troubles on you, especially not on Christmas Day.”
“I feel the same way,” I said. “I’m no longer welcome at what was my home and frankly I’ve nowhere else to go.”
“Two orphans in the storm,” he said. “Maybe we should do what you suggested in your moment of drunken wisdom—run off to a desert island together and to hell with the whole thing.”
“I don’t like coconuts very much,” I said. He wrapped me in his arms and laughed.
* * *
LADY HAWSE-GORZLEY SUMMONED us together again before the churchgoers set out and announced that we should make plans for the Boxing Day hunt in the next village of Widecombe. She hoped she’d be able to supply enough horses for all those who wanted to take part.
“Not us, thank you,” Mrs. Wexler said firmly. “Hunting is a barbaric sport, from what I’ve heard. Tearing poor little foxes to pieces.”
“They’ve probably never ridden a horse in their lives,” the countess said in a stage whisper.
“I think I’m a little old for that kind of thing,” Mrs. Rathbone said, “but I’m sure my husband won’t turn down a chance to hunt, will you, Reggie?”
“I should say not,” Colonel Rathbone said heartily. “Tallyho and view halloo and all that. It’s what England is made of, don’t you know.”
“I don’t think we’re up to hunting, if you don’t mind,” Mr. Upthorpe said, “but we’d certainly like to come along and watch you set off. I’ve never actually seen a hunt. I bet the young men look really handsome in their red coats.”
“Pink,” the countess said sharply.
“I thought the coats were red.” Mrs. Upthorpe looked puzzled.
“They are, but we call it pink.”
“Why call them pink when they’re not pink?” Mrs. Wexler asked.
“I’m sure the explanation is lost in the mists of antiquity,” Lady H-G intervened before this could go any further. “Oswald will run you over in the estate car. His leg is playing up again. Still recovering from an injury and the doctor has forbidden hunting.”
Sir Oswald nodded gloomily. “Blasted quack. What does he know?” he muttered.
“I shall enjoy watching you set off,” the countess said. “Remind me of the good old days when I had the finest seat in Hertfordshire.”
For some reason the Wexler children found this amusing and were given a ferocious look by the countess. “I shall, of course, be delighted to offer Mrs. Rathbone a place in my motorcar,” she said, making it quite clear that she was snubbing the rest of the spectators.
“And I take it you’ll be riding your own horses, won’t you, Captain Sechrest?” Lady Hawse-Gorzley said quickly, still trying to keep unpleasantness from developing.
“Oh, absolutely,” Captain Sechrest said. “We’ll pop over to our place first thing tomorrow.”
“I’ll drop you off at your place in the morning in the Armstrong Siddeley,” Johnnie said. “I have to pick up my own nag.”
Mrs. Sechrest said, “Thank you, Johnnie, how kind,” at the same time as her husband muttered, “Not at all necessary. Have my own vehicle.”
Lady Hawse-Gorzley looked around. “So let’s see, that leaves the colonel, myself, Monty, Darcy, Bunty—how about you, Badger?”
“I’m not the world’s most brilliant rider.” Badger’s freckled face turned pink. “But I’ll give it a go.”
“Jolly good. That’s the spirit.” Lady Hawse-Gorzley nodded with approval. “And Georgiana—you hunt, don’t you?”
“Oh, absolutely. Adore it, if you can find me a mount,” I said.
“I think we can. We’ve Sultan if Oswald’s not coming, and Star is still game if a little plodding, isn’t he? And then there are Freddie’s horses. I did approach him about borrowing his extra mounts for our guests before the tragedy, and they’ll need exercising by now. Monty, dear, you might take Darcy and go over there this morning to see what’s what. Tell the groom we’ll want them brought round by eight thirty tomorrow morning.”
“I’m afraid I didn’t bring my hunting pinks,” Colonel Rathbone said. “Didn’t know about the hunt, y’know. Can’t ride without them. Dashed bad form.”
“I’m sure Oswald will lend you his jacket, won’t you, dear?” Lady H-G said firmly. Sir Oswald didn’t look too sure but smiled wanly.
“And I don’t have my hunting jacket either,” I said. I had brought jodhpurs because one always does.
“You can wear my old jacket,” Bunty said. “We’re about the same size and it’s not too shabby.”
“Thanks awfully.” I made a mental note that she was being a frightfully good sport about Darcy.
Having sorted out the universe again Lady Hawse-Gorzley sent the churchgoers off, found jigsaw puzzles and board games for those who were not planning to hunt, and sent the hunters off to sort out mounts. I took the opportunity to go to wish my nearest and dearest a merry Christmas.
The going was treacherous underfoot with melted snow now turned to ice and I wondered if the hunt would be allowed to take place under such conditions. I was concentrating on not slipping and falling on my bottom when a figure loomed out of the hedge in front of me. I started as I found myself looking at a wild-looking woman—hair unkempt, flowing green skirts and, to my utter amazement, bare feet. She blocked my path, staring at me.
“Happy Christmas to you,” I said uncertainly, unnerved by two eyes, green as a cat’s, that stared at me unblinking. “You must be Sal. I’ve heard about you.”
“You want to watch yourself, miss,” she said with her deep West Country burr. “Or you might come a cropper.”
Then she darted through the hedge and was gone.
Chapter 20
I went on my way, a little shaken. I hadn’t really believed in Wild Sal until now, but she really existed and, what’s more, she had just given me some kind of warning. Had she only meant that the ground was treacherous underfoot or was she hinting at something more sinister?
I could hear Mr. Barclay thumping out the organ as I passed the church for my mother’s cottage. Good smells of roasting fowl and sage stuffing greeted me from the kitchen as my grandfather opened the front door, and I came through to the sitting room to find my mother and Noel Coward around the fire. I was given a grand welcome for once as they were all remarkably in the Christmas spirit. Even Noel Coward was wearing a ridiculous paper hat on his head.
“My dear child,” he said. “How good of you to come and visit our humble estate, when I’m sure you have a million and one things to amuse you at the big house. Tell me, what’s it like there—very feudal? Do the peasants all tug their forelocks?”
“You’ll see for yourself if you come to Christmas luncheon today.”
“Ah, I think Claire and I have decided not to accept the kind invitation, if you would give our apologies. It does become so tiring being adored and having to act like one’s public persona when the real Noel is a shy and retiring sort of chap.”
I laughed. “I don’t believe it for a second.”
“I am stung, wounded. Claire, your daughter has inherited your own brutal honesty.”
“I must say, that outfit looks good on you, Georgie. The cardigan suits you better than it ever did me.” My mother opened her arms. “Come and give your mama a Christmas hug. And Noel tells me I was terribly stingy with my gifts yesterday. Passing on a few old clothes, he called it. He said a big fat check would have been more in order. I pointed out that I’d already promised a shopping spree the moment we’re both back in London.”
Noel sighed. “Then I suppose the generous uncle act is up to me.” And to my delight he handed me a couple of five-pound notes.
“Golly. Thank you very much,” was all I could stammer.
“And I’ve got a little something for you too, my love,” Granddad said. “It’s nothing grand like that, but I wanted you to have a little gift on Christmas Day.”
I opened the wrapping and inside was a snow globe with a charming little village inside and
