Murder Most Royal

In his cottage on the Sandringham Estate, Julian Cassidy swirled the tot of whisky round his glass, inhaled its peaty smell and downed it in a couple of gulps. This was his third and it was taking the edge off.

It was funny – you thought you’d reached your lowest ebb, and then something came along to make you sink lower. Julian felt as if the inrushing tide was washing over his head. On his bookshelves a thicket of Christmas cards were interspersed with others congratulating him on his New Job! and New Home! Many featured crowns and corgis. ‘Proud of you, son.’ ‘Enjoy the moment.’ ‘Don’t shoot any royals!!!! Haha!!!!!’

For a minute, he allowed himself to imagine how it could have been, sitting back on this sofa with a beautiful woman snuggled up beside him, a glass of wine, her body heat, a head full of plans and a clear, bright future.

Then the thought disintegrated. One minute was all it took.

He relived that moment again and again, as he had done since it happened. There was only one answer. He eyed the bottle. But he was distracted by a whimpering sound. Billy, his elderly black Labrador, was sitting at the door, eyeing it keenly, desperate to go out. Julian eased himself up off the sofa and accompanied the dog outside, where he nosed around in the bushes for a while before doing his business.

The sharpness of the night air brought with it a moment of clarity. He realised how fuddled he was. The only noticeable effect of the whisky had been to amplify his sadness. He would stick to wine from now on.

‘Hey, boy,’ he called softly to the dog across the garden.

Billy trotted back to him, his dark eyes glistening in the moonlight, full of love and trust.

‘C’mon, let’s go inside.’

Chapter 4

The next morning was Christmas Eve. After breakfast, warmly wrapped up in a tweed coat and fleece-lined boots, the Queen made a quick tour of key parts of the estate to wish season’s greetings to the staff who were still at work. At least, that was the official reason. In reality, she was desperate to see the animals. From the cows in the barn to the mares at the stud, and even the pigeons in their loft at Wolferton, she didn’t feel she was truly here until she had breathed in the bracing odour of cow manure and straw, or rested her hand on a warm and velvety equine neck.

Drawing up at the stud, she was pleased to see that her timing was good. As she got out of the car, she spotted the brood mares and their foals returning two by two from the paddocks in the huge, old walled garden, where they had been getting a blast of fresh air. She stopped to watch them briefly, enchanted as ever by the sight of the leggy foals, who had grown dramatically since the last time she saw them. Each one was the progeny of a line of distinguished racehorses. They weren’t yet weaned, but already some stood out to her as potential champions. It took a combination of proportions, strength, character and temperament. Having watched foals grow up into racehorses for as long as she could remember, by now she had a sixth sense for spotting the perfect blend.

Estimate herself, who had recently been immortalised in bronze, drew up the rear with a foal who already showed a lot of promise. He had his mother’s spark and ears that pricked with intelligence. The Queen called them both over and gave them all the Polo mints from her pockets. On her return to the house, she realised she was surprisingly tired, but rallied at the thought of the family members who were on their way. One was really so very lucky to be able to gather so many of them together – children and grandchildren, and now little great-grandchildren, too. True, right now the thought of a quiet afternoon in front of Pointless on TV had a certain appeal, but that was only the head cold talking. As soon as they arrived, she would feel better, she was sure.

* * *

From ten o’clock onwards, a succession of Range Rovers began delivering their contents to the front door in strictly managed order of seniority. The junior cousins were first, followed by her youngest son Edward, the Earl of Wessex and other Wessexes, large and small, then Andrew and his girls and, shortly afterwards, Anne and her husband, accompanied by Prince Harry, who had got a lift with them from St James’s Palace.