Someone asked if I'm conceptcookie on instagram. Yes, that's correct. You can check out how I imagined these characters there. And if you think something could be even better, feel free to share your thoughts! I used DALLE 3 through ChatGPT and MidJourney for the visuals.
Avebury 1930
Marguerite fastened the last button of her deep emerald-green wool coat. A matching hat sat atop her hair. Around her neck, she wrapped a soft brown scarf. Then she pulled on a pair of well-fitted brown leather gloves and a structured brown purse that rested against her hip. Finally, she stepped into her classic T-strap heels in a rich cognac shade.
Marguerite loved fashion. The art of it, the refinement, the way a well-curated outfit spoke before a single word was uttered. For four long years in the Lost World, she had endured with what little she had, but the moment she had returned to civilization and the pleasure of choosing her wardrobe once more, she had embraced it with passion.
Of course, it mattered to her that the rest of the family dressed well too. Presentation was a reflection of dignity. But John and William—men—were nowhere near as enthusiastic as she was. She had long since accepted that as long as they looked presentable and respectable, she had done her duty. John, at least, had the natural elegance of a man who looked good in anything, and William, though prone to absentmindedly crumpling his collars, could be wrangled into decency when necessary.
But her girls... her girls were a different matter entirely. Dressing them was a joy. Marguerite took pleasure in selecting their outfits, coordinating ribbons and coats, ensuring that each piece was just as charming as the last. Juliette sometimes protested, already showing a rebellious streak when it came to fashion, but Isabelle still allowed herself to be styled like a doll. Marguerite knew they wouldn't stay little forever. Soon, they would insist on dressing themselves, forming their own opinions, rejecting her suggestions for whatever they found appealing. But for now, she would enjoy every moment of it, ensuring they looked every bit as elegant as young ladies ought to be.
For this occasion, Marguerite chose for them a navy-blue woolen coat with a Peter Pan collar. Beneath it, a soft dress peeked from the hem. And a matching navy beret that was tilted just so. White knee-high stockings and polished black Mary Janes completed the look.
"Why are we going to church when it's neither Christmas nor Easter?" Isabelle asked as she slipped her hand through the sleeve of the coat, with Marguerite holding it for her.
John cast a glance at Marguerite, as if to say: This is where our overly casual parenting has gotten us—children who think Church is a twice-a-year event.
"Church isn't just for Christmas and Easter, my love." Marguerite said. "There are other times to go as well."
"What's special about today?" Isabelle asked again.
"Is it a holiday?" Juliette asked next.
Marguerite hesitated, then smiled with a slight shrug. "To be perfectly honest… I haven't the faintest idea."
"We're going because it's the right thing to do," John said. "Faith and tradition aren't just things we observe twice a year. They are part of who we are. And also, your Mother and I want you to grow up knowing that some things are worth doing even when they aren't convenient."
Isabelle clasped her hands together triumphantly. "I just know that Nanny was planning to make us clean the nursery ourselves, and now that we're going out, we won't have to."
"Don't tell me", Marguerite began. "You were naughty and that was intended as your punishment?"
Isabelle sighed dramatically. "I don't like it any more than you do."
"What I don't like is bad behavior", Marguerite said, "but I fully support its punishment."
"Just so you know, most of the trouble is Isabelle's doing," Juliette said, "I get in trouble whether I'm guilty or not."
"I believe that", Marguerite gave her a knowing look. "But I also believe Nanny is fair and wouldn't punish you unjustly. You must have been naughty yourself... Just a little bit."
Juliette hesitated, then admitted, "I was... Isabelle's my sister and I have to stand by her."
Marguerite and John couldn't help but laugh at their loyalty to each other, which was present even in mischief.
John gestured toward the door. "Let's go before I change my mind and make you clean before we leave."
The twins didn't need to be told twice. They darted ahead, eager to escape before their luck ran out.
"Shall we walk?" Marguerite asked when they stepped outside.
John nodded. "Of course. It's a beautiful day. We won't be a family of layabouts."
Marguerite gestured toward the path ahead. "You children go on ahead, so we can keep an eye on you."
As the children moved forward, Marguerite slipped her arm through John's. They exchanged a glance and smiled to each other. Whatever disagreements they sometimes had, moments like this made it all worthwhile. They had built a beautiful life together and a family to be proud of.
The family joined other parishioners walking into the church. They greeted them with warm smiles and brief exchanges. The townspeople, in turn, seemed genuinely pleased to see Lord Avebury and his family. It wasn't every Sunday that the Roxtons attended, and their appearance today was certainly welcome.
"Her ladyship is so beautiful. Always so elegant."
"And the children are simply adorable."
"Little ladies look like porcelain dolls."
"They have grown so much since last I saw them!"
"They say young Master William is a child prodigy."
"It's true. He's already attending Oxford! He's a scholar unlike any other."
When the family settled into their pews, they noticed Lady Elizabeth, John's mother, making her way down the aisle. Her presence was a constant at these Sunday services. Not a week went by without her attending.
"What's this?" She asked when she saw them. "Is it already Christmas?"
"Hello, Mama. It was such a beautiful day that we decided to take the children for a walk." John explained.
"Well, what a lovely surprise it is to have you all here."
She joined them just as the old bells ringed through the church, signaling the beginning of the service.
The priest stepped forward and greeted them with, "The Lord be with you."
And everyone responded with, "And with thy spirit."
And the morning prayer began and the priest spoke of faith and perseverance and the moral values and the importance of pilgrimage. And everyone started the prayer for King George V and the nation and the parish. And the choir started singing. And everyone joined in.
All the while, Isabelle's attention wandered all around, from one thing to another. She noticed a small village boy sitting in their row, on the opposite side of the church. He was watching her with a small, shy smile. Without hesitation, Isabelle lifted her hand and blew him a few kisses.
Marguerite caught the motion. "What are you doing?!"
"That boy was looking at me, so I sent him a few kisses."
"We're in church, Isabelle!"
"I was just trying to be polite. Nanny says we should always be kind to the villagers."
"Of course, but that does not mean sending kisses in church. A simple smile and a polite nod would do."
After the service, Marguerite turned to John and said, "Elizabeth could take the girls down to the little pond to see the ducks. They would enjoy that, and she could have some lovely time with her granddaughters."
"Of course." John replied, with a hint of irony.
Elizabeth was slightly suspicious that William and Marguerite wanted to stay behind, as they had never shown such interest before.
"You know you have an unusual daughter-in-law and a grandson." John explain. "It's best just to accept it and go with the flow."
"I know, and I have, but whenever any of you start acting oddly, it usually means there's some trouble afoot."
John only smiled in response. Elizabeth shot him a suspicious glance, then reached out to the twins. "Come along, my dears."
As they walked away, Elizabeth asked, "Is there a particular reason why, all of a sudden, your Mother and brother are so interested in a private tour of the church?"
"They're looking for the buried treasure!" Juliette exclaimed.
"Inside the church?!" Elizabeth asked in surprise.
Isabelle shook her head. "No, no. In the church, they'll find a clue that will lead to another clue."
"Great Uncle Arthur made the riddles!" Juliette added.
"Good heavens." Elizabeth exhaled, shaking her head and deciding she had already heard enough. "Alright, that's enough of that. Let's go see the ducks, shall we?"
Inside the church, only John, Marguerite, William and the priest remained. The priest was very pleased to see them show interest, as he hoped this might lead to further investments.
"It's a beautiful church, Father." Marguerite said diplomatically. "A true treasure of Avebury."
The priest's chest lifted with pride. "Indeed. St. James' has stood here since Norman times, watching over the village for centuries."
The priest led them on an improvised tour of the church, despite the fact that this wasn't their first time here. In truth, it was probably their hundredth. But today, their interest was evidently different.
"This font is over 800 years old," the priest said when they reached the medieval stone font that stood in the middle of the church. "Hundreds of children have been christened here—including, the young master himself." He glanced at William, who responded with a forced smile. "As well as his little sisters and many of your ancestors, Lord Avebury."
John nodded affirmatively.
William ran a hand along the carvings. "There's an inscription along the rim."
"Yes," the priest confirmed. "Wash away thy sins and be made clean."
William quickly pulled his hand back, as if startled by the thought that what they were doing was actually wrong. The idea that they were showing interest in the Church to get one step closer to their goal suddenly felt uncomfortabe.
Next they moved toward the chancel, where the carved rood screen separated the nave from the sanctuary. The dark wood was beautiful and richly decorated.
"This screen was added in the late 15th century," the priest explained. "It was meant to symbolize the division between the earthly and the divine, though during the Reformation, many such screens were removed."
William peered past the screen. "That looks like an old staircase leading up to the loft. What was it for?"
"Ah, you have a keen eye, young master. That once led to the rood loft, where a large crucifix would have stood, overlooking the congregation. The stairs are one of the few remnants of that original structure."
Marguerite tilted her head, looking at a peculiar, narrow skewed passage cut through the stone near the chancel. "That's rather unusual. What is it?"
"That is a squint, or hagioscope, my lady. It allowed those who could not enter the chancel—such as lepers or the infirm—to still see the altar during the service."
"Fascinating. A hidden vantage point." Marguerite commented.
As they moved forward, William glanced at Marguerite, giving her the look. She immediately noticed and replied with a barely perceptible nod, before turning back to the priest. "Father, would it be possible for us to remain a little longer? By ourselves, I mean? We'd like to take a moment to admire the Church in peace."
The priest studied her carefully. There was something measured about his hesitation. Still, after a pause, he nodded. "Of course, my lady. Take all the time you need."
With that, he offered them a final nod and strode toward the side chapel, disappearing through a small door that led to the vestry.
Marguerite exhaled, turning at John and William. "Well... Shall we begin?"
They started searching the Church. They searched along the wooden pews, beneath the seats, along the carved armrests, across the stone pillars, around the stained-glass windows, near the altar, along the pulpit, across the lectern, on the memorial plaques, under the brass nameplates in the floor, around the baptismal font, behind the statues in the side chapel, inside the candle niches, along the choir loft railing and even along the edges of the old wall carvings.
At last, Marguerite straightened, brushing dust from her gloves. "Nothing..." she sighed, turning to John and William.
"Maybe we misunderstood the clue." William said.
"Or maybe whatever was left here is long gone." John added.
Just then, the creak of a wooden door broke the silence.
An elderly churchwarden walked in. He was a thin, wiry man with sunken cheeks and sharp eyes that had clearly seen much in his years. He approached and introduced himself. "Jonathan Henshaw, my lord. I am the churchwarden. I have served this church for over fifty years. And before me, my father. And before him, my grandfather."
John clasped his hand in a respectful grip. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Henshaw."
Mr. Henshaw held his gaze for a moment before speaking again. "I knew your uncle, my lord."
"My uncle?"
"Yes. Sir Arthur Roxton. I made him a vow."
"What kind of vow?" Marguerite asked.
"Sir Arthur told me that one day, members of his family would come here. And when they did, they would act unlike any other visitors. They would linger, search, look too closely at things. And when that day came—if I was still alive—I was to speak with them."
"What exactly were you meant to tell us?" Marguerite asked.
"That you're looking in the wrong place." He lifted a bony hand and pointed toward the Church organ. "Your answer," he said gravely, "lies in the pipes."
The organ was small, not the kind found in great cathedrals, but well-built and solid in its presence. It still had its golden pipes, some tall, some short, standing in perfect alignment. The wood was polished and smooth under Marguerite's fingertip. This was Arthur's endowment, Mr Hanshaw explained.
To the side, carved into the wooden panel, they found the words:
"Oh hear us when we cry to thee,
For those in peril on the sea."
"It's a clue," William said. "It has to be. But what does it mean?"
"It's clearly a riddle." Marguerite said. "It fits the theme… the sea, the navy, sailors, pirates. Hear us when we cry to thee. For those in peril on the sea… It sounds like a prayer. A plea."
"Maybe they were praying for salvation from drowning," William suggested. "To Neptune?"
Marguerite gave a noncommittal shrug.
John frowned, studying the inscription. "I don't know, but these words sound very familiar—like I've heard them before."
"The last words of a dying sailor…" Marguerite murmured.
William closed his eyes. "I see a ship… and a storm… the crew screaming for salvation… no one is coming."
While Marguerite and John continued brainstorming, William reached for the hymn book that rested on the small wooden stand. He flipped it open, moving quickly over the worn pages, that were slightly curled from years of use. His eyes scanned the lines, hymn titles, verses, and refrains.
Then suddenly he exclaimed, "Hey, look at this! These words appear in this song!"
He turned the book toward them. Eternal Father, Strong to Save. The engraved words were part of the first verse.
"Of course." John said. "Now I remember. It's a well-known Navy hymn. It's sung in naval services, on ships, at funerals for lost sailors… it holds deep significance."
"Great, but what does that tell us?" William asked. "What have we actually discovered?"
Marguerite fell silent, gazing at the organ. She tapped her fingers against her arm, deep in thought. "Mr. Hanshaw mentioned the pipes... And right in front of us, we have the sheet music for this hymn. I think we're meant to play it." She turned to William. "Do you think you can?"
William straightened, confidence in his eyes. "I think I can manage it. It's not much different from the piano."
He rolled up his sleeves, took a steadying breath, set on a small chair and placed his fingers over the keys. He pressed a few keys, trying it out. The sound was loud and clear. He then looked at the notes in front of him and tried to play the melody as it was written. But his fingers slipped and the sound rang awkwardly through the church.
"Damn it," he muttered under his breath.
John shot him a stern look. "William, please. We are in a church—mind your words."
Marguerite, standing beside him, placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "It's alright, darling. Try again. Slow and steady."
William took a breath, nodded, and positioned his fingers once more. His second attempt was smoother, but still not quite right. A missed note, a hesitation, and maybe just a hint of frustration.
"You're getting there," Marguerite encouraged.
William steadied himself, and tried again. This time, the notes flowed cleanly. The hymn filled the empty Church, each note ringing true, until at last, the final chord echoed through the silence.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then—click.
All three of them froze.
Then, with a faint creak, a hidden compartment slid open.
Before William could react, Marguerite pulled him into a tight embrace and placed a quick kiss on his forehead. "Brilliantly done, my love. Arthur would be impressed."
They wasted no time. John reached in and pulled out a tightly bound scroll. He unrolled it which revealed a series of numbers, written in both Arabic and Latin:
51 – 10 – 27
XI – IX – VII
"Coordinates?" William asked.
John shook his head. "Not quite. Perhaps dates?"
Marguerite looked through the window to the large churchyard outside, where rows of old gravestones stood silent. A realization settled over her. "No… These numbers… They point to a grave."
"How did you figure that out?" William asked.
"I've buried a lot of people in my day..." Marguerite simply replied.
William let out a startled laugh. "I'm not sure whether to be impressed or deeply concerned."
John, however, remained serious. He crossed his arms, his tone firm. "Just to be clear—under no circumstances are we raiding a tomb."
They stepped outside into the small churchyard, where old gravestones stood in solemn rows, beneath the looming stone walls. It didn't take long to find the grave, the numbers had led them straight to it. Carved into the headstone they found the following words:
Where silent stones in circle stand,
A crimson beast keeps watch at night;
Beneath the thatch, 'neath ghostly hand,
A glass-bound grave hides Florrie's plight.
"Another cryptic riddle!" William exclaimed. "How exciting!"
"Where silent stones in circle stand..." Marguerite echoed. "That's clearly the Avebury Standing Stones."
"And the crimson beast?" John asked.
"If it were daytime, I'd say it's the sun." Marguerite replied. "But the riddle mentions night… and the moon isn't red."
William's eyes lit up. "Unless it's a blood moon."
John repeated the next line. "Beneath the thatch..."
"That must be some kind of enclosed space." Marguerite suggested. "A cottage, a barn..."
"And who's Florrie?" William asked.
Marguerite glanced at John. "Perhaps Arthur's sweetheart?"
"I don't think he ever had one." John said.
William crouched beside the gravestone. "Who do you think is buried here?"
No one had the chance to answer. Elizabeth appeared with girls. Juliette came racing ahead, her curls bouncing with every step. "Daddy, daddy! We fed the little ducks!"
John barely had time to react before she leaped into his arms. "A new mama duck showed up with tiny ducklings! You should've seen them, Daddy—they were so cute!"
"New ducklings, you say?" John asked. "Well, now I'm jealous. Sounds like I missed quite the spectacle."
"Can we take them home?" she asked eagerly.
"No, sweetheart. They're wild ducks. They belong here." She pouted for only a second before he added, "But we can always come back to feed them again."
"Oh, okay!" she exclaimed, instantly satisfied. Then, without warning, she wriggled out of his arms, her attention already stolen by whatever her Mother and brother were examining near the gravestone.
At that moment, Elizabeth and Isabelle approached.
"Good heavens, would one of you care to explain what exactly you're doing in the middle of a graveyard?" Elizabeth asked, eyeing them all with suspicion. "On second thought, don't. Perhaps I'm better off not knowing."
"We already told you, Granny." Isabelle said. "They're looking for buried treasure."
Marguerite crossed her arms, giving the twins a pointed look. "You just couldn't resist telling, could you?"
"You always say honesty is the best policy." Isabelle replied.
"Yes, but I also say knowing when to keep a secret is a valuable skill."
"Surely you wouldn't keep secrets from me." Elizabeth said.
John hesitated. "Well…"
"I'd be quite offended if you did." Elizabeth cut him off. "So... Arthur had discovered Captain Roxton's treasure… and hid it in such a way that only those he deemed worthy could uncover it."
"Something like that." John confirmed.
"And you believe yourselves to be worthy?" Elizabeth asked.
"We're doing our best." Marguerite said. "Your son and grandson have been rather helpful—despite John's initial objections."
"Objections? Whatever for?" Elizabeth asked.
"Something about this treasure was plundered. And it wouldn't be right for us to use it." Marguerite explained mockingly.
John crossed his arms. "I stand by that."
"In some ways, you are exactly like your father." Elizabeth said. "But, thank Heavens at least one of you is thinking sensibly."
John frowned. "You can't possibly mean her." He gestured toward Marguerite.
"Oh, I most certainly do."
"So you approve of this?" He asked. "You truly believe we should go after the treasure and—if we find it—use it, regardless of where it came from?"
"I support anything that ensures the preservation of this estate and our family's future." Elizabeth said, then turned to Marguerite. "You have my full support, dear. And thank you for standing firm in your convictions." She then turned to the gravestone. "Now, what exactly have you found here?"
"A riddle… one we haven't quite solved yet." Marguerite replied.
"But we know it has something to do with the Standing Stones." William added.
Elizabeth stepped closer and leaned in to read the inscription. The rest of the family gathered around her. Elizabeth was the one who had known Arthur better than any of them. She had listened to his stories, had watched him over the years, had known the places he favored. Maybe she could uncover something.
Suddenly, she laughed. "Honestly, I can't believe none of you have figured it out yet."
"Mother?" John asked.
"It's obvious, isn't it?" She asked back.
"Not to us." He replied.
Elizabeth glanced at each of them before finally saying, "It's The Red Lion."
"The Red Lion?" John asked. "The pub?"
"Yes, the pub." she confirmed. "It's the most famous haunted pub in the world, and as such, it was Arthur's favorite place. It also happens to be the only pub in the world located within an ancient stone circle. There are countless ghost stories tied to it. Guests have reported seeing spirits wandering the halls, strange shadows in the candlelight, objects moving on their own... But the most famous ghost of all is Florrie."
"The same Florrie from the text?" William asked.
Elizabeth nodded. "Yes. Legend has it, she was murdered there centuries ago. Some say her husband killed her in a jealous rage, others that she was a victim of some darker fate. But one thing remains the same in every story—her spirit never left. The Red Lion has a well inside, right in the middle of the pub. Some say Florrie's body was thrown down there after she was killed. Today, they've covered it with a thick glass so visitors can look down into it."
William's eyes widened. "A grave beneath glass."