After the Snow: A gorgeous Christmas story to curl up with this winter 2018!

After the Snow: A gorgeous Christmas story to curl up with this winter 2018!
Susannah Constantine

‘A modern day Nancy Mitford.’ Sir Elton John‘Fans of Downton Abbey will love this.’ Davina McCallChristmas morning, 1969.All eleven-year-old Esme Munroe wants for Christmas is for her mother to be on one of her ‘good’ days – and, secretly, for a velvet riding hat. So when she finds an assortment of wet towels and dirty plates in her stocking, she’s just relieved Father Christmas remembered to stop at The Lodge this year.But later that day Esme’s mother disappears in the heavy snow. Even more mysteriously, only the Earl of Culcairn seems to know where she might have gone. Torn between protecting her mother and uncovering the secrets tumbling out of Culcairn Castle’s ornate closets, Esme realises that life will never be the same again after the snow…Susannah Constantine provides a rare glimpse into the secret lives of the scandalous upper classes. Perfect for fans of Downton Abbey and The Crown.

SUSANNAH CONSTANTINE is a television presenter and journalist. She lives in West Sussex with her husband and three children. She has co-written nine non-fiction books with Trinny Woodall. After the Snow is her debut novel.

Copyright (#ulink_d2da6f06-f8f1-5968-96ac-02a65ca77118)

An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2017

Copyright © Susannah Constantine 2017

Susannah Constantine asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Ebook Edition © November 2017 ISBN: 9780008219659

Version: 2018-03-21

For Betty Anderson

And for Sten, Joe, Esme, Cece and Helen

Contents

Cover (#u87fb4989-cbcc-5bc1-9f40-c14676edef8c)

About the Author (#u30ec7430-f2dd-51fb-b5e2-67bd11c6c3aa)

Title Page (#ufcc21a78-284e-5779-95b0-fe80ebe1b7f6)

Dedication (#u972ee7b8-f536-5882-813d-d2d0b6c7383c)

Chapter One (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Two (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Three (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Acknowledgements (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#ulink_a3ee4c64-24f2-5077-9ead-b7d26f48336c)

Chapter One (#ulink_44476fe5-b769-583e-9454-3ee08ccf4509)

Blinking her eyes open against the new day, Esme could tell that it had snowed. She knew by the luminous shards of light that pierced her curtains and brightened her bedroom in a strange, muffled glow. It was silent, not a sound inside or outside The Lodge. No birds singing their morning chorus, no cars grumbling along the lane, not a breath of wind to rattle the ancient windowpanes. She couldn’t even hear the housekeeper, Mrs Bee, clattering about in the kitchen making breakfast.

Esme breathed in the cold air and felt it prickle down her throat, imagining tiny ice crystals disappearing into her body. With a great whooshing noise, she released a cloud of silvery breath that billowed in the air like the smoke from a great dragon. As she burrowed back into the warmth of her crumpled sheets, her feet hit an unexpected obstacle and her tummy clenched with excitement. It was Christmas Day.

Wiggling her toes against the weight of her stocking, lying heavy as a wet sandbag at the end of her bed, it felt as if Father Christmas had been generous and her father’s shooting sock crackled with the promise of unopened presents. Flinging back the sheets, Esme leapt up, pulled on her dressing gown and flicked on the electric heater before jumping back onto her bed. Holding her father’s sock by its toe, she shook the tightly packed presents from the hand-knitted wool. This Christmas there would be eleven, one for every year that she had been alive. She counted as each strangely shaped packet of colour tumbled onto the eiderdown, some starting to come undone as they fell. Father Christmas had done a terrible job with his wrapping this year. Some of the paper had been put on inside out and there wasn’t a sliver of sticky tape in sight. Pulling out the last lumpy presents jammed at the bottom of the stocking, her fingers fumbled around the unmistakeable shapes of a tangerine and some foil-wrapped chocolate coins. She had posted her letter to the North Pole a few weeks ago, neatly written on her father’s headed notepaper. The one thing she longed for was a new riding hat, but that was too much to expect from Father Christmas. Perhaps her parents would remember. She really had tried to be as good as possible this year, but still always seemed to be in trouble. Like the time she had borrowed her mother’s hunting whip; her mother didn’t even ride any more, so Esme didn’t think she’d notice but her father did when he saw it was missing from the umbrella stand where he kept it as a showpiece. After telling him she had no idea where it was, he had found it hidden under her bed. Thunder followed. She wished she could be more like her big sister, Sophia, who always seemed to know what to do and how to behave. Or at least how not to get caught.

Esme picked up a small package, the wrapping paper cheerfully wishing her a ‘Happy Birthday’. It was hard to the touch and much heavier than she expected. Ripping off the paper, a china figurine of a dachshund sleeping in its basket fell into her hand. Exactly like the one her mother had sitting in her bathroom! She christened the figurine Doodle, and put it carefully to one side to open the next present. Esme gasped as she unwrapped an antique china plate. It looked very old and incredibly valuable, with the remnants of an old breakfast encrusted upon it. Her father would be fascinated to see this piece of history as he loved antique shopping when they were in London. He’d know if the plate had once belonged to a wealthy lord, in the olden times.

Picking up the next present she squealed with excitement as she felt its shape beneath her fingers. Tearing it open, she stroked the hard bristles and thanked Father Christmas for providing her with a dandy brush for her pony, Homer. The brush was just like Lexi’s. Lexi was her best friend and the daughter of the Earl and Countess, who lived at the top of the hill in their castle. Descended from Italian royalty, the Countess made everyone refer to her as the Contessa, although Esme had never heard the Earl refer to his wife with anything but her English title. Lexi stabled her pony, Jupiter, with Homer at Shere Farm – or in foster care, as Lexi put it, because the castle stables were reserved for her mother’s racehorses.

Esme loved driving up to Scotland for the holidays, when she could spend time with her pony and Lexi. The rolling Highlands felt a million miles away from the hustle and bustle of London. She pulled the brush through her hair, thinking how easy it was going to make removing the encrusted mud that stuck to Homer’s fetlocks like bloated ticks. He would be the smartest, shiniest pony on the hunting field. She couldn’t wait to show Jimmy, the groom who ran the yard; he was always grumbling about the state of her beloved Homer.

The metal wires of the electric heater clicked and creaked, glowing red, red hot. Esme’s room was heating up nicely. In fact, she’d almost forgotten the snow that lay outside. Sliding off her bed, she tiptoed over to the window and pulled back the curtains. She scratched the frozen condensation and peered out at the magical world beyond the glass. It was as if The Lodge sat within a giant snow globe, enormous clouds of the palest grey sprinkling snowflakes across a white land, blanketing its secrets in a quiet stillness. Opening her window just a fraction, Esme allowed a snowflake to land on her palm and watched it melt into a tiny puddle.

She hoped the Boxing Day hunt wouldn’t be cancelled. It was going to be the first time Homer didn’t have to be on a leading rein. Jimmy had told her she was a good enough rider to manage on her own now. Homer would have tinsel plaited through his mane and tail and Esme would add some to her new hat. Excited, butterflies quivered in her tummy. But even if the hunt was called off, out here in the countryside it would be replaced by tobogganing and she could exchange Homer’s saddle and bridle for a harness to pull the sleigh.

Returning to her presents, Esme wondered whether Father Christmas had given Homer a sheepskin saddle pad to keep his back warm. He hated having cold leather next to his skin and it made him buck until it reached body temperature. Up until now, Jimmy had used an old dog blanket, which was nowhere near as smart as the quilted pad Jupiter wore. None of Lexi’s riding things were hand-me-downs or makeshift. She said it was because she didn’t have a big sister but Esme knew it was because her family had more money than hers.

The other presents would have to wait until later. Esme was desperate to step into the enchanted world that waited beyond The Lodge’s walls and she knew that once her parents were awake, she’d be trapped inside until the Christmas service at Bonnyton Church. She grabbed some warm socks and stepped into the corridor.