Murder Most Royal

A brief interval followed, while Depiscopo radioed for help. The trouble was, as the Queen saw instantly, that help would normally come from the south, towards Newmarket, and the main road that way was blocked with traffic. Rozie had already grabbed a medical kit from the back of the car and taken it to deal with the older casualty. Depiscopo assessed the situation and instructed the Queen’s driver to get out and warn any passing traffic about the danger, while he reversed the Range Rover up a little track they had passed fifty yards earlier to get it, and Her Majesty, out of the way. The Queen knew that officially, what he should do was ignore the injured women and drive on. Jackson would have done it without a qualm; the sovereign’s safety was paramount. But she took advantage of the new officer’s uncertainty. Like all her staff, he would be trained in first aid. Thank goodness they were there.

He parked the car at the top of the track, on a little ridge out of sight of the road, next to an empty field. She was increasingly worried that Rozie would be busy ministering to the older rider or rounding up the horses, and might get hit by a passing car in the process.

‘I’ll be perfectly all right here,’ she said, because she would be. ‘Go and see what you can do.’

Depiscopo wavered.

‘Are you sure you’ll be OK, ma’am? I’ll be one minute. Please stay in the car.’

The Queen assured him that she would be perfectly safe. He ran down the track.

But he was not back after one minute, or even five. Meanwhile, the Range Rover was getting cold and it was eerily quiet. On top of that, her knee was giving her gip. Outside, high above the trees, two lapwings flew in a complicated dance against the bright blue sky. She opened the door and stepped out to get a better look, and the fresh air on her face made her feel instantly better.

She couldn’t see what was happening in the road below because Depiscopo had carefully chosen a parking spot masked by pines and hedges. To her left, there was a stile set into a rough stone wall, with a large paddock beyond. Her gammy knee ached for exercise. She wasn’t exactly dressed for a walk in the country, but it hadn’t rained for days and the path to the stile was dry. She changed out of her patent shoes into more practical boots that she always kept in the back of the car and retrieved a silk scarf that she kept in the back-seat armrest for emergencies, knotting it under her chin. Though she couldn’t see the road, the view across the fields from here was delightful. There were worse places to wait.

Heading for the stile, her leg felt better with each step and when she reached the field – which turned out to be a rough paddock – she saw two ponies grazing in the middle. Depiscopo could easily find her here. He might panic for a moment when he saw the empty Range Rover, but it would be obvious where she had gone.

She had nearly reached the nearest pony, picking her way carefully across tussocks of grass and watching out for rabbit holes, when the sound of hooves grew rapidly louder and she glanced to her left to see a grey stallion sail over the hedge marking the northern boundary, before landing heavily not fifty feet from her. Its rider wore immaculate hunting pink and a hard hat. He must be part of the distant drag hunt. But they were miles away by now.

‘Are you lost?’ the Queen called out cheerily.

He trotted towards her without speaking. As he grew closer, her absolute astonishment was mirrored by his.

‘Hugh?’

‘Your Majesty?’

‘But I thought—’

Lord Mundy brought his horse to a halt and dismounted, keeping the reins in one gloved hand and his riding crop in the other. His horse breathed heavily beside him. Hugh looked very different without his ancient tweed and baling twine. The smart red jacket and white stock under his chin brought back memories of younger days, when he had been a dashing huntsman. He beamed at her and bowed.

‘Of all the fields in all the world, ma’am . . . What are you doing here?’

‘Avoiding an accident. I might ask the same thing.’

‘I took a wrong turning and lost the pack twenty minutes ago,’ he said. ‘Thought I heard the horn, raced over three fields and now, God knows where I am. I’m out of practice. But it’s been a good morning.’

‘Has it?’ The Queen was starting to regret several of the decisions of the last ten minutes. There was still no sign of Rozie, the driver or her protection officer. ‘Don’t you have the police with you at Ladybridge?’

‘Ah. You heard about that. I slipped away. No need to watch ’em spook the swans and muck up the moat.’

‘Did they let you go?’

‘Not specifically. But I saw no reason to watch and wait. If we don’t hunt – even a drag hunt like this – we’ll lose the right to do it at all.’