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Bredon Wimsey had been surprised when the wardrobe turned out not to have a wooden back, as one might reasonably expect, but to lead into a snow-covered wood featuring an incongruous lamp-post. He wasn't frightened exactly, but he rather thought Paul might have been, if he weren't comfortably downstairs toasting crumpets in front of the fire. Frowning, Bredon briefly considered turning round and joining him.
He wasn't cold. The Dowager Duchess had taken up knitting for the duration and, after setting the housemaids to unravelling centuries-old garments from the Denver attics, had presented each of her grandchildren with a sweater of a complex fair-isle pattern with plenty of room for growth. Bredon's reached his knees and smelled slightly of mothballs.
He barely noticed the sleigh, the reindeer, the dwarf and the lady until they were upon him.
"I am Her Imperial Majesty Jadis, Queen of Narnia, Chatelaine of Cair Paravel, Empress of the Lone Islands," announced the lady in a voice uncomfortably similar to that of his Aunt Helen. Bredon was unimpressed by titles and considered it bad form to remind people of them but he waited politely until she had quite finished.
"Come and sit beside me and I will take you to my castle," said the queen. "I will show you statues," she proclaimed, "paintings, tapestries, marble halls..."
"No thank you," said Bredon. "We've got all those at Duke's Denver and they're not very interesting. And we've got peacocks too," he added, "though Uncle Gerald says we might have to eat them soon if the rationing keeps up."
"I could make you a prince," the queen offered. "And your brothers and sisters (do you have brothers and sisters?) I could make them dukes and duchesses."
"Uncle Gerald is a duke," Bredon informed her. "And no-one else can be one until after he's dead. It doesn't work like that. And I haven't got any sisters and there are quite enough duchesses already."
"You are a very impertinent child," said the queen. Then, "Would you like some Turkish Delight?"
Bredon eyed the box.
"No," he said decidedly. "Someone sent us some for Christmas once and Father went white and Uncle Charles went red and Mother shivered and looked at Bunter and Bunter took it away. I don't want anything to do with it."
The queen sighed, shook her head, and the sleigh swept on between the firs.
Bredon frowned again. There was the attraction of unlimited snowball fights, but what use were they with no-one to fight with? A place where people like Aunt Helen were liable to swish by at any moment and boss you about? No. He didn't like it at all.
Bredon turned on his heel and marched back to the wardrobe.