ON the night of the Duke of Northumberland’s departure, as the three gigantic warders and their dwarfish attendant were assembled in their lodging in the By-ward Tower, preparatory to their evening meal, the conduct of Magog, which had been strange enough throughout the day, became so very extraordinary and unaccountable, that his brethren began to think he must have taken leave of his senses. Flinging his huge frame on a bench, he sighed and groaned, or rather bellowed, like an over-driven ox, and rolling his great saucer eyes upwards, till the whites only were visible, thumped his chest with a rapid succession of blows, that sounded like the strokes of a sledgehammer. But the worst symptom, in the opinion of the others, was his inability to eat. Magog’s case must, indeed, be desperate, if he had no appetite for supper—and such a supper! Seldom had their board been so abundantly and invitingly spread as on the present occasion—and Magog refused to partake of it. He must either be bewitched, or alarmingly ill.
Supplied by the provident attention of the pantler and his spouse, the repast consisted of a cold chine of beef, little the worse for its previous appearance at the royal board; a mighty lumber pie, with a wall of pastry several inches thick, moulded to resemble the White Tower, and filled with a savoury mess of ham and veal, enriched by a goodly provision of forcemeat balls, each as large as a cannon-shot; a soused gurnet floating in claret; a couple of pullets stuffed with oysters, and served with a piquant sauce of oiled butter and barberries; a skirret pasty; an apple tansy; and a prodigious marrow pudding. Nor, in this bill of fare, must be omitted an enormous loaf, baked expressly for the giants, and compounded of nearly a bushel of mingled wheaten flour and barley, which stood at one end of the table, while at the opposite extremity was placed a nine-hooped pot of mead—the distance between each hoop denoting a quart of the humming fluid.
But all these good things were thrown away upon Magog. With some persuasion he was induced to take his seat at the table, but after swallowing a single mouthful of the beef, he laid down his knife and fork, and left the rest untasted. In vain Og urged him to try the pullets, assuring him he would find them delicious, as they were cooked by Dame Potentia herself:—in vain Gog scooped out the most succulent morsels from the depths of the lumber pie, loading his plate with gobbets of fat and forcemeat balls. He declined both offers with a melancholy shake of the head, and began to sigh and groan more dismally than ever.
Exchanging significant looks with each other, the two giants thought it best to leave him to himself, and assiduously addressed themselves to their own meal. By way of setting him a good example, they speedily cleared the chine to the bone. The gurnet was next despatched; and a considerable inroad made into the lumber pie,—three of its turrets having already disappeared,—when, as if roused from a trance, Magog suddenly seized the marrow pudding, and devoured it in a trice. He then applied himself to the nine-hooped pot, and taking a long deep draught, appeared exceedingly relieved.
But his calmness was of short duration. The fit almost instantly returned with fresh violence. Without giving the slightest intimation of his intention, he plucked his cap from his brow, and flung it at Xit, who chanced at the moment to be perched upon a stool stirring a great pan of sack posset, set upon a chafing-dish to warm, with such force as to precipitate him over head and ears into the liquid, which, fortunately, was neither hot enough to scald him, nor deep enough to drown him. When he reappeared, the mannikin uttered a shrill scream of rage and terror; and Og, who could not help laughing at his comical appearance, hastened to his assistance, and extricated him from his unpleasant situation.
By the aid of a napkin, Xit was speedily restored to a state of tolerable cleanliness, and though his habiliments were not a little damaged by the viscous fluid in which they had been immersed, he appeared to have suffered more in temper than in any other way from the accident. While Og was rubbing him dry,—perhaps with no very gentle hand,—he screamed and cried like a peevish infant undergoing the process of ablution; and he was no sooner set free, than darting to the spot where Magog’s cap had fallen, he picked it up, and dipping it in the sack-posset, hurled it in its owners face. Delighted with this retaliation, he crowed and swaggered about the room, and stamping fiercely upon the ground, tried to draw his sword; but this he found impossible, it being fast glued to the scabbard. Magog, however, paid no sort of attention to his antics, but having wiped his face with the end of the table-cloth, and wrung his bonnet, marched deliberately out of the room. His brothers glanced at each other in surprise, and were hesitating whether to follow, when they were relieved from further anxiety on this score by Xit, who hurried after him. They then very quietly returned to the repast, and trusting all would come right, contented themselves with such interjectional remarks as did not interfere with the process of mastication. In this way they continued, until the return of Xit, who, as he entered the room, exclaimed, with a half-merry, half-mischievous expression of countenance, “I have found it out—I have found it out.”
“Found out what?” cried out both giants.
“He is in love,” replied the dwarf.
“Magog in love!” ejaculated Og, starting. “Impossible!”
“You shall be convinced to the contrary if you will come with me,” rejoined Xit. “I have seen him enter the house. And, what is more, I have seen the lady.”
“Who is she?” demanded Gog.
“Can you not guess,” rejoined Xit.
“The fair Cicely,” returned the giant.
“You are wide of the mark,” replied the dwarf—“though, I confess, she is lovely enough to turn his head outright. But he is not so moonstruck as to aspire to her. Had I sought her hand, there might have been some chance of success. But Magog—pshaw!”
“Tush!” cried Og, “I will be sworn it is Mistress Bridget Crumbewell, the Bowyer’s daughter, who hath bewitched him. I have noted that she hath cast many an amorous glance at him of late. It is she, I’ll be sworn.”
“Then you are forsworn, for it is not Bridget Crumbewell,” rejoined Xit—“the object of his affections is a widow.”
“A widow!” exclaimed both giants—“then he is lost.”
“I see not that,” replied the dwarf. “Magog might do worse than espouse Dame Placida Paston. Her husband, old Miles Paston, left a good round sum behind him, and a good round widow too. She has a bright black eye, a tolerable waist for so plump a person, and as neat an ancle as can be found within the Tower, search where you will. I am half disposed to enter the lists with him.”
“Say you so,” replied Og, laughing at the dwarf’s presumption, “then e’en make the attempt. And such assistance as we can render, shall not be wanting; for neither Gog nor I—if I do not misapprehend his sentiments—have any desire that our brother should enter into the holy state of matrimony.”
“Right, brother,” rejoined Gog; “we must prevent it if possible, and I see not a better way than that you propose. If it does nothing else, it will afford us excellent pastime.”
“Excuse me a moment,” observed Xit. “If I am to play the suitor to advantage, I must change my dress. I will return on the instant, and conduct you to Dame Placida’s dwelling.”
So saying, he withdrew for a short space, during which he arrayed himself in his holiday garments. “Magog will have no chance,” he observed, as he strutted into the room, and glanced at his pigmy limbs with an air of intense self-satisfaction; “the widow is already won.”
“If she be as fond of apes as some of her sex, she is so,” replied Og; “but widows are not so easily imposed upon.”
The two giants, who, during Xit’s absence had entirely cleared the board, and wound up the repast by emptying the nine-hooped pot, now expressed themselves ready to start. Accordingly, they set out, and, preceded by Xit, shaped their course along the southern ward, and passing beneath the gateway of the Bloody Tower, ascended the hill leading to the Green, on the right of which, as at the present time, stood a range of buildings inhabited by the warders and other retainers of the royal household.
Before one of these Xit stopped, and pointing to an open window about six feet from the ground, desired Gog to raise him up to it, The giant complied, when they beheld a sight that filled them with merriment. Upon a stout oak table—for there was no chair in the domicile sufficiently large to sustain him—sat Magog, his hand upon his breast, and his eyes tenderly fixed upon a comely dame, who was presenting him with a large foaming pot of ale. The languishing expression of the giant’s large lumpish features was so irresistibly diverting, that it was impossible to help laughing; and the lookers-on only restrained themselves, in the hope of witnessing something still more diverting.
Dame Placida Paston had a short plump (perhaps a little too plump, and yet it is difficult to conceive how that can well be,) figure; a round rosy face, the very picture of amiability and good humour; a smooth chin, dimpling cheeks, and the brightest and merriest black eyes imaginable. Her dress was neatness itself, and her dwelling as neat as her dress. With attractions like these, no wonder she captivated many a heart, and among others that of Magog, who had long nourished a secret passion for her, but could not muster courage to declare it—for, with a bluff and burly demeanour towards his own sex, the giant was as bashful as a shamefaced stripling in the presence of any of womankind.
With the tact peculiarly belonging to widows, Dame Placida had discovered the state of affairs, and perhaps being not altogether unwilling to discourage him, having accidentally met him on the Tower Green on the day in question, had invited him to visit her in the evening. It was this invitation which had so completely upset the love-sick giant. The same bashfulness that prevented him from making known his attachment to the object of it, kept him silent towards his brethren, as he feared to excite their ridicule.
On his arrival at her abode, Dame Placida received him with the utmost cordiality, and tried to engage him in conversation. But all without effect.
“I see how it is,” she thought; “there is nothing like a little strong liquor to unloose a man’s longue.” And she forthwith proceeded to a cupboard to draw a pot of ale. It was at this juncture that she was discovered by the observers outside.
Magog received the proffered jug, and fixing a tender look on the fair donor, pressed his huge hand to his heart, and drained it to the last drop. The widow took back the empty vessel, and smilingly inquired if he would have it replenished. The giant replied faintly in the negative,—so faintly, that she was about to return to the cupboard for a fresh supply, when Magog caught her hand, and flung himself on his knees before her. In this posture he was still considerably the taller of the two; but bending himself as near to the ground as possible, he was about to make his proposal in due form, when he was arrested by a tremendous peal of laughter from without, and, looking up, beheld Xit seated on the window-sill, while behind him appeared the grinning countenances of his brethren.
Ashamed and enraged at being thus detected, Magog sprang to his feet, and seizing Xit by the nape of the neck, would have inflicted some severe chastisement upon him, if Dame Placida had not interfered to prevent it. At her solicitation, the mannikin was released; and he no sooner found himself at liberty, than, throwing himself at her feet, he protested he was dying for her. Perhaps it might be from a certain love of teazing, inherent even in the best-tempered of her sex, or, perhaps, she thought such a course might induce Magog more fully to declare himself; but whatever motive influenced her, certain it is that Dame Placida appeared by no means displeased with her diminutive suitor, but suffered him, after a decent show of reluctance, to take her hand.
Thus encouraged, the dwarf was so elated, that springing upon a chair, he endeavoured to snatch a kiss. But the widow, having no idea of allowing such a liberty, gave him a smart box on the ear, which immediately brought him to the ground.
Notwithstanding this rebuff, Xit would have persevered, had not Magog, whose feelings were really interested, begun to appear seriously angry. Seeing this, he judged it prudent to desist, and contented himself with entreating the widow to declare which of the two she preferred. Dame Placida replied, that she must take a few hours to consider upon it, but invited them both to supper on the following evening, when she would deliver her answer. Having given a similar invitation to the two giants outside, she dismissed the whole party.
Several days had now elapsed since Cholmondeley was thrown into the dungeon, and during that time he had been visited only at long intervals by Nightgall. To all his menaces, reproaches, and entreaties, the jailor turned a deaf ear. He smiled grimly as he set down the scanty provisions—a loaf and a pitcher of water—with which he supplied his captive; but he could not be induced to speak. When questioned about Cicely and upbraided with his perfidy, his countenance assumed an exulting expression which Cholmondeley found so intolerable that he never again repeated his inquiries. Left to himself, his whole time was passed in devising some means of escape. He tried, but ineffectually, to break his bonds, and at last, satisfied of its futility, gave up the attempt.
One night, he was disturbed by the horrible and heartrending shrieks of the female prisoner, who had contrived to gain access to his cell. There was something about this mysterious person that inspired him with unaccountable dread; and though he was satisfied she was a being of this world, the conviction did not serve to lessen his fears. After making the dungeon ring with her cries for some time, she became silent, and as he heard no sound and could distinguish nothing, he concluded she must have departed. Just then the unlocking of a distant door and a gleam of sickly light on the walls of the stone passage announced the approach of Nightgall, and the next moment he entered the cell. The light fell upon a crouching female figure in one corner. The jailor started; and his angry ejaculations caused the poor creature to raise her head.
Cholmondeley had never beheld anything so ghastly as her countenance, and he half doubted whether he did not look upon a tenant of the grave. Her eyes were sunken and lustreless; her cheeks thin and rigid, and covered with skin of that deadly paleness which is seen in plants deprived of light; her flesh shrunken to the bone, and her hands like those of a skeleton. But in spite of all this emaciation, there was something in her features that seemed to denote that she had once been beautiful, and her condition in life exalted. The terror she exhibited at the approach of the jailor proved the dreadful usage she had experienced. In answer to his savage ejaculations to her to follow him, she flung herself on her knees, and raised her hands in the most piteous supplication. Nothing moved by this, Nightgall was about to seize her and drag her away, when with a piercing scream she darted from him, and took refuge behind Cholmondeley.
“Save me!—save me from him!” she shrieked; “he will kill me.”
“Pshaw!” cried the jailor. “Come with me quietly, Alexia, and you shall have a warmer cell, and better food.”
“I will not go,” she replied. “I will not answer to that name. Give me my rightful title and I will follow you.”
“What is your title?” asked Cholmondeley, eagerly.
“Beware!” interposed Nightgall, raising his hand menacingly. “Beware!”
“Heed him not!” cried Cholmondeley; “he shall not harm you. Tell me how you are called?”
“I have forgotten,” replied the terrified woman, evasively. “I had another name once. But I am called Alexia now.”
“What has become of your child?” asked Cholmondeley.
“My child!” she echoed, with a frightful scream. “I have lost her in these dungeons. I sometimes see her before me running and clapping her little hands. Ah! there she is—coming towards us. She has long fair hair—light blue eyes—blue as the skies I shall never behold again. Do you not see her?”
“No,” replied Cholmondeley, trembling. “How is she named?”
“She died unbaptised,” replied the female. “But I meant to call her Angela. Ah! see! she answers to the name—she approaches. Angela! my child!—my child!” And the miserable creature extended her arms, and seemed to clasp a phantom to her bosom.
“Alexia!” roared the jailor, fiercely, “follow me, or I will have you scourged by the tormentor.”
“He dare not—he will not,”—cried Cholmondeley, to whom the wretched woman clung convulsively. “Do not go with him.”
“Alexia,” reiterated the jailor, in a tone of increased fury.
“I must go,” she cried, breaking from the esquire, “or he will kill me.” And with a noiseless step she glided after Nightgall.
Cholmondeley listened intently, and as upon a former occasion, heard stifled groans succeeded by the clangour of a closing door, and then all was hushed. The jailor returned no more that night. When he appeared again, it was with a moodier aspect than ever. He set down the provisions, and instantly departed.
While meditating upon various means of escape, an idea at length occurred to the young esquire upon which he resolved to act. He determined to feign death. Accordingly, though half famished, he left his provisions untouched; and when Nightgall next visited the cell, he found him stretched on the ground, apparently lifeless. Uttering a savage laugh, the jailor held the light over the supposed corpse, and exclaimed, “At last I am fairly rid of him. Cicely will now be mine. I will fling him into the burial-vault near the moat. But first to unfasten this chain.”
So saying, he took a small key from the bunch at his girdle and unlocked the massive fetters that bound Cholmondeley to the wall. During this operation the esquire held his breath, and endeavoured to give his limbs the semblance of death. But the jailor’s suspicions were aroused.
“He cannot have been long dead,” he muttered, “perhaps he is only in a trance. This shall make all secure.” And drawing his dagger, he was about to plunge it in the bosom of the esquire, when the latter being now freed from his bondage, suddenly started to his feet, and flung himself upon him.
The suddenness of the action favoured its success. Before Nightgall recovered from his surprise, the poniard was wrested from his grasp and held at his throat. In the struggle that ensued, he received a wound which brought him senseless to the ground; and Cholmondeley, thinking it needless to despatch him, contented himself with chaining him to the wall.
Possessing himself of the jailor’s keys, he was about to depart, when Nightgall, who at that moment regained his consciousness, and with it all his ferocity, strove to intercept him. On discovering his situation, he uttered a torrent of impotent threats and execrations. The only reply deigned by the esquire to his menaces, was an assurance that he was about to set free the miserable Alexia.
Quitting the cell, Cholmondeley turned off on the left, in the direction whence he imagined the shrieks had proceeded. Here he beheld a range of low strong doors, the first of which he unlocked with one of the jailor’s keys. The prison was unoccupied. He opened the next, but with no better success. It contained nothing except a few rusty links of chain attached to an iron staple driven into the floor. In the third he found a few mouldering bones; and the fourth was totally empty. He then knocked at the doors of others, and called the miserable captive by her name in a loud voice. But no answer was returned.
At the extremity of the passage he found an open door, leading to a small circular chamber, in the centre of which stood a heavy stone pillar. From this pillar projected a long iron bar, sustaining a coil of rope, terminated by a hook. On the ground lay an immense pair of pincers, a curiously-shaped saw, and a brasier. In one corner stood a large oaken frame, about three feet high, moved by rollers. At the other was a ponderous wooden machine, like a pair of stocks. Against the wall hung a broad hoop of iron, opening in the middle with a hinge—a horrible instrument of torture, termed “The Scavenger’s Daughter.” Near it were a pair of iron gauntlets, which could be contracted by screws till they crushed the fingers of the wearer. On the wall also hung a small brush to sprinkle the wretched victims who fainted from excess of agony, with vinegar; while on a table beneath it were placed writing materials and an open volume, in which were taken down the confessions of the sufferers.
Cholmondeley saw at once that he had entered the torture-chamber, and hastily surveying these horrible contrivances, was about to withdraw, when he noticed a trap-door in one corner. Advancing towards it, he perceived a flight of steps, and thinking they might lead him to the cell he was in search of, he descended, and came to a passage still narrower and gloomier than that he had quitted. As he proceeded along it, he thought he heard a low groan, and hurrying in the direction of the sound, arrived at a small door, and knocking against it, called “Alexia,” but was answered in the feeble voice of a man.
“I am not Alexia, but whoever you are, liberate me from this horrible torture, or put me to death, and so free me from misery.”
After some search, Cholmondeley discovered the key of the dungeon and unlocking it, beheld an old man in a strange stooping posture, with his head upon his breast, and his back bent almost double. The walls of the cell, which was called the Little Ease, were so low, and so contrived, that the wretched inmate could neither stand, walk, sit, nor he at full length within them.
With difficulty,—for the poor wretch’s limbs were too much cramped by his long and terrible confinement, to allow him to move,—Cholmondeley succeeded in dragging him forth.
“How long have you been immured here?” he inquired.
“I know not,” replied the old man. “Not many weeks perhaps—but to me it seems an eternity. Support me—oh! support me! I am sinking fast!”
“A draught of water will revive you,” cried Cholmondeley. “I will bring you some in a moment.”
And he was about to hurry to his cell for the pitcher, when the old man checked him..
“It is useless,” he cried. “I am dying—nothing can save me. Young man,” he continued, fixing his glazing eyes on Cholmondeley. “When I was first brought to the Tower, I was as young as you. I have grown old in captivity. My life has been passed in these dismal places. I was imprisoned by the tyrant Henry VIII. for my adherence to the religion of my fathers—and I have witnessed such dreadful things, that, were I to relate them, it would blanch your hair like mine. Heaven have mercy on my soul!” And, sinking backwards, he expired with a hollow groan.
Satisfied that life was wholly extinct, Cholmondeley continued his search for the scarcely less unfortunate Alexia. Traversing the narrow gallery, he could discover no other door, and he therefore returned to the torture-room, and from thence retraced his steps to the cell. As he approached it, Nightgall, who heard his footsteps, called out to him, and entreated to be set at liberty.
“I will do so, provided you will conduct me to the dungeon of Alexia,” replied the esquire.
“You have not found her?” rejoined the jailor.
“I have not,” replied Cholmondeley. “Will you guide me to it?”
Nightgall eagerly answered in the affirmative.
The esquire was about to unlock the chain, but as he drew near him, the jailor’s countenance assumed so malignant an expression, that he determined not to trust him. Despite his entreaties, he again turned to depart.
“You will never get out without me,” said Nightgall.
“I will make the attempt,” rejoined Cholmondeley. And wrapping himself in the jailor’s ample cloak, and putting on his cap, he quitted the dungeon.
This time, he shaped his course differently. Endeavouring to recall the road by which Nightgall had invariably approached, he proceeded for a short time along the onward passage, and presently reaching a spot where two avenues branched off—one to the right and the other to the left,—he struck into the latter, and found a second range of dungeons. He opened the doors of several, but they were untenanted; and giving up the idea of rescuing the ill-fated Alexia, he began to think it time to attend to his own safety.
The passage he had chosen, which, like all those he had previously traversed, was arched and flagged with stone, brought him to a low square chamber, from which a flight of steps ascended. Mounting these he came to two other passages, and without pausing to consider, hurried along the first. In a short time he was stopped by a strong iron door, and examining the lock tried every key, but could find none to fit it. Failing to procure egress in this quarter, he was obliged to return, and choosing his course at random, struck into an avenue on the right.
Greatly surprised at the extent of the passages he had tracked, he could not help admiring the extraordinary solidity of the masonry, and the freshness of the stone, which looked as if it had just come from the chisel. Arriving at a gate which impeded his further progress, he applied to his keys, and was fortunately able to open it. This did not set him free as he had anticipated, but admitted him into a spacious vault, surrounded by deep cavernous recesses, filled with stone coffins. Broken statues and tattered escutcheons littered the ground.
Wondering where he could have penetrated, he paused for a moment to consider whether he should return; but fearful of losing his way in the labyrinth he had just quitted, he determined to go on. A broad flight of stone steps led him to a large folding-door, which he pushed aside, and traversing a sort of corridor with which it communicated, he found himself at the foot of a spiral staircase. Mounting it, he came to an extremely narrow passage, evidently contrived in the thickness of the wall; and threading it, he reached a small stone door, in which neither bolt nor lock could be detected.
Convinced, however, that there must be some secret spring, he examined it more narrowly, and at length discovered a small plate of iron. Pressing this, the heavy stone turned as upon a pivot, and disclosed a narrow passage, through which he crept, and found himself to his great surprise in the interior of St. John’s Chapel in the White Tower. At first, he thought he must be deceived, but a glance around convinced him he was not mistaken; and when he called to mind the multitude of passages he had traversed, his surprise was greatly diminished.
While he was thus musing, he heard footsteps approaching, and instantly extinguished the light. The masked door from which he had emerged, lay at the extremity of the northern aisle, and the parties (for there was evidently more than one) came from the other end of the chapel. Finding he had been noticed, Cholmondeley advanced towards them.
The brief and troubled reign of the ill-fated Queen Jane was fast drawing to a close. Every fresh messenger brought tidings of large accessions to the cause of the lady Mary, who was now at the head of thirty thousand men,—an army trebling the forces of Northumberland. Added to this, the metropolis itself was in a state of revolt. Immense mobs collected in Smithfield, and advanced towards the Tower-gates, commanding the warders to open them in the name of Queen Mary. These rioters were speedily driven off, with some bloodshed. But their leader, who was recognised as the prisoner Gilbert, escaped, and the next day larger crowds assembled, and it was feared that an attack would be made upon the fortress.
Meanwhile, Northumberland, whose order of march had been prescribed by the council, proceeded slowly on the expedition; and the fate that attended him fully verified the old proverb, that delay breeds danger. An accident, moreover, occurred, which, while it greatly disheartened his party, gave additional hope to that of the lady Mary. Six vessels, well manned with troops and ammunition, stationed off Yarmouth to intercept Mary in case she attempted to escape by sea, were driven into that port, where their commanders were immediately visited by Sir Henry Jerningham, who was levying recruits for the princess, and were prevailed upon by him to join her standard.
When the news of this defection reached the Tower, even the warmest partisans of Jane perceived that her cause was hopeless, and prepared to desert her. The Duke of Suffolk could not conceal his uneasiness, and despatched a secret messenger to Lord Guilford Dudley, who during the whole of this trying period had absented himself, commanding his instant return..
On receiving the summons, Dudley immediately answered it in person. Jane received him with the utmost affection, and their meeting, which took place in the presence of her father, the Duchess of Northumberland, and the Ladies Herbert and Hastings, was deeply affecting. Lord Guilford was much moved, and prostrating himself before the queen, besought her forgiveness for his ill-advised and ungenerous conduct—bitterly reproaching himself for having deserted her at a season of so much peril.
“I will not upbraid you, dear Dudley,” rejoined Jane, “neither will I attempt to disguise from you that your absence has given me more anguish than aught else in this season of trouble. My crown you well know was your crown. But now, alas! I fear I have lost that which, though a bauble in my eyes, was a precious-jewel in yours.”
“Oh, say not so, my queen,” replied Lord Guilford, passionately. “Things are not so desperate as you imagine. I have letters full of hope and confidence from my father, who has reached Bury Saint Edmund’s. He means to give battle to the rebels to-morrow. And the next messenger will no doubt bring news of their defeat.”
“Heaven grant it may prove so, my dear lord!” rejoined Jane. “But I am not so sanguine. I have despatched missives to the sheriffs of the different counties, enjoining them to raise troops in my defence, and have summoned the Lord Mayor and the city-authorities to the council to-morrow, to decide upon what is best to be done in this emergency.”
“Daughter,” said the Duke of Suffolk, “it is my duty to, inform you that I have just received letters from his Grace of Northumberland, very different in purport from that which has reached Lord Guilford. In them he expresses himself doubtful, of the result of the conflict, and writes most urgently for further succour. His men, he says, are hourly deserting to the hostile camp. And, unless he speedily receives additional force and munition, it will be impossible to engage the enemy.”
“This is bad news, indeed, my lord,” replied Jane, mournfully.
“Have we not troops to send him?” cried Lord Guilford Dudley. “If a leader is wanted, I will set forth at once.”
“We cannot spare another soldier from the Tower,” replied Suffolk. “London is in a state of revolt. The fortress may be stormed by the rabble, who are all in favour of Mary. The Duke has already taken all the picked men. And, if the few loyal soldiers left, are removed, we shall not have sufficient to overawe the rebels.”
“My lord,” observed the Duchess of Northumberland, “you have allowed the council too much sway. They will overpower you. And your highness,” she added, turning to Jane, “has suffered yourself to be deluded by the artful counsels of Simon Renard.”
“Simon Renard has given me good counsel,” replied Jane.
“You are deceived, my queen,” replied her husband. “He is conspiring against your crown and life.”
“It is too true,” added Suffolk, “I have detected some of his dark practices.”
“Were I assured of this,” answered Jane, “the last act of my reign—the last exertion of my power should be to avenge myself upon him.”
“Are the guards within the Tower true to us?” inquired Dudley.
“As yet,” replied Suffolk. “But they are wavering. If something be not done to confirm them, I fear they will declare for Mary.”
“And the council?”
“Are plotting against us, and providing for their own safety.”
“Jane,” said Lord Guilford Dudley, “I will not attempt to excuse my conduct. But if it is possible to repair the injury I have done you, I will do so. Everything now depends on resolution. The council are more to be feared than Mary and her forces. So long as you are mistress of the Tower, you are mistress of London, and Queen of England—even though the day should go against the Duke, my father. Give me a warrant under your hand for the arrest of the council, and the ambassadors Renard and De Noailles, and I will see it instantly executed.”
“My lord!” she exclaimed.
“Trust me, my queen, it is the only means to save us,” replied Dudley. “This bold step will confound them and compel them to declare their purposes. If they are your enemies, as I nothing doubt, you will have them in your power.”
“I understand,” replied Jane. “You shall have the warrant. It will bring matters to an issue.”
At this moment, the door of the chamber was thrown open, and an usher announced “Monsieur Simon Renard.”
“You are right welcome, M. Renard,” said Lord Guilford, bowing haughtily. “I was about to go in search of you.”
“Indeed,” rejoined the ambassador, coldly returning the salutation. “I am glad to spare your lordship so much trouble,—and I am still more rejoiced to find you have recovered your temper, and returned to your royal consort.”
“Insolent!” exclaimed Lord Guilford. “Guards!” he cried, motioning to the attendants—“Assure yourselves of his person.”
“Ha!” exclaimed Renard, laying his hand upon his sword. “You have no authority for this.”
“I have the Queens warrant,” rejoined Dudley, sternly.
“The person of an ambassador is sacred,” observed Renard.
“The emperor, Charles the Fifth, will resent this outrage as an insult to himself.”
“I will take the consequences upon myself,” replied Lord Guilford, carelessly.
“Your highness will not suffer this wrong to be done?” said Renard, addressing Jane.
“Monsieur Renard,” replied the queen, “I have reason to believe you have played me false. If I find you have deceived me, though you were brother to the emperor, you shall lose your head.”
“You will have cause to repent this step,” rejoined Renard, furiously. “The council will command my instant release.”
“The order must be speedy then,” replied Dudley, “for I shall place them all in arrest. And here, as luck will have it, are your friends the Earls of Arundel and Pembroke. They will attend you to the White Tower.”
So saying, he motioned to the guards to take them into custody.
“What means this?” cried Pembroke in astonishment.
“It means that Lord Guilford Dudley, who has been slumbering for some time in Sion House, has awakened at last, and fancies his royal consort’s crown is in danger,” rejoined Renard with a bitter sneer.
“This is some jest surely, my lord,” observed Pembroke. “The council arrested at a moment of peril like this! Will you provoke us to manifest our power?”
“I will provoke you to manifest your treacherous designs towards her majesty,” replied Dudley. “Away with them to the White Tower! Shrewsbury, Cecil, Huntingdon, Darcy, and the others shall soon join you there.”
“One word before we go, gracious madam’?” said Pembroke, addressing the queen.
“Not one, my lord,” replied Jane. “Lord Guilford Dudley has my full authority for what he does. I shall hold early council to-morrow—which you shall be at liberty to attend, and you will then have ample opportunity to explain and defend yourself.”
Upon this, the confederate nobles were removed.
“It is time to put an end to this farce,” remarked Renard, as they were conducted along the gallery towards the White Tower.
“It is,” answered Pembroke, “and my first address in the council to-morrow shall be to proclaim Queen Mary.”
“The hair-brained Dudley imagines he can confine us in the White Tower,” observed Renard, laughing. “There is not a chamber in it without a secret passage. And thanks to the jailor, Nightgall, I am familiar with them all. We will not be idle to-night.”
Having seen the rest of the council conveyed to the White Tower, Lord Guilford Dudley returned to the palace. While discoursing on other matters with the queen, he casually remarked that he was surprised he did not perceive his esquire, Cuthbert Cholmondeley, in her highness’s train, and was answered that he had not been seen since his departure for Sion House. Greatly surprised by the intelligence, Lord Guilford directed an attendant to make inquiries about him. After some time, the man returned, stating that he could obtain no information respecting him.
“This is very extraordinary,” said Lord Guilford. “Poor Cholmondeley! What can have happened to him? As soon as this danger is past, I will make personal search for him.”
“I thought he had left the Tower with you, my dear lord,” observed Jane.
“Would he had!” answered her husband. “I cannot help suspecting he has incurred the enmity of the council, and has been secretly removed. I will interrogate them on the subject tomorrow.”
While they were thus conversing, an usher appeared, and informed the queen that a young damsel supplicated an audience having somewhat to disclose of importance.
“You had better admit her, my queen,” said Dudley. “She may have accidentally learned some plot which it is important for us to know.”
Jane having signified her assent, the usher withdrew, and presently afterwards introduced Cicely. The young damsel, who appeared to have suffered much, greatly interested the queen by her extreme beauty and modesty. She narrated her story with infinite simplicity, and though she blushed deeply when she came to speak of the love professed for her by Cholmondeley, she attempted no concealment.
Both Jane and Lord Guilford Dudley were astonished beyond measure, when they learned that the young esquire had been incarcerated by Nightgall; and the latter was about to reproach Cicely for not having revealed the circumstance before, when she accounted for her silence by stating that she had been locked within her chamber, ever since the night in question, by her mother. Her story ended, Dudley declared his intention of seeking out the jailor without delay. “I will first compel him to liberate his prisoner,” he said, “and will then inflict upon him a punishment proportionate to his offence.”
“Alas!” exclaimed Cicely, bursting into tears, “I fear your lordship’s assistance will come too late. Nightgall has visited me daily, and he asserts that Master Cholmondeley has quitted the Tower by some secret passage under the moat. I fear he has destroyed him.”
“If it be so, he shall die the death he merits,” replied Dudley. “You say that the gigantic warders, whose lodging is in the By-ward Tower, are acquainted with the dungeon. I will proceed thither at once, be of good cheer, fair damsel. If your lover is alive he shall wed you on the morrow, and I will put it out of Nightgall’s power to molest you further. Remain with the queen till I return.”
“Ay, do so, child,” said Jane, “I shall be glad to have you with me. And, if you desire it, you shall remain constantly near my person.”
“It is more happiness than I deserve, gracious madam,” replied Cicely, dropping upon her knee. “And though your majesty has many attendants more highly born, you will find none more faithful.”
“I fully believe it,” replied Jane, with a sigh. “Rise, damsel. Henceforth you are one of my attendants.”
Cicely replied by a look of speechless gratitude, while summoning a guard, Dudley proceeded to the By-ward Tower. The giants informed him they had just returned from Nightgall’s lodging, and that he was absent. He then commanded them to accompany him to the entrance of the subterranean dungeons beneath the Devilin Tower.
“It will be useless to attempt to gain admission without the keys, my lord,” replied Og; “and they are in master Nightgall’s keeping.”
“Has no one else a key? demanded Dudley, impatiently.
“No one, unless it be Gillian Mauger, the headsman,” replied Xit; “I will bring him to your lordship, instantly.”
So saying, he hurried off in search of the executioner, while Dudley, attended by the two giants, proceeded slowly in the direction of the Beauchamp Tower. In a short time, the dwarf returned with Mauger, who limped after him as quickly as a lame leg would permit. He had no key of the dungeon, and on being questioned, declared there was no other entrance to it.
“Break open the door instantly, then,” cried Dudley.
Mauger declared this was impossible, as it was cased with iron, and fastened with a lock of great strength.
Magog, who was standing at a little distance with his arms folded upon his breast, now stepped forward, and, without saying a word, lifted up a large block of stone placed there to repair the walls, and hurling it against the door, instantly burst it open.
“Bravely done,” cried Lord Guilford. “How can I reward the service?”
“I scarcely know how to ask it of your lordship,” rejoined Magog; “but if you could prevail upon her majesty to issue her commands to Dame Placida Paston to bestow her hand upon me, you would make me the happiest of mankind.”
“If the dame be willing, surely she does not require enforcement,” replied Dudley, laughing; “and if not”——
“She has half promised her hand to me, my lord,” said Xit, “and your lordship can scarcely doubt to whom she would give the preference.”
“She has indeed a fair choice betwixt giant and dwarf I must own,” replied Dudley. “But bring torches and follow me. More serious business now claims my attention.”
“I will guide your lordship through these dungeons,” said Xit. “I have often accompanied Master Nightgall in his visits, and can conduct you to every cell.”
“Lead on then,” said Dudley.
After traversing a vast number of passages, and examining many cells, all of which were vacant, they at length came to the dungeon where Cholmondeley had been confined. Here they found Nightgall, who at first attempted to exculpate himself, and made a variety of wild accusations against the esquire, but when he found he was utterly disbelieved, he confessed the whole truth. Dismissing some of his companions in search of the esquire, who it was evident, if the jailor’s statement was to be credited, must have lost himself in some of the passages. Dudley was about to follow them, when Nightgall flung himself at his feet, and offered, if his life were spared, to reveal all the secret practices of the Council which had come to his knowledge. Dudley then ordered the rest of his attendants to withdraw, and was so much astonished at Nightgall’s communication, that he determined upon instantly conveying him to the palace. After a long, but ineffectual search for Chomondeley, whose escape has already been related, Dudley contented himself with leaving Xit and Og to look for him; and placing Nightgall in the custody of the two other giants, returned with him to the palace.
While this was passing, the queen had received an unexpected visit. She had retired to her closet with Cicely, and was listening to a recapitulation of the young damsel’s love affair, when the hangings were suddenly drawn aside, and Simon Renard stepped from a masked door in the wall. Surprise for a moment held her silent, and Cicely was so much astonished by the appearance of the intruder, and so much alarmed by his stern looks, that she stood like one petrified. Renard’s deportment, indeed, was most formidable, and could not fail to impress them both with terror. He said nothing for a moment, but fixed his black flaming eyes menacingly on the queen. As she remained speechless, he motioned Cicely to withdraw, and she would have obeyed had not Jane grasped her arm and detained her.
“Do not leave me!” she cried, “or summon the guard.”
The words were no sooner spoken, than Renard drew his sword, and placed himself between her and the door.
“I have little to say,” he observed;—“but I would have said it to you alone. Since you will have a witness, I am content.”
By this time, Jane had recovered her confidence, and rising, she confronted Renard with a look as stern and haughty as his own.
“What brings you here, sir,” she demanded; “and by what means have you escaped from the White Tower?—Are my guards false to their trust?”
“It matters not how I have escaped,” replied Renard. “I am come hither to warn you.”
“Of what?” asked Jane.
“Of the peril in which you stand,’” replied Renard. “You are no longer queen. The Duke of Northumberland has disbanded his army, and has himself proclaimed Mary.”
“It is false,” rejoined Jane.
“You will do well not to neglect my caution,” replied Renard. “As yet the news is only known to me. To-morrow it will be known to all within the Tower. Fly! while it is yet time.”
“No,” replied Jane, proudly. “Were your news true, which I doubt, I would not fly. If I must resign my crown, it shall not be at your bidding. But I am still a queen; and you shall feel that I am so. Guards!” she cried in a loud voice, “Arrest this traitor.”
But before the door could be opened, Renard had darted behind the arras and disappeared. Nor, upon searching the wall, could the attendants discover by what means he had contrived his escape. Soon after this, Lord Guilford Dudley returned, and his rage and consternation when he learned what had occurred was unbounded. He flew to the White Tower, where he found that Simon Renard, De Noailles, and the Earls of Pembroke and Arundel, who had been confined in a small room adjoining the council-chamber, had disappeared. The guards affirmed positively that they were not privy to their flight, and unable to obtain any clue to the mystery, Dudley returned in a state of great perplexity to the palace, where a fresh surprise awaited him.
Jane had scarcely recovered from the surprise occasioned by Renard’s mysterious visit, when an usher presented himself, and delivering a ring to her, said that it had been given him by an old woman, who implored an audience. Glancing at the ornament, the queen instantly recognised it as that she had given to Gunnora Braose, and desired the attendant to admit her. Accordingly, the old woman was introduced, and approaching Jane, threw herself on her knees before her.
“What seek you, my good dame?” asked Jane. “I promised to grant any boon you might ask. Are you come to claim fulfilment of my promise?”
“Listen to me, gracious lady,” said the old woman, “and do not slight my counsel,—for what I am about to say to you is of the deepest import. Your crown—your liberty—your life is in danger! The Council mean to depose you on the morrow, and proclaim Mary queen. Call to mind the warning I gave you before you entered this fatal fortress. My words have come to pass. You are betrayed—lost!”
“Rise, my good woman,” said Jane, “and compose yourself. You may speak the truth. My enemies may prevail against me, but they shall not subdue me. It is now too late to retreat. Having accepted the crown, I cannot—will not lay it aside, till it is wrested from me.”
“It will be wrested from you on the block, dear lady,” cried Gunnora. “Listen to me, I beseech you. To-night you can make your retreat. To-morrow it will be too late.”
“It is too late already,” cried a stern voice behind them, and Renard again presented himself. He was accompanied by the Earl of Pembroke, and Cholmondeley who was muffled in the jailer’s cloak. “Lady Jane Dudley,” continued the ambassador, in an authoritative voice, “there is one means of saving your life, and only one. Sign this document,” and he extended a parchment towards her. “It is your abdication. Sign it, and I will procure you a free pardon for yourself and your husband from Queen Mary.”
“Mary is not queen,—nor will I sign it,” replied Jane. “Then hear me,” replied Renard. “In Queen Mary’s name, I denounce you as an usurper. And if you further attempt to exercise the functions of royalty, you will not escape the block.”
“He does not overrate your danger,” interposed Gunnora.
“What make you here, old woman?” said Renard, addressing her.
“I have come on the same errand as yourself,” she replied, “to warn this noble, but ill-advised lady of her peril.”
“Have you likewise informed her why you were brought to the Tower?” demanded Renard, sternly.
“No,” replied Gunnora.
“Then she shall learn it from me,” continued the ambassador, “though it is not the season I would have chosen for the disclosure. This woman administered poison to your predecessor, Edward VI, by order of the Duke of Northumberland.”
“It is false,” cried Jane, “I will not believe it.”
“It is true,” said Gunnora.
“Wretch! you condemn yourself,” said Jane.
“I know it,” rejoined Gunnora; “but place me on the rack, and I will repeat the charge.”
“What motive could the duke have for so foul a crime?” demanded the queen.
“This,” replied Gunnora; “he wished to remove the king so suddenly, that the princesses Mary and Elizabeth might have no intelligence of his decease. But this is not all, madam.”
“What more remains to be told?” asked Jane.
“You were to be the next victim,” returned the old woman.
“Northumberland aimed at the supreme power. With this view, he wedded you to his son; with this view, he procured the letters patent from King Edward declaring you his successor; with this view, he proclaimed you queen, raised you to the throne, and would have made your husband king. His next step was to have poisoned you.”
“Poisoned me!” exclaimed Jane, horror-stricken.
“Ay, poisoned you,” repeated Gunnora. “I was to administer the fatal draught to you as I did to Edward. It was therefore I warned you not to enter the Tower. It was therefore I counselled you to resign a sceptre which I knew you could not sustain. I saw you decked out like a victim for the sacrifice, and I strove to avert the fatal blow—but in vain.”
“Alas! I begin to find your words are true,” replied Jane. “But if aught remains to me of power, if I am not a queen merely in name, I will now exert it. My lord of Pembroke, I command you to summon the guard, and arrest this traitor,” pointing to Simon Renard. “I will not sleep till I have had his head. How, my lord, do you refuse to obey me? Hesitate, and you shall share his doom.”
At this moment, Cholmondeley threw off his cloak, and advancing towards the ambassador, said, “M. Simon Renard, you are the queen’s prisoner.”
“Cholmondeley!” exclaimed Renard, starting; “can it be?”
“It is, traitor,” replied the esquire; “but I will now unmask you and your projects.”
“Back, sir!” cried Renard, in a tone so authoritative that all were overawed by it. “Lay hands upon me, and I give a signal which will cause a general massacre, in which none of Queen Mary’s enemies will be spared. Lady Jane Dudley,” he continued, addressing her, “I give you till to-morrow to reflect upon what course you will pursue. Resign the crown you have wrongfully assumed, and I pledge my word to obtain your pardon. But Northumberland’s life is forfeited, and that of all his race.”
“Think you I will sacrifice my husband, traitor?” cried Jane. “Seize him,” she added, to Cholmondeley.
But before the young man could advance, Renard had unsheathed his sword, and placed himself in a posture of defence. “Lady Jane Dudley,” he ejaculated, “I give you till to-morrow. Your own conduct will decide your fate.”
“Call the guard,” cried Jane.
The young esquire vainly endeavoured to obey this command, but he was attacked and beaten off by the ambassador and the Earl of Pembroke, who quickly retreating towards the masked door, passed through it, and closed it after them. At this juncture, Lord Guilford Dudley returned at the head of the guard. The occurrences of the last few minutes were hastily explained to him, and he was about to break open the secret door, when Nightgall said, “If I have a free pardon, I will conduct your lordship to the secret retreat of the Council, and unravel a plot which shall place them in your power.”
“Do this,” replied Lord Guilford, “and you shall not only have a free pardon, but a great reward.”
“Take a sufficient guard with you, and follow me,” rejoined Nightgall.
Dudley complied, and the party proceeded on their errand, while Cholmondeley remained with the queen and Cicely; and although his transports at beholding her again were somewhat alloyed by the perilous position in which Jane stood, he nevertheless tasted sufficient happiness to recompense him in some degree for his recent misery. Withdrawing to another apartment, Jane awaited in the utmost anxiety her husband’s return. This did not occur for some hours, and when he appeared she saw at once, from his looks, that his search had been unsuccessful.
The remainder of the night was passed between the queen and her consort in anxious deliberation. Cholmondeley was entrusted with the command of the guard, and after a few hours’ rest and other refreshment, of which he stood greatly in need, he proceeded with Lord Clinton, who still apparently remained firm in his adherence, to make the rounds of the Tower. Nothing unusual was noticed: the sentinels were at their posts. But as Cholmondeley looked towards Tower-hill, he fancied he observed a great crowd assembled, and pointed out the appearance to Lord Clinton, who seemed a little confused, but declared he could perceive nothing. Cholmondeley, however, was satisfied that he was not deceived; but apprehending no danger from the assemblage, he did not press the point. Towards daybreak he again looked out in the same quarter, but the mob had disappeared. Meanwhile, Gunnora Braose had been conducted to the Bowyer Tower, and locked within the chamber she had occupied, while Nightgall was placed in strict confinement.