London - Edward Rutherfurd [312]
Thomas stared. How much did he know? Was he thinking of Peter? Probably. He must have discovered that he was at the Charterhouse. That King Henry had Susan in mind, and that he had once encountered her before, in this very garden, he had no idea.
“I have a brother, sire,” he began cautiously. “A priest until he became ill, and retired.”
“Indeed?” Henry had not known. “And where is he now?”
He must know. It was a trap. Or even if it wasn’t, he would probably soon discover. Useless to deceive him, either way.
“In the Charterhouse,” he replied miserably.
Everything went very quiet.
“The Charterhouse?” There was no mistaking his surprise. He had not known. His voice was now a rasp. “I hope you do not share their opinions. Their prior is about to die.” He glanced at Cromwell.
“Meredith is loyal, sire.” Cromwell’s reply was instant. Thank God. Henry nodded. “Good.” But Thomas knew he did not like these surprises; and Henry clearly had not done with him yet. “What other family have you, Master Meredith?” he quietly continued.
“Only a sister, sire.” Surely that could not interest him.
“Married? To whom?”
“Rowland Bull, sire.” He tried to keep calm, hoped the sudden trembling that afflicted him had not been noticed.
“Bull?” Henry seemed to be searching his mind. “In the chancellor’s office?” Thomas nodded, as King Henry stared, apparently at the hedge.
Yes. That was the woman. Henry hid a grimace. The one with the look: the living reproach. One did not look at kings like that.
“And are Mistress Bull and her husband loyal?” He turned to Cromwell who in turned gazed at Thomas. They waited for him.
“They are loyal, Your Majesty.”
For a few seconds Henry was silent, nodding quietly to himself before he spoke.
“We do not doubt it, Master Meredith.” His voice was quietly dry. Then he turned to his minister. “So we think, Cromwell, that Mistress Bull and her husband should take the oath. Let it be done tomorrow morning, before the sun is up. That is our will.” It was a command. Cromwell bowed his head. And now, suddenly, King Henry beamed at them all. “We have a better idea yet. Our loyal servant, young Master Meredith here, shall go to administer the oath to them himself. See it is done. How’s that?”
And he let out a great laugh that echoed round the garden.
The barge had left Hampton Court before dawn. For hours only the muffled sound of the oars had broken the silence as it passed through the greyness; and the mist was still swirling around Thomas’s feet as he reached the threshold of the little house at Chelsea. Once again Susan was dully repeating: “He will not take the oath.”
They had been arguing for over half an hour, in urgent whispers. Rowland, still unaware of his presence, had not yet come down; the children were sleeping. Again and again she had reproached him: “You promised this would not happen. You promised.”
There was only one thing he did not understand. So desperate, so guilty had her reproaches made him feel that, to defend himself, he had tried to explain to her exactly how he had come upon the king in the garden, and how Henry had so unexpectedly started to ask about his family. She became suddenly thoughtful then, and quiet, before at last she softly said: “Then it was my fault, too.”
What had she meant by that? Above all, what were they to do? “I shall take the oath,” Susan said simply. He knew she believed in it no more than Rowland. Yet wasn’t there a chance, when Rowland saw her submit, came face to face with the awful consequences of his decision for his family, that he might take the oath after all? But Susan only shook her head and in a voice made small by her rising tears, answered: “No. He won’t.”
Which left him one alternative. He had considered it last night, and all the way down the river from Hampton