I woke to the sound of bells pealing jubilantly. Christmas Day. I sat up to see that Queenie was still sound asleep, mouth open and snoring unattractively. I nudged her.
“Queenie. Wake up. It’s morning and I’d like my tea.”
She yawned and stretched like a cat, then opened her eyes and looked around in surprise.
“Ruddy ’ell, miss. What the dickens am I doing here?”
“You fell asleep waiting for me and I didn’t have the heart to wake you.”
“You’re a proper toff, you are,” she said.
“Yes, well, proper toffs usually get their morning tea brought to them by this hour, so I suggest you leap up and fetch it.”
“Blimey, yes. Bob’s yer uncle then.”
And she waddled out, leaving me to sit up in bed, enjoying the sound of the bells and the white stillness of the landscape outside my window. Then I put my hand to my neck to feel for my pixie. My fingers closed around him, and I shut my eyes, remembering that kiss. It was indeed a good Christmas.
Queenie was back in no time at all.
“Happy Christmas, my lady,” she said. “Cook sent up a mince pie instead of biscuits this morning.”
It was warm from the oven and I savored it.
“What will your ladyship be wearing?” Queenie asked, clearly trying to be on her best behavior.
“I believe I’ll wear my Christmas present from my mother—the rose cardigan and the long silky skirt and the scarf, with my white silk blouse,” I said. “Oh, and Queenie—that cardigan is made of cashmere. On no account are you to attempt to wash it, scrub it, iron it or do anything else to it. Is that clear?”
She nodded. “Sorry about the jersey dress, miss,” she muttered. “I feel like a fool. You know what my old dad used to say, don’t you?”
“Various things, if I remember correctly—that you were dropped on your head at birth or that you must be twins because one couldn’t be so daft.”
She grinned. “You got it. That’s exactly what he said.”
I got up and went to the dresser, retrieving a package. “Happy Christmas, Queenie,” I said. “Servants should officially receive their Christmas boxes tomorrow, on Boxing Day, but I think I’d like you to have it now.”
“For me, miss?” Her eyes opened wide.
“It’s nothing very special,” I said. “You know I don’t have much money.”
She opened it. It was a black cloche hat to replace the shapeless felt flowerpot she usually wore. She was embarrassingly grateful and wiped away tears. “Oooh, miss, I ain’t never had anything so lovely before. Honest, I ain’t. You’re such a lovely person. I’m so lucky.”
Oh, dear, when she said things like that I realized that I could never sack her, however awful she was.
Washed and dressed in my new finery, feeling delightfully stylish, I went down to breakfast. Apart from the Wexlers I was again the first one down and I helped myself from a splendid array of dishes. The breakfasts at Gorzley Hall had been more than generous every day but this Christmas spread outdid them. Bacon, sausages, kidneys, eggs, tomatoes, fried bread, smoked haddock—everything one could possibly want. I tried not to take too much, knowing the Christmas banquet that was to follow.
While I was eating the other guests filed in, one by one, and Christmas greetings filled the air. Lady Hawse- Gorzley appeared when we were all seated to wish us a happy Christmas and to inform us that there was something special in the small sitting room as soon as we had finished eating. Like eager children we filed through to see an impressive snow house sitting on a low table. For those of you who have never seen a snow house, it is made of cardboard to look like an old-fashioned house and is liberally decorated with cotton wool and sparkles to look like snow. Oh, and it’s full of presents.
Lady Hawse-Gorzley removed the chimney.
“Lucky dip,” she said. “Red ribbon means for a man, white ribbon for a woman.”
We dipped, one by one. The presents were all rather mundane—boxes of handkerchiefs and writing paper, appointment books and journals. I was lucky enough to pick one of the latter as I have always kept a diary and this one was particularly grand with a purple leather cover and a lock and key. We thanked her and she smiled, but I could tell she was distracted. As people drifted away I went up to her.
“Is there anything I can do?” I asked. “You seem a little worried.”
She frowned. “It’s that dratted butcher. He hasn’t delivered the geese as he promised. Cook has the stuffing all ready and is waiting to put the birds in the oven. You did tell him that I needed those birds by nine o’clock at the latest, didn’t you? And now it’s almost ten.”
“It could have snowed again overnight, making the roads difficult,” I pointed out.
“The trouble is we’ve no way of knowing. The telephones are still not working. I suppose we have enough turkeys to go around, with the stuffing and everything, but I did want those geese.”
“I suppose I could go out and shoot you a couple of swans from the pond,” Sir Oswald said, with deadpan seriousness. “Would they do instead?”
“Don’t be silly, Oswald,” Lady Hawse-Gorzley snapped. “That’s not even amusing.”
“Why, are swans not good to eat?” Mr. Wexler asked.
“Nobody’s ever tasted them,” Bunty said, giving him a withering look that he could be so clueless. “Swans are reserved for royalty. In the old days killing a swan was punished by hanging. I don’t think they’d hang us anymore, but it’s still an offense.”
“Fancy that. How quaint,” Mrs. Wexler said. “You have the quaintest laws over here.”
“That’s because some of them date back to the Middle Ages and nobody has bothered to repeal them,” Lady Hawse-Gorzley said. “Those of you who are going to matins should think of getting ready.”
“Have my car brought around, Humphreys. I do not intend to walk through the snow,” the dowager countess said to her companion, who scurried off like a frightened rabbit.
“Hopeless creature. Don’t know why I put up with her,” the countess commented before the companion was out of earshot.
“Maybe we could hitch a ride with you, Countess,” Mr. Wexler said.
The countess regarded him through her lorgnette. “I always think that one should walk whenever possible,” she said firmly. “Had there not been snow on the driveway I should have never considered wasting petrol and using the car.”
“But since you are using it,” Mrs. Wexler said, giving her what she hoped was a winning smile.
The countess did not return the smile. “Those two young people of yours will grow up fat and idle if you mollycoddle them,” she said. “What your son needs is a good boarding school. Cold showers in the morning and cross-country runs before breakfast.”
“That’s positively barbaric,” Mrs. Wexler said, putting an arm around Junior’s shoulder.
“Ah, but it made us what we are today,” the countess said, smiling at last. “Rulers of half the world.” She nodded to the Wexlers. “I will see you in church.”
As she went out I caught Darcy’s eye and moved closer to him.
“Isn’t she marvelous?” Darcy muttered to me.
“Come with me,” I said and, taking his hand, I led him from the room.
“Is this a repetition of the other night?” he asked, his eyes challenging mine. “Are you leading me to your bedroom again?”
“Don’t keep reminding me of that.” I blushed.
“Oh, I think I’ll enjoy reminding you of it for a long while yet.”
We reached an alcove beside the front hall. I turned to face Darcy. “I wanted to give you your Christmas present,” I said. “And bear in mind I bought this before I knew you were part of this house party.”
I handed him the little box. When he had taken off the wrapping I saw the grin spreading across his face.
“Great minds think alike,” he said as he opened the box to reveal the pixie.
“I wanted to give you something, and I thought you needed luck more than most people.”
“How true that is,” he said. “I could really do with a streak of luck right now. My father has become so difficult. One can’t even have a civilized conversation with him. He’s all set to sell off the last of the family treasures and won’t listen to me. I just feel so frustrated, watching everything my family stood for gradually disintegrate and not able to do a damned thing about it.” He stopped and managed an embarrassed smile. “I shouldn’t go piling my
