Murder Most Royal

‘What rumour’s that, ma’am?’

‘The one that says he never did go up to London.’

‘No! Who said that?’

‘I can’t remember where I heard it.’ The Queen looked vague. ‘Sandringham is a fount of gossip. But someone said they knew for a fact the person who left Abbottswood that day in his car wasn’t him.’

‘Goodness! Who was it?’

The Queen shrugged. ‘I can’t imagine, can you?’

‘Do the police know?’

‘I’m not sure,’ the Queen said, innocently.

‘You know what they think of gossip, pet,’ Mr Day said to his wife.

‘True.’ Mrs Day rolled her eyes. She frowned with concentration, trying to remember Ned’s last movements, based on what they’d heard. ‘It could’ve been a parcel delivery man who saw the car. Fred Sayle supplies heating oil. He could’ve spotted someone driving out as he was going in . . .’

‘Perhaps they felt they wouldn’t be believed,’ the Queen said. ‘Or they didn’t trust their own judgement. I wish one knew more, so one could do something about it.

The Queen gave a perfectly honest reply. ‘Without any evidence, I don’t think I could help.’

Mrs Day was still thinking hard. The Queen decided that this was a good time to leave her to it. One useful thing about being the monarch – something that was often as much of a burden as a gift – was that every little thing you said was weighed and measured. She would be astonished if there were no ripples from the pebble she had cast into this particular pond.

‘It’s a difficult issue, isn’t it? If you discuss it with anyone, please don’t mention me. I don’t approve of gossip.’

‘Ooh, I wouldn’t dream of it, ma’am,’ Mrs Day said reverently.

NOTHING GOLD CAN STAY

This ringside view was part of his reward for the tip-off of where to look for the body. Mrs Day had rung him in great anticipation three days ago.

‘I’d have gone to the police straightaway, but after all the names they called Mrs Raspberry, they can sing for it, quite frankly.

Ollie hadn’t promised, but he’d looked into it anyway.

It took a lot to persuade a cash-strapped police force to dredge a moat. The ‘how the body got there’ was the relatively easy part. His first thought, like Mrs Day’s, was that Ned might be buried at Abbottswood somewhere, and the police had missed it.