Any worries were put aside as we joined in the festivities. I delivered apologies from my mother and Mr. Coward to Lady Hawse-Gorzley. There were hot sausage rolls and sherry before the meal, then a gong summoned us through to the dining room, which looked absolutely magnificent, the table decorated with holly, Christmas crackers beside every place. To my intense relief I was not seated between any leg fondlers this time, but with Monty on one side of me and Mr. Barclay on the other. The vicar said grace and the feast began.

The first order of business was the pulling of crackers. This happened with a lot of popping and exclamations as contents went flying across the table, but everyone ended up with a paper hat, some kind of toy or game or musical instrument and a riddle. We put on the hats, which looked very silly indeed on most of us, then tried the riddles on each other as the first course was brought in: it was smoked salmon decorated with watercress and thin brown bread. Next followed a spicy parsnip soup and then the turkeys, three of them, resplendent and brown on platters, were carried in and expertly carved by the butler at a side table. They were accompanied by chestnut stuffing, roast potatoes, brussels sprouts, carrots, baked parsnips and gravy. Conversation lagged as we ate.

“Well, I declare, this is better than any turkey I’ve eaten at home,” Mr. Wexler said at last.

“I had hoped to have roast goose as well,” Lady Hawse-Gorzley said, “but the butcher let me down, I’m afraid.”

“Oh, but didn’t you hear that he met with an accident?” Miss Prendergast said. “His van went off the road and plunged down a slope. The poor man was killed.”

Lady Hawse-Gorzley went white. “No. I didn’t hear. How terrible. Now I feel awful for insisting that he come out this morning.”

“Not your fault, my dear,” Sir Oswald said gruffly. “Roads are icy. Could have happened to anyone.”

We tried to get back into our previous good humor.

“So, Colonel Rathbone, did you ever hunt when you had a house here?” Johnnie Protheroe asked. “I don’t recall seeing you.”

“Haven’t been home in the winter in years. When we do take home leave, it’s usually in the summer,” the colonel said. “We try to avoid the hot months in India.”

“Where exactly was your house?” Mrs. Sechrest asked.

“Over Crediton way,” Mrs. Rathbone said quickly.

“Strange that we never bumped into each other,” Mrs. Sechrest said. “Porky and I have lived in these parts all our lives.”

“Well, Devon’s a big county, isn’t it?” the colonel said. He turned to Mr. Barclay. “Splendid organ playing, by the way. I like an organist who thumps it out properly. And good old hymns too.”