Murder Most Royal

‘That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. He and Roland are getting married. I wanted you to be among the first to know.’

‘The first man in the peerage to marry another man, you mean? Indeed. The St Cyrs are leading the way, ma’am. Another family entry in the history books.’

‘It certainly will be.’ The Queen was aware that her surprise at this decision made her sound stiff. It was true about the history books.

‘He and Roland are planning to live in New York.’

‘Exactly,’ Hugh agreed.

They walked down a wide staircase of shallow steps and through a vaulted hallway decorated with intricate patterns of crossed swords, pikes and halberds, pistols and muskets dating back to the Civil War.

Outside, in a second inner courtyard near the medieval section of the house, a wheelbarrow and two large piles of stone, wrapped in plastic, suggested the new building works were not complete.

‘Is there still much to do?’ Lady Caaroline asked.

‘A little,’ Hugh conceded. ‘We’re damp-proofing the rooms where Flora’s new cake shop will go.

Quite an undertaking with a moat, as you can imagine.’

As they stood in the courtyard, the sun, which had been hidden by a bank of cloud all day, suddenly fought its way through and bathed them in its pale gold, wintery light.

Lady Caroline beamed. ‘There’s nothing like a winter’s afternoon when the sun finally makes an appearance.’

Hugh offered to take them on a quick tour round the moat. The clouds were rolling back rapidly now to reveal an ever-increasing patch of pale blue sky.

A light breeze ruffled the grasses in the distant meadows.

They rounded the eastern side of the house and turned to the south, where the moat was bordered by a formal rose garden before a lengthy slope led down to the tree-fringed river below. There was an eerie peacefulness to the scene, pierced occasionally by stern calling and counter-calling from sheep in a distant field.

‘Oh, you have sheep, too!’ Lady Caroline said to Hugh. Her thoughts were on a very different track from the Queen’s, and much sunnier.

‘You are brave. My brother keeps them and he can’t make a penny out of them. He does it for the love.’

‘So do we,’ Hugh agreed. ‘These are Norfolk Horns. They used to be practically extinct. The fleeces are wonderful quality, but worth nothing in these days of synthetic clothes, of course. They make excellent meat, too. We were devastated to lose our poor, dear shepherdess last year.’

‘Do you have much to do with the tenants?’ the Queen asked.