Chapter Thirty-Nine

Ellie dressed with care for the Tower, in a practical blue dress and a dark navy cloak, and by the time Harry's coach pulled up at the front door she was almost shimmering with nervous energy.

Remembering rule number three, she'd armed herself with a small folding knife—the kind that might come in useful for opening a letter, not for stabbing someone. Daisy had offered her a blade, but Ellie had refused on the grounds that she'd probably slice off her own fingers if she tried to use it.

Her leg started jiggling with nervous excitement as she sat on the seat opposite Harry, and he leaned forward and pressed his hand to her knee, stilling the motion. The warmth of his palm spread through her skirts and the silk of her stockings, and heat spread up her leg at his touch.

She wanted to cross the carriage and sit next to him, to have him put his arm around her and hug her, but she didn't move.

His face alternated between light and darkness as they passed the rows of newly installed gas street lamps.

"I've wanted to prove who I am for years," he said softly. "But since coming back to London, since working with you, that desire's become even more imperative."

Ellie frowned. She was about to ask what he meant, but the carriage rocked to a stop in front of the impressively high walls of the Tower. The crenellated tops disappeared up into the darkness.

Determined to see as much as possible, she slipped her glasses onto her nose.

An imposing stone gate with two rounded turrets and a carved royal crest above the entrance stood before them, the way barred by a set of black ironwork gates. Two yeomen, in their uniforms of scarlet and gold, stood guard, but when Harry approached, a third man dressed in a dark coat and white shirt stepped out of the shadows.

"Eleanor Law to see Edmund Swifte?" Harry called.

The man smiled. "I am he. Welcome, ma'am, and sir."

When the gates were opened, Ellie shook hands with Swifte, then jumped in fright as the low, unmistakable roar of a lion echoed through the night. It sounded incredibly close.

Swifte chucked. "Fear not, Miss Law, you're perfectly safe. That's just Harry, one of the royal tigers who live here in the menagerie. He's a handsome fellow from Bengal, but he does like to make himself known."

She slid an amused glance at Harry. "A handsome beast named Harry, hmm? Is he fierce?"

"Oh, no, he's very tame," Swifte continued with a grin. "At least according to his keepers. But I shouldn't wish to be inside the cage with him myself!"

"I visited the menagerie a little while back," she said. "I particularly remember the bear named Martin. And the ravens, of course."

"Then you know the superstition about the ravens?" Swifte asked. "If they ever leave the Tower, England will fall to her enemies."

"The keeper told me that their flight feathers are clipped to prevent that ever happening."

Harry raised his brows and sent her an amused look. "Nothing like giving luck, or fate, a helping hand."

Ellie gestured to Harry. "This is my friend, Monsieur Henri Bonheur."

Swifte produced a set of keys on a huge metal ring and handed it to one of the guards, who unlocked the gate and ushered them inside. Ellie hid a shudder as the metal closed behind them with an ominous clang.

Swifte looked at her again. "I'm told your father is Baron Ellenborough, the Lord Chief Justice?"

"He is."

"How wonderful! I'm a lawyer myself, and I studied several of his cases and verdicts when I was in training. His trial of Lord Cochrane, for the Stock Exchange Fraud two years ago, was extremely enlightening."

Ellie smiled. She'd helped her father for hours with that particular case. "It was indeed."

"And you're doing some research into your family tree?"

"Yes, a distant relative, the Earl of Arundel? Family legend has it that he was a prisoner here, and scratched his name or initials into the stone walls of his cell. I'd love to see if it's true."

"Almost all of the cells have some sort of graffiti in them," Swifte said. "There are hundreds of names, but I can't say I've ever studied them particularly closely."

"I think he might have been held in the Beauchamp Tower?"

"You're welcome to look," Swifte said, "but first we must wait for one other guest."

Ellie's spirits dropped at the news that another person would be joining them. She'd assumed she and Harry would have a private tour, with only Swifte to deal with.

Another carriage clattered to a stop outside the gate and she glanced at Harry in surprise as the jeweler, Mr. Fox, approached the gates and was admitted.

"Evening, Mr. Swifte," he called jovially, then gave a smile when he recognized Ellie. "Miss Law! Good evening. What a surprise to find you here. And Mr. Bonheur too." He shook Harry's hand warmly.

"It seems you've already met?" Swifte said. "Mr. Fox is a regular visitor here. He conducts the twice-yearly inspection and cleaning of the jewels."

Fox nodded. "Miss Law works for the private investigator, Charles King. Mr. Rundell used Mr. King's services to find the aquamarine that I'll be replacing on the state crown tonight."

"It's a small world, is it not?" Swifte marveled with a smile. "If you don't mind, Miss Law, we'll escort Mr. Fox to the Martin Tower, which is where the jewels are kept, so that he can start work. Then I can take you to the Beauchamp Tower."

Harry flashed Ellie a delighted sideways smile. "Oh, I have absolutely no objection to seeing the crown jewels, Mr. Swifte. In fact, it's always been a lifetime ambition of mine. I'm quite the collector of precious gems myself."

Ellie stifled a smile, even as she sent him a stern look to remind him that this was not a reconnaissance mission for a potential future heist.

They crossed a bridge over the water-filled moat, and she wrinkled her nose as the unpleasant smell of stagnant water and sewage rose to her nostrils. The Thames, just visible in the moonlight to their right through the sluice gate, was never sweet-smelling, even when it was moving swiftly, and the Tower moat was presumably the destination for both human and animal waste.

They reached a second tower, and Swifte unlocked a small door cut into the larger wooden gate. Once they were through, he lifted his lantern to show they were in a narrow, cobbled walk between the outer walls and a second set of inner walls, almost as high.

Ellie pressed closer to Harry. There was little doubt that this place was a prison, as well as a fortress, and her heart beat with both excitement and dread at the mission ahead.

Swifte pointed to their right. Beneath the arch of a half-timbered brick building was a wooden gate, beyond which a set of stone steps led down into the inky-black water of the river, visible through an iron portcullis.

"That's the water gate entrance, also known as Traitor's Gate. Many poor prisoners had their last taste of freedom coming through there."

Ellie shuddered. "Has anyone ever escaped?"

"A few." Swifte smiled. "In fact, it's rumored that the Tower's very first prisoner, one Ranulf Flambard, the Bishop of Durham, was also the very first escapee. He climbed through one of the White Tower's windows using a rope that had been smuggled to him in a gallon of wine."

Ellie chuckled. "Bravo, Bishop."

"The most ingenious escape, in my opinion," Swifte continued, clearly warming to the theme, "was by a Stuart loyalist named William Maxwell, the fifth Earl of Nithsdale, back in 1715. The day before his execution his wife, Lady Winnifred, and several of her friends visited him in his cell, and smuggled in layers of women's clothing under their own garments.

"The earl put on the clothes, and heavy makeup, while the ladies distracted the jailers by coming and going, and flirting shamelessly. Nithsdale eventually walked out of the Tower with the other ladies—despite being over six feet tall and having a large bushy beard—while his wife kept up a one-sided conversation in the cell, pretending to be talking with him. When she left, she asked his keepers to grant him a few hours of solitude to pray, which they did, so his escape wasn't noticed for quite some time."

Harry caught Ellie's eye and sent her a private smile. No doubt he was full of admiration for such a ruse. He was probably tucking the idea away as inspiration for future use—if he hadn't already done something similar himself at some point in his blackened past.

"So the earl and his lady managed to leave London?" he asked.

Swifte nodded. "In the Venetian ambassador's carriage. They escaped to the Continent, and lived out their days happily in Rome, or so the story goes."

"That sounds like a fairy tale." Harry smiled. "But I imagine the vast majority of prisoners didn't share such a happy fate."

"Certainly not."

They turned left and passed beneath another archway. "That grassy area is the Tower Green, where special executions took place."

Ellie grimaced. "Special executions?"

"Most traitors were executed in public, outside the walls, on Tower Hill to the north of here. But royals and other high-ranking nobles had the honor of a private execution."

" What an honor," Harry drawled, and Ellie sent him a chiding look.

He might joke, but he could so easily have been sentenced to execution himself, if any of his previous crimes had been uncovered. Her heart skipped a beat at the thought. He might not have faced the executioner's axe, but he could certainly have been sentenced to hang on the gallows. Or sent on board a stinking prison hulk, condemned to transportation to the other side of the world for seven years, which in many cases was tantamount to a death sentence.

She could only hope that this solemn reminder of the risks he'd taken were enough to convince him that his decision to stop his illegal activities was the right one.

Swifte continued talking. "Only seven people were actually executed here, including two of Henry the Eighth's wives: Anne Boleyn, his second wife, and Catherine Howard, his fifth. Thomas Cromwell was another victim, and so was poor Lady Jane Grey, known as the Nine-Day Queen."

"I'm glad we don't live in such bloodthirsty times now," Ellie murmured.

Ahead of them, in the center of the courtyard, rose a tall stone building with four square towers, one on each corner, each capped with a domed gray roof.

"That's the White Tower, the oldest part of the Tower, built by William the Conqueror," Swifte said.

"How many guards are there here, Mr. Swifte?" Harry asked.

"There are twenty yeomen guards on duty, both day and night, who do most of the ceremonial duties, but there's also a whole garrison of King's Fusiliers, commanded by the Constable of the Tower, whose role it is to defend the actual fortress and guard the jewels. They all live here in barracks."

"That sounds like excellent protection," Harry murmured, and Ellie sent him a laughing glance. No doubt assessing the level of security in any location was second nature to him.

They stopped in front of a tall, square tower set in the eastern corner of the walls.

"This is the Martin Tower. My family and I have apartments directly above the jewel room."

A uniformed soldier stood guard at the entrance, and he nodded at them as Swifte unlocked yet another door.

"Ready to see the crown jewels?"