Murder Most Royal

Lee had always been the more social of the two, and it was possible he had decided to stay at home with his beloved sheep. And then she spotted him at the far side of the saloon, heading towards her, accompanied by his two children, who were in their forties, and a man about his son’s age whom she didn’t know.

Rozie had told the Queen about Hugh’s frailness on the phone before Christmas. Even so, his appearance was quite shocking. He looked hollowed out by grief. His son Valentine towered over him, of similar build and looks, with the prominent St Cyr nose and piercing blue eyes, but still fit in middle age. He was nervously twisting the bloodstone signet ring on his little finger. Valentine saw the Queen looking and clasped his hands behind his back.

Something about her over-bright eyes suggested the pain behind her smooth civility. It was Flora who had the vim, the Queen sensed, just like her mother. She looked like her mother, too, beetle-browed, with rosy cheeks and a ready smile, her unruly brown hair flecked with grey. The Queen assured her she was very well, thank you, which was a lie, but the only possible reply in the circumstances. Philip grunted about feeling like death, which was more honest, but unhelpful.

‘May I present Roland Peng,’ Valentine said.

At which the attractive, beautifully attired man beside him bowed neatly and murmured, ‘Your Majesty.’ He seemed polite and un-starstruck, which made him promising company.

‘Roland’s staying with us for the weekend,’ Flora explained.

‘My business partner,’ Valentine clarified.

‘Another horticulturalist,’ Flora added, smiling. ‘Like Mummy.’

The Queen turned to the man in question. ‘Oh, really? And what exactly is it that you do?’

‘I grow plants without soil or daylight,’ Mr Peng said with a smile and a raised eyebrow, as if anticipating surprise. ‘At least, I invest in businesses that do.’

‘Ah! Hydroponics!’ The voice was Charles’s, and the Queen glanced round to see him stepping in to join them. ‘How fascinating. Where are you doing it? I gather they can grow salad in the desert. Are you having much success?’

‘As a matter of fact, we are,’ Peng said, his smile broadening at a fellow plant-lover. ‘We have sites in Nevada and California. So far it’s going very well.’

‘And you do all this from Norfolk?’

‘No,’ Peng admitted. ‘From London and Singapore. I have family there.’ He turned to the Queen. ‘My grandfather shares a passion with you, ma’am,’ he told the Queen.

‘Oh? Not salad in the desert, I take it.’

‘Not at all. He’s a fellow pigeon fancier. I know you keep a loft here. My grandfather has bought one of your star pigeons at auction, China Blue.’

‘Did he? How wonderful. I remember China Blue. How is she getting on?’

‘Very well. He’s busy breeding champions from her.’

Lord Mundy, who had been silent up to now, shuffled forward to stand beside his daughter.

‘I’m so sorry about Lee,’ the Queen murmured, focusing her attention on him and taking the opportunity to say it in person at last. ‘I wish I could have been at her memorial service. I gather it was very moving.’

The baron’s eyes glazed with tears. ‘It was. We filled the church with every flower from the garden. Every last one. We could hardly fit them in, could we, Flora?’

‘No,’ Flora said, without elaborating further. Her brittle brevity was eloquent enough. The Queen’s heart went out to the girl.

‘How difficult for you all.’

‘Actually,’ Hugh said, ‘there were some silver linings, of a sort. Ned came to the funeral, which was very big of him. The first time he’d seen us in a quarter of a century – the first time he’d spoken to me in person for longer than that. But he’d got in touch when Lee was very ill.’

‘Did he? Sounds unlike him,’ Philip said.

‘I think he was softening as he grew older,’ the baron suggested. ‘And he had intimations of his own mortality. He was suddenly concerned that he might not be welcome in the family vault. But I assured him he was. Bygones, and so on. On the financial front, I’m afraid I was less forthcoming. He asked for help with his rewilding affairs, but I simply couldn’t oblige.’

‘Oh, goodness, no,’ Flora chipped in. ‘The hall’s a money pit. We spend our whole lives trying to think of ways to keep it from falling down. Thank God for the gardens – the visitors provide most of our income in the summer. But we’re going to have to give in and open up the interiors as well next season. I’m working on it now. It’ll be all health and safety, green gloss and a cake shop.’ She made a face of comic despair.

‘Ah, yes,’ the Queen said, thinking of her own visitors’ centre down the drive. ‘We know all about that.’

Flora’s eyes widened with a flash of embarrassment that quickly passed. ‘Of course you do, ma’am. We must come to you for advice.