by Rhys Bowen
“I might.” They exchanged a grin.
“I think you should all stay for Christmas,” Oona said. “We haven’t had a jolly Christmas in years, have we, Dooley?”
“We haven’t,” he agreed. “Jolly good idea. So what about it? Will you stay?”
Darcy’s father looked at the princess.
“I don’t see why not,” she said.
The next days were caught up in trips to Dublin, answering more police questions, giving evidence against Lola Martinez and hoping that Mickey and Lofty would be caught. And against this background the Christmas preparations were begun. The pudding was stirred for good luck and silver charms were dropped into the batter. Queenie turned out to be a whiz with pastry and made the best mince pies and sausage rolls.
“That girl is a treasure,” Oona said. “I don’t suppose you’d let her stay on with me here? Treadwell is as old as I am and I could certainly do with more help around the house.”
Those words should have been music to my ears. Life without Queenie. No more dresses ruined. No more lost shoes or beds soaked as a result of unscrewed hot water bottles. No more scathing remarks by Fig. But I found myself saying, “I think it would be up to her, Lady Whyte.”
Queenie was called into the room and Oona asked her if she’d like to stay on as cook general. Queenie looked at me. I tried to prevent emotion from showing on my face. Then she shook her head firmly. “I’m sorry, Lady Whyte, but I can’t desert Lady Georgiana after she’s been so good to me and put up with me making a right cock-up of things. My place is with her.”
“Queenie, I don’t want to stand in your way,” I said. “If you want to get more experience of cooking and running a house I think you should stay on with Sir Dooley and Lady Whyte. I don’t even know where I’ll be going after Christmas. I can always call for you if I need you, can’t I?”
She looked at Oona and then at me and gave a beaming smile. “Bob’s yer uncle, my lady,” she said.
Then on a sunny day, a week before Christmas, Zou Zou had her little aeroplane wheeled out of the barn and took off for London, but not before she had given Dooley a taste of flight. He came back so excited that he quite forgot about the Duke of Wellington. I wondered if Zou Zou had decided that Christmas would be too boring with us in this backwater after all. And a day later Darcy came to tell me that he had to go away too on an important errand, but promised he’d be back in good time for Christmas. I just prayed he hadn’t gone off to Argentina or Mongolia on one of those suspicious errands for the British government. But he returned two days later, looking rather pleased with himself.
“Where did you go to?” I asked. “Or is one not supposed to know?”
He grinned. “I went to London, saw the king’s private secretary and asked him to put the machinery in motion to have you officially removed from the line of succession. I gave him a letter to be delivered to Their Majesties, announcing my intention of asking for your hand. So no more Gretna Green. We’re going to do this properly.”
I said nothing but simply nodded. He took my hand. “Georgie, I want you to have a proper wedding. Long white dress. Bridesmaids. All those things that matter to women.”
I had to smile at this statement. “All right,” I said. “But for now we have to wait and see what Their Majesties say. They could refuse . . .”
“Refuse a splendid chap like me?” he asked. “After I saved their lives once?”
“They might find another Prince Siegfried for me.”
“If another Prince Siegfried shows up, I’ll challenge him to a duel for your hand.”
I flung my arms around his neck, laughing. “Oh, Darcy, you’re wonderful.”
“You’re not so bad yourself,” he whispered, nuzzling at my ear. “You saved my father’s life. You wouldn’t let go when I tried to break up with you. You believed in him. You believed in us.”
“Of course I did. You can’t just stop loving somebody.” I looked up into those alarming dark blue eyes and then for a while nothing more was said.
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.
She gave a delighted laugh. “Because it’s me, you silly man. I bought the stables. I told you I’d always wanted to get involved with horse racing, and I knew the stables wouldn’t be part of that auction and that there were several parties interested in acquiring them. So I made a little deal with Mr. Lennox, paid a fair price and they were never put up to auction. And I have a favor to ask, dear Thaddy. I know nothing about horses or racing stables. Will you take over and run it for me?”
I saw the conflicting emotions on Lord Kilhenny’s face. His wounded pride that someone else had had the money to buy his stables and his relief that Zou Zou had made it safe for him and essentially handed it back to him. He struggled for a moment until Zou Zou said, “How about saying thank you, darling Alexandra, and how happy you are that I’ll be part of your life, annoying you for years and years to come?”
He got to his feet and took her hands in his. “You, madam, are a remarkable woman and I am extremely happy that you’ll be part of my life, annoying me for years and years to come.”
Darcy shot me a glance. It seemed as if there might be more than one wedding in the summer. I couldn’t have been happier.
Historical Note
Southern Ireland broke away from the United Kingdom to become the Irish Free State in 1921. Its police force is known as the Garda (guards).
Darcy, having been born a British citizen, has opted to retain loyalty to the UK while his father has opted to
become an Irish citizen. In spite of conflicts the two are still closely linked. You do not need to show a passport to travel from England to Ireland and can cross freely between the republic and Northern Ireland.
The American gangster story is based on a real heist of a mail truck in which the gang got away with two million dollars in money, bonds and jewels. They were never recovered. And I have to confess to tweaking history just a little for this story:
Alcatraz did not actually become a federal prison until a year or two after I sent Bugsy there. Sorry if you’re a history buff. But after all, it is fiction!
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