“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.
7
THEY 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.