Murder Most Royal

‘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.’

The Queen certainly did remember. After a stellar racing career, the prize pigeon surprised everyone by selling at auction for a six-figure sum. Pigeon prices were escalating at unheard-of rates. Roland Peng’s grandfather clearly had expensive hobbies. It might explain his grandson’s ease in the setting of Sandringham. They chatted briefly, but Roland had the good manners to notice that the Queen really wanted to talk to her friend, Hugh. He made his excuses and guided Valentine to the next group, where the Queen saw Rozie seamlessly engage them in conversation. She learned fast, that girl, the Queen noticed with satisfaction.

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. You do it so beautifully.’

‘Flora’s doing a magnificent job,’ her father said. ‘In fact, Lee and I talked about letting her inherit Ladybridge when the time comes.’

‘Ned was horrified,’ Flora said. ‘You’d think he’d have been the first to approve. If his mother had been allowed to inherit, he’d be in charge now himself. Perhaps he wouldn’t have gone off the rails so much.’

‘That’s rather what we thought.’

‘He was awful to his children, so neglectful. Even so, to think what that man did!’ she added furiously. ‘His own son! I mean, can you imagine?’

No, the Queen couldn’t.

‘I can’t stop thinking about it,’ Flora went on. ‘He must have been high on drugs or something. And we’re actually related. It’s quite terrifying, really. You do wonder if such things are genetic, don’t you? You just can’t help it. We saw Ned just before he disappeared and you’d think he had another twenty years in him.’ She looked at the royal couple shrewdly. ‘Or thirty.’

‘You saw him recently?’ the Queen asked.

‘We met up a few times. We were just starting to mend fences. Not literally. Ned and broken fences seemed to be a bit of a theme lately. We had lunch the day before he vanished. The police were horribly suspicious. A couple of them came round, took one look at the armoury in the hall and asked us a thousand questions. They seem to think we might have grabbed a halberd from one of the walls, dashed up to London and—’

‘Were you aware of the recent pigeon club scandal, ma’am?’

The Queen, who had become absorbed by this sudden talk of Ned’s last known movements, was shocked to find Roland Peng standing in front of her again, leading her gently but firmly away from the others.

‘No,’ she said, somewhat annoyed. She could see what he was doing: deliberately trying to distract her from the upsetting thought of Ned’s last hours. And she was upset, but right at that moment she was as gripped as anyone else.