The Daughter of Time (Inspector Alan Grant, #5)

by Josephine Tey

Truth is the daughter of time. —Old Proverb

At the moment of his disappearance from the normal level of perambulation he had been in hot pursuit of Benny Skoll,

Mrs. Tinker had worn the same hat since first she began to “do” for Grant, and he could not imagine her in any other. That she did possess another one he knew, because it went with something that she referred to as “me blue.” Her “blue” was an occasional affair, in both senses, and never appeared at 19 Tenby Court. It was worn with a ritualistic awareness, and having been worn it was used in the event as a yardstick by which to judge the proceedings. (“Did you enjoy it, Tink? What was it like?” “Not worth putting on me blue for.”) She had worn it to Princess Elizabeth’s wedding, and to various other royal functions, and had indeed figured in it for two flashing seconds in a newsreel shot of the Duchess of Kent cutting a ribbon, but to Grant it was a mere report; a criterion of the social worth of an occasion. A thing was or was not worth putting on “me blue” for. “I

all the long muddle of schism and shindy, treaty and treason, had faded from their consciousness.

He was surprised to find the reign of Richard III so short. To have made oneself one of the best-known rulers in all those two thousand years of England’s history, and to have had only two years to do it in, surely augured a towering personality. If Richard had not made friends he had certainly influenced people.

It was pleasant to talk shop again; to use that elliptical, allusive speech that one uses only with another of one’s trade.

“Oh, yes. When I was a probationer I used to spend a lot of time in the National. I had very little money and very sore feet, and it was warm in the Gallery and quiet and it had plenty of seats.” She smiled a very little, looking back from her present consequence to that young, tired, earnest creature she had been.

“You think he belonged to the type who can’t live with themselves any more.” “What a good description! Yes. The kind who want something badly, and then discover that the price they have paid for it is too high.”

Villains don’t suffer, and that face is full of the most dreadful pain.”

Now she smiled her faint, withdrawn smile, and with her hands still clasped lightly in front of her belt-buckle moved toward the door. She had a transcendental repose. Like a nun. Like a queen.

He turned the pages and marvelled how dull information is deprived of personality.

Edward at Rouen, where the Duke was on active service.

Ed 1V Birthplace Rouen

I felicitate Richard Plantagenet.” “I’m positively beginning to like the guy.

At the writing of this book, Richard's body had not yet been recovered and medically examined. I wonder if any of that information would have had any bearing on the conclusions. I do not think his physical peculiarities should make any difference in the conclusions thus far outlined.