Was it imagination, or did I really hear an anxious voice calling after us as Sir Claudius led me away from the subterranean hall and up a steep flight of stone steps? My companion declared that it was nothing but the echo of our own footsteps, yet I had my doubts.
CHAPTER XVIII
On the Point of being Wed
I will not attempt to describe my misery during the weeks which intervened between my consenting to become the wife of Sir Claudius and the dawning of the dreadful day upon which he claimed the fulfilment of my promise.
As a lover, it can easily be understood, the ruffian who had me in his power was altogether detestable, even his sisters taking pity upon me at last, and exercising a kind of rough guardianship. I was bitterly distressed because of not being allowed to see Sir Hubert for one moment before he left Crossley Hall. If I could only have said farewell to him, I thought I could have borne my position better. Sir Claudius was obdurate and would not allow us to meet for even five minutes. He told me that he was sending Sir Hubert abroad, under a safe escort, and that was all the information I could extract. For the rest, news of the entire surrender of the country to Queen Mary was brought to the house by travellers, as well as fearful tidings of the distinguished men who had passed through the Traitors' Gate into the Tower, with the certain prospect of more or less speedy execution.
Mary had entered London in state, having first dismissed her army that she might show confidence in her people. With the Princess Elizabeth by her side, she rode into the city amidst the acclamations of the multitude. They had entered the Tower, where the queen's first act was one of clemency, for she pardoned the State prisoners who had been imprisoned there during the reigns of Henry VIII and Edward VI. But, alas!—and this touched me more nearly—she commanded the Earl of Arundel to seize the Duke of Suffolk and Lady Jane Grey and commit them to the Tower. There were rumours that the Duke of Suffolk was soon liberated, but I did not know what truth was in the tale. I was greatly affected by the thought of my dear lady being imprisoned there, where she had been before in such different, though scarcely happier, circumstances. How she would miss me! No one would quite take my place with her, and having to do without me would add to her many troubles. However, she would be spared the knowledge of my grievous fate, and God would be merciful to her and give her His peace. Of that I was assured.
The end of the time which I insisted must elapse before my marriage came only too soon, notwithstanding its wretchedness, and at last the day arrived which I had been compelled to name as our wedding day. I felt stunned now that it had come, and everything that happened seemed to be happening in a dream.
There was a great commotion in the house, many coming and going and serving-men and women flying hither and thither. There was to be a great breakfast, or dinner after the ceremony, and to it several people were coming from the neighbourhood.
The marriage was to take place in the small chapel adjoining the house by eleven o'clock in the morning. An old clergyman had been brought to the Hall by Sir Claudius—a poor scared-looking old man—and he was to officiate.
Every arrangement for the wedding had been made, a trousseau provided for me and an elderly man found to give me away. The sisters of Sir Claudius were to be my bridesmaids, and children were to scatter flowers before me as I walked to and from the chapel.