After all, there was so much to look forward to with joyful anticipation. For one thing, her job as manager of the select country club situated on the quiet southeast coast of England afforded her scintillating company.

In the few short years since the turn of the century and Queen Victoria’s demise, it seemed as if all of England were eager to celebrate with all the gusto they could muster. Her guests were no exception.

It was a time for music, dance, joyful laughter, and the consumption of vast culinary delights from her famed chef, Michel. The Pennyfoot wallowed in delicious aromas of spices and herbs emitting from the kitchen, while the halls were filled with the fragrance of pine and cedar, arranged by the clever hands of her best friend, Madeline Pengrath Prestwick.

Descending the curving staircase, beautifully draped with bright red ribbon and holly, Cecily absorbed the heartwarm ing sights and smells of Christmas with a sense of well-being. This year there would be no curse to spoil the celebrations. She was sure of it.

Her enthusiasm wavered a bit as she spotted the gentleman waiting for her at the foot of the stairs. Archibald Parker’s stunted height and heavy girth caused him to wheeze, and his busy eyes constantly haunted the dark corners of the room as if he expected to see something undesirable lurking there.

His luxurious mustache apparently gave him some discomfort, since he twitched his nose at regular intervals while talking. Cecily found this all quite distracting, and had trouble following a conversation with the man, which is why she attempted to avoid him whenever possible.

Despite her best efforts, Archie, as he insisted upon being called, had managed to waylay her on several occasions over the past three days. It seemed that he had done so again, since his gaze remained fixed on her until she reached him.

“Mr. Parker!” She managed a polite smile. “You have risen early. It’s not yet time for breakfast to be served. I trust all is well with you?”