“And I in South America,” Darcy said.
“But have you met this notorious American lady? Simpson, is that it?”
“Yes, I have met her,” I said. “And I think the term ‘lady’ is stretching the definition.”
She threw back her head and laughed, patting my hand. “I like you,” she said. “Good sense of humor like your father. And you, young man”—she turned to Darcy—“what were you doing in South America? Up to no good, I’ll wager.”
“A little of this and that, you know,” Darcy said.
“Dealing in arms, no doubt. That’s how people make money in South America, isn’t it? Help to start another revolution then supply both sides with arms.”
“Certainly not,” Darcy said. “How can you suggest such a thing?” But he was smiling, his eyes teasing her.
“I know a thing or two about how the world works.”
“I thought we were supposed to be planning what we want to do,” Bunty said peevishly.
“When Junior has finished polishing off the cream buns, we’ll get started,” I said.
“Junior, you’ll make yourself sick,” Cherie Wexler said. “He is such a little pig. I don’t know why we had to bring him along. You should have stayed with Aunt Mabel, Junior. You aren’t old enough for polite society yet.”
“Go and jump in the lake, sis,” he said and made a grab at the last cream bun.
“So,” I said brightly, “what would we like to do? I gather there is to be a fancy dress ball one night, and we should play charades, don’t you think?”
“Oh, yes, charades,” the red-headed Badger agreed.
“And the place is perfect for sardines,” I went on.
“Sardines? What on earth is that?”
“Like hide-and-seek but when you find someone you join them, until you are all crammed into a cupboard or wherever you are hiding,” I said.
“That sounds really juvenile,” the Wexler girl said.
“Ooh, I don’t know. Could be fun,” Ethel Upthorpe said, eyeing first Darcy and then Monty and clearly visualizing herself pinned into a wardrobe with them.
“What would you like to do?” I asked Cherie Wexler. “Any suggestions for us?”
“When I go out with friends we dance the quickstep and smoke and drink cocktails in secret,” she said. “Or we go to the talkies.”
“I don’t think the cinema constitutes part of an old-fashioned English Christmas,” I said.
“I think we should go out and have a snowball fight before it gets quite dark,” Monty said.
“Dashed good idea,” Badger added. “Who’s up for it?”
Everyone except for Cherie Wexler thought it might be fun. We put on coats, scarves and gloves and went outside. The sun had just sunk below Lovey Tor and the sky was a brilliant bloodred, turning the snow pink. Rooks were cawing madly as they came home to roost. Darcy came up beside me.
“All right, now spill the beans,” he said, still looking incredulous and a trifle suspicious too. “What brought you here, of all places? I mean, I had no inkling that you knew my aunt.”
“Lady Hawse-Gorzley really is your aunt, then?”
He nodded. “Of course. My mother’s sister. I don’t suppose I ever mentioned her, because I’ve relatives dotted all over the place. But things are rather strained between my father and me, so when I received this invite, I was happy to accept.” He moved closer to me. “Even happier now.”
I felt a glow of happiness go through me too.
He leaned closer. “Look, I know you’re hot stuff as a detective,” he said. “Did you find out where I’d be staying and wangle yourself an invitation?”
“No, I did not,” I said, feeling myself blushing. “I was absolutely amazed to see you. I had no idea you were connected with the Hawse-Gorzleys.”
“I had no idea you knew them either.”
“I didn’t,” I said. “Between ourselves—and this is not to go any further—I applied to an advertisement to help a hostess with her Christmas house party. I had never heard of the Hawse-Gorzleys or Tiddleton-under-Lovey before. But I’d have applied to the North Pole to escape from Fig’s relatives.”
I saw relief flood across Darcy’s face and he laughed. “It must be fate bringing us together,” he said.
A snowball came flying through the air and struck me full in the face. “Whoops, sorry, Georgie,” Bunty said.
Chapter 14
GORZLEY HALL AND AROUND THE VILLAGE
DECEMBER 23
We actually had a jolly good snowball fight and were just going inside, with fingers and noses tingling with cold, when a white shape came walking up the drive toward us. It was the little maid who had come to us in such distress that morning.
“Beg pardon, miss,” she said to Bunty, “but I’ve a message for your mum from the Misses Ffrench-Finch. Miss Florrie and Miss Lizzie want me to tell your mum that they’d like the carol singing to go ahead, in spite of what happened yesterday. They say that Cook has made so many mince pies and Miss Effie would have hated them to go to waste, so would you please come round as planned.”
“Oh, jolly good,” Monty said. “Nothing like a good bout of carol singing, is there? Everyone up to scratch with their ‘Good King Wenceslas’? Or do we need a practice session first?”
We trooped back into the house, where Lady Hawse-Gorzley was thrilled to hear the news.
“Breeding will tell,” she said, rather undiplomatically, I thought. “We will try to find a subdued and reverent carol to sing outside their house. How they must be suffering, poor dear ladies.”
When we had taken off our coats and hats we found that more guests had arrived: a smartly dressed middle-aged couple and a suave, fortyish man with a jaunty, pencil-thin mustache and canary yellow silk cravat at his throat.
“Our party is now complete,” Lady Hawse-Gorzley said. “Some of our neighbors have come to join us. Captain and Mrs. Sechrest—he’s a local sea dog, home on leave. Mrs. Sechrest is my bridge partner and I must say she plays a fine hand. Has a fine seat in the saddle too.”
“Pretty decent seat out of the saddle,” the lone man said, getting a titter from Mrs. Sechrest.
“Johnnie, you’re terrible. Can’t you behave for one second?” she said.
“Sorry, old bean. You know me. Got an eye for the ladies, what?” He gave her what could only be described as a smoldering look.
“And this disreputable character is Johnnie Protheroe. He’s a writer of sorts.”
“A renaissance man, Camilla dearest, if you don’t mind,” Johnnie said. “I paint, I sail, I hunt and I’m fun to be around, aren’t I, Sandy?”
Mrs. Sechrest tried to give an imitation of my great-grandmother being not amused, but it didn’t quite come off. Captain Sechrest sat there, whiskey in hand, looking frightfully bored and correct, while his wife clearly enjoyed Johnnie’s attentions.
“If you don’t mind, we’ll be having a simple supper tonight after our carol singing, and I don’t think that we’ll expect you to dress, given the lateness.”
“We’re only getting a simple supper?” Pa Wexler demanded. “Yesterday’s dinner was kinda simple too. I thought we were promised sumptuous multicourse banquets.”
“It has been our experience that guests are rather full of mince pies and good cheer by the time we return from the carol singing. I think you’ll find our simple meal quite adequate, Mr. Wexler.”
As we left the room Mrs. Upthorpe muttered to her daughter, “Eee, that’s too bad. I was looking forward to wearing one of those evening dresses we got in Paris last summer, weren’t you, Ethel?”
“It’s certainly not worth wearing them up in Bradford,” Ethel said. “They don’t know a Chanel from Woolworths, do they?”
I went upstairs thinking about the irony of this. I was the daughter of a duke. My dresses did not come from Paris. In fact, I’d be lucky to find one of them undamaged by Queenie’s ministrations. I was worrying about this as I turned the corner to go to my room and found my path blocked by Johnnie Protheroe. “Well, hello,” he said, looking
