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Dearest Gentle Reader,
This Author had barely set down her morning chocolate when the dispatches arrived, and what a grim parade they make. Friday has a habit of delivering its reckonings all at once, as though the week’s worst intelligence had been holding itself politely in reserve. Today, it holds nothing back.
In the northern city of Sheffield, a young charity worker named Shanice Brookes – a mother of one, aged but thirty years – stepped out over the bank holiday for nothing more sinister than an evening of company and good spirits. She was, by every account, an innocent bystander outside the One Four All establishment on West Street when, at a quarter to three in the morning, a firearm was discharged and she was struck. She later died in hospital. One Jemele Rhone, also thirty, has since been charged with her murder, possession of a firearm, and possession of criminal property; while one Deiryen Dyce, aged thirty-two, faces charges of assisting an offender and possession of ammunition. The bar itself will close today as a mark of respect. This Author does not traffic in rage – that is for pamphlets and politicians – but she will say plainly: a woman ought to be able to enjoy a Friday evening without it costing her life. The sheer, senseless waste of it sits heavily upon the page.
No less harrowing is the inquest opened this very Friday into the deaths of three sisters – Jane Adetoro, thirty-six, and Christina and Rebecca Walters, thirty-two and thirty-one respectively – who perished in the sea off the Brighton shore on the thirteenth of May. They had been living together in Greenford, in the Capital. Their father Joseph attended the proceedings by remote link, and the coroner offered condolences that no form of words could possibly make adequate. the Sussex Constabulary has reviewed hundreds of hours of moving pictures and interviewed numerous witnesses; officers have confirmed there was no third-party involvement. The cause of death is not yet formally ascertained. The coroner expressed the hope that formal proceedings might at least silence the ghoulish speculation circulating upon the digital salons. One shares that hope, though one doubts, given the nature of those salons, it will be honoured. Three sisters. A father identifying three bodies. This Author will not reach for wit here.
From tragedy abroad – or rather, from the corridors of a public inquiry – comes a revelation that will surprise precisely nobody who has observed the military establishment at close quarters, yet ought to scandalise everybody regardless. A former chief of staff of His Majesty’s Special Forces has testified that war crimes allegations against the SAS, relating to operations in Afghanistan between 2010 and 2013 – allegations including the killing of children and civilians – were deliberately not referred to the Royal Military Police. The reason? Concern that an investigation might disrupt operations and damage morale. Morale, Gentle Reader. The word sits in this column like an uninvited guest who has knocked over the good china. Instead, an internal review was commissioned, led by an officer close to the very unit under scrutiny, signed off by that unit’s commanding officer, and completed in a single week. It found – one struggles to convey one’s astonishment – no evidence of wrongdoing. Every commanding officer in the British military carries a legal obligation to alert military police upon suspicion of a war crime under their command. The testimony, heard in closed session in 2024 and only released in summary form today, suggests that obligation was set aside in favour of institutional convenience. The inquiry continues. This Author will be watching.
On to matters that are, if not lighter in moral weight, at least marginally more farcical in their texture. An American lawyer representing hundreds of survivors connected to the late Lord Epstein has informed the Broadcasting Society that several of his clients possess information regarding one Andrew Mountbatten-Windsor – that former prince whose name has long adorned the wrong sort of headlines – but will not share it with British authorities. Their reasons are twofold: first, that said authorities conspicuously failed to act when Lord Epstein was still among the living; second, that British journalists began investigating one woman who came forward, extending their attentions to her family, which swiftly persuaded others to remain silent. The National Police Chiefs’ Council assures the public that anyone who comes forward will be treated with care, compassion, and respect – a guarantee that lands with the particular thud of a promise made by an institution whose recent record is the very subject of complaint. Mountbatten-Windsor continues, strenuously, to deny all wrongdoing. Thames Valley Constabulary is said to be assessing one allegation. This Author observes only that the queue of those expressing confidence in the outcome appears, at present, rather short.
And now, in what passes today for levity: the government of the Southern Kingdom has announced that pharmacists will, from this autumn, be empowered to prescribe five additional common ailments under the Pharmacy First scheme – a £340 million investment, though the five conditions themselves remain, at time of writing, a mystery. One can only imagine the excitement in apothecary parlours across the land, as practitioners wait to learn whether earache or something altogether more ambitious will join their growing repertoire. More than 3.3 million consultations were conducted under the scheme between March 2025 and February 2026, which suggests the public has embraced their local chemist with considerable enthusiasm. The Apothecaries’ Grand Guild welcomes the direction of travel whilst simultaneously noting that rising business rates, employer costs, and medicine prices are proving rather crippling, and that a £2.5 billion funding gap remains unaddressed. In this Kingdom, Gentle Reader, one is frequently offered a plaster whilst the wound continues to widen.
I am, as ever, your most devoted observer – Lady Whistledown.