Виктория Холт - The Lady in the Tower

Norfolk sat opposite me. There was a smile of triumph on his face. He had never liked me. In spite of the fact that he was a kinsman, I really believed he was delighted to see me thus. I realized I had been proud and overbearing. I had been haughty, thoughtless, quick to anger. I had not exactly endeared people to me. But I had a few faithful friends and on them I could rely completely.

He said to me almost complacently: “Your paramours have confessed their guilt.”

“My paramours?”

“Norris, Brereton, Weston… and of course the music boy.”

“I do not believe it.”

He lifted his shoulders to imply that what I believed was of no importance.

They were taking me to the Traitor's Gate.

In my wildest nightmares I had not thought of this. That he might be seeking means of getting rid of me, yes, but not this way.

I was told roughly to get out of the barge. I did so. I suddenly felt the need for prayer. I sank to my knees and prayed aloud. “Oh Lord God, help me. Thou knowest I am guiltless of that whereof I am accused.”

Sir William Kingston, the Lieutenant of the Tower, came out to receive me.

“Master Kingston,” I said, “do I go to a dungeon?”

“No, Madam,” he answered kindly. “To your lodging where you lay at your coronation.”

The irony of the situation came upon me afresh. Was it only three years ago? I thought of myself sitting proudly in my barge with my device of the white falcon and the red and white roses of York and Lancaster. I was then pregnant…never dreaming that I should not have boys. I laughed wildly and there were tears on my cheeks.

“Wherefore am I here, Master Kingston?” I asked.

He did not reply but there was compassion in his face, and that brought me a shred of comfort.

As I was taken to my chamber, I heard the clock striking five, and each stroke was like a funeral knell.

Norfolk with his company came with me into the chamber and, having seen me installed there, were ready to depart.

“I am innocent,” I said to them again. “I entreat you to beseech the King to be a good lord unto me.”

They bowed and left and I was alone with Kingston, who pitied me, I think.

“Do you know why I am here?” I asked again.

“Nay,” he replied.

“When did you last see the King?”

“I have not seen him since I saw him in the tiltyard.”

“Where is Lord Rochford?” I asked, dreading the answer.

“He was in the tiltyard also.”

A terrible fear came to me. I said to myself more than to him: “Oh, where is my sweet brother?”

“I saw him last at York Place.”

I covered my face with my hands.

“I hear say that I shall be accused with three men, and I can say no more than…nay. Oh Norris, hast thou accused me? Thou art in the Tower and thou and I shall die together.” I thought of my stepmother; her grief would be terrible. I murmured, “Oh, my mother, thou wilt die of sorrow. Master Kingston, do you think I shall die without justice?”

“Oh, Madam, the poorest subject of the King has that,” he said.

That set me laughing wildly. I could not shut out of my mind memories of that large face with the hard little eyes and the cruelest mouth in the world.

I threw myself onto my bed and laughed and wept until I was exhausted.

I had lost count of the days. I did not know how I lived through them. They were determined to discountenance me, to rob me of comfort.

If only they would let me have my friends about me, that would have helped me. Was it too much to ask? If I could only talk with Mary Wyatt, Margaret Lee, Madge or my sister Mary—that would have helped me through the dismal days. They had given me those who hated me. They sent my aunt, Lady Boleyn, wife of my father's brother Edward, who had always been jealous of me, and although in days past she had been afraid to speak against me, I had always been aware of her venom. Perhaps they chose her because they knew she hated me. And she brought with her a certain Mrs. Cosyns—a spy if ever there was one. Those two were certain, I was sure, that I was guilty of all of which I was accused.

They tried to trap me into saying something which they could report against me. They were there all the time; they never left me. They slept on pallets at the foot of my bed. Sometimes I would wake from a nightmare shouting. They were alert, listening, noting everything that I said, attaching great importance to anything that might be used against me.

They treated me with a studied lack of respect. I was not the Queen now, they were telling me.

Sometimes they would pretend to be sympathetic and try to get me to confide in them. They asked questions and they phrased them in a way designed to trap me.

“Oh, you were ever so beautiful in the Court. You were the brightest star. Everyone seemed commonplace beside you. It was small wonder that all those men were in love with you.”

The stupid women! Did they not understand that I saw through their probing?

“Norris was said to be courting Madge Shelton, but he came to see you. You were the one. It was obvious…”

“And Weston…he loved you better than he loved his wife. Well, it was understandable.”

I turned from them. I could live through these days only by ignoring them.

My moods changed. There were times when I just wanted to die and have done with the wearisome business of living; at others my anger overcame my sorrow.

I wanted to live and take my revenge on those people who had plotted against me and brought me to where I was.

It was a great joy to me when I was allowed to have two more ladies to be with me, and that these two should be my cousin Madge and my dear friend Mary Wyatt.

Lady Boleyn and Mrs. Cosyns were still there, but that was more bearable now that I had my friends as well.

Mary was very worried about her brother. He had not been arrested as everyone expected him to be, for he had been known as a great friend of mine and he had never hidden his love for me. Many of his poems had been written for me.

I would contrive to be alone with Mary so that we could talk, and she comforted me a great deal.

“It is only Smeaton who has lied about you,” she told me, “and that was under torture. Cromwell tortured him at the dinner table. His bullies put a rope around the poor creature's head and they tightened it so that he was fainting with the pain; then they made him say how you had favored him, given him fine clothes and a ring because he was your lover. He withstood the agony for a long time. Then they took him to the Tower and racked him most piteously. It was only then that he broke down and lied.”

“Poor Mark,” I said. “He is a tender boy… little more than a child. Always so gentle. He told me once that when beggars came to his father's door he wept for them; and when he came across a man hanging on a gibbet which others were looking at, he ran away, for he could not face violence of any kind. He loved beauty… And to come to this…”

“It was only at the end that he lied,” insisted Mary. “It was only when those wicked men tortured him beyond endurance. The others would not give way. There is not one, Anne, who has spoken against you… only poor Mark, and that under torture.”

“They know it is false.”

“They know … but they are determined to believe it.”

“Mary, what will become of me?”

She shook her head. Her tears unnerved me more than the brutal treatment of Norfolk had been able to, or the spying of my aunt and her familiar.

“Why is George in the Tower?”

Mary shook her head.

“And my father?”

“He has not been arrested.”

We could not go on talking because my jailers—those two hateful women—would not leave us alone for long.