In Distant Fields by Charlotte Bingham

that mothers and sisters could bring to a household, which was possibly the reason that Tully was still glancing back at Kitty’s maid as he stepped forward to shake the Duke and Duchess by thehand, only to be nudged to immediate attention by his father.
    â€˜Happy Christmas to you, Jossy,’ the Duchess said. ‘And to you,’ she turned to Tully. ‘Oh, and Ben. The army let you out for Christmas, did they, Ben?’
    Ben stared into the Duchess’s still beautiful face, which he had loved since he was a small boy.
    â€˜Yes, Your Grace, and a fine time I will make of these days, you can be sure.’
    â€˜Of course you will, Ben, of course you will. Happy Christmas to you, Ben.’
    â€˜Thank you, Your Grace.’
    â€˜And a Happy Christmas to you all.’
    â€˜That’s for surviving the sermon, Jossy,’ the Duke muttered as he pressed a gold coin into Jossy’s hand. ‘Valour in the face of insuperable odds.’
    It was the same joke every year, but Jossy never minded.
    â€˜I thought it was a lovely service,’ the Duchess said to the next in line. ‘The singing was better than ever.’
    â€˜Sooner they ban sermons the better,’ the Duke informed his cellar man a minute or two later as he shook his hand. ‘All be able to get to table a dashed sight quicker, eh, Trump?’ He turned back to his butler. ‘I say, Wavell, if this cold spell continues, I dare swear we might be skating on the lake tomorrow.’
    â€˜I took the liberty of testing the ice onlyyesterday, Your Grace,’ Wavell murmured as he passed yet more sovereigns to the Duke to hand out. ‘And I would say that you are going to be proved right.’
    â€˜Nothing like a skating party, Wavell, mark my words, nothing quite like it.’
    Soon after the church party, family and servants made their way back to the house, some choosing to walk in order to sharpen their appetites and others availing themselves of the carriages and traps laid on by Jossy. The cavalcade of beautifully turned-out horses, smartly painted carriages and finely dressed pedestrians made a colourful sight against the landscape of the great parkland.
    â€˜It’s almost like a scene from long ago,’ Kitty murmured to Partita, looking back at the line upon line of tenants and farmers climbing into their own horse-drawn vehicles, the ribbons on the women’s old-fashioned bonnets and their cloaks moving in the slight breeze.
    â€˜Don’t you believe it!’ Partita laughed. ‘Long ago they were all so drunk at Christmas-time the vicar would never have let them in the church. That was what the arch of the lich-gate was for – for them to shelter under.’ She turned back and pointed towards the old building. ‘They were all in the habit of getting so drunk that that was as far as they were allowed, even to get married!’
    Christmas luncheon at Bauders was a brilliant occasion, the orchestra playing throughout the feast, and tea being served in the Great Hallfor everyone from the estate, all of whom were waited on by the family.
    Every now and then, at odd moments throughout the day, Kitty found her mind straying to her mother. At best, Violet might be asked to luncheon by her artistic cousins who lived in bohemian isolation on the edge of Holland Park. There would be peacock feathers in large vases, and a permanent smell of oil paint, and a roast capon and small home-made presents, but no gold, no orchestra, no liveried servants, and certainly no real gold animals tumbling from the crackers.
    In the evening the ladies changed into their best gowns and the men into white tie and tails. There was a running buffet for those who were still hungry, then a riot of games from clumps to blind man’s buff, all of which were played with high energy and with much delight. Finally, as Birdie called the midnight hour, everyone made their happy but utterly exhausted way to