Christmas at Thornton Hall. Lynn Hulsman Marie

guest roster,” Rose said, opening a folder of papers on the table.

      “Oooh, let me see,” said Terrence. “If that 20-year-old Earl of Glastonbury’s coming, his room assignment is ‘Meadow Cottage, my bed.’”

      “You’d better watch your step with that,” I cautioned. “He’s not even gay.”

      “He will be after one night with me,” Terrence retorted, thrusting his pelvis forward. “Let’s see, Dr. Dearden…aged Scotch, dry sherry, doesn’t like cilantro blahblah – rank 5 – Lord and Lady Ambridge, already here…no red wine, Ketel One martinis, she’s allergic to strawberries, organic produce, yadda yadda – also rank 5. Oooh! Kaylie Hart and her escort Jaques Lacoste…sizzling brunette and her froggy food critic lover! Rank 4? I’d go higher than that, myself. Roth’s put them in the Regent’s Room and Tapestry Room, very sexy indeed, with that adjoining bath and dressing room. Did anyone see her latest flick, Remembrances of Autumn? Art film, that one. She shows full bush.”

      “Language!” gasped Rose.

      “Well, it’s nothing you can’t see every night at dinner, here at The Hall,” defended Terrence. “The broad above the dining table’s starkers from where I sit. She’s a real piece…I’d probably let her have it if I went that way.”

      “Take it down a notch, Terrence,” Edward said quietly.

      One of The Earl’s most famous paintings, a nude called The Veiled Madonna, hung in the dining room, opposite the head of the table’s chair.

      Rose threw the baking sheet she’d been scrubbing into the sink with a clatter. “Excuse me! I’m going to the ladies’.”

      Just then, Seamus came in through the pantry, brushing snow out of his hair. “Where’s Rose?” he asked.

      “She’s gone to the toilet,” Edward told him. “Terrence was being a boor, going on about the nude above the table. Some people wouldn’t know art if it sneaked up and bit them.”

      “He could use a trip through The Tate or The Cheltenham Art Gallery,” I agreed.

      “Does anyone listen to me?” asked Terrence. “I said the naked babe was hot. That’s high praise coming from my tribe. No need to get your knickers in a twist. I’ll tell Rose I’m sorry for being rude. Quel sensitiva!”

      Seamus’ face closed up and he busied himself making a cup of tea. “In fairness, Terrence,” he said, clearing his throat, “you take things one step too far, too often, for my taste.”

      “Back to the guests,” I said, trying to lighten the mood. Rose and Seamus were, after all, Catholics. Not to mention from a different generation. “Who else?”

      “All that’s left is a cancellation! Looks like we’re minus one Mr. Famous Member of Parliament and his boringly appropriate wife – Rank 4 – from The Crown Room. No subpar view of the horses’ rear ends for them, then.” The bedrooms were named individually and were allocated in strict accordance with an unspoken hierarchy The grandest rooms were The Oak Room, The Regent’s Room or the Heather Room. If you were placed in these rooms, you were either the only guests or the Posh and the Powerful – Rank 5. A bit lower, and you were taken to the Crown Room or the Hunt Room, for those slightly further down the social pecking order – Rank 4. If you were given The Chinese Room, The Blue Room or the Princess Room, you’d better suck up and laugh loudly at all Roth’s jokes, because you barely made the cut. In short, if your room had rugs from this century, singing for your supper was advisable.

      “Roth hates plan changes,” Edward said, neck craning to read the list upside down. “Expect a foul mood out of him. Better yet, just expect a foul mood out of him. He rarely disappoints.”

      “Edward!” I said.

      “Are you defending him?” Edward’s jaw was set hard.

      “No, but, is he really that bad?” I asked. I felt shaky. Something told me I should drop it.

      “It’s not for me to say. To me he’s just another boss. It’s different for you, though, isn’t it?” he asked, staring hard at me.

      “I don’t know what you mean,” I said, starting to breathe a little faster. I didn’t want to be having this conversation. “Like you, I’m just here to serve the guests.”

      “Of which there are very few!” Terrence jumped in. “So you see, we don’t need an underbutler.”

      “We don’t really need a second chef, either,” I said, crossing my arms.

      “Sometimes we get what we want, even if we don’t need it,” Edward said, softening. “Whatever I think of Roth, in this case I’m glad he’s throwing his money around wantonly.”

      “I say we pinch a few pennies and send Mr. Chisholm home on the next motorcoach,” Terrence said.

      “Terrence,” I counseled, “just find a way to get along with him. He’s here to stay.”

      Before long, Rose came back through the kitchen door, amiability restored.

      “It’s getting late, you lot. Juliet, you’ve had a long journey, you’ll need your rest…and Terrence, I’d recommend stopping at the two bottles you’ve had if you hope to hold a candle to Mr. Chisholm tomorrow.”

      “Drink doesn’t affect me,” Terrence announced. “I’ve a high tolerance for spirits and pharmaceuticals. I’m like Roth’s wife, the esteemed Lady Penelope of the Manor, in that respect…I could drink a case alongside a bottle of Percocet and still buttle circles around Mr. Chizz.”

      “Terrence, don’t bite the hand that feeds you,” I said.

      “If you’re talking about Roth, Juliet, I’d advise you not to bite anything of his,” Edward said.

      “I mean Lady Penelope, and you know it. Terrence, we all our have dirty little secrets. There are things we don’t need to know about her private life.”

      “I’ll bet there are private things you’d like to know about her husband,” Terrence said, poking Edward in the ribs, and looking at me slyly from under his lashes.

      “What? No! God, Terrence. God!”

      Edward fixed his gaze on me, settling back in his chair.

      Rose declared, “Bedtime, my pets. Time to stop torturing Juliet. Out of the kitchen, now, so I can finish cleaning!” She took Terrence’s glass away, opened the door to the pantry and literally shooed Terrence and me through and out the back door.

      “Edward’s still here!” protested Terrence.

      “I just have to bring a few things up from the store room.” Edward offered.

      “What about Seamus?” whined Terrence. He hated to see a party end. “Why does he get to stay?”

      “I’m here to see my best girl gets home safe. Think of me as her knight in shining armor. Now off with you,” Seamus told him.

      “God save England,” mumbled Terrence to me as he split off, weaving in a serpentine pattern into the darkness, toward Meadow Cottage.

       Chapter Four

      I headed for Dove’s Nest. I took my keychain from my pocket, and turned on my tiny flashlight, following its tight beam through the dark and the falling flakes. I opened the door – doors on the estate were almost never locked – and saw that Seamus had recently lit a fire and placed all of my things neatly on my bed. It was so nice to be cared for by a decent man. I wondered if I’d ever have one of my own.

      I pulled my phone out of my bag and checked it. Five calls from Ben. Fuck Ben. A year of devotion and all I got for Christmas was another