Mercy rose. She was not unduly disturbed. She did not expect them to come for him here. This must be a friend calling. No? Then a messenger from the Court. It must be someone for John, for he was now one of the King's physicians.
The man came forward. He carried a scroll in his hands.
“A message for me?” asked John.
“Nay, sir. I was instructed to deliver this to Sir Thomas More at Chelsea, but, hearing that he was at your house, I have saved myself the journey.”
Thomas rose to receive the scroll. “Thank you. You were wise to save yourself the journey.”
He did not look at the scroll, but chatted awhile with the messenger in his friendly way; and when the man had left, he still held it unopened in his hands.
“Father …” began Mercy fearfully.
“Let us eat this excellent meal you have prepared for us, my daughter.”
“But…”
“After,” he said. “There is time for that.”
Then he began to talk of the sermon he and Will had heard at St. Paul's; but none of them was attending; their eyes kept going to the scroll which lay on the table.
“Father,” said Will angrily, “keep us no longer in suspense. What is this?”
“Have you not guessed, my son? I'll warrant it is an instruction for me to appear before the Commissioners to take the Oath of Supremacy.”
“Then, Father, look at it. Make sure.”
“Why, Will, you fret too much. We knew this must come.”
“Father,” said Will in exasperation, “your calm maddens me. Read it… for pity's sake.”
Thomas read. “Yes, Will,” he said. “I am to appear before the Commissioners at Lambeth to take the Oath.”
“It is more than I can bear,” said Will. “It is more than Margaret can bear.”
“Take hope, my son. Let no trouble drive you to misery. If the trouble is lasting, it is easy to bear. If it is hard to bear, it does not last long.”
“Father, when do you go to Lambeth?” asked Mercy.
“Tomorrow. You see, today I need not fret. Today I may do what I will.”
“We must go back to Chelsea,” said Will.
“Why?”
“They will wish to have you with them as long as possible. Margaret…”
“Let her be. Let her have this day in peace. The sooner she knows this notice has been served upon me, the sooner will she fret even as you do, Will.”
“Is the knowledge that this has come any worse than the fear that it will, the knowledge that it must?”
“Yes, Will. For in uncertainty there is hope. Leave Margaret for a while. Come, let us eat, or Mercy will be offended. She and her servants have taken great pains to please us with these foods.”
Eat! Take pleasure in food? How could they?
They sat there at the table, and the pain in their hearts was almost unbearable.
And the only merry one at that table was Sir Thomas More.
THEY WENT along the river, back to Chelsea, in the early evening.
“Not a word yet, Will,” said Thomas. “Leave them in peace…. Let them have this day.”
“But, Father,” said Will in distress, “I doubt that I can keep my fears from them.”
“You have been displaying fears for many a day, Will. Smile, my son. They'll not know. They'll not think this could be served on me anywhere but in my own home. Let us have one more merry night at home. Let us sing and tell tales and laugh and be happy together, Will… just for one more night.”
Will did manage to curb his misery. He sang as loudly as the rest; and he was aware of his father-in-law's gratitude.
And that night, when he lay beside Margaret, he was sleepless, and so was she.
She whispered: “Will, it cannot be long now, can it? There cannot be many more such days left to us.”
And Will said: “It cannot be long.” He remembered his father's plea and he did not say: “There can be no more such days. Today is the last, for tomorrow he goes to Lambeth.”
THE NEXT morning the family rose as usual. Thomas had an air of resignation which Margaret noticed: it was almost as though he found pleasure in this day. Alice noticed it too; she thought, I do believe he is going to do as the King wishes. I do believe he has come to his senses at last.
But after they had breakfasted he said: “Come … let us go to church.”
They walked across the fields to Chelsea Church as they had done on many other mornings. And after the service, when the sun was high in the sky, he laid his hand on Will's arm and said: “Will, 'Tis time we were away.”
He called to two of the servants and said: “Have the barge ready. This day I have to go to Lambeth.”
So they knew. The day had come.
Margaret took a step toward him, but his eyes held her off. Not here, Meg, they said. Not here … before the others.
“I have to go to Lambeth.” Those words might not sound ominous to the others as they did to Margaret and Will.
He is going to Lambeth on some business of the Parliament, they would think. He will be home ere evening.
But Margaret knew why he must go to Lambeth; and she knew what he would do when he was there. In her eyes was a mute appeal; Father, Father, do as they wish. What does it matter who is Head of the Church, if you are head of your family and continue to live with them to their delight and your own?
He was looking at Margaret now. He said: “Do not come beyond the wicket gate. I must go in haste. Good-bye to you all.”
He kissed them all, and when her turn came, Margaret clung to him.
“Father…”
“Good-bye, my daughter, my beloved daughter. I shall be with you … ere long….”
And he went over the lawns, opening the wicket gate, shutting it fast when Will had passed through, down the steps to the barge.
He took one look at the house which he had built, the house in which he was to have known perfect happiness with his family. He looked at the casements glittering in the sunshine, the peacocks on the wall, the blossoming fruit trees in the orchards. Who would gather the fruit this year? he wondered.
One last look at all that contained his happiness on Earth. Then he turned to Will, and as the barge slipped slowly away from the stairs he said: “I thank the Lord, son Roper, that the field is won.”
HE WAS sent to the Tower, and all the brightness had fled from the house in Chelsea.
There was no more pleasure in that house. There was nothing to do but wait in fear for what would happen next.
Margaret had begged to see her father, and because of the influence Dr. Clement and Giles Allington were able to exert, she was at last allowed the privilege.
She had not slept at all the night before; indeed, for many nights she had had little sleep. She would lightly doze and wake with thoughts of her father in his comfortless cell. During the days she would walk along the river until she could more clearly see that grim fortress, which had become his prison.
And now that she was to see him, now that she might take boat and go down the river to the Tower, she must be ready to offer him words of comfort. She must try not to beg him to do that which was against his conscience.
She reached the stairs; she alighted from the barge. Will helped her out, for he had insisted on coming as far as the Tower with her. Will would wait for her. Dear, good Will, the best of comforters, the dearest of husbands! She would bless the day her father had brought him to the house; for she must think of her blessings, not her miseries.
How she hated the place—the place that impressed her with its might and its horror! She looked up at the round towers, at the narrow slits which served as windows, at the dungeons with the bars across the slits. And here, in this place, was her father, her beloved father.