Mickey the Weasel was caught trying to board the boat train to Dover and was more than happy to put the blame for everything on his former gang members. He claimed that Lofty had shown up one day in the village, met Mickey and made Mickey let him into the castle to look for the hidden stash. They had waited until Mrs. McNalley went home then Mickey had sneaked him in. When he couldn’t find any of the loot, he had confronted Bugsy and threatened to disclose him to the police if he didn’t reveal the hiding place of the stolen goods. A scuffle had ensued. Bugsy had fallen and hit his head. Lofty had decided that he didn’t want the police looking too closely into their past and that it would be better to pin the crime on someone else. Lord Kilhenny was the obvious suspect.

On Christmas Eve, Zou Zou came back, this time more conventionally in a taxi laden with a Fortnum’s hamper, crackers and lots of champagne. We all went to midnight mass and welcomed the holiday with hot buttered rum and Queenie’s mince pies. Christmas was the merriest one I remembered. We ate, drank, laughed and played silly parlor games.

“This is what it will be like,” I found myself thinking. My family. My new family. We hadn’t yet heard back from the king’s secretary, but we had been assured it was only a matter of formality. We started talking about a summer wedding, but timed not to interfere with the upcoming royal Silver Jubilee, of course. And after Belinda’s baby.

On Christmas Day, Darcy took me aside and gave me a little leather box. Inside was a ruby and diamond ring. “It was my mother’s,” Darcy said. “My father wants you to have it.”

It fitted perfectly. And actually now that we were getting married Darcy treated me with the greatest of respect, although we had plenty of opportunities. It must have been the result of going to confession before Christmas.

And as promised, the auction for the castle was held on a bleak rainy day in January. There was only one bidder—Mr. Leach on behalf of Lord Kilhenny. So the castle went back to its rightful owner. There was just one small fly in the ointment. The stables were not part of the sale. They had been sold off to a private bidder at a fair market value before the auction. Lord Kilhenny was lamenting this fact as we sat together in the castle celebrating his return.

“The blighter better know something about horses,” Darcy’s father said. “I wonder if he’ll let me give him a hand and show him the ropes. I hope it’s not some foreigner.”

“Oh, but it is,” Zou Zou said. “How will you stand it?”

“A damned foreigner? How do you know that?” he snapped.