They were in the hallway, walking down to the vacant study. Jon hesitated before leaving Matthew alone with everyone after his promise, but he saw no other way.
‘Oh, to be free of that room,’ Emeline said, ‘I half asked to be first just to be away from it.’
They passed the painting of the King that Jon had stared at, and the grandfather clock Jon had not fixed. The study was the next door they came across. Before going inside, Jon stopped a moment. Something about the hallway was . . .
‘Jon? What is it?’
Jon shook his head. ‘It’s nothing.’
Inside, the study was small and dusty. The maids still cleaned here, but not quite as often. A small wooden desk sat in the centre of the room with a desk chair behind it, and a rather less comfy chair in front of it. It was just as if someone had set it up for the very purpose of interrogation. There was nothing else in the room at all – the sideboard bare, the bookcase empty.
Jon instinctively went to sit in front of the desk, but Emeline shook her head and guided him to the desk chair behind it. He sat. It was easy to forget the mere joy of being off his feet. His legs were singing with gratitude. He immediately regretted it, already dreading the battle that would be getting up again.
‘I have not had time to offer my condolences, Your Royal Highness.’
Emeline waved them away. ‘Thank you, but it is not necessary. I am sorry for what you are going through too – I know you and my father had an unlikely friendship. And I am particularly sorry that you have to see the rest of us at our worst. It is hard to believe the Royal Family can be so barbaric, but there it is.’
‘How are you coping, if you don’t mind me asking, ma’am?’
‘I am broken, Jon. And I know my family is hurting too. But that does not make it any better for me. At least Maud has her husband and her sons – even Mother and Uncle seem to have each other. I am alone. I just wish Anton were here. He would know what to do.’
Jon did not want to make light of the situation, especially from his very unique vantage point, but he felt that they should press on. Anton was not here, and even Emeline would admit that that was probably best for him. ‘Let us start with earlier this morning. We crossed paths in the drawing room when I was lighting the fire for your uncle. You came in with your sister.’
‘Yes,’ said Emeline, a little more content now Jon was asking questions. What an odd thing – content with interrogation? ‘We had just made breakfast, although cereal does not take much making.’
‘So you had breakfast, and then Maud’s timetable says you went to find the King?’
‘Yes, we were in such high spirits, just from pouring our own cereal. Christmas Day in more ways than one.’
‘Did you see any of your family before going to find the King?’
‘I did not. I walked with Maud and went to my room just to freshen up somewhat. Maud had been talking about The Monarch – by all accounts she would not shut up about it. I haven’t watched it myself, so I put on an episode while getting ready, but I could not concentrate, so I just watched the morning news. It took me maybe half an hour to get ready – I am not one to spend hours worrying about my appearance.’
That was hard to believe. Although Emeline was, in the public’s eyes, the lesser Princess, she still appeared positively radiant. Even her sorrow could not cloud her beauty.
‘Why did you go to see the King? You already knew he would call upon you, as he would call upon others?’ He was of course referring to the private audiences that many of the family had mentioned.
‘No, I had no idea that was his intention. I simply wanted to wish my father a Happy Christmas. It is very hard to get Father on his own, given his station, even in a castle of less than ten people, but I knew he would be alone in his study in the morning preparing his speech. He always does that, as I’m sure you know. He’ll write it all weeks in advance, and then on Christmas morning, he’ll get a kind of anxiety about it, and go back and tinker. I arrived when he had just finished, and, by coincidence, when he was just about to find some way to call for me.’
‘How would he have done that?’
‘I’m not sure. He would have employed Martin to run around for him maybe. It hardly matters, does it?’
No, he supposed that it didn’t. ‘So your father had his private audience with you? I’m afraid I am going to have to ask what you discussed.’
Emeline smiled genuinely – a beautiful sight that reminded him of days gone by and almost banished this day entirely. ‘I know. And I will be forthcoming about it, although I’m afraid there are others in my family who definitely won’t. First, we discussed the very private audiences themselves – he wished to talk with Maud, my uncle, my mother, my nephew Matthew, and for some reason, Thomas. Though quite why anyone would want to do that is beyond me. I was to bring them all to his study when the time was right. So I suppose I was to be the “Martin” instead – doing Daddy’s busywork as usual.’
‘Does that annoy you?’
Emeline’s eyes snapped to Jon, with an angry fire raging inside the irises. Jon realised that it was possibly the first thing he had ever said out of turn. Emeline seemed to realise this too, remembering Jon’s new station and softening. ‘Yes, I suppose it does. I have always felt like the worker-bee daughter, to my more preened counterpart. I have never been enraged enough to commit murder though.’
‘I am not insinuating anything, ma’am.’
‘No, I know you’re not. I just . . . Maybe I just had to say that for myself.’ It was almost as if she had to convince herself that she hadn’t performed the act – very odd, but he supposed that grief manifested itself in many different ways. It was possible that Princess Emeline thought herself responsible in any number of ways, and they were hitting her one by one. ‘Anyhow, when the plan was drawn up for the audiences, Father just talked about the day ahead. He seemed in high spirits. I don’t have to tell you, but Christmas is his favourite holiday, after all. Was – Christmas was his favourite holiday.’
An uncomfortable silence threatened to derail the whole conversation. Jon stumbled to hold on to it. ‘Matthew mentioned that he thought the after-dinner speech was to be about naming the King’s successor. Did you happen to see the speech, or did the King mention the content?’
Emeline shook her head. ‘I had no idea at all. Father never usually discussed those things with me.’
‘How does that make you feel? After all, you are his firstborn – even if it is by minutes. Before the change to the succession rules, you would have been queen. Maybe you still are in line.’
Emeline shook her head again, but this time it was far more deliberate – one might have said the motion was violent, even. ‘I was never in line, never in contention. He made that perfectly clear. However, I am fine with that – who would really want to be queen anyway?’ She sounded sincere enough. ‘No, there is only one person that Daddy would have announced to be next in line.’
Emeline sat on the information, clearly taking some power from withholding it, if only for a second. For that second, she had the authority back. It was clear that she was missing it more than she was letting on.
‘And that would be, ma’am?’
‘Father would have named Matthew to succeed him. He has never hidden the fact, even when it might have hurt Maud and me. He never would have said it, but he thought we were too old. A new monarch would have to be full of youth, he’d say.’
‘That must have stung a little.’
‘Of course it did. Thirty-nine, and being called too old! But he was right – he is right, I suppose, and as I said, I never had any real desire for queendom.’
‘Thank you for your cooperation, ma’am. I have only two more things to ask at this time – who do you think killed the King? And maybe even more importantly, why?’
Emeline thought on these questions for a long time. He could not blame her. They were not easy to parse, and in truth – they scared him to death. ‘I do not think I can answer the former question, but with regards to the latter – it must be someone who would benefit from the King not speaking Matthew’s name. Someone who did not want Matthew to be the new king.’
Jon had been thinking of a very similar scenario himself, although there were a few flies in that particular ointment. Killing a king to prevent a specific successor sounded like an adequate enough motive, but only if the King’s intentions could not be proven. He had to admit that he was also in the dark about the finer protocol of the succession rules, and would have been even before they had changed – would the King’s words have had to be followed to the letter? Jon then stumbled upon something he rather wished he hadn’t. ‘If the King was killed before announcing a successor, one may assume that the title of monarch would fall to the first in line, that being you, ma’am.’
‘Yes,’ Emeline said, as plain as a sky with no clouds. There really was nothing else to be said. ‘You see, I am the prime suspect. I saw that very quickly. That is why I wanted to get this all sorted – so I can clear my name.’ Emeline rose. ‘If it is agreeable, I would like to leave now.’
Jon rose too. ‘Of course, ma’am. It seems you have been retrieving people all morning, so I do not want to ask, but . . . ’
‘Of course I will send another to you, Jon. I am actually more productive when distracted, so being put to work staves away the tears. Do you have any preference as to whom to see next?’
Anyone but David or Marjorie, he thought, although their time must come eventually. ‘Maybe I should talk to your sister next.’
Emeline nodded in compliance – an odd shift in the balance of power that was not lost on either of them – and went to the door. Jon followed her as she turned. ‘Thank you, Jon – truly. I know this is far beyond your duties. The Crown thanks you.’
Emeline stalked off down the hall back towards the drawing room without another word. Jon gazed after her through the open door, and was about to close it, before his instinct made him pause again. A rather loud tick tock tick tock tick tock filled the corridor. It took a moment to realise why this was so odd, but once he had, Jon strode over to the grandfather clock.
It was running perfectly, the small hand denoting the seconds snapping to each minute segment with a faultless rhythm. Jon would have sworn it wasn’t working before, and the fact it was not the correct time proved it. There were more pressing matters, but it was highly irregular. With one final look, he returned to the study as the clock ticked away.