King's Confidante

6

MARGARET WOULD NEVER FORGET RUSHING TO GREET him when he returned in his barge. She would never forget the jaunty smile on his face; but while he might deceive others, he could never deceive her.

“Father?”

“Well, Meg, see you not the change? The Under-Treasurer left you earlier this day. The Chancellor is now arrived.”

“Chancellor, Father … .you!”

“A worthy Chancellor, though a humble one, as says my lord of Norfolk.”

“But… the King's divorce?”

“I have told him that I can have no hand in it; and it seems he accepts my refusal to do so, as Norfolk accepts my humble birth. And, Meg, with so many ready to accept so much that is unpalatable to them, I was perforce obliged to accept that which I would fain refuse.”

“It is not a good thing, Father. It is not a matter for jokes.”

“It is not good, Meg, and therefore is it meet that we should joke, for by doing so we can make light of what we cannot refuse to undertake.”

“Could you not have refused?”

“I tried, Meg.”

“But… surely you have a free choice?”

“I am the King's subject and as such must obey the King's command. Come, let us to the house. I'll warrant you'll smile to see the family's reception of this news.”

Slowly they walked toward the house, and Margaret's heart was full of misgiving.

LORD CHANCELLOR!

The family received the news with wonder.

Alice was mockingly proud. “So, Master More, you have made a great man of yourself in spite of all.”

“Rather say, wife, that they have made a great man of me in spite of myself.”

Alice looked at him with beaming pride. “To think that a husband of mine should be the Lord Chancellor!”

“Why, Alice, you have grown two inches taller, I'll swear.”

Alice was in no mood for raillery. “This means we shall need more servants. Why, who knows whom we shall have visiting us now. Mayhap the King himself!” Alice grew a shade paler at the thought. “Now, Thomas, should His Grace honor us, I shall need to know a day or more ahead.”

“Shall my first duties as Chancellor be to warn the King that if he should visit Lady More he must give her good warning?”

“Have done with your nonsense! 'Twould not be unknown, I trow, for the King to visit his Chancellor. Why, he was so much in and out of the houses of the last Chancellor that people did not know whether they were at the King's or the Cardinal's Court.”

“And now the Cardinal's Courts are the King's Courts. Has it occurred to you that all the last Chancellor's possessions are now the property of the King? Do you not tremble for your own, Alice? For remember, they are the property of the new Lord Chancellor, and why should the new one fare better than the old?”

“Have done with such foolish talk.”

“Well, Alice, here is something you will like better. There is to be a visitor this night for supper.”

“A visitor. Who is this?”

“His Grace of Norfolk.”

“Tilly valley! And it already three of the clock! Tilly valley! What shall I do? I should have been given notice.”

“But, Alice, since you need twenty-four hours' warning of a King's visit, is not three hours enough for a Duke? Commoners call five minutes before a meal, and may have a seat at our table.”

“My Lord Norfolk!” cried Alice, growing red and white at the thought.

“His Grace will honor us, Alice. He made a delightful speech when I took the Seal. He stressed my virtues which, he said, were so great that they made him indifferent to my humble birth.”

Alice bristled, but she was still thinking: His Grace of Norfolk! The first nobleman in the land … and here to supper. Next it will be His Grace the King. I know it.

“And, Alice, my dear, do not fret,” said Thomas, “for such a second-rate compliment is only worthy of a second-rate supper. Let us be natural with this noble Duke. Let us treat him as we would a passerby who looks in to join us at supper. After all, he will expect no more of us—because we are such humble folk.”

But Alice was not listening. She must to the kitchen at once. She must see that the beef received the necessary basting. Had she known they were to be so honored she would have got one of the new turkeys. She was going to make her new sauce, adding the chopped roots of the wild succory and water arrowhead. She would set her cook making further pies. And her latest pickle should be set upon the table. She would show my lord of Norfolk!

“Now, Master More, do not hinder me. If you will ask great noblemen to supper, then you must give me time to attend to them.”

And she was off, bustling down to the kitchens, sniffing the savory smells; excited and a little fearful.

“Come, come, you wenches. There's work to be done. My Lord Chancellor has a guest for supper tonight. I'll doubt any of you have ever served a noble Duke before, eh, eh?”

“No, my lady.”

“Well, then, now you will learn to do so, for it would not surprise me if we shall one day have at our table a guest who is far greater than His Grace of Norfolk. Do you know whom I mean? Do you, wench?”

Alice gave one of the girls a slap with a wooden ladle. It was more an affectionate pat than a blow.

Alice allowed herself one minute to dream that at her table sat a great, glittering man who shouted to her that he had never tasted a better meal than that eaten at the table of his Lord Chancellor.

“Tilly valley!” she cried. “This is not the way to prepare supper for His Grace of Norfolk!”

THE OLD Judge stood before his son; his hands were trembling and there were tears in his eyes.

“Thomas, my son … my dearest son…. Thomas, Lord Chancellor of England. So you have the Great Seal, my son. You … my son, Thomas.”

Thomas embraced his father. “Your son first, Father; Chancellor second.”

“And to think that I scolded you for not working at the law!”

“Ah, Father, there are many routes to fame.”

“And you found a quick one, my son.”

“I took a byway. I confess I am a little startled still to find where it has led me.”

“Oh, Thomas, would that your mother could have lived to see this day. And my father … and my grandfather. They would have been proud… proud indeed. Why, your grandfather was only a butler of the inn; he was, it was true, at the head of the servants and kept the accounts. Would that he could have lived to this day to see his grandson Lord Chancellor of England. Oh, Thomas, my son! Oh, proud and happy day!”

Later Thomas said to Margaret: “You see, daughter, how there is much good in all things. I am glad to have pleased your grandfather, for he is feeble, and I fear he may not be long for this life. I believe his delight in me is almost as great at this moment as mine has always been in you. And, Margaret, it is a happy child who make a fond father a proud one, think you not?”

“If I were less fond,” she said, “I think I should find greater enjoyment in my pride.”

He kissed her. “Do not ask too much of life, my wise daughter; ask for little, and then, if it comes, you will be happy.”

IT SEEMED to Margaret that the one who was least changed by his elevation was her father.

He was delighted with his importance only when he could use it to do good for others. He had shown to the King the drawings Hans Holbein had made of his family, and the King had been impressed with them; so Master Holbein had, regretfully, left the house at Chelsea to take up his quarters at Court as painter to the King at a salary of thirty pounds a year.

“It is a large sum,” said Hans, “and I am a poor man. I shall mayhap find fame in Hampton Court and Westminster, but will it give me as much joy as the happiness I have enjoyed in Chelsea?”

“With a brush such as yours, my friend,” said Thomas, “you have no choice. Go. Serve the King, and I doubt not that your future is secure.”

“I would as lief stay. I wish to do more pictures of your family… and your servants.”

“Go and make pictures of the King and his servants. Go, Hans; make the best of two worlds. Take up your quarters at the Court, and come to Chelsea for a humble meal with us when you feel the need for it.”

Then Hans Holbein embraced his friend and benefactor, and said with tears in his eyes: “To think that I should wish to refuse an offer such as this. You have put a magic in your house, dear friend; and I am caught in its spell.”

Yes, those were the things which Thomas greatly enjoyed doing. At such times it was worthwhile holding a great office.

But he was uneasy—far more uneasy than he would have his family realize.

The King was spending more and more time with Cromwell and Cranmer; they were the two to whom he looked for help in this matter of the divorce, and no other matter seemed of any great importance to him. The Cardinal had slipped down to disgrace and death, and the descent had been more rapid than his spectacular climb to grace and favor. He had first been indicted upon the Statute of Praemunire; but Thomas Cromwell had cleared him of the charge of high treason, so that Wolsey had been ordered to retire to York; but before he had long rested there he was charged once more with high treason and had died of a broken heart at Leicester on his way to London.

Thomas Wolsey had come to the Chancellorship with everything in his favor; Thomas More had come to it with everything against him. Wolsey had not realized his peril until within a year or so of his decline and death; More was aware of his from the moment he received the Great Seal.

WILLIAM DAUNCEY came to his father-in-law on one of those rare occasions when Thomas found time to be with his family.

There was a determined light in Dauncey's eyes.

“Well, son Dauncey, you would have speech with me?”

“I have thought much of late, Father,” said Dauncey, “that things have changed since you became the Chancellor of this realm in place of the Cardinal.”

“In what way?”

“When my lord Cardinal was Chancellor, those about him grew rich, for he shut himself away and it was a matter of some cost for any to put their desires before him. Yet, since you have become Chancellor, any man may come to you. He may state his case and receive judgement.”

“Well, my son, is that not a good thing? Why, when my lord Cardinal held the Great Seal there were many cases which must go unheard because there was no time to put them before him. 'Tis easier for me. My interests are not so many, and I am a lawyer to boot. Do you know that when I took office there were cases which men were waiting to present for ten or twelve years! And now, my son—I grow boastful, but this matter gives me great pleasure, so forgive my pride—I called yesternoon for the next case, and I was told that there were no more cases to be heard. So proud was I that I invented a little rhyme as I sat there. This is it:

“When More some time had Chancellor been,

No more suits did remain.

The like will never more he seen

Till More be there again.”

“Yes, Father,” said Dauncey impatiently, after he had given his polite laugh. “That is good for those who would wish their cases to be heard; but it is not so good for the friends of the Chancellor.”

“How so, my son?”

“When Thomas Wolsey was Chancellor, not only the members of his privy chamber but even the keepers of his doors took great gain to themselves.”

“Ah,” said Thomas. “Now I understand. You feel that a daughter of this Chancellor should be at least as profitable as a door in the house of the last.”

“Profit?” said Dauncey. “But there is no profit. How could I take gifts from those whom I brought to your presence when in bringing them to you I could do no more for them than they could do for themselves?”

“You think I am at fault in making myself accessible to all who desire to see me?”

“It may be a commendable thing,” said Dauncey stubbornly, “but it is not a profitable thing for a son-in-law. How could I take reward from a man for something he could get without my help?”

“I admire your scrupulous conscience, my son.” He smiled at Dauncey. Dauncey yearned for advancement. He was not a bad boy; he but obeyed his father, Sir John Dauncey, in his determination to rise. Now Dauncey looked downcast; he did not always understand his father-in-law. Thomas laid a hand on his shoulder. “If, my son, you have some matter which you wish to place before me, if you have a friend whom you wish to help, well then, you could always put this matter before me. I might hear the cause of a friend of yours before that of another if it could be done. But remember this, son Dauncey—and I assure you this on my faith— that if my father himself stood on one side of me and the Devil on the other, and in this instance the Devil's case was the right one, then must I decide in favor of the Devil. Come, walk with me in the gardens. You too, son Roper. I like to have you with me.”

And he put his arm through Dauncey's, for Dauncey was looking ashamed; and he spoke to him with the utmost kindliness.

It was not Dauncey's fault that he had been brought up on ambition. Moreover, he had softened somewhat since he had come to Chelsea.

ALICE WAS in a flurry of excitement, making preparations for the wedding of Jack to Anne Cresacre. This was to be the peak of her achievements so far; there had been other marriages in the family; ah, yes, but those had been the marriages of Thomas More, later Sir Thomas; now the son of the Lord Chancellor was to be married.

Alice was a little disappointed that the King would not be among the guests. She listened to the talk when they did not always think she listened; she heard some of the remarks which had passed between Margaret and her father, and also some of the hints of the Duke of Norfolk—who called at the house quite frequently, to Alice's delight—and she gathered that Thomas, as was to be expected, was not making the most of his opportunities. He was deliberately opposing the King, and all because the King wanted a divorce and Thomas did not think he should have it.

“What the good year!” said Alice to herself. “This man of mine is a most foolhardy person. He is so careless of his position that he treats it with indifference; and yet, as regards this matter of the King's he is most firm and resolute. 'Tis nothing but stubborn folly, and I am glad that my lord of Norfolk agrees with me.”

Well, the King would not be at the wedding; nevertheless, it was to be a grand affair. She had bought the young couple one of the new portable clocks which were such a novelty, as they were unknown in England this time last year. It was pleasant to be in a position to buy such things.

Such a feast she would prepare! All should marvel at the good table she kept in Chelsea. She had planned this feast again and again, altering an item here and there, until Margaret cried out in dismay that if she were not careful she would find her feast falling short of perfection because she would forget what she had decided for and what against.

She puffed about the kitchen, taking a look at the boar which was being soaked in vinegar and juniper; she went out to the sties to study the fatness of the pigs which would be killed; she went to the cellars to see how the mead and metheglin were maturing. She inspected her pickles, which must be the best she had ever produced.

Hourly she admonished her servants. “Do not forget. This is no marriage of a mean person. This is the marriage of the son of the Lord Chancellor of England.”

“Yes, my lady. Yes, my lady.”

My lady! she thought blissfully. My lady!

Ah, this was the good and pleasant life. Her only fear was that Thomas would do something to spoil it, for indeed Thomas seemed to have no understanding of the great dignity which should be his. It was all very well for him to poke fun at her, to laugh at her dignity. She must have her dignity. She did not forget she was the wife of the Lord Chancellor, if he was so foolish as to forget the dignity he owed to his office.

She would have ceremony in her household. He was wrong to welcome into the house every humble traveler who, hearing there was a chance of a good meal at the table of Sir Thomas More, arrived at mealtimes. He was wrong always to wear the same somber dress. Not a jewel on his person! And when it was remembered how glorious had been the Cardinal, and how the crowds had gathered in the streets of London to see him pass … well, puffed Alice, it is enough to make a woman wonder what manner of man she has married. He had no sense of his power, of his dignity.

Recently Giles Heron had occasion to bring a case to the courts against a certain Nicholas Millisante. But would Master More favor his own son-in-law? Indeed, he would not. Master Giles had gone confidently to court. Naturally, the somewhat easygoing Giles had expected his father-in-law to decide in his favor and … Thomas had decided against him!

“A fine thing!” Alice had chided. “So the affairs of your family mean nothing to you? People will say that the Lord Chancellor has no power, since he is afraid to give a verdict in favor of his own son-in-law.”

“What matters that, Alice, if they know that the laws of England are just?”

“Tut, tut,” said Alice to herself. “Tut, tut” was my lord of Norfolk's favorite expression, and Alice was ready to ape the manners of the great, even if Thomas was not.

Thomas scorned all pomp and show. A week ago, when Norfolk had called unexpectedly on matters of business, Thomas had actually been singing in the choir of Chelsea Church. There he had been, wearing a surplice like an ordinary man; and Alice was not surprised that the sight of him, so undignified, had shocked the Duke.

“God's Body! God's Body!” Norfolk had cried. “My Lord Chancellor playing parish clerk! Tut-tut, you dishonor the King and his office, Master More.”

Had Thomas been contrite? Not in the least. He had merely smiled that slow maddening smile of his and answered: “Nay, your Grace, I cannot think that the King would deem the service of God a dishonor to his office.”

And there had been His Grace of Norfolk lost for words, while Thomas smiled and was so sure of himself. Yet the Duke had not been angered by that sharp answer; he had seemed most friendly with Thomas, both during the meal and afterward in the gardens.

But Alice herself would remember the dignity due to his office, if others did not. And she would have her servants remember also. In Chelsea Church each morning after prayers she had insisted that one of his gentlemen should come to her pew and tell her of the departure of her husband, although she knew the moment when he must leave the church. This gentleman of her husband's must bow before Alice and say: “Madame, my lord is gone.”

Then she would bow her head and solemnly thank him. It was a ritual which made the others smile. But let them smile, said Alice. Someone must remember the dignity of the house.

Now one of her serving maids came to her to tell her that there was a poor woman at the door who would have speech with her.

“There are always poor women at the door!” she cried. “They come here begging from this house, because they know the master's orders that none should be turned away without a hearing. It seems to me that beggars are given more honors here than are noble dukes.”

But this poor woman had not come to beg, she assured Lady More. She had a pretty dog, and as she had heard of Lady Mores fondness for these animals she had brought it along in the hope of selling it to her ladyship.

Alice was immediately attracted by the engaging little creature. She gave the woman a coin and welcomed yet another pet into the house.

IT WAS only a week or so after the wedding when the absurd controversy about the dog arose.

Alice was annoyed. A beggar woman, roaming near the house, saw the dog being carried by one of the servants and immediately declared that it had been stolen from her.

The servant retorted that this was nonsense. My lady had bought the dog. If the old beggar woman did not go away at once she would be tied to a tree and whipped.

Alice was indignant. To dare to say I stole the dog! I! Does she not know who I am? The wife of none other than the Lord Chancellor!

But the beggar woman would not go away. She loitered on the river bank, and one day when she saw the Lord Chancellor himself alight from his barge she accosted him.

“My lord! Justice!” she cried. “Justice for a poor woman who is the victim of a thief.”

Thomas paused.

“Mistress,” he said with that grave courtesy which altered not whether he addressed a duchess or a beggar, “what theft is this you wish to report?”

“The theft of a little dog, your honor. I wish to regain what I have lost.”

“If you are speaking the truth, and the animal has been stolen from you, then must it be restored to you. Who now has possession of your property?”

“Lady More, your honor.”

“And is that so? Well then, come to my hall tomorrow morning when I try the cases, and we shall hear yours against Lady More.”

He went smiling to the house and there spoke to Alice.

“Alice, you are summoned to the courts tomorrow morning.”

“What foolish joke is this?”

“No joke. 'Tis true. You are accused of theft, wife and must needs come to answer the charge.”

“I… accused of theft!”

“Of a dog.”

“So it is that beggar!”

“She says you have her dog.”

“And I say I have my dog.”

“In a court of law, Alice, it is not enough to say an article is yours if another claims it. It must be proved.”

“You cannot mean that you would ask me to go to the courts, on a matter like this!”

“I do, Alice.”

She laughed in his face; but he meant it, she realized to her astonishment. She thought it was a most unseemly thing that die Lord Chancellor should summon his own wife to appear before him, and on the word of a beggar too! They would be the laughingstock of all, she doubted not.

She dressed herself with great care and set out with the dog as Thomas had bidden her. She would show dignity if he did not. She would show the world that if Thomas was unfit for the office of Chancellor, she was not unfit for the position of Chancellor's wife.

And in the hall, there was my Lord Chancellor with his officers about him.

“The next case we must try this day,” he said, “concerns the possession of a small animal. Let us have a fair hearing of this matter. This lady declares the dog was stolen from her and therefore belongs to her; this lady declares she bought him and therefore he belongs to her. Now let us place the little dog on the table here. Lady More, stand you back at that end of the hall; and, mistress, you stand at the other. You will both call the dog, and we will see whom he considers to be mistress; for, I verily believe this is a matter which the dog must decide.”

Imperiously Alice called the dog to her, and lovingly the beggar woman called him; and he, the little rogue, did not hesitate; he did what he had been wanting to do ever since he had seen her; he ran, barking excitedly, to the beggar woman.

“There can be no doubt,” said Thomas, “that the dog has once been the property of this lady, and her story that he was stolen from her is doubtless a true one.”

The beggar woman held the dog tightly against her, and Alice, seeing this, knew herself defeated. She knew too that Thomas had been right in this matter, although she deplored his undignified manners.

The beggar woman said to her: “Lady, he has fattened since he was in your care. You can offer him a better home than I can. Take him … care for him as you have done. I see it would be for the best that he should be yours.”

Alice was touched, as she always was by animals and those who loved them.

She saw that the old woman really loved her dog and that it was no small sacrifice to give him up.

Alice hesitated. She said: “The judgement of this court went against me. The dog is yours. But if you would like to sell him, I am ready to buy him of you.”

And so the matter was settled amicably and to the satisfaction of all; but Alice could not help pondering on the strange ways of her husband.

THE GREAT day came, as Alice had known it would.

The King was to dine at Chelsea.

All that activity which she had set in train for the entertainment of a noble duke was intensified.

Alice could scarcely sleep at night; and when she did she dreamed of serving at her table beef that was almost burned to a cinder. She dreamed of seeing black piecrust on her table. She called out in the agony of her nightmare.

She could not stop talking of the great event. “Do you wenches realize that it is tomorrow that the King comes! Hurry, hurry, I say. We shall never be done in time.” Then she would smile and think of His Grace sitting at her table, smiling at her. “His Grace the King, so I have heard, likes to see the blood flow rich and red from his beef. We must make sure that there is not one turn too many of the spit. I hear he has a fancy for his pastry to be well baked…”

Never had the servants lived through such days. Preparations were started four days ahead, and Alice could speak of nothing else during that time. All the girls were pressed into service. Ailie must come and stay, and tell all she knew of Court manners and Court etiquette. “For,” said Alice, “your father is a dullard in such things. It is beyond my understanding why they have called him a wise man.”

So again and again Ailie told of the King's habits and how food was laid at a Court banquet; and Alice wept because she had not gold platters to set before the King.

And at length the great day came.

She was at her window when the royal barge sailed along the river.

“The King!” she murmured, touching her coif nervously to make sure that it was exactly as it should be. “The King is coming to dine at my table!”

She saw him alight. Who could mistake him, surrounded though he was by dazzling courtiers?

The jewels on his clothes caught the rays of the sun. What royalty! What magnificence!

Alice marshaled the family together. They stood, as Ailie had said they should, in the hall, waiting to receive him. Thomas watched them all, and he was smiling as though he found this convention somewhat amusing. Amusing! Alice was beside herself with anxiety. Would the beef be done to a turn? How were they faring in the kitchen? She should be there … yet she must be here.

And now she heard the great booming voice. “Why, this is a pleasant place you have here at Chelsea, Master More. We have heard much of it. Norfolk has sung its praises when he has sung yours.”

And now the King was stepping into the hall.

Alice went forward and sank to her knees. All the rich color had left her face; she was trembling.

“Why, Lady More,” said the King. “Rise … rise … good lady. We have heard much of your excellence. We have come to see for ourselves what it is that calls our Chancellor so frequently from our Court.”

Alice had risen uncertainly. “Your Grace,” she stammered. “Your … most… gracious … Grace …”

The King laughed; he liked her. He liked reverence. It was good to see how his subjects stood in awe of him. He placed his great hands on her shoulders and kissed her heartily.

“There … there … We are as glad to come as you are to have us. Now we would see this family of yours.”

One by one they came forward. The King's eyes smoldered as they rested on Jack. A fine healthy boy! He felt angry when he saw the fine healthy boys of other men. Now the girls. He softened. He was fond of young girls. Lady Allington was a fair creature, but all women other than Anne were insignificant to him now; when he compared them with the incomparable they could interest him but little. He gave Lady Allington a kiss for her beauty; and he kissed the others too. Thomas's girls were hardly beauties … but pleasant creatures.

Afterward he sat at the table with the family about him; his courtiers who had accompanied him ranged among the family.

It was an appetizing meal. The food was simple, but well cooked; he complimented the lady of the house and it did him good to see the pleasure he gave her in so doing.

The conversation was interesting—he could rely on More to make it so; and naturally that matter which was becoming more and more a cause of disagreement between them was not mentioned in such company.

More was at his best at his own table—gay and witty, anxious to show the cleverness of his children, particularly the eldest girl. The King liked wit and laughter, and, in spite of the man's folly at times, he liked Thomas More.

It pleased Henry to see himself as the mighty King, accustomed to dining in banqueting halls, the guest of kings and princes, yet not above enjoying a simple meal at the humble table of a good subject.

After the meal he asked Thomas to show him the gardens. Taking it that this meant he wished to talk with his Chancellor alone, the courtiers stayed in the house discoursing with the family.

Alice was beside herself with pride.

This was the happiest day of her life. She would talk of it until the end of her days.

Now she must slip away from the company—she could safely leave the entertaining of her guests to her daughters for a short while—and go to the top of the house, whence she could command a view of the gardens; and there, walking together, were the King and his Chancellor. Alice could have wept for joy. About the Chancellors neck, in a most affectionate manner, was the arm of the King.

The wonderful visit was nearing its end. With what pride did Alice walk down to the royal barge, receive his words of congratulation and make her deep respectful curtsy!

“I shall remember Your Majesty's commendation of my table to my dying day,” she said.

The King was not to be outdone. “Ah, Lady More, I shall remember my visit to your house to the end of my life.”

Alice was nearly swooning with delight; and, oddly enough, the others were almost as delighted. They stood in respectful attention while the royal barge slipped along the river.

Alice cried: “To think I should live to see this day! If I were to die now … I should die happy.”

“I rejoice in your contentment, Alice,” Thomas told her.

She turned to her family. “Did you see them … in the gardens together? The King had his arm … his arm … about your fathers neck.”

“Then he loves Father well,” said Will. “For I believe that to be a mark of his highest favor. I have never heard of his doing that with any other than my lord Cardinal.”

Thomas smiled at their excitement; but suddenly his face was grave.

He said slowly: “I thank our Lord, son Roper, that I find the King my very good lord indeed; and you are right when you say that he favors me as much as any subject in this realm. But I must tell you this: I have little cause to be proud of this, for if my head would bring him a castle in France, it should not fail to go. That, my dear ones, is a sobering thought.”

And the family was immediately sobered—except Alice, who would not allow her happiest day to be spoilt by such foolish talk.

DEATH TOUCHED the house in Chelsea during the early months of the year 1532.

The winter had been a hard one, and Judge More had suffered through this. He had caught cold, and all Mercy's ministrations could not save him. He grew weaker; and one day he did not know those about his bedside.

He passed peacefully away in the early morning.

There was much sorrow, for it seemed that no one could be spared from this home.

Thomas declared that he was sorry he had given the house in Bucklersbury to his son and daughter Clement, for it meant that he saw much less of them than if they had continued to live in Chelsea. There had been regrets when Hans Holbein had left the house and Mr Gunnel had taken Holy Orders. It was a large household, as Thomas said, but none could be spared from it.

They mourned the old man for many weeks, and one day, in April of that year, when Margaret and her father were walking together in the gardens, he said to her: “Meg, we should have done with grieving, for I believe that your grandfather was a happy man when he died; yet had he lived a few months longer he might have been less happy.”

“What do you mean, Father?”

“Like Mother, he took great pride in my position; and it is a position which I may not always hold.”

“You mean that you are shortly to be dismissed?”

“No, Meg. I do not think that. But I think that I might resign. Oh, Meg, I am happier about this matter than I have been since that day, nearly three years ago, when I was given the Great Seal. Then I saw no way in which I could refuse; now I believe I can resign.”

“The King would let you go?”

“Events have been moving, Meg, though sluggishly, it may seem, to those outside the Court. It is now four years since the King made his wishes for a divorce known to us, and still there is no divorce. That is a long time for a King to wait for what he wants. He grows impatient, and so does the Lady Anne. When I was given the Great Seal, you will remember, the Cardinal, who had managed the affairs of this country for so long, was falling out of favor and there seemed no one else capable of taking his place. So was I pressed into taking office. But now matters have changed. The King has at his elbow two clever men, from whom he hopes much. He loves them dearly because they work for him … solely. They have no mind but the King's mind, no conscience but the King's conscience, no other will than his. They have two brilliant suggestions which they have put before the King, and the King likes those suggestions so much that I believe he will follow both of them. Cromwell suggests that the King should break with Rome and declare himself Supreme Head of the Church of England; in which case he would have no difficulty in gaining the divorce he wants. That is Master Cromwell's suggestion. Cranmer's is equally ingenious. He declares that, since the marriage of the King and Queen was no true marriage, there is no need for divorce. The marriage could be declared null and void by the courts of England. You see, Margaret, these two men have, as the King says, ‘the right sow by the ear.’ I, His Grace would tell you, have the wrong sows ear in my grasp.”

“Father, as Chancellor, you would have to agree with these two men?”

“Yes; that is why I believe nothing will be put in the way of my resigning from the Chancellorship. There is a very able man, a great friend of the King's, and one who he knows would willingly work for him. That is Lord Audley. I doubt not that the King would be willing enough that I should hand the Great Seal over to him.”

“Father, that means that you would be home with us … you would go back to the law … and we should be as we were in Bucklersbury.”

“Nay, Meg. I should still be a member of the Council, and a lawyer cannot leave his practice for years and take up the thread where he dropped it. Moreover, I am not as young as I was in those days.”

“Father, I know. I have watched you with great anxiety. We will nurse you, Mercy and I. Oh, I beg of you, give up the Great Seal. Come home to us as soon as you can.”

“You must no longer be anxious for me, dearest Meg, for this poor health of mine gives me the reason I shall need, and which the King will like, for giving up the Chancellorship.”

“I long for that day.”

“And poverty, Meg? Do you long for that? We shall be poor, you know.”

“I would welcome it. But it will surely not be our lot. Will is well placed in his profession.”

“This is a big house and we are a large household. Meg, in spite of our big family and the positions they have secured for themselves, we shall be poor.”

“We shall have you home, Father, and out of harm … safe. That is all I ask.”

“So, Meg, I will continue my little homily. Do not grieve because my health is not as good as it was, since because of it I shall come home to you. And do not grieve for your grandfather; he died the father of the Lord Chancellor; and had he lived he might have died the father of a much humbler man.”

She took his hand and kissed it.

“I shall remember life's compensations, Father. Never fear. And how deeply shall I rejoice when you leave the Court, for that has been my dearest wish for many a long day.”

“Dear Meg, I may not be blessed with good health and the King's favor—but I'd throw all that away for the blessing of owning the dearest daughter in the world.”

MARGARET WAS waiting. She knew that it must happen soon. The King had now declared himself to be Supreme Head of the Church. Her father was detained at Court, and she heard that Bishop Fisher had become ill with anxiety.

They were at church one morning—a lovely May morning when the birds sang with excitement and the scent of hawthorn blossom filled the air.

Morning prayers were over, and suddenly Margaret saw her father. He was standing by the door of that pew in which the ladies of the family sat. Margaret took one look at him and knew.

He was smiling at Alice, who had risen to her feet and, in some consternation, was wondering what he was doing there at that hour. He bowed low to her as his gentleman was wont to do, and he said: “Madam, my lord is gone.”

Alice did not understand.

“What joke is this now?” she demanded.

He did not answer then, and they walked out of the church into the scented air of spring.

Margaret was beside him; she slipped her arm through his.

“What nonsense is this?” demanded Alice as soon as they had stepped out of the porch. “What do you mean by ‘My lord is gone’?”

“Just that, Alice. My Lord Chancellor is gone; and all that is left to you is Sir Thomas More.”

“But… I do not understand.”

“'Tis a simple matter. I have resigned the Great Seal and am no longer Chancellor.”

“You have … what?”

“There was naught else I could do. The King needs a Chancellor who will serve him better than I can.”

“You mean that you have resigned? You really mean that you have given up … your office?”

Alice could say no more. She could not bear this sunny May morning. All her glory had vanished.

Her lord had gone in very truth.