Murder Most Royal

‘Then whatever happened would have been around thirty-five years ago, which would make it . . .’

‘Nineteen eighty-one,’ Rozie added helpfully.

‘Hmm.’ The Queen continued to play with her spectacles for a little bit while she thought the thing through. ‘My mother’s correspondence is not in the most perfect state,’ she admitted. Margaret had been living with their mother at the end of her life and had disposed of some of it. The Queen Mother wasn’t always entirely discreet. However, she had been a prolific letter writer and there was still a lot left.

Rozie did. She was a friendly woman and fellow owner of a Mini Cooper. They had bonded over cars when the Boss was there over Easter.

‘Good,’ the Queen said. ‘You might ask for all the letters my mother received from anyone in Norfolk three years either side of 1980. Ask for any that she sent, too. Sometimes they end up in the collection. Do explain that time is of the essence.

‘It’s a long shot,’ the Queen observed grimly.

‘I’ll see what I can do.’

After Rozie left, the Queen turned to gaze out of the window. She didn’t return to her private correspondence for quite some time.

The Queen’s mobile telephone wasn’t working. The grandchildren had insisted she have one, and had recorded a rude message on her answering machine, which she hadn’t found out about for ages. Not that it particularly mattered, because they were the only people who called her on it. She liked to use it to catch up on the news sometimes, which is what she intended to do now, while drinking her morning cup of Darjeeling in bed.

It was the twenty-first of January and, the day after the inauguration, in cities around the world, women were massing to protest the words and actions of a president who had cheerfully admitted to grabbing them in private places. What was the world coming to? The Queen had known all sorts of world leaders who almost certainly (or definitely) had done such things, but none so far who had bragged about it.

She called her dresser and pointed out the problem.

‘Oh! I’m so sorry, ma’am. Someone forgot to charge it last night. I’ll do that for you now.’

It took a few minutes to locate the charger and get the inert block to start up again.