The Daughter Of Time

By the time Brent returns with his latest research results, Grant is sitting up in bed. He finds a view of the wall a refreshing change from staring at the ceiling.

When Grant asks Brent what became of the other potential heirs to the throne, the news isn’t good. Aside from a few of the girls who were married off to loyal Lancastrians, the rest were tried on trumped-up charges and executed. Since the princes were too young to stand criminal charges in public, Henry needed to have them secretly murdered.

Tyrrel, the man who actually committed the crime, was said to be a loyal follower of Richard. In fact, he served Henry VII and was rewarded generously during Henry’s reign. Many years later, when Tyrrel was caught helping a Yorkist escape the Tower, Henry had him executed. Although history books claim he confessed to murdering the princes, no written confession has ever been found.

Grant concludes, “So what we’re left with is that Henry executed Tyrrel in 1502, and then announced by way of his tame historians that Tyrrel had confessed that twenty years before he had murdered the Princes” (171).

After Brent leaves, Grant spends the rest of the evening reading another historian named James Gairdner. Gairdner practically twists himself into knots trying to reconcile all the positive reports of Richard’s character with the heinous crimes he’s accused of committing.

Grant believes that, unlike Henry, a man of Richard’s character would never coldly plan the murder of his nephews. He asserts, “One could not say: Because Richard possessed this quality and that, therefore he was incapable of murder. But one could say: Because Richard possessed these qualities, therefore he is incapable of this murder” (174).

Brent is jubilant when he next visits Grant’s hospital room. He’s uncovered some interesting facts that demonstrate how thoroughly Henry covered his tracks.

Henry tried to trick the Bishop of Bath into committing some capital offense. When this strategy failed, he threw the Bishop in prison and forgot to release him for the rest of his life. The illegitimacy of Edward’s children was conveniently forgotten.

The year after her daughter’s marriage to Henry VII, Edward’s widow, Elizabeth Woodville, was shut up in a convent. Presumably, this kept her from asking questions about the whereabouts of her two young sons.

During the same year, Tyrrel was granted two general pardons by Henry: the first in June 1486 and the second in July of the same year. While a single general pardon was common, two was unprecedented. Grant and Brent believe Tyrrel killed the young princes sometime between the granting of the first and second pardons. Very soon afterward, Tyrrel received a foreign appointment from Henry and left the country.

Grant and Brent discuss whether or not Henry ever told his wife that he’d had her brothers murdered. Grant suspects Henry took a sadistic pleasure in doing so. Brent disagrees and insists that Henry didn’t enjoy killing: “He had to pretty it up before he could bear the thought of it. Dress it up in legal ribbons” (181). Brent goes on to typify Henry’s entire personality as shabby.

The two men turn their attention to Brent’s book. Brent admits that he hasn’t started writing it yet but wants to dedicate it to Grant. After Brent leaves, Grant ponders all the new facts he’s learned while studying a portrait of Elizabeth Woodville.

Grant muses about Elizabeth Woodville while gazing at her portrait. He sees her as a tragic figure, dogged by trouble through most of her life. He finds it suspicious that she lived free and prosperous during the reign of Richard—her sons’ presumed murderer. In contrast, Henry confiscates her possessions and imprisons her in a convent for the rest of her days.

Shifting his attention, Grant decides to write down his case in police-fashion to tidy up the loose ends for Brent’s book. He records the case against Richard and the case against Henry. All the evidence points to Henry and away from Richard.

Once Grant finishes his analysis, he’s struck by the family feeling that Richard demonstrated throughout his life. Grant believes this is a good indicator of Richard’s innocence. Slaughtering his own nephews would run contrary to the family loyalty he consistently showed. Grant’s pleased with the conclusion of the case: “It was wonderfully clearing to the head to see it neat and tidy as (a), (b), and (c). He had not noticed before how doubly suspect was Henry’s behavior over Titulus Regius” (190).

Grant is on his feet and walking around his hospital room. He’s happy to be going home the next day, free from the ministrations of the Midget and the Amazon.

Brent appears to bid him farewell but seems despondent. He explains that he wanted to write a book about a Great Discovery only to find that many others before him have debunked the myth of Richard as a murderer.

Grant convinces him that his book is still worth writing. It will strike a blow against Tonypandy, and it’s bound to take several blows to make error yield to truth. Grant has given Brent a mission, and the young man begins to perk up. He says, “Brother, I feel better already. I can’t wait to land the British public one in the kisser with a few home truths” (197).

After Brent departs with a promise to dedicate the book to Grant, the detective starts packing his things. He comes across a passage in one of his books praising Henry as a shrewd and far-seeing monarch for wiping out an entire family who opposed his claim to the throne. Grant is disgusted by the myopic assessment; “[t]he values of historians differed so radically from any values with which he was acquainted that he could never hope to meet them on any common ground” (205).

When the Amazon enters with his dinner, Grant makes a strange request. He asks her to take the picture of Richard over to the window and look at it as long as it takes to count a pulse.

She complies. When Grant asks her opinion of Richard now, the Amazon hesitates. She finally admits that if you look at it for a little, it’s really a nice face after all.