Murder Most Royal

The Queen was impressed by how well behaved he was, and bent down to stroke his eager head. Through a gap in the tack room window, she could hear a female voice was talking about parasites. She idly wondered if they were discussing equine diseases. When it came to horses, she was always keen to learn.

‘Shhh, you can’t say that!’ a male voice was saying.

It was the ‘shhh’ that caught the Queen’s attention. She stopped and listened properly.

‘He’s, what, nearly a hundred. She’s just as bad. They’re practically nineteenth-century.’

‘Yer talking squit,’ the boy said.

‘Not mine,’ the girl said.

‘You don’t work, remember? Mum’s and Dad’s and mine.’

‘Only because they own effing everything. If they just minded their own business, Mum and Dad could work for themselves. And I can guarantee you Dad wouldn’t be fattening birds for them and their fancy guests to kill for the sake of it.’

‘Everything gets eaten,’ Arthur said.

‘Like that makes it better,’ the girl scoffed. ‘It’s not just the pheasant that get killed, it’s the predators that take the chicks. It’s a wonder anything survives.’

‘They love animals, and you know it.’

‘Yeah, stuffed in a pie or stuck on the walls.’

‘I hope I’m not interrupting.’

This last voice was the Queen’s. She had walked round and was now standing at the door to the tack room. Two pale young faces stared out at her, with identical hazel eyes framed by long blond lashes, startled and horrified.

‘You have a very well-behaved puppy,’ the Queen observed. One might as well start on a polite note, and it was the only one she could think of.

The girl, who wore a rainbow fleece over sky-blue leggings that matched her hair, slithered down from the high shelf where she’d been sitting. When she reached the ground, she blinked, and said, ‘He’s my auntie’s. I’m looking after him. His name’s Nelson.’

‘Your Majesty,’ Arthur prompted her under his breath.

‘I came to see Estimate,’ the Queen explained. ‘Don’t worry, I know where to go.’

If anything, young Arthur’s face paled further. He stood rigidly to attention. ‘I’ll come with you, ma’am. I mean . . . I don’t need to be here. We were just . . .’

‘Talking politics,’ the Queen put in for him. ‘I must say, I wasn’t sure your generation did that anymore. It’s quite reassuring. In a way.’

The girl continued to stare. Then, as if she’d suddenly remembered, she stuck one boot-clad foot out behind her and bobbed into an inelegant curtsey. Aware of the absurdity of it all, she suddenly grinned.

‘Awkward,’ she muttered. Her eyes gleamed with a defiant naughtiness that reminded the Queen very much of her sister Margaret at that age – or indeed any age. It was always difficult to remain cross with Margaret when she herself was smiling and sunny. The Queen wondered if this girl had a similar effect on her long-suffering family.

At Estimate’s stall, the retired racing champion was grateful for a Polo mint. The Queen spent a little while congratulating her on her new life as a mother. But she hadn’t forgotten the recent exposition of her own family’s iniquities. The young groom hung back wretchedly. She felt sorry for him.

‘Was that your sister?’ she asked.

He hung his head. ‘Yes, ma’am. Her name’s Ivy.’

‘I see. I thought you looked alike. What a spirited girl.’

‘Yeah, kind of. Did you hear much of what she was on about?’

‘I think I got the gist of it,’ the Queen told him. ‘She’s not a royalist, I take it.’

‘Not as such.’ Arthur twisted his limbs in paroxysms of embarrassment. ‘She dun’t mean it. I mean, she does, but she’s seventeen. She’s like that about everything, ma’am, a bit over the top. It gets her into trouble. It’s why she hangs around with the horses even though she’s not supposed to. But she’s so good with them, it’s like . . . it’s like telepathy or something. And it’s the only thing that de-stresses her. She’s been kind of wound up since our auntie’s accident. And then she found that hand.’

The Queen stared at him. ‘It was your sister who found it?’

‘Yes. On the beach. She thought it was a starfish or something but . . .’

‘Poor girl. What a shock.’

He winced at the memory. ‘Yeah, it was. She was pretty freaked out all day. She locked herself in her room for hours. She would’ve gone to our auntie’s, but she can’t.’ He looked hopeless and frustrated. The absence of the aunt was obviously causing problems.

‘Did you say your aunt had an accident?’ the Queen asked gently.

‘Yeah. Her name’s Judy, ma’am. Judy Raspberry. She’s the treasurer at the Women’s Institute. You’ve met her a few times.’

The Queen’s annual trip to the WI in West Newton, a nearby village on the estate, was one of the highlights of each winter visit. ‘Yes, of course I know Mrs Raspberry.