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 285 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 286 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. 287 “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 288 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 289 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.” 290
“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 291 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 292 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 293 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: À 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 294 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 295 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!” 296
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.