Tied Up in Tinsel Read Online Free Page B

followed by the entrance of a man with an anxious face. Not only anxious but most distressingly disfigured, Troy thought, as if by some long-distant and extensive burn. The scars ran down to the mouth and dragged it askew.
    “Hullo, Moult,” said Mrs. Forrester.
    “I beg your pardon, sir, I’m sure,” said the man to Hilary. “It was just to put the Colonel’s mind at ease, sir. It’s quite all right about the beard, sir.”
    “Oh good, Moult. Good. Good. Good,” said Colonel Forrester.
    “Thank you, sir,” said the man and withdrew.
    “What is it about your beard, Uncle Flea?” asked Hilary, to Troy’s immense relief.
    “
The
beard, old chap. I was afraid it might have been forgotten and then I was afraid it might have been messed up in the packing.”
    “Well, it hasn’t, Fred. I said it hasn’t.”
    “I know, so that’s all right.”
    “Are you going to be Father Christmas, Colonel?” Troy ventured, and he beamed delightedly and looked shy.
    “I knew you’d think so,” he said. “But no. I’m a Druid. What do you make of that, now?”
    “You mean — you belong —?”
    “Not,” Hilary intervened, “to some spurious Ancient Order wearing cotton-wool beards and making fools of themselves every second Tuesday.”
    “Oh,
come
, old boy,” his uncle protested. “That’s not fair.”
    “Well, perhaps not. But no,” Hilary continued, addressing himself to Troy. “At Halberds, Saint Nicholas or Santa Claus or whatever you like to call the Teutonic old person, is replaced by an ancient and more authentic figure: the great precursor of the Winter Solstice observances who bequeathed — consciously or not — so much of his lore to his Christian successors. The Druid, in fact.”
    “And the Vicar doesn’t mind,” Colonel Forrester earnestly interjected. “I promise you. The Vicar doesn’t mind a bit.”
    “
That
doesn’t surprise me,” his wife observed with a cryptic snort.
    “He comes to the party even. So, you see, I shall be a Druid. I have been one each year since Hilary came to Halberds. There’s a tree and a kissing bough you know, and, of course, quantities of mistletoe. All the children come: the children on the place and at the Vale and in the neighbouring districts. It’s a lovely party and I love doing it. Do you like dressing up?”
    He asked this so anxiously, like a character in
Alice
, that she hadn’t the heart to give anything less than an enthusiastic assent and almost expected him to say cosily that they must dress up together one of these days.
    “Uncle Flea’s a brilliant performer,” Hilary said, “and his beard is the
pièce de résistance
. He has it made by Wig Creations. It wouldn’t disgrace King Lear. And then the wig itself! So different from the usual repellent falsity. You shall see.”
    “We’ve made some changes,” said Colonel Forrester excitedly. “They’ve re-dressed it. The feller said he thought it was a bit on the long side and might make me look as if I’d opted out. One can’t be too careful.”
    Hilary brought the drinks. Two of them were large and steaming and had slices of lemon in them.
    “Your rum toddies, Aunt Bed,” he said. “Tell me if there’s not enough sugar.”
    Mrs. Forrester wrapped her handkerchief round her glass and sat down with it. “It seems all right,” she said. “Did you put nutmeg in your uncle’s?”
    “No.”
    “Good.”
    “You will think,” said the Colonel to Troy, “that rum toddies before dinner are funny things to drink, but we make a point of putting them forward after a journey. Usually they are nightcaps.”
    “They smell delicious.”
    “Would you like one?” Hilary asked her. “Instead of a White Lady.”
    “I think I’ll stick to the White Lady.”
    “So shall I. Well, my dears,” Hilary said generally. “We are a small houseparty this year. Only Cressida and Uncle Bert to come. They both arrive tomorrow.”
    “Are you still engaged to Cressida?” asked his