Murder Most Royal

‘Only because they have to. My father didn’t want to take over Ladybridge, you know. He’d been very happy at his law firm in Ipswich. Suddenly he was lumbered with death duties and black beetle and dry rot. It would have been easier for him if Georgina had inherited from her father, but . . . male primogeniture and all that rot.’

He turned to the Queen and laughed slightly. She murmured her agreement, to an extent, although she wouldn’t have gone quite as far as ‘rot’. Nevertheless, she and Philip had ended the system in their own family, and not only for property but for titles, too. Little Charlotte Cambridge now held her place in the succession ahead of any younger brothers she might have.

‘Valentine has other plans,’ Hugh added. ‘That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. He and Roland are getting married. I wanted you to be among the first to know.’

‘Oh, are they?’ the Queen said, disingenuously – as if Rozie had never mentioned it. ‘My congratulations, obviously. It will be a first.’

‘The first man in the peerage to marry another man, you mean? Indeed. The St Cyrs are leading the way, ma’am. Another family entry in the history books.’

‘It certainly will be.’ The Queen was aware that her surprise at this decision made her sound stiff. It was true about the history books.

‘He and Roland are planning to live in New York.’

‘How lovely,’ Lady Caroline said firmly. ‘And thank goodness you have Flora to look after things here.’

‘Exactly,’ Hugh agreed.

They walked down a wide staircase of shallow steps and through a vaulted hallway decorated with intricate patterns of crossed swords, pikes and halberds, pistols and muskets dating back to the Civil War. Outside, in a second inner courtyard near the medieval section of the house, a wheelbarrow and two large piles of stone, wrapped in plastic, suggested the new building works were not complete.

‘Is there still much to do?’ Lady Caaroline asked.

‘A little,’ Hugh conceded. ‘We’re damp-proofing the rooms where Flora’s new cake shop will go. Quite an undertaking with a moat, as you can imagine.’

As they stood in the courtyard, the sun, which had been hidden by a bank of cloud all day, suddenly fought its way through and bathed them in its pale gold, wintery light.

Lady Caroline beamed. ‘There’s nothing like a winter’s afternoon when the sun finally makes an appearance.’

Hugh offered to take them on a quick tour round the moat. The clouds were rolling back rapidly now to reveal an ever-increasing patch of pale blue sky. A light breeze ruffled the grasses in the distant meadows.

‘This sceptred isle, this earth of majesty, this seat of Mars, this other Eden,’ Hugh murmured. He gave a brief, self-deprecatory laugh. ‘Or so I’ve always thought.’

‘Richard II!’ Lady Caroline announced happily. ‘We studied it at school. It’s John of Gaunt, isn’t it? This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England . . . I always loved that speech. It doesn’t end well, though.’ She shook her head and laughed, too.

They rounded the eastern side of the house and turned to the south, where the moat was bordered by a formal rose garden before a lengthy slope led down to the tree-fringed river below. There was an eerie peacefulness to the scene, pierced occasionally by stern calling and counter-calling from sheep in a distant field.

‘Oh, you have sheep, too!’ Lady Caroline said to Hugh. Her thoughts were on a very different track from the Queen’s, and much sunnier. ‘You are brave. My brother keeps them and he can’t make a penny out of them. He does it for the love.’

‘So do we,’ Hugh agreed. ‘These are Norfolk Horns. They used to be practically extinct. The fleeces are wonderful quality, but worth nothing in these days of synthetic clothes, of course. They make excellent meat, too. We were devastated to lose our poor, dear shepherdess last year.’

‘Do you have much to do with the tenants?’ the Queen asked.

‘Socially, d’you mean? Oh, goodness, it varies. We entertain them a few times a year,’ Hugh said. ‘It was always more Lee’s domain than mine. “Hearts and minds”, she called it. Like the army, you know. Oh, look, up there.’ He pointed across the meadow, above the river, where a heron was gliding silently on outstretched wings. ‘Some are friends and some are absolute bastards.’

‘Herons?’ she asked.

‘No, tenants. I’m sure you find the same thing. They all loved Lee, though,’ he added softly. ‘And I’m sure they’ll come round to Flora, too. She only wants the best for Ladybridge.’

They kept walking around the moat until they were level with the buildings at the other end of the hall from the drawbridge, where the works on Flora’s future cake shop were evident from missing window frames and loose tarpaulins at ground level, one of which flapped forlornly in the breeze.

‘It’s like the Forth Bridge,’ Hugh commented. ‘Never finished.’