A FELLOW PRISONER
A merciful illness prostrated Francis for many weeks, and when at length
she crept slowly toward health, the winter had passed and spring was
abroad in the land. Her convalescence was tedious, owing to a settled
melancholy utterly unlike her usual buoyant disposition, which had taken
possession of her. Upon one point only did a gleam of her native spirit
flash forth. This was when Mrs. Shelton, the wife of one of the keepers,
brought her the apparel suitable to her sex.
"Nay; vex me not with them, good mistress," exclaimed Francis. "'Twas by
my father's command that I donned this attire, and, by my faith, I will
exchange it for no other until he bids me."
"That may be never, Mistress Stafford," retorted the woman impatiently.
"Thou mayst never see him again."
"Then will I wear it to my grave," was Francis' answer. "I am fixed in
this resolve, Mistress Shelton, and naught can turn me from it."
"As ye please then," quoth the dame. "Full surely thou art as stubborn a
lady as it hath ever been my hap to see. But if ye will not, ye will
not;" and she took the garments away.
Francis now occupied her mother's apartment in the Bell Tower, and
because of this fact found a curious contentment in it.
"It may be that her spirit lingers here loth to leave me alone," she
thought, and she took to watching for a sign that such was the case.
She was roused from this dangerous train of thought by Mrs. Shelton
appearing before her one day with a basket of figs. The girl uttered an
exclamation of delight at sight of them, so small a thing does it take to
arouse interest sometimes.
"For me?" she cried. "Whence came they? Who could have sent them?"
"Ask me not, mistress. I know naught of them save that they came from
without the gates of the Tower. Sir Michael searched the basket, and as
there was nothing but the fruit, he let it pass."
"Who could have sent them?" murmured Francis, again in ecstasy. It was so
sweet not to be forgotten. To know that some one still remembered her.
"Could it be my father? Nay; he would not dare. Lord Shrope? Yea; it must
have been he. Good, kind friend that he is!"
From this time forward her recovery was rapid. And when the following
month brought a bouquet of sweet smelling flowers, the third, a basket of
cherries, her joy knew no bounds. Thereafter no month went by without
some token reaching her from that unknown person who seemed so full of
sweet remembrance of her.
"Now blessings be upon his head who hath so much of thought for me," she
exclaimed rapturously as a guitar took the place of fruit or flowers. "No
more shall I be lonely with such companion."
And so with books, guitar, and an occasional walk in the gardens of the
lieutenant where she went to take the air, Francis passed her time not
unhappily. She was upheld by the thought that she was not forgotten. Thus
summer passed into fall; fall into winter, and winter in turn gave way
to spring, to that memorable spring of 1588 when all England was stirred
by the rumor of the threatened invasion of Spain. At this time the gifts
to Francis ceased, and such an important part of her existence had they
become that their stoppage grieved her more than the threats of the
invasion.
Books and music lost interest, and she took to watching the comings and
goings of prisoners through the grated loop-hole overlooking the south
ward through which all personages must pass to reach the Garden Tower
which was over the principal entrance to the inner ward. One day while
thus engaged she uttered an ejaculation and bent forward to take a nearer
view of a prisoner who was just brought within by way of the Byward Tower
through which lay the main gate to the Tower. This was used from Tower
Hill and by royalty when the Tower was used as a castle.
"What is it, deary?" asked Mrs. Shelton, who was in the chamber.
"Edward Devereaux," answered the girl excitedly. "Now why hath he been
sent here? Gramercy! methought none of the pages stood higher in the
queen's favor than he."
"'Tis past knowing," remarked the woman in a matter-of-fact tone. "He who
stands high with the queen to-day, to-morrow may be beheaded on Tower
Hill. Marry! 'tis better to be one of the people, for they are held dear
by the queen. Beseems that Her Grace cares naught for the courtiers. They
are always being sent here, either to be held in durance for life, else
to be beheaded. I am glad that I am not of the court."
Francis did not heed her words, but was so excited at beholding a face
that she knew that she leaned forward as far as she could, calling
loudly:
"Edward! Edward Devereaux!"
The youth looked up, but the girl was uncertain as to whether he saw her
or not. Mrs. Shelton hurried forward at the sound of her voice.
"Child!" she cried pulling her forcibly from the window, "dost want to be
taken elsewhere and lodged? There are other towers far gloomier than
this, and if thou carest not to taste their shadows thou wilt be more
circumspect."
"Thy pardon, mistress," said Francis recovering her self-possession. "I
meant not to transgress, 'tis the first time since I saw my mother that I
have looked upon a face that was known to me. I could not but greet him,
e'en though he be mine enemy."
"Thine enemy?" said the woman curiously. "How now, mistress? Tell me the
tale. 'Twill speed the hour and, forsooth, there is need of entertainment
here."
Thus adjured Francis related the story of the shooting of the deer; the
incident of the duel; spoke of the enmity that had always existed between
the families of Staffords and Devereaux; narrated how Edward had favored
her when the Lady Priscilla Rutland had stolen her hair; concluding
with:
"Therefore, thou seest, good Mistress Shelton, that there can be naught
but enmity betwixt us twain. He hath done me service, 'tis true, and
otherwise is a proper youth, I dare say. Yet still he is mine enemy."
"'Yet still he is mine enemy,'" mocked Mrs. Shelton. "Marry, girl! 'Tis
marvelous hate that thou showest when thou dost call to him when he hath
been brought into durance. 'Yet still he is mine enemy.'" She laughed.
"Make merry, an ye will, mistress," said Francis, "but still is it as I
tell ye."
"There, child! I meant not to vex thee," appeased the woman who had grown
fond of Francis, so long had she been in her keeping. "I must learn more
of the lad."
"Do find why he hath been committed," cried the girl eagerly. "I can but
wonder at it. Hath he too been engaged in treasonable enterprise----"
"Nay;" interrupted Mrs. Shelton, "for then he would have entered under
the tower of St. Thomas through the Traitor's Gate."
In a few days she reported to Francis that the charge against him was a
nominal one. He seemed to be committed only to be restrained of his
liberty and was given the privilege of the Tower, wandering through the
wards at pleasure save only that he could not pass the outer walls of the
fortress.
And so it happened one day that when Francis, attended by Mrs. Shelton,
was taking the air in the lieutenant's garden Edward Devereaux chanced to
be walking there also. Seeing them he doffed his bonnet and approached,
deferentially speaking to Mrs. Shelton:
"Gracious madam, may I be permitted to speak with your charge?"
"It is not the custom for one prisoner to hold converse with another,
young sir," replied Mrs. Shelton. "But, as ye are enemies, I will indulge
thy request, albeit ye speak that I may hear all."
"I thank you, madam, for your courtesy," replied the youth bowing.
"Mistress Francis, how fare you?"
"Well, Master Devereaux," answered Francis. "That is," she added, "as
well as one may fare who rests under the displeasure of the queen."
"You say truly," sighed Devereaux. "Yet, me thinks that to be under the
queen's displeasure brings not more ill than to stand high in her
grace."
"What mean you, Master Devereaux?"
"Why, truly, you lie under her ill will, and so abide in this grim
fortress; while I, who am her favorite page, do dwell in the same place."
"But wherefore?" asked Francis. "Of what crime hast thou been guilty?"
"None, Francis. Save and except that I wearied of the court and its vain
pleasures. I would play a man's part as did Sir Phillip Sidney. There was
a man, noble, chivalrous and brave! Ready to adventure all things, yet he
was the flower of courtesy! He was my example. I wished, like him, to
achieve renown, and so when the news came that the Armada was about to
embark from Spain, I asked her leave to go with Drake, who was to set
sail for Cadiz to obstruct the Spanish fleet's progress. She refused to
let me go, and so I ran away to Plymouth, where was my Lord Howard in
charge of our ships there awaiting the coming of the enemy. But the queen
held me in so much favor that she feared for my safety, and so sent after
me, and had me conveyed hither to remain until the danger be over.
Gramercy!" he broke forth his lips curling with scorn, "am I to stay here
mewed up like a girl when every son of England should be in arms against
the Spaniard?"
"But are the Spaniards coming, in truth, Edward?"
"So rumor hath it, Francis. 'Twas said that they have set sail already,
but I know not the truth of the matter."
"Thou art not much changed," said Francis presently.
"But thou art, Francis. Thou art taller, and thinner; yea, and paler,"
observed Devereaux with such a note of compassion in his voice that
Francis flushed. The youth noted her annoyance and added quickly: "And
still do you wear the dress of a page? Fie, Francis! art so enamored of
male attire?"
"Nay; Master Devereaux," replied Francis. "I marvel that I tell thee why
I do so, seeing that it concerns thee not, but I wish not to don my
maiden dress until my father bids me. How long that will be, I trow not,
since I have heard naught of him since I came to this place."
"Thy father dwells in France. He with some others of the conspirators
succeeded in escaping to that country."
"And Lord Shrope? How is he? Fain would I know, for truly he hath been
mine only friend in this dire time of need."
"Lord Shrope hath been in the Netherlands for nigh two years past,
Francis."
"Marry, child!" exclaimed Mrs. Shelton. "Then it could not have been he
who sent thee all those things."
"No; who, who could it have been? Methought in all England I had no
friend but him. Would that I knew the donor's name that I might cherish
it forever."
"'Twas thine enemy, Francis. Oh, stupid girl, where are thine eyes! See,
his looks betray him," laughed Mrs. Shelton.
"Was it thou, Edward Devereaux?" demanded Francis.
"Well, what if it were thine enemy, Francis? What then? Wouldst still
cherish his name?"
"Surely it was not thee, Edward Devereaux?"
"It was even I, Francis Stafford."
"But why, why?" asked she in bewilderment. "You are mine enemy and the
son of my father's enemy. Why then shouldst thou show such favor to me?"
"I robbed thee of that deer, Francis. 'Twas fitting that I should amend
the theft if possible." A merry twinkle crept into Edward's eye. "And
thou hast still to forgive me the blow I struck thee in our encounter."
"I should thank thee, Master Devereaux," said Francis constrainedly. "I
do thank thee from my heart, though I see no cause yet for thy action. At
another season perchance I may be able to thank thee in manner more
befitting the courtesy. I thought it from a friend, and it grieves me
that I find it otherwise. Pray you pardon me that I can do no more than
say, I thank you."
"'Tis enough," answered Edward. "At another season perchance thou mayst
find it in thy heart to say, 'Ned, I forgive thee the deer; I forgive
thee the blow that thou gavest me, and I forgive thee that thou art mine
enemy.'"
"It may be," said the girl coldly. "Come, good mistress, 'tis time that
we did go in. And so fare you well, Master Devereaux."
"Fare you well, mistress," answered Devereaux courteously.