Wicked, wicked man. Suffering as she does from chronic BBD (Busy Brain Disorder) and having a compulsion to solve any puzzle she sees, Aunt Susan was dismayed to run across the following yesterday: Take you out, put me in, and a horse appears in this happy person! It was no help at all that she does not wish to know the identity of Mr. Sharpes father; that she believes a key component in Mr. Sharpes claim to a place in the pantheon is his character as an orphan unencumbered by paternal legacy as an unexpected sport flowering sweetly at the back of the cosmic compost bin. She was helpless. She was lost. The universe must come to a screeching halt while she puzzled. She was also saddened to think that her rage for a solution must inevitably result in the destruction of something she loves. As it turned out, she need not have worried, and she forgives you the time that should have been spent doing the dishes. It could not be helped. Let me urge you, Sir, to resist any temptation and all entreaties to burden Mr. Sharpe unnecessarily. For one thing, it is one of the joys of your stories that you do not stretch your characters or their circumstances to the point of melodrama. Knowing what we already know about his mother, it seems unlikely that she or her customer would have had any notion as to her childs paternity. To produce a village explainer a long-remembering beggar or barmaid at this late date would draw a large bill on ones credulity, and to produce an aging Sharpe look-alike would be rather sad. For another, there are some questions that simply should not be answered (as the estate of Mrs. Mitchell should have known). For her part, Aunt Susan is perfectly content to love Sharpe as he is the result of the unremarkable congress between a whore and some gay and carefree rogue, perhaps a jolly tar or a plowboy. Encouraging you to remain resolute and, as ever, grateful for the pleasure you never fail to provide, I am yours etc., Aunt Susan P.S. Please do remember that we are still waiting for you to extract Sweet William from the wilderness and set him gently down on the Bridge of Angels.
Ah, but Sharpe's mother did know who the father was! So did her parents (which is why they threw her out), though she didn't live long enough to tell Sharpe. I know too! But I'm not telling. I'm not even telling Auntie Susan!