She hesitated, wanting to demand of him why he thought he might give her orders when to sit and when to stand; but something in his eyes restrained her. She sat down, her head held high, her eyes imperious.
“I would know why you think fit to come to me at this hour and disturb me with your presence. I would know . . .”
“You shall know,” said Norfolk grimly. “Smeaton is in the Tower. He had confessed to having committed adultery with you.”
She grew very pale, and stood up, her eyes flashing.
“How dare you come to me with such vile accusations!”
“Tut, tut, tut!” said Norfolk, and shook his head at her. “Norris is also in the Tower.” He lied: “He also admits to adultery with you.”
“I will not believe that he could be guilty of such falsehood! I will not believe it of either. Please leave me at once. I declare you shall suffer for your insolence.”
“Forget not,” said Norfolk, “that we come by the King’s command to conduct you to the Tower, there to abide His Highness’s pleasure.”
“I must see the King,” said Anne. “My enemies have done this. These stories you would tell me would be tragic, were they not ridiculous. . . .”
“It is not possible for you to see the King.”
“It is not possible for
“You must await the King’s pleasure, and he has said he does not wish to see you.”
She was really frightened now. The King had sent these men to arrest her and take her to the Tower; he had said he did not wish to see her. Lies were being told about her. Norris? Smeaton? Oh, no! Not those two! They had been her friends, and she would have sworn to their loyalty. What did this mean. . . . George, where was George? She needed his advice now as never before.
“If it be His Majesty’s pleasure,” she said calmly, “I am ready to obey.”
In the barge she felt very frightened. She was reminded of another journey to the Tower, of a white falcon which had been crowned by an angel, of the King, waiting to receive her there . . . eager that all the honor be could give her should be hers.
She turned to her uncle. “I am innocent of these foul charges. I swear it! I swear it! If you will but take me to the King, I know I can convince him of my innocence.”
She knew she could, if she could but see him . . . if she could but take his hands. . . . She had ever been able to do with him what she would . . . but she had been careless of late. She had never loved him; she had not much cared that he had strayed; she had thought that she had but to flatter him and amuse him, and he would be hers. She had never thought that this could happen to her, that she would be removed from him, not allowed to see him, a prisoner in the Tower.
Norfolk folded his arms and looked at her coldly. One would have thought he was her bitterest enemy rather than her kinsman.
“Your paramours have confessed,” he said, shrugging his shoulders. “’Twould be better if you did likewise.”
“I have naught to confess. Have I not told you! What should I confess? I do not believe that these men have made confessions; you say so to trap me. You are my enemy; you always have been.”
“Calm yourself!” said Norfolk. “Such outbursts can avail you nothing.”
They made fast the barge; they led her up the steps; the great gate opened to admit her.
“Oh, Lord, help me,” she murmured, “as I am guiltless of that whereof I am accused.” Sir William Kingston came out to receive her, as he had on that other occasion. “Mr. Kingston,” she asked, “do I go into a dungeon?”
“No, Madam,” answered the constable, “to your own lodgings where you lay at your coronation.”
She burst into passionate weeping, and then she began to laugh hysterically; and her sobs, mingling with her laughter, were pitiful to hear. She was thinking of then and now—and that in but three short years. A queen coming to her coronation; a queen coming to her doom.
“It is too good for me!” she cried, laughing as the sobs shook her. “Jesus have mercy on me!”
Kingston watched her until her hysteria passed. He was a hard man but he could not but be moved to pity. He had seen some terrible sights in these gray, grim buildings, but he thought that this girl, laughing and crying before him, presented one of the most pathetic he had ever witnessed. He had received her on her first coming to the Tower, thought her very beautiful in her coronation robes with her hair flowing about her; he could not but compare her then with this poor weeping girl, and so was moved in spite of himself.
She wiped her eyes, controlled her laughter, and her dignity returned to her. She listened to a clock strike five, and such a familiar, homely sound reminded her of ordinary matters. Her family—what of them?
She turned to the members of the council, who were about to leave her in Kingston’s care.
“I entreat you to beseech the King in my behalf that he will be a good lord unto me,” she said; and when they had taken their leave, Kingston conducted her to her apartments.
She said: “I am the King’s true wedded wife.” Anne added: “Mr. Kingston, do you know wherefore I am here?”
“Nay!” he answered.
“When saw you the King?”
