Cromwell’s face clouded at the mention of Anne. He had seen her die, sent to perform that duty by the king, and the man who had been faithful to Wolsey, in the misery of Esher house, was not without compassion.
“What was the queen’s vision?” he asked moodily.
“She saw her life, and her death upon the block,” Simon replied; “and the poor lady was thrown into such terror that she would by no means be quieted, and for hours her shrieks were heard at Greenwich. By Saint Thomas! they ring yet in my ears.”
Cromwell was silent for a while; evidently the frankness and sincerity of Raby, together with his previous knowledge of him, made it difficult to reconcile the man with the accusation.
“I will be frank with you, sir,” my lord privy seal said, at last; “I make no effort to conceal the perils of this realm, you know them. My Lady Mary Tudor, by her stiff-necked attitude toward the king’s grace and the Act of Succession, hath made herself a stumbling-block, and a point round which the malcontents may gather. Then there are the papists, ever stirring in the cause of the Bishop of Rome, and with these the country gentlemen, who detest the breaking up of the monasteries and the abbeys, with no profit to themselves, and the travelling friars, and, God wot, I know not who, to stir up mischief which would bring us swift to civil war. At such times, my Lord Raby, I may not be lenient. The charge against you is so grave that I would have you make a clean breast of the matter. You came to town this morning from Deptford; what was your errand?”
Raby thought at the instant of Sir William’s packet and put his hand in his doublet and drew it out.
“My lord, I came to attend to some matters of my own, of a petty nature, but mainly to attend the king’s grace and also to give you these papers.”
Cromwell stretched out his hand for the packet and broke the seals without waiting for further explanation from Lord Raby. He unfolded the wrappers and began to go through the papers without making any comment. Simon, watching his grave face, read nothing after the first quick flash of surprise. Of the nature of Carew’s communication, Raby was ignorant, but believing it to refer wholly to affairs in Devon, he did not greatly concern himself about it. His mind was but too actively engaged with the state of his own fortune. His arrest had been so sudden, so entirely without reason, that he found no immediate solution of his difficulty. He noticed that Cromwell, with all his apparent frankness, held back the full substance of the charge against him, and the names and condition of his accusers. Secure in his own innocence, Raby did not doubt his ultimate exculpation, but he knew not what course to pursue, whose name to mention, fearing to drag others into his misfortune. While these thoughts passed rapidly through his mind, Cromwell was deeply engaged in the perusal of Sir William’s packet; every paper was carefully examined and some were read twice over. Simon began to think that Carew’s business would indefinitely prolong his own suspense, when the king’s minister looked up. However, he did not address Raby; his face was inscrutable; he touched a bell upon the table and immediately an attendant replied to the summons.
“Call Captain Ludlow,” he said calmly; then turning to Raby, he looked at him with cold eyes. “Sir,” he said, “you gave me the wrong packet.”
Simon returned the look with surprise.