model prisoners and they were part of a gang working in the quarry. It was all very well planned. They lingered behind on some pretext, hit the guard over the head with a rock and made off over the moor. They were shackled, of course, but apparently one of them made his living as an escape artist. Two of them were entertainers of some sort, but they were all nasty pieces of work. History of violent crimes.”
“And they haven’t caught them yet?” I glanced up nervously at the window. It was now completely black outside with no lights showing anywhere.
“Not seen hide nor hair of them. We’ve had men with dogs up on the moor, police checkpoints along all the roads, and not a sign of them. We think they must have had a vehicle waiting on the nearest road and were whisked away before anyone could sound the alarm. Which means they are well away from here, thank God.” She stood up. “I tell you, it’s been a hell of a business. Quite upset m’husband. He’s a quiet man, is Sir Oswald, doesn’t say much. But I could tell it upset him, especially as he was the one who found the blighter slumped in our apple tree today.”
As if on cue I heard the sound of boots in the hall and a big, florid man came in. He had a face like a British bulldog, all jowls and sad eyes. And he was wearing an old tweed jacket that made him look more like a tramp than a lord of the manor. “Well, they’re finally off, then,” he said. “What a bloody business. What did the blighter think he was doing? If he hadn’t shot himself I’d have wrung his bloody neck.”
“Language, Oswald. We have a visitor.”
He broke off as he saw me sitting there. “Oh, hello. Who’s this?”
“Georgiana Rannoch, y’know, sister to the duke.”
“Are you, by George? What on earth are you doing here?”
“She’s graciously agreed to join our little house party,” Lady Hawse-Gorzley said, giving me a warning frown that I failed to understand.
“So you’ve been invited to join this bun fight, have you? Idiotic idea, if you ask me. No good can come of it.”
“I’m sure Lady Georgiana will enjoy herself like everyone else and we’ll all have a splendid time,” Lady Hawse-Gorzley replied with great vehemence, all the time glaring at her husband.
He stuck his hand into his pocket and produced his pipe. “Can’t think why. Dull as ditch water down here,” he said, going over to the mantelpiece to find a match. “I’d have thought you’d be hobnobbing with your royal kin at Sandringham.”
“I wasn’t invited,” I said. “And anyway I’m sure it will be loads of fun here.”
“Well, we’ve got our share of excitement, as it turns out. You heard the ghastly news, I suppose.”
“I told her about the escaped convicts and about the man managing to kill himself in our apple tree.”
“It was a pear tree, as it happens,” Sir Oswald said, “but it makes no difference. The local bobbies were full of bright ideas. Suggested he might have come into our orchard to poach pheasants. Utter rubbish, I told them. You don’t shoot pheasants from trees. They are ground birds. Idiots, the lot of them. And you don’t shoot pheasants with a rook rifle either. No, it’s quite obvious to me that he was rigging up some kind of stupid trap. He had the wire with him. Then his weight broke a branch, he slipped and the gun went off in his face. Nasty way to go, but the blighter had it coming.”
He looked down at himself. “God, I look a sight, don’t I? Been out with the damned police all day. Dinner at the normal hour then?”
“If the servants have managed to cook it and set the table while being cross-questioned by police all day,” Lady H-G said.
“I’d better go and change.“
Lady Hawse-Gorzley got to her feet. “And I should give Georgiana a tour of the house and show her where she will be sleeping so that she has time to freshen up and change for dinner. Come along, my dear. This way.”
She led me on a whirlwind tour—lovely old dining room with a polished table running the length of it, library, morning room, music room and at the back even a ballroom with the air about it of being long out of use. Lady Hawse-Gorzley chatted incessantly like one who hasn’t had company for a long time, which made me wonder why she had suddenly decided to have a large house party this Christmas.
“So how many guests are you expecting?” I asked when she paused momentarily for breath. “You said a large party.”
“Let me see.” She stared out across the expanse of the ballroom as if trying to picture people in it. “Colonel and Mrs. Rathbone. Charming couple, just back from India, you know. Looking forward to a good old-fashioned English Christmas again. Then there are Mr. and Mrs. Upthorpe from Yorkshire, with their daughter, Ethel. He owns some kind of large factory up there. Trade, I know, but delightful people nonetheless.”
She paused to take a breath. “Now, where was I? Ah, yes. Mr. and Mrs. Wexler from America with their daughter. Most looking forward to some lively transatlantic conversation, I can tell you. And then there is someone I’m sure you already know. The dowager countess Albury and her companion. Do you know her? No? I’m surprised. She’s someone who has moved in the highest levels of society, but maybe not in your time.”
While she talked she ran her finger over a couple of marble statues, looking for dust, adjusted sprigs of holly in vases and then led me out of the ballroom again, talking over her shoulder. “And then a couple of local friends— Captain and Mrs. Sechrest. He’s a navy man. You’ll like them. And Johnnie Protheroe. You can’t have a party without Johnnie. Life and soul of any gathering. Most amusing. Let me see—that makes thirteen, doesn’t it?” She stopped her forward progress and turned back to me with a fleeting worried look. “Oh, dear. I’m glad I’m not superstitious or that would be unlucky, wouldn’t it? But then, I haven’t counted you and you can count as a guest, can’t you? So that would make fourteen. And the rest are family, brought in to boost the numbers.”
I wondered why she wanted to boost the numbers, since it was already going to be expensive to feed that many guests. Was there a requisite amount of guests needed at a house party? But she had already gone on ahead, out of the ballroom, down the hall and back to the stairs, while hurling out a commentary as she passed. “M’husband’s study and the land office on your right. And servants’ quarters through that door. Kitchen, laundry, all that kind of thing. Haven’t seen a servant in hours. Hope the police haven’t arrested them or scared them all off.”
Then she set off up the stairs at a lively clip.
“Where did your things go? I wonder. Did someone take them up for you?”
“I expect my maid was shown where to put them.”
She turned back. “I’m so glad you brought a maid with you. Of course you would. Of course. Well, she’ll be jolly useful. She can help the female guests with their attire. I don’t suppose they’ll all think of bringing maids with them. Of course they won’t. I don’t have a personal maid any longer. Had to let her go. It’s not as if I need help getting dressed and Martha handles the washing and cleaning admirably. So here we are.”
We had gone along a main corridor, lined with family portraits, hunting scenes, with old china vases adorning the deep windowsills. I saw that this must have been the original manor house and that wings had been added on either side to make an E shape. The walls were also oak paneled with all kinds of nooks and crannies. At the moment I observed this, Lady Hawse-Gorzley said, as if reading my mind, “Perfect place to play sardines, don’t you think? I’m hoping for some splendid game nights.”
She turned in to one of the side wings now and paused outside a door. “I’ve put you in here. Not quite as big as the main bedrooms but should be all right. We’re camping in this hallway ourselves for the duration. Given over our bedroom to guests, y’know.”
Then she flung open the door. I was expecting to see a spartan room like the ones we had at school. Instead it was a pretty room, little and old-fashioned with roses on the eiderdown, a matching dressing table skirt and curtains, a white wardrobe, a white chest of drawers and a fireplace waiting to be lit.
“It’s charming,” I said.
“Used to be my older daughter’s,” she said. “She’s married now. Lives on the Continent. Can’t drag her back to England for love or money. Will it do, do you think?”
“Absolutely. It’s lovely,” I said. “Much nicer than my room at home.”
“Is it, by George?” She looked pleased. “Oh, and I see your maid has unpacked your stuff. Dashed efficient girl, is she? French?”
“No, she’s English,” I said, not wanting to reveal Queenie’s normal lack of efficiency or that I’d probably find she’d hung up my stockings and shoved my ball dress into a drawer.
