“And that, my dear daughter, is what happens to women who attach great importance to beauty, for beauty is like an unfaithful lover; once gone, it cannot be recalled.”

But Ailie merely laughed and kissed him in her attractive way. “Ah, dearest Father, but no woman believes her lover is going to be unfaithful while he is faithful; and as you yourself have said, why should we worry about tomorrows evils? Does not the Bible say, ‘Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof?’”

Thomas could not resist her charms, and for all that she set such store by those pleasures which he deemed to hold no real value, for once he found she could score over him with her feminine logic.

So Ailie continued to make lotions for the freshening of her skin, and kept her hands soft and supple, avoiding any household tasks which made them otherwise. As for Alice, she looked the other way when Ailie refused to do such tasks. If Alice wished to see all the girls married well—which she certainly did—she wished Ailie to make the most brilliant marriage of all.

So came Giles Allington, heir to a rich estate and title, with the manners of the Court, and jewels in his doublet; and for all that he was a court gallant, he could not hide his admiration for Ailie as she concealed her interest in him.

“Where she learned such tricks I do not know,” said Cecily wistfully.

“ 'Twas not in this house,” said Elizabeth.

“There are some who are born with such knowledge, I believe,” said Mercy. “And Ailie is one of them.”

So it seemed, for Ailie grew very gay after the visit of Giles Allington, and although she was interested in Master Allington's lands and titles rather than in himself, she grew prettier every day.

“She blooms,” said Cecily, “as they say girls bloom when they are in love.”

“She is in love,” said Margaret. “For a girl can be in love with good fortune as well as with a man.”

Giles Allington came often to the house in Bucklersbury; and Alice and her daughter talked continually of the young man. Alice declared herself pleased that Thomas had won the King's favor and that he was now a man of no small importance. Will Roper was of good family, and he was as a son of the house; John Clement was slowly rising in the service of the Cardinal, and he looked upon this family as his own; and now the handsome and wealthy Giles Allington came to visit them. They were rising in the world.

Life went on pleasantly in this way for many months.

When the King and his lords went to France to entertain and be entertained by the French and their King with such magnificence and such great cost that this venture was afterward called “The Field of the Cloth of Gold,” Thomas went with the party on the business of the King and the Cardinal.

And it was at this time that William Roper declared his feelings for Margaret.

Margaret was now fifteen—small and quiet. She knew that— apart from her father—she was the most learned member of the family; but she had always seen herself as the least attractive, except in the eyes of her father.

Ailie was a beauty; Mercy had a quiet charm which was the essence of her gravity, a gentleness, the soothing quality of a doctor—and that was attractive, Margaret knew; Elizabeth, now that she was growing up, showed herself possessed of a merry, sparkling wit which, like her fathers, never wounded; Cecily was pretty and gay; Jack was jolly and full of fun. And I, pondered Margaret, I have none of their charms, for although when I have a pen in my hands, words come quickly, they do not always do so in conversation, except perhaps with Father. I most certainly lack Ailie's beauty; I am solemn rather than gay like Jack, who says things which, by their very simplicity, make us laugh.

It had always seemed to Margaret, on those rare occasions when her thoughts unwittingly strayed to the subject, that she would never marry. This did not perturb her for she had had no wish to do so.

And now … William Roper.

He asked her to talk with him, and they went into Goodman's Fields, where she had so often walked with her father. “It is not easy,” said Will, as they walked through the grass, “to talk in the house.”

“We are such a big family.”

“The happiest in London, I trow, Margaret. It was a good day for me when I joined it.”

“Father would be pleased to hear you say that.”

“I should not need to say it. I'll swear he knows it.”

“ 'Tis pleasant for me to hear you say it, Will.”

“Margaret… tell me this … how do you feel about me?”

“Feel about you? Oh … I am glad that you are with us, if that is what you mean.”

“I do, Margaret. Those words make me very happy … happier than if anyone else in the world had said them.”

She was astonished, and he went on quickly: “You are a strange girl, Margaret. I confess you alarm me a little. You know more Greek and Latin than any other girl in England.”

She was silent, thinking of Ailie, in a new blue gown, exclaiming at her as she sat over her books: “Latin … Greek … astronomy … mathematics…. There is more to be learned from life, Mistress Margaret, than you can find in those books!”

Ailie was right. Ailie had been born with that special knowledge.

“Margaret,” went on Will, “I… I am not so alarmed by you as I once was, for there are times when you seem to me like a very young girl.” He turned to her smiling. “You know what my feelings are for you, Margaret?”

“Why yes, Will. You like me … you like Father … you like us all.”

“But I like you better than any of them.”

“Not better than Father!”

“Oh sweet Meg, one of the things I love so much in you is your love for your father. I admire him more than any man I know; but Margaret—do not be shocked—I admire his daughter more.”

She laughed to hide her embarrassment. “That sounds like one of Fathers puns.”

“I must tell it to him.”

“Nay, if you do … he will know …”

“Oh Meg, dost think he does not know already?”

“But… why should he?”

“I think I must have made my feelings clear to all except you, so it is high time that you began to understand me. Margaret, I want you to marry me.”

“But… I am not going to marry.”

“You are young yet. I doubt your father would think it seemly for us to marry for a while. But you are fourteen…. Perhaps in a year or so …”

“But, Will, I had decided I should never marry. And you have disturbed me. It seems now that I shall not be able to think of you as I do of the others, like John Clement and Giles Allington.”

“But I do not wish you to think of me as you think of them. Oh, Margaret, you have not grown up yet. You have been so busy being a scholar that you have not yet become a woman. You could be both. That is what I wish, Meg: for you to be both. Say no more now. Think of this matter—but not too much so that it oppresses you. Become accustomed to the idea of marriage. Think of it, Meg. It is not that I wish to take you from your father. I do not. I would never take you from him, because I have seen that love which is between you, and it is a rare love. I know that. Nay. I am sure he would wish us to live under this roof… here as we do now You would be my wife. That would be the only difference. I beg of you, think of this matter. Promise me you will think of it, Margaret.”

“I… I will…. But I do not think I shall want to marry.”

They walked back to the house slowly and thoughtfully.


* * *

THE YEAR 1521 provided a turning point in the lives of Margaret and her father.

Thomas was drawn more and more into Court business. To Margaret, from whom he hid nothing, he said: “I feel like a fly in a web. Mayhap at one time I might have made a mighty effort… I might have escaped… but now the sticky threads hold me fast.”

“But the King is fond of you. He and the Cardinal find you useful.”

“You are right, Margaret, and I will say to you what I would say to no other: Both the King and the Cardinal are only fond of those who can be useful to them, and only so long as they are useful. A man can grow out of his usefulness.”

There was one matter which shocked Thomas deeply. It concerned both King and Cardinal, and taught him much concerning these men; yet when he looked back he realized that it had taught him little that he had not known before—rather it had confirmed his opinion.

The Cardinal had drawn closer to Thomas in those years during which they worked together. To Thomas he was sometimes frank, and when he was sure they were quite alone he would discuss the King in such a manner that, if it were known, might have cost him his head. Such was the measure of his trust in Thomas.

There was in the Cardinal an overweening pride. He believed himself indispensable to the King; and indeed it seemed that this might be so. The King made few decisions without his chief minister beside him. The King was content to amuse himself, knowing that matters of state rested in the capable hands of Thomas Wolsey.

There was no one—apart from the King and Lady Tailbois— who, in the first place, had been more delighted than the Cardinal when the King's natural son had been born to that lady. This had happened some four years ago, a year after the birth of the Princess Mary.

Now, in the year 1521, when the Queen had failed to give the King a son to follow Mary, the Cardinal was faintly disturbed by the affair and he opened his heart to Thomas.

“Why, Master More, when the boy was born, His Grace was like a child with the finest toy that has ever been given to him. He had a son—and for years he had been longing for a son. The Queens abortive attempts at child bearing have worried him considerably, for, as you know, he sets great store upon his manhood; and although it is His Graces custom to blame his partner in an adventure if blame should be necessary, there has been in him a slight fear that he may not be able to get him a son. Elizabeth Blount—or Lady Tailbois, if you wish—has proved him capable of getting a son; and little Henry Fitzroy is the apple of his eye. I was delighted in His Grace's delight. But the years have passed and there is still no male heir to the throne—nor even another girl. Master More, the King is restive, and the Queen does not grow younger: If she were not such a great Princess, and if I did not fear to offend the Spaniards I would suggest the marriage should be dissolved and another Princess found for him—one who could give him sons as Elizabeth Blount has shown that she can do.”