A Dangerous Inheritance

‘Sir James Tyrell, as you probably know, had long been trusted by Richard, and he apparently would have done anything to gain preferment. It was he who had brought Richard’s mother-in-law to him, so that he could lock her up and gain control of her lands. It was to Tyrell’s charge that Richard committed the men arrested with Lord Hastings – you know about Hastings’ fate, I presume?’

We nod.

‘Tyrell was one of those who guarded his sovereign day and night, sleeping on a pallet outside his bedchamber. Richard trusted him, but he was a villain. Even his sister and his aunt feared him.’

Yes, I know he was a villain. Look how he had treated poor Mattie, and how disrespectful he was to her mistress.

‘Tyrell had long hoped for great rewards for his devoted service, but others stood in his way. By the time Richard asked Tyrell to go to the Tower, he was so desperate for advancement he would have agreed to anything. The rest you have read in Sir Thomas More’s account. It is fact, not propaganda, as you have surely guessed.’

‘So Richard did have the Princes murdered?’ I ask. ‘How do you know that for certain?’

‘I will tell you; just bear with me,’ Mistress Savage reproves gently. ‘After he had carried out the murders, Tyrell was rewarded with sufficient grants and offices to ensure that he could attain the high status that he had long sought at court. In fact, he became a wealthy man, richer than many barons. He was Master of the Horse, Chamberlain of the Exchequer and Captain of Guisnes Castle near Calais, where he took up residence. He would write from there occasionally to his sister, bragging about the honours that had been bestowed on him; but she was more concerned with how they had been won, and showed herself cool towards him.

‘After Bosworth, Tyrell came over from Calais and offered Henry VII his allegiance. The King confirmed him in his post, and he went back to Guisnes Castle, where he stayed for sixteen years. But then he made the foolish mistake of helping Edmund and Richard de la Pole, Richard III’s nephews, who were plotting to overthrow King Henry, and that’s how he ended up in the Tower.’ She sighs.

‘Mary did her best for her brother. Out of her small income, she paid for him to have better food and a cleaner cell, and even bribed his guards to let her visit him twice. She found him a broken and defeated man. He had been warned there was a strong case against him, and that he could not look for mercy. He had been questioned about the murder of the Princes, along with John Dighton, who had helped to suffocate them. He told Mary they had both confessed to that abominable crime, and confided to her the details of what had actually happened. She had no doubt that he was speaking the truth: he was a dying man, he told her, and wished to unburden his conscience before he faced God’s judgement. And indeed, he was soon afterwards condemned for a traitor, and died on the block.’

Mistress Savage pauses for another sip of wine. I notice how abstemiously she drinks: another discipline learned in the religious life, no doubt. I wonder fleetingly if she regrets the passing of those days, or harbours resentment at being turned out of her convent, yet I am much more preoccupied at this moment with the murder of the Princes. It was as I had greatly feared: they were done to death on Richard’s orders. And when I think about it, I realise that he had really had no choice but to eliminate them. Alive, they would have been a constant threat to his crown, because clearly many did not believe the precontract tale. Yet the irony was that, dead, they were even more dangerous, for rumours of their murder effectively cost Richard his throne.

‘Our quest is over,’ Sir Edward says sadly. ‘I had hoped it would have a different ending.’

‘There is one more question I must ask,’ I say. ‘How did Sir Thomas More know all this? Did he ever meet Mary Tyrell?’

‘Yes, my lady, although I do not know if he spoke with her about this matter, and she was dead by the time he came to write his book. But there was another lady living in the house in the close; her name was Joyce Lee, and he was a friend of her family. They were grocers, I think. Joyce later became a member of our Order; I remember hearing that she wore a hair shirt beneath her nun’s habit. More sometimes visited her when he was a young lawyer living at Bucklersbury in London, and it was she who told him the story of the Princes. She was close friends with the other ladies, and they had confided it to her. At Joyce’s behest, More undertook never to publish his account. I don’t believe he ever finished it. Alas, who could have foretold then that he would become a world-famous scholar and statesman, or that he would end on the block? After that, others got their hands on his work, and now it is in print, and all the world can read it. At least he has not named Joyce Lee as his source. She would have been grateful for that.’

Mistress Savage stands up, her tale finished. ‘I must go now,’ she says. ‘My dog will be hungry. He’s my companion, Old Rex, all I have in the world.’ She smiles uncertainly.

‘I thank you for coming here today,’ I say. ‘We are very grateful for your help in solving this great mystery. You know you can rely on our discretion. We will not say a word about this to anyone.’

‘We shall have to think of another mystery to solve, now that we know the truth about this one,’ Sir Edward jests.

‘You won’t forget your promise, Sir?’ the former Abbess asks. ‘I’ve spent my life keeping silent and I don’t want this getting out. These are matters that bear some weight even today.’

‘No, I will not forget,’ the Lieutenant assures her. ‘Yet I do not think there would be anything to fear.’ Indeed, there would not. For what Elizabeth Savage has just confided can only serve to confirm the Tudors’ title to the throne.

‘Then farewell,’ she says, and makes to follow Sir Edward out.

‘One thing, mistress!’ I cry. ‘Do you know where the Princes were buried?’

There is no hesitation. ‘Meetly deep, under a stairfoot in the Tower, beneath a heap of stones,’ she says. ‘That’s what Abbess Dorothy always said.’

My eyes meet Sir Edward’s. He shrugs. We both know it is unlikely that that hidden grave will ever be uncovered.

Lying in my bed later, I am conscious of a different atmosphere. It has nothing to do with my anxiety over my condition or what might happen to me if the Queen finds out I am with child. Nor is it co

When I fall asleep, gently, effortlessly, I find myself dreaming again of the girl in blue; she was Katherine Plantagenet, I ca

When I get up in the morning, I open my silver casket, take out her pendant and put it round my neck, wondering if I will again experience those awful feelings of despair that almost made me faint when I first tried it on. But there is nothing – not even the faintest echo of those terrible sensations. I did not think there would be now. And I will wear the pendant in the future, old-fashioned as it is, in memory of that brave dark lady in blue.