Avebury Manor 1930
When John entered their bedroom, open books were everywhere: Scattered across the floor, draped over chairs, and stacked haphazardly on tables. Marguerite was leaning against her vanity, dressed only in her nightgown and a light silk cardigan over it. She held a book in one hand, while with the other she jotted quick notes on the paper beside her.
"What's all this?" John asked.
Without looking up, she replied, "I've gathered every book I could find on naval history and piracy. I'm trying to figure out what I'm missing. I understand the concept of a flagship and how it's used, but without actual flags, it doesn't help."
"And here I was, naively thinking that the mysteries of Captain John Roxton had been completely forgotten."
Marguerite finally lifted her gaze. "Not forgotten… Merely postponed."
John smiled but said nothing as he began his nightly routine, excusing himself to his adjoining dressing room. When he reemerged, dressed in a navy-and-green checkered pajama set, the sound of Marguerite's voice met him. She was softly singing a sea shanty:
"Running down to Cuba with a load of sugar,
Weigh, my boys, to Cuba!
The captain, he will trim the sails,
Weigh, my boys, to Cuba!
Winging the water over the rails,
Running down to Cuba!"
John approached and crossed his arms. "You know… I think you're romanticizing this whole piracy thing far too much."
"What do you mean too much? We have a handsome, dashing pirate conquering the seas and hearts alike. And let's not forget—he was your ancestor, not mine. I'd expect you to be the one romanticizing him a little more."
"I'm saying he wasn't a pirate. That's just something your fanciful, feminine imagination has dreamed up."
Marguerite set the book and pen aside. "Perhaps you're right." She began to circle him. "But tell me, my love, what woman could resist a man like Captain John Roxton?"
Her fingers brushed lightly over his arm as she passed. "A man who commands ships, whose very presence inspires loyalty and fear in equal measure. A rogue, yes, but with a code of honor buried deep beneath that rakish grin."
She stopped behind him, leaning in just enough for her voice to send a shiver down his spine. "And let's not forget the charm—oh, that irresistible charm. The kind that leaves hearts shattered in every port." She stepped around to face him again. "So, my dear Lord John Roxton, if such a man truly existed in your bloodline, is it any wonder I find him utterly captivating?"
John watched her with a bemused smile."It's no wonder you find him intriguing. But tell me, Marguerite—are you trying to make me jealous of an ancestor who's been dead for centuries?"
"And if I were?"
"Then I'd say you're putting far too much effort into competing with your own imagination."
"In that case, no, I'm not trying to make you jealous." She said and took a step closer. She slipped the cardigan off her shoulders, draping it elegantly over the back of a chair. "I will admit that, although I find Captain John Roxton very intriguing, he could never compare to my husband standing here before me."
"I see," John replied, his voice low. His gaze lingered, taking her in fully. It was obvious she wore nothing beneath her nightgown, the soft fabric barely concealing her shape. Seduction was her goal, plain and simple. And John, being John, never turned down such an invitation. "You're being quite bold tonight."
"All these stories and the mysteries might have gotten my blood running a little hot."
"Not that I'm complaining," John replied.
"So, what is your response, Oh, Captain, my Captain?"
John didn't answer with words. Instead, he grabbed the hem of her nightgown and pulled it over her head in one smooth motion. He tossed it aside carelessly. His eyes traced her now-unveiled figure. Before she could say anything, John swept her up into his arms.
"Aah!" She exclaimed as her hands flew to his neck for balance. "John! You brute! Put me down!"
But her protests dissolved into giggles as they reached the bed. John dropped her onto the soft mattress and she bounced slightly on the plush surface. Without a word, he climbed onto the bed beside her, moving smoothly until he was leaning over her. His weight pressed lightly against her.
"You look as though you have something to say," he murmured.
"Oh, I've got plenty to say… But I'm not sure you're in the mood to listen."
"Try me," he challenged.
"Fine…" She wrapped her arms around his neck. "I was going to say you're insufferably smug, ridiculously reckless, and entirely too confident for your own good."
"Anything else?"
"Yes. You're also utterly irresistible, and it's entirely unfair."
"Then I suppose I should even the odds."
Before she could respond, he closed the distance between them, his lips capturing hers in a kiss that silenced any further words.
Marguerite's choice of words wasn't by chance. Like many husbands who gain weight after marriage, John had as well, though in his case, it was all muscle. His active life and their endless adventures had shaped him into a man of remarkable strength and presence. Marguerite couldn't help but admire how much he reminded her of the man she first met, only now more solid and defined. She adored the feel of his muscles beneath her hand and his strength. So strong, so passionate, capable of lifting and carrying her as if she weighed nothing. His hair remained cropped short, because Marguerite preferred it that way, but his beard was another story. That had been a delightful surprise. It started during one of their spontaneous adventures, a mountaineering trip that kept them in the wild for weeks. After two weeks without a razor, he had apologized one night as they lay in their tent, promising to shave it off in the morning.
"Don't you dare," she'd whispered, tilting her head to expose her neck for his kisses. The feel of his roughened jaw sent shivers through her body.
From that moment, the beard stayed. It suited him, Marguerite thought, as she trailed her fingers along his jawline. Rugged, strong, and distinctively hers.
Soon, John shed his pijamas and their bodies met in a sweet, yet fierce collision that their lovemaking was. John was guiding her as if he knew every part of her better than she knew herself. She loved to surrender completely. She loved when she felt his strength enveloping her. She loved the way his body moved against hers, powerful yet attuned to her every response. She loved how his control didn't overpower her but drew her deeper into him. Seven years of marriage and a decade of knowing each other hadn't dulled their passion—it had only deepened it. And that never-ending game between them was seductive in its own right.
It was the same every time, and this time was no different. After their blissful lovemaking and the powerful climax that left them both breathless, they lay on their backs, covered with sheets, quiet and still. Their heads rested close enough for their foreheads to touch. One of her hands rested in his. They stared up at the ceiling, the silence between them comfortable. Neither spoke, but it was clear they were both thinking about the intensity of what they had just shared.
At one moment John laughed.
Marguerite looked at him curiously. "What's so funny?"
"I was just realizing something."
"And that would be"?
John turned to look at her. "When I've properly satisfied you—when you're completely undone—you get quiet. Peaceful. Content. You stop thinking about pirates, mysteries, and all those impossible puzzles."
Marguerite lifted herself onto her elbow. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me."
Without hesitation, she slapped his cheek playfully. "You are outrageous, John Roxton."
"Well, it's true. And maybe I should make a habit of doing it more often. For the sake of my sanity, of course."
Marguerite raised her hand to swat him again, but this time he caught her wrist mid-motion. "Oh no, you don't."
They wrestled briefly, before John's strength quickly overpowered her. He pinned her wrists above her head, leaning over her with an expression of triumph.
"What now?" he asked.
"Obviously, I can't move…The question is, what will you do?" she challenged.
"I'm going to kiss my beautiful, beloved wife," he murmured.
As his hold on her wrists loosened completely, Marguerite slid her arms free, wrapping them around his neck. Her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer. Whatever playful contest had existed between them moments ago faded entirely.
John didn't stop at just one kiss. He peppered her cheek with repeated kisses. Then his lips found her neck, brushing against her skin again and again, leaving a warm, tingling sensation. He saw how much she enjoyed so he said, "I could do this forever, you know."
"I know and I love it," Marguerite replied, shifting slightly to make herself more accessible to him.
It seemed that John's affectionate efforts had borne fruit, as Marguerite, over the next few days, appeared to forget all about the mystery of Captain John Roxton. Her attention was instead wholly captured by her husband, whose charm and devotion left little room for thoughts of long-dead adventurers.
But that didn't last long, as they were soon off to fetch William from boarding school. Two weeks had passed—the amount of time the school required before allowing students home for their first weekend—and the two of them set out to bring him back.
William, taller than John remembered from just two weeks ago, or so it seemed, spotted his parents and broke into a run.
"Mum! Dad!"
Marguerite barely had time to open her arms before William barreled into them.
John joined in, placing a strong hand on William's back. "Look at you, growing up so fast we almost didn't recognize you."
William laughed, stepping back just enough to look at both of them. "I missed you."
"We missed you too, darling." Marguerite replied.
John placed a hand on Marguerite's shoulder and gave a reassuring squeeze.
"Let's go home," he said.
They grabbed William's bags and headed towards the car, eager to catch up on every little detail of the past two weeks.
"I'm going to sit in the back with William." Marguerite said. "I've missed seeing his face too much."
John nodded understandingly. Once everyone was settled in, John started the car and they began the journey home.
"Tell us everything, Will." Marguerite said. "How are your classes? What about your new friends?"
"The classes are great, really challenging. I'm taking this one course on linear regression that's just fascinating… And my roommate, Charlie, he's from Northampton. We've become good friends. He's into croquet, so he's trying to teach me, but you know how clumsy I can be," William chuckled, making Marguerite laugh.
"I don't agree with that one bit," she said.
William rolled his eyes, "I'm perfect in your eyes, I know."
Marguerite pointed a finger at him. "Don't you roll your eyes at me, young man."
"Sorry. No eye-rolling. How are Isabelle and Juliette?"
"Oh, they've been asking about you every day." Marguerite replied, "They keep drawing pictures to put in your room. Your return is the main event in the house."
As the car rolled to a stop on the familiar gravel driveway of Avebury Manor, William, eager and restless, barely waited for the vehicle to fully halt before he pushed the door open and leapt out. By the time he reached the entrance, he was already shouting into the house. "Nanny! Isabelle! Juliette! I'm back!"
His sisters appeared at the top of the staircase, their faces lighting up the moment they spotted him.
"William!" they cried in unison.
"Get down here, you little terrors!"
The twins didn't need to be told twice. They ran, almost tripping over each other in their haste to reach him. William laughed, opening his arms wide to catch both of his sisters in a hug.
"We missed you so much!" Isabelle exclaimed, hugging him. Then she pulled back to look at him. "Did you learn a lot? Did you make new friends? Did you see any castles?"
"We made drawings to put in your room." Juliette informed him.
Dinner followed, complete with William's favorite dessert. Afterwards, he spent some time playing with his sisters in the nursery, and later, ss the evening settled, he joined his parents in their cozy room on the second floor. Marguerite felt it was the perfect time to share their recent discovery.
John, however, quickly interjected. "Marguerite, maybe we should keep that between us for now. I'm not sure it's the right time to involve William just yet."
"Now you have to tell me!" William exclaimed. "You can't leave me hanging like that!"
"Well done, Marguerite." John said. "Truly impeccable timing."
Marguerite shot John a look as if he were speaking nonsense. She retrieved the letter and the puzzle and spread them out on the coffee table.
"Your mother has been obsessing with this for the last three weeks." John said critically.
"Oh, I'm sorry, John. Would you prefer I take up knitting instead? Perhaps I could make you a scarf to stifle that wit of yours."
William chuckled, glancing between his parents. "I think I like puzzle solving better than knitting."
"Smart boy," Marguerite said, ignoring John's exasperated sigh as they all turned their attention back to the task at hand. "As I said, I've tried applying every known method of deciphering codes and ciphers, and nothing fits. As far as letter combinations go, it doesn't contain a hidden message, it's not an anagram… I've checked for acrostics, used different languages, even looked at it under different lights. But nothing… The solution must be related to the signal flags, of that I'm quite certain. But the problem is, there are no signal flags anywhere around. I found this book about them, but it doesn't hold any clues, no markings, nothing to connect it to this puzzle."
William stared silently at the text, thinking. Finally, he said, "So this is what all your arguments have been about lately. Now everything makes sense."
"Well, you'll have to ask your father about that." Marguerite said. "I still don't understand why he's so opposed to it."
"I've made myself perfectly clear." John said. "It's a waste of time. And even if you do find it, it wouldn't be right for us to use it."
"Why wouldn't it be?" William asked.
"Because it's blood money, William. That treasure was plundered. Men fought and died over it. It's the spoils of greed, violence, and betrayal. I can't, in good conscience, treat something with that kind of history as a prize to spend."
"But isn't that the story of most treasures?" William asked. "Wars were fought over land, kingdoms, and relics. Does that mean we turn our backs on everything because it came at a cost?"
Marguerite smiled at his response widely and proudly.
"I'm not going to debate this thing with the two of you," John said firmly. "I know you're both clever, and you both have a knack for crafting arguments. That's something you've clearly inherited from your mother. But this isn't up for debate. I've said my piece, and now it's up to the two of you to decide whether you'll respect my decision."
Marguerite couldn't help but flash a mischievous smile as she listened to him. She wasn't entirely sure what she loved more—when John took control with that commanding presence of his, or the thrill of challenging him and watching the sparks fly between them.
Instead, she decided to change the topic and asked, "William, have we ever told you about the time we found a chest of buried treasure on the Plateau?"
"Yes. You said Dad had just told you about Captain Roxton a few minutes before. That was quite the coincidence."
"What your father didn't mention at that time was that Captain Roxton was actually a pirate! I didn't learn that until a year later."
"I still maintain that he wasn't a pirate." John said.
"Come on, Dad, he was pretty much a pirate." William teased.
"Anyway…" Marguerite continued. "Your father's reaction today is hardly surprising, considering how he behaved back then."
"I remember you telling me how he teamed up with Aunt Veronica to hide the treasure," William said.
"We didn't team up against her, but against the treasure itself." John explained.
"Yes, yes, the moral high ground," Marguerite said, rolling her eyes. "Even today I get annoyed when I think about it. We were unofficially exclusive at that point, and you should have stood by my side, not Veronica's."
"Unofficially exclusive?" John echoed. "That's quite the modern phrasing for you, Marguerite."
"You know what I mean. Even if we hadn't said it outright, we were a couple."
"I had no idea you felt that strongly." John admitted.
"Well, that's infuriating!"
"How was I supposed to know?" John asked.
Marguerite placed her hands over William's ears, and said, "That day, I was ready to make love to you right there on the jungle floor."
"I know. So was I, but—"
"But you didn't think we were a couple?"
John hesitated, then admitted, "I didn't think you saw it that way."
"Why would I have been ready to do what we almost did if I hadn't thought that?"
John rubbed his forehead, "I don't know, Marguerite. With you, it was always hard to tell... We never talked about it... Even if we kissed, we'd never bring it up again."
"Some things are implied."
"Not with you," he countered. "You were always impossible to read. I never wanted to assume, not when it came to you."
"So instead of assuming, you chose to be oblivious?"
William gently lowered Marguerite's hands from his ears. He said, "Three things. First, I heard everything. Second, you don't need to cover my ears when you talk about sex—I know all about it. Third, are you planning to continue this pointless discussion, or would you like to hear the solution to the riddle?"
"I know you think you know everything," Marguerite said. "But you're still a child—technically. And some topics simply aren't proper to discuss."
William smirked. "It's always amusing when you talk about propriety."
"Don't test me, young man. Now, are you teasing us, or are you serious? How could you possibly know the solution just like that?"
"I don't know the solution," he said, "but I know where we can find it. Follow me."
William led them into the Servant Hall. It was a part of the house they rarely visited. The walls were lined with faded wallpaper and the air carried a faint scent of polish and dust.
"This way," William said over his shoulder. Marguerite and John exchanged curious glances but said nothing, following him.
Finally, they stopped in front of a small alcove. Hanging on the wall was a painting of a pirate ship cutting through stormy waters. High above on the mast, were the seven signal flags, colorful and vibrant.
William pointed to the bottom corner of the painting, where the artist's initials were discreetly signed. "It was painted by Arthur Edward Roxton. Look at the letters—A.E.R."
"Incredible!" Marguerite exclaimed. "It's been here all along. I can't believe we didn't know about it."
"The servant halls aren't exactly on our usual routes." John said.
Marguerite let out a soft, almost guilty laugh. "I feel like a complete snob. But thank goodness William isn't. And thank goodness he was curious enough to explore every corner of this house."
John studied the painting thoughtfully, then said, "My father and grandfather probably didn't think this painting was important enough to hang in the more prominent parts of the house."
"How appalling." Marguerite said. "We should move it to the library, the drawing room, or perhaps the great hall where it can be properly appreciated."
William shook his head. "No. It should stay here. The Servant Hall is just as much a part of this house as any grand room. This painting has been here for years. This is its rightful place."
John placed a hand on William's shoulder. "Well said, son. Well said."
William patted John's hand on his shoulder with a confident grin. "So, are we going to decipher what the signal flags say? We'll need a reference book for that."
"We don't need a book." Marguerite said. "I spent weeks reading about them. I've memorized them by heart. The answer is—Tortuga."