No more suits did remain.


The like will never more he seen


Till More be there again.”

“Yes, Father,” said Dauncey impatiently, after he had given his polite laugh. “That is good for those who would wish their cases to be heard; but it is not so good for the friends of the Chancellor.”

“How so, my son?”

“When Thomas Wolsey was Chancellor, not only the members of his privy chamber but even the keepers of his doors took great gain to themselves.”

“Ah,” said Thomas. “Now I understand. You feel that a daughter of this Chancellor should be at least as profitable as a door in the house of the last.”

“Profit?” said Dauncey. “But there is no profit. How could I take gifts from those whom I brought to your presence when in bringing them to you I could do no more for them than they could do for themselves?”

“You think I am at fault in making myself accessible to all who desire to see me?”

“It may be a commendable thing,” said Dauncey stubbornly, “but it is not a profitable thing for a son-in-law. How could I take reward from a man for something he could get without my help?”

“I admire your scrupulous conscience, my son.” He smiled at Dauncey. Dauncey yearned for advancement. He was not a bad boy; he but obeyed his father, Sir John Dauncey, in his determination to rise. Now Dauncey looked downcast; he did not always understand his father-in-law. Thomas laid a hand on his shoulder. “If, my son, you have some matter which you wish to place before me, if you have a friend whom you wish to help, well then, you could always put this matter before me. I might hear the cause of a friend of yours before that of another if it could be done. But remember this, son Dauncey—and I assure you this on my faith— that if my father himself stood on one side of me and the Devil on the other, and in this instance the Devil's case was the right one, then must I decide in favor of the Devil. Come, walk with me in the gardens. You too, son Roper. I like to have you with me.”

And he put his arm through Dauncey's, for Dauncey was looking ashamed; and he spoke to him with the utmost kindliness.

It was not Dauncey's fault that he had been brought up on ambition. Moreover, he had softened somewhat since he had come to Chelsea.


* * *

ALICE WAS in a flurry of excitement, making preparations for the wedding of Jack to Anne Cresacre. This was to be the peak of her achievements so far; there had been other marriages in the family; ah, yes, but those had been the marriages of Thomas More, later Sir Thomas; now the son of the Lord Chancellor was to be married.

Alice was a little disappointed that the King would not be among the guests. She listened to the talk when they did not always think she listened; she heard some of the remarks which had passed between Margaret and her father, and also some of the hints of the Duke of Norfolk—who called at the house quite frequently, to Alice's delight—and she gathered that Thomas, as was to be expected, was not making the most of his opportunities. He was deliberately opposing the King, and all because the King wanted a divorce and Thomas did not think he should have it.

“What the good year!” said Alice to herself. “This man of mine is a most foolhardy person. He is so careless of his position that he treats it with indifference; and yet, as regards this matter of the King's he is most firm and resolute. 'Tis nothing but stubborn folly, and I am glad that my lord of Norfolk agrees with me.”

Well, the King would not be at the wedding; nevertheless, it was to be a grand affair. She had bought the young couple one of the new portable clocks which were such a novelty, as they were unknown in England this time last year. It was pleasant to be in a position to buy such things.

Such a feast she would prepare! All should marvel at the good table she kept in Chelsea. She had planned this feast again and again, altering an item here and there, until Margaret cried out in dismay that if she were not careful she would find her feast falling short of perfection because she would forget what she had decided for and what against.

She puffed about the kitchen, taking a look at the boar which was being soaked in vinegar and juniper; she went out to the sties to study the fatness of the pigs which would be killed; she went to the cellars to see how the mead and metheglin were maturing. She inspected her pickles, which must be the best she had ever produced.

Hourly she admonished her servants. “Do not forget. This is no marriage of a mean person. This is the marriage of the son of the Lord Chancellor of England.”

“Yes, my lady. Yes, my lady.”

My lady! she thought blissfully. My lady!

Ah, this was the good and pleasant life. Her only fear was that Thomas would do something to spoil it, for indeed Thomas seemed to have no understanding of the great dignity which should be his. It was all very well for him to poke fun at her, to laugh at her dignity. She must have her dignity. She did not forget she was the wife of the Lord Chancellor, if he was so foolish as to forget the dignity he owed to his office.

She would have ceremony in her household. He was wrong to welcome into the house every humble traveler who, hearing there was a chance of a good meal at the table of Sir Thomas More, arrived at mealtimes. He was wrong always to wear the same somber dress. Not a jewel on his person! And when it was remembered how glorious had been the Cardinal, and how the crowds had gathered in the streets of London to see him pass … well, puffed Alice, it is enough to make a woman wonder what manner of man she has married. He had no sense of his power, of his dignity.

Recently Giles Heron had occasion to bring a case to the courts against a certain Nicholas Millisante. But would Master More favor his own son-in-law? Indeed, he would not. Master Giles had gone confidently to court. Naturally, the somewhat easygoing Giles had expected his father-in-law to decide in his favor and … Thomas had decided against him!

“A fine thing!” Alice had chided. “So the affairs of your family mean nothing to you? People will say that the Lord Chancellor has no power, since he is afraid to give a verdict in favor of his own son-in-law.”

“What matters that, Alice, if they know that the laws of England are just?”

“Tut, tut,” said Alice to herself. “Tut, tut” was my lord of Norfolk's favorite expression, and Alice was ready to ape the manners of the great, even if Thomas was not.

Thomas scorned all pomp and show. A week ago, when Norfolk had called unexpectedly on matters of business, Thomas had actually been singing in the choir of Chelsea Church. There he had been, wearing a surplice like an ordinary man; and Alice was not surprised that the sight of him, so undignified, had shocked the Duke.

“God's Body! God's Body!” Norfolk had cried. “My Lord Chancellor playing parish clerk! Tut-tut, you dishonor the King and his office, Master More.”

Had Thomas been contrite? Not in the least. He had merely smiled that slow maddening smile of his and answered: “Nay, your Grace, I cannot think that the King would deem the service of God a dishonor to his office.”

And there had been His Grace of Norfolk lost for words, while Thomas smiled and was so sure of himself. Yet the Duke had not been angered by that sharp answer; he had seemed most friendly with Thomas, both during the meal and afterward in the gardens.

But Alice herself would remember the dignity due to his office, if others did not. And she would have her servants remember also. In Chelsea Church each morning after prayers she had insisted that one of his gentlemen should come to her pew and tell her of the departure of her husband, although she knew the moment when he must leave the church. This gentleman of her husband's must bow before Alice and say: “Madame, my lord is gone.”

Then she would bow her head and solemnly thank him. It was a ritual which made the others smile. But let them smile, said Alice. Someone must remember the dignity of the house.

Now one of her serving maids came to her to tell her that there was a poor woman at the door who would have speech with her.

“There are always poor women at the door!” she cried. “They come here begging from this house, because they know the master's orders that none should be turned away without a hearing. It seems to me that beggars are given more honors here than are noble dukes.”

But this poor woman had not come to beg, she assured Lady More. She had a pretty dog, and as she had heard of Lady Mores fondness for these animals she had brought it along in the hope of selling it to her ladyship.

Alice was immediately attracted by the engaging little creature. She gave the woman a coin and welcomed yet another pet into the house.


* * *

IT WAS only a week or so after the wedding when the absurd controversy about the dog arose.

Alice was annoyed. A beggar woman, roaming near the house, saw the dog being carried by one of the servants and immediately declared that it had been stolen from her.

The servant retorted that this was nonsense. My lady had bought the dog. If the old beggar woman did not go away at once she would be tied to a tree and whipped.

Alice was indignant. To dare to say I stole the dog! I! Does she not know who I am? The wife of none other than the Lord Chancellor!

But the beggar woman would not go away. She loitered on the river bank, and one day when she saw the Lord Chancellor himself alight from his barge she accosted him.