I came downstairs to find the front hall taken up by the most enormous Christmas tree, which four men were attempting to raise into place while being bossed around by Lady Hawse-Gorzley.

“Morning. Slept well?” she barked up at me. “Splendid. Breakfast in the dining room. Can’t stop now or they’ll smash the chandelier.”

I went through into the dining room to find places set at one end of the long table and a good smell coming from a number of silver tureens on the sideboard. I was just filling my plate with kidneys and bacon and wondering if it would be greedy to add some kedgeree to the mix when a girl came into the room. She was wearing riding breeches and a hacking jacket and her face was glowing as if she’d just come from the cold air.

“Hello,” she said, looking at me curiously. “Who are you?”

“Georgiana Rannoch,” I said, wishing that Lady Hawse-Gorzley had let a few more people know I was coming so that I didn’t have to keep on explaining myself.

“Oh, you’re the famous Lady Georgiana, are you? Mother’s done nothing but talk about you. She’s frightfully excited. You count as a coup.”

“Really?”

“Well, yes, I mean it’s close to claiming you have royalty at your party, isn’t it?” Her face lit up. “I say, isn’t your mother Claire Daniels? Used to be a famous actress? Well, the village is buzzing with the rumor that she’s come down here for Christmas. Is that true?”

“I gather it is,” I said. “But nobody’s supposed to know. She’s working on a new play with Noel Coward.”

“Noel Coward? I say. How frightfully exciting. That livens up our dull little corner of the world a bit, doesn’t it? Is that why you agreed to take up Mother’s little offer?”

“Partly,” I said. “And partly because I wanted to escape from an even duller place than this.”

“Can there be anywhere duller?” She laughed. “I’m Hortense, by the way. The daughter of the house. Sorry I wasn’t here last night. I was staying with friends in Exeter.”

Hortense Hawse-Gorzley, I thought. What on earth made people choose such names for their poor children? She must have read my thoughts because she grimaced. “I know. Dreadful name, isn’t it? But I’m usually called Bunty. Don’t ask me why. No idea.”

“And I’m Georgie,” I said.

“Jolly good. I was dreading we’d have to go through the title and formality stuff. I hate that, don’t you? I suppose it’s because I don’t have one. Complete envy.”

I laughed. “You wouldn’t find my current situation very enviable.”

“Really? I should have thought you’d have a frightfully glamorous life—balls and parties and chaps lining up to marry you.”

“Hardly lining up. There have been a few, but they were all half imbecile and utterly awful. I wouldn’t have turned down a halfway decent offer.” I noticed her gear. “Have you just been out riding?”

“Yes, I have. Splendid morning for it. Do you ride? Stupid question; of course you do. You’ve probably got stables full of oodles of horses.”