Murder Most Royal

Estimate’s foal, for example, had been born in the early spring, which was ideal. He would be well established before he raced as a two-year-old – assuming he was good enough to do it. Judging from his proportions, his movement and that intelligent flick of his ears, she had high hopes for him. But her thoughts were elsewhere this morning.

She was pleased to see that Arthur was among the grooms. As they prepared to walk the horses back to the yard, she asked him to stay behind, near the statue of Persimmon, whose winnings on the track for her great-grandfather had paid for the magnificent Walled Garden itself.

The poor boy looked chalk-white with lack of sleep. She had seen him this way at the stables, too. At the time, it seemed natural that he should be anxious about his aunt and his little sister; now she wondered if it was something more.

‘How is Mrs Raspberry?’ she asked. ‘Is there any news?’

Arthur looked astonished to be asked.

‘She came out of the coma a couple of days ago, ma’am. But she’s got no memory of that day.

She’s covered in bruises. Dad didn’t want us to go and see her, but we had to. I mean we wanted to.’

‘Well done. I’m sure it must have been very comforting for her.’

‘She looked . . . bad, ma’am. Thin. Her face all purple and yellow . . . And, you know, tubes and things.’

‘Give her time. She’ll heal. She might lose her confidence a little,’ the Queen added, having seen enough riding accidents to know. ‘But you can help her by keeping her company. I sense you’ll be good at it.

’

‘Er, OK. I’m not sure about that.’ The troubled look on his face was evidence of a confidence crisis of his own.

‘I’ve been thinking about your sister’s discovery on the beach,’ the Queen went on.

She saw his whole body tense. ‘What, ma’am? I mean, why? I mean . . .?’

‘I wondered if she had gone there alone that day. It’s a very long walk to Snettisham from West Newton. That is where you live, isn’t it?’

‘So I wondered if someone had driven her. And they might have been on the beach with her.

And they might have seen . . . all sorts of things . . . while they were there. Before the police arrived, I mean.’

The poor boy was practically blue. The Queen had considered that it was three to one she was probably wrong, but now it was odds-on she had pictured the scene correctly.

‘I-I dunno. Maybe someone drove,’ he said. ‘I can ask.’

‘Do you drive, Arthur?’

He tried to swallow. His throat was dry. ‘I . . . Sometimes.