‘Mummy?’
‘Yes, darling.’
‘What’s the brooch like? Is it pretty?’
‘Well, yes, of course it is.’
‘May I see it?’
Her mother looked at her as if she was noticing her for the first time.
‘Darling, why have you got that silly tinsel on your head?’
Esme reached up and tugged at the halo in her hair. ‘Oh, nothing. I thought you’d like it.’
‘Esme, that’s enough talking,’ her father cut in. ‘Finish up your breakfast and run upstairs to collect your smart coat. We need to leave in a few minutes.’
Sophia rolled her eyes. ‘Who cares if we’re a few minutes late, Daddy? It’s only a bloody church service. Just because you want to get there before the Earl and Contessa.’
Her father never usually cared about being late. It was only when the Culcairn family were involved that he got grumpy about timekeeping. Esme thought it was strange because he didn’t seem to like the Earl, though her mother always came alive in his company. She often smiled at Lexi’s father, even if it wasn’t a good day.
‘Don’t swear about church, Sophia. If we are late, we won’t get our pew. Now get going, Esme. You will have to leave the rest of your breakfast.’
Her mother’s eyes didn’t flicker. She was the one who was going to make them late. She hadn’t even got her lipstick on and she never went anywhere without her lipstick and powder, even on bad days.
But at least she might liven up when she saw the Earl.
The journey to Bonnyton Church was a precarious one at the best of times. Narrow, windy lanes bordered by thick thorn hedges made it impossible to see any cars coming in the opposite direction. Today, Esme’s father drove at the pace of a tortoise through the treacle-like snow. He sat rigid, hands clasping the steering wheel, cigarette hanging from his lips, his face getting redder and redder as he became more and more agitated.
He doesn’t want to be late, thought Esme, because he doesn’t want anyone else sitting near the Culcairn family. But Esme knew they weren’t important enough to get the front pews on Christmas Day.
Sophia nudged Esme and wiggled a gloved finger. Esme stifled a giggle. The simple gesture always managed to close the five years between them. A wiggling finger meant a wiggling willy. Esme wiggled hers in response. Sophia then flicked a series of V-signs at her father’s back. Esme copied her. She felt protected by her sister once again and knew her earlier meanness about the tinsel halo was only because of the bad atmosphere at the breakfast table.
When they finally arrived at Bonnyton the bells had just stopped pealing, which meant they were late. The congregation would be preparing to stand for the arrival of Father Kinley and the choir. The parking space where the family normally left their car had been filled, but her father’s stress levels gave him permission to double-park, blocking the back entrance to the graveyard.
‘Not their bloody space, anyway,’ he muttered, his dead cigarette still attached to his mouth.
The snow along the church path had been compacted into an icy carpet by earlier arrivals and the large oak door to the entrance was already shut. When her father lifted the latch the noise sounded like a gunshot in the hushed silence inside the church.
As the family stood in the doorway, Esme breathed in the familiar smell of pine but quickly hid behind her sister as everyone turned, their disapproving faces dampening her relief of having arrived just in time. The church was completely full, every pew jammed with people, buttocks spilling over into the aisle. Henry and Lucia, the Earl and Contessa of Culcairn, sat at the front and only the Earl gave them a smile. Lexi waved at Esme furiously, despite her movements being restricted by a horrible tweed coat. She pointed to her matching beret, crossing her eyes and sticking out her tongue in disgust. There was nothing pretty about what she was wearing; it was just prim and frumpy and Esme knew how Lexi hated being made to dress like an ‘old lady’.
Mrs Hornbuckle, the hunt secretary, had already sprung up from her chair and was tipping hymnbooks into her father’s arms. She led the family to a pew at the back, hidden in the shadows. Esme could see disappointment etched on her father’s face. Her mother seemed less concerned, her head still up in the snowy clouds.
Standing on tiptoes on her hassock, Esme saw that Lord William and Lady Mary-Rose Findlay were sitting behind the Culcairns. Lord William was a very important man, with whom she had never had a proper conversation, but Lady Mary-Rose was one of the funniest women Esme had ever met. She swore all the time and told very naughty jokes. Esme thought she ought to have her own comedy show on TV. She looked back at Lexi, sat next to her older brother, Rollo, and sister, Bella. Esme loved Bella but didn’t know Rollo as well because he was the same age as Sophia so spent more time with her. Esme and Lexi thought they fancied each other. Sophia always blushed when Rollo’s name was mentioned and they always seemed to go missing at the same time when Esme’s family visited the castle. Next to them were their parents, the Earl and Contessa. Everybody else was rubbing shoulders, squashed up on the short benches, but the Contessa had lots of room around her. Even her husband sat a few inches away. If Esme were next to Lexi’s mother, she would avoid sitting too close to her as well, just in case touching her brought bad luck. She never opened umbrellas indoors either and always crossed herself if she saw a single magpie. The Contessa worshipped Rollo but never seemed very interested in her daughters, which made going to Culcairn Castle lots of fun for Esme as she and Lexi could do whatever they wanted – once they got past Nanny Patch and the nursery maid.
Esme jumped as the Contessa suddenly turned around and fixed her with a stare that hit Esme like a slap, her cheeks smarting and flushing in response. The Contessa looked like an Italian movie star with her scarlet lips, high cheekbones and dark glossy hair pulled into a sleek chignon, but despite such beauty, her cold, coal-black eyes always made Esme feel unsettled.
Everyone stood for the first carol, ‘Once in Royal David’s City’. A young boy had taken centre stage at the altar. His angelic voice rang through the church, alone and pure. The organ cranked air into its pipes, coming to life. Esme’s mother, who had been on her knees praying since they arrived, stood and swayed, although not in time to the music. She must be praying very hard, thought Esme, as her eyes were red and watery. Luckily Esme’s father knew the words to the carol by heart because he was staring at her mother and not the hymnbook. Esme looked past him to Sophia, who gave her a knowing look.
Esme loved the Bonnyton choir. The Munroes never went to church in London; her father said that was for ‘commoners’ who had nothing better to do than pray. The only choir she had to compare it to was the one at her school in Kensington and it seemed to her that country choristers were much better than city ones – probably because the air was cleaner. She looked out for her favourite singer, a large woman who, even in her vestal robes, appeared magnificent. Esme loved watching as her mouth opened wide like a frog to let loose a surprisingly exquisite voice. She always made a great effort with her make-up, today wearing turquoise eye shadow, black eyeliner, vibrant pink lipstick and a bold swipe of blusher on each cheek. Esme’s mother rarely went to such lengths with her face, wearing only a soft pink lipstick and pearlescent powder. Mrs Bee maintained that Diana’s beauty came from within and she didn’t need anything smothered over her freckles to bring it out.
Esme’s thoughts were interrupted at the sound of her father’s deep, booming voice, now drowning out those of the rest of the congregation. He was proud of his singing and loved to show it off, much to her and Sophia’s embarrassment.