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Innocent Ghost I stood listening to the tour guide drone on about how the Tower of London once housed the royal menagerie of animals and so on and so forth. Truly, I could have dashed my brains against the rough stone walls out of sheer boredom. Katie, my best friend who had dragged me to that dreary old building, was standing beside me totally enraptured by the man’s diatribe. I heaved a huge, dramatic yawn and didn’t even attempt to stifle it. Katie gave me an irritated look, silencing me. I sighed and stared off into space, wishing to be anywhere but there. Suddenly, a blood curdling scream reverberated off the walls, so filled with fear and raw terror that it shook me to my core. It was unlike anything I’d ever heard before. I straightened and looked around, noticing that not one person appeared to have even heard it. All eyes were still focused on the ninny before us lecturing on what those old walls once housed. I shrugged it off, assuming it was some stupid audio part of a tour and was just starting to relax when I heard that ear splitting scream once more. Realizing that, again, no one was paying it any mind, I walked out of the room, heedless of leaving Katie behind. I quickened my steps until I reached the dimly lit exit and pushed through the doors. It had begun to rain lightly and all the other tourists were huddled under the awnings. I didn’t care. I turned my face towards the sky and reveled in the feel of the misting drops upon my face. Katie came running towards me; the teal umbrella she clutched in her hand was a brilliant splash of color against the otherwise dreary background. She took one look at me and I saw concern flash through her pretty features as she gasped, “Sarah, you’re so pale! Are you OK?” I gave a little laugh, albeit a high pitched laugh that sounded forced even to my own ears, and shrugged, “I just needed some fresh air.” She narrowed her eyes at me, obviously not buying it. Finally she sighed, “I swear that if this is a scheme to skip the rest of the tour, I’m not going to be happy….” Minutes later, we were walking across the cobblestones of the courtyard when I heard a great amount of commotion ahead of us. People had gathered around the sectioned off area where the scaffolds had once been erected. I noticed the people all wore heavy Tudor garments and nudged Katie, “I bet you wish you could wear one of those, eh?” She turned and gave me a strange look. Ignoring her, I looked back towards the crowd which was now becoming more frenzied when a loud bang silenced them. Immediately I jerked my head in the direction of the abrupt noise to find the doors to the tower had been thrown open as two guards, authentically clad, dragged a woman from the darkness. Looking back, I can’t remember why, and blame curiosity for it, but I had to see that woman. Her dress was fine and made of beautiful gray brocade with a skirt that belled out and trailed behind her. It was evident that it had seen some wear as the cuffs were ripped and the hem frayed and dirty. The woman’s chestnut hair was twisted into a smooth bun on her head, though stray hairs flew wildly in the wind. Her nose was red from the tears that coursed down her cheeks and her eyes darted frantically about as though seeking aid from somewhere. I vaguely felt Katie’s hand on my arm as she tried to pull me towards her and I heard her hiss, “Sarah, what the hell is wrong with you? There is no one there; get back over here.” The pained expression on the woman’s face captured me. It broke my heart and drew me towards her. As I neared her, her eyes fell upon me and she suddenly came to life. Her hands clawed at the men who held her leaving bloodied streaks down their faces while her slender body fought with effort as she tried to break away. The guards released her, more out of shock at her attack than from injury. She opened her mouth and that familiar scream pierced my ears as she stumbled in my direction. As she ran in her frenzied panic, her foot twisted beneath her and she began to fall. I stooped and held my hands out to catch the poor woman. What happened next I don’t think I could ever adequately explain. As she fell against me, I felt as though I were being slammed into by a massive block of ice. Her body was not warm nor pliable, but hard and cold. The impact of it threw me to the floor, knocking the wind from my lungs. As the back of my head cracked against the cobblestones, I felt a sensation as though I were being ripped into all directions. I lay there with my teeth clenched and my eyes shut tight against the pain of it and then, as suddenly as it had started, the pain stopped. My chest immediately felt tight as though pressure was squeezing my torso in a merciless grip. I gasped for breath and tried to sit up, but the pressure only increased with my rapid breathing. Two large hands gripped my shoulders as I floundered there on the floor and straightened me, a voice gruff and very heavily accented spoke, “’Ere ye go, Milady.” I opened my mouth to thank him and my jaw dropped. I was no longer outdoors where I had fallen; I was in a room of the Tower. Several candles burned around me, creating a noxious odor and releasing a vile black smoke. The cloying scent of them stuck in my throat and made me want to vomit. I took a deep breath, as much as I could with the pressure in my chest and pressed my hands to my abdomen as I tried to catch my breath. My fingertips brushed against a heavy fabric unlike anything I owned. Startled, I looked down to find myself in one of those boxy dresses women of the Tudor era wore. I worked my fingers into the fabric and met something hard; a corset. I was confused and highly irritated. I spun around to face the helping hands and was greeted by the unknown faces of four men dressed in black, all looking very dire. The three men who stood in the back made no movement and watched me impassively. The fourth man stood before me, looking important with an overly large chain draped over his massive chest. One eyebrow was raised as though he were waiting for me to speak. Initially, I just stared, unsure of what to say or do, my emotions waging a silent war towards the victory of expression. Anger won with its white, hot passion. My face went red and my heart raced. When I spoke, my voice was ragged with rage, “What the hell is this? Who are you and why have you changed my clothes?” I don’t know what the men were expecting, but based on their expressions, I am confident in the assumption that they weren’t expecting that. The three in the back, like a pack of gregarious monkeys, looked at one another with bewilderment. Mr. Important’s eyebrows furrowed as he stared at me like one would a foreign creature. Recovering smoothly, he answered in a condescending tone, “Lady Rochford, your maid changed you this morning.” I glanced around me and realized I had nothing to throw at his smug face. In a fit of temper, I took a menacing step towards him and stamped my foot like a child, “I’m not whoever you just referred to. My name is Sarah Mitchell. You have taken me against my will. You have,” I indicated furiously to the gown, “stripped me of my clothing and replaced it with this hideous dress.” Again the man’s eyebrow raised, although this time in interest as a slow smile spread over his thin lips before he uttered his simple response, “Indeed.” “Indeed?!” I shrieked. “Don’t patronize me, you fool. Where is Katie? I need to see her. She’ll help me. We have money. I mean dollars, not Euros, but money nonetheless.” He turned to me with rapt attention, “Katie? Do you mean Katherine?” I rolled my eyes, “I never call her that, but yes, dolt – that is her name.” He stroked his chin and countered, “Did you help Katherine?” I narrowed my eyes at him, “Of course, she’s my friend. I help her all the time. Did she set you up to do this? Is this some kind of weird friendship test?” A grin of satisfaction split his face. He turned from me and flicked his index finger to the three silent monkeys behind him, “We’ve gotten what we needed...finally.” As he strode from the room, I followed him, stamping my feet as I did so, “Where are you going? You haven’t answered a single question I’ve asked you. What are you doing with me?” The heavy banded door slammed shut, reverberating off the cold walls. I ran to it and pulled at the handle, finding it unmoving, not unlike the man who had locked it. “You’re a kidnapper!” I shrieked against the solid frame. That is how I ended up in that dreary room, in a tattered gown which I recognized as the gown I saw on that woman being dragged from the tower. My hands looked different to me, as did my body. Even my voice was not my own and lilted with a British cadence. My hair was no longer the rich honey brown that it was, but darker like a deep chestnut brown and very long. It didn’t take me long to piece it together. I had become her, this Jane Rochford lady who was apparently a Viscountess, whatever that meant. All I knew was that it did not end well for her. I may not have been a lover of history, but I was no idiot; I knew why they were dragging her to the scaffold. Days later, I was deep in contemplation over my predicament and trolling the dark recesses of my brain for any memory on Jane Rochford, or Lady Rochford as people called her, when a knock sounded at my door. The man who I met on my first day of this hellish nightmare entered and stood before me. His name was Cranmer, or so said the woman who assisted me. I stood straight and tall so I could better breathe in my corset. I wanted to keep my wits about me with Cranmer around. He inclined his head to me and said cordially, “Good day, Lady Rochford.” The corner of his mouth twitched upward in an amused smirk, “Or shall I say Sarah Mitchell?” I don’t deign to reply and merely narrowed my eyes at him. He had a nasty way of twisting my words I’d learned. He bid me sit in the chair to which I silently declined by remaining standing before him. His shoulders lifted in a nonchalant shrug. He spoke bluntly, “I’ve come to discuss your madness.” “I’m not mad,” I hissed between my teeth. “I could not agree more, my Lady Rochford,” he replied with a smug smile before continuing on, “However, the king’s physician has interviewed you and has deemed you addled. As I’m absolutely certain you are aware, those who are declared insane cannot be condemned to death no matter their crime.” I listened to what he said. I did not actually know that, though I knew from his demeanor that he would not have believed me had I stated such. “Unfortunately for you, our king is a man of great will and has had a new law passed allowing death to traitors whether they be sound of mind or not.” When I did not reply, he bowed his head towards me, “Do you understand what I say to you, my Lady? You are to die.” My heart pounded so hard I feared it would split my corset. I gave him an incredulous look and repeated softly, “Die?” He headed for the door as he flippantly replied, “Yes, tomorrow on the Tower Green. You are to be beheaded at the king’s pleasure.” He offered a mock bow, “The priest will be with you shortly.” The rush of emotions that poured through me was so great and left me in such an excited state that I actually started to laugh. Once I started, I found I could not stop and by the time the priest came to the door I was in a fit of hysterical laughter, gasping each constricted breath as best I could. His solemn figure stood before me with a look of such pity on his face that it brought me back to my senses. I crawled and knelt on the floor before him, whispering tearfully, “I know not what to do, Father.” He didn’t speak, but I felt his hand press upon the top of my head. I heard my only chair in the room drag across the floor and saw his scuffed shoes rise before me as he took a seat. At last, he spoke, “You must confess all of your sins, my child.” I immediately began to protest, “But, I’m not-“ He looked at me earnestly and for once I realized I had someone who would actually listen to me. For once it hit me that whether he listened and actually believed or not would make no difference. It was not as if he could lead me by the hand and show me the exit door from history into modern day. I felt tears fill my eyes at this revelation and choked back a sob of helplessness. I thought hard as I looked back on all the conversations that had transpired between Cranmer and myself and managed to piece together a confession. I confessed that I wronged the king by helping Katharine and the priest nodded, appreciating the effort and seeming to believe it. For good measure I added that I regretted what I had done for surely Jane Rochford would have. When my confession finished, the man leaned forward and whispered cautiously, “Do you not have any other confessions to relieve your soul of? Do you not wish to offer a confession for your husband or the woman who was condemned with him?” My God, I think, what had this woman done in her life? Her husband or the woman condemned with him? Well, surely that meant that he had cheated on Jane with this other woman and they got what was owed them; that wasn’t a sin I felt needed to be included in my confession. I shook my head and ignored the disappointment in the man’s rheumy eyes as I said, “I have confessed to you all that blackens my soul.” He was a kind man and gave me advice on what to say before my beheading for I admitted to him I have no death speech prepared. Honestly, I hadn’t known I even needed one. Finally, the priest left and the night passed slowly. By the time the guards come for me in the morning, I was already waiting for them. I wore the gray dress with my hair twisted in a tight bun; I didn’t need a mirror to see how I looked. The guards were leading me down to the Tower Green when I tripped suddenly just as the doors were thrown open; I would have fallen had not the guards been there to catch me. The crowd pressed in on me and I could not help but scan the unknown faces for help. Through the welling tears in my eyes I saw a familiar face among the swarming mass; my own. I screamed and clawed at the guards, trying desperately to be free of them. They released me and I ran towards Sarah Mitchell as Jane Rochford. I was almost there, I stretched my hand towards her and just as I almost touched the trendy black coat, Sarah stepped back with a smirk on her face as the guards once again seized me. I lost my chance. I lost it and I knew it. I fought against the guards, screaming and heaving huge gulping cries that they ignored. The scaffold steps appeared before me, the rough hewn wood worn smooth by the feet of the condemned. My legs trembled so badly that I could not climb them without assistance. To my horror, I discovered there was already a headless body laying on the platform, blood still oozing from the fatal wound as toothless peasants wiped the gore on their dirty foreheads. The headless woman’s finger twitched and it was all I could do not to faint. I gave the speech from memory that the priest bade me say the night before. I had practiced all night. Why I would do something so macabre, I knew not, but found I was glad I had. I was instructed to lie upon the scaffold. I hesitated when I saw it was still slick with blood. With a mirthless chuckle, I realized the time of my death was no time to be squeamish and I laid my head down. I felt the bile rise in my throat as the coppery smell of blood invaded my nostrils; the blood was still warm. I chanced a look down and saw the head of a beautiful young woman and wondered what someone so young could have done to truly deserve so horrible a death. The crowd cheered with frenzied bloodlust as I was struck from behind with a pain I had never known. My main regret was having never truly understood my crime.
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