‘Oh, no, m’lady,’ said Daisy quickly. ‘Not awful. Life was borin’ till you two showed up.’

  ‘Hmm,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘I’m sure it’s not the sort of excitement that most people crave. But thank you.’

  ‘My pleasure,’ said Daisy. ‘Are you on a case now? I bet you are. You’re always up to sommat.’

  Lady Hardcastle smiled. ‘I can’t say, dear. But if we were, whom should we look out for?’

  Daisy cast around the assembled villagers for a moment. ‘Well,’ she said, slowly, ‘I reckon that Hilda Pantry must be up to sommat.’ She indicated the surly proprietor of the village grocery. ‘I don’t reckon you could be that miserable for that much of the time unless you had some great weight on your mind. Maybe she did her husband in, after all.’

  ‘Was there talk at the time?’ asked Lady Hardcastle.

  ‘There’s always talk in a village like this,’ said Daisy. ‘But I reckon it was probably unfounded, really. Who else . . . The boys from the rugby club and the cricket club? They’re always up to sommat between ’em.’

  I turned to Lady Hardcastle. ‘Some of them have jobs in Bristol,’ I said. ‘They might own a worsted suit.’

  ‘It’s possible,’ she said. ‘But not a dress shoe. A junior clerk would wear practical boots, even if he could afford the cloth for a suit like that.’

  Daisy looked puzzled, but was undeterred. ‘I reckon Sergeant Dobson must have a fiddle or two on the go,’ she said.

  ‘They do wear blue,’ said Lady Hardcastle with a smile.

  ‘It’s too coarse,’ I said. ‘The thread was from a much finer fabric. And can you imagine Wallie Dobson doing anything quite that acrobatic?’

  She laughed. ‘No, not at all.’

  ‘What are you two on about?’ asked Daisy.

  ‘Nothing for you to fret over,’ I said. ‘It’s a good turnout, isn’t it?’

  ‘Free food,’ said Daisy, knowingly. ‘Our ma’s married to a butcher so she never goes short of meat, but even she wouldn’t turn her nose up at some free grub.’

  ‘Who’s that lot over there with Mogg?’ asked Lady Hardcastle, pointing to the group huddling round the Farley-Strouds’ estate manager.

  ‘They’s the estate workers,’ said Daisy. ‘Mostly they lives in the cottages down towards Woodworthy so they don’t come over our way much.’

  ‘Aha,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘I see.’ She turned to me. ‘Not a blue worsted suit among the lot of them.’

  ‘That would be a little too much to hope for,’ I said. ‘But I don’t think we need look to the rude mechanicals anyway.’

  ‘A Midsummer Night’s Dream,’ said Daisy. ‘I knows that one, at least. Our ma wanted a bit of culture a few summers back so we saw it up at Berkeley Castle one evenin’ and sat on the grass.’

  ‘Did you enjoy it?’ asked Lady Hardcastle.

  ‘I was only little,’ said Daisy, ‘so I barely understood half of it. But the bloke in the ass’s head made I laugh.’

  ‘Bottom,’ said Lady Hardcastle.

  ‘He loved a bum joke, old Shakespeare,’ I said.

  ‘Yes, that’s right. Do you like Shakespeare, m’lady?’ asked Daisy.

  ‘Sometimes,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘I love the Christmas one. What’s that?’

  ‘Twelfth Night,’ I said.

  ‘That’s the chap.’

  ‘I’m glad you said that,’ said Daisy.

  ‘Why’s that, dear?’ asked Lady Hardcastle.

  ‘We’s doin’ a scene from it in tonight’s show. I’m playin’ Viola.’

  ‘Oh, I say,’ said Lady Hardcastle, with evident delight. ‘I’d forgotten there would be entertainment. What sort of show is it?’

  ‘The vicar’s runnin’ it,’ said Daisy. ‘What did he call it? A revue, that’s it. Like the music hall only less smutty, our ma says.’

  ‘I can hardly wait,’ said Lady Hardcastle.

  Jenkins appeared on the front steps and sounded the dinner gong.

  ‘Luncheon is served,’ he intoned, eliciting cheers from the assembled throng.

  We hung back to let the stampede clear before joining everyone inside.

  * * *

  Whereas the family had eaten their meal the day before in the dining room, the villagers were directed to the ballroom. The huge space had once been the great hall of the original Tudor house and still bore many of the original features, including a minstrels’ gallery. In more recent times it had been the setting for some of the region’s more famous parties, but the Farley-Strouds seldom used it these days. To my knowledge, the last time it had seen anything of that nature was a party in celebration of their daughter Clarissa’s engagement, shortly after our own arrival in the village.

  Today, it had been transformed by Mr Jenkins and his staff into the most Christmassy place it was possible to imagine. The area directly below the minstrels’ gallery had been curtained off, but the rest was magical. The walls were hung with evergreens – holly, yew, laurel and ivy – along with the ubiquitous ribbons and tinsel. There were candles everywhere.

  The room was filled by three long tables, set with enough chairs for all the villagers and the household’s own servants. By the time we arrived, the family had already begun serving the food.

  Lady Farley-Stroud caught sight of us lurking by the door and bustled over to us.

  ‘Come on, you two,’ she said. ‘You’ve got to muck in, I’m afraid. Aprons are over there.’

  From the look of things, the family thought this a great lark. They were enthusiastically dishing up hearty helpings of food to the assembled throng and seemed to be having a whale of a time. I saw slightly less novelty in it, but I reasoned that it was the price I had to pay. If I were to be treated as ‘part of the family’ for Christmas lunch, I was going to have to be part of that same family on Boxing Day. I would serve the villagers their lunch with everyone else, no matter that it wasn’t so very far removed from my regular work.

  The two sides of the family seemed very comfortable in each other’s company. I supposed that the Farley-Strouds had become the heads of the extended family and that they were all used to spending time together. Hattie Beaufort and Alberta ‘Bertie’ Chambers seemed more like sisters than second cousins, and their children had formed a strongly bonded pack. Even Sir Edward’s friend, the roguish Julius Goodheart, was pitching in. At one point, Hattie passed him her baby and he continued chatting to his pal as though he were merely holding a friend’s coat.

  For their part, the villagers were also in fine spirits. There was enough goose to go round and, thanks to Lady Hardcastle’s spending spree, quite a bit of beef, too, which they thought a tremendous luxury. There was plenty of ale, as well, but although the mood was boisterous and lively, things never threatened to get out of hand.

  By the time the last of the Christmas pudding and mince pies had been eaten, things had become a good deal quieter. A blanket of lethargy had settled warmly over the guests, who were every bit as stuffed as we had been the day before. It was going to take quite some effort to rouse this lot from their torpor and send them on their way, I thought.

  Not nearly so much effort as I imagined, as it turned out.

  I had taken off my apron and was leaning on one of the tables. I was chatting to Mr Holman, the baker, when the hall erupted into raucous cheering. I looked round to see that a plump man dressed in a long, red robe had entered the hall. He was sporting a preposterously long white beard, but the thing causing the commotion was the bundle he was hauling behind him. Closer inspection revealed that it was Sir Hector in his Father Christmas costume and that the sack contained presents.

  Without having to be told, the village children got up from the tables and formed a neat and orderly line in front of Sir Hector, who, with a few hearty chuckles and assurances that he knew they’d all been frightfully good, handed each of them in turn a small package. Having been thus rewarded for another year of good behaviour – something which, to judge by the look of them, some of them had barely managed – they scampered back to their parents and began playing with the toy motor cars, spinning tops, toy soldiers and dolls that they had been given. None of the gifts were large, but they seemed to be greatly appreciated.

  Lady Hardcastle came over to join me.

  ‘Gertie says there’s a buffet in the dining room for the family if you’re hungry,’ she said.

  ‘I’m surprised to say that I’m famished,’ I said. ‘But isn’t there more gift-giving?’

  ‘The staff and tenants have already had their presents,’ she said. ‘This is just for the little ones of the village.’

  ‘Ah, I see,’ I said. ‘In that case shall we slip away and get something to eat?’

  We joined the family in the dining room and helped ourselves to sandwiches and a cold collation, all of which had been put together from the leftovers of Christmas lunch.

  We’d been there for a while before Sir Hector joined us. He had removed the dark red robe but was still wearing the long beard.

  ‘That was great fun, what?’ he said. ‘Always enjoy Boxing Day.’

  ‘You seem to be enjoying the beard, too, dear,’ said Lady Hardcastle.

  He stroked it contemplatively. ‘Suits me, don’t y’think? Only ever had a moustache, but I could see meself with one of these johnnies. Distinguished, what?’

  ‘You’d be forever dangling it in your soup, dear,’ said Lady Farley-Stroud, who had appeared silently behind him. ‘You’d better take it off so you don’t ruin it. You’ll want it again next year.’

  ‘Right you are, my little sugar plum,’ he said. He winked at us. ‘Best do as the memsahib says. Key to a happy marriage, that. Always do as you’re told.’ He left us, but didn’t make it as far as the door before he fell into conversation with Alberta Chambers.

  ‘Thank you so much for coming again today, m’dears,’ said Lady Farley-Stroud. ‘I know it wasn’t much of a change for you, Armstrong, having to wait at table like that, but it’s greatly appreciated.’

  ‘Thank you for inviting us,’ said Lady Hardcastle.

  ‘Yes,’ I said, ‘thank you. It was great fun.’

  ‘I’m so pleased,’ said Lady Farley-Stroud. ‘You’ll join us again this evening, I hope.’

  ‘For the entertainment?’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘If you’ll have us. Daisy Spratt told us a little about it – it sounds frightfully jolly.’

  ‘Splendid,’ said Lady Farley-Stroud. ‘You must come. Don’t dress – the gentlemen will be in lounge suits. We try to keep it as informal as possible with so many of the villagers taking part in the proceedings. Don’t like them to feel out of place, you see?’

  ‘Very thoughtful,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘But we’d still better go home and change. When does the fun start?’

  ‘Eight o’clock sharp. If you arrive any time after seven you can join us in the library for a livener before the show.’

  ‘We’ll see you then,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘Come on, Flo, let’s go and get out of these togs.’

  We slipped out, unnoticed, and made our way home.

  * * *

  We arrived back at The Grange at half past seven, suitably attired as though for a quiet evening in with friends. We could hear the murmur of pre-show activity coming from the ballroom as we were led across the hall and into the library by the eternally unflappable Jenkins.

  Sir Hector noticed our arrival at once and beckoned us over to the drinks cabinet.

  ‘Fizz?’ he said, indicating an open bottle of champagne.

  ‘Oh, rather,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘Do you know, I’m not sure I’ve ever declined an offer of champagne in my life.’

  He chuckled. ‘And one for you, m’dear?’

  ‘Yes, please,’ I said. ‘I know for certain that I’ve never turned one down.’

  ‘That’s the spirit,’ he said. ‘Experience shows that it’s best to approach the Boxing Day show with a snifter or two under the belt. Helps liven things up, what? And if things get too bad, it can help you snooze through the worst parts instead. Good health.’

  He raised his glass.

  ‘Cheers,’ said Lady Hardcastle and I together.

  We left him to his barman’s duties and stood for a while, surveying the small gathering.

  ‘Well, that’s frightfully irritating,’ said Lady Hardcastle after a few moments.

  ‘I was thinking that,’ I said. ‘Apparently, dark blue worsted is this season’s “in” fabric.’

  Baden Beaufort – Lady Farley-Stroud’s brother-in-law – Julius Goodheart and Sir Edward Chambers were wearing suits in a variety of styles, but they were all cut from a high-quality, dark blue cloth. Even Dr Fitzsimmons was sporting a blue suit.

  ‘The only one we can definitely rule out is the vicar,’ I said. Reverend Bland was wearing his customary ecclesiastical black.

  ‘Although Jag is dressed in blue,’ she said.

  I looked in the direction she indicated and saw that the vicar’s wife, Jagruti, was wearing a dark blue saree run through with golden thread in a broad pinstripe.

  ‘You’d not shin up a drainpipe in a formal saree,’ I said.

  ‘Pyjamas come from India, though, don’t forget. They’d make a much more practical outfit for clambering up walls in the dead of night.’

  ‘True, but we know nothing of Mrs Bland’s collection of pyjamas. Although I doubt she wears size nine Oxfords.’

  ‘Yes, that’s a point – shoes. Have you seen any that might fit the bill?’

  ‘It’s a room full of gentlemen wearing dress shoes,’ I said. ‘They all fit the bill.’

  ‘Remember Hanover?’

  ‘Oh, really, my lady,’ I said. ‘Here? No.’

  ‘It’s the only way.’

  ‘Bags not me,’ I said.

  ‘You’re the one who knows so much about shoes.’

  ‘But I did it last time. They already think you’re a clumsy eccentric. You do it. It won’t be convincing if it’s me – I have a reputation for grace and agility.’

  ‘Which is why you’ll manage it without hurting yourself. Come on, let’s get it over and done with before the show starts.’

  I sighed. ‘Very well. But we only get one shot, so let’s make it count.’

  I scouted around. Mr Goodheart was talking to Hilda Beaufort. Baden Beaufort was on his own and on the way to fetch another drink from his brother-in-law. Dr Fitzsimmons and Sir Edward were standing together. They were our target – we could eliminate two at once.

  I indicated them to Lady Hardcastle and we began walking towards them. When I was a little over a body’s length away, I feigned a trip, then a stumble, and fell flat on my face directly at their feet. From this prone position I was able to check the soles of both their shoes for the tell-tale notch before they hurried to help me up.

  ‘Ups-a-daisy,’ said Sir Edward. ‘Are you all right, Miss Armstrong?’

  ‘I’m fine, thank you,’ I said. ‘I must have tripped on the carpet.’

  ‘No harm done, though?’ he said.

  ‘None at all, thank you.’

  ‘Good-oh. You managed to keep hold of your glass, too. Got your priorities straight.’

  The doctor’s priorities were slightly different. ‘Wrists all right?’ he said. ‘Elbows? Knees? Can you bend them for me?’

  I demonstrated that all my limbs were working exactly as designed.

  ‘Are you feeling dizzy at all?’ he continued. ‘It’s most unlike you to be clumsy. This is the young woman who brought down a fella outside a pub in Chipping Bevington when he was trying to outrun the law, you know. Very stable on her feet – usually.’

  I gave Lady Hardcastle an ‘I told you so’ look. ‘It must be the shoes,’ I said. ‘I’m not used to them.’

  Sir Edward smiled. ‘More likely to be the fizz, what? Damned good idea if you ask me. I fully intended to get at least half-swizzled to see me through the show, but we didn’t get here in time. Have to watch the bally thing sober, now.’

  The gong sounded from the hall, indicating that it was time for us to take our seats.

  ‘Come on, Flo,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘Let’s get you sitting down before you fall down again.’

  I glared at her, but followed anyway.

  We had to pause for a moment at the door to wait for some others to get through. Julius Goodheart went first, followed by Hattie Beaufort, then it was finally our turn.

  As we walked through the hall, she said, ‘Well? What did you see?’

  ‘Feet and carpets,’ I said. ‘Oh, and my employer implying that I’m a slush.’

  ‘And . . . ?’

  ‘And the soles of their shoes were in perfect order.’

  ‘Well, that’s two eliminated, at least.’

  ‘Assuming they only have one pair of shoes each,’ I said.

  ‘You’re a glass-half-empty sort of girl, aren’t you, dear?’

  We found our seats and sat down.

  The entertainment proved to be a good deal better than Sir Hector and Sir Edward had led us to believe. The curtains below the minstrels’ gallery turned out to be concealing a small stage. Cast members sat in the audience when not performing, which added a pleasingly chaotic feel to the proceedings as they dashed for the wings in time for their cues.

  Septimus Holman, the village baker, opened with a dramatic monologue of uncertain provenance, expounding the unknown poet’s thoughts on the true meaning of Christmas. Eunice Spratt and our housemaid, Edna Gibson, sang a duet. There was Daisy’s promised excerpt from Twelfth Night, followed by a surprisingly clever cross-talk act performed by the vicar and Joe Arnold, the pub landlord. Joe’s toothless delivery added a pleasing low-comedy contrast to the slightly-too-highbrow wordplay from the vicar. There were more poems, more songs, and a comedy skit which presented the outgoing year’s events in the form of a Gothic horror story, featuring our own cook, Blodwen Jones, as me. The show closed with a rousing rendition of ‘Good King Wenceslas’ performed by the cast and the audience, accompanied by Jagruti Bland on piano, Fred Spratt on violin and Constable Sam Hancock on trumpet.

  We stayed for quite a while after final curtain. Conversation was informal and friendly, with family and villagers chatting like old friends. I saw for the first time what an important part the Farley-Strouds played in village life.