‘I’m calling the police first,’ Juliette said. ‘They can meet us there. Oh, Ellie – I hope you’re right. I’ll never forgive myself if anything happens to him.’

  Ellie nodded. She felt exactly the same way. And then she remembered that Hoxton Manor was where she was meant to be going tonight anyway. Surely Hazel and the others would understand. Her brother’s safety was far more important than a couple of Christmas wreaths and some decorations in the name of misguided charity.

  A fleet of vehicles entered the driveway at Hoxton Manor, forming a procession around the circular drive at the front of the sparkling mansion.

  ‘What a beautiful house,’ Alice-Miranda gasped.

  ‘And look at that!’ Britt added, pointing.

  The giant Christmas tree in the middle of the driveway provided the most perfect centrepiece.

  The children’s eyes were on stalks as they took it all in.

  ‘Are you sure we’re not on a movie set?’ Neville asked.

  ‘Oh no – this is not like the movies at all,’ Caprice began to explain. ‘For a start, there’d be cameras everywhere and catering trucks . . .’

  ‘I was kidding,’ Neville said with a grin.

  ‘Sorry – you know I love Hollywood, right?’ Caprice smiled back.

  ‘Have a good night, all,’ Mr Greening said as he closed the van door. ‘Hugh – just call and let me know what time I should be here to pick you up.’

  ‘Thank you, Harold,’ Hugh Kennington-Jones replied.

  Chessie spotted her mother and stepfather arriving too. She raced over to greet them while Millie realised that the Applebys were there, as well as some other people from the village she’d met before.

  ‘Come on, everyone,’ Alice-Miranda said, leading her friends inside where the interior decoration was even more gorgeous than what they’d seen outside.

  There were waiters offering drinks and canapes, and Christmas music playing through unseen speakers.

  The group drifted away in pairs and threes, exploring the house and its finery.

  Alice-Miranda’s eyes were drawn upwards on the staircase to a portrait of a strikingly beautiful woman. She had long dark hair and emerald-green eyes. She gasped when she realised who it must have been. Mr Turner was absolutely right when he said that Ellie reminded him of his wife. The resemblance was uncanny.

  Alice-Miranda had to talk to Miss Wickham – if she could find her, that is. She asked one of the wait staff, who told her to look for a lady with short grey hair wearing a black suit. So far, she couldn’t see anyone bearing that description at all.

  Then she spotted a face in the crowd she knew.

  ‘Hello, Mr Smote,’ Alice-Miranda said.

  ‘Oh, darling girl – how wonderful to see you and what a gorgeous Christmas outfit that is. So, what do you think?’ the man asked.

  In his long green pants with a matching jacket, red vest and silver bow tie, he reminded Alice-Miranda of a shiny Christmas ornament.

  ‘You look very festive,’ the girl said with a smile.

  Sebastian frowned. ‘Not me, darling – the house – what do you think? The ice sculpture – is it too much?’

  The centrepiece in the front room was an ice sculpture paying homage to the song ‘The Twelve Days of Christmas’. There were geese and swans and even a partridge in a pear tree.

  ‘No, not at all – it’s wonderful. I love it! Tell me, Mr Smote – you haven’t seen Miss Wickham, have you? I need a word with her.’

  Sebastian fiddled with his hands, then looked left and right. ‘The last time I saw Delia she was in the ballroom.’

  This time it was Alice-Miranda’s turn to frown. ‘Did you say Delia? Is that Miss Wickham’s first name?’

  ‘Yes, dear girl, it is. And a lovely one at that.’ The man’s eyes opened wide and he swallowed hard.

  ‘No, children, stop – please don’t lick the swans!’ he cried and with that he disappeared.

  Alice-Miranda’s mind was whirling.

  Juliette Byers said that her aunt’s name was Delia, but she’d died when she was a child. She couldn’t ever remember meeting her.

  ‘Is everything all right?’ Britt Fox asked. She’d been watching Alice-Miranda with the nattily dressed man before he ran away.

  ‘I don’t think it is,’ the girl said. ‘We need to find someone – it’s important.’

  Juliette turned the key in the ignition of her ancient hatchback, only to hear a horrible grinding noise.

  ‘Seriously, now the car packs it in!’ Ellie thumped her hand on the dashboard.

  ‘I’m sorry, Ellie!’ her mother shouted. ‘I don’t drive it very often – the battery’s gone flat. We’ll just have to wait for the police.’

  But that wasn’t an option as far as Ellie was concerned. When her mother called and reported her brother missing, they said that all available officers were currently busy – there was a major incident unfolding and it would take time to send someone from out of area. This wasn’t good enough. Myles was out there – it was freezing and who knew how many layers of clothes he had on. Last Ellie had seen him he’d been running around the house in a long sleeve T-shirt.

  ‘I know someone who can take us,’ Ellie said. ‘Come on, Mum.’

  The pair jumped out of the car and ran down the street.

  ‘Where are we going?’ Juliette asked, as they charged along through the snow that was now coming down in fat flakes.

  ‘Hazel’s place,’ the girl replied. ‘Just let me do the talking, okay?’

  Juliette nodded.

  Millie found herself wandering the house with Caprice and Sep in tow. This wasn’t just a party – it was more like a carnival with a Christmas-themed carousel in the orangery, a mechanised Santa’s workshop in the sitting room with life-sized elves making all manner of toys, and real reindeer outside, hitched to a sleigh.

  ‘Wow!’ Caprice whispered. ‘I’m glad I’m not in Tuscany.’

  Millie spun around. ‘Speaking of which, please call your mother. You promised.’

  The girl rolled her eyes, then leaned closer to Millie. ‘What if she’s here?’

  ‘Seriously – I can’t imagine Mr Turner’s the only wealthy person in the world hosting a Christmas party,’ Millie replied.

  ‘Okay – but I need to go somewhere private so if she yells at me and I have to yell back, people won’t hear. I wouldn’t want anyone to think I’m some sort of brat or anything,’ Caprice replied.

  Millie smiled and asked Sep if he wouldn’t mind getting them both some more lemonade. She told him they were going to freshen up, which Millie realised made her sound like a granny.

  Caprice and Millie ducked into what appeared to be a guest bedroom to make the call.

  Venetia Baldini pushed her sleeves up and began cracking the first dozen eggs, separating the whites. She’d been on her feet all day and couldn’t see herself sitting down anytime soon. At least the bulk of the dinner was done and she just had to get this last dessert underway.

  Caprice still hadn’t returned her calls, which niggled, but the girl was a champion grudge-holder and Venetia had more on her plate than she’d imagined when she’d agreed to this job. At least the payday would provide a lifeline to the restaurants. She and her husband had decided they’d still put the villa on the market. Although the family loved spending time there, there were other more pressing priorities and having a holiday home in Italy was a luxury beyond what they could currently afford. But at least Christmas would be brighter now.

  Venetia wiped her brow with the back of her hand and decided to make herself a cup of tea. The meringues could wait another few minutes.

  While Venetia watched the kettle boil, contemplating the vagaries of life – the fact that less than a year ago she was on top of the world doing better than she’d ever thought possible, and now she was fighting to keep the business she’d worked so hard to build afloat, she became aware of a tapping sound. It started softly but was building to quite a crescendo and it seemed to be coming from somewhere beyond the kitchen – perhaps in one of the butler’s pantries.

  She wandered off to investigate. Despite having been in the house now for several days, Venetia realised that she’d barely seen any of it, apart from the guest room where she was sleeping and the kitchen. Everything she needed to cook for the party was there – which was fantastic given the weather hadn’t been at all conducive to outside activities, and the forecast was only getting worse.

  Venetia walked out of the kitchen and down the hall, poking her head inside the various pantries and storerooms along the way. The tapping sound wasn’t as loud anymore. Perhaps it was the pipes in the main part of the kitchen. And now it had stopped anyway.

  She headed back to the kitchen and had just finished making her tea when she was grabbed from behind. A hand covered her mouth. A tiny gasp escaped from her lips.

  ‘Don’t move or make a sound,’ a man whispered. ‘I’m not going to hurt you. My name is Bronson Byers and I’m an undercover police officer. I’ve been held here against my will. The man you are working for is not who you think he is. We need to get out of here – now. You must believe me or we’re both dead.’

  Footsteps echoed outside the room. There was someone coming.

  Venetia prised his hand from her mouth, unsure whether he was telling the truth, but what choice did she have? She spun around and looked into his eyes. She could feel his desperation.

  ‘I’ll help you, but you need to hide,’ she whispered and pointed to the butler’s pantry at the end of the room.

  Bronson nodded and made a run for it.

  ‘Hello, Miss Baldini,’ a man in black said. ‘Is everything all right?’

  She turned and pulled a large carving knife from the block on the bench.

  ‘Yes – perfect. Busy, busy,’ she said, trying to calm the wavering notes in her voice as her heart raced wildly.

  ‘Please don’t let me hold you up,’ he said. ‘And if you need anything, be sure to let me know.’ She heard his footsteps fading down the long hallway.

  Venetia’s phone rang, causing her to drop the knife which clattered onto the bench. Her heart was still pounding. She looked at the screen. It was Caprice – finally. At the other end of the room, she could see Bronson Byers’ head poking around the door – staring at her.

  ‘It’s my daughter,’ she whispered. ‘I have to take it.’

  He nodded.

  ‘Hurry – I need that phone,’ he said.

  ‘Hello, Mummy,’ Caprice said.

  Millie gave the girl a glowering look and mouthed, ‘Apologise for not calling her.’

  ‘I’m sorry I haven’t returned your calls. I’ve been busy.’

  There was a lengthy silence and Caprice pressed the button to put the speaker on. She rationalised that if her mother got angry, then she could say she was with Millie on speaker and she’d calm down. Venetia would never lose her temper if she knew someone else was listening.

  ‘Where are you?’ Caprice asked. ‘What was this amazing job you had to take?’ The girl bit her lip, hoping that the answer wasn’t what she thought it could be.

  ‘I’m cooking for a party at a beautiful home just on the edge of Highton Mill. Not far from Highton Hall,’ the woman said.

  Caprice looked at Millie, her eyes wide.

  ‘You have to tell her. She’s going to find out that you’re here,’ Millie whispered.

  ‘That’s amazing, Mummy – what a coincidence,’ Caprice said brightly. ‘I’m at the party right now with Millie and the girls and some of the boys too. They invited me to come to Alice-Miranda’s for the week when you dumped me.’

  ‘I didn’t dump you, darling. This job was too good to refuse. It’s going to help Mummy and Daddy get out of a bit of a bind,’ the woman said. ‘And what do you mean you’re here? You can’t be.’

  Caprice rolled her eyes. ‘Of course, I can. And you’re on speaker phone, Mummy – Millie’s here with me.’

  ‘Hello Ms Baldini, happy Christmas,’ Millie said.

  ‘Mummy, are you in the kitchen?’ Caprice asked. ‘We’ll come down.’

  ‘What are you talking about, Caprice?’ Venetia said. ‘Where are you?’

  ‘We’re at Mr Turner’s Christmas party at Hoxton Manor. Isn’t that who you’re cooking for?’ the girl said.

  There was a short pause before Venetia spoke.

  ‘No, I’m at Loff’s Folly – I think it’s actually next door to Hoxton Manor. I remember passing the estate on the way here. It’s on the Highton Mill side. I’m working for a man called Sergey Koloff –’

  Suddenly there was the sound of heavy footsteps.

  ‘Venetia, please, I need that phone,’ a voice said.

  ‘I have to go, darling,’ Venetia said.

  ‘Mummy, what’s going on?’ Caprice asked. ‘Who’s that man?’

  ‘Bronson Bye–’ she said, but her words were drowned out by the sound of people running and another woman shouting.

  ‘Who are you?’ a voice demanded.

  ‘I’m Bobby Lambert,’ the man replied. It was followed by a scuffling sound and shouting.

  Then another man yelled. ‘How did you get out of there?’

  The girls could hear gasps and thuds and it sounded like a fight.

  ‘Mummy! What’s going on?’ Caprice demanded.

  ‘Caprice! You need to call the –’ Venetia yelled before the line went dead.

  Caprice looked at Millie in alarm. ‘What just happened?’

  ‘Come on,’ Millie grabbed the girl’s arm. ‘Your mother said that she’s next door and it’s obvious she needs help. Give me your phone!’

  Sep spotted the girls as they were racing towards the back door. ‘I’ve got your lemonade,’ he called, but there was no stopping them.

  All the while, the pair had no idea that someone had been listening to their conversation from the ensuite bathroom right next to them.

  Griffin Hendrix could hardly believe his ears. What was Venetia Baldini doing at Loff’s Folly? He absolutely adored that woman and now it sounded as if she was in serious danger. At least he knew where his star driver, Bobby, had disappeared to – although what they had planned for him, Griffin didn’t even want to think about. And who was Bronson Bye? It sounded like the same voice that said he was Bobby. Griffin’s head was spinning. Sergey Koloff was not a man to cross. He had to do something, but what? And if Sergey didn’t kill him, Keeley probably would.

  Alice-Miranda and Britt had been in and out of almost every room and still hadn’t managed to find Miss Wickham. They headed downstairs to the kitchens, where it was a hive of activity. A team of chefs were haring about. But there was one who was obviously in charge. A commanding woman in a tall chef’s hat and white uniform. Her long blonde hair trailed halfway down her back and, despite the frenetic pace, she looked as if she’d just stepped out of the pages of a magazine.

  ‘Is that Sophie Garceau?’ Britt asked.

  Alice-Miranda nodded. ‘Yes, I think so.’

  ‘They say she’s the new Venetia Baldini,’ Britt said.

  The woman was barking orders at her team, snapping and snarling like an angry terrier.

  ‘She might be beautiful like Venetia and a good cook, but I think that’s where the comparison ends,’ Alice-Miranda said. ‘Venetia would never yell at her staff like that.’

  One poor young girl had dropped something on the floor and the woman was towering over her, screaming like a banshee.

  ‘It sounds like Pressure Cooker is the perfect name for her show,’ Britt said, as the girls dashed along the hallway.

  ‘Excuse me,’ Alice-Miranda asked a waiter, who was carrying a huge platter of meat. ‘Have you seen Miss Wickham?’

  The fellow nodded. ‘She’s in the cellar. At the end of the passageway.’

  Alice-Miranda grabbed Britt’s hand and the two girls hurried away.

  They reached a door through which a set of circular stone steps led down into the deepest recesses of the house.

  ‘Miss Wickham, hello? Are you down here?’ Alice-Miranda called.

  A woman with stylish short grey hair, wearing a black pants suit, looked up from where she was checking a list.

  ‘Yes, hello,’ she replied.

  ‘Hello,’ Alice-Miranda said, then proceeded to introduce herself in the usual way. ‘This is my friend, Britt Fox.’

  ‘Shouldn’t you girls be upstairs enjoying the party?’ the woman asked.

  ‘I think this is more important,’ Alice-Miranda said. She opened her clutch purse and pulled out the tiny bottle with the note inside, then proceeded to explain about the teapot she’d bought for Mrs Oliver for Christmas from the charity shop and what happened when she checked to see that it poured properly.

  ‘I found this jammed into the spout. I think it might mean something, but part of the note is smudged.’

  Alice-Miranda pulled it out with the tweezers she’d also remembered to pack.

  Delia Wickham leaned in to get a closer look.

  ‘I’m afraid my sister and I weren’t close the past fifteen years. She wasn’t well and before that, when her husband died, she upped and moved to the other end of the country. I have a niece, but she’s been missing for a long time,’ Delia explained. ‘I’ve tried everything to find her, but I think she must live abroad.’ The woman shrugged sadly.

  Britt’s eyebrows jumped up.

  ‘I’m not completely sure, but I think your niece lives here in Highton Mill,’ said Alice-Miranda. ‘And if I’m right, she works for my parents at Kennington’s but has no idea that you’re still alive. And if what’s written in this letter means anything, then I think it could be more complicated than I first thought,’ the child explained.

  ‘What?’ Delia gasped.

  ‘Really?’ Britt said. ‘When did you discover that?’

  Alice-Miranda unfurled the note and handed it to the woman, along with a magnifying glass she’d brought with her.

  ‘It’s been like a jigsaw,’ Alice-Miranda said. ‘There are still pieces missing.’