Murder Most Royal

Soon, wetlands gave way to farmland that was patched with pine woods, with paddocks and flint cottages. Below them, briefly, was the shell-pink Regency villa at Abbottswood, where she was surprised to see a herd of deer ambling slowly across the lawn. Next came the stubbly, immaculate fields and scattered copses of the Muncaster Estate, whose furthest reaches bordered one of the royal farms, and then at last the fields, dykes and villages of the Sandringham Estate itself. As the helicopter made its turn, the Queen saw a glint of seawater in the distant Wash and a minute later Sandringham House appeared behind a ridge of pines, with its formal and informal gardens, its lakes and its sweeping lawns amply big enough for them to land.

This close to Christmas, Rozie didn’t expect to have much to do. With no monasteries to dissolve or royal marriages to broker, the main job of the Private Office was to liaise with the Government, manage communications and organise the Queen’s public schedule. But Whitehall and Downing Street had effectively shut down for the holidays; the media were fixated on holiday stories; the Queen’s next public event was in three weeks, and even that was only a tea party in the village.

Thomas Cromwell would have found it all very tame. Rozie had mostly been catching up with the residue of emails that had somehow never made the ‘urgent’ list in her inbox. However, an hour ago a new one had come in. Perhaps this break wasn’t going to be as quiet as she’d anticipated, after all.

Lined up outside the entrance hall, Mrs Maddox, the immaculate housekeeper, and her team were waiting to welcome the royal couple back. Today, the interior smelled deliciously of woodsmoke from the fire that popped and crackled in the saloon behind them, where the family would gather later for drinks and games. The dogs happily padded inside, keen to be back, while Philip took himself straight off to bed.

The Queen had just enough energy to do justice to a couple of freshly made mince pies and a pot of Darjeeling in the light and airy drawing room at the back of the house, whose large bay windows overlooked the lawn.

In one of the bays a Christmas tree was already in place, its branches partly decorated on a red and gold theme, ready to be completed when the rest of the family arrived tomorrow. Normally, she chose the tree herself, but this year there hadn’t been time. A small price to pay for a cosy afternoon indoors, which she very much needed.