Murder Most Royal

‘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. 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.

‘Oh, I’m so sorry.’

‘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!’

Chapter 12

Her private secretary had put on weight in Scotland, as he usually did. Joining her in her study fifteen minutes later, he looked well fed to the point of rotundness. Were those jowls, emerging gently from under his naval-officer jaw? Age comes to all of us eventually, the Queen thought. Just you wait.

‘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?’