Murder Most Royal

’

‘Lunch!’ Anne declared.

Up ahead, an isolated building too small to be a house, and too delicate to be a farm building, stood solitary behind a sea of winter wheat. Already, various cars were disgorging their occupants on the track nearby and Anne swung her Range Rover alongside them.

‘You’ll join us, I take it?’ she asked as they got out.

‘I was going to head back. I don’t think I—’

‘Don’t be silly,’ Anne said. ‘You’re here now. Come on.’

They walked into the relative warmth of the building, at one end of which a team of chefs stood guard over a vast array of cold meats, pies, hot soups and sizzling sausages. Guests were already assembling around a long table, laid with silver cutlery and cut glass. Anne was hailed by various people and left Rozie to her own devices. Henry wasn’t there yet, but she noticed Matt Fisher and the Earl of Mayfield sitting next to Prince Philip at the far end. Bearing in mind what Sir Simon had said, Rozie joined them.

The conversation was something to do with new opportunities for farmers now they weren’t going to be ‘tied up in Brussels red tape’. The Earl of Mayfield, fuelled by Bloody Marys and red wine, was holding court.

‘Of course, if people like Ned St Cyr had their way, poor bastard, we wouldn’t have farms at all. It would all be trees.’

‘What?’ Prince Philip asked.

‘You might as well call it that,’ the earl said dismissively. ‘They want half the country to be wooded over and wild animals left to roam it. They’re supposed to look after themselves, summer and winter, without needing food or vets or accommodation. And somehow they don’t breed themselves into starvation. Of course, the natural way – the medieval way – would be wolves. It honestly wouldn’t surprise me if Ned intended to reintroduce those, too. And meanwhile, the land is turned to scrub.’

‘I’ve been looking into the idea of wilding,’ Philip mused. ‘It has its merits – if done in the right places.’

‘You don’t really think so?’ the earl asked, astonished.

‘That so-called “scrub”, as you put it, blackthorn and dog rose, is a haven for wildlife. Some extraordinary results have been achieved in Holland. Several species are coming back from the brink of extinction.’

‘Norfolk is the breadbasket of England, for Christ’s sake. You can’t feed the nation on blackthorn and butterflies.’

‘You can’t feed a nation without pollinators,’ Philip said. ‘They absolutely thrive in these places. It’s fascinating.’

‘Ha! You sound like your son, sir,’ the earl said with a smile.

Philip’s gaze was cool. ‘We have more in common than you may think.’

The earl caught a hint of steel in his voice and his florid face flushed further. ‘No doubt,’ he muttered, dropping the subject. They returned to the topic of Brexit. Rozie, who had more than enough of that in her day job, quietly left them to it.

The racing had just finished on Channel 4 when the shooting party got home, fresh-faced, tired and happy, eager for hot baths and tea. Philip found the Queen in the drawing room, soothing her throat with honey in hot water after an enjoyable afternoon shouting at the television set with her fellow racing aficionados. Having complained vigorously about the noisy Nerf gun battle raging along the corridors – which the Queen found rather unfair, in the circumstances – he was keen to update her on his day.

‘Extraordinary end to the fourth drive. Cassidy, the new bean counter, is a liability. He shot for Oxford, which is why I agreed he could join us today. I was hoping to see a fine performance. But he only got one bird in four and he practically shot Helena Fisher, who was on the next peg.’

‘An idiotic misfire. The fool forgot to check if both barrels had fired before swinging his gun around prior to unloading.’

‘According to the head keeper, it was the talk of the Fens in the summer,’ Philip said. He explained how it worked, and the use of wild animals to keep encroaching vegetation at bay.

‘Helena Fisher filled me in on the details. Ned, being Ned, was intoxicated by the whole thing. Instead of waiting and planning like any sensible person, he’d ordered the animals in by the truckload. Beaver, boar, those deer we saw . . . To absolutely no one’s surprise, they got through his inadequate fencing in minutes, and they’ve been making his neighbours’ lives a misery. The beavers flooded half of Matt Fisher’s beet crop at Muncaster. There was an incident with wild boar, too, would you believe. They dug up every bit of lawn around the house. Left it looking like the Somme, two days before he was due to hold his daughter’s eighteenth in the garden. He threatened to kill Ned to anyone who’d listen.’

‘I’m sure he didn’t mean it,’ the Queen said.

‘Nobody would kill their neighbour because of a few wild animals, Philip.