“Since you didn’t bring a maid, Lady Georgiana has graciously agreed to lend you hers if you need help,” Lady Hawse-Gorzley said.

I thought of the jersey dress, had temporary misgivings, then asked, “Would you like my maid to help you undress?”

They found that most amusing. “Help me undress?” Mrs. Wexler dug her husband in the ribs. “She thinks I’m too feeble to undress myself, Clyde.” She patted my arm. “Honey, at home women are raised to do everything for themselves. We don’t believe in having servants. It doesn’t seem right.”

“Heaven help us,” Lady Hawse-Gorzley replied when the Wexlers had gone, leaving us alone with our coffee. “I didn’t think guests could be so—”

“Difficult?” Bunty suggested.

“I was going to say ‘different,’” her mother said, “but I’m afraid I have to agree with your choice.”

“Tell them that’s how we do things in upper-class British households and that was why they came here—to see how the other half lives,” Bunty said firmly.

“I did try.” Lady Hawse-Gorzley sighed. “But I do hope the other guests won’t prove so . . . different.”

We went to bed. For some reason I couldn’t sleep, but lay staring at the ceiling, listening to the hoot of an owl in the stillness. Random thoughts flew around my head concerning the three mysterious deaths, escaped convicts, the village idiot, the wild girl and the assertion that they were “all crackers” around here. After a while I realized how still it was. The complete silence of the world indicated to me that it must still be snowing and I thought how jolly it would be to have a white Christmas. My dear ones were nearby. There was loads of lovely food and drink and a house that wasn’t freezing. And no Fig for miles and miles. I wasn’t going to let those three deaths, the escaped convicts or difficult Americans spoil it for me.

Chapter 11

GORZLEY HALL

DECEMBER 23

Other guests arrive today. Hoping they won’t be as difficult as the Wexlers. Not sure I’m cut out for the role of social hostess!

I was awakened early the next morning by the Wexlers tramping down the corridor talking loudly. I didn’t wait for Queenie and morning tea, but went down the hall to the bathroom, then came back and dressed, this time in the skirt from my tweed suit plus a blouse and cardigan—not exactly smart but at least different from the day before. As I came downstairs the butler was standing in the entrance hall. “It’s still not working, my lady,” he called.

He heard my feet on the stairs and looked up at me, then continued. “The telephone line appears to be down. Maybe it snowed during the night, but there is certainly no connection this morning.”

Lady Hawse-Gorzley came through from the breakfast room looking harassed. “It’s too bad,” she said. “Now I’ll have to send the motor into town to deliver the message, I suppose.”