CHAPTER XXIII
IN THE TOWER OF LONDON
It was a dreary journey. The motive which had sustained the girl in herformer trip from the city to her home was lacking. The fatigue incidentto travel, the unjust reception of her by her father, with thedoubtfulness of his escape, and the uncertainty of what was to become ofher mother and herself, now bore upon her with such overwhelming force asto almost crush even her brave spirit. Lady Stafford suffered a likemental anguish, and so, on account of the weakness of the two prisoners,the guard was compelled to return to the city by slow stages.
Upon their entrance within the gates they found that the whole city wasin an uproar, caused by the apprehension of Anthony Babington and severalothers of the conspirators. Bells were ringing, bonfires burning and themost vehement satisfaction expressed by the people, who, with shouts andsinging of psalms, gave every demonstration of joy at the escape of thequeen from their treasonable designs.
When it became known that these two were also implicated, a hooting,jeering mob followed them through the streets, hurling vile epithets uponthem, and taunting them with their disgrace. Lady Stafford drooped underthe attack, but the assault roused the spirit in Francis, and she saterect, her flashing eyes and contemptuous looks bespeaking the tempestthat raged in her heart.
"Bear up, my mother," she said to Lady Stafford who could scarcely sither horse. "Give not the rabble cause to laugh and jibe."
"But, my child, that we of the house of Stafford, be thus dishonored!"exclaimed the lady in anguish. "Oh, I cannot bear it! I cannot bear it!Carest thou not for this disgrace?"
"I could weep my heart out, if it would avail aught," uttered Francis inlow, intense tones. "Bethink you, mother, that this mob of the streetsshall see one tear from me? Nay; 'twould give them too much ofpleasure."
"And has it come to this? That thou shouldst be an example to thymother?" asked the lady sitting up. "Let them rage! Not another tearshall they behold. There will be time enough for tears later."
And so saying she followed her daughter's example and rode with upliftedhead, apparently indifferent to the taunts of the people who followedthem down to the waterside, even to the wharf where they embarked for theTower.
Babington and his companions occupied another boat which preceded themdown the river, and Francis felt relief when she saw that her father wasnot among them. The tide being in their favor, the boat passed swiftlydown the river, shot London Bridge, and all too soon drew near the sombremass of the Tower.
In spite of her undaunted front Francis could not forbear a shudder astheir wherry drew near Saint Thomas' tower. As a mere matter of form theboats were challenged by the sentinels. A wicket, composed of immensebeams of wood, was opened and they shot beneath the gloomy arch, throughthe Traitors' gate. A feeling of dread took possession of the girl asher gaze fell upon the slimy walls of the dismal arch. The wherrymenceased rowing and the water rippled sullenly against the sides of theboat which soon, impelled by the former efforts of the oarsmen, touchedthe steps.
The lieutenant of the Tower, followed by numerous warders, appeared andgave acknowledgment of their receipt to the guard. Slowly the prisonersascended the damp and slippery steps, Francis and her mother being thelast to go up. A few quick commands and Babington and the others werehurried away, each man between two warders. Then the lieutenant turned toLady Stafford.
"Follow me, madam," he said making a respectful salutation. "I willconduct you to your chamber, where, I pray your pardon, my orders are toplace you under some restraint. You, young master, will remain here untilmy return. The time will be but short."
"Oh," cried the lady in supplicating tones, "are we to be separated?"
"Such are my commands, madam," returned he in tones of commiseration."Thou art to be confined in the Brick Tower. Thy son in the BeauchampTower. Come!"
"Oh, my child! my child!" sobbed the mother throwing her arms aboutFrancis. "What will be thy fate? What will they do to thee?"
"Calm thyself, my mother," comforted Francis. "We can but hope. Mayhapthe good keeper will permit us to see each other occasionally. Go now,mother. We must not vex him."
Clasping her convulsively to her breast for a moment, Lady Staffordreleased her, and then followed the lieutenant, weeping bitterly.
Then Francis sat her down in the midst of the warders upon that verystone where Elizabeth had rested when she herself passed into the Tower,a prisoner to the jealousy of her sister, Mary. Soon the lieutenantreturned and said courteously:
"And now, master, be pleased to follow me to your chamber."
Francis arose and followed him without a word. Through the outer wardthey passed through the lofty portal which formed the principal entranceto the inner ward over which rose a dismal-looking structure, thencalled the Garden Tower, but later known as the Bloody Tower. Passingbeneath these grim portals the lieutenant led his prisoner into the innerward, over the Tower Green, and at last paused before an embattledstructure of the time of King John, just opposite the great keep, or theWhite Tower. Ascending the circular stairway, he unlocked the doubledoors that led into the tower, and they passed into a large, low-roofeddark apartment that held a very scanty array of furniture. Then hewithdrew, the bolt clasped, the chain clanged, and Francis was leftalone.
A sense of desolation swept over the girl as the full realization of thesituation burst upon her, and the blackness of despair filled her soulwith anguish. She was alone. She had no one to lean upon. No ear to whichshe could impart her sorrows. Her mother a prisoner like herself. Herfather--a fugitive wandering she knew not whither. As the bitterness ofher lot assailed her in all its force she could no longer control herselfbut gave way to a passionate burst of grief. She looked at the stonewalls by which she was enclosed, the massive iron-girded door and thehopelessness of her situation bore with crushing weight upon her.
There was no eye to see, no longer need for control, and she gave vent toher despair unrestrainedly. At length the fountain of her tears was dry,and becoming more composed she sought to regain her fortitude.
"I have done no wrong," she said aloud. "No wrong? Was it wrong to givethose letters to Mary? But my father bade me. My father! Ah, no word ofthat must pass my lips. Cruel and unjust he hath been, but never shallword or act of mine bear witness against him. I must fortify my soul forI fear that I will be questioned."
Her foreboding proved true. Early the next morning the door leading intothe chamber was opened, and Sir Francis Walsingham with two othersentered. Francis' heart sank at sight of them, but she nerved herself forthe ordeal.
"Good-morrow, Master Stafford," said the secretary courteously. "We giveyou good-morrow."
"Good-morrow, Sir Francis. And to you, gentlemen, good-morrow," returnedshe.
"My lad," said Walsingham not unkindly, seating himself before her, "thouart charged with a heinous crime, and methinks that thou art too young tobe concerned in such weighty matters. Therefore, am I with these lords,come to examine thee somewhat anent it."
"With what am I charged, sir?" asked Francis.
"With that most atrocious of all crimes,--treason," was the reply.
"My lord, I meant not to be guilty of treason against the queen," saidthe girl earnestly. "If aught that I have done seemeth so in her eyes,believe me I pray you, when I say that it was not so intended."
"I do believe it," answered the secretary. "I think that thou hast beenmade use of by others to further design of bold and unscrupulous men.Didst thou ever meet with Anthony Babington?"
"Yes, Sir Francis."
"Where?"
"Once at Salisbury, and once in the forest as I left London."
"What passed at those meetings?" Walsingham drew closer, expecting fromthe girl's demeanor to find ready answers to his inquiries.
"I cannot tell you, sir, of the nature of the first," answered Francis."I will gladly do so of the second."
"Relate it then."
"He was trying to make his escape when his design upon the queen becam
eknown. He sprang upon me when I was unaware, seized the bridle of myhorse, and demanded that I give the animal to him."
"Which you refused?"
"Which I refused to do, sir."
"Did he recognize you?"
"Yes."
"And you him?"
"Yes, Sir Francis."
"Did you know that he was trying to escape from arrest?"
"Yes;" answered Francis again.
"Then why did you not let him have the horse?" queried Walsingham.
"Because I wished to reach my father," replied the girl simply.
"But why did you want to reach your father?" and the secretary bentforward. "How knew you that he was in danger?"
"Why, I heard you tell the queen that you were going to arrest him, and Iwished to warn him."
"Thou heardst me tell the queen?" cried the minister in surprise. "Boy,how couldst thou? We were in the queen's own chamber. How couldst thouhear it?"
"I went there to seek a favor from Her Majesty, and awaited her comingupon the balcony outside the window. When the queen entered, thevice-chamberlain, Lord Burleigh, my Lord of Leicester, and yourself werewith her. I feared then to come into the room. Thus I could but hear allthat passed. When I found that my father was in danger I left the balconyand the palace as quickly, determined to warn him of his peril."
"Then you knew that he was concerned in the plot to kill the queen?" andWalsingham eyed her keenly.
"He was not," cried the girl eagerly.
"Then why should he flee?" asked the merciless inquisitor. "No peer ofthe realm hath aught to fear if he be innocent of foul design."
Francis was so disconcerted by this question that she did not attempt toreply, but looked at him hopelessly.
The wily minister saw her confusion and pressed his advantage.
"Thou needest not to answer, boy, on the condition that thou tell to meall that passed the first time that you saw Babington."
"I cannot do that, sir."
"'Twill be the better for thee," warned the secretary. "We have knowledgethat thou and thy father did meet with Babington at an inn in Salisbury.For thine own sake, thou wouldst best reveal what took place. Reflect!Thine own safety depends upon it."
"I will not tell, Sir Francis," returned Francis bravely.
"Have a care, boy. There are ways of extorting confessions from unwillinglips."
"I do not misunderstand your meaning," returned the girl with white lips,"but I cannot tell."
"_I WILL NOT TELL, SIR FRANCIS_"]
"What did your father when the proposition was made to kill the queen?"asked Walsingham so suddenly that Francis was caught unawares.
"He would have naught to do with it," answered she promptly, glad tospeak in his favor. "He rejected it with horror."
"Ah, ha! he did know of it!" ejaculated the secretary. "Thou hastbetrayed thyself. Come! Let us have the full particulars."
"Sir," said Francis, perceiving the snare into which she had fallen, "Iam unable to meet your craft with like guile. Therefore question me nofurther. I will say no more."
And despite all attempts to trip her into answering, she maintained anobstinate silence with regard to all their questions.
"Let us leave him," said Walsingham at length. "Obdurate lad, thou wiltregret thy stubbornness ere long. There are other means of dealing withsuch spirits than gentleness. We will return ere long, and if thou artstill of the same mind, thou shalt taste them." And he withdrew, leavingFrancis to face this new trial.
In Doublet and Hose: A Story for Girls Page 23