Jack was well into his second tumbler of the excellent whiskey, Bushmill's 1608 anniversary edition, when he noticed the car had slowed to gentle stop. Looking out the window he could see they were on a small wooded country lane. They'd stopped at a gate and what appeared to be a guard was talking to the driver.

A few moments later they were being waved through the open gate, and Jack thought they'd been transported back into time. The car wound through an estate the likes of he'd rarely seen aside from the grounds around the Royal residences. perfectly manicured lawns, gave the grounds an idyllic park like setting. Any minutes he expected to see sheep grazing, or a young lord pelting across the lawn on a horse, hunting hounds milling around the horse's feet.

The long drive ended in a large cobble stone courtyard. The main manor house was flanked by a carriage house and another outbuilding. The Carriage house had been apparently converted into a garage. Parked inside was what looked like an excellent reproduction of a 1930's Rolls Royce touring car, alongside a more modern Sedan.

The manor house itself was typical of upper class society in the late 17th century. The home was obviously that of a landed nobleman, its size and architectural features spoke of wealth beyond the masses. The well-manicured gardens and grounds spoke of absolute control over its environs, yet the abundance of natural materials bespoke a love and harmony with its surroundings, the land from which it was built.

The double entry doors were open and a gentlemen stood in the doorway, his posture stiff. He was dressed in formal attire, it's very formality made it seem a uniform. His hair was perfectly coifed and his face was a mask of neutrality. The perfect gentleman's servant.

Tom put the car in Park and looked at his watch, 7:30, on the dot. He'd made it. That would be one hell of a nice bonus. He exited the vehicl and opened the door with a large grin. "Gentlemen, we've arrived. I hope the trip was enjoyable. I'll be here when you're ready to leave."

Jack finished the rest of the whiskey in one gulp and quickly climbed out of the car. After, brushing down his crumpled suit, he looked up at the manor house and let out a low whistle.

"Well, this Duvalle chap certainly has plenty of money", he stated, feeling somewhat uncomfortable at being confronted by such an obviously upper class establishment. "And he seems to be stuck in the last century", he added as an afterthought.

Jack nodded his thanks and goodbye to Tom and started up the small steps to the front entrance.

John followed him out of the car, turning slowly around as he headed for the steps. The last time he'd been anywhere like this, the National Trust had charged him a tenner just to get into the grounds.

Malachi hauled himself out of the car looking around in admiration. The wealth of some in relation to the poverty of others was always an amazement to him. God's eye fell on both just the same and he hoped that Mr. Duvalle was using his prosperity to good effect and trying to enjoy the blessings. Malachi tried to remember the last time he saw such grandiose opulence and could not remember, though he felt as though he might be walking into a grand cathedral.

The very formal manservant introduced himself as Harold in very haughty, clipped tones and quickly escorted them through a large round foyer with paintings on the walls and down a hall, his shoes staccato on the hard wood floors. Everything was richly appointed, nearly museum-like. The feeling of stepping back in time returned.

Harold stopped at a set of double doors, flung them open and gestured inside. "Please, be seated. Mr. Duvalle will be in momentarily." He turned smartly on his heels and strode further into the house.

The room was large, perhaps the largest in the house, The wallpaper was a rich burgundy, and included pattern incorporating scrolls, vines and birds all finely detailed. The ceiling moldings were elaborately carved and painted in lighter tones taken from the color of the walls. Applied decorations were added to the ceiling, in the corners and around the crystal and bronze chandelier that hung from the center of the room. A large gilded fireplace stood against the wall opposite the doors, flanked by large arched bay windows, a fire burning cheerily behind it's ornate scrolled wrought Iron grate.

The drapes were sumptuous velvet and brocade affairs with silk sheers, folded and held back with ropes and scroll shaped fitments embellished with tassels. Scrolled, and gilded valances made of velvet and lace adorned the tops. Amongst all the sofa’s, chairs, footstools and tables, the largest item was the upholstered Queen Ann sofa, deep buttoned, and serpentine-backed.

Jack walked into the room, admiring the opulence and came to a halt under the crystal chandelier. He looked up and sniffed. The rampant wealth and class did not comfort him. He was a lower class man at heart and this level of finery did not suit him.

"As I said outside", said Jack, his deep voice echoing around the immense room, "the guy definitely has money and an old-fashioned taste in decorations".

He sat on the Queen Ann sofa and leaned back, trying to get comfortable.

John strolled around the room, peeking behind drapes and furniture, checking for network access. Old habits die hard. This place would be hell to network. Sheesh, you'd need some kind of laser system to cross the foyer alone! Or maybe a couple of decent wireless boosters might do it at a push. He traced his fingers along the pattern of the wallpaper.

"Right." He clapped his hands together, rubbed them, cracked his knuckles, and smiled at the others. "How many secret passages do you reckon there are in here, then?"

"Secret passages," Malachi laughed and walked around admiring the finery wondering what John was looking for. It did in some respected remind him of the airy openness of a cathedral complete with the trappings that promised secrets long since forgotten. Malachi felt in his mind the songs of a long abandoned chamber choir only six members strong covering all the major tones and filling the hall with resonance and majesty. He almost let go and sang a bar of Exultate Deo.

"If there are any secret passages", Jack commented, "then yer unlikely to find them. They're called secret passages for a reason". He remained on the sofa, resting his bulk, but watched as John continued to stroll around the room.

(gm note: open tag here, are we done with this bit?)

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Duvalle sat on a padded bench as he waited for Liz to finish her ablations. He understood her shock and was feeling a bit out of sorts himself. He'd expected strong reactions, but he hadn't expected the chalice to be able to force itself through his wards to make her attack. It had been a near thing, he'd gotten the calming charm off just in time to reinforce the wards on the necklace.

He was also worried about what the face revealed in the last bit of the image meant. It was Edgar Faust, a face he hadn't seen in over 150 years. What ties did he have to Ms. Downing? And the Chalice? Something wasn't adding up here. Ms. Downing was an enigma. One he needed to unravel before the power she carried consumed her.

Duvalle's musings were interrupted by the bathroom door opening. He stood, leaning heavily on his cane and smiled warmly at his young guest. "Are you ready, M'dear?"

Liz nodded, "Yes, sir." She was thinking over what she had learned and was not really in the mood to talk.

Duvalle escorted his charge down the hall back the way they'd came. As they passed the library, Liz noticed the charm Duvalle had given her warmed again, as if drawing energy from the proximity to the carpet.

A little further down the hall, they came to a set of open double doors. Duvalle stepped into the room and greeted the four men. "Good evening, gentlemen. I'm Jeffery Duvalle, your host for the evening. Thank you so much for coming. This lovely creature with me is Elizabeth Downing, one of your fellow dinner guests. How was the trip? Is there anything I can get you?"

Still sat on the sofa, Jack looked up as Jeffery Duvalle entered the room. His gaze quickly passed across their host and stopped on the woman beside him. As it did, his eyes widened.

Her slender frame filled his mind with feathered darkness. The pale skin of her neck glowed with unexpected youthfulness. Her full mouth promised a sweet but commanding voice. Her dark, raven hair cascaded across her beautiful face. And then her eyes met his...

...No, it was not her. These eyes were filled with uncertainty and perhaps a little fear - not hunger and hate. These eyes were a soft blue - not an entrapping amber.

Jack let out the breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding and scrambled to his feet, breaking his gawping of Liz as he did so. Nervously rubbing the back of his bald head, the somewhat overweight doctor approached the two newcomers.

Beside Duvalle, Liz shifted uncomfortably under Jack's stare and was visibly relieved when his attention turned to their host.

"Mr Duvalle. Miss Downing", he said in greeting, whilst now keeping his eyes on the older man. "The trip was as good as could be expected, I suppose, and as for gettin' anything, some more of your whiskey would be welcome, sir".

"Sir." The young woman said respectfully.

Duvalle smiled warmly his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Of course. Would you prefer a single malt or blended, Scotch or Irish?"

"I'm not fussy" replied Jack, shrugging. "Some of that excellent scotch from the car would go down a treat. Though if you're serving wine with dinner, then maybe I'll wait".

Jack then turned towards Liz acknowledging her greeting, his eyes lingering for a moment on the soft, pale skin of her neck. "A pleasure" he mumbled in reply but then carefully moved back a little as Malachi approached.

Where Jack concentrated on Miss Downing, John's gaze scanned their host. I know you! a tiny part of his brain was screaming. I've seen you before.

Marco found himself behind the others and only glimpsed the woman briefly.  His attention was on Duvalle and as he stole a glance he found himself confused by what he saw.  The others shuffled around, exchanging greetings.  Marco felt his throat tighten.  His eyes skated across the man in front of him, from head to toe.  Beside him, John seemed a little startled too and Marco pulled his gaze away from Duvalle to look at the Brit.

"You okay?" he asked John, but there was more movement, and Marco's eyes dropped from John to Malachi.

"Er, yeah.  Yeah."  John cleared his throat, pushed his shoulders back and straightened a little.  "Yes.  Thanks for asking."

Malachi Baptiste stepped forward with an open hand for Elizabeth first then Duvalle second respecting the introduction of the host. "It's a pleasure to be invited into such fine company and I look forward to a dinner that is as equally as fine, though I must say you've invited quite an assortment of us here. A real diversity."

Liz smiled politely at the Father as she lightly took the offered hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you, sir."

Marco noticed her for the first time.  She seemed regular enough, perhaps even American.  She didn't look like the girls back home, but the other men seemed to be aroused into conversation at her presence.  Perhaps all the bonding in the car had set them on edge.  Marco smiled a little, although not at anyone in general.

Duvalle shook Malachi's hand, his grip remarkably strong for his apparent age. "Diversity is the spice of life, Father." He said with a warm smile and a slight chuckle. "I do like to keep things interesting, having lived as long as I have, constancy equates to boredom."

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A few minutes later the haughty man-servant knocked discreetly on the door. "Sir, your last guest has arrived. He's awaiting your pleasure in the Foyer. The dining room will be ready momentarily." Duvalle thanked the man who bowed stiffly and disappeared. Duvalle excused himself.

"And then there were six."  John shook his head.  "This is getting more and more Poirot by the minute."

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A few minutes later, Duvalle re-appeared with another man at his side. he beamed with genuine pleasure. "My friends, This is Mr. Miles Aldred, our last guest. Mr. Aldred, we have Ms. Elizabeth Downing, Signore Marco Conti, Mr. John Constantine, Dr. Jack Hutchinson, and Last but definitely not least Father Malachi Baptiste." Miles nodded a polite greeting to each in turn.

Malachi stepped forward with an open hand and a warm greeting, "Welcome to the soiree. We've all just arrived so you've not missed any of the festivities quite yet."

Miles shook his hand firmly. "Thank you."

"Yeah, just a few of the usual pleasantries", agreed Jack, raising a gloved hand in salute to Miles. He turned to Duvalle.

"Well, Mr Duvalle, you've certainly gathered together a right bunch. And if Mr Aldred here is your last guest then perhaps you can tell us what this is all about?"

"Of course, My good doctor. Fine food, fine conversation, and good company. At least for the moment. I prefer to discuss business on a full stomach."

Just as he finished Speaking, as if on cue, Harold appeared behind Duvalle. "Dinner is ready. The first course has been served, if you'll follow me please?" With a quick shallow bow, Harold turned and marched off down the hall."

Miles raised an eyebrow slightly. Tonight's event had certainly been orchestrated in some detail, and his curiosity was growing.

Jack looked a little frustrated at the distinct lack of details forthcoming from their host. His stomach rumbled in sympathy.

"Well", said Jack, "if there ain't going to be any clues from our host about why we're 'ere until after dinner, then let's get eating. The sooner we finish, the sooner we get some answers". He waited for their host and Liz to go first but quickly followed behind.

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