The King's Confidante: The Story of the Daughter of Sir Thomas More (33 page)

“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.

HEY GATHERED ABOUT HIM THAT NIGHT—ALL THOSE
whom he called his dear children. Mercy and John Clement came from Bucklersbury, for the news had reached them. Ailie had heard, and she also came to the house in Chelsea that she might be with him at the time of his resignation. “My children,” he said when they were all gathered together, “there is a matter which I must bring to your notice. We have built for ourselves a fine house here in Chelsea; we have many servants to wait upon us; we have never been rich, as are some noble dukes of our acquaintance….” He smiled at Alice. “But… we have lived comfortably. Now I have lost my office and all that went with it; and you know that, even in office, I was never so rich as my predecessor.”

He smiled now at Dauncey—Dauncey who had hinted that he did not take all the advantages that might have been his. But
Dauncey was looking downcast; his father-in-law was no longer Chancellor, and Dauncey's hopes of advancement had not carried him very far. He had a seat in Parliament, representing, with Giles Heron, Thetford in Norfolk; Giles Allington sat for the County of Cambridge, and William Roper for Bramber in Sussex. This they had achieved through their relationship with the Chancellor; but all that seemed very little when compared with the favors which had been showered on Wolsey's relations. Moreover, wondered Dauncey, did these people realize that a man could not merely step from high favor to obscurity, that very likely he would pass from favor into disfavor?

Dauncey and Alice were the most disappointed members of the household; yet, like Alices, Dauncey's disappointment was overshadowed by fear.

Thomas went on: “My dear ones, we are no longer rich. Indeed, we are very poor.”

Margaret said quickly: “Well, Father, we shall have the comfort of your presence, which will mean more to us than those other comforts to which you refer.”

Ailie said: “Father, Giles and I will look after you.”

“Bless you, my dear daughter. But could you ask your husband to take my big household under his wing? Nay, there will be change here.”

“We have always heard that you are such a clever man,” Alice pointed out. “Are you not a lawyer, and have not lawyers that which is called a practice?”

“Yes, Alice, they have. But a lawyer who has abandoned his practice for eleven years cannot take it up where he left it. And if he is eleven years older and no longer a promising young man, but an old one who has found it necessary to resign his office, he is not so liable to find clients.”

“What nonsense!” said Alice. “You have a great reputation, so I have always heard. You … Sir Thomas More … but yesterday Lord Chancellor!”

“Have no fear, Alice. I doubt not that we shall come through
these troubles. I have been brought up at Oxford, at an Inn of Chancery, at Lincoln's Inn, also in the King's Court; and so from the lowest degree I came to the highest; yet have I in yearly revenues at this present time little above one hundred pounds. So we must hereafter, if we wish to live together, be contented to become contributaries together. But, by my counsel, it shall not be best for us to fall to the lowest fare first. We will not therefore descend to Oxford fare, nor to the fare of New Inn, but we will begin with Lincoln's Inn diet, which we can maintain during the first year. We will the next year go one step down to New Inn fare, wherewith many an honest man is contented. If that exceed our ability too, then we will the next year after descend to Oxford fare; and if we cannot maintain that, we may yet with bags and wallets go abegging together, hoping that for pity some good folks will give us their charity.”

“Enough of your jokes!” cried Alice. “You have thrown away your high post, and we are not as rich as we were. That is what you mean, is it not, Master More?”

“Yes, Alice. That is what I mean.”

“Then mores the pity of it. No; don't go making one of your foolish jokes about Mores pity … or such kind. I have no pity for you. You're a fool, Master More, and it was by great good luck, and nothing more than that, that you took the King's fancy.”

“Or great mischance, Alice.”

“Great good luck,” she repeated firmly. “And His Grace is a kindly man. Did I not see him with mine own eyes? It may be that he will not accept your resignation. I am sure he likes you. Did he not walk in the garden with his arm about your neck? Ah… he will be here to sup with us again, I doubt not.”

They let her dream. What harm was there in dreaming? But the others knew that the King had no further use for him; and those who knew the King's methods best prayed that the King might feel nothing but indifference toward his ex-minister.

They brought out their lutes, and Cecily played on the virginals. They were the happy family circle. There was not one of
them during that evening—not even Alice nor Dauncey—who did not feel that he or she would be content if they could all remain as they were this night until the end of their days.

But they knew that this was not possible.

Even the servants knew it, for the news had reached them.

How could the household go on in the same comfortable way? Some of them would have to go; and although they knew that Sir Thomas More would never turn them away, that he would find new places for them—perhaps in the rich households of those whom he had known in his affluent days—that brought little comfort. There was no one who, having lived in the Chelsea household, would ever be completely happy outside it.

A
YEAR
passed.

They were very poor during that year; the house at Chelsea was indeed a large one and there were many living in it to be fed. Yet they were happy. The hospital continued to provide succor for the sick; there was little to spare in the house, but it was always shared with those who were in need. There was always a place at the table for a hungry traveler, and if the fare was simpler than before, it appeased the hunger. Alice took an even greater pride in her cookery; she discovered new ways of using the herbs which grew wild in the fields. They collected fern, bracken, sticks and logs, which they burned in the great fireplaces; and they would gather round one fire to warm themselves before retiring to their cold bedrooms.

Still, it was a happy year. They would not have complained if they could have gone on as they were.

Alice grew angry when the abbots and bishops collected a large sum of money which they wished to present to Thomas. He had written much, they said; the Church was grateful; and they deemed that the best way in which they could show their gratitude was by presenting him with the money. Thomas, however, would not accept it. “What I have done,” he said, “was not for gain.”

So Alice scolded him for what she called his misplaced pride, and they continued to live in simplicity.

Patenson the Fool had left them in tears to work with the Lord Mayor of London; and Thomas, knowing that poor Patenson was a very poor Fool indeed, whose idea of wit seemed to be to laugh at the physical appearances of others, arranged that he should be passed from one Lord Mayor to the next Lord Mayor so that he might not suffer through the decline in fortune of one of his masters.

There were some members of the household who were lulled into a feeling of peace, who believed that life would go on humbly and evenly in the years to come. They did not realize that Thomas More had played too big a part in the affairs of the country to be allowed to remain outside them.

So gradually had matters been changing at Court that they were almost unnoticed by those outside it. The King had declared himself to be the Supreme Head of the Church of England. His marriage with Queen Katharine was declared null and void. He had been forced to this procedure by the pregnancy of Anne Boleyn. He was determined that if she gave him a son it should not be born out of wedlock; and he would wait no longer.

Margaret knew that the shadows were moving nearer.

One day a barge pulled up at the stairs, and in it came a messenger.

Margaret saw him as she was playing with her babies, Will and Mary, on the lawns. Her heart leaped, and then she felt the blood thundering in her head. Her children were looking at her wonderingly; she took their hands and forced herself to walk calmly toward the approaching messenger.

To her great relief, she saw that he was not wearing the King's livery.

He bowed low on seeing Margaret.

“Madame, this is the house of Sir Thomas More?”

“It is. What would you of him?”

“I have a letter here. I am instructed to hand it to no other.”

“Whence do you come?”

“From my lords the Bishops of Durham, Bath and Winchester.”

She was relieved.

“Please come this way,” she said, “and I will take you to Sir Thomas.”

He was in the library, where he now spent the greater part of his time. He could be happy, she thought, then; He could remain in perfect contentment as he is now. Our poverty matters not at all. He can write, pray and laugh with his family. He asks no more than that. “O God,” she prayed silently, as she led the messenger to her father, “let him stay as he is…. Let him always be as he is now.”

“Meg!” he cried when he saw her.

The little ones ran to him; they loved him; they would sit on his knee and ask him to read to them; he would read them Latin and Greek, and although they could not understand him, they took great pleasure in watching the movement of his lips and listening to the sound of his voice.