Autumn and Carlos had been right when they said that Christmas at Alexandria would be like nothing Kensy and Max had ever experienced. They were happy that Mr Reffell won the ugly sweater competition hands down – anyone who was prepared to suffer under that much itchy wool deserved it.
The guests who had disappeared earlier materialised once again and were enjoying the celebrations while Rupert had become the life of the party, seemingly forgiven for his previous indiscretions as he roamed through the crowd, smiling and laughing.
Decorating the tree was something to behold. A beautiful sleigh, chock-full of ornaments of every shape and size, was pulled into the room by Wellie and Mac. The pair wore little coats that made them look like miniature reindeer and had hoods with antlers too. The twins thought the whole thing impossible, really, as the sleigh was far too big and heavy for the two dogs. It had to have some sort of self-propulsion. Kensy immediately began to investigate, but was diverted back to the tree by Max when it was their turn to add baubles.
Music played in the background while guests scaled ladders to the higher boughs. The crowning star was put in place by Dante Moretti, who had been bestowed the honour by Dame Spencer for his outstanding work during the year. Strapped into a harness, the boy descended through a hole in the ceiling to delicately position the jewelled ornament on the very top of the tree. He then whizzed along an invisible zipline back to the floor.
Kensy loved seeing her teachers with their families. Mr MacGregor’s wife, Tippie, was fabulously glam with cascading blonde curls and a slash of red lipstick. She wore a miniskirt, long boots and a simple white sweater adorned with mistletoe around the scalloped neckline. The way the couple looked at one another like love-struck teenagers reminded Kensy of her parents.
Mr Nutting’s wife, Emily, was the epitome of calm and collected as she dealt with their five children under the age of seven. Nothing seemed to worry her – when the youngest spilt milk down her front, she dabbed the spot dry; when their twin boys decided to play frisbee with a plate, she intercepted it and sent them off on a treasure hunt. Kensy was equally impressed with Mr Nutting’s kid-wrangling skills. There hadn’t been a tear or tantrum all night, although the man did spend the majority of the time on the floor covered in children.
When the karaoke machine was wheeled out, Song and Sidney took to the stage and engaged in a serious contest. Song belted out a country version of ‘Here Comes Santa Claus’, which was swiftly followed up with his brother’s performance of ‘Winter Wonderland’ in the tradition of his idol, Elvis Presley. The trouble was, singing wasn’t either man’s forte. Mr Reffell, still in costume and euphoric from having won the competition, had the crowd in stitches when he called out loudly, ‘Whoth thrangling the cat?’
Later in the evening, the Christmas tunes gave way to a more varied song sheet and that’s when things got interesting. Dame Spencer was the first to hit the dance floor, shimmying and shaking with the vigour of a woman half her age. Rupert asked Kensy to dance and swung the girl around like a rag doll. She couldn’t remember laughing so much in ages; when Mr MacGregor and Mr Rodriguez led the macarena, Kensy thought her sides were going to split – especially when they jumped in the wrong direction and sent each other flying across the room.
The grand finale was nothing short of spectacular. A well-known Michael Jackson tune began to thump from the speakers, summoning the teachers and parents to the floor for a Thriller-esque dance-off – the two sides acting more like a bunch of street gangs than responsible secret agents. When Alfie joined in, displaying far more rhythm than one might have expected, everyone else got up and soon it was parents versus children versus teachers versus the rest of the merry crowd. Mr O’Leary pulled some impressive moves out of the bag, while Shugs stood in the corner, citing a gammy knee.
When the clock struck eleven, Song clapped his hands and the music stopped. Dame Spencer thanked her guests for a wonderful evening. It was Christmas in less than an hour and the children had better be fast asleep before midnight, lest Santa bypass Alexandria. Mrs Nutting had already disappeared with three of their children, but her husband was busily trying to extricate the twins from under the Christmas tree.
‘But we want to see Santa,’ they complained.
Daphne Potts, the headmaster’s personal assistant, used her excellent negotiation skills to talk them out, saying she’d just had word from Santa himself that he was worried about two little boys who weren’t yet asleep. He couldn’t possibly make a stop if they weren’t tucked into their beds. The twins were off like a shot, with their father chasing after them to the back door. They were one of several families sleeping in the dorm rooms in the stables; the rest of the guests were spread across the house and cottages further afield. There was room enough for everyone.
‘Goodnight, Granny,’ Max said, once the last guest had traipsed off to bed, completely exhausted. He gave the woman a hug. Kensy did too.
‘Goodnight, my darlings,’ Cordelia said, sighing contentedly. ‘See you in the morning.’
The twins walked to the door, surprised to see the entire buffet table had been cleared and the room was absolutely pristine again. They hadn’t even noticed anyone packing up.
‘That was incredible,’ Max said.
‘It sure was. Granny’s amazing,’ Kensy fizzed. Her cheeks were red and she had long ago ditched her Christmas jumper after working up a sweat on the dance floor. ‘And I don’t care if you agree with me or not – Uncle Rupert is bags of fun.’
Max was about to say something when he stopped dead and stared at his watch, which was vibrating wildly. It was fortunate he never took off the timepiece because Kensy was always misplacing hers. After almost losing it for good earlier in the day, she’d left it on her bedside table this evening.
‘Hurry up, slowpoke, I want to get to bed before –’ Kensy’s eyes lit up as she realised what had captured his attention. ‘I bet Fitz has found them and they’re on their way home! I knew he would!’
‘We need to write this down,’ Max said, beginning to run. ‘Come on, the library’s closest.’
The pair scampered across the entrance foyer and along the hallway. Fortunately, the entire place was empty. Max and Kensy burst into the room and raced to the writing desk, where a lone brass lamp shone a dull glow. Max pulled open the drawer, snatched up a pencil and notepad then waited for the series of judders to begin again. He scribbled the Morse code dashes and dots, checking twice that he’d recorded it correctly.
‘Well, what does it say?’ Kensy whispered, peering over his shoulder.
Max tore the paper from the pad and held it up:
Happy Christmas, darlings. We love you. Ciao for now. Mum and Dad.
Kensy turned to her brother and hugged him tightly. ‘But why can’t they come home?’ She brushed at the tears rolling down her cheeks.
A light snapped on in the far corner of the room, startling them both. Kensy’s breath caught in her throat as she and Max spun around. She quickly wiped her eyes. Sitting in the armchair, with a copy of the Beacon spread across his lap, was their uncle.
Rupert folded the newspaper and grinned at the twins. ‘Good news?’ he asked. ‘I mean, after what happened at the racetrack, it would be nice to have a positive spin on the day – pardon the pun.’
Max shifted uncomfortably. ‘Um, we just wanted to write Granny a thank-you note.’ He tucked the piece of paper with the decoded message into his back pocket.
‘Really?’ Rupert cocked his head to one side. ‘My hearing must be playing up. I could have sworn I heard you say –’
A clock on the mantlepiece chimed the half-hour.
‘Oh goodness, is that the time?’ Kensy yawned loudly and stretched her arms above her head while Max stood frozen to the spot beside her. ‘Wow, all that dancing must’ve taken it out of me. Uncle Rupert, you really know how to party. I might even need an icepack after all those backflips. Well, less talking and more doing, as they say. We’d better get to bed or Santa will whiz right overhead. Come on, Max,’ she said, tugging on her brother’s sleeve. ‘Goodnight!’
The twins were both conscious of Rupert’s unwavering gaze.
‘Sleep tight, kids,’ he said, taking up his newspaper. ‘Close the door on your way out.’
Kensy pulled it shut behind them and looked at her brother. Without a word passing between them, they broke into a run and wound their way upstairs, not stopping to catch their breaths until they’d reached Max’s bedroom door.
‘Do you think he heard what we said?’ Max panted. He hoped not. There was still something about Uncle Rupert that didn’t sit easily with him despite his sister’s enthusiasm.
Kensy shook her head. ‘Who knows? And what does it matter if he did? I wish we could tell Granny.’
‘Well, we can’t,’ Max said.
Meanwhile, downstairs in the library, Rupert Spencer picked up a pencil and coloured in the notepad with the deftest of touches. His eyebrows jumped up in surprise when he held it under the desk lamp. ‘So you’re alive, after all, big brother,’ he muttered, and sat down, deep in thought.