Queen Georgiana tossed and turned. She usually slept like a stone but, tonight, despite a mug of cocoa before bed, her mind simply refused to switch off. She had lain awake for hours, a showreel of worries playing in her head. On the one hand, she was relieved to hear that Alice-Miranda was on the mend, but there was still this nonsense with Kennington’s. People were dropping like flies yet there were apparently no clues as to the source of the contamination. The whole thing beggared belief.

Poor Cecelia also had the garden party coming up too. It was a terribly important occasion, particularly with the relaunching of the Paper Moon Foundation after that dreadful swindler made off with all the money. Her Majesty sighed and reached across to snuggle the feather-down pillow beside her. She almost went through the bed canopy when the object yelped loudly.

She tore off her eye mask and came face to face with one of her beagles. The pooch resentfully wriggled from her grasp and leapt to the floor.

‘Oh heavens, I am sorry, Petunia,’ the Queen apologised.

She looked around for Archie and saw that he was sound asleep in his basket in front of the hearth.

‘This is a nonsense,’ she muttered, pushing back the covers and swivelling her feet to the ground. ‘A snack is what we need. Are you two coming?’ She pulled on her dressing-gown and stuffed her feet into her favourite pair of lamb’s-wool slippers.

Archie raised his head and hopped out of his bed. Petunia scampered to the door. Neither creature wanted to be left behind if there was a pantry raid in the offing.

The Queen and her dogs tripped along the hallway towards the back stairs. Although it was the middle of the night, Evesbury Palace was far from silent with its abundant creaks and groans, not to mention the ticking of the thousand or so clocks which seemed to grow louder in the evenings. She reached the kitchens, comprised of a labyrinth of rooms beneath the palace, and was glad to find the place empty. She hated startling the staff and quite liked being able to make herself a cup of tea and some toast every now and again.

Archie and Petunia danced around her feet, eager for a treat.

Queen Georgiana walked into the larder and pulled the cord to switch on the lights. She squinted, then rubbed her eyes.

‘Heavens, we’ve been robbed!’ the Queen exclaimed as she surveyed the empty shelves. Her Majesty hurried to the nearest telephone and punched in three numbers. ‘Mrs Marmalade, get down here immediately,’ she ordered. ‘I think we have had an intruder.’

Not a minute later, Marian Marmalade thudded down the stairs. She was a sight to behold in her floral robe and her hair in rollers, clutching the brass candelabra she’d thought to snatch up along the way.

‘Ma’am, what is it?’ The woman cast a bewildered glance around the seemingly undisturbed room, wondering why Her Majesty hadn’t thought to call Dalton, her personal bodyguard, instead of her lady-in-waiting. Marian had been having the most marvellous dream and had not appreciated the call one bit.

‘The larder is practically empty,’ the Queen blustered.

Marian gulped and lowered her weapon. If only Her Majesty had stayed out of the servants’ quarters, she’d have been none the wiser. ‘Ma’am, I’m afraid the staff have removed all of the Kennington’s products. On Dalton’s orders.’ The woman wasn’t averse to that silly old trout being blamed.

The Queen’s nostrils flared. ‘And what about my favourite marmalade? I came down for some tea and toast and you know I cannot take my toast without Kennington’s marmalade.’

‘Gone,’ her lady-in-waiting squeaked.

Queen Georgiana balled her fists. ‘Well, this is utterly preposterous! I’ve been eating Kennington’s marmalade my whole life and I do not intend to stop now. There’s only one thing for it.’ Her Majesty nodded to herself. ‘Get Marjorie on the phone. This business with Kennington’s cannot go on a minute longer.’

Marian Marmalade scurried away and pressed the red emergency button hidden behind a tin of shortbread. It was the direct line for Marjorie Plunkett, Head of the Secret Protection League of Defence.