AT MOUNTJOY, COUNTY KILDARE, IRELAND.

Dooley and Oona both escorted Darcy to the stables where an ancient Rolls was parked. He managed to get it started and waved as it inched forward, avoiding dogs, ducks and chickens.

“I’ve a splendid idea,” Oona said, running up to him and putting a hand on the door handle. “Why don’t you bring your father over to dinner? It’s time we let bygones be bygones. Time for family to stick together. Tell him that. And tell him we’ll have Branson kill a duck.”

“Who’s Branson?”

“One of our farmworkers. We’ve had to dispense with most of the household staff but we still have a couple of chaps working the land for us. They live in rent-free cottages and get their share of the produce so we don’t have to pay them much. And they do the dirty work like killing animals.”

Darcy nodded.

“So you’ll bring your father tonight?”

“I’ll tell him,” Darcy said. “I can’t guarantee that he’ll come.” He turned to me. “I’ll be back later.” I watched the Rolls disappear down the long driveway.

Oona put an arm around my shoulder. “Come on inside, my dear. It’s unpleasantly cold today. Let’s go and see which of the bedrooms might be suitable for visitors.”

“I’ll take her up, if you like,” Uncle Dooley said.

Oona shook her head. “Oh no, Dooley. I’m not having you taking her anywhere near a bedroom. I know your wicked ways.” She looked at me. “You have to watch him, I’m afraid. He’s always been rather a lad where ladies are concerned. Wandering hands and evil intentions.” But she smiled as she said it. “He’s been quite out of practice since the last of the maids left, haven’t you, old thing?”

Dooley grinned sheepishly. “You do exaggerate, Oona. I might pinch the odd bottom, but I’m not exactly dangerous.”

“All the same, I’ll take Miss Georgie’s case up for her. You go back to the Duke of Wellington. On second thoughts, you go to your study and start thinking up a possible defense for your nephew-in-law.”

She picked up the suitcase Darcy had left in the front hall and started up the stairs with it. I followed, picking my way past a basket of knitting, a bowl of withered apples, and the cat, who had now taken up position on the top step. Oona headed straight toward the front of the house and opened the door to a small room over the front porch. It felt horribly cold and damp and was rather spartan with a single bed and small chest of drawers.