Christmas at Lostway

It was Christmas at Lostway Hall. Outside it snowed heavily, the grounds beyond steamy kitchen windows completely covered with a crisp, white blanket of snow, deep drifts forming against the great yew hedge planted just after Waterloo.

Inside a vast kitchen Lady Clara was to be found busily basting the Christmas goose as the servants had all left for better jobs with Amazon. Her uncle, Sir Henry Lostway, appeared at the kitchen door. He had never been inside the kitchen and even now seemed reluctant to cross the threshold.

“Clara my dear.”

“Yes Uncle Henry?” Lady Clara turned towards the kitchen door. A few drops of goose juice from the basting spoon trickled onto her sensible shoes.

“I’m sorry my dear but it must be faced,” Sir Henry continued, edging his way into the kitchen as if expecting mantraps.

“What must be faced, Uncle Henry?” Lady Clara returned to her basting.

“Clara - you cannot possibly marry Gerald.”

“Oh really Uncle Henry, you have always disparaged Gerald, you know you have. What I simply cannot understand is why you dislike him so. He rides, he shoots, he went to the right school.”

“Notwithstanding all that Cecilia, I am persuaded to think that in your heart you know why I do not approve of him.” Sir Henry inspected one of the kitchen chairs but decided to continue standing. “I do not dislike Gerald personally, but honesty compels me to add that I do not approve of him.”

“Yet I still fail to see why, Uncle Henry.”

“In which case, forgive me for being blunt Celia my dear. It pains me to say this but for your sake I must state the case without embroidery. Gerald is an activist.”

“What?”

“An activist my dear.”

“An activist? Oh dear.” Apparently undisturbed, Lady Clara replaced the goose in the oven. It was a large goose, enough for at least twelve people, but it was all they had.

“Yes I am afraid he is an activist my dear. There is absolutely no doubt about it. He waves ungrammatical placards and shouts at people in public.”

“Shouts at people in public?”

“Yes. He shouts - bellows really. In public.”

“He shouts and waves ungrammatical placards in public?”

“Yes.”

“Oh no Uncle Henry he can’t be an activist - not Gerald.”

“I’m so sorry Celia my dear, but the truth of the matter must be faced for your sake. Your dear mother would have horse-whipped him of course but she was made of sterner stuff. Pity about the lions out in Tsavo but it took two of them to bring her down. We may be proud of that.”

“Yes Mummy would have scared off Gerald within minutes. An activist. Oh dear.”

“You know what you must do Celia. Gerald is due to arrive any minute, assuming he braves the snow.”

“He probably won’t brave the snow Uncle Henry, but I’ll take my horse whip to the drawing room just in case. Although there is one problem.”

“What is that my dear?”

“Well – it is rather difficult Uncle Henry.”

“Come now Clara, you need have no qualms about telling me.”

“Well – I am afraid Gerald quite likes being horse-whipped.”

“Doesn’t surprise me at all my dear. He wants to be an MP.”