CHAPTER XXV
A GREAT SORROW BEFALLS FRANCIS
And now began a weary time for Francis Stafford. Some hope had crept intoher heart after she had seen Lord Shrope, but as the days went by and sheheard nothing from him she felt once more friendless and hopeless.
At first her jailer would have nothing to say to her and brought her foodand drink, maintaining the strictest silence. As the girl became pale andworn from her confinement he softened visibly. So much so that Francisbegan anew her pleadings with him to give her some tidings of hermother.
"It is forbid to talk much with prisoners," said the man gruffly, yet notunkindly, "but I see no harm in telling thee that thy mother hath beenmoved nearer to thee."
"Nearer?" cried Francis joyfully. "Oh, good warder, pray you, where?"
"She hath been taken to the Bell Tower which lieth directly south of thistower," answered the keeper.
"So near?" murmured Francis. "That is welcome tidings, good jailer.Prithee tell me but one thing more. How bears she the confinement?"
"Nay, master; that I cannot answer. I am not her keeper, and thereforeknow naught of her condition." This he said compassionately for it wasknown to the warder and other officials of the Tower that Lady Staffordwas failing fast under her imprisonment which was the reason of herremoval to other quarters.
Not being aware of this fact Francis felt happier at the near proximityof her mother, and applied herself earnestly to the books which thejailer had brought at her solicitation.
"How Hugh Greville would rejoice could he but know what pleasure thesegive me," she murmured one day looking up from the volume she held in herhand. "And truly I never knew before the delights to be found inlearning. If I continue I may become as learned as Lady Jane----Marry!was she not confined in this very room?"
Rising hastily she went to the wall that lay between the two recessesupon the left-hand side of the chamber and looked at the name carvedthere: IANE.
"Whom could it mean but that unhappy lady," she mused. "Perchance it isher spirit that haunts this gloomy abode and inspires me to studiousthoughts. It must be that she too was immured in this room. If my grimkeeper prove amiable I will ask him."
But the keeper soon deprived her of this comfort, small though it was.
"Nay;" he said in answer to her inquiry. "The Lady Jane was not kepthere. That was written by either her husband or one of his brothers whowere imprisoned in this place. Know you not that only male prisoners areincarcerated in the Beauchamp Tower? Look about at those inscriptions,and thou wilt see that none of them belong to women--save and except thatone."
"True;" said Francis meditatively. "I had not observed that."
She relapsed into thought and the keeper withdrew. Francis cared no morefor the signature. It had been something of a solace to think that shewas occupying the same room as that used by the hapless Jane; so small athing does it take to comfort one in such circumstances.
"I'll carve my own name," she resolved suddenly. "And then there will beone woman amongst them."
Taking her dagger from her belt, for that had been left to her, she beganto cut her name as best she could upon the stone. It was an interestingoccupation, and she was amazed to find how quickly the time sped whileshe was so engaged. The keeper smiled when he found her so intent uponher self-imposed task that she did not heed his entrance.
"They all do it," he remarked grimly. "Albeit thou hast waited longerthan some. But eat, my master. There will be time and to spare forfinishing."
"You speak truly," assented the girl almost cheerfully for the meredistraction of her thoughts served to raise her spirits. "Truly; and forthat cause I will teach my hand to move more slowly so that it will takea long, long time. And I trow it will for the stone is very hard."
But despite her best efforts the name grew all too quickly, and, as manyanother had done before her, she grieved when her toil was ended.
FRANCIS STAFFORD, 1586
was the inscription which she had carved below that of IANE. A feeling ofdeep depression now took possession of her that even her books failed todispel.
"If I could but see my mother," she said pleadingly to the jailor. "Doyou not think, good sir, that I might? Let me speak to the lieutenant.Surely he will not refuse me!"
"Thou mayst see her soon," said the jailor with such a note of kindnessin his voice that she looked up startled. "Meseems there is some talk ofpermitting it."
"Is there aught amiss?" asked she tremblingly.
"Nay; why should there be?" queried the keeper evasively. "This dayperished more of the conspirators against the queen. Making fourteen inall."
"Was my father among them?" Francis gasped rather than asked thequestion.
"No, boy; he hath not been apprehended, and it is thought that he hathescaped into France."
"Oh, if it be in truth so. I care not then for aught else," murmuredFrancis.
"Then rest in peace; for of a certainty he hath not been taken, and thouwilt have dire need for all thy fortitude," and with these mysteriouswords he hastily quitted the room.
"What meant he?" asked Francis apprehensively. "What could he mean? Whatcould befall me now? Perchance he meant that life would be demanded next.But no; the veriest wretch hath time given for preparation. Then why notI?"
She paced the floor restlessly unable to rid herself of the misgivingsthat were creeping over her. It was customary for the warder to lock herwithin one of the small cells that adjoined the larger chamber forgreater security at night, but as the usual time passed and he did notcome her uneasiness increased.
At last the key grated in the lock, and the door swung open to admit thelieutenant of the Tower and a warder.
"Be not alarmed, master," said the lieutenant courteously. "We are cometo take thee to thy mother."
"What hath happened? Why come you at night to take me to her?" demandedFrancis.
"Be brave, and I will tell thee. Thy mother hath not been well for sometime and is failing fast. We fear that she will not live much longer. Forthat cause, and because it is her desire, are we taking thee to her. Nay;there is no time for lamentation now, boy. Bear thyself like a man."
For a moment Francis leaned on him heavily almost stunned by theinformation.
"Courage, lad. Far better death than the slow lingering of years in thesegrim walls. Many have entered here younger and fairer than she, andendured worse than death in a lifetime imprisonment. Grieve not, but therather rejoice that she will be freed from sorrow."
"Peace!" cried Francis, her soul full of bitterness. "Peace! and lead meto my mother."
The lieutenant, without further speech, led the way across the TowerGreen to the southwestern angle of the inner ballium where his ownlodgings adjoined the Bell Tower. Kept a close prisoner for more than twomonths, at another time Francis would have been overpowered with joy atfinding herself once more in the open air. But now the breeze fanned hercheeks unnoticed. She followed after the warder, who lighted the way witha torch, seeing and heeding nothing.
The short distance was soon traversed. Entering the lieutenant's lodgingsthey passed into a long gallery leading in a westerly direction and weresoon in the upper chamber of the Bell Tower. This was the room occupiedby Elizabeth at the time of her incarceration during her sister Mary'sreign. That it had been the abode of royalty was the last thought thatoccurred to Francis Stafford. It held but one thing for her, which wasthe emaciated form of her mother who lay upon the bed.
With an exclamation of joy Lady Stafford tried to hold out her hands toher daughter, but dropped them weakly on her breast. Too moved to speakFrancis could only clasp her close as if she could never let her go.
"My daughter! My daughter!" murmured the mother feebly. "At last I havethee, hold thee again!"
"My mother!" uttered the girl brokenly. "My mother!"
"Does she wander?" whispered the lieutenant to the physician. "Didst thouhear her say 'daughter'?"
; "Yea; but her mind is clear. She is weak but not distraught." And thephysician looked at the dying woman earnestly.
"Will she last long?" queried Sir Michael, the lieutenant, and thephysician answered slowly:
"Nay; her life may go out at any moment."
As in a dream Francis heard both questions and answers, but did notcomprehend their import. Presently her mother spoke:
"Francis, I am dying."
"Nay;" broke from the girl passionately. "Not now, mother. Not when wehave just found each other again. You must not, shall not die."
"Hush, child! We must not spend the time in woe. I want you to promise methat never again will you be connected with plot against the queen.Promise me."
"She hath killed thee," burst from Francis wildly. "Killed thee, mymother, and driven my father forth a fugitive. Oh, I hate her! I hateher!"
"Hush, oh hush!" wailed the mother, a look of fear crossing her face asthe lieutenant and the physician started forward at the girl's words."Good masters, heed her not. She is distraught with grief.I--Francis----"
She threw out her arms and strove to clasp her daughter, but they fell toher side. A swift pallor spread over her face, a gasping, choking soundrattled noisily, and she was dead. For a moment the girl seemed dazed bywhat had happened, and then she threw herself upon her mother with a wildshriek.
"Mother, mother, speak to me!"
"Thy mother is dead," said the physician trying to draw her away.
"Touch me not," she cried in frenzied accents turning upon him sofiercely that involuntarily he recoiled. "Minion! leave me. Leave me withmy mother."
"That may not be, my child," said the physician gently noting the wildlight of her eyes. "That may not be. The queen----"
"The queen?" cried the girl shrilly. "Yes; the queen! England's greatqueen! Oh, she is truly great! 'Tis a crime to be fairer than the queen!Ha, ha! a great queen! Truly a great queen!"
"Girl or boy, whiche'er you be, cease such words," commanded thelieutenant sternly. "Thou utterest treason."
"Treason? Ay, sir, treason! Treason for thee, but not for me. I claim noqueen but Mary of Scotland. I----"
"Mary of Scotland hath been condemned to death. She will be executed assoon as Elizabeth signs the death warrant."
"To die?" shrieked the girl. "Mary to die! If Mary must die, then shallElizabeth also. Nay; stay me not! I go to kill the queen!"
She drew her poniard and made a dash for the door; but the lieutenantcaught her ere she reached it.
"Unhand me, varlet," she panted. "Ye shall not stay me from my purpose."
"Girl, do you utter such words in the presence of the dead? Look on thymother and say if still thou dost hold to thy design?"
He turned her forcibly toward her mother's form on the couch. Francispressed a hand to her brow as though bewildered, and then as if drawn bythat still calm face drew closer, and gazed steadfastly upon it. Thesweet sereneness of the dead calmed her. Presently a sob convulsed herframe, and flinging herself upon the body she burst into a passion ofweeping.
"Let her weep," observed the physician. "'Tis all that hath kept her frombecoming completely distraught."
"I will send a woman to her," said the lieutenant. "The girl, if so shebe, and no boy would rave so, hath been too long alone. We are but rudenurses for such sorrow. Truly it grieves me that one so young should meetwith so much of misery."
And he left the apartment.
In Doublet and Hose: A Story for Girls Page 25