Murder Most Royal

The Queen looked up. Moira had been mentioned once or twice in the other letters. She knew several Moiras, but only two who were old enough to have been confidantes to Lee St Cyr in the late 1970s, and one of them lived in the Bahamas. The other lived in a Georgian manor house, half an hour’s drive due east of Sandringham. She was Moira Westover, the mother of Astrid, who had so recently got engaged to Ned St Cyr.

She picked up the phone and explained what she needed to Lady Caroline.

Chapter 27

Moira Westover stood at the doorway to her home just outside the Pensthorpe Natural Park and watched the Queen’s cars draw up through narrowed eyes. This was not the reception the Queen was used to. Normally, her hosts were in their Sunday best and their faces were tight with excessive smiling. Moira wore a padded gilet over narrow jeans tucked into well-worn Dubarry boots. Her mouth was a set line, her expression wary.

But then, this visit was an unusual one. Lady Caroline had checked that Moira would be at home, but stressed that the conversation would be brief, private and informal. The Queen really didn’t want to sit through a very long tea, or several earwigging friends and relations. Moira had taken her at her word, it seemed. Unlike her daughter, she had made no visible effort at all.

The two-storey house, with its elegant Georgian windows, was surrounded by a garden big enough to house a swimming pool and a grass tennis court, next to paddocks where half a dozen horses grazed. This was where Astrid had grown up, the fourth and youngest child of Moira and David who, in his lifetime, was known as one of the best shots, and most prolific alcoholics, in the county. The Queen had known an alcoholic or two in her lifetime, and knew that their loved ones had to learn to be self-reliant. They were used to being lied to by people they should trust, which perhaps explained the suspicion in Moira’s eyes today. The Queen knew Moira from the Pony Club circuit, where she had ridden with Anne. As an adult, she had accompanied her husband on various Sandringham shooting parties – but it was hardly enough to explain why the reigning monarch would want to drop in on her at twenty-four hours’ notice. The Queen knew she had some explaining to do.

‘Is there something you need to tell me?’ Moira asked urgently, as they sat awkwardly opposite each other in the pristine silk-swagged sitting room. Her taut face and ramrod spine radiated tension.

‘Not exactly,’ the Queen said. ‘But I think there might be something you can tell me.’

Moira looked puzzled. ‘I’ll try.’

‘What did you think I’d come to say?’

‘It had to be something about Ned,’ Moira responded. ‘I thought that . . . After you were kind enough to talk to Astrid . . . I thought the police had told you something truly dark about Ned. What’s happened to him, I mean. And you were telling me so I could tell my daughter.’

‘Oh, no!’ the Queen assured her. ‘Nothing like that. I’m still waiting to find out as much as you are.’ Though I have my suspicions, she thought. One day soon, she suspected, Moira would have to comfort Astrid through very difficult times. But not today.

‘Oh, thank goodness.’ Moira recovered herself. ‘What did you want to know?’

‘I was looking through some of my mother’s letters recently and they mentioned that Baroness Mundy went through a particularly difficult moment. It was when the children were quite young. Valentine had just gone to hospital, I think. And you looked after Lee.’

Moira stiffened again. ‘Yes, I did, briefly. Why?’

The Queen ignored the question. ‘Since her death, a lot has happened. But I think it all goes back to that moment. Lee was a good friend of my mother’s. Sadly, I can’t ask her about it, so I’m asking you.’

Moira pursed her lips. ‘I can’t quite believe I’m saying this, ma’am, but I can’t help you. I made a promise to Lee at that time. Her secrets were her secrets. I haven’t told a soul.’

‘I believe you,’ the Queen said. ‘I think I know what those secrets might be and I haven’t heard any talk to that effect, so she protected them well. She trusted the right people.’

‘I like to think so.’

‘It’s all very admirable, but there’s a murderer at large. I believe we should all do what we can for the sake of justice. Can I tell you what I suspect?’

Moira agreed that she could.

‘As far as I’m aware,’ the Queen began, ‘Valentine St Cyr had two hospital scares as a boy. The first time, he was about six and he accidentally ate poison. His father was beside himself. If anything, Hugh was more frightened for his son than Lee was. The second time, a few years later, Hugh was so angry at whatever had happened that Lee felt she had to remove Valentine from his sight. I wonder if, that second time, the problem required some sort of blood test and the doctors discovered in the process that Hugh could not be Valentine’s father.’

Moira gave the Queen a steady look and didn’t say anything. The Queen carried on.