The Lady in the Tower (7 page)

‘Ah! You have been dreaming of the knight who will ride into the lists wearing your favour. Of watching him ride to victory. I see it in your eyes.’

I cast my eyes down hurriedly. I was thinking of no such thing, I thought indignantly. If I were to think of the tournament at all, I would dream of riding in it myself.

‘So shy?’ laughed the lady, and put her arm about my shoulders. She reeked of perfume and hair paste and I pulled away. There was a large pomander swinging from her girdle giving off a sickly scent.

‘You do not know me, Eleanor. But we shall be better acquainted hereafter. I am Maria Sheldon. I have been looking for you. Can you guess why?’ She looked at me archly, her brows raised, a determined smile pinned to her lips. I shook my head mutely.

‘The merchant has arrived with cloths and silks. Your dear father has asked me to choose something suitable for you. And I can see you are sorely in need of new clothes.’ She cast a doubtful look at my attire. ‘Will that not be exciting?’ she asked.

She treats me like a small child, I thought. But I suppose I must go along with it, at least a little, if I do not wish to anger Sir Walter. I can be as false as she.

‘Indeed, ma’am,’ I said drily as I curtseyed. ‘That will be vastly entertaining. Do I accompany you at once?’

She seemed to notice nothing amiss in my tone, for she smiled once more and led me down to the former family apartment. There, a sharp-faced merchant awaited us, his bolts of cloth laid out for us to view.

I must confess that after wearing worn-out dresses for so long, the prospect of new ones was appealing. Mistress Maria quickly totted up what I would need on her fingers, and the list made me reel with shock.

‘Four chemises, two kirtles for day wear, with matching gowns. Two evening gowns. Matching girdles for each outfit. And red flannel for underclothes—it’s the warmest. A cloak for riding. Do you ride? You do? Yes, very well then, a cloak. And headdresses … do you favour the English hood, my dear?’

‘No, certainly not,’ I began, but I was not allowed to continue.

‘You are quite right.
So
out of style. The French hood is far more becoming. We will need several ells of black velvet for French hoods.’ This last was spoken to the merchant, whose small eyes were lighting up with glee at the length of Mistress Maria’s list.

I almost forgot my hostility towards my companion as we examined and selected fabrics. Mistress Maria was some years older than I and far more experienced in the ways of the world. She chose and directed with great confidence, and drove a hard bargain with the merchant.

The cloth cut and the price agreed, she grandly waved him away, telling him to present his bill to Sir Walter. The shoemaker and hatter followed and my hoods were ordered and my shoes chosen. It had become the fashion, it appeared, to wear shoes with a square toe, and I would need one pair for each outfit, as the leather was slashed and the coloured lining arranged to show through and match the gown.

Maria threw herself back into my mother’s chair and sighed.

‘I declare there is nothing more exhausting than the choosing of clothes,’ she remarked languidly.

I could have agreed, but I refrained. Instead, I wondered to see her so at home here where Mother had once lived. She cannot be aware that this is Mother’s room, I thought.

‘I think we have chosen well, Eleanor. Will it not be delightful to have new clothes?’ Without waiting for a reply, Maria continued, lowering her voice confidentially: ‘I have heard how shamefully your mother has neglected you of late, you poor child.’ Maria leaned forward and squeezed my hand. I whipped it away.

‘What do you mean?’ I demanded abruptly.

‘We must forgive her, though,’ she said, ignoring my question and nodding compassionately. ‘I see it is a painful subject for you, but your mother cannot help being sick, you know. It is very tragic.’

‘Mother is not sick,’ I uttered in a choked voice. ‘Unless being deprived of her freedom, being locked in a tower, can make her so.’

Miss Maria looked startled for a moment, but then smiled again. ‘But it is for her own safety. And it is natural that you should wish her to be well. It is hard to lose your mother. But she is not likely to live much longer, Sir Walter tells me.’ She leaned forward to stroke my cheek. I thought there was a look of greedy anticipation on her face. I leapt to my feet to avoid her and walked away across the room.

‘It is my father who is sick,’ I exclaimed indignantly. ‘He goes mad and locks people up or beats them!’

The look of shock on Maria’s face gave me pause. I bit back the next words I had been about to utter. This was clearly a friend of my father’s. She might repeat anything I said. He would flay me alive.

The servant entered at that moment with wine and cakes, and his entrance gave me time to gather my scattered wits and put on an act.

‘Indeed you do not know what you are saying,’ uttered Mistress Maria gently once the servant had left us. ‘You are upset and it has unbalanced your mind. Perhaps your father should send for a doctor for you too?’ She spoke with false concern, and took a step towards me. ‘Perhaps I should tell your father how wildly you speak?’

My stomach tightened with fear and I realized how stupid I had been. To retrieve the situation, I stepped back away from her, and put a trembling hand up to shield my eyes. I swayed a little, feigning dizziness.

‘No indeed. There is no need. You are quite right: I am greatly distressed for Mother. I sometimes think it will drive me quite mad. I am so frightened for her.’ I gave a stifled sob. I hoped it sounded realistic.

‘Of course,’ came the honeyed tone. I could smell her overpowering perfume once more: the awful woman had come closer and might hug me again at any moment. ‘Sit down and take a glass of wine, my dear Eleanor,’ her voice purred in my ear. ‘You will feel better for it.’

‘No, I need to lie down,’ I gasped and turned and fled the room.

‘That’s a good idea,’ I heard her say as I left. ‘I will look in on you presently.’

I must be more careful, I thought as I took the spiral steps to my room two at a time. No one is on my side. They are all my father’s spies.

Dear Eleanor,

Your note has relieved my mind. The castle sounds much busier than usual. Even in my seclusion I hear the change. Tell me the news!

Your loving Mother

Guests continued to arrive at Farleigh. Noblemen and men of power and influence were quartered within the castle. Lesser men pitched camp in the fields beyond the lists. All of them made merry whilst awaiting the arrival of the king and the start of the tournament.

From the castle windows, I could see how the camp soon filled with gaily coloured tents topped with fluttering pennants. By night I could see the numerous campfires. The sound of voices and laughter drifted up to the castle. My home was become a bustling hive of activity, the formerly silent, empty corridors transformed into busy thoroughfares for guests and servants. I did not like the change. I risked being recognized every time I left my room. I borrowed a servant’s veil from Betsey and tied my distinctive hair up in it. I kept my head down.

‘Why will you dress yourself like that, Mistress Eleanor?’ cried Betsey. ‘Do you
want
to be taken for a servant?’

‘Yes, Betsey. It’s the easiest way to get about.’ I grinned.

She shook her head disapprovingly as she wrapped a clean cloth around a soft loaf, some sweetmeats, and two apples, supplies for Mother.

‘There, I hope that’s enough for the poor dear,’ fussed Betsey, opening the bundle again to add a leg of chicken. ‘It’s little enough to sustain her. Here—take this loaf for Alice too.’

‘I will, Betsey, though it’s hard to conceal so much.’

As I wrapped the provisions in my shawl, Betsey tutted over my apparel once more.

‘Whatever be the world coming to when young ladies have to dress as servants in their own homes?’ Betsey grumbled. ‘Is the master going to get you nothing new at all for the king’s visit?’

‘Oh yes, some very grand clothes are being made for me. But they aren’t yet ready. Meanwhile I have to get out to the village.’

She nodded. ‘To think, that we shall see the king in a few days.’ She stopped what she was doing and hugged herself, her face lit up with excitement. ‘Is he as handsome as they say, Mistress?’ When I nodded, she shivered with sheer pleasure. ‘Ooh, I shall be all of a twitter worriting about serving food to royalty,’ she exclaimed. ‘And will his new queen be accompanying him?’

‘Anne of Cleves?’ I asked. ‘I do not know.’ I leaned forward conspiratorially: ‘I have heard that he travels into the west country to escape her,’ I whispered. ‘There is talk of divorce.’

‘Surely not?’ She gasped. ‘They are not five months wed!’

‘Well, that’s what I heard,’ I told her.

I left her to her work, and headed out of the kitchens and up a staircase to the next floor. I skirted the great hall, not wanting to risk my disguise too far. I slipped down a narrow, little-used corridor.

It was very early and most of the guests were still abed. I was disappointed therefore to see a smartly dressed young man coming down a stairway towards me. It was too late to turn back; he had already seen me. I glanced swiftly and recognized him. He was the man who had spotted me peeping from the hayloft the day my father returned.

I kept my eyes down and hurried up the stairs. He was looking at me. I turned my face away, but to my great annoyance, I caught my foot on the step just as I was level with him. I fell onto the stone stairs, striking my shin painfully on the edge of a step, and the bundle flew out of my hands. I cursed myself. Before I could scramble up again, strong hands took hold of my arms, and pulled me to my feet.

‘Are you hurt?’ he asked.

‘Not at all,’ I assured him mendaciously, looking anxiously for my bundle. He let me go and went to gather it up for me. I saw it had come unwrapped and my heart jumped into my mouth. An apple had rolled out onto the stairway and I could see my folded note lying loose. I rushed to grasp the note before he could, stuffing it into my sleeve.

‘Please, do not trouble yourself,’ I begged him, trying to pick up the other things myself as well.

‘It’s no trouble,’ he replied.

Fortunately, he gathered my bundle without curiosity or comment and handed it to me. I almost snatched it from him in my eagerness to hide it and be gone. Before I could make my escape, he took hold of my arm again.

‘May I not know your name?’ he asked in a light-hearted voice. I panicked for a moment, but then remembered I was supposed to be playing the servant. I had quite forgotten.

‘It’s Jane,
if
you please, sir.’ I told him, bobbing a curtsey, eyes down. ‘Please, may I pass, sir?’ I imitated the west-country burr with which all the servants spoke and was pardonably pleased with the result. I hoped he would not notice the inconsistency with my former speech.

‘Why, what’s the hurry?’ he asked. ‘Let me see your face first.’

I wished to avoid his close scrutiny at all costs. He must not know me when I made my appearance as Mistress Eleanor Hungerford. ‘Please let me pass,’ I repeated, my voice less calm.

He chuckled. ‘You may,’ he said, ‘if you give me a kiss first. It is the penalty for help so early in the morning.’

My stomach plummeted. I had never been in such a situation before, and I did not know what to do.

‘This is most ungentlemanly of you, sir,’ I reproached him. He had his hand under my chin, pushing it up. I resisted a moment, then thought better of it and yielded, at the same time taking a firm grip on the stair rail behind my back.

He looked into my eyes a moment, a triumphant smile curling his lips. Then, as he bent forwards to kiss me, I stamped on his foot. He swore and I twisted out of his slackened grasp. I ran up the stairs as fast as I could. I crossed the inner court at a run, fearing pursuit, but all was quiet. I slowed to a walk as I crossed the bridge and made my way to the gatehouse. I was filled with glee at the manner of my escape, and grinned cheerfully at the guard who stood aside on the drawbridge to let me pass. However, by the time I reached the village, I had had time to question the wisdom of angering one of my father’s guests. I was also uneasily aware that he might well recognize me when I was introduced to him as the daughter of the house.