My Dear Lady Misericordia,
 
I hope this letter finds you well. I genuinely, really do. I hope both you and Viscount Fox are well and happy and I wish you both congratulations on your engagement.
 
Perhaps once upon a time the news of your wedding in your last letter might have upset me, but I have realised that I can now echo the spirit, if not the actual content of your father's words when he heard the news:
 
"I should have known. Those two deserve each other."
 
In fact I have realised a good many things in the last day, some startling and simply startlingly obvious. I have realised, for example, that the man I have been calling Alf, is not really called Alf. I have realised why the Professor has brought us here. I have realised, finally, exactly who our host is, although I hardly believe it. I have realised... well, I am getting ahead of myself, rather.
 
I expect you realised about Nicholas some time ago, my Lady. Harry says she knew the moment we arrived (Henrietta has decided that she still likes the name 'Harry' even though she has dropped her disguise), so I can only assume that women's intuition is far superior to plodding male reasoning.

It certainly explains Oxshott's peculiar obsession with him, at least. It seems that, as one might have guessed, the Baronet was not the nicest of children and Nicholas had, on several occasions, to miss out on his stocking on account of his awful behaviour, and Oxshott had held a grudge ever since.

Not any longer, however: after the blow on the head from the Polar Bear, Roderick is a changed man - quite a pleasure to have around, in fact, although he does have a tendency to get under ones feet while one is trying to work - pushing his toy train around and making puffing noises.

Which brings us to the reason behind our whole expedition here.

Perhaps you have guessed that as well. It makes perfect sense, of course, once you accept that our host really is who he says he is and I'm afraid, after what I have seen and heard today, I am going to have to accept that, no matter how silly it seems.

Although how the Professor ever convinced your father of the fact, I cannot even conceive. Perhaps even someone as stern as Lord Daunt never quite stops believing it, somewhere in his heart, and, indeed, if you could have seen him today, helping to organise the loading of the sleigh, I do not think you would have recognised him. 

If I was to mention the words 'laughing' and 'singing' in conjunction with your father, for example, I think you would place them in a list of 'things he disapproves of' not 'things he might do on a regular basis with a giddy cheerfulness'. Not to mention 'doing a little dance' and 'slapping a private tutor on the back in a friendly manner'.

Both he and the Professor have been quite enchanted with the sleigh, of course, which is, after all, why we have come all this way. Apparently, the Professor believed that whatever it is that allows Nicholas to get letters from every child in the world without fail and then to visit them all, all in one night, could completely change modern communication and transport.

He would be right, of course, except that Nicholas insists that whatever it is only works for him and will not, cannot, be sold, loaned or used for anything other than what he already uses it for.

Your father, I think, has accepted that, but the Professor still seems reluctant to give up on his dream and keeps following everyone round, trying to take things apart and examine them and generally getting in the way.

Which is unfortunate, since Oxshott's shenanigans had already set us back on our timetable and we had a lot of toys to repair and restore ready for Nicholas' big night tonight.
 
You'll also probably have noticed how I said 'our timetable' there. The truth is, I won't be returning with your father and Professor Cumulus when Nicholas brings them back to you. Nicholas has offered Henrietta and I a place working with him and I'm pleased to say we have accepted.
 
And I'm even more pleased to say that that's not the only offer that Henrietta has accepted today. So that now I have congratulated you on your engagement, you can congratulate me on mine. Henrietta Hope has rather a lovely ring to it, don't you think.

Which is the most important thing I have realised, I think. While I, for all my adventures, will never be the kind of man that a young lady like you would marry, you, my Lady, are not the kind of wife a man like me would ever want, or, indeed, need.

But I find that I must, of all things, thankyou, my Lady, for your unkindness. If it had not been for your cruel words at the ball, at the very beginning of this expedition, I would never set out to discover what kind of man I was, and I would never have found out.

And I would never have discovered the most exciting adventure of all: life here at the North Pole with Mrs Harry Hope.
 
Anyway, I don't really have time to write much more, as I have to go and persuade Roderick to let me have to toy train he is playing with so that we can put it in his stocking for the morning - Nicholas seems to have decided that he can have it now.
 
And there are, of course, reindeer to be harnessed, lists of names to be checked, packages to be packaged and toys to be wrapped and a thousand and one things to do and prepare, tonight of all nights.
 
Yours
 
from Lapland on Christmas Eve,
 
Timothy Hope, Esq, no longer a Tutor
 
 
PS 'Tom' isn't his name at all, its a title, apparently: 'Tomte' in their language. And 'Alf' is just how they pronounce 'Elf' but I expect you had guessed that.
 
PPS And a very Merry Christmas to you all!