The Lady in the Tower Read Online Free PDF Page A

the spit! And if I ever catch you burning so much as a crumb again, let alone a roast for the master’s dinner … oh, Mistress Eleanor,’ she broke off distractedly.
    ‘Can I speak with you?’ I asked her urgently. Betsey was one of the few people in the castle I could trust. She was Mother’s devoted retainer, and would do anything for her.
    ‘Yes, Mistress,’ she said, casting one last, dark look at the hapless lad before the fire, who was turning the spit now as though his life depended on it.
    ‘I’ll box your ears!’ she threatened him. Then turning away, she hurried to the stillroom where the pickles and preserves were kept. Betsey disappeared inside, and I squeezed after her into the tiny room. It was quieter here, and we would not be overheard.
    ‘It’s Sir Walter,’ I told her. ‘He has ordered the chaplain to poison Mother.’
    The high colour in Betsey’s plump cheeks faded.
    ‘You heard him do that?’
    I nodded.
    ‘I did. If I had not, I could never have believed that even he could be so wicked.’
    ‘They’ve tried it before,’ said Betsey. ‘Your mother told you herself.’
    I shook my head. ‘No. We knew that she thought she had been poisoned. We did not know that Father himself had given the order. Mother would not have believed that. I can scarcely believe it even now.’
    I realized I was shaking. The overheard conversation in the stables had come as a huge shock to me.
    ‘My own father!’ I exclaimed. ‘How could he do such a thing? Surely nobody could be wicked enough to kill their own wife?’
    ‘Oh, couldn’t they indeed?’ retorted Betsey swiftly. ‘It wouldn’t be the first time. Not even the first time in this family.’
    It was as though the stone flags rocked under my feet. I was suddenly short of breath.
    ‘What are you talking about, Betsey?’ I demanded.
    Betsey put her hands to her mouth and moaned.
    ‘Oh dear. Oh dear. I’m forbidden to speak of it,’ she said, her voice hushed. ‘I’d lose my place if I did.’
    I grasped her sleeve and shook it slightly.
    ‘You have to tell me now,’ I told her. ‘Or I shall fear the worst.’
    ‘The truth is bad enough, Miss. It don’t get much worse.’
    ‘Tell me, Betsey! You know I would never breathe a word that might harm you,’ I urged her.
    Betsey took a deep breath and began to speak in a low hurried voice. ‘Sir Walter had a bad start in life. His mother died. And his father, Sir Edward, fell in love with one of his own servants. Agnes, she were called. But she were already married, weren’t she? So what do you think she did?’
    ‘I don’t know,’ I whispered.
    ‘She had her husband murdered,’ said Betsey.
    I gasped.
    ‘I have heard nothing of this,’ I replied faintly.
    ‘Of course not. None of the servants is allowed to speak of it. But his body was chopped up and burned, here in this very oven,’ said the cook. She looked at me anxiously, as if wondering how I’d take the news. I gulped, feeling sick and faint. After a moment, Betsey continued:
    ‘No one discovered it at first. She married Sir Edward, your grandfather. But then Sir Edward himself died mysteriously, leaving all his money to Agnes.
    ‘That’s when it affected your father. Sir Walter lost his inheritance and his home by the will. Well, that ain’t normal. Noblemen don’t leave their property away from their sons. So there was an investigation. And it all came out. She was hanged at Tyburn for the murder of her first husband. They found the men what did it. They admitted it. But no one could prove Agnes had murdered Sir Edward. And your father, he was not much older than you then. Imagine that going on around you. No wonder it soured him.’
    ‘So Father’s stepmother murdered his father? My grandfather? Is that what you’re saying?’
    The cook shook her head. ‘I’m saying nothing. They couldn’t prove it.’
    My head was reeling with all this information. But Betsey was still speaking.
    ‘And then … your