Murder Most Royal

When he eventually looked up to see who else was watching, the face at the upper window was gone.

A few yards ahead of the Range Rover, a girl of about sixteen or seventeen lay on her side near the verge. She was wearing riding boots and a hard hat, and a bright yellow vest over her jacket, but in the sharp light and shadows of the winter sun, she would still have been easy to miss. The driver had done well to spot her in time. The girl’s limbs were akimbo and her face was very pale.

‘You need to find her mount,’ the Queen said. ‘It must be round here somewhere.’

The driver looked round unhappily. He clearly didn’t want to stay where they were, but they couldn’t go on and leave the girl in place. Rozie was already leaping out of the car to see how badly hurt she was. The new protection officer, Depiscopo, had a panicked look in his eye that belied the set to his jaw. He called Rozie back, but she ignored him.

‘There’s a pulse,’ she called. ‘But she’s out cold. Is someone calling an ambulance? I’m going to find the horse.’

Rozie moved the girl gently into the recovery position and ran round the bend in the road. A minute later, she was back.

‘Shit. There’s another one. An older woman, out cold, too. The cars must have scared their horses. I think her leg’s broken and she’s losing blood. We need to block the road before someone comes.’

A brief interval followed, while Depiscopo radioed for help. The trouble was, as the Queen saw instantly, that help would normally come from the south, towards Newmarket, and the main road that way was blocked with traffic. Rozie had already grabbed a medical kit from the back of the car and taken it to deal with the older casualty. Depiscopo assessed the situation and instructed the Queen’s driver to get out and warn any passing traffic about the danger, while he reversed the Range Rover up a little track they had passed fifty yards earlier to get it, and Her Majesty, out of the way. The Queen knew that officially, what he should do was ignore the injured women and drive on. Jackson would have done it without a qualm; the sovereign’s safety was paramount. But she took advantage of the new officer’s uncertainty. Like all her staff, he would be trained in first aid. Thank goodness they were there.

He parked the car at the top of the track, on a little ridge out of sight of the road, next to an empty field. She was increasingly worried that Rozie would be busy ministering to the older rider or rounding up the horses, and might get hit by a passing car in the process.

‘I’ll be perfectly all right here,’ she said, because she would be. ‘Go and see what you can do.’

‘Are you sure you’ll be OK, ma’am? I’ll be one minute. Please stay in the car.’

The Queen assured him that she would be perfectly safe. He ran down the track.

But he was not back after one minute, or even five. Meanwhile, the Range Rover was getting cold and it was eerily quiet. On top of that, her knee was giving her gip. Outside, high above the trees, two lapwings flew in a complicated dance against the bright blue sky. She opened the door and stepped out to get a better look, and the fresh air on her face made her feel instantly better.

She couldn’t see what was happening in the road below because Depiscopo had carefully chosen a parking spot masked by pines and hedges. To her left, there was a stile set into a rough stone wall, with a large paddock beyond. Her gammy knee ached for exercise. She wasn’t exactly dressed for a walk in the country, but it hadn’t rained for days and the path to the stile was dry. She changed out of her patent shoes into more practical boots that she always kept in the back of the car and retrieved a silk scarf that she kept in the back-seat armrest for emergencies, knotting it under her chin. Though she couldn’t see the road, the view across the fields from here was delightful. There were worse places to wait.

Heading for the stile, her leg felt better with each step and when she reached the field – which turned out to be a rough paddock – she saw two ponies grazing in the middle. Depiscopo could easily find her here. He might panic for a moment when he saw the empty Range Rover, but it would be obvious where she had gone.

She had nearly reached the nearest pony, picking her way carefully across tussocks of grass and watching out for rabbit holes, when the sound of hooves grew rapidly louder and she glanced to her left to see a grey stallion sail over the hedge marking the northern boundary, before landing heavily not fifty feet from her. Its rider wore immaculate hunting pink and a hard hat. He must be part of the distant drag hunt. But they were miles away by now.

‘Are you lost?’ the Queen called out cheerily.

He trotted towards her without speaking. As he grew closer, her absolute astonishment was mirrored by his.