Murder Most Royal

It is not far from Sandringham, where the Queen spends Christmas every year. It is believed Mr St Cyr was visiting his cousin when he disappeared. The police are not thought to be looking for anyone else in connection with the murder.

The second of February was Candlemas: halfway between the middle of winter and the spring equinox. The festival marked forty days since the birth of Jesus, when he was presented as a baby in the Temple. Nearly six weeks since Christmas, and approaching the full length of time the Queen allowed herself at Sandringham.

It had been a precious, restorative time – a sort of hibernation. She always thought of these days as an opportunity to take in the things she loved, so that the next few months could be about giving what was needed. The land was the same. Bare earth was already giving way to snowdrops and Candlemas marked the day when they could be brought into the house to brighten up each room with the promise of spring. The Queen wasn’t superstitious, but she found these traditions reassuring: the ebb and flow of nature, the repetition and renewal of life.

There were two large bowls of snowdrops in the Long Library when the chief constable arrived to explain the goings-on at Ladybridge. Seventy-two hours had passed since the removal of the body from the moat and the sudden death of the thirteenth Baron Mundy. He wondered how Her Majesty would take what he had to say. She must still be recovering from her bruising encounter in the field.

The tale he had to tell was a gruesome one and he didn’t want to cause her any further distress, but these were friends of hers: she would want to know. It was why he wanted to tell her himself, so he could do it as delicately as possible.

He was shown in by one of the good-looking younger equerries, who told him the Queen had half an hour to give him before she needed to return to her guests. She swept in soon afterwards, in a tartan skirt and a cardigan, preceded by the dogs and accompanied by her APS.

Her Majesty looked surprisingly chipper, he thought, for a woman who had been through such a terrifying encounter. This was encouraging. He noted the APS’s studied indifference to the equerry, meanwhile, and his to her, and wondered in passing who else knew they were sleeping together.

‘Chief Constable, I’m glad you’re here,’ the Queen said. ‘Do sit down, here by the window.