By Emma Darwin
The tough destiny of the Princes within the Tower is likely one of the so much fascinating—and so much troubling—of all England's ancient homicide mysteries. yet what used to be the reality at the back of the deaths of the younger Edward V and his brother, Dickon, taken from their mom, Elizabeth Woodville, King Edward IV's attractive widow, and their parent, Anthony Woodville? And what in regards to the guy who could develop into King Richard III? In an excellent feat of ancient bold, the acclaimed writer of the math of affection reimagines the tragedy of the youngest sufferers of the Wars of the Roses. during the voices of Elizabeth, Anthony, and Una—a historian who herself is familiar with grief, betrayal, and mystery love—Emma Darwin re-creates the deadly strength struggles into which the lads have been born, their heart-wrenching imprisonment, and the final word betrayal in their innocence.
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Extra resources for A Secret Alchemy: A Novel (P.S.)
The shepherd’s pie is very hot; I have to drink some water before I can go on. “It’s about what books they owned—what Anthony wrote—and what they might have read, and what that tells us about them. ” “You’ll be on home ground in Eltham tomorrow, at the Chantry, with the Palace up the road. Do you remember how we used to bike past and see army officers sometimes, and wonder if they were spies? ” “I’d forgotten that . ” I can almost smell the hot asphalt. “There’s been good research on her books, but nothing on his.
And Edward’s library is well known. He was a great collector, had special caskets made for his favorite books so he could take them with him from palace to palace. Even on campaign. ” “And then there’s the princes in the Tower. ” 56 i EM M A DA RW I N i “Of who killed them? And when? I don’t suppose we’ll ever know, though I know where I think the weight of probability lies. In a sense, it’s not necessary for the kind of bibliographic study I’m doing. It’s what it must have been like for them, for Anthony and Elizabeth, never knowing what had happened.
Excuse me, miss. ” I jumped down from the bench, picked up Smokey Bear from the puddle he was lying in, and sat him in the sun to dry. This was interesting. ” Visitors came to the pilgrim’s porch and jangled the big frontdoor bell, and tradesmen jogged down the path along the side of the house to the back door and knocked. Family went in and out of any door that wasn’t locked, and we children climbed through the windows as often as not. I wasn’t sure what to do with this boy, but I knew it would be rude to ask what he was.