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.”