Alex’s hand brushed her sleeve. Together, they began to drift toward the side door that led to one of the smaller sitting rooms. Not the notorious “heatless hallway,” Julia noted with relief. Somewhere with an actual fire would be an improvement.
Julia took a step toward the tree, inserting herself between the children and the nearest staff member like a very small, cardigan-wearing shield.
“All right, troops,” she said. “Let’s discuss load-bearing branches.”
“Aunt Julia?” Florence asked. “What’s load-bearing?”
“It means ‘don’t hang the heavy things on the skinny bits,’” Julia said. “Auntie Vic once did that with a chandelier. It ended poorly.”
“That’s an exaggeration,” Vic’s voice called from somewhere behind her. “It merely sagged.”
“You nearly decapitated yourself,” Julia said, smiling warmly. She still loved Vic so much. So very much.
“Details,” Vic replied.
The door to the smaller sitting room was only a few metres away. Alex and Erin were nearly there. Julia saw Alex’s shoulders drop slightly, the promise of a brief escape in the set of her spine.
Almost.
Almost.
“Mummy J?”
Hyzenthlay’s voice was calm and clear. Too clear.
Julia turned her head. “Yes, love?”
Hyzzie was standing with one hand on a lower branch, the other pointing unequivocally toward the side door.
“Is it part of the schedule for Auntie Alex and Auntie Erin to go upstairs together right now?” she asked at full volume.
The hall went quiet in that peculiar, ripple-like way that meant everyone had heard and was now pretending they hadn’t.
Alex froze mid-step.
Erin did too.
Julia closed her eyes for a beat.
“I thought Mummy said no unscheduled affection during operational hours,” Hyz continued, genuinely puzzled.
Somewhere near the doorway, a footman choked on his own breath.
Erin’s ears went scarlet.
Alex turned, very slowly, regal composure sliding back into place like a mask.
“Thank you, Hyzenthlay,” she said. “For your… vigilance.”
“I’m helping with adherence,” Hyz said proudly. “Mummy says adherence is important or everything descends into chaos.”
Vic chose that moment to reappear properly, emerging from behind a stack of presents like a festive meerkat. Her face was flushed, clipboard clutched to her chest. She had the wild-eyed look of someone who’d just discovered a new category of disaster.
“What descends into chaos?” she asked, far too quickly. “Please say it’s not the seating chart.”
Her gaze had already locked onto Alex and Erin, who were now standing guiltily beside the side door, a good metre of respectable distance between them.
“Are you trying to defect?” Vic demanded. “We have a timetable, you know.”
