by Derek Wilson
‘Yet he is to be kept in a new capacity?’
Gregory nodded and was obviously disinclined to speak more on the subject.
Elizabeth turned to her mother-in-law. ‘Aunt, Master Bourbon would love to hear some of your stories about Thomas’s early days.’
Mistress Prior smiled – eager, it seemed, to dip into her memories. ‘Thomas grew up at Putney. ’Tis a village close to London on the Thames. You might pass it on the river without noticing. A nowhere place, some say. But Thomas loves it. He still goes back often to visit his friends. Pity he comes not here too!’
I intervened to fend off another complaint. ‘We all have a special affection for the place where we were born, especially if life takes us far away from it. Was there any hint in those early days of the great man he is become?’
Mercy laughed – a surprisingly deep laugh that set her rocking back and forth. She seemed to have wandered into some private jest and lost track of the conversation, until she suddenly said, ‘Uninnocent!’
I glanced quickly at Elizabeth and it was she who prompted the old lady. ‘That was what his friends called him, was it not, Aunt?’
‘Aye, aye. Tom Crom the Uninnocent, they called him.’
‘And what meant they by that?’ I prompted. ‘Was he a wicked lad?’
‘Wicked? No. Prankish, rather. He was ever the leader of the local boys, and when there was mischief afoot we always knew who was behind it.’
‘What is this “Uninnocent”?’ Antonio asked. ‘’Tis not a word I have heard.’
‘Nor are you like to hear it, young man.’ The deep-throated laugh came again before Mercy explained. ‘Thomas was ever the leader of the band. Some of ’em called him their Pope. Now the real Pope at the time was Innocent VIII. But Tom Crom was too naughty to be called “Innocent”. So they called him “Uninnocent” – “Pope Uninnocent”.’
‘Does that mean,’ I asked, ‘that he was disrespectful of the Pope and the Pope’s Church even in those days?’
‘He and his fellows had a store of bawdy songs, but then most men did back then. I cannot recall that Tom Crom was a ranting ribald. He was too studious for that.’
‘Studious? He went to school, then?’ I asked.
‘School! Not he. Not with a father who set him to work as soon as he could walk. Old Walter was not the man to waste money on lessons. No, Tom Crom was self-taught. I mind not the time when he did not carry a book in his scrip.’
‘So he was always ambitious to improve himself. I suppose life in Putney could never have satisfied him.’ I looked across the table awaiting a response, but Mercy Prior’s eyes were closed. There was a slight frown on her brow and her head had begun to nod.
‘I never imagined having a portrait painted could be such hard work.’ It was Gregory who broke the silence. ‘Do you know your friend here has had me sitting like a statue for a whole hour this afternoon?’
‘How is the work coming on?’ I asked.
Antonio answered diplomatically. ‘Excellent well. His Lordship is a fine subject. There is a natural nobility about—’
‘Walter would never have let him go.’ Mercy, eyes now wide, re-entered the conversation. ‘He was about to be married.’
‘To your daughter, Elizabeth?’ I asked.
She shook her head emphatically ‘No, no, no. That came later. He was in hopes to marry Mary Barton.’
‘Susan! Have a care!’ Elizabeth’s cry was accompanied by a metallic crash.
We all stared in the direction of the buffet, from which the servants were conveying dishes and platters to and from the table. One of the maids was staring down at the contents of a silver salver, which were spread over the rushes at her feet. Elizabeth rose quickly and belaboured the tearful girl with her open hands, shouting, ‘Stupid girl! Stupid girl! Fetch water and cloths. Now! Now!’ Susan ran to obey her mistress and the little crisis was quickly over.
The rest of the meal passed uneventfully. Afterwards we all moved into the solar, where we were entertained by a group of musicians with lutes, viols and sackbuts. Their melodies, aided by the warmth from a vigorous fire, made me drowsy. After an hour or so I made my excuses and retired to my chamber with drooping eyelids.
Yet I did not sleep. I lay on my bed, hovering ’tween wakefulness and oblivion while thoughts and half-thoughts buzzed in and out of my head like wasps around a disturbed nest. There were fragments of conversation, things said that had no meaning and things unsaid that seemed somehow significant. There had been visual ‘messages’ – glances, frowns, smiles – clamouring for, yet defying, interpretation.
After I know not how long I heard Antonio enter his chamber next to mine. Thinking that perhaps I could share my unanswered questions with him before he slept, I lit my candle, slipped out of my room and lifted the latch on the adjacent door.
‘Antonio,’ I called out quietly as I turned to close the door.
There was a high-pitched cry behind me. I looked towards the fireplace. Antonio was seated in front of it, illumined by the burning logs. On his lap there was a woman. Transfixed, I peered at my friend’s companion. And instantly recognized her.
16
Leicestershire
The girl with an arm around Antonio’s neck was Susan, the servant whose accident had briefly disturbed our dinner. She jumped to her feet and rushed from the room before the door had closed behind me.
‘Is this the way you repay hospitality?’ I shouted at my friend. I was angry, and for the moment at least I cared not who knew it.
Antonio’s casual response did nothing to calm me. He smiled at me without rising from the chair. ‘Nicholas, you . . .’ He struggled to find the word. ‘You . . . fraintendi.’
‘Misunderstand? I think not. I understand lechery when I see it. I know not what passes for courtesy in Tuscany, but in civilized countries we do not debauch our friends’ servants.’
This time he laughed. ‘Friends? You think these people are your friends?’
‘I think they are our gracious hosts. I think they have kindly welcomed me under their roof. And I think I have unwittingly introduced to their home a whoreson bed-hopper who cannot keep his codpiece fastened.’
‘Then you think amiss!’ Antonio now jumped to his feet, confronting my rage with his own defiance. ‘The truth is we have walked into a trap and you refuse to see it. You are too trusting. Since we came here I have been talking with people, trying to discover why we have been brought here. That is why I want to talk to Susan.’
‘That,’ I said, ‘is the weakest excuse I have ever heard from a young man having a night-time assignation with a young woman. Well, I’ll not listen to any more. I’ll see you in the morning. Perhaps by then you will have dreamed up something more convincing.’ I turned to the door. ‘And in the morning I will apologize on your behalf to our host and hostess. It would be honest and manly if you were to be present at that meeting.’
I returned to my chamber and this time, much to my surprise, I slept.
The trees at the woodland edge were festooned with a myriad tiny lanterns – or so it seemed. Every branch bore a row of frozen water droplets, each of which now glistened in the morning sunlight. It was a rare and beautiful sight that lifted my spirits as I strode away from the house, my boots crunching the frost-rimed grass. I had awoken with the dawn, washed, dressed and resolved on a walk before breakfast to clear my head.
I had almost reached the trees when I heard rapid footsteps behind me. Antonio came bounding over the lawn. ‘May I walk with you awhile?’ When I made no immediate reply, he went on. ‘Nicholas, I realize what you thought you saw last night. It was natural that you should assume . . . what you did assume. But verily ’twas not so. Or,’ he smiled sheepishly, ‘not completely. Susan is pretty and I admit I was looking forward to my investigation—’
‘Investigation? I have heard it called
many things, but—’
‘Yes, investigation.’ He fell into step beside me as we walked the path skirting the trees. ‘I beg you to say nothing that will make trouble for Susan. It was I who arranged last night’s meeting and only because I am sure there is something in this place . . . storto . . . er . . .’
‘Awry? Untoward? Wrong?’
‘Yes, yes! Surely you feel it also.’
‘I know you have never been happy about this venture.’
‘And with reason,’ he growled. ‘I suppose an English prison is little different from an Italian one, but I have no desire to find out.’
‘Why should you think coming to Launde puts you in danger of arrest?’
He stopped suddenly, staring at me, and there was fear in his eyes. ‘Because there is danger here.’
‘Come now, Antonio, what talk is this? We are both foreigners here and you do not as yet grasp the language well. These people have strange ways, but I think I understand them better than you. Whatever you have heard—’
Antonio was insistent. ‘Might it not be because I am a complete stranger here that I can see things more clearly than you? For an instance, that incident at supper yesterday: did you not notice that it was no accident?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I happened to be looking at Susan—’
‘That I can understand.’
Antonio ignored the interruption. ‘I can assure you that when she dropped that dish it was on purpose.’
‘Nonsense! We all heard—’
‘We all heard the crash and we heard Lady Cromwell call out. And most of us assumed things happened in that order. I know they did not. Her Ladyship shouted and it was then that Susan let fall the dish.’
‘Oh, that is absurd,’ I protested. ‘Why?’
‘Exactly. Why? That is what I was hoping to coax out of Susan last night. You are right. I admit I was interested in her. She is very pretty and she likes to hear my stories about our travels, but if you think I am blinded by love . . .’
‘I just think you may have been mistaken in what you saw. She may simply have been startled by Lady Cromwell. Even supposing you are right, what is this danger you talk of?’
We had walked several paces before he replied. ‘’Tis little more than a feeling.’ Antonio hurried on to forestall my protest. ‘And I know you will tell me I am imagining threats that do not exist, but I sense that we are being watched . . . interrogated almost. When His Lordship was sitting for his portrait, he asked a great many questions about you.’
‘Idle curiosity. He does not meet many foreigners.’
‘He wanted me to tell him who you knew in London, and what church you go to, and what books you read. That seems to me more than idle curiosity.’
‘So what, think you, should we do about this?’
Antonio’s reply was brutally abrupt: ‘Quit this place as soon as possible.’ He stopped suddenly and stared at me intently. ‘Please let us get away from here. Forgive me saying it, but you have become possessed by this Thomas Cromwell. You think I have been enslaved by a pretty face, but you have been dazzled by this dead Englishman.’
I was irritated by his tone. ‘Please be careful what you say, my friend.’
‘Aye, friend!’ he responded. ‘I am your friend, and as your friend I beg you to have a care. Do not offend Queen Marguerite by prolonging your absence from Navarre. Leave this place where things are not as they seem.’
Rather than start another argument, I walked on down the track. Antonio did not catch me up and when I turned around I saw him striding purposefully towards the house.
After a while I sat down on a tree stump, to think. I asked myself why I was so angry with Antonio and I realized that at least part of the answer was that I shared his misgivings and had been suppressing them. If I wanted to persuade him that he was encouraging an over-active imagination I would have to begin by dispelling my own doubts. That meant method – strictly applied method. Beginning at the beginning.
Question: Who was it who had first encouraged my enquiries?
Answer: Sir Richard Cromwell.
Question: When I had almost given up the quest, who had urged me to persevere?
Answer: Sir Richard Cromwell.
Question: Who had persuaded Lady Elizabeth to change her polite but vague invitation to Launde into an imperious command?
Answer: Sir Richard Cromwell.
Question: What was his motivation in encouraging my enquiries?
Answer: Surely family pride or religious conviction. Probably both. At a time when his uncle’s name was officially blackened, he saw that I, as a foreigner, could set the record straight without fear of being brutally silenced by the Tudor regime. Lady Elizabeth had also spoken earnestly of wanting to leave for posterity a true record of her father-in-law. I still had in my mind a vivid picture of her earnest, appealing eyes as she spoke of her admiration for Thomas Cromwell. I refused to believe that that was feigned. She had invited me to Launde so that I could complete my research. What other reason could she have had?
And yet . . . and yet she had said other things in that chapel conversation; things I had paid little attention to at the time and had since half forgotten. Now, I sensed that I was overlooking something important. I shuddered, and not just because of the frozen air. I closed my eyes, desperately trying to recall the scene. I heard again snatches of conversation which, though quiet, had echoed round the holy space. My impression had been of a strong woman – strong and clever. Ready and able to devise any stratagem to keep her family safe. She had referred to invaluable advice given by her father-in-law. I struggled to remember the words: something about people always believing what they want to believe and that, therefore, the way to earn their trust was to confirm their opinions.
Could it be that she and Sir Richard had both been applying this subtle technique to me? Was their encouragement of my research some devious plot? If so, to what purpose? What end could possibly be served by luring me here to this quiet spot in the middle of England? The idea was too bizarre to be entertained. I walked back to the mansion, resolved to salve the anxieties of my impressionable young friend.
After breakfast I sought out my hostess and found her with her ladies and senior servants in an antechamber. Elizabeth was seated in an armed chair with all her ladies gathered around her. It was obvious that she was in the midst of issuing instructions. I therefore paused in the doorway. ‘Forgive me, My Lady. I will return a little later.’
‘No, no, Master Bourbon. We are almost done. I was just going over the arrangements for entertaining our important guest, the bishop, tomorrow.’
‘Aye, yes, the late Abbot of Peterborough. I recall your mentioning him.’
‘You will enjoy meeting him,’ Elizabeth said. ‘A dear man, and very wise. Sir Richard holds him in high regard. It was he who was sent to receive the surrender of Peterborough and he found the abbot less troublesome than others of his kind.’
Moments later she dismissed her attendants. As they filed past me in the doorway, Susan, blushing, avoided my gaze. I bent forward slightly and said in a whisper, ‘Forgotten.’
As the door closed I turned to Lady Cromwell. ‘My apologies. I should have recalled His Grace’s visit and the fact that you will be busy preparing for him.’
‘’Tis no matter. Is there something I can do for you?’
‘I wonder whether I might call on Mistress Prior. There has been little opportunity until now and it seems she ventures seldom from her own rooms.’
Elizabeth shook her head sadly. ‘Aunt Mercy’s health is not good and, I fear, becoming worse. I am sorry to disappoint you, but she cannot receive you today.’
The beldame was not available the next day either. I grew impatient. The very person I had come all this way to see was a matter of yards away as I moved around the ho
use, yet she might as well have been in Cathay. I had risked my reputation with Queen Marguerite in response to the Cromwells’ insistence that I meet the one remaining relative who had early memories of Thomas. Now it seemed that fate was keeping me from her.
That was when my doubts cast aside the mantle I had thrown over them. Fate, indeed! I was no Greek locked into passive submission to the inexorable decrees of the three hideous sisters, endlessly spinning the destiny of all mortals. I was no King Laius who, though warned, could not escape foreordained death at the hands of his own son, Oedipus. I had always believed, and taught, that a man was not worthy of the name if, through sloth or stupidity, he failed to shape his own future. All wise men knew this. Thomas Cromwell knew it. And he had tutored his daughter-in-law. ‘Tell people what they want to hear,’ he had counselled. She had heeded that advice. Result? Instead of following Thomas into ‘inevitable’ ruin and disgrace, she had regained for her family royal favour and the social position that went with it. Might it not be that she was still doing the same? I was here at her country house because she had offered to help my research. I had believed her because I wanted to believe her. Antonio was sceptical because he had no emotional involvement in the Tom Crom story. Perhaps he could see things more clearly. Perhaps I should trust his instinct that there was something storto here at Launde.
***
‘Tell me exactly what you saw and heard when Susan dropped the dish.’ I had brought Antonio to my chamber later that morning and was hoping that if he could remember the chain of events more precisely we might understand the incident in sufficient detail to discover whether it had any significance.
He closed his eyes in concentration. ‘She went to the buffet, picked up the dish, started to return to the table. Then Lady Cromwell shouted and Susan opened her arms and let the dish fall. I cannot tell you any more.’
‘What else was happening at the time? Try to recall every detail,’ I urged.
‘There were four of them waiting at table. One was filling a wine ewer. The other two were – I think – just standing against the wall.’
