But Alice-Miranda was worried. Kennington’s should be bursting at the seams with stock right before Christmas. Something wasn’t right, that’s for sure. She’d call her parents later and see what the problem was.

  Dolly Oliver glanced up at the television screen in the corner of the vast kitchen at Highton Hall. A recent addition to the room, she was quite enjoying being able to catch up on her favourite shows while she worked. Some of the silly soaps she enjoyed were utterly deplorable, but at her age she wasn’t going to feel remotely guilty about her ‘guilty pleasures’.

  ‘Afternoon, Dolly,’ Cecelia Highton-Smith said as she walked into the room carrying a basketful of clean sheets. ‘I could murder a cup of tea.’

  ‘Hello, dear. I was about to pop the kettle on. Would you like a slice of hummingbird cake? Mrs Greening brought it over earlier. After Harold’s trip to the doctor last week, she mentioned he’s not supposed to be indulging in sweet treats, but you know Maggie – she can’t help herself when it comes to baking.’

  ‘That would be lovely,’ Cecelia replied with a sigh, depositing the basket onto the end of the scrubbed-pine kitchen table before pushing the sleeves of her sky-blue shirt up over her elbows. ‘I’m exhausted and the children aren’t even here yet.’

  ‘And a good thing they’re not,’ Highton Hall’s resident housekeeper Mrs Shillingsworth said, as she walked into the room carrying another basket of clean clothes from the laundry. ‘I’ve still got a list of jobs as long as my arm to get through.’ The woman was, as always, dressed for business in a practical navy skirt and crisp white shirt with her grey hair pulled into a neat chignon.

  ‘Shilly, you’ve done far too much already. You know the children won’t notice if there’s a speck of dust on the lampshades in the sitting room,’ Cecelia tutted.

  ‘No, but I will and besides, your mother will be here on the weekend and Valentina still scares the socks off me, even after all these years,’ Shilly said.

  Dolly chuckled and wiped her hands on her apron. She knew the feeling. Working for Cecelia Highton-Smith and her husband Hugh Kennington-Jones had been one of the joys of her life – the pair treated her and Shilly and everyone else in their employ at Highton Hall as family. And as for Alice-Miranda, Dolly loved the child more than she thought it possible to love anyone. Cecelia’s mother, Valentina, was a wonderful woman too – but her exacting ways kept the staff on their toes.

  ‘Well, at least let me help you,’ Cecelia said.

  ‘Only if you insist,’ Shilly said, a glint in her eye.

  ‘I insist,’ Cecelia replied, filling the teapot with boiling water while Dolly cut three slices of cake and arranged them onto plates. Shilly fetched the teacups and saucers from the long oak dresser.

  The three had just sat down to enjoy their afternoon tea when Dolly realised that, although the sound was muted, the television was still on.

  ‘Sorry – I’ll get rid of that nonsense,’ she said, reaching for the remote control. She was about to switch it off when a news bulletin flashed across the screen.

  ‘Hang on a tick. What’s that about?’ Cecelia asked. Dolly turned up the volume.

  ‘In another act of Christmas Grinchdom, the villagers of Westbury have woken today to find that the town’s entire Christmas display, including the decorated tree and extensive lighting, has been stolen. Last night, despite the dreary weather, the square had been a place of celebration as the annual ceremony to turn on the lights brought families out in their droves. This is the second Christmas robbery in as many days, following a brazen theft at Lord Littleton’s Hollyford Estate where a dozen mid-sized Christmas trees and their decorations disappeared from the gardens. Police are perplexed and surprised that so far, no CCTV footage has been able to capture the thieves’ activities. Authorities are appealing for the public to beware of offers of cheap lights or Christmas paraphernalia and to report any suspicious behaviour,’ the newsreader announced.

  ‘Good heavens, what’s the world coming to – stealing Christmas decorations, for goodness sake?’ Shilly said, shaking her head.

  Dolly poured three cups of tea to which she added splashes of milk. ‘What a bunch of miserable so-and-sos.’

  Cecelia tapped her finger against her lip. ‘I’ll phone the warehouse and see if Highton’s has anything suitable we can offer Westbury village to replace what they’ve lost.’

  ‘That’s a lovely idea,’ Shilly said and sipped her tea.

  ‘What about Lord Littleton?’ Dolly said.

  ‘I think he can afford to buy his own replacements,’ Cecelia said. ‘Though no one deserves to be robbed.’

  ‘True.’ Shilly nodded. ‘It’s understandable that not everyone’s a fan of Christmas and I completely agree that people have their own beliefs but, if nothing else, isn’t the festive season an opportunity to come together and celebrate with loved ones? To think about those less fortunate than ourselves and give the little ones something to look forward to? Stealing the village decorations is a terrible business.’

  ‘I couldn’t agree more,’ Dolly said, stabbing a little piece of cake with her fork.

  ‘I wonder if Highton Mill should employ some security at the Christmas Lights Celebration on Friday evening,’ Cecelia said. ‘I’ll ask Hugh if he can spare anyone.’

  ‘I can’t imagine it will be a problem, dear,’ Shilly said. ‘But then again one can never be too careful, apparently.’

  The three women sipped their tea and ate their cake in silence, wondering what would possess anyone to want to ruin Christmas – especially for the children. It just wasn’t right at all.

  Back in the senior boarding house at Winchesterfield-Downsfordvale, in the converted Caledonia Manor stables, Jacinta Headlington-Bear stuffed the last of her clothes into a small suitcase, then struggled to do up the zip. Usually, she left most of her things at school, given she and her mother lived in the village not five minutes away, but tomorrow she was headed straight to Highton Hall for Alice-Miranda’s pre-Christmas celebrations. She realised she probably needed a few more things this time – although perhaps it would have been sensible to have her mother bring over a bigger bag. It was too late now. The woman had left on assignment two days ago.

  Jacinta’s mother was Ambrosia Headlington-Bear – pen name, Rosie Hunter. She had spent the past few years writing feature articles for fashion blogs and magazines, including for her friends, Cecelia and Charlotte Highton-Smith (Alice-Miranda’s mother and aunt), and their glamorous department store chain, Highton’s. Ambrosia had been booked to write a piece on the Christmas shopping habits of patrons at the company’s flagship stores in New York, Paris and London, which required a whirlwind trip to visit each location in person.

  At least now Jacinta would be able to spend time with her boyfriend, Lucas. His father, Lawrence Ridley, apart from being one of the most famous actors in the world, was married to Alice-Miranda’s aunt, Charlotte. The couple had the most gorgeous twins, Imogen and Marcus, and they were all coming to Highton Hall for Christmas. This year, Lucas was spending the holidays with them. His mother, Kitty, was going to be close by as well, as her sister, Lily, and her husband, Heinrich, ran the farm on the property. It was lovely that Lucas’s parents and step-parents had such convivial relationships. Unlike Jacinta’s mother and father, who didn’t speak at all anymore. Unfortunately, her father, Neville Headlington-Bear had proven himself again not long ago to be a dirty rotten scoundrel. Thankfully, Jacinta and her mother got on terrifically these days, so while she was sad that her father was no longer part of her life, she was relieved that her mother had escaped his clutches. The fact that Ambrosia had forged a fabulous career as a journalist was testament to her grit and determination. She really had changed for the better in every single way. Jacinta couldn’t have been prouder.

  She was in the middle of a lovely daydream when her thoughts were rudely interrupted by one of the other students barging into the room. The copper-haired girl made herself at home on the second bed, which this term belonged to Sloane Sykes.

  ‘Are you leaving?’ Caprice asked.

  Jacinta turned to her and frowned. ‘Aren’t we all?’

  ‘Only for a couple of weeks,’ the girl replied. ‘You look as if you’ve packed your whole life in there. Are you changing schools or something?’

  ‘You wish,’ Jacinta said with a grin. ‘May I help you with something?’

  ‘No,’ Caprice said. ‘I’m bored. And Mummy still hasn’t called to tell me what time she’s going to be here tomorrow. I hate that she always leaves everything to the last minute. It’s typical of her.’

  As the school’s resident diva, there was no doubting Caprice’s talents – especially for singing. She’d won the National Eisteddfod several years in a row, and she would happily tell everyone about her myriad other gifts too. Unfortunately, her constant boasting didn’t do her any favours with her peers.

  The fact that Caprice’s mother was the famous television chef, Venetia Baldini, didn’t help either. It only gave her something else to brag about – though the two seemed to have a somewhat strained relationship at times. The girls tried hard to be her friend, but Caprice didn’t make it easy for them to like her.

  ‘I thought you’d be busy packing for Tuscany?’ Jacinta said. The girls had been hearing about this trip for weeks now.

  ‘I’m almost finished,’ Caprice said. ‘You know we’re –’

  ‘Staying at your villa that’s actually more like a castle.’ Jacinta pre-empted the end of the girl’s sentence.

  ‘You don’t have to be snippy about it. Just because you’re stuck here in boring old Winchesterfield. Maybe your mother’s asked Mrs Parker for Christmas dinner – wouldn’t that be fun?’ Caprice teased.

  Jacinta shrugged. ‘I wouldn’t mind. Mr Parker is lovely and Mrs Parker is entertaining in an annoying way.’

  Little did Caprice know that tomorrow Jacinta and her friends were heading for Alice-Miranda’s place. No one had spilled the beans yet and it was a good thing as Caprice had a habit of turning up unexpectedly at their gatherings. This time there was no way she was going to spoil their fun. Tomorrow, Caprice would be on her way to Italy and the others would be on a minibus to Highton Hall for five days of festivities before returning to their own homes for Christmas.

  ‘Don’t you have to rehearse or something?’ Jacinta asked. Come to think of it, she needed to organise her own outfit for the concert – which she was excited and terrified about.

  ‘Why?’ Caprice said. ‘I’m a professional – there aren’t too many people my age who’ve had the lead in a Hollywood film and definitely not a musical.’

  ‘How could I ever forget?’ Jacinta said. She really didn’t feel like getting into a fight with the girl, but the longer Caprice stayed the more likely that would be the outcome.

  Footsteps echoed outside in the hall.

  ‘Jacinta, have you got that note Alice-Miranda gave us about what we’re doing this week? I was wondering if I need something smart to wear,’ Sloane asked as she walked through the door blissfully unaware of their visitor.

  Jacinta made a cutting action across her neck, but it was too late.

  Sloane grimaced then took a deep breath. She had a feeling that attack was going to be the best form of defence. ‘Any particular reason you’re lying on my bed, Caprice?’

  Caprice sat up and glared at the girls. ‘What are you talking about?’ she demanded, narrowing her eyes.

  ‘Nothing,’ Sloane said.

  ‘Are you going to Alice-Miranda’s place?’ Caprice asked.

  Sloane and Jacinta looked at one another. It probably wasn’t worth the additional grief if they lied to her.

  Sloane raised her eyebrows and Jacinta nodded.

  ‘Yes,’ the pair replied in unison.

  ‘When? Why? Who else is invited?’ Caprice fired questions like bullets.

  ‘Does it matter?’ Sloane said. ‘You’re off to Tuscany tomorrow.’

  ‘Well, it would have been nice to be asked – even if I couldn’t go!’ Caprice exclaimed. She slid off the bed and balled her fists like a three-year-old on the verge of a tantrum, then stomped out of the room.

  Sloane sat down on the edge of her bed. ‘She took that well.’

  Jacinta bit her lip. ‘You think? I only hope she doesn’t say anything to Alice-Miranda.’

  But it seemed that sentiment was already too late.

  Caprice spotted Alice-Miranda, Millie and Britt coming through the doors into the boarding house. They’d just shaken the water from their umbrellas and popped them into the stand in the entry way.

  ‘Gosh, I wish this rain would stop,’ Alice-Miranda said. ‘I’m drowned.’

  The three girls had walked from the main dining room at Winchesterfield Manor back to their boarding house. It wasn’t terribly far, but the downpour was bordering on torrential – not to mention that the temperature had plummeted too.

  Millie looked up and spotted Caprice charging towards them with a face like thunder.

  ‘Uh-oh,’ the girl said.

  ‘I hear you’re having a Christmas celebration, Alice-Miranda,’ the copper-haired girl spat. ‘Thanks so much for the invitation.’

  Millie, Britt and Alice-Miranda looked at each other, eyes wide.

  ‘Hello, Caprice,’ Alice-Miranda replied. She had a horrible feeling that this wasn’t going to be an easy conversation.

  Millie walked over and stood in front of the girl. ‘Why would you want to come? You don’t even like us.’

  ‘Who said I didn’t like you?’ Caprice snapped. ‘And I bet it was you who told Alice-Miranda not to invite me. We all know she’s too kind for her own good and you hate me.’

  ‘It wasn’t just me,’ Millie said. ‘We all agreed.’

  Caprice slowly blinked her long lashes. It was as if she was rehearsing for a scene where she was about to burst into tears – except that she probably was.

  ‘Please don’t be upset, Caprice,’ Alice-Miranda said.

  ‘Of course, I’m upset – Millie hates me and you all believe everything she says about me – which is not true. At least, not most of the time,’ Caprice said.

  Millie’s jaw dropped. ‘Not true – are you kidding me? For a moment, while we were in Egypt and even afterwards, I let myself believe that you’d turned a corner – but the new Caprice didn’t last long, did she? You left me to do all the work on our science project even though you knew I had the tennis tryouts coming up and I needed to practise.’

  ‘I did not,’ Caprice said. ‘I was the one who came up with the idea – you just had to do a bit of research.’

  ‘Like, all of it,’ Millie said. ‘And write the whole thing up!’

  ‘As if that was so hard,’ Caprice snapped. ‘You’re always blaming me for everything. Have you ever thought that I might not be the only person you rub the wrong way, Millie?’

  Millie’s hands balled into fists and her face turned red. ‘I’m glad that Alice-Miranda didn’t invite you because I, for one, want to have a fun Christmas,’ she spat. Millie stared at Caprice whose lip was beginning to quiver. ‘Oh, here it comes – the famous Caprice waterworks.’

  Tears spilled from Caprice’s sapphire-blue eyes.

  ‘You’re so . . . so . . . hateful,’ Caprice blurted.

  She wiped at the tears that were tumbling down her cheeks and for a moment no one said a word.

  Millie’s eyes brimmed with tears too, but Alice-Miranda knew her friend well enough to see she was determined not to cry.

  ‘Millie, why don’t you and Britt go and get ready for dinner? I’ll be there soon,’ Alice-Miranda suggested.

  ‘Are you sure?’ Millie asked. ‘You’re not going to do anything rash, are you?’ The girl then cupped her hand and whispered in Alice-Miranda’s ear. ‘Like invite her?’

  Alice-Miranda frowned and shook her head.

  ‘Go on,’ Alice-Miranda insisted. Britt took Millie’s arm and gave her a nod. Reluctantly, Millie went with her down the hall.

  The small sitting room near the entry was empty so Alice-Miranda manoeuvred Caprice inside.

  Britt and Millie were intercepted by Sloane and Jacinta, who pulled the pair into their room eager to find out what was happening. The girls had been spying from a safe distance and wondered where their housemistress Mrs Clarkson was. She usually would have intervened by now.

  Alice-Miranda suggested Caprice sit down. She pulled up a chair opposite and offered the girl the tissue box from the side table.

  ‘Please don’t blame Millie or anyone else for leaving you out, Caprice,’ Alice-Miranda said. ‘It was my decision in the end.’

  Caprice glared from under her blunt fringe.

  ‘So, you hate me too,’ she sobbed.

  Alice-Miranda shook her head. ‘Of course, I don’t. But to be perfectly honest, Caprice, it’s tricky because even after it looked as if things were improving between you and Millie, you haven’t exactly been fair to her. I should have told you how upset she was about that science project. You know as well as I do that she did almost all of the work – and you got a brilliant mark for it.’

  ‘She didn’t do it all,’ Caprice said.

  Alice-Miranda frowned. ‘Are you sure? You were off rehearsing with Mr Trout every time Millie asked if you could help her.’

  ‘Fine – I probably should have planned my time better,’ Caprice said. ‘So you think I’m mean and horrible too?’

  ‘I don’t want to but there are times when you don’t help yourself,’ Alice-Miranda said. She bit her lip. ‘My granny always says you catch more flies with honey than vinegar.’

  Caprice huffed. ‘Well, I’m not very sweet, am I? Unlike my mother who everyone loves. You don’t understand what it’s like. People fawn all over her constantly and totally ignore me. It’s as if I’m invisible when she’s around, but I’ve got more talent in my little finger than she has in her whole body.’

  This was even harder than Alice-Miranda had first imagined. Obviously, Caprice was completely oblivious to the things she said. If only she realised that people would like her a whole lot more if she didn’t boast so much while at the same time playing the victim.