The next couple of days were spent in a frenzy of activity. The aroma of baking permeated the ground floor of the castle, which was decorated with boughs of holly, trails of ivy and scarlet ribbons. The huge tree in the entrance hall glittered with tinsel, glass balls and strings of beads, as did the smaller tree in the drawing room. The children did their best to help make everything ready for the party, whether it was toting bales of hay from one barn to another in order to make room for the revellers, or hanging paperchains from the beams, together with swags of holly and ivy. Dora Madge’s older children were also eager to help, and Rosalind found tasks to suit everyone. The entire village were expected, apart perhaps from some of the fishermen, who preferred to sit in the Black Dog and nurse a pint of ale rather than socialise. However, all the local farmers and landowners had accepted their invitations, as had Squire Cottingham and his wife. Oscar and Christina had indicated that they would attend. It seemed a pity that Aurelia and Sylvia were not to be included, but Lady Pentelow was adamant that they would not grace the occasion with their presence.

The preparations on Saturday continued until winter darkness swallowed up the deer park and surrounding countryside, although it was only half past four in the afternoon. In complete contrast, the avenue leading up to the castle gates was lit by flaming torches. The barn doors were left open to greet the guests and fiddlers played energetic gigs accompanied by Jarvis’s sister, Minnie, who hammered the keys on an ancient harmonium. The temperature had plummeted and frost was already sparkling on the hedgerows and tussocks of grass in the meadow. The scent of mulled wine, spices and citrus peel welcomed the guests and a tempting aroma from the hog roast and chestnuts cooking on several braziers filled the cold air.

Rosalind and Hester stood in the entrance to the largest barn, welcoming the early arrivals, but as the guests began to arrive in greater numbers it was impossible to speak to each one individually, and Rosalind chose to mingle with the crowd. She had decided that informality was the key to an enjoyable evening and the dancing commenced immediately, with couples jigging about on the compressed earth floor, and children chasing each other around the hay bales. As the drink flowed, the party spirit grew more rowdy, but it was all good natured and everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves, even Fletcher, who had beaten Albert Yelland, the village blacksmith, at arm wrestling in full view of the assembly and was being plied with glasses of strong cider by the appreciative onlookers.