Murder Most Royal

What happened?’

The groom ran a distracted hand through his hair.

‘Hit-and-run, the week before Christmas. It happened in Dersingham, where she lives. She was lying in the road for ages before someone found her.’

‘How bad was it?’ the Queen asked anxiously. She was very fond of Judy Raspberry, who was one of the lynchpins of the WI and much else besides. They had tasted many a Victoria sponge together, watched many a dog show, remarked on the beauty of many a flower arrangement. She was a talented pigeon breeder and her birds had beaten the Queen’s in a couple of races.

‘Very bad,’ Arthur said dully. ‘She’s in a coma, at the Queen Elizabeth.’

The local hospital was named after the Queen’s mother. One became used to being buildings and ships eventually.

‘Ivy took it harder than me,’ Arthur went on. ‘She never really liked it at home. Mum kept going on at her about school until she went half mad with it. But Auntie Judy got it. She was somewhere Ivy could go, you know? And now it’s all gone to shi—Gone bad, ma’am.’

‘It must be a huge worry for you all.’

He shrugged. ‘Coming here helps. Like I say, it calms me. Ivy, too. Thanks for not minding. So she can stay? Keep coming over, I mean?’

‘Yes. If she can pull her weight here, as you say.’

‘No question, ma’am. She’s got a gift with animals. Horses and dogs especially.’

‘Then this is where she should be.’

The Queen thought about Judy Rasperry all the way back to the house. A coma! The poor woman! Lying alone in the road until she was discovered. Was she still conscious at that point? And two young people who clearly needed her help. Judy was a woman in her fifties: at that age when everybody needs you – parents, children, workmates, pets . . . At WI meetings, she was always the person everyone turned to if the lights failed or the guest speaker was late or somebody went off with the key to the loo. Her stories about it afterwards were a riot. How would they cope without her? And what about Arthur, and his forthright little sister? It was the deepest fear of many women, the Queen knew: not being there for the people who needed them. She understood it well.

‘Feeling better?’ Philip asked when she got back.

‘Up to a point.’ She told him about Mrs Raspberry and then, to lighten the tone a bit, about Ivy in the tack room.

‘Good God! On our own estate! We should have her horsewhipped.’

‘I told her brother she can help out with the horses. I think it will do her good. She was the one who found the hand, by the way.’

‘Ah! So we have her to thank for all of this,’ Philip grunted.

The Queen pursed her lips. ‘If you mean for alerting the police to what happened to Ned, then yes. Otherwise, we might never have known.’

‘I mean for making us suddenly wonder if all our friends and neighbours are stone-cold killers.’

‘I never did,’ the Queen assured him.

‘I still do,’ he muttered. ‘And by the way, Simon’s back. He wanted to surprise you. And by the look on your face, he did. Ha!’

‘I hope you had a pleasant holiday?’ she asked.

‘Magnificent, Your Majesty. Just what the doctor ordered. Thank you very much.’

‘And yet you’re here so soon?’

He straightened somewhat, perhaps catching the glint of steel behind her question, and blustered something about how good it was to be back in the saddle, which was an odd phrase to use for one of the few members of her Private Office who didn’t ride.

‘I’m sorry I wasn’t around to help you when the unfortunate hand was found.’

‘I seem to recall that you were, remotely,’ the Queen said, with the same edge to her voice.

Sir Simon missed the edge. ‘Talking to the chief constable, you mean, ma’am? It wasn’t a problem, I assure you.’

The Queen explained to him that it was, rather, and he was slightly chastened. However, he soon perked up when he explained he’d been catching up with Bloomfield again this morning.

‘There was a packet of drugs missing from the bag on the beach, ma’am, judging from the way it was packed. His officers are making enquiries about what happened to it. But if anyone offers you cheap cocaine, you’ll know where it came from.’

‘Very funny, Simon.’

He straightened his face. ‘And there’s an update on where the plastic bag went in the water. The currents and tides in the Wash are a complicated study. I won’t bother you with—’

‘No, do,’ the Queen said. ‘I’m interested.’

He seemed surprised. ‘Certainly. Well, if I’ve understood it correctly, then generally, there’s a tidal drift on this coast that runs from north to south, but among the swirling waters of the bay, on our little stretch of the Wash it ends up running south to north. The forensic team modelling suggests the bag’s likely to have been deposited in the Great Ouse near King’s Lynn, a couple of days before the storm.