“Bounty is the sign of the great, and honourable service ensureth its continuance,” he said in a dry and arrogant voice. “This is my Lord Privy Seal’s vails. My lord hath gone to his own house.”
He presented the purse of gold, and peered round at the room which, following the warrant, had been assigned by a clerk from the Earl Marshal’s office.
“I thank your lord, and shall endeavour to deserve his good bounty,” Katharine said. The nightshade juice being left two days behind she had the use of her eyes and much of the stiffness had gone out of her wrist.
“Your ladyship had much the wiser,” he answered. He lifted the hangings and, under pretence of examining into her comfort, peered into the great Flemish press and felt under the heavy black table to see if it had a drawer for papers. Cromwell had been forced, following the King’s command, to give Katharine her place. But he had no love for Howards, and already the maids of the Lady Mary were a mutinous knot. Viridus was instructed to keep an attentive eye upon this girl—for they might hang her very easily since she was outspoken; or, having got her neck into a noose, they could work upon her terror and make her spy upon the Lady Mary herself. None of the Lady Mary’s women were housed very sumptuously, but in this room there were at least an old tapestry, a large Flemish chair, a feather bed in a niche like an arched cell over which the hangings could be drawn, and a cord of wood for the fire. He hummed and hawed that workmen must come to bring her better hangings, and a servitor be found to keep her door. A watch was to be set on her; the women who measured her for clothes would try to discover whom she loved and hated, and the serving man at her door would report her visitors.
“My lord hath you very present in his mind,” Viridus said.
She was commanded to go on the Saturday to the house in Austin Friars, where my lord was preparing a great feast in the honour of the Queen.
Katharine said that she had no dress to go in.
“A seemly decent habit shall be got ready,” he answered. “You shall sit in a gallery in private, and it shall be pointed out to you what lords you shall speak with and whom avoid.” For “com’ è bella giovinezza” … How beautiful is youth, what a pleasant season! And since it lasted but a short space it behoved us all—and her as much as any—to make as much as might be whilst it endured. The regard of a great lord such as Privy Seal brought present favours and future honours in the land, honours being pleasant in their turn, when youth is passed, like the mellow suns of autumn. “Thereby indeed,” he apostrophised her, “the savour of youth reneweth itself again and again. … ‘Anzi rinuova come fa la luna,’ in the words of Boccace.”
Her fair and upright beauty made Viridus acknowledge how excellent a spy upon the Lady Mary she might make. Papistry and a loyal love for the Old Faith seemed to be as strong in her candid eyes as it was implicit in her name. The Lady Mary might trust her for that and talk with her because of her skill in the learned tongues. Then, if they held her in their hands, how splendid a spy she might make, being so trusted! She might well be won for their cause by the offer of liberal rewards, though Privy Seal’s hand had been heavy upon all her kinsfolk. These men of Privy Seal’s get from him a maxim which he got in turn from his master Macchiavelli: “Advance therefore those whom it shall profit thee to make thy servants: for men forget sooner the death of a father than the loss of a patrimony”—and either by threats or by rewards they might make her very useful.
She had been minded to mock him in the beginning of his speech, but his dangerous pale-blue eyes made her feel that if he were ridiculous he was also very powerful, and that she was in the hands of these men.
Therefore she answered that youth indeed was a pleasant season when health, good victuals and the love of God sustained it.
He surveyed her out of the corners of his eyes.
“Seek, then, to deserve these good things,” he said. He stayed some time longer directing her how she should wear her clothes, and then in the gathering dusk he dwindled stealthily through the door.
“It is to make you like a chained-up beast or slave,” Margot said to her mistress.
“Why, hold your tongue, coney, after today,” Katharine answered, “the walls shall hear. I am a very poor man’s daughter and must even earn my bread if I would stay here.”
“They could never tie me so,” Margot retorted.
Her mistress laughed:
“Why, you may set nets for the wind, but what a man will catch is still uncertain.”
It was cold, and they piled up the fire, waiting for someone to bring them candles.
A tall and bulky figure, with a heavy cloak cast over one shoulder in the Spanish fashion, but with a priest’s cap, was suddenly in the doorway.
“Ha, magister,” Katharine said, knowing no other man that could visit her. But the firelight shone upon a heavy, firm jaw that was never the magister’s, on white hands and in threatening, steadfast eyes.
“I am the unworthy Bishop Gardiner, of Winchester,” a harsh voice
