by J M Bannon
Preston picked up the box to look and see if there were any other changes, like another recessed panel showing. Nothing.
Gilchrist pushed the last square back into its original position thinking it might require going back through the sequence but when it clicked back into its original position, the box lid popped open.
Inside was a glass test tube with a cork. Preston peered into the vial and saw a piece of paper and an iron key with a pentagon-shaped bow. He uncorked the vial and let the paper and key drop into his hand. On the small piece of paper were the initials L.T. in Lorelei’s handwriting.
“Well, that was a bundle of work for nothing.” Sir Charles uttered, exhausted.
"No Sir, it is not. I know exactly where the lock is that this key will open," stated Preston while his stomach churned and he felt a cold sweat break out. The lock was in Germany.
8
Saturday, the 6th April 1849
7:40 AM Traube Villa, Berlin
As the newest resident of Traube Villa, Preston felt right at home. After weeks of long nights diving deeper into Azul’s journal and Lorelei’s affections, Preston was inseparable from both. He was consumed with unlocking the knowledge of the book and spending time with Lorelei, who was equally challenged by the tests Azul had prepared for them.
“I have a surprise for you, Preston. There will be no talk of the Islamic puzzle master or translations of ancient Greek, today, we are going on a picnic,” said Lorelei.
Taking a break from working on the book filled Preston with a sense of anxiety. He was compelled to continue unlocking the secrets of the journal, but also had been feeling cooped up. “That sounds like a fine idea, I need to let go of the obsession. Will we luncheon out of the city?” asked Preston.
“I have a special place I want to show you.” Lorelei shared. She rolled out of bed and rang the bell. Gréta, her lady’s maid came to the door. “Yes fräulein.”
“Please have Mrs. Haanel pack a picnic basket for two and have Eric select a bottle of wine suitable for the luncheon,” ordered Lorelei.
Lorelei asked the coachman to bring them to the bank of the Spree River where she had a steam skiff waiting. The old skiff pilot steered the boat down the Spree as it passed through Berlin. “Most people never see the City from the river, it is very pleasant,” bragged the old man.
The skiff docked on an island pier at a 16th-century chateau. “This is Köpenick Palace, originally built as a hunting lodge by order of Elector Joachim II, Elector of Brandenburg. King Frederick I rebuilt and enlarged the lodge in1677 and lived here together with his first wife. It has been part of House Hohenzollern since then and remained unoccupied by any of the Crown Princes or Dukes. “My father brought me here as a little girl when we were guests of the King and since then it has been a special place for me,” shared Lorelei.
“Are we expected?” Preston asked.
“In a manner of speaking, there will be no attendants but my father who is a good friend of the court had the palace opened for us.”
“You never run out of surprises, do you, Ms. Traube?” said Preston as he leaped out of the boat onto the dock tying it off on a mooring pier. The old man steadied the back of the boat by hand; holding the pier.
Lorelei handed the wicker picnic basket to Preston. After setting it on the dock, he offered Lorelei his hand to assist her exiting the craft. “Please return around two-thirty,” Lorelei requested of the Skipper, then she ran towards the house as fast as her skirts would allow. Preston kept up lugging the heavy basket. Spring was upon Brandenburg, the gloomy, rainy April had broken and the gardens were mad with springtime growth.
Preston stopped just short of the manicured gardens where the lawn was open and set the basket down. “Let’s picnic here.” He laid back in the grass breathing heavily from the exertion but feeling full of life. He looked up at the sky and thought about how good this time was and the strange way that his life intersected with Lorelei’s. She plopped down next to him and rolled over putting her head on his chest. “Next month I will hear from the University about the defense of my thesis. I am months away from being a Doctor of Alchemy.”
"And I am a dropout," Preston replied looking at the clouds. Lorelei sat up and unpacked the basket. "Help me spread out the blanket, I don’t want you to stain your clothes with grass," She directed.
Preston began by laying out the plates, then opening the wine while Lorelei removed meat, cheese, and breads. “What do you plan to do after University?” he quizzed.
“I was wondering about your plans, we have just been going day by day and I would be happy continuing to do that with you.” Lorelei’s question left Preston uncomfortable.
“I hadn’t put too much thought into it, I have been so busy with the journal. I love the time we spend together,” replied Preston.
“But?” she said looking at him.
“But nothing, you are dear to me Lorelei and we have such good times together, let’s keep taking it day by day and see where this goes.”
After lunch, they toured the house. Preston held Lorelei’s hand as they walked through the castle and she shared its rich history.
Lorelei brought him into a fantastic two-story library. The vaulted ceilings had precious mosaics showing the heavens with choirs of angels and saints looking down. She guided him over to a secretary desk.
“This is my favorite piece of furniture, I want to show you its secrets.”
“It is a secretary cabinet designed by Roentgen.” She squeezed his hand as they both examined the exquisite cabinet. It was tall and resembled a building with a cupola on top that housed a clock. The cabinet doors were decorated with scenes including a drawing room and artist studio. The scenes were created from wood inlay, but were as detailed as a painting. “The piece has been here since the seventeen-hundreds and when I was a girl, the Butler showed me how it worked. I was so fascinated by the desk, later that night I snuck down to the servant’s quarters and into his room to steal the key.” Lorelei held up a key with a pentagon-shaped bow.
“You are not the only thief,” she said inserting the key in the front of the cabinet, unlatched the locking mechanism then opened the front. She then slid what appeared to be cabinet trim to the side to reveal another keyhole. After unlatching this lock, she pressed a decorative knob and drawers popped out of the side. This continued for several minutes as Preston watched Lorelei actuate secret doors, drawers and mechanisms turning the cabinet into a drafting easel or a writing desk. It was a marvelous feat of engineering and craftsmanship.
She then moved another piece of trim to reveal an additional keyhole, quite different in nature. This time she put the bow of the key in the slot and rather than turning it she levered it down. Like magic, the writing surface of the desk rose up. The top of the writing surface was also the top of a hidden strong box. “I thought this secret box would be a good place to put your train ticket to Athens. I saw the ticket for the train in your pocketbook.”
Preston had forgotten about buying the ticket. It wasn’t as if he was hiding it or fearful of having the conversation with Lorelei, it was as if someone else had purchased them. Yet he knew he had bought them the second she mentioned the tickets. “I was meaning to tell you I am traveling to the ruins in Rhodes to view the frieze, as part of my journal research.”
“I know how important the research is and I would never tell you not to go, I would just like you to think about it a little longer.”
He reached into his jacket, pulled out his pocketbook and there was a series of first-class tickets for transit to Athens. He felt strange and distant for a moment, he remembered working through the details for the next step on his quest but staying here with Lorelei, leaving was the last thing he wanted to do. He dropped the tickets into the strong box.
Lorelei smiled and gave Preston a kiss. Nothing more needed to be said. She closed the strongbox land locked it, then closed up all the compartments including lowering the strong box back into the desk. When she was d
one, Lorelei handed Preston the key. “The tickets will be here if you decide to go, however, I hope you never see the inside of that box again.”
9
Tuesday the 5th of June 1860
2:00 PM Hawkin’s House No. 4 Blandford Square, Paddington
“Excuse me, Ms. Caldwell,”
Rose was standing outside in front of Hawkins House watching the workers hang the front door. She swung around to greet Mr. Oscar Owens stepping out of his limousine.
“Mr. Owens, what do you think?” Rose threw a wide-armed flourish with her left hand towards her new home.
“I don’t know what to er, reply other than those doors look like you stripped them from a cathedral.”
"Oh no, I paid for them, you should see the bill coming directly. I had them cast in Florence, not to your taste Mr. Owens?”
Owen’s stood next to Rose staring at the entryway as if they were at the National Gallery critiquing works by an old master. He had a serious expression as if he knew what he was looking at but feared if he opened his mouth he would affirm he was ignorant on the subject. “I have to be honest Ms. Caldwell, they are ostentatious and out of the local style.”
“Those are the Sixty-Four Glyphs of Warding; well thirty-two on the door they are hanging, the right one has the other thirty-two. I had to contract with an Italian artist to create the castings, then your man Chubb affixed the bronze cladding to the doors he designed.”
“Oh, I see, very sturdy then, like a bank door," offered Mr. Owens.
“Oh yes, this place will be more secure than the Tower of London, because the Tower doesn’t have any protective wardings."
“Is there someplace where we might go over the statements, I have papers for you to sign and I am on an inflexible schedule.”
“Surely, come inside,” Rose guided the man up the steps and past the laborers.
“I don’t know about you but I will be relieved when you have completed this project,” complained Oscar.
“As will I; Violet and Rosie have moved in and all of us would like to put an end to a house full of dust and workers."
Rose rather enjoyed watching the chubby banker out of his element, as Owens always offered to meet her away from Chilton House. He was judicious in his movements to avoid getting dirty as he ushered past the workers hanging the doors.
Coming to the house was his choice, a trade-off. Dealing with tradesmen, or Rose’s weird experiments was better for Owens than having to justify to his other clients why she was traipsing around their investment bank.
“We can run downstairs to the workshop and look at your files," suggested Rose.
“Hmm, how about something brighter, cheerier?”
“There is the front parlor.”
“That will suit me, Ms. Caldwell. I find that vault of yours too much for me.”
“This will have to do,” suggested Rose offering Owens one of the two armchairs in the room before dropping herself into the other.”
“About furniture, it looks like you could do with more furnishings, and I have, well Mrs. Owens has a gentleman that is adept in selecting furniture and interiors. Should I pass on your name?" asked Owens.
“Mr. Owens, I am fine with the few pieces I have but my circumstances dictate I will have guests calling and it would help to have a place for more than two people to sit," Rose responded.
“Excellent, as for today, here are the accounts up through April.” Owens pulled out handwritten copies for Rose and laid out her trust ledgers on his lap. “The trust sits at a balance of 5,300 pounds sterling after expenses, the main being the down payment on the home. Here is the paperwork to take 50 pounds sterling a year as an allowance for Miss Violet Caldwell, leaving 350 pounds a year to run your household. I think this should be manageable with a staff of say one butler, cook, and a governess for your niece. Leaving the capital to accrue.
“Just Mrs. Kechell will be sufficient, I have no desire to have the household resemble a train terminal."
“I understand that this bequest has you feeling topsy turvy, however I would say that with the exception of some of your eccentric needs, like a door designed for a parish, you have acted quite responsibly with this newfound prosperity. I have suffered more than a few nouveau riche fritter away their fortune,” Owens explained appreciatively.
Rose was grateful for Mr. Owens help with her present situation. She glanced over the papers everything looked in order and with Mr. Owens’ hand in educating her on how to think about and manage her newfound wealth, she understood the figures he was placing in front of her.
“Mr. Owens, as you said this has been an adjustment. I would rather not have a staff and the responsibilities that come with those people.”
“I understand, a mere eighteen months ago I called on you in that deplorable cellar you were living alone in and you need to adjust.”
“It is not the quantity of people in the house. You forget I once lived with forty-six other women. I cherish my privacy and I don’t want the responsibility.”
“Of course, but if it were, let’s say a concern with selecting a staff and not having the hmm, ah experience hiring and keeping a staff. That would be a matter I could assist you by having my man Winslow come over and interview applicants,” Owens pressed.
“I appreciate all you have done for me. I know that as clients go, I am difficult to deal with and not one you are exceptionally glad to have on the roster but it wasn’t my choice.”
“No, it was not yours, but it was mine. I could have chosen not to accept the trustee appointment, but given the extraordinary situation I took it on and have found our time engaging. and you’re quick to pick up what is required.”
“When was the last time you spoke with my benefactor?” Rosed asked.
Owens face changed to slightly exasperated, “You know that isn’t up for discussion.” Mr. Owens would offer his own butler to hire staff, look for homes to buy, but would not explain or help identify Rose’s benefactor. She had once seen paperwork noting the White Angel Trust for the benefit of Rose Marie Caldwell, but Owens was quick to hide the documents, and always brushed off any questions.
“I will leave the papers with you and if you have questions, just wire me and I’ll come over,” finished up Owens. Rose shifted from her money manager when she heard the voices of two men conversing with the tradesmen and one voice was the familiar tone of Dolly Williamson.
* * *
2:30 PM Hawkin’s House No. 4 Blandford Square Paddington
Dolly pulled up to No. 4 Blandford Square, known to Rose’s friends as Hawkin’s House, named after the previous owner. Dolly had been coming by for the last three months since Rose moved in. She had bought the property over a year ago and began fixing it up. The spinster Hawkin had let the place go, the property went into probate after her death allowing Rose’s banker to help her secure the title.
Dolly rode in the rear compartment of the steam carriage with the Private Naval Secretary to the First Lord of the Admiralty, Captain Jacob Moore. They were coming to Hawkin’s House for a private debriefing with Rose. The Naval Secretary was in attendance given his dealing with the catastrophe caused by the May tempest and Rose’s wire type to Dolly informing the storm was man made.
As they pulled up to the walkway to her house, a large Hilton steam limo blocked the walkway. The chauffeur was stoking the external combustion engine.
Dolly tapped on the glass between the passenger and driver compartment, “Take us around the park one more time then drop us behind the Hilton,” Dolly wanted another pass to get a look at a fellow he saw standing in the park. The stately homes of Blandford Square faced into the small park at the center, accessible by well-manicured paths that came off the circling road.
A stocky Polynesian fellow was in the park across from Rose’s home, dressed in a long squall coat, his face covered in tattoos. As the car drove around, Dolly stared at the man who stood still, watching Rose’s house.
“You ready to meet the infamo
us Sister Rose, Captain?” asked Dolly.
"You say that as if she will turn me into a frog," the handsome Captain replied.
“She only does that to princes and you are no prince, Moore. Just prepare yourself for some of your conventions to be challenged," replied Dolly.
The naval steam carriage drew up next to the Hilton, Dolly alighting on the curb and the Captain on the street side. Dolly looked over the top of the carriage at the Islander; he appeared more fearsome up close with his wide head and markings. I wonder how much that hurts to tattoo your face.
“This way Captain, Dolly jogged up the path and steps giving the door jamb a courtesy knock. knowing no one would hear it with all the construction. The laborer hanging the door looked up at him from where he was working on his knees. "Where's the Mistress?" asked Dolly.
“She’s in the front room, to the left, Gov."
Dolly looked up and down the foyer with its two-story stairway and balcony then into the room where Rose and Mr. Owens were speaking.
“Oh, Dolly, please come in we were just wrapping up,” Rose greeted the party.
“Well, Detective, I see what you mean about a challenge to convention,” whispered Captain Moore.
Rose was dressed in workman’s coveralls, a set she had nicked from one of the laborers, the legs cuffed up so they were just above her ankle revealing worker's boots. Through the unbuttoned front of the coverall, you could see her white blouse and a men’s velvet cravat.
