Badger and Johnnie leaped to his aid, thumping him on the back. My heart stood still. Was this the death that had been planned for today? I realized that I had been uneasy ever since the wild woman had given me that warning. The colonel was flailing now.

“Somebody do something!” Mrs. Rathbone screamed.

The other men at the table were now on their feet, standing helplessly as the flailing grew weaker and the colonel pitched forward onto the table, knocking over his wineglass and sending the contents flowing across the white tablecloth like a river of blood.

Chapter 22

Chapter 22

STILL AT THE CHRISTMAS BANQUET

As we stared in horror, there was one thought going through my mind. Until now these deaths had not touched this house. The crash of the van had probably been just an unfortunate accident—someone going too fast around an icy curve. So were we now witnessing the death that had been selected for Christmas Day?

Johnnie grabbed the colonel around his ample waist and attempted to lift him from the table. As he did so something came flying out of the colonel’s mouth, landing on the table. The colonel gave a great gasping breath, coughed and sat up again.

“He’s all right. Thank God.” Mrs. Rathbone fought her way to reach him. “Oh, Reggie. You’re all right.”

“Don’t fuss, woman,” the colonel said. “Of course I’m all right.”

“One of those damned charms,” Sir Oswald said. “I knew you’d kill someone one day, Cammie.”

“You gave us all a scare there, old fellow.” Johnnie handed the colonel a glass of water.

“Something got stuck in my throat,” the colonel said.

“One of those charms, I expect.”

“Which one was it?”

Johnnie retrieved it from the table with his napkin. And he laughed. “The pig, old fellow. It means you’re a bit of a glutton.”

“Reggie, I keep telling you that you bolt your food,” Mrs. Rathbone said.

We all laughed and the tension was broken. The rest of us ate very carefully now and finally my teeth struck against something hard.

“Oh, look, Georgie’s got the ring,” Monty called out.

“Next to be married, my dear,” Lady Hawse-Gorzley said. I tried, unsuccessfully, not to blush or to meet Darcy’s eye.

The meal concluded, a little more subdued, with port, nuts and tangerines all around. We were just sitting with coffee in a state of stupor when Lady Hawse-Gorzley clapped her hands. “Everybody into the drawing room quickly,” she said. “I wasn’t watching the clock and we almost missed it. Hurry now.”

“Missed what?” Mr. Wexler said.

“The king’s broadcast. It’s almost three o’clock.”