Later that night, back in his bed, their bed, Henry loved her with the tenderness of a new husband.
Tucked into the shelter of his frame, rejoicing at his solid arms supporting her, he pulled her closer in.
“The next will be a boy,” she promised.
She shifted her neck to press more of his rough face against her skin, but he propped himself up.
“Anne, I asked you a question!”
“Yes! Yes!” Anne replied, disoriented, trying to pull herself back awake and focus on his form in the dark chamber. She reached out and stroked his hair.
“I asked if you were faithful in prayer,” he repeated.
“I pray, morning and night, that God would grant us a son.”
Henry lowered himself back down, saying nothing. Anne draped herself across him, and waited until at last his arm lifted and went round her again. As she listened to his heart, she remembered that she had left the Hutchins book in her lying-in chamber. She would get rid of it tomorrow; it had caused nothing but turmoil for her. She was ready for peace, and blessings, and sons. Sir Thomas was under arrest, proof that God was working on her behalf. She did not need this book any longer to assure her of His will.
“It can offer me no more than this.” She smiled to herself, feeling Henry’s gentle breaths, and drifted to sleep. A wind kicked up in the gardens below, and she heard animals scampering back into their dens before the storm.
Chapter Twenty-six
Margaret was vomiting, her head hanging over a brown hedge at the edge of the steps. The tutor, Candice, claimed to be suffering from vapors and fled inside, leaving Rose alone and trembling.
She handed the boy a silver groat and he fairly skipped back down to the steps at the bottom of the garden, back on the barge to return to the city. He had been thrilled to deliver the papers because it lined his pocket. His mother might eat well tonight, or his sister. Sir Thomas’s impending death was feeding the world, Rose thought bitterly. They were feasting upon him already.
The papers, signed with a seal from the Star Chamber of King Henry, read:
That he should be carried back to the Tower of London and from thence drawn on a hurdle through the City of London to Tyburn, there to be hanged till he should be half dead; that he should be cut down alive, his privy parts cut off, his belly ripped, his bowels burnt, his four quarters set up over four gates of the City, and his head upon London Bridge.
Rose braced herself and went inside.
“They will be coming! We must save what we can.” Candice was in the room, ghostlike, lifting a silver candlestick and setting it inside a pillowcase. She was taking the silver, leaving the portrait Holbein had done of the family, looking with an ashen face round the room.
“Who will be coming? Who will be coming?” Margaret demanded.
Candice didn’t respond.
Margaret grabbed her, shaking her until Candice’s face settled on hers.
“The king’s men. When your father is dead, all his property is forfeit. You will be turned out,” Candice said.
“But he is not dead yet! There is still hope!” Rose cried.
“Children, go through the house. Bring me everything Father has written to you. All our books too.” Margaret commanded.
Margaret herself ran into his office, bringing out papers and banned books he had hunted. She threw them into a pile in the garden and set it on fire. She grabbed a Hutchins book to throw in, but Rose stopped her.
“What else do we have left to cling to but these words?”
“Look what they have done, Rose! Everything my father did was to prevent these words from being in the hands of little fools like you! And look what mischief they have done! Laws overturned, churches desecrated, priests treated like criminals!”
“But I have read this book, Margaret. It says none of those things. It gives life to those who read it, not death!”
Margaret began to laugh.
“What is amusing?” Rose asked, confused.
Margaret refused to answer. Instead she turned to the children gathered around her, their chins trembling, fingers in their mouths. “I will encourage Father to sign the Act of Supremacy. He was once Henry’s favoured servant, and his life will be spared if he agrees to this. Do not give up hope!”
Rose waited at the edge of the garden. Everything was lifeless. Winter’s rains and winds had stripped the leaves from every plant. Those that remained were curled and brown. She pulled her shawl around her shoulders, waiting for her mistress.