The Lady in the Tower (5 page)

Selecting a secluded pew near the back of the chapel, I sat quietly as the dusk deepened around me. A single candle flickered at the altar, casting long dancing shadows as the flame was caught by draughts. I murmured some prayers for Mother’s safety and another for the success of the task ahead.

I could hear voices outside the chapel. Men were crossing the inner court, talking and laughing. Once there was a sound of hooves on cobbles, and I heard a horse neigh from the stables in the distance.

When it was completely dark, I heard the rattle of the chains from the gatehouse as the drawbridge was raised for the night. Whenever the doors to the keep were opened, I could hear the voices and laughter of my father and his guests from the great hall. They were merry tonight. I thought again of the conversation I had overheard this morning, and wondered how Sir Walter could plot such dreadful deeds and then sit drinking and laughing, playing the carefree host. I felt a rush of hatred towards him.

An hour passed. Perhaps more. The castle grew quiet at last. I heard the guards retire. I was beginning to feel stiff and cold. I had been certain the chaplain would come to the chapel before he went to bed, but it grew so late, I began to doubt my plan. I was just about to move, when the chapel door was pushed open. I jumped, even though I had been waiting for it.

The chaplain didn’t see me, a still figure in the deep shadows. He walked to the front of the chapel and kneeled at the rail, his head bent in prayer. What a hypocrite, I thought. Did he really expect God to sanction him poisoning Mother?

After some time the chaplain heaved himself to his feet, leaning heavily on the altar rail. He had grown fatter than ever, wearing his stolen food around his middle like a roll of guilt. Then he gave a great sigh and blew the candle out.

The chapel was plunged into darkness. I heard him lumber down the aisle towards me and pause at the door. I held my breath, willing him to leave quickly. The door banged shut and he was gone. His footsteps faded.

I heard only the sound of the wind in the hour that followed, and once I was startled by a mouse scuttling across the chapel floor.

At last I thought the chaplain must be asleep. I bent and picked up my lantern, which I had darkened on three sides so I would not give myself away with too much light. I stretched and slipped out of the chapel. There was a torch guttering in the porch and I lit my candle by that. Then I crept towards the chaplain’s chambers. My heart was hammering now and my mouth unpleasantly dry. I hesitated for a moment, grappling with my failing courage.

The latch was cold in my hand. I eased it slowly up, doing my best to make no noise. Then I pushed the heavy door open. If it had creaked, I would have fled at that point. But it did not. It swung soundlessly open, and so I crept forward into the dark room.

The air was thick and stale. I could hear the chaplain’s grunting snores coming from the inner room. It was a disgusting but reassuring sound. There could be no doubt he was asleep.

No moonlight penetrated this first room, and so I lifted the lantern, aiming its narrow beam of light onto the chaplain’s writing table. There were rolls of parchment, a couple of quills, and a bottle of ink, but no keys. I scanned the walls looking for nails they could hang upon. I felt in the wall niches, but there was nothing. My heart sank. The keys must be in the chaplain’s bedchamber.

As I turned to creep into the lion’s den itself, I stumbled over a chair. I grasped it and prevented it falling, but in the process it made a scraping noise against the flagstones.

The chaplain’s snores stopped abruptly. I quickly shuttered the lantern and stood stock still, hardly daring to breathe. I could feel my heart knocking against my ribs.

After a long moment, I heard the chaplain sigh and roll over in bed. There was a short pause and the snores began again, more quietly and regularly this time. As I moved towards the bedchamber again, I found I was shaking. I breathed deeply and glided noiselessly forward. There was some moonlight in here, showing me the huge, blanket-muffled form of the sleeping chaplain. One flabby white arm was flung up over his face.

I shone the lantern onto the walls, taking care not to allow any light to fall upon the sleeping man.

There. Suddenly I saw them. They were lying on a small chest next to his bed. I took a step closer to him. And then another. I put out my hand and took hold of my prize. There was a faint clinking as I picked them up. It sounded loud in my ears but the chaplain did not stir.

I crept backwards out of the room, crossed the outer chamber and then I was out in the fresh air, flying across the inner court. Abandoning my lantern at the foot of the Lady Tower, I fumbled with the bunch of keys, searching for the right one. It was the biggest and the newest key and it turned easily in the lock. I tore up the spiral staircase, heedless now of noise, and hammered on the topmost door.

‘Mother!’ I cried. ‘Mother, it is I, Eleanor!’

This key was harder to find and fit to the lock in the deep darkness of the stairway. But at last the lock clicked back and I flung open the door.

I could see Mother like a deeper shadow in the darkness.

‘Eleanor, is that really you?’ I heard her voice utter faintly.

I dropped to my knees beside her and threw my arms around her.

I hugged her tight in the darkness, noticing how thin and frail she felt.

‘Eleanor, it’s the middle of the night,’ protested Mother, half crying, half laughing. We clung to one another, and Mother was kissing me on the cheek, and stroking my hair. It was comforting.

‘What are you doing here?’ Mother asked.

‘Mother, you are in such danger. I am so afraid for you,’ I said. ‘Did you get my note?’

‘I did, an hour since, and I penned a reply by candlelight. You must not fear. I shall eat or drink nothing that does not come from you, my dear one.’

I pulled back, trying to look at her face, but I could not see it in the darkness. The window was closely shuttered. I got up and threw open the shutters to let in what little light there was. It turned the room a ghostly grey, but I could still not see the expression on Mother’s face.

‘Does the chaplain not wonder that you eat and drink nothing?’ I asked her.

‘Eleanor, my dearest girl, I am not stupid. I throw the food and drink he brings into the moat.’

‘Mother, leave Farleigh with me,’ I begged her. ‘Right now, while I have the key.’

‘In the middle of the night?’ asked my mother gently. ‘How would we get out?’

‘We cannot, but we could hide in the stables and leave at first light, when they let down the drawbridge,’ I urged her. ‘Before they discover you are missing. Please. I cannot bear being parted from you like this. I cannot live with the dread of what they might do to you.’

‘Eleanor.’ Mother stroked my hair back from my face. ‘Do you really think the guards would let me pass? And if they did, where would we go? Do you have money? For I have none.’

I shook my head despairingly.

‘Not a single coin.’

Mother hugged me again, and rocked me a little in her arms.

‘We must pray that your father relents, my dear daughter,’ she whispered. She took my face in her hands and they were thin and dry like birds’ feet. ‘Are you well, at least, Eleanor? Does he treat you properly?’

‘I am well enough,’ I replied. ‘But I am to be betrothed again. I dread to think who my husband will be. If he is half as old and repulsive as the last one, I would rather die than marry him. And if I am forced to wed him and leave Farleigh, who will take care of you?’

‘Perhaps,’ said Mother, ‘he may be a good man. You could tell him of my situation. He may be able to help. To speak to the king or to Thomas Cromwell.’

‘I could try,’ I replied doubtfully. ‘But, Mother, Cromwell will not help you. He is Sir Walter’s closest friend. And I overheard him the other day, ordering the chaplain to … ’

‘Hush … ’ said Mother suddenly, clutching my arm. ‘I hear something.’

The words had barely left her when the door behind me swung open. There was the click of a lantern being unshuttered and a light shone into my eyes. From somewhere behind the light a male voice spoke.

‘Well, well. What a nice surprise, Mistress Eleanor.’

I jumped to my feet. I could not see who the speaker was, but I knew his voice. The chaplain was standing in the room with us, and I could well imagine his malicious glee. But there was another man with him. A second lantern moved into the small room, and lit up the angry face of my father, a tunic and leggings hastily pulled over his nightshirt by the look of him. His hair was tousled and his eyes were wild. He had none of the chaplain’s calm enjoyment of the situation.

‘Father?’ I faltered. My lips felt numb with shock as I tried to speak. I realized my hands were shaking and took hold of the folds of my gown to steady them.

The chaplain stepped forward and stopped right in front of me.

‘Did you really think we were so easy to fool? That I did not hear you sneaking into my room like some shameless wanton? Like a thief in the night?’

His breath was in my face, smelling of wine and meat.

I turned away from the chaplain. It was useless to appeal to his finer feelings. He had none.

‘Father,’ I begged. ‘I miss Mother. Is it so very bad to want to see her?’

‘Address me as Sir Walter, if you please,’ he snapped.

‘And don’t pretend you had no motive in coming here. We have been at the door long enough to hear what you are planning.’

My heart jumped into my mouth as I remembered urging my mother to flee.

‘Bring her,’ ordered Sir Walter abruptly. The chaplain nodded. He grasped my arm in a painfully tight grip. I resisted, twisting around to look at Mother. But she sat huddled on the bed, hugging her knees, moaning softly. I wondered what they had done to her to break her spirit so.

The chaplain marched me out through the door which Sir Walter held open. I gave one last anguished backwards glance. The banging of the door echoed round the tower, and I heard the stolen keys rattle in the lock.

I was pushed and pulled all the way to my father’s great chamber, my arm twisted painfully behind me. The chaplain left us alone. My father locked the door behind him and pocketed the key. I felt fear beginning to rise in me. The father I had once loved was long gone. In his place stood a wild animal. Unpredictable and dangerous. He might do anything.

Sir Walter leaned back against the wall and folded his arms.

‘So you sneak around the stables eavesdropping on private conversations, do you?’ he asked.

‘No, Sir Walter,’ I said, forcing my voice to be meek and casting my eyes down in what I hoped was an apologetic, submissive way. I had discovered over the years that it was the way to provoke the least anger from him. ‘I overheard you quite by chance that day.’

And how much had Sir Walter heard of our conversation, I wondered, casting my mind back over what had been said. Had he overheard that I smuggled food and notes to Mother? If he had, we were in very serious trouble. Surely he could not have followed me up the staircase in time to have heard that?

Sir Walter stepped forward, took hold of a handful of my hair and twisted it so that I cried out and was forced to my knees.

‘Don’t even think about talking to your future husband about me or my business,’ he hissed in my ear. ‘He knows everything. He is deep in my confidence. And you breathe one word to him, or to anyone else, about your mother, I will know at once. Do you understand me?’

‘How can I, when I don’t even know who he is?’ I cried angrily.

‘You’ll know soon enough. I asked you if you understand me!’

‘Yes, Sir Walter,’ I gasped, the pain of my twisted hair making my eyes water.

‘You went to Doctor Horde at the priory once. Do you remember? I found out the very same day.’

‘I remember,’ I said bitterly. Dr Horde was the prior of the monastery at Henton Charterhouse. I had gone to him for help years ago, but my father had somehow found out. I had been locked up without food for days. I wondered what my punishment would be this time.

Abruptly, I was released, and got to my feet panting with relief. Sir Walter was looking at his hand, with the strangest expression on his face. I saw several long auburn hairs lying across his palm. The same colour his own hair had been before it was touched with grey.

He spoke again and his tone was changed.

‘Why, Eleanor?’ he asked. Sir Walter was now gazing at me with such intensity that it made me uncomfortable. ‘Remember you are my daughter,’ he said softly. ‘Why don’t you forget that evil witch, and you and I can be friends? We can be allies.’

‘She’s not an evil witch,’ I cried. ‘She’s Mother. And you are wrong to lock her up.’

‘How dare you question my actions?’ roared Sir Walter, making me jump. ‘I’ll teach you some manners! And I’ll teach you what will happen to you if you dare to defy me.’

He stepped back from me and began to unbuckle his belt. There was a look of hard anger on his face. I felt my legs give way in fear and I fell once more to my knees. I had never been thrashed. Surely he would not do so?