Esme loved driving up to Scotland for the holidays, when she could spend time with her pony and Lexi. The rolling Highlands felt a million miles away from the hustle and bustle of London. She pulled the brush through her hair, thinking how easy it was going to make removing the encrusted mud that stuck to Homer’s fetlocks like bloated ticks. He would be the smartest, shiniest pony on the hunting field. She couldn’t wait to show Jimmy, the groom who ran the yard; he was always grumbling about the state of her beloved Homer.
The metal wires of the electric heater clicked and creaked, glowing red, red hot. Esme’s room was heating up nicely. In fact, she’d almost forgotten the snow that lay outside. Sliding off her bed, she tiptoed over to the window and pulled back the curtains. She scratched the frozen condensation and peered out at the magical world beyond the glass. It was as if The Lodge sat within a giant snow globe, enormous clouds of the palest grey sprinkling snowflakes across a white land, blanketing its secrets in a quiet stillness. Opening her window just a fraction, Esme allowed a snowflake to land on her palm and watched it melt into a tiny puddle.
She hoped the Boxing Day hunt wouldn’t be cancelled. It was going to be the first time Homer didn’t have to be on a leading rein. Jimmy had told her she was a good enough rider to manage on her own now. Homer would have tinsel plaited through his mane and tail and Esme would add some to her new hat. Excited, butterflies quivered in her tummy. But even if the hunt was called off, out here in the countryside it would be replaced by tobogganing and she could exchange Homer’s saddle and bridle for a harness to pull the sleigh.
Returning to her presents, Esme wondered whether Father Christmas had given Homer a sheepskin saddle pad to keep his back warm. He hated having cold leather next to his skin and it made him buck until it reached body temperature. Up until now, Jimmy had used an old dog blanket, which was nowhere near as smart as the quilted pad Jupiter wore. None of Lexi’s riding things were hand-me-downs or makeshift. She said it was because she didn’t have a big sister but Esme knew it was because her family had more money than hers.
The other presents would have to wait until later. Esme was desperate to step into the enchanted world that waited beyond The Lodge’s walls and she knew that once her parents were awake, she’d be trapped inside until the Christmas service at Bonnyton Church. She grabbed some warm socks and stepped into the corridor.
Beyond her room the rest of the house was still sleeping. Pressing her eye to the keyhole of her sister’s room, she could see a copy of Cupid Rides Pillion lying open on the floor. Sophia was addicted to Barbara Cartland novels and was in love with the idea of falling in love. Each book provided a new hero that might one day sweep her off her feet. She must have fallen asleep reading last night and Esme knew not to wake her if she didn’t want a verbal bashing. Boarding school had made Sophia moody when she came home and she didn’t want to do the same things as her little sister any more. When she was on holiday she wanted to be in London hanging out with her glamorous friends and their older brothers rather than at The Lodge.
Esme had mapped out a soundproof route past her parents’ bedroom years ago when she began sneaking out in the early hours to meet Lexi in their secret place in the woods. As she tiptoed down the corridor now she automatically avoided the creaking floorboards that would give her away. It was so quiet she could even hear the mantel clock chiming in the drawing room. Creeping past the kitchen into the back hallway she pulled on her wellington boots and lifted her Red Indian elk-skin coat off its peg. Her father had brought it back for her after a trip to Canada and it was her favourite present of all. The soft leathery outside was decorated with brightly coloured beads in pretty patterns. It had a slightly sweet, pungent smell to it – not like a rotting old rabbit carcass, but more like something dead that hadn’t yet started to fester. Her father had given her moccasin slippers, too, but she had quickly learned that they weren’t much use outside.
Esme slid back the rusty iron bolt of the back door and placed one booted foot on the fresh snow. She watched as it sank into the deep, powdery mound. She felt a sense of delight at making the first footprint in this untouched world. Her Advent calendar had come to life, the glittering icicles and twinkling marshmallow rooftop filling her with a sense of hope. Maybe the snow would make Mummy happy today. A tiny robin flicked his tail, its red breast and black beady eyes bursting from the white canvas that lay before her. He looked at her, unafraid.
‘Happy Christmas Mr Robin.’
‘Tut tut tut,’ it replied, before shooting off its branch and onto the washing line.
Esme hugged herself, daring to believe that this was going to be the best Christmas ever. Her mother couldn’t possibly feel sad when she saw how beautiful the world outside looked. And then Daddy wouldn’t have to be on guard and she and Sophia could enjoy themselves. Scooping up a handful of snow she nibbled at the powder, marvelling at its strange, metallic taste. Then, dragging her boots through the snow, she set off towards the gate and the world that lay beyond it. She looked up towards the castle, hoping Lexi would be on her way to meet her at the pond.
Culcairn Castle was like a fairy-tale castle with high, strong walls and three enormous round towers that rose right up into the clouds. You could tell it had been built to keep the baddies out. It was a very famous castle in Scotland – so important that the Culcairns had opened it to the public. Lexi told her that it had a quarter of a million visitors a year, which seemed like loads, especially if they all came at once. There would be none today though. It was closed in the winter.
Esme blew into her hands as she continued to the pond. Kicking the surrounding snow in search of a rock, she lifted the largest she could manage over her head and smashed it onto the ice. It bounced. Tentatively, she inched onto the frozen water. The slippery surface creaked but not enough to cause alarm. She tried to skid but her feet were like two tiny snow ploughs that created miniature drifts. She remembered the time Lexi had fallen in and she had lain flat on the ice to distribute her weight and haul her friend out. The water was only knee-deep, but it was good practice for a real-life drowning situation.
Esme started to count in her head. She and Lexi had an agreement that if the person who you were meeting hadn’t come by 500, then you could leave. Sometimes she would get to 500 and be about to leave and then see Lexi come running towards her, her long hair in her eyes and her clothes in a tangle, laughing with pleasure that Esme was still there. Sometimes it was almost like there was an invisible thread that bound them together, each knowing what the other was doing.
But today there was no sign of her. 498… 499… 500. Esme finished counting, imagining her friend opening her stocking, her smile even bigger as she discovered what was in each package.
It really was very cold. Cold enough to freeze the breath from her nostrils as well as her mouth. Pangs of hunger gnawed at her stomach. She waited a few seconds more. Perhaps Lexi was snowed in? And anyway, she would see her at the Christmas service with the rest of her family. It was time to head back to the house. As she turned, she saw a rusty ball of fur streak across the snow. Most people would have mistaken it for a fox, albeit a pale version with white socks.
‘Digger! Happy Christmas. I can’t wait to give you your present!’
Ignoring her, Digger dashed round the snow in demented circles.
‘Stop showing off,’ laughed Esme.
Digger’s arrival meant that Mrs Bee was up and breakfast was probably waiting. Today was not a day to be late.
Esme went straight into the kitchen to find Mrs Bee. The housekeeper’s name was actually Mrs Bumble but ever since she could remember Esme and her sister had called her Mrs Bee. She could hear the clink of cutlery coming from the dining room but the housekeeper was nowhere to be seen. A delicious smell of roasting turkey filled the room and an orderly line of Pyrex bowls, overflowing with potatoes, carrots and Brussels sprouts, sat on the Formica tabletop, while baking trays brimmed with chipolata sausages, bacon