I slipped away from them and continued up the track, into the mist. I felt an absurd sense of panic. A young gentleman had been shot. I didn’t know whether Darcy was part of that shoot or not, but I found myself praying “Please not Darcy, please not Darcy” as I broke into a run, stumbling over tussocks of heather, rocks and rabbit holes. Figures loomed ahead through the mist but there was an eerie silence. I could hear a lark singing somewhere above the gloom. Then the mist parted and I came upon them. They were standing still, almost posed as a tableau: the king, still holding his gun, at the middle of the scene; three of his sons, the Prince of Wales, the Duke of York and Prince George; plus his daughter-in-law, the Duchess of York, standing around him in a protective knot; with the lesser players off to one side. Further off were the servants, holding the bags of game, the spare guns and the dogs, who strained at their leads as they saw me coming and began barking again. There was a look of bewildered shock on all the faces. And out beyond the tableau I could make out something lying on the ground with two people on their knees beside it.

“Who’s that coming now?” The king’s voice carried through the clear air.

“Looks like young Georgie,” someone said, probably the Prince of Wales by the voice.

“Georgie?”

“Binky’s sister, from Castle Rannoch.”

I reached them, a little out of breath from having run uphill.

“Hello, sir.” I nodded to the king. “Her Majesty was coming to see how you were doing, but now she’s gone back in the motorcar with your man to fetch a doctor.”

“I’m afraid it’s a little too late for a doctor,” the king said, in a clipped voice that was fighting to show no emotion. “Poor fellow’s had it.”

“Who is it?” My heart was thumping so loudly I could hardly breathe.

“Some young chap staying with you, I gather,” the Prince of Wales said. “Beastley something. I wouldn’t look if I were you. Not a pretty sight.”

My gaze moved past the group to the smaller tableau on the ground. As I moved toward it I spotted my mother. She had been clinging to Max’s arm, but now she broke away and ran up to me. “Isn’t it too, too horrible?” she said. “That poor boy. So handsome too. What a ghastly thing to have happened. I feel quite weak and nobody thought to bring a flask of brandy. I just hope they take us back to the house soon. I might faint any moment.”

“Mummy, you’re as strong as an ox,” I said. “I’m sure you’ll hold out splendidly.”

“Such an unfeeling daughter,” she said with a dramatic sigh. “Max, you will catch me if I faint, won’t you?”