'If you had asked me even six months before — perhaps,' she said sadly.
'I know my form is not such as to stir passion.'
'You do yourself disservice!' she said with unexpected heat. 'You have a fine manly face and good courtesy, you make too much of your bent back, as though you were the only man that had one. You have too much self-pity, Matthew, too much pride.'
'Then—'
She shook her head, tears in her eyes. 'It is too late. I love Piers. He is to ask Father for my hand.'
I said roughly that he was not good enough, she would pine away from boredom, but she replied hotly that soon she would have children and a good house to look after and was that not a woman's proper role, appointed by God? I was crushed and took my leave.
I never saw her again. A week later the sweating sickness hit the City like a hurricane. Hundreds began shivering and sweating, took to their beds and died within two days. It struck high and low and it took both Kate and her father. I remember their funeral, which I had arranged as the old man's executor, the wooden boxes slowly lowered into the earth. Looking at Piers Stackville over the coffin, his ravaged face told me he had loved Kate no less than I. He nodded to me in silent acknowledgement and I nodded back with a small, sad smile. I thanked God that at least I had released myself from the false doctrine of purgatory, which would have had Kate enduring its pains. I knew that her pure soul must be saved, at rest with Christ.
Tears come to my eyes as I write these words. They came to me that first night at Scarnsea, too. I let them fall silently, keeping myself from sobbing lest I waken Mark to an embarrassing scene. They cleansed me, and I slept.
===OO=OOO=OO===
But the nightmare returned that night. I had not dreamed of Queen Anne's killing for months, but seeing Singleton's body brought all back. Again I stood on Tower Green on a bright spring morning, one of the huge crowd standing round the straw-covered scaffold. I was at the front of the crowd; Lord Cromwell had ordered all those under his patronage to attend and identify themselves with the queen's fall. He himself stood nearby, at the front of the crowd. He had risen as one of Anne Boleyn's party; now he had prepared the indictment for adultery that brought her down. He stood frowning sternly, the embodiment of angry justice.
Straw was laid thickly around the block, and the executioner brought from France stood in his sinister black hood, arms folded. I looked for the sword he had brought to ensure a merciful end, at the queen's own request, but could not see it. I stood with my head deferentially lowered, for some of the greatest men in the land were there: Lord Chancellor Audley, Sir Richard Rich, the Earl of Suffolk.
We stood like statues, no one talking at the front, though there was a buzz of conversation from the crowd behind. There is an apple tree on Tower Green. It was in full blossom and a blackbird sat singing on a high branch, careless of the crowd. I watched it, envying the creature its freedom.