Epilog: Almost five years later

Epilog:

Three well-dressed figures were walking through the pristine gardens of Marlton manor. The men were smoking after-dinner cigars and each trying their best to impress the young woman walking between the pair as they took in the cool autumn air. The younger of the two men broke the silence.

“I must say, Basingford” he paused awkwardly looking for the right turn of phrase, “our hostess is a bit of an odd duck.”

“You must forgive her, she went through a rough spell about six years ago.” John Basingford (for it was indeed the same gentleman) explained. “We had a spot of trouble with a highwayman, and her fiancé and father both were taken from her, one right after the other.”

“I see.” The pretty blonde nodded in sympathy.

“Yes, rumour has it,” he paused for effect taking a puff of his cigar, “forgive me if I speak plainly, Miss Margery, that Lady Marlton’s prospects as a bride were greatly diminished because of an encounter with this outlaw.”

“Oh my!” Gasped the woman as the true meaning of Basingford’s words became clear.

“Well yes that, and the other shock.” Basingford continued happy to find an audience who hadn’t heard the story. “It seems that her father had badly mismanaged his affairs, he was deeply indebted to several different banking houses and even her sizable dowry had been forfeited.”

The younger strollers made further sympathetic noises, but Basingford continued with even more vigor. “I was a dreadful thing; the creditors took almost everything. She had to sell most of the family’s holdings just to keep this manor house.”

“She’s not impoverished now.” Interjected the young gentleman with a worldly grin.

“That’s her husband’s money.” Bassington explained.

“He's a wealthy gentleman then?” Asked Miss Margery with renewed interest.

“Wealthy yes, but he is no gentleman.” The man’s dislike of the new breed of moneyed families was impossible to miss. “It is said he sailed for India a common deckhand, and three years later returned from Ceylon the captain of his own ship.” He paused again to tap the ashes from his cigar before continuing. “The Sweet Mary a three-masted schooner in the American style, loaded full to its scuppers with grade A tea.”

“I know this ship.” Interjected the younger of the men. “With her lines she looks more like a smuggler/privateer or than a merchant ship.” Bassingford nodded in agreement.

“I’ve heard that this so called gentleman took her in the Mediterranean from a cotton merchant out of Savana who had brought his family with him to see the pyramids of Egypt.” He turned to the pretty debutant twenty years younger than him and added an even more scandalous note. “It is said that this villain financed his expedition to Ceylon by selling the merchant’s three virgin daughters in the **** markets of Istanbul.”

“Oh!” Exclaimed the shocked young woman as she fanned herself fiercely and moved further down the path.

Unbeknownst to the three, their conversation had been overheard by a young family sitting in the shadows. It was indeed the Lady of the manor and her husband of just over a year. On Lady Charlotte's lap their daughter Mary lay sleeping soundly.

“Well Sir?” Asked the mother with a toss of her loose hair, “Is there truth to any of those malicious rumours?” The man by her side climbed to his feet slowly, favouring his right knee and offering his wife his strong hand.

“I can assure you Mrs. Fuller,” the tall blond offered politely as he took the sleeping toddler from her arms, “that I sold no virgins to the Ottomans.”

Charlotte was almost certain that her husband had been making a joke, but even so she felt a tingle of excitement as they strolled arm-in-arm back to their home.