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“But I’m right,” said Jasper, pointing at the Egyptian chair. “Look. It has to be the teacup.”

Charles watched as his sister struggled to compose herself to pay attention to the boy. In a minute they fell into their usual form of squabbling conversation, Octavia’s air of sophistication fading away as she tried to persuade her partner of the flaws in his thinking.

Charles turned to Harriet Swanley.

She looked up, offering a cup of tea, her gaze mild and faintly amused. He had a moment of wanting to speak, to tell her that she had no business to sit heedless under mistletoe as if she were immune to the current of awareness that passed between them at every meeting.

Instead, he gave her one of his cards with the identity of the ghost written on the back and accepted the tea she offered him.

She read the card and placed it on top of the velvet box that held the answer. Merriment danced in her eyes. “Think you’ve won?”

“I know so,” he said.

“May we speak later?” she asked, more seriously.

He kept his countenance blank through an inconvenient, irrational spurt of hope that she had some feelings for him.

“About Octavia of course,” she said.

“Of course.” He bowed.

Around them the usual confused conversation passed among the players before they settled on the blue sofas to hear the phantom speak for the last time.

Harriet took her seat on one of the blue sofas and invited guesses. Heads shook around the room.

“Well, I’ve got it,” Jasper declared. Across from him Octavia frowned.

“Jasper,” Harriet said. “Does your partner agree to this guess?”

Octavia shrugged. “Oh, let him guess. It’s just a game.”

Jasper jumped to his feet, crossed to the Egyptian chair, and held the package aloft. “It’s the teacup, you see,” he said. “And it’s the butler, because he must have order, and he’s in charge. And,” he paused, a triumphant grin on his face, “he’s lost his leg!”

“Jasper, you clunch,” said Pris. She held up the card with the butler on it.

“Oh.” The boy tossed the package on the chair and sat down upon the floor. The dog thumped his tail and put his head on the boy’s knee.

“Anyone else?” asked Miss Swanley. She drew the final paper from her pocket and unfolded it.

“Listen as the phantom speaks. I rode high and mighty in my time with power in my hand over all who served me. I never dreamed I could be brought to crave your kindness by a lowly loss. If I beg a dance at your Christmas revels, dear ladies, don’t say no.”

“Hah,” said Camille, jumping to her feet with a triumphant glance at her partner, John. “We know.”

Charles’s gaze met Miss Swanley’s laughing one.

“Jasper’s right about the teacup,” said Camille, “but it’s the duke, not the butler, who is so lordly that it might make us uneasy to have him as a guest, and he’s lost his ‘grace’ when he lost his—” She turned to her partner.

“Toes,” said John Jowers. “But he gets his ‘grace’ back when you rightly call him by his title.” He turned to Camille and led her out into the room for an impromptu waltz.

Everyone looked to Miss Swanley, who reached for the velvet box, opened it, and spread the cards on the tea table, revealing the duke, the teacup, and the toes. Over the heads of the others her gaze met Charles’s, acknowledging his victory.

Miss Swanley invited the winners to sit on the sofa and open the prize package. It turned out to be two sets of stockings, one for a man and one for a woman, which made everyone except Octavia laugh. Charles watched the frown deepen on her brow. He might be wrong about what troubled his sister. Maybe it was not some indiscreet letter to their neighbor. Maybe it was the defection of this young man to whom Charles had hardly paid attention.

Everyone then began to talk about the cards and clues and how the phantom had both led and misled them. Ned and John Jowers prepared to leave. Pris sat on the floor with Jasper and tried to cheer him. Anne and Camille engaged Octavia in a plan to see each other one more time before the Luxboroughs departed at noon for their country estate.

From the door, Jowers looked back at Octavia, but she studiously avoided returning his gaze.

Charles became aware of Miss Swanley at his side. “You see,” she said, “that your sister and John Jowers have had a falling-out.”