“At least your grandmother produced a son and heir before she died,” the countess said. “I wasn’t able to do that, I’m ashamed to say. In consequence the estate has gone to a no-good nephew and I was unceremoniously expelled.” She paused, staring out at the snowy scene through the window. “Well, I was offered the gatehouse, but his lower-class wife made it quite clear that she wanted nothing to do with me. So I’m living in a small place in Kensington these days. Most of my friends either share my reduced circumstances or are dead. And I had a hankering for the old days—the grand old Christmases of my youth.”

I gave her an encouraging smile. “I’m sure you’ll have a lovely time.”

She leaned closer. “What about the other guests? Anyone I’d know?”

“I don’t think so,” I said tactfully. “But I think you’ll find them pleasant enough.”

“That’s the problem,” she said. “There aren’t many people I know left alive. Outstayed my welcome on this earth, I fear.”

“You are very welcome here anyway,” I said.

She patted my hand. “A kind girl, I can see. Your father was kind, wasn’t he?”

“I hardly knew him,” I said. “He spent most of his time on the Continent.”

“I remember now. There was some kind of scandal, wasn’t there? His wife ran off and left him. Not that that kind of thing causes a scandal anymore. People are always doing it. Look at the Prince of Wales. One hears he’s trailing around after some American woman who is married to someone else. I don’t know what the world is coming to.” She turned to look behind her. “Don’t just stand there, Humphreys. Go and find out where I’m to be sleeping and put my things away.” She looked back at me. “She’s a poor specimen. No backbone. But she’s loyal. Been with me five years now.”

We arrived in the drawing room and Lady Hawse-Gorzley made the introductions. The other guests were suitably overawed by the dowager countess, except for the Rathbones. When they found out she had been to India, they entered into a lively session of name-dropping and one-upmanship with the countess.

“And Simla? How did you like Simla? Our of our favorite places, but of course we adore Ooty. Did you ever meet the Maharaja of Udaipur? Such opulence.”

“Yes, he was comfortably off, shall one say, but nothing to compare with dear old Pixie of Hyderabad. And did you ever go to Government House when dear Tommy was viceroy? Now, those were parties.”