The Blood Royal

Edward sniffed appreciatively at his food. ‘Ah! The scents of the east! I really grew accustomed to this sort of thing in India. Wonderful cooking! I say – not used to this new style of going on – how long do we have to wait before we can tuck in?’

‘Until at least one other couple has settled with us,’ Lily said firmly, inventing the etiquette. ‘But look, before you start – and you’ll think this a bit fussy—’

He interrupted her. ‘You’re the policeman. Just tell me what to do. I’m your obedient servant this evening.’

Lily took a deep breath. ‘I’m going to change plates. I took exactly the same dishes as you.’

‘Oh, no,’ said the prince with instant disobedience. ‘And have you slide under the table stricken with something ghastly? That’s just not on. I’ll send out for two plates of fish and chips if you like … there’s a stall over the road in the park that does wondrous haddock … but I’m not having a girl act as my food taster. Besides – it’s u

In a second, Lily had swept the plate from under his chin and replaced it with her own. ‘Orders, sir,’ she said firmly. ‘It’s all right – I’m not intending to eat any of this. I’ll just stir it about a bit. I ate before I came,’ she lied. ‘Ah – here comes someone who knows you, I think …’

‘It’s Tuppy! A chap I was at sea with. Tuppy! Come and join us! Ha! Last seen crossing the bar and swearing allegiance to King Neptune! Two years ago … HMS Renown … Remember, Tuppy? You were sitting in a ducking stool, mouth full of shaving foam! Gracious … I wondered if you’d survived that dunking! Good to see you again! And this is …? Your wife! Little Gi

The introductions performed and the newcomers settled in their places, the prince picked up his cutlery again and all, apart from Lily, began to eat.

A moment later: ‘And here’s Co

The prince had this the wrong way round, Lily reckoned. Rupert was towing Miss Beauclerk along with some urgency. He’d cut a swathe through the other diners to reach their table and after a glower directed at Lily he joined them and performed further introductions.

Lily went through the motions of greeting the table guests as correctly as she knew how, liking what she saw. Co

Three couples. Lily wondered who had been delegated to occupy the two seats remaining at their table.

The prince looked about him. ‘Two more places. Now – for ma

‘Sir, I believe Prince Gustavus to be … er … Serbian,’ said Rupert hurriedly. ‘May I advise that—’

‘So that’s him! The Gustavus? Well, if he’s the sporting gent I’ve heard tales of, I should rather like to shake his hand and congratulate him!’ said Edward. ‘Serbian, you say? It’ll have to do, for here he comes.’

Enter the assassin, was Lily’s first paralysing thought.

The nobleman strode towards their table. Dark clothes, impeccable haircut, fashionably scarred left cheek, neat moustache, the man was a caricature of aristocratic menace. Lily found she was instinctively poised to rise to her feet, clutching a quite useless fish knife and sca

Rupert was skilfully ushering the newcomer to a seat at the far end of the table and indicating that he should settle down on the chair next to himself. The new guest now found that he was seated with his sword arm an inch away from a muscled Special Branch shoulder and at an angle from Prince Edward. Lily admired the adroitness with which the manoeuvre was carried out. Prince Gustavus, whoever he was, had better not reach inside his jacket too abruptly for his cigarette holder, Lily reckoned. Having at once identified his target as a right-handed man, Rupert had, in one move, spoiled his aim and pi

The newcomer changed to German to address the Prince of Wales and a conversation in that language ensued. A pointed courtesy, Lily realized, when Edward broke off politely after a few exchanges and spoke again to the table in English. ‘So good to get a chance to air my German. It’s the only foreign language I’ve ever been at ease with. But Gustavus, I know, speaks excellent English so we’ll continue with that. Not eating tonight, Your Royal Highness?’

The prince replied that he was too impatient and too old-fashioned to stand about waiting to be served. He rather despised English picnics. And, moreover, he was quite content with the wine. A superb example from Georgia. The princess’s choice, he assumed. He took a sip and remarked wickedly that an appreciation of this vintage was the only thing he had shared with Rasputin. ‘God rot him!’ he added cheerfully.

‘Er, yes, quite,’ agreed Edward. ‘What a good riddance that was! The evil peasant priest! We owe a vote of thanks to the band of gallant fellows who finished him off.’ He raised his glass. ‘To the sportsmen who rid the world of the Mad Monk, God rot ’im! What?’

They sipped and murmured in agreement.

‘I had heard, Gustavus, that you yourself were … how shall I put it? … not unaware of, indeed, not uninvolved in the protracted demise of the Russian fiend?’

Edward had voiced the question that all were eager to ask.

The reply was low and curt. ‘Several men were involved in the conspiracy – one at least an English secret serviceman. I’m sure the details must have reached the ear of Your Royal Highness, concerned as you must have been to see the noxious threat to your dear Russian cousins removed. And, of course, his removal was of deep interest to your country. His death came at a most opportune moment—’

‘Long anticipated by many, I’d say,’ Rupert interrupted. ‘Half Europe and Asia wished the man ill. And there are dozens of stories circulating about his death. I know at least …’ he put his head on one side and appeared to be counting, ‘seven … no, eight, chaps who claim to have pulled the trigger. Or wielded the axe. Or pushed him in the river. Depends who’s bending your ear and how much he’s had to drink.’