Yet he was well-to-do, and very stuck-up.

His wife was dead.
Shottle House stood two hundred yards beyond New Brunswick Colliery.
The colliery was imbedded in a plantation, whence its burning pit-hill glowed, fumed, and stank sulphur in the nostrils of the Bricknells.
Even war-time efforts had not put out this refuse fire.

Apart from this, Shottle House was a pleasant square house, rather old, with shrubberies and lawns.

It ended the lane in a dead end.

Only a field-path trekked away to the left.
On this particular Christmas Eve Alfred Bricknell had only two of his children at home.