Princess Emeline spoke first, as no one else moved an inch. She provided the best smile she could, given the circumstances. ‘Thank you, Jon. I know Father trusted you with his entire being. It is time for us to do the same.’
‘Everyone’s complete cooperation will be necessary,’ Jon said, trying to sound like an investigator might. ‘Otherwise this will not work.’
Emeline nodded. ‘You have mine. The truth and nothing but the truth.’ In turn, the other Royals gave their consent just as Emeline did – all but the two usual suspects. Those two sat in their corner on two chairs they had moved specially, and watched proceedings with interest – as though they were disconnected from what was happening in the rest of the room.
‘Uncle? Mother?’ Maud inquired. ‘Is anybody present?’ The two of them looked to their youngers with expressions that could only be described as utter barefaced contempt, and almost comically shrugged in unison. Maud sighed. ‘They’ll do it, Jon. They’re just making a scene, because all of a sudden, this is not completely about them.’
‘Go and suck an egg, daughter,’ Marjorie said, before breaking down into a horrendous cackle. Her grief was taking her on a very twisted path.
‘It’s the Wild West, Margey. The walls are coming down,’ David muttered. His comment prolonged the Princess Royal’s hysterics – a scene that was completely neglected by everyone else. It seemed to be an unspoken agreement among the others to place those two in an echo chamber and throw away the key.
Princesses Emeline and Maud, Thomas Crockley, and Princes Matthew and Martin – the more amenable of the family – seemed united in support. That at least was a blessing. Jon did not know what that meant in terms of the task he had before him, but it was nice in the moment.
‘Very well,’ said Jon, hoping to conjure a heading. To attempt to look like he had succeeded, he quickly moved over to the coffee table between the two chaise longues. The serving decanter offered no grand epiphany. The whiskey inside – still half a bottle’s worth – seemed normal. He retrieved a glass and poured himself some. There was a slight murmur of panic from someone as he lifted it to his face, but it was unnecessary. He lifted it to his nose and not his mouth. He couldn’t smell anything intrusive that was not meant to be there – in the profile was the familiar wheat smell, almost overpowered by the phenolic smoky scent. There was nothing that screamed poison, although Jon would hardly know what that smelled like. The only scent he associated with poison was almonds for cyanide – common knowledge – and there were no nutty tones of any kind here (at least none that should not have been there). Of course, Jon knew that cyanide was not the only kind of poison, but maybe it would have simply been the easiest solution. Without drinking the liquid, he wouldn’t know what it did internally, although he had some idea given the state of the King.
He placed the glass and the bottle back onto the tray, defeated by his first act as investigator. Nothing was gleaned at all. He guessed the next action should be to go and look elsewhere – but looking around, he realised that his actions in his new role and his actions as the sole protector of the Royal Family would collide.
In a foolhardy attempt at retrieving a new bottle of wine, David had crossed the age divide and was about to stumble into a storm with Princess Maud. Jon could see it coming as David, freshly tipsy and desiring to continue his odyssey, tripped into the Princess. What followed was a barrage of insults from both sides, which would be barely repeatable in a ‘common’ household, let alone the King’s. As the symphony escalated, and Thomas Crockley stepped in (as ever, a little too late), Jon understood that getting too far from this embarrassment of a scene would be unwise. Temperatures were running high, and if they rose any further, things would start to get ugly – the family’s status be damned. Even if he was not present in the room, he had to be seen to be doing something more to actively impact not only the investigation but their current predicament.
He thought entirely as he spoke – an action that was very foreign to him while on duty at the castle. He usually composed and vetted a complete thought before voicing it. He had to shout to rise above David and Maud’s battle. ‘I think it would be best now to talk to you each individually and get a clearer picture of what happened.’ That sounded like something an investigator would do.
The current scene and everything that had happened since the King’s grand exit had showed him that he must separate the Royals if he was to have any hope of finding out what happened. He was starting to understand how much he did not know about this family – he saw the King die, he saw that one of these people had killed him, but he did not know who. Family bonds were strained but he did not know how exactly; loyalties were being tested but how far; these people were being torn apart but where did it start? He looked around and saw strangers – as if the King had been the only connective tissue between him and them. Jon had dedicated his life to a strange family who had kept him at arm’s length.
‘I will talk to you first,’ Emeline said, stepping in front of her quarrelling family members, who had still not stopped their war of words. ‘I feel that me being the first interviewee is somewhat apt given that this was my idea. Where shall we go? I do think that we should put some distance between ourselves and the very room in which the crime occurred.’
Jon, again, found that Emeline was trying to take control – a side to her that was not unwelcome given the circumstances, but was also slightly at odds with her usual easygoing temperament.
A great sigh seemed to fill the room. ‘Little Miss Perfect goes first.’ It appeared that Emeline’s mother also noted her attempt at authority. ‘Watch out for that one, chef – she has a temper.’
‘Mother, please,’ Emeline snapped in such a way that Jon had never heard before. Jon had never heard Emeline so much as raise her voice, but she was surprising him of late. Was it possible that Marjorie was right? Emeline, who reinforced her question of where to go because of the interruption, mused for a second and then said, ‘We could go to the hall.’
Having just been in the hallway, Jon knew the eerie nature of the corridors of Balmoral, the feeling of eyes resting on him even though there was no one else present, the fact that he felt overly exposed. It was hard to think any work could be done in the hallway. ‘No. Let us go to the visitor’s study down the hall.’ The study was a perfect centre for his operation – it was vacant, having once upon a time been the Princesses’ private secretary’s office. However, now that the Princesses had moved away to their own similarly extravagant abodes, the study lay empty, forgotten. There were so many rooms in the ’Moral, it was startlingly easy for one to fall into obscurity. It was now repurposed for visitors to use – but visitors rarely came.
They started off towards the doors, an odd couple, but Marjorie staggered into view and refused to move, seeming to undulate in her righteous indignation. ‘I would not say anything you do not want in the papers, daughter. These staff can never be trusted.’
‘Mother, we are beyond that. What is it about this situation you do not understand?’
‘Oh, I see plainly, Emeline. I see a great deal more than you give me credit for.’ Marjorie said this triumphantly before giving a great hiccup, jostling her wine. Despite this, Marjorie did not move from their path.
‘Come on, Grandmother.’ Matthew appeared from beyond them and took Marjorie by the arm, somewhat haphazardly. ‘Let us get you sat down.’
‘I do not need coddling!’
‘I shall get you sat down and then get you another drink.’
She brightened at this. ‘Oh. Well, alright then.’
Matthew guided Marjorie away, sat her down, and nodded back to Jon with a somewhat satisfied smile at a job well done. Jon couldn’t help but give a grateful one back.
‘Excuse me, sir.’ This was Thomas Crockley, who was attempting to look fine with Marjorie being seated near him. He was still looking impossibly pale. ‘Can we just maybe have a summation of what is going on?’
Jon became acutely aware that at some point David and Princess Maud had stopped arguing and were both watching Jon with something that could even resemble unity.
‘I am going to talk to each of you one by one to get a general idea of the history that could have been involved with the King’s death. We are going to the study just down the hall from this room,’ Jon announced. ‘I recommend that no one else steps foot outside this room until I am back. The fact that there may be a third party in the castle is a possibility that is still very much in play. You will be safe if you band together.’
‘You are aware that you may be leaving us here with the killer.’
Jon was absolutely aware of that – he didn’t like it, but there it was. ‘There’s one thing that we have over the killer. The killer is alone. If you don’t let anyone out of your sight, then you will all be safe. I promise.’ As soon as he said those last two words, he wished he hadn’t – because a new possibility had just announced its arrival in his mind.
What if it’s more than one of them?
Jon hastily had eyes on everyone in the room, realising that Emeline had already exited. When had she left? – he had to get after her. However, there was one last thing he had to ask.
Matthew was crossing to Jon’s abandoned drinks tray for Marjorie’s sustenance, and Jon caught his eye. ‘What were you going to say, sir?’
Matthew stopped in his tracks, emitting two very different appearances. He plainly appeared to know exactly what Jon meant, but on the surface, he appeared confused. ‘Hmm?’
Jon knew to tread carefully. ‘Just before we entered the drawing room, you said that you must say one thing before this goes any further, and then Marjorie dropped the glass and interrupted you. What was that one thing?’
‘It barely matters anymore.’
‘Sir, please, if it may help.’
‘It will not help,’ Matthew said, ‘it can only hinder.’ Jon was confused, and with a sigh, Matthew explained. ‘I was going to say that if we find out who killed my grandfather, I may not be able to wait for the authorities. Because when the killer is unmasked, whoever they may be, I’m going to kill them.’