was planning to do to eat a single bite.