An Eventful Christmas at Trevelver Castle

[Chris in Prague]

"If I hadn't been there with you, Sylvie, all this would have been just a fantastic dream. And are there legends about Mademoiselle Élise's cat, too?" Eli smiled as the taxi neared their destination.

"Ah, the mysterious bond between Mademoiselle Élise and her sleek black cat, a 'shadowy feline spirit that slips through the veils of time'. Yes, there are such... poetic fragments in many languages. 'Under the moonlit skies, they tell of shared secrets—whispers carried by the night breeze, fragments of the forgotten stories of ancient civilisations'.

"We can picture them together, Eli. 'The cat, with eyes like obsidian pools, gazes into Élise's eyes, and in that shared silence, they traverse epochs. The cat's fur, midnight velvet, absorbs the moon's glow, and its purrs resonate with the hum of pyramids and the rustle of papyrus scrolls'.

"'Together, they walk along the edge of memory, their steps passing through Babylonian gardens, Greek agora, and Roman fora. The cat's tail flicks, brushing against the shelves of lost libraries, where scrolls crumble like dry autumn leaves'.

"'Élise strokes the cat's back, feeling the pulse of the crystals of Atlantis, the whispers of Sumerian sages, and the taste of ambrosia on her tongue. The cat, ageless and wise, blinks slowly, revealing glimpses of Etruscan tombs and crowded Phoenician harbours'.

"'And when the night deepens, they sit by a fire, sharing stories of sunken cities, cast oracle bones, and star maps etched into their souls. The cat's eyes hold the constellations, and Élise listens, her heart an instrument for the cosmic symphony'.

"'In their twilight communion, they are more than woman and feline. They are chroniclers, dream weavers, and keepers of lost lore. As the silver moon arcs across the dark velvet of the night sky, they continue their whispered dialogue, bridging the gap between then, now, and forever'.

"Mademoiselle Élise and her cat—'their bond transcends time, and those who glimpse them catch fleeting glimpses of eternity', or so the poets say", sighed Sylvia, her gaze far, far away.

"Amazing. I can picture it all, every scene. I could paint each scene to the very last detail. What else do the legends speak of Sylvie?"

"They tell of how, one moonlit night, a stranger entered Mademoiselle Élise's boutique. His eyes—the same captivating amber and hazel as hers—held a familiar allure. He spoke of destiny, of threads connecting lives. Élise listens, the cat studying them, sensing a shared secret."

"Who...", Eli hesitated, "was that stranger with the captivating amber and hazel eyes—the one who entered Mademoiselle Élise's atelier. Was he L'Énigmatique? Or perhaps a lost love from a forgotten chapter or poem?"

Sylvia gazes out of the taxi window beyond the warmly dressed pedestrians hurrying home, her voice soft. "No one knows, Eli. Perhaps the first, maybe the second, perhaps both. 'Threads connecting lives, secrets shared under the silver moon.' The legends known to my mother are fragmentary and uncertain. But here we are!" she concludes as the black cab draws up outside the shared Chelsea townhouse where they live with their female friends.

[Chris in Prague]

Having put away their winter clothes and secured the wondrous silver bag with its contents in a wardrobe in their shared bedroom, the two friends now sit at the communal kitchen's 'Round Table'—as the Chelsea Girls fondly call it—enjoying mugs of warm hot chocolate.

"So, tell me, Sylvie", Eli began, leaning in, her blue eyes bright with curiosity. "How does your mother know the mysterious Mademoiselle Élise?"

Sylvie's lips curved into a smile, her brown eyes reflecting a story yet untold. "The Honourable Penelope Trevelver, as my mother then was, was a figure of considerable interest in high society from the day she 'came out'."

Eli's brow arched. "'Came out'—what do you mean by that, Sylvie?"

"In English aristocracy, a young woman's 'coming out' signified her passage from youth to adulthood, heralding her debut in society. This rite of passage, known as the presentation of debutantes at court, was a ceremony that began the social season. Typically, this event coincided with a girl's sixteenth year, an age at which my mother, precocious as she was, was more than ready to step into the limelight. The term 'debutante' was thus given to these young ladies at their 'coming out', marking their inaugural entrance onto society's grand stage. This tradition, once presided over by the Queen, was ended in 1958."

"Ah, I understand now", Eli responded. "So, you and your aristocratic female friends were true debutantes."

Sylvie nodded a touch of nostalgia in her voice. "Indeed, though I seldom cross paths with them these days. But let's return to the tale. While attending one of the grand balls of the social season at a duke's mansion—the name escapes me—my mother spotted an intriguing presence. A lady of extraordinary elegance, with an air of mystery around her, glided across the ballroom. She was none other than Mademoiselle Élise, a mysterious French designer known only in the most exalted social circles.

"As my mother tells it, their first meeting was nothing short of magical. As she approached Mademoiselle Élise, she was struck by her radiant beauty and the air of mystery surrounding her. Élise, in turn, was equally enchanted by my mother's poise and captivating charm.

"They spent the evening engaged in deep conversation, discussing everything from art and culture to their shared love for horses and... steam locomotives, 'they're so... elemental', Mademoiselle Élise confided. In spite of the worlds that lay between them, they discovered an immediate and profound kinship.

"As the evening deepened into night, the connection between my mother and Mademoiselle Élise only grew stronger. They promised to meet again, marking the beginning of a beautiful friendship that would stand the test of time. There was but one condition, my mother must never probe into Élise's past.

"And that, dear Eli, is the tale of how my mother first met the mysterious Mademoiselle Élise, a tale of intrigue, connection, and the beginning of an unforgettable friendship."

Eli, captivated, leaned closer. "What happened next in their friendship, Sylvie?"

"With the ebb and flow of London's seasons, the camaraderie between my mother and Mademoiselle Élise flourished. They became inseparable, attending balls, operas, and high tea together. Their bond was strengthened by their shared love for art and culture, and they often spent hours discussing the latest books and paintings. Occasionally, Élise would let slip a hint of her history, though she always stopped short of full disclosure, once remarking, 'To name and date is to cage; unbound, they remain free'."

"One day, Lady Penelope received an invitation to visit Mademoiselle Élise's boutique. With a sense of adventure, she accepted the invitation—the very same engraved leather talisman that she lent me—marking the beginning of a new chapter in their friendship.

"In her boutique and the atelier high above the first-floor apartment where Mademoiselle Élise and her black-clad companion had their rooms, my mother encountered a world apart.

"As you know, Eli, my mother was captivated from a young age by the allure of French culture, the country's picturesque landscapes, and the easy-going warmth of her mother's friends in Provence. Before the war, every holiday they immersed themselves in its unique charm. They loved exploring the medieval villages perched on hilltops, the lavender fields in full bloom, and the olive groves. They savoured the region's legendary wines and delighted in the bustling local markets. The balmy Provençal climate added to their enjoyment as they experienced the exquisite cuisine served in quaint bistros. This was their delight, their way of celebrating the beauty and hospitality of Provence.

"My mother soon discovered that Mademoiselle Élise's realm was a realm apart. During her visits to the Lost Quarter, their connection grew deep roots as they learned more about each other's most profound pursuits. My mother was captivated by Élise's creative spirit, resilience, and independence. In turn, Élise found herself drawn to my mother's wisdom, kindness, and generosity.

"Their bond is a testament to shared interests and mutual respect. Despite their very different backgrounds, they have found a common ground that transcends cultural divides. Their story is a reminder of the power of friendship and the deep ties that can form when we embrace others with an open heart."

"Yes, Sylvie, like you and I", smiled Eli, giving her friend a hug and a long, lingering kiss.

Sylvia nodded and smiled as she raised her china mug.

[Chris in Prague]

"Tell me, Sylvie, how do your mother and Mademoiselle Élise communicate with each other?"

"Through personal visits and written messages, Eli. The Lost Quarter is cut off from conventional means of contact, requiring more discreet and personal methods to maintain their connection. They exchange beautifully penned letters inscribed on the finest paper or arrange secret meetings when my mother is in London to share their latest adventures and discoveries. Their communication is a mix of heightened anticipation and the utmost secrecy, enlivened with the joy of each other's company, sustaining the bond between them despite the divide of their separate existences."

"I see, Sylvie. Tell me more about how they communicate, please."

Her friend chuckled, "The way Mademoiselle Élise and my mother communicate is, well... quite extraordinary. The Lost Quarter, shrouded as it is from the everyday world, is, as I've said, impervious to ordinary methods of communication. Instead, they rely on Élise's talisman. This enchanted object enables their messages to traverse the barriers of their divided realities. It's through the talisman that they can share thoughts, visions, and even emotions, nurturing a bond that's as profound as it is marvellous."

"Incredible. Are there other magical properties that the talisman possesses?"

"Indeed, there are, Eli. The talisman is, my mother emphasised before lending it to me, imbued with the most profound magic. It's far more than a bridge between realms; it's infused with a myriad of enchantments. As you've experienced, it can open portals, allowing passage between the Lost Quarter and our world. Yet, its powers extend far beyond that. It harmonises the flow of time for the traveller, shields its holder and their companion from the perils that lurk within the folds of reality, and renders them invisible to the uninitiated. To those with the deepest understanding, it unveils the world's concealed enchantments, allowing them to view the extraordinary that lies within the ordinary."

"Amazing. Do you know how the talisman was created, Sylvie?"

Her friend exhaled a solemn sigh. "The secrets I'm about to reveal are for your ears and yours alone." As she leant forward to speak, the unspoken thought of Giles flickered through her mind.

"Of course, Sylvie." Eli crossed her heart and, leaning forward too, gazed expectantly at her friend.

"The talisman, as my mother described, was crafted through a series of intricate steps. The chosen materials—in this case, the finest Toledo leather and the purest silver from 'La Ville-Lumière'—hold innate magic and resonate with the user, in this instance, my mother – and by extension, myself, her daughter. Mademoiselle Élise, with focused intent, infused the talisman with its purpose, weaving her will and energy through meditative chants and incantations. She then sealed it with the four elements—communicative Air, intuitive Water, passionate Fire, and grounding Earth—to secure the bond between the talisman and its bearer."

"Wow! Please do continue."

"The talisman, once inscribed with the flowing silver script you've seen and imbued with its spells, was then energised by a specially beneficial celestial alignment, further amplifying its powers. The culmination of its creation was a dedicated ritual, known only to Mademoiselle Élise, meticulously performed to awaken the talisman's potential, intimately linking it to its bearer, my mother, and fine-tuning it to her essence. The entire process was a harmonious fusion of deliberate focus, time-honoured practices, and esoteric wisdom."

"That required your mother's physical presence, didn't it?"

"Yes, for that final, culminating ritual, it did, Eli."

"Doesn't your mother need the talisman back?"

"Of course, I will return it to her when she comes for breakfast tomorrow morning, after arriving at Waterloo at 5.24 p.m., this evening, on the 11.00 'ACE' from Penmayne. She has her own plans for this evening."

"Plans that involve a meeting with Mademoiselle Élise to discuss the third clutch, the 'Lune d'Argent' or 'Silver Moon', and who it is meant for, Sylvie?"

"Perceptive as ever, my darling! Quite possibly", grinned her companion.

[Chris in Prague]

"As it's only a brief ten minutes from Waterloo station, including the Bakerloo Line and then a short stroll, I suspect that my mother and Mademoiselle Élise are meeting at the 'In and Out Club' in Piccadilly", Sylvia continued, her smile broadening. "It's also known as 'The Naval and Military Club', and I'm delighted to say that it has welcomed women members for quite some time, unlike many other establishments of its kind. And just between us," she leaned in, "my father let slip that it serves as a discreet recruiting ground for MI5, the British domestic counter-intelligence and security agency and MI6, the foreign intelligence service, not to mention Admiral Tregowan, although you won't ever see Sophie Andres there. But secrecy is assured!"

The young Breton's eyebrows arched inquisitively as she leaned forward. "Indeed. After everything you've just shared, Sylvie, there's more to their relationship than just friendship, isn't there?"

Sylvia took a deep breath, readying herself to reveal the depth of the connection between her mother and Mademoiselle Élise. "Yes, you are right, Eli", she began. "Again, this is for your ears only. Both Élise and my mother are custodians of very unique but very different legacies, secret lore passed down through the generations in their respective family lines."

She continued, "This knowledge is not something you can discover in ordinary books or learn at any university, no matter how ancient". She smiled softly. "No, it rests upon a profound understanding of the world, the universe, and the subtle unseen energies that influence our lives. It is about deciphering unseen patterns, the synchronicities that others overlook. It requires a deep understanding of the world and its secret energies only gained after long patient study."

Sylvia paused, ensuring Eli was following along. "Their respective areas of research are more than a mere hobby; they are an endless quest to decipher hidden patterns and harness hidden knowledge for the good of others. Despite their very different backgrounds and interests, it is this shared pursuit of arcane knowledge that unites my mother and Mademoiselle Élise. They discovered common ground in several areas: exploring the medicinal properties of plants, employing techniques to foster relaxation and boost internal energy, and cultivating virtues like compassion, love, patience, generosity, and forgiveness. They study the significance of ancient symbols and their influence on human consciousness, and they examine the spiritual implications of certain geometric shapes and proportions. This shared knowledge and their mutual desire to understand it better significantly strengthens their deep bond. At the most fundamental level, their individual journeys of exploration, discovery, and implementation converge, bringing them together."

She concluded, "So, you are correct, Eli, theirs is a bond that goes beyond friendship. They share a common journey and a purpose. They are both seekers, exploring uncharted realms of knowledge, knowledge which they apply creatively in their respective fields. The legacy of their forebears is etched in inherited memory. They recall the Twelve who, aboard their graceful ships, fled ill-fated Atlantis to be dispersed across the vast expanse of Earth."

"Who were the Twelve, Sylvie?" Eli softly asked as she sipped her hot chocolate.

"According to the oldest and most reliable legends, they were the Poet, the weaver of words, who could encapsulate the human experience in verse; the Physician, the healer, who had a deep knowledge of the human body and natural remedies; the Farmer, the nurturer, who knew how to cultivate a variety of crops and understood the rhythms of nature; the Scientist, the observer, who sought to understand the laws of the universe through observation and experimentation; the Magician, the mystic, who understood the unseen forces of the universe and could manipulate them; the Architect, skilled in designing and constructing structures that harmonised with the environment, using principles of sacred geometry; the Astronomer, an expert in celestial navigation, who understood the movements of the stars and planets and their influence on Earth; the Musician, a master of harmonies and rhythms, who could both excite and soothe minds and hearts with their melodies; the Philosopher, a deep thinker and seeker of wisdom who questioned the nature of existence and reality; the Artisan, an expert creator of attractive and functional objects, bringing beauty into everyday life; the Guardian, a protector of the people and upholder of justice and fairness in the society; and last but not least, the Historian, the keeper of the past who recorded the history, discoveries, and wisdom of Atlantis."

"Fascinating", exclaimed Eli.

"Every one of these remarkable individuals brought their unique skills and knowledge, contributing to the survival and growth of new communities around the world. When Atlantis sank beneath the sea, the Queen Priestesses brought these traditions and practices to a new home in Belerion, 'The Shining Land', known to us as Cornwall. Their legacy lives on today with us, the 'Karadow', as we fulfil our responsibility to carry these ancient traditions onward."

[Chris in Prague]

"Thank you, Sylvie. I can see how some of these roles are reflected in the 'Karadow', with members excelling as entertainers, artists, and creators, enriching our world with music, literature, poetry, and philosophy."

"Indeed, Eli, but the 'Karadow' is but a faint echo of Atlantis, where The Twelve played such a crucial role in cultural and intellectual life. Today, we uphold the roles of Poet, Musician, Artisan, Physician, Philosopher, and Guardian. Sadly, the roles of Farmer, Scientist, Magician, Architect, and Astronomer have faded through time, as the immense knowledge of The Twelve became fragmented and lost. Yet, the Historian's mantle has evolved into the Writer, a role my mother cherishes."

"So, would it be right to say, Sylvie, that today, your father is the preeminent Guardian and Mademoiselle Élise is the foremost Artisan?"

"Absolutely, Eli, while Jeremy, Giles, and their companions, Jim Tremayne, Phil Courtenay, Tom Carew, and Andy Tolverne, stand as our Guardians, and you, dear Eli, are, of course, one of our honoured artist Artisans", her friend affirmed with a hug. Upon hearing Giles' name, Eli felt a surprising thrill of excitement, a sensation that lingered as her friend spoke on.

"The Twelve were not just leaders but also pioneers in their respective fields, embodying Atlantean achievement and wisdom. Their collective contributions were the practical pillars upon which the utopian society of Atlantis stood. Their legacy was intended to guide future generations, inspiring them to continue the pursuit of knowledge, justice, and harmony with the natural world.

"But, instead, the Twelve became instrumental in spreading Atlantean culture and knowledge across the globe, influencing the development of civilisations long after their own fell. Their archetypal roles reflect universal aspects of human society that are still relevant today, reminding us of the timeless nature of these pursuits and the enduring quest for understanding and mastery over the world we inhabit."

"What was the relationship between the Queen Priestesses of Atlantis and the Twelve, Sylvie?"

"In Atlantis, the relationship between the Queen Priestesses and The Twelve was one of deep interdependence and respect. The Queen Priestesses, as the spiritual and ceremonial pillars of Atlantean society, relied on The Twelve for their expertise in their domains to maintain the balance and prosperity of their society.

"Each member of The Twelve had a unique connection with the Queen Priestesses: the Poet was the voice of the people, capturing the essence of Atlantean life and its spiritual depth, often through hymns and verses that the Queen Priestesses used in sacred rituals. The Physician worked closely with the Priestesses in healing ceremonies, combining medical knowledge with spiritual practices to holistically treat the citizens. The Farmer ensured that the Priestesses' blessings for bountiful harvests were realised through agricultural practices that aligned with celestial cycles. The Scientist was a valued advisor, helping to translate the Priestesses' visions into practical applications for the betterment of Atlantis. The Magician shared a mystical bond with the Priestesses, often aiding in the interpretation of omens and the casting of protective spells. The Architect designed temples and sacred spaces under the guidance of the Priestesses, ensuring that each structure reflected the divine order. The Astronomer aligned the Priestesses' calendar and ritual timings with their celestial observations, creating a harmonious link between the heavens and Atlantis. The Musician composed melodies for ceremonies led by the Priestesses, with music that echoed the harmony of the universe. The Philosopher engaged in profound dialogues with the Priestesses, pondering the nature of the divine and the moral fabric of Atlantean society. The Artisan crafted ritual objects and symbols of power for the Priestesses, infusing their work with beauty and sacredness. The Guardian served as the arm of the Priestesses, enforcing their decrees and protecting the sanctity of their spiritual work. The Historian preserved the Priestesses' teachings and the history of Atlantis, ensuring that their people's wisdom would endure through time.

"Together, the Queen Priestesses and The Twelve formed the cornerstone of Atlantean civilisation, their symbiotic relationship fostering an era of enlightenment and grandeur that, according to legend, was unparalleled in human history."

[Chris in Prague]

"Fascinating, Sylvie. And you have learnt all of this from your mother?"

"Yes, Eli. Although she is always on the lookout for more knowledge! Many a penniless PhD candidate has benefitted from her generosity in return for searching for and then forwarding forgotten texts discovered in ancient archives the world over."

"So, Sylvie, there still information out there to discover?"

"Certainly, but it can only be discovered by those who believe in its existence, Eli."

"I see. I imagine that Queen Priestesses had an important role in choosing young Atlanteans to be trained in one of the twelve roles?"

"Yes, that's right, Eli; in Atlantis, we know that the Queen Priestesses played a key role in identifying and developing the future leaders and specialists who would perform the twelve essential roles within their civilisation. The selection and training process was deeply spiritual and holistic, reflecting the values and beliefs of Atlantean culture."

"How did that work?"

"Here's how my mother explains the Queen Priestesses approached this sacred duty: From a young age, Atlantean children were observed to evaluate their innate talents and inclinations. The Queen Priestesses, with their profound intuition, recognised these natural affinities and guided the children towards a path that aligned with their inherent abilities.

"Through various ceremonies and divinatory practices, the Priestesses sought insights to determine each child's destiny. These rituals ensured that the chosen path was in harmony with the greater plan for the individual and Atlantis.

"Once a child was identified for a specific role, they would be placed under the mentorship of a leader in that field—be it a Poet, Physician, Farmer, or any of the other roles. The Queen Priestesses oversaw this apprenticeship, ensuring that the teachings were imparted with wisdom and care.

"Beyond the practical skills, the Queen Priestesses also facilitated the spiritual growth of the young Atlanteans. They taught them the importance of balance, harmony, and the interconnectedness of all life, which were central to Atlantean philosophy.

"As the young Atlanteans matured and honed their skills, the Queen Priestesses facilitated their integration into adult society. They performed rites of passage that not only recognised the individual's mastery but also their responsibility to contribute to the common good.

"Even after the formal training was complete, the Queen Priestesses continued as spiritual advisors to the Twelve, offering guidance and support as they navigated the complexities of their roles within Atlantis.

"In this way, the Queen Priestesses ensured that the spiritual, intellectual, and practical aspects of Atlantean life were a seamless whole, creating a society where each individual could thrive and contribute to the greater good."

"Fascinating. How did the Queen Priestesses select their successors, Sylvie?"

"In the lore of Atlantis, the selection of successors for the Queen Priestesses was a sacred and meticulous process, steeped in tradition and mysticism. Here's how my mother explained it unfolded: Succession was believed to be divinely ordained, with potential successors often being identified from a specific spiritual lineage or bloodline that was considered to be particularly favoured.

"The Queen Priestess looked for signs and omens in nature and the cosmos, interpreting these as indications of the chosen one. This could include astrological events, dreams, or other mystical experiences.

"Candidates had to undergo a series of trials designed to test their wisdom, character, and spiritual aptitude. These trials would ensure that the successor possessed the necessary qualities to lead and guide the people of Atlantis.

"A Council of respected Elders and former Queen Priestesses had a say in the selection process, offering their insights and approval to ensure the continuity of their traditions and values.

"In some narratives, the people of Atlantis themselves had a role in affirming the successor through a ceremonial gathering or a public display of support.

"Once a successor was chosen, a grand ceremony would take place, marking the transfer of power and the spiritual mantle from the reigning Queen Priestess to the new one. This ceremony was filled with symbolic acts, sacred chants, and thanksgiving offerings.

"Before fully assuming her duties, the successor spent a period under the mentorship of the current Queen Priestess, learning the sacred rites, secrets, and responsibilities of her new role.

"The process was designed to ensure that the new Queen Priestess was not only capable and knowledgeable but also spiritually aligned with the divine will and the greater good of Atlantis."

"Thank you. I can see the legacy in your mother and you.

"Thank you, Eli. We do the best we can. My mother is an inspiration to us all."

[Chris in Prague]

"Sylvie, how did your mother gather and preserve all this knowledge of Atlantis?"

"My Eli, you're full of questions this evening! You mean more than just through her network of paid researchers?" Sylvie smiled indulgently at her companion, her gaze shifting to the kitchen clock. "Alright, darling, it seems we still have time before the rest of the 'Girls' join us for dinner. Since we're on the roster tonight, I'll share the answer as we prepare the meal."

"Thanks, Sylvie. It's my Breton specialities this evening."

"I remember it's our turn", Sylvia smiled. They'll be delicious, I'm sure, Eli. Please remind me of the three courses."

"As a traditional Breton starter, we'll have Coquilles Saint-Jacques à la Bretonne, also known as Scallops au Gratin."

"An excellent choice, Eli."

"Thank you. It's a classic dish where scallops are prepared with onions, shallots, garlic, and herbs, then topped with breadcrumbs and baked. To follow, we'll be making Poulet Breton. This is a hearty chicken dish simmered in a sauce flavoured with cider, crème fraîche, and mustard, served with potatoes. For dessert, we'll be serving Far Breton, a custardy cake from Brittany that's known for its rich texture and often includes dried plums or raisins; I've chosen special plums. It's similar to a flan and can be enjoyed by everyone at the end of the meal."

"Excellent, Eli. These dishes will complement the Poulet Breton well, offering a complete meal showcasing the flavours of Brittany."

As Sylvia and Eli prepare the Breton dinner, their conversation changes as they focus on their shared culinary tasks.

Sylvia, as she chopped onions, "Eli, could you preheat the oven for the Coquilles Saint-Jacques? We want a nice golden crust."

Eli, as she set the oven, "Certainly. And the scallops, are they ready for the topping?"

"Almost. I just need to sauté them with the garlic and herbs. The aroma is going to be heavenly", replied Sylvia.

"I can't wait", smiled Eli. "And for the Far Breton, did we soak the plums in rum?"

"Yes, they've been soaking overnight in our room where no one can snack on them!" answered her friend. "I'll fetch the bowl now. They'll add such a rich flavour to the dessert."

She returns. "Here they are. Nice and plump!"

As Eli gathered the ingredients for the main course, she asked, "Now, for the Poulet Breton, do you think we should start with browning the chicken in the pot first?"

"Definitely", her friend replied. "It'll lock in the flavours before we add the cider and crème fraîche. Oh, and make sure to season it well."

"Naturally", Eli replied. "And the cidre, is it the special one from Brittany?"

"Don't worry, Eli. I know you're very fond of Breton cidre with its rich, full-bodied, rustic flavours and fruity, floral, and spicy notes. The 'Girls' love it, too, which is why I had to hide the bottle at the back of the top shelf in the cupboard! Here it is! It's the same one you asked me to recommend to my parents."

"You mean the Breton artisan cidre that was added to the product range distributed by the 'Castle Brewery'?"

"Yes, it's that's the one", answered Sylvia. "Here, have a taste." Sylvia pours a little from the large glass bottle into a small glass.

"Mmm, yes, it's the perfect blend of sweet and tart. It'll complement the chicken beautifully."

[Chris in Prague]

"As you know, Eli, while my mother is a great admirer of French food and drink, she has a low opinion of the French capacity to efficiently run anything more complicated than a restaurant or small family business, such as a railway network or a country. Therefore, she has insisted that an empty BR 'Ferrywagon' be sent from Cant Cove to Brittany as a trial and return with a selection of Breton-crated and barrelled produce chosen by me on your advice.

"For such an enlightened lady, your mother still has some strong prejudices, Sylvie", Eli laughed.

"She would state that experiences are not prejudices!" responded Sylvia vigorously. "Anyway, she told me that if the van returns with its contents in good order in a reasonable time, she will recommend to Marrek Prowse, you know, the General Manager of the 'Castle Estates', that negotiations commence with Breton produce suppliers and with customers for Cornish products so that the wagons or, if we decide on goods containers, do not travel out empty, also begin. She also said that you and I can manage this project in our spare time! Next Easter would be a good time to make our first visit, she stated. I, of course, gratefully accepted and, this evening, we can try to persuade as many as possible of our friends to accompany us.

"Huh! You know, Sylvie, that Monique is rather 'sniffy' about there being anything worth travelling to Brittany for and will only agree to join us if we all promise to go on to her home, Paris, afterwards!"

"That's our Monique, of course, but Paris is always worth a visit, Eli!"

Eli, as she began to brown the chicken, "This is going to be a meal to remember. The 'Beloved' will love it."

As Sylvia arranges the starters, "It's more than just a meal, Eli. It's a celebration of your heritage and the bond we all share here as members of the 'Karadow'."

"You're right", replied Eli. "It's these traditions that keep our history alive. Speaking of which, have you read your mother's research paper on Atlantean agriculture?"

"I have, and it's fascinating. There's so much we can learn from the past, Eli. But let's focus on the present and get this dinner ready for the 'Karadow'."

"Agreed. Let's make my ancestors proud, Sylvia."

"We will, Eli." Sylvia checked the oven and the cooker rings. That's everything prepared and in its place. While we wait for the three courses to be ready to serve, I have just time to quickly answer your earlier question."

The two friends sit down, and Sylvia pours the last of the Breton cidre into two small glasses.

"Cheers!"

As Eli checked the oven, "Yes, all is looking very good."

[Chris in Prague]

"Excellent. Now, to shortly answer your question about how my mother preserves and gathers all this knowledge of ancient Atlantis. First, there are oral traditions: Stories, legends, and teachings about Atlantis and its practices passed down verbally from one generation to the next. These include recitations, chants, and the oral retelling of history during communal gatherings. Second, there are specific rituals and ceremonies, rich with symbolic meaning, which performed consistently, serve as a living enactment of the knowledge and beliefs inherited from Atlantis. Third, while oral traditions are powerful, written records such as scrolls, books, or inscriptions document the wisdom and laws of Atlantis, ensuring a more permanent record that has withstood the passage of time."

"Where are they, Sylvie? The Coquilles Saint-Jacques will be ready exactly on time, at Seven."

"They are in the secret library under the Castle's Great Library in a protected chamber. Only my parents can access it. My mother has taken me. It's an amazing feat of engineering. A constant temperature and negligible humidity.

"But" she glances at the clock. "I must continue. Fourth, in the secret library and, if you know where to look, throughout the very oldest parts of Trevelver Castle, you can see artistic representations, sacred symbols, and geometric patterns that serve as visual transmitters of knowledge, encoding information about Atlantean culture and spirituality.

"Fifth, there is education. Structured learning and mentorship play a crucial role, with selected members of the 'Karadow' engaging in studies, under my mother's guidance, that not only cover literature and philosophy but also the specific teachings of our Atlantean heritage. Sixth, knowledge has been preserved through our spiritual lineage, with each new generation of Priestesses initiated into the mysteries and wisdom of their predecessors."

"You mean, you and your mother? The Poulet Breton is almost ready. I'll turn the oven right down just to keep the first two courses nice and warm."

"Yes, my mother and I have been initiated into the mysteries and wisdom of our predecessors, Eli, as was her mother and generations before her. Seventh, on the 'Castle Estates', we have always incorporated everyday cultural practices, from agriculture to architecture, which incorporate Atlantean principles, subtly reinforcing our knowledge through practical application. Eighth, as you know, Eli, there is our family's unique succession. The passing of knowledge through a matrilineal line ensures that the wisdom of the Queen Priestesses remains within the female lineage, namely my mother and I."

"Ah, I can hear them all descending the stairs, showered, changed, and hungry, and entering the corridor. Please help me serve the Coquilles Saint-Jacques into the bowls. I hope we cut enough baguette slices, Sylvie!"

"If not, we can always cut more, Eli!" laughed Sylvia as they readied the table for their friends. "So, through these methods and scholarly inquiry, the essence of Atlantean wisdom has been woven into the fabric of the 'Karadow', shaping our identity and guiding our way of life. My mother, as the leading descendant of this tradition, records, embodies and perpetuates this ancient knowledge in both her leadership and our community's practices."

[Chris in Prague]

Later, after a meal which everyone agreed had been most enjoyable, Sylvia and Eli share a moment of quiet companionship. Their bedroom, a reflection of their shared tastes, is both stylish and personal. The queen-sized double bed takes centre stage. Its four big pillows invite comfort and relaxation. The cover, adorned with bold geometric prints, echoes the fashionable aesthetic championed by their friend, Mary Quant.

Soft lamp light bathes the room, creating a warm and inviting atmosphere and illuminating the modern furniture, emphasising its sleek lines and contemporary design. On Eli's bedside table sits her latest pride and joy, a Magnavox All Transistor Stereo Record Player. Tonight, the room is filled with the soothing notes of Stan Getz & Charlie Byrd's 'Jazz Samba', creating a relaxed ambience. Yesterday, it was the powerful melodies of the 'West Side Story' soundtrack, written and produced by Leonard Bernstein and Stephen Sondheim a testament to the duo's eclectic musical tastes. Personal touches like Sylvia's set of framed family photographs with one of Jeremy on her bedside table together with Eli's drawings and paintings on the walls, adding a touch of creativity and intimacy, give the room a lived-in feel.

Before Sylvia and Eli go to sleep, they discuss the events of the day or share a quiet moment of reading, their interactions marked by an easy familiarity. The world outside continues its rapid pace of change, but within the walls of their bedroom, time slows, allowing them to relax and enjoy being together out of the public eye. They are affectionate and caring, a reflection of their close bond and mutual understanding as intimate friends and very successful business partners in a male-dominated world.

As the two friends sit up in bed, Eli asks Sylvia to tell her more about the secret library under Trevelver Castle's Great Library.

"Eli, it's a true masterpiece of design—an underground chamber under the Great Library, secure and hidden, carefully constructed by Cornish miners renowned for their hard rock mining prowess. They carved it from Cornish granite, known for its strength and durability, making it an ideal material. The vault maintains a constant temperature and negligible humidity, creating an environment where the delicate pages of ancient manuscripts and books are preserved in near-perfect conditions.

Among its shelves lies the Lost Library of Dr. John Dee, advisor to Queen Elizabeth I in the sixteenth century. Dee's tomes span science, magic, and mysticism. His handwritten notes reveal glimpses of forgotten wisdom. Among the volumes is the Monas Hieroglyphica. Its symbols, etched by Dee's hand, resonate with esoteric power.

"But the Secret Library is far more than a trove of perfectly protected literature; it's a vault containing the chronicles of the far-distant past safeguarded from the ravages of the external world. Here, hidden in the labyrinth of chambers under Trevelver Castle, lies the wisdom of the ages.

"Do you think your parents would allow me to see it, Sylvie?" asked her friend, snuggling closer.

"Yes, of course, silly, you are a 'duly sworn and attested' member of the 'Karadow' with 'all the rights, privileges, and duties' thereof," Sylvia smiles, her big brown eyes twinkling in the lamplight.

"So, how do we get to it, Sylvie?" whispers Eli.

"The hidden access to the Secret Library beneath Trevelver Castle's Great Library is ingeniously concealed. It begins with a seemingly ordinary bookshelf filled with volumes that blend seamlessly with the rest of the collection. However, upon closer inspection, one book stands out, 'The Ledger of Common Transactions: 1794', not for its title or binding but because it serves as a discreet lever.

"When this book is tilted, it triggers a silent mechanism that activates the bookshelf to swing open gently, revealing a narrow staircase spiralling downwards. The steps, carved from the same Cornish granite as the castle's foundations, descend into the dimly lit passage below. At the base of the staircase, a sturdy oak door, its iron bands blackened with age, adorned with a subtle insignia that mirrors the castle's crest—a fusion of lion and griffin, their eyes twin flames, bars entry to the uninitiated.

"Only my parents, who each possess the correct key and have knowledge of the hidden catch that releases the lock, can enter the Secret Library. Once inside, the door closes seamlessly behind, the passage above vanishing as if it never existed, ensuring the Secret Library remains a clandestine haven for the privileged few who know of its existence."

"Thank you, Sylvie. I can already picture it in my mind's eye!"

"Wait until you see it for real, Eli."



As they nestle into the comfort of their bed, they share a gentle goodnight kiss, an expression of their deep affection. In their close embrace, they experience a profound bond of connection, a comforting sense of intimacy and implicit trust before sleep claims them.

[Chris in Prague]

On their twin bedside tables, two enchanted vases, a special gift from Lady Penelope, cradle seemingly freshly cut flowers—a symphony of colours and fragrances flourishing outside time.

The ivory surface of Sylvia's vase, porcelain and delicate, bears faint cracks—a testament to time's gentle touch. She favours peonies, which thrive in Cornwall's cooler climate, their lush blooms unfurling like secrets shared between lovers. Petals blush with hints of rose and cream, each layer a promise. Nestled among the peonies, a cluster of intense blue delicate forget-me-nots, symbolising true love, respect, fidelity, and devotion, weaves their spell. Sylvia believes they hold memories—fragments of stolen kisses, whispered vows, and tales of love and remembrance.

In contrast, the curves of Eli's vase, hand-blown from azure glass, mimic ocean waves, capturing sunlight by day and moonbeams by night. Within, rare cornflowers, known to some as bachelor's buttons, sway—a nod to Eli's love for the wild. Their sky-blue petals evoke memories of coastal cliffs and salt-kissed air. A single sprig of muted purple lavender, its slender leaves, like tiny mouse ears, cradling the blossoms, leans against the glass, the essence of serenity and luxury, its fragrance a lullaby. Eli believes it wards off dreams that stray too close to sorrow. When the morning sun kisses the room, the sprig releases its delicate fragrance—a whisper of calm.

The vases are a study in contrasts. Eli's vibrant blues meet Sylvia's muted whites—a yin and yang of passion and serenity. When the two friends are fast asleep, as the moon arcs across the sky, the vases come alive. They exchange secrets. Eli's cornflowers lean toward Sylvia's forget-me-nots, bridging their two contrasting worlds. Their blooms drink silver light, casting delicate shadows on the room's polished wooden floor and richly coloured rugs. Sylvia and Eli, nestled under their quilt, peacefully dream, Sylvia of Jeremy while Eli dreams of... Giles, her subconscious knowing what her conscious mind does not ... yet. The vases listen, silent witnesses to their dreams. And so, in their shared sanctuary, the vases cradle more than flowers—they hold fragments of Sylvia and Eli's love story, woven into petals, porcelain and glass.

[Chris in Prague]

It is early December, with Christmas 1962 fast approaching. Lady Penelope settles into her well-upholstered armchair; her study cocooned in the warmth of a crackling log fire. The tall arched stone-framed windows frame a picturesque scene beyond. Snowflakes pirouette, delicately frosting the windowpanes. It is a silent ballet of winter's arrival, each flake twirling gracefully as if choreographed by the cold breath of the season itself.

Her dark brown hair, elegantly swept into a chignon, frames her face like a Renaissance portrait. A few tendrils escape, softening the severity. She wears a velvet dress—the colour of midnight—its high neckline adorned with delicate lace. Her eyes, the hue of aged cognac, hold secrets whispered by the flickering flames.

The room breathes history. Ancient tomes line the mahogany shelves, their spines worn by past hands. Sun-faded leather-bound volumes nestle alongside scrolls—their inked words spanning distant centuries. Lady Penelope's ancestors peer from faded portraits, their eyes seeming to follow her. The walls are panelled in dark oak. A celestial globe stands sentinel in one corner, its brass meridians tracing constellations. The scent of beeswax and aged paper hangs in the air—the fragrance of knowledge.

Her teacup, porcelain as delicate as a snowflake, rests on the polished mahogany table. Its rim, adorned with hand-painted roses, a reminder of summer gardens. The tea, Earl Grey, steeped to perfection, warms her slender fingers. She sips, the fragrant bergamot invoking memories of sun-drenched terraces.

The log fire dances. Its flames lick the hearth, casting shadows on the walls. Lady Penelope watches, lost in reverie. The flickering flames hold secrets—the laughter of childhood, the ache of loved ones departed, the promise of tomorrow. The mantelpiece hosts curiosities—a crystal sphere, her late father's silver pocket watch, and a goose feather quill.

In the corner of the study, a grandfather clock stands sentinel—a cherished relic of time and tradition. Its mahogany frame gleams with a rich polish, and its clock face, encircled by brass numerals, gazes out solemnly. The long and slender hands, moving with measured grace, trace their journey across the dial, marking the passage of moments, the steady heartbeat of the room. As the seconds tick past, the clock emits a soft, rhythmic sound—the working of its internal mechanism. The sound is both comforting and haunting, a reminder that time is both finite and infinite. Occasionally, the clock chimes. Each hour, it tolls—a sonorous bong that reverberates through the study. The chime is a call to reflection.

The pendulum swings back and forth like a metronome carrying the echoes of past generations—the footsteps of Lady Penelope's ancestors, their whispered conversations, their dreams woven into the aged fabric of the room. And so, the grandfather clock stands—a guardian of time, a companion to solitude. Its ticking, like a heartbeat, weaves Lady Penelope's present into the tapestry of Trevelver family history. Time, both relentless and tender, flows like the River Camel far beyond the window.

[Chris in Prague]

As she turns the pages of her leather-bound journal, Lady Penelope ponders the enigma of Eli and Giles. Their interactions—subtle glances, shared laughter—have not escaped her discerning gaze. They are more than Sylvia and Jeremy's dear companions; they are bright threads waiting to be woven into a vibrant tapestry of their own.

Eli, at the tender age of twenty-two, as benefits an artist, embodies a wildness that defies convention. Her hair, a cascade of auburn flames, refuses to be tamed. It flows like a rebellious river, catching sunlight and moonbeams alike. The highly talented young Breton, with her unruly auburn hair and bright blue eyes, intrigues Lady Penelope. There is a quiet strength about her—an unyielding resolve that belies her youthful appearance. Eli's figure is a delightful opus of curves: large-bosomed at 37 inches, her waist a delicate cinch at 23 inches, and her hips a gentle curve measuring 34 inches. She wears her femininity with pride, unapologetic in a world that often demands quiet conformity. She moves with a dancer's grace, yet she bears the enduring scars of someone who has faced adversity head-on, for Eli's laughter, when it frequently surfaces, holds echoes of both joy and sorrow.

And then there is Giles, she sighs, the enigma wrapped in a tailored suit. His weathered face bears the traces of a thousand stories—etched lines that whisper of distant lands, lost loves, and battles fought under foreign skies. His eyes, sharp as shards of glass, assess every room he enters. They hold secrets—some buried deep, others hovering just beneath the surface. The urbane Chelsea wine and spirits importer is, Lady Penelope softly sighs, a man of contradictions. His weathered face hints at wisdom earned through life's trials, while his eyes betray a past shrouded in secrets. Always impeccably dressed, with a penchant for quoting obscure poets, his gaze holds the weight of hard-won experience. Yet, beneath the layers of sophistication and watchful caution, Lady Penelope senses a vulnerability—a longing for something just out of reach.

Thanks to their close friends, Sylvia and Jeremy, Eli and Giles's paths repeatedly intersect. She, with her striking freckles and eyes like cornflowers, and he, with the weight of a life of covert action, etched into his noble soul. Perhaps, Lady Penelope muses, fate has already woven them together, and now all that is needed is that final chance encounter in a dimly lit wine cellar or a shared glance across a crowded ballroom.

[Chris in Prague]

Trevelver Castle, with its grey stone walls and centuries-old secrets, will, Lady Penelope resolves, be the stage for another strand of her carefully considered Christmastide matchmaking. Christmas and New Year—the season of magic and possibility—beckons. Her mind buzzes with strategies; each move is calculated like a chess game. First, the perfect evening outfit for Eli and, why not, culminating in a visit to Mademoiselle Élise's atelier for Eli with her daughter. But once Eli and Sylvia cross Élise's threshold, their fates will forever be entwined with its magic. Of course, she sighs to herself, nothing of value comes for free; there will be a price to pay and a very heavy one at that, but weighed against Eli and Giles's lasting happiness, it is one that she feels well worth the cost. It is a great pity, she reflects, that Lisa Silverwood would be unable to accompany them; the leather talisman admits only two. But now, to the practical details...

Lady Penelope's list begins with the Great Hall. The traditional Christmas Eve-Christmas Morning grand ball where hearts beat in sync with waltz music. Eli, with her cornflower eyes, will be wearing a midnight blue gown, and Giles, in his tailored suit, will be her partner. The dance floor will bring them together, and Lady Penelope will watch as they move closer, their steps echoing an inner harmony.

Next, the mistletoe. Ah, the strategic placement of mistletoe! It will be hung in the castle's hidden alcoves, where stolen kisses can bloom like the winter roses she loves so much. Eli and Giles will find themselves beneath berried branches, cheeks flushed, hearts racing. She will pretend not to notice, but her heart will be trembling ever so slightly.

Then there is the castle's magnificent Library. She will orchestrate their rendezvous among the shelves of tomes and leather armchairs with the scant of aged paper and beeswax candles in a room that holds secrets whispered across centuries. The fireplace will crackle, casting a warm glow on the worn Persian rug she had loved to lie on as a girl, lost in the latest book.
She determines that Eli and Giles will engage in a literary duet here by the flickering candlelight. The leather armchairs will cradle them, their minds released from the everyday. Giles, with his weathered face and eyes that have seen too much, will quote Keats—the melancholy beauty of "Ode to a Nightingale" or the bittersweet longing of his favourite, "Bright Star".

And there will be Eli, her freckled face animated as she recites verses from the romantic poets of France. Her favourite? Paul Éluard. His words will dance like autumn leaves caught in a tempest, swirling with love's nuances—the ache of separation, the hunger for touch, and the fragile beauty of human connections. Eli will lose herself in Éluard's lines, her voice a soft cadence against the crackling fire.

Their minds will entwine like the ivy that climbs up the base of the Clock Tower, each stanza a thread binding them closer. Lady Penelope, from her discreet corner, will observe—the matchmaker weaving her spell. She will then leave, promising to return with more wine. For in this quiet chamber, love's alchemy will, she plans, unfold—a symphony of ink and paper, whispered confessions, and passion-filled glances.

[Chris in Prague]

Next, she notes down, the sleigh ride for two. On a moonlit night, when freshly fallen snow blankets the castle grounds, she will arrange a sleigh ride. Eli and Giles will huddle under furs, their breaths visible in the frosty air. As the horses pull them through the silent woods beyond the castle, Lady Penelope will whisper to the snowflakes, urging them to weave a love story.

Then the castle's Clock Tower... At the stroke of midnight on New Year's Eve, Lady Penelope will lead the couple to the top of the clock tower. Its ancient gears will hum, counting down the seconds. Eli and Giles will stand on the balcony, overlooking the snow-kissed landscape. As the bells chime, Lady Penelope will ask them to raise their glasses, toasting to beginnings and forever afters.

And so, with immaculately manicured fingers, Lady Penelope pens her plan in the secret script handed down from her Atlantean Queen Priestess ancestors. The castle walls listened, and the ghosts of Trevelver Castle nod in approval. For love, like time, is a force that defies logic—a symphony waiting for its crescendo.

In the distance, she hears a distinctive whistle piercing the air, announcing the imminent punctual arrival of one of Wadebridge's two pannier tanks, either No. 4666 or No. 4694, hauling the three-minute-to-ten departure from Penmayne. She sighs, still missing the Adams O2 class 0-4-4Ts that the ex-WR pannier tanks, arriving in late 1959, had replaced; the last O2 No. 30200, leaving the previous February, transferred to Eastleigh. As the train nears Cant Cove, she can picture the waiting passengers' anticipation hanging in the salty breeze. The train will pause—a one-minute station stop—before the two-coach Maunsell stock resumes its short journey onto Wadebridge. All standing on the platform will be attentive to the humming of the rails while time flows like the tide along the nearby River Camel.

As the clock strikes ten, Lady Penelope smiles. Eli and Giles, unbeknownst to them, are about to step into their own chapter—one where a firm friendship will ignite into something more passionate. Later, in the quiet of the bedroom she shares with her sleeping husband, she whispers, "May the stars align, and may love find its way."

Eli's untamed spirit and Giles's guarded demeanour... as sleep claims her, Lady Penelope wonders if her plans will lead to chaos or creation.