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You must tell me...; Mags (Treason Plot)
Topic Started: Jan 11 2012, 01:36 PM (180 Views)
John Spencer
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Captain of the Yeomen of the Guard
February 1513

It may very well have been the hardest thing he had ever, ever been asked to do. Arresting his own nephew, his dead brother's eldest surviving son, was no savory task, but Sir John had no choice. The moment he had been called by His Majesty to execute his duties as Sergeant of the Guard, he had not had a choice. It was a test of his honour and loyalty, for sure, and Sir John would do not good to martyr himself or make himself possibly complicit.

He had arrested William and quietly brought him to the Tower. They had not shared words, but there was a mutual understanding; William knew he had no choice. The entire thing was dignified and expeditious, so once he had made certain that his nephew was as situated as could be expect, he had made his way back to court forthwith.

His objective was to speak to and question his new niece before some blunderer had been set to the task. He had to speak to her candidly and quietly before anything went further. It was simply convenient that he could cloak such as questioning her, and the more he did it with no others present, the better. He would have perhaps fifteen minutes if he headed there when he arrived and asked one of his guardsmen to send him one of the older guards to aide him. It was all that he would need. There were only few preparations they could do to protect themselves as a family, and they had to do so lest this all went very wrong.

The letters...they were quite damning. John did not wish to believe it, but he did know William's handwriting, and they appeared to be his. He would need to speak with Thomas also, so he would need to get the boy out of the Tower to do so. He would leave one of his other boys with his nephew.

He burst through the doors of his nephew's apartments sending servants running, walking through the rooms until he found Lady Courtenay.

"Get out," he ordered, looking at anyone in the room. "GET OUT! ALL OF YOU OUT, NOW! Clear the apartments." God's Blood had they better run. He had limited time, and it was ticking away. His eyes narrowed, he watched them all hastily retreat, leaving him along with William's young, new wife.
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Margaret Spencer
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Margaret had no idea how she had returned to her apartments. Someone had brought her here, had told her ladies to take care of her, but she could not remember who it was. She could barely remember anything but her Guy so bravely walking away from her, arrested by his own uncle and taken to the Tower. Was he there now, she wondered? Was he okay? Sir John would take care of him, would he not? Certainly his duty to his nephew was greater than his duty to his King. He would not let anything happen to him, and Guy would be out of the Tower before the night was over.

Yes, that is exactly what would happen.

The young Lady Wilmington sat by the hearth in one of their sitting rooms, where she often spent quiet times with Guy during the evenings. The fire blazed brightly but it did nothing to warm the chill in her bones … the chill of fear … the fear of the unknown. Her ladies hovered around her, but she did not even notice. The world was enclosed in a strange surreal haze and she was so shocked by the events of the evening that she did nothing but stare ahead of her, unseeing, her mind in the utmost turmoil.

How could such a thing have happened? How could he have been so heartlessly been torn away from her? Did not his own uncle know he was blameless, that he was incapable of treason, or any other crime? Her Guy was an honorable and exceedingly pious man; he would never contemplate such deception. It was not in his nature. So why had they come for him? Why had he been taken?

Their apartments seemed so empty without him. She could hear the ghost of his laughter echoing through the room, and if she closed her eyes, she could see that playful smile of his, could feel his body pressed tightly against hers, could hear that endearing little rumble that told her he was pleased with her. Margaret wasn't certain if she would be able to stay here without him; perhaps she would not have to. Maybe he had already been released and was even now returning to her.

Please, God, let that be the case.

A sudden commotion … the door to their chambers opening and then slamming shut … pierced the despair that held her both physically and mentally motionless. Blinking and shaking her head to clear it, she heard servants shouting in surprise, their footsteps quickly hurrying away. Her ladies turned toward the sitting room's entrance, panic evident in their faces. Something was going on and whatever it was, it was probably not going to be pleasant.

A sudden swell of nausea rose within Margaret, and she absently placed a hand over the flatness of her stomacher, as if to protect the treasure that she held within her. The angry cadence of boot heels on hardwood increased in intensity until a man … her new uncle, no less … burst through the doorway, yelling at everyone to get out. Her servants immediately scattered, as did her ladies, one of whom was sobbing uncontrollably.

Left alone in the room with Sir John, who looked highly annoyed, Margaret's small form trembled in fear and she was afraid that she might faint. Why was he here, and why had he arrived in this manner? Had he come for her too? Was she now accused of collaborating with her husband? Or was she just to be questioned? Whatever the case, he should not have upset her household, and for a moment her own irritation eclipsed her fear.

Rising from her chair, yet clasping onto the back of it to hold herself upright, she glared up her new uncle, her eyes devoid of any warmth and her voice dripping with sarcasm. “That was a bit excessive, was it not, Sir John?” she asked. “Were you raised in a barn or have you forgotten how to knock?”
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John Spencer
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Captain of the Yeomen of the Guard
John waited until everyone had left, staring them out as if he would pounce if they did not obey. They did all leave quite expeditiously, eyes round. Good. They could twitter about it all through the hallways and spread the word of how frightening and ruthless he was even with his own family.

That was PRECISELY what he wanted.

"Do not be foolish," he chastised the woman, with a liberal roll of his eyes. "Would you have me be foolish now?" His eyebrow quirked as his tone changed. "My nephew is counting on the neither of us being foolish," he said reaching for her hand and gesturing back to the chair.

As she sat, he squeezed it, and kept it in his hand as his other grabbed the stool and pulled it underneath him.

"We shall only have fifteen minutes or so to speak candidly, perhaps for the duration. You must now tell me the truth. Has William done anything to merit this? Have you ever heard him speak of his allegiances more highly to France than to England? Did he ever tell you of writing letters after the war?" He looked into her eyes unblinkingly. He was hoping for the truth and for the truth to be what he expected it to be.

"And if he has correspondence or journals, we must give them to my son, Richard. They will search all our houses, and they can make something out of very little if someone wishes to hard William. You must not destroy anything, though, that is very important. We do not know what will hurt or help, and it will do so for all of us. Trust no one. Not even your maids. Nor a priest. Nor the women in the family. No one." And if his usual slow baritone was rushed, it was because he wanted to make sure that he did not forget the most important things. They could be barged in on at any time and they would have only a second's notice.
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Margaret Spencer
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Margaret's mind was in such a traumatized state that it did not at first occur to her that his entrance might have been an act. The fiery color that had risen to her cheeks disappeared as quickly as it had come, leaving her face as white as the snow falling softly outside the leaded window. Her stomach churned again and she closed her eyes briefly and took a deep calming breath. “I … I am sorry,” she said. “Please forgive me. I … I can't believe that he … it's hard to … I'm sorry.”

Perhaps he sensed how distraught she was for he took her hand and held it gently as she sank back into the chair, her small body trembling in reaction to everything that had so far taken place. His touch was comforting and that gave her a bit of strength, at least enough to concentrate on what he was saying. It was difficult to wrap her mind around anything at the moment but she understood that he was trying to protect her Guy as best as he could.

“No.” She shook her head vehemently, her long blonde curls bouncing around her. A sharp wave of dizziness assailed her and she leaned against the cushioned back of her chair. “He has done nothing. He speaks only good things about England. He has embraced his life here, and if he had not made his choice before he married me, he made it then. He misses France, but he is loyal to England and to His Majesty. I know this as surely as I know my own name.

“And … and no, William has written nothing since the war.” His steady gaze was a bit disconcerting but she forced herself to meet it with one of her own. “Has he not told you? The wounds he received in the war further damaged his shoulder. He has lost the ability to write. He cannot even close his fingers around a quill. If correspondence is the only evidence against him, then his innocence should be assured.”

He could probably feel the coldness of her little hand in his, and the way it shook within his grasp. This was all going too fast for her and she felt so small and so young and so very alone. And she could not even trust her own family? Margaret knew what he was telling her … she would have to be careful from now on about everything she did or said. She would be watched, and anything that could be used against her husband would be. Oh, how she needed her mother right now. Her mother had gone through this very same thing; she would know what to do. But Margaret could not even send for her. It would be noted that the wife of an accused traitor was corresponding with the former wife of a convicted traitor … and would bring attention to the fact that Guy was married to the daughter of a man executed for treason. She had no idea if that fact would hurt him, but it certainly would not help.

“William has some old journals here that he wrote before the war." She could feel her mental acuity slowly returning, emerging from the web of shock that had wrapped itself tightly around her. Those old journals would clearly show Guy's handwriting and could perhaps be compared to anything he purportedly wrote. There would certainly be deficiencies that would prove that the evidence was false. Or so she hoped. “I can get them for you if you think that they may help.”

She knew that he had mentioning giving them to his son, but it would be more expedient and would possibly cut time from Guy's imprisonment if she simply gave them to him. Maybe then her husband could be released before the first rays of dawn rose over the walls of the Tower.
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John Spencer
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Captain of the Yeomen of the Guard
John felt for her and what must be her loneliness. She was smart enough to understand that her husband was in great, great peril. Even having done nothing, with the right pressures, John understood what threats his nephew might pose with the right artist painting the picture.

He sighed, "There is nothing to forgive just as there is nothing I can promise you other than to do all I can. To accomplish that I must be able to remain in knowledge of what is going on but do not doubt my intentions, no matter what." That was quite a lot for Sir John to say. He could not remember the last time he had a conversation with a woman that was not his daughter or Lady Warrington. Ironically enough, perhaps the last time had been with this lady's aunt when she had been at court over Christmas.

Unfortunately, nobody's patronage, not even the Queen Mother's was going to help any Spencer right now.

Her vehement denial that William had done nothing wrong was not an act; John knew far more than enough about women in this situation to know. She was in despair. If she knew he had done something wrong, she'd be veritably hysterical and frightened like she was going to her death. He had questioned enough women who had later been made widows to know. What it told him was that if William was guilty, he must have either done it before she had begun living with him on their betrothal or he had been very careful and secretive. Both of those were better than the alternative carelessness.

"That is very good and well. I know you are not lying to me," he said, squeezing her hands again. "William is a pacifist and hardly maneuvering enough and ambitious enough to find himself in this place. Surely His Majesty will realize over time if we can mobilize enough to make complaint of it or give evidence in favour of his innocence, but we must work as quickly as those attempting the opposite."

He dropped one of her hands and ran his hand through his hair, which he would rarely ever do. His own surprise had taken him out of his familiar stoicism and unwavering confidence.

"He what?" John asked, his blue eyes widening . He looked down and shook his head. "My son obviously takes William's confidences very seriously, or I would have expected him to tell me..." He blinked, thinking about the ramifications of this. They were obviously good, but not yet a Godsend.

"We will have to present convincing evidence of it or it will simply appear some sort of exculpatory excuse that is fabricated." He chewed his lip for a moment while she spoke of his old journals.

John put up a hand, "No, no, give them to Richard. I want to retain my ability to say that I have not abused my position. It is also far less likely that a boy nobody knows should be searched, as opposed to myself whom everyone knows is a Spencer."

He would touch them once he could safely say he had not removed them, but not until them. He called out for his son, who he knew was waiting to warn him if anyone was coming from the more exterior rooms of his nephew. They boy was only perhaps fourteen, and he knew the risk he was being asked to make and the potential price quite high. There were no other options, Richard was the only of his sons of any age of manhood left to him. He would do what he had to do. John had made certain he was raised that way.

"Once I know they cannot be exploited, I will search to see if there is anything of help...And if you come across anything else ever, and you must be rid of it...hide it on your person until we can be rid of it. Nobody would dare touch you. Do not destroy anything unless there is no other option, and you must never hesitate."
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Margaret Spencer
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“Thank you,” she said softly, squeezing his hand in return. Margaret knew that he would look out for her Guy's best interests and was she was pleased that her husband had an uncle in such an advantageous position. As part of the investigation, Sir John could possibly ferret out whoever had fabricated the evidence against him. Whoever it was, she wanted them caught and she wanted them punished. Guy should not be put through this. He should not be in the Tower at all. He had done nothing wrong.

Of course he would be able to tell that she was not lying. How much he must have seen and heard! He was probably an expert on detecting dishonesty in all its many forms. She hesitated even to consider what he had done in order to find out the truth from those who stood by their deceptions. Tales of the atrocities committed against traitors and other criminals ran rampant in a court which had as much a penchant for morbidity as it did for malice. Another wave of nausea assailed her as she thought of anything of the sort happening to her Guy, but she also knew that noblemen were not to be tortured, and so he would be safe at least from that. And he would be home soon anyway. She had to believe that. It was the only way she could remain strong.

Margaret was quite surprised that Sir John had not known that Guy could not write, as his own son served him, but apparently Thomas took his job more seriously than she would have thought for a boy only a year younger than herself. Guy was fortunate to have such a dedicated servant in his employ.

“I should think the best evidence would be to ask him to write. When he proves that he cannot do it, that he cannot even hold a quill, that should be enough to establish his innocence, should it not?” Oh, how she hoped it could be that simple! Every moment her beloved husband spent imprisoned was a moment too long.

“As you wish,” she said, when he insisted that she give Guy's journals to his son. “And I will search for anything else that might be used against him. I don't believe there is anything, but be assured that if I come across something, I already know the best place to hide it.” It would not take very long to sew a piece of fabric to the inside of one of her underskirts that could serve as a pocket. Margaret would have to do it herself, as he had said she could not trust her ladies, but that would be not be a problem. It would just have to be done as soon as her new uncle was gone, for she had no idea when their apartments would be searched.

As soon as he had called his son, she excused herself and went to her husband's study and retrieved the only two journals she knew of from a drawer in his desk. This was a room she rarely visited, but she could still feel his absence here as she felt it in every room of her chambers, and it sent a pang of agony through her soul. A few tears threatened to erupt from the corners of her eyes as she opened one of the leather-bound books and read a few of the paragraphs he had written. Would this soon be all she had left of him … old words on a page, her painting and sketches of him, and the memories of a life cut short? It was not enough. Even their son in her belly was not enough. She needed him.

Taking a deep breath to calm herself, she closed the journal and left the room, returning to Sir John and handing the journals to his son. “One of these is in English and one is in French,” she said. “I don't know what language the fake correspondence was written in, so hopefully one of them will give you what you need.”

Margaret felt a little stronger now that she was doing something that could possibly help her Guy, but she was still a bit queasy and sank gratefully back into the chair she had only recently vacated. “Do you know what else will be required of me?” she asked, her blue eyes imploring. “I wish to be prepared for my mind is in turmoil and I fear for him greatly. I do not want to inadvertently hurt my William by my words or actions. You have conducted such investigations before, so you should be able to instruct me on what I should do so I do not arouse any more suspicions against my husband. Hurting him is the last thing I wish to do."

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Isabel Leigh
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Virtue alone is invincible.
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