The Lady in the Tower (6 page)

‘Father, please. Sir Walter, I mean. I’m sorry if I’ve angered you.’

He took hold of the buckle end of the belt and twisted it firmly around his right hand, drawing the leather through his left hand in a menacing way. Cold terror gripped me.

‘Please, please, don’t hit me,’ I begged him, despising myself even as I spoke the words.

My father said not a word. As the blows began to rain down on me I could not help crying out, though I stifled my cries as much as possible, gritting my teeth together and clenching my fists. I tried to turn from him, to evade the lashes, but he pursued me relentlessly, delivering blow after blow. He struck me hard on my back, my arms, and my legs—I had never felt such pain. The stinging leather struck every part of me except my face. Even at the time I noticed that he avoided my face.

Eventually I lay curled in a tight ball on the floor, my arms over my head, whimpering like a baby. I am ashamed to admit it, but I fear it’s the truth. At last the blows ceased and I dared look up. Sir Walter was leaning against his desk, panting and sweating, his face a contorted mask of hate and rage. The disgust I felt for him gave me a little strength.

‘Get up!’ he snarled. I struggled to my feet, hurting and smarting all over. The floor swayed under me and my legs felt unsteady.

Sir Walter passed a hand over his face, and his mood changed abruptly once more.

‘Do you understand now, Eleanor?’ he asked, and his tone was haunted. ‘I did not want to hurt you. But I cannot have you turning out like your mother.’ Sir Walter’s tone was pleading, like a small child who had been naughty. I felt a wave of sickness sweep over me, and recoiled from him. My father approached me closer and took my hand. My skin crawled at his touch. I forced myself to remain still and neither flinch nor look at him. When he got no response, he flung me from him. Sir Walter unlocked the door and threw it open. ‘Go,’ he snarled, his voice surly.

I did not need telling twice.

My dearest Eleanor,

I hope you have not been punished for what you did last night. I shall not be easy until I have heard you are well. It was wonderful to see you and I shall pass many days enjoying the memory of holding my dear daughter in my arms once more. But please, Eleanor. Never take such a risk again.

Elizabeth

I lay face down on my palliasse for two days after that fateful night. My body was bruised and cut and I could not move without grievous pain. No one knew what had occurred and so no one came to tend me.

Eventually, thirst and my fear for Mother drove me downstairs.

‘Mercy, Mistress, whatever happened to you?’ cried Betsey as she saw me limping, stooped and faint, into the kitchen. I knew I must look a sight. I had not washed nor even put a brush to my hair in two days. My mouth and skin felt parched from lack of water.

As briefly as possible I told Betsey what had occurred and she threw her hands up in horror. She made me sit down on a footstool and drink some milk, fussing over me like a mother hen.

‘What about Mother?’ I asked. ‘She’s had nothing for two days either.’

Betsey looked concerned, but said, ‘Perhaps that’s just as well, Mistress, if they’re watching her at the moment. You could have put her in real danger with that jaunt of yours.’

‘I was trying to help,’ I murmured.

‘I knows that,’ said Betsey, grasping my shoulder. I winced and she released me.

‘Perhaps I can take something to Alice today,’ offered Betsey.

‘No,’ I cried. ‘Do not! If I am caught leaving the castle with food, it is alms for the poor. If you are caught, it would be stealing.’

Betsey acknowledged this with a reluctant nod.

‘But you’re not well enough, Mistress,’ she said anxiously.

‘I will be in a few moments,’ I said firmly. ‘This milk is giving me new strength already. Oh, and Betsey, I promised Alice some milk. Her baby is ailing and her other children are suffering hunger.’

Betsey nodded and bustled away to get the provisions together.

It was a struggle to walk to the village, but I was well rewarded by Alice’s joy in seeing me safe and in receiving the gifts of bread and milk for her family. She also tended some of my cuts with vinegar. It stung greatly, but gave some relief.

‘We wondered what in the world could have happened to you, Mistress,’ Alice said. ‘I knew you’d never stay away on purpose. We took your mother some water last night, but we had no food to spare but a crust of bread.’

‘Bless you for your help,’ I told her gratefully.

Sir Walter sent a message to me that very night: one of the kitchen maids knocked on the door of my attic room.

‘Begging your pardon, Mistress Eleanor, but master says you’re to dine in the hall with the guests tonight,’ she said nervously, bobbing a quick curtsey.

I heard her with dismay, and merely nodded a silent dismissal. I did not want to set eyes on my father. It was repugnant to have to show him smiles and obedience. Moreover, I was still so sore, it was hard for me to move about. But I knew I had little choice.

So I was ordered to dine with the guests. I was to be a part of the Hungerford family once more, no longer banished to the servants’ table. I felt anxious about this, quite apart from my bodily hurts. I no longer felt sure I knew how to dine in polite company. I also feared it meant my betrothal was approaching. Perhaps my future husband was already in the castle.

Moreover I had a practical difficulty. What was I to wear? While my brother had had clothes and gifts aplenty from Sir Walter, I had had nothing in four years.

I pulled all my old clothes from my linen chest and searched through them for a kirtle or a gown that might still fit me. One by one, I pulled them on, wincing as they chafed my maltreated body. I shook my head in despair. Here was nothing that would not shame me before visitors. No fifteen year old can look presentable in dresses made for an eleven year old, and to make things worse, I had grown tall for my age. My skirts did not cover my ankles, my sleeves were strangers to my wrists, and my breasts pushed uncomfortably against the too-tight fabric of the kirtles. Finally, and with great reluctance, I pulled on the green kirtle and cloth of gold gown I had worn for my previous betrothal, covered it with a shawl, and sought my father. He was in his office, giving audience to a long line of tenants who doubtless had many complaints and requests to make of their landlord. He had been little enough at Farleigh over the last four years.

I went to the front of the queue. The steward stopped me at the door.

‘Mistress Eleanor?’ he asked, a questioning lift to his brows.

‘I must see Sir Walter about an urgent matter,’ I explained in a low voice. He nodded and soon ushered me into my father’s presence. I was met with a hefty frown.

‘What is it, girl? I have much business to conduct today.’ He shifted impatiently in his seat. I dropped a curtsey and kept my eyes lowered. This was the room where I had been beaten so recently. It was not pleasant to be here again.

‘Sir Walter. I am sorry to intrude. I received your message about dinner tonight and I find myself in a sad difficulty.’

I did not wish to argue or provoke him today either. I was safer if he believed me to be compliant.

‘What?’ he barked. ‘Spit it out!’

I lifted my eyes briefly to his face to gauge his mood then cast them humbly down once more. ‘I have nothing to wear that will not shame you, my lord,’ I said apologetically. You mean, traitorous dog, I added silently.

I lifted my arms to show him the shortness of my sleeves and saw his eyes wander over my ill-fitting bodice.

‘Damnation,’ he swore loudly. ‘This should have been thought of.’ He banged his fist down on the table suddenly. I jumped, but held my ground. ‘More expense to deck you out in finery,’ he muttered. There was silence for a few moments except for the impatient drumming of his fingertips on the desktop. Then he rose suddenly to his feet and kicked a chair brutally across the floor.

‘A curse on your head, you little witch!’ he shouted. ‘Stay in your room for a few days until you can be suitably dressed. Eat your meals in the kitchen. None of your sneaking about. I’ll give out that you are indisposed.’

I was trembling with fright, praying that he would not let his anger loose on me again. I managed to curtsey and was leaving as quickly as I could, when my eye fell on a Bible lying on Sir Walter’s table. I paused, without realizing what I did, and stared at it. It was bound in leather and I could see it was printed, not scribed.

‘What are you staring at, girl?’ demanded Sir Walter irascibly. ‘Oh, the new Coverdale Bible. That cost me more than my three best tournament horses. Aye, I can see you are dying to look at it. Well, you may borrow it, if it will keep you in your room. It’s no use to me. I bought it to please the king.’

Hardly able to believe that my father was giving me so valuable a book to read, I picked it up and hugging it close I made for the door.

‘Eleanor!’ came a shout behind me. I turned anxiously.

‘Don’t damage that!’ Sir Walter warned me.

‘I won’t,’ I promised and fled.

I had accomplished my aim and much more.

The Bible was in English, the new translation approved by the king. I had learned to read from portions of the New Testament copied out by scribes. This would be better by far.

I did not stay in my room, of course. Dressed as a servant, as I was, there was little danger that any of the guests would recognize me later as Mistress Hungerford. Servants were well nigh invisible to fine folk, I knew that well enough. With just a few precautions, I could continue to roam the castle as I pleased.

Dearest Mother,

I am well enough. Sir Walter did not punish me. It is you I fear for.

Eleanor

The building work had begun on the tournament ground. From the old schoolroom window, I watched several large trees being felled. An army of craftsmen—joiners, carpenters, and labourers—were busy in the field across the river. The lists were taking shape and the seating was under construction.

Sir Walter must be spending a fortune, I thought. How I will laugh if the king does not come after all.

I had seen the king once before. I was only seven when we last visited London. We stayed at Hungerford House, but I went with my parents to Windsor. I saw him in the gardens. He was very tall. I had never seen such a tall man. Fair of face and fine of figure. All England loved him. Later, people began to mutter against him. They did not like the break with Rome or the new Protestant priests.

I never heard such gossip within the castle, for Cromwell and my father were the king’s advisers. Here everyone was loyal. But when I rode out to the villages around the estate, I heard a different story. They disapproved of Henry’s many marriages. He was now on his fourth marriage, to Anne of Cleves, and the gossip told me it was not going well. That had to be dangerous for my father. I knew he and Cromwell had proposed and arranged the match. Perhaps this tournament was an attempt to placate the king.

My musings were interrupted by a rustle of skirts behind me. I jumped and looked round. A lady stood in the doorway. I could not help but stare. She was dressed so very grandly in velvets and silks. There were jewels winking at her throat and on her arms, and her fingers were laden with heavy rings. She wore a headdress, but it was not the English hood I had once hated to wear. It was a new fashion I did not recognize.

‘You must be Mistress Eleanor?’ she asked. I recollected myself and hurriedly smoothed my shabby kirtle. Sir Walter’s instructions had been to stay in my room, so I made to leave, but she remained in the doorway, blocking my exit and smiling. ‘I’m so pleased to meet you! And to see that you are recovered from your indisposition, of course.’ She stepped forward and embraced me, kissing me on both cheeks. I felt myself stiff and resistant. I did not like being hugged by strangers. In fact I wasn’t used to being touched by anyone at all.

The lady looked out at the building work and smiled slyly at me.