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off instantly. ‘You are in room eight, perhaps the finest of our rooms, with stunning views of the lake and mountains. Breakfast is served between eight and ten, reservations for dinner must be made by four and takeaways in the rooms are not permitted, which to be honest doesn’t matter because the nearest Indian is in Keswick and by the time you got it back here it’d be cold anyway, but Jim says we have to be specific.’
    Katy re-composed herself. ‘You’ll find a tourist information pack in your room as well as tea and coffee making facilities, and complimentary biscuits. Only there’s no kettle quite yet because the delivery has beendelayed by the snow, and quite possibly no biscuits either as the kids were up there earlier and they do love a shortbread.’ Katy presented them with a big, heavy looking, old-fashioned metal key. ‘Oh, and don’t lose it because we can’t get another one cut without having to find an actual blacksmith. Apart from that, enjoy your stay!’ The smile snapped on again. ‘How did I do?’
    ‘Getting there, definitely getting there.’ Lydia smiled encouragingly. ‘Perhaps try a little less honesty for the actual paying guests. So where are Jim and the kids?’
    ‘Torturing Alex and David,’ Joanna said. ‘Just to warn you, Alex is a little bit … um … testy, probably the long journey. Leave your bags there for now and come and say hello. We’re in the family sitting room, it’s much cosier than the guest one, hope you don’t mind.’
    Katy led Lydia and Stephen through what Lydia assumed must be the more formal, guest sitting room. Situated at the front of the house to the left of the staircase, it was a grand, self-important room, with what looked like its original plasterwork intact on the high ceiling, forming an ornate central rose surrounded by swathes and swags of some kind of fanciful plaster foliage. The floor-to-ceiling stripped oak window shutters were open in defiance of the glass-shuddering wind that was whipping the snow into a balletic frenzy outside. Not strictly in keeping with the period, the walls were painted a more Georgian white andduck-egg blue, which Lydia supposed was more fashionable and guest friendly than some heavily patterned wallpaper. There were two pairs of sofas, some mismatched ‘shabby chic’ armchairs and even one chaise, arranged around an assortment of what looked like lifestyle magazines fanned out on small tables, to create three or four little intimate areas in the imposing grandeur of the room. Trimmed with fresh holly and made of white marble, there was a beautiful, original fireplace, over which hung an integral oval mirror that must have returned the reflection of many a hopeful young woman over the last hundred years. A fire had been set, but not yet lit, giving the room a sense of anticipation, like a sleeping princess on the verge of being awoken with a kiss.
    ‘It’s almost impossible to keep this room warm,’ Katy said, rubbing her hands together and shuddering as they followed her, Vincent Van Dog padding closely at heel. ‘Jim says it’s because of the ghost of one of the sisters that used to live in the houses. Nonsense, obviously, and really irritating as the kids believed him and now they arrive in our bed every single night screaming about being dragged into the lake by Mad Molly. I wouldn’t mind, but they won’t lie still. Tilly’s the worst; it’s like going to sleep with a hyperactive octopus. It’s okay for Jim, he could sleep through an earthquake, but, quite honestly, if I don’t get some more sleep soon I’ll be chucking myself in the lake!’ Katy smiled ruefully,but Lydia noticed she did look a little wan beneath all the Christmas cheer. Hosting Christmas must be taking its strain on her, Lydia decided, resolving to be an extra helpful guest.
    ‘There really aren’t any ghosts here, though, just high ceilings and drafty windows, and, given the fact that the ancient central heating didn’t