All the Queen's Men: A Novel

By SJ Bennett

“Sheer entertainment… Bennett infuses wit and an arch sensibility into her prose… This is not mere froth, it is pure confection.” — New York Times Book Review on The Windsor Knot

Amateur detective Queen Elizabeth II is back in this hugely entertaining follow-up to the bestseller The Windsor Knot, in which Her Majesty must determine how a missing painting is connected to the shocking death of a staff member inside Buckingham Palace.

At Buckingham Palace, the autumn of 2016 presages uncertain times. The Queen must deal with the fallout from the Brexit referendum, a new female prime minister, and a tumultuous election in the United States—yet these prove to be the least of her worries when a staff member is found dead beside the palace swimming pool. Is it truly the result of a tragic accident, as the police think, or is something more sinister going on?

Meanwhile, her assistant private secretary, Rozie Oshodi, is on the trail of a favorite painting that once hung outside the Queen’s bedroom and appears to have been misappropriated by the Royal Navy. And a series of disturbing anonymous letters have begun circulating in the palace. The Queen’s courtiers think they have it all ‘under control’, but Her Majesty is not so sure. After all, though the staff and public may not be aware, she is the keenest sleuth among them. Sometimes, it takes a Queen’s eye to see connections where no one else can.

• Language: English
• Publisher: HarperCollins
• Release date: Mar 1, 2022
• ISBN: 9780063051164

SJ Bennett

SJ Bennett wrote several award-winning books for teenagers before turning to adult mysteries. Born in Yorkshire, England, she lives in London and has been a royal watcher for years. The Queen, to the best of her knowledge, does not secretly solve crimes. 

Book preview

title page

Dedication

This book was written before the death of Prince Philip on April 9, 2021, at the age of ninety-nine. It is dedicated to him with affection and respect for a life well lived. And with not a little nervousness. Would he have laughed and chucked it across the room with an exasperated grin? I hope he would.

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Dedication

Contents

Part 1: Sangfroid

Prologue

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

Part 2: The Breakages Business

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

19

Part 3: A Three Dog Problem

20

21

22

23

24

25

26

27

28

29

30

31

32

33

34

35

36

37

38

Part 4: Pentimenti

39

40

41

42

43

44

45

46

47

48

49

50

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Also by SJ Bennett

Copyright

About the Publisher

Part 1

Sangfroid

I will show your illustrious lordship what a woman can do.

—Artemisia Gentileschi, 1593–c. 1654

Prologue

October 2016

Sir Simon Holcroft was not a swimmer. As a trainee pilot in the Royal Navy, about a thousand years ago, the Queen’s private secretary had endured being dunked in the water on various training exercises. He could, if necessary, escape from a sinking helicopter in the Atlantic Ocean, but plowing up and down an indoor pool held no allure for him. However, as he approached the grand old age of fifty-four, his trouser waistline was two inches larger than it should be and the palace GP was making noises about cholesterol levels. Something needed to give, and it wasn’t just the button above his fly.

Sir Simon felt tired. He felt flabby. On yesterday’s long, uncomfortable car journey back from Scotland he had come to the conclusion that here was a man who had eaten too much Dundee cake and not offered to accompany the Queen on enough cross-country walks. His first thought on arriving back at his cottage in Kensington Palace was that he needed to jolt himself out of this slump.

Those last few weeks in Balmoral had been bloody. It was as if the midges had been staging a Highland games of their own. He had been busy most mornings with Prince Philip, discussing the details of the impending Reservicing Program, and then up most nights on the phone, conferring with fellow courtiers about the Duke’s latest suggestions and questions, as well as adding several of his own. If they hadn’t done all their homework by the time they presented it to Parliament, the proverbial ordure would hit the fan like a fireworks display.

Vigor was what he needed. And freshness. Despite his lack of enthusiasm, the Buckingham Palace swimming pool seemed like the best solution. Staff tended to avoid it when the royals were in residence. The problem was, when the family were away, he tended to be so, too, and vice versa. However, catching sight of himself in an ill-advised full-length mirror in the bedroom at KP that night, he made the decision to take a risk and nip in early. He prayed that, with his midge-bitten body stretching the seams of his Vilebrequin trunks, he wouldn’t encounter a super-keen young equerry in peak physical condition or, worse, the Duke himself, fresh from a royal dip.

Sir Simon walked across Hyde Park and down through Green Park—one of the few forty-minute commutes you could make through Central London that was entirely green—in time to arrive at the palace by 6:30 a.m. He had stupidly put his trunks on under his trousers, which made both uncomfortable. He parked his briefcase on his office desk, hung his suit jacket on a wooden hanger on a hatstand, and took off his brogues. Neatly rolling his silk tie, which today featured tiny pink koalas, he placed it safely in the left shoe. Then, shouldering the backpack containing his swimming towel, he walked the short distance to the northwest pavilion in his socks. By now it was 6:45.

The pavilion, attached to the North Wing that overlooked Green Park, had originally been designed as a conservatory by John Nash. Sir Simon always thought they should have kept it that way. His mother was a plantswoman and he saw conservatories as paeans to the natural world—whereas heated swimming pools were a little bit naff. Nevertheless, the Queen’s father had decided to convert this one in the 1930s for his little princesses to swim in, so there it was, with its Grecian pillars outside, and its somewhat-the-worse-for-wear art deco tiles within, as much in need of updating as so many nooks and crannies of the palace that the public didn’t see.

The pool area was reached from inside the main building through a door papered with instructions for what to do in case of fire and reminders that nobody should swim solo, which he ignored. The corridor beyond was already uncomfortably humid. He was glad he’d left his tie behind. In the men’s changing room, he divested himself of his shirt, socks, and trousers and draped his towel across his arm. He noticed a cut-crystal tumbler abandoned on one of the benches. Odd, since the family had only arrived back from the Highlands last night. There must have been a homecoming celebration among the younger generation. All glass was banned in the pool area, but you didn’t tell princes and princesses what they could and couldn’t do in their granny’s home. Sir Simon made a mental note to tell Housekeeping so they could deal with it.

He showered quickly and walked through into the pool area, with its windows overlooking the kissing plane trees in the garden, bracing himself for the shock of coolish water lapping against this too, too solid flesh.

But the shock he got was quite different.

At first his brain refused to register what it was seeing. Was it a blanket? A trick of the light? There was so much red. So much dark red against the green tiled floor. In the center of the stain was a leg, bare to the knee, female. The image imprinted itself onto his retina. He blinked.

His breath came short and punchy as he took two steps towards it. Another two, and he was standing in the gore itself and staring down at the full horror of it.

A woman in a pale dress lay curled on her side in a puddle of darkness. Her lips were blue, her eyes open and unseeing. Her right arm reached towards her feet, palm up. All were soaked and stained with congealed blood. Her left arm was stretched towards the water’s edge, where the dark puddle finally stopped. Sir Simon felt his own blood pulse, pounding a one-two, one-two rhythm in his ears.

Gingerly, he knelt down and placed reluctant fingers against the neck. There was no pulse, and how could there be, with eyes like that? He longed to close the lids but thought he probably shouldn’t. Her hair lay fanned around her head, a halo soaked in red. She looked surprised. Or was that his imagination? And so fragile that, had she been alive, he could have easily scooped her up and carried her to safety.

Rising, he felt a sharp pain in his knee. As he tried to wipe some of the sticky blood from his skin, his fingertips encountered grit. Examining it, he could just make out small shards of thick glass. Now his own blood, seeping freshly from a cut on his leg, was mingling with hers. He saw it then—the remains of a shattered tumbler, sitting like a crystal ruin in the crimson sea.

He knew the face, knew the hair. What was she doing here, with a whiskey tumbler? His body didn’t want to move, but he forced it back outside to seek help. Though he knew it was too late for any help worth having.

1

Three Months Earlier . . .

Philip?

Yes? The Duke of Edinburgh raised half an eyebrow from the folded Daily Telegraph, which was propped up against a pot of honey on the breakfast table.

You know that painting?

Which painting? You have seven thousand, he said, just to be difficult.

The Queen sighed inwardly. She had been about to explain. "The one of Britannia. That used to hang outside my bedroom."

What, the ghastly little one by the Australian who couldn’t do boats? That one?

Yes.

Yes?

Well, I saw it yesterday in Portsmouth, at Semaphore House. At an exhibition of maritime art.

Philip stared pointedly at the editorial page of his paper and grunted, That makes sense. For a yacht.

You don’t understand. I was launching the navy’s new digital strategy and they’d put up a few paintings in the lobby. The digital strategy was a complicated business, bringing the Royal Navy up to date with the latest technology; the art exhibition had been more straightforward. "Mostly grey things of battleships. A J-Class yacht in full sail at Southampton, because there’s always one. And next to it, our Britannia, from sixty-three."

How d’you know it was ours? He still didn’t look up.

"Because it was that one, the Queen said sharply, feeling suddenly and vertiginously sad at his lack of interest. I know my own paintings."

I’m sure you do. All seven thousand of ’em. Well, tell the staff johnnies to hand it over.

I have.

Good.

The Queen sensed that the Daily Telegraph article was probably about Brexit, hence her husband’s more than usually prickly mood. Cameron gone. The party in disarray. The whole thing so fiendishly botched . . .

A single painting by an unremarkable artist, presented long before Britain joined the Common Market, was hardly important. She glanced up at the landscapes by Stubbs, with their wonderful horses, that adorned the walls of the private dining room at the palace. Philip himself had depicted her here, reading the paper, many years ago. And he had done it better, one could argue, than the man who had painted Britannia. But that picture had once been very precious to her.

It had become a favorite in ways she had never shared with anyone. She intended to get it back.

A couple of hours later, Rozie Oshodi arrived at the Queen’s study in the North Wing to collect the morning’s red boxes containing Her Majesty’s official papers. Rozie had joined as the Queen’s assistant private secretary a few months ago, after a short career in the army and then at a private bank. She was still relatively young for the role, but so far had performed admirably, including—and perhaps especially—in the more unconventional aspects of it.

Any news? the Queen asked, looking up from the final paper in the pile.

Yesterday, Rozie had been tasked with finding out how the painting of the ex–royal yacht had ended up where it was and organizing its swift return.

Yes, ma’am, but it’s not good.

Oh? This was a surprise.

I spoke to the facilities manager at the naval base, Rozie explained, "and he tells me it’s a case of mistaken identity. The artist must have painted more than one version of Britannia in Australia. This one was lent to the exhibition by the Second Sea Lord. There’s no plaque on it or anything. It’s from the Ministry of Defence’s collection and it’s been hanging in his office for years."

The Queen eyed her APS thoughtfully through her bifocals.

Has it? The last time I saw it was in the 1990s.

Ma’am?

There was a belligerent glimmer behind the royal spectacles. The Second Sea Lord doesn’t have another version. He has mine. In a different frame. And he’s had it for a long time, you now tell me.

Ah . . . Yes. I see. From the look on her face, it was clear that Rozie didn’t.

Go back and find out what’s going on, would you?

Of course, ma’am.

The Queen blotted her signature on the paper on her desk and put it back in its box. Her APS picked up the pile and left her to ponder.

2

This place is a death trap.

Oh, come on, James. You’re exaggerating.

I am not. The Keeper of the Privy Purse glowered at the private secretary across the latter’s antique office desk. Do you know how much vulcanized rubber they’ve discovered?

I don’t even know what that is. Sir Simon’s raised left eyebrow managed to convey curiosity and amusement. As private secretary, he was responsible for managing the Queen’s official visits and relations with the government, but he ended up taking an interest in everything that might affect her. And the death trap status or otherwise of Buckingham Palace most definitely fell into that category.

His visitor, Sir James Ellington, was in charge of the royal finances. He had worked with Sir Simon for years and it wasn’t unusual for him to make the brisk ten-minute walk from his desk high up in the South Wing to Sir Simon’s spacious, high-ceilinged ground-floor office in the North Wing, so he could complain about the latest fiasco. Behind every stiff upper lip lies an Englishman bursting to share his withering irritation in private. Sir Simon noticed that his friend was unusually exercised about the vulcanized rubber, though. Whatever it was.

You treat rubber with sulfur to harden it, Sir James explained, and use it to make cable casings. At least, they did fifty years ago. It does the job, but over time it degrades with exposure to air and light and so on. It becomes brittle.

A bit like you, this morning, Sir Simon observed.

Don’t. You have no idea.

And so . . . what’s the problem with our brittle vulcanized rubber?

"It’s falling apart. The cables should have been replaced decades ago. We knew it was bad, but when we had that leak in the attics last month, they discovered a nest of the blasted things that practically disintegrated on contact. It means the electrics around the building are being held together by a wing and a prayer. A hundred miles of them. One dodgy connection and . . . pffft." Sir James made a gesture with his elegant right hand to suggest smoke or a minor explosion.

Sir Simon briefly closed his eyes. It wasn’t as if they didn’t know the dangers of fire. The Windsor Castle disaster in ’92 had taken five years and several million pounds to put right. They had opened Buckingham Palace to the public each summer to help pay for the repairs. Unfortunately, when they’d done a survey of this place, to be on the safe side, they discovered it was even more hazardous. Plans to fix it were underway, but they kept discovering complications.

So what do we do? he asked. Move her out?

No need to specify who may or may not need to move.

We probably should, pronto. She won’t want to go, of course.

Naturally.

We ran the idea up the flagpole last year and she didn’t exactly salute, Sir James mused glumly. I don’t blame her. If she did go, it would have to be to Windsor, so she could keep up her schedule. We’d clog up the M4 with ambassadors and ministers and garden party guests zipping up and down. The castle itself would need to be reconfigured to cope. She’ll soldier on as is if she possibly can. If it ain’t broke . . .

But it is broke, you say, Sir Simon pointed out.

Sir James sighed. It is, as you rightly remind me, broke. He raised his eyes heavenwards. Buckingham Palace is broken. If it were a terraced house in Birmingham, the experts would stick a notice on the front door and forbid the family to return until it was fixed. But it’s a working palace, so we can’t. We were just finalizing the Reservicing Program to work around her—this will add another million or two, no doubt. Oh, and I almost forgot. You know Mary, my secretary? The efficient one who always answers emails on time and knows everything in the Reservicing planning agenda and is a bit of a genius?

Yes?

She’s just handed in her notice. I didn’t hear all the details, but she was in floods of tears this morning. So—

He was cut off by the arrival of Rozie with the boxes, which she placed on a marble-topped console table by the door, ready for collection by the Cabinet Office later.

All good? Sir Simon asked her.

Mostly. How do I find out if we loaned the Ministry of Defence one of the Queen’s private paintings back in the nineties?

At this question of negligible interest, Sir James stood up and took his leave.

Rozie observed his departure with curiosity. Leaning forward, meanwhile, Sir Simon steepled his fingers and focused on the matter in hand. He was good at leaping from one problem to another—like a gymnast on the asymmetric bars, Rozie had often thought, or a squirrel on an obstacle course.

Hmm. Talk to the Royal Collection Trust, he suggested. They look after her private art as well as Crown stuff, I think. Why do we care?

The Boss saw it in Portsmouth, Rozie explained. The MOD say it’s theirs. The thing is, she says it was a personal gift from the artist. You’d think she’d know.

She tends to. What’s the MOD’s excuse?

They’re suggesting there must be two of them.

Sir Simon whistled to himself. Brave move on their part. Can you ask the artist?

No, he’s dead, I checked. His name’s Vernon Hooker. He died in 1997.

Did he paint a lot of boats?

Hundreds. If you Google him, you’ll see.

Rozie waited while Sir Simon duly typed in the artist’s name to Google Images on his computer and instinctively recoiled.

By God! Did the man ever sail?

Rozie was no expert on maritime paintings, but Sir Simon’s reaction didn’t surprise her. Vernon Hooker liked to depict his subjects in bright colors, with exuberant disregard for light and shade. The images featured more emerald green, electric blue, and lilac than you might expect for scenes that were largely sea and sky. But then, one of the Queen’s favorite artists was Terence Cuneo, whose paintings of trains and battle scenes were hardly monochrome. And to Rozie’s surprise, when she looked up Hooker online yesterday, it turned out that his work generally sold for thousands. He was quite collectible.

They’re probably right, aren’t they? Sir Simon concluded, peering back at his screen. The Ministry, I mean. There are dozens of the bloody things. I bet this Hooker would get more money for a Day-Glo royal yacht than a bog-standard seascape. He probably did loads of them.

"She’s adamant. And actually, he didn’t do any others of Britannia that I could find."

As I say, talk to Neil Hudson at the RCT. See if we loaned it. Twenty years is long enough for the MOD to hang on to it.

OK. Rozie changed the subject. Why did Sir James look so uncomfortable just now? I hope I wasn’t interrupting anything.

Only existential despair. It’s the bloody Reservicing Program. His secretary’s leaving, and they’ve discovered vulcanization or something. Dodgy electrics, anyway. The palace is a death trap, apparently.

Good to know, she remarked breezily, heading for the door. It sounds expensive.

It will be. The budget has sailed past three hundred and fifty million already. We need Parliament to sign it off in November, and they can’t even give themselves a pay rise.

She paused at the threshold. Yeah, but this is the second-most-famous house in the world.

But . . . three hundred and fifty million. Sir Simon folded his shirtsleeved arms and stared despondently at his computer. When it was only three hundred, it didn’t sound so bad somehow.

Over ten years, she reminded him. And it’ll come in ahead of time and under budget, like Windsor Castle did. And the bill for the Houses of Parliament refit was four billion, the last I heard.

The private secretary brightened slightly. You’re absolutely right, Rozie. Ignore me, I need a holiday. How d’you stay so chipper?

Fresh air and exercise, she said decisively. You should try it sometime.

Do not cheek your elders, young lady. I’m very fit for my age.

Rozie, who was very fit regardless of age—hers happened to be thirty—threw him a friendly grin before heading back to her office next door.

He tried not to show it, but her remark rankled. She was a tall, attractive young woman, with a short, precision-cut Afro, an athletic physique, and a fitness level that had hardly dropped since she left the Royal Horse Artillery. He, meanwhile, was a quarter century older, and his knees were not what they were. Nor was his back. As a young helicopter pilot and then a diplomat at the Foreign Office, he had been reasonably athletic: an ex–college rower who was handy on the rugby pitch and a demon at the wicket. But over the years, his consumption of good claret had increased in inverse proportion to the time spent wielding an oar, a ball, or a cricket bat. He really ought to do something about it.

3

Back at her desk, Rozie clicked on a series of images stored on her laptop. She had asked the facilities manager at the naval base in Portsmouth to send her a photo of the Britannia painting, so she would have some idea what she was talking about. The image he’d sent showed the royal yacht, flags fluttering, surrounded by smaller boats with a flat blob of land in the background. She wondered briefly why the Boss was so attached to it. This was a woman who owned Leonardos and Turners, and a small, very lovely Rembrandt at Windsor Castle that Rozie would have cheerfully sold her Mini for.

The facilities manager had been quite firm. The Second Sea Lord—a vice admiral in charge of all people matters in the navy—had a variety of paintings in his office, all legitimately sourced from the Ministry of Defence. Any loans from other places were quite clearly recorded and always returned shipshape and Bristol fashion. This wasn’t one of them. There must simply be two paintings.

And yet the Boss was equally certain there were not.

Rozie made a phone call. The artist’s dealer in Mayfair wasn’t aware of any other paintings of Britannia by his late client, but suggested she talk to the son.

Don’s the expert on his father’s stuff. He’s in his late sixties, sharp as a tack. He lives in Tasmania. It’ll be evening there now, of course, but I’m sure he won’t mind talking to you.

Rozie considered what a generous offer that was, then remembered on whose behalf she was calling. No—the artist’s son probably wouldn’t mind talking to her about the Queen’s little problem. People were usually fine with it.

Don Hooker was everything the dealer had promised.

"The royal yacht in Hobart, for the regatta? Oh yeah, I know the one. It was 1962 or 1963—something like that, and Her Majesty was on one of her tours. I remember Dad telling me the story. He was so proud of that painting! He was a big monarchist, was Dad, and there she was, this beautiful lady, traveling the world on her boat. He followed her on all the news broadcasts and made us listen, too, even though, to be perfectly honest with you, Rozie, I was a callow youth at the time and I didn’t really care. But Dad loved the whole thing. He had a map on the wall and he marked off where she went with little green pins. Collected postcards, mugs, the lot. He said she looked so happy on that trip and he wanted her to have something to remember it by. ‘A piece of that joy,’ that’s what he said. He copied the picture from a newspaper photo, added the colors, you know . . . And he got a proper pommie thank-you on palace notepaper, with a big, red crest. It said the Queen had never seen Britannia look so colorful. It was the only one he did. We’ve probably still got that letter in Dad’s archive somewhere. I can look it out if you want . . ."

When Rozie rang him back, the facilities man from the Ministry of Defence was much less confident about his multiple-paintings theory.

Perhaps ours is a copy? he suggested. I agree it’s very unusual, but I can absolutely assure you it’s not a loan from the palace.

Sir Simon was due to see the Queen next, and at Rozie’s request, he updated the Boss while he was there.

She says it’s not a copy; it’s her original, he informed Rozie on his return. Find out how they got it and tell them to stop stalling. She’s pretty pissed off.

How can she tell it’s the original? Rozie wanted to know. After all, the Queen had only seen the painting for a couple of minutes in bad light in a makeshift exhibition at a naval headquarters building on a visit about something else.

No idea. But she’s certain.

If she was certain, Rozie would get the job done.

Just a little closer towards the light.

The Queen adjusted the tilt of her neck, which was getting stiff.

Like this?

Lovely, ma’am. Perfect.

She closed her eyes briefly. It was nice and peaceful in the Yellow Drawing Room. Beyond the heavy net curtains, sunrays gleamed off the golden statue of Winged Victory on the Victoria Memorial—or the Birthday Cake, as the guardsmen called it. Warm shafts of light fell on her left cheek. If only one didn’t have to maintain this wretched pose, one could quite easily fall asleep.

But she did have to maintain it. The Queen opened her eyes sharply and rested her gaze on a Chinese pagoda in the corner, which was nine tiers high, reaching almost to the ceiling. Her third great-granduncle George IV did not do things by halves.

Are you getting what you need?

Absolutely. Won’t be long. You can roll your shoulders in a couple of minutes.

Lavinia Hawthorne-Hopwood, who stood at an easel making preparatory sketches of her, was a considerate artist. She knew what her sitters went through and tried to minimize the trouble. It was one of the reasons the Queen liked to work with her. This wasn’t their first rodeo, as Harry would say. (What a marvelous expression. The Queen was delighted by rodeos. She had always thought that, under different circumstances, she might have been rather good at them.)

Which bit are you working on now?

The eyes, ma’am. Always the trickiest.

I see. Through the window, she watched several people posing for photographs outside the palace gates. One seemed to be doing dance moves. Was this for one of those social media crazes Eugenie had told her about? The Queen craned slightly forwards to get a better view.

If you wouldn’t mind, ma’am . . .

What? The Queen was jolted out of her thoughts and realized she had changed position. Lavinia had stopped drawing. I’m so sorry. Is that better?

Thanks. Just another minute or so and . . . There. That one’s done. Phew! Would you like a glass of water?

A sip of tea would help.

A porcelain cup and saucer appeared at the Queen’s elbow, proffered by Sandy Robertson, her page. After a welcome hit of Darjeeling, she stretched discreetly and rubbed her stiff knee, while the artist reviewed her sketches.

Nearby, two video cameras on tripods and a boom microphone on a stand recorded the session. A small team of three, dressed in practical T-shirts and trousers, moved softly between these and their assigned chairs against the far wall. A lanky young man in the red and navy blue Royal Household uniform stood by to help or corral them,

Reviews for All the Queen's Men

[libraian_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

(Second in Her Majesty the Queen Investigates. Fiction, crime, mystery, contemporary) (2021)Set soon after the events in The Windsor Knot but this time in Buckingham Palace (with a sojourn to Balmoral). The Brexit referendum results have come in, David Cameron has resigned ushering in Theresa May as the new Prime Minister and Hilary Clinton is running against Donald Trump in the US elections. In the prologue, Sir Simon discovers a body by the palace swimming pool and then the book proper starts from 'three months before', brings events up to date and continues on. Her Majesty is not best pleased to discover a painting of hers - but it's not where it is supposed to be and she asks Rozie, her Assistant Private Secretary (APS) to look into getting it back. In the meantime, some members of the Household Staff have been getting poison pen letters that are quite sinister and Sir Simon (amongst many others) is working hard to get the Reservicing programme through.I had to look up the Reservicing programme which takes up so much of the Staff's time and focus getting it ready to be passed through Parliament; it refers to overhauling the old boilers, electrical wiring and so on - some of which (according to Prince Philip's character in this book) hasn't been changed since Queen Victoria's time - as well as introducing new efficient and accessible measures. It was scheduled to begin in April 2017 and take around ten years.I also looked up Artemisia Gentileschi, a rare example of a female painter in the 17th century; yes, she really existed.We travel for the summer to Balmoral with the Queen and her entourage, where she entertains Prime Minister Theresa May, and where we have to deal with bats.'You might want to come upstairs, ma'am, he said with some urgency. 'They've got the nets out.''Oh, have they? Where?''Your bedroom.''Goodness! Yes, of course. I'll come straight away'The Prime Minister asked what the problem was. The Queen grinned, then grimaced.'Bats.'It was as comical as it was frustrating. The poor creatures wanted to get out just as desperately as one wanted to move them from there, but their famous sonar seemed quite incapable of detecting a wide-open window. Usually they caused a nuisance in the white-walled Ballroom below, where the long-handled nets were kept on standby for the purpose of shooing them to freedom. It was rare for them to visit one's bedroom, and the Queen tried not to think about the droppings that might be accumulating on the fixtures and fittings. Charles said the guano was good for the garden. Well, let the bats do it there.Meanwhile, from a position of safety in the corridor (the Queen was not a huge fan of squeaky, unpredictable pipistrelles close up, despite appreciating them in principle),As you may remember, we periodically have a similar issue in our house (including one silly creature who, having finally been shooed through a wide open balcony door one day, flew straight into the shut door a couple of days later; sonar hah!)(don't worry, it bounced off and flew away, not noticeably any the worse). I can absolutely empathise with Her Majesty.I found the first book in this series delightful as I discovered Bennett's take on Her Majesty was much like my own impression of the Queen. This time, with the main characters well established, I focused more on the story (although I gave up on solving mysteries a long time ago). There was more action in this one with some personal danger to our (other) hero, Rozie, as well as to other, minor characters - though, being ex-military, she's more than capable of taking care of herself. Although the main character is the Queen and we get glimpses of her thought processes, this is an ensemble cast with Rozie taking the lead and her boss, Sir Simon, also playing his part this time. Billy Maclachlan, a retired protection officer of the Queen, helps out with lines of enquiry that the Queen and Rozie can't look into.As in the first book the Queen, with her vast experience of people and an intimate knowledge of her own Household Staff, takes care of the thinking while asking Rozie and Billy to do the actual investigating and then she subtly directs those who 'have it under control' towards the real solution. At least this time she has a competent policeman in charge of the official investigation (DCI Strong from the first book who did the actual work and impressed the Queen enough that she specifically requested him for this case).The final outcome did leave me with a few questions and I, personally, didn't think justice was fully served but it was still a delightful romp and an intriguing look into the supposed lives of the Queen and Prince Philip. I also thought that there were some personal details of the victim’s past that weren’t addressed - but maybe those were just red herrings. It’s also a lesson in not letting first appearances dictate your perceptions. I thought the crime was slightly more meaty in A Three Dog Problem but I thought the charm came through more in The Windsor Knot.The Queen does seem to do a fair bit of grinning in this book, which may be endearing once in a while but is not quite … regal. I rated this about a quarter star down from the first one although they both round out at 4; I missed the more personal aspects of the Queen’s musings about her grandchildren and so on though I did like the interplay with Prince Philip and the way he looks after ‘Cabbage’ without cosseting her. Those little personal touches towards the end with Prince Philip and his paintings - priceless. The book is dedicated to him as it was written just before he died; I like the glimpses of him happily absorbed in his painting or covered in dust after having exploring the Palace tunnels.Philip had started a picture. He had his oils out in the Octagon Room - which stank of turpentine - and he was putting together a decent landscape of Balmoral, based on some sketches he'd done in the summer. It was the garden, seen from inside the castle. She marvelled at his self-control to do something creative and retrospective, and not to sit glued to the BBC.'That's nice,' she said, standing over his shoulder.He grunted.'Balmoral?''No. Timbuctoo.' He had a recording of an old cricket match playing in the background, and she sensed she was distracting him.The title this time - A Three Dog Problem - is a reference to Sherlock Holmes's 'three pipe problems' when on a difficult case. HM likes to walk her dogs to take time to think but not too many at one time as keeping them under control is too distracting. (I did happen to notice that the phrase 'all the Queen's men', which is the US title of this book, came up once.)Still a fun and charming look into the Queen's (supposed) life of crime-solving.(October 2022)3.75-4 stars

[maggieflo_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Mildly interesting murder mystery which involves Queen Elizabeth helping to solve a murder on the grounds of Buckingham Palace.Members of her staff were involved in a lucrative art fraud scheme and the misappropriation of household materiel which lead to the harassment of female employees and the murder of two staff members. It’s a slow, plodding narrative but it portrays QEII as a very thoughtful, rational, tactful, kind and gentle woman. She is very busy with royal affairs but takes time with the help of her personal secretary and assistant to uncover what happened to a picture of the yacht Britannia which leads to the discovery of the art fraud and pilfering of household goods.

[bookappeal · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Queen Elizabeth II and her personal assistant, Rozie, attempt to solve the murder of a housemaid whose work was excellent but who was not well-liked by any other staff. The Queen is also perplexed by the appearance of a painting she hasn't seen in years. This series has convoluted plots involving too many characters but might still win readers over with its depictions of Lillibet, Prince Phillip, and life in the palace. The character of Rozie is also a gem - tough, smart, and feminine who won't let anything, including racist attitudes, interfere with doing the best job she can for "The Boss." The audiobook narration by Jane Copland is delightful.

[carolee888 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Challenging to read now that the Queen and Prince Phillip have both passed away. I would have preferred to have read while they were both alive. The glimpses that the book allows us to see into the character of both are as I imagined. Queen Elizabeth loves to talk but holds all secrets tight to her chest. Phillip has an interesting sense of humor and loves to paint.Not good of course to learn that Buckingham Palace needs safety improvements but where will the money come from? The Queen noticed that one of her favorite paintings in her bedroom was missing. A much-hated housekeeper was found dead, and the police thought it was an accident. But there is a connection between the missing painting and the death. Poison pen letters were mentioned. The Queen directs Assistant Private Secretary Rozie Oshodi, to trace the whereabouts of the painting. Her discoveries make her think that death was not accidental.Plenty of humor, great characters, and a villain you will despise make this adventure very enjoyable although a little too long.

[kmartin802_1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

The second Queen Elizabeth II mystery starts when Her Majesty sees a painting that used to hang outside her bedroom on the wall at the Admiralty. She tasks her Assistant Private Secretary Rozie Oshodi to get it back and find out how it got there in the first place. The missing painting question leads to uncovering a scheme of fraud that began in the 1980s and has now led to two murders. The Queen's Private Secretary was going to use the palace pool one evening and discovers the body of one of the palace's housekeepers. At first it looks like a tragic accident, but when the women is shown to have ties to the fraud, the accident becomes a clever way to kill her. Her Majesty overhears a suspicious conversation while investigating an old wardrobe, but given she was inside the wardrobe when she heard it, she needs to find a less than direct method of passing on the information to the investigators. She does prefer not to seem directly involved in the investigation but finds subtle ways to take part.This story takes place in the Fall of 2016 and lots of events are going on at the same time. Brexit, a multimillion-dollar refurbishment of Buckingham Palace, and the election of Donald Trump as the next United States president are all happening at the same time as this new investigation within the palace.I enjoyed the insights into the workings of Buckingham Palace and into the mind of the Queen, but I don't think you have to be a fan of the British Royal Family to enjoy this story. The clues are slowly revealed and there was quite a bit of intrigue going on.

[beckyhaase · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

ALL THE QUEEN’S MEN by SJ BennettThe Queen is a detective! Murder has come to Buckingham Palace and since the Constables don’t seem to be making any headway in finding the murderer, Elizabeth engages the assistance of her Assistant Rosie and investigates herself. Another amusing mystery in this series. The mystery is indeed mysterious. The bad guys don’t appear to be the bad guys and the good guys are all suspects according to the police. Rosie is more fully developed as a character. The author knows their way around Buckingham Palace and the “way things work” in royal traditions. Altogether this is a delightful romp.4 of 5 stars

[twink_2 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

I admit it - I am a Royal Watcher! I loved last year's first entry (The Windsor Knot) in SJ Bennett's delightful series - Her Majesty the Queen Investigates. The second book is the newly released All the Queen's Men - and it's a cracking listen!Buckingham Palace 2016. It all starts with one of the Queen's favorite paintings gone missing, a series of 'poison pen' notes aimed at certain staff members - and a body by the indoor pool. Now, the Queen is not the one physically investigating. But she is conducting a secret inquiry of her own alongside the formal investigation. She again employs her Assistant Private Secretary Rozie Oshodi, to be her eyes, ears and legs reporting back only to her. When I listened to first book, I had concerns over how the Queen would be portrayed. Well, I didn't need to worry. She is kind, gracious, wise, highly intelligent, well-spoken, observant, but imposing as well. Her inner dialogue is a treat to read and her sense of humor is dry, as are her observations about her Royal family. Current events in 2016 are woven into the book such as elections at home and abroad, Brexit and more. We get to know Rozie a bit more personally in this latest. She's likable, smart and strong both physically and mentally. The mystery is well plotted and I really enjoyed following along. And it's not so easy as the butler did it. There are some red herrings on the path the final chapters. It's fun to be on 'the inside', aware of what is going on with the supporting players and their case, even as Rozie and the Queen pursue their own leads.I liked the setting as well - who doesn't want to know what the inside and daily life of the castle is like? I got curious and learned that Bennett's description and details of the Queen's art collection of art are true. The Royal Art Collection is the largest privately owned art collection in the world.This was another fun, clever and thoroughly enjoyable listen for me. I was happy for the continuity in using Jane Copland for the narrator again. Her voice is perfect - with a rich, cultured tone that's quite pleasant to listen to and an accent that immediately brought the Queen to mind. The pace of the reading is just right as well - never rushed. Keep calm and carry on! The subtle changes in intonation and emphasis are perfect for the Queen's manner. Different voices are provided for other characters and suit as well. Her speaking flows very naturally and is clear and easy to understand. This series could be considered a cozy mystery - but note there are no cats. Just corgis. ;0) This happy listener will be watching for the third entry in this series.

[eyes92c · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Couldn’t put Humpty together again!Something is broken in the palace and it’s up to the Queen and her private secretary, Rozie Oshodi to fix it. Its 2016, a women is found dead in the Palace swimming pool, other women are being left threatening sexual notes. What is going on? The Queen is missing a personal painting, “Britannia. [It] used to hang outside [her] bedroom.” As Philip puts it, “What, the ghastly little one by the Australian who couldn’t do boats? That.” The Queen asks Rozie to investigate. It seems for some reason the Queen is fond of that small work.The investigation leads Rozie back in time to a rash of missing items in Palace in the 1980’s dubbed the Breakages Business. She has her hands full Asher investigations deepen.Once again the Queen directs procedures from afar without letting on her involvement. All the while having to disguise from her various Secretaries what is happening. The prodding from behind the scenes, a word dropped here, a participle left hanging there. I began to find some of it quite annoying. All to placate the Queen’s Men, who occasionally needed to be jollied along, to have their egos soothed, even as their unfailing efforts to protect the Queen seemed to sometimes devolve into obstruction by default, to the point of rendering a situation unworkable.I felt sympathy for the Queen and liked the often whimsical reflections that Bennett has us being party to. I felt sad for the Queen having fewer companions left to reminisce about old times with. (I love the interplay between the Queen and Prince Philip BTW). The problems besetting the Palace, both architecturally and on the personal level appear steeped in believability.There’s much to hang onto in this cozy mystery with a twist of regalit, on the who dunnit level. The intricacies of Palace life, the Queen and her relationship with her dogs, particularly when pondering a situation is a Three Dog problem. I enjoyed the throwaway a lines about real people (Camilla’s charitable work with abused women and her being hysterical in a good way!) Chronologically the story is reasonably up to date makes me wonder where to next for the series. Yet despite all the wonderful, gossipy insights, I found this second in the series not quite as strong as the first.A William Morrow ARC via NetGalley Please note: Quotes taken from an advanced reading copy maybe subject to change

[linda.a. · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

This second story in S. J. Bennett’s ‘Her Majesty The Queen Investigates’ series reveals yet more shady goings-on in the Royal Household and more mysteries and crimes for HRH and Rozie Oshodi, her trusted Assistant Private Secretary to investigate. To discover the complexities of what led up to the death of the woman discovered by the swimming pool at the start of the story the reader is taken back three months when, over breakfast, the Queen shares a disturbing discovery with Prince Philip. The previous day, on an official visit to an exhibition of maritime art in Portsmouth she saw a painting of the ex-royal yacht, Britannia, a painting which held huge sentimental value for her. It had once hung on a wall outside her bedroom but had disappeared sometime in the nineties, following decorating works. Determined to have it restored to her, she sets Rozie the task of discovering how it had ended up there and to arrange for its swift return. However, the organiser of the exhibition insists that the artist must have painted more than one copy because this one belonged to the Ministry of Defence and had been lent to the exhibition by the Second Sea Lord. Nevertheless, the Queen knows without any shadow of doubt that she is not mistaken and is determined to that it will be returned to her – but what neither she nor Rozie could possibly have anticipated is what their investigations will uncover, or the lengths some people will go to to prevent the truth from emerging. Attempting to unravel what, if any, the connections are between a spate of poison-pen letters, sudden resignations, the disappearance of valuable paintings, art forgery, dishonest employees, a well-established conspiracy to defraud, suspicious deaths turns out to be a complex business but, as anyone who has read The Windsor Knot will know, nothing will stop this intrepid duo from getting to the truth! Interspersed with all the private investigation work, are HRH’s reflections on contemporary issues (the 2016 referendum, Brexit, Theresa May, the Trump/Clinton election campaign etc) and some insights into the wide range of her official duties, demonstrating not only the ceremonial formality of some aspects of her life, but the meticulous planning which underpins such occasions. Alongside this the reader is treated to imagined (but believable!) conversations with Prince Philip, asides about various members of the family, how she relaxes (with her horses and dogs and spending time with the young grandchildren) and glimpses into the daily routines at Buckingham Palace. The author’s respect, admiration and affection for the Queen permeate her writing but from the many small details which make the story feel so convincing, it’s apparent throughout that she must have done considerable research to enable her to convey such a convincing portrayal of life in the Royal Household. One historical fact she included, to demonstrate that ‘below-stairs’ skulduggery is nothing new, was a reference to how William Fortnum, a footman to Queen Anne, began to demonstrate the entrepreneurial skill which would, in time, lead him to set up in business with a certain Hugh Mason and make his fortune. I had no idea … and if you want to know you’ll have to read the book to find out! In my review of the first book in this series (which I read last autumn) I described the story as ‘a fun read – the perfect antidote to any Covid-blues.’ Although, inevitably I think, this second novel lacks the ‘novelty’ value of the first, I still found it easy to suspend disbelief and to enjoy losing myself in a different world for a few hours. It’s a well-plotted, gently humorous story with a cast of well-developed, eminently believable characters and although there are some dark deeds at the heart of it, an absolute belief that all will turn out well in the end makes the whole process feel rather genteel! The eventual explanation about why the Queen was able to be so adamant that the painting of Britannia was hers was delightfully convincing and, in the light of Prince Philip’s recent death, rather poignant. I also loved the author’s thinking behind her choice of title – partly inspired by Sherlock Holmes who, whenever he had a difficult case to solve had to smoke three pipes, describing it as a ‘three pipe problem’. Faced with a similar problem the Queen needed to take her three dogs for a walk!One thread in the story involves four paintings by the Italian Baroque artist Artemisia Gentileschi, a woman who achieved success in a man’s world in the seventeenth century. As the Queen and Rozie are the indefatigable sleuths in this story, I loved the fact that the author prefaced the final section of the novel with this famous quote from the artist: ‘You will find the spirit of Caesar in the soul of a woman.’ As the next book in the series (Murder Most Royal) is due to be published in November 2022, it’s clear that our two protagonists still have more cases to solve … so fans of the series will, once more, be allowed to peek behind royal doors! With thanks to Readers First and the publisher for a copy of this book in return for an honest review.

[nicx27 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

After recently reading The Windsor Knot, book one in the "Her Majesty the Queen Investigates" series, I was really keen to read book two, A Three Dog Problem. I enjoyed this second instalment just as much as the first, if not even more.This time there seems to be more going on with what at first appears to be three separate crimes to keep the Queen and Rozie, her Assistant Personal Secretary and partner in crime-fighting, busy. But as the book progressed it because clear there may be more to each crime than initially met the eye. The story begins with a body being found next to the swimming pool at Buckingham Palace and the Queen realising that one of her paintings that should be in her possession is most definitely not. Add in a spate of poison pen letters and there's a lot going on.I loved following the Queen and Rozie once again as they investigated in their usual understated, behind the scenes, fashion. S.J. Bennett writes these tales so engagingly, portraying the Queen's sharp mind, wit and absolute diplomacy at all times. I must admit to getting a little confused as to who did what and why but there's no doubt this is a really cleverly plotted story and it's clear I would not make much of an investigator!I found the settings absolutely fascinating to read about, with most of the action taking place this time at Buckingham Palace. I learned new information about things that I didn't even know were there and I really enjoyed the combination of fact and fiction. The author keeps it authentic at all times and the attention to detail makes these books really special.I enjoyed A Three Dog Problem very much indeed. It's another charming and original read with a unique investigating protagonist. I'm looking forward to book three now.