The Murders of Richard III - Elizabeth Peters [32]
Jacqueline was curled up in one of the big chairs. She was wearing her glasses. Her green eyes flickered as she glanced from one gesticulating speaker to the next.
Finally she rose. Conversation gradually died as she walked slowly to the head of the table. She smiled at Weldon, who stepped back and, with a wordless gesture, invited her to take his place. When she faced the group, the silence was almost complete.
“I’d like to say a few words,” she began in a soft voice. “May I please have your attention? No comments, no questions—and no bloody interruptions!”
A mouse’s squeak would have been distinctly audible.
“Very well,” Jacqueline went on, glaring at them over her glasses. “I’ll begin at the beginning. Last night Frank was attacked by a figure that was in essence that of a masked man. Or perhaps I should say masked person….
“In your Ricardian charades, Frank is taking the part of the Lancastrian Prince Edward, the son of Henry the Sixth. The Tudor propaganda accuses your hero, Richard, of being responsible for the death of this young prince. Edward was killed in battle, and the earliest commentators simply state that fact. Later historians imply that he was killed after he had surrendered, by the attendants of the victorious Edward the Fourth. One of the Tudor propagandists says Richard stabbed him as he knelt and begged for mercy.
“I apologize for repeating what you all know. I do so in order to set the record straight and clarify my thoughts as well as your own.”
It was admirably done, Thomas thought. A professor of English history couldn’t have sounded more pompous.
“The death of this prince,” Jacqueline continued, “may be considered the first of Richard’s murders, if one follows the Tudor line. Edward’s injuries are not specified, but we might suppose that a man killed in battle would suffer wounds from sharp-bladed instruments such as swords and daggers, plus blows from maces, battle-axes, and the like. His body would have been bruised and cut.”
She went on without waiting for a reaction. The reaction had begun; the sharper-witted listeners showed signs of horror and disbelief.
“The second of the murders of which Richard has been accused was that of Henry the Sixth, who was a prisoner in the Tower of London. The Tudors added this death to Richard’s account, saying that he had personally stabbed the poor old man. I don’t know whether anyone suggested that Henry was poisoned, but the body, when publicly displayed, as was the custom, showed no marks of violence, and poison was often suspected in cases of sudden death.
“This morning Dr. Rawdon, who represents Henry the Sixth, was taken ill after eating a dish specially prepared for him.
“Up to this point no one could have seen the connection between the seeming accidents. Thomas’s adventure makes the connection explicit. The comedian among us is getting more direct. Thomas, who represents the Duke of Clarence, was knocked on the head and placed in a barrel of wine. Fortunately the barrel was empty, but the joker went to considerable lengths to make the position ignominious. Thomas was held erect—if I may use that word—by rope attached to his ankles and then looped around the top of the barrel.
“No reputable historian believes that Richard was really responsible for the death of his exasperating brother, but the Tudor legend blamed him nevertheless. Now,” said Jacqueline, in the same mild, pleasant voice, “do you really want us to go to the village looking for imaginary villains, or shall we start collating our alibis?”
The amazed Ricardians stared dumbly, too thunderstruck to speak at first. Thomas leaned back in his chair and folded his hands across his stomach. By finding a common denominator, Jacqueline had reduced his ludicrous adventure to part of a puzzle. One does not mind being made a fool of quite so much if one has plenty of company.
“I cannot believe it,” the rector said finally. His ruddy face had paled. “Dear lady, are you certain