Mr. Barclay nodded and smiled. He seemed out of his element here, looking around nervously. I deduced he must have come from a humble background and this was confirmed when he muttered to me, “It’s very grand, isn’t it? I’m always terrified of making a social faux pas, aren’t you?”

“I often do,” I said. “I’m quite good at shooting my meat across the table when I try to cut it or slipping off my chair. And it’s usually when I have to dine with the relatives too.”

“Your relatives must be old-school sticklers then,” he said.

“Her relatives are the king and queen, Mr. Barclay,” Monty said, grinning as Mr. Barclay’s face turned puce.

“I had no idea. Nobody told me,” he gasped, then took a swig of his wine and promptly choked on it, spattering wine on the white tablecloth.

I felt rather sorry for him and tried to ask him about his own family. It turned out he had a twin brother who played the piano professionally. “He plays at concert parties and summer stock on the piers. My brother wanted us to do an act together called Pete and Pat, flying fingers at the ivories, but I was not prepared to sink to that level, even if he does make good money.”

When we were replete, the remains were cleared away and the Christmas pudding was carried in, flaming, with a sprig of holly on top.

“Hey, Ma, it’s on fire,” Junior shouted. “Should someone throw water over it?”

The countess gave him a withering look. “Don’t you dare,” she said.

The flames died down and Sir Oswald cut the first piece. “Watch out for all the damned silver bits and pieces that my wife insists on putting in it,” he said.

“Silver bits and pieces?” Mrs. Wexler asked.

“Old English custom,” Lady Hawse-Gorzley said. “There are always silver charms baked in the pudding. You’ll find a horseshoe, a thimble, a ring, a button, a boot, a pig, oh, and some silver threepenny pieces as well.”

“And what are they for?” Mr. Wexler asked.

“I’ll explain when we find them,” Lady Hawse-Gorzley said.

The pudding was served with brandy butter. After a couple of mouthfuls Ethel called out, “I’ve got the horseshoe.”

“Very good. That means good luck in the coming year,” Lady Hawse-Gorzley said.

“And I have a boot.” Mrs. Rathbone held it up.

“Very apt. It means travel, of course,” Lady Hawse-Gorzley said.

“Does it really? How lovely,” Mrs. Rathbone replied with what looked like a wistful smile.

Mr. Upthorpe and Johnnie found threepences, which meant money. Badger found the button, which made everyone laugh.

“The bachelor button, Badger. It means you’re not going to get married.”

“Thank God for that,” Badger said.

Suddenly the colonel, seated just across the table from me, turned red, his eyes bulged and he clutched his throat.

“He’s choking!” his wife shouted.