Humming a melody, I strolled down the gravel path wrapped in a warm coat against the autumn chill. Every now and again, I stopped to sniff the autumn flowers that bordered the path. The amusing way the dozen or so guards behind me, led by Karim, had to stop and start every time I did had nothing whatsoever to do with my leisurely pace.

Despite my dawdling, though, I eventually reached my goal. The cosy little cabin looked just like I remembered, including the elderly man attending to his garden at the front.

"Hello there, Mr Fernsby!" I called out. "How are you on this delightfully depressing English morning?"

A smile split the man's wrinkled old face. "Just fine, M'lady. You must be the Young Master's wife, right? May I ask to what I owe this honour?"

"Oh..." I waved my hand. "I just came by to chat a little."

"Really?" He beamed. "So kind of you, M'lady. I see the Young Master chose right."

I grinned. I liked this old man. So nice and trusting.

"I come bearing gifts." Lifting a bag in my arms, I showed him the contents. A package of tea leaves and a box full of biscuits.

"Oh, Your Ladyship, you shouldn't have!"

"I didn't," I told him demurely. "Mr Ambrose did. He wanted to send you something special for old time's sake. He's so thoughtful, isn't he?"

The old man's eyes lit up, and I could have sworn I saw a hint of tears.

What a disgrace, Lilly! Lying to an old man? Don't you have any shame?

Well, yes. I think I left it at home on the bedside table.

Smiling, I gestured at the box full of biscuits. If you could trick a little child with sweets, surely the same would work for an old gentleman as well? "So, how about it? Fancy taking a look at what I've brought?"

"As long as you're not Greek and there is no wooden horse in there, M'lady."

"Ha! No, I am one hundred percent British, as are my biscuits."

With a hum and a nod, the old butler finished watering his current patch of flowers, then set down the watering can and went behind the house. Soon, he re-emerged, swaying under the weight of a table and several folding chairs.

"Oh God, let me help you with that!" Rushing forward, I grabbed one of the chairs and, at my gesture, Karim quickly followed suit, relieving the grey-haired gentleman of his remaining burden.

"Much appreciated M'lady," Fernsby huffed, rubbing his back. "I forget I'm not as spry as I used to be."

"No problem," I told him while decorating the table with china courtesy of my minio—ehem, loyal bodyguards. "Biscuit?"

"Don't mind if I do." Rubbing his hands, the old gentleman settled into his chair. "It's been a while since I've had time to just sit down and enjoy some tea and biscuits in beautiful company."

With a demure smile, I inclined my head. "Why, thank you for the compliment. I'm sure Karim appreciates it."

Ignoring the sputtering from the bodyguard behind me, I poured hot water onto the tea leaves and sniffed the fragrant fumes that rose into the air. In companionable silence, we sat and participated in the time-honoured English ritual of waiting till the tea was ready.

Finally, it was time.

"Aaah..." With a sigh, the old man took a sip of his tea and sank back into his chair. "That hits the spot. Thank you, M'lady. And please remember to thank young master Rikkard for me, too. It warms an old man's heart to know that he's still just as considerate as the kind child he used to be."

From behind me, I heard a choked sound from the direction where my bodyguards stood. I had to suppress a smirk. "I'll be sure to let him know. I'm certain he will be quite delighted to hear that he is considered kind and generous."

Fernsby nodded happily. "I'm sure he will. He was always such a sweet boy."

"Oh, really?" My eyes sparkled. "Do tell. I would love to hear some childhood stories of my darling husband. It would make for such interesting blackm—ehem, conversational material."

The old man beamed again. "You're such a kind young lady, willing to listen to an old man's ramblings. Young master Rikkard is fortunate to have someone like you for a wife."

I nodded in complete agreement. "He is, isn't he?"

Let's just hope he still thinks so when I'm done with this.

"So..." Stirring my tea cup like a true British villain, I smiled at the hapless old gentleman. "What can you tell me about my husband when he was young, Mr Fernsby? Any amusing stories?"

"Dozens, M'lady! Why, the first thing that comes to mind is that funny story from when he was two, when Lady Samantha threw a big birthday party for young master Rikkard, and he fell face first into..."

And thus began an enjoyable afternoon. Suffice it to say, I ended up spending quite a few hours in the company of the elderly gentleman. Talking about childhood memories could be so relaxing, couldn't it? Our conversation lasted far longer than our tea, and provided me with a lot of material. Still...it was all hearsay. None of it was as good as what I was really here for. As for what that might be? Well...

I was just walking away from the cabin after saying farewell when, suddenly, I stopped and glanced back with an innocent smile on my face.

"Oh, by the way, Mr Fernsby..."

He glanced up from watering his roses. "Mm...yes, M'lady?"

"I nearly forgot to ask. This place..." I gestured at the hut behind him. "It is where my dear husband's family used to live, right?"

"Oh, yes. Before the young master came back and restored their family home to its rightful owners, they lived here for several years."

"How interesting! So...there should be quite a few family pictures still around, right?" I batted my eyelashes at the older gentleman. "Like...baby pictures?"

***

Shortly after, I was on my way back to the manor, whistling a melody, a box full of pictures and small paintings under my arm. Karim was marching beside me, his hand on the hilt of his sabre, his eye on the box, as if he were contemplating stabbing it.

"You, Sahiba, are a—"

"—an ifrit?" I finished, smiling impishly.

Karim shook his head. "Ifrits are fire demons. They just burn men alive." He sent another glower at the box. "You, on the other hand, are far more terrifying."

"Ah!" I beamed. "So I'm now a super-ifrit? Even better!"

The bodyguard did not deign to dignify that with a response. Judging by the way he continued to glare at my precious blackmail box, however, I decided to keep a close eye on it, just in case he decided being a bodyguard also meant safeguarding his employer's sanity.

"So..." I mused, lifting the box in one hand. "To whom do you think I should show this first?"

In response, one of Karim's bushy eyebrows twitched. "The fire in the kitchen fireplace."

"Oh, pish-posh! Why would I let go of this just after getting it?"

"To show pity for your husband's manly pride?"

The laugh that burst from me in response to that was totally ladylike and absolutely not a maniacal cackle. Most definitely not.

Hm...but I still don't have an answer to my question. Whom should I share my lovely new collection with first? Mr Ambrose? No. I think I'll leave my beloved husband to live in blissful ignorance for a little while longer. For now, these treasures will stay my secret.

"So...that means I can only show this to someone who will enjoy it as much as I will but can't or won't snitch on me. Hm..." I tapped my chin. "Who to pick? Decisions, decisions...ah!" Suddenly, I snapped my fingers. "I've got it!"

"You have what?" Karim enquired with hope in his voice. "Shame? Mercy? Decency?"

"Hah, you wish! No, I have—"

"Please don't say 'an idea'."

I grinned. "I've got the best idea!"

Karim covered his face with one hand and a groan emerged from his throat. Probably because he was overwhelmed by my brilliance, right?

"Come on, let's go! I can't wait to show him!"

Instantly, Karim pulled away his hand again, his expression vigilant. "Show whom?"

My grin widened. "You want to see? Then try and keep up."

And I dashed off, back towards the manor. Swearing in Punjabi, he rushed after me, as did the roughly two dozen armed men in his wake.

Ha, having bodyguards is fun! No wonder Mr Ambrose never goes anywhere without Karim.

And speaking of having fun...

Up ahead, my goal had come into view. Karim, who had caught up with me at that time, eyed the door in front of us suspiciously.

"This...isn't this your own room? Yours and the Sahib's?"

"Amazing deductive capabilities." I patted his shoulders. "You should branch out as a detective."

"I thought you said you weren't going to inform Ambrose Sahib about your 'acquisition' yet."

"Oh, I'm not. My dear husband most likely is busy stalking through the hallways and glaring at everyone unfortunate enough to cross his path. No, I'm here for my number one co-conspirator in the matter of baby pictures."

"Huh? Who—"

I didn't bother to answer. Instead, I just pushed open the door to the room and rushed over to the cradle.

"Why, hello there, Berty, my little bundle of burps and dirty diapers. How are you on this fine day?"

"Waah waaaaah!"

"So glad to hear you're doing fine." Reaching out, I tweaked his cute little nose, eliciting a giggle. "Say, Berty...would you like to see what Daddy looked like when he was still decorating his diapers in brown?"

"Waaah!"

Happily, I patted his cheek. "Somehow I knew you would agree! Well then, let's have a little session with our new family photo album, shall we?"

Opening the box, I reverently pulled out my new treasure: a leather-bound book filled with various drawings and small paintings. Letting it fall open, I pointed at one of my favourites.

"Here, look at that one. That's your father when he was just about as old as you, crawling around because he wasn't smart enough to stand yet. Isn't he cute?"

"Waah waaaah!"

"And here he is dribbling drool all over himself. He's adorable, right?"

From the corner of the room, I heard a growl and, glancing up, saw Karim staring at the album in my hand with a baleful glare.

"What?" I cocked an eyebrow. "Wanna have a look, too? Don't be shy, come over."

That led him to stop glaring at my album, and start glaring at me instead. Sadly, I shook my head.

"See?" I told Berty with a melancholic look. "That's what kindness and generosity get you in this sad, sad world. Learn from this, my son. In the future, when you get something good, you had better not offer to share it. Just keep it to yourself."

"Waaah!"

"Although...considering who your father is, I somehow doubt you'll have problems with that."

"Waah waaah!"

Suddenly, an idea struck me. If the abominably avaricious instincts of the Ambrose family had already awakened in my poor son, maybe...

"Say..." Leaning over towards the crib like a seedy salesman towards his unsuspecting victim, I gave the little one a tempting smile. "You like looking at those pretty pictures, don't you?"

"Waaah!"

"If you say 'mama', I'll show you some more pretty pictures. And I'll even buy you a nice plushie to play with, how about it?"

He gave me what I could swear was a considering look. With bated breath, I waited till...

"Waah waah!"

My shoulders slumped.

Darn it!

This was still going to be tough, wasn't it? And, speaking of tough things...

Eyes narrowed, I glanced over at Karim, whose beard seemed to be twitching upward in something that looked suspiciously like a smile.

"What are you smiling for, you big, bearded sabre-swinger?"

"Smiling, Sahiba? I don't know what you could possibly mean."

I sent him another suspicious glance and, when his beard didn't move again, turned away with a harrumph.

"Come on, Berty. Let's look at some more pretty pictures of your father dribbling on his nappy."

"Waah waaah!" Enthusiastically, Berty clapped his hands, proving once more that my son had excellent taste in entertainment. Hm...now, to whom to show this lovely album next...?

***

Reaching up, I knocked on the door.

"Yes?" Adaira's voice came from inside.

"Are you busy?" I enquired, smiling down at the album in my hand.

"N-not really. Come in."

Pushing open the door, I stepped into the room and was just about to offer to show my dear sister-in-law a picture of her adorable brother in diapers—but the moment I saw her face, I forgot all about that. She was staring out of the window, half-turned away from me. But even so, I could see them.

There were tear tracks running down her face.

Crap!

Swallowing, I stepped closer.

"So...he told you?"

She sniffed. "Yes." Clenching her slender fists, she turned towards me. "He did. He told me that my bloody father didn't just want to sell me off to increase his power and prestige, oh no, in fact the entire thing is a scam to coerce my brother into accepting his inheritance and continuing father's oh-so-precious noble line." With a growl, she grabbed hold of a cushion on a nearby chaise longue and hurled it against a wall—coincidentally, one on which hung a portrait of His Lordship the Marquess Ambrose. "That seedy, snivelling, cowardly son of a—"

She halted, probably realising she was just about to insult her grandmother, who was not really her preferred target at the moment.

"Wanker? Bastard? Pillock?" I suggested some alternatives.

"Yes! Yes, thank you! Can you imagine that...that..."

"Scumbag full of dog shit?"

"Exactly! Thank you!"

"You're welcome."

"Right...now, where was I?"

"You were just calling your father a—"

"Ah, yes!" Adaira's eyes flashed. "Can you believe that scumbag full of stinking, rotten dog shit actually had the gall to call me up to his office and order me to pretend to be dissatisfied with my approaching marriage, so my brother would cave in to his demands? Apparently, noticing that I was dissatisfied with his choice of husband has so far been beyond him!"

Eyes narrowing, I stared at the portrait on the wall that seemed to look down on us in supreme arrogance. "Probably not beyond him, just beneath him."

A moment later, when I saw the expression on Adaira's face collapse, I wished I'd kept my mouth shut.

"I...I don't know what to do," she whispered, staring off into the distance. "Lilly...I can't marry that man. I just can't. Those predatory looks he gives me... I can't. My skin crawls at the very idea. But if I don't marry him, my brother will have to sacrifice everything he has ever worked for. Lilly...what am I going to do?"

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My dear Readers,

I noticed someone asking in the last chapter's comments why, if trade and industry weren't considered suitable for Victorian Nobles, Dalgliesh is not spurned by his peers. This is a good point, actually. As for the answer? In my story, Dalgliesh is the head of the East India Company that had complete control over India, which makes him more of a state official than a merchant or industrialist. As far as I am aware, nobles could participate in colonial ventures without tarnishing their "good name" (note sarcasm), it only had to be covered by a mantle of propriety.

On another note, what Fernsby said in the above chapters regarding Greeks is not supposed to be an insult to Greeks, by the way. It refers to the famous classic Iliad, wherein the Greeks storm the city of Troy by hiding themselves in a wooden horse. The Trojans pulled it inside the city because they believed it to be a gift left behind by the Greeks as a sacrifice to the Gods and wanted to place it into their temple, only to regret it that very night. This happened despite a warning from one of the elders of the city, from whom comes the famous quote "Don't trust a Greek bearing gifts."

Yours Truly

Sir Rob