It is impossible to describe the impact the sight of a firearm has on any type of situation, but Jon felt it as he entered the drawing room along with the youngest Royals.
David was standing there with an engorged smile upon his face and a Winchester rifle on his shoulder.
The other occupants of the drawing room – which at this point were only Marjorie, Emeline, and Maud – had retreated as far away as they possibly could. Marjorie was attempting to use the Christmas tree as cover.
‘David, what are you doing with that thing?’ she shrieked.
It was at this point that the other three had entered, but David did not concern himself with them. He had a gun, after all. Everyone else had to concern themselves with him.
‘Oh, this thing?’ he said, shaking the rifle as though it were of no consequence at all. ‘Well, I was just pottering around, and had the bright idea that we may need it. What with a killer on the loose, a man has a right to defend himself and his family. At least the innocent ones. It is really that simple. I remembered that there were a couple in the store up by the tower stairs, so I decided to bring one back with me.’
‘Put it down, you facile man,’ Emeline said, ‘unless you intend to use it, of course.’
‘What? No, niece. You have the wrong end of the stick. I am going to protect the innocent among us.’
‘Maybe you should put it down, David?’ Marjorie said, peering through the branches of the tree. ‘Even if your intentions are pure.’
‘Martin, Matthew,’ Maud gasped, as she saw her children close to David. ‘Come here quickly.’ They obeyed their mother, and she grasped them just as tightly as she could. ‘You’re a madman, Uncle. Bringing a gun into this.’
David scanned the room, even acknowledging Jon by the door. He saw every scared face. ‘What? I’m no threat to anyone here. In fact, the complete opposite. I am trying to protect you – why can’t you see that?’
‘Protecting us would have been leaving the Winchester where it was, you idiotic buffoon,’ Emeline remarked. ‘A gun is now in play, and thus guns plural are now in play as well.’
‘What?’
‘You have just announced where to find more guns, have you not?’
‘I . . . well . . . ’ David realised his mistake. ‘Ah . . . ’ The Winchester wilted slightly on his shoulder. ‘I see that was a misstep. But my acquisition was not one. Don’t you see? Is everyone else going mad?’ David betrayed that he wasn’t sure himself, making his hurried and slightly panicked tone not match his expression. It was decidedly strange. ‘Yes, this is a deadly weapon, but it is a deadly weapon we can use. The good guy against the bad guys.’
‘You do not look like a “good guy” right at this moment, Prince David,’ Jon said, in as level a voice as he could muster. ‘I’m sure everyone else in this room would agree.’
There was a murmur of agreement from all corners – a level of synchronicity he was not used to.
‘Give the gun to Jon, Granduncle, please.’ Martin stepped out from his mother’s clutches to the centre of the room, standing in front of the coffee table and the whiskey. He was standing directly where the King was when he died.
‘Little field mouse, I am not going to hurt you.’
‘We all elected for Jon to sort this out. To question us, to accuse us, sure. But also to protect us. He should have it,’ Martin said, refusing to back away.
Rather than bearing any ill will for his grilling, Martin seemed to have grown a budding respect for the chef. It was almost heartwarming to see, had it not been for the situation surrounding it.
‘I do not particularly want a gun either, sir,’ Jon said to him.
‘I vote for Jon too,’ Emeline said.
‘Me too,’ said Maud.
Matthew simply nodded.
David gripped the Winchester. ‘Margey?’
Marjorie did not meet his prickly eyes. ‘I’d rather the chef had it than you.’
David gasped. ‘You think I am more likely to have killed . . . than this . . . this . . . common . . . ’ Whatever insult he was cooking up died somewhere between his brain and his lips. ‘We are all doomed.’ He held the rifle out for anyone to take.
No one came to take the gun, and Jon had to force himself to step forward. He slowly took the Winchester from David, sliding his fingers around the base to hold it upright. He pulled it free from the other man and was almost toppled over by the incredible weight of the thing.
As if the gun were the focal point of the scene, Jon found the attention returned to him and expectation at his feet. ‘Right.’ The rifle was cold, unwieldy. He hated it. ‘I will return the Winchester to where it belongs, whilst trying to secure any further stock. In the meantime, please will everyone remain in this room? It is for your own safety.’
‘Wait,’ Maud said, ‘you have seen all here now, as well as my husband. May we ask what you are thinking?’
I don’t know.
That was the first thing that came to mind. The rifle weighed him down but not enough. He wished it would pull him through the floor. ‘I need some time to think on what I have uncovered. And to think on how to proceed.’
There were still so many unanswered questions. Where did one of the Royal Family procure a poison? What kind of poison was used? When exactly did they lace the whiskey and how did they know they would not be discovered before the time was right – or worse, kill the wrong family member?
The mystery was still as wild as the weather outside – with no hope of clear skies.
‘He has no idea what he’s doing,’ David muttered, ‘and I just gave him the gun.’
It seemed that the mood in the room was turning again, and this time Jon was in the firing line. Marjorie, having entertained a brief sortie against David, was now back on his side. Emeline and Maud glanced unsurely at each other. It was only Matthew and Martin who seemed to still be in support.
Emeline was opening her mouth to say something, when Prince Martin spoke.
‘Who is that?’ he said, pointing.
This stopped everyone in their tracks. Martin was pointing out of the window, into the blizzard. Jon made his way around the Christmas tree to see the figure himself. The window being so frosted up made the figure seem almost dreamlike. But it was unmistakable – someone was standing out there in the torrential snow, staring in at them. What was more, the figure was wearing Jon’s red coat.
Suddenly, the figure seemed to realise that it had been noticed and started moving backwards into obscurity.
And that was when the lights went out.