The Tower of London 45

The Tower of London 45

Cuthbert Cholmondeley, who, it may be remembered, attended Lord Guilford Dudley, when he was brought from Sion House to the Tower, was imprisoned at the same time as that unfortunate nobleman, and lodged in the Nun's Bower--a place of confinement so named, and situated, as already mentioned, in the upper story of the Coal Harbour Tower. Here he was detained until after the Duke of Northumberland's execution, when, though he was not restored to liberty, he was allowed the range of the fortress. The first use he made of his partial freedom was to proceed to the Stone Kitchen, in the hope of meeting with Cicely ; and his bitter disappointment may be conceived on finding that she was not there, nor was anything known of her by her foster-parents.

 

"Never since the ill-fated Queen Jane, whom they now call a usurper, took her into her service, have I set eyes upon her," said Dame Potentia, who was thrown into an agony of affliction, by the sight of Cholmondeley. "Hearing from old Gunnora Braose, that when her unfortunate mistress was brought back a captive to the Tower she had been left at Sion House, and thinking she would speedily return, I did not deem it necessary to send for her; but when a week had elapsed, and she did not make her appearance, I desired her father to go in search of her. Accordingly, he went to Sion House, and learnt that she had been fetched away, on the morning after Queen Jane's capture, by a man who stated he had come from us. This was all Peter could learn. Alas ! Alas !"

 

"Did not your suspicions alight on Nightgall ?" asked Cholmondeley.

 

"Ay, marry, did they," replied the pantler's wife ; "but he averred he had never quitted the Tower. And as I had no means of proving it upon him, I could do nothing more than tax him with it."

 

"He still retains his office of jailer, I suppose?" said Cholmondeley.

 

"Of a surety," answered Potentia; "and owing to Simon Bénard, whom you may have heard, is her Majesty's right hand, he has become a person of greater authority than ever, and affects to look down upon his former friends."

 

"He cannot look down upon me at all events," exclaimed a loud voice behind them. And turning at the sound, Cholmondeley beheld the bulky figure of Gog darkening the door-way.

 

A cordial greeting passed between Cholmondeley and the

 

giant, who in the saino breath congratulated him upon his restoration to liberty, and condoled with him on the loss of his mistress.

 

"In the midst of grief we must perforce eat," observed the pantler, "and our worthy friends, the giants, as well as Xit, have often enlivened our board, and put care to flight. Perhaps you are not aware that Magog has been married since we last saw you."

 

"Magog married!" exclaimed Cholmondeley, in surprise.

 

"Ay. indeed !" rejoined Gog, "more persons than your worship have been astonished by it. And shall I let you into secret--if ever husband was henpecked, it is my unfortunate brother. Your worship complains of losing your mistress. Would to heaven he had had any such luck ! And the worst of it is that before marriage she was accounted the most amiable of her sex."

 

"Ay, that's always the case," observed Peter Trusbut ; "though I must do my dame the justice to say that she did not disguise her qualities during my courtship."

 

"I will not hear a word uttered in disparagement of Dame Potentia," cried Ribald, who at that moment entered the kitchen, "even by her husband. Ah! Master Cholmondeley I am right glad to see you. I heard of your release to-day. So, the pretty bird is flown you find--and whither none of us can tell, though I think I could give a guess at the fowler."

 

"So could I," replied Cholmondeley.

 

"I dare say both our suspicions tend to the same mark," said Ribald--"but we must observe caution now--for the person I mean is protected by Simon Renard, and others in favour with the queen."

 

"He is little better than an assassin," said Cholmondeley; "and has detained a wretched woman whom he has driven out of her senses by his cruelty a captive in the subterranean dungeons beneath the Devilin Tower."

 

And he proceeded to detail all he knew of the captive Alexia.

 

"This is very dreadful, no doubt," remarked Ribald, who had listened to the recital with great attention. "But as I said before, Nightgall is in favour with persons of the greatest influence, and he is more dangerous and vindictive than ever. What you do, you must do cautiously."

 

By this time, the party had been increased by the arrival of Og and Xit, both of whom, but especially the latter, appeared rejoiced to meet with the young esquire.

 

"Ah ! Master Cholmondeley," said the elder giant, heaving a deep sigh. "Times have changed with us all since we last met. Jane is no longer Queen. The Duke of Northumberland is beheaded. Cicely is lost. And last and worst of all, Magog is married."

 

"So I have heard from Gog," replied Cholmondeley, "and I fear not very much to your satisfaction.1'

 

"Nor his own either,'' replied Og, shrugging his shoulders. "However it can't be helped. He must make the best of a bad bargain."

 

"It _might_ be helped though,'' observed Xit. "Magog seems to have lost all his spirit since he married. If I had to manage her, I'd soon let her see the difference."

 

"You, forsooth !" exclaimed Dame Potentia, contemptuously. "Do you imagine any woman would stand in awe-of you !" ^

 

And before the dwarf could elude her grasp, she seized him by the nape of the neck, and regardless of his cries, placed him upon the chimney-piece, amid a row of shining pewter plates.

 

"There you shall remain," she added, "till you beg pardon for your impertinence."

 

Xit looked piteously around, but seeing no hand extended to reach him down, and being afraid to spring from so great a height, he entreated the dame's forgiveness in a humble tone ; and she thereupon set him upon the ground.

 

"A pretty person you are to manage a wife," said Dame Potentia, with a laugh, in which all, except the object of it, joined.

 

It being Cholmondeley's intention to seek out a lodging at one of the warder's habitations, he consulted Peter Trusbut on the subject, who said, that if his wife was agreeable, he should be happy to accommodate him in his own dwelling. The matter being referred to Dame Potentia she at once assented, and assigned him Cicely's chamber.

 

On taking possession of the room, Cholmondeley sank upon a chair, and for some time indulged the most melancholy reflections, from which he was aroused by a tremendous roar of laughter, such as he knew could only be uttered by the gigantic brethren, proceeding from the adjoining apartment. Repairing thither, he found the whole party assembled round the table, which was, as usual, abundantly, or rather superabundantly, furnished. Amongst the guests were Magog and his wife, and the laughter he had heard was occasioned by a box administered by the latter to the ears of her spouse, because he had made some remark that sounded displeasing in her own. Magog bore the blow with the utmost philosophy, and applied himself for consolation to a huge pot of metheglin, which he held to his lips as long as a drop remained within it.

 

"We had good doings in Queen's Jane's reign," remarked Peter Trusbut, offering the young esquire a seat beside him, "but we have better in those of Queen Mary."

 

And, certainly, his assertion was fully borne out by the great joints of beef, the hams, the pasties, and pullets with which the

 

table groaned, and with which the giants were making their accustomed havoc. In the midst stood what Peter Trusbut termed a royal pasty, and royal it was, if size could confer dignity. It contained two legs of mutton, the pantler assured his guests, besides a world of other savoury matters, enclosed in a wall of rye-crust, and had taken twenty-four hours to bake.

 

"Twenty-four hours !" echoed Magog. "I will engage to consume it in the twentieth part of the time."

 

"For that observation you shall not even taste it," said his arbitrary spouse.

 

Debarred from the pasty, Magog made himself some amends by attacking a gammon of Bayonne bacon, enclosed in a paste, and though he found it excellent, he had the good sense to keep his opinion to himself. In this way, the supper passed off--Ribald jesting as usual, and devoting himself alternately to the two dames--Peter Trusbut carving the viands and assisting his guests--and the giants devouring all before them.

 

Towards the close of the repast, Xit, who always desired to be an object of attention, determined to signalise himself by some feat. Brandishing his knife and fork, he therefore sprang upon the table, and striding up to the royal pasty, peeped over the side, which was rather higher than himself, to take a survey of the contents.

 

While he was thus occupied, Dame Placida, who was sitting opposite to the pasty, caught him by the skirts of his doublet, and tossed him into the pie, while Peter Trusbut instantly covered it with the thick lid of crust, which had been removed when it was first opened. The laughter which followed this occurrence was not diminished, as the point of Xit's knife appeared through the wall of pastry--nor was it long before he contrived to cut a passage out.

 

His re-appearance was hailed with a general shout of merriment. And Magog was by no means displeased at seeing him avenge himself by rushing towards his plump partner, and before she could prevent him, throw his arms round her, and imprint a sounding kiss upon her lips, while his greasy habiliments besmeared her dress.

 

Xit would have suffered severely for this retaliation, if it had not been for the friendly interference of Ribald, who rescued him from the clutches of the offended dame, and contrived with a tact peculiar to himself not only to appease her anger, but to turn it into mirth. Order being once more restored, the dishes and plates were removed, and succeeded by flagons and pots of ale and wine. The conversation then began to turn upon a masque about to be given to the Queen by the Earl of Devonshire, at which they were all to assist, and arrangements were made as to the characters they should assume. Though this topic was interesting enough to the parties concerned, it was not so to Cholmondeley, who was about to retire to his own chamber to

 

indulge his grief unobserved, when his departure was arrested by the sudden entrance of Lawrence Nightgall.

 

At the jailor's appearance, the merriment of the party instantly ceased, and all eyes were bent upon him.

 

"Your business here, master Nightgall?" demanded Peter Trusbut, who was the first to speak.

 

"My business is with Master Cuthbert Cholmondeley," replied the jailor."State it then at once," replied the esquire, frowning. "It is to ascertain where you intend to lodge, that I may report it to the lieutenant," said Nightgall.