The Gatekeeper: Beaumont Treasure

By L Marleen Johnsen

When Elliott Beaumont Berger (son of Wolfe Berger, an entrepreneur and gambler) and his mother, the Duchess of Beaumont, discover that he is the gatekeeper of the Beaumont treasure, he sets out to unravel the mystery surrounding his families and their connection to the ancient Order of Saint James. As a knight of the Order, he travels through the Europe of the early 1800s. Intrigues and unknown conspirators against the Order challenge Elliott, but he prevails, discovering the location of the treasure. Hidden deep beneath the catacombs are seven heavily vaulted doors, which have not been opened for about a hundred years. Only a chosen gatekeeper holds the key.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Nov 14, 2016
• ISBN: 9781524553289

Book preview

Chapter 1

The French Circus Horse

The feathered hooves of the black Frisian horse barely resounded upon the trail through the forest, the long mane and tail gracefully flowing behind. The rider from the Blue Sapphire Inn who was familiar with the path, never hesitated as he sped along. At the end of the trail he crossed the main road onto another path leading down to the river. He slowed his pace and stopped by the banks of the Ems River . . . waiting. The Highwayman following the rider, reined in his horse at the crossing, he leaned forward whispering in the horse’s ear . . . watching. The high full moon glistened upon the grasses and the puddles of shallow water. Undaunted, the highwayman turned back a distance . . . waiting. These were ominous times, and those that slept were restless.

Elliott strained to open his eyes; particles of dust fell from above and he blinked trying to clear his vision; his head throbbing as if having drunk the Inn dry. ‘Bloody hell’ his mind uttered a profanity that was considered disrespectful for a gentleman of his standing. Where was he lying? He could feel the ground beneath his body and smell the musky warmth rising from the earth. His limbs felt limp and useless. Overwhelmed with fear, he attempted to scream but exhaled only whistle like sounds. ‘Elliott’ Hawke’s voice sounded in his head which suddenly awakened him. It was early dawn. Elliott swung his long legs out of bed and sat up on the edge for a moment. He stood and quickly poured water into the basin. As he stooped to splash liquid upon his face; the burden of the chain with the dense Saint James cross that hung about his neck chimed against the porcelain. The only thing on his mind was to get out to the stables and exercise by running through the paddock as he held the reins of his Frisian horse ‘Clancy’, a homecoming gift from Count Ortenberg.

Berger Manor was under extensive renovations and Elliott was to depart within a day to reside at Ortenberg. His older brother Henrik and he were staying at the manor to sort through the recently deceased Hawke’s private papers and personal items. He would prefer to stay home regardless of the dust and noise as the workers began extending the northern walls of the manor but his father Wolfe and the rest of his most unusual family were already living at Ortenberg. His arrival was anticipated and he was expected to acquaint himself with the family businesses of which he had absolutely no interest. Elliott was not English but gave the impression of being raised as such. He had disowned France, the country of his birth. He was proud to be living in Frisian and this was now the country he loved. It was July 1801 and at the young age of twenty-one Elliott Beaumont Berger had already survived a most adventurous year, travelling with Hawke, Wolfe and others. Shadows of the past at times haunted his sleep but he was optimistic about life in general.

For the past few weeks, whilst Henrik removed the paintings, packing up books and sorting papers, he distracted the sentimental Elliott by having him clear out Hawke’s desk. The highly polished desk of rosewood and cherry wood had been made by the monks from the abbey in Burgos. Finely carved vine leaf motifs were etched around the drawers and cabinet areas. There were no key holes to lock the desk; one had to understand where and how levers operated to open the compartments. Elliott spent his time crawling around and under the desk to find the levers. Henrik knew the secrets but it was much more entertaining to observe Elliott solve the enigma; as if it was another interesting puzzle set out by Hawke.

It was still early morning when Henrik walked to the stables expecting to find Elliott training his Frisian horse Clancy, a name he no longer used himself but had become partial to the significance of the name.

Thump . . . thump. Henrik heard on the outer wall of the stables. Curious about the noise he went outside to investigate wondering what possibly was banging up against the wall. As he rounded the corner he paused to watch Elliott taking a run at the outer wall leaping up the side and bouncing off falling into a strategically placed pile of straw. Clancy stood patiently watching his master . . . not even munching on the hay.

Elliott climbed out from the straw with his usual good natured smile looking at Henrik as if he had done the most amazing feat and Henrik stood waiting for an explanation for the behaviour. Elliott brushed off dust and loose straw from his clothes, picked up his suede jacket and as he walked towards Henrik, donned his favourite adventure jacket. I improve with every attempt . . . I believe I can now run up the wall to my height.

Henrik smiled at the youthful exuberance. Have you tired of archery? No doubt you have a good reason for making the other horses jumpy from your new exercise.

Hawke had an article about Japan and how some assassins ran up the sides of a temple to the roof for a surprise attack.

Elliott’s enthusiasm caused Henrik to laugh. Yet another feat Elliott had managed to accomplish. Henrik had been the first to recognise that Elliott was his younger half-brother. He looked more like Wolfe than he did and from the very beginning the younger could make the reserved Henrik smile. Is it your intention to get to the roof? Then what, fall off and break a leg. The Japanese architectural structure is very different from the smooth surface of the stable walls. Henrik motioned with his hand. The roofs are much lower.

Nay, I was intrigued by the possibility. It is amazing that you can control the amount of pressure on the feet as you land. Elliott grinned and shrugged his shoulders.

Perhaps with such a skill you have decided on a life as a circus performer. Henrik looked at Clancy watching Elliott. "And Clancy what tricks have you taught him?"

I have the smartest horse. Elliott affectionately nuzzled his face up to the nose of his horse. Watch! Elliott stepped back motioning with his hand for the horse to move forward then again held up his hand for him to stop. Clancy obeys my every command. The horse seemed to nod in agreement.

Then you and your horse should fare well in the circus. I hear the French troop is currently touring in Spain.

Elliott stroked his horse not looking at Henrik; suddenly reminded about another matter. Do you have dreams . . . whilst you sleep?

Yes Henrik thought Elliott still dreamt about his fears of lying helpless on the ground beneath Pearl’s stoop in Saint Maarten. Some dreams are more vivid than others.

About Hawke? Elliott turned to watch Henrik’s response.

Yes, but I am not certain whether I am awake or asleep . . . possibly I just wish to think about him. My elderly grandfather’s death was somewhat expected. His death far easier to accept than that of Hawke’s. I loved both as fathers . . . we are never prepared for the loss of those closest to us. Henrik had learned much about his brother and encouraged him to relate his feelings.

Elliott hesitated for a moment and continued to stroke his horse. I dreamt that Claude Renault had carved a magnificent miniature Frisian horse. Together we painted the horse a brilliant black then I enhanced the details on the feathered hooves and flowing tail. Claude decided to place a blue headdress on the horse. When we stood back to admire our work, I turned to see Hawke leaning against a tree . . . observing. I looked to him as if seeking his approval and Hawke nodded towards the horse, smiled then he was gone. Elliott paused. I think that forever I would wish for his approval.

Henrik put his arm about his younger brother’s neck pulling him close. Come we are off to the cobbler for new boots.

Mine are just fine. Elliott insisted.

The ones you have need new heels and soles. Perhaps with new boots, Henrik grinned you will be more capable of running up walls and leaping over hedges.

I cannot leave these boots anywhere. Logically Elliott understood his father’s boots were badly in need of repair but still he was reluctant to part with them. Remembering the disastrous situation of how he came to be wearing Wolfe’s hand-me-down boots and Hawke’s determination to rescue him. How long will the repairs take?

Henrik started to walk back towards the stables. Rather than playing with your horse, come let’s ride. The more you dawdle the longer it will take. Henrik turned and looked back at Elliott. Later, I will tell you the significance of your dream. I do believe in some manner Hawke still looks after you.

As the two rode towards the shops of Frisian, Henrik spoke about a journey that together they would embark upon in a month or so. Far better your travel documents have the name of Berger.

During the past year Elliott had changed his surname from Clancy to James, avoiding the use of Beaumont, his birth name, or Berger. He was not certain if he was ready to use Wolfe’s name and be addressed as Elliott Berger. Possibly because somewhere in his mind he felt guilty for abandoning the name Beaumont but yet his brother Louis, who is a true descendent of Beaumont, took the name Berger when he married his sister Marletta. Having these thoughts made him laugh. His sister married his brother without knowing the history; one would think the marriage incestuous. Louis and Marletta were not physically related; Elliott was a half-brother to Louis and a half-brother to his sister.

His Lordship Georg Ortenberg sat waiting for Henrik and Elliott with the family solicitor in a small office above the tailor’s shop. He stood and greeted Henrik as if a brother and shook hands with Elliott most respectfully. Georg introduced Elliott to the solicitor and spoke in Frisian then translated into English thinking this most comfortable for Elliott. Although Elliott had spent the past year with Wolfe; his Frisian was sufficient for conversation but not necessarily for legalise. No matter the language, Georg’s dialect was as implacable as his manners and dress. Not a hair out of place; an Ortenberg crest pin upon his cravat, his riding gloves neatly folded, sat on the desk. When Georg guided Elliott through all the legal documents, he constantly had to remind him to sign as Elliott James Berger. Accounts had been set up in Elliott’s new name to which a monthly income would be deposited. Elliott was uneasy about the funds until Georg informed him that the three of them received monthly monies from Wolfe and his father Count Ortenberg. The French had confiscated most of the Beaumont estate, leaving very little for his mother, the Duchess, and he would go without rather than benefit from an estate that belonged to his mother and his brother Louis.

It was obvious that Georg and Henrik were very close; two men who had grown up and trained together, whilst Elliott being the newest member of the trio was still a little intimidated with the significance of the alliance. Henrik was the power and Georg appeared to be the negotiator; then what was to be his role.

Georg also took charge at the tailor whilst Henrik sat reading a newspaper and deciding what the reluctant Elliott needed; jackets, pants, shirts, gloves, skivvies and numerous other things that a gentleman should have in his wardrobe. Again Georg seemed to know better than Elliott his personal style; he could find no fault with these choices. All were to be delivered to Ortenberg. Georg signed the receipt passing it to Elliott for his initials. Elliott pondered for a bit scrawling ‘EJ’ then, finally accepting the fact that he was Wolfe Berger’s son, he drew a large ‘B’ over the initials.

The merchants of Frisian understood that it was Georg that finalized any purchases for the families of Ortenberg, Berger, Von Hoffberg and more recently Beaumont; thus knowing he was in town they came to the tailor’s shop to pay their respects. These merchants had heard about Elliott and were curious to see the resemblance between Wolfe and Henrik Berger’s tall stature; they were not disappointed. The cobbler, eager to please, immediately recognised Elliott’s boots and hurried off to get Wolfe’s form, thus Elliott would have new boots within a day or so.

As Elliott and Henrik rode back to the Berger residence, Elliott commented. His Lordship, Georg Ortenberg is very proper, nothing out of place . . . not a scuff or bit of dust upon his boots.

He was born that way . . . first born heir to both Ortenberg and Von Hoffberg estates and titles. Much is expected of Georg and you and I have sworn to protect him. As with Wolfe and Count Ortenberg, Georg and I were raised and educated together. His only flaw is that he has never been able to stand against his father and never will. We are like brothers . . . it was difficult for him when he realised that he would not be going on some journeys or have adventures . . . Elliott, he wishes to be more like you.

Me . . . Why would he want my life? Both you and Georg were trained by Hawke. Elliott was unsure he would ever be as well trained. He had yet to witness the strength of Georg and was a tad jealous that he had been a student of Hawke’s.

Elliott, do not be deceived by Georg’s outer appearance; he is an excellent swordsman. He has lived his life without disappointments; afforded many privileges but his mind is as sharp as a blade honed by Hawke . . . He does not flaunt a sense of superiority or intolerable pride.

Later that same evening after the brothers had enjoyed their evening meal, Henrik lead Elliott to their sister Marletta’s suite. Opening the door holding a lantern Henrik entered the room. There are some things from our childhood that we cannot part with.

Elliott immediately saw the black Frisian rocking horse with the blue headdress and walked over and set it in motion. As it moved back and forth, he looked to his brother. It is the same.

There are two such finely carved horses, both with the same headdress; I believe Katherine also has kept hers. Hawke promised Marletta her own horse if she would take proper care of the rocking horse. This is how Marletta learned to saddle a horse; that saddle is removable. Whilst other girls played with dolls, Marletta saddled and dressed her wooden horse. Henrik grinned.

Elliott ran his hand along the horse’s mane then stooped to look at the feathered hooves. Such exquisite detail I have never seen, an exact replica of our own horses. Later that night Elliott drew an illustration of the wooden horse in his pictorial diary and in the lower right corner he signed EJ with a swirling B atop. He had personalized his own unique signature.

Elliott sat turning the small gold penknife that he used to sharpen his pencils over and over in his hand, thinking affectionately of the Duke of Argyle. Because of the French revolution he and his mother, the Duchess of Beaumont, had been given refuge at the Duke’s residence at Clancy House in Somerset, England. He stood putting the penknife in the inside pocket of his jacket, then patted the penknife as if to be reassured it was secure. He walked to the open window where he watched Henrik mount his horse and ride off, avoiding the stone drive so as not to make a sound. Elliott moved a chair to the window and in the dark he sat and waited for Henrik’s return. He inhaled the clear night air. The manor faced away from the main roads and Elliott thought Henrik went to meet someone near the Ems River that flowed along nearby. He could hear the sound of the marble horse fountain spurting water on the statue of children at play. Separating all the varying night noises he listened for the reverberation of hooves on grass or road. The pounding of hooves from a second horse coming from the west crossed over the main road then back down to the edge of the Ems. Hawke had trained him in envisioning sounds and senses.

An hour later he heard Henrik return and take the stairs two by two then as he passed by Elliott’s room gave a quick rap on the door. Get to bed.

Elliott sat at the window until he heard the second rider return from whence he came.

Henrik Berger was never apprehensive riding into the night; those that moved about in the darkness feared his presence. There was nothing he would not do to keep the Berger, Ortenberg holdings and the family secrets safe. He was a very powerful muscular man, as with his father Wolfe Berger, he was an impressive six foot four gentleman. His personality was very different from his gregarious affable father. Wolfe Berger was an entrepreneur and gambler, who over the years started up many businesses and abandoning one idea for another. He had a very casual attitude towards monetary things but luck and good fortune followed him. As such, his closest friends Count Ortenberg and Hawke went about protecting these extremely lucrative investments.

Henrik was the proprietor of the Blue Sapphire Inn but he had long decided that Georg’s youngest brother Peter Ortenberg’s personality was far better suited than he was to run the Inn. His interest was about the shipping fleet out of Amsterdam. Not only were the Berger warehouses located there but this was the source from where information flowed. Hans Brockman managed all the warehouses and he was the shipping agent and Commodore for the ship Louisa that carried cargo and passengers across the sea to Saint Maarten and for the ships Epona and Magnus, her armed protectors. Once Wolfe had assigned captains to these ships he generally had no interest in them; except for the Intrepid and Captain Hagen. The Intrepid, a fast neutral ship, moved dry goods and passengers usually sailing from Amsterdam, England and Frisian. But of late Captain Hagen and Hans Brockman both took their orders from Henrik Berger. The rider this night from Amsterdam delivered a verbal communique from Hans Brockman that had nothing to do with bills of lading.

The next morning Elliott and Henrik entered the large, third story room that once was Hawke’s place of solace. The room that had been simply furnished was now bare except for the enormous desk. Through the sunlight that entered the room one could see small particles of dust falling to settle on the desk and wooden floors. Elliott whispered to himself ‘ashes to ashes, dust to dust’ but one never forgets those who touch your heart. He assumed they were there to give their final goodbyes. He watched curiously as Henrik donned white cotton gloves, walking towards the end wall with a ledge used as a book shelf.

Henrik motioned to Elliott. Come, learn yet another secret of this room. Henrik moved the shelf sideways to expose another small metal enclosure and carefully removed three very ancient texts, placing them reverently on the white cloth he had spread on the floor. Hawke’s beloved treasures . . . These ancient manuscripts are from the scriptorium of Burgos . . . priceless. Islamic most sacred text, the Quran . . . Buddhism, the Sutras and Judaism the Tanach. Holy books which Hawke had read and absorbed to arrive at his own philosophy. Henrik folded the cloth about the books as if to ceremoniously preserve and not disturb the ancient consecrated writings.

Elliott returned to his own room to gather his few belongings. He picked up his cross bow, drawing back the string with two fingers and, taking aim, sent an imaginary arrow out the window. He ran his hand along the smooth surface of the bow, the hand carved initials WB could have represented his father Wolfe Berger but the bow had belonged to the pirate Wes Burros who had been an acquaintance of his father. He laid the bow and the quiver of arrows on his bed then picked up his diary and Hawke’s travel-worn duffle bag; as he turned the door handle he had second thoughts. He decided to remove one particular arrow from the quiver and put it in the same pocket as his precious penknife. He walked to the staircase; the entire manor was shrouded in white sheets to protect the furniture from the dust of the renovations.

As the two brothers half-heartedly prepared to depart Berger Manor, Aunt Elsbeth returned from her summer cottage to say her fare-be-wells. She had prepared potions and lotions for Marletta, medication for Count Bertram and his mother the Baroness and insisted that Elliott be able to explain to Countess Helene the recommended dosage.

Henrik smiled later commenting. You do understand that Elsbeth is chemist for all the personal products we use; the liqueurs and medicines.

Yes, I understand she is a close relative of Marletta’s and Katherine’s deceased mother. Elliott shrugged.

She is related to Count Ortenberg much the same as how you and I are related. Bertram has always treated her as a sister. Henrik motioned his horse to a swift gallop.

Not even the least bit surprised, Elliott also picked up the pace of his horse. Both Wolfe and Bertram treated everyone as if they were related . . . possibly because they were.

To understand the private conversation of the Berger brothers’ an eavesdropper must comprehend English, Frisian, French and Spanish . . . they had adapted certain foreign phases, dispersing them throughout their tête-à-tête.

Chapter 2

The Picnic and The Opera

The massive manor that was Ortenberg was lively and filled to the brim with opposing personalities but Count Bertram Ortenberg loved the sound and noises they created. Laughter and cries of children, and barking dogs so annoyed his mother the great Baroness Anna Ortenberg Von-Hoffberg that she retreated to her suite and visitation was by invitation only. This particular day, Marletta and Katherine were in disagreement regarding their half-brother Elliott. Bertram was surprised to discover that his niece Katherine, the most congenial person, could be just as stubborn about getting her way as Marletta. Louis and Basil, the sister’s husbands, left the room as soon as the heated discussion began. Over the past month the gentlemen had learned not to get involved in spats between the sisters. As if children, the sisters knocked upon Wolfe’s door hoping he would settle the dispute, only to find he had already left to practise his archery; possibly leaving by the back entrance intentionally or climbing out the window to avoid the postnatal ladies that were his daughters.

Count Ortenberg stood at the window of his study waiting for his middle son Oscar, who seemed to have gotten lost in the fray, to knock upon the door.

You wish to speak to me. Oscar spoke surly to his father.

Bertram, usually very good natured, frowned at his son. Come sit Bertram motioned.

Why, give me my inheritance and I shall be off. Oscar understood that he was about to be reprimanded and was more defensive than usual.

You would fritter away the money then run to your brother Peter for more. Bertram was angry that he had discovered his son was using his brother’s name at creditors.

Have you considered that it is Peter who owes monies to me? Oscar was insolent.

Bertram looked at his son and wondered why it was Peter that always took the blame for Oscar and dismayed that Oscar would so quickly put the fault on Peter. Perhaps it was because Bertram seemed to always forgive Peter for just about any mischief or behaviour, justifying that he was high spirited. Oscar seemed to lack personality; he was good looking, shorter stockier than his brothers but like the other two much taller than the short stout Count.

You take more interest in the penniless Louis Beaumont and his debased mother the Duchess of Beaumont. Oscar smirked. What of the accounts they have incurred?

Bertram felt like slapping his son instead shoved him into the chair. I will not allow anyone to speak of the Duchess in this manner. What bothers you so to speak ill . . . disrespect this family?

Send me away. I serve no useful purpose to you. Oscar whined.

Bertram looked at his son thinking that life was more difficult for a middle child but he had to take control of the situation for his son’s protection. What of Miss Deena Finsen, her father, a most respected doctor, thinks his daughter has been dishonoured waiting for your proposal? At this point Oscar softened, realising that the young girl was in love with him not Peter. Bertram smiled smugly to himself. What of Louis’s work to help build the best veterinary clinic? There is no one else with your abilities to nurture the health of our horses. Georg relies upon you.

Oscar’s thoughts dithered about thinking perhaps he would stay at home but Bertram wished otherwise when his son babbled. I have a buyer for Black Knight.

‘Idiot’ thought Bertram. Black Knight was Hawke’s horse . . . no other but Wolfe can manage him. Bertram frowned. The horse belongs to Wolfe not our stables.

Oscar smirked. WB seems branded onto everything that moves about this place.

Bertram disregarded Oscar’s response and went to kiss his son’s cheek patting him reassuringly on the shoulder. There’s a good lad . . . you and I will soon travel to Amsterdam.

Louis and Basil stood together outdoors watching the huge colourful red and white canopy being erected, fluttering in the wind as the stakes to secure it were pounded into the ground. Louis went in search of his dear wife Marletta, he seemed to be the only person that could console or reason with her. Marletta, you have travelled a long time with Elliott. You are closer to him than any other even to me his brother. Louis naturally had a sensual modulation to his voice, that others could not resist listening to even his most mundane dialogue.

"Yes, all the more reason we all should partake in the picnic." Marletta’s green eyes flashed.

Louis turned towards the library taking Marletta’s hand. Come sit with me awhile.

Marletta curled up beside her husband who put his arm about her, kissing her cheek. Katherine leaves on the morrow . . . she has not had the opportunity to spend time with Elliott.

What of Henrik and me . . . we four should be together for a picnic. Learn to be siblings together, if not for Wolfe we would have long been a family . . . I have known he was my brother only this past year . . . even Henrik knows him better. Marletta thought she was being reasonable.

Katherine only wants to be more acquainted with Elliott. Spend time as you have alone with him.

You see how it is with my father . . . it was Wolfe that sent my sister away. Marletta always blamed her father for her behaviour.

Louis did not blame Wolfe . . . he liked the man’s ability to be easily affectionate with everyone. We are all together for now. Let Katherine know you respect her feelings to have Elliott’s attention to herself.

Marletta pouted for a moment then jumped up. Katherine needs my assistance in the preparation. Marletta eyes widened. Surely she will allow me to help . . . it is I who knows Elliott the best . . . especially when it comes to his particular palate. Marletta flung back her long reddish blonde tresses and marched off to order about the kitchen staff.

Louis grinned thinking how fortunate he was to have such a wife and so many relatives; the Bastille seemed in the distant past.

Oscar wished Marletta and that boisterous Wolfe would leave on the morrow. He always preferred Katherine to Marletta, whom he considered conceited. He believed his father favoured Marletta more than his own sons; although he had come to respect Louis, his quiet loathing for Marletta increased each morning he rose to see her still at Ortenberg. When Marletta and Henrik left in search of Wolfe and Elliott more than a year earlier; Peter his younger brother and closest friend left to manage the Inn for Henrik. Oscar blamed Marletta for the separation. Oscar left the study smiling at Louis as if the meeting with his father went well. Louis was possibly the only one in the household that took any interest in him and it had been Louis that had coached Oscar to be honest and straight forward with his father, assuring him, that in time, Bertram would allow him to manage the veterinary clinic. Oscar then left the manor to ensure that the canopy, chairs and table were properly set for Katherine; his admiration for the countess never wavered even though she was now married to the commoner Basil Cipriano.

Some distance from the calamity at Ortenberg, Wolfe Berger sat on his horse watching Elliott and Henrik approach. As his sons got closer, he dismounted to greet them. He hugged Elliott first, roughing up his auburn curly hair before he hugged Henrik. Both were his sons but he could not help showing more love to Elliott. He was like a newborn and he wished to smell his young son’s hair.

Elliott, your sisters have lovingly arranged every hour of your social calendar. Wolfe laughed heartily. Hopefully you will not trip over your usual good-nature. I have an hour with you about four this afternoon.

Henrik, do you intend to stay for the evening meal? Wolfe spoke as he mounted his horse.

Henrik nodded. Later this night I return to the Blue Sapphire Inn.

When it is convenient, come to the east field. Wolfe quickly galloped away.

The brothers arrival at Ortenberg had Katherine’s daughter Anna running ahead of the others gleefully announcing, Uncle Elliott you are going on a picnic with mamma. Aunt Marletta is not invited and she is very, very angry. Basil gave his daughter a scowl leading her by the shoulders away from the gathering. The five year old future Marletta looked up to her father, taking his hand. Papa, sometimes I just cannot help myself, she said in her own defense.

Count Ortenberg laughed at the child’s comment as he hugged both men, kissing their cheeks. Welcome back to your family.

Marletta could not allow the Duchess to be first to greet them; she ran to her brothers to receive warm hugs before she stepped aside, holding on to Henrik’s arm as the rest of the family were properly greeted. Finally, Elliott had an opportunity to greet Basil. Tears filled his eyes as he watched Basil reach behind, taking young Luther’s hand to bring him forward. Little Anna curtsied and Luther held out his hand; forgetting all protocol Elliott stooped down to hug both of the children. As he stood he saw Katherine, his other sister, who believed everything had been decided to her satisfaction regally stroll towards him. She hugged and kissed her brother, taking his arm as she led him away to her private picnic.

Katherine squeezed Elliott’s arm My dear brother, we have only recently met and sadly I leave on the morrow. She smiled up at Elliott. The late Graf Friedrich Von Hessen, was neither a fit husband nor a loving father. Young women at times can be delusional, confusing love with infatuation; not learning enough about the true character of the man. My new husband Basil Cipriano is the best of men. With him I have learned how much a man can truly love a woman. I shall not allow my daughter Anna to marry until she is at least twenty plus years and of course Uncle Bertram will chose her husband.

Elliott finally laughed and hugged his sister as if he knew her his entire life.

Katherine knew much about Elliott and she wanted him to know about her life. When Basil whisked me off to the safety of his home, I lived with him as a wife for about a month before bringing Anna and Luther to live with us. I worried greatly about Luther because Von Hessen had so verbally abused him that at five he still wet himself. Perhaps because Basil was raised in an orphanage he was more understanding and loved my children as if they were his own. Basil from time to time journeys for Georg and had been away for a week returning early one morning very exhausted. As he climbed into bed Luther and Anna came running into our room excited that he was home and of course to see what gifts he brought. Both got into bed beside him cuddling up to him his arms were around both. Tired as he was he hugged them and began to tell a story. I watched from my dressing table as he fell asleep and my children did the same with their precious heads upon his chest. I stood to look upon the loving family I had always wanted.

Elliott stopped to hug his sister. Nothing is more important than feeling the love of family adopted or otherwise. I was fortunate to be loved by the Duke of Beaumont; surely he must have known I was not his son.

I love my adopted parents. Katherine laughed. Basil will love our baby Cassandra the same as Luther and Anna . . . Wolfe is Wolfe, we are both sired from his stable . . . Oh my, what a wickedly salacious thing to say.

The two found humour in talking about the family and Elliott became very relaxed with his newly discovered half-sister.

Marletta allowed the siblings to enjoy the many delicacies for about two hours before she hurriedly walked towards the picnic dressed in her bluish green velvet riding jacket over her suede riding britches. One sister elegantly dressed, the other defiant against the social restrictions of a properly dressed lady. Elliott stood to greet her as she plumped herself down on a chair under the canopy looking first at her sister then at Elliott. Well my dear brother what do you think of our sister? Is she not perfection? The servant placed a plate and utensils in front of her, which she began to fill, sampling this and that. All four of us should have lunched together but unfortunately Henrik and I had other plans. Marletta smiled pleasantly as she held court with her two younger siblings.

Elliott watched as his mother the Duchess of Beaumont walked between Basil and his brother Louis who was carrying his son James. He stood and hurried towards his mother; stooping to affectionately kiss her cheek.

Katherine rose to greet the Duchess. Louise, thank you. I have immensely enjoyed the picnic with our dear Elliott. After hugging the Duchess, Katherine took her husband Basil’s arm then smiled at Elliott as she took her leave. Elliott now sat holding James and surrounded with his Beaumont family.

The Duchess touched Elliott’s hand. This colourful canopy away from the others was an excellent idea. Katherine is very gracious.

Marletta rolled her eyes; and Louis chose to ignore his wife’s antics. Elliott smiled and continued to hold the child. I am your Uncle twice. He placed big ‘mmwhoa’ smacking kisses on James’ plump cheeks and belly making the child wiggle his little arms and legs about in delight. Elliott had protected Marletta through the pregnancy and stayed with her during the delivery. France may have confiscated much from the Beaumont Estate but they could never destroy the family . . . not this child, Louis’s son. James even in infancy seemed to have inherited the Berger family genes in looks and colouring but no matter, he was destined to become heir to the title of Duke of Beaumont.

Late in the afternoon Elliott’s social calendar finally cleared sufficiently to allow him to ride out to the east field.

Well son I see you survived the many individualities of your relatives. All gushing with love and affection until you desperately wish for solitude. Take care, my boy, that they do not stretch your patience thin. They are all impossible to appease . . . except Henrik and me, we have little expectations therefore not disappointed. Wolfe looked at Elliott’s boots then brushed imaginary particles from his son’s jacket. You cannot continue to wear my old clothes. Although Wolfe paid little attention to fashion he always managed to appear very stylish. The tan suede hunting jacket, his usual attire for archery, was the same mode as his old jacket that he had given to Elliott.

Georg has taken care of my wardrobe. Elliott shrugged. Apparently, I also have been given a monthly income.

Wolfe picked up his bow and handed it to Elliott. Ortenberg is under siege, the power struggles make me long for home.

I am most comfortable in your home. Elliott still needed reassurance.

It is your home. Wolfe frowned.

Elliott smiled. Yes, yes of course. I only wonder when we will return.

Wolfe laughed. You have only just arrived and already you wish to go home. Wolfe put his arm around Elliott and led him towards the target. Our home . . . the mistress of the manor will be a Duchess. Wolfe grinned. Do I have your consent to marry your mother?

Elliott could not resist the temptation to mimic Wolfe’s deadpan face. I shall take it under consideration . . . Do you need my permission?

Wolfe laughed. All business taken care of, Wolfe and Elliott focused on the bow with a much superior design than the one Elliott left at home. Wolfe discussed a new design he was considering; then father and son took turns hitting the target. Elliott’s expertise was now equal to that of his father.

Much to Oscar’s pleasure, the gregarious Peter and his little arrogant mutt arrived in the afternoon, lessening the attention given to Elliott. His father always in a more forgiving humour with Peter being at home. That evening Count Ortenberg was more than pleased that even his mother the Baroness Anna Ortenberg-Von Hoffberg acquiesced to join the family for the farewell dinner. Ortenberg’s lavish dining room easily accommodated the attendants and the fifteen adults of the Ortenberg, Berger, Beaumont and Cipriano families.

The Baroness was the matriarch of all those that sat at the table. Appropriately bejewelled and dressed, she spoke very little that evening; instead she sat pompously, as if in her private loge watching an Opera. The dinner table the stage and those sitting about the actors singing their words sometimes an aria soared above the rest but for the most part a choir of voices. The expressions and interactions told the tale far better than the mantra. Elliott, the newest member of the troop, was reassured by his brother Henrik. If the young man forgot his lines, the brother would place an encouraging arm about his shoulder. She never doubted the physical strength of Marletta even when she was most exasperated with her granddaughter but she was more aware than Marletta that she would never be part of the trio. She thought the next generation would be Georg at the head, his closest friend Henrik the protector and it would be Peter who would usurp Marletta. But, by the scene being played Henrik was the leader; Georg the power and Elliott the one they both protected . . . why, what parallels had she missed.

It was when Lady Vanessa, who was in her ninth month, became exceedingly uncomfortable that she realised what she knew but did not totally comprehend. Georg rose to assist his wife and Peter hurried over to help; as Peter passed by Basil he patted him on the shoulder to reassure him he was there for his cousin Vanessa. Both Hawke’s niece and nephew had married one of her grandchildren. Vanessa was much more than a sister-in-law to Peter and she knew the circumstances. The Ortenberg’s for generations controlled and recorded the majority of art owned by royal families and others who amassed fortunes from dubious funds. Her son Bertram was the current curator and he was training Georg as he had been educated by her father.

Through Wolfe and Hawke’s ingenuity they had amassed a huge fortune which belonged to the three families. Why had Wolfe been so important to Bertram and Hawke? No point watching Wolfe who had neither the inclination nor the ability to formulate a plan; it was Bertram that was the general. She recalled the circumstances surrounding Wolfe’s mother being protected by her father; apparently she had been a religious aficionado which drove her to an early grave. The Baroness suddenly realised the part that her goddaughter Princess Alena might play; stunned she looked at Bertram amazed at the devious mastermind of her son.

The Baroness’s annoyance grew considerably as she watched her son’s laughing face, Bertram immensely enjoyed being with all the actors at the table. She picked up her napkin and tossed it on her plate; suddenly all conversation ceased and the actors rose from their seats. Bertram wondered what etiquette offence had he committed as he escorted his mother from the room.

Puppets strings do get tangled . . . it requires a great deal of mental agility to manage them all. With that the Baroness retired to her room. Bertram scratched the bristles on his face for a moment, shrugging he smoothed the vest over his portly belly then returned to his place on stage.

Later, Count Bertram leaned back in his worn dark-green leather chair, putting his feet on the desk and unbuttoned his vest weary of the celebrations. Wolfe reached across the desk to remove a thin cigar from the humidor. As he lit the cigar Henrik, Georg and Elliott entered the study. Bertram was in no mood to be bothered by the trio. He motioned to Georg for the three heirs to go to the hidden study to discuss their business. Obeying their elders, the three disappeared behind the tapestry. Elliott surmised that only Count Ortenberg and Georg had the five leaf clover design embossed watch necessary to open the door to the secret area beneath the study. He watched as Georg inserted the time piece into three clovers turning them. One turned right and two turned left; the panels in this inner room were covered in the leaf design. One had to know which clovers would recess and which direction to turn them before the secret door would slide back into the wall.

As Elliott descended the ancient stone stairs he was relieved to see that the three crypts were no longer in the immediate area; he assumed they were now hidden behind the massive door that entombed other ancient artifacts and ledgers. But this was not what Georg wanted to discuss.

My Uncle Johan Von Hoffberg does not want to be responsible for the late Graf Von Hessen estate. We must manage this atrocity. Georg was infuriated. Von Hessen so arranged his will that only his son, Luther, a child he abused, is heir to the entire estate and titles. No annual income for his daughter, Anna and Katherine is not to receive any benefits. All properties given to Katherine during or before the marriage have been entailed through to Luther.

Georg waved an official letter. Hamburg, because of our connections, will agree to allow the art, jewelry and some artifacts to be returned to our family. Most of these were already removed last year by my Uncle and father. However, the royal families are insistent that Luther be presented at court and maintain the name Graf Luther Friedrich Von Hessen.

Georg paused. I have been declared the child’s legal guardian and executor of Von Hessen’s will. Perhaps we can be grateful that he had no other relatives.

Elliott’s feelings of guilt returned. Why would Katherine’s adoptive father not intervene?

Such a difficult situation . . . we negotiate with the Ortenberg name. We cannot afford to have enemies at the Hamburg Court.

Elliott was annoyed at the comment. We seem more concerned with properties than Luther’s welfare.

Georg touched Elliott’s hand. No, no we are only appearing to negotiate. Basil Cipriano is now Luther’s father and always will be. You see how much he loves and protects the boy. Georg poured drinks for the three. In a couple of months I will travel with Katherine and Luther to Hamburg. I assure you Basil Cipriano will at all times be nearby to protect his family Georg quickly drank his brandy. Marletta will be wearing her britches during my absence from Ortenberg.

Elliott laughed heartily much like his father.

Henrik frowned. Is Marletta aware of the situation?

Georg shook his head. Nay, but I have her confidence. Neither Marletta nor Katherine are aware of the implications. Georg slowly grinned taking another drink. "Marletta anticipates