Halt, traveller!
Yes, you. There is no use pretending you haven’t seen me. I have stopped considerably faster carriages than yours.
I am Margot Wayward, highwaywoman by reputation and hunter of independent traders by choice. You may keep thy gold safely tucked away; I have acquired more interesting tastes. These days I travel the roads in search of curious shops, magnificent market stalls, talented makers and independent traders with tales worth telling.
Once upon a time, spotting Margot Wayward at the roadside might have resulted in the unfortunate disappearance of your purse. Now you are considerably more likely to be questioned about where you bought your coat.
Times change.
My particular interest lies beyond the obvious. I want the little shop hidden down a side street, the maker selling beautiful things beneath a market awning, the family business that has been trading for generations and the newcomer who has taken one splendid idea and decided to make a living from it.
I want the peculiar ones too. Especially the peculiar ones.
If you make something nobody else thought to make, sell something I have never encountered before or run the sort of shop that causes passing travellers to stop dead in their tracks, you should probably expect me.
Do not attempt to flee. It only makes things exciting.
When I discover somewhere worthy of your attention, I shall bring word back here. Off The High Road will contain tales of independent shops, markets, makers and traders from across the land. I shall meet the people behind them, uncover their stories and investigate their wares with the dedication expected of a woman who once applied similar enthusiasm to passing stagecoaches.
Naturally, this means certain sacrifices must be made.
Kings may summon me. Tea may grow cold. Horses may stamp impatiently outside. None of this can be helped. If word reaches me of an extraordinary independent trader three towns away, His Majesty will simply have to entertain himself.
I also refuse to be distracted by grandeur. A splendid shopfront may catch my eye, but so might a folding table at a Saturday market. I care little whether you possess three floors and a chandelier or one table, two crates and a handwritten sign that keeps falling over in the wind.
If there is passion behind what you do, I want to hear the tale.
Of course, I cannot promise to behave myself entirely. Should I discover an excellent baker, I may require provisions for the road. Should a maker have something particularly beautiful upon their stall, several shillings may mysteriously change hands. And should I encounter a trader selling something so magnificent that I simply must possess it, we shall say no more about my former profession.
So, traveller, now you know what I seek.
Not gold. Not jewels. Not fortune.
Independent traders.
Though between ourselves, they are much better guarded.
Should you know of one worthy of investigation, send word. Should you happen to be one yourself, step forward and introduce yourself.
You needn’t be nervous.
I hardly rob anybody these days.
— Margot Wayward
