The grooved lacquered letters glinted in the firelight. The King picked up the box and moved it back and forth, making the letters look like they were dancing. ‘And whom do I have to thank for this work of majesty?’ Eric asked an audience of confused faces.
‘What does it mean?’ Martin piped, his attention drawn to the box when the intrigue of his own pile of presents had been exhausted. He was asking the question the rest of the party was wondering as well, Jon also.
Eric peered at the smallest Royal and laughed. ‘Come, Martin, what do you think it means?’
Martin came to stand next to his grandfather, rather unimpressed with the attention he was receiving. ‘Interregnum. I don’t know.’
Eric did not hold the youngster’s lack of knowledge against him. ‘ “Interregnum” is a very important word. It refers to a particular time period. The term is composed of two Latin words. The first, “inter,” means “between,” and the second, “regnum,” means “reign.” So when placed together the title of this puzzle, in its very literal sense, is “Between Reign.” ’
‘Between Reign?’ Emeline said. ‘What an odd name for a puzzle.’ She seemed so genuinely curious that Jon thought he could erase her name from the suspect list of who gave Eric the gift, but then he remembered Emeline had a cunning side. He recalled hearing of a certain time when she was five and she let loose on the walls of Windsor Castle with a felt-tip pen. She had everyone somehow convinced, for the longest time, that the perpetrator was one of the cats, who had clutched the marker in its teeth. When Eric regaled this tale to Jon, he couldn’t hide how impressed he was that she had everyone fooled.
Eric traced the letters with a finger. ‘A royal puzzle. I would question what this meant if only I knew whom to direct the question to.’ The clear call to action was not met with a name. For a second, it seemed that Eric, scrutinising them all in turn, would not get past this point and would spend the rest of the day getting to the bottom of it. In a mere second, however, all was forgotten and Eric’s face stretched into a boyish smile – the likes of which Jon had not seen in a long while. ‘Well, no matter. I will have this open in a jiffy. Do feel free to talk amongst yourselves.’
Over the next hour, King Eric poked and prodded the box, turning it over in his hands, attempting to break into it with an intense look of determination on his face. Jon watched him for a while, before even he became fatigued by the fact that the King seemed to be making little progress. He had gotten the front side open slightly, but it seemed that the entire mechanism was hinged on three separate puzzles around all but one side.
Jon decided it best to leave the King to his work and made a circuit of the room handing out drinks and topping up glasses. He had not been watching the other Royals, so it was interesting to see how they had progressed.
David and Marjorie, the familiar duo, were now standing as far from the King as they could be, by the far wall. They almost seemed as if they were contemplating leaving the scene altogether, hovering by the door that led out into the north corridor. They were in intense discussion, with Marjorie swaying slightly and steadying herself by touching the wall, and David still in high emotion.
‘They need some discipline, Marjorie.’
‘I know, I know. You try to talk to a king. I said ever since they were babies that they would need a firm hand. I had it, my mother had it, my mother’s mother had it, my mother’s mother’s mother had it, my . . . ’ She was silent for a moment, breaking from her cycle. ‘But he never listened. I used to be naughty, be disciplined, and then not be able to sit down for days for the spankings. But every time I did try to sit, I’d recall why I couldn’t. And I wouldn’t do what incited them again.’
‘Exactly, Margey. But seeing as they have not had that, they are now set in their ways. And their ill manners cannot be undone. Maybe I could have a word with him?’
Marjorie was in the same conversation but on her own path, eyeing her youngest daughter with suspicion. ‘I only hope that she is not imprinting on Martin. I think Matthew may be a lost cause already, but . . . ’ Marjorie lurched, and her eyes met Jon’s. ‘Alleyne, do you often eavesdrop like that?’
‘I’m sorry, ma’am. I was just waiting for the best time to cut in. Would you like a drink?’
Marjorie snorted. ‘Does the King leave the seat up? That means yes, Alleyne.’
Jon filled Marjorie’s glass with a smile that he hoped seemed genuine. ‘Prince David?’
‘Yes, I suppose I ought. How long until the speech do you think, Margey?’
‘Not long, I hope.’
‘It better not be about that common family at the zoo again. I fear I could recite that in my sleep as it is.’
Jon took his leave, moving on to Emeline, Maud, and Martin, who were standing around the Christmas tree and laughing together. Well, the sisters were – Martin seemed to be the odd one in this gathering, glancing around as if to find a way out.
‘What do you think Daddy will talk about in his speech to us?’ Emeline was saying as Jon entered earshot.
‘Hard to know, really,’ Maud mused. ‘He always pulls something rather funny out of his hat though, doesn’t he? I think he could have been a comedian if he wasn’t . . . well . . . king.’
‘Have you seen his Christmas message for the BBC?’
‘No. He sent over a copy, but I didn’t have a chance. I was opening an RSPCA cattery in Plymouth at the weekend. The pair of scissors they gave me to cut the garland were blunt – that’s really all I remember from the experience.’
‘He said that the Beeb cut out all of his jokes.’
Maud laughed – a glorious sound much like a songbird. ‘See – a comedian. But it doesn’t surprise me. You have to leave room for the military wives, after all.’
‘No, this year it’s some choir of orphans or something. It does seem that every year the address titled “The King” has less of the King.’
‘Jonathan,’ Emeline said, startling all others in attendance. She was the only one who had noticed him hovering in the periphery. ‘Have you come to fill our cups?’
The two Princesses shared matching smiles and it was impossible for him not to smile too. ‘I have, ma’am.’ They offered up their glasses, which Jon filled.
Martin looked expectant. ‘Can I have some more?’
‘I suppose so, as it’s Christmas,’ Maud conceded, nodding her consent to Jon. ‘But don’t drink it too quickly, and don’t tell your father. Or the Daily Mail.’
Thomas Crockley was standing alone on the other side of the tree, drinking and playing with a particularly shiny bauble. He seemed happy to see Jon approach and before Jon could offer up a tipple, Crockley had embroiled him in conversation.
Ten minutes later and it was still happening – ‘We have a fleet of cars out there on the streets twenty-four/seven. Uber cannot touch us – and believe me they’ve tried.’ Crockley had made his money kick-starting a taxi-like app for the upper class. Jon had never used it himself – was hardly in the pay bracket to qualify – but it was meant to be the lap of luxury. From Crockley’s sales pitch, it did indeed sound splendid.
Jon filled his glass without Crockley even breaking a stanza of self-congratulatory smugness. He moved away from Crockley as soon as he could, seeing that he realised he had missed one Royal entirely – and this provided ample excuse to move on.
Matthew was also alone, rolling his tumbler between his hands, lost in thoughts beyond his years and gazing at the King with admiration shimmering in his eyes. Jon came to him and asked him his question, almost sorrowful to disturb the picture.
Matthew held out his glass, with a ‘Please. The brandy.’
When he was done, Jon gazed with Matthew awhile.
‘How does my grandfather seem to you, Jon?’
It was not often Jon was asked his opinion, and Matthew had never inquired about it before, so he had to think a moment. ‘I don’t know, really. In what regard?’
‘You’ve been with him for how long now?’
‘Over three decades, sir.’
‘So you’ve seen him slow down.’
‘Yes, sir, I have a little, but I have slowed with him, as has your grandmother and your great-uncle. Time is your friend only when you are young. Soon enough, it becomes your enemy.’
Matthew watched the King, appearing to try to apply Jon’s words to what was ailing him. ‘There’s always been something about him. King Eric Windsor, but also my grandfather. Two very different people but somehow the same. I look up to both. And, now, seeing him fade. You’re right, Alleyne – time.’
Jon almost felt the need to leap to the King’s defence. ‘Not fading, sir. Just not as fast as he once was.’
Matthew wanted to say something, voice some other fear – it was written on his face – but at that moment, a cry of triumph came from the King’s direction.
‘I think I have it. Jon, would you please refill my cup so I can toast my victory! I beat Interregnum.’