The Murders of Richard III - Elizabeth Peters [41]
“I’m not being obnoxious, just logical. You can’t clear Richard of the boys’ death any more than you can convict him. There is no proof. It is incomprehensible to me that any historian can take More’s Richard seriously; or rather, it would be incomprehensible if I didn’t know historians as I—Thomas, you aren’t listening.”
“Why don’t you come over here and get comfortable?” Thomas suggested.
“I’m very comfortable right here.”
“I’m not.”
Jacqueline lowered her arms and folded her hands primly in her lap. “Finish your drink,” she said in a kindly voice. “No, Thomas, stay right where you are. I refuse to engage in dalliance—if that is the phrase—during an English country weekend. How conventional! And Percy is probably listening at the door.”
Thomas glanced nervously at the door. He didn’t take the suggestion seriously enough to get up and look, but it dampened his ardor. Reaching for his glass, he said in resigned tones, “Well, at least you have an open mind. I still think there is serious doubt about Richard’s guilt.”
“You don’t really believe Henry the Seventh—”
“Yes, I do. I think that during the summer of 1483 the boys were removed from the Tower to a remote northern castle. That’s why we don’t hear any more of them in the contemporary annals, which were written by Londoners.”
Enthusiasm made Thomas’s eyes shine and his face glow. Jacqueline’s eagle eye softened as she watched him, but Thomas was oblivious. He went on, “All the anomalies are resolved by the assumption that Richard was innocent. Sir James Tyrrell did murder the boys—in 1485, at the command of Henry the Seventh, not Richard the Third. Twenty years later, after Tyrrell was safely dead, Henry put out the ‘confession,’ altering the facts to fit the assumption of Richard’s guilt. He didn’t do it very skillfully; the story, as it has come down to us, is inconsistent throughout. But by that time there was no one alive who could or would challenge Henry’s version. Elizabeth Woodville, the boys’ mother, was dead—”
“The boys’ sister was still alive,” Jacqueline interrupted. “Henry’s queen, Elizabeth of York.”
“Henry’s queen, and the mother of the heir. What could she do, even if she knew the truth? I’ve always suspected Elizabeth of York was not the paragon of virtue the Tudor historians described. There is an old story that she took an active part in the conspiracy against Richard, and wrote personally to Henry Tudor promising to marry him if he was successful. She didn’t love Henry; she’d never even met him, and by all accounts he was a particularly unlovable character. She wanted revenge—revenge against Richard, who had cast her family down from its high place, and publicly humiliated her by announcing he had no intention of marrying her. I think she was in love with Richard, before he rejected her. He was capable of inspiring love; one old woman, who had known him personally, described him as the handsomest man in the room, after his brother Edward—”
Jacqueline stood up.
“You talk about them as if they only died last week,” she said sharply. “It’s unnerving, Thomas.”
The room was very still. Only the rustle of rain against the window broke the silence.
“It’s only a game, Jacqueline,” Thomas said, after a moment. “An intellectual game, slightly absurd, perhaps, but harmless.”
“Not so harmless. You people are maddening. You sit around debating five-hundred-year-old murders while a mad comedian is in your midst. Have you forgotten what happened to you this morning?”
“No, and I haven’t forgotten the letter, either.” Thomas told her of his talk with Weldon. “He’s acting damned peculiarly,” he concluded. “I can’t figure out what’s bugging him.”
“Can’t you?”
“Oh, well, he’s worried about his precious letter. Nothing else seems to matter to him. I’m more concerned about the jokes. You know Philip is next on the list?”
Jacqueline nodded.
“I just stopped by to visit him.”
“You went to his room?” Thomas sat up. “Really, Jacqueline….”
“You didn’t object to my coming