Page 79 of How to Fall for a Scoundrel

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 mostingeniousescape, 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.”

“Whatan 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.