He turned his innocent child’s face to us and touched his cap. “Morning, Miss Hawse-Gorzley. Did you hear the news? They are saying that Ted Grover from over Five Corners way fell into Lovey Brook last night. What were he doing walking across the fields in the dark, that’s what I’d like to know.”

“Returning home from the Hag and Hounds,” Bunty said.

Willum frowned. “That’s what comes of drinking, don’t it? He should have been safely home with his mum like I am of an evening.”

“Quite right, Willum.” She chuckled. “Rather sweet, actually,” she added to me as we moved away. “Oh, and you’ll probably meet Sal at some stage. She’s our wild woman.”

“You’re making it up.” I laughed.

“I am not. We have our idiot and a wild woman to boot. Sal is one of those strange untamed creatures you find sometimes in the country. She lives up on the moor in a stone hovel, picks herbs, dances around barefoot in the moonlight. The locals swear she has magic powers—in fact, there is a rumor that she is a direct descendant of our witch. She’s tough, I’ll tell you that much. You’ll see her out in the foulest weather running around barefoot in a flimsy dress.” She glanced across at me. “Oh, dear, I hope I haven’t scared you off. Mummy says I mustn’t mention her or Willum or the unfortunate events to the guests or they’ll all want their money back.”

“I gather the first ones are arriving tomorrow,” I said.

“Yes, and Mummy’s not happy about it. She wanted everyone to arrive at the same time for the grand welcome, but the Americans insisted on coming a day early. Mr. Wexler cabled from the ship that they’d be arriving on the twenty-second to give them plenty of time to settle in, and that they were bringing their son as well, because he refused to be left behind.”

“Oh, dear, I hope they are not going to be difficult,” I said. “I’m afraid people with lots of money do seem to be rather arrogant.”

“Let’s hope that the presence of one who is related to the royal family will awe them into submission.” Bunty gave me a wicked grin. “Oh, Lord, I’m afraid you’ll have to meet Mr. Barclay now.”

A small man with hair neatly parted in the middle and a perfect little mustache was coming out of the church.

“Morning, Mr. Barclay,” Bunty called merrily.

“It is not a good morning, Miss Hawse-Gorzley. Not at all. That dreadful Prendergast woman has absolutely no taste. You should see what ghastly things she wants to do with the decorations. And the vicar only wants the good old hymns. He shot down my version of ‘In Dulci Jubilo.’ Positively shot it down—after the choirboys have been practicing it, too. Oh, well, if he wants a boring midnight mass, he shall have one.”

And he swept away with small mincing steps before I could be introduced. Bunty and I exchanged a smile. “He’s always upset about something,” she said. “Always complaining to the parish council and seething with indignation.” We approached the gates leading to Gorzley Hall. “So now you’ve seen what a strange lot we are. Hopelessly inbred, all crackers.” And she laughed.