Thripp stood, clapped his hands, and grinned very wide. “Precisely what I intend, sir. Precisely what I shall do.” He looked around, the grin still brim-full of teeth and cheerful excitement. “And you, my darlings, can stay here. I shall be back. But it’s time I was myself again. No more hiding, shivering and cowering in the attic, pretending to be dead.”
“Speaking of the attic – ” interrupted Sir Walter.
“No time for that now, sir,” the captain said in a hurry. “This is a time for action, sir. You, me, and the courage of a lord and a seafarer, eh?” He kissed Elisabeth’s cheek, patted her rump, nodded to the other women, said, “Katherine, my dear, please look after my guests,” and marched to the door. “Sir Walter? Shall we be off to put these wrongs right?”
“But,” wailed Penelope from the other end of the room, “we have only just arrived, my love. After months of grieving and now to discover you alive – ”
The door swung shut. The snap echoed. Alba stood in the centre of the room and stared. “It is wonderful to have dear Edward back,” she murmured. “But he has not changed after all.”
Ruth swung around, staring at her. “You think he should throw the rest of us out and make love to you? The poor man is worried about his daughter, and now you have frightened him away.”
Alba lifted her arm, aimed, and threw her empty cup. It clattered to the ground leaving a faint smudge of red wine on the toes of Ruth’s best shoes.
In absolute silence, Ruth bent, clasped the cup, and threw it directly back at Alba. It bounced from the side of her head, and she reeled back with a gasp, her hand to her temple and her eyes watering. She whispered, “You hurt me.” And ran directly at Ruth.
Elisabeth hurried between them and the other women clustered around.
“It has not,” sighed Ysabel, “been quite the reunion we had hoped.”
It was an hour later that Thomas Cromwell received his two visitors with curiosity. He had returned to Westminster, and after the usual council meetings, was prepared to keep the appointment his secretary had made the day before. Cromwell had agreed, a rare occurrence, out of simple curiosity. It was the steward of his Westminster Palace apartments who announced the arrival. “Very well,” he said, adjusting his sleeves, and sitting back in the low chair behind the table. “Show them in. I shall spare a few moments, although no more.”
No wine or refreshments were offered. Jemima sat on the one small chair opposite the table and its spread of papers. Thomas stood behind her chair. Thanking her host, Jemima said, “I am grateful to you for seeing us, sir. It is naturally a matter of urgency, and of justice to a friend of his majesty. I have come to swear on the Bible that Richard Wolfdon is innocent of all charges.”
Leaning back in his copious chair, stretching his legs, and tucking his hands into the sleeves of the other arm, Cromwell regarded the two frowns gazing back at him, and smiled.
“Mistress Jemima, and Master Dunn, quite how you manipulated an appointment with me I am unaware, but the task appears impressive. I am not a man with time to spare and this case is not under my direct control. You may, of course, beg an audience with his majesty, but no doubt I am just a little more approachable for those with the skill to arrange such a thing.”
Thomas shook his head. “Sir, we made no unusual demands. Ours is a plea for justice.”
Cromwell had welcomed the appointment but this was not something he admitted. “And apart from swearing on the Lord’s name, mistress, why should I accept your word?” He ignored Thomas and smiled at Jemima.
“Because,” Jemima spoke slowly and carefully, “Richard Wolfdon is betrothed to me, sir. He speaks with great respect of the king, and indeed also of the queen. And he is not a man who ever behaves – ,” she was not sure how to explain.
“Richard Wolfdon,” Thomas continued, “never trifles, never flirts and never insults his majesty. He is not a man who would commit such stupidity, sir. Quite apart from the sin and the treason, such an act would be utterly foolish. Richard is not a foolish man.”
Cromwell chuckled into his neatly tied collar. “The assumption, I think,” he said, “is one of passion and lust, sir. Not of stupidity.”
“Those are not words to describe Richard Wolfdon,” Jemima said at once. “Lust and unbridled passion have nothing to do with the man I’m engaged to.”
He regarded her. “My commiserations, madam.”
Jemima blushed. “Richard has spoken of you, sir. You know him. He respects you. He calls you – forgive me – the most intelligent man at court. You must know he would never do such a thing.”
“Yes I know him.” Cromwell sighed. “And I tend to believe you, mistress. But the law must be seen to be followed rigorously and with propriety. Allow me time, and I will also endeavour to prove your fiancé innocent. I value his friendship, and his advice, as does his majesty. A little time, mistress, a little more time, and I believe you will be in your fiancé’s arms once more.”
Permitted only minutes in the great man’s offices, both Thomas and Jemima were quickly shown out into the shadowed corridors, and marched to the outer doors. Once outside with the warmth of the mild sunshine on her back, Jemima turned to Thomas with a huge grin, and picked up her skirts, hems free of the cobbled grime, gave one small hop and skipped two steps backwards. “We’ve done it,” she said. “He didn’t promise of course, but it’s done, isn’t it! He accepts Richard’s innocent.”
Thomas was scowling. “Clearly he knew it already. This is all a fraud. Cromwell almost admitted it. He always knew Richard had nothing to do with treason. This is all a trick.”
Jemima abruptly stopped dancing. “A trick against Richard?”
“No.” Thomas shook his head. “A trick against the queen. Cromwell was smugly transparent. He didn’t even try to hide it. Richard will be released. But the accusations against the queen will escalate.”
“I don’t understand.”
Thomas started marching towards the stables and Jemima hurried after. He spoke quietly, but the frown deepened. “Richard told me before all this happened. The king wants rid of his wife. It was supposed to be divorce.”
“He’ll divorce her for treason?”
“There’s only one punishment for treason,” said Thomas. “And it isn’t divorce.”
After they had left, Thomas Cromwell leaned back, pushed his papers from him, and smiled. Matters appeared to be progressing extremely well. The decision had not been his choice, but accepting obedience as the only possibility, and he rarely questioned the king’s orders beyond the initial and inevitable surprise. Cromwell was now more than satisfied with his own intricate designs.
It was at the great soaring stone gatehouse of the Tower that delight diminished. Disappointment had been expected, but now sank even deeper.
Jemima stamped her foot, realised the mistake of temper when faced with a pair of wide shoulders and a blank expression, and turned her own expression to tears. “Oh, mercy. Mercy,” she said with more than slight exaggeration. “This is my future husband incarcerated here. I beg you, from the kindness of your heart, to let me see him. I will stay only moments, I swear. Just long enough to enter my fiancé’s cell and tell him how I miss him.”
Meekly, she gazed sweetly at blank obstinacy. The voice said simply, “No admittance.”
Thomas, equally meek, lowered his voice. “We have funds. Generous funds.” He tapped the full purse tied openly at his belt. “And are prepared to – compensate – for what matters so much to us.”
The guard pulled a face. “Watched,” he said. “Ain’t none of that allowed. No admittance.”
The voice behind her did not at first make any sense to Jemima. She was hovering before the senior guard at the great archway through the outer walls of the Tower, wringing her hands and attempting to appear as abjectly desperate as she did actually feel. Beyond the entrance, the grounds were a tramping busyness of noise. Over the guard’s head could be seen the passing of a hundred servants, gardeners, cle
aners, cooks, pages and messengers. The constant marching feet and shouted orders of the patrols echoed. Two boys ran past, bringing butchered meat wrapped in linen, ready for the animals in the small menagerie.
Then the voice behind Jemima spoke again, louder, and impinged. “Jem, it’s me. Peter. I’ve come to see him too.”
She whirled around, and Thomas grinned. “You’re exactly who we need. Use your influence, man. Son of a lord. Start shouting. Start demanding.”
Peter sniggered. “Your offer of a bribe has more chance of success than me demanding anything. But I’ll try.” He stepped forwards and addressed the guard. “My father is Sir Walter Hutton. He sits on the Royal Council and is a friend of his majesty the king. Will you refuse me admittance?”
The guard bit his lip. “Never heard of him. My orders is, no admittance.”
“My father is at the palace right now, visiting his majesty.”
“Then,” pointed out the guard, “reckon I’ll get new orders shortly. When they comes, then t’will be the time for admittance. Till then, no one ain’t coming in.”
Jemima turned away, taking Peter’s arm. “I didn’t expect to be welcomed willingly,” she said. “So now I’m ready to battle the king. Will you come with us to Eltham Palace?”
“My father’s there already. We can meet up.”
A lion roared from a distance, and the strange sound lingered like thunder in the air. “The beasts are hungry.” Thomas shuddered.
“I’m hungry too, but not for food. It’s a long ride. And it’s going to rain again. I don’t mind that.” Jemima looked back towards Thomas. “Shall we go now?”
“We’ve less chance of speaking with the king than we ever had of seeing Richard.”
Peter shook his head. “Papa has influence.”
Jemima turned into the wind. “And if I can’t see the king, then it doesn’t really matter either. It’s Lord Staines I really want to see. But it will have to be arranged in secret or he’ll avoid us.”
Thomas grinned. “With the gossip about Richard now common knowledge, I think everyone will avoid us. But Staines may be the only one who doesn’t.”
Chapter Forty
It was not the roar of a lion, but a wail of pain. “His majesty’s tooth,” frowned the Master of the Stool, “is giving great pain. I have called for Doctor Butts. He does not normally draw teeth, but I feel he will be the best man to advise us. His majesty trusts his senior medik.”
Thomas Cromwell smiled without noticeable humour. “My news, sir, may cure the toothache as surely as William Butts can manage.”
Henry waved a beckoning finger. “Thomas. Here. Here.” He paced, heavy footed, so the boards boomed and vibrated. “I’m in great pain, Thomas. My health, as you know, is never strong. The responsibilities, the duties, the strains of my position!”
“I understand, your grace,” sighed Thomas Cromwell. “The great good of all your people rests on your shoulders, sire.”
Not only.” The king clamped his palm to the side of his face. “The weight of domestic problems. Life is not kind, Thomas. My wretched body betrays me.” He stared a moment, blue glass eyes reflecting the last rays of daylight slanting through the long window. “Have you come, sir, with a solution to my domestic problems?”
Cromwell hurried forwards. The king, his palm still clasped to his cheek, stopped pacing and stared. Reminded of the toothache his gaze descended into misery and the wail raised to roar as the echoes of scuffle and running feet pounded from the far corridor.
“Your grace, I have indeed.” Thomas turned in surprise, “But for the toothache, I believe Doctor Butts must be at the point of arrival. Forgive me sire, I have no clear idea – ”
“Ideas, Thomas, ideas?” demanded his majesty. “I don’t need ideas. I need action. I am in pain, sir, in serious pain. And now there is an entirely unacceptable commotion in the vicinity. This is forbidden, may I remind you, anywhere near the royal apartments.”
“It would seem unduly chaotic simply for the admittance of the doctor.”
The shouting of the guards thundered as answering demands were interrupted by the clash of lance and pike.
Henry turned to his cluster of servants, hovering with towels and blank expressions. “Do something, fools,” demanded their king. “I ordered no untoward interruptions.”
“It would appear, sire,” said Cromwell, nodding towards the main doors, “that your guards are in control, and are upholding the very ruling you have just announced yourself. The culprits, whoever they are, will be ushered from the premises, and possibly arrested. Meanwhile, sire, there is the toothache. Of greater importance, I am sure.”
“Importance, man?” shrieked the king on a misbalance of notes, “This is life or death, sir. Get me the doctor.”
“William Butts has been sent for, your grace. Perhaps he has been unable to enter due to the recent turmoil.”
The shouting continued outside. Someone yelled, “I demand to see the king.”
Another voice squealed, “I am being slaughtered. Mishandled. I have a right to accuse any man who so roughly – ”
“You prod me again with that damned sharp pike,” someone shouted, “and I shall have you up before the judge for wanton cruelty, d’you hear me?” There was immediate stamping and the crash of someone falling. Then another shout, “If you were on my boat, I’d have you tossed overboard.”
“He’s a thief and a treasonous pirate,” squeaked the other voice.
Then the louder and more authoritative command as someone called, “I have come to speak to my sovereign lord, as summoned. My services are required, refuse me admittance at your peril, fool.”
“Doctor Butts?” enquired one of the guards without conviction.
“Get out of my way, man. I am Sir Walter Hutton and a friend of the king.”
Which is when Cromwell smothered a faint giggle and the king looked up, smiled suddenly, groaned and again clutched at his jaw, but managed to say, “Walter? What does the wretch want,? Find out. I’ve sent for no one except the doctor, but Sir Walter may have something of importance to say.”
“I imagine he has,” sighed Cromwell. “It concerns his step-son and is exactly what I came to inform your grace myself. Before, that is, I discovered the difficulty of the toothache.”
“Enough,” roared the king, bumping himself down heavily on the nearest well cushioned chair. “You,” he pointed at one of the hovering pages, “get spiced wine.” He turned back to Cromwell, “And you! Tell me what this has to do with young Richard Wolfdon. He’s been missing for months. I thought him dead. Now I have his step-father causing a disturbance with two other drunken fools. Quick, quick, what is all this about.”
“Ah,” Cromwell sighed. “Now let me see. Where shall I begin?”
Which is when the doctor turned up and was quickly escorted into the chamber. He trotted in with his two assistants, followed by two servants carrying bowls of steaming water and piles of soft folded towels. “Ah, your majesty,” bowed Master Butts, clearly flustered, “there is a certain confusion outside – ”
“We are well aware of that, since we can scarcely ignore it,” Cromwell pointed out. “But I imagine the guards are not outnumbered.”
“They’ve sent for reinforcements,” grumbled the doctor. ”They almost refused entry to us as well, sire.”
“Never mind the excuses,” said the king, deeply flushed. “Start work, man. Get on with it. I need help here.” He glared at Cromwell. “And while this man does his job, you, sir, will explain what this disgraceful interruption is all about.”
The rush to obey was instantaneous. Henry was led to the large cushioned chair set beside the light of window, candle and lantern. The two servants quickly knelt, and the doctor, and the three assistants muttering apologies, investigated the source of their lord’s agonies.
“Ah,” Doctor Butts exclaimed, his head to his sovereign’s chin, “the tooth is evident, sire, and must be extracted.
Cromwell sto
od back and attempted not to smile.
“It is a matter of some urgency, sire,” he explained with care. “But also demands some privacy, sire, for the details to be recounted. It is a matter of intimacy. Of treason. But also of matters related to your own security, sire. I hesitate to speak in front of so many.”
“Ah,” mumbled the king, leaning back in his chair with his mouth wide open and two sets of fingers rummaging. His agony was distorted. “Geron, man, gerron.”
Cromwell tucked his hands into the opposing sleeves. “Your majesty may recall that recently we have spoken of certain matters regarding your grace’s – recent – and future – nuptials. There have been hints of misdemeanour and impropriety. I have been investigating at great length, and in considerable depth, sire. Subsequent to the accusations of a certain minor member of the court, my investigations began to lead in a new direction.”
“Ugh,” nodded the king with distracted eagerness.
“The gentleman I was thus obliged to arrest, sire, in spite of my doubts as to such a man’s guilt, appears more and more likely to be entirely innocent. The accuser, however, may not be. This has been the source of my latest line of enquiry. It crossed my mind, sire, that such a man might accuse another simply in order to remove suspicion from himself.”
His majesty lurched backwards and screamed with such energy that the continuing commotion outside was suddenly silenced. Even Cromwell was startled. Every servant within the vast chamber halted, arms upraised. William Butts stood back with a large smile, a black pointed tooth gripped between the clips of the pincers he was holding.
“A success,” he announced. “I am no tooth-puller, your majesty, but at your majesty’s command I believe the result is entirely as your grace had wished. Quick, quick,” he turned to one of the kneeling assistants, “get cloths. And his majesty needs warm water and spiced wine.”
The Deception of Consequences Page 40
