“I might get over to Audry at Appleby, but that would be no use in the end; what should I do next? Still if I could have her back here, she could feed me in the secret room.
“Then again Ian might be able to help—I must get a letter to Audry and a letter to Ian.”
So she sat down and wrote; and it was not until she began to write to others that she fully realised the desperateness of her situation and that, if help did not come, she would certainly be imprisoned and tortured on the rack and probably burnt alive. Aline knew that they thought nothing of hanging children, often for quite trivial offences and had heard of plenty of instances of executions of children under twelve.
When she had finished writing the day was nearly done and she crept very forlornly into bed. Her head ached and her heart ached still more and she fell a-thinking how the letters were to be sent. Even if Walter Margrove should come she would not see him, though it was getting time for his return. She was getting desperate. She pressed her little hands against her forehead and at last the stifled tears broke forth. They were some relief and bye and bye she fell asleep.
The next morning old Elspeth came to her room to bring her bread and water. She was shocked when she saw the condition of the child. The sleep had been broken and feverish and Aline looked wretchedly ill.
“O hinnie,” she said, “my hinnie, what have they been doing to you now? Prithee do what they want, dearest. I cannot bear to see you shut up here. See, I have brought you a pasty with chicken in it. Old Elspeth will not see you starve, dear heart; and Walter Margrove came yesternight after they put you up here and he hath sent you this little packet. He said if I gave you the linen I could be trusted to give you this. ‘Trusted,’ indeed! I trow so; what aileth the man?”
Aline sat up in bed and stretched out her hand eagerly and as she took the packet she wondered whether she dare send her letters by Elspeth. On the whole she felt it was rather risky to send Ian’s, but Audry’s would not rouse the old dame’s suspicion. Should she chance them both? “Is he downstairs now?” she said.
“No, hinnie,” said Elspeth, “he had to leave very suddenly this morning.”
Aline fell back on the bed but managed to turn her face away and say in a half joking tone;—“Oh, dear, how unlucky! Margrove always makes a pleasant change and I have been so stupid as to miss him.”
“I am so sorry, dearie,” said Elspeth; “I am sure he would have been right fain to see you, he hath a great fancy for you, I know.”