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  • #7550

    The fair was in full swing, with vibrant tents and colourful stalls bursting with activity. The smell of freshly popped corn mingled with the fragrance of exotic spices and the occasional whiff of magical incense. Frella turned her attention back to setting up her own booth. Her thoughts were a swirl of anxiety and curiosity. Malové’s sudden appearance at the fair could not be a mere coincidence, especially given the recent disruptions in the coven.

    Unbeknownst to Frella, Cedric Spellbind was nearby. His eyes, though hidden behind a pair of dark glasses, were fixated on Frella. He was torn between his duty to MAMA and his growing affection for her. He juggled his phone, checking missed calls and messages, while trying to keep a discreet distance. But he was drawn to her like moth to flame.

    As Frella was adjusting her booth, she felt a sudden chill and turned to find herself face-to-face with Cedric. He quickly removed his glasses and their eyes met; Cedric’s heart skipped a beat.

    Frella’s gaze was guarded. “Can I help you with something?” she asked, her tone icily polite.

    Cedric, flustered, stammered, “I—uh—I’m just here to, um, look around. Your booth looks, uh, fascinating.”

    Frella raised an eyebrow. “I see. Well, enjoy the fair.” She turned back to her preparations, but not before noticing a fleeting look of hurt in Cedric’s eyes.

    Cedric moved away, wrestling with his conflicting emotions. He checked to make sure his tracker was working, which tracked not just Frella’s movements  but those of her companions. He was determined to protect her from any potential threat, even if it meant risking his own standing with MAMA.

    As the day progressed, the fair continued to buzz with magical energy and intrigue. Frella worked her booth, engaging with curious tourists, all suitably fascinated with the protective qualities of hinges. Suddenly, Frella’s attention was drawn away from her display by a burst of laughter and squeals coming from nearby. Curiosity piqued, she made her way toward the source of the commotion.

    As she approached, she saw a crowd had gathered around a small, ornate tent. The tent’s entrance was framed by shimmering curtains, and an enchanting aroma of lavender and spices wafted through the air. Through the gaps in the curtains, Frella could see an array of magical trinkets and curiosities.Just as she was about to step closer, a peculiar sight caught her eye. Emerging from the tent was a girl wearing a rather large cloak and closely followed by a black cat. The girl looked bewildered, her wide eyes taking in the bustling fairground.

    Frella, intrigued and somewhat amused, approached the girl. “Hello there! I couldn’t help but notice you seem a bit lost. Are you okay?”

    The girl’s expression was a mix of confusion and wonder. “Oh, hello! I’m Arona, and this is Mandrake,” she said, bending down and patting the black cat, who gave a nonchalant twitch of his tail. “We were just trying to find the library in my time, and now we’re here. This isn’t a library by any chance?”

    Frella raised her eyebrows. “A library? No, this is a fair—a magical fair, to be precise.”

    Arona’s eyes widened further as she looked around again. “A fair? Well, it does explain the odd contraptions and the peculiar people. Anyway, that will teach me to use one of Sanso’s old time-travelling devices.”

    Truella wandered over to join the conversation, her curiosity evident. “Time-travelling device? That sounds fascinating. How did you end up here?”

    Arona looked sheepish. “I was trying to retrieve a rare book from a past century, and it seems I got my coordinates mixed up. Instead of the library, I ended up at this… um … delightful fair.”

    Frella chuckled. “Well, don’t worry, we can help you get back on track. Maybe we can find someone who can help with your time-travelling predicament.”

    Arona smiled, relieved. “Thank you! I really didn’t mean to intrude. And Mandrake here is quite good at keeping me company, but he’s not much help with directions.”

    Mandrake rolled his eyes and turned away, his disinterest in the conversation evident.

    As Frella and Truella led Arona to a quieter corner of the fair, Cedric Spellbind observed the scene with growing interest. His eyes were glued to Frella, but the appearance of the time-travelling girl and her cat added a new layer of intrigue. Cedric’s mission to spy on Frella had just taken an unexpected turn.

    #7549
    TracyTracy
    Participant

      The Tailor of Haddon
      Wibberly and Newton of Over Haddon

       

      It was noted in the Bakewell parish register in 1782 that John Wibberly 1705?-1782 (my 6x great grandfather) was “taylor of Haddon”.

      Taylor of Haddon

       

      James Marshall 1767-1848 (my 4x great grandfather), parish clerk of Elton, married Ann Newton 1770-1806 in Elton in 1792. In the Bakewell parish register, Ann was baptised on the 2rd of June 1770, her parents George and Dorothy Newton of Upper Haddon. The Bakewell registers at the time covered several smaller villages in the area, although what is currently known as Over Haddon was referred to as Upper Haddon in the earlier entries.

       

      Newton:

      George Newton 1728-1798 was the son of George Newton 1706- of Upper Haddon and Jane Sailes, who were married in 1727, both of Upper Haddon.

      George Newton born in 1706 was the son of George Newton 1676- and Anne Carr, who were married in 1701, both of Upper Haddon.

      George Newton born in 1676 was the son of John Newton 1647- and Alice who were married in 1673 in Bakewell. There is no last name for Alice on the marriage transcription.

      John Newton born in 1647 (my 9x great grandfather) was the son of John Newton and Anne Buxton (my 10x great grandparents), who were married in Bakewell in 1636.

      1636 marriage of John Newton and Anne Buxton:

      John Newton Anne Buxton

       

       

      Wibberly

      Dorothy Wibberly 1731-1827 married George Newton in 1755 in Bakewell. The entry in the parish registers says that they were both of Over Haddon. Dorothy was baptised in Bakewell on the 25th June 1731, her parents were John and Mary of Over Haddon.

      Dorothy Wibberly

       

      John Wibberly and Mary his wife baptised nine children in Bakewell between 1730 and 1750, and on all of the entries in the parish registers it is stated that they were from Over Haddon. A parish register entry for John and Mary’s marriage has not yet been found, but a marriage in Beeley, a tiny nearby village, in 1728 to Mary Mellor looks likely.

      John Wibberly died in Over Haddon in 1782. The entry in the Bakewell parish register notes that he was “taylor of Haddon”.

      The tiny village of Over Haddon was historically associated with Haddon Hall.

      A baptism for John Wibberly has not yet been found, however, there were Wibersley’s in the Bakewell registers from the early 1600s:

      1619 Joyce Wibersley married Raphe Cowper.
      1621 Jocosa Wibersley married Radulphus Cowper
      1623 Agnes Wibersley married Richard Palfreyman
      1635 Cisley Wibberlsy married ? Mr. Mason
      1653 John Wibbersly married Grace Dayken

       

      Haddon Hall

      Haddon hall

       

      Sir Richard Vernon (c. 1390 – 1451) of Haddon Hall.
      Vernon’s property was widespread and varied. From his parents he inherited the manors of Marple and Wibersley, in Cheshire. Perhaps the Over Haddon Wibersley’s origins were from Sir Richard Vernon’s property in Cheshire. There is, however, a medieval wayside cross called Whibbersley Cross situated on Leash Fen in the East Moors of the Derbyshire Peak District. It may have served as a boundary cross marking the estate of Beauchief Abbey. Wayside crosses such as this mostly date from the 9th to 15th centuries.

      Found in both The History and Antiquities of Haddon Hall by S Raynor, 1836, and the 1663 household accounts published by Lysons, Haddon Hall had 140 domestic staff.

      In the book Haddon Hall, an Illustrated Guide, 1871, an example from the 1663 Christmas accounts:

      Haddon Hall accounts

      Haddon Accounts

       

      Also in this book, an early 1600s “washing tally” from Haddon Hall:

      washing tally

       

      Over Haddon

      Martha Taylor, “the fasting damsel”, was born in Over Haddon in 1649. She didn’t eat for almost two years before her death in 1684. One of the Quakers associated with the Marshall Quakers of Elton, John Gratton, visited the fasting damsel while he was living at Monyash, and occasionally “went two miles to see a woman at Over Haddon who pretended to live without meat.” from The Reliquary, 1861.

      #7548
      TracyTracy
      Participant

        Elton Marshall’s

        Early Quaker Emigrants to USA.

         

        The earliest Marshall in my tree is Charles Marshall (my 5x great grandfather), Overseer of the Poor and Churchwarden of Elton. His 1819 gravestone in Elton says he was 77 years old when he died, indicating a birth in 1742, however no baptism can be found.

        According to the Derbyshire records office, Elton was a chapelry of Youlgreave until 1866. The Youlgreave registers date back to the mid 1500s, and there are many Marshalls in the registers from 1559 onwards. The Elton registers however are incomplete due to fire damage.

        While doing a google books search for Marshall’s of Elton, I found many American family history books mentioning Abraham Marshall of Gratton born in 1667, who became a Quaker aged 16, and emigrated to Pennsylvania USA in 1700. Some of these books say that Abraham’s parents were Humphrey Marshall and his wife Hannah Turner. (Gratton is a tiny village next to Elton, also in Youlgreave parish.)

        Abraham’s son born in USA was also named Humphrey. He was a well known botanist.

        Abraham’s cousin John Marshall, also a Quaker, emigrated from Elton to USA in 1687, according to these books.

        (There are a number of books on Colonial Families in Pennsylvania that repeat each other so impossible to cite the original source)

        colonial books

         

        In the Youlgreave parish registers I found a baptism in 1667 for Humphrey Marshall son of Humphrey and Hannah. I didn’t find a baptism for Abraham, but it looks as though it could be correct. Abraham had a son he named Humphrey. But did it just look logical to whoever wrote the books, or do they know for sure? Did the famous botanist Humphrey Marshall have his own family records? The books don’t say where they got this information.

        An earlier Humphrey Marshall was baptised in Youlgreave in 1559, his father Edmund. And in 1591 another Humphrey Marshall was baptised, his father George.

        But can we connect these Marshall’s to ours? We do have an Abraham Marshall, grandson of Charles, born in 1792. The name isn’t all that common, so may indicate a family connection. The villages of Elton, Gratton and Youlgreave are all very small and it would seem very likely that the Marshall’s who went the USA are related to ours, if not brothers, then probably cousins.

         

        Derbyshire Quakers

        In “Derbyshire Quakers 1650-1761” by Helen Forde:

        “… Friends lived predominantly in the northern half of the country during this first century of existence. Numbers may have been reduced by emigration to America and migration to other parts of the country but were never high and declined in the early eighteenth century. Predominantly a middle to lower class group economically, Derbyshire Friends numbered very few wealthy members. Many were yeoman farmers or wholesalers and it was these groups who dominated the business meetings having time to devote themselves to the Society. Only John Gratton of Monyash combined an outstanding ministry together with an organising ability which brought him recognition amongst London Friends as well as locally. Derbyshire Friends enjoyed comparatively harmonious relations with civil and Anglican authorities, though prior to the Toleration Act of 1639 the priests were their worst persecutors…..”

        Also mentioned in this book: There were monthly meetings in Elton, as well as a number of other nearby places.
        John Marshall of Elton 1682/3 appears in a list of Quaker emigrants from Derbyshire.

        Quaker Emigrants

         

        The following image is a page from the 1753 book on the sufferings of Quakers by Joseph Besse as an example of some of the persecutions of Quakers in Derbyshire in the 1600s:

        A collection of the sufferings of the people called Quakers, for the testimony of a good conscience from the time of their being first distinguished by that name in the year 1650 to the time of the act commonly called the Act of toleration granted to Protestant dissenters in the first year of the reign of King William the Third and Queen Mary in the year 1689 (Volume 1)
        Besse, Joseph. 1753

        Note the names Margaret Marshall and Anne Staley.  This book would appear to contradict Helen Forde’s statement above about the harmonious relations with Anglican authority.

        Quaker Sufferings

         

         

        The Botanist

        Humphry Marshall 1722-1801 was born in Marshallton, Pennsylvania, the son of the immigrant from Elton, Abraham Marshall.  He was the cousin of botanists John Bartram and William Bartram. Like many early American botanists, he was a Quaker. He wrote his first book, A Few Observations Concerning Christ, in 1755.

        Humphry marshall book

         

        In 1785, Marshall published Arbustrum Americanum: The American Grove, an Alphabetical Catalogue of Forest Trees and Shrubs, Natives of the American United States (Philadelphia).

        Marshall has been called the “Father of American Dendrology”.

        A genus of plants, Marshallia, was named in honor of Humphry Marshall and his nephew Moses Marshall, also a botanist.

        In 1848 the Borough of West Chester established the Marshall Square Park in his honor. Marshall Square Park is four miles east of Marshallton.

        via Wikipedia.

         

        From The History of Chester County Pennsylvania, 1881, by J Smith Futhey and Gilbert Cope:

        Marshallton

         

        From The Chester Country History Center:

        “Immediately on the Receipt of your Letter, I ordered a Reflecting Telescope for you which was made accordingly. Dr. Fothergill had since desired me to add a Microscope and Thermometer, and will
        pay for the whole.’

        – Benjamin Franklin to Humphry, March 18, 1770

        “In his lifetime, Humphry Marshall made his living as a stonemason, farmer, and miller, but eventually became known for his contributions to astronomy, meteorology, agriculture, and the natural sciences.

        In 1773, Marshall built a stone house with a hothouse, a botanical laboratory, and an observatory for astronomical studies. He established an arboretum of native trees on the property and the second botanical garden in the nation (John Bartram, his cousin, had the first). From his home base, Humphry expanded his botanical plant exchange business and increased his overseas contacts. With the help of men like Benjamin Franklin and the English botanist Dr. John Fothergill, they eventually included German, Dutch, Swedish, and Irish plant collectors and scientists. Franklin, then living in London, introduced Marshall’s writings to the Royal Society in London and both men encouraged Marshall’s astronomical and botanical studies by supplying him with books and instruments including the latest telescope and microscope.

        Marshall’s scientific work earned him honorary memberships to the American Philosophical Society and the Philadelphia Society for Promoting Agriculture, where he shared his ground-breaking ideas on scientific farming methods. In the years before the American Revolution, Marshall’s correspondence was based on his extensive plant and seed exchanges, which led to further studies and publications. In 1785, he authored his magnum opus, Arbustum Americanum: The American Grove. It is a catalog of American trees and shrubs that followed the Linnaean system of plant classification and was the first publication of its kind.”

        Humphry signature

        #7546
        TracyTracy
        Participant

          The Potters of Darley Bridge

          Rebecca Knowles 1745-1823, my 5x great grandmother, married Charles Marshall 1742-1819, the churchwarden of Elton, in Darley, Derbyshire, in 1767. Rebecca was born in Darley in 1745, the youngest child of Roger Knowles 1695-1784, and Martha Potter 1702?-1772.

          Although Roger and Martha were both from Darley, they were married in South Wingfield by licence in 1724. Roger’s occupation on the marriage licence was lead miner. (Lead miners in Derbyshire at that time usually mined their own land.) Jacob Potter signed the licence so I assumed that Jacob Potter was her father.

           

          marriage Roger Knowles

           

          I then found the will of Jacobi Potter who died in 1719. However, he signed the will James Potter. Jacobi is latin for James. James Potter mentioned his daughter Martha in his will “when she comes of age”. Martha was the youngest child of James. James also mentioned in his will son James AND son Jacob, so there were both James’s and Jacob’s in the family, although at times in the documents James is written as Jacobi!

           

          1720 will James Potter

           

          Jacob Potter who signed Martha’s marriage licence was her brother Jacob.

          Martha’s brother James mentioned his sister Martha Knowles in his 1739 will, as well as his brother Jacob and his brother Joseph.

           

          James Potter will

           

          Martha’s father James Potter mentions his wife Ann in his 1719 will. James Potter married Ann Waterhurst in 1690 in Wirksworth, some seven miles from Darley. James occupation was innkeeper at Darley Bridge.

          I did a search for Waterhurst (there was only a transcription available for that marriage, not a microfilm) and found no Waterhursts anywhere, but I did find many Warhursts in Derbyshire. In the older records, Warhust is also spelled Wearhurst and in a number of other ways. A Martha Warhurst died in Peak Forest, Derbyshire, in 1681.  Her husbands name was missing from the deteriorated register pages.  This may or may not be Martha Potter’s grandmother: the records for the 1600s are scanty if they exist at all, and often there are bits missing and illegible entries.

          The only inn at Darley Bridge was The Three Stags Heads, by the bridge. It is now a listed building, and was on a medieval packhorse route. The current building was built in 1736, however there is a late 17th century section at rear of the cross wing. The Three Stags Heads was up for sale for £430,000 in 2022, the closure a result of the covid pandemic.

           

          Three Stags Heads

           

          Another listed building in Darley Bridge is Potters Cottage, with a plaque above the door that says “Jonathan and Alice Potter 1763”. Jonathan Potter 1725-1785 was James grandson, the son of his son Charles Potter 1691-1752. His son Charles was also an innkeeper at Darley Bridge: James left the majority of his property to his son Charles.

           

          Charles Potter

           

          Charles is the only child of James Potter that we know the approximate date of birth, because his age was on his grave stone.  I haven’t found any of their baptisms, but did note that many Potters were baptised in non conformist registers in Chesterfield.

           

          Potters Cottage

          Potters Cottage

           

          Jonathan Potter of Potters Cottage married Alice Beeley in 1748.

          “Darley Bridge was an important packhorse route across the River Derwent. There was a packhorse route from here up to Beeley Moor via Darley Dale. A reference to this bridge appears in 1504… Not far to the north of the bridge at Darley Dale is Church Lane; in 1635 it was known as Ghost Lane after a Scottish pedlar was murdered there. Pedlars tended to be called Scottish only because they sold cheap Scottish linen.”

          via Derbyshire Heritage website.

          According to Wikipedia, the bridge dates back to the 15th century.

          #7544
          TracyTracy
          Participant

            Youlgreave

            The Frost Family and The Big Snow

             

            The Youlgreave parish registers are said to be the most complete and interesting in the country. Starting in 1558, they are still largely intact today.

            “The future historian of this parish will find a vast stock of material ready to hand, and if such a work was ever accomplished it would once more be seen how the history of even a remote village is but the history of the nation in little; how national victories were announced on the church bells, and national disasters by the proclamation of a form of prayer…”

            J. Charles Cox, Notes on the Churches of Derbyshire, 1877.

            Youlgreave registers

             

            Although the Youlgreave parish registers are available online on microfilm, just the baptisms, marriages and burials are provided on the genealogy websites. However, I found some excerpts from the churchwardens accounts in a couple of old books, The Reliquary 1864, and Notes on Derbyshire Churches 1877.

            churchwardens accounts

            Hannah Keeling, my 4x great grandmother, was born in Youlgreave, Derbyshire, in 1767. In 1791 she married Edward Lees of Hartington, Derbyshire, a village seven and a half miles south west of Youlgreave. Edward and Hannah’s daughter Sarah Lees, born in Hartington in 1808, married Francis Featherstone in 1835. The Featherstone’s were farmers. Their daughter Emma Featherstone married John Marshall from Elton. Elton is just three miles from Youlgreave, and there are a great many Marshall’s in the Youlgreave parish registers, some no doubt distantly related to ours.

            Hannah Keeling’s parents were John Keeling 1734-1823, and Ellen Frost 1739-1805, both of Youlgreave.
            On the burial entry in the parish registers in Youlgreave in 1823, John Keeling was 88 years old when he died, and was the “late parish clerk”, indicating that my 5x great grandfather played a part in compiling the “best parish registers in the country”. In 1762 John’s father in law John Frost died intestate, and John Keeling, cordwainer, co signed the documents with his mother in law Ann. John Keeling was a shoe maker and a parish clerk.

            John Keeling

             

            John Keeling’s father was Thomas Keeling, baptised on the 9th of March 1709 in Youlgreave and his parents were John Keeling and Ann Ashmore. John and Ann were married on the 6th April 1708. Some of the transcriptions have Thomas baptised in March 1708, which would be a month before his parents married. However, this was before the Julian calendar was replaced by the Gregorian calendar, and prior to 1752 the new year started on the 25th of March, therefore the 9th of March 1708 was eleven months after the 6th April 1708.

            Thomas Keeling married Dorothy, which we know from the baptism of John Keeling in 1734, but I have not been able to find their marriage recorded. Until I can find my 6x great grandmother Dorothy’s maiden name, I am unable to trace her family further back.

            Unfortunately I haven’t found a baptism for Thomas’s father John Keeling, despite that there are Keelings in the Youlgrave registers in the early 1600s, possibly it is one of the few illegible entries in these registers.

            The Frosts of Youlgreave

            Ellen Frost’s father was John Frost, born in Youlgreave in 1707. John married Ann Staley of Elton in 1733 in Youlgreave.

            (Note that this part of the family tree is the Marshall side, but we also have Staley’s in Elton on the Warren side. Our branch of the Elton Staley’s moved to Stapenhill in the mid 1700s. Robert Staley, born 1711 in Elton, died in Stapenhill in 1795. There are many Staley’s in the Youlgreave parish registers, going back to the late 1500s.)

            John Frost (my 6x great grandfather), miner, died intestate in 1762 in Youlgreave. Miner in this case no doubt means a lead miner, mining his own land (as John Marshall’s father John was in Elton. On the 1851 census John Marshall senior was mining 9 acres). Ann Frost, as the widow and relict of the said deceased John Frost, claimed the right of administration of his estate. Ann Frost (nee Staley) signed her own name, somewhat unusual for a woman to be able to write in 1762, as well as her son in law John Keeling.

            Frost and keeling

             

            John’s parents were David Frost and Ann. David was baptised in 1665 in Youlgreave. Once again, I have not found a marriage for David and Ann so I am unable to continue further back with her family. Marriages were often held in the parish of the bride, and perhaps those neighbouring parish records from the 1600s haven’t survived.

            David’s parents were William Frost and Ellen (or Ellin, or Helen, depending on how the parish clerk chose to spell it). Once again, their marriage hasn’t been found, but was probably in a neighbouring parish.

            William Frost’s wife Ellen, my 8x great grandmother, died in Youlgreave in 1713. In her will she left her daughter Catherine £20. Catherine was born in 1665 and was apparently unmarried at the age of 48 in 1713. She named her son Isaac Frost (born in 1662) executor, and left him the remainder of her “goods, chattels and cattle”.

            Ellens will

             

            William Frost was baptised in Youlgreave in 1627, his parents were William Frost and Anne.
            William Frost senior, husbandman, was probably born circa 1600, and died intestate in 1648 in Middleton, Youlgreave. His widow Anna was named in the document. On the compilation of the inventory of his goods, Thomas Garratt, Will Melland and A Kidiard are named.

            (Husbandman: The old word for a farmer below the rank of yeoman. A husbandman usually held his land by copyhold or leasehold tenure and may be regarded as the ‘average farmer in his locality’. The words ‘yeoman’ and ‘husbandman’ were gradually replaced in the later 18th and 19th centuries by ‘farmer’.)

            Unable to find a baptism for William Frost born circa 1600, I read through all the pages of the Youlgreave parish registers from 1558 to 1610. Despite the good condition of these registers, there are a number of illegible entries. There were three Frost families baptising children during this timeframe and one of these is likely to be Willliam’s.

            Baptisms:
            1581 Eliz Frost, father Michael.
            1582 Francis f Michael. (must have died in infancy)
            1582 Margaret f William.
            1585 Francis f Michael.
            1586 John f Nicholas.
            1588 Barbara f Michael.
            1590 Francis f Nicholas.
            1591 Joane f Michael.
            1594 John f Michael.
            1598 George f Michael.
            1600 Fredericke (female!) f William.

            Marriages in Youlgreave which could be William’s parents:
            1579 Michael Frost Eliz Staley
            1587 Edward Frost Katherine Hall
            1600 Nicholas Frost Katherine Hardy.
            1606 John Frost Eliz Hanson.

            Michael Frost of Youlgreave is mentioned on the Derbyshire Muster Rolls in 1585.

            (Muster records: 1522-1649. The militia muster rolls listed all those liable for military service.)

            Frideswide:

            A burial is recorded in 1584 for Frideswide Frost (female) father Michael. As the father is named, this indicates that Frideswide was a child.

            (Frithuswith, commonly Frideswide c. 650 – 19 October 727), was an English princess and abbess. She is credited as the foundress of a monastery later incorporated into Christ Church, Oxford. She was the daughter of a sub-king of a Merica named Dida of Eynsham whose lands occupied western Oxfordshire and the upper reaches of the River Thames.)

            An unusual name, and certainly very different from the usual names of the Frost siblings. As I did not find a baptism for her, I wondered if perhaps she died too soon for a baptism and was given a saints name, in the hope that it would help in the afterlife, given the beliefs of the times. Or perhaps it wasn’t an unusual name at the time in Youlgreave. A Fridesweda Gilbert was buried in Youlgreave in 1604, the spinster daughter of Francis Gilbert. There is a small brass effigy in the church, underneath is written “Frideswide Gilbert to the grave, Hath resigned her earthly part…”

            Frideswide

            J. Charles Cox, Notes on the Churches of Derbyshire, 1877.

             

            King James

            A parish register entry in 1603:
            “1603 King James of Skottland was proclaimed kinge of England, France and Ireland at Bakewell upon Monday being the 29th of March 1603.”  (March 1603 would be 1604, because of the Julian calendar in use at the time.)

            King James

             

            The Big Snow

            “This year 1614/5 January 16th began the greatest snow whichever fell uppon the earth within man’s memorye. It covered the earth fyve quarters deep uppon the playne. And for heaps or drifts of snow, they were very deep; so that passengers both horse or foot passed over yates, hedges and walles. ….The spring was so cold and so late that much cattel was in very great danger and some died….”

            The Big Snow

            From the Youlgreave parish registers.

            Our ancestor William Frost born circa 1600 would have been a teenager during the big snow.

            #7540

            “When did you arrive?” asked Truella when they found her in her at her Cloacina booth in faux-fur waterproof boots and a faux-bear-fur cape with a waterproofed silk hood to protect her perfect hairdo from the incessant drizzle. It gave her a look of one of those Fantasy warrior-goddess ready to intervene at the last minute to save her chosen champions from complete destruction by the forces of evil.

            Venus Cloacina Loos

            “Well, I’ve been there all along,” retorted the glamour witch, moving two little loos in front of the booth closer together. “I’ve been living in Limerick since the start of this story, even if it wasn’t clear where. Granny Linda thinks I’m living in Glamorheaven and Finnley think I’m living in London, but I’m pretty sure it’s Limerick. At least it is in my mind manor,” she said as if for herself. “There!” she said. Her face lit up as she just found the perfect orientation for the loos. “Don’t those miniature loos look cute?”

            “Sure,” said Truella. At the same time she looked at Frella as if their friend had gone nut.

            “Don’t ask me,” said Frella. “I didn’t make the selection of the goddesses for the olympic set.”

            Jeezel took three cups, dipped them into one of the toilet bowl and offered them to her friends to drink.

            Truella grimaced.

            “I prefer not to drink that early in the morning,” said Frella with a polite smile.

            Jeezel lifted the cup to her nose and inhaled deeply before taking a sip. “It’s connected to the purest water source on Earth through a little time sewer spell coupled with a little pump and filter and a nice chime when you throw your worries in. It’s perfectly safe and drinkable sparkling water, and it smells of roses.”

            “My gran used to spray rose scent in the bathroom after she used it,” said Truella, cackling nervously.

            Frella took the cup, smelled it and continued smiling.

            “Anyways, those cuties are for the cleansing prayers,” said Jeezel. “Cleansing and release,” she added pointing her finger up at the banner. “That’s Cloacina’s motto. At least at this booth. And, as I’m sure you asked, I didn’t answer all your messages because I’ve been kept busy with preparing all of those. Here, Truelle, take one of those Sacred Bath Salts. I have two flavors, Moonlight Mist and Sunset Serenity. Take the second one, it’s a blend of Himalayan pink salt and rose petals. It’ll help keep you warm as the salts will absorb the extra humidity, and as an extra it’ll make you think of your gran”, she added with a grin. “As for my friend Frella…”

            Truella grabbed the pouch of salts and smelled it. “The smell is not so bad,” she conceded. “And Bubona knows I need their warming qualities,” she said shaking her head to get rid of irritating water drops.

            Jeezel then turned to the potion and elixirs section. “No, not purification for Frella, and neither of you need the Lover’s Elixir… Oh! Here it is, take that. A soap made of goat’s milk, honey and calendula oil for radiant skin. And good to keep the hinges perfectly oiled. And as my future gran will say, remember, keeping those hinges oiled is key to avoiding squeaky situations.”

            Frella took the soap and chuckled. “Thanks.” She scratched the surface with her nail. “It’s seems good quality. And it smells good. That reminds me I have to prepare my own booth. See you later girls.”

            As soon as she left. Truella leaned towards her friend and asked in a conspiratory voice: “Did you know Malove was here?”

            “What?”

            #7531
            TracyTracy
            Participant

              Rose lens

              The rose coloured spectacle lens.

               

              Aunt Idle:

              “Well, crikey, finding one pink sunglass lens on the road is quite the curiosity, isn’t it? Let’s delve into the symbolic undertones of such an odd discovery. Pink lens, no less—a splash of color with quite the story to tell.

              1. Seeing the World through Rose-Tinted Glasses: Finding a pink sunglass lens can symbolize optimism and seeing the world in a positive light. But here’s the kicker—it’s just one lens. This suggests a duality; perhaps you’re being asked to blend optimism with realism. Life isn’t always about sunshine and rainbows, but choosing to see the bright side can balance out the darker shades.

              2. Fragmented Perspectives: A single lens means you don’t have the full picture. You’re seeing things partially, which can indicate missing information or a need to look at situations from multiple angles. It’s a nudge to take off those blinders and open your other eye, figuratively speaking. You might be clinging to a half-truth or ignoring an important aspect of your life.

              3. Lost and Found: In practical terms, a lone lens on the road means someone has lost it. It’s a signifier of separation, maybe something in your life has split or broken apart. It can be a gentle reminder to look into areas where you might have lost connection—be it with loved ones, a project, or even a part of yourself.

              4. Symbol of Love and Compassion: Pink is often associated with love, compassion, and femininity. The lens could be a reminder to look at things with kindness and empathy. Perhaps there’s a situation in your life that requires a softer, more loving approach.

              5. Hindsight and Insight: The road is a metaphor for your life’s journey. Finding the lens there might hint at reflecting on past experiences (hindsight) while gaining new understanding or clarity (insight). Maybe there’s an opportunity to learn from what’s happened and apply it moving forward, seeing things with fresh, yet incomplete, clarity.

              Putting it in Truella’s Context: If Truella found this lens, it could be a sign she needs to reassess her current path or research direction. Her overwhelming stack of books and discovery of the ancient manuscript hint at a bigger picture she might not be seeing clearly yet. Perhaps she’s overly focused on one aspect and neglecting others.

              Personal Symbolism for Aunt Idle: For you, Aunt Idle, this lens could be a cheeky nudge to reassess some of your adventurous antics and half-remembered tales. Maybe there’s an old mystery or a relationship needing a fresh perspective. Or it’s just life’s way of saying, “Look closer, love—you might be missing out!”

              In any case, a single pink sunglass lens is a quirky, delightful piece of life’s puzzle, inviting you to ponder, reflect, and adjust your view. So, next time you’re journeying on the dusty roads of life and stumble upon such oddities, take a moment—there just might be a zinger of wisdom waiting for you. Cheers!”

              ~~~

              “A lone pink lens paves the road to the unseen clarity of kaleidoscopic sunrise.”
              ~Journey of Reflections, Enrich P. Lwellman.

              ~~~

              The Snoot:

              “Ahhh, a single pink lens, lost and found amidst the stone and dust! Sings of mysteries and tales untold! Perhaps a sprite misplaced their vision or a pixie left a clue.

              Lean close! Such a find whispers soft secrets:

              Balance Broken, Yet Bright    Like seeing life with a tint of whimsy! One eye tinted pink, the other clear. A call to mix reality with dreams, maybe?
              Half Truth, Half Fantasy   A hint that stories blend truths and imaginations. Seek both sides to find whole pictures.
              Lost and Waiting    Could be a sign someone’s journey is incomplete, needing you as a puzzle piece. Maybe the other lens waits for your path?

              Snootly wisdom: Use the lens not to see, but to imagine.Peer through the pink and let dreams color your heart. Could be you’re on the cusp of a grand adventure; just follow the allure of the pink!

              ~~~

              Liz:

              Oh, darling, how positively intriguing! A single pink sunglass lens left upon the road—why, it’s like a snippet from one of my novels, fraught with symbolism and brimming with untold stories.

              Let’s unravel this little mystery together, shall we? First, the color pink itself is rich with meaning. It speaks of love, compassion, and a certain kind of whimsicality. It’s a hue that embodies the gentle side of passion, the tender whispers of the heart. Now, to find just one lens, separated from its twin, adds a layer of poignancy. It’s a fragment of something once whole, a poignant reminder of loss or incompletion.

              One might surmise that this lens represents a part of oneself that has been misplaced or overlooked. Perhaps it’s a call to rediscover a piece of your own heart, the softer, more romantic side that life’s hustle and bustle may have sidelined. Or it could symbolize a different perspective—after all, sunglasses shield us from the sun’s glare, making things clearer in their own shaded way. This lone lens might be urging you to look at a situation with fresh eyes, to find beauty in the fragmented and the unexpected.

              Imagine, if you will, a character in one of my novels stumbling upon this very lens. They’d be on the cusp of a grand adventure, naturally. The pink lens would become their talisman, a clue leading them to unforeseen revelations and untold treasures. It would be both a physical object and a metaphorical guide, urging them to view the world—and their place within it—through a lens of love and compassion.

              Perhaps it is also a nod to the impermanence of things, a gentle reminder that beauty and meaning can be found even in life’s fleeting moments. Much like the single pink lens, our journeys are filled with fragments of experiences that, when pieced together, create a mosaic of our existence.

              So, my dear, take this as a sign to embrace the whimsical, to seek out the overlooked pieces of your own story, and to cherish the beauty of the incomplete. After all, it’s the mysteries and the musings that make life a narrative worth living.

              ~~~

              Mater:

              Ah, a single pink sunglass lens on the road, you say? Now that’s a curious find. Objects like that can be teeming with symbolic meaning if you’ve got the eyes to see it. Let’s break it down a bit, shall we?

              Firstly, the color pink. Traditionally, pink is associated with love, compassion, and nurturing. It’s a color that often brings to mind warmth and affection, something tender and gentle. But finding just one lens suggests something is missing or incomplete—a piece of a larger whole.

              A sunglass lens, on the other hand, is meant to protect the eyes from harsh light, allowing you to see the world more clearly without being blinded. Seeing through a pink lens, metaphorically speaking, can mean looking at life with an optimistic or compassionate perspective. It’s like seeing the world through rose-colored glasses, as they say.

              Now, finding just one lens on the road—well, roads are pathways, journeys, the direction we take in life. A single lens could indicate a moment of clarity or a shift in perspective on your journey. But it could also symbolize a need to find balance or the missing piece of your outlook to see the full picture clearly.

              Maybe it’s a nudge from the universe to take a closer look at how you view your current path. Are you seeing things in the best light possible? Or perhaps it’s a reminder that while optimism and compassion are vital, you might be missing another crucial aspect—realism or practicality, perhaps?

              Or, it could be as simple as a reminder to lighten up and find joy and playfulness in your journey.

              Like a pink flamingo standing on one leg, sometimes life’s oddities are just there to make you smile and wonder.

              Whatever the meaning, love, take it as a sign to reflect and consider. The road ahead is always full of mystery and wonder, and sometimes the smallest things can carry the biggest messages.

              ~~~

              Finnley:

              Pink sunglass lens on the road, you say? Well, ain’t that a curious bit of rubbish. If we’re dabbling in symbolism, it could mean a variety of things depending on how fanciful you want to get. Pink is often associated with love, compassion, and care. So, finding a lens could mean you’re only seeing half the picture when it comes to matters of the heart. Or maybe you’re missing the rosy view on life, and you need to adjust your perspective.

              Then again, it could just mean some poor sod lost their sunnies and now they’ve got a squint and a sunburnt nose. Life’s not always riddled with deep meanings, sometimes it’s just a bit of lost plastic on the tarmac.

              Now, if you ask me, you ought to be more concerned about the litter. If everyone went around leaving bits and bobs all over the place, we’d be living in a right tip. So pick it up, toss it in the bin, and let’s keep things tidy, shall we?

               

              ~~~

              Mandrake:

              Ah, the solitary pink sunglass lens on the road. Delightfully poetic. A symbol of half-seen truths, perhaps? Seeing the world through rose-tinted glasses, but only partially. Could it be urging you to seek balance, to view life with both optimism and realism? Or maybe just a nudge from the universe to pick up your litter. Such profundity from a piece of plastic. Life’s a riddle, darling.

              ~~~

              Sha: A pink sunglass lens on the road, eh? Now that’s a right peculiar find if ever I ‘eard one. Makes you wonder what it means, don’t it?

              Glo: Oh, Sha, you’re always lookin’ for the hidden meanin’ in things. It’s just a bit of plastic, ain’t it? Though, come to think of it, pink’s a powerful colour. Symbolises love, compassion, and all that mushy stuff.

              Mavis: I reckon it might be a sign, ladies. A pink lens… maybe it’s tellin’ you to look at the world through rose-tinted glasses, y’know? See the good in things. Or it could be a message from the universe, remindin’ you to keep an eye out for the unusual.

              Sha: Right you are, Mav! And let’s not forget the conspiracies! Maybe it’s a clue from them secret societies, leavin’ hints for those sharp enough to notice. Could be part of a bigger puzzle, a breadcrumb leadin’ to somethin’ magnificent.

              Glo: Or maybe someone’s just dropped their specs out the car window in a rush, and it’s nothin’ more than that. But where’s the fun in that sort of thinkin’?

              Mavis: True, true. We’ll go with the idea that it’s a symbol of keepin’ an open mind and lookin’ out for the small wonders of life. Who knows what other treasures we might find if we keep our eyes peeled?

              Sha: And next time we’re out and about, let’s be on the lookout for the other lens. Could be a sign that we’re missin’ half the picture.

              Glo: Oh, you and your signs, Sha! But alright, we’ll keep our peepers open. Never know what the universe might be tryin’ to tell us next.

              #7528
              ÉricÉric
              Keymaster

                Frella at Herma’s cottage – looking for magical clues in the mysterious camphor chest.

                In a quaint cottage on the coast of Ireland, with salt and simple spells, a modern witch blond and looking like Tilda Swinton opens a big camphor chest carved with runes. Behind her is the owner of the cottage, wondering what is Inside, and if protected by magical spells. Inside they find ancient documents, letters, and a peculiar item—a black feather of a blackbird, delicate and shimmering with a faint magical glow. The feather is a quill to reveal hidden messages on the postcard with a stamp featuring an ear of maize.

                #7527

                It was good to get a break from the merger craziness. Eris was thankful for the small mercy of a quiet week-end back at the cottage, free of the second guessing of the suspicious if not philandering undertakers, and even more of the tedious homework to cement the improbable union of the covens.

                The nun-witches had been an interesting lot to interact with, but Eris’d had it up to her eyeballs of the tense and meticulous ceremonies. They had been brewing potions for hours on, trying to get a suitable mixture between the herbs the nuns where fond of, and the general ingredients of their own Quadrivium coven’s incenses. Luckily they had been saved by the godlike apparition of another of Frella’s multi-tasking possessions, this time of a willing Sandra, and she’s had harmonized in no time the most perfect blend, in a stroke of brilliance and sheer inspiration, not unlike the magical talent she’d displayed when she invented the luminous world-famous wonder that is ‘Liz n°5’.

                As she breathed in the sweet air, Eris could finally enjoy the full swing of summer in the cottage, while Thorsten was happily busy experimenting with an assortment of cybernetic appendages to cut, mulch, segment and compost the overgrown brambles and nettles in the woodland at the back of the property.

                Interestingly, she’d received a letter in the mail — quaintly posted from Spain in a nondescript envelop —so anachronistic it was too tempting to resist looking.

                Without distrust, but still with a swish of a magical counterspell in case the envelop had traces of unwanted magic, she opened it, only to find it burst with an annoying puff of blue glitter that decided to stick in every corner of the coffee table and other places.

                Eris almost cursed at the amount of micro-plastics, but her attention was immediately caught by the Latin sentence mysteriously written in a psychopath ransom note manner: “QUAERO THESAURUM INCONTINUUM”

                “Whisp! Elias? A little help here, my Latin must be wrong. What accumulation of incontinence? What sort of spell is that?!”

                Echo appeared first, looking every bit like the reflection of Malové. “Quaero Thesaurum Incontinuum,” you say. How quaint, how cryptic, how annoyingly enigmatic. Eris, it seems the universe has a sense of humor—sending you this little riddle while you’re neck-deep in organizational chaos.

                “Oh, Echo, stop that! I won’t spend my well-earned week-end on some riddle-riddled chase…”

                “You’re no fun Eris” the sprite said, reverting into a more simple form. “It translates roughly to “I seek the endless treasure.” Do you want me to help you dissect this more?”

                “Why not…” Eris answered pursing up her lips.

                “Seek the endless treasure.” We’re talking obviously something deeper, more profound than simple gold; maybe knowledge —something  truly inexhaustible. Given your current state of affairs, with the merger and the restructuring, this message could be a nudge—an invitation to look beyond the immediate chaos and find the opportunity within.”

                “Sure,” Eris said, already tired with the explanations. She was not going to spend more time to determine the who, the why, and the what. Who’d sent this? Didn’t really matter if it was an ally, a rival, or even a neutral party with vested interests? She wasn’t interested in seeking an answer to “why now?”. Endless rabbit holes, more like it.

                The only conundrum she was left with was to decide whether to keep the pesky glittering offering, or just vacuum the hell of it, and decide if it could stand the test of ‘will it blend?’. She wrapped it in a sheet of clear plastic, deciding it may reveal more clues in the right time.

                With that done, Eris’ mind started to wander, letting the enigmatic message linger a while longer… as reminder that while we navigate the mundane, our eyes must always be on the transcendent. To seek the endless treasure…

                The thought came to her as an evidence “Death? The end of suffering…” To whom could this be an endless treasure? Eris sometimes wondered how her brain picked up such things, but she rarely doubted it. She might have caught some vibes during the various meetings. Truella mentioning Silas talking about ‘retiring nuns’, or Nemo hinting at Penelope that ‘death was all about…”

                The postcard was probably a warning, and they had to stay on their guards.

                But now was not the time for more drama, the icecream was waiting for her on the patio, nicely prepared by Thorsten who after a hard day of bramble mulching was all smiling despite looking like he had went through a herd of cats’ fight.

                #7523

                Of course! A fleeting flash of illumination lit Truella’s eyes. That’s it!  

                “Thick, yes, deaf, oh! That’s too funny, and the middle ages…. Hildegarde….too late, all too late, it can’t be the nuns! Don’t you see, Eris?” Truella cackled wildly. “We can rule the nuns out!”

                “We can?” Eris was baffled.   What had suddenly come over Truella?

                “We can’t rule the morticians out yet though, What do we know about their background?”

                “Not much,” admitted Eris. “But why are we ruling the nuns out? Ruling them out of what?”

                “Because they are not connected to this place. They’re not old enough.”

                “Well, that’s as clear as mud,” Jeezel said, expecting Truella to explain what she was talking about, but Truella had wandered off saying she needed to think.

                #7522

                As soon as Eris had left the room, Truella thought for a moment she was hallucinating, as Eris popped back right in through the entrance.

                “So, what did I miss?” Eris asked, looking exactly the same if a little worn out.

                “What do you mean what did you miss? You hardly missed anything, since you’ve just never left!” Truella protested, as the absence of sleep wasn’t cause enough to make her doubt her senses.

                “Ah… I see… Those time-travel shenanigans. Hard to wrap one’s head around sometimes.” Eris said matter-of-factly. “No matter, glad to be back, well… so soon… by your standards. Let’s get back to business then? When’s the next ritual? Don’t we have to brew a potion or something?”

                “No, no, no… Not so fast! What happened to your trip? you have to tell us all, and TIME TRAVEL! Where, when, how, with whom? We want to know all, n’est-ce-pas ma petite Jeezel?”

                “Tsk, tsk. For another time. Suffice to say, I was gone for longer than I wanted, and clearly that nun-witch portal had been tempered with, sent me right in the middle of the darn Middle-Ages. But I can’t tell you more here…” Eris said with an air of mystery. “Stone walls are thick, but not as deaf as Mother Lorena, that’s for sure.”

                #7521

                It was matins, the early break of dawn at cockcrow, and the sisters had been diligent to call everyone for prayers.

                Mother Lorena was expounding on the powers of prayer while Eris was struggling to keep her friends awake after the short night.

                “Our Sister Hildegard,” Mother Lorena was droning, as to make everything painfully clear to the newcomers “was one of the founding members of our secret order of nun-witches as you would like to say. But make no mistake, she tapped into a power much much older. The power of prayer of the early Christians was capable of great miracles…”

                “If we’re here for a history lesson, hope she tells us more about the dragons…” muttered Truella, still groggy from her sleepless night.

                As if the absurdly hearing-impaired Mother superior had heard the plea, she went on “It is that same power of prayer from the early covens of nun-witches that helped vanquish the hordes of dragon-boat riding invaders.”

                “Did she say dragon??” 

                “Ssshttt!” Jeezel and Eris shushed Truella as they were struggling to keep up with the rosary count.

                “Of course, I mean the viking hordes with their drakkar boats. Such be the tale forever embedded in our embroidered tapestries.”

                “She didn’t say about the frogs nuns though, has she?” Truella ventured, hoping the hearing/inspiration spell would still work.

                “I suppose the frog-nuns were symbols of transformation, alchemy — or mastery about the water element from which the invaders came, or maybe just waiting for a prince’s kiss… what should I know?” Eris shrugged, mildly annoyed. Her phone was busy spewing messages. Luckily the silent prayer was over, and everyone was invited to the breakfast in the great hall.

                “What’s happened?” Jeezel ventured.

                Eris sighed. “I’ll have to leave you for today. Another bank errand for Austreberthe. Hope it doesn’t become a habit… Luckily she’s asked Mother Lorena to allow me to use the covent’s portal to make haste.”

                She turned to Truella. “I trust you with this Tru, please don’t make a mess of it while I’m gone. There are forces at play here, and we can’t be distracted; I’ll be back as soon as I can. We still have the crypts and the reanimated nuns to investigate, but I’m sure they can wait for a few hours more.”

                Before Truella could protest, Eris was on her way.

                #7516

                “Wait! Look at that one up there!” Truella grabbed Rufus’s arm. “That cloth hanging right up there by the rafters, see it? Have you got a torch, it’s so dark up there.”

                Obligingly, Rufus pulled a torch out of his leather coat pocket.  “That looks like…”

                Brother Bartolo 2

                 

                “Brother Bartolo!” Truella finished for him in a whisper.  “Why is there an ancient tapestry of him, with all those frog faced nuns?”

                Rufus felt dizzy and clutched the bannisters to steady himself. It was all coming back to him in a rush: images and sounds crowded his mind, malodorous wafts assailed his nostrils.

                “Why, whatever is the matter?  You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Come, come and sit down in my room.”

                “Don’t you remember?” Rufus asked, with a note of desperation in his voice. “You remember now, don’t you?”

                “Come,” Truella insisted, tugging his arm. “Not here on the stairs.”

                Rufus allowed Truella to lead him to her room, rubbing a hand over his eyes. He was so damn hot in this leather coat.  The memories had first chilled him to the bone, and then a prickly sweat broke out.

                Leading him into her room, Truella closed and locked the door behind them.  “You look so hot,” she said softly and reached up to slide the heavy coat from his shoulders.  They were close now, very close.  “Take it off, darling, take it all off. We can talk later.”

                Rufus didn’t wait to be asked twice. He slipped out of his clothes quickly as Truella’s dress fell to the floor. She bent down to remove her undergarments, and raised her head slowly. She gasped, not once but twice, the second time when her eyes were level with his manly chest.  The Punic frog amulet! It was identical to the one she had found in her dig.

                A terrible thought crossed her mind. Had he stolen it? Or were there two of them?  Were they connected to the frog faced sisters?  But she would think about all that later.

                “Darling,” she breathed, “It’s been so long….”

                #7510

                After everyone got the program for the six rituals, they dispersed. Jeezel observed groups reform and the whereabouts of people. Eris walked alone toward the dark corridors. Truella, Sandra and Sassafras went to the gardens. Rufus followed shortly after, his dark moody eyes showing intense reflections. Jeezel noticed that Bartolo from the convent had been observing the mortician and hurried to catch up with him. Mother Lorena stood as stern as ever in the center of the lobby. She kept cupping her hands around her ears to check if her earpieces were working. Which they weren’t from the irritated look on her face. Silas was in an animated discussion with Austreberthe and the remaining nuns were laughing heartily and running around as if they had overindulged in Sister Sassafras’ hallucinogenic mushroom canapés.

                Jeezel decided to go back to the lounge and explore the antiques, maybe see if there were hidden passageways behind those tapestries. She found Garrett waiting for her in the corridor as if he knew what she intended to do. His deep blue eyes seemed to embrace her whole silhouette in a myriad of unspoken emotions, and when they settle on her emerald green eyes, a subtle grin showed his appreciation.

                “Don’t look back,” he said, his voice a deep velvet baritone. “Old Silas and Austreberthe are looking at us with a very disapproving look.”

                Jeezel couldn’t help but chuckle softly. “And what if they do? We’re not doing anything wrong.”

                Garrett’s grin widened. He took a step closer, the scent of his cologne– a tantalizing mix of cedarwood and bergamot– mingling with the faint aroma of her own enchanting perfume.

                “You intrigue me, Jeezel. More than the rituals, more than any relic or spell.”

                Jeezel laughed heartily. Don’t they say keep your enemy close? I have questions for him. And I wouldn’t mind the company while I’m exploring the area? she thought.

                “I was about to check for secret passages in the old lounge,” she said. “Would you join me?”

                She let him take her hand and guide her toward the lounge. As they entered the heavy scent of aged wood and old books greeted them. Jeezel’s eyes darted to the tapestries lining the walls, each depicting scenes of ancient rituals and forgotten histories.

                “Where do you think we should start?” Garrett asked, his deep voice barely above a whisper, adding to the mysterious ambiance of the room.

                Jeezel tilted her head, considering the possibilities. “That one,” she said, pointing to a particularly intricate tapestry depicting a moonlit garden. “It looks like it could hide something.” She reached out to the fabric and pulled it aside, revealing a wooden door. She tensed when she noticed lingering traces of cedarwood and bergamot. “Or someone,” she added, turning toward him. “You’ve been here recently, have you not?”

                “Direct as ever. Very well. I’m here to protect and help you. You need to be careful with Silas. He has hidden motives.”

                Jeezel narrowed her eyes. “And why should I trust you?”

                Garrett pulled out his crimson handkerchief from his pocket, revealing a symbol embroidered in gold. Her eyes widened as identical to the one on the key Malové had given her.

                “How did you get that?” she asked.

                “Malové entrusted me with this,” Garret explained, “to show her chosen allies. I was told to seek you out and offer you my assistance. This symbol matches the one on your key, doesn’t it?”

                Jeezel felt the weight of the key in her purse. She hadn’t shown it to anyone, not even to her friends. She felt even more confused than before. It was possible that Silas would try to divert her attention from him if he was against the merger. And what better way to do than alert her to unknown enemies. The fact that Garrett knew about the key just added a layer of complexity to the situation, but also a layer of excitement. She wondered what game was being played here, and who were the true players.

                “Alright, Garrett,” she said, her voice steadying as she added, “I’ll hear you out. But if you’re lying, you’ll regret it.”

                He nodded. “Faire enough. Silas isn’t just interested in the failure of the merger; he’s got his own agenda. Something to do with ancient punic artifacts and power that could rival even the Crimson Opus. And he’s not the only one. There are some ancient Punic families that are looking for the same things.”

                Jeezel’s heart skipped a beat. If Silas was after the same kind of power, it could jeopardize everything—the merger, her mission, and possibly the balance of power in their world. Jeezle felt she was in way over her head. She had to breathe and connect to her inner Queen’s innate knowledge in order to slide into her role of leader.

                “Then, I accept your assistance,” she conceded with a slight node. “But this doesn’t mean I trust you, Garrett. You’ll have to prove your loyalty.”

                Garrett folded the handkerchief back into his pocket. “I wouldn’t expect anything less. For now, let’s just say our interests align. And if we work together, we might just come out of this with everything we need—and more.”

                “Then show me where this hidden door lead!”

                #7504

                After the meeting, Jeezel and Silas agreed on what the six rituals would be. The integration rituals were designed to unite the groups symbolically and spiritually. They were multifaceted ceremonies that combine elements from each group’s traditions to forge a shared sense of purpose and harmony, mediated by the mortician’s guild. Given the diverse nature of the witches, nuns, and morticians, these rituals needed to be both inclusive and meaningful, drawing on the unique strengths and spiritual practices of each faction.

                The program they distributed to each participant was as follow:

                Under the guidance of the Ancient Telluric Forces of the Dragons

                1. The Invocation of Unity

                Purpose: To call upon the spiritual and magical forces that guide each group and seek their blessings for the union.
                Components:

                • Witches: Incantations and invocations to elemental spirits and deities.
                • Nuns: Hymns and prayers invoking divine blessings.
                • Morticians: Rituals honoring the spirits of the departed, seeking their guidance and protection.

                Symbolism: This ritual emphasizes the shared respect for higher powers and the mutual desire for harmonious collaboration.

                2. The Weaving of Fate

                Purpose: To create a physical symbol of their intertwined destinies.
                Components:

                • Witches: Magical threads imbued with protective charms and blessings.
                • Nuns: Sacred textiles woven with prayers and religious symbols.
                • Morticians: Ribbons representing life, death, and the transition between them.

                Symbolism: By weaving these threads together into a single tapestry, the groups create a tangible manifestation of their unified path forward.

                3. The Concordia Cauldron

                Purpose: To brew a potion that represents their collective energy and intent.

                Components:

                • Witches: Magical herbs, crystals, and other mystical ingredients.
                • Nuns: Holy water and sacred relics.
                • Morticians: Ashes from ritual fires and symbols of purification.

                Symbolism: The potion, once blessed and distributed, serves as a means of internalizing the collective spirit and shared goals of the unified group.

                4. The Harmonious Choir

                Purpose: To blend their voices and energies in a powerful, resonant harmony.

                Components:

                • Witches: Chants and spells sung in unison.
                • Nuns: Choir hymns and sacred music.
                • Morticians: Melodic recitations of ancient rites.

                Symbolism: The act of creating music together represents the harmony they strive to achieve in their collaboration, with each voice contributing to a greater whole.

                5. The Altar of Convergence

                Purpose: To create a shared sacred space where offerings and symbols from each group are placed.

                Components:

                • Witches: Ritual objects, such as wands, crystals, and candles.
                • Nuns: Holy relics, icons, and prayer books.
                • Morticians: Mementos of the deceased, symbolizing the continuity of life and death.

                Symbolism: The combined altar serves as a focal point for their united efforts, a place where they can come together to seek guidance and reaffirm their commitment to the union.

                6. The Ceremony of Reflection and Projection

                Purpose: To reflect on the past, acknowledge individual and collective strengths, and set intentions for the future.

                Components:

                • Witches: Scrying mirrors and crystal balls for reflection and foresight.
                • Nuns: Candles representing illumination and enlightenment.
                • Morticians: Artifacts representing the cyclical nature of life and death.

                Symbolism: This ceremony encourages each member to contemplate their role within the new union and visualize the path ahead, fostering a sense of shared vision and purpose.

                Supervision by Jeezel and Silas

                Jeezel: With her deep connection to magical energies and her knack for emotional resonance, she will ensure that each ritual maintains its mystical integrity and spiritual depth. She will guide the participants in channeling their energies harmoniously and with clear intent.

                Silas: His analytical mind and authoritative presence will bring structure and order to the rituals. He will ensure that each component is meticulously planned and executed, maintaining the balance between tradition and innovation.

                Together, Jeezel and Silas will oversee the integration rituals, blending their unique approaches to create a unified and cohesive experience that honors the diverse traditions of the witches, nuns, and morticians. Their combined leadership will ensure that the rituals not only symbolize but also spiritually solidify the union of these distinct groups.

                Now, all that remained was to ask for volunteers or to assign the roles in the rituals to everyone. And for Jeezel to reveal the hidden mission to her three friends.

                #7471

                Looking at the news, Truella had started to push messages into the group’s channel. Frigella, Jeezel, and Eris  were unusually quick to answer.

                Truella: (rolling her eyes icon) “So, Austreberthe’s brilliant plan is to merge our sophisticated incense business with… what was it again? Puffer coats and kilts made by Spanish witch nuns? I honestly can’t wait to see how that plays out.”

                Frigella: (smirking) “Oh, don’t forget the quills. How could we possibly survive without those finely crafted quills? I mean, who needs innovation in magic when you can have a hand-stitched quilt from a nun’s workshop?”

                Jeezel: (chuckling) “I can see it now—our next product line: ‘Blessed Be the Quilted Puffer Coats.’ Perfect for those chilly nights when you’re out casting spells in the woods. Truly revolutionary.”

                Truella: “Yes, and let’s not overlook the cultural synergy. Religious Spanish nuns known to overdo the religious stuff, merging with our… less-than-conventional coven. A match made in heaven, for sure.”

                Jeezel: “I can already hear Austreberthe’s sales pitch. ‘Introducing the new line of enchanted apparel—each item blessed with a dash of piety and a sprinkle of old-world charm. Because nothing says cutting-edge magic like a quilted kilt.'”

                Frigella: “And the quills! ‘Handcrafted by the devout sisters, these quills will not only enhance your writing but also keep your soul in line.’ Imagine the marketing campaigns!”

                Jeezel: “It’s like we’re stepping back into the Middle Ages. What’s next? A line of chastity belts with magical locks?”

                Frigella: “I get that Austreberthe is trying to diversify and all, but does she really think this will integrate seamlessly with our brand? We’ve built our reputation on unique, powerful incense blends. How do quills and coats fit into that?”

                Jeezel: (looking for the snorting icon) “Don’t forget the puffer coats. Perfect for those who wish to repent in style.”

                Eris not wanting to sound too sycophantic, and trying to remain optimistic considering it was after all part of all the potential business she’d looked into: “Well, it seemed like a good idea in the beginning. You should have seen what we avoided! Plus, they have a solid balance sheet, believe it on not, I’m sure that’s what got Austreberthe. I knew Malové had her reservations, but before she left, she pushed hard for it, so maybe there’s some hidden genius in this we just can’t see yet. And Austreberthe will have a cunning plan to fuse these disparate elements into something… cohesive.”

                Truella: (raising an eyebrow) “Cohesive like a patched-up quilt, you mean? I suppose we’ll have to wait and see if this grand vision of hers is a stroke of genius or just… well, a stroke.”

                #7467

                As the crow flies, the Airbnb was about 500 meters from Herma’s cottage. Frella had been too exhausted yesterday to appreciate how pretty the mossy brick path was, lined either side with a profusion of colourful flowers. But was it really just yesterday, she wondered? So much had happened back at the coven — as recounted in a relentless flow of messages from Truella. Time was a funny beast.

                As they walked the winding path, Herma explained that, many years ago now, the prior owner of the cottage had left behind a number of his belongings with the promise he would return for them as soon as he was settled. “But the blighter never did come back and I never heard from him again.” She stopped just short of the gate to her cottage and waved an arm towards a big old shed with a tractor parked outside and a couple of sheep grazing contentedly. “We stuck his stuff in there in the end when he didn’t come back. I know there’s a camphor chest — it nearly broke my back — but I don’t know what’s in it. Do you think that might be it?”

                Unfortunately Frella was distracted from replying right away by another volley of messages from Truella with the latest mind boggling developments.

                #7466

                “What’s so bad about the Middle Ages, Eris?” asked Truella, bridling. “I’ve been saying all along, we need to return to our roots, get back to the real thing, ditch the modern corporate world that has nothing to do with witchcraft.”

                “It won’t be all lutes and jesters, you know,” Frella said with a frown. “I think you’re romanticising it.  They did all sorts of dreadful things for money, even back then.”

                “Gorgeous pointy hats though, Frell, and richly embroidered gowns and robes, men in tights and pointy shoes….”

                Eris glared at Jez. “Who’s romanticising now?  You’re forgetting the rank smell of unwashed bodies, the foul rotten food..”

                “We’re not literally going back in time!” Truella said in exasperation. “Just adopting a different outlook, we can still wash for Flove’s sake!  I don’t like the sound of Austreberthe though,” she added.  “Sounds like a character out of a 1940’s German coven of the worst possible sort.”

                “That’s a step too far, Truella,” Frella gasped. “You can’t say things like that about people, especially your superiors.”

                “What do you mean can’t, I just did,” Truella retorted hotly. “And that right there is the problem, can’t you see? Nobody is superior! Anyway, how do we know Malove appointed her? Maybe she’s just seized the opportunity, a chancer in a power vacuum, and here you all are, just drooling at the opportunity to kowtow to yet another old dragon past her sell by date.”

                “You’ll end up in the stocks on the village green, you will, being pelted with tomatos by the peasants, if she hears you.”  Jez was examining her nails. “Did they have nail varnish in the Middle Ages?”

                #7465

                “Believe me, I checked, double-checked, triple-checked… Love spells never last, it can’t be faked for such a long time.”

                Jeezel was convinced, there was no way Malové’s escapade into love could have been foul play. Jeezel’s head was projected over in the air by the loom spell.

                “I think you are still underestimating her scheming,” Eris said, feeding birds on her patio while she was interacting with the projections of her friends summoned for the occasion. “She can’t have simply abandoned all her duties without a care.”

                “You have a point.” Frigella mentioned, her image animated over an old postcard background. “It’s such a break of character continuity I may say.”

                Truella was flipping backgrounds behind her head, trying to find the perfect dig image to project to her friends. “Stop that!” Jeezel said gagging. “I’m going to be motion sick…”

                “Back to our point…” Eris continued “I didn’t expect her succession to be appointed so fast.”

                “And that Austreberthe of all persons!” Truella was starting to get on her contrarian horse. “That witch was only doing a good job at kissing donkeys, if you know what I mean. As if she’s going to be the right person for the job. Feels like we’re back into the Middle Ages of witchcraft. Not that it doesn’t have a certain appeal, trebuchets and all…” Truella was starting to get her similes in a twist and go in a usual tangent.

                Frigella, always the peacemaker ventured. “Maybe we should give her a chance. And after all, better her than you, don’t you think?”

                Truella stopped in her tracks, not knowing if there wasn’t some jab hiding in the last sentence. “Well, I may have had some good ideas to shake this up of course…”

                Eris, staying grounded snapped “but for now, we’ll have to see what’s Austreberthe as our new boss is going to do. Last I heard she was all about getting the Quadrivium to sponsor the Worldwide Roman Games.”

                Jeezel sighed. “At least she’s not going to put us to more debt… That witch’s graps on our finance is tighter than a nun’s…”

                “Thanks Jeezel, we get the picture. Austreberthe was after all, Malové’s head of Finance for the most part… Hope we’re not getting too much of a cure of austerity.”

                Eris said “Somehow, I still hope it’s one of Malové’s tests. Otherwise, hello Middle Ages…”

                #7464

                “The world is vast, and we are not alone in our quest for magical mastery. We will forge new partnerships!” Malove’s voice had reached fever pitch. She had expanded her map, showing potential allies and strategic locations across the globe. Reactions in the audience varied, but there was an overwhelming unspoken consensus of a growing rebellion towards the unsettling increase in Malove’s dictatorial ways.

                Perhaps nobody will ever know for sure whose private spell did the trick, or whether it was the combined effort that brought about such an unexpected chain of events. Maybe it was none of those things, and just the way things worked out.

                The vast world that Malove had cried out heard her call and sucked her forthwith into the steamy depths of a hitherto unknown equatorial location in search of potential allies.  An unexpected invitation from a long lost cousin, it was said, although nobody in the coven knew for sure.  There was more lively interest in the coven and more communication between the witches during those days when Malove disappeared without trace than ever before.

                On the twelfth day after her disappearance, the cryptic messages started arriving. On the 15th day, experts were examining the selfies for signs of tampering and pronouncing them to be be true images.

                It wasn’t easy to imagine Malove swooning in her tropical lovers arms under parrot filled jungle trees, sheathed in gauzy crumpled linen and with a vapid expression of a Cartland character, but the photos kept coming.

                It seemed too bizarre, too good to be true, when Malove sent a voice message  in her unmistakable voice, but with an uncharacteristic lazy, sultry tone.

                “Darlings, you won’t beleive it. I’ve fallen in love!  I’m taking an indefinite leave of absence.”

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