A Fortune I Seek

Prologue

It was a dark evening. The sun was just beginning to fall below the mountainous horizon and it stole any warmth that had previously been gifted to the world. At this altitude, the air could be as frigid as the dead of winter but it made Mr. Sutcliffe feel closer to heaven to stand so high above the rest.

The car slowly rolled to a stop in front of a castle of a house. A grand staircase of cream sandstone marched up to the front door, colossal in size and standing at massive attention to all guests who arrive. The rest of the manor launched into the sky, catching clouds between its highest peeks and splitting day into night. When he was younger, Mr. Sutcliffe used to lay on the ground at the base of the manor and bask at the height of its towers. He even used to wonder if it would someday float off into space.

But the manor has endured and space had not yet taken it captive, much to Mr. Sutcliffe's pleasure.

He waited for his valet to open the door then he rose from the backseat of a jet black limousine, buttoning the bottom of his soot colored suit jacket. He brushed back his chocolate hair that just last week had begun to grey along the sides, and he straightened his signature maroon tie. It was his favorite color and he believed wholeheartedly that it brought him good fortune.

But he has been known to be wrong on an occasion or two.

"Good evening, Mr. Sutcliffe. Welcome again to Thorne Manor." Harrington greeted. He bowed politely at the waist with a hand across his midsection to prevent his white shirt from wrinkling. Black slacks were pressed and crisp, as were the black suspenders holding them in place. Such were the expectations of a Thorne Manor butler, to be clean and pristine. When he rose, the softest breeze made his handlebar mustache twitch on a smile, "We have been expecting you, sir."

"Good to see you, Harrington. It has been a time since my last visit." Mr. Sutcliffe said sincerely. Harrington had been a butler here since Mr. Sutcliffe was a boy. He remembered spilling a bottle of his mother's favorite wine on a stark white couch in the library, and it was only due to Harrington's inept knowledge of household care that Mr. Sutcliffe avoided a beating. Knowing that Harrington was still here eased some concern Mr. Sutcliffe had felt at being summoned to Thorne Manor so abruptly, "I presume I am the last to arrive?"

"As always, sir." Harrington gestured to the staircase and the door beyond, "Right this way, sir."

Mr. Sutcliffe began a climb of elegance and shuffled up the steps with Harrington only a pause behind. Heights stretched above them, dull lights hanging around darkened windows and vines highlighted only by the receding rays of a dying sun. It was a magnificent building, complete with wide arches and sprawling grounds, a horse stable and an expansive garden, a lake beyond the surrounding trees, and half a mountainside under its territory. It was as impressive as it was elusive, a hidden gem known only by word of mouth from guests that visited the seasonal masquerades. Even then, only society's richest were invited to these grounds.

And no one steps foot in Thorne Manor who hasn't been invited.

For all its worth and debonair reputation, Mr. Sutcliffe has always enjoyed visiting the estate. As good friends with the Hawthorne family, he summered here often as a boy and it imprinted positively on him in his youth. Now as an adult, he found his love for this place even greater. Like a dream he has relentlessly chased or a hope he kept safe from the slaughter of adulthood.

Harrington hurried ahead and heaved open a door even giants could pass through without difficulty. Mr. Sutcliffe entered the manor and Harrington rushed through silent struggle to close the door then scurry behind to follow the man through the foyer. Delicate clicks of leather shoes against clean marble floors echoed throughout the otherwise silent mansion.