THE ESCAPE
Frequently after this Francis saw Edward Devereaux in the garden, but she
preserved such a distant demeanor toward him that the youth did not dare
to address her.
"Fie upon thee, lady bird," chided Mrs. Shelton. "Is it thus that thou
dost requite such favor? Thou dost not deserve to be remembered."
"But I thought that the gifts came from Lord Shrope," said Francis. "And
they are from mine enemy."
"But they served the self-same purpose, chuck, as if they were in truth
from him. Did they not rouse thee from thy depression? I tell thee that I
have been long in these grim walls, and I have seen men of high degree
forgotten and forsaken by friends. They have remained here years without
one token from without. Thou hast been favored to no small extent, and
now thou dost repine and will not touch thy guitar because, forsooth,
'twas sent thee by 'thine enemy.' Marry! Pray Heaven send me such
enemies!"
"It may be that I have been somewhat ungracious," said Francis
penitently. "If thou wilt permit, good mistress, I will tell the lad so.
But I wish it had been my Lord Shrope."
"Out upon thee for such a wish, child! Marry! to desire to be remembered
by an old man rather than by a young, handsome----" she laughed and added
slyly, "enemy. Were he not in the queen's favor thou couldst not have
liberty to speak with him, and thou art foolish to let slip such
opportunity for converse. The queen may repent her of his imprisonment at
any time, and then thou mayst never see another to hold communion with."
"Am I always to stay here, Mrs. Shelton?" asked Francis wistfully.
"Though in truth were I to be freed I would not know where to go. Still
'tis hard to be shut up within this dreary place."
"I know not, child."
"Why have I not been brought to trial?" continued the girl, "Others were
tried and sentenced and met their doom, while I linger on, not knowing
what my fate is to be."
"I know not," answered Mrs. Shelton again. "Question it not, girl. There
are those here who have lain for years in like uncertainty, and will so
wait until death releases them."
"And their lot will be mine," observed the maiden mournfully. "Happy were
they who met death on the block! I am so young and so strong. 'Twill be
long ere the tomb claims me. And to look forward to all those years--oh,
'tis hard, hard!" She paused for a time, and then went on pathetically:
"I dreamed of the fens and the wildwood last night, mistress. Methought
the breeze came fresh from the distant sea. I felt its breath upon my
cheek. I heard the sound of the horns, and the bay of the hounds as they
were unleashed for the chase. I mounted my palfrey, and dashed in pursuit
of the dogs. I rode as ne'er I rode before. On and on! and then, as the
clamor of the hounds told me the game was brought to bay, I reached for
my bow, and--touched the walls of my prison. Then I awoke. It was all a
dream," she ended with a sob. "All a dream, and I shall never ride in
the forest again."
"There, sweetheart! think no more on it," soothed Mrs. Shelton. "Come!
let us go down to the bonny laddie who, even if he be thine enemy is more
real than dreams."
Francis composed herself and followed the woman into the garden where
Edward Devereaux already wandered. As she answered his greeting with a
slight smile the youth ventured to enter into conversation.
"Hast heard the report?" he began eagerly. "'Tis said that the Spanish
have been driven back to their coasts by a storm, but are again preparing
to sail for England. Oh, for a chance at them! If I could but once take a
Don by the beard I would content me to stay in these walls forever."
"Say not so, Master Devereaux," said Francis. "'Tis a dreary place, and
hadst thou been here for nigh two years as I have been thou wouldst not
utter such things. 'Tis dreary--dreary!" She sighed heavily, and despite
herself a tear rolled down her cheek.
"How now, Francis," cried Devereaux touched by her distress. "Thou with
the megrims? Why, Francis, 'tis unlike thy spirit!"
"I had a dream," said Francis striving to repress her tears, "and it hath
made me long for liberty." And she related it to him.
"I wonder not at thy longing," said the lad. "I too desire with all my
heart to be free. And," he lowered his voice and glanced about for Mrs.
Shelton but she was busied over some plants, and out of earshot, "and I
intend to be soon."
"What!" cried Francis, her grief forgotten, looking at him with
eagerness.
"Not so loud," cautioned Edward. "I mean to escape, Francis, and to go to
Lord Howard to help fight the Spaniards."
"Oh, Edward," breathed the girl, "take me with you."
"Nay; I cannot. Thou art but a girl, and the risk would be too great. I
have the freedom of this inner ward, but there still remains the outer
ward and the moat, which, as thou knowest, is on all sides of the Tower,
and on the south there is the Thames also. The hazard would be too
great."
"Nay, nay," pleaded Francis, her soul on fire at the mere mention of
escape. "Do take me."
"But what couldst thou do even were we to succeed?" demanded Devereaux.
"Where couldst thou go?"
"To my father in France," replied Francis.
"Nay; but"--began Devereaux again when the girl caught his hand and held
it tightly with her own.
"I will not let thee go until thou dost consent," she cried with some of
her old wilfulness. "Oh, Edward, do say yes."
Devereaux looked at her thin hands, her face so pale and worn, so
different from its former sauciness, and all the chivalry of his nature
rose up.
"When thou dost speak so, Francis," he said gently, "I can deny thee
nothing."
"And thou wilt?" cried she with shining eyes.
"Yea, Francis; but consider well the danger. If we fail it may mean
death."
"We will not fail," declared the girl with positiveness. "If we do, is
not death better than imprisonment? I promise that I will kill at least
one Spaniard."
"I will hold thee to that vow," laughed Devereaux. "But thy woman comes,
Francis. I will inform thee of the plan when I fix on one. Fare you
well."
"Fare you well," returned Francis.
"Thine enemy's converse hath done thee good," commented Mrs. Shelton
waggishly on their return to the upper chamber of the Bell Tower.
Francis looked at her a moment and then said with dignity:
"I had forgot that he was mine enemy, mistress. Besides, I may have been
somewhat unmannerly in my treatment of Master Devereaux, and it behooves
me as a gentlewoman to make other recompense for his courtesy."
"And say you so, Francis?" laughed Mrs. Shelton who considered the affair
great sport. "Belike it be no unpleasant duty. But there, child! 'Tis
little of entertainment thou hast, so make merry with the lad for I fear
that he will not remain here long."
"I fear so too," answered Francis, and in her heart lay the unspoken wish
that not only Devereaux's time but her own might be short.
The days passed and Edward Devereaux had not yet matured a scheme for
their flight. June waxed and waned, and July was upon them. Then one day,
when the girl had almost despaired of hearing him speak of the attempt
again, Devereaux said to her in a low tone:
"Art thou willing to make the effort to-night, Francis?"
"To-night?" cried Francis thrilling at the thought. "Yea; to-night,
Edward. But how?"
"Does Mrs. Shelton stay in your chamber at night?"
"Not now. Not since I recovered from mine illness."
"And is there not a flight of steps leading to the roof?"
"Yes;" replied Francis surprised. "How knew you that?"
"Easily. The alarm bell of the fortress stands on that roof, and there
must of necessity be communication from the inside as well as from the
outside. Besides all the other towers are so connected. Thou knowest that
my lodging is the uppermost story of the Bloody Tower where tradition
hath it that the two princes of York were murdered by Richard of
Gloucester. I have found that between the outer wall of the Tower and the
chamber there is a passage communicating with the top of the ballium wall
to the west. Along that I will proceed until I reach the roof of the Bell
Tower where I will make fast the rope for our descent. After we are down
we must make use of our wits to pass the gate in the Byward Tower and so
reach Tower wharf where friends will await us with a boat. There is no
moon, and the darkness will favor the plan. There are secret passages
which lead out of the Tower but these I have been unable to discover.
They are known to but few and those few are incorruptible. The passage
leading to my lodgings is all that I have knowledge of, and I had much
ado to find that, and to obtain the rope."
"But the sentinel, Edward? There is always one stationed by the bell."
"Leave him to me, Francis," said Devereaux evasively. "Do you fear to
adventure it?"
"Nay, Edward. I rather rejoice at the opportunity for action."
"Then await my coming. And to-night the die will be cast. Liberty and
England, or imprisonment and death! All depends upon this throw. Do you
fear, Francis?"
"No;" answered she proudly. "I am no weakling that I should fear. Dost
thou not know the motto of the Staffords: A l'outrance? (To the utmost) I
am a Stafford. Therefore will I dare to the utmost."
"Well said, mistress. If my courage fail me thou wilt inspire it anew. So
fare you well until night."
They parted, and Francis returned to her chamber to await the coming of
the darkness with what patience she could. The hours went by on leaden
wings. At last the portal leading to the roof was opened, and Edward
Devereaux's voice sounded in a low whisper:
"Francis!"
"I am here," answered the girl thrilled by the call.
"Then come!"
Gladly she obeyed, and ascended the short flight of steps, and soon stood
beside the form of Devereaux on the roof.
"The sentinel," she whispered.
"Lies there," and Devereaux pointed to a dark figure extended at full
length beside the belfry. "Mind him not. We must hasten. Here is the
rope. Descend, and loose not thine hold of it until thy feet have touched
ground as thou lovest life. Remember the fate of Griffin of Wales."
Francis grasped the rope and swung herself clear of the belfry. For a
moment she swayed dizzily, then the rope settled, and steadying herself
by means of the roughened surface of the old walls she slipped quickly to
the ground. The Bell Tower consisted of only one story above the ground
one so that the feat was not so difficult as it would have been from any
of the other towers. Giving a tug to the rope in token that she had
reached the ground in safety she waited Devereaux's coming with
palpitating heart. In a few moments he was beside her.
For a second they stood silently, but no sound from the battlements above
betokened that their flight had been discovered. Grasping the girl's hand
Devereaux drew her quickly across the outer ward into the shadow of the
Byward Tower through which was the principal entrance. This was guarded
by a burly warder whom the youth could not hope to overcome by strength,
so he resolved upon a strategy. With a low breathed injunction to Francis
he bent over, and ran at full tilt into the man as he came toward them,
hitting him, as he had foreseen, directly in the stomach and upsetting
him. With a roar and a shout the guard sprang to his feet just as they
darted past him. The drawbridge leading across the moat was closed, but,
nothing daunted, the two leaped over the railing into the moat below.
The sentinels on the battlements of the tower heard the splash and
instantly gave the alarm. The bell rang; lights flashed along the
ramparts, and numerous shots were fired into the moat after the
fugitives. The moat was wide and deep, and Francis whose physical vigor
was undermined by her long confinement, felt her strength failing.
"Leave me, Edward," she gasped. "I can hold out no longer. Save
thyself!"
"Never!" came from Devereaux valiantly, and he supported her with his
arm. "Lean on me. The wharf is not far distant. Courage!"
As they neared the other side a low whistle sounded, which the lad
answered in like manner. Then indistinctly the form of a man became
visible on the opposite bank. Again the whistle came, and a line was
thrown out to them. This Edward grasped, and they were soon towed to
shore, and pulled from the water.
"We must hasten," said the man who had come to their assistance. "The
whole garrison is aroused."
With all the speed they could muster they hurried to the Tower wharf
where a boat was in waiting.
"Devereaux," said a man grasping the hand of the youth, "is it thou?"
"In very truth 'tis I, Walter. And right glad am I to be here. But
hasten, beseech you. I would not be retaken for all the wealth of
Spain."
The boat shot out from the wharf into the river, and passed swiftly down
the stream.