“A little of this and that, you know,” Darcy said.

“Dealing in arms, no doubt. That’s how people make money in South America, isn’t it? Help to start another revolution then supply both sides with arms.”

“Certainly not,” Darcy said. “How can you suggest such a thing?” But he was smiling, his eyes teasing her.

“I know a thing or two about how the world works.”

“I thought we were supposed to be planning what we want to do,” Bunty said peevishly.

“When Junior has finished polishing off the cream buns, we’ll get started,” I said.

“Junior, you’ll make yourself sick,” Cherie Wexler said. “He is such a little pig. I don’t know why we had to bring him along. You should have stayed with Aunt Mabel, Junior. You aren’t old enough for polite society yet.”

“Go and jump in the lake, sis,” he said and made a grab at the last cream bun.

“So,” I said brightly, “what would we like to do? I gather there is to be a fancy dress ball one night, and we should play charades, don’t you think?”

“Oh, yes, charades,” the red-headed Badger agreed.

“And the place is perfect for sardines,” I went on.

“Sardines? What on earth is that?”

“Like hide-and-seek but when you find someone you join them, until you are all crammed into a cupboard or wherever you are hiding,” I said.

“That sounds really juvenile,” the Wexler girl said.

“Ooh, I don’t know. Could be fun,” Ethel Upthorpe said, eyeing first Darcy and then Monty and clearly visualizing herself pinned into a wardrobe with them.

“What would you like to do?” I asked Cherie Wexler. “Any suggestions for us?”

“When I go out with friends we dance the quickstep and smoke and drink cocktails in secret,” she said. “Or we go to the talkies.”

“I don’t think the cinema constitutes part of an old-fashioned English Christmas,” I said.

“I think we should go out and have a snowball fight before it gets quite dark,” Monty said.

“Dashed good idea,” Badger added. “Who’s up for it?”

Everyone except for Cherie Wexler thought it might be fun. We put on coats, scarves and gloves and went outside. The sun had just sunk below Lovey Tor and the sky was a brilliant bloodred, turning the snow pink. Rooks were cawing madly as they came home to roost. Darcy came up beside me.

“All right, now spill the beans,” he said, still looking incredulous and a trifle suspicious too. “What brought you here, of all places? I mean, I had no inkling that you knew my aunt.”

“Lady Hawse-Gorzley really is your aunt, then?”