The Family Game by Catherine Steadman (76)

From the bedroom window I take it in and that age-old Christmas feeling flexes itself awake inside me, in spite of everything.

My thoughts are interrupted by a knock on the door and Sylvia, the maid who brought up our dinner the night before, enters with a heavy breakfast tray.

“It’s a beautiful morning,” she says, singsong, as she lays out freshly brewed coffee and a selection of pastries.

“What’s everyone up to this morning?” Edward asks from the bathroom doorway. He’s shirtless, with a towel about his waist.

She blushes noticeably as she lays the cutlery and plates, pouring us two steaming cups of coffee. “Mr. Robert is in his office. Mrs. Eleanor is in the orangery. Your brothers are planning on fishing this morning. Jimmy is preparing the kit in the boot room.” She looks up at Edward. “Shall I ask him to prepare your things too?”

“No, thank you, Sylvia. I think I’ll show Harriet around today. Maybe we’ll take lunch in the snug? Is it free?”

“It is, sir.”

“Say one-thirty?”

“Perfect.” She smiles. “And, er, I don’t know if you’ve been told, but the children are staying in the keeper’s cottage with Nunu tonight. Something about staying up for Santa,” she adds with a knowing smile.

“God, Nunu is a saint,” Edward remarks, causing a sharp flirtatious giggle to erupt from Sylvia. Sometimes I forget how attractive Edward is until I see him in action and it’s like a kick in the head.

“Oh, and Ms. Erikson is swimming,” Sylvia adds, seemingly without judgment. Edward’s gaze snaps up.

“What, in the lake?” Edward asks, clearly taken aback.

Sylvia nods slowly. “She’s Scandinavian,” she offers, by way of explanation, then shrugs, leaving it at that. We grunt our understanding. Swimming in freezing water in the snow makes a little more sense in that context.

The breakfast served and the whereabouts of the entire Holbeck clan accounted for, Sylvia takes her leave.



* * *



—

After breakfast, Edward and I trek out into the garden bundled up in layers, our breath fogging in the cold air. Edward leads us out across the crunchy snow toward the bulk of the maze.

“There’s a trick to the maze,” Edward says with a smile as we approach its entrance. “Want to hear it, or prefer to try your luck first?”

From the driveway it looked fun, but standing right in front of it, its size really hits home and I find myself wondering what would actually happen if you got stuck inside it. The densely packed hedges making up its walls must be over fifteen feet high. It’s unlikely you could climb it or crawl through it if you had to break the rules.

“I don’t know. Be honest: how hard is it?” I ask.

He raises an eyebrow. “Hard.”

“Well, then, I think I’m going to need the trick. It’s going to be a long day otherwise.”

Edward lets out a laugh. “Yeah, maybe a maze, my family, and a treasure hunt is a bit much for your first Christmas.”

In front of the maze’s opening, I notice a small wooden sign at knee height with the words ENTER HERE hand-etched onto it.

“Creepy,” I say.

“Yep,” he says with a sigh. “Now imagine being seven and having to celebrate Krampusnacht here.”

“Bloody hell.”

“Exactly,” he says. “So the trick with mazes is…” He lifts his right hand in demonstration. “You know this one, right?” he says, checking.

I shake my head and then he places his right hand on the maze wall. “In that case, this works on most mazes. It certainly does on this one. Keep your right hand on the maze wall from start to finish. No matter what happens, you keep that hand on. Dead end? You keep your hand on the wall and walk around. All the walls are connected, you see, so if you follow one wall all the way through, you’ll get there in the end. It’s a much longer route, but it’s a route.”

He starts walking, his gloved hand brushing loose snow from the hedging as we disappear into the towering green maze. “FYI, this method is particularly useful if you’re running away from something terrifying and it’s pitch-black. At least, it was when we were kids,” he adds with a self-deprecating laugh.

He’s talking about Krampuses long passed, but I can’t help but feel the very real possibility of this advice becoming necessary at some point during my stay.

“And you’re certain this method works?” I ask, casting my eyes up to the high edges of the maze walls.

“Yeah, it’ll get you in and out. But it only works on a simple maze,” he says.

“Wait, this is a simple maze?” I say, pulling him up.

“Simple maze is a term. It doesn’t mean it’s easy; it’s a technical description of the structure. A simple maze is a maze with one connected wall. A complex maze has bridges, unconnected walls. To get out of one of those you’d need to use Trémaux’s algorithm.”

I look up at Edward, suddenly getting a glimpse of what his childhood must have really been like.

“Trémaux’s algorithm? Bloody hell, Ed. How many you been stuck in?”

“Enough,” he says with good humor. “I won’t bore you with Trémaux. Unless we go to the place in Rouen, it won’t become relevant.”