“‘The court is dull; Queen Jane is not yet crowned, though there is constant talk of it. She will have no maids save those who wear a girdle of over a hundred and twenty-five pearls. Anne Basset had one from her mother, Lady Lisle, of a hundred and twenty, and she could not appear in it. The king’s leg is said to be worse than reported; he is fond of the queen, whom some think fairer than Anne; she can, at least, wear more fine clothes at once and look better, while Queen Anne was more beautiful in simple robes. This queen is very gracious to the Lady Mary Tudor and ’tis thought will win upon the papists. She is—’”
“Oh, hush!” ejaculated Carew; “the woman’s pen is worse than her tongue. I must to London to see what can be done for Raby; ’tis a bad business, and I understand it not.”
All the while, Mistress Betty had listened with a pale face, resolution growing in it as the matter unfolded itself. She did not speak of Barton Henge; his part in it sank into insignificance now.
“Uncle,” she said firmly, “I will go with you.”
“What, wench?” he said in surprise; “of what use would you be?”
“Nevertheless, deny me not,” Betty said; “I would go and, at least, I will not hinder you.”
“Let her have her way, William,” Lady Crabtree said; “the girl’s face will help you, and she is in a mood to fret out her heart here.”
CHAPTER XXIV
LOVE AT THE TRAITOR’S GATE
Sir William Carew and Mistress Betty were both kindly received by Cromwell. He gave them a private audience, and Betty sat in the window recess in silent suspense, while her uncle talked with the king’s minister. Cromwell’s face was calm and inscrutable; Carew’s deeply furrowed with anxiety. The one was master of the situation, the other exceedingly perplexed and doubtful of a way in which to help his friend.
“My lord,” he said gravely, “I come to inquire into the arrest of Simon Raby, and to know the fate of certain papers that he bore of mine.”