He opened his eyes—the richly clad First Lord of the Bedchamber was
kneeling by his couch. The gladness of the lying dream faded away—the
poor boy recognized that he was still a captive and a king. The room was
filled with courtiers clothed in purple mantles—the mourning
color[1]—and with noble servants of the monarch. Tom sat up in bed and
gazed out from the heavy silken curtains upon this fine company.
The weighty business of dressing began, and one courtier after another
knelt and paid his court and offered to the little king his condolences
upon his heavy loss, while the dressing proceeded. In the beginning, a
shirt was taken up by the Chief Equerry in Waiting, who passed it to the
First Lord of the Buckhounds, who passed it to the Second Gentleman of
the Bedchamber, who passed it to the Head Ranger of Windsor Forest, who
passed it to the Third Groom of the Stole, who passed it to the
Chancellor Royal of the Duchy of Lancaster, who passed it to the Master
of the Wardrobe, who passed it to Norroy King-at-Arms, who passed it to
the Constable of the Tower, who passed it to the Chief Steward of the
Household, who passed it to the Hereditary Grand Diaperer, who passed it
to the Lord High Admiral of England, who passed it to the Archbishop of
Canterbury, who passed it to the First Lord of the Bedchamber, who took
what was left of it and put it on Tom. Poor little wondering chap, it
reminded him of passing buckets at a fire....
A secretary of state presented an order of the Council appointing the
morrow at eleven for the reception of the foreign ambassadors, and
desired the king’s assent.
Tom turned an inquiring look toward Hertford, who whispered:
“Your majesty will signify consent. They come to testify their royal
masters’ sense of the heavy calamity which hath visited your grace and
the realm of England.”
Tom did as he was bidden. Another secretary began to read a preamble
concerning the expenses of the late king’s household, which had amounted
to £28,000 during the preceding six months—a sum so vast that it made
Tom Canty gasp; he gasped again when the fact appeared that £20,000 of
this money were still owing and unpaid; and once more when it appeared
that the king’s coffers were about empty, and his twelve hundred
servants much embarrassed for lack of the wages due them. Tom spoke out,
with lively apprehension.
“We be going to the dogs, ’tis plain. ’Tis meet and necessary that we
take a smaller house and set the servants at large, sith they be of no
value but to make delay, and trouble one with offices that harass the
spirit and shame the soul, they misbecoming any but a doll, that hath
nor brains nor hands to help itself withal. I remember me of a small
house that standeth over against the fish-market, by Billingsgate——”
A sharp pressure upon Tom’s arm stopped his foolish tongue and sent a
blush to his face; but no countenance there betrayed any sign that this
strange speech had been remarked or given concern.