A Three Dog Problem

‘Lorna Lobb?’ The Queen considered the name, her brow deeply furrowed. ‘Which notes did she deliver?’

‘All of them, ma’am, except the ones to Mary van Renen.’

‘Are you quite sure? Including the notes to Cynthia Harris?’

‘Absolutely. We have it here in writing.’ He tapped the folder. ‘She didn’t do it on her own account. She was working for Arabella Moore who, by the way, denies everything, but the case is very solid. Mrs Moore is married to Stewart Moore, who you may remember left under an unfortunate cloud that was somewhat of Mrs Harris’s making. There was bad feeling between her and the housekeeper.’

The Queen’s brow remained stubbornly furrowed. ‘But didn’t Mrs Harris receive other notes years ago? Before she retired, I mean? Before Mrs Moore would have had any reason to resent her?’

The Master had considered this himself. ‘She did,’ he acknowledged, ‘but Mrs Lobb claims to know nothing about those. I assume they were the work of someone else, giving Mrs Moore the idea. Mrs Harris was unpopular with some of the junior staff even then. She may quite easily have said or done something to create ill will.’

The Queen’s gaze rested on a selection of photographs in silver frames. Her lips were pursed. ‘Did Mrs Lobb explain what Mrs Moore’s motives were for the other messages? The ones not received by Mrs Harris, I mean.’

‘No. After a certain point she clammed up, unfortunately. But I did my own research. Mrs Moore was known to have had words with Mrs Baxter about the unrest she felt Mrs Baxter was stirring up in her staff. And with Rozie there was a racist element. I must say, this came as a complete shock. I’d never have guessed. Mrs Moore has always seemed a picture of propriety.’

‘Yes, she has,’ the Queen said quietly.

‘I asked if Rozie wanted to make an official complaint, formally to the police, I mean. But she didn’t. She was quite clear about that.’

‘And what about Mary van Renen? You said Mrs Lobb didn’t confess to those notes.’

‘Ah. That’s another matter entirely, ma’am. I don’t know if you remember, but Miss van Renen was being harassed by a man she had met on the internet. He caused some unpleasantness, but it was unrelated to Mrs Moore’s campaign.’

‘I see.’ Her Majesty didn’t seem puzzled any more, thank goodness, merely grim: the way she looked when watching parade manoeuvres poorly executed by troops of foreign nations in the rain. ‘And what does Mrs Moore have to say about all this?’

‘As I said, she’s denying everything, quite vociferously, but she would, ma’am, wouldn’t she? There’s a formal process we need to go through before we let her go. I have initiated it. She won’t be with us for much longer.’

The Queen’s brow furrowed again. ‘You haven’t sent her home already?’

The Master admitted that he hadn’t. He’d been too busy recently to give it his full attention, and – this was something he kept to himself – it was in his interest to keep Arabella Moore on for as long as possible. She might be a nasty, racist bully in her private life, but she was an excellent man-manager at work, and her team was responsible for all the guest liaison for the upcoming Diplomatic Corps Reception in a month, which was the biggest, most glamorous event of the year, putting even the state banquet to shame. She was, in her way, a bit like Cynthia Harris: very good at what she did in ways that were hard to replace at short notice in a high-pressure environment. She’d be out on her ear soon enough, once the formalities were over, but he offered to put her on paid leave instantly if Her Majesty required it.

However, she didn’t. She merely requested him to let her know if he discovered anything new, and asked to see a copy of Mrs Lobb’s confession. It was only as he was leaving that the Master realised she hadn’t looked delighted even for a moment. This, too, was a mark of the woman. Despite the fact that he had dealt with the issue for her, one of the victims had accidentally died in the process, and that was hard for all of them to take.