A FRIEND IN NEED
It was with much apprehension that Francis awaited the return of the secretary. Stories that she had heard regarding the tortures inflicted upon prisoners in the Tower came to her mind with such vividness and force as to cause her soul to sicken with fear.
“I must not think on them,” she said, trying to drive this terror from her mind. For diversion she arose and examined the inscriptions in the room. “How many there have been before me!” she mused gazing at the coats of arms and other devices with which the walls were covered. “What melancholy memorials of illustrious and unfortunate people! Here is the name of the Earl of Arundel.”
She looked long and earnestly at the autograph of that unhappy nobleman, Phillip Howard, Earl of Arundel, who was beheaded for aspiring to the hand of Mary Stuart. 251 This name was written boldly over the fireplace, and the girl turned from it with a sigh as the thought occurred to her that all who were connected in any manner with that ill-starred princess must meet with some untoward fate.
She passed with a shudder from the next inscription bearing the recent date of 1582, which read:
| “Thomas Miagh which liethe here alone |
| That fain wold from hence begone |
| By torture straunge my trouth was tryed |
| Yet of my liberty denied;” |
for that “torture straunge” suggested thoughts of too painful a nature to dwell upon. The next bore the date, “Anno D. 1571, 10 Sept., and read:
“The most unhappy man in the world is he that is not patient in adversities; for men are not killed with the adversities they have, but with the impatience they suffer.”
And so she went from one to another, marveling at the resignation, patience and endurance breathed by many of the inscriptions, and shuddering at the thought of those 252 “straunge tortures” which were hinted at by others.
Three days elapsed. On the morning of the fourth day, as Francis sat listlessly awaiting the coming of her jailer with her noonday meal, which was the only diversion that her prison life afforded, the door opened to admit, not her keeper, but Sir Francis Walsingham and two warders. Every particle of color left her face at sight of him, and she uttered a silent prayer for help as she arose in response to his greeting.
“Well, young master, I hope that I find you in a more amiable frame of mind to-day?” half questioned, half asserted the secretary.
“Sir,” replied she, “I am of the same opinion as heretofore. I confess that if to carry letters to Mary, Queen of Scots, be treason, then am I guilty of rebellion against the queen’s highness. Therefore, adjudge me guilty, and give me, I beseech you, a speedy death. But, if the word of one who stands in peril of life may be taken, I solemnly declare that my father is innocent of all design of harming the Queen of England.” 253
“That declaration, boy, will not save him,” replied Walsingham sternly. “By not revealing the conspiracy, if he knew of it, he acquiesced in it. His first duty was to his sovereign. I now ask you for the last time with gentleness, in the name of the queen, did he know of it?”
Francis remained silent.
“’Tis enough,” said the minister sternly. “’Tis the law that he who refuses to answer a query put in the queen’s name, may be questioned in a far sharper manner. Bring him along, wardens.”
“There is no need,” said Francis with dignity as the two advanced toward her. “I will attend without force.”
The wardens bowed and opening the door of the chamber, ushered her into the corridor. Traversing this for a short distance they came to a flight of steps which they descended. Here they were confronted by a strong door which one of the men opened. It admitted them to a dark, narrow passage of considerable extent so far as could be discerned. After pursuing a direct course for some time they came to an opening on the left, into which 254 they struck. This hall was so narrow that they were obliged to walk singly. The roof was clustered with nitrous drops and the floor was slippery with moisture.
Francis did not know what part of the Tower she was in but she had heard that the whole substructure of the fortress was threaded with subterranean passages which led to different parts of the edifice. This particular one was contrived in the thickness of the ballium wall which led from Beauchamp Tower to Develin Tower. On either side of the corridor was a range of low, strong doors which gave entrance to dungeons, and horrible thoughts of what the inmates of these noisome cells must endure flashed across the girl’s mind, rendering her faint and sick.
At the end of the passage was an open door leading to a small circular chamber which the four entered and the door was closed. Francis gave one quick glance around her and her senses reeled for the room was one of the torture chambers of the Tower.
On the ground was a large brazier beside which lay an immense pair of pincers. In one corner stood a great oaken frame about 255 three feet high moved by rollers. This was the rack. Upon the wall hung a broad hoop of iron opening in the centre with a hinge—a dreadful instrument of torture called the Scavenger’s daughter. The walls and floor were covered with gauntlets, saws and other implements of torture, but the rack caught and held her eyes with terrible fascination.
Walsingham seated himself at a small table upon which were writing materials, and turning to Francis said earnestly,
“Gaze about thee, boy, and reflect upon what thou seest. There is yet time to tell all that thou knowest. Think well ere thou dost doom thy tender limbs to the rack.”
The perspiration started forth in great drops upon the girl’s forehead. Her trembling lips could scarcely frame her utterance as she answered:
“Do to me as ye list, Sir Francis. I will not speak further concerning my father.”
With an exclamation of impatience the secretary made a sign. From behind a stone pillar there stepped forth a man at whose appearance Francis could not forbear a scream. He was tall and very attenuated, clothed 256 wholly in black. His face thin and sinister was of a pale sickly color while his eyes, black and glittering, held the gaze with a basilisk glare. He was the sworn tormentor of the Tower.
Francis shrieked at sight of him, striving in vain to control her terror. Just as the torturer reached her side the door was flung open and a warder, accompanied by Lord Shrope, burst into the room.
“Sir Francis, Sir Francis,” cried Lord Shrope in agitated accents, “for the love of mercy, forbear!”
“My lord,” cried Walsingham starting up, “what means this intrusion?”
“It means, sir, that for thy honor’s sake, for the love which thou bearest thine own fair daughter, I implore you to desist. Wouldst thou subject a maiden to the rack?”
“A what, my lord?” cried the secretary aghast.
“A maiden,” repeated Lord Shrope. “Francis Stafford is not the son but the daughter of Lord Stafford.”
“Then, in the name of St. George, why this disguise?” asked the secretary. 257
“Tell him, child,” commanded the nobleman, but Francis clung to him convulsively, unable to speak. Seeing her condition, Lord Shrope related the matter hurriedly, concluding with:
“I knew that you knew not her sex, Walsingham, so I sought you to inform you anent it. Learning that you had come here, and fearing that this step would be taken, for well do I ken the stubbornness of the girl where her father is concerned, I hastened hither.”
“But, my lord, if this act be foregone how shall we proceed? Thou knowest well all evidence that can be obtained anent every one implicated with that ‘bosom serpent, Mary,’ should be gotten wil or nil.”
“My Lord of Burleigh is seeking you,” said Lord Shrope. “He reporteth that Babington hath made full confession, and hath thrown himself upon the mercy of the queen.”
“Say you so?” Walsingham started for the door, and then paused. “Thy services will not be needed to-day,” he said to the tormentor. “As for thee,” turning to Francis, “thy sex protects thee from torture, but in 258 sooth I wonder that one so young should be so staunch.”
“Wouldst thou have a daughter speak aught that would go against her father?” asked Francis finding her voice at last. “Nay; ’twas cruel to expect it even though I were in truth my father’s son.”
“Yet still it hath been done,” answered the secretary.
“Perchance thou wilt be more fortunate than I in informing Her Majesty of the matter,” suggested Lord Shrope. “Thou hast her ear.”
“True, my lord; yet what would it avail? The queen is not disposed to be lenient now since the design upon her life was so nearly successful. She would grant the maiden proper attire, I trow, but no more.”
“I do not wish other garb than this,” interposed the girl. “None shall give it me save my father.”
“Then must the matter drop,” said Walsingham. “Damsel, I will speak to the lieutenant of the Tower, and thou shalt have other lodgings but more clemency thou must not expect.” 259
“I crave none, sir,” answered Francis.
“My lord, will you come with me, or go with the girl?” queried the secretary.
“With you, Sir Francis. I dare not stay,” whispered Lord Shrope. “Later, if I may, I will see thee, child. It would not do now.”
And with a friendly pressure of her hands he followed after the minister while Francis was conducted back to her prison.