1  -- TEMPORAL AGENT  BY MICHEL POULIN

NOTE TO READERS

This novel is a compilation of chapters drawn from three of my other novels, TIMELINE TWIN, FROM THE FIELDS OF CRIMEA TO THE SANDS OF MARS and THE ADVENTURES OF NANCY LAPLANTE IN THE 19TH CENTURY, which were then extensively reviewed and improved. The present novel consolidates the adventures in past centuries, mostly the 17th and 19th Centuries, of Nancy Laplante ‘B’, a new and young field agent of the Time Patrol, from her first missions to her time of death. A list of my published novels follows.

OTHER BOOKS BY THIS AUTHOR

(All available free online at Free-Ebooks.net, or can be ordered direct via email to the

author at natai@videotron.ca)

CHAPTER 1 – A NEW TEMPORAL AGENT


11:18 (New Zealand Time)

Friday, February 24, 2988 B.C.E. (Before the Common Era) Secret main base of the Time Patrol

Future site of the city of Auckland

North Island of New Zealand

Farah Tolkonen ‘A’, a thin, bald giant typical of the citizens of the civilization of the Global Council, which existed in the 34th Century of Timeline ‘A’, noticed at once the preoccupied expression of Mike Crawford ‘B’ as the tall and powerful American entered her office. Mike was followed closely by the no less tall and powerful Otto Skorzeni ‘B’ and by the head psychologist of the Time Patrol, Miri Goshenk ‘B’, a bald giant originating from the now erased Imperium ‘B’. The trio of visitors took place at Farah’s invitation in a sofa facing the easy chair occupied by the Chief Administrator of the Time Patrol.



‘’Now that we are all together,’’ said calmly Farah, ‘’let’s talk about our young and lively Nancy Laplante ‘B’. Otto, your final evaluation that you sent me yesterday said that she is in your opinion fully qualified to immediately become a Time Patrol field agent.’’



‘’That’s correct, Farah.’’ said the ex-SS officer, who was now in charge of the assault teams of the Time Patrol. ‘’Nancy has passed with success all the qualification tests for a field agent, except of course for those grading her use of implants, since she still has no implants. She is a certified black belt in martial arts and is an expert with all known weapons, be they ancient or modern. She is a responsible, serious and disciplined girl and is dedicated to her work. With her I.Q. of 153 she is also of genius level, like Nancy ‘A’, and she assimilated in near record time all the materiel on the curriculum for field agent training. She has also passed with success two months ago the final examination for a bachelor of robotics engineering at the New Lake City University, even obtaining an honor mention. Right now, despite her young age, she

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would be considered an elite soldier in any army. The only point where she was not positively brilliant is that she is a competent pilot but not an exceptional one.’’ Farah nodded her head and then fixed her yellow eyes on Miri Goshenk ‘B’, the ex-First Lady of the Imperium ‘B’.



‘’Miri, what is your psychological evaluation of Nancy ‘B’?’’ The beautiful giant, even taller than Farah at 224 centimeters but much stronger and more athletic, like a typical citizen of the Imperium, weighed carefully her answer before speaking.

‘’Farah, let’s not forget that Nancy ‘B’ is the temporal twin of Nancy ‘A’ and thus possesses the same body and same mind which made Nancy ‘A’ such an exceptional woman in all respects. She also has access to her souvenirs of past incarnations, like all our people over eight years of age in the Time Patrol. Those souvenirs cover in her case a total of 92 lives spread over 9,000 years. She thus is much more mature than what one would expect from a girl of thirteen. She has also passed with success all the psychological tests administered to our apprentice agents. The only thing that I could say against her is that she is already quite fond of sex but, hey, that’s Nancy Laplante to you.’’

That remark brought knowing smiles around the room, as Nancy ‘A’ had been famous or, as some in other places would say, infamous about her sexual appetite. Here, at the secret base of the Time Patrol, the social mores reflected the standards of the 34th Century rather than those of the 20th Century. Further, the fact that the young teens of the Time Patrol all remembered at least a few centuries of past lives as adults made them sexually active at an age that would have scandalized most people in other time periods and places.

‘’What about her now being a Chosen of The One?’’ asked Farah to no one in particular. ‘’We know that Nataï made her a Chosen and gave her some powers, but Nancy has been reluctant up to now to tell us what kind of powers she holds.’’

‘’Actually, I find that a positive point.’’ replied Miri Goshenk. ‘’Most girls of her age who would get such powers would brag at least a bit about them. Not Nancy ‘B’. Even though she may actually be a person with immense powers, she has avoided talking about them and has not done any demonstrations of such powers, except for hints that she is at least a telepath and has the power of telekinesis. I can thus say that those powers, whatever they may be, didn’t go to her head, denoting a truly disciplined and selfless mind.’’

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As Farah reviewed mentally all the information she had just got, Mike Crawford ‘B’, the widowed husband of Nancy ‘A’ who had taken her place as chief of operations of the Time Patrol, spoke up.



‘’There is also another factor to consider in our discussion concerning the future of Nancy ‘B’, Farah. I am talking of the mysterious d’Orléans Social Foundation, this French charity and social help society established in Paris in 1848 by a young aristocrat named Jeanne d’Orléans. My wife used the services of that foundation quite a few times in Timeline ‘B’ after the end of World War Two, mostly to discreetly do social work which could have proved controversial locally, like when she helped the black citizens of Montgomery, in Alabama, to fight off racism. She however stayed very discreet even with me about that organization, something that intrigued me. That finally decided me into doing a discreet inquiry through time via robotic spy probes about that d’Orléans Social Foundation and on that Jeanne d’Orléans. Let’s just say that what I learned deeply shook me.’’

Opening his laptop computer and pivoting it on his knees so that the others could see its screen, Mike opened a video file and started playing it.

‘’What you will see is a video taken of the said Jeanne d’Orléans in 1848, at her Paris residence. It is quite self-explanatory.’’

Farah, like Otto and Miri, fixed the screen with intense curiosity and opened wide her eyes when she saw a richly dressed young woman, a teenager actually, sitting in a lounge typical of 19th Century Paris.

‘’NANCY?’’

‘’And not any Nancy, Farah.’’ said gravely Mike. ‘’According to her apparent age, this can only be Nancy ‘B’. Nancy ‘A’ was already 31 years old when she founded with you the Time Patrol. In 1848, the said Jeanne d’Orléans could not be more than twenty years old. In fact, my investigation in the past revealed that Jeanne d’Orléans was born in 1829 under the name of Jeanne Marie Céleste de Brissac. She is supposedly the daughter of a couple of ruined aristocrats of low lineage who were trying to rebuild their fortune in the Guadeloupe. Jeanne, according to official French documents of the time, married in 1846 in the Guadeloupe Knight Pierre Alphonse d’Orléans. This Pierre d’Orléans is said to have died of a tropical fever in 1847 and then eschewed all his possessions to his young widow, who then returned to France. Once in Paris, Jeanne d’Orléans managed to quickly fatten her fortune via a number of very successful

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financial speculations and founded a year later her social aid society. In 1953 ‘B’, the d’Orléans Social Foundation is an anonymous charity and social aid corporate entity which secretly controls a financial empire worth hundreds of millions of dollars. According to the files I found in Nancy ‘A’s office, she was discreetly approached in 1943 ‘B’ in Jerusalem by a mandated representative of the d’Orléans Foundation, who offered her financial support for her humanitarian projects. The details of that offer, made verbally, are however unknown to me.’’

Farah, like Miri and Otto, let out a sigh, shaken by the implications of all this.

‘’A time causality loop! Nancy ‘B’ has a destiny in the past, in the 19th Century, and she doesn’t even know about it. Damn, how are we going to tell her that?’’

‘’The fact is that we won’t have any choice but to tell her about this…and soon. According to past French registries, Jeanne de Brissac was officially seventeen when she married Pierre d’Orléans in the Guadeloupe. Nancy ‘B’ is now thirteen and would easily appear to be fifteen or even sixteen to people of the 19th Century.’’

‘’But she doesn’t have implants yet and never served as a field agent in a single mission.’’ objected Otto Skorzeni. ‘’To send her alone on such a crucial, long-term mission, without any prior field experience, would be totally irresponsible, not to say criminal.’’

‘’Otto is right about that, Farah.’’ said gravely Mike. ‘’We must right now think about not only accepting Nancy ‘B’ as a qualified field agent, but also about giving her occasions to gain field experience before sending her to become Jeanne d’Orléans.’’

‘’But, is Nancy even ready to become a field agent?’’ replied hotly Farah. ‘’Even with all her training and qualifications, she is still only a child of thirteen. Do we even have the legal right to give such a risky mission to a child?’’ Miri Goshenk bent forward in her sofa, fixing her friend and superior with a sober expression.

‘’Farah, I believe that we are now touching a subject that we should have discussed a long time ago. Basically, can we still call a young teenager with thousands of years of memories from past incarnations a child? Through such souvenirs, a young teenager can recall the sexual lives, personal successes and failures and life lessons of men and women from a multitude of cultures and time periods. According to my experience as a psychologist with the Time Patrol, I am ready to say that such a teenager who has had access to his or her past souvenirs for at least four years and who has reached physical puberty should be considered as a responsible adult. You

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certainly did notice the fact that the children and young teenagers living on this base have shown a rather, uh, precocious sexuality, even by the very liberal standards of the Global Council or of the Imperium.’’

Mike rolled his eyes at that, while Otto smiled in amusement.

‘’Yes! I must say that I would have loved to have had that kind of freedom in my youth. However, my father would have probably given me a memorable spanking if he would have found me with a naked girl at the age of ten.’’

‘’In 1953 ‘B’, in the United States, the public would probably be scandalized to see what is going on in this base.’’ added Mike. ‘’More to the point, we all know from past missions that people married at a much younger age in the past than in modern times, mostly due to the high mortality rate in those time periods and the need to have children early. I believe that Miri is correct on this point, Farah. Let’s treat Nancy ‘B’ like an adult and let’s equip her with field agent implants. As for giving her some prior field experience, I could integrate her in Elizabeth Windsor’s incoming mission in 17th Century France.’’

Seeing Miri and Otto nodding their heads in approval at those words, Farah then took a decision.

‘’Very well! I will prepare a surgical intervention for tomorrow morning, to graft in Nancy ‘B’ a set of field agent implants. I will also reserve for her use Pegasus, the robotic horse used by Nancy ‘A’: it is already tuned to the mental waves frequency of Nancy and is accustomed to her behavior. Mike, I want you to go inform Nancy of our decision and to brief her about what you know about Jeanne d’Orléans and her social foundation. Do you want to inform Nancy’s parents or do you wish me to do it?’’

‘’I will take care of that, Farah. I will also advise Elizabeth that she will have a new partner for her mission in France.’’

‘’Excellent! Thank you all for coming. Let’s hope that this will mark the start of a long and brilliant career for our young Nancy ‘B’.’’

Leaving Farah’s office with Miri and Otto, Mike stopped for a moment near an elevator and activated his wrist videophone to call Nancy ‘B’. The teenager’s face appeared on the small screen after less than three seconds, smiling to him.

‘’Yes, Mike? What can I do for you?’’

‘’I would need to speak with you about something very important, Nancy. Where are you right now?’’

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‘’I am presently swimming on the main beach of the inner bay.’’

‘’Very well! I will go join you there.’’

‘’You are welcome to join me in the water, you know: the water is nice.’’ Mike hesitated for a moment then. Nancy ‘B’s face, apart from her apparent youth, was the same as that of his late wife, whom he had loved passionately. On the other hand, Nancy ‘B’ had not hidden her attraction towards the powerful athlete that Mike was. There was however an age difference of 36 years between them, even if the standard longevity treatment of the Global Council made Mike appear to be only thirty years old.

‘’Uh, thanks for the offer but I must take care of quite a few things. We will talk further on the beach.’’

Closing the cover of his wrist videophone, Mike let out a sigh of regret as he called up a cabin: He was sorely missing Nancy ‘A’ since her tragic death three months ago, subjective time. He however knew that he would eventually have to go over her loss and resume his personal life with someone else. Farah Tolkonen ‘A’, with her sweetness and quiet feminity, came more and more often to his mind as a desirable partner.

Riding the elevator down to the ground level of the giant, 500 meter diameter prismatic sphere which constituted the Time Patrol main base, Mike finally walked out in the open and went towards the beach to the East of the base. The base itself could fly and jump space-time if need be, in case it was attacked. The location of the base, apart from being on a land that would not be visited by other humans for another two millenniums, could also be described as a near paradise. The climate was nearly perfect yearlong, without extremes of temperatures, and the surrounding beaches allowed the occupants of the base to swim in clear waters, while the nature around was perfect to practice open air sports. After walking about 600 meters, Mike arrived at the main beach, situated on the shores of Auckland Bay, finding there a dozen members of the Time Patrol and family members either swimming or taking some sun. Mike had some difficulty not starring at the very beautiful Susanna Berghof, who was lying naked on her back on top of a beach towel and getting suntanned. His male libido was further put to the test when Nancy ‘B’, seeing him from a distance, came out of the water and walked towards him, a big smile on her face. As per her habit, she had been swimming naked and the curves of her body, while not yet as generous as those of her dead timeline twin, were already very tempting. Measuring 180 centimeters at the age of

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thirteen and having nearly attained her ultimate adult size, Nancy ‘B’ wore her silky black hair long and her green eyes sparkled with intelligence and life. She also had the body and the muscles of an Olympic-level athlete, which she was. Like Nancy ‘A’, she had taken the habit of closely shaving her groin and armpits. Mike did his best not to stare at her fantastic body and stopped in the middle of the beach, greeting her with a smile.

‘’I have good news for you, Nancy.’’

Sensing that he would say something truly important, the teenager stopped one pace away and looked soberly into his eyes.

‘’I’m listening, Mike.’’

‘’Me, Farah, Otto and Miri just discussed your request to be recognized as a qualified field agent. I am happy to tell you that you are thus accepted as of today.’’ Mike had to pause as Nancy shouted a scream of joy that made many heads turn around the beach.

‘’YEAH! AT LAST! And what about my special implants?’’

‘’Farah is scheduling a surgical procedure on you for tomorrow morning. You will then follow two weeks of specialized training in order to learn how to use your implants. That will prepare you in turn for your first mission, which will be done under the supervision of Elizabeth Windsor in 17th Century France.’’

‘’The France of King Louis XIV and of the musketeers? That should make an interesting first mission.’’ said Nancy, a big smile on her face.

‘’There is however more, Nancy, much more.’’ added soberly Mike. ‘’We found out that, due to a time causality loop we didn’t know about before, you have a predestined life in the 19th Century.’’

Mike then took a good four minutes to explain the situation to the teenager, who had suddenly sobered up at the news of a predestined life. He told her how he had found out about Jeanne d’Orléans and her social foundation. Despite the shock that this caused her, Nancy didn’t seem to be discouraged or embittered about her destiny and finally gave him a resolute look.

‘’This Jeanne d’Orléans seems to spread goodness and compassion around her. There could be no better mission for a Chosen of The One, Mike. I will be happy to become Jeanne d’Orléans.’’

Mike was secretly relieved by that declaration, having worried that she would have refused to play such a role, something that would have been her absolute right to reject.

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‘’Perfect! Consider your mission with Elizabeth as your preliminary training mission before you go become Jeanne d’Orléans. On that, I can show you the films and documentation I was able to get on her.’’

‘’Then let’s go back to the base! I am anxious to learn more about her.’’ Nancy then went to grab her beach towel and her sunglasses before joining back with Mike, who looked at her with some surprise.

‘’You didn’t bring a bathing suit with you to go swim?’’

‘’No! Why? I left the base in the same dress than I am in now. The Sun will have time to dry my body during our walk back. Let’s go!’’

‘’You little rascal!’’ said Mike, smiling in amusement as he followed her. His response made her search for his left hand and then press it firmly.

‘’Who said that a Chosen of The One had to be prudish, Mike?’’ Mike glanced quickly at the magnificent body of the teenage version of his late wife and spoke to himself in a near whisper.

‘’And God created Woman.’’

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CHAPTER 2 – D’ARTAGNAN




17:51 (Paris Time)

Saturday, April 15, 1651

Inn of ‘Le Lion Noir’, Paris

France

Wearily getting off from his

horse in the courtyard of the inn, the rider gave the reins of his mount to the inn’s stable boy before shaking off some of the dust and dried mud covering his worn clothes and cape. Taking his saddle bags and his weapons with him, he then walked to the entrance of the establishment, careful in the growing darkness not to step on the horse droppings covering the cobblestones of the courtyard. Before entering the inn, though, he made sure that his sword was easily grabbed: in these turbulent times of the Paris ‘Fronde

Uprising’1, one had to be wary about who came your way, especially when you worked undercover for Cardinal Mazarin, who was widely hated by both the citizens of Paris and by the aristocratic class. The few confidential letters from Mazarin which he was carrying made him even more leery of strangers. Entering the poorly lit main hall of the inn, he quickly chose a vacant table in an obscure corner and sat facing the entrance: standing in the doorway of an inn was the best way to attract attention.

Scanning the small number of people present in the hall, he was relieved to see no militiamen or soldiers belonging to one of the rebel princes. Only a few bourgeois and travelers were having supper or were drinking wine, with the innkeeper and a young maid in attendance. He couldn’t help smile back at a teenage girl who was eating alongside another young woman. The latter was obviously an aristocrat, judging from the quality of her dress. Both of the girls were sitting at the table nearest to his and the smell of the roast meat they were eating was like torture to his empty stomach. Unfortunately, his purse was about as empty as his stomach and the other agent from

1 th Fronde Uprising: French civil war of the mid-17 Century, opposing the Paris Parliament and many high aristocrats to Queen Anne and Cardinal Mazarin, who were governing in the name of young King Louis XIV. The royal forces eventually prevailed, with King Louis XIV then taking the throne at his age of majority.

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Cardinal Mazarin who was supposed to give him funds for his stay in Paris and his return trip to Brühl, near Cologne, was not present in the hall. On his signal the innkeeper came to his table, bending down so that his customer could whisper to him: he was loyal to the Queen and the Cardinal and could be depended on to be discreet.

“Is Monsieur Bartet in his room?”

“Uh, no, monsieur. He is out doing some errands at the moment. I gather that you will be using his room tonight?”

“That’s correct.” said the messenger, who then paused while twisting one tip of his moustache. “Innkeeper, could you advance me some credit until Monsieur Bartet returns, so that I can eat something.”

The innkeeper looked at him with embarrassment.

“I am sorry, monsieur, but Monsieur Bartet already owes me two weeks of lodging and meals and is still waiting himself for some funds from your employer. With your two other friends here in the same situation, I am about broke myself: this Fronde Uprising is not helping business at all.”

His Gascon temper nearly made the messenger explode in rage and frustration: Cardinal Mazarin may be the one hope for the salvation of the monarchy in France but he was one stingy employer. His only hope now was to see Abbot Basile Fouquet in the morning and ask him for some money. If Mazarin’s right hand man in Paris had something aplenty, it was money. Emptying with resignation his purse on the table, he looked sadly at the few small coins which fell out, all of it amounting to less than one Livre. The innkeeper quickly grabbed the coins and smiled.

“That will be enough for your night’s lodging and some bread and wine, monsieur. I won’t be long.”



Watching the innkeeper go into his kitchen, the messenger noticed that the girl who had previously smiled to him was looking at him with something approaching pity: she must have seen him empty his flat purse on the table. The girl, a very tall one with a very nice chest, green eyes and long black hair, was maybe fifteen or sixteen and was beautiful, making the messenger wish that he could spend a night with her. The girl then whispered in the ear of her mistress, who glanced at him and smiled before nodding her head. The young girl then rose from her bench and went to him, an engaging smile on her face. She was truly a tall one, towering over all but

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one of the men present in the hall. The deep cleavage of her dress, in line with the current fashion, made her charms even more evident. She positively looked like hell on wheels and her smile was mischievous. The messenger smiled as he imagined what kind of bed partner she could be. The girl made a quick curtsy before presenting herself in impeccable French.

“Good evening, monsieur. I am Lady Nancy Sommers, lady-in-waiting of Lady Lisbeth of Strathmore. Would you honor us by joining us at our table, monsieur?” He smiled in anticipated pleasure at the girl: at least his luck had not totally run out.

“I would be delighted to accept the kind invitation of your mistress, mademoiselle.”

Rising to his feet, he eagerly followed the young Nancy to the next table, bowing and saluting with his large felt hat the pretty-looking young woman aristocrat.

“Good evening, milady! I am Charles Ogier de Batz de Castelmore, at your service. May I thank you for your most gracious invitation?” The discreet but noticeable reaction of the two English women to his name didn’t escape Charles, who tensed up at once: somebody able to recognize his name in Paris could represent a potential threat to him. Lisbeth of Strathmore however quickly repressed her reaction and showed him the seat besides Nancy while speaking in good French with a perceptible English accent.



“You may by joining us for supper, monsieur.” replied Lisbeth of Strathmore, her blue eyes sparkling with amusement. “It is too rare to have the company of a true gentleman instead of that of ruffians in these troubled times.”

‘’And how do you know that I am a gentleman, and not a ruffian, Lady Lisbeth?’’ Elizabeth Windsor ‘B’ aka Lady Lisbeth of Strathmore

Lisbeth, aka Elizabeth Windsor ‘B’, exchanged a knowing look with Nancy Laplante ‘B’ before replying to Charles, better known in history under the name ‘d’Artagnan’.

‘’First, your name is that of an aristocrat and you are wearing a sword. You are thus an aristocrat, probably of low lineage judging by your flat purse. Second, you haven’t yet tried to put your hand on the inviting butt of my lady-in-waiting. But please, sit down.’’

Despite his suspicions, Charles quickly sat opposite Lisbeth, who signaled the maid to approach.

“Mademoiselle, bring an extra cover and a pitcher of wine for our friend here.”

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She then turned her attention back on Charles, who was hungrily eyeing the plates of food on the table.

“You look like you rode long and hard, monsieur. Are you on a business trip?”

“Not exactly, milady. I am in Paris to take care of some of my master’s affairs. May I ask what a gentle young lady of quality like you is doing in Paris? I believe from your accent that you are English, correct?”

“Scottish actually, Monsieur de Castelmore. I am from Angus, Scotland, and I came to Paris to escape for a while the depredations of the parliamentary armies of that Cromwell bastard. These are bleak times for the monarchy in England, what with the recent defeats suffered by young King Charles the Second in Scotland. Those damn

Roundheads2 are quite barbaric when it comes to dealing with the supporters of the King.”

Charles nodded his head in sympathy: the ferociousness and fanaticism of Oliver Cromwell’s army was well known and feared around Europe, especially after the way they had recently repressed a rebellion in Ireland in a monstrous bloodbath. If there was one thing that the monarchs of Europe agreed on, it was on their hatred of Cromwell and of his army of fanatical Puritan followers.

The innkeeper came in then with the bread and wine already paid by Charles and stood near their table, confused. Charles waived the man away with a smile.

“Keep both the food and the money, innkeeper. I have accepted the kind hospitality of the young lady here.”

Lisbeth shook her head in amusement as the innkeeper marched back into his kitchen.

“You are quite generous for a man who is broke, Monsieur de Castelmore.”

“Wealth comes from the heart as well as from the purse, milady.”

“Well said, monsieur! Ah, here is your plate and wine. Enjoy your supper.”

Charles went at the food with gusto: he had not eaten that well in a long time and was positively famished from his long, arduous trip from Germany. Both Lisbeth and Nancy politely kept silent, nibbling at their own plates while letting him have the best parts from the roast beef and stewed vegetables. He did however drink wine with moderation: he could not afford to get drunk with the precious letters he was carrying.

2 Roundheads: Nickname given to the parliamentary cavalrymen of Oliver Cromwell

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He was halfway through his plate when the noise of a group of men entering the inn made him turn his head. Charles silently swore to himself when he recognized the newcomers as militiamen of the Parliament of Paris. The nine armed men in turn walked straight towards him after a short look around the room, probably because he was the only customer wearing a sword. The leader of the group, a mean-looking man with a pistol in his belt, stopped besides Charles and spoke to him in an arrogant tone.

“You! Who are you? What is your business in Paris?”

To everybody’s surprise, Lisbeth of Strathmore shot to her feet, addressing the militiaman with disdain.

“And who are you to disturb the supper of the daughter of the Earl of Strathmore? This man is in my service. If you have any questions, address them to me!” Taken aback at first by her forcefulness, the militiaman then got angry and shot back.

“Mademoiselle, the good people of Paris have the last word here, not some foreign aristocratic woman with a fancy title. I will ask questions to whom I choose.” Charles rose in indignation at the insolence of the man, grabbing his sword and prompting the other militiamen to do the same. Lisbeth’s hand on his shoulder stopped him from drawing his blade, though.

“Do not dirty your sword on him, Charles. It will be the Duke of Orléans who will run him through once Queen Henriette tells him about this.” The militiaman paled at once at that threat: Gaston D’Orléans, apart from being one of the leaders of the Parliament, was also the brother of Queen Henriette de France, widow of King Charles of England and presently in exile in Paris. With a curt nod, the militiaman turned around and quickly left the inn, followed by his men. A jubilant Charles looked with respect at the young aristocrat, who still had fire in her eyes.

“Well done, milady! But why did you protect me like this?”

“Because I have no time for parliamentary soldiers, English or otherwise. Long live the King! Now, let’s finish our supper in peace.”

Resuming their supper, Charles spoke in a low voice to Lisbeth, resolved to get to know more about her.

‘’Earlier, when I presented myself, you and your lady-in-waiting reacted to my name, as if you already knew me.

Elizabeth thought for a moment about her answer. She and Nancy had not expected to meet face to face with an historic character as famous as d’Artagnan during their

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historical documentation mission, which was supposed to be done in the most discreet manner possible. However, she could possibly turn this fortuitous encounter into something that could help her mission.

‘’Monsieur de Castelmore, I will tell you a secret. Me and my lady-in-waiting are here in Paris to visit Queen Henriette and to bring her the latest news from England, which are unfortunately not good. We also brought with us some funds to help our queen subsist in Paris and will take any letter she wishes to send to her loyal followers in England. Others before us did the same and one of the letters received in England mentioned you by name as a loyal agent of Cardinal Mazarin and of Queen Anne. We thus are both royalists on a mission.’’

Charles nodded his head at that, now understanding how Lisbeth could have known his name. He had in fact brought twice letters from Queen Anne to Queen Henriette two years ago, when he had visited her in the palace of The Louvre.

‘’Then, I can only sympathize with your cause, Lady Lisbeth.’’

‘’And me with yours, Monsieur de Castelmore. Those civil wars spread chaos and death, weaken both of our countries and profit only the mercenaries who are looting systematically the countryside.’’

‘’Well said, Lady Lisbeth! And what is the official reason of your visit to Paris, if someone asks you?’’

“The same as that I gave you first: to escape the depredations of the armies of Cromwell, depredations which are unfortunately too real. Also, since I have lots of time and money in my hands, I thought that it would be a good occasion to finally go see the famous painter, Mathieu Le Nain, and have my portrait and that of Nancy done by him.”

“A good idea indeed, milady.” replied Charles. “Monsieur Le Nain has done many great portraits for members of the Court, including Queen Anne and Cardinal Mazarin. I believe also that he is in somewhat of a slump right now, what with this Fronde Uprising.”

“Oh, really?” said Lisbeth of Strathmore, obviously interested. “Then maybe Monsieur Le Nain will be able to start my portrait without delay.”

“Probably, milady.” said Charles, who then hesitated before asking his next question, wanting to be as diplomatic as possible with his new benefactor.

“Milady, I don’t see any other members of your retinue here apart from young Nancy. Surely you are not traveling only the two of you alone in these troubled times.”

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“Monsieur de Castelmore,” replied calmly Lisbeth while smiling, “Nancy is much more than a lady-in-waiting to me: she is also my friend and bodyguard. I am also quite capable of defending myself.”

“Your…bodyguard?” said Charles, trying not to laugh in her face. “A teenage girl as an escort for a lady like you?”

“That’s right, monsieur! Who would pay attention to her, except to grab her ass? On the other hand, I would not advise you to try her on, with or without weapons. Her story is quite particular indeed.”

“If you say so, milady.”

“I do, Monsieur Charles. Now, what about yourself? Will you stay long in Paris?”

“Not long I’m afraid, milady. Maybe two days, then I have to ride out again. But if you are staying for a while in Paris, we will probably see each other again: I will have to ride back and forth quite often in the next few months. Will you stay in this inn all the time, milady?”

“We will, monsieur. Be certain that our table will always be open to you.” Charles bowed to her, pleased by her generous offer.

“Milady is too generous with a lowly stranger like me.”

‘’It is a pleasure to be able to help you, Monsieur de Castelmore.’’ Elizabeth then took a few silver coins from her purse and gave them to Nancy.

“Nancy, go see the innkeeper and arrange for a room and ample meals for Monsieur de Castelmore for the rest of his stay.”

‘’Right away, Milady!’’

As Nancy was going to see the innkeeper, Charles started to protest to Lisbeth that she was doing too much, but was cut off politely.

“Monsieur de Castelmore, consider this as simple courtesy between fellow travelers. Maybe you’ll be able to repay me some day by showing me around Paris.”

“I will be delighted to oblige, milady.”

Nancy returned a few minutes later, a key in her hands. Bowing first to her mistress, she then smiled to Charles.

“If monsieur could follow me, I will show him his room.”

Charles quickly grabbed his saddlebags, which contained all that he possessed, then gallantly kissed Elizabeth’s hand before following the teenager up the wooden staircase that led upstairs to the rooms of the inn.

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Charles soon saw with satisfaction that his assigned room was facing that of Isaac Bartet, the agent of Cardinal Mazarin whom he wanted to find earlier on. Entering with Nancy a clean room with a comfortable-looking bed, Charles started putting his things away on the cupboard and inside the dresser of his room. He was however surprised when he saw the innkeeper and his maid bring in a wooden bathtub with some steaming water in it. Nancy smiled to him as the maid went back downstairs with her boss to fetch more water for the tub.

“I thought that it would be a good idea for you to have a hot bath after your long, dusty and muddy trip, monsieur.”

“A bath? Is it really necessary? Doctors say that water attract diseases.” Nancy then gave him a dubious look.

“The bunch of ignorant twits who pass as doctors here may say that washing is actually bad for health and that body dirt protects from diseases but my common sense

and my nose say otherwise. In New France3, I bathed every day, yet I am quite healthy, as you can see.”

“You visited New France?” asked Charles, surprised.

‘’I was born there, monsieur.’’ replied proudly Nancy. ‘’My father was a French fur trapper, while my mother was an English aristocrat of low lineage who had been captured and taken as a slave by the Hurons. My father bought her back from the Hurons, then married her. I can tell you a lot more, but I want first to see you in this bathtub as soon as the innkeeper will return with more water. If that can motivate you, I will be soaping and scrubbing you…everywhere.’’

That last sentence convinced Charles to stop objecting to a bath and he finished putting away his meager possessions, which consisted mostly in weapons. Charles waited for the innkeeper to return and finish filling the bathtub, then pushed the door’s bolt lock in place after he left. Going then to the dresser, he started to take off his clothes, dusting them off first before carefully folding them as he undressed.

“Nancy,” asked Charles while his back was turned to the teenager, “was your mistress serious when she said that you were her bodyguard?”

“Charles, look at me.” said the girl in a calm voice. He turned around just in time to hear and feel a thrown knife pass by his right ear and burrow itself in the dresser’s

3 New France : Name given to the French colony in North America that would eventually become Canada.

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door with a thump. Jumping sideways, Charles looked first at the mean-looking blade still vibrating in the door, then at Nancy with both surprise and shock. She resolutely looked back at him, standing with feet apart in a defiant stand.

“Charles, I would appreciate if you would take me seriously. I am much more than what I appear to be.”

She then started to take off her dress, soon revealing a pair of short knife scabbards strapped under her breasts, where she could easily grab the blades through her dress’ cleavage. Two more knife scabbards, one of them empty, were strapped to the outside of her upper legs. Charles also noticed how athletic and muscular the girl was, with a sexy yet well balanced body that reminded him of a few circus acrobat girls he had seen in the past. While her deep skin tan contrasted with the milky skin that was considered a mark of beauty in France, it added to the impression of perfect health and fitness radiating from her. Her groin was also closely shaved, with the skin there nearly as tanned as on the rest of her body. Charles swallowed hard while eyeing her: compared to Nancy, the steamy women of the Fronde who thought of themselves as contemporary Amazons were pale imitations of female warriors. Walking calmly past him, Nancy retrieved her knife from the dresser’s door before taking gently Charles’ hand and guiding him towards the bathtub.

“Come on, Charles, finish undressing: I already saw many naked men in my life.”

‘’And how old are you to supposedly have so much experience with men, Nancy?’’

Her answer shocked him.

‘’I am thirteen, Charles. Know that the fur trappers and the Amerindians in New France are much less puritanical than the people of Europe, since they live with nature.’’

‘’Only thirteen? But, you are taller than me!’’

‘’So what? The Amerindians of New France are solidly built people and my paternal grandmother was from the Huron tribe. Fresh air, constant exercise and a balanced diet do marvels for one’s health.’’

‘’Decidedly, your story keeps interesting me more and more, Nancy.’’ Stepping close to Charles to remove his shirt, Nancy sniffed and frowned in disapproval when Charles raised his arms to help her, exposing his armpits.

‘’Ooof! A bath will definitely not be a luxury: you sweated a lot during your trip. Okay, step in the bathtub and sit!’’

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‘’And you, Nancy? You are not taking a bath with me?’’ asked Charles with a wink, making the teenager smile.

‘’Not with the same bath water as yours, Charles: I’m afraid that it will take a few repeated cycles of soaping and rinsing before you pass muster with me. But I still can scrub your back.’’

Using a sponge and pouring some lukewarm water on the back and shoulders of Charles once he was sitting in the bathtub, Nancy started scrubbing him vigorously while speaking.

‘’So, Charles, what do you want to know exactly about me?’’

‘’Everything!’’ replied Charles while admiring her breasts, so close and so tempting. ‘’How did you become the lady-in-waiting of Lady Lisbeth, if you were in New France?’’

‘’I actually left New France at the age of ten, after the death of my father. My mother wanted to bring me to England, where she was hoping to claim back her nobility titles. Unfortunately, she died of a fever during our sea trip and I landed in England alone, where I learned that my mother’s family had been dispossessed for cause of debts. I then had my first piece of luck and met Lady Lisbeth, who took me in her service and helped me continue my education. I already had learned to read, write and count in New France, with my mother educating me as best she could, including about proper manners for a lady. I was thus able to adapt quickly to my new life in Scotland, but I still continued to train hard physically to stay fit and I roamed the local forests to exercise my talents. Then, the civil war raging in England and the roaming bands of soldiers and mercenaries gave me many occasions to fight and protect Lady Lisbeth.’’ Charles nodded his head, suitably impressed.

‘’Quite an extraordinary story that you have, Nancy. Which weapons are you familiar with?’’

‘’All of them!’’ replied without hesitation the teenager, catching Charles off guard. ‘’Lady Lisbeth, who is a true expert with a rapier, taught me fencing, while I already knew how to shoot pistols and muskets, thanks to my father, who also showed me how to throw knives. His hunting partner, an Algonquin, taught me how to shoot a bow and how to fight with a knife and an axe. I also know how to hunt, fish, skin and butcher carcasses and to survive Winter in the woods. And you, Charles?’’

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‘’Uh, I can say without bragging that I am an expert fencer and a good shooter. I also am an expert rider. We will have one day to do some practice fencing together: I would like to assess your degree of expertise in it.’’

‘’Soon, maybe. Well, get up now, so that I can scrub your bum.’’ Nancy giggled when she saw that Charles had definitely reacted to her nudity.

‘’It’s always good to a girl’s ego to see that men react to them. Let’s clean that little bird first.’’

Charles soon found out that cleaning up was half the fun, especially with a girl with the expertise that Nancy demonstrated then with her fingers and tongue.

07:01 (Paris Time)

Sunday, April 16, 1651

Inn of ‘Le Lion Noir’

Paris, France

Charles sat up in bed at the sound of resounding knocks on his door. Glancing quickly at Nancy, he saw that she had already rolled out of bed and was on one knee while holding one of her throwing knives.

“Charles, open up! It’s Isaac!” shouted somebody in the hallway.

“One moment!” shouted back Charles before looking at the teenage girl, smiling reassuringly to her. “Don’t worry: he’s a good friend of mine.” Walking quickly to the door after putting on his shirt, he pushed open the bolt lock and cracked the door open, a loaded pistol at the ready in his hand in case it was a trap. He saw with relief that his friend and comrade in arm was indeed alone. Quickly letting him in, he closed and locked the door behind him before going to the dresser to put his clothes on. Isaac Bartet looked with delighted surprise at the beautiful naked teenage girl who was now gathering her clothes before speaking to Charles.

“How did an old man like you end up with a young prize like her?”

“What do you mean, an old man?” protested Charles. “I’m only 38 years old!”

“That’s what I meant, old man!”

“Never mind! Where the hell were you last night? If not for the generosity of her mistress, I would have spent the night with an empty stomach.”

“I was trying to find a safe way to contact the Queen, that’s what! Spies and sympathizers of the princes are watching her very closely these days: they must be

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suspecting that she is still corresponding with the Cardinal. Unfortunately, those sympathizers also happen to know both of us. Oh, by the way, I have some money for you.”

“Not too early!” grumbled Charles, taking the purse presented by Isaac and checking quickly its content. “That’s it?”

“Hey, you know our employer. Don’t expect to feast at his expense.” Charles sighed with discouragement then. Apart from being dangerous, his job had done nothing to help him fill his purse. His loyalty was not for sale, however. Whatever happened, he would cling with the Cardinal, unlike too many fair weather supporters who had switched sides or conveniently disappeared during the last months.

“It’s a good thing that I met this young English aristocrat and her servant. Without her generosity I…”

An idea suddenly flashed in his mind, making him pause.

“You what?” wondered Isaac. Charles lowered his voice and got closer to him.

“I think that I found a way to communicate safely with the Queen.” He then whispered in Isaac’s ear for a minute, getting a skeptical look from him at the end.

“Should we really put so much confidence in two strangers?”

“Look, Isaac, they already helped me out once yesterday. That Lady Lisbeth of Strathmore is a staunch monarchist and hates that parliamentary rabble. She would make a perfect messenger between us and the Queen. Who would suspect a total stranger like her?”

“I don’t know, Charles. Those letters are our responsibility. If they get lost or stolen…”

“We can escort them as far as we dare and then watch from a distance.” proposed Charles. “Do you have a better idea anyway?”

“I guess not.” answered Isaac, still looking unconvinced. Charles patted his shoulder in encouragement.

“Well, let me dress and we will go down to have breakfast: we think better on a full stomach.”

Isaac took hold of his arm as he was turning towards the dresser and whispered in Charles’ ear.

“How was your young friend?”

“Like a dream. She is half savage, half noble, half English and half French, with a bit of native blood from the Americas in her veins.” whispered back Charles, a wide

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smile on his face. “She was right about saying that she is much more than what she appears to be. But enough said about her: let’s go have breakfast.”

Charles and Isaac found Lady Lisbeth having a breakfast of bread and cheese at a table in the inn’s main hall. The young aristocrat woman waved at them to come to her table, greeting both with a smile as Nancy sat beside her and cut a piece of cheese for herself. Charles presented his friend then, who bowed and waved his hat in salute.

“I hear that you helped out my friend Charles yesterday, milady. I must thank you both for your courage and for your generosity.”

“That was nothing, Monsieur Bartet, I assure you. On the other hand, I was hoping that Monsieur de Castelmore would escort me and my friend around Paris when he will be free to do so.”

Lisbeth then smiled maliciously at Charles.

“I am ready to pay well for his services, in money that is.” That made young Nancy giggle. The mention of money did get Charles’ attention though, even if he protested it.

“Milady, you do not need to pay me after showing so much generosity already.”

“I insist, monsieur!”

“Well, if you really do, could I ask of you a service instead of money, milady?”

“What kind of service, monsieur?”

Charles hesitated for a moment, attracting a knowing smile from Lisbeth.

“Monsieur Charles de Batz de Castelmore, or should I say Monsieur D’Artagnan, you don’t need to hide things from me. I am a friend, not a spy or an agent of the princes. Part of the reason I am here is to see if the King and Queen of France will be able to subdue this Fronde Uprising. If they do, then maybe the English monarchy could hope for support from France in its fight against this dastardly Cromwell. I can see things around me, monsieur, and so can my friend Nancy. You arrive from a long trip, then tell me that you must depart soon, to return here on future trips. You are a messenger on a mission, Monsieur D’Artagnan, and from your reaction at seeing those militiamen last evening, I would say that you are not on the side of the Fronde.” Both D’Artagnan and Isaac Bartet tensed up, suddenly on their guard. Lisbeth kept going, her expression now sober.

“Messieurs, you have no need to fear me or Nancy. Your cause is my cause. If I would be in the pay of the Fronde, soldiers of the Parliament would have pounded on

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Monsieur D’Artagnan’s door instead of you, Monsieur Bartet. So, what is this service you were going to ask?”

D’Artagnan exchanged a quick glance with Bartet before telling Lisbeth about their problems in contacting the Queen discreetly, careful all the while not to raise his voice. Strangely enough, his request seemed to make both Lisbeth and Nancy happy.

“When I think that I was looking for a good excuse to meet with Queen Anne.” said Lisbeth, ecstatic. “Maybe I will see young King Louis the Fourteenth at the same time.”

“In that case,” replied Charles jokingly, “don’t bring Nancy with you: while young King Louis is only twelve years old, he is rumored to have a keen eye for pretty ladies, to the point that the Queen has a valet following him, with orders not to leave him alone with a woman.”

“What a killjoy she is!” exclaimed Nancy. “I had my first boy at twelve.”

“And you never stopped since.” added Lisbeth mockingly. “Alright, Monsieur D’Artagnan, tell me what you want us to do.”

09:50 (Paris Time)

Sunday, April 15, 1651

Rue Notre-Dame des petits champs

Paris

“Don’t forget, milady: this is to be handed personally to the Queen and to nobody else.”

Lisbeth took from D’Artagnan the sealed letter presented by him and nodded in understanding before hiding the letter inside her corsage. This morning, she was wearing a white and blue court gown and a pearl necklace worthy of her rank. Charles took a moment to admire her and Nancy, who was also wearing a court gown, albeit without the kind of expensive jewelry Lisbeth was sporting.

“You should do just fine, milady. Just one last thing, though. Nancy!” He then presented his opened right hand to the teenager, who sighed before pulling out from under her dress her four throwing knives. Isaac Bartet, who was standing close to them in the shadowy doorway facing the Palais-Royal, opened his eyes wide at the sight of the blades that Nancy handed over to D’Artagnan. The latter looked at his friend with a knowing smile.

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“She is Lady Lisbeth’s bodyguard and I can vouch for the fact that she knows how to use these.”

Isaac looked at the teenager, who was now walking away with Lisbeth towards the main entrance of the palace, newfound respect in his eyes.

“Damn, why are you always the one to find the rare birds, Charles?”

Lisbeth and Nancy had little difficulty in gaining access to the Palais-Royal, a servant escorting them quickly to the inner courtyard after they presented themselves to the officer of the guards at the entrance. With the forces of the Fronde in actual control of Paris, the Queen Regent had few real powers left and even less to do to spend the time. With the royal revenues either dried up or swallowed by military expenditures, the times of the sumptuous parties and balls were over for the moment, adding to the court’s idleness. It was thus no surprise to be received at once by the Queen, who was dying for anything to pass the time.

The servant led both young women through the palace gardens and towards a central fountain where a group of elegantly dressed women were watching a young teenage boy play a game of lawn bowling, applauding when the boy knocked down the wooden pins. A plump woman in her forties and with milky skin smiled benignly as Lisbeth and Nancy performed a curtsy in front of her.

“Please remind me of your name, young lady. I’m afraid that the guard who announced you doesn’t know how to pronounce English names properly.”



Elizabeth, being officially the highest ranking visitor, answered first to Queen Anne. Three micro spy probes were flying around the group, discreetly recording the scene for the benefit of the historical documentary they were helping produce.

“Your Majesty, I am Lady Lisbeth of Strathmore, daughter of the Earl of Strathmore, in Scotland. This is Lady Nancy Sommers, my lady-in-waiting and close friend. We are most honored to be allowed to meet with Her Majesty.”

“Fresh faces are always welcome at the court, Lady Lisbeth.” replied Queen Anne of Austria before presenting the young teenage boy, who had stopped playing and had approached, eyeing with particular interest young Nancy.



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“This is my son, King Louis the Fourteenth. He is now twelve years-old.” Lisbeth and Nancy bowed deeply, with Louis gallantly kissing both of their hands gently. Both the young king and Nancy had sparkles in their eyes as they exchanged brief smiles, something the queen noticed.

“You will excuse my son, Lady Lisbeth, for he is already very gallant with ladies despite his young age. I suspect that some of my own ladies are not discouraging his early taste for women.”

That made a few of the young women escorting the Queen giggle. Lisbeth smiled in turn.

“That is quite alright, Your Majesty. My own lady-in-waiting also started very early to show interest towards boys.”

As the young Louis’ attention towards Nancy redoubled then, Anne of Austria glanced at the tall teenager, who was standing to the right side and one step behind Lisbeth.

“How old are you, my child?”

“Thirteen, Your Majesty.” replied respectfully Nancy while bowing. Her answer brought incredulity on the faces of the Queen and of the noblewomen around her, while Louis grinned with contentment: he was looking at a beautiful girl who was nearly the same age as him and who had already a very appetizing body.

‘’So tall and strong at thirteen? Your parents must have been very healthy.’’

‘’My father was effectively a solidly built man, Your Majesty. He was a French fur trapper in New France, while my mother was an English aristocrat of low lineage who had been captured and reduced to slavery by Huron Amerindians. My father bought her back and then married her. I was born on the shores of the Saint-Laurent River, in New France, and myself lived as a fur trapper, following my parents through the woods. I was ten when my father died and my mother then decided to return to England. Unfortunately, she died at sea of a fever and I arrived alone in Portsmouth. That was when I first met Lady Lisbeth, who then took me in her service and brought me to Scotland.’’

‘’Mother, could Lady Sommers stay here a bit, so that she could tell me about her adventures in New France.’’ asked at once the young king with an eagerness that made the Queen smile.

‘’Just to tell you about her adventures, or to let you admire her body, Louis?’’ As the noblewomen around giggled again at that retort, Nancy stared into Louis’ eyes while giving him her warmest smile.

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‘’If it could reassure Your Majesty, I can play many musical instruments, including the guitar, and also know how to play chess.’’

A richly dressed woman of about thirty standing near the Queen then threw a disdainful look at Nancy.

‘’And how could you so educate yourself while running through the woods of New France, miss?’’

Nancy kept a neutral expression as she looked at the aristocrat, whose beauty was spoiled by the stink from her unwashed body. Even for a person of this century, which did not encourage bathing, she stank of old sweat and her yellowish teeth were dotted with the black spots of decay. Queen Anne also didn’t seem to appreciate the rude remark of the noblewoman, who happened to be one of the most ardent enemies of royal power and was also a main instigator of the Princes’ Fronde Uprising.

‘’Please pardon the Duchess of Longueville, Lady Sommers: she likes to remind others of her rank and position.’’

‘’I take no offense to her remark, Your Majesty.’’ replied Nancy politely, not wanting to antagonize the noblewoman and thus put at risk Elizabeth’s mission. Satisfied, the Queen then looked at the latter.

‘’So, Lady Lisbeth, to what do I owe you your visit?’’

“Your Majesty, I recently arrived from Scotland after a difficult journey through Holland, having to be careful not to fall into the hands of agents of the regicide Puritan, Oliver Cromwell. As you may know, young King Charles the Second is raising an army in Scotland to regain the throne so unjustly taken away from his father. He is however sorely pressed by the armies of the English Parliament and is in dire need of help. He is also concerned about his mother and sister, who are presently living at the Louvres without heat and with little food. Here is a letter from young King Charles, asking for assistance for his loved ones in exile. It took us 46 days to bring it to you, Your Majesty.”

Nobody seemed to notice when the Queen tensed up at the mention of the number 46, which was one of the codes used to designate Cardinal Mazarin in their secret correspondence. Coupled closely with the mention of loved ones in exile, it left her no doubt about the real originator of the letter, which she accepted and negligently slipped inside the front of her dress.

“Your devotion to your king is well noted, Lady Lisbeth. However, as you may know, France itself is not without severe problems. I will however see what I can do.

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Please come back tomorrow morning at the same time and I will give you a letter to bring back to your king.”

“Your Majesty is too kind. I will be back tomorrow without fault.” Lisbeth and Nancy then performed a last curtsy before leaving. The Queen, King and ladies of the royal court all returned to their game of bowling, all except for the Duchess of Longueville, wife of one of the leaders of the Fronde of the Princes and a woman of strong resolve. Going to one of her bodyguards nearby, she whispered in his ear.

“Follow those two English women who just talked with the Queen and find out discreetly where they are staying in Paris, then report back to me.”

“It will be done, madame.” whispered the man back before departing quickly, his eyes on the two women now leaving the inner courtyard. Returning to the side of the Queen, Anne-Geneviève de Bourbon Condé was in time to hear the petulant Anne Marie Louise d’Orléans, Duchess of Montpensier and a young woman of 23 with curly blond hair, exclaim herself.

‘’My god, did you see the size of that young Lady Sommers? And she was living in the woods of New France? She must have some fascinating stories to tell.’’

‘’Like what? Hunting stories? Any poacher could tell you similar stories, my dear Anne Marie Louise. As for her using the title of ‘Lady’, I doubt that this young savage really deserves it. Even if her mother was a noble, her father was a commoner of the lowest class. Here in France, she would not be entitled to be called a noble.’’

‘’Don’t forget that things are different in England, Duchess.’’ replied coldly Anne of Austria. ‘’There, a title can be transmitted from the mother’s side. This girl anyway conducted herself in a most proper manner, even though she could easily have made you swallow your remark.’’

That made the young Duchess of Montpensier cluck.

‘’It’s true that she has the appearances of a true Amazon, Your Majesty. I would truly like to hear her stories about New France. They say that the aborigines there are most ferocious and cruel.’’

Anne-Geneviève de Bourbon Condé sighed with exasperation before walking away quickly.

‘’Stupid young airhead!’’

As they came in sight of D’Artagnan and Bartet, who were waiting under a shadowy porch, Nancy got closer to Lisbeth.

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“We are being followed. Warn D’Artagnan and his friend away. I will take care of our trail. We will meet at the inn.”

After nodding, Lisbeth kept walking on the side of the street, still followed closely by Nancy. As the two men of the Cardinal were about to leave their hiding place to join her, she spoke up without looking at them.

“We are being followed. Go away and meet me back at the inn. Nancy will get rid of our follower.”

The two men, stunned at first, quickly complied and vanished in the middle of the morning crowd. Guided by discreet orders from Nancy, Lisbeth soon turned into a small, less frequented street. As soon as they turned the corner, Nancy disappeared in a tiny alley between two houses, letting Lisbeth continue alone. The man of Madame de Longueville, following from fifteen meters behind, didn’t notice anything until he turned the corner himself. Taken aback at seeing that one of the women was missing, he looked frantically around for Nancy, then decided in frustration to keep trailing the one woman still in sight. Hurrying up in order to cut the distance between them, he was suddenly tripped from behind and fell heavily to the ground. Swearing violently and with sharp pain from his bruised forehead, the man was about to pick himself up and look behind him when someone jumped on his back, taking away his breath. He was then struck hard on the jugular and passed out at once.

11:07 (Paris Time)

Duchess of Longueville’s suite

Palais-Royal, Paris

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN, THEY ESCAPED YOU?” shouted Madame de Longueville, positively enraged. Her mortified bodyguard, sporting a large bruise on his forehead, cringed.

“I believe that it was that teenage girl, madame. At one time I lost sight of her and decided to follow the aristocrat girl. Then, I was tripped from behind and knocked out by a blow to my neck.”

“ENOUGH! YOU ARE FIRED! GÉRARD!”

“Yes, madame?” answered the head of her bodyguards, who had stood behind his discomfited man.

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“Gérard, those two English girls are supposed to come back tomorrow morning to take delivery of a letter from the Queen. I want you and three men to trail them and find where they are staying in Paris. Beware of that young servant girl: she may be more dangerous than she appears to be.”

“Don’t worry, madame.” replied Gérard with assurance. “They won’t get away from us.”

“I do hope so. I smell a plot of the Cardinal here.” said the blond duchess, still fuming with frustration.



15:38 (Paris Time)

Annexes of the Saint-Germain-Des-Prés abbey

Paris

Mathieu Le Nain had a last look at his preliminary sketch, then at Lisbeth of Strathmore, who was still holding her formal pose in front of a curtain drawn across his shop.

“I think that it will be all for today, Lady Lisbeth. We can continue tomorrow afternoon, if you don’t mind.”

Stretching out after being still for long hours, Lisbeth took out a heavy purse and threw it at the painter, who weighed it with contentment: his customers had been few and far between lately. Now he had not one but two well-paying visitors in a single day. The man who had been waiting with the teenage girl outside of his shop stuck his head through the curtain drawn across the door.

“Milady, I will escort you back to the inn while Monsieur Le Nain starts working on Nancy’s portrait.”

“But it will be dark by the time she is finished here.” objected Lisbeth. “The streets of Paris are not safe at night.”

“Do not worry, milady: I will come back for her after you are safely back at the inn. My friend Isaac is waiting for you there.”

“In that case I accept. See you tomorrow, Monsieur Le Nain.”

“It was a pleasure to have you here today, Lady Lisbeth.” replied the painter. He was preparing another canvas when the teenage girl who was his next customer entered, smiling to him.

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“Monsieur Le Nain, do you do nude portraits, I mean realistic ones? I want something that reflects what I am, not what is considered the standards of beauty here. I want to see myself with a firm, suntanned body, not a white and plump one.” Le Nain hesitated a bit: her request was quite uncommon. On the other hand, she was a truly special type of beauty.

“I can try, but since it will not follow my usual technique, I will have to leave your portrait unsigned.”

Nancy looked disappointed for a moment, then looked back at him with a malicious expression on her face.

“Maybe we can discuss that point later?”

“Maybe. If you don’t mind, I will get myself some wine before we start. You can start undressing in the meantime.”

When Le Nain turned his attention back on her, a cup of wine in his left hand, he nearly strangled on his drink: Nancy was not only undressing, she was making quite a show of it as well. Captivated as he rarely had been by a model before, he took a chair and sat, admiring her as she stripped in a lascivious dance that would have damned quite a few abbots he knew. Her body was strong, yet sexy, and she was as supple as a cat. When she was finished, she approached him slowly and glued her nude body against him.

“Do you think that you can paint me the way I am and still sign my portrait?” she asked very softly. Mathieu Le Nain licked his lips before replying.

“It is certainly worth a try. Let’s start now.”

20:49 (Paris Time)

Mathieu Le Nain’s painting shop

Paris

Nancy looked quite satisfied with herself when she left Mathieu Le Nain’s shop, joining D’Artagnan in the hallway where he had been waiting patiently. She kissed him gently, with Charles returning it eagerly.

“Thanks for waiting for me, Charles. Could I see you tonight?”

“Of course you can! How could I say no to such a beautiful girl?”

“You smooth talker. Let’s go then.”

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The streets were very dark when they left the abbey, them not being lit by any lamp posts or torches, and with the Moon being at its first quarter and covered by low clouds as well. The air was also cold and damp, making D’Artagnan shiver in his old, worn coat. Seeing him shiver, Nancy got closer to him and suddenly stopped him while enveloping her own coat around both of them. Next, she hugged him and kissed him on the mouth. D’Artagnan returned her kiss, then looked at her lovingly.

“What have I done that was so special to find a girl like you?”

“Well,” she said softly with sparkling eyes, “you are brave, strong, handsome and kind. Do I need to say more?”

D’Artagnan stared in silence at her for a few seconds, his heart beating faster. That young girl, who actually stood taller than him by a slight margin, was quickly winning his heart. Unfortunately, he could offer her little, being not much more than a traveling soldier with no home and precious little money. She seemed to guess his thoughts and smiled gently to him, showing him her perfect white teeth.

“You don’t need to worry about the long term with me, Charles. Just live and enjoy the present.”

She then kissed him again. That only sealed the spell she was starting to have on him. Gently pushing her at arm’s length, he gave her a resigned look.

“Nancy, you are probably the most fantastic girl I ever met. I wish that I could keep you but that would be impossible for the moment.”

He then saw a tear roll on her left cheek as she spoke in a hesitant voice, searching for her words.

“Charles, I was also going to say that staying together would be impossible. Only one day ago I thought that you were only one nice man among the many I met before. Now, I don’t know what to think.”

“We can discuss this at the inn, in front of a good fire. Now, let’s get out of those dark, cold streets.”

They then continued their rapid walk along the dark and stinky streets of Paris, which were soiled with a mix of excrements and garbage and were populated with beggars and homeless people sleeping on the pavement. The couple was about to turn into the Rue de Seine when D’Artagnan collided with a group of five men in the darkness of the unlit street. The newcomers, who were dressed like swordsmen for hire, swore violently and drew out their blades as one.

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“LOOK WHERE YOU ARE GOING WITH YOUR WHORE, YOU IDIOT!” shouted the man nearest to D’Artagnan, who drew his sword as well.

“Morbleu! I will not let you insult a lady and a friend of mine.”

“Please, gentlemen!” shouted Nancy while interposing herself between D’Artagnan and the five strangers. “There is no reason to fight over this: it was a simple accident.”

“Hey, this is quite a nice thing we got here.” said the second man of the group. “We could entertain ourselves with her tonight.”

He then tried to grab Nancy’s right arm but she reacted with incredible speed and assurance, grabbing and twisting his left arm and hitting his immobilized elbow with a sharp karate chop. Screaming with pain, the man collapsed to his knees and let go his sword. The four other men were motionless for a moment, taken off balance by her unexpected combativeness. One of them then shouted at her while pointing his sword.

“YOU BITCH! YOU’LL PAY FOR THIS!”

He did only one step before D’Artagnan’s sword stabbed him in the stomach. Understanding that this was now a fight to the death, the three remaining intact men ganged up on D’Artagnan, forcing him into the middle of the street. Nancy then took position besides D’Artagnan, brandishing the sword taken from the man she had disabled. One of the three attackers lunged at her on seeing this but she parried easily his blade, then followed with a slash to the man’s face that left a long cut across his forehead, making him scream with pain while blood blinded him within seconds. Another of the attackers then collapsed, his heart pierced by D’Artagnan’s deadly blade. The last man left standing then fled in panic, leaving Charles to stare with disbelief at Nancy.

“Where did you learn to fight like this?”

“I told you before that Lady Lisbeth taught me.” she replied, deadpan, while throwing away the sword in her right hand. “Let’s leave before the city watch or a patrol of militiamen show up.”

“I will definitely have to do some practice fencing one day with her…and you.” said Charles as they walked quickly away from the scene of the fight, leaving two dead men and two wounded ones behind.

“You also are really good at fencing, Charles, apart from being a good lover.”

“I try my best,” replied Charles with false modesty, “especially with you.” She stopped for a moment and pressed him against the wall of a house, her hands on his chest.

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“Then prove it tonight, Charles.”

She then kissed him with passion before resuming their walk towards the inn.

They were still pumped up with adrenaline and excited by the time they reached the inn. Passing quickly in front of Lisbeth and Isaac, who were sitting at a table in the hall and sharing a jug of wine, they went upstairs to D’Artagnan’s room with near indecent haste. Once in the room, they undressed each other hurriedly before jumping into the bed. Charles, stimulated like he had rarely been before, gave his best, concentrating on Nancy’s pleasure. She in turn showed again a depth of sexual experience that was surprising in such a young girl. They went at it twice, caressing and kissing each other between their climaxes. Charles, not a young man anymore, was spent but happy by the time they dressed and went back downstairs to the main hall, joining Lisbeth and Isaac at their table.

“What got you two so excited?” asked Isaac, looking at Charles and Nancy with amusement.

“We got into a fight with five armed men on our way in, that’s what.” answered Nancy. Isaac’s and Lisbeth’s smiles disappeared at once as she told them the details of their night confrontation.

“Do you think that this encounter was planned?” asked Isaac, worried about the safety of their covert mission. Charles shook his head at once.

“I don’t believe so. They were simply ruffians roaming the streets. They got what they deserved.”

“Did you really have to kill those men?” asked Lisbeth, attracting an impatient look from Charles. His hot reply was cut off by Nancy, who answered for him.

“Lisbeth, it was them or us. D’Artagnan and me acted in plain self-defense and had no choice.”

“Well, nothing that we could do now will bring those men back to life.” Finally said Lisbeth with a sigh. “Nancy did try to prevent the fight and they responded by attacking her. Let’s relax a bit now. Tomorrow will be a busy day: apart from picking up Queen Anne’s letter, I want to pay a courtesy visit to Queen Henriette-Marie at the Louvres. I suppose that you will ride out as soon as you have the Queen’s letter, Monsieur D’Artagnan?”

“You are right, Lady Lisbeth. I will probably be back within a week, though.”

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Lisbeth didn’t miss the happy smile those last words brought on Nancy’s face but didn’t comment on that…yet. The teenager then confirmed her assessment when she spoke softly to D’Artagnan while putting her hand on his leg.

“I will prepare a basket of food for your trip, Charles. I will be waiting for your return. Just be careful, please.”

“Lucky bastard!” whispered Isaac, who then ducked just in time to avoid a friendly slap on the back of the head from D’Artagnan.

Much later, as they were preparing to go to bed, Lisbeth stared into the eyes of Nancy, who seemed to be dreaming about something. She spoke softly, her voice kept low so that nobody else could hear her.

“Nancy, are you having a teenage crush by any chance?”

“I may.” said weakly the teenager while lowering her head. Lisbeth went closer to her at once and passed an arm around the shoulders of the much bigger girl.

“Nancy, you know that this love cannot go on for long. It is an historical impossibility.”

“I know, Elizabeth.” said Nancy, tears now coming out. “I know perfectly well that D’Artagnan is supposed to enter a marriage of convenience in a few years, live rather unhappily while devoting himself to his duties to France and finally die a glorious death in battle as an old man of sixty. I also know that I am falling in love with him and I am not talking only about sexual attraction.”

“Hell, Joan of Arc falling in love with D’Artagnan. Talk about an explosive love relationship.” said Elizabeth Windsor, referring to one of the past incarnations of Nancy. “If you ever have a baby together and the French government learns about it in 1953 ’B’, it will probably declare that baby to be a French national treasure.”

“Please, Elizabeth, don’t twist the knife in the wound.” said sadly Nancy ‘B’. For all her intensive training as a field agent of the Time Patrol, she was still very much a teenage girl, with often strong emotions and feelings which were hard to control. On the other hand, D’Artagnan was in her eyes turning from simply being a famous historical figure to being a man worthy of the greatest respect and admiration and whose personality seemed to match her to a ‘T’. Something that Elizabeth had said then sank in her head. Wiping her tears, she then went into the bed she shared with her mission partner.

“Let’s sleep now. As you said, tomorrow will be a big day.”

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Blowing the candle on her night stand, she then looked at the ceiling in the now dark room.

“Good night, Lisbeth. Good night to you guys above us.”

“Good night, Nancy. I envy you, truly.” she heard in her implanted miniature radio. That was the voice of Frida Winterer, on duty aboard the scoutship WALKUREN, floating above Paris and hidden under electro-magnetic cloak.

‘’Thank you, Frida. You are a real friend.’’

11:02 (Paris Time)

Monday, April 17, 1651

Palais-Royal, Paris

Anne Marie Louise D’Orléans, Duchess of Montpensier, was walking past the suite of the Duchess of Longueville when a series of screamed insults and swears coming from inside the apartments made her stop and put her ear to the door in order to listen. Somebody was obviously getting a first class dressing down inside.

Mademoiselle de Montpensier was suddenly put out of balance when the door opened, making her fall forward at the feet of Gérard, the head bodyguard of Madame de Longueville. The flustered man didn’t say a word then and left quickly, followed by three mortified bodyguards. That left the young blonde, still on her hands and knees, alone to face an irate Duchess of Longueville.

“What were you little twit doing there? Spying on me?”

“Me, a twit?” replied heatedly Anne Marie Louise. “Watch your mouth: I’m of royal blood.”

“Yes, yes, everybody knows that around here.” shot back Anne-Geneviève de Bourbon Condé in exasperation. “Everybody also knows that you are still a virgin at the age of 24 and can’t dream of anything else but of one day marrying little King Louis. You should get a man in your bed one fine night, so that you could get finally some brains in that little head of yours!”

The Great Mademoiselle, as she was universally known, swallowed back the choice words she had in mind and got up on her feet in order to face her counterpart from a more dignified stance.

“My private life is my business! Now, why were you screaming loud enough to be heard from across the palace?”

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Anne-Geneviève threw her hands in the air in exasperation then.

“Alright, you might as well know, since my stupid bodyguards are at fault. Yesterday, I ordered one of my bodyguards to follow those two English girls who brought a letter to the Queen, since I suspected some plot of Cardinal Mazarin. The idiot was assaulted and beaten unconscious by that savage girl from New France. Now, I just learned that those two English girls managed to lose the four bodyguards who were assigned to follow them this morning. That savage girl even had the nerve to flash her ass at my men before disappearing in a small alley.”

That made the Great Mademoiselle smile in amusement, which got in turn the Duchess of Longueville even madder.

“You find it funny that two girls who are possibly messengers of Mazarin could escape my men?”

“What would you do with them if you caught them anyway? Kill them? If they really represent the Queen and King of England, you could then start a first class diplomatic row. Don’t forget also that Queen Henriette is my aunt.”

“For what little you care about your aunt.” shot back Anne-Geneviève. “Anyway, seeing what kind of letters they carry would easily show me who they really represent. If they work for the Cardinal, I would then make sure that they reveal the hiding places of their accomplices in Paris.”

Anne Marie Louise didn’t have to ask by what means the two English girls would be questioned: the methods had changed little since the earliest times in history.

“Well, good luck in your hunt, madame. I will inform you if I meet these girls again.”

She then left the Duchess’ suite, hoping that those two English girls would have another occasion to ridicule Madame De Longueville’s men.

15:38 (Paris Time)

The Louvre Palace

Paris

Lisbeth stuck her head timidly inside the doorway of the large but mostly bare room on the ground floor of the Louvre Palace. Up to now, her and Nancy had found the Louvre bare of occupants, except for a few French guards and maintenance workers. A

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young and pretty woman sitting by the side of a large bed and reading a book to a little girl lying in the bed looked up at Lisbeth with curiosity.

“Can I do something for you, miss?” she asked in English.

“Uh, I was hoping that it would be the other way around.” replied Lisbeth, entering the room with Nancy behind her. Both stopped at a good distance to the bed, putting down on the floor their baskets before bowing politely at the woman by the bed.

“I am Lady Lisbeth of Strathmore and this is my friend and lady-in-waiting, Lady Nancy Sommers. We were hoping to have an audience with Her Majesty the Queen, but have found only empty rooms up to now.”

“An audience…” said the young woman, sadness in her voice. She then swept her arms around, showing the bare room and empty fireplace. Her own dress was modest and she wore no jewelry.

“As you can see, Lady Lisbeth of Strathmore, there are no guards to stop you from seeing the Queen, no valets or ladies-in-waiting to lead you to her either. We are only a few around the Queen, hoping for better times in rooms we can’t even afford to heat. I will lead you to her but I’m afraid that you will be disappointed by the state of her court. By the way, I am Countess Ann Morton and this is Princess Henriette-Anne.”

“You are the Countess of Morton?” exclaimed happily Lisbeth before kneeling in front of her and kissing her hand respectfully. “I always wanted to compliment the courageous lady who saved young Princess Henriette-Anne from the clutches of Cromwell.”

Ann Morton blushed and rose from her chair, making Lisbeth get to her feet at the same time.

“I wish that my appearance would be worthy of my title, Lady Lisbeth. As for saving the Princess, I only did my duty.”

“But you did it with such courage, Countess. May God bless you! Could I kiss the Princess?”

“By all means, Lady Lisbeth.”

Her eyes sparkling with tenderness, Lisbeth kissed the forehead of the little girl draped under multiple blankets to stay warm. The girl’s black eyes sparkled back.

“Thank you, milady. Are you coming to stay with us?”

“No, Your Highness. We are only here to visit and bring a few gifts.”

“Gifts?” replied the skinny little girl, hope in her voice.

“Yes, Your Highness. I even have something special for you.”

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Lisbeth then searched inside her basket and brought to the child a small square cake wrapped in waxed paper.

“We have brought with us a number of honey cakes. This one is for you.” The little princess was about to hungrily bite in the cake when Ann Morton’s hand suddenly stopped her. The Countess then looked gravely at Lisbeth.

“Excuse my suspicions but Cromwell’s agents would love no better than to be able to poison us. Do you have proofs of who you are?”

Lisbeth didn’t get offended by that. The sad truth was that Henriette-Anne was actually going to die from suspected poisoning in a few years time and that Anne Morton’s caution was well justified. Instead, Lisbeth broke a small part of the cake and ate it.

“We didn’t bring letters of patent with us, Countess, as we had to go through enemy lines to come to France and couldn’t risk being discovered with such letters. You know as well as me what the parliamentary soldiers of Cromwell do to the supporters of the King whom they find.”

Ann Morton lowered her head as nightmarish visions came back to her.

“Yes, I know too well indeed. The cruelty of those fanatical Puritan knows no bounds. I am sorry for doubting you, Lady Lisbeth.”

“Can I eat the cake now, Ann?” asked in a pleading voice the little princess. That broke the heart of Elizabeth Windsor who, as an ex-member of the British royal family of modern times, felt a strong affinity with this royal family. Ann Morton was finally convinced on seeing the tears in Lisbeth’s eyes while she smiled tenderly to the little girl.

“You may eat it, my little princess.”

As little Henriette-Anne avidly ate the cake, Lisbeth faced back Ann Morton.

“Me and Nancy brought food in those two baskets. Could I leave a piece of cheese for the Princess before seeing the Queen?”

From the famished look that the Countess gave to the covered baskets, along with her thin face, it was obvious that she was sorely tempted to have a bite herself right now.

“You would make the Princess very happy indeed, Lady Lisbeth: none of us have seen meat or cheese for weeks.”

“I will take that as a yes.” said Lisbeth, smiling. “Nancy, can I borrow one of your knives?”

As Ann Morton watched with surprise and shock Nancy take a throwing knife out from the front of her court dress, Lisbeth explained in a soft voice.

“My friend Nancy also happens to be my bodyguard. She is very good at it.”

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Accepting the knife from Nancy, Lisbeth took a round cheese from one of the baskets and cut two medium-size pieces, handing the first to little Henriette-Anne, then the second to Ann Morton. Both pieces were eaten very quickly, prompting Lisbeth in cutting two more pieces, a wide grin on her face.

“I thought that you would like this Dutch Gouda cheese. I like it a lot myself.”

“Lady Lisbeth, I won’t forget your kindness.” said Ann Morton as she quickly ate her second slice of cheese.

“Countess Morton,” said Nancy softly while approaching her, “a person of your quality and devotion deserves better than wearing the dress of a simple servant. You would honor me a lot by accepting these as a token of my admiration for your courage and faithful services to the Queen.”

As she spoke, Nancy undid her pearl necklace and matching earrings before clipping them on Ann Morton, who was too moved to protest at first.

“But I can’t accept those, not when the Queen herself is bare of jewels.”

“Don’t worry about that, Countess.” replied a smiling Lisbeth. “We have a few more gifts to hand around. Let’s go see the Queen now, if you may: I have been dreaming of that moment for a long time.”

Following Ann Morton out of the chilly bedroom and into the hallway, Lisbeth and Nancy, food baskets in their hands, soon entered a large lounge. Like in the rest of the palace, the ambient temperature there was quite low and the fireplace had not seen a fire for months. The five persons wearing long coats and playing cards at a table near a window looked up at the newcomers, while a midget hurried towards them, a hand on the dagger at his belt. Ann Morton reassured the midget with a sign of the hand before going to the table and performing a curtsy in front of the only woman of the group.

“Your Majesty, Lady Lisbeth of Strathmore and her lady-in-waiting are soliciting the privilege of an audience with you.”

The small woman with curly black hair Morton was addressing examined for a moment the two newcomers, then smiled.

“Please come forward, Lady Lisbeth of Strathmore, along with your friend.” The two young women complied quickly before doing a curtsy in front of Queen Henriette-Marie, this after putting down their baskets of food. At age 42, the Queen was still a pretty woman, although years of hardship had marked her face. Her dress, while elegant, was quite worn and she was devoid of jewelry. The four men now standing

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around the table were dressed as modestly as her, with one wearing the robe and crucifix of a priest. Two of the men had swords on their belts and looked ready to use them if need be.

“What brings you to Paris with your friend, Lady Lisbeth?”

“The civil war in our poor country, Your Majesty. My parents, judging the situation dangerous at home, decided to send me to France for a few months in order to let pass what they thought then was the worst of it. It seems unfortunately that they had been too optimistic. With little to do and with ample funds in our hands, I thought that it would be a good time to pay a visit to my Queen. Also, knowing about your living conditions here, the good people around Angus, where our family estate is, collected enough to convey through me a few gifts for their beloved Queen. My friend Nancy came along as my bodyguard.”

“Your bodyguard?”

While the Queen showed surprise, the two armed noblemen behind her smiled as if hearing a good joke. Lisbeth looked with displeasure at the men, something the Queen noticed.

“Lord Jermyn, Lord Goring, Lady Lisbeth and her friend made a long and dangerous trip in order to pay homage to me. Please treat both of them with the courtesy due to my guests.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” replied politely the youngest of the two, a tough-looking man in his late thirties. “Please excuse our reaction, Lady Lisbeth.”

“Apologies accepted, my lord. I realize that Nancy’s abilities are quite unusual. Would you like a demonstration?”

“Why not?” said the Queen, grinning. “We are in such short supply of any entertainment here.”

Lisbeth then winked at Nancy.

“The main door, Nancy.”

At those words, the teenager plunged both hands inside the cleavage of her dress and, with both incredible speed and accuracy, threw a pair of knives which embedded themselves in the door panel, a few inches apart from each other and at chest level. Nancy immediately followed that by performing a series of back flips towards the door, finally retrieving her knives after landing with the grace of a cat. That demonstration left the Queen and noblemen speechless for a moment, which gave a chance to Lisbeth to get back to the main topic of her visit.

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“Your Majesty, seeing you in such a poor attire pains me, as it would also pain your loyal subjects. Please accept this small gift from your people.” After a last incredulous glance at Nancy, the Queen accepted the flat wooden box that Lisbeth had taken out of one of her baskets and slowly opened it. Her eyes opened in admiration at the set of pink pearl necklace, earrings and bracelet inside the box.

“May I, Your Majesty?” said Lisbeth softly before helping to clip the necklace around the Queen’s neck. Both women were close to tears when they exchanged a hug. The next gift from Lisbeth was a small casket full of gold coins.

“We heard that you had to contract debts in order to feed your retinue. This should cover them as well as the wages of your followers, Your Majesty.” That got the noblemen and Ann Morton to smile in contentment: all of them were penniless after selling off all of their valuables.

“Sir Cowley,” said Henriette-Marie as she handed over the casket to a modestly dressed man, “could I ask you to do an accounting of what I owe and see that the back wages and most urgent debts be paid. Leave some money as well for food and heating wood.”

“Your Majesty,” cut in Lisbeth, “I already took care of the wood: a cart should deliver a load of dry wood anytime now. As for the food, me and Nancy brought some provisions with us. If we may use this table, Your Majesty.” Of a common accord, the playing cards on the table were quickly removed and the four baskets put on top of it after a clean cloth was thrown over the table. Delighted squeals rang out as Lisbeth and Nancy lined up an assortment of sausages, cheese, hard boiled eggs, bread, salted fish and ham. One basket also contained a jug of red wine.

“Bless you both for your generosity.” professed the priest before leading a short grace.

“Oh dear, I was forgetting my poor Minette with all this.” said the Queen as her followers went at the food with gusto. “Lady Morton, please bring Minette here so that she can eat too.”

After letting the Queen and her followers eat in peace for a few minutes, Lisbeth, sitting besides Henriette-Marie, spoke up.

“Your Majesty, may I ask only one favor of you and your followers: that you do not mention my name or that of Nancy to anybody back in England.”

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“Your modesty is too great, Lady Lisbeth: I am too much in your debt to just forget you and your family.”

“Your Majesty, it is not a question of being modest. If Cromwell or his followers learn that I gave you comfort here, they will take revenge on my family and our people. After the atrocities committed in Ireland by Cromwell and his soldiers, I believe that nothing is sacred or safe from this traitor and regicide.”

Father Cyprien De Gamaches lowered his head at the mention of the massacres in Ireland.

“God will make the final judgment on that evil man. To kill thousands of peasants just because they were Catholics…”

“Sad experience showed me that mixing religion and politics always result in bloodshed and suffering, Father.” said thoughtfully Nancy, attracting on herself the attention of both the Queen and of Father Cyprien.

“Can I assume that you are a good Catholic, my child?” asked the priest, to which Nancy shook her head.

“You would assume wrongly, Father. I am an agnostic.”

That shocked Father Cyprien to no small end. He however bit his lips and faced Lisbeth, keeping a friendly expression.

“And you, Lady Lisbeth, what religion do you practice?”

The young English aristocrat locked eyes with him as she answered calmly.

“Father, I am a practicing member of the Anglican Church. I do agree with Nancy on one thing here: different religions should not preclude peace and friendship. Nancy is my best friend and will stay so irrespective of the religion she practices, if any.” The embarrassed silence that followed was cut by Nancy, who suddenly rose to her feet as she looked out through one of the windows.

“The cart of wood has arrived! I’ll go direct the workers.”

She was about to leave at a run when she remembered something and performed a curtsy in front of the Queen.

“With Your Majesty’s permission…”

“By all means, young Nancy.”

Father Cyprien shook his head as he watched Nancy leave the room.

“That young girl’s mother should pay more attention to her religious education.”

“Father,” replied Lisbeth, with annoyance evident her voice, “Nancy is as kind and compassionate a person as any Christian could be. On the other hand, I have seen

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too many so-called good Christians commit unspeakable horrors and show utter intolerance towards others, contrary to Jesus’ teachings of tolerance and kindness. I don’t judge others based on their religion and I’m not about to start with my friend Nancy.”

16:07 (Paris Time)

Friday, April 21, 1651

Palais-Royal, Paris

The officer in charge of the soldiers of the Duke of Orléans who were guarding the Palais-Royal frowned on hearing the request from the tall and pretty young teenager who had showed up at the main entrance of the palace, wearing a modest dress and carrying a guitar and a haversack.

‘’You want to play music and dance to entertain the young King, miss? And you are…?’’

‘’Lady Nancy Sommers. I already came twice to the palace with my mistress, Lady Lisbeth of Strathmore, to speak with the Queen.’’

‘’Do you have any weapon with you?’’

In response, Nancy pulled down on the cleavage of her dress, making her firm young breasts pop out while she smiled to the officer.

‘’Only if you call these weapons, monsieur.’’

The officer laughed while admiring her denuded chest.

‘’These could indeed qualify as very effective weapons, mademoiselle. I will however have to search your haversack. Henri, have a look in it.’’ One of the four soldiers on duty at the main gate quickly searched Nancy’s haversack as the latter put her breasts back in her dress.

‘’There are no weapons, Lieutenant, just some clothes and a couple of musical instruments.’’

‘’Very well! Wait here, miss. I will go see if the Queen can receive you.’’ Leaving Nancy with his four soldiers, the officer entered the palace at a quick pace, returning some twelve minutes later.

‘’The Queen will see you, mademoiselle. Please follow me.’’

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Nancy was led down a long corridor before going up to the second floor, finally arriving at the door of a lounge guarded by two soldiers. Nancy didn’t miss the fact that the soldiers belonged to the Duke of Orléans, and not to the royal army. The Queen and the young King, despite the appearances, were effectively prisoners of the Fronde. Once introduced in the lounge, Nancy found the Queen there, along with young King Louis and his younger brother Philippe, the Duchess of Montpensier and a few ladies-in-waiting. All of them sat in sofas placed near a large fireplace in which a good fire was burning. Like all the stone buildings of the time, which didn’t have a central heating system, the palace was fresh in this end of April, forcing its occupants to live close to their fireplaces in order to find some warmth. Nancy walked to the Queen and stopped a few steps in front of her, then curtsied to her and the King.

‘’Thank you for receiving me, Your Majesty.’’

‘’It is I who must thank you for your visit, Lady Sommers.’’ replied Queen Anne in a friendly tone. ‘’Distractions are so rare in these times. So, what can you do to entertain us?’’

‘’I propose to sing a few songs while playing my guitar, as well as telling a few stories about New France. I can also perform a few acrobatics and dance, Your Majesty.’’

‘’That program sounds nice, Lady Sommers.’’ said the Queen before looking at her eldest son. ‘’What would you like her to do first, Louis?’’

‘’I want to hear her play the guitar and then tell us stories about New France, Mother.’’

‘’Very well, Louis. Lady Sommers, would you have objections to stay in this palace overnight? Darkness will fall in a few hours and the streets of Paris are unsafe in these troubled times.’’

‘’I accept gladly your offer of hospitality, Your Majesty.’’

‘’In that case, come with me and I will assign you a room, where you will be able to drop your things and change for your various gigs.’’

The Duchess of Montpensier, who was now enthusiastic at the idea of hearing stories about New France, thankfully didn’t think about following the Queen and Nancy in order to keep watch on them. Using a door of the lounge which communicated with the royal apartments, Queen Anne of Austria led Nancy to a small servant’s room adjacent with a much bigger and far more luxurious bedroom. The servant’s room, while tiny, was at least well lit by a window.

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‘’You will be able to use this servant’s room. The bedroom next door is that of Louis. This way, nobody will be able to get at you without being noticed.’’ She then lowered her voice to a near whisper.

‘’Do you have a letter for me, Lady Sommers?’’

‘’Yes, Your Majesty! A rider from the Cardinal arrived yesterday from Germany and brought this letter. Monsieur d’Artagnan should also arrive in the next few days with more letters. Here is the letter that arrived yesterday.’’

The Queen quickly took the letter Nancy took out of her dress, then hid it in her corsage while smiling to her.

‘’Your services to the crown will not be forgotten, Lady Sommers. I will have a letter for Monsieur d’Artagnan for you to carry before you depart the palace tomorrow morning. Now put your things down and let’s return to the lounge before the Great Mademoiselle wakes up and wonders about what we are doing.’’

Less than two minutes had passed by the time Nancy returned with the Queen to the lounge, her guitar in hand. Going to a spot between the sofas and the fireplace, Nancy smiled to the young king and to his brother, who was ten years old.

‘’Your Majesty, I will start with a song called ‘Destin’.’’

She then started playing her guitar and sang an adaptation of a hit song by Céline Dion, composed at the end of the 20th Century. Apart from counting five of her past incarnations as a dancer, musician and singer, Nancy was also part of the ‘Time Minstrels’, a musical band formed by young members or relatives of members of the Time Patrol. The Time Minstrels specialized in adapting and playing songs and musical pieces from various periods of history. Many had told Nancy that she could have easily become a professional artist with her voice, physique and talents for dance and music. Her first performance this afternoon attracted a concert of enthusiastic applauses, with young King Louis XIV smiling from one ear to the other while eyeing her with sparkling eyes.

‘’Bravo, Lady Sommers! Another song, please!’’

‘’With pleasure, Your Majesty.’’ replied Nancy before starting another song in French that had never been heard before in this century, playing her guitar with gusto. That song was as well received as the first, prompting her to bow to thank her audience. Seeing a harpsichord, an ancestor of the piano, which sat in a nearby corner of the lounge, Nancy looked at the Queen.



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‘’If you don’t mind, Your Majesty, I would like now to play a piece or two on your harpsichord.’’

‘’You are most welcomed to it, my child.’’

Going to the harpsichord, a large Flemish model with a twin keyboard, and standing behind it, as it was meant to be played, Nancy tried a few keys to judge the tonality range of the instrument. Thinking for a few seconds, she then started to play a solo harpsichord piece that was due to be written in about sixty years by the great German composer Johan Sebastian Bach. Queen Anne, like the young Duchess of Montpensier, opened their mouths in astonishment as Nancy played the harpsichord with evident mastery, while they obviously loved Bach’s composition. Nancy followed Bach’s piece by an adaptation as a solo harpsichord piece of a modern pop song, singing along in English as she played the instrument. After another round of applauses, she returned to her guitar and sang a hit song from the musical score of the movie GLADIATOR, a performance that nearly brought tears to Queen Anne with its melancholic, tragic tunes. At the end, after applauding her with enthusiasm, Anne Marie Louise d’Orléans said something that made Nancy smile to her.

‘’When I think that the Duchess of Longueville is calling you a savage, Lady Sommers.’’

‘’Those that Europeans are calling savages could actually show you a few tricks, Duchess. The Amerindians of New France know nature intimately and practice a natural medicine that I believe to be far superior to the medicine known in France. If you don’t mind, I will go change quickly for the second part of my show.’’

Disappearing through the door that led to the royal apartments, Nancy left the spectators alone to comment her performance to date. The young king in particular, who loved playing the guitar, was most enthusiastic and said that he was anxious to see more. He was not disappointed when Nancy returned a few minutes later, executing a number of tumbles and flips before landing in front of the fireplace and of the row of sofas. The French present drew air in on seeing her new outfit: she was now dressed in a red loincloth, buckskin leggings, moccasins and a sleeveless buckskin tank top vest that left her navel and belly bare, plus wore a leather headband decorated with colored stitching. She also had painted her face the way Iroquois warriors did for war and made a ferocious grimace, her eyes wild, making more than one spectator shiver with fear.

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‘’I am Kakwitte, an Iroquois warrior, and I will tell you how I kill and scalp my enemies.’’

Nancy then executed a frantic war dance while singing in Iroquois language. She followed that with a hunting story told in French, with her hunting expedition turning into a battle at the encounter with a group of Algonquin hunters. She moved constantly during her story, jumping around and performing flips while making scary faces. While the Duchess of Montpensier shivered while still enjoying the show, young Louis and his brother Philippe giggled in pleasure at her grimaces and applauded hard at the end of her performance.

‘’Bravo, Lady Sommers! You are fantastic! Please tell us more stories.’’

‘’That will have to wait after supper, Louis.’’ Said Queen Anne, who was fanning herself to chase the emotion that the ferocious show given by Nancy had brought her. ‘’You are of course invited to have supper with us, my child.’’

‘’It will be an honor for me, Your Majesty.’’ replied Nancy while curtsying to her. ‘’If you don’t mind, I will go change and wash a bit first.’’

‘’Go, my dear!’’

As the Queen commented with the other women present Nancy’s performance, young Louis disappeared inside the royal apartments, pretending that he needed to go use a chamber pot. Going to his bedroom, his eyes sparkled with pleasure when he found Nancy topless in the adjacent servant’s room while she was taking off her Amerindian outfit. The teenage girl didn’t mind that, smiling to him and inviting him to come closer before closing the door of the tiny room behind the King.

‘’I hope that you liked my show, Your Majesty.’’

‘’A lot, Lady Sommers. You also have a fascinating body, so supple and strong for a girl.’’

Unable to resist his urge, the boy of twelve then raised his right hand hesitantly, finally covering Nancy’s left breast and fondling it gently. Seeing that she was smiling at that, he then fondled both of her breasts, his breathing accelerating. Nancy let him fondle her for a few seconds before gently stopping him.

‘’I promise to let you enjoy my body fully tonight, Your Majesty. However, I must now change and wash quickly, before your mother could suspect that you are with me.’’

‘’Can I continue to watch you then?’’

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Nancy didn’t reply to that, simply continuing to undress until she ended fully naked in front of the boy. Louis licked his lips on seeing that her groin was carefully shaved.

‘’You are truly making me mad with desire, Lady Sommers.’’

‘’I do make the same effect on most boys, Your Majesty, but thank you for the compliment.’’

Nancy then slipped back in her undershirt and dress before washing her face to remove the Iroquois war paint. On her urging, Louis then returned to the lounge, in order not to attract the suspicions of his mother. Once dressed and washed, Nancy took the time to comb her hair and to apply some light makeup, then returned to the lounge. There, on top of the Queen and of the other spectators, she found the Duchess of Longueville, to which the Duchess of Montpensier was enthusiastically telling her about Nancy’s show. Anne-Geneviève de Bourbon Condé stiffened on seeing Nancy appear in the lounge but did as if she had not seen her, ignoring her and leaving the lounge in quick paces, probably to go alert her bodyguards. Nancy resolved to be on her guards for the rest of the evening and night as she followed the Queen towards the dining room.

22:19 (Paris Time)

Royal apartments, Palais-Royal

Paris

A lit candle in one hand, Nancy slipped silently inside the room of the young king in order to get to her own room. She now had with her, hidden in her corsage, a letter from the Queen addressed to Cardinal Mazarin. As she was passing by the bed of Louis XIV, the young boy suddenly sat up, having probably been waiting for her in the dark room.

‘’Lady Sommers, could I see you tonight?’’ whispered the boy.

‘’Just give me time to undress, Your Majesty.’’

Going into the servant’s room, Nancy put down her candle holder on the dresser, then quickly took off her clothes before returning naked in the dark to Louis’ bed. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she smiled to the young king, who was hungrily eyeing her in the semi-darkness of the room, which was poorly lit by two candles. Nancy knew that Louis was going to catch a venereal disease in a few years, thanks to his fooling around with a multitude of lovers, but that he was still healthy right now. She had anyway received as an agent of the Time Patrol a series of vaccines developed by the doctors of the Global

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Council and covering the most common diseases of the past, including sexually transmitted diseases. The young king was a solidly built and handsome boy who was only one year younger than her. To talk of abuse in this case would thus be laughable, especially in view of the countless lovers and mistresses, both commoners and aristocrats, whom Louis XIV was going to collect during his life. Nancy certainly found Louis to her taste, but she also had received discreetly a radio message from Mike Crawford, asking her if she was ready to do what was needed for her to get in the good graces of Louis XIV and thus gain a long term access to the royal court. She was already preparing herself for a long term mission in the 19th Century that would see her marry briefly a French Aristocrat living in the Caribbean, in order to create a person important for the Time Patrol. To become the occasional lover of Louis XIV did not bother her, at least for the first years of his reign, before the negative influence of his court and the constant fawning or his courtesans would develop in him his least attractive traits, like selfishness and arrogance. Pushing aside the bed sheet covering the boy, Nancy then made him remove his night shirt before lying beside him and smiling to him again.

‘’You do realize that this cannot have any long term consequences, Your Majesty. I must stay as anonymous as I can in this court, for many reasons, while I am of a much too low class to dare asking favors from you.’’

‘’I know, Lady Sommers. However, know that the hardships of this Fronde have taught me that I can’t expect any true loyalty from the great nobles of my realm, nobles who betrayed the crown and are holding me prisoner with my mother and brother in Paris. To date, only people of the lower classes and nobles of small lineage, like Monsieur d’Artagnan, have proved to be truly loyal to the crown. Once this damn Fronde is suppressed, I will need such loyal and competent persons to help me administer and defend France. You appear to be such a person to me, Lady Sommers.’’

‘’You are flattering me, Your Majesty.’’

‘’No, I am only saying the truth.’’ replied Louis, serious. ‘’You are not only beautiful: you are also full of talents, brave, intelligent and resourceful. To have you in my service would greatly please me. As for your anonymity, that can be arranged easily enough. By the way, call me simply Louis when we are intimate.’’

‘’With pleasure, Louis.’’ said softly Nancy before hugging the boy and kissing him, letting the hands of the young king caress and explore her body at will.

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Nancy left the palace discreetly early next morning, after a last word with the Queen and a discreet kiss with Louis. Foiling again the surveillance of the men of the Duchess of Longueville, who were watching the royal apartments, she left via the window of her room before the Sun rose up and climbed down the stone façade with the agility of a spider, then disappearing at a run in a nearby street. Less than thirty minutes later, she was back at the Inn of Le Lion Noir, where she gave her precious letter to Monsieur Bartett. In a few days, d’Artagnan would be coming back from Germany and would be able to take charge of the letter. Nancy was already longing dreamily for that day.

14:40 (Paris Time)

Tuesday, April 25, 1651

Inn of ‘Le Lion Noir’, Paris

D’Artagnan, still covered with dust from his ride back from Germany, nearly ran inside the inn, eager to see Nancy again. His heart jumped with joy when he saw her at a table near a window, reading a book. The look of happiness on her face when she saw him was well worth his long trip. Shedding his dirty cape first, he walked quickly to her while she rose to her feet and met him halfway. They kissed each other passionately for a long moment, attracting a few amused but gentle comments from other customers present in the main hall of the inn. Nancy’s bright green eyes positively sparkled when she looked at Charles after ungluing herself from him.

“It was a long week for me, Charles. I missed you a lot.”

“I missed you too, my beautiful Nancy.” He kissed her again before looking around the main hall. “I don’t see your friend Lisbeth or my own friend Isaac around. Don’t tell me that they are upstairs, doing something together.” That made Nancy giggle and shake a finger at him.

“Now, you better not say that in front of Lisbeth: she does not appreciate jokes about her private life. But since you mentioned it, let’s go upstairs ourselves.” Nancy took the time to retrieve her book while D’Artagnan grabbed his cape. He looked at the leather-bound book with curiosity.

“What are you reading, Nancy?”

“A Greek comedy. It’s actually quite funny.”

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“You can read Greek?” exclaimed Charles, not a little impressed. That attracted a proud smile on Nancy’s face.

“Yes, along with Latin, Hebrew and a few other languages.” Charles was left flabbergasted by that: the more he thought that he knew her, the more she surprised him. He didn’t have a chance to reply to that, Nancy pulling him eagerly up the stairs towards his room.

15:46 (Paris Time)

D’Artagnan’s room

Nancy sighed with contentment and laid down on top of Charles, still impaled on him. Charles’ heart was still beating furiously from the energetic treatment from the teenager, who smiled tenderly to him.

“You know, Charles, I haven’t felt the way I do now for a man in a long time. I have known and bedded many men before but none like you.” Charles stared silently into her eyes, his mind in turmoil. He was a man close to his forties, with no personal fortune and little possessions. His life as a soldier had made him meet many women, but only as short adventures. The sensible and commonly sought way would be for him to find a reasonably wealthy and pretty woman, marry her and thus enjoy a quiet and comfortable retirement, apart from having a few sons to ensure the continuation of his name. Marriages of love for men like him were considered of the utmost ridicule by most. Yet, the thought of losing Nancy hurt him deeply: she was too special a girl to let go. The fact that she was probably of only moderate means herself was now far in the back of his mind. What was on his mind now was to keep riding and fighting with her at his side. If his friends ridiculed him for that, then the hell with them! His hands started caressing gently her face as he spoke softly.

“Nancy, I love you more than anything else in the World. Would you marry me?” Infinite tenderness filled her eyes then. Tears came next as she shook her head slowly.

“Charles, you can’t imagine how your request touches me, but I have to say no. Not because I don’t love you but because too many people depend on me. Also, you are an important man at the King’s court and you will be expected one day to enter a marriage of convenience with some aristocrat woman. I have my destiny and you have yours.”

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“Nancy, my destiny is with you. I don’t want it any other way.” She had trouble replying to him, tears and sobs choking her.

“Charles, I do love you, but I simply can’t marry you. Will you be contented with me being your occasional mistress?

“How often could we see each other?” asked D’Artagnan, his eyes full of tears. Nancy kissed him tearfully before replying.

“Every week, if you wish so. We will just need to give ourselves a rallying point every time.”

D’Artagnan thought that over for a moment, then pressed Nancy’s naked body against his.

“Then, I could live with that, Nancy.”

They kissed each other again before Nancy looked into D’Artagnan’s eyes.

“Charles, there is something else that I can do for you.” she said very softly.

“And what’s that, my love?”

“I want a baby from you.”

“You…you would do that for me?” said D’Artagnan, touched. Nancy nodded, then kissed him again.

12:49 (Paris Time)

Thursday, April 27, 1651

Rue Saint-Antoine, Paris

D’Artagnan eyed nervously the sinister towers of the Bastille fortress to their right, then the group of soldiers visible ahead at the Gate of Saint-Antoine. Lisbeth rode besides him Amazon style on her mare, while Nancy rode closely behind them. The Queen’s precious letters to the Cardinal were hidden under his shirt, while a bulging bag full of food was solidly attached to his saddle. Charles then noticed a rich carriage pulling to the side of the barricade watched by the soldiers, having come from outside the gate. A young woman aristocrat was now conversing with the officer in charge of the barricade. D’Artagnan felt acid in his stomach when he recognized both the woman and the soldiers and he got closer to Lisbeth to speak to her in a low voice.

“Trouble ahead, milady! I see Mademoiselle De Montpensier at the gate, speaking with soldiers of the Duke of Orléans, her father. She knows me.”

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Lisbeth’s face closed up at those news. Discreetly changing her riding posture to that of a man instead of the awkward Amazon style deemed proper for women, she signaled Nancy to do the same without breaking their stride.

“Monsieur d’Artagnan, your letters must go through. No matter what happens next, ride away!”

“What about you and Nancy?”

“We will take care of ourselves, Charles. You, on the other hand, are the only one that can take care of those letters.”

Charles swallowed hard as he looked behind him at Nancy, who nodded her head in agreement.

“She is right, Charles. Ride through with Lisbeth. I will cover your escape if need be.”

“But…”

“Go! We still can bluff our way through.”

Anne Marie Louise D’Orléans was still speaking with her father’s officer when a trio of riders approaching from the Rue Saint-Antoine caught her eyes. She then recognized with excitement the two English girls who, only this morning, had again ridiculed Madame De Longueville’s men by losing them despite being trailed by eight experienced men. Their discomfited faces after having been admonished by their hysterical mistress had made her laugh hard then. Her amusement at seeing the two young women suddenly vanished when she looked closely at the man riding alongside them. Grabbing the officer by the shoulder, she then pointed at d’Artagnan.

“THAT MAN IS AN AGENT OF CARDINAL MAZARIN! ARREST HIM!” Her scream and that of the officer ordering his men to seize him prompted d’Artagnan in doing something the Great Mademoiselle, herself a good rider, did not think possible: ignoring the guarded chicane entrance of the barricade, he made his horse jump over the barricade itself. Adding to the Duchess’ amazement, the English aristocrat girl vaulted the barricade as well with her horse and galloped away behind d’Artagnan, prompting the officer to shout an order to his men.

“SHOOT THEM!”

The Duchess then saw Nancy, who had stayed well behind her two companions, spur her horse and charge the dozen or so soldiers leveling their muskets at the fleeing d’Artagnan and the English aristocrat. Nancy’s horse crashed into them before they

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could fire, throwing their ranks into utter confusion. Anne Marie Louise D’Orléans understood with a pinch of admiration that Nancy was deliberately staying behind in order to protect the escape of her companions. Seeing a soldier about to point his pistol at the girl, she shouted at once as loud as she could.

“DON’T SHOOT HER! TAKE HER ALIVE!”

Soon trapped between the defensive moat of the Bastille and a half-circle of soldiers armed with halberds, swords and muskets, the teenager jumped off her horse and, taking from her saddle bags some sort of twin baton flail, swung it over her head while shouting at the soldiers as her horse galloped away on her order, breaking through the cordon of soldiers.

“COME ON! SHOW ME WHAT YOU MEN HAVE!”

Mesmerized by that scene, Anne Marie Louise watched on as the four first soldiers to approach the girl were greeted by a flurry of flail swings and high kicks and sent sprawling to the ground in seconds, to the astonishment of all around her.

“IS THAT ALL YOU GOT?” taunted the teenager, adopting a strange combat stance. Seven men then charged her at once from three different sides. The first two got slapped on the temple by her baton flail and collapsed to the ground, followed quickly by two more men. The fifth one was greeted by a piercing war scream and a punch to his plexus, while the sixth one, charging at a run with his musket wielded like a club, was grabbed by an arm, swung around her twice and sent flying into the water-filled moat. The girl then ducked under the musket swung at her by the seventh man and punched him viciously in the testicles. She then grabbed a discarded halberd with both hands and, with a blood-curling war shriek, charged the line of stunned soldiers, who seemed nearly ready to run away by then and had backed off by a few paces. At the last instant she planted the butt of the halberd in the ground and pole-vaulted over the heads of the incredulous soldiers. Hitting the ground in a smooth roll, she then started running towards the now panicking Duchess of Montpensier. Luckily for the Great Mademoiselle, a soldier tripped the teenager with his long pike, making her fall hard on the ground. A dozen now furious soldiers used that chance to jump on the girl, brutally grabbing her and punching her repeatedly.

“STOP THAT!” ordered at once Anne Marie Louise, worried that they would kill her. “BRING HER TO THE BASTILLE AND PUT HER IN CHAINS!” The Duchess then faced the officer besides her.

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“Quick, take your horse and inform immediately the Duchess De Longueville at the Palais-Royal that we captured one of the two English girls. She will understand.”

“It will be done, mademoiselle.” replied the officer before running to his horse. Anne Marie Louise then followed the soldiers dragging the unconscious English girl, still having trouble believing what she had just seen.

13:41 (Paris Time)

The Bastille, Paris

Nancy ‘B’ woke up slowly, waves of pain coming from her battered body, head and face. She then realized that she was suspended by both wrists to chains passing through steel pulleys attached to the ceiling of a large, high-vault room made of stone masonry. She also saw that her feet were chained to the floor, making it next to impossible for her to move in any way. A soldier who had been standing by the door of the room briefly turned his head towards the hallway beyond the door and shouted.

“TELL THE DUCHESS THAT THE PRISONER IS CONSCIOUS!” The noise of footsteps then told Nancy that another soldier was going away to pass that message. Looking around the poorly-lit room, which had no windows and was probably underground, she swallowed hard on seeing a number of torture instruments, including a brazier with iron bars plunged into it. Furthermore, the chains from which she was suspended ended up around a wooden drum which could be turned with a lever, thus tightening the chains and making the whole contraption a vertical stretching rack. Nancy ‘B’ breathed deeply a couple of time to control the fear which then rose in her. Her timeline twin had to go through similar severe tortures on two occasions and she had no wish to gain a similar experience. She however had little say on how things would go now. Worse, as long as witnesses were present, she would not be allowed to use her implanted time distorter to jump space-time and escape this awful place by disappearing into thin air. The footsteps of a number of persons approaching along the hallway then focused back her attention towards the door. Those persons turned out to be that pesky Duchess of Orléans and another, older aristocrat woman accompanied by four men. The older aristocrat had been at the Palais-Royal but Nancy could not remember her name. Once inside the torture chamber, the unknown noblewoman approached Nancy and looked up at her with a mean smile.

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“So, you thought that you could play around with my men? Now you will pay for it. First, you will tell me for who you really work.”

“And who is asking, if I may?”

The noblewoman was seemingly displeased by her question and motioned to one of the men, who then went to the drum and pulled the levers a number of times, tightening the chains holding Nancy and painfully stretching her body.

“I will ask the questions here, not you! Who do you work for?”

“I am the lady-in-waiting of Lady Lisbeth of Strathmore, who was sent to Paris by King Charles the Second of England to find support from the Queen of France in his fight against the armies of Oliver Cromwell.”

The eyes of the noblewoman narrowed as she stared coldly at Nancy.

“That was the story your mistress dished out at the court. However, you were caught while riding in the company of an agent of Cardinal Mazarin. If you answer my questions truthfully, you will avoid a lot of pain.”

“And what then if I do?” asked Nancy, only trying to delay the inevitable.

“Then, I may show some leniency with you. After all, you are nothing more than a servant.”

That disdainful remark by the noblewoman infuriated Nancy, who had no respect for all those high-born people who had done nothing by themselves to deserve their privileges. She however knew that the noblewoman could be trying to entice her in speaking too fast and reveal something through anger.

“What I am, I became through my own merits and efforts, not through birth. If you think yourself to be superior to me, then unchain me and I will show you who is really the superior person here.”

That clearly irritated the noblewoman, who made another sign to the man at the drum. Nancy had to clench her teeth together in order not to scream with pain as her joints were painfully stretched hard.

“No simple servant will mock the Duchess of Longueville! You obviously need a good lesson in humility.”

Walking to Nancy, the Duchess then roughly ripped her dress away, soon leaving her totally naked. The noblewoman then massaged Nancy’s large, firm breasts.

“You have a really nice chest. Maybe we should start with it.” Going to a table supporting a number of instruments, the noblewoman chose a pair of pliers with long handles and returned to near Nancy, the pliers held high. That was

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when Anne Marie Louise D’Orléans could not stand this anymore and went quickly to Anne-Geneviève De Bourbon Condé, pleading with her.

“Do we really have to do this? She’s a brave girl and deserves better than this. What could she tell us of real importance anyway since she is a simple servant?” The Duchess De Longueville looked down at her with contempt.

“You fancy yourself as some kind of Amazon and you can’t stomach this? That simple servant, as you called her, knocked out a dozen soldiers by herself. I will tell you what she is: a spy and a potential assassin. She must know where to find Mazarin’s agents in Paris and she will tell us, I promise you that.”

She then grabbed with her pliers the lower part of Nancy’s left breast and pinched it as hard as she could while twisting the pliers. Searing pain shot through Nancy’s brain but she barely managed not to scream through sheer willpower. As the Duchess De Longueville took one step back to leave space for her men to continue the tortures, she was hit squarely in the left eye by a ball of saliva spit out by Nancy. Pushing a scream, she jumped back and dropped her pliers, then used part of her dress to wipe her eye dry. She was positively livid when she looked back at Nancy but was cut off by her prisoner, who stared at her with utter contempt.

“You torture a chained prisoner and think of yourself as a tough woman? You are no more than a spoiled woman who was spoon-fed by others all your life. At least the Duchess De Montpensier proved that she is no sadist, contrary to you.”

“YOU WILL REGRET THIS! MEN, QUESTION HER HARD! I WANT ANSWERS BUT, MOST OF ALL, I WANT TO HEAR HER SCREAM!” The noblewoman then went to a corner of the room and grabbed a chair, bringing it to a position three meters in front of Nancy. The Duchess sat in the chair and looked on as the first crack from a whip echoed in the room. Disgusted and sickened by this, the Duchess De Montpensier ran out of the torture chamber and threw up once in the hallway. She then heard the voice of the Duchess De Longueville, mocking her.

“YOU’RE NOTHING MORE THAN A LITTLE WHIMP, ANNE MARIE!” Filled with both rage and horror, the young blonde didn’t dare however go back in the torture chamber, for fear of seeing more unspeakable things. She thus ran away, in a hurry to leave this sinister prison.

Jumping in her carriage parked in front of the main entrance to the Bastille, Anne Marie Louise d’Orléans ordered her driver to bring her back quickly to the Palais-Royal.

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Suddenly feeling sick as the carriage started to roll, she barely had the time to stick out her head by the door’s window before she threw up. She was still disturbed when she arrived at the Palais-Royal and went to lock herself in her apartments to try to chase from her mind the horrible images she had seen in the Bastille. After half an hour of trying to find peace of mind and also feeling remorseful about her role in the capture of Nancy, Anne Marie Louise then decided to go see the young King Louis. She found him after fifteen minutes of walking through the palace, practicing his sword fencing with his personal weapons trainer, Monsieur Vincent de Saint Ange. Running to the King, Anne Marie Louise threw herself at his feet, interrupting his practice session.

‘’Your Majesty, pardon me for interrupting your practice like this, but something horrible is happening in the Bastille. Lady Sommers, the lady-in-waiting of the English aristocrat who visited us a few times here, is being tortured in the Bastille, on orders from the Duchess of Longueville.’’

The teenage king looked at her for a moment with incomprehension before his expression hardened.

‘’She is being tortured? But why?’’

‘’She was seen in the company of Monsieur d’Artagnan, an agent of Cardinal Mazarin, and helped him and Lady Lisbeth of Strathmore escape the soldiers guarding the Saint-Antoine Gate, but was herself captured after a hard, unequal fight.’’

‘’And where precisely is Lady Sommers right now, mademoiselle?’’ asked Louis, now anxious and worried. He could not of course confess to her that he had quickly developed a crush for the tall girl from New France.

‘’In the torture chamber in the basement of the Bastille’s central tower, Your Majesty. The men of Madame de Longueville are now torturing her with whips and red hot irons.’’

Louis stared for a moment at Anne Marie Louise before turning to face his fencing teacher.

‘’Monsieur de Saint Ange, give me my war sword and bring me my pistols, loaded!’’

‘’But, Your Majesty, the guards of the Duke of Orléans will not let you leave the Palais-Royal like this.’’ objected with good reason the master fencer. Anne Marie Louise, now seeing a way to redeem her conscience, then spoke up.

‘’I can order my father’s soldiers to let you out and escort you to the Bastille, Your Majesty.’’

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‘’Please do that, my cousin!’’ exclaimed the young king. ‘’It will not be said that I let a young girl be tortured while doing nothing to save her. My weapons, Monsieur de Saint Ange!’’

As Anne Marie Louise left at a run to go talk to the guards, Louis armed himself quickly and ordered that his horse be brought to him. The young duchess came back to him as he was mounting his horse.

‘’The gates are opened, Your Majesty. May God protect you!’’ Louis saluted her with his large felt hat, then galloped towards the main entrance of the palace.

The commander of the palace guards was suddenly confronted with an impossible dilemma when the young King Louis XIV arrived on his horse at the main entrance barely a minute after he had gotten the order from the Duchess of Montpensier to let the King leave. His orders from the Duke of Orléans were clear: to prevent the royal family from fleeing Paris, while also insuring its security against possible rioters. This time, however, only the King wanted to go out, and this to go to the Bastille, a fortress solidly held by the forces of the Fronde. On the other hand, while he detested Cardinal Mazarin, like all the other members of the Fronde, the captain of the guards had only the greatest respect towards the young king and would never think of hurting him, or to let others hurt him. Stepping besides the King’s horse, the captain saluted his monarch with his hat.

‘’Your Majesty, what is pushing you into wanting to go out like this, armed to the teeth?’’

‘’I intend to stop an injustice, Captain des Ouches. Some people are cruelly torturing a young girl in the Bastille and I have the firm intention to go save her and put her under my protection.’’

Des Ouches did not remark on the irony of those words, as the King was himself under the guard of his men and was in reality ill placed to put anyone under his personal protection. However, the young Louis would reach the age of royal majority in barely four months and would then be legally able to govern by himself. Many things could happen in those four months and avoiding gaining the enmity of the young king seemed a good idea to the captain, who also knew too well the eminently versatile character of his master, Gaston d’Orléans. The resolute expression of his young king finally decided the old soldier, who looked at his lieutenant.

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‘’Monsieur d’Arbouilles, get me my horse and have ten fully armed men mount up as well: I am escorting the King to the Bastille.’’

‘’Right away, monsieur!’’

As the lieutenant ran away while shouting orders, Des Ouches looked back at Louis.

‘’May I ask on whose orders that girl is being tortured, Your Majesty?’’

‘’She is being tormented on orders from the Duchess of Longueville, Captain Des Ouches. The girl in question is the tall English teenager who visited my mother a few times here.’’

‘’Ah, yes, I remember her, Your Majesty. She is in truth way too young to deserve such tortures, which are anyway officially illegal against children.’’

‘’My point exactly, Captain.’’

Less than five minutes later, Louis XIV left the palace at a gallop, closely screened by Captain Des Ouches and ten riders. Luck then smiled to the young king. Disgusted by Nancy’s resistance and stubbornness, the Duchess of Longueville left at the same time the Bastille in her carriage but, wanting to visit someone in town, took a different road than that leading directly to the Palais-Royal. She thus never crossed path with the King’s party, which arrived without incident at the main entrance of the fortress. Captain Des Ouches, riding level with Louis, shouted to the sentries posted at the lowered drawbridge of the main entrance to the Bastille.

‘’MAKE WAY FOR THE KING!’’

The soldiers standing guard at the gate hesitated for a moment but then let the King and his escort enter, coming to attention as he galloped inside the fortress. The commander of the Bastille hurried to come down in the inner courtyard and bowed low to Louis as the latter was dismounting from his horse.

‘’Your Majesty, your visit is rather unexpected.’’

‘’I know, monsieur. I am however in a hurry. Lead me at once to the basement of your dungeon.’’

Understanding now why the King had come, the noble, who took his orders from the Paris Parliament and not from the Duchess of Longueville, didn’t object and led Louis and the guards of the Duke of Orléans inside the central dungeon. The members of the Fronde actually justified their revolt by saying that they were opposed to the abuses committed by Cardinal Mazarin and Queen Anne. However, nobody had up to now had attacked the young king himself, or had denied his authority, another factor that played

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in favor of Louis that afternoon. As the small group were going down a steep spiral staircase and was about to get to the first basement level, a long scream of pain echoed along the stone walls, making Louis cringe. Grabbing and drawing out one of his two pistols, he patted the shoulder of the commander of the fortress.

‘’Hurry up, monsieur!’’

‘’Uh, yes, Your Majesty!’’

The group soon could hear distinctly the repeated crack of a whip as they approached a massive wooden door. The commander of the Bastille pointed the door to Louis.

‘’This is the only door to the torture chamber, Your Majesty.’’ Captain Des Ouches reacted at once, turning around and designating the door to his men.

‘’I want four men to guard this door. Accept orders only from me or the King. The rest, follow me!’’

The old soldier then opened the door and rushed inside, sword and pistol in hand, followed closely by Louis. The captain and the young king were confronted at once inside by a sinister scene: four men surrounded a naked girl being stretched by chains suspending her above the ground, with two men whipping mercilessly the girl’s back and chest with bullwhips while a third man was turning progressively the mechanism that put tension on the chains. The fourth man was actually approaching the naked girl while holding a red hot iron in one hand, evidently ready to brand her. Blinded with instant fury on seeing this, Louis raised his pistol and shot from five paces away the man with the branding iron, killing him outright. The three other men snapped their heads around at the detonation of the shot and looked with wide eyes at the King and his escort.

‘’DON’T SHOOT! WE ARE IN THE SERVICE OF THE DUCHESS OF

LONGUEVILLE.’’ shouted the man turning the wheel of the stretching mechanism.

‘’Jackals like you have no place in my kingdom!’’ replied Louis. ‘’Release this girl at once!’’

The order was given more weight by six soldiers pointing their muskets on the three surviving men of the Duchess of Longueville. The men then raised their arms without another word. Going to the stretching mechanism and brutally pushing aside Gérard, Captain Des Ouches released himself the tension drum. The cry of pain from Nancy when she crumpled to the ground finished convincing the old soldier that he had done the right thing today by escorting and backing his young king. On his part, Louis hurried to Nancy, kneeling besides her and caressing her face before kissing her gently.

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‘’You are now safe, my friend. I will bring you back to the Palais-Royal, where you will be treated under my protection.’’

‘’Louis? What…what are you doing here? You can’t risk your life like this for me. You are too precious to France.’’ said Nancy with difficulty while repressing her cries of pain. Des Ouches paled on hearing that exchange: the girl must be a lover of his young king. This story was decidedly becoming more intricate by the minute. Going to Nancy, he helped Louis undo the manacles which had held her and that had dug deep, bloody furrows around her wrists and ankles. Her back, chest and buttocks were covered with bloody whip marks and with at least a dozen deep burns from branding irons. The stretching she had endured had also probably damaged or even disjointed her articulations. Des Ouches evaluated that the girl would need weeks of care to recuperate, if she in fact didn’t suffer lifelong sequels from this. As he expected, she proved incapable of standing by herself, sitting down on the floor with a cry of pain on her first try to get up. Des Ouches then pointed at two of his soldiers.

‘’Grab her under her legs and armpits and carry her up to the inner courtyard. Be gentle about it.’’

Seeing the cape of one of the tormentors hooked to a nearby wall, Des Ouches went to grab it and used it to cover Nancy’s nudity as his two men carefully picked her up. As Nancy was being carried out, the graying captain pointed the three surviving men of Madame de Longueville to the King.

‘’What do we do with these three pieces of shit, Your Majesty?’’

‘’Shoot them!’’ was the immediate order from Louis. On a sign from their captain, four soldiers raised their muskets and shot the three men from barely six paces away as the latter had their backs to a stone wall. Des Ouches then used his sword to give them the coup de grace before leaving with the King.

Nancy was gently hoisted on the back of Louis’ horse, with the young king feeling pride and satisfaction fill him as Nancy put her arms around his waist in order to hold on to him: justice had been done, and this by his own hand. Still escorted by the soldiers of Des Ouches, he pushed his horse into a slow trot, in order not to make Nancy suffer more. The royal party arrived back at the Palais-Royal after a fifty minute trip. There, servants and maids helped take Nancy down from Louis’ horse there and put her on a stretcher before carrying her towards the royal apartments. Before entering the palace himself, Louis face the captain of the guards and saluted him with his hat.

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‘’Thank you from the bottom of my heart for your help, Monsieur Des Ouches. You rendered me a great service and I will remember that.’’

‘’It was a pleasure, Your Majesty.’’

Louis then walked inside, hurrying to catch up with the servants carrying Nancy. Now that the level of adrenaline in his blood was coming down, he started to worry about the possible reactions of his mother to his actions. In that he was soon proved right. Pacing nervously in front of the door to the royal apartments, Queen Anne watched the servants carrying Nancy pass by her, then stared hard at her son.

‘’Louis, what were you thinking? Why did you risk your life like this for a simple commoner?’’

Louis, who normally bent to the authority of his mother, got irritated by her choice of words.

‘’A simple commoner, Mother? This girl just endured atrocious tortures in order to protect your secrets. It is people like her whom I wish to have in my service once in power, people who are loyal, competent and honest, instead of nobles ready to betray the crown and rob it. I rendered justice as the King today and I am proud of it, Mother. The least you could do for this poor girl is to thank her for not betraying you under the tortures.’’

Anne of Austria, taken aback by his forceful reply, calmed down a bit and looked at him gravely.

‘’Are you sure that she didn’t speak, Louis?’’

‘’Mother, they would not have continued to torment her so cruelly if she had already talked. Now, with your permission, I will go make sure that Lady Sommers is properly cared for.’’

‘’Then go, my son, and pray that your little adventure will not bring unfortunate consequences to us.’’

Deeply disappointed by the reaction of his mother, Louis entered the royal apartments in hurried steps. A servant then led him to a small servant’s room, where Nancy had been laid on top of a bed. Three women were already busy washing Nancy’s wounds while she lay naked on her left side when Louis entered the room. The oldest of the women gave him a sad look.

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‘’This poor girl was made to suffer most cruelly indeed, Your Majesty. She will probably need weeks of bed rest and care to recuperate. Hopefully, infection will not set in.’’

‘’I…I know Amerindian ointments which prevent infections.’’ cut in Nancy with a weak voice. ‘’I don’t want the so-called doctors around here to care for me: they would probably kill me with their treatments.’’

Louis hurried to the bed and sat by her side on it, speaking to her softly.

‘’My servants will do what you will tell them to do, my friend. Now, rest: you need it.’’

As Louis was about to get up from the bed, Nancy grabbed his right hand and pressed it while looking at him with moist eyes.

‘’Thank you, Your Majesty: you are a king as brave and kind as you are handsome.’’

That compliment, and the tone on which it was said, warmed Louis’ heart and filled him with pride. He quickly kissed Nancy on the lips before getting on his feet and looking at the senior servant.

‘’Do what she will tell you and don’t let in any court doctor without my prior consent. Also, if the Duchess of Longueville tries to see her, warn me at once.’’

‘’Yes, Your Majesty!’’

His mind now less preoccupied, Louis left the room after a last longing look at Nancy, then went to the palace chapel with the intention to pray for her prompt recovery.



10:46 (Paris Time)

Friday, April 28, 1651

Palais-Royal, Paris

Anne-Geneviève de Bourbon-Condé charged down the corridors of the palace at a furious pace, accompanied by two of her surviving bodyguards. She had gone to the Bastille this morning, only to learn there that her four men had been executed on the King’s order and that the savage girl, from which she had hoped to extract the names of the agents of Cardinal Mazarin in Paris, had been freed and then brought to the Palais-Royal. Going to the palace, she had been received coldly by Captain Des Ouches, who had not been impressed by the threats and invectives from the duchess. Anne-

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Geneviève had to contain her rage, not having enough of her soldiers in Paris to be able to intimidate or relieve of duty Des Ouches. Her husband was presently in Normandy and was trying to gain more nobles to the cause of the Fronde, while her brother, the famous Great Condé, was leading his army in the field against the royal army, far from Paris. As for Gaston d’Orléans, whose soldiers seemed to have supported the King in this affair, he was in Orléans, taking care of his lands. To find herself so helpless was not something that Anne-Geneviève liked.

Seeing the young Duchess of Montpensier walking in the opposite direction from her in the hallway, Anne-Geneviève blocked her path, forcing her to stop. She didn’t like the way the Great Mademoiselle averted her eyes while showing hostility towards her.

‘’Where is that damn savage girl whom the King took out of the Bastille yesterday?’’

‘’She is under guard in the royal apartments. I visited her this morning and what your men did to her was horrible. I am actually happy that Louis freed her.’’

‘’You young moron!’’ spat Anne-Geneviève. ‘’That girl holds information vital to the Fronde. She must talk!’’

‘’Your men tried the worst tortures on her, without results. You will never make her talk. Even better, you will not be able to lay your hands on her now. You should go pray for the salvation of your soul, which is in great need of it. Goodbye, madame!’’ The Duchess of Montpensier then walked away without another look at her, leaving Anne-Geneviève livid. Going up to the royal apartments with her two men, she was stopped at the door of the apartments by two soldiers of the Duke of Orléans, who crossed their muskets to block her passage.

‘’Nobody enters: order from the King!’’ said firmly the senior soldier. Anne-Geneviève threw him a furious look.

‘’Do you know who I am, you idiot? I am the Duchess of Longueville and you will let me pass!’’

‘’My orders come from the King and apply specifically to you and your men, Your Highness.’’

As Anne-Geneviève was about to explode, six more soldiers led by a young lieutenant came out of a nearby lounge facing the royal apartments, their muskets at the ready. The young officer, his left hand on the pommel of his sword, spoke to her in a barely polite tone.

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‘’You will have to stay away from the royal apartments, Duchess: order from the King!’’

‘’But, have you all become stupid? The King is supposed to be our prisoner here, not the other way around. The girl he freed yesterday is an agent of Cardinal Mazarin.’’

‘’My orders from the Duke of Orléans are to stop the royal family from leaving Paris, but also to protect the King and to treat him with all the respect due to him. Either you leave now or I will have to use force, madame.’’

‘’Enough! I understood: I will leave!’’ said the Duchess of Longueville before turning around and walking away with her bodyguards while muttering between her teeth.

‘’Bunch of dummies!’’

Returning to her carriage parked in the palace’s courtyard, she climbed inside it with her two bodyguards and ordered the driver to roll towards her private residence, situated in another part of Paris. The carriage had been rolling for less than ten minutes when it abruptly stopped, nearly projecting the duchess out of her bench seat. Sticking out her head by the door with the intent of telling the driver what she thought about his driving, Anne-Geneviève then swallowed her hot words on seeing that a chariot was blocking the narrow street and that six big men holding either pistols or blunderbuss guns were now surrounding the carriage. A strong hand then grabbed the duchess by her collar, while the door of the carriage was opened from the outside. Anne-Geneviève was brutally pulled out and thrown face first on the pavement, while her two bodyguards were forced to raise their hands up, four pistols pointed at them. Shaking with fear, Anne-Geneviève de Bourbon Condé was pulled back on her feet by one of the attackers and then violently pushed against a wall. A young blond woman came forward at once and grabbed her by the front of her dress, coming nose to nose with her while speaking with a strong English accent.

‘’You will now pay for what you did to my friend, Frenchie!’’ The blonde then hit her in the belly with her right fist, making the duchess bend over, her breath taken away. An uppercut returned her back up against the wall. Alternating insults in English and threats, the blonde administered to the terrified noble a solid beating that went on for a good minute. She finished the beating with a kick to the ribs that made Anne-Geneviève scream with pain.

‘’You get anywhere close to Nancy again and you will get even worse, you bitch!’’

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The six men and the blonde then disappeared in an instant into the side streets, leaving the duchess bleeding but still conscious on the pavement. Her two bodyguards, who had been disarmed by the assailants, then came a bit late to her rescue.

‘’Are you alright, madame?’’

‘’No, I’m not alright, you idiot!’’ spat Anne-Geneviève with difficulty, her ribs and face making her suffer. ‘’To be attacked by Englishmen here in Paris, in daylight: what a scandal!’’

‘’They are gone now, madame. We will help you get back in your carriage.’’ The duchess let out a cry of pain when the two men helped her up on her feet and she held her left side.

‘’AAAH! That damned Englishwoman must have broken one of my ribs.’’ What her bodyguards didn’t dare tell her was that her face was also a mess, with blood from her lips and nose and one eye that was already starting to close. Without another word, they helped their mistress get back in the carriage, then ordered the driver to leave at once. That same night, the Duchess of Longueville left Paris without further ado, to go spend a few days on her lands in Normandy. She certainly was not ready to show up at the royal court and have to explain what had happened to her, thus becoming the laughing stock of the palace.

23:49 (Paris Time)

Wednesday, April 26, 1651

Royal apartments, Palais-Royal

Paris

Louis woke up with a startle when a hand gently covered his mouth. Opening his eyes and with his heart racing, he took a few seconds to focus his vision and see in the darkness of his bedroom a naked female silhouette bent over him. A soft voice then whispered to him.

‘’It’s me, Nancy, Louis.’’

‘’Nancy? Why are you up at this hour?’’

‘’I wanted to say goodbye to you. I am now strong enough to walk and even to run and I don’t want to continue to make you and your mother run risks because of me.’’ On an impulse, the young Louis started caressing Nancy’s hair while staring into her eyes.

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‘’I will miss you a lot, my friend. Where will you go?’’

‘’I will go hide with friends, time to fully heal my wounds. I promise you that I will return to Paris for your next birthday, when you will be declared old enough to reign by yourself. I however wanted to leave you with a last proof of my friendship, Louis.’’ Nancy then slipped under the bed sheets and straddled the boy, offering him her breasts.

‘’I am all yours tonight, Your Majesty. Enjoy me as much as you want.’’ Louis didn’t have to be told twice and made love with her passionately for more than an hour, with Nancy helping the uncommon libido of the young king by caressing and stimulating him while he recuperated between orgasms. She finally gave him a last kiss.

‘’Thank you again for saving me in the Bastille, Louis. I will have an eternal debt of gratitude towards you.’’

‘’It is I who owes you a debt of gratitude, Nancy, for your loyalty, courage and friendship. You will always be welcomed at my court.’’

Louis then observed her as she put on a night shirt and a cape, noting in the light from a nearby candle how her cruel wounds were quickly healing. He became alarmed when she opened a window and stepped on the outside ledge, but Nancy reassured him with a gesture of the hand.

‘’Don’t worry, Louis. I am able to climb down the wall. Tell your mother that Lady Lisbeth with continue to serve as an intermediary between her and d’Artagnan while I recover. I will see you back in September, Louis.’’

‘’I will be awaiting you, my friend.’’ replied the young king, who rose from his bed and went to the window to watch her go down. To his relief, she got down on the ground without problems and, nearly invisible in the night with her dark brown cape, disappeared at a run inside a nearby street.

‘’Be careful, Nancy.’’ whispered Louis before returning to his bed. He went to sleep with a smile on his face as he dreamed about his last moments with her.

18:23 (Paris time)

Saturday, May 6, 1651

Inn of Le Lion Noir

Paris

Having just arrived back from Germany, d’Artagnan nearly ran inside the inn once a stable boy had taken custody of his horse. Seeing Lady Lisbeth of Strathmore

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inside the main hall, he went to her table, where she was having supper, and sat facing her, speaking in a low but urgent voice.

‘’Where is Nancy, Lady Lisbeth?’’

The English aristocrat gave him a reassuring smile and showed him the plates of food on the table.

‘’Don’t worry about her, Monsieur de Castelmore: she went through some difficult and painful moments but she is now safe. Please serve yourself: you must be famished from your long trip.’’

Recognizing that his stomach was indeed empty, Charles grabbed a chicken leg and started to devour it while still looking at Lisbeth.

‘’Tell me what happened after when we went out by the Saint-Antoine Gate, after you peeled off towards another gate, milady.’’

‘’To make a long story short, Nancy was captured after covering our escape and was then brought to the Bastille. There, the Duchess of Longueville had her tortured for hours, but without being able to break her.’’

Charles felt a mix of horror and rage on hearing that. Lisbeth continued before he could say something.

‘’Young King Louis, God bless him, then came to Nancy’s rescue once informed by the Duchess of Montpensier of what was happening in the Bastille. The King took Nancy out of the Bastille with the support of Captain Des Ouches and his men and then brought her to the Palais-Royal to have her cared for. Nancy left discreetly the palace five days later and is now recuperating in a secret safe house.’’

‘’The King himself saved Nancy?’’ said Charles, incredulous. ‘’But Queen Anne would never let him take such risks.’’

‘’Let’s say that the Queen learned of the rescue only after Nancy arrived with Louis at the palace. The important thing here is that Nancy is now safe and will be able to recover, even though she will be left with some scars.’’

‘’Could I see her?’’

Lisbeth shook her head slowly, her expression grave.

‘’I cannot risk compromising her hiding place, Monsieur de Castelmore. She however left me a letter for you.’’

Eagerly taking the letter produced by Lisbeth and opening it, Charles read it with growing emotion. Nancy, on top of reassuring him about herself, was declaring again her love for him and was promising to see him again in Paris at the end of August, when she was

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going to take again a room at the Inn of Le Lion Noir. Charles was feeling a bit better as he slipped the precious letter inside his vest.

‘’August! The months till then will be long months indeed for me. May God help her.’’

10:02 (Paris Time)

Friday, June 30, 1651

Mathieu Le Nain’s painting shop, Paris

Mathieu Le Nain weighed with satisfaction the heavy purse just given to him by Lady Lisbeth of Strathmore as four big men hired by her and supervised by young Nancy were nailing shut the crates containing the two finished portraits.

“It was a true pleasure dealing with you and your young friend, milady. Don’t hesitate to come back whenever you feel like it.”

“The pleasure was mine, Monsieur Le Nain. You truly deserve the title of master painter. Be assured that I will recommend you to my friends.” Le Nain acknowledged the compliment with a smile and a bow.

“You are too kind, milady. I wish you a safe trip home.”

Nancy got close to Mike Crawford, who was finishing with James Parker to close the crate containing her nude portrait, which Le Nain had finally agreed to sign. Sean Brady and Otto Skorzeni had already started bringing out Elizabeth’s portrait to the cart waiting outside, where Heinrik Braun was at the reins.

“I will let you decide where to hang it, Mike.” she whispered in his ear. “Just make sure that it is on public display.”

Mike smiled tenderly to her as he lifted his end of the crate.

“With the way you fulfilled your mission here, you can ask about anything from me. We will hang it at the Time Club, where everybody will be able to admire it. After that, we will have those scars of yours removed as much as possible. Unfortunately, now that your wounds had time to heal naturally, some traces of them will be left permanently.”

“That’s alright: I can live with them. I could not risk having these scars disappear as if by magic. That would have raised too many questions at the court. Thank you for convincing Farah to let me visit from time to time d’Artagnan in this time period.”

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Mike then stared at her gravely.

“Nancy, Farah didn’t need much convincing to agree with your request: she cried like a fountain when she saw the film of your love declaration to d’Artagnan. Hell, many of the girls in the Time Patrol are jealous of you and think d’Artagnan to be gorgeous. As long as you never tell Charles who you really are, we all can live with a romance through time. Where will you spend your maternity leave?”

“In Paris ‘B’. I want my child to have French citizenship. D’Artagnan would have it no other way.”

Mike nodded to that.

“I certainly can understand his point of view. The child of d’Artagnan and of Joan of Arc: that should get the French medias excited.”

He and Parker then left with the crate. Nancy went to join Elizabeth near Le Nain, smiling at the latter.

“Thank you again for accepting to sign my portrait, Monsieur Le Nain: it will be a true honor to possess such a work of art.”

“Your pleasure is mine, mademoiselle.” replied the painter, bowing again. He watched both young women leave, then firmly tied the purse full of gold coins to his belt with a content smile. If only he could get two customers like these every six months. Painting a nude of that magnificent tall teenager had also been a nice bonus.

09:50 (Paris Time)

Thursday, March 5, 1953 ‘B’

Hospice de la Maternité

Boulevard de Port-Royal, Paris

Nancy ‘B’, dressed in a wool skirt and sweeter, only needed to walk in the reception lobby of the Hospice de la Maternité, situated on the site of the old Abbey of Port-Royal, to understand that her pregnancy was going to be public news. All the waiting patients and the staff present gawked at her at once, with some whispering excitedly between them while glancing at her. Sometimes the celebrity of her timeline twin, whose death was still not known in this timeline, could be a real pain. Ignoring the stares, Nancy made her way to the reception desk, where a young receptionist sat. The woman gave her a big smile as she leaned on the counter.

“It is truly an honor to receive your visit, Overseer. What may we do for you?”

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“I am sorry to disappoint you, miss, but I am not the Overseer of Palestine. I am just her timeline twin. As you can see, I am over five months pregnant and would like to be consulted by one of your doctors.”

“A timeline twin?” said the nurse, confused. Nancy explained herself patiently.

“Yes! Nancy Laplante ‘A’, the Overseer of Palestine, was born in the future of timeline ‘A’. I was born in the future of this timeline. My name is Nancy Laplante ‘B’. Do you have a doctor who still takes new patients?”

“Uh, yes, miss, we do. One moment, please.”

The nurse, a bit embarrassed, grabbed her telephone and talked briefly with someone before putting it down and looking back at Nancy.

“If you could take a seat, Miss Laplante, Doctor Marsant will come for you in a few minutes.”

“Thank you, miss.”

Nancy went to one of the chairs of the reception lounge which were empty and grabbed a used fashion magazine on a low table before sitting. She had to wait less than ten minutes before a man in his early forties and wearing a white overcoat and a well used suit came to her and shook her hand.

“Miss Laplante? I am Doctor Jacques Marsant. You want to register with our clinic?”

“That’s correct, doctor. The Time Patrol does have its own medical facilities but I prefer for sentimental reasons to have my baby here in Paris. I can tell you more once in your office.”

Taking the hint at once, Marsant escorted her without further ado to his small office, which connected with an examination/treatment room. Once both of them had sat in Marsant’s office, Nancy took a large envelope from her leather attaché case and gave it to Marsant.

“My doctor with the Time Patrol is Doctor Farah Tolkonen. Here are copies of her preliminary examinations and medical scans on me. You can keep them for your files.”

Marsant opened the envelope and extracted a file from it, examining it for a minute or so before looking back at her.

“May I ask what was the reason for not having your baby at a Time Patrol facility, Miss Laplante?”

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“Basically, I want my baby to have French citizenship, doctor. It would mean a lot to me and the father, who was a French citizen.”

“Was? Is he dead, miss?”

“Yes…and no. He is from the year 1651, the year I conceived my baby with him in Paris.”

Interest showed at once on Marsant’s face, who grabbed a pen and a medical form at once.

“This certainly sounds like a fascinating maternity case, miss. First, may I have your date and place of birth?”

“Certainly! I was born on June 13, 1982 ‘B’, in Montréal, Canada, and am now fourteen. My name is Nancy Laplante ‘B’. Before you ask, I could not marry the father of my child because of the possible historical implications. He is however more than ready to recognize the child as his. Before we go further, I must ask you to keep all this information confidential, at least until the birth of my child.”

“Do not worry, miss: we take our patients’ confidentiality very seriously. Could I have the approximate date of conception of your child?”

“Late April of 1651. Five months and a half have elapsed since then.”

“So, you should give birth around the end of June or early July of this year…if you don’t travel in time until then.”

“I actually am working at the Time Patrol liaison office at Le Bourget and do not plan to travel in time from now until after I give birth, doctor.”

“Excellent! I have to say that juggling past, present and future dates like this is a bit confusing to me. Uh, could I have the name of the father, just for the sake of legality?”

Nancy smiled as she felt the contained excitement of the French doctor: he probably expected some famous historical name in view of her status as agent of the Time Patrol. In this he was not going to be disappointed.

“Certainly, doctor. His name is Charles Ogier de Batz de Castelmore, born in 1613.”

“D’Artagnan, the musketeer?” asked Marsant, his voice nearly strangled by surprise. Nancy grinned at his reaction.

“That is correct, doctor. This of course has to stay confidential: I have no wish to see an army of reporters descend on this clinic for my child’s birth.”

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“Neither do I, miss.” replied Marsant, shaking his head. Preventing all of his staff from leaking this explosive news to the medias was going to be a near impossible task. If it ever came out in the open, he could then expect his clinic to be submerged by a wave of journalists and press photographers.

21:13 (Paris Time)

Friday, June 26, 1953 ‘B’

Hospice de la Maternité

Boulevard de Port-Royal, Paris

“COULD YOU PLEASE MAKE SILENCE? SILENCE, I SAID!” The shouted words from Doctor Marsant finally quieted down enough the mass of reporters, television crews and photographers camped in the lobby of the clinic to let Marsant speak in a normal voice.

“I shall remind you all that this is a medical clinic and that silence is required here. Do not force me to have the police clear you out. Now, I have an announcement to make. Miss Nancy Laplante ‘B’ has given birth to a healthy baby boy at eighteen twenty, without the need for a cesarean section. The baby weighs three kilos and four hundred grams, or about seven and a half pounds for the British and Americans here.”

“WHY WAIT THREE HOURS BEFORE TELLING US ABOUT THE BIRTH?” Shouted at once a reporter from the back of the crowd, eliciting a concert of approving grunts.

“That was the wish of Miss Laplante, so that she could have some time to recuperate and prepare for this.”

Marsant then signaled a nurse to open the double doors leading inside the clinic. Preceded by a good dozen male orderlies who formed a protective line between her and the reporters, Nancy was then wheeled out on a wheelchair, a baby in her arms. Dozens of flashbulbs exploded at once, forcing Nancy to protect the eyes of her son with one hand. The nurse pushing her wheelchair stopped it four paces from the line of reporters and photographers. Nancy, looking tired but happy, then raised one hand to request silence.

“Gentlemen, I will now make a short statement, if you will stop shouting questions like this…Thank you! First, I wish to thank the staff of the Hospice de la Maternité, for

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their kind, professional care of me and my baby. Next, I wish to present my son, Charles d’Artagnan.”

More flashbulbs erupted, while cameramen jostled for better positions as Nancy presented to the crowd the newborn in her arms. After a few seconds of pausing for the cameras she cradled back her son and spoke up.

“I am now on maternity leave from the Time Patrol and will stay until tomorrow in this clinic, then will have my son registered as a dual citizen of France and of the Time Patrol. The ones here who did their history homework may know that d’Artagnan officially married the Baroness of Sainte-Croix, Charlotte-Anne de Chanlecy, on April 3rd of 1659, to officially separate from her in 1665 after having two sons from that marriage. He never remarried afterwards and eventually died in combat on June 25th of 1673 in front of the walls of Maestricht, at the age of sixty. I did not marry him and couldn’t, for obvious historical reasons, but we love each other in secret. I intend soon to go back in time and present to him his son, which we conceived together in Paris in 1651. We will then see each other at intervals, as history permits. Before you ask, no, d’Artagnan doesn’t know about the future, as I used a cover story to see him.”

“MISS LAPLANTE,” shouted a reporter, “WHAT KIND OF COVER STORY DID YOU USE IN 1651?”

“For him and other people of that time I am an English girl of low nobility visiting occasionally the widowed queen of England, who lived in exile in Paris during the stay in power in England of Oliver Cromwell, who had King Charles The First decapitated in 1649.”

“DID YOU MEET MANY OF THE IMPORTANT CHARACTERS OF THAT TIME, MISS LAPLANTE?”

“I effectively met most of them, including King Louis The Fourteenth, Queen Anne of Austria and the Great Mademoiselle. The Time Patrol is now in the process of preparing both a printed and a video documentary on the history of the Fronde insurrection, which went on from 1648 to 1653 in France.”

“WILL WE BE ABLE TO SEE D’ARTAGNAN IN THAT DOCUMENTARY, MISS?”

“Many times!” replied proudly Nancy. “He was after all a key messenger between Cardinal Mazarin and Queen Anne. And yes, you may see me by his side a few times in that documentary.”

“MISS, WHY DID YOU HAVE A CHILD FROM D’ARTAGNAN? WASN’T THAT RISKY FOR THE INTEGRITY OF HISTORY?”

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Nancy gave the reporter who had shouted that question a dark look.

“I had a child from him because we fell in love with each other. The Time Patrol may have strict rules about the preservation of history but it also understands that its agents have human feelings. The way we had our child didn’t put history at risk and I certainly didn’t have a son from d’Artagnan just to brag about it. Now, if you will excuse me, I need to give some peace to my son.”

The nurse pushing her wheelchair then turned her around and returned her inside the clinic as the crowd of reporters broke away to run to the nearest telephones.

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Jeanne de Brissac, swimming in the Anse des Grandes Salines, Guadeloupe.





CHAPTER 3 – JEANNE DE BRISSAC


15:39 (Guadeloupe Time)

Monday, May 18, 1846

Anse des Grandes Salines

French colony of the Guadeloupe, Caribbean

Knight Pierre Alphonse d’Orléans, wearing a simple shirt and short trousers, was supervising his black employees who were busy extracting blocks of sea salt from the salt flats bordering the beach, on which he stood barefoot. Pierre took a moment to admire the sea and sky of the l’Anse des Grandes Salines, situated at the southeastern tip of the island of Grande-Terre, the second largest of the archipelago of the Guadeloupe. His parents, like many aristocrats, had fled France after the start of the French Revolution and its bloody period called ‘The Terror’ in 1789, when thousands of nobles had been summarily executed by resentful mobs of impoverished peasants and common workers. After much hard times, his family, a minor branch of the House of Orléans, had managed to successfully establish itself in the Americas. Born and raised

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in New Orleans, Pierre had eventually decided to go live in the Guadeloupe, with its flourishing commerce of sugar and rum. Now, at the age of 36, he was the owner of a large sugar cane plantation, which included a sugar refinery and a small rum distillery, enough for him to live very comfortably. He had also created large salt flats on the coast near his plantation, with the salt produced there providing him with a substantial extra income. Despite the restoration of the monarchy in France at the start of this century, Pierre felt no urge to return to his country of origin, which he had never seen in his life. France’s economy was still fragile, while the social climate there was downright poisonous, if he could believe the captains and passengers of the ships which regularly docked in the ports of Pointe-à-Pitre and Saint-François. He would be perfectly happy if not for the fact that he was without a wife. That didn’t mean that he went without sex though, since more than one young black woman among his freed ex-slaves were quite willing and eager to sleep with him. However, young European women of noble or respectable birth were rare in the Guadeloupe and were all married already…or were as ugly as frogs.

As he was looking at the Island of La Désirade on the horizon, his eyes caught on a number of floating objects on the surface of the waves, about 600 meters off the beach he was on. Focusing on the objects, he was soon able to recognize them as debris from a wrecked ship. He was not surprised by that, as more than a few ships sank every year around the Guadeloupe because of tropical storms or collisions with reefs. Calling his foreman and telling him to continue to supervise the work of salt extraction alone, Pierre got closer to the edge of the water in order to better see. The currents and winds actually seemed to be pushing the debris towards the beach of fine white sand he was standing on. Pierre’s heart accelerated when he saw some movement near one of the floating objects. After looking for a moment, he was ready to swear that someone was clinging to that piece of debris. He however hesitated to enter the water to swim towards the debris: the waves were strong and the currents dangerous along this coast. He finally took a decision when he was able to clearly distinguish a human head and heard a female voice.

‘’Help! Help me!’’

‘’FERNAND, COME HERE WITH TWO MEN AND THE ROLL OF ROPE WE HAVE IN OUR CART, QUICKLY!’’ shouted Pierre to his foreman while starting to take

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off his shirt. Keeping only his short trousers on, he then tied around his waist one end of the rope Fernand brought to him at a run.

‘’Hold on tight to the other end of this rope with your two men, so that the currents won’t wash me away. I’m going to get that girl.’’

‘’Understood, monsieur.’’ replied the foreman, who then tied the other end of the rope around his own waist and walked into the water with his employer. While Fernand and the two black workers with him stopped once water came to their upper legs, Pierre started swimming resolutely towards the girl in distress. The latter, seeing him approach, let go the piece of floating debris she had been clinging to and started swimming to join up with him. Twice the surf threw her back away from the beach, cancelling her efforts. With an ultimate surge of energy, the girl finally managed to link up with Pierre, who firmly grabbed her in his arms at once and shouted towards the beach.

‘’I HAVE HER, MEN! PULL!’’

Fernand and the two black workers immediately started pulling on the rope with all their strength, towing Pierre and the shipwrecked girl towards the beach. Pierre was finally able to walk on the bottom but had to drag the young woman, who was apparently exhausted, out of the water and onto the sand. Gently putting her down on her back once on dry sand, he examined her while untying the rope around his waist and catching his breath. He quickly had to revise his first impression of the girl, who only wore a wet night shirt that was now clinging to her body. While very tall, her face was that of a teenager, not that of an adult woman. She was also beautiful, with long dark hair and a sensual and athletic body. The foreman smiled while admiring the appetizing curves of the girl, whose nipples were visible through her wet shirt.

‘’Well, monsieur, it seems that you have caught quite a nice fish today.’’

‘’It seems so, my good Fernand. Pass me your water bottle, please.’’ Taking the tin flask offered by his foreman, Pierre knelt beside the teenager and gently raised her head while offering her the opened flask. The girl avidly gulped three long pulls of the water before looking up at Pierre, who could now see that her eyes were green.

‘’Thank you very much, monsieur. You are a most brave and kind man.’’

‘’You are welcome, mademoiselle. I am Pierre Alphonse d’Orléans, owner of a nearby plantation. And what is your name?’’

‘’I am Jeanne Marie Céleste de Brissac, but call me simply Jeanne. Where am I?’’

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‘’On the southeastern tip of the Island of Grande-Terre, in the Guadeloupe. Do you know if there were other survivors from your ship, Jeanne?’’

‘’I…I don’t know. I don’t think so. I didn’t see a single person during the day following the sinking. The ship sank at night, without a warning sign. All that I heard was a terrifying crack just before water filled the under decks. I barely had time to leave by a skylight.’’

‘’And your parents, Jeanne? You were traveling with your parents, weren’t you?’’ The teenager closed her eyes for a moment, as if reliving a nightmare, before answering in a weak voice.

‘’They had been dead for four weeks already, killed by the pirates who boarded our ship. I was then put on the pirates’ ship, while my original ship went south with a boarding crew.’’

Pierre nodded his head, not surprised by her story. Even in this century there were still a few pirates around the Caribbean Sea, most of them coming from the coasts of South America. The French Navy, which was only a shadow of its past Napoleonic glory, rarely patrolled the waters of the Caribbean, something pirates used to their advantage. The teenager was however awakening a particular interest inside Pierre’s brain, even without her story about pirates.

‘’You have an aristocratic name, am I right, Jeanne?’’

‘’I am of modest lineage, monsieur. Why do you ask?’’

‘’Oh, just simple curiosity. Do you feel strong enough to get up now?’’

‘’I think so.’’

Pierre helped her get up on her feet, finding out then that she was clearly taller than him. She was in fact taller than most men. Her wet shirt also revealed a muscular body…and a very appetizing chest.

‘’Come with me to my cart: I will bring you to my plantation, so that you could bathe and change. FERNAND, TELL THE MEN TO STOP WORKING: WE WILL CONTINUE THE EXTRACTION TOMORROW.’’

‘’YES, MONSIEUR!’’

Jeanne looked at the two black men who started following the foreman, as well as at the dozen other black men visible further away.

‘’Are these black men slaves?’’

‘’No! I freed all of my slaves a year ago. They now get a part of the profits from my plantation as their pay, plus a number of benefits.’’

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Pierre thought that he saw an approving look in the teenager’s eyes then before she followed him to the cart. Making her sit on the driver’s bench, he waited for the blocks of salt already extracted from the flats to be loaded in the back before grabbing the reins and urging his two mules forward.

With his foreman sitting in the back of the cart and with the black workers walking behind, Pierre waited a moment before trying to start a conversation with the teenager, wanting to leave her time to recuperate some of her strength.

‘’So, Jeanne, how old are you, if I may ask?’’

‘’Sixteen, monsieur.’’ lied Nancy Laplante ‘B’, who had just attained the age of fourteen. Her body was however a lot more developed for her age than a typical 19th Century girl’s body would be.

‘’Please, simply call me ‘Pierre’. And why were your parents bringing you to the Guadeloupe, Jeanne?’’

‘’My parents were practically broke following some disastrous financial speculations in France, and were hoping to build back their fortune here. Pirates then intercepted and seized our ship, killing my parents in the process, along with the whole crew.’’

‘’And what was the name of your ship? I will need to warn the authorities in Basse-Terre about this.’’

‘’It was called the GROS GAILLARD. We were the only passengers aboard. It was captured a month ago.’’

‘’So, it is the original pirate ship which sank near here, right, Jeanne?’’

‘’That’s exact, Pierre.’’

Something in her tone and attitude, which denoted unease, told Pierre that she was not telling him everything, but he didn’t insist and stayed silent during the four kilometer trip to his plantation. Finally arriving at the limits of his property, Pierre proudly showed with a sweep of one arm the vast sugar cane fields, the sugar extraction plant, the rum distillery, the small workers’ village and his own house.

‘’This is my plantation, ‘Sweet Dreams’.’’

Jeanne smiled with amusement on hearing that and looked at him.

‘’I like that name. Was it your wife who gave it that name?’’

‘’I am an old single guy, Jeanne. I am also a bit of a poet.’’

‘’Not married, a strong and handsome man like you?’’

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The compliment made Pierre smile in turn.

‘’Let’s say that well-born girls are rare in the Guadeloupe, Jeanne. I am also in rather poor terms with most of my white neighbors, who think that I am way too soft on my black workers. I was even accused a few times of sheltering and protecting running slaves.’’

‘’From what I have heard during my trip about the living conditions of those slaves, I can’t blame them at all for wanting to run away. Such cruel conditions could not possibly be condoned by God.’’

‘’Very well said, my dear Jeanne. However, too many people here worship gold rather than God.’’

‘’The same is true in France.’’ replied the teenager, her expression hardening a bit.

‘’Well, enough about this! We will go to my house right away, so that you could wash and then rest.’’

Jumping down on the ground with Jeanne once in front of his residence, Pierre let the cart in the hands of Fernand and showed the wooden façade of his house, which seemed to have been damaged and then repaired summarily.

‘’You will excuse the appearance of my house, Jeanne, but a terrible earthquake struck this island three years ago. My house actually resisted much better to it than many other houses. Just in Pointe-à-Pitre, the main port in the island, there were over 3,000 dead from that earthquake.’’

Jeanne nodded her head while inspecting the façade.

‘’A wooden house normally resists earthquakes better than stone houses do. The repairs you did seem adequate to me.’’

She then followed Pierre inside. The latter shouted once inside a large lounge.

‘’MARTHE! MARTHE! I NEED YOU!’’

A stoutly-built black woman with a sympathetic face came in at once from the kitchen, to open wide eyes on seeing Jeanne, who was still only wearing her half-dried shirt.

‘’Dear Lord, monsieur, what happened to this poor girl?’’

‘’She was shipwrecked off the coast and I saved her on the Grandes Salines beach, Marthe. Can you prepare a good hot bath for Jeanne and also wash her hair. Use some of my clothes to dress her up afterwards: I am afraid that she is way too tall to fit any dress in this plantation.’’

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‘’Right away, monsieur.’’ said Marthe before walking to Jeanne and bow to her with a warm smile. ‘’If mademoiselle will follow me.’’

With Jeanne following the servant, Pierre then ended alone in his living room. Going briefly to the kitchen, he advised his cook that there would be a guest for supper and then returned to the living room, where he poured himself a glass of rum before sitting down in his favorite sofa. Barely twenty minutes later, Marthe entered the lounge at a near run, looking and sounding troubled.

‘’Monsieur, the girl is now in the bathtub.’’

‘’Yes, and?’’ said Pierre, not understanding her excitement.

‘’She was flogged and also branded repeatedly with red hot irons, monsieur! Her torso and buttocks are covered with scars.’’

Pierre got up at once from his sofa, shocked by this.

‘’WHAT? Did she tell you how she ended up with these scars?’’

‘’I didn’t dare ask her, monsieur. What do I do now?’’

Pierre thought for a moment before looking again at Marthe.

‘’The branding marks, are they shaped like fleurs-de-lis?’’ Marthe shook her head at that, understanding what he was alluding to. Prostitutes often were branded by the royal justice, which used irons shaped like a fleur-de-lis.

‘’No, monsieur. I believe that she was tortured, severely. Her scars seem to date from a few weeks at the least.

‘’Those pirate bastards!’’ swore Pierre, suddenly understanding what could have happened to Jeanne. ‘’Very well, Marthe. Continue to help her wash up and don’t mention her scars with her. I will talk with Jeanne afterwards.’’

‘’Understood, monsieur.’’ replied Marthe before walking away, leaving Pierre alone with his thoughts.

Marthe returned with Jeanne a bit less than one hour later, as another servant was preparing the covers on the dining table, situated at one end of the lounge. Pierre smiled to Jeanne, who was now wearing a male set of clothes that ill fitted her.

‘’I believe that my first priority tomorrow will be to go in town with you to find some proper clothes for you, my friend.’’

Jeanne, who seemed to be still disoriented, returned his smile.

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‘’You already did a lot for me, monsieur. I don’t know how to properly thank you for saving me and now caring for me.’’

‘’You can start by sharing this supper with me, Jeanne.’’ replied Pierre while pointing at the dining table. Getting up from his sofa, Pierre led Jeanne to the table and gallantly helped her sit down before taking the chair facing her. Filling Jeanne’s cup with wine, then filling his own cup, Pierre raised it and smiled to the beautiful teenager.

‘’To your health, Jeanne.’’

‘’And to yours, Pierre.’’ replied Jeanne while raising her own cup and making it touch that of Pierre. They each drank a short pull of wine before putting back down their cups, looking at each other in silence while a servant brought in two plates of soup. Jeanne waited for the servant to be back in the kitchen before speaking, her eyes lowered and with embarrassment on her face.

‘’I noticed the reaction of Marthe, your maid, when she saw my scars. I suppose that she told you about them?’’

‘’Yes, but if you don’t want to talk about them now…’’

‘’You have the right to know about them, Pierre. That is the least I owe you for saving me. When pirates attacked my ship over a month ago, killing my parents and the whole crew, I defended myself and managed to kill two pirates and to wound another one before being overpowered. The pirates, enraged, punished me by flogging me. When I resisted again as the pirate captain was trying to rape me, he had me tortured with red hot irons to break my resistance, then took me by force. The next few weeks were like Hell for me, with the captain beating me when I was not cooperating. On top of killing my parents and taking all that we owed, those bastards also took away my dignity and sullied me in an unspeakable way. I am afraid that I am not worthy of your hospitality, Pierre.’’

‘’Nonsense, Jeanne!’’ said softly Pierre while putting his left hand over her right hand. ‘’You have nothing to be ashamed of in all this. You were helpless and a prisoner. As for those pirates, they have now paid for their crimes and will not abuse anyone anymore.’’

‘’But what will people think of me now? I am not even sure yet if those pirates didn’t make me pregnant or not. I also can’t prove who I am: all my family documents are now at the bottom of the sea and the pirates took away my family ring.’’

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‘’Don’t worry about that, Jeanne. Just rest for the next few days and get over your misadventure. You are my guest here and you will always be respected at ‘Sweet Dreams’.’’

Jeanne lowered her head, tears in her eyes.

‘’You are too good, Pierre. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart.’’ Moved, Pierre quickly got up and went around the table to go gently grab her shoulders and to speak softly in her ears.

‘’Forget about all this, my dear. You are a noble and will be treated as such here. Tomorrow, we will go together to Saint-François, the main town in this area, to buy some clothes worthy of you. Now, just eat and relax.’’

Going back to his place, Pierre sat back and ate in silence, respecting her obvious embarrassment. He was however thinking furiously as he kept looking discreetly from time to time at Jeanne, who was eating slowly. The news that she had been tortured and raped by the pirates was saddening him for more than one reason. The idea of eventually marrying this beautiful girl he had saved from the sea was already in his head, but he would have to wait a few months to make sure that she was not pregnant before proposing marriage to her. If not, the busybodies around Saint-François would not hesitate to call a baby born too quickly from Jeanne a bastard. He would thus have to temper his temptations towards her for a few months before courting her favors. Somehow, Pierre knew that this was not going to be easy.

On her part, Nancy Laplante ‘B’ eyed discreetly Pierre, a handsome and solidly built man who wore black hair cut at the neck and who shaved his face. He was muscular and stood at about 175 centimeters, with gray eyes and a square jaw that reinforced his apparent strength of character. She had not needed to simulate her embarrassment when she had told him about her scars. Even though she had successfully resisted the tortures inflicted to her in the Bastille in 1651, that experience had deeply traumatized her and had marked her mentally as well as physically. She could have had her scars treated via the highly advanced medical science of the 34th Century and have made them disappear completely, but she had decided to receive only basic medical care. That decision had greatly pained her parents, but she had insisted on that in order to keep her cover identity in 1651 plausible. A recovery that would prove too ‘miraculous’ would have attracted many questions and nasty rumors at the King’s court. As a consequence, she had been forced to modify slightly her original cover story

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for her role as Jeanne de Brissac in 1846. Thankfully for her, Pierre Alphonse d’Orléans seemed to be the kind of man who she could truly appreciate and love. The knowledge that Pierre had less than one year to live according to history then came back to her mind, attracting tears on her cheeks. Pierre, misunderstanding the cause for her tears, hurried up again to go comfort her.

‘’Do not cry, Jeanne: your misfortunes are over, I promise you that.’’

‘’Excuse me, Pierre.’’ said Nancy between two sobs. ‘’So many things happened to me lately. I don’t know what to expect anymore from life.’’

‘’Maybe some rest will do you good, Jeanne. Would you like to go to bed after supper?’’

She nodded her head at that. Returning to his place, Pierre let her finish her supper, then escorted her to the guest room of his house, showing her the bed covered by a mosquito net.

‘’Marthe will bring you a night gown and some underwear. If you need anything, just ask.’’

‘’Thank you again, Pierre. You are too good.’’

‘’Not at all: I am only doing what a good Christian is supposed to do. Sleep now and forget about those pirates, Jeanne.’’

He then left the bedroom and returned to the lounge, where he poured himself some more wine, drinking it while dreaming about the girl he had saved from the sea.

Next morning, Pierre had his cart readied and left with Jeanne for the small town of Saint-François, situated a few kilometers to the southwest of his plantation. Keeping to small talk on the way, Pierre did his best to relax Jeanne by chatting about the town and the local life. The dresses and other clothes he found for her in Saint-François, while of decent quality, were not however what a noble would expect to wear. Despite the fact that Jeanne seemed more than satisfied by his acquisitions, Pierre promised himself to one day bring her to Pointe-à-Pitre, the main port of the Guadeloupe and a place where he knew that he would find some gowns worthy of an aristocrat girl. On the other hand, Jeanne, with her uncommon height and athletic body, was well noticed in Saint-François, where the coming of new French settlers was fairly rare these days. Some of Pierre’s French neighbors were also in town with their wives that day and didn’t miss the tall and beautiful teenager going around with Pierre. Most of them being in rather poor terms with Pierre d’Orléans, the ideas that came to their mind then and the

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comments they made about the couple were not exactly charitable. Jeanne’s origin in particular attracted many questions in the heads of those neighbors. One plantation owner, intrigued by Jeanne, visited a tailor shop after Pierre and Jeanne and spoke with the tailor, who told him in turn about the scars on Jeanne’s torso. That made the plantation owner and his wife think about all kinds of hypothesis, which they of course diligently shared with other people around them.

Returning to the plantation by the end of the afternoon with a Jeanne apparently happy about their acquisitions, Pierre took one hour to go inspect the various works in progress in his fields and in his sugar extraction plant. As he was about to reenter his house just before supper, Pierre suddenly slowed down his pace and stopped in front of his door, perplex: somebody was playing the piano he had in his lounge. He was supposed to be the only one able to play the piano in ‘Sweet Dreams’. The answer that came to his mind then made him smile and he resolutely entered his house, walking quietly to his lounge. He found Jeanne there, wearing one of her new dresses and playing with brio a piece of music unknown to Pierre. Seeing him approach, Jeanne gave him a big smile while continuing to play.

‘’You didn’t tell me that you had a square piano, Pierre. Do you have other musical instruments, by chance?’’

‘’Uh, I have a guitar, plus a banjo that I bought in New-Orleans. You didn’t tell me that you knew how to play the piano. I must say that you seem to be quite good at it.’’

‘’Thank you! In truth, the guitar is my favorite musical instrument, but I am also well practiced with the piano and the harpsichord. I also like to sing.’’

‘’Really?’’ said Pierre, ecstatic. ‘’Could I then ask you to sing something for me?’’

‘’But, with pleasure, my handsome knight.’’ replied Jeanne in a playful tone before changing her tune on the piano. Concentrating for a moment, she then started singing a song in French that Pierre had never heard before but that he found beautiful. He also found that she had a very pretty voice and that she seemed to have a clear talent for singing. His heart warmed up as he watched Jeanne sing and play, radiant with beauty and talent. He applauded her at the end of the song, truly impressed.

‘’Bravo, Jeanne! That was beautiful! Do you know many other songs?’’

‘’I do, but many of them are in English, with a few more in Spanish and in German.’’

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Pierre looked at her with big surprised eyes.

‘’You can speak four languages?’’

‘’Seven, actually.’’ replied Jeanne, who didn’t seem to be bragging. ‘’I also know Gaelic, Greek and Latin. I do have a special talent for languages.’’ What Nancy didn’t tell him was that her I.Q. of 153 made her a certified genius and that she already held a diploma in robotics engineering, a discipline marrying mechanical science, electronics and computer programming. On his part, Pierre then felt immense relief wash over him. The multiple talents just shown by Jeanne basically ruled out a possibility that had worried him since yesterday: that Jeanne had lied to him and was in reality a pirate herself, a thought brought by her tall and strong body and her torture marks. However, the chances that a girl raised among pirates could speak seven languages, play the piano like a virtuoso and sing the way she just did were about nil, her talents denoting instead the education of a true aristocrat.

Pierre listened to two more songs by Jeanne, who played the guitar for her last song. She then proved to be really good with a guitar, playing as well as anyone he had seen before, including in New Orleans. Now truly hooked on, Pierre shared an agreeable supper with Jeanne, whose morale seemed to have improved a lot since yesterday. After the meal, the two of them sat in a comfortable sofa of the lounge with glasses of rum, spending a good two hours conversing together. That time with Jeanne finished convincing Pierre that she had received a quality education that only a true aristocrat could get. The only point that detracted from that was when she told him that she liked to practice combat sports, including fencing. Her explanation that she had been fascinated since her tender youth about the girls of the ancient Greek city of Sparta however reassured him somewhat. In truth, Pierre wanted to believe her, conquered by her personality and her beauty. When the time came to go to bed, it took him all of his strength of will not to follow her into her bedroom. Sleep came with difficulty for him that night, with images of Jeanne filling his mind.

During the following days, Jeanne revealed herself to be a girl with a heart of gold and with liberal, progressive ideas, treating with respect and kindness the ex-slaves of the plantation and their families and showing interest in their welfare. Pierre, who was in bad terms with his white neighbors because of his so-called ‘softness’ towards his black workers, much appreciated that side of Jeanne, while she gained quickly the

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affection of the plantation’s workers. Jeanne also proved to be singularly useful to Pierre around the plantation. On the third day at ‘Sweet Dreams’, she told Pierre that she was going to go fishing at a nearby beach, leaving with a young black boy carrying a harpoon, a fishing net and a large haversack containing only a water bottle and a loaf of bread, plus a knife. She returned in the evening with her haversack full of shellfish and with nine big fish carried inside her fishing net, enough to provide a well-received extra for the supper of the workers of the plantation and their families. From then on, she went to swim and fish nearly every day, telling Pierre that the swimming helped her keep in shape and invariably returning with an impressive number of fish and shellfish. She often returned as well with quantities of mussels harvested from the sea bottom, sometimes from impressive depths, proving herself to be a first class swimmer with impressive lung capacity. Pierre quickly realized how useful her fishing was to him when he saw the substantial savings he made in terms of food supplies for his workers and to the cost of his own table. Leaving early each morning with her young black assistant, Jeanne would return by noon hour with her catches, then would wash and change into simple work clothes to help Pierre run and maintain his plantation. She further surprised Pierre in that respect, proving to be incredibly knowledgeable about mechanical sciences and also being highly skilled at mechanical repairs, diagnosing and then repairing a problem with the gear mechanism of the crushing rollers used to crush the sugar canes cut down by Pierre’s workers. When Jeanne casually told him how she had done those repairs, Pierre could only look at her with his jaw wide opened in disbelief. After washing a second time before supper, Jeanne would put on a gown and become again an aristocratic girl, entertaining Pierre’s evenings by singing, playing music and conversing with him. She also often went out to the small village housing the plantation’s workers and would play her guitar and sing, to the enjoyment of the black workers and their families. Even though she was still officially only a guest at the plantation and had not had sexual relations yet with Pierre, the latter nearly felt like he was married and was now happier than he had ever been since his youth in New Orleans.

Two weeks after her arrival at the plantation, Jeanne went to see Pierre, a big smile on her face.

‘’I have a very good news, Pierre: my menstruations showed up last night. I don’t have to worry anymore about becoming pregnant from those damn pirates.’’

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‘’But, that’s great news indeed!’’ said Pierre, also smiling, before taking her in his arms and kissing her passionately. She returned his kiss with equal passion, letting his hands roam over her body. Now fully fired up, Pierre looked at her with utmost love.

‘’Jeanne, you are the most fascinating and precious girl I ever met. Would you accept to marry me once there could be no more possible doubts about the origin of a pregnancy in the eyes of the authorities?’’

Jeanne’s eyes became moist at those words as she eyed him in silence for a moment before replying in a very soft tone.

‘’Pierre, I would be most happy to be the wife of a man such as you.’’ She then exchanged a long kiss with Pierre before looking at him again.

‘’I realize that it will take another couple of months at the least before it is evident to all that I was not made pregnant by those pirates. We should normally abstain from full sexual relations in the meantime, but I do not wish to make you suffer by frustrating your passion for me this long. I hope that you are not the type who believes that there should be no sex before marriage?’’

That made Pierre smile in amusement.

‘’You are kidding, right? We are both French, thus from a country where sex is celebrated through our whole history and where half of the men are cuckold. You also must have noticed by now that I am not a very religious man.’’

‘’And neither am I, Pierre. I may be quite young still but I did play around boys before leaving France. I know ways to please you without risking a pregnancy. Come!’’ She then led him by one hand towards her bedroom while smiling warmly to him. Even if he would have wanted to resist her offer, Pierre knew that he would have lacked the willpower for that.

14:28 (Guadeloupe Time)

Wednesday, June 3, 1846

‘Sweet Dreams’ plantation

Island of Grande-Terre, Guadeloupe

Barely a day later, a cart carrying a functionary and escorted by an officer and six mounted soldiers showed up at the plantation. Pierre saw them coming at the last minute, being busy at the time inspecting the big vats used to distill rum. A bad feeling growing in him at the sight of the soldiers, he returned in hurried steps to his house, in

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front of which the cart and its escort had stopped. The officer commanding the escort, still perched on his horse, asked him a question on a neutral tone.

‘’Are you Sire Pierre d’Orléans, monsieur?’’

‘’That’s me!’’

The officer then saluted him with his hat.

‘’I am Lieutenant Dupré, sent by Governor Layrle with Monsieur De Mézières, the crown assistant-prosecutor in Basse-Terre. We were sent to inquire about a Jeanne de Brissac. Is she still in this plantation?’’

‘’Uh, yes! I however do not understand why the Governor wanted Monsieur de Mézières to be escorted by soldiers for this.’’

‘’We could discuss this inside, monsieur. Could you tell the lady in question that we would like to speak with her?’’

Despite the polite tone used by the officer, Pierre didn’t like at all the way things were looking. He however hid his anxiety as best he could and walked quickly around his house, going to its vegetable garden, which Jeanne was helping to maintain. He did not miss the fact that the officer followed him with two of his soldiers, still on their horses. Jeanne, busy plucking out wild grass, only saw Pierre and the soldiers once they were only a few meters from her. Getting up slowly from her knees and hands, she gave a suspicious look at the soldiers before looking at Pierre.

‘’To what do we owe the visit of these gentlemen, Pierre?’’

‘’They came from Basse-Terre with an assistant-prosecutor to see you, Jeanne.’’ Jeanne then detailed the officer, who was in exchange noting her height and athletic built.

‘’Very well! Just let me some time to make myself presentable, gentlemen.’’

‘’Of course, mademoiselle.’’ replied the officer, who however followed her to the rear door of the house and entered behind her, followed by Pierre. The latter then led the young lieutenant and the assistant-prosecutor to his lounge, offering them to sit in a sofa.

‘’Please sit down, gentlemen.’’

‘’Thank you, Sir Pierre.’’ said De Mézières, sighing with relief after sitting for hours on the hard wooden bench of his cart. Pierre sat facing him in his favorite easy chair and examined the expression of the graying royal functionary.

‘’So, Monsieur De Mézières, you came to find out about my unfortunate guest? My letter thus got promptly enough to the Governor?’’

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‘’Yes, along with other pieces of information about Mademoiselle de Brissac that we found a bit alarming.’’

‘’Her correct title would be Lady Jeanne, Monsieur de Mézières.’’ replied Pierre in a rather irritated tone. The assistant-prosecutor looked at him with some skepticism.

‘’If she is indeed who she pretends to be, Sir Pierre. Understand that the disappearance of the GROS GAILLARD, supposedly at the hand of pirates, has worried the authorities in Basse-Terre. Why don’t you tell us now how you first met this girl?’’

‘’As you wish, monsieur.’’ said Pierre before telling him in a few minutes how he had saved Jeanne from the sea and had then brought her to his plantation. At the end of it, Lieutenant Dupré whispered into the ear of the assistant-prosecutor, who nodded his head before speaking again to Pierre.

‘’Sir Pierre, have you seen the scars on this Jeanne de Brissac?’’

‘’Yes, I did. She told me herself that she was flogged and branded by the pirates who captured her, for having resisted them.’’

‘’And you didn’t think about the possibility that those scars could have been caused in different circumstances, monsieur?’’

Pierre stiffened at once in his easy chair, indignant.

‘’Are you insinuating that Jeanne is not a true aristocrat, monsieur?’’

‘’That possibility came to the mind of the Governor, monsieur. That is why he sent me with an escort to come question your guest. Lieutenant Dupré just told me that your Jeanne happens to be very tall and quite muscular…for a sixteen year-old aristocrat.’’

‘’She effectively is, but that does not make a liar out of her, monsieur.’’

‘’Sire Pierre, please put yourself in our place for a moment. Here is a tall, strong girl who arrived here by the sea following a shipwreck. She wears torture scars and has no paper or jewel that could prove who she is. One could be excused to think that she could be a pirate herself, a pirate girl that could have been tortured in the past by a rival band.’’

‘’A pirate girl who speaks seven languages, plays the piano and the guitar with brio and can talk about the history of France for hours?’’ shot back Pierre. ‘’She may look to you physically like an Amazon, but I can assure you that she has the education of a true noble girl.’’

‘’Seven languages?’’ asked De Mézières, suddenly less sure of himself.

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‘’Yes monsieur! On top of French, she can speak and sing in English, Spanish, German, Gaelic, Greek and Latin. I can also certify to you that Jeanne has advanced notions in mathematics, geometry, astronomy and many other things.’’ De Mézières exchanged a surprised look with Lieutenant Dupré.

‘’Uh, Sir Pierre, your Jeanne de Brissac seems nearly too good to be true.’’

‘’It is true that men keep thinking that women are inferior to them, gentlemen, in which they are sorely mistaken.’’ said a female voice, making the three men snap their heads towards the entrance of the lounge. Jeanne was now wearing a gown, while her hair was carefully combed and gathered in a horse’s tail at the back of her head. She then walked up to them and bow politely in front of the assistant-prosecutor.

‘’Jeanne Marie Céleste de Brissac, at your service, Monsieur De Mézières. I am ready to do my best to prove to you who I am.’’

‘’Uh, well, I was actually planning to bring you to Basse-Terre, where the official registers which could help verify your declarations are, mademoiselle. It is also quite possible that I could have to send an official request to France to have the passenger registry of the GROS GAILLARD checked to see if you and your parents were indeed recorded as having left on that ship.’’

‘’But such a procedure would take months!’’ objected Pierre, frustrated. ‘’Know that me and Jeanne were planning to marry in a month or so.’’ De Mézières gave him a cold look at those words.

‘’More the reason to be careful, Sir Pierre. Would you be ready to risk associating the name of your illustrious family, which is connected to the Crown, with a possible impostor? I believe anyway that the Governor will oppose such a marriage as long as he will not be certain about the identity of your guest.’’ Seeing that Pierre was suddenly struck by discouragement, Jeanne went to sit by his side to console him, one arm around his shoulders.

‘’Don’t worry, Pierre. The doubts about me will vanish soon enough. The important thing is that I am here with you and will stay by your side.’’

‘’If you say so, Jeanne.’’ replied Pierre with little conviction. Jeanne then looked up resolutely at De Mézières and Dupré.

‘’Gentlemen, if you still want to bring me to Basse-Terre in order to complete your inquiry about me, I am ready to follow you willingly…as long as I am treated with respect. I know that your inquiry, if conducted competently, will eventually prove that I am who I say I am. Thus, think twice before making me travel while wearing shackles.’’

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De Mézières made a forced smile, realizing fully the consequences if he made a mistake and dishonored an authentic aristocrat.

‘’Do not worry, mademoiselle: you will be treated with respect, unless the inquiry exposes you as an impostor, in which case your punishment will be harsh indeed.’’

‘’Fair deal!’’ said Jeanne before looking at Pierre, who was staring at his two ‘guests’ with little sympathy. ‘’I am sure that we could accommodate our visitors for the night, right, Pierre?’’

‘’Effectively, Jeanne. The escort of Monsieur De Mézières can go establish itself in the barn. I will leave my own bedroom to Monsieur De Mézières and Lieutenant Dupré.’’

‘’But, where will you sleep then, monsieur?’’ Asked Dupré.

‘’With Jeanne, of course!’’ replied Pierre with a malicious smirk, making Jeanne giggle. ‘’You are of course welcome to have supper with me and Jeanne, you and your soldiers.’’

16:49 (Guadeloupe Time)

Saturday, June 6, 1846

Fort Saint-Charles, town of Basse-Terre

Guadeloupe

Jeanne looked around her with curiosity as the cart transporting her entered a stone fortress through a guarded gate. The fortress had been built according to the principles dear to Vauban, the famous French military engineer who had served King Louis XIV. The walls were low but thick and the octagonal star pattern included a series of sunken bastions situated behind wide and deep trenches. Cannons also were visible at the crenellations, especially on the side facing the nearby sea. Nancy ‘B’ knew that this fortress had seen many battles during the last two centuries, especially against the British, who had occupied the Guadeloupe a number of times in the past, the last time being from 1810 to 1816. The cart soon stopped in front of a long, single story house made of wood and stone and situated in the center of the fortress. Pierre, who had made the trip atop of his horse, set foot on the ground with Jeanne, De Mézières and Lieutenant Dupré, letting the soldiers of the escort bring the cart and the horses to the stables. Jeanne, carrying in her hands a canvas bag and a guitar which she had used to provide some entertainment during the trip, was invited to follow De Mézières inside the

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house, which turned out to be the residence of the governor of the Guadeloupe, Monsieur de Layrle. The latter, alerted to their arrival by a servant, greeted them in a large but modestly furnished lounge. De Layrle was a thin, rather small man with long sideburns joining with his moustache and who wore a pair of round spectacles. He wore a frock coat and a pair of gray stripped pants despite the heavy heat of the Summer. He examined Jeanne a moment, surprised by her height, before bowing politely to her and Pierre.

‘’Welcome to Basse-Terre, lady and gentleman. I am Governor Henry de Layrle.’’

‘’Sire Pierre Alphonse d’Orléans, at your service, Governor.’’ said Pierre while bowing himself, while Jeanne made a curtsy. ‘’This is Lady Jeanne Marie Céleste de Brissac, whom I saved from the sea three weeks ago.’’

‘’And how old are you, mademoiselle?’’ asked the governor.

‘’Sixteen, Your Excellency. As I already said to Monsieur De Mézières, I am ready to do my best to prove to you who I am.’’

‘’Let’s not talk about this yet, Lady Jeanne.’’ replied de Layrle with a polite smile. ‘’Please take the time to install yourself after your hot and dusty trip. My wife Louise will show you to your room.’’

A small woman in her forties with a distinguished appearance then stepped from behind the governor and smiled to Jeanne.

‘’If you will follow me, my dear.’’

‘’With pleasure, madame.’’

With the Governor taking care of Pierre, Jeanne followed Louise de Layrle to a small but clean and comfortable guest room. Louise however closed the door of the room behind Jeanne and spoke to her in a guarded tone.

‘’Mademoiselle, my husband asked me to examine you in private, so that your modesty would not be hurt. I will thus ask you to undress completely.’’ Having expected that, Jeanne obeyed without fuss and soon stood fully naked in front of the wife of the governor, who asked her to slowly turn around on the spot. Louise seemed genuinely shocked by the sight of the scars left by whip strokes and red hot irons on her torso and buttocks.

‘’Decidedly, those who did this to you were quite cruel, my poor girl.’’

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‘’I dared resist the pirates who boarded my ship, killing two of them and injuring a third one. They also punished me a second time after I resisted their captain, who wanted to rape me.’’

Louise de Layrle then stepped close to her to examine in detail her scars, touching them before feeling the muscles in her legs and arms and also noting her wide shoulders.

‘’And…did they rape you?’’

‘’Many times, madame.’’

Louise next made her lie on her back on the bed with her legs opened. A few seconds were enough for her to see that Jeanne was not a virgin anymore.

‘’You may now wash yourself before dressing back if you wish so, mademoiselle. There is a wash basin full of water and a sponge near the window, plus a towel. Once dressed, please return to the lounge, where my husband will speak with you.’’

‘’I will only need ten minutes, madame.’’

‘’Perfect!’’ said Louise before leaving the room and closing the door behind her. She then went to the lounge, where her husband was discussing with Pierre d’Orléans, and whispered in the ear of her husband.

‘’She was effectively cruelly tortured, but not by the royal justice, on top of being raped. She is also the most athletic and strong girl I ever saw.’’

‘’Thank you, my dear Louise. We will speak further after supper.’’

As promised, Jeanne showed up in the lounge ten minutes later, cleaned up and with her dress dusted off. The governor greeted her with a smile and pointed the sofa in which Pierre was already sitting.

‘’Ah, here you are, my dear! Please, take place besides Sire Pierre. Would you like a cup of wine to refresh yourself?’’

‘’With pleasure, Your Excellency.’’

Once Jeanne was sitting, a servant brought her a cup of wine on top of a silver tray, with Jeanne taking the cup with good grace. De Layrle watched her closely, knowing that De Mézières was listening through the wall from an adjacent room, various reference books in front of him.

‘’Well, my dear Jeanne, why don’t you tell us about your family and the reasons for them to travel to the Guadeloupe?’’

Jeanne obliged him at once and served him the cover story built for her by the Time Patrol. That story actually closely followed the historical reality, as a Jeanne de Brissac

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had effectively taken a cabin with her parents on the GROS GAILLARD in the port of Bordeaux, with the goal of rebuilding their fortune in the Guadeloupe. The real Jeanne de Brissac was sixteen at the time of her fatal trip, was fairly tall for a girl and had dark brown hair and green eyes. Nancy ‘B’ knew nearly every detail about her short life and that of her parents, thanks to the research in depth done on the Brissac family by the Time Patrol. Nancy finally had to lie only about the way the GROS GAILLARD had vanished. At the insistence of the governor, she described to him the taking of her ship by the pirates, as well as the tortures and ill treatments she had endured at their hands. She only had to think about her own, too real experience in the basements of the Bastille to paint a convincing look of horror on her face. De Layrle, visibly moved, listened closely to her story before asking less disturbing questions about what she knew about the French government and French customs. Nancy also passed with brio that part of what was really a polite but detailed interrogation.

By the time that supper was announced, the governor had become convinced that Jeanne was telling the truth, reasoning that a girl raised among pirates could not possibly fool him this much. What cemented his favorable impression of her was when, at his invitation in order to test her, Jeanne played the piano and the guitar after supper while singing, on top of conversing in Spanish and in English, two languages which the governor was fluent into. De Layrle exchanged a knowing look with his wife, who nodded her head and whispered in his ear.

‘’Her education is just too good for her to be anything but an aristocrat, Henry. I believe her.’’

‘’I believe her too. Just let me go speak discreetly with De Mézières, to see what he thinks of Jeanne’s answers to my questions.’’

Excusing himself for a moment with Pierre and Jeanne, the governor left the lounge and went to see his assistant-prosecutor, who was hiding in the governor’s office adjacent to the lounge.

‘’So, what do you think, Monsieur De Mézières?’’

The graying functionary had a last look at his notes before answering in a slow, deliberate voice.

‘’Well, Your Excellency, everything she said made sense and fitted with what we know. Her answers about the House of Brissac matched perfectly with my treatise on French genealogy. She even described very precisely the coat of arms of the Brissac,

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which is only a modest noble house that is not known by many people. I still can’t be absolutely certain that this girl is who she says she is without sending a letter to Bordeaux to verify that the Brissac family indeed boarded the GROS GAILLARD. However, I am certain that this is no pirate girl, Your Excellency.’’

‘’Excellent! I agree with you that she can only be a true aristocrat. I don’t believe that sending a letter to Bordeaux will be necessary. Close your inquiry on her and have a certificate in her name prepared for tomorrow morning, indicating her date of arrival in the Guadeloupe. Put her as well in the registries of the colony.’’

‘’It will be done, Your Excellency.’’

The governor then returned to the lounge, both relieved and satisfied, going to Jeanne and gallantly kissing her hand.

‘’Lady Jeanne, I am truly sorry to have forced you to do the long trip to here. Know that I now believe your story and that the registries of the colony will officially list your arrival in the Guadeloupe as Jeanne Marie Céleste de Brissac.’’

‘’Thank you! Thank you from the bottom of my heart, Your Excellency!’’ replied Nancy, not needing to simulate her emotion, before kissing de Layrle on both cheeks. The latter then shook hands with Pierre, who was now feeling immense relief wash over him.

‘’Congratulations, Sire Pierre. You now have my blessings to marry your beautiful Lady Jeanne when you wish so. You are of course both invited to stay in my residence until your departure to return to your plantation. In fact, I was planning a ball for tomorrow, to which I have invited all the high society of Basse-Terre. You would make me happy if you could stay and participate in that ball.’’

‘’It will be an honor to do so, Your Excellency.’’ said happily Pierre. On her part, Nancy also smiled, satisfied. The first part of her mission in the Guadeloupe was now nearly complete. There was only one small formality left to conclude it.

14:23 (Guadeloupe Time)

Sunday, July 5, 1846

Church of Saint-François, Guadeloupe

‘’And I thus declare both of you united by the sacred links of marriage. You may now kiss each other.’’

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The small crowd that was present at the ceremony, made up in majority of the black workers of Pierre and their families, shouted with joy as Pierre and Jeanne exchanged a long kiss inside Saint-François’ church. Nancy looked into Pierre’s eyes, real tears on her cheeks.

‘’Pierre, I could not possibly have found a better man than you here in the Guadeloupe. I promise to love you with all my passion and for as long as I will be alive.’’ Many of the women present sighed deeply on hearing that declaration of love, while Pierre caressed her cheek with one hand.

‘’Know that you are everything for me, Jeanne. I now count myself as the luckiest man in the World.’’

The couple then exchanged a second kiss even more passionate than the first one, making more than one female spectator cry.

The marriage ceremony in the church was followed by a party held in the biggest inn of the town, a party that went on until after supper. The newlywed and their employees then returned to the plantation, either by cart or on foot, to continue the festivities there. Pierre and Jeanne stayed together in bed until late next morning, caressing each other and repeatedly making love. They finally decided regretfully to get up and wash, then dress. With Pierre having declared that day as a holiday for his workers, Jeanne made a point of walking around the workers houses with Pierre’s guitar, playing and singing to brighten their day. When she returned to the main residence a few hours later, she found Pierre busy writing a series of letters in his lounge. Approaching him and hugging his back, she rested her head on his shoulders.

‘’To whom are you writing to, Pierre?’’

‘’To my relatives in Louisiana and in France, to announce my marriage to them.’’

‘’Do you still have a lot of relatives in France, Pierre?’’

Pierre gave her an amused look before kissing her on the cheek.

‘’You are now a d’Orléans, Jeanne. You should know that I am actually a distant nephew of King Louis-Philippe. One of these letters is for the King.’’

‘’Oh! Should I be intimidated or flattered by that?’’

Pierre answered her by gently patting her bum.

‘’Nothing of the sort, my sweet Jeanne. Affairs of state and the aristocracy are of no interest to me at all. I was content with living in reasonable comfort here, in the Guadeloupe. Now, I have the most beautiful jewel that I could possibly find.’’

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‘’You flatterer!’’ purred Jeanne while caressing his hair.

Later, as night had fallen, Jeanne left the residence, telling Pierre that she was going to walk through the workers’ houses. Once out of sight, she changed direction and stealthily went to the back of the barn. First making sure that nobody was watching her, she concentrated and mentally activated the space-time distorter implanted in her body, disappearing in a brief flash of white light. Nancy Laplante ‘B’ had another mission to continue in the 17th Century.



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CHAPTER 4 – RETURN TO PARIS




19:47 (Paris Time)

Friday, July 28, 1651

Inn of ‘Le Lion Noir’

Paris, France

Isaac Bartet, seeing d’Artagnan again glance towards the entrance door of their Inn as an old man entered the main hall, grinned to his friend Hughes De Terlon, another agent of Cardinal Mazarin in Paris, who was drinking wine with him and D’Artagnan at their table.

“I am starting to wonder why Charles is looking constantly towards the door. Is he worried about parliamentary militiamen showing up or is he expecting his ‘Belle’?”

“From what I saw of his Nancy, I would say that he can’t live without her.” said De Terlon with amusement in his voice.”

“Well, she is quite an exceptional girl.” conceded Charles Ogier de Batz de Castelmore, a.k.a. d’Artagnan, before taking another sip of his wine. That only made his two companions more curious, with De Terlon lowering his voice as he looked at Charles.

“So, what do you really know about that girl?”

Charles answered at once, having full confidence in the young aristocrat.

“Well, apart from being one beautiful girl, which you noticed already, she is very well educated and speaks, reads and writes an amazing number of languages, including English, Latin, Greek and German. She also rides like an expert and can fight at least as well as me. You will also find her surprisingly strong for a girl.”

“She sounds like one of the fabled Amazons, whom the Duchess of Orléans always dream of emulating.”

Hugues’ reply made Charles snicker in derision.

“The Grande Mademoiselle, an Amazon? Let me laugh! At least she had enough heart to refuse to watch as Nancy was being tortured in the Bastille. She then went to warn the King about it. Nancy told me that she even tried to convince the Duchess of Longueville not to have her questioned. Despite all the trouble she is giving to the Queen, I suppose that I owe her a thank you in a way for that. That is…”

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Charles then stopped speaking in mid-sentence, his eyes fixed on the entrance door and a happy smile appearing on his face. Hughes and Isaac turned their heads at once towards the door as the rest of the customers in the main hall also fell silent and stared at the tall teenage girl who had just entered. She was dressed most unusually for a girl, wearing tight-fitting black tights with knee-high black leather boots and a white silk shirt partially covered by a short-sleeved brown leather jacket. The jacket was closed around her lower torso by laces which pushed up her already impressive chest, which was partly visible thanks to the opened top of the shirt. Her generous hips, long legs and long silky black hair falling down to her waist only added to her sexiness. She did not wear a hat but had a sort of leather headband decorated with colored stitching. A wide leather belt around her waist supported a belt purse, a sword, a dagger, a powder horn and a pair of pistols, while a pair of large saddle bags and a long leather carbine scabbard were slung over her left shoulder. Ignoring the stares from the customers, she went to the service counter and addressed the innkeeper, who was all but devouring her with his eyes from behind the counter.

“Could I have a room for one, please?” She said in perfect French.

“Uh, of course, mademoiselle.” said the innkeeper, having caught the wink she had given him. He certainly remembered her, as she had spent months already in his inn, departing only a few weeks ago. He also knew that she was helping d’Artagnan, being himself part of Cardinal Mazarin’s network of agents in Paris. Opening his registry book and grabbing a feather and a bottle of ink, he then looked back at the girl.

“May I have your name, mademoiselle?”

“Lady Nancy Sommers.” answered calmly the teenager. “I am planning to stay for a week. Could I have a bath prepared as well in my room?” D’Artagnan grinned widely on hearing that: one full week of tasting Nancy’s charms. He waited until she started going up the stairs behind the innkeeper, then got up from his bench and excused himself with his two friends before going upstairs as well.

Nancy waited until the innkeeper had opened the door of her room and given her the key to it, then going back down, before discreetly inviting Charles in. Closing and locking the door behind him, she let drop her saddlebags and exchanged a long, hungry kiss with him. They finally parted and looked into each other’s eyes.

“Damn, I really missed you, Nancy!”

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“And I could only dream of you, Charles. As soon as we can take a bath, I will show you how I missed you.”

“You really believe in this cleanliness thing, do you?” said Charles, amused, making her smile with malice.

“Don’t you find that being clean makes certain things more agreeable, Charles?”

“True!” replied Charles, thinking back at some of their past love sessions. “So, what are you doing in Paris this time?”

“I came to bring some funds to Queen Henriette and her retinue. And you, are you still going to and from Germany as a messenger?”

“Less often now. I mainly keep to Paris these days…which means that we will be able to enjoy each other freely this week.”

“I find nothing wrong with that, Charles.” replied Nancy with a big grin. A knock on the door was then followed by the voice of the innkeeper.

“Lady Sommers, your bath is here.”

Nancy unlocked the door at once, letting in the innkeeper and a maid, who were carrying a wooden bath tub. Isaac Bartet and Hughes De Terlon were right behind, each carrying two buckets of warm water and grinning like idiots. Charles waived a finger at them at once.

“Even if you brought the water doesn’t mean that you can stay and watch.”

“But, what about our motto: all for one and one for all?”

“That doesn’t include Nancy.”

Nancy giggled at that exchange and, with the innkeeper and the maid already gone, pushed the door closed behind Bartet and De Terlon.

“Come on, Charles! You know that you are the one that counts for me. At least let them see what they missed on, so that you can put it on their noses afterwards.”

“Well, if you put it that way, I suppose that I wouldn’t mind turning the knife in their guts from time to time.”

“Spoken like a real friend, Charles.” said sarcastically Isaac while pouring the water of his two buckets in the tub. Nancy took off her large belt while the bathtub was being filled, then unlaced her jacket and took it off as well. Isaac and Hughes swallowed hard when she started dancing slowly on the spot while humming a tune and taking off her shirt, ending topless. Hughes however felt sorrow as well as lust as he was then able to see the faint traces from burns and whip lashes around her torso. Nancy slowly stripped completely, making all three men become horny as hell. She then danced her

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way to them before brushing lightly her breasts against each man. By then Hughes was nearly mad with desire, at which time Nancy stopped abruptly her dance and smiled to him and Isaac.

“Sorry guys: that’s all for you two tonight.”

“Arrgh! You would make any man crazy, Nancy.” said Hughes.

“And it is one effective way to gain information if need be. Now, out!” Charles laughed at the faces made by his two companions as they reluctantly left the room. Once the door was locked, he also undressed and joined Nancy in the small bath tub, smiling to her as they ended up sitting face to face with knees bent.

“I hope that you don’t do that to all the men you meet, Nancy.”

“Only to the ones I like.” she replied before giggling at the face he did then.

09:36 (Paris Time)

Saturday, July 29, 1651

Palace of Le Louvre

Paris

Nancy, wearing a riding outfit quite similar to the one she had on yesterday, felt satisfaction at the end of her short visit to Queen Henriette-Marie of England and her small retinue. The gold that she had brought for the widow of King Charles the First actually represented little to the Time Patrol, which had easy access to countless so-called ‘lost treasures’ and to gold bullion reserves lost after the nuclear holocaust of 2052 ‘A’. The 10,000 Sterling Pounds worth of gold coins and gems she had just brought to Henriette-Marie would however go a long way to sustain the Queen’s retinue and prevent them from starving during their exile in Paris. Such largely anonymous charitable works like this one and the social foundation she was planning to found in Paris as Jeanne D’Orléans in the mid-nineteenth century were one of the things she liked most about her job as a field agent of the Time Patrol. While representing very little risk to the integrity of history if well planned, acts of charity through time did a lot to render life livable to many unfortunate and anonymous souls worthy of help.

Nancy exited the mostly empty palace of Le Louvre from its western side and started walking slowly through the large royal gardens called ‘Jardin des Tuileries’, apparently admiring the gardens. In reality, as she was trained to do as a field agent,

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she was making sure that nobody was following her. Being a wide expanse with few people going through it and with most of the vegetation being cut low, the gardens were ideal for counter-surveillance. By the time that she was about to exit the gardens Nancy was certain that a tall man in a gray cape and large black hat was following her. The man was obviously a professional and was doing all that he could to stay discreet. That and his style of clothes made Nancy dismiss the idea that he could be a spy sent by the Duchesse de Longueville. The men of the Duchesse had been a lot more amateurish than this man and also wore a distinct set of clothes. Another, more probable possibility was that the present man was an agent of the enemies of King Charles II of England, meaning Oliver Cromwell and his parliamentarians. His drab clothes would indeed fit with the Puritan fashion favored by Cromwell’s followers. Now ready for anything, Nancy left the gardens through a north side gate and soon turned right on Rue Saint Honoré, heading in the general direction of her inn. The man in the gray cape and black hat was now following her from closer, using the dense pedestrian and cart traffic to the most to hide from her. Choosing her time carefully, Nancy waited until she turned a corner which momentarily put her out of sight of her follower, then stepped inside the first deserted passageway she walked by and went into phase shift, using her implanted time distorter. Now surrounded by her own bubble of time that was a thousand times faster than the time others around her lived into, she disappeared from sight and was able to backtrack out of the passageway and take a hidden observation position behind a parked heavy chariot. Before going out of phase shift, Nancy also took off and reversed her own travel cape, changing its outer color from burgundy red to a common beige.

As she had expected, her follower hesitated when he turned the street corner and didn’t see her on the street. Searching cautiously at first, then more frantically, the man finally gave up with a gesture of frustration after racing to the next street corner and still not seeing her. He then did as Nancy had hoped for and retraced his steps at a normal walking pace, either to resume his surveillance of the palace of Le Louvre or to go report to someone else. Nancy followed him in turn by performing short phase shifts which allowed her to watch him from positions ahead of him, a method called ‘forward trailing’ that was very hard to detect by the intended target. Nancy’s luck kept true, with the tall man leading her to a house block occupied by three-story buildings subdivided into rented apartments and small shops. Following the man inside one of the buildings was trickier, though. She had to use a short series of phase shifts to evade the attention

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of the man, who was proving to be a dangerous professional indeed. By now she knew that the man had at least a sword under his cape and possibly a pistol as well. Nancy saw him eventually knock on a door of the second floor according to an obvious signal code, then enter and close the door. Intent on planting a discreet spying probe against the bottom sill of the door, she walked quietly to the door and was about to bend to place the probe when the door opened unexpectedly. The man who had opened the door wasn’t the one who had followed her but he still froze in alarm as he found himself face to face with Nancy. She also saw in a flash her follower sitting near a window before her combat instincts took over. The man at the door was grabbing for a pistol in his belt when Nancy flashed her hand up and touched his forehead, sending a stun jolt via the stun mechanism implanted in her hand. The man jerked once and then collapsed in a heap in front of her. The noise of his fall made the man at the window turn around as Nancy hurriedly closed the door behind her.

“YOU?” said the man in English, both stunned and furious. He then went for his sword as Nancy charged him. A sweeping sidekick from Nancy made the sword fly through the room before he could use it. Showing the moves and expertise of a trained fighter, the man managed to block Nancy’s first punch and swung back at her but she in turn was able to duck under his swing and countered by sweeping sideways with one leg, tripping the man and making him fall hard on his back. He rolled out of the way at once and jumped back on his feet before Nancy had the chance to jump on him. With both of them now facing each other in a combat stance, the man eyed her with interest.

“You are good, girl, I will give you that. Who trained you?” he said in English with a distinct London accent.

“My big sister.” answered Nancy, grinning. That made a hateful look appear in his eyes.

“Witches! How typical of heretics to use a pair of them.”

The man then advanced on her in a boxing stance and delivered a powerful right jab towards her jaw. Nancy, already an advanced black belt in Juko, a mixed martial art developed by Nancy ‘A’, again ducked under his swing at the same time as she hit him with all her strength on the plexus with the flat of her hand. His breath taken away, the man bent forward with his mouth open, trying to get some air back in his lungs. Nancy then finished him with a chop of the right hand to the jugular, sending him crashing down on the floor. With her two opponents now knocked out, Nancy used the sheets of the two beds in the room to tie up and gag them. She then wondered for a moment what to

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do with them. From what her last opponent had said, she was now quite certain that they were English agents sent by Oliver Cromwell or one of his lieutenants. Their mission was too obvious: to spy on the family and followers of King Charles II and, possibly, assassinate them if feasible. From the window of their room they had a good view of the Louvre Palace and of its main entrance and could thus watch who came to visit Queen Henriette-Marie. Searching thoroughly the two men and then the room, Nancy could find no compromising paper, which didn’t surprise her: professional spies would not go around with documents that could have them hanged…or worse. The men were however well armed and had plenty of money, denoting possibly a long mission in France, which would jive with a surveillance operation. That, however, still left her with the problem of what to do with the two men. Transporting them to the future or the past was out of the question: they couldn’t be allowed to learn about time travel. Killing them would be a possible option but one that she found most unsavory.

She was still weighing her options when the taller man surprised her by waking up much earlier than expected. That man was decidedly in a class apart as a dangerous opponent. Dragging quickly the man lying by the door, who would certainly not wake up for another forty minutes at the least because of the jolt of stun energy he had received, Nancy dumped him over the tied legs of her follower, then sat across his chest, her weight pressing painfully on his tied arms and hands behind his back. Once fully conscious, the man threw her a hateful look like only a religious fanatic could throw. Nancy lowered his gag then and looked down coldly into the man’s eyes.

“What is your name?”

“Go to hell, witch!”

“Why were you following me?” asked Nancy, already knowing the answer to that but wanting to gauge the mindset of that man. His spiteful response said enough to her.

“Screw you! I won’t tell you anything!”

“Alright, you want to die an anonymous death? That could be arranged easily. Who would miss two anonymous Englishmen who would be found dead in a Paris rented room? I doubt that Cromwell would create a diplomatic incident over the disappearance of the two of you.”

“He has…” started to say the man before catching himself up. That was however enough to make Nancy smile.

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“So, you do work for that ignorant bigot. How typical of him to try to assassinate a widowed woman and her small daughter. You Puritans claim to possess the only true Christian faith, yet massacre whole populations simply because they are of another denomination. Jesus Christ would have been disgusted by your hypocrisy and cruelty.” Her religious jab seemed to touch home, as the man wiggled vigorously for a few seconds, apparently enraged.

“You and your likes will all burn in Hell, where you belong.” Nancy then couldn’t hide anymore her revulsion towards him and stared hard into his eyes while speaking in a frigid voice.

“For me, someone who is ready to kill indiscriminately men, women and children on the simple pretext that he or she holds the only valid belief is the one worthy of Hell. You want to die as an anonymous spy? Then that is what you will end up like.” Covering with her left hand the man’s mouth, Nancy then drew her dagger and drove its blade deep in the man’s neck in one merciless move. Barely nineteen years ago from this present year her fourth previous incarnation, that of a German mercenary chieftain called Karl Beck, had died of the Black Plague near Hamburg after helping to spread terror and death during the infamous Thirty Years War. Karl Beck, while being an outstanding soldier in terms of professional skills, had also been one of her darker incarnations. For a moment, Nancy felt like being Karl Beck as she killed in cold blood both men in the room. The worst part was that, even once up and about to leave, she simply could not feel any remorse about killing those men. Nancy ‘A’ had felt the same way as she had killed the sadistic guards of the Nazi concentration camps and of the Japanese prisoners of war camps in 1942. Thinking about it, Nancy found the analogy valid: the Nazis had killed in the name of their supposed racial superiority, while the Japanese had abused and killed their prisoners in the name of their military code of honor. As for Cromwell’s Puritans, they were murdering thousands of Irish Catholics simply because they believed that they possessed the only true faith. Such religious intolerance and bigotry would even cross the Atlantic Ocean and end up in North America, resulting among other things into the infamous Salem witch trials. Having first carefully wiped clean her blade, Nancy then threw the hood of her cape over her head and left the room, closing the door and calmly walking away.

22:51 (Paris Time)

Inn of ‘Le Lion Noir’

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“Nancy?”

“Yes, Charles?” replied softly Nancy to d’Artagnan, who was lying in bed with her, his front pressing against her back and with one hand cupping her right breast.

“I truly want to marry you. You are too unique a girl to let go.” Turning around in the bed to face him, Nancy caressed his chest with one hand while staring into his eyes. She could see that he was dead serious and meant what he said.

“Charles, I…the truth is that, while I do love you deeply, I do not have full control of my destiny. I have friends and comrades I have sworn to help and assist and also have obligations that I cannot neglect. I am a lot like you, who is in the service of the Cardinal and of the Queen and have to pass your duty in front of your personal life. Thank you for asking again: it honors me greatly.”

Charles sighed, a bit disappointed but not surprised by her answer. He did try one last argument, though.

“You could transfer your allegiance to France and serve the Queen and King, like I do. I am sure that King Charles II of England would let you go.” His attempts at convincing her broke Nancy’s heart: if she would have been a girl from this time period, she would have said yes to him in an instant. With tears in her eyes and with her voice shaking with emotion, she spoke in a near whisper.

“Charles, you have a destiny to follow, a destiny where I couldn’t fit as your official wife. As for King Charles, he is not the one holding my destiny.”

“Can you tell me more about you, Nancy? What is so important that it would force you to refuse to marry me?”

“Duty and a vow of secrecy.” Nancy answered with difficulty before starting to sob, her head against his chest. Her words actually meant something to d’Artagnan, who had lived all his life according to three words: duty, loyalty and honor.

‘’I am sorry to have pushed you about this. I promise not to ask again.’’ He exchanged a long kiss with her, then looked back into her eyes.

“Are you sure that you want to stay only a week in Paris, Nancy?” His soft tone and pleading eyes were enough to convince Nancy, who had to swallow the lump in her throat.

“I will stay with you for a month and then leave. I promise you that I will come back to France as soon as possible.”

They kissed again, with Charles sighing afterwards while still holding Nancy.

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“Nancy De Batz de Castelmore…it would have made a fine name for you.”

“Charles d’Artagnan will also make a fine name if we have a son together, my love. Let’s try for it tonight.”

“Charles d’Artagnan, I like the sound of it.” replied Charles before coupling again with Nancy.

10:25 (Paris Time)

Thursday, August 10, 1651

Palace of Le Louvre, Paris

Young Princess Henriette-Anne clapped her hands enthusiastically as Nancy finished telling with much gestures a colorful hunting story that had taken place in New France. Sitting around her were her mother, Queen Henriette-Marie, and her small retinue of loyal followers, including young Countess Ann Morton. Nancy enjoyed visiting the English royal family, especially to cheer up and entertain the little princess, with whom she had developed a mutual attachment. Nancy was dressed in a riding outfit and had her pistols and dagger at her belt, as fitted her image of adventuress and teller of wild stories, and was truly having fun at the time. The midget man serving Queen Henriette-Marie suddenly entered, throwing open the double doors of the lounge they were in and announcing a group of new visitors in a loud voice.

“THE QUEEN REGENT AND KING OF FRANCE!”

As everybody in the lounge turned and looked towards the door, Queen Anne of Austria and young King Louis the Fourteenth appeared in the doorway, walking side by side. More French nobles followed behind them, the more important ones immediately announced as well by the midget.

“THE DUKE OF ORLÉANS AND HIS DAUGHTER, THE DUCHESS OF MONTPENSIER!”

Nancy tensed up at once then, seeing that a number of soldiers of the Duke of Orléans were escorting closely the visitors. On her part, the young Anne Marie Louise D’Orléans, Duchess of Montpensier, recognized her instantly and whispered in the ear of her father.

“Father, that woman in black tights and shirt: she’s the girl who was tortured in the Bastille by the men of the Duchess of Longueville three months ago.”

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“Is she?” said Gaston D’Orléans, who was already eyeing Nancy with an interest mixed with instant lust. “I have to say that she looks the part. And she knocked out seven of my men all by herself?”

“Nine, Father!” corrected the Great Mademoiselle while watching Nancy. Queen Henriette-Marie then spoke after rising from her chair, addressing her visitors after performing a curtsy.

“Queen Anne, King Louis, it is truly an honor to have you coming here. To what do I owe you this visit?”

Anne of Austria replied to her in a warm voice, bowing politely her head to Henriette-Marie.

“Your brother, the Duke of Orléans, told us that he was planning to visit you and, since we are getting bored of playing lawn bowling at the Palais-Royal, decided to accompany him and pay you a visit as well.”

“A fine thought, Queen Anne. We were ourselves getting quite bored until young Lady Sommers here started telling us wild and fascinating stories about her native New France.”

‘’Oh, I would love to hear them too!’’ exclaimed young Louis. Gaston D’Orléans smiled at that and came forward to kiss his royal sister on both cheeks, smiling to her and to her retinue and Nancy.

“Well, my dear sister, now that we are in such good company and since King Louis is so eager to hear those stories about New France, why don’t we all sit down and listen to Lady Sommers’ stories?”

Everyone agreed with him and extra chairs were fetched at once, so all could sit together, with Nancy facing them.

Starting with the story of how her father had met her mother in the woods of New France, Nancy spoke with theatrical gestures for a good forty minutes, with her audience listening with intense interest. Very little was known of New France or of the Americas by most people in France in this time period, so she had no need to embellish her stories. Nancy also used from time to time sentences in Huron or Iroquois language, spicing further her performance. She was rewarded at the end by loud applauses from all, including from the Great Mademoiselle, who was looking at her with admiration. Queen Henriette-Marie then invited her to sit with the group and had a cup of wine brought to

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her. Her throat dry from her storytelling, she gladly accepted the cup and took a sip from it. Young King Louis soon came to sit beside her and looked with hope at her.

“Do you think that you could visit the Palais-Royal tonight and tell me more stories, Lady Sommers?”

Nancy smiled down to the teenage boy: Louis XIV was a handsome boy indeed and had a strong personality as well as a sharp intelligence. She also remembered well how he had risked himself to save her from the Bastille.

“That would please me most but it would depend on the approval of your mother, Your Majesty.”

Louis turned his head at once towards Anne of Austria, who smiled sarcastically while eyeing her young, precocious son.

“Louis, are you sure that you are interested in her stories or simply in her?”

“Mother!” protested the boy while giggles went around the audience. Louis XIV was known to be already very interested in the representatives of the female persuasion despite his age of thirteen.

“I will have the legal right to reign in less than a month, Mother. New France will be part of my responsibilities and I know so little about it. Lady Sommers’ stories would constitute a most useful teaching to me.”

“Hmm, put that way, I could see the usefulness of this.” said the Queen Regent thoughtfully. “Our contacts with our colony are effectively quite infrequent. You did say that you visited the English colonies in the New World, Lady Sommers?”

“I effectively visited many times the New England States as well as the Dutch possessions of New Holland, plus of course New France itself, Your Majesty.”

“Then consider yourself my guest tonight, Lady Sommers.” Nancy bowed to her in response.

“You honor me most, Your Majesty. Shall I wear a court dress or my present outfit?”

“I suppose that Louis will find your stories more exciting if you are dressed the part, Lady Sommers. Come as you are. I will expect you at the Palais-Royal around nightfall.”

As she said that, the Queen Regent eyed Gaston D’Orléans, who waved his hands in a jovial gesture while smiling to her.

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“Do not worry about the security of Lady Sommers, Your Majesty. I will personally guarantee the safety of any guest of you or of my dear sister, whom Lady Sommers happens to both be. I have only one word.”

“Thank you, Monsieur.” replied Queen Anne, while Nancy felt a bit less worried now. “Now, I believe that in our eagerness to listen to the stories of Lady Sommers we forgot the main reason of this visit, which was to pay a courtesy call to your good sister.”

“That is too true, Your Majesty.” replied Gaston D’Orléans before looking at Queen Henriette-Marie. “I must apologize for not visiting you earlier, my dear sister. I was unfortunately kept quite busy in the last few months. And how are things going in England?”

“Badly, I’m afraid.” replied gloomily the widow. “The followers of my son Charles have been suffering heavily at the hands of Cromwell and of his butchers.”

“I am sorry to hear that, sister.” said Gaston, sincere, as he had no love for Cromwell and his fanatical Puritans, even though they could become politically important to him. “And how is your sojourn in Paris?”

“A lot less harsh since Lady Sommers and her mistress brought us some funds from my loyal subjects in Scotland, my dear Gaston. We would be starving if not for their help.”

“Indeed?” said Gaston while glancing at Nancy. His look, while appearing friendly, felt wrong to Nancy. “I was thus truly negligent in not visiting you earlier and correcting such a sad state of affair. I promise you that you won’t have to worry about your material needs from now on, sister.”

By now Nancy was becoming truly suspicious of the Duke. Gaston D’Orléans was famous in history for devising political plots to further his interests, then letting others take the fall for his machinations. Her telepathic powers also helped her judge the real intentions of people around her and what she was feeling now from the Duke was not friendly one bit.

The conversation then switched to a more mundane vein, with the two queens and Gaston D’Orléans doing most of the talking. Nancy, sitting besides Princess Henriette-Anne, was a bit surprised to see Anne Marie Louise D’Orléans change seats to come sit to her right with an apologetic look on her face.

“I am truly sorry for what happened to you in the Bastille, Lady Sommers. I never imagined that such cruel things would be done to you.”

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Nancy looked at her dispassionately: the Duchess may have indirectly caused her capture then but she was not a mean person, just a naïve one.

“What is done is done, Duchess. My quarrel is with the Duchess of Longueville. While you helped in my capture, you did try to intercede in my favor once in the Bastille and I thank you for that.”

“It still wasn’t enough to save you from all that pain.” said the Great Mademoiselle in a disgruntled tone. “Even if you worked for Cardinal Mazarin, you didn’t deserve that.”

“Duchess, I never worked for Cardinal Mazarin. I was simply doing my duty and protecting my mistress, Lady Lisbeth.”

The Duchess nearly said something then but thought better of it and excused herself before returning to her original chair. Something said by Queen Henriette-Marie then attracted her full attention. The Queen of England was presently talking with her brother Gaston.

“…they were found dead in a furnished rented room in a house in direct view of this palace. They still had a large amount of gold and silver with them, which made the Provost of Paris discount theft as a murder motive.”

“And you believe that these two men were agents of Cromwell, my dear Henriette-Marie? Why?”

“Why?” replied the Queen, getting agitated. “You have two anonymous

Englishmen armed to the teeth and who had been staying for over three months in a room near here and doing nothing but stay in that room or wander around the palace. The Provost’ s men questioned their neighbors, who all said that both men were distant and secretive. Nobody saw them conduct business of any kind and no one ever visited them, not even women. What else but spies of Cromwell could they be? The Provost of Paris was fortunately intelligent enough to figure that out and kind enough to come warn me about these men a few days later.”

“But who could have killed them?” asked young King Louis, his imagination fired up by this apparent plot. Henriette-Marie shrugged to show her ignorance, following which the Great Mademoiselle had one idea pop out of her mind.

“Hey, what about your English supporters, Aunt Henriette? They could be protecting you secretly.”

All eyes turned at once towards Nancy, all except those of Anne Marie Louise, who had spoken without thinking, as was her habit. Nancy was for them the only known

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supporter of the Queen who came from England and who was in evidence in Paris. The awed look King Louis then gave Nancy, along with the questioning looks from the others, suddenly made her most uncomfortable. Playing the innocent, she gave a confused look around her.

“What? Why are you all looking at me like that?”

“Aren’t you supposed to be a bodyguard for that Lady Lisbeth, who professed to be a supporter of my sister in England, Lady Nancy?” asked on a neutral tone Gaston D’Orléans. Those words finally made his daughter catch on as she stared at Nancy.

“Of course! If you can beat by yourself nine soldiers, killing two men should be like child’s play. Oooh, this is exciting: a female secret agent of the King of England, here in Paris!”

Right then, Nancy could nearly strangle that young twit as she desperately thought about a way to defuse this situation and kill any wild ideas about who she was.

“I am sorry to disappoint you, Duchess, but I came to Paris only to deliver funds to Queen Henriette-Marie and to bring her news from England.” The Queen thankfully came to her help then, sensing her embarrassment.

“That is the truth, my dear niece. Lady Sommers is here only temporarily. Besides, don’t you think that those neighbors of the dead Englishmen would have noticed a teenage girl as tall as her if she had been around that house?” That did a lot to take the pressure off Nancy, apart from deflecting the conversation to other subjects. To Nancy’s relief, King Louis, Queen Anne of Austria and the D’Orléans finally left after another half hour, but not before young Louis made Nancy promise again that she would visit him in the evening. As Nancy was about to leave herself five minutes later, Queen Henriette-Marie made her stop with a gesture and eyed her gravely.

“Lady Sommers, as one of my subjects I would like you to enlighten me on one point. Did you have anything to do with the death of those Englishmen? Please be truthful.”

After a short hesitation, Nancy knelt before the Queen and bowed her head.

“Yes, I did, Your Majesty: I killed both of them myself after one of them tried to follow me after my visit here. Please excuse me if I had to lie in front of you and of your guests.”

“You are decidedly a wild girl, Lady Sommers,” said the Queen before breaking into a smile, “but also a most loyal and brave subject. I will commend you to my son, the King.”

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“Please don’t, Your Majesty!” replied urgently but politely Nancy, snapping her head up to look at her directly. “I do not wish to run the risk of some spy learning of my acts here. My friends in England could then pay for them in my place. The same goes for my mistress, Lady Lisbeth. The more anonymous we stay, the more effective we can be...and the safer we all stay.”

“I certainly can see the logic in your demand, Lady Sommers.” said softly Henriette-Marie. “May God keep you safe.”

“The same to you and your family, Your Majesty.” replied Nancy, curtsying in front of the Queen. She then walked out, breathing a sigh of relief once out of the room.

16:08 (Paris Time)

Inn of Le Lion Noir

Paris

“Have you lost your mind, Nancy? To go alone at night to the Palais-Royal, which is guarded by parliamentarian soldiers, when the Duke of Orléans knows that you are coming? That weasel will have assassins waiting for you.”

“When the Queen and the King are waiting for me? He will never be so blatant.” D’Artagnan swore to himself, then eyed her critically.

“I suppose that you won’t let me escort you.”

“Like hell I would, Charles! You are a much more sought prize than me for those Fronde soldiers. Besides, you are also much more precious than me to France.” Charles, restraining himself from blowing a fuse, shook a finger at her.

“Nancy, don’t try flattery on me. Since I obviously can’t make you change your mind about this, can I at least urge you to bring a sword with you? Your pistols are fine weapons but they will be good for a total of only two shots in the case of a street ambush.”

“That I will do, Charles.” replied Nancy, somewhat reassuring her lover. “In fact, I happen to have a good sword here.”

“That’s a start.” said d’Artagnan, who then softened considerably his tone. “For God’s sake, Nancy, be careful tonight.”

“I will, Charles, I promise. Uh, talking of being cautious, what should I do if young King Louis tries a pass at me tonight? He is said to be quite precocious.”

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That notion seemed to amuse greatly d’Artagnan, who played with one tip of his thin moustache.

“Well, you are certainly right about young King Louis being fond of girls. I don’t know if I should be honored or offended by the idea of the King playing around with my mistress. On the other hand, I can’t say that I didn’t do my part in making a few men cuckold during my life.”

“I’ll take that as a definite maybe, Charles.” replied Nancy with a grin. “At least you will know that the baby that is on its way is from you.” She then kissed him on the lips, prompting him into hugging her tight, then to lead her to the nearby bed.

20:10 (Paris Time)

Stable of the inn of Le Lion Noir

Paris

“Hello, Pegasus! Time for you to get some exercise.”

Her horse, a big brown beast, gave her a funny look and, with nobody else present in the stable of the inn at this time, spoke in a near whisper.

“Spacetime trip or old-fashioned ride?”

“Old-fashioned promenade in Paris.” answered Nancy while putting in place the saddle on top of her robotic horse cum time travel machine. She liked that robotic horse, the first to have entered service with the Time Patrol and one that had made numerous missions in time with Nancy ‘A’. Apart from being able to fool even an experienced stable boy about its true nature, the engineers and programmers who had designed it had given it a true personality and even a sense of humor. It could fly, jump spacetime with its rider and gallop for days without stopping if need be. Its skin was actually a thick multi-layered fabric that mimicked horse skin and that was proof against blade weapons and low velocity projectiles. If absolutely necessary, Pegasus could even help Nancy in a fight by firing either stun beams or laser beams through its opened mouth. That last capability had however never been needed before. After finishing to equip her horse, Nancy bent and whispered in its ear.

“Be sharp tonight: assassins may be waiting in ambush for us along the way. Act like a normal horse but warn me via radio if your sensors pick up something suspicious. Use 72.6 megahertz as a frequency.”

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“Got that, babe!”

Nancy giggled as she pictured in her head the face d’Artagnan would make if he ever saw Pegasus speak to her. Checking her two pistols, she then inspected her short, large caliber blunderbuss scatter gun held in a right side leather holder hanging from the front of her saddle. Also called a ‘tromblon’ in French, the blunderbuss was the ancestor of the shotgun and had a bore caliber of two inches but a length of only around thirty inches. While having next to no accuracy, the blunderbuss was a fearsome weapon at close range, being able to be loaded with a large load of lead balls, nails, scrap iron or anything else that was handy at the time. Nancy finally mounted up and rode out of the stable and through the courtyard of the inn before following the Rue du Temple towards the Palais-Royal.

Turning a number of times at street corners, Nancy followed the narrow streets of Paris at a trot, fully on guard against a possible ambush. As one could expect at this hour, few Parisians dared venture out in the dark streets, unless they were in groups or well armed. There was after all a civil war going on, a war that made it easy for thieves, cutthroats and other bandits to ply on the weak and the unprotected. As she got closer from the Palais-Royal, which occupied a whole city block, Nancy took out her blunderbuss and held on to it, resting its barrel across the front of her saddle so that she could use it in a hurry if need be. As she was about two blocks away from the north side of the palace, Pegasus contacted her via radio, its voice echoing inside her inner right ear.

“Alert: seven men are hiding behind the two parked chariots to our front left, sixty meters away. I can see their thermal signatures.”

“Keep going as if nothing is wrong.” replied Nancy, thinking her answer, which was picked up by her implanted radio. “Do a full scan sweep, full spectrum.” Pegasus came back on after three seconds.

“Seven men confirmed behind the chariots, plus at least two more men hiding behind the building corner to our right that we are about to pass. I also have the thermal signature of two men looking at us from second floor windows of the next building to our front right. They are holding muskets. That’s all for the moment.”

“Hell, that’s enough for me already! I think that only speed and surprise will get us out of this. The moment that we pass that building to our right, go to full gallop and charge through this ambush.”

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“Understood, Nancy.”

Nancy then braced herself after discreetly cocking the hammer of her blunderbuss: when Pegasus accelerated to full gallop it felt like trying to hold on to a rocket booster. When Pegasus did start its sprint towards the palace, Nancy was able to see with a quick glance that there were in fact about ten men hiding past the building corner to her right. Those men, like the seven others hiding behind the chariots and the two shooters posted in the windows, were taken by surprise at first by Pegasus’ dash and were slow to react. A furious order in French was then shouted from behind her.

“SHOOT HER! STOP HER!”

Crouching forward on her horse, Nancy heard one bullet whistle by her head as the two shooters fired their muskets at her. She then fired herself, pointing her blunderbuss at the group of seven men running towards her from her front left and trying to block her path. The recoil from her gun was severe and the muzzle flash intimidating but she was an acknowledged expert with heavy weapons, even for a Time Patrol assault specialist, and her discharge struck the men as they were still grouped together. Five of those men went down at once, riddled by the 24 lead balls loaded in her blunderbuss. Firing one of her pistols from the left hand, she shot in the head a sixth man, prompting the last survivor of that group to flee in utter panic. She was still galloping hard and about to arrive at the street crossing leading to the main entrance of the Palais-Royal, with ten men running hard behind her to try to get her, when a further five men emerged from a dark corner twenty meters to her right front. Having already slid back her empty blunderbuss and pistol in their holsters, she grabbed her second pistol and shot the first man of that group in the chest as he was pointing a musket at her. One of her assailants was next to fire, discharging his pistol in her direction but missing clean because of the speed of her horse. Pegasus bowled over one man who had been gutsy enough to stand in its path, while another man was slashed down by Nancy with her sword. The two remaining cutthroats then fled, having had enough already. That left Nancy with an open way to the main entrance of the palace 120 meters to her front, where she could see four parliamentary soldiers looking nervously at her while readying their muskets. Not being sure that they would be less hostile to her than the men she had just broken through, Nancy looked quickly at the façade of the palace she was riding along. Seeing an opened window with light inside on the first floor, she made Pegasus divert its course towards it while slowing down. Stopping her horse under that window only long enough to stand quickly on her saddle and grab the window sill with both hands, Nancy

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effortlessly climbed inside, using a stone ledge to secure her footing first. She smiled reassuringly to the woman in her forties dressed in an evening gown and sitting at a dresser while powdering her face. Nancy bowed to her once up on her feet in the bedroom she had climbed in.

“Please excuse me for this intrusion, madam. I will not bother you any longer.” While walking quickly out of the woman’s bedroom and in an antechamber, Nancy sent silently a radio message via mental command.

“Pegasus, run away and return to the inn without me. I will come back by my own means.”

“Understood, Nancy.”

Crossing the antechamber, where a maid was folding clean clothes, Nancy then went out in a large hallway. Not knowing the detailed layout of the palace or where the King’s suite was, she had to stop and ask politely a valet for that information. The valet answered her readily enough and she was soon hurrying towards the royal apartments. No guards challenged her before she got to the King’s apartments but she did find two soldiers of the Duke of Orléans standing guard on each side of the King’s door. Since she could not bypass them without using her special abilities as a field agent of the Time Patrol, Nancy decided to bluff it out and openly approached the two men. The soldiers, on seeing her, took hold of their swords while facing her, with one of them shouting an order at her.

“STOP! WHO GOES THERE?”

“Lady Nancy Sommers, here on the request of the King.” answered calmly Nancy, stopping for a moment in the middle of the hallway. “The Duke of Orléans guaranteed my safety in this palace.”

The senior guard eyed her for a moment, then turned his head towards his comrade.

“Marcel, tell the King that he has a visitor.”

Nancy was starting to relax a bit as the second guard went inside the royal apartments when five other guards appeared at the end of the hallway, running towards her with swords and muskets at the ready. One of those guards shouted to the man still guarding the King’s door.

“STOP HER, SHE’S AN INTRUDER!”

The man facing Nancy drew his sword at once and pointed it at her throat, with the tip a mere meter away from her.

“Don’t move, mademoiselle!”

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Nancy, keeping her own sword in her scabbard, stared hard at him and spoke in a strong voice, so that she could be heard by as many people as possible around.

“That’s what the guarantee from the Duke is worth? To have over twenty men waiting in ambush for me outside and then have me arrested at the door of the King, who invited me?”

The five guards running towards her then stopped in an extended line across the hallway, less than ten meters away from her and with their muskets pointed at her.

“Put down your weapons on the floor!”

“No! I am a guest of the King and you will treat me as such.” Nancy was expecting to get killed at any moment then when a boy’s voice froze everybody.

“NOBODY IS TO TOUCH HER!”

Young King Louis stormed out of his apartments and went to stand besides Nancy while looking angrily at the guards.

“LOWER YOUR MUSKETS! SHE IS UNDER MY PROTECTION.” The guards hesitated at first, unwilling to openly disobey their young King. The arrival of Queen Anne of Austria, coming out of the royal apartments, finally convinced them to stand down and turn back. The Queen looked hard at the soldier still pointing his sword at Nancy.

“Well? Are you deaf, monsieur? Sheet back your sword and let our guest pass.”

“Yes, Your Majesty!” replied the guard, bowing deeply to her and sheeting back his blade. The King then gallantly showed Nancy into his apartments, the Queen at their back. Once the door was closed, Anne of Austria blew air out in relief.

“That was close. I wasn’t sure that those soldiers would obey us.”

“Which only shows how wrong things are in Paris now, Your Majesty.” said Nancy while curtsying. The Queen bit her lip at that, looking concerned.

“Too true, Lady Sommers. Soon, it may be too dangerous for even the King to stay in Paris. We heard many shots fired a few minutes ago. Were you the one being fired at?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” replied politely Nancy, who then told the King and Queen about the attempted ambush against her. Her story angered to no small degree the Queen, who shook her right fist.

“That treacherous Gaston D’Orléans! His so-called word is decidedly worth nothing. I will call him to task for this tomorrow.”

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She then calmed down and smiled to Nancy, unaware that the micro-cameras hidden in Nancy’s embroidered Amerindian headband were filming her.

“You are a truly tough girl, Lady Sommers, and a dangerous one too for your enemies. Your stories should captivate my young Louis tonight. Uh, how old are you already?”

“I am now fourteen, Your Majesty.”

“You sound and act like someone much older and wiser than the teenage girls around this palace, Lady Sommers.”

“One has to have good wits to survive the winters in New France, Your Majesty.”

“Indeed! Well, I have a few letters to write, so I will leave you with Louis. You are of course welcomed to stay in the royal apartments tonight, as I suspect that returning you to the streets tonight could be your death. I will have a maid come and show you where your room is.”

The Queen then lowered her voice to a near whisper.

“How are Monsieur d’Artagnan and his friends these days, Lady Sommers?”

“They are all well, Your Majesty. If you need, I can pass letters to them tomorrow.”

“Excellent! I will have something for you then.” replied the Queen before facing her son. “Don’t go to bed too late, Louis, even though I know that Lady Sommers’ stories can be captivating.”

“Yes, Mother!” said Louis politely while promising himself to get the most out of Nancy in the hours to come. Once the Queen had left, Louis XIV invited Nancy to sit with him in a sofa of his lounge, then gave her a hopeful smile.

“Well, I must thank you for coming tonight to entertain me with your stories, milady. You must have seen so many wondrous things in New France.”

“New France, while still a wild country, is indeed full of beautiful sights, You Majesty. Where would you like me to start?”

“With stories about you, milady.” replied wistfully Louis, who then got very close to her on the sofa. Nancy smiled down to the handsome boy, who was in reality only two years younger than herself. She then put her right hand on his left upper leg, making anticipation appear on his face.

“Then, Your Majesty, I will be pleased to reveal to you everything about myself tonight.”

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05:42 (Paris Time)

Friday, August 11, 1651

King Louis XIV’s apartments

Palais-Royal, Paris

Louis, about to return to his own bedroom, which communicated directly with the small servant’s bedroom used by Nancy, was able to see in detail Nancy’s body in the early morning light coming from a window, as she got up naked from the bed to dress. Himself wearing only his night shirt, he gently caressed the faint scars left on her torso by whips, pliers and hot irons, then looked up at her with sorrow.

“They were indeed cruel with you in the Bastille, milady. My heart bleeds at seeing such marks on you.”

Nancy paused as she mentally reflected on that harsh episode of her young life. It probably wouldn’t be the last time either that she would have to endure pain and hardship in the course of her career as a field agent. Looking down at Louis, who stood a half head shorter than her, she gently brushed his long hair while speaking softly.

“It was something I wouldn’t care to relive but it was also the price to pay to fulfill my duties, Your Majesty.”

An idea then came to her mind and she crouched in front of the boy king, who was still sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Your Majesty, maybe you could do something about this. As you know, many criminals in France, including women, are flogged as a punishment for their crimes. I would only ask for something from you or your mother the Queen that would help me prove to whoever doubted my moral character that I wasn’t flogged or branded because of some crime I committed.”

“I will be too happy to do this for you, milady, as it would only be simple justice.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty.’’

‘’It is I who must thank you, Lady Sommers.” said softly Louis, who then patted her right arm. “You gave me much to think about, milady. You better dress while I go to my bedroom, before my mother shows up.”

Louis took the time to plant a malicious kiss on Nancy’s left nipple before walking to his bedroom. Nancy sighed as she went for her clothes: in modern times, Louis would have been an interesting boy indeed to date. She dressed quickly, then went to the window of her bedroom to look at Paris outside. The French capital may have been smelly and

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dirty in the 17th Century but Nancy had always loved Paris, in whatever time period. She had been born in Montreal in 1982 ‘B’ but had spent only a single day there, taken away with her parents before an American CIA assassination team could murder her. From there she had been moved to the secret main base of the Time Patrol in New Zealand in 3,000 B.C.E., where she had grown up while visiting occasionally either the 20th Century of timeline ‘B’ or the 34th Century of timeline ‘A’. In truth, Nancy didn’t belong to any specific time period, being one of a very few people who were in that situation. She could thus adapt easily to various time periods, something quite useful for a field agent of the Time Patrol.

The Queen’s personal maid, Madame de Motteville, came maybe twenty minutes later to tell her that she was invited to go have breakfast with the King and Queen. The woman then took out of her dress a sealed envelope that she presented to Nancy while speaking in a near whisper.

“Please pass this letter from the Queen to Monsieur d’Artagnan, for forwarding to the Cardinal.”

“Tell Her Majesty that Monsieur d’Artagnan will get this letter no later than this morning.” said Nancy while slipping the precious letter in an inside pocket of her leather jacket. “Please show me the way to the dining room.”

Being ready by then, with her weapons at her belt, Nancy followed the maid to a huge dining room where a good thirty nobles sat with the King and Queen around a long table. Nancy paused briefly on entering the room: present at the table were the Duchess of Montpensier and the Duchess of Longueville. While the former greeted her with a smile that seemed genuine, the latter visibly stiffened on her chair and her face reflected a mix of hatred and fear. Ignoring the Duchess of Longueville, Nancy approached the table and curtsied in front of the Queen.

“May I join you and King Louis for breakfast, Your Majesty?”

“You certainly may, Lady Sommers.” said Anne of Austria while designating an empty chair only four places away from hers. “Please have a seat.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty.” said Nancy respectfully before taking the chair shown to her by the Queen. That placed her facing squarely the Duchess of Longueville from across the table. Somehow, she believed that to be intentional, as Queen Anne knew how afraid of Nancy the Duchess of Longueville was. Since the others had already started eating, Nancy served herself from the number of baskets and platters on the

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table which contained a wide variety of bread, cheese, fruits and hard-boiled eggs. As per her habit, she ate moderately, always conscious about keeping trim and fit. A male courtier sitting besides her noticed that and made a remark to her.

“I thought that a girl as tall as you would eat more, milady.”

“I don’t really need more, monsieur, except after exercising vigorously or when in the wilderness of New France in Winter.”

That simple answer earned her a series of questions about New France from a number of curious members of the royal court, including from the Duchess of Montpensier. One fat baroness then said something that displeased Nancy to no small degree.

“How come that our settlers, armed with muskets, haven’t killed yet all those savages in the woods of New France?”

Anne Marie Louise D’Orléans nearly choked on her croissant then, expecting the wild Lady Sommers to blow a fuse at that. She looked and listened on with intense interest as Nancy answered the baroness in a calm but cold voice.

“Madame, you should know that the Amerindians also have muskets, which they bought from either us, the English or the Dutch. Also, the Amerindians are at home in those forests and are very skilled at making silent, covert approaches. You probably wouldn’t know that one has approached you before he would jump on you to scalp you. Lastly, many of those so-called savages are our allies and have been fighting hard with our people against the Iroquois. My father himself was born from a French settler and a Huron woman.”

That last sentence made more than a few jaws drop open, to Nancy’s secret satisfaction. The best part about that was that her real father’s mother indeed had Amerindian blood. More questions about New France followed after that, to which Nancy answered as much as she could within the bounds of what was known of it in this time period.

The Queen was about to get up and thus indicate that the breakfast was over when a tall, thin and richly dressed aristocrat who was about thirty years-old entered the dining room, four Fronde soldiers at his back. He had the deportment of a man certain of his high rank and walked at a brisk pace towards the Queen, his left hand on the pommel of his sword. On her part the Queen stiffened at his appearance and Nancy could feel at once the antipathy between her and the newcomer. As for who the aristocrat was, Nancy knew that already: everybody in Paris knew by sight Louis II of Bourbon, Prince of Condé, also know as ‘The Great Condé’, the military leader of the

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Fronde. Condé was justly famous as a successful general but he was also a man of considerable arrogance who had a talent to grate on the nerves of most of the people he met. Right now he certainly played the part, as his bow to the Queen and King was cursory at best.

“Good morning, Your Majesty. I am sorry to disturb your breakfast like this but I had to come and take care of a little problem.”

Nancy, fully on her guard now and keeping close tabs on the position of the four Fronde soldiers, knew at once that she was about to get in trouble…again. Her hunch proved correct, as Condé then faced her from across the dining table, all pretense of politeness gone.

“If you think that you can keep beating and killing my soldiers with impunity, then you better change your mind, young girl.”

“She is here on my invitation, Condé!” protested the Queen, jumping to her feet. “Your soldiers wouldn’t get beaten or killed if they would in turn stop trying to kill that girl.”

“That girl is cavorting with agents of Mazarin.” replied brusquely Condé, who had a nearly visceral hatred of the Cardinal. Not wanting to put at risk the Queen and King, or in fact anyone else here, Nancy got up slowly from her chair, careful not to trigger an attack yet. She then stared back at the aristocrat, who was nearly as tall as her.

“My affairs of the heart are my sole concern, monsieur. As for men who need to be in groups of up to twenty to attack one woman, I would hardly call them soldiers, especially when they are disguised as simple thugs. Since I do not wish to put anyone here at risk, I will leave, with the Queen’s permission.”

“The only place you are going is to the Bastille, young girl.” replied the prince while drawing his sword. The four soldiers waiting by the door started walking then towards Nancy. Jumping at once on her chair, then on the table, Nancy drew her own sword at the same time as she ran across the table. Parrying with her sword Condé’s blade as she jumped from the table, she then delivered a flying knee strike to Condé’s jaw, projecting him backward. The aristocrat fell heavily on his back and stayed down, knocked for the count, as Nancy landed with the smoothness of a cat on the wooden floor behind him, then ran towards the nearest window giving on the street one floor below.

Frozen for a moment like the others in the room by Nancy’s display of skills, the four soldiers finally reacted and ran as one to her. Nancy however had time to open one

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window and jump down before they got to her. Everybody, including King Louis, then rushed to the windows to see how hard Nancy had landed, only to watch her as she sprinted away with her sword still in her right hand. While the Duchess of Longueville was nearly choked with rage at that sight, the young King Louis grinned with glee.

“What an incredible girl! She is like a real Amazon.”

“She is a spy, and nothing else!” replied harshly the duchess before giving a black look at the soldiers. “Well, what are you waiting for? Get some horses and run after her!”

The soldiers left at once at a run, as much to flee her anger as to carry out her order. The Duchess of Longueville then went to her brother and knelt besides him to examine him. Seeing that her brother was going to be out for quite a while, she ordered four valets to pick up and carry him, leaving the dining room with them after a hateful look at Queen Anne. The Queen was then left with her son and the other gentlemen and ladies of her court to exchange befuddled looks.

“Did you see that jump of hers?” wondered Anne Marie Louise D’Orléans, admiration in her voice. “Who could train that girl to do things like that?”

“Circus acrobats probably, Duchess.” replied at once a courtier. “The Duchess of Longueville was probably right about her being a spy: no normal person could do this but a highly trained professional.”

“She’s not a normal person!” shot back the fat baroness who had irritated Nancy. “She’s a savage from New France!”

That prompted an immediate and angry rebuke from young Louis.

“SHE’S NOT A SAVAGE, MADAME! SHE’S A LADY OF THE FINEST KIND AND YOU ARE NOTHING COMPARED TO HER.”

Louis then stormed out of the dining room, still upset. Excusing herself with her courtiers, Queen Anne went after her son, finding him sulking in his bedroom. Sitting besides him on the edge of the bed, Anne of Austria put a protective arm around her son.

“You do like Lady Sommers a lot, do you, Louis?”

“Yes, Mother. She is brave, strong and intelligent.”

“And beautiful…”

Louis nodded at those two words.

“And beautiful, Mother.” conceded Louis. ‘’She also told me that she loved a man that she couldn’t marry.’’

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“Did she say why she couldn’t marry that man?” asked Queen Anne, confused a bit by this. Louis then looked up into her eyes.

“She said that it was an impossible love but that both loved each other very much. I am not sure that I understood her.”

“I think I do, Louis.” said Anne softly. “You have to credit her as well for being realistic. She probably loves a nobleman and, not being a true noble herself, knows that any marriage is impractical.”

“Then I will make her a noblewoman.” Fiercely replied at once Louis. “I will be entering my fourteenth year and will be considered an adult in less than a month. Then I will be able to give orders and make things happen.”

“While we are here as virtual prisoners, with no royal soldiers around us?”

“Then, we will leave Paris and join up with our soldiers.” shot back Louis, sounding confident. The Queen sighed then, knowing that this was not going to be as easy as it sounded.

13:51 (Paris Time)

Tuesday, September 5, 1651

Grand ballroom, Palais-Royal

Paris

Despite being surrounded by hundreds of nobles and important bourgeois present to celebrate his thirteenth birthday and official majority, young Louis was secretly fuming behind his façade of dignified attitude: alone in all of the high nobility with the exception of his sister, the Duchess of Longueville, the Prince of Condé had chosen to deliberately snub him by not attending this ceremony. Louis promised himself to make that arrogant prince pay for this one day: he was now after all the official ruler of France, even though he had just publicly declared that his mother the Queen would continue to administer the country in his name for a while yet, to the obvious frustration of many of the high nobles present. Louis chased his ideas of revenge for a moment as yet another group of high nobles came to congratulate him and bring him gifts. A long table set to the side of his throne was already nearly full of such gifts, which varied from jewels to weapons and artworks. More tables along the walls of the vast ballroom supported a rich and abundant buffet and four big barrels of wine attended by valets helped quench

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the thirst of the guests. Musicians were also in attendance, playing soft music and dance tunes.

After accepting the congratulations and gifts from a dozen more persons, Louis rose from his throne and called for a dance. He was not surprised one bit to see the Duchess of Montpensier nearly run to him to get the first dance with him: her advances towards him had been many and less than subtle for many months. Louis however knew well her role in the Fronde and, while keeping polite with her, was less than thrilled by her presence. He however showed magnanimity, as befitted a sovereign, and accepted to dance with her. Dancing was one thing that Louis both excelled in and liked and he managed to make Anne Marie Louise D’Orléans enjoy her dance with him. Bowing to her as she curtsied to him at the end of the dance, Louis turned around to choose another partner for the next dance. He froze at once with both surprise and joy: Nancy Sommers stood less than four paces away, dressed in a rich court gown and wearing jewels. She wore makeup and a tiara studded with gems framed her long black hair. She curtsied to Louis, whose heart was now beating furiously.



“May I have this next dance, Your Majesty?”

“It would be a pleasure, Lady Sommers.” replied Louis while offering his right hand. Nancy took it and, watched by a stunned Duchess of Montpensier, started dancing a chaste waltz with the King. Louis still felt desire grow in him as he danced, his eyes targeting her fabulous chest, which was further enhanced by the corsage and deep cleavage of Nancy’s gown. He spoke to her in a low voice as they waltzed together, watched by a growing number of shocked nobles who were belatedly realizing who Nancy was.

“How did you manage to get in, milady?”

Nancy smiled to him, malice in her eyes.

“Very few places are safe from my intrusion skills, Your Majesty. However, I am here only to wish you a happy birthday.”

“And your presence indeed makes me happy, milady. I was scared for you since your latest escape from this palace.”

“Thank you for your concern, Your Majesty: your attention flatters me.”

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“But you deserve it, milady. I wish that I knew more people as talented as you. In fact, I have been wishing for weeks to reward you for the services you provided for my mother the Queen.”

“That won’t be necessary, Your Majesty.” replied Nancy, her smile fading somewhat: she didn’t want her role or presence in this time period to become too conspicuous, as she was after all here solely on her personal time and could not anyway allow herself to become historically famous. She was already stretching pretty thin the limits she was allowed to play within. Louis was not ready to give up so easily, though.

“Yes, it is, milady. Besides, I had already promised to provide you with a royal certificate of good character. It is already made, signed and sealed by me and I wish to give it to you today.”

“That I will accept with pleasure and gratitude, Your Majesty.”

“Then, see me at the buffet table after this first round of dance is over, milady.”

“I will be there, Your Majesty. Be advised that I have a letter for the Queen on me.”

“You are indeed a precious friend of the royalty, milady. I wish that I could keep you in my service.”

“That is unfortunately impossible, Your Majesty: while I can assure you that I will never be an enemy of France, my loyalty is already taken.”

“And whose loyalty could that be, milady? That of King Charles II of England?” Nancy hesitated a bit, then spoke quickly as they got closer to each other.

“I will discuss that with you once in private, Your Majesty.”

They finished the dance, then parted, with Nancy quickly disappearing in the crowd of guests. Louis took two more dances with eager ladies before calling a pause to the dancing. Going to the buffet tables, Louis served himself a generous plate and loitered around while looking for Nancy. He nearly spilled his plate when her voice came from behind, surprising him and making him turn abruptly to face her.

“I’m here, Your Majesty.”

“By God, you do have a talent to sneak around, milady.”

“Call it a professional quirk, Your Majesty.” she said with a grin, a plate of food in her hands. “Where shall we go to speak in private?”

“To my apartments. Follow me from a distance.”

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Louis, munching on his food, made slowly his way out of the ballroom, leaving behind his plate before using a discreet door connecting the ballroom to the royal apartments. On his way out he whispered a quick message to his mother, who nodded and followed him a minute later. Louis, the Queen and Nancy soon found themselves alone in the private study of Anne of Austria. The latter graciously took the letter from Cardinal Mazarin that had been relayed through the good services of d’Artagnan, then went to her work desk and opened the letter to read it. While she read the letter, Nancy spoke in a low voice to Louis, who was anxious to know more about her.

“Your Majesty, as I said earlier, I swear that I will never be an enemy of France. While I am half-English, I am also half-French and was born in New France. I support the cause of King Charles of England but I also support your cause and that of your mother. As well I have my own personal goals, which are to fight tyranny and injustice. I cannot offer you directly my services at this time, but I am more than ready to help you and the Queen whenever our interests merge.”

“Milady, I truly appreciate your honesty and plain language, especially after all the hypocrisy and disloyalty the princes of France have shown to me and my mother in the last few years. I have no qualms in your support of King Charles of England, on the contrary. I believe Oliver Cromwell to be a vile man, apart from being a regicide. If I can help you in your fight against him, I will do it. However, I must first put my own house in order, as you must imagine.”

“A sensible line of thinking, Your Majesty. Concerning King Charles, I have some bad news: the royalist army has just been defeated at Worcester and King Charles is now in hiding. He plans to soon find refuge in France, where his family is already living in exile as you know.”

Queen Anne’s head snapped up at hearing those words, worry showing up at once on her face.

“King Charles’ army was beaten? Is King Charles safe?”

“He is, Your majesty. He was able to flee the battlefield under disguise and is hiding in Southern England. He will pass in France once he finds a safe place to take a boat. The best way to help him now is to be ready to shelter him with his family.”

“We will certainly do that, Lady Sommers.”

“And I thank you for that, Your Majesty.”

“Talking of thanks…” said the Queen while fishing a small key from inside her dress. She then unlocked a drawer of her work desk and took out two documents, each

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encased in protective leather folios. Opening them and checking them, she then passed one of them to Louis, who presented it with a sober expression to Nancy.

“I have only one word, milady. Here is the certificate I promised you. As you may see, I added to it, on the counsel of my mother.”

Nancy started reading the document, complete with royal seal, with some anxiety, hoping that it wouldn’t be so sweeping in scope as to attract undue historical attention on her. While indeed encompassing, it however proved to be worded in a way that insured discretion from all royal officers who would read it. Apart from declaring her to be a person who enjoyed the full confidence and esteem of the King, the declaration also ordered all royal officers and servants to provide her their full but discreet support on demand. In essence, Nancy now had what amounted to a blanket certificate of authority from the King himself, something one would expect to see in the hands of a top flight secret agent of the King. Farah Tolkonen, apart from being floored once she would see this document, would also be most pleased, as it would facilitate greatly any mission by Nancy in 17th Century France. She looked back at Louis with genuine gratitude.

“Your Majesty, I was not hoping for so much. Your confidence in me warms my heart.”

“You deserve that confidence, milady, and I am sure that you will never betray it.”

“You have my solemn word on that, Your Majesty.” said Nancy while bowing deeply to Louis. She meant those words and knew that Farah Tolkonen would never force her to break them: if a conflict of interest arose, Farah would simply send another field agent in her place. Louis nodded, satisfied, then took the second document from his mother.

“Even if you may find that certificate plenty, milady, I do not believe it to be enough to reward properly your services. On the other hand, knowing your wild nature and your need for frequent travel, I decided not to grant you a land title, as you probably wouldn’t be on it often enough to be able to administer it properly. My mother suggested to me instead a more flexible solution.”

Louis then read aloud from the second document.

“I, King Louis the Fourteenth of France, declare by this Letter Patent the said Nancy Laplante, also known as Nancy Sommers, daughter of Pierre Laplante and of Lady Suzan Sommers and born on the shores of the Saint-Lawrence River in New France on June 13th of the year 1635, to be the recipient of a title of pure honor and to be thus known from now on as Marquess Nancy de Saint-Laurent, by virtue of her

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courageous services to the crown of France. An annual pension of 9,000 Livres is to be disbursed from the royal treasury to the said Marquess de Saint-Laurent, in order to allow her to properly maintain her status and rank. Both the title and the pension are for life and are to end with her death. In case the Marquess de Saint-Laurent leaves behind a legal heir, that said heir will be entitled to one year’s worth of her pension at her death. Made and signed by me at the Palais-Royal in Paris on August 12th of the year 1651.” Nancy didn’t know what to say at first, stunned by the King’s grant. Louis saw her shock and grinned to her while handing her the precious document and its leather folio.

“You can now present yourself at my court with your head high, Marquess: anyone who touches you indirectly touches me and will be pursued by the King’s justice. You may also find yourself now worthy of marrying Monsieur d’Artagnan.” Louis, like his mother, was a bit surprised to see tears come out of her eyes at those last words. She however preempted their questions, speaking in a soft voice.

“You honor me too much, Your Majesty. I suppose that you learned the name of my lover through your mother?”

“That is correct, Marquess. The friends of Monsieur d’Artagnan have not missed the romance between the two of you. You should be happy now, so why the crying?” Nancy searched for a chair, then sat slowly on it, trying to find words she could use while containing her tears.

“Your Majesty, while I am bearing the child of Monsieur D’Artagnan and loves him as much as he loves me, our respective duties and responsibilities would condemn us to live separately from each other for most of the time. As I said earlier, I still owe loyalty to England, as long as it isn’t to the detriment of France. On his side, Monsieur d’Artagnan is a man of honor whose primary duties will always be to France and to its King. I shall not endanger that loyalty by possibly tempting him to split it if relations ever sour between France and England.”

Queen Anne, who had gotten up from her work desk and had approached her, patted her shoulder gently.

“Your honesty and sense of honor is a credit to you, Marquess. Too many people around this palace sorely lack both. Do you intend to continue to see Monsieur d’Artagnan?”

Nancy nodded once, then looked up at the Queen and King.

“I do, as long as he will still want me. I realize that he will have one day to get into a marriage of convenience but, even then, I will continue to love him and will raise

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his child to be proud of his name. I would however appreciate if my romance with Monsieur d’Artagnan be kept secret, Your Majesty.”

‘’I will keep mum about this, my friend.’’ said softly Louis, making her nod her head in satisfaction. Nancy then carefully folded back her two precious documents in their leather folios and slid them inside her dress before getting up.

“If you wish to prepare a letter in response to the one I just brought to you, I will be most happy to wait until it is ready, Your Majesty.”

“Then,” said young Louis, “give me the pleasure to have a few more dances with you in the meantime, Marquess.”

“With pleasure, Your Majesty.” said softly Nancy, a weak smile coming back to her face.

19:46 (Paris Time)

Inn of Le Lion Noir

Paris

D’Artagnan, having nearly eaten away his fingernails during the last few hours while Nancy was gone to the Palais-Royal, ran to her when she entered the main hall of their inn.

“Are you alright, Nancy? You look a bit pale.”

“Let’s go to my room, Charles: we will be able to speak more at ease there.” she replied in a low voice. D’Artagnan nodded to that, then told Isaac Bartet, who had been sitting and drinking wine with him, to wait for him in the hall. He next escorted Nancy upstairs to her room, closing and locking the door behind them. As Nancy sat on her bed, Charles pulled up a stool to near the bed and sat facing Nancy, holding hands with her.

“So, what happened at the palace?”

Nancy first pulled out of her dress the letter from the Queen and gave it to him.

“All went well at the Palais-Royal, Charles. Here is a letter the Queen made in response to the one I delivered to her on your behalf. The Queen would like you to bring it to the Cardinal.”

“I will leave tomorrow for Germany. What else?”

Nancy then took out her certificate and her Letter Patent of nobility, handing both to Charles.

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“The King fulfilled a promise he made me earlier and made a certificate of good character in my name, to help me in case I raise suspicions with officials because of my whip scars. He also ennobled me.”

“WHAT?” nearly shouted Charles, both stunned and overjoyed. Nancy smiled meekly at his reaction.

“Just read, then we will discuss a few things.”

Charles did so, then looked back at Nancy with a happy grin.

“But this is great! You, a marquess? And that certificate is really a permanent royal safe-conduct: it will be of tremendous help to you, Nancy.” Kneeling in front of her, he then held her hands to his heart and spoke resolutely.

“Nancy, nothing stands between us now. Marry me if you really love me.” Having somehow expected his reaction and having agonized during her trip back to the inn about her possible answer to him, Nancy looked silently at him for a few seconds, trying to contain her tears. She however broke down under the emotional stress and started crying, answering Charles between sobs.

“I do love you, Charles…However, I still can’t marry you. History stands between us.”

“History?” said blankly D’Artagnan, confused by her answer. Nancy, taking hold of his hands, then committed herself, knowing full well the possible consequences of what she was going to say.

“Charles, I am not what I pretend to be. I do not come from England, or from New France. I come from the future.”

Before Charles could recoil away from her or push her back, she hugged him tightly and spoke softly a mere few centimeters from his face.

“Charles, I am a time traveler on a mission to explore the past and document in detail the history of this time period. I can’t marry you because I can’t stay permanently in this time. I however do truly love you, from the bottom of my heart. You once got angry at me for doubting the value of your word. I now am ready to rely on it. Promise me that you will keep to yourself what I tell you and show you and I will prove to you that I am from the future and not some sort of witch.”

Charles, overwhelmed, didn’t know at first how to react. The intensity of her emotions and the plea in her eyes convinced him after a few seconds to let his passion and love for her rule over his common sense.

“Alright, I promise, Nancy, but please be convincing.”

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“Thank you, Charles.”

Retrieving first her two documents and slipping them back in her dress, she then got up, inviting Charles to get up as well. Next, she hugged him tightly and spoke softly.

“Charles, what you will see may appear like magic, but it will actually be the result of a very advanced science far removed from all that you could know. I am now going to transport you with me through time, to the Paris of the year 1954.” Mentally setting her spacetime jump, she pressed tightly Charles against her before ordering the computer controlling her implanted time distorter to jump. Both then disappeared from her room in a silent flash of light.

13:00 (Paris Time)

Friday, March 5, 1954 ‘B’

Time Patrol liaison outpost

Le Bourget Airport, Paris

France

They reappeared a few centimeters above one of the transit pads of the Paris liaison office of the Time Patrol, one of the precise locations which were kept in the memory of Nancy’s implanted time distorter. The anti-gravity field of the transit pad then allowed her and Charles to land smoothly on the metallic surface while still glued together. Nancy immediately spoke firmly to her lover, who was starting to look around him with wild eyes and seemed close to panicking.

“Whatever happens, please don’t draw your weapons, Charles. You are in no danger here… Charles?... CHARLES!’’

D’Artagnan finally seemed to calm down a bit, his panic making place to utter confusion. Nancy next spoke up loudly to apparently nobody in particular.

“AGENT NANCY LAPLANTE ‘B’, BRINGING A SAFE VISITOR. CONSIDER AS LEVEL THREE PROTOCOL.”

Taking gently Charles hand, Nancy led him off the pad and towards a door of the scooter hall they were in. She could sense his bewilderment, him being a man from a time period when there were still active witch hunts, so she spoke softly to him as she led him.

“We are now in the arrival hall of the Paris liaison outpost of my organization, which is called the Time Patrol. The goal of the Time Patrol is to protect the integrity of history and to study it. That is why I can’t marry you, Charles: because you are not

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supposed to marry me according to preordained history. Just by bringing you here and telling you about this I am risking my career, so please be indulgent and bear with me.” They were about to get to the metallic door when it silently slid open, letting through Ingrid Weiss ‘B’, the present duty field liaison agent in Paris. Ingrid, who was at a near run, braked hard and stopped six paces in front of the couple before speaking in French to Nancy.

“Nancy, are you crazy? You can’t bring d’Artagnan here or tell him about time travel. Farah will have your badge for this.”

“It may very well be the case, Ingrid, but I am ready to suffer the consequences of my acts. I need to speak with Farah.”

“I bet you do!” said Ingrid while eyeing cautiously d’Artagnan, who had his sword, dagger and two pistols at his belt. “Would you mind telling your friend to temporarily hand over his weapons to me? You know that he could react badly to a few of the things he will see here.”

“And why should I react badly, milady?” replied Charles, his suspicions coming back to him. “Do you have evil things to hide?”

“None of such things, Monsieur.” answered Ingrid calmly, raising her hands away from her pistol belt to show that she didn’t mean to threaten him. “It is just that much of what is here will appear magical to you. I just want to make sure that nobody gets hurt by accident.”

“Ingrid is a very good friend of mine, Charles.” said Nancy. “You can hand to her your weapons: she will safeguard them for you.”

After a short hesitation, Charles unbuckled his weapons belt and handed it to Ingrid, who smiled to him.

“Thank you, Monsieur. I have to say that you are as handsome as Nancy kept telling us.”

“Really?” said Charles, both amused and flattered. Ingrid nodded.

“Really. If you will now follow me to my office, we will go call my superior.”

“Her name is Farah Tolkonen.” explained Nancy to Charles as they followed behind Ingrid and walked along a long hallway. “She is a woman from the far future who co-created the Time Patrol with my big sister.”

“Your big sister? Will I get to meet her?”

“No! She is unfortunately dead, Charles. She was killed in the year 2019, during a war. By the way, she was also called Nancy Laplante and was a virtual twin of me.

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Don’t be afraid when you see Farah: she is bald and is truly a giant, like all the people from the far future. She also has six fingers per hand but don’t think of her as some kind of monster. She is in fact about the most decent and kind woman I ever met. Oh, hello, Greg!”

D’Artagnan stopped on the spot on seeing the giant of a bald man who had just stepped into the hallway from one of the side doors: the man stood well above 220 centimeters and wore the same kind of gray, body-fitting garment worn by Ingrid Weiss. The giant in turn smiled to Nancy before looking at d’Artagnan with curiosity.

“Hello, Nancy. Who is your friend?”

“Charles Ogier de Batz de Castelmore, better known as d’Artagnan. Charles, this is Greg Thorgal, one of our support specialists. He is from the 34th Century.” As Charles kept staring at the giant, the latter gave a cautious look at Nancy.

“Isn’t he forbidden from learning about time travel, Nancy?” Nancy sighed before answering.

“He is Greg. I am about to discuss this with Farah.”

“Then, I wish you good luck, Nancy.” answered Greg after a pause. He then walked past them, letting Nancy pull Charles by the hand.

“Come on, Charles. Let’s follow Ingrid.”

“This business of not telling about time travel, it does look like serious business.” said Charles, apprehensive, while resuming his walking. “What could they do to you for telling me about it?”

“I could have my abilities to travel through time taken away and be kicked out of the Time Patrol. By rule, they would be amply justified to do this, Charles.”

“But, wouldn’t that mean that you couldn’t see me again then?” Charles saw a tear roll on her cheek as she answered him.

“Yes, it does. I however couldn’t keep lying to you. Whatever happens, I will at least have your baby left to me.”

Charles was deeply shaken by this proof of love from her. Stopping her, he then exchanged a long kiss with her. Ingrid saw that and stopped too to watch them. Nancy had broken the rules of the Time Patrol, big time, but Ingrid could understand why she had done it. Still, this could very well represent the end of the career as a field agent for one girl with incredible potential and talent. Ingrid waited patiently for them to part, then continued walking to her office, situated on the second floor of the outpost. She offered Nancy and Charles seats, then sat behind her desk and activated her computer.

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Charles was too stunned by the view of Le Bourget Airport given by the office’s windows to even ask what Ingrid was doing. Nancy put a hand on Charles’ shoulder to reassure him.

“Relax, Charles. What you see now is simply normal life in the 20th Century. All those people are still that, normal people.”

Charles didn’t reply, staring instead with wide eyes at a passenger jet aircraft in the process of landing on the main runway. Next was a scoutship of the Time Patrol landing silently and vertically on its landing pad next to the office, as different from the jetliner that had landed before as the jetliner was from a sailing ship of the 17th Century.

After a minute of typing on her computer, Ingrid sat back in her chair and looked critically at her two visitors.

“I sent a quick report to Farah via the time wave transmitter. I nearly can hear her scream back from main base when she gets that report. We can probably expect her here very soon.”

“Make it right now!” said in French a female voice from behind Nancy and Charles, making them look back at a giant woman now entering the office. Svelte and beautiful, she also had alert, inquisitive eyes, which Charles noticed to be yellow. Farah, dressed in a simple, flowing long robe, shook hands with Charles first.

“I am pleased to at last being able to meet you, Monsieur d’Artagnan. Nancy told me a lot of nice things about you. I am Farah Tolkonen, Chief Administrator of the Time Patrol.”

“How much in trouble is Nancy because of me, madame?” asked at once Charles, now worried sick for Nancy. Farah took the time to look at Nancy, whose eyes were still red from crying, then sighed quietly before looking back at Charles.

“To be frank, Monsieur D’Artagnan, Nancy committed what is possibly the biggest cardinal sin in the Time Patrol book: to reveal the existence of time travel to a pre-1940 person. Normally, this would mean her summary dismissal from the Time Patrol after having her special equipment removed. For you, that would mean losing her for good.”

“Please!” said at once Charles, shooting out of his chair with grief on his face. “I pushed her repeatedly to marry me, especially after learning that King Louis had ennobled her. This is all my fault.”

Nancy covered her face with one hand as Farah looked with shock at her.

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“The King ennobled you? Was that done publicly?”

“No, Farah. King Louis gave me a letter patent plus a royal safe-conduct in the royal apartments in the Palais-Royal. That ennoblement thing came as a total surprise to me. It happened during the ceremonies to celebrate Louis’ coming of age. It seems that running a few letters between the Queen and d’Artagnan was enough to entice him into wanting to reward my services. I am now the Marquess de Saint-Laurent, with a yearly pension of 9,000 Livres for life.”

Farah couldn’t help throwing her hands up in exasperation then.

“Hell, Nancy, why did you have to tell Monsieur D’Artagnan about time travel? I allowed you to go see periodically Monsieur d’Artagnan, which was already stretching things. You were about the most promising new agent we have and you had to blow everything away like this?”

“Farah,” said Nancy in a weak voice, “I did it because I know that Charles’ word can be trusted and because I love him too much to keep lying to him and give him false hopes. I know that I broke all the regulations on this and am ready to pay the price for it.”

Nancy’s confession, instead of making Farah’s task easier, only made it that much harder. She was not one of those bureaucratic types who could put aside the human factors in a problem and coldly recite regulations. If anything, this case was all about human factors. D’Artagnan, for starters, had stricken her at once as a charismatic and decent man quite removed from the image of the hot-headed duelist one could have of him just from his historical reputation. On the other hand, introducing agents into a time period and expecting them to feel nothing for the persons around them was totally unrealistic, especially since a minimum of interplay was demanded in order to elicit the historical information that their mission was after. Going to a vacant chair made for humans of the 34th Century, she sat down and eyed silently Nancy and Charles for a moment, then spoke softly to her young field agent.

“Tell me how it all came to this, Nancy. Take your time to do it.” Nancy did so, speaking for a good twenty minutes, with Farah interrupting a few times to clear a point with her. At the end of it, Farah looked at Charles, who appeared quite distressed by Nancy’s plight.

“Monsieur d’Artagnan, are such ennoblements a common occurrence in your time?”

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“They are quite common, madame. The buying of letters of nobility is even more common.”

“And how is Nancy regarded by the people at the King’s court?” Charles hesitated for a moment, glancing at Nancy before answering.

“Some want her dead. Others find her fascinating because of her talents, while quite a few can only think about her body. Personally, I find her an extraordinary girl. I just couldn’t live without her.”

“Monsieur d’Artagnan, you should know that history has no place for Nancy at your side. I do not want to demean your love but, unfortunately, history can be pretty inflexible. Even if we throw her out of the Time Patrol she still wouldn’t be allowed to stay with you in the 17th Century. You are unfortunately a man of quite high standing in history, someone whose official history is fairly well known by many people today.”

“Then, she will end up losing everything while I will lose her for good, all because of me?” said Charles, his voice breaking and with tears coming out. Nancy, also in tears, bent sideways to pass an arm around him. With a big lump in her throat, Farah got up and went to face the windows of the office, trying to regain her composure while appearing to look outside.

“Monsieur d’Artagnan, you should know as well that Nancy will lose you anyway, as she will probably outlive you by a wide margin. We in the Time Patrol actually enjoy a lifespan much longer than normal, thanks to advanced medical techniques. Nancy should be able to live well past 200 years.”

D’Artagnan’s reply actually surprised her.

“I would rather die first than have to watch her die, madame. If I have to stop seeing her forever, then at least give her a chance to go on and do what she is good at.” Farah bowed her head while still facing the windows, crushed by the weight of the decision she had to take. She finally turned around to face both Nancy and Charles, her expression grave.

“Monsieur d’Artagnan, your reputation for honor and loyalty is legendary in history. Can you give me your solemn word that you will never tell anyone in your time period about what you saw or heard here? Are you ready to see Nancy only at intervals, discreetly?”

Charles got up from his chair at once and stared back firmly at her.

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“On my honor, I swear that no one will know about all this, madame, ever! As for seeing her at intervals, it is still much better than to lose her for good. I will do whatever is needed to avoid punishment to Nancy.”

“We are not barbarians, monsieur: we do not intend to flog her or something else of the sort. Rather, I will use to the fullest what she has just gained from King Louis XIV and make her our specialist agent for the 17th Century. In return, I expect her to learn from this experience and to mature from it. Nancy, you can now bring back Monsieur d’Artagnan to his time.”

Nancy and Charles stood motionless for a second, not able to believe their ears, then threw themselves into each others arms while shouting their joy. They were still hugging each other when Natai appeared out of thin air in the office, dressed in her customary white robe. All eyes went to her at once, with Charles noting her eerie resemblance with Nancy. Before anyone else could speak, Natai spoke telepathically, her voice echoing inside their heads.

“Love is indeed the greatest thing in Humanity. You decided well in this case, Farah.”

“Thank you, Natai. It was however no easy decision.”

“Which only brings more credit to you.’’

Natai then changed her aspect, turning from the shape of Nancy ‘A’ to that of a luminescent humanoid being of no defined sex that floated silently to Charles, who quickly knelt before her, in a near trance at the sight of the supernatural being.

“You are a good spirit, Charles Ogier de Batz de Castelmore. Be assured that The One will look kindly on you at your death.”

Natai then faded away, making d’Artagnan look with confusion and awe at Nancy.

‘’Was that really your big sister? What is she?’’

‘’What you saw is an angel, Charles, and the soul of my late twin sister is in her.’’

‘’And who is this One she spoke about?’’

‘’You would probably call The One ‘God’. She serves him on this Earth.’’ Charles quickly signed himself at those words, nearly overwhelmed by that revelation. Farah, also quite shaken by the whole episode, looked down at Nancy and Charles and spoke softly to them.

‘’You now have the blessing of no less than The One, on top of mine. You may now return to the 17th Century. On my part, I will return to our main base to pass the news of this.’’

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As Farah hurried out of her office, Ingrid grabbed d’Artagnan’s weapons belt and brought it to Charles.

“Don’t forget your weapons, monsieur. Do you guys need a lift back to the year 1651?”

“No, I will manage by myself. Thanks anyway.” replied Nancy, who then hugged again Charles and disappeared with him in a flash of light.

Their return into Nancy’s room at the inn was much less smooth than their arrival at Le Bourget, with the two of them falling a few centimeters down to the floor with a loud thud. Nancy caught Charles before he could lose his balance, then hugged him for a long kiss. After a good ten seconds, she looked fondly into Charles’ eyes.

“Will you forgive me for lying to you like this for all those weeks, Charles?”

“You have nothing to be forgiven for, Nancy. You only followed your mission directives, as I did follow the directives of the Cardinal during my missions. Just promise me to stay for another month before leaving on your next trip.”

“I promise, Charles. I will then come back to show you our baby.” Charles then hugged Nancy tenderly, as happy as he ever had been.

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Carriage entrance, Hôtel de Brinvilliers, 12 Rue Charles-V, Paris.





CHAPTER 5 – LADY JEANNE D’ORLÉANS




22:45 (Guadeloupe Time)

Sunday, December 20, 1846

The ‘Sweet Dreams’ plantation

Southeast tip of the island of Grande-Terre

The Guadeloupe

Feeling the preoccupation in Pierre as they were about to go to sleep after making love together, Nancy tenderly caressed his cheek in the darkness of their bedroom.

‘’Something is wrong, Pierre?’’

Pierre hesitated for a long moment before answering.

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‘’I don’t know, Jeanne. You still have no sign that you could be pregnant?’’ It was Nancy’s turn to be silent for a moment. Her anticipated joy at being allowed by the Time Patrol to give him a child had gradually turned to confusion, then to uncertainty when more than five months of marriage laced with near daily bouts of sex gave no apparent results. Riddled with worry and remorse, Nancy had used her last training period at the main base of the Time Patrol to pass a complete medical examination. That examination had shown that she was still fertile and fully able to have children. She then had discreetly collected sperm samples from Pierre to have them analyzed. She had cried when the results of those analysis had shown that Pierre d’Orléans was sterile at the age of 36. His spermatozoid count was too low, possibly the result of a past disease he had suffered from while in New Orleans.

‘’No, nothing! Pierre, did you ever make love to one of your black ex-slaves? Don’t be afraid to answer me truthfully: it won’t bother me.’’

‘’Why would you want to know that, Jeanne?’’ asked Pierre, surprised.

‘’Well, if you ever made a baby with a slave girl, this could help point where our problem lay in getting a child, Pierre.’’

Pierre looked at her tenderly, moved by her comprehension. That question in fact had just awakened a painful doubt in his mind.

‘’Yes, I did bed a few of my slave girls in the last few years. None of them became pregnant from me, as far as I know, and they knew that I would have recognized any child I would have conceived with them.’’

‘’And the girls of the Brissac family always proved to be fertile.’’ added Nancy, a lump in her throat. ‘’Pierre, I am afraid that we won’t be able to have a child together.’’ That brought tears to Pierre’s eyes, who then hugged Nancy tight in his arms.

‘’If that’s the case, then it is probably not because of you, Jeanne. God knows that you honored my bed with assiduity and enthusiasm.’’

‘’What will we do then, Pierre?’’

‘’The only thing we can do now, apart from continuing to try: pray God.’’ Pierre concluded that declaration with a tender kiss on Nancy’s lips, who kissed him back with profound love.

15:11 (Guadeloupe Time)

Wednesday, February 10, 1847

The ‘Sweet Dreams’ plantation, the Guadeloupe

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Doctor Lebaron had a downcast expression on his face when he came out of the bedroom where he had just examined Pierre d’Orléans. He found the young and beautiful wife of Pierre in the living room, where Father Marchand was doing his best to reassure her. The couple was well known in Saint-François for their deep, mutual love, on top of their generosity and their kindness towards their black employees. Jeanne d’Orléans got up from her chair the moment Lebaron appeared in the living room, speaking to him in an anxious tone.

‘’What is your diagnostic, Doctor? Pierre will recover, right?’’

‘’Lady Jeanne, I am afraid that the news are bad. Your husband has contracted a type of tropical fever which cannot be treated and is too often fatal. I unfortunately can’t do anything to cure him. I am sorry.’’

Jeanne’s eyes filled at once with tears and she had to sit back down, her shoulders raked by sobs.

‘’My god, no!’’

‘’Be strong, my child.’’ said softly Father Marchand while holding her hands. ‘’God will watch over his soul.’’

Lebaron stayed silent for a while, leaving some time for Jeanne to go over her grief before speaking again.

‘’Lady Jeanne, your husband realizes that he doesn’t have long to live and asked for a notary, in order to update his will.’’

‘’I…I can send our foreman to Saint-François, to go get Mister Tellier there. Could I see Pierre in the meantime?’’

‘’Yes, but don’t make him talk too much: he is burning with fever and is weak.’’

‘’I understand. I will advise our foreman right away, so that he can leave for town, then I will go watch over Pierre. You are of course welcome to stay here as long as needed, Doctor.’’

Jeanne then got up slowly and left the house for a few minutes, returning to the lounge afterwards.

‘’Fernand is on his way with our cart to go get Monsieur Tellier. I will now go see Pierre. If you need anything in the meantime, just ask our maid, Marthe.’’ Lebaron watched the tall and athletic teenager go into Pierre’s bedroom before looking at the priest sitting with him in the lounge.

‘’What a tragedy! This couple was the image of love and happiness.’’

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‘’Indeed! I married Jeanne to Pierre d’Orléans and I must say that it was the best thing that happened to Sire Pierre. If all my flock could have a conjugal life like that of this couple, my parish would be a happy one indeed. I am afraid that the poor Jeanne could end up being broken by her oncoming loss.’’

The notary, George Tellier, arrived at the plantation two hours later and immediately went to see Pierre in his room, his paper, pen and seals with him and with Father Marchand acting as a witness. The notary and the priest stayed in Pierre’s bedroom for what felt like an eternity to Jeanne, who tried to forget her distress by going to prepare supper for her three visitors. Supper was a somber affair indeed, with Jeanne leaving the table early in order to go help her husband eat a soup in bed. Lebaron used that opportunity to ask a question in a low voice to Tellier as they kept eating.

‘’I suppose that Pierre d’Orléans is leaving everything to his wife?’’

‘’Normally, this would be covered by professional confidentiality, but I must say that the last will of Sir Pierre is most simple, especially since he has no children, or business associates for his plantation. He also had no known debts and was in fact quite wealthy, despite living rather modestly in comparison to his revenues. The money that he kept in a locked chest in the strong room of the bank in Saint-François will go to his wife, along with the plantation. Does he really have no possibility of recovering, Doctor?’’

‘’I strongly doubt so, Mister Tellier. I too often had to deal with this type of fever and it nearly always has proven to be fatal. Fortunately, it is not contagious and is transmitted only through the sting of a certain type of insect.’’

‘’So, Lady Jeanne will soon find herself alone in charge of this plantation. I wonder if she will want to stay or to sell the property. The plantation, with its sugar refinery and its rum distillery, is worth quite a sum, on top of being very profitable. Prospective buyers won’t be lacking if Lady Jeanne ever decides to sell it.’’ Father Marchand then joined the conversation, speaking in a low, conspiratorial tone.

‘’There are rumors that Sir Pierre found a few months ago an old pirate treasure with the help of his young wife.’’

That made Lebaron raise an eyebrow.

‘’Oh? Where did you hear that rumor, Father?’’

‘’Let’s say that I have my sources in town.’’ replied the priest, smiling. ‘’Pierre d’Orléans and his wife were once seen at the bank in Saint-François, depositing a

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collection of old, rusty chests. They then went the same day to sell to an antiquary an old rusted sword that Lady Jeanne had found in a submerged cave during one of her frequent swims. You must say that this is enough to make people speculate.’’

‘’There are also stories that say that Lady Jeanne swims nearly naked when she goes to fish on the coast.’’ insinuated Tellier with a knowing smile, making Father Marchand sign himself.

‘’Monsieur Tellier, to eye the wife of another man is a sin. You should go confess yourself.’’

‘’I am only repeating what many are already saying, Father. You must admit that this young girl has made people talk a lot since her arrival nearly a year ago, starting with the torture scars on her torso.’’

‘’She is certainly an uncommon girl.’’ recognized the priest. ‘’She however has a heart of gold and is most generous, something that I can only approve of.’’

The trio continued to exchange stories and news during the rest of the meal, until Jeanne returned to the lounge. After further comforting Jeanne, Father Marchand left for Saint-François with Tellier, using the cart driven by the plantation’s foreman. Doctor Lebaron, on his part, made another examination of Pierre d’Orléans before going to bed in the guests’ bedroom, leaving Jeanne alone with her husband.

As Lebaron had expected, Pierre d’Orléans’ condition deteriorated gradually, to the point of making Father Marchand return two days later to be ready to give him the last rites. Just before noon on Friday, February 12 of 1847, Pierre d’Orléans passed away in the arms of a Jeanne nearly mad with grief.

09:38 (Guadeloupe Time)

Tuesday, May 11, 1847

The ‘Sweet Dreams’ plantation

The Guadeloupe

Alerted by one of her black workers, Nancy was standing on the porch of the residence when a small carriage stopped in front of her and let out a thin man dressed in a distinguished suit. The man, who held a leather briefcase in his left hand, saluted her with his top hat.

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‘’Lady Jeanne d’Orléans? My name is Victor Schoelcher, deputy for the Guadeloupe at the National Assembly. I was told that your plantation is for sale.’’

‘’You were told right, Mister Schoelcher.’’ said Nancy while climbing down the steps of the porch to go greet her visitor. ‘’I heard good things about your work at the National Assembly. You have already done a lot for the cause of the abolition of slavery in the colonies.’’

‘’And I am hoping soon to convince the National Assembly in Paris to pass an act abolishing for good this abomination, Lady Jeanne.’’

Nancy smiled to him, favorably impressed by the man, and showed him the main entrance of the residence.

‘’You would then make me quite happy, Mister Schoelcher. I was starting to despair of finding a good, honest man worthy of buying my plantation. But let’s go inside, so you can refresh yourself.’’

‘’Thank you, Lady Jeanne.’’

Schoelcher followed Nancy inside, taking place in the sofa offered by her in the lounge. Nancy then served him a cup of fruity white wine before sitting beside him.

‘’So, you are interested in buying this plantation, Mister Schoelcher?’’

‘’Along with its sugar refinery and its rum distillery, if they are also for sale.’’

‘’They effectively are, monsieur.’’

‘’Could I ask you first the reasons why you want to sell, Lady Jeanne? Your property seems to have resisted very well to last month’s earthquake, contrary to many other plantations.’’

‘’Please, call me simply Jeanne, Mister Schoelcher. My reasons for selling are simple. With the death of my husband last February, I do not wish to live in the Guadeloupe anymore and want to go rebuild my life in Paris. I however want to find a buyer who will treat well my workers before leaving the Guadeloupe. As for the good state of my plantation, I owe it to the fact that I spent money to maintain it adequately, while too many of my neighbors look only for short term profits, exploiting their workers and using their installations to full capacity while skimping on maintenance.’’

‘’I was able to see that by myself while visiting other plantations, Jeanne. Would it be possible to visit in detail your plantation before speaking business further?’’

‘’But of course, Mister Schoelcher! Once you are finished with your cup, I will give you the grand tour. We will then start by the rum distillery.’’

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12:09 (Guadeloupe Time)

The ‘Sweet Dreams’ plantation

Victor Schoelcher used his handkerchief to wipe out the sweat from his forehead as he sat back with a sigh of relief in the lounge’s sofa. The Sun was blazing hard on the Guadeloupe today and he had just walked for over two hours. In contrast, Jeanne seemed to be still fresh and full of energy, while her suntanned skin only added to the impression of health radiating from her.

‘’I must say that you seem to be administering a model plantation, Jeanne. Your workers also seemed to be both happy and motivated. You certainly would be in your right to ask the maximum possible from your property.’’

The teenager, who had deeply impressed Schoelcher with her maturity and with her technical knowledge during the tour of the plantation, smiled to him while sitting at the other end of the sofa.

‘’Mister Schoelcher, while I could be as hard about business as any man, I only want to get an honest price for my plantation. My husband left me a small fortune and luxury doesn’t attract me. In truth, once installed in Paris, I intend to create a charitable society, using the money I got from my husband to help the downtrodden, the poor and the abused.’’

‘’A most commendable goal, Jeanne. As a National Assembly deputy, I would certainly be happy to help you in that project. So, how much would you be asking for your property, including its stocks of rum and refined sugar?’’ Nancy, who had studied with care the estate and commodities markets of the time, answered him at once.

‘’One hundred thousand francs4 for the installations, the land and the stocks of rum and sugar. My workers are free men, so are not for sale. You will have to hire them on wages.’’

Schoelcher calculated furiously in his head the value of what he had seen. Jeanne’s offer seemed more than fair to him. As for the funds needed to buy and operate the plantation, he had plenty of liquidities available to him right now.



4 The French franc of the time was worth about twenty American cents (1800s), while an English pound sterling was worth 25 francs. One French Napoleon gold coin was worth twenty francs.

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‘’Your price is a very honest one, Jeanne. You have a deal. I will come back tomorrow with a notary, in order to conclude the deal and to organize the payment.’’

‘’Excellent! You will be staying for lunch, I hope?’’

‘’With pleasure, Jeanne!’’

Victor Schoelcher then spent an agreeable hour eating and conversing with Jeanne, discussing mostly about the operations of the plantation and the current market for rum and sugar. That conversation convinced the deputy that he was dealing with an extremely intelligent girl who was well educated and had an uncommon strength of character. Frankly impressed by Jeanne, Schoelcher left the plantation at the end of the afternoon, going back to Saint-François in his carriage with a promise to come back the next day.

Schoelcher effectively came back next morning, accompanied by notary Tellier and carrying a bank draft for 100,000 francs. Once the selling act was signed, Jeanne presented him to her foreman and to her black workers and their families, watching discreetly his reactions at the contact of the ex-slaves. Schoelcher however proved to be as tolerant and kind as his reputation said, to her relief. On their part, the black workers, being understandably nervous at losing such a good employer as Jeanne, relaxed noticeably once they met their new boss. The sad truth was that too many French settlers in the Guadeloupe were abusive, even brutal, towards their black workers. The workers genuinely loved Jeanne, while she was sad to have to leave them. The plantation-wide party that she organized that night to raise the morale of her workers quickly turned into a tearful reunion. Later, before going to sleep that night, Nancy went to visit Pierre d’Orléans’ grave in the small cemetery of the plantation. Her tears then were genuine and plentiful.

The day Nancy left the plantation, on Friday, May 28, was another occasion for tearful hugs and kisses between Nancy and her workers. She finally had to climb on the cart driven by her foreman, with Victor Schoelcher bidding her goodbye with Gérard Bussière, the man chosen by him to manage the plantation. Nancy’s throat was tight as she waved at the crowd of ex-slaves one last time.

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Once in the port of Saint-François, Nancy went to the local bank to retrieve there the two solid, locked chests which contained the savings accumulated by Pierre d’Orléans as well as the pirate treasure that had sparked so many rumors in the last months. The fortune in gold and gems of that treasure, which had a monetary value at the time of over four million francs, really came from a pirate wreck dating from the 16th Century. However, that treasure had been retrieved from the bottom of the Caribbean Sea by the Time Patrol, to be relocated discreetly in a coastal grotto, where Jeanne had ‘found’ it and signaled it to Pierre. Such treasures recuperated from hundreds of old ship wrecks around the World were often used by the Time Patrol to fund the operations of its field agents in the past. In fact, more gold and jewels retrieved from the sea were already set aside to further fatten the startup funds to be used by Jeanne d’Orléans once in Paris to create her future d’Orléans Social Foundation, the ultimate goal of Nancy’s mission.

The night of May 28, Jeanne d’Orléans officially climbed aboard the three-mast ship CAMARGUE with her luggage and her heavy chests. Early next morning, the CAMARGUE left its quay with the high tide and slowly went out of the small port of Saint-François, heading for the port of Le Havre and France.

13:52 (Paris Time)

Thursday, July 1, 1847

Port of Le Havre, France

Nancy, like the 46 other passengers of the CAMARGUE, was up on the weather deck of the ship, leaning against the siding and observing the port of Le Havre during the docking maneuvers. Dozens of other cargo ships, many with mixed sail and steam propulsion, were anchored in the port’s basin or were docked, loading or unloading cargo and passengers. The quays were backed by a long façade of warehouses and five-story brick or stone residential buildings, while a small railway station that had been recently built was situated at the limit of the port area. The port of Le Havre was itself situated in the estuary of the Seine River, which flowed down from Paris and further on.

A ramp was finally put in place between the quay and the top deck of the CAMARGUE but, before any of the passengers could go down to firm ground, a group of

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French customs officers and policemen climbed aboard to inspect the passengers and the ship’s cargo. Nancy waited patiently her turn to be inspected with her luggage, smiling politely to the custom officer who finally came to her to ask for her papers. The official stiffened and looked at her with new deference when he read her name in her passport.

‘’Lady Jeanne d’Orléans? You are from the royal family, miss?’’

‘’My husband was a cousin of King Louis Philippe, monsieur. Unfortunately, he died recently from a fever in the Guadeloupe.’’

The custom officer then bowed low to her while giving her back her passport.

‘’My sincere condolences, Lady Jeanne. I am sorry to have importuned you like this. You may disembark with your luggage.’’

‘’Thank you, my good man.’’

Enlisting the help of four solid sailors to carry her luggage and chests down to the quay, Nancy waved at one of the carts and carriages waiting nearby for customers. Once her things were loaded up on the cart that came forward, Nancy gave a generous tip to the four sailors before climbing in the cart and sitting besides the driver, smiling to him.

‘’To the train station, please.’’

‘’Right away, miss.’’ replied politely the graying man before urging his horse forward. The trip to the railway station took less than ten minutes but it gave a chance to Nancy to get a good estimate of the traffic passing through Le Havre. It also gave her a chance to take some films through the micro-camera hidden in her hat as she watched the activity around her. She could not help smile on seeing the train that was waiting at the station. Both the engine and its wagons were of primitive manufacture, the French railroad industry being still in its infancy. The engine could not have rated more than a few dozen horsepower and the passenger wagons were open to the winds and to the ample black smoke from the coal-fired engine. The cart stopped temporarily in front of the railway station’s office to allow Nancy to go buy a ticket for Paris and to requisition the help of two of the station’s baggage handlers. A bit more than an hour later, Nancy’s train left the station in a thick cloud of black smoke and steam, its steel wheels screeching under the effort.

For a modern traveler, the 228 kilometer trip would have been slow and uncomfortable, with the passengers often having to breathe the black smoke from the engine while sitting on hard wooden benches. For Nancy, that was a precious

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opportunity to document a trip in the dawn of rail transport. She had however lived through much worse and endured with patience the trip, conversing with a distinguished English couple who had arrived from London and was going like her to Paris. Too happy to be able to pass time with someone who could speak English, the couple even invited Nancy to share the content of their picnic basket with them.

The train finally arrived in Paris as the night was falling. On a common accord, Nancy and the English couple rented the services of a carriage to go to a good hotel that had been recommended to the couple by a relative in England. Nancy sighed with relief when she was finally able to soak in a hot bath in her room of the Westminster Hotel, her precious chests secure in the strong room of the hotel.



09:27 (Paris Time)

Monday, July 5, 1847

Hôtel de Brinvilliers, 12 Rue Charles-V

Le Marais district, Paris

France

The man waiting in front of the carriage

entrance of the large town house bowed politely

to Nancy when she showed up, saluting her with

his top hat. While the man wore a good quality

suit, Nancy wore a fine gown and an expensive

set of jewels.

‘’Lady Jeanne d’Orléans, I presume?’’

‘’Correct, mister! I came here Saturday and told your keeper that I was interested in buying this town house. Would it be possible to visit the property, Mister…?’’

‘’Jean Barrot, real estate agent with the Bank of France, which is the present owner of this residence.’’

Nancy gave Barrot a surprised look then.

‘’This town house was repossessed by your bank, Mister Barrot?’’

‘’Yes, Lady Jeanne. Unfortunately, the economy is not going well these days and the last occupant of this residence went bankrupt a few months ago. The Bank of

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France then repossessed the building as partial payment of that occupant’s debts, but prospective buyers have been quite rare since then.’’

Nancy nodded her head in comprehension. In fact, she knew in detail the history of this residence, called in French a ‘hôtel particulier’, and had already chosen it as her future residence in Paris. The last three days spent roaming Paris and visiting other residences on sale had only been to support her cover story.

‘’I see! Please show the way.’’

Barrot knocked on the pedestrian door inserted in the right-hand door of the large carriage gate, making the keeper of the property open it after a few seconds. The keeper was a big, solid man with a knife in his belt and his main task was probably to prevent squatters from occupying the residence. After a few words with Barrot, the keeper stepped aside and let him and Nancy enter, closing back and locking the door behind them.

Walking twelve paces down the tunnel formed through the town house’s façade by the carriage entrance, Nancy emerged into a large, paved inner courtyard bordered on both sides by wings of the residence. The right side wing had three large garage doors for carriages and horses at ground level, while the left side wing was lined by many windows and three entrance doors. The town house proper thus formed a ‘U’ surrounding the courtyard of three sides, with the back of the courtyard occupied by a garden and closed off by a high stone wall marking the limit of the property, which was sandwiched between other residences and buildings. The stone building had two floors, plus an attic level with dormer windows. The upper floor clearly had a higher than normal ceiling, judging from the height of the windows, and probably lodged the master bedrooms and the various reception rooms. It was also immediately apparent to Nancy that the building and its courtyard had been neglected for decades and would need some serious renovation work. Jean Barrot noticed her expression as she was detailing the state of the town house and gave her a reassuring smile.

‘’Don’t worry, Lady Jeanne: this residence is still very solid.’’

‘’Maybe, but it will need at the least a serious cleanup, plus new coats of paint to the door and window frames. I hope that the roof doesn’t leak.’’



‘’You will be able to judge by yourself, Lady Jeanne. This way, please.’’

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Entering the building with Barrot via a door of the façade section opening on the courtyard, Nancy found herself in a large vestibule occupied by a grand, curved marble staircase with forged iron railings leading to the upper floor. She also saw near the foot of the staircase a door that had to lead to the basement, judging by the angle of the passage visible past the open door. The main staircase would have been magnificent if not for the fact that it was covered with dust and dirt and with rust on the railing, while plaster was falling off the walls and ceiling. Nancy looked at all that with true sadness.

‘’What a waste! To neglect like this a building with so much history in it.’’

‘’You know the history of the Hôtel de Brinvilliers, miss?’’

‘’Of course, my dear Mister Barrot! Who doesn’t know the story of the infamous, sinister Marquess of Brinvilliers, to whom this residence belonged. She was executed in 1676 for having poisoned members of her family as well as many other nobles and big bourgeois. The building does date from the early 17th Century, right?’’

‘’Correct! It was completed in 1630, when many big nobles started residing in the district of Le Marais. Let’s start the visit with the ground floor.’’ Passing through a door located near the door to the basement, Barrot led Nancy into a large kitchen that was nearly empty, save for a large fireplace, an iron stove and a baking oven. Like the vestibule, the room was full of dust and spider webs and looked utterly abandoned. Barrot took a few steps while pointing features around him as he spoke.

‘’This is the kitchen. The fireplace, oven and stove, while old, are still functional. The rest of the west wing on this level contains a pantry, a laundry room, six guest rooms or suites and a bathroom.’’

Nancy, guided by Barrot, took a good ten minutes to visit and inspect carefully the ground floor of the west wing. While dirty and dusty, the wing seemed to be structurally sound, except for the decaying wall plaster. The rooms were however utterly empty of furniture; it having probably been sold to help pay back part of the debt owed by the previous owner. Then going back out in the courtyard, they crossed the fifteen meter-wide paved expanse, which widened to twenty meters at the level of its back half, and entered the eastern wing. Nancy found in the stables a collection of hay balls, some old buckets and a pile of horse blankets. The two adjacent garage stalls, meant for carriages, were however completely empty. Using the communicating doors of the stalls, Barrot led her next to the south-east section of the façade facing the Charles-V street.

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She saw there three rooms of various sizes, one of them measuring a good eight by six meters and containing a large fireplace and an iron stove. Like the other rooms she had already visited, the place was utterly devoid of furniture. Barrot made a gesture with both hands while describing the larger room.

‘’This is where the maids and servants took their breaks and ate their meals. The adjacent room giving on the street was the watchman’s room, while there is a bathroom for the domestic staff at the back. If you don’t have questions about the ground floor, we could now go visit the upper floor.’’

‘’Go ahead, Mister Barrot.’’ replied Nancy after a quick look around the three rooms in this section. They then went out by a door of the watchman’s room that gave access to the tunnel formed by the carriage entrance, crossing to the west wing side entrance and ending back in the main vestibule of the grand staircase. While climbing the marble steps of the staircase, Nancy inspected visually the walls of the staircase well, which was lit by a large window giving a view of the courtyard and by a single window giving on the street. Like in the rest of the building, the plaster was falling off the walls and would have to be completely redone.

Setting foot on the upper level of the staircase, which twisted yet twice more to go to the attic level, Nancy followed Barrot through a set of double doors giving access to the west wing upper floor. The ceiling on this level was over four meter high, adding a lot to the volume of the upper floor. Barrot then showed her a fairly large room which contained a fireplace.

‘’This was the reception lounge proper. To your left, you will see two doors. The nearest door leads to the private boudoir and the library, which themselves communicate with the two master bedrooms. The other door gives on a staircase that goes down directly to the kitchen.’’

‘’Let me look first at the boudoir, library and master bedrooms of the façade section before visiting the west wing, Mister Barrot.’’ said Nancy after looking around the lounge.

‘’As you wish, Lady Jeanne.’’

Going through the nearest door, she ended up in a relatively small room with a window that gave a view down on the Charles-V street. An old iron stove sat in one corner but there were again no furniture present. Despite its small size, Nancy liked at once the boudoir: It was strategically situated at the corner angle of the west and south wings,

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while it was isolated enough to give someone a place to work in peace. The adjacent library, which walls were still lined with old, dusty bookshelves, albeit empty, was a wide, six by five meters room, with double doors giving on the grand staircase well and a single door linking it to a large bedroom with fireplace. They then crossed into the bedroom.

‘’The master bedroom.’’ announced Barrot while sweeping one hand around. ‘’Behind that corner, you will find two large closets, while this door near the corner leads into the master bathroom.’’

‘’Not bad at all!’’ said Nancy with appreciation as she scanned the big, L-shaped bedroom, which had to cover about 35 square meters and was lit by two windows. After going around the corner to examine the two storage closets, she went into the master bathroom, where she found a large tile-covered bathtub and a marble counter with a sink. There was also a toilet chair, with a bucket sitting under it, but no actual plumbing except for lead water drainage pipes for the bathtub and the sink. Barrot shrugged his shoulders on seeing the face she made at the primitive sanitary facilities.

‘’Please understand that this residence was built in the 17th Century, when toilets were limited to simple chamber pots. However, the more recent owners installed a few toilet pits which go down to the sewers. You still have to bring up water with buckets, though.’’

‘’I see!’’ said simply Nancy, who was making a mental note about the need to completely renovate the sanitary and heating installations, in order to bring some modern comforts to the residence. Fortunately, she knew about an English sanitary engineer who had started to market sanitary appliances, including flush toilets, in this time period. She followed Barrot through the second door of the master bathroom, ending in the guest bedroom. While smaller in surface than the master bedroom, that room was still big, with its own fireplace and wide storage closets. From there, they went into the long hallway connecting the west and east wings and running along the aft façade of the south wing.

‘’If you wish, Lady Jeanne, we could have a quick look at the two guest lounges in the east wing before visiting in detail the west wing.’’

‘’Please go ahead, Mister Barrot.’’

Barrot, taking a few steps to a double door leading into the east wing, then showed her a side door.

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‘’This is the access door to the servants’ staircase, which connects the servant’s lounge on the ground floor with the servants’ rooms in the attic. It thus allows them to go around and do their chores without infringing on the guests’ and masters’ privacy.’’ Nancy nodded while hiding her resentment at this sign of how lowly the domestic staff had been treated by its masters through the centuries. Social and sexual equality as known in the later 20th Century still were mostly empty words in this time period, despite the rapid technological advances being done in the mid 19th Century, which knew steam power and was on the verge of developing the widespread use of electricity. Still following Barrot, she quickly visited two mid-sized lounges, each with a fireplace, before returning in the communications hallway and going back to the reception lounge in the west wing. From there, they stepped into a ten meter-wide room well lit by tall windows and sporting a large fireplace. The floor was made of polished wood, which was however in bad need of maintenance.

‘’The main dining room.’’ announced Barrot. ‘’It is big enough to comfortably seat at least eighteen persons for dinner. The hidden staircase to our left leads down to the ground floor and to the kitchen level, while stairs also lead up to the servants’ quarters. Next door, we have the ballroom, the largest room of the residence.’’ The ballroom indeed proved to be huge, measuring about eleven by ten meters and being well illuminated by a total of five tall windows, while a big fireplace was meant to heat the wide volume during Winter. Nancy nodded her head slowly, suitably impressed by the ballroom.

‘’I do like playing music and singing. This will be perfect to entertain my future guests.’’

‘’I am happy to see that you like all this, Lady Jeanne. At the back of the ballroom, we have another guest suite, a large one with a private bathroom. We could then visit the attic level, even though it contains only the servants’ quarters.’’

‘’I would still want to visit that level, Mister Barrot. The welfare of my future domestic staff is important to me.’’

‘’As you wish, Lady Jeanne.’’

Using a hidden staircase at the back of the ballroom, they climbed wooden stairs to the attic level, which proved a lot more cramped than the upper floor and in which finishing touches had visibly been neglected, with many roof structures left uncovered. The 22 servants’ bedrooms she saw on that level, while each illuminated by a dormer

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window, were cramped, nearly claustrophobic. Nancy firmly resolved then to do something about this, and soon. As Barrot announced to her that the visit was completed, she smiled to him while shaking her index.

‘’You forgot the basement, Mister Barrot.’’

‘’Uh, you will find only dust and humidity there, Lady Jeanne.’’

‘’Maybe, but it will also allow me to inspect the state of the residence’s foundations.’’

The young real estate agent made a face at that.

‘’True! I will however have first to go borrow an oil lamp from the watchman before we go down there.’’

Going down to the ground floor with Nancy, he went to see briefly the watchman, returning with a lit oil lamp and smiling to her.

‘’We will use the stairs of the vestibule, near the kitchen.’’

That stone staircase proved to be both dark and sinister, smelling of molds. The light from the oil lamp soon revealed to Nancy a long cave extending in two directions in the shape of an ‘L’. Stone pillars were lined up at about every four meters as far as she could see, which wasn’t much really. Piled around the stone pillars was an eclectic assortment of old rotting furniture, crates and wooden chests, the lot covered by a thick coat of dust, rat droppings and spiders’ webs. The air was also fetid, making Barrot grimace.

‘’As you can see, Lady Jeanne, this is not the most attractive part of this residence.’’

‘’Oh, I was not expecting a reception lounge, Mister Barrot.’’ said Nancy in an amused tone before going to the nearest stone wall to inspect it. Closely followed by Barrot and his oil lamp, she methodically inspected the stone walls and pillars of the foundations, which ran for about 25 meters under the south façade and for 35 meters under the west wing. The west wing foundations however proved much wider than the ones of the south wing, with double rows of stone pillars compared to a single row under the south wing. The total volume of space was actually very significant and, while the place lacked proper ventilation at this time, Nancy could see some useful future use for this basement level.

‘’Well, the foundations seem to be in a very good state, considering their age, Mister Barrot. Let’s go back to the ground level.’’

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Jean Barrot let out a sigh of relief once they were back in the ground level vestibule and quickly slapped away the dust and spiders’ webs that had fallen on his suit. He then gave Nancy a typical salesman’s smile.

‘’So, Lady Jeanne, are you interested by this property?’’

‘’Definitely! It will be perfect for my needs…if the price is right.’’

‘’Excellent! The published sales price is 180,000 francs for both the building and the lot, a truly good deal.’’

Nancy at once threw him a skeptical look.

‘’A good deal, 180,000 francs? That is three times what this residence cost when brand new, if I can go by the price of 58,000 livres paid by Robert de Frémont in 1672. Even when taking into account the inflation since the 17th Century, which basically doubled the price, your offer is about 50% too high, and this without even taking into account the age of the building and the need for extensive renovations.’’ Jean Barrot looked at her with surprise, taken off balance by her in-depth knowledge about this property. He however still attempted to defend his position.

‘’But, the prices of property lots in Paris has risen a lot since, Lady Jeanne. I however concede that the property is in need of some renovations. I thus am ready to lower my price to 160,000 francs.’’

‘’I offer 120,000 francs, and I am being generous.’’

‘’Uh, 140,000 francs. I really can’t get lower than that.’’

Nancy made of show of thinking about his offer for a moment before smiling to him and presenting her right hand for a shake. In reality, she would have paid about any price to get this specific property, which would become crucial to her future projects.

‘’Deal!’’

‘’You won’t regret your decision, Lady Jeanne. We now only have to discuss the financing of this sale.’’

‘’What financing, Mister Barrot? I am ready to pay cash for this property. Prepare the sales act for tomorrow and I will go to your bank then, to both pay for this property and to make an important deposit in gold and gems.’’

‘’We will be ready for you, Lady Jeanne. Our watchman will stay at his post until you are able to take effective possession of the property, and this to prevent squatters from occupying your new house. The times are hard these days and there is unfortunately a lot of vagrants in Paris right now.’’

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Barrot took a minute to speak with the watchman, giving him additional instructions before leaving the town house and letting Nancy alone in front of the carriage entrance. She looked with pride at the façade of her new residence, happy with her acquisition. Her mind was already on the various renovation and improvement works that she wanted to make in order to restore the town house to its past splendor. Her heart particularly warmed up at the thought of all the good that her future charitable foundation was going to do from this building in the near future.

‘’Great things will be done here indeed.’’ she whispered to herself.

The next morning, a bit after the opening of the main branch and head office of the Bank of France, the two gendarmes on guard at the entrance of the bank stiffened instinctively when four big men, near giants, climbed down from a chariot that had just stopped in front of the bank. A tall and pretty teenage girl wearing a high quality city gown and who had just arrived in a small carriage then joined the four men as they took out two apparently heavy chests from the back of their chariots. The driver of the chariot, a young man of medium size, stayed with his vehicle as the teenager and the four mountains of muscles carrying the two chests climbed the stairs to the entrance of the bank. One of the gendarmes then interposed himself in front of the teenage girl, who was holding a fair-sized wooden box in her hands. He however kept his tone polite.

‘’Excuse me, mademoiselle, but I must ensure that you and your four helpers are not armed. Could I see the content of your box and of your chests?’’

‘’But of course, my good man! I was in fact coming here to deposit my fortune in this bank. To see it so well guarded reassures me.’’

The girl then opened the cover of her box to let the gendarme look inside it. The latter felt a rush of blood go to his head on seeing the dozens of big polished emeralds contained in the box. He however managed not to exclaim himself and nodded his head before going to inspect the two chests. He suddenly started sweating at the sight of the gold bars filling the chests.

‘’Uh, everything is okay. You may enter the bank, miss.’’

‘’Thank you!’’

The gendarme watched the small group enter the bank with its chests before exchanging a bemused glance with his comrade.

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‘’Good God! I have never seen such a fortune at once. This girl is easily a multi-millionaire. She did well to hire those big men.’’

‘’Yeah! Did you notice the one with the long scar on one cheek?’’

‘’You bet! He could scare away the worst criminals.’’

Followed closely by Jack Crawford, Otto Skorzeni, Fernand Brunet and Ken Dows with their two chests full of gold bars, Nancy went to a service wicket that was presently free of customers and politely saluted the cashier with a nod of her head.

‘’Good morning, monsieur. I am here to make an important deposit and to pay for a property I bought from your bank yesterday. I believe that your director will want to see me.’’

‘’Uh, just a moment, miss.’’

After excusing himself, the cashier left his wicket and went to a private office located behind the service counter. He soon came back out with an overweight man wearing a large graying moustache. The latter crossed on the customers’ side of the counter to come to Nancy, bowing in front of her.

‘’Miss, I am Charles de Pointcarré, director of this bank. What could I do for you this morning?’’

‘’Let me present myself first, monsieur: Lady Jeanne d’Orléans. I came to open an account and make in it a large deposit, on top of paying for the buying of the Hôtel de Brinvilliers, which I visited with Mister Barrot yesterday. These men are escorting my gold.’’

The director gave a cautious look at the four powerful men before looking back at Nancy.

‘’In that case, please follow me with your men and your chests, Lady Jeanne.’’ The group then crossed behind the service counter and went to the director’s office, where Pointcarré offered a chair to Nancy.

‘’Please sit down, Lady Jeanne. I will go get Mister Barrot.’’

‘’Thank you, monsieur.’’

The director then left for a minute, to return and sit behind his desk.

‘’Could I see some identity papers, miss?’’

‘’Certainly, Monsieur de Pointcarré! Here is my passport as well as my marriage certificate. Unfortunately, my husband died last February from a tropical fever in the Guadeloupe and I then decided to return to France. Here is his death certificate as well.’’

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The director examined carefully the three documents presented by Nancy, to then return them to her, apparently satisfied.

‘’So, you came here to deposit your fortune in our bank, Lady Jeanne. You chose well.’’

‘’I believe so as well, monsieur. I would like first to have the value of my two chests and of my jewel box evaluated with precision. Then, I will deposit the majority of that sum in a savings account, with the rest put in a regular account. I have with me gold bars and polished emeralds.’’

‘’And could I ask you the origin of that gold and those emeralds, Lady Jeanne?’’

‘’You can, monsieur! Part of my gold comes from the sale of the plantation in the Guadeloupe that I inherited from my husband, while the rest comes from a pirates’ treasure found in a coastal cave on the boundaries of our plantation.’’ The director’s eyebrows rose in interest at the words ‘pirates’ treasure’.

‘’Hum, quite an interesting story indeed, Lady Jeanne. Let me go get someone for the evaluation.’’

Leaving again his office, the director came back with a small, thin man wearing round spectacles.

‘’If your men could follow Monsieur Lafleur with their chests, he will weigh and calculate the value of your gold, so that it could be credited to your account. As well, our associate jeweler should be here soon.’’

Nancy nodded her head and made a sign to Otto Skorzeni, who grabbed with Fernand Brunet the handles of one of the chests and picked it up to follow the accountant out of the office, accompanied by Ken Dows and Jack Crawford, who carried the second chest. The director then started filling the paperwork needed for Nancy to open a savings account and a regular account, the lot in the name of Jeanne d’Orléans. Those procedures were nearly completed when Jean Barrot showed up with the sales contract for the Hôtel de Brinvilliers. Nancy had just signed the contract when the accountant in charge of evaluating her gold bars knocked on the door of the office, passing his head inside once invited in.

‘’Monsieur de Pointcarré, the weighing of the gold of Lady Jeanne is now completed. It is worth 3,206,800 francs.’’

De Pointcarré opened his mouth, stunned by that number, then noted the sum quoted by Lafleur before smiling to Nancy.

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‘’Well, I believe that your credit will be solid indeed, Lady Jeanne. How much of this sum do you want to put in your new savings account?’’

‘’Three million francs. What will be left after paying for my new residence will go in my regular account. The value of my emeralds will also go in my regular account, once evaluated of course.’’

‘’Our expert jeweler should be here soon, Lady Jeanne. In the meantime, let’s seal this sales act, so that I could give you the keys to your new property.’’

The said jeweler showed up a few minutes after Nancy was handed the keys to the Hôtel de Brinvilliers by the director. The expert opened wide eyes at the sight of the big polished emeralds contained in Nancy’s box.

‘’Colombian emeralds, and of top quality. At first sight, I would say that you have here a the least two million francs worth of emeralds in this box.’’ Setting up a precision weight scale, a magnifying lens and measuring calipers , the jeweler took about one hour to examine with care the emeralds while Nancy patiently sipped a coffee and conversed with the director. He finally raised his nose from the last emerald he had examined and smiled to Nancy.

‘’Lady Jeanne, you have here 266 top grade Colombian emeralds. I am offering you 2,677,000 francs for the lot. Your biggest emerald was worth by itself 43,000 francs and would be worthy of a queen. Do you want to sell them all and credit them to your accounts, or would you like to keep a few in order to have some jewels made for you?’’

‘’I will credit them to my regular account, monsieur. I still have more gems and gold in my possession anyway. I will however take 50,000 francs out of that sum in cash: I will be needing to pay for extensive renovations to my new residence, plus will have to buy furniture for it.’’

The director swallowed hard on hearing the value of the emeralds: Jeanne d’Orléans had just become one of his richest customers. Making a few quick calculations, he adjusted the value of the two accounts in Jeanne’s name, then went to get 50,000 francs in gold and silver coins for her, as French paper money was still a few years away in the future. When everything was done, he got up from his chair and shook hands with Nancy.

‘’It was a true pleasure to welcome you as a customer, Lady Jeanne. Welcome to Paris!’’

‘’Thank you, Monsieur de Pointcarré.’’

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Nancy, accompanied by the director to the main entrance, then left the bank with her four escorts and her heavy bag of gold and silver. Pointcarré shook slowly his head while watching her leave.

‘’So young, yet so rich. She would make a hell of a marriage prospect. All the gigolos in Paris will be after her.’’

After her visit to the bank, Nancy then returned to the Marais District, where she roamed the streets while passing the word that she was looking for workers and maids in order to renovate and clean her new residence. With the widespread unemployment that was devastating the French economy of the time, she quickly found herself with more hands than she really needed. However, in line with the charitable vocation of her mission, she hired nearly everyone who showed up at the Hôtel de Brinvilliers in the afternoon, offering them wages which were quite inflated for this period.

The 63 men and women whom she ended hiring and who showed up on Wednesday morning were promptly split into small work groups and then dispersed around the large town house by Nancy, who also distributed tools and equipment bought the previous day. Nancy then directed and supervised them, but always showed them politeness and consideration during the three days that the renovation work went on. She used those days as well to talk individually with her workers, evaluating their competences and their character and learning to know them, while physically helping them in their work from time to time. On Saturday afternoon, after thanking and paying her workers before sending them home, Nancy kept with her six women and four men, assembling them as a group in the courtyard. She scanned in turn their faces before speaking in a friendly tone.

‘’My friends, it is obvious that I will need a domestic staff to keep such a large residence running. During the last three days, I was able to see the quality of your work and your degree of initiative, which made you stand out from the other workers. I am ready to offer you permanent positions as my employees, at the same daily salary that I gave during the renovation work, meaning three francs per day, plus food, lodging, work clothes and medical care. What do you say to that?’’

‘’Lady Jeanne,’’ said Leila Benchetrit, a young Algerian woman, ‘’working for you would make me very happy. What position are you offering me?’’

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‘’That of assistant cook, under Charlotte Truffaut. Charlotte, would you in turn accept to work for me as my head cook?’’

‘’With great pleasure, Lady Jeanne.’’ answered the portly woman.

‘’Well, this brings me to a particular point. If you are to become my employees, then I will expect you all to simply call me Jeanne. I may be rich, but you are my equals in the eyes of God, like all other human beings. Understood?’’

‘’Yes, Jeanne!’’ replied in concert her seven employees, making her nod her head in approbation.

‘’Excellent! Go home now and rest well, as we will be quite busy on Monday: we will have a lot to do to furnish and decorate this residence.’’

20:39 (Paris Time)

Friday, July 16, 1847

Quai des Célestin, Right Shore of the Seine River Paris

Nancy, returning to her residence after a visit to the Left Shore, suddenly saw in the growing darkness a small group of men surrounding a lone silhouette crouched against a stone wall near the shore of the Seine. Turning her left ear towards the group, she listened up via the directional microphone implanted in her ear, hearing men’s voices that seemed to mock the one crouched down. Not sure of what was happening, Nancy nonetheless decided to go see what was going on: this part of the Right Shore had a rather bad reputation. As she was approaching at a quick walk, she started to hear the voice of a girl or young woman. She thus accelerated further her pace as the girl’s voice took a begging tone. Nancy arrived at the top of the stone stairs leading down to the shoreline’s sidewalk as one of the men brutally forced the girl to get up.

‘’Are you going to finally obey me, or will I have to teach you a lesson?’’

‘’LEAVE HER ALONE, NOW!’’

Nancy’s shout surprised the three men, who turned around to face her. The man who had grabbed the girl, a stocky man wearing a beard and dressed in rough clothes, laughed on seeing Nancy, who was now quickly climbing down the stairs towards him.

‘’Look at that, guys: a second girl to entertain us tonight.’’

‘’And a well to do girl on top of that.’’ added one of the two other men, who wore a sailor’s outfit. ‘’Her purse must be quite fat.’’

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Nancy did not reply to that, having just decided what she would do. As the man in the sailor’s outfit stepped forward to grab her by one arm, she quickly pivoted on one heel, delivering a swept high kick. Hit on the left temple, the sailor was projected sideways and fell on the pavement, knocked out cold. His nearest companion, frozen by surprise, then got a fist in the plexus that made him crumble to his knees, his breath taken out. Seeing that, the man who had brutalized the girl took a knife out of his belt and gave a murderous look to Nancy.

‘’You are going to regret not having minded your own business, bitch!’’ Nancy waited for him to step forward to strike her, then grabbed his right wrist with her left hand, twisting and crushing it and making the man scream with pain as her grip broke his wrist bones.

‘’This is the last time that you will abuse a girl, you bastard!’’ spat Nancy. Grabbing the man by the throat with her right hand, she crushed his air pipe with a mighty grip, then pushed him with all of her supernatural strength. The man was sent flying into the air, to then splash in the dirty waters of the Seine, disappearing head first under the surface. His inert body came back to the surface after a minute, to float down the current. In the meantime, Nancy turned around to face the girl, who had watched the fight with incredulity.

‘’Follow me, quickly!’’

The girl, an oriental teenager wearing a dirty, tattered dress, followed her without discussion, probably too happy to be out of trouble. She spoke only after she and Nancy had climbed back the stairs and had walked past one city block. Her French was good but had a distinct Chinese accent.

‘’Thank you! Thank you so much, whoever you are.’’

Nancy then surprised the girl for a second time by answering her in perfect Cantonese.

‘’Think nothing of it. My name is Jeanne d’Orléans. What is your name?’’

‘’My name is Mai, Li Mai. You speak Cantonese?’’

‘’As well as Mandarin Chinese and many other languages. You are not wounded, I hope?’’

‘’No! He didn’t have time to become truly violent.’’

‘’And what were you doing at such a place and time, Mai?’’ The young Chinese lowered her head, apparently feeling shameful.

‘’I live along the Seine, miss: I am homeless and penniless since the death of my husband and I survive on charity.’’

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Nancy eyed quickly the thin body of the girl, who effectively looked malnourished.

‘’You will be able to tell me your story once in my home, in front of a good meal, Mai. My house is not too far from here.’’

The two teenagers arrived a few minutes later at the Hôtel de Brinvilliers, whose windows were lit from the inside by oil lamps. Nancy used her key to open the pedestrian’s door that was part of the carriage gates, relocking it behind her and Mai before leading Mai inside, to the kitchen. The cook, Charlotte Truffaut, looked at Mai with a mix of surprise and pity.

‘’My God, Jeanne, where did you find that poor girl?’’

‘’On the shores of the Seine and about to be abused by three men. She is homeless and needs to eat something.’’

‘’I will get some bread and cheese at once.’’

‘’Boil as well some water to make tea and fill a hot bath, Charlotte.’’ As the cook got busy, Nancy gently made Mai sit down at the large kitchen table, bought during the last few days, like the rest of the furniture in the residence.

‘’You are now safe, Mai: you are with friends here. So, tell me your story…from the start.’’

The Chinese teenager lowered her head as painful souvenirs came back to her.

‘’There is not much to say, miss. I was born in Canton, in China, and I am fifteen years old. I became an orphan at the age of seven and was then picked up by French missionaries, who cared for me and educated me. A French officer serving with the French delegation in Canton then noticed me a year ago and married me just before returning to France, bringing me with him. Unfortunately, Bertrand died from cholera just after arriving in France and his family then refused to accept me, taking away my marriage certificate and burning it. They even stole the pension I had the right to as the widow of a French officer. I then had no choice since but to live in the streets.’’ Nancy, moved by her story, put her right hand on top of Mai’s left hand.

‘’You now have a home, Mai: my residence. Know that I am as well a young widow and that I recently arrived from the Caribbean, where my husband died from a tropical fever.’’

‘’You…you are too good, miss.’’ said Mai, bordering on tears. Nancy shook her head slowly at that.

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‘’No, I am simply humane, Mai. Now, if you want to live and work in my home, you will have to obey the main rule here: call me simply Jeanne.’’

‘’Okay, Jeanne. What kind of work do you have in mind for me?’’

‘’We will see about that later, Mai. For the moment, eat. Afterwards, you will take a good hot bath, so that your beauty could come out from under all that dirt.’’ Nancy then left Mai alone at the table as Charlotte put a plate with bread, butter and cheese in front of the Chinese teenager. Mai thanked Charlotte and started eating at once while thinking how lucky she had been to meet Jeanne.

Jeanne returned in the kitchen twenty minutes later, as Mai was sipping with delight a cup of green tea.

‘’So, feeling better now, Mai?’’

‘’A lot better, Jeanne. Thank you again for everything.’’

‘’Bah, that’s nothing! Once you will have finished your cup of tea, I will bring you to the master bathroom.’’

Nancy then went to check the temperature of the water heating up in a big iron pot resting on top of the kitchen’s stove. Satisfied, she filled two buckets with hot water and, grabbing them effortlessly, climbed the steep stairs leading from the kitchen to the upper floor. Mai, like Charlotte, watched her go with her heavy load, mystified.

‘’My god! Jeanne is really incredibly strong. First, she gets rid of the three men bent on abusing me, then this.’’

‘’I must say that she is making many people talk about her.’’ said the cook as she picked up the now empty plate and cup in front of Mai. ‘’Apart from being very strong, she is highly educated and speaks many languages. What is most important, however, is that she is kind and generous.’’

‘’Too true.’’

Nancy’s voice came from the top of the stairs a moment later.

‘’MAI, GET YOUR CUTE ASS UP HERE!’’

‘’Did I say as well that she can be very informal at times?’’ said with a smile Charlotte as Mai got up from the table. The latter giggled at that and hurried up the stairs, finding Nancy waiting for her on the upper floor.

‘’Follow me, Mai. We are going to my private master bathroom.’’

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Passing through the grand staircase well, Nancy led Mai down the corridor leading to the east wing, to enter her large master bedroom, which she had recently furnished with Louis XIV style furniture. There, she pushed open a door giving on a bathroom with a marble floor and a tile-covered tub. Nancy pointed to Mai the bathtub, now half full with hot water.

‘’Take off your clothes and soak in, Mai. I will wash your hair while you soap up.’’ Mai’s modesty made her hesitate for a moment before she obeyed and shed her dirty dress, then her underwear. Nancy eyed with sorrow her thin body, with the ribs visible.

‘’Nobody should live through such misery. I promise you that you will not be lacking anything here, Mai. Now, step in and sit down.’’

Mai stepped in the bathtub and let herself sink down to her chin with delight in the hot water. As she rubbed a bar of soap on her body, Nancy poured water on her head and started washing thoroughly her hair, checking at the same time for the presence of vermin.

‘’You don’t have any fleas or lice, thank God! Were you forced to bed men before tonight? Answer me frankly: I only want to evaluate your overall health.’’

‘’No!’’ answered Mai truthfully. ‘’I did everything to avoid surviving by such means, but the thug that you killed had in mind to force me to prostitute myself for his profit. I owe you my honor, on top of my life, Jeanne.’’

‘’Think nothing of it, Mai. I would have done the same for anyone. Let’s talk about your employment here. I would like to use you as my personal assistant and receptionist. You would greet my guests, would serve them and also do some shopping for me. I am offering you the same pay and benefits as for my other servants: three francs a day, plus lodging, food, working clothes and medical care.’’ Mai looked with surprise at Nancy on hearing that.

‘’But…that’s a lot more than the normal wages. A servant can usually count herself lucky in Paris if she earns one franc a day.’’

‘’Well, I don’t believe in exploiting my employees, contrary to too many nobles and big bourgeois. I also have the financial means to pay good salaries. Tomorrow, we will go shopping together to buy you a decent wardrobe, along with furniture to furnish your room, which is still empty. You will sleep in my bed tonight, unless you object to that.’’

‘’Uh, not at all. You are too good, Jeanne.’’

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‘’Bof! My goal is to create a charitable foundation here in Paris. I might as well start by being generous now.’’

The next morning, Nancy gave a detailed tour of her residence to Mai, showing her in particular the room in the attic level that was going to be hers, which faced the Charles-V Street and had two dormer windows. Mai didn’t miss the fact that her room had been up to quite recently two separate rooms, the adjoining wall having been ripped away to create a single room measuring eight by three meters. She found out at the same occasion that the other domestics that lived in the residence occupied similar rooms, much more spacious than what was considered the norm for servants. There was even a large, comfortably furnished lounge reserved for the employees. What however surprised the most Mai was the small steam-powered pump that now occupied the old gardener’s hut, situated in a back corner of the courtyard. Workers were busy welding in place copper pipes which linked the hut and the residence to a water tower that was still under construction. Other workers were installing on the roofs a number of shallow basins made of tin, which were connected to the water tower by pipes.

‘’What is all this, Jeanne?’’

‘’Progress!’’ replied Nancy, smiling proudly. ‘’Once all this is completed, this water tower and those water collecting basins will provide by gravity clean water to the residence. My maids won’t have to carry anymore buckets full of water up and down stairs, or to pump water from a well. This steam engine will in turn pump water up into the water tower in periods of droughts, on top of heating a hot water tank. That hot water will then circulate through the residence via copper pipes equipped with faucets. I am planning soon to go to England, in order to open a bank account there. That will give me the opportunity to go hire a British sanitary engineer, so that he could come install flush toilets in my residence. My house may not be the biggest or most luxurious in Paris, but I will make it the most comfortable.’’

‘’And who thought about all this, Jeanne? You hired an engineer for this work?’’

‘’No! I took care of the plans and calculations myself.’’

Mai didn’t ask her where she got such knowledge, instead adding this to the growing list of the surprising abilities of Jeanne.

Once the visit was completed, Nancy went out with Mai to go shopping in the small carriage pulled by Pegasus, her personal horse. To the surprise and profound

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emotion of Mai, Nancy stopped her carriage in front of a boutique that specialized in oriental imports. Tears came down on her cheeks when she saw the various pieces of furniture, decorations and silk clothes which had come from her native country. Nancy then spent without a second thought a small fortune to buy for Mai a complete set of lacquered wood furniture for her room, plus a few Chinese art objects and multiple rolls of embroidered silk. Mai couldn’t stop herself from openly crying as she looked at herself in a mirror while wearing a splendid Chinese silk dress bought for her by Nancy.

‘’Thank you, thank you for everything, Jeanne.’’

In response, Nancy gently put one hand on her shoulder as she still cried.

‘’Mai, consider me as a friend, and not as your employer.’’

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CHAPTER 6 – THE SON OF D’ARTAGNAN





09:17 (Paris Time)

Monday, July 1, 1652

Royal Court of King Louis XIV

Castle of Maubergeon

Poitiers, France

Jules Mazarin, Cardinal, Prime Minister and lover of Queen Anne of Austria, was walking in the corridors of Maubergeon Castle, doing some thinking while exercising his legs a bit. Having returned from self-exile only a few months ago at the head of an army of 7,000 German and Polish mercenaries, Mazarin had been warmly welcomed back by both the Queen and the young King. The Parisians, on the other hand, had taken little time to put a 150,000 livre reward on his head, an edict that had then been annulled by the King. Then, the Duke of Orléans had joined his armies with those of the Prince of Condé, who still hated Mazarin with a passion. The ingratitude of so many towards him despite his years of loyal service to France made Mazarin quite bitter at times, especially when the xenophobia about his Italian origins was added to that. On the other hand he could console himself with the thought that such people as the Queen, the King and a number of royal counselors appreciated him and treated him like a friend. He also could count on the loyalty of quite a few brave men, not the least of which was Charles d’Artagnan, who had faced untold dangers and discomfort to play the vital role of courier between him and Queen Anne.

As the thought about D’Artagnan crossed his mind, Mazarin saw through the window of the upper floor he was standing in front of a small covered horse cart approach the castle. It was very ordinary in appearance and was driven by what seemed to be a woman, something not unusual in the least. What attracted Mazarin’s attention was the size of the woman, who was now discussing with one of the guards standing vigil along the road from Nantes: Compared to her, the guard seemed diminutive. That fact reminded Mazarin of a girl his loyal d’Artagnan had told him about more than once. His interest now awakened, Mazarin followed with his eyes the cart as it drove into the courtyard of the castle and stopped besides the stables, where the

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woman jumped out and tied up her horse before grabbing a large wicker basket and walking towards the main entrance of the central dungeon. Being able to see her from closer, Mazarin saw that she was actually a beautiful teenager, with long black hair and a generous chest. Now truly curious about her, Mazarin hurried down the main staircase, stepping in the lobby as the girl was being received by a royal valet. The girl, seeing Mazarin approach her, made a curtsy to him, prompting a gentle chiding from the Cardinal.

“No need for such formalities with me, my child: I am not the King after all.”

“But you are his prime minister, as well as the master of the man I love, Your Eminence.”

“So, you are indeed this famous Lady Nancy Sommers d’Artagnan kept telling me about?”

“I am famous, Your Eminence?” said the girl, appearing a bit embarrassed. Mazarin had to say that she was indeed beautiful, apart from being impossibly tall for a girl. She was however also very fit and strong-looking, with a suntanned skin that denoted a lot of time spent outdoors. The Cardinal could see how d’Artagnan could fall in love with such a girl. He noted quickly the little baby sleeping inside the basket held by her.

“If young King Louis as well as the Queen keep telling me about your exploits in Paris, then I believe that this makes you famous, Lady Sommers, or should I say Marquess of Saint-Laurent?”

“Just Nancy would do, Your Eminence.” she said in her melodious voice, her green eyes sparkling with malice. “Would Monsieur d’Artagnan be in this castle by chance?”

“Unfortunately, no. He is still in Paris. May I understand that you came to present him his newborn child?”

“You are correct, Your Eminence.” replied Nancy, her smile fading somewhat at the news that Charles was not here. “I was hoping that he would have joined you here, at the temporary court of the King.”

An idea then came to Mazarin’s mind, who smiled to Nancy.

“I was in fact thinking seriously about recalling him to me but had not had the chance yet to do so. Maybe you could pass that message to d’Artagnan in person, Lady Nancy?”

That suggestion brought a splendid smile to her face that warmed up Mazarin.

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“That is a nice idea indeed, Your Eminence. I will leave for Paris at once.”

“Please,” replied Mazarin, gently stopping her from turning around and leaving, “at least let me provide you with some provisions for the road before you go. The roads are both uncomfortable and dangerous these days, especially when traveling with a small baby like you do. It would also allow me to prepare a letter for Monsieur d’Artagnan for you to carry.”

Nancy bowed again at those words.

“In that case I will be happy to delay a bit my departure, Your Eminence.”

“The pleasure is mine, Lady Nancy. Please follow me to my apartments.”

Her basket in one hand, Nancy followed the Cardinal through the lobby, then up the stairs towards the main apartments of the castle. Mazarin stopped for a moment in the middle of the stairs to pass directives to a servant apparently in his employ, ordering him to prepare a large food basket for Nancy’s trip before resuming his way to his apartments. Before they could get there, they met in the hallway young King Louis, who was escorted by two valets. Wearing a large felt hat with his court outfit, young Louis beamed with joy at the sight of Nancy and went to her at once as she curtsied respectfully to him.

“Lady Nancy, it is a pleasure to see you here. Did you just arrive?”

“I did, Your Majesty. However, I am leaving at once for Paris to go fetch Monsieur d’Artagnan there.”

“But you are coming back here, are you?” replied Louis, hiding his disappointment. Nancy smiled to him, her eyes sparkling with amusement.

“Of course, Your Majesty! I wouldn’t want to miss a chance to tell you more stories about New France.”

“That would be appreciated, Lady Nancy.” said Louis with a big grin before looking down at the basket she held. “And may I presume that this is your baby from…” Nancy urgently motioned him to stop speaking then, whispering next to him.

“Please don’t say the name of the father, Your Majesty: I wish it to be a secret for all others but you, the Queen and the Cardinal.”

“Oh, I’m sorry for my indiscretion. I will keep mum about that from now on. Is it a boy or a girl?”

“A boy, Your Majesty. His name is Charles.”

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Bending forward, the young King caressed briefly the head of the sleeping baby, then smiled back to Nancy.

“I wish your son the best in life, Lady Nancy. I will be waiting your return from Paris with impatience.”

“I will make haste on my trip, Your Majesty.” promised Nancy, curtsying again. Louis then walked away, letting Mazarin free to lead her into his apartments. Inviting her to sit down on a chair, Mazarin then sat at his work desk and scribbled quickly a letter. Nancy used that time to give her right breast to her baby son, who had just awakened with a hungry wail. Little Charles was still happily sucking milk when Mazarin finished his letter and folded the parchment. He eyed for a moment Nancy with her breast denuded, then spoke quietly in order not to upset her baby.

“Your trip may be quite dangerous, Lady Nancy. You may very well have to go through the armies of the Duke D’Orléans and of the Prince of Condé between here and Paris. Those armies employ many foreign mercenaries who wouldn’t mind having fun with a pretty girl traveling alone. God knows that looting and raping are too frequent occurrences right now in our poor France.”

Nancy eyed Mazarin cautiously, restraining herself in extremis from remarking to him that the 7,000 mercenaries he had brought with him had also looted and raped their way to Poitiers. Whoever was in charge in France, it seemed that it was always the poor people who paid the price of those struggling to gain or keep power. In answer to Mazarin’s warning, Nancy opened her cape wide, showing him the two pistols and the dagger holstered around her belt.

“I am well aware of the dangers, Your Eminence. I am however ready to face them and am most familiar about how to deal with such situations. Let’s say that I lead a most adventurous life compared to a normal girl. If I meet those Fronde armies I will make sure to keep my eyes open and to note everything of worth.” Mazarin nodded his head once, secretly impressed by her aplomb. Here was a teenage girl who, if he could believe all the stories he had heard about her, was at least as valiant, efficient and dangerous as his own d’Artagnan. As a spy, she indeed represented a priceless asset for the royal service.

“Lady Nancy, have you touched any part of your annual pension yet since you were ennobled last September?”

“No, Your Eminence. I had to leave the Palais-Royal soon afterwards and kept a low profile from then on, for d’Artagnan’s sake.”

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Mazarin thought over that for a moment, then took another piece of parchment and wrote something on it, then went to a large, solid-looking chest and unlocked it with a key he took from inside his cardinal’s robe. Pulling out a heavy leather purse, he poured its content on his desk and counted out a goodly number of large gold coins before putting them in a separate purse. He then signaled Nancy to join him at his desk, which she did, still breastfeeding her baby. Giving her the second purse, he presented as well a pen to her and the parchment.

“Here are 4,500 Livres, representing the first six months of your annual pension. Sign this receipt here, please.”

Nancy signed quickly, giving back the pen and the parchment to Mazarin, then weighed the purse with apparent remorse.

“I don’t know if I really deserve all that gold when I think of all the dangers my brave d’Artagnan is going through constantly.”

Mazarin grinned at those words and started counting more gold pieces on his desk.

“This is the nicest way I was ever remembered of how miserly as an employer I can be, Lady Nancy. D’Artagnan and his companions in Paris have indeed worked diligently for my cause during all those months, so I will ask you to bring them their pay at the same time. Here are 600 Livres I owe to D’Artagnan, plus 600 Livres each to Messieurs De Dalleville, Bartet and Hughes de Terlon.”

Mazarin put that money in yet another purse and gave it to Nancy, then eyed her gravely.

“You are now even more of a tempting target for Fronde soldiers, Lady Nancy. Please be careful during your trip.”

“I will shoot my way through if need be, Your Eminence, but nothing will keep me from seeing my d’Artagnan.” said firmly Nancy, meaning each word. Someone then knocked on the door, prompting Mazarin to call him to enter. That someone turned out to be a servant, carrying a large covered basket of food. Thanking and dismissing him, Mazarin then got up and put a hand on Nancy’s head, who had bowed to him.

“May God be with you and your son on your trip, Marquess of Saint-Laurent. I will pray for your safe return.”

“Thank you, Your Eminence. I should be back in three weeks with d’Artagnan.” Grabbing the basket of food as well as the basket containing her baby and the two purses full of gold, Nancy then left the Cardinal’s apartments. Mazarin went to a window and watched her get back to her cart, putting inside it both of her baskets and the purses, hiding the latter under a blanket before untying her horse and sitting in the front of the

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cart. Urging her horse on, she was soon out of the courtyard and on her way along the road to Tours, Orléans and Paris. Mazarin couldn’t help reflect then on how many good people this civil war had cost France already. He frankly hated the thought that this young girl could become part of the mounting number of casualties.

11:06 (Paris Time)

Friday, July 5, 1652

22 kilometers south-southwest of Vendôme

Nancy, doing good time thanks to the tireless pace of her robotic horse Pegasus, was over a day past the city of Tours and was hoping to make it to the town of Vendôme for the night, so that she would not expose her baby boy to a night out. Up to now the road traffic had been light but had stopped completely since she had left in the morning the small town of Château-Renault, something that made her suspect that trouble lay ahead. She was proven right when she turned a bend of the narrow road, in reality a glorified dirt trail, and was suddenly faced with a dispersed group of over forty dead men lying in and around the road. Nancy stopped at once her cart and surveyed visually the bodies and the woods around her, her heart beating faster. The dead men, wearing what had not been looted from their uniforms, were apparently soldiers from the royal army. Seeing no movement around and not hearing any suspicious noise, Nancy discreetly pulled her blunderbuss scatter gun closer to her, hiding it under her seat, then pulled out an extra pistol from her well-stocked arsenal and hid it as well under her seat before urging Pegasus forward. She would have jumped out to at least pull out of the way the few bodies lying across the road but was afraid that this could turn into an ambush and was not ready to risk her son for this. She made Pegasus zigzag in order to avoid trampling any of the bodies, then urged it on to a fast trot, in a hurry to get away from this spot.

Her fears materialized three kilometers further down the road, when a mounted patrol of seven soldiers wearing the colors of the Duke of Orléans appeared ahead of her, turning a bend of the road. Something in the soldiers’ attitude alarmed at once Nancy, who forced herself to keep going on at the same rhythm despite her misgivings. She soon understood what had awakened her suspicions when the soldiers galloped to meet her cart, then surrounded it, forcing her to stop: they were obviously half-drunk,

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apart from being unshaven and unkempt. They looked and sounded like the dregs of an army and acted like it as well. Their leader, who was holding a sword, pointed it at Nancy while shouting joyously to his men.

“LOOK WHAT PROVIDENCE HAS BROUGHT TO US: A FINE LOOKING GIRL TO AMUSE US!”

Nancy tensed further, knowing that she would not be able to avoid a fight now if she wanted to live and protect her son. Still, she tried one attempt at keeping the situation calm, feigning fear while staying on the driver’s bench of her cart.

“Please, sir, I am only trying to join back my husband in Paris and have my baby son with me.”

That only made the leading cavalryman scoff at her.

“A baby, eh? Good! Then you have some experience in bed. If you are really nice with us, we will let you and your baby go away safely afterwards. Right, men?” His question made his six men laugh out loud, showing to Nancy the worth of his promise. Thankfully for her, four of the men, including their leader, stood in a loose group to her left front, while two more stood to her front right and a last one stood behind her cart. They had pistols, swords and muskets but had only their swords out at this time, except for one man behind the leader who was holding a pistol. Taking the initiative while the soldiers were laughing as a group, Nancy pulled out her blunderbuss scatter gun and discharged it in the middle of the group of four men to her front left. The loud blast and the cloud of white smoke made the surviving soldiers stop their laughing abruptly as three men and two of their horses fell down, with a fourth man crying out in pain while holding his left upper arm. Not letting the other soldiers a chance to recover from their surprise, Nancy pulled out the two pistols at her belt and shot down the two men to her front right, then quickly grabbed her spare pistol from under her bench and stood on her feet while turning around. She shot the last soldier as he was trying still to pull his own pistol out. That left the one wounded soldier to her front left. Looking back around, she saw that one galloping away while still holding his arm. Sitting back down, she urged Pegasus to full gallop, intent on finishing the man off before he could get more soldiers on her. Nancy patted gently the head of little Charles, who was now crying after being awakened brutally by the detonations.

“I’m sorry about that, Charles. Be patient and I will take care of you soon.” Pulling another loaded pistol from her reserve while holding the reins, Nancy then waited for Pegasus to overtake the soldier’s horse, which didn’t take long. As soon as the man

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was less than ten paces from her, she shot him down, hitting him between the shoulder blades and dropping him from his horse. She didn’t bother to check on him, instead continuing on at a full gallop along the road towards Vendôme. Using the fact that Pegasus could go on by himself without supervision, Nancy used the next minutes to reload frantically her four pistols and her blunderbuss, hiding or holstering them back afterwards, then grabbed her baby and hugged it, trying to calm him with soothing words. It was only a question of time before more soldiers appeared to investigate the shooting she had done.

Nancy felt her heart sink when a strong column of over a hundred cavalrymen appeared five minutes later on the road, galloping towards her: there was no way that she could deal with so many soldiers. Subtlety was thus the order of the day now. While dressed in different uniforms from the ones she had killed, they were still recognizable as men of the Duke of Orléans. Slowing down her cart, Nancy started waiving frantically at the incoming soldiers, who were led by an officer, while shouting at them.

“THERE ARE ROYAL SOLDIERS BEHIND ME. THEY KILLED A GROUP OF FRONDE SOLDIERS.”

Seeing the officer slowing down his horse as she approached him, Nancy pulled on the reins and made Pegasus stop, then shouted again excitedly at the officer.

“A HALF DOZEN FRONDE SOLDIERS WERE JUST KILLED THREE MILES BEHIND ME BY A LARGE GROUP OF ROYAL SOLDIERS HIDING IN THE FOREST! I SAW THE WHOLE THING!”

“Three miles away you say, mademoiselle?” asked urgently the officer after tipping his hat to her. Nancy made a show of looking frightened, as if she had just run for her life.

“That is correct, monsieur! The shooting happened less than 300 paces behind my cart. Those Fronde soldiers never stood a chance, as there must have been over sixty royal soldiers.”

“Sixty? It must be a raiding party intent on cutting our lines of communications.” The officer then looked back at his men while waiving his sword high.

“FOLLOW ME, MEN! BE READY FOR ACTION!”

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Nancy stood on her bench to watch the cavalry troop gallop away while shouting encouragement at them, then saying in a low voice one word once all of them were well past her.

“Suckers!”

She took place back on the bench at once and grabbed the reins to urge Pegasus to a gallop. As Pegasus accelerated along the road, Nancy made sure that little Charles was secure in his basket behind her driving bench, as the ride was going to be both rough and furious for a while. She ended up holding in place the basket with one hand while holding the reins in the other hand and with both of her feet braced solidly in the footrests as the cart nearly flew over the road. For a good six kilometers Nancy could have swore that Pegasus pulled the small cart up to speeds of sixty kilometers per hour. She finally ordered her robotic horse to slow down as she spotted a narrow trail ahead and to the right. She made Pegasus veer on the trail and follow it at a relatively slow speed for about 400 meters. Seeing a particularly thick patch of coniferous trees to her left, she drove her cart to the middle of the patch and stopped it, then jumped out and hurriedly cut off branches with her sword to camouflage her cart, as the cavalrymen she had fooled were liable to get information about her from one of the soldiers she had shot, if any of them had survived. Finally done, she returned inside her cart and pulled her crying son from his basket. She then gave Charles her left breast to suck on. Her baby grew quiet nearly at once, allowing her to relax somewhat. While her baby fed itself, she used one hand to open her provisions basket and ate as well, chewing on a piece of cheese and washing it down with water that she had filtered and boiled before pouring it in her water flask.

Maybe forty minutes later, she heard a troop of cavalrymen approaching from the South on the main road at high speed and guessed that the Fronde officer had learned that she and not royal soldiers had shot the seven-man patrol and was now after her. That was worrying for her, as it meant that this officer, if he didn’t catch her himself, was liable to pass the word about her to other Fronde officers in the area. This was going to force her to travel by night for the next day or two, in order to use to the fullest the technological advantage she enjoyed over present day soldiers thanks to the sophisticated sensors of her robotic horse, who could ride around in total darkness without difficulty. She was also going to need to change her itinerary a bit in order to take some distance from this area. After consulting a crude contemporary map, she

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decided to proceed towards the city of Blois and then Orléans instead of Vendôme. Her baby then made a noise which was followed by a smell that announced to Nancy that it was time for a diaper change. She smiled to her son and kissed him tenderly on the forehead.

“I wish at times that I had a life as simple as yours, my sweat Charles. Milk, poop and sleep: can’t get simpler than that, eh?”

15:14 (Paris Time)

Wednesday, July 10, 1652

Faubourg St-Jacques, Paris

A Fronde officer stopped Nancy’s cart with a sign of the hand as she got to the checkpoint established in the southern suburbs of Paris, then asked her a question in a bored voice.

“What is your reason for coming to Paris, mademoiselle?” Nancy, wearing a blond wig and dressed in a poor peasant girl’s dress, patted the wicker basket besides her on the bench of her cart while looking at the officer.

“I’m here for a paternity affair, monsieur. My no-good fiancé believed that he could escape his responsibilities by fleeing to Paris, so I came to grab him back or, failing that, to make him pay a pension for my son.”

The officer looked with amusement at the baby in the basket, then laughed out loud before signaling to Nancy to pass.

“Have a good luck with your fiancé, mademoiselle, and have a good day.”

“Thank you, monsieur.” said Nancy with a big smile before urging on Pegasus. Driving slowly through the checkpoint, she then went towards the Seine River, crossing it over the Pont de la Tournelle and passing through the Island of St-Louis before crossing the Pont Marie and rolling on the North Shore. It then took her less than thirty minutes to arrive at the Inn of Le Lion Noir. The sight of the inn made Nancy’s heart beat faster and she guided her horse into the courtyard of the establishment, where a stable boy grabbed the bridle of her horse to lead it into a stall of the stable. Nancy threw a silver coin to the boy and gave him a smile.

“Would you be kind enough to help me with my things before taking care of my horse?”

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“Sure, mademoiselle!” said the boy, pocketing quickly the coin and then grabbing two big bags Nancy was pulling out of the cart. Nancy herself carried the rest of her things and her baby, with her weapons hidden inside her bedroll. On entering the main hall of the inn, the innkeeper saw her full hands and called at once a servant to come help her. She grinned to the innkeeper as the servant took most of her things save for her bedroll and her baby basket.

“Thank you, monsieur, you are too kind. Do you have a room available?” The man hesitated then and eyed her carefully, recognizing her voice. He then understood who she was and played dumb.

“Of course, mademoiselle! For how long would you like to take it?”

“I am not sure yet. Maybe a few days at the most. I have to find someone in Paris.”

“A few days it will be, mademoiselle. You can pay the room once you had a chance to get all your things upstairs. Gilles, show the mademoiselle to room sixteen on the second floor.”

“Yes, monsieur!”

Making a show of helping her as well, the innkeeper took her bedroll from her and went upstairs as well, whispering to her as they were in the staircase.

“Monsieur d’Artagnan should be back in the inn for supper, mademoiselle. Should I announce you to him when he comes?”

“That won’t be necessary: I will wait for him downstairs during supper time.” The innkeeper looked down at her baby and grinned to it.

“Your baby is really cute, mademoiselle. He certainly looks well fed too.”

“I’ve got lots of reserves for him.” Joked Nancy while grabbing her breasts, making the innkeeper laugh.

“That you do!”

They soon arrived at the room assigned to her and dropped her things there. The innkeeper, knowing her habits, smiled to her as she sat with a sigh on the bed.

“The usual hot bath, mademoiselle?”

“Damn right, monsieur! I just had a ten-day trip from Poitiers and feel grubby as hell.”

“Then it won’t be long, mademoiselle.” promised the innkeeper. Before he could go, Nancy dropped four gold coins in his hand.

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“Make sure that neither me nor Monsieur d’Artagnan and his friend stay hungry for the next day or two.”

“Understood, mademoiselle.” said the happy man before leaving. Nancy used the time it took for a wooden bathtub to be brought in and filled with warm water to unpack and put her things away. Once her bath was ready, she locked her door, undressed herself and her baby and stepped into the tub with him. Washing her two month-old baby proved half of the fun, with little Charles giggling in the process and filling Nancy with pride. Once her baby was clean, Nancy wrapped him in a thick wool towel and laid him besides the tub in order to finish her own washing. She felt much better by the time she stepped out of the tub and dried herself. She put on a clean peasant’s dress supplemented by a wool cape and a linen cap over her blond wig, then put a clean diaper on her son before dressing him in a baby shirt and returning him to his padded basket. Lastly, she put her pistol belt on, hiding it under her cape, then went downstairs with her infant.

Taking a corner table in a dark part of the main hall, Nancy ordered the soup of the day, a chicken and vegetable broth, and a beef stew, plus a pitcher of red wine. It was not that she liked to drink wine all the time but drinking the water of the time was one sure way to become seriously sick quickly, so one drank either beer, wine or cider. Once she had eaten her meal, little Charles got to be breast-fed under the cover of her cape. Nancy was still nursing him when d’Artagnan walked in with Bartet, Dalleville and de Terlon. Hiding her joy, Nancy lowered her head so that they wouldn’t recognize her too fast and waited patiently while the innkeeper went to the four men and spoke in whispers to d’Artagnan. The latter still couldn’t help snap his head in her direction, a happy grin appearing on his face, but managed not to shout his joy, instead walking to her and sitting opposite her at her table. He then gently raised her chin with one hand, looking into her green eyes. She smiled in turn and spoke softly.

“Hello, Charles. It was a long time. I have your son Charles with me here.” She opened a bit her cape to let him see her baby, who was still sucking milk. D’Artagnan, now 39 but still as fit and handsome as ever, gently caressed the baby’s head before bending over and kissing Nancy, who returned the favor. D’Artagnan had tears in his eyes when they parted.

“God, I missed you so much, Nancy.”

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“And I missed you too, Charles. Go have supper with your friends, then come see me in room sixteen, the four of you. I have something from your master for you. By the way, I already paid the innkeeper for your supper.”

D’Artagnan grinned at that and pressed her right hand gently.

“You always think of everything, Nancy. I don’t know what I would be without you.”

“Without me you would still be the most famous musketeer in history, Charles.” D’Artagnan nodded soberly at that, remembering his fantastic trip to the year 1954.

“Well, I will see you after supper. That shouldn’t take long.”

“Take all your time, my love: we have all night after all.”

Those words made d’Artagnan grin with anticipated pleasure. He then got up and went to the table taken by his three comrades. Nancy was next to get up with her baby, going upstairs to her room. She had to wait only a half hour before someone knocked at her door. Always cautious, she grabbed a pistol before going to the door and asking who was there, then opened it on recognizing d’Artagnan’s voice. The latter and his three comrades quickly filed in the room, with Nancy locking the door behind them. Her next move was to give to d’Artagnan the letter from the Cardinal. D’Artagnan read it carefully, then looked gravely at his comrades.

“Friends, the Cardinal needs our services with him in Poitiers, where the King and his court have temporarily established themselves. With the Prince of Condé now in Bordeaux and with the Paris Parliament now mostly neutral in the Fronde, the Cardinal judges that our talents are now wasted here. We are to move to Poitiers as soon as possible.”

“That could be a risky trip.” said somberly Hughes de Terlon. “It is said that there is constant fighting between royal and Fronde armies south of Paris.”

“I can brief you in detail right now about that.” cut in Nancy, who then took out her map and took a couple of minutes to brief the four men on what she had noted during her trip from Poitiers. Her exposé made Hughes de Terlon look at her with disbelieving eyes.

“Tudieu, Nancy, you can explain military deployments better than many generals I have met. And you were able to evade all these enemy patrols?” Nancy grinned with malice and pride at those words: coming from a seasoned soldier like de Terlon, those words were sweet indeed on her ego.

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“Let’s say that I learned from the best. Now, I suggest that we go through Orléans, then Blois before heading towards Poitiers. Those areas are used by the enemy as rear areas for their supply lines and, as such, will have less fighting troops around them than the more direct way, where most of the fighting is happening.”

“Sounds logical.” said thoughtfully Isaac Bartet while scratching his chin. “How do we get out of Paris?”

“In plain sight, through the southern suburbs. The Fronde soldiers manning the checkpoints there are bored and also concentrate their attention on the people entering Paris, not on those going out. Of course, if you can look less than martial on your way out, the better. I would also counsel that you split up before passing the checkpoints.”

“All good points, gentlemen!” then said d’Artagnan in a firm voice. “Let’s be ready to leave by tomorrow morning, after breakfast.”

As the others nodded in agreement, Nancy fetched one of the heavy purses she had been lugging around and threw it at d’Artagnan.

“Before you go to your rooms, I have something else from the Cardinal: he tasked me with bringing you your back pay. There are 600 Livres for each of you in this purse.”

Those words brought a mix of joy and relief to the faces of the four agents of Mazarin, who then eagerly took their respective cuts from the purse before Dalleville, Bartet and de Terlon left Nancy’s room. That left d’Artagnan alone with Nancy, who locked the door of her room before gluing herself to her lover.

“I believe that we have some lost time to make up for, Charles.”

”I believe that you are right, Nancy.”

Charles was about to start undressing her when she stopped him and pointed at the bathtub, still sitting in a corner.

“Don’t forget my usual conditions, Charles: no bath, no sex!” Charles sighed in mock frustration, then grinned with malice.

“Only if you help scrub me.”

“Deal!” Replied Nancy, a lecherous expression on her face.

14:30 (Paris Time)

Sunday, July 21, 1652

Castle of Maubergeon, Poitiers

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Mazarin was on an outdoor promenade outside the castle courtyard with Queen Anne and young King Louis, profiting from a beautiful sunny afternoon, when he saw a covered cart escorted by four horsemen approach from the road to Blois and Paris. The ten royal guardsmen escorting the King also saw them and started readying their muskets but were stopped by an authoritative gesture from Mazarin.

“Hold! These are my agents and the Marquess of Saint-Laurent.” Those words made young King Louis beam at once with joy.

“Nancy is back?”

His mother looked down at him with amusement.

“You seem quite fond of her, Louis.”

“Uh, I simply admire her for her courage and abilities, Mother.” replied the boy, embarrassed at showing his true feelings like this. His answer made the Queen smile.

“Sure, Louis, I understand.”

Mazarin, himself smiling from the exchange, eyed with satisfaction the group as it approached them and finally stopped besides them. D’Artagnan and his three comrades took off their large felt hats and saluted the King and Queen from atop their horses, while Nancy bowed her head from the driver’s bench of her cart. D’Artagnan was the one to speak next.

“Good day, Your Majesties! We are pleased to report back from duty in Paris.”

“And we are as pleased to see you back in good health.” answered the Queen. “How was your trip?”

“Thankfully uneventful, Your Majesty.” said d’Artagnan. “We were able to evade most of the enemy troops between here and Paris and tricked our way through for the rest with the help of Lady Nancy.”

“Then go make yourselves at home in the castle: you must be both tired and dirty from your long trip.”

“That we are, Your Majesty.” replied d’Artagnan before looking at Mazarin. “Your Eminence, we have extensive details of the enemy troop deployments which we can brief you on afterwards.”

“I wish to listen to that briefing, Monsieur d’Artagnan.” said at once King Louis. “I need to continue my learning of military affairs.”

“You are most welcome to attend, Your Majesty.” replied d’Artagnan, tipping his hat again. Mazarin nodded as well, signifying his consent, then spoke next.

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“While you go take your rooms, I will warn General Turenne, so that he can listen in to your briefing.”

That announcement made D’Artagnan and his three male comrades look at each other with surprise and consternation.

“Monsieur de Turenne is on our side now, Your Eminence?”

“Let’s say that I used some of my diplomatic talents to gain him to our cause.” said Mazarin with a faint smile. “He is now firmly in our camp. Now, go to the castle and tell my intendant, Monsieur Colbert, to provide you with good rooms. You all deserve the best after your perilous mission in Paris.”

“You are too kind, Your Eminence.”

As the four agents rode past him towards the castle, Mazarin made a sign to Nancy to stop her cart as she was about to follow d’Artagnan and his comrades. Followed closely by young Louis, Mazarin then went to her and bowed his head to her in salute.

“Well done, Marquess! You decidedly make a first class agent.”

“You flatter me, Your Eminence.” said Nancy politely. She did smile however when young Louis took her right hand and pressed it while beaming to her.

“I was scared for you, Lady Nancy. My heart is overjoyed at seeing you back well.”

“And seeing you again is a true privilege, Your Majesty.”

“Could I ask you to come tell me more stories about your adventures tonight, milady?”

“How could I refuse a request from you, Your Majesty? I will come see you in the evening, or at your convenience. If you will now excuse me, I would wish to go wash and change and take care of my son a bit, Your Majesty.”

“By all means, Lady Nancy.”

Louis then let Nancy drive away her cart towards the castle, watching her for a while before looking up at Mazarin, an enthusiastic smile on his face.

“Have you ever met such an extraordinary girl before in your life, Cardinal?”

“To be frank, never, Your Majesty.” said Mazarin, thoughtful, as he also followed the cart with his eyes.

Nancy was relaxing while enjoying a hot bath with her baby son when d’Artagnan introduced himself in the bathroom next to the castle’s kitchens despite the protests from the young maid attending Nancy. Flipping a silver coin to the maid to shut her up,

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d’Artagnan then knelt besides the bathtub and smiled to Nancy, admiring her and his son.

“The sight of the two of you makes my heart truly content, Nancy.” He then became serious, turning to business.

“General Turenne will be ready to listen to our briefing in one hour. Do you want to brief him or I will do it?”

“Do it, Charles. I don’t want to attract more attention to me than necessary. I already am becoming a bit too well known around the court as it is.”

“I understand. Still, don’t hesitate to correct me if I miss something during the briefing.”

Nancy caressed his cheek after he said that, eyeing him tenderly at the same time.

“Charles, stop selling yourself short. My origins may be extraordinary but you are still yourself an extraordinary man whom I am most proud and happy to love. You will do just fine.”

“Thanks, Nancy. Loving you is the greatest privilege I ever had in my life.” said d’Artagnan before kissing her, then kissing his baby son before leaving. Nancy sighed, content, as she sat in her bath: life in the 17th Century may have been hard but it had its good points.

D’Artagnan was on his way back to his room when he met Cardinal Mazarin, who was alone, in the hallway. His master then signaled him to follow him to a deserted storeroom, where he closed the door behind them before facing d’Artagnan.

“My dear d’Artagnan, you are without a doubt the best man who could answer my questions about a certain subject.”

“Ask and I will do my best, Your Eminence.” replied politely d’Artagnan.

“It is about your mistress, the Marquess of Saint-Laurent.” D’Artagnan tensed up at once at those words, something that the crafty Cardinal didn’t miss.

“What do you wish to know about Nancy, Your Eminence?”

“All that you know, my good d’Artagnan.”

“But, Your Eminence, hasn’t she proved enough her loyalty to our cause yet? I can assure you that she is not about to betray us. I would in fact trust her with my life.”

“I know that you would and I do not fear any betrayal from her either, d’Artagnan. I am just curious about where she got all her incredible talents for her young age.”

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D’Artagnan was silent for a moment, torn between his loyalty to his employer and his word given to Farah Tolkonen. He however had only one word.

“I am sorry, Your Eminence, but I vowed to keep her personal history a secret. She may be a most extraordinary and unusual girl but I however can vouch that she has only the good of France in her mind. Please do not press me further on this, Your Eminence.”

It was the turn of Mazarin to be silent for a moment, surprised by his reluctance to speak. Knowing d’Artagnan’s sense of honor, he however chose to let it go at that.

“Very well, d’Artagnan. You may keep her secrets to you if you wish so and I won’t hold it against you. I however expect you to warn me if she is ever to become a threat to France and to King Louis.”

“That will never happen, Your Eminence! I can assure you of that.” Replied at once d’Artagnan without a hesitation and in a most firm tone. That seemed to satisfy Mazarin, who smiled to him and patted his shoulder.

“I believe you, my good d’Artagnan. A girl that can impress so much a man like you must indeed be a gem.”

“She is indeed a gem, Your Eminence, a truly one-of-a-kind gem. Will that be all, Your Eminence?”

“I have only one more question. How would you rate her as a secret agent?” D’Artagnan didn’t hesitate one second then, answering proudly.

“Without equal, Your Eminence. She could turn circles even around me.”

“Indeed?” said Mazarin, truly surprised by that answer but also pleased by it. It thus seemed that young King Louis had fallen enamored of someone well worthy of his attention. That could only be good for the royal cause. Mazarin then promised himself to facilitate access to the King for Lady Nancy as much as he could. With that in mind he dismissed d’Artagnan, who left at once.

They met again one hour later in the King’s study, with Nancy and General Turenne present as well and bent over a map of France. Turenne was a gruff, old soldier with decades of experience and who was adored by his men. While he listened with barely disguised impatience at first, the level of detail of the information given by d’Artagnan soon made him pay close attention to what was said. At one point he fingered the map at a spot north of the city of Orléans.

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“You say that there was a major enemy camp there? How many troops were there? Did they have cannons with them?”

D’Artagnan, not having seen himself that camp, hesitated and looked at Nancy. The latter, wishing she had not been obliged to do this, still answered in d’Artagnan’s place while pointing at a precise point on the map.

“I went by that camp on the eight. At that time I would evaluate the number of troops in the camp at around 4,000 men, most of them infantry. Those soldiers were busy at the time practicing their battle drills and musket loading. I counted about 500 horses in the corral by the camp and saw as well twelve six-pounder brass field guns lined up near a farm building apparently used as a field headquarters by the enemy. From the uniforms and the accent of the troops I met, I would say that they were Alsatian and German mercenaries. There was also a lot of chariot traffic around the camp, with what seemed to be a gunpowder reserve being built up in a barn situated some 300 yards from the camp and kept under tight guard. Another dump on the south side of the camp appeared to contain food and horse feed. From the volumes I saw in that dump, I would guess that there was enough there to supply that force of 4,000 men for at least six weeks. The flag flying over the camp was that of the Duke of Orléans. That is all for that camp, sir.”

General Turenne eyed her in silence for a moment, stunned by the proficiency of her military reporting. Mazarin was also eyeing her, but with interest rather than surprise, while young King Louis looked with awe at her. Turenne then asked her a direct question.

“From where were those supply chariots coming from, mademoiselle?”

“About half came from the direction of Orléans, while the rest came from Paris. The road between that camp and Orléans was heavily patrolled by the enemy and seemed to constitute their main supply road.”

“I see! We are thus probably looking at the reserve force of the enemy, which is in a good position to block to us the road to Paris. This is indeed useful information. I will have to somewhat change my troop dispositions in light of this.”

“Glad to have been of help, General.” replied d’Artagnan, allowing Nancy to back off from the map table. Turenne then saluted the King and asked for his permission to leave, which Louis gave at once. With the old general gone, Louis went at once to Nancy.

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“Marquess, there are still a couple of hours left before suppertime. Would you be so kind as to help me practice my fencing with you in the meantime?”

“But, wouldn’t Monsieur d’Artagnan be more qualified for that, Your Majesty?”

“Maybe,” said maliciously the young king, “but it would be more agreeable with you.”

The men around her grinned at those words, while Nancy shrugged and gave an apologetic look at d’Artagnan.

“I can’t deny that, I guess. Could you find me two practice swords, Charles?”

“Right away, Nancy.” said d’Artagnan, amused by all this. As he went away, Louis gallantly took Nancy’s hand and guided her towards the door of his apartments.

“Let’s go to the main hall for the practice: there is ample space there.”

To Nancy’s secret annoyance, that simple sword practice ended up attracting most of the nobles of the court and a goodly amount of the servants as well, with whispered comments flying around the growing crowd of spectators as young Louis faced off Nancy, a sword with a dull blade and flat tip in his right hand. Nancy, dressed in a court gown and wearing a set of jewels, didn’t look much like the swordsman type at this time, which was bound to make her real fencing abilities hit the general psyche even more. She knew that but also knew that she couldn’t pretend being a beginner with a sword, not with all that had happened around her in the last ten months. With Queen Anne, Cardinal Mazarin and d’Artagnan looking on, Nancy started the practice by asking King Louis to make a few attack passes in order to judge his present level of expertise with a sword. While proving more than fair for his age, Louis showed that he was still no duelist yet, thus Nancy concentrated on teaching him a few new passes of average difficulty. To his credit, the young king learned fast and mostly mastered those new moves within half an hour. Nancy then declared a short pause to allow Louis to have a refreshment, herself using the break to go hold her son for a few minutes. All the spectators stayed around in the meantime, since no sensible courtier would walk away from an occasion where he or she could publicly applaud the King while being noticed by others. Nancy couldn’t even tell herself that this was typical of this century, as the art of ass-licking was truly a timeless one.

As they were about to resume the practice, King Louis smiled to her and proposed something in an enthusiastic tone.

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“Marquess, how about showing me your best moves?”

“Uh, Your Majesty, I don’t want to insult you but such moves would need to be practiced against an expert opponent in order to be demonstrated properly.”

“Monsieur d’Artagnan could jump in if you want to, Your Majesty.” proposed Cardinal Mazarin right away, surprising both Nancy and d’Artagnan but firing up young Louis.

“Great idea, Your Eminence! That should make for a splendid fencing

demonstration. Here, Monsieur d’Artagnan, take my sword.” Unable to refuse such a request from his king, d’Artagnan took the practice sword and faced Nancy in the middle of the main hall. Nancy could see in his face that he didn’t know how to take this. She could also guess that Mazarin had some ulterior motive in proposing such a duel. Resigning herself to the possible fallouts from this, Nancy saluted her lover with her sword.

“Give me your best, Charles.”

Seeing d’Artagnan still hesitate, Nancy went to the offensive, advancing on him with a flurry of quick sword passes. D’Artagnan was taken by surprise by her assault and nearly let one thrust pass through his defense. Nancy froze for a moment, her face close to his, and grinned.

“You need to do better than that, my dear Charles, or I will whip up your butt.”

“Nobody whips my butt with a sword!” replied d’Artagnan, catching on to the fun, before going himself on the offensive. He was not a little surprised to then see Nancy counter all his moves with the skill of a master, something that also made the crowd of spectators and King Louis open their eyes wide.

“Where did you learn to fence like this?” wondered d’Artagnan, making Nancy smile devilishly.

“My big sister taught me.”

Another, even more intricate exchange of passes and parries followed for a good minute, an eternity in professional fencing, with the movement of their blades so quick that one could barely follow them visually. Still, none of the two opponents appeared to enjoy a clear edge on the other. Mazarin, who was watching the duel very closely, knew for a fact that d’Artagnan was easily one of the best swordsmen in France, if not in Europe. To see a teenage girl equal him was something close to incredible and also said a lot about the level of training of that girl. With all the other skills already shown by Nancy, she had to have been trained hard since her preteen years. For Mazarin that could

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mean only one thing: a government-trained elite spy or assassin, or maybe a member of a secret sect or organization. However, Mazarin considered himself an astute judge of men and women and couldn’t believe that Nancy was hiding some dark, sinister objective aimed at France. She also didn’t fit the profile of a fanatic of any kind. The more he saw of her, the more of a mystery she became to him.

Two more frenzied exchanges went on, with no clear point made on either side, before Nancy and d’Artagnan decided on a common accord to put an end to the duel. King Louis and the other spectators then applauded them enthusiastically, with Louis going to Nancy and taking hold of her left hand.

“Marquess, you must teach me fencing!”

Nancy, breathing a bit fast after her exercise, gave the only answer she could and curtsied to the King.

“As you wish, Your Majesty.”

Pleased with himself, Louis then turned around and shouted an order at the servants present.

“LET’S DRINK TO THOSE TWO VALIANT COMBATANTS! WINE, FOR

EVERYONE!”

Happy cheers greeted that order. As the servants present hurried to get cups for all, d’Artagnan approached Nancy and whispered near her ear.

“I didn’t suspect that you were that good with a sword, Nancy. You keep surprising me all the time.”

Nancy only smiled at that, unwilling to tell him about the souvenirs from her past incarnations. She accepted a towel brought to her by a servant and sponged the sweat on her forehead, then gave him her practice sword and went to get her baby, who was crying in his basket. Young King Louis nearly licked his lips when she denuded her right breast to offer it to her baby.

“Uh, how about coming to my room tonight to tell me more stories about your adventures, Marquess?”

“Could I come for only an hour or two, Your Majesty? I don’t want to leave my baby alone too long.”

“I can have a maid watch over him during your visit.” shot back Louis, who was at least persistent if not subtle. Nancy, knowing that she was only part of the beginning of a long procession of women in the life of that king, took that in stride.

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“I will come at around ten in the evening then, Your Majesty. Would that be convenient for you?”

“Very, Marquess.” replied happily the boy. Louis then left her, returning towards his mother and Cardinal Mazarin. D’Artagnan took that chance to join back with Nancy. He now had a sober expression on his face that was not hard for Nancy to identify.

“Charles, the King again asked me to come at night to his room. Will you forgive me if I do go?”

Her lover sighed at those words but nodded his head anyway.

“As I said once before, I myself made more than one man cuckold and we are not married to each other. The King is also, well, the King.” Nancy caressed with one hand his face, trying to console him.

“If it can help, Charles, know that I will always love you truly, even in the event that you marry another woman.”

Seeing a servant pass nearby with a platter full of wine cups, Nancy grabbed two cups and gave one to d’Artagnan before raising her own cup and speaking softly.

“To our eternal love, Charles.”

“To our eternal love.” replied d’Artagnan, knocking his cup against hers.

15:09 (Paris Time)

Sunday, June 7, 1654

Cathedral of Reims, northeast of Paris

France

Nancy, wearing her best court dress and richest jewels, was watching from the front rank of spectators the official crowning of King Louis XIV, who was now nearly seventeen years old. As much as confirming Louis XIV as the sovereign of France, the flamboyant ceremony was meant to celebrate the end of the civil war of the Fronde, which had cost so many lives and nearly ruined the country. The instigators and leaders of the Fronde were now either in jail, dead, exiled or on the run. Unfortunately for France, the Fronde had now given place to a new war, this one against Spain, which was occupying a number of French cities in the north of the country. Worst still, the Prince of Condé, not content to revolt against his king during the Fronde Uprising, had sold himself to the Spaniards, adding treason to insurrection. D’Artagnan, who was now a lieutenant in the King’s Guards Regiment and was about to parade with his unit after

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the crowning, would soon be leaving for war against the Spaniards. Nancy, who had spent over two years non-stop in this century, save for a few short breaks back to the Time Patrol main base with her toddler son, had seen and documented in detail the fighting and struggle for power at the side of d’Artagnan and of King Louis, as the unofficial mistress of both of them. With her discreet video recordings of this crowning ceremony to cap it, the Time Patrol would soon be able to release an extensive documentary, both in video and in print, of the Fronde Uprising, thanks in great part to Nancy’s work. While that documentary would most probably bring her fame in the France of 1956 ‘B’, Nancy was much more taken by the fact that d’Artagnan was going to leave for years of war in the field. She knew that he would survive, being wounded only once during the next months, but she still was deadly concerned for him. She was not however going to be able to follow him, at least for the first year, as she had to leave soon on another mission with the Time Patrol.

Little Charles, now two years and one month-old, spent most of the ceremony in either her arms or sitting across her shoulders, thus being able to see much of it well. While the crowning ceremony bored him, he loved the following military parade, waiving with Nancy as d’Artagnan went by at the head of his mounted company. After the troop review was completed, Nancy went at once to the King, trying to intercept him before he left for his temporary apartments in Reims. She caught him as he was waiting for his carriage and, having open access to him, approached him and curtsied in front of him while holding the hand of little Charles.

“Your Majesty, I have one little favor to ask you on this day of your crowning.”

“Speak, my dear Nancy, and you shall have it.”

“Your Majesty, I request of you a leave of absence of less than two years, so that I could go visit my birth place in New France.”

Louis, who had been in a good mood until now, thought for a second before sighing with regret and taking her hand to make her get back on her feet.

“Those will be long months for me, my friend, but I understand your wish. Further, such a trip would fit most rightfully with your title of Marquess of Saint-Laurent. May you have a safe trip to New France and back.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty.”

Then leaving the King with his courtiers and guards, Nancy went with little Charles to her faithful horse Pegasus, tied along dozens of other horses to one side of the cathedral.

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D’Artagnan had already been warned by her of her trip and had given her his goodbyes, so she was able to leave at once, little Charles sitting in front of her in the large saddle. Galloping along the main streets of Reims, she soon left the city and took the road to Paris. A few kilometers down the road she turned left on a small trail as she was going through a forest. Now being out of sight of any possible witness, Nancy activated a hidden switch and made a small control panel and flight control stick emerge from Pegasus’ neck. Grabbing the stick, she then punched in the spacetime coordinates for her trip back in time to the Time Patrol main base and spoke to her robotic horse.

“Pegasus, bring us home!”

The horse flew off the ground at once, then disappeared with her and her son in a flash of white light.

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Barricades in the streets of Paris, June Revolution of 1848.





CHAPTER 7 – MONARCHY, REPUBLIC AND EMPIRE




11:08 (Paris Time)

Wednesday, February 23, 1848

Hôtel de Brinvilliers, 12 Charles-V Street

District of Le Marais, Paris

France

‘’MADAM! MADAM! THE NATIONAL GUARD HAS JOINED THE BARRICADES IN MONTMARTRE!’’

Jeanne, who was reading the morning newspaper, raised her nose as Leila Benchetrit, her assistant-cook, appeared in the doorway of her private office on the upper floor of her residence. Leila, who had gone to buy fresh bread, entered the office on a sign from Jeanne.

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‘’Where did you hear this, Leila?’’

‘’At the market, madam. Spirits are becoming hot in town and some are talking of going to the Prime Minister’s residence to demonstrate.’’ Jeanne/Nancy ‘B’, who already knew in detail what was to come, put down her newspaper and got up from her sofa, her expression somber.

‘’Tell the other employees that I want to see all of them in the ballroom: I will speak to them.’’

‘’Right away, madam.’’

As the Algerian woman walked away quickly, Jeanne pondered the present situation. France was about to live through a revolution which would not only mark the end of the reign of King Louis-Philippe The First and of his so-called ‘July Monarchy’, but would also inflame revolutionary passions across the whole of Europe in the weeks and months to come. While he had tried to reign with moderation, King Louis-Philippe was afflicted with a most unpopular prime minister, Guizot, who was totally opposed to any reform to the unjust current electoral system, on top of showing himself incapable of dealing with the grave economic crisis France was living through, with the poorer citizens suffering the most from the said crisis. The months to come were going to be politically and socially unstable and she was going to have to act cautiously in order not to put at risk her mission, which was to create and make prosper her future charity foundation, on which the welfare of so many people would eventually depend. To intervene herself politically in the various crisis to come, unless to bet on a winning horse, would only put her fortune and maybe even her own freedom at risk.

When she entered the huge, eleven by ten meter ballroom of the upper floor, she found assembled the six women and four men who made up her domestic staff. She first looked around at the anxious expressions of her employees, which she had personally selected with care for their honesty, intelligence and human decency.

‘’My friends, the next few days could become quite agitated and the streets of Paris will be dangerous, especially now that the army is occupying the streets and that the National Guard seems ready to face it in favor of those asking for reforms. I will thus ask you to stay inside the residence and not to go out until further notice, and this for your own safety. I am ready to offer safe lodging and food to your immediate families, for those of you who are married and have children. However, please hurry and come

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back before darkness if you want to go get your families. Act quickly but cautiously. Go!’’

Her employees dispersed at once, with the exception of Li Mai, her personal assistant, who stood there, unsure what to do. Jeanne walked to her and gave her a reassuring smile.

‘’Don’t worry, Mai: everything will be fine.’’

‘’But, what will we do if rioters, or even soldiers, come and attack the residence, Jeanne?’’

‘’We will not give them any pretexts to attack us, Mai.’’

‘’But you are a d’Orléans, Jeanne. Some may be hostile to you just because of your apparent family link with the King.’’

Jeanne nodded her head slowly at those words. Mai, on top of being a sensitive and likeable teenager, had also proved many times that she was an intelligent girl.

‘’I will deal with that whenever the problem will show up, Mai. In the meantime, let’s go prepare our spare rooms for the families of our people.’’

The four employees who were married and had children came back to her townhouse just before noon with their loved ones and a few suitcases as the popular agitation increased along the city’s streets. Jeanne received them with a warm smile, showing particular affection to the sixteen children, whose age varied from nine months to fourteen years.

‘’Come, my children! I have prepared a large common room for the boys and another one for the girls. Aisha, Nadine, you are the two oldest of the lot. You will thus sleep in the guest bedroom, which is empty at the moment.’’ The thirteen year-old Algerian and the fourteen year-old Haitian thanked her before being guided to their room by Mai, each carrying a bag containing a few spare clothes. Jeanne took care herself of installing the other children, as well as the four spouses of her employees. Once everyone had been accommodated, Jeanne locked herself up in her private office and, taking out a key she always wore on herself, opened a large, solid oak cabinet, revealing her personal arsenal. Taking out of the cabinet two Colt-Paterson Model 1839 caliber .52 revolving carbines, which had been modified by her to cure their design defects, and two Colt DRAGOON caliber .44 revolvers, plus gunpowder, bullets and loading accessories, she took fifteen minutes to carefully load the four weapons. Those would give her a total of 26 ready-to-fire shots, a nearly unthinkable amount of

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firepower for the time period, all with perfectly contemporary weapons. Then hiding in various places her loaded weapons, Jeanne next went to the dining room, where she ate lunch with her assembled employees and their families.

The afternoon and early evening were tense, with seditious shouts being heard at intervals from the street and with mixed groups of workers, students and small merchants starting to patrol the streets, armed with improvised weapons and a few rare firearms. Thankfully for Jeanne, nobody seemed to pay particular attention to her residence then. She probably owed that to the fact that she was well known in this district for her generosity and for her respect for the lower social classes, a respect that was most atypical of other French aristocrats. However, at around ten at night, a short but intense firefight could be heard from the direction of the district of Des Capucines. Less than half an hour later, rioters started running up and down the streets, shouting out indignant cries.

‘’THE SOLDIERS OF THE KING FIRED ON THE PEOPLE AND KILLED 52 MARTYRS! DOWN WITH GUIZOT!’’

Those outraged cries rekindled at once the revolutionary fervor, which had quieted down somewhat during the evening. Jeanne, imitated by the other adults in her residence, watched from the upper floor windows of her townhouse as a small crowd of rioters started building a barricade at the corner of their street, while the bells of churches rang all across Paris.

‘’My God! This is going to end in a bloodbath.’’ said Rosette Sans-Soucis, Jeanne’s Haitian maid. Jeanne gave her a sober look.

‘’I truly hope that it won’t happen, Rosette. While Prime Minister Guizot has no consideration for the lower classes, King Louis-Philippe is not the kind of man ready to stay in power through massacres.’’

Jeanne, who had discreetly sent robotic spy probes to various strategic points of Paris to film those historical events for the benefit of the Time Patrol, also filmed the scenes down her street with the help of a pair of micro-cameras hidden in her earrings. She was thus able to film the passage of a funeral procession which passed under her windows around one o’clock in the morning. A huge crowd carrying lit lanterns escorted a cart full of dead people covered with blood. From the clothes worn by the dead, who were mostly men, it was evident that the bodies were those of people of modest

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condition, something that made Pierre Brunelle, Jeanne’s gardener and handyman, grind his teeth.

‘’The bastards! To shoot at the people like this. I hope that this Guizot bastard will pay for that.’’

‘’I believe that his position of power will not survive long after this, Pierre. The King will have no choice now but to disassociate himself from him. Let’s go to bed: tomorrow may be a long day.’’

The day of February 24 in fact proved to be full of news that brought joy to Jeanne’s employees and to the insurgents of Paris. With his palace besieged by a huge crowd of rioters, and not wanting to be responsible for another massacre, King Louis-Philippe officially fired his hated prime minister and abdicated before fleeing his palace under a disguise, on his way to exile in England. The King’s daughter, the Duchess of Orléans, whom he had named as regent for the benefit of his nine year-old grandson, then went to the Palais-Bourbon, the seat of the National Assembly, to proclaim her regency and thus save the monarchy. However, the republican representatives were not ready to play her game and colluded with the rioters to let the crowd invade the Palais-Bourbon. It was not supper time yet when the news of the proclamation of a provisional republican government circulated around Paris.

Jeanne greeted that news with an obvious satisfaction that surprised her employees. As she was opening a bottle of Champagne to celebrate the republican victory with them and their families, the young Michel d’Angelo, her stable boy, hesitantly asked her what all the others were secretly wondering about.

‘’You are really happy to see the monarchy fall, madam? But you are a d’Orléans.’’

Jeanne answered him with a big smile as she made the bottle cork pop out.

‘’I was born a Brissac, not a d’Orléans, Michel. Furthermore, I believe in democratic values. The people IS France, whatever the aristocrats and big bourgeois may think. Come on, let’s drink together for the people and for France!’’

‘’FOR THE PEOPLE AND FRANCE!’’ Shouted in unison the men and women while raising their glasses of Champagne.

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The weeks to follow were turbulent ones, as much in the rest of Europe as in France. Popular insurrections and riots shook in succession Vienna, Venice, Berlin, Milan, Munich and Prague, while the provisional French government publicly proclaimed the abolition of the death penalty and of slavery, the creation of national workshops in order to combat the widespread unemployment and the adoption of universal male suffrage. Jeanne didn’t waste her time during those weeks. Operating anonymously through a Paris stockbroker and using the troubled political situation across France and Europe, she speculated actively on the stock markets while using her historical knowledge from the future, buying stocks from companies which were going through temporary lows and were being dumped by panicked owners. On top of the Paris stock market, she also speculated on the London stock market, not wanting to put all of her precious eggs in the same basket. By May 4, the day of the official proclamation of the Second Republic in France, created after the national elections held on April 23, her

initial fortune had ballooned to nearly thirty million francs5, split nearly evenly between her accounts at the Bank of France and at the Midlands Bank of London. The proclamation of the Second Republic did not stop her financial speculations, but Jeanne did slow down her stock market activities in prediction of other important events due in June. Those events were preceded on May 15 by a big popular demonstration meant to support the Polish insurgents fighting to throw off the hold of Imperial Russia’s on their country. The French National Assembly, composed in majority of right-wing

conservatives and hidden monarchists, then imposed its views on the more socialist Executive Committee, which supposedly governed France but was in reality too weak to oppose the National Assembly. Many moderate republican officials were then replaced or even accused and imprisoned following the failed demonstration of May 15. The repercussions of this turn to the right by the government did not take long to make themselves felt around Jeanne.

10:18 (Paris Time)

Thursday, June 22, 1848

Hôtel de Brinvilliers

12 Charles-V Street, district of Le Marais

5 In 1848, thirty million French francs was worth roughly 1.2 million British sterling pounds of the time, or six million American dollars of 1848.

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Paris

Jeanne, who was starting to be worried about Mai and her two missing maids, was partly relieved on seeing through the window of her private study her young Chinese personal assistant come back at a quick pace and enter through the carriage gate. Leila Benchetrit and Rosette Sans-Soucis were however still missing. Going quickly down the grand staircase of her residence, Jeanne met Mai as she was about to go up the stairs.

‘’Do you have news about Leila and Rosette, Mai?’’

‘’Yes, Jeanne! Unfortunately, they are not good. Their husbands, who were officially working at the national workshops closed yesterday by the government, will now have to leave for the provinces, like all the other unemployed men over the age of 25. Leila and Rosette are desperate and don’t know what to do anymore. They are asking for your help concerning their husbands.’’

‘’And they will have it!’’ replied firmly Jeanne. ‘’Let’s take my personal cart to go see them.’’

Going out in the inner courtyard of the townhouse and walking to the stables, Jeanne gave an urgent order to Michel d’Angelo, who was cleaning the stalls of Jeanne’s three horses.

‘’MICHEL, HOOK QUICKLY PEGASUS TO MY PERSONAL CART: I HAVE TO GO OUT AT ONCE.’’

‘’RIGHT AWAY, MADAM!’’

Not staying inactive herself, Jeanne helped Michel by pushing out of its garage the small four-wheeled cart that she used for her informal trips in and around Paris. Six minutes later she was rolling out with Mai, turning on Saint-Paul Street and driving towards Saint-Antoine Street as fast as she could without risking to hit the numerous pedestrians following the narrow streets. Jeanne soon arrived at an old and decrepit apartment building where Rosette Sans-Soucis and her family were living. Telling Mai to stay in the cart, Jeanne ran up the narrow, dirty stairs of the building, finally knocking on a door of the second floor.

‘’ROSETTE, IT’S ME, JEANNE. OPEN UP!’’

The worried face of her Haitian maid appeared a few seconds later as she opened her door.

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‘’Thank you from the bottom of my heart for coming, madam. To be frank, I don’t know what to do right now.’’

Jeanne gave a quick look at Thomas, Rosette’s husband, who was sitting in a corner on a rickety chair and who was holding his head in despair.

‘’What is happening exactly, Rosette?’’

‘’It’s that damn governmental decree, madam.’’ exclaimed Rosette on an indignant tone. ‘’Not content with closing the national workshops and thus throwing my husband and tens of thousands of other workers back into unemployment, the government has ordered that all the unemployed men over the age of 25 are to move to worksites in various provinces. If my husband Thomas obey that edict, I will be separated from him, maybe for good.’’

‘’Has he received an official notice about that?’’

‘’Not directly, madam, but the decree published in the newspapers orders the unemployed to show up tomorrow morning at their old workshops, from which chariots will carry them to provincial worksites. The youngest ones will be brought to army barracks to be enrolled there. Can you help us, madam?’’ Rosette’s pleading tone moved Jeanne, who already knew how much misery and even blood that closure of the national workshops would bring. She however had an idea in mind that could save Thomas. She thus looked at the dejected black man and spoke gently to him.

‘’Thomas, when did you show up for the last time at your workshop?’’

‘’The day before yesterday, madam.’’ answered Thomas in his Creole-accented French.

‘’Thus on the twentieth, one day before the publication of the decree announcing the closure of the national workshops. Excellent! Thomas, you will say to anyone asking you that you were hired by me on a permanent basis on the evening of the twentieth, and that you are thus not touched by the decree. As a precaution, I will ask you to come lodge with your whole family in my residence, until I can make all this official. By the way, you will really work for me, at my standard daily salary of three francs per day.’’

‘’You…you would do this for me, madam?’’ asked Thomas, not believing his luck.

‘’I would do it for any decent person in need, Thomas. Rosette, pack quickly a suitcase for your husband: he will leave with me. Then, start packing more bags for the

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rest of your family, so that I can pick you up in a couple of hours and bring you to my residence for a few days: I anticipate that some difficult days are coming.’’

‘’Thank you, Jeanne! Thank you for everything! You are too good.’’ said Rosette, tears in her eyes, prompting Jeanne in going to her to hug her.

‘’Nobody can be too good, Rosette: you can only be too mean.’’

Ten minutes later, and with Thomas in the back of her cart with an old suitcase, Jeanne took the reins and drove off, this time in the direction of the home of the Benchetrit. There, she found the same situation as that with the Sans-Soucis and applied the same solution, retroactively hiring permanently Omar Benchetrit and telling Leila to start packing her family things. With both Thomas and Omar in the back of her cart, Jeanne then went to see a notary whom she knew well and who had socialist views, asking him to produce hiring contracts with retroactive dates for Omar and Thomas. A discreet bonus of 500 francs helped erase the few professional scruples of the notary, who signed the contracts as a witness. On her return trip, Jeanne briefly stopped at the homes of the two men, to start hauling their families’ bags to her residence. Two more return trips were needed to pick up their wives and children and the rest of their limited belongings, with Luc Rémillard accompanying Jeanne’s cart in her heavy haul chariot. By the time that the families of all her employees were safely installed in her residence, the popular agitation had grown to alarming levels.

Supper that night was a somber affair, with all realizing how difficult the next few days could become. Jeanne did her best to calm the nerves of her employees and of their families by singing and playing the piano and the guitar for them. She hid her own anxiety, knowing thanks to historical hindsight how bloody the next few days were going to be in Paris. Helping in late evening the mothers to put their children to bed for the night, Jeanne thought on looking at the sixteen boys and girls that simply doing this made all her efforts expended in this mission worthy. The smiles of gratitude from her employees, which had nothing to do with simple servility, also warmed her heart. Satisfied with herself, Jeanne/Nancy went to take a good hot bath and then slipped in her bed, falling asleep quickly.

The first shots, coming from the poor districts on the Left Shore, echoed around ten o’clock the next morning. Those isolated shots quickly became heavy exchanges of

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gunfire as the workers of Paris built barricades all across the city and as the army went on to brutally dismantle them and disperse the rioters. Contrary to the February Revolution, the government did not bow to the rioters and the National Guard stayed on the government’s side. By the evening of June 23, Paris had turned into a battlefield. The next day, June 24, proved even worst, prompting Jeanne in keeping her guests far from the façade’s windows during the day, fearing lost bullets. On the morning of June 25, the fighting closed in on her district. Jeanne was able to film in that afternoon the brief firefight that opposed a full company of infantry to a group of rioters holding a barricade erected at the corner of Charles-V and Saint-Paul Streets. The rioters, poorly armed, still caused a few casualties to the soldiers before dispersing in disorder. Jeanne ground her teeth together but kept filming discreetly as soldiers rounded up with much use of rifle butt strokes a dozen disarmed rioters and made them stand against a wall before summarily executing them. She suddenly became alarmed when about fifty soldiers started coming slowly down her street, bayonets fixed, while knocking on doors and then entering houses to search them. A poor man who made the mistake of protesting too vigorously the searching of his house was simply shot on his doorstep.

Taking a quick decision, Jeanne left the window and walked out of her private study to make a quick tour of her residence, ordering her staff and their families to assemble in the ballroom and to stay there. She then took with her Luc Rémillard and, after making sure he had no weapons on him, went down with him in the tunnel formed by the carriage gate of her residence. Once in front of the solidly locked double doors of the gate, she looked gravely at the ex-legionnaire, a tough, solid man of 32 who had left the Foreign Legion because of a wound to his left arm.

‘’Listen to me carefully, Luc, and don’t protest. At my signal, you will unlock the pedestrian door and will let me go out, then will immediately close and lock back the door. You will open it again when I will give three widely spaced knocks. If soldiers then follow me inside, do not oppose any resistance and do not object to their presence. The lives of all of our people here are at risk.’’

Rémillard in turn looked at her with worry. Jeanne was presently wearing a splendid aristocrat’s dress, plus a set of jewels that was worth a fortune.

‘’But you risk being killed by going out like this, madam.’’

‘’I am the least at risk here, Luc. Trust me: I know what I am doing.’’

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Then getting close to the pedestrian door embedded into the left carriage door of the gate, she listened for a moment before signaling Rémillard.

‘’Now, Luc!’’

While mortally worried for her, the man obeyed her and quickly pulled the three heavy bolts locking the thick wooden pedestrian door, then pulled the door opened to let Jeanne pass. She quickly stepped outside in the street, letting her coach driver and security guard close and lock the door behind her. A group of soldiers walking down the street towards her residence and being less than fifteen paces from Jeanne raised their muskets at once on seeing her.

‘’DON’T MOVE! HANDS IN THE AIR!’’

Her heart beating furiously and hoping to hell that the soldiers would not simply shoot her without questions, Jeanne slowly raised her hands up in the air while speaking in a firm voice.

‘’I am Lady Jeanne d’Orléans. I want to speak with your commanding officer.’’ The soldiers looked at each other in indecision, with one of them finally talking to his NCO.

‘’Shit, she’s an aristocrat! What do we do, Sergeant?’’

‘’Uh, I think that we better let the lieutenant decide. LIEUTENANT!’’ A young officer whose saber was stained with blood approached at a quick step on hearing the call.

‘’What is it, Sergeant? Who is this woman?’’

‘’She says that she is an aristocrat, Lieutenant. She came out of that carriage door.’’

‘’This is my residence, Lieutenant.’’ offered Jeanne, then taking a chance. ‘’I am Lady Jeanne d’Orléans and I came out to ask your soldiers to show restraint if they have to search my residence. I can assure you that I am alone with my servants and their families and that you will find no rioters inside.’’

The lieutenant approached Jeanne and examined her visually from head to toe, noting her rich dress and jewels. Impressed by her appearance and beauty, he finally bowed politely to her.

‘’Searching your residence will not be necessary, Lady Jeanne. You may now return inside. Have a good evening, madam.’’

‘’Thank you and good evening to you too, Lieutenant.’’

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Going back to the carriage gate, Jeanne knocked three times on the pedestrian door, slipping inside as soon as Rémillard opened it. She sighed with relief as the man pushed back in place the heavy bolts of the door.

‘’Ooof! That was tense! Thankfully, that young lieutenant proved to be polite…and reasonable.’’

Rémillard looked at her with something approaching adoration.

‘’Madam, your bravery would be worthy of a legionnaire.’’

‘’Bof! Some would call this simply a typical display of aristocratic arrogance.’’ said Jeanne in jest while smiling.

The end of the insurrection that would be known in the future as ‘The days of June’ was marked the next day, June 26, by the fall of the last barricades in the suburbs of Saint-Antoine, which bordered the district of Le Marais, where Jeanne lived. Despite the end of the fighting, Jeanne insisted that her employees and their families stay inside her residence for another few days, alluding to the forcible searches and police sweeps which would probably follow. The next days proved her right and brought many bitter news to the poorer people of Paris. A number of newspapers considered to be left-leaning were closed by the government and the rights of assembly were severely curtailed. To the 4,000 civilians killed during the insurrection had to be added 1,500 other persons summarily shot without trial, while 25,000 more people were arrested in the days and weeks to follow. Of those 25,000 persons arrested, 11,000 were eventually condemned to long prison terms or were deported to Algeria. On the side of the government forces, the losses amounted to 1,600 killed. All this brought a harsh turn to the right by the government, which was already too right-leaning to the taste of the Parisian workers. Feeling like a vulture for profiting financially from such a tragedy, Jeanne kept to her mission profile and bought at bargain prices millions of francs worth of shares at the Paris stock market, knowing that the societies whose shares she was buying and that had brutally dropped in value due to the insurrection would eventually regain their true value. As a consequence, her personal fortune ballooned again, to reach a total of over 49 million francs by August of 1848. That in turn provided her with a steady annual revenue from interests and dividends of over two million francs. Jeanne was now in a good financial position to create her charitable foundation.

16:55 (Paris Time)

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Wednesday, September 20, 1848

Charles-V Street, district of Le Marais

Paris

As their carriage turned onto Charles-V Street, Alexandre Dumas The Younger looked quickly outside through the window of his door to examine the façades along the short, narrow street. He then looked at his father, sitting to his right, asking him a question with a slight smile on his lips.

‘’Do you know well that Lady Jeanne d’Orléans, Father?’’ Alexandre Dumas The Elder, successful writer, author of such famous novels as ‘THE THREE MUSKETEERS’ and ‘THE COUNT OF MONTE CRISTO’ and an incorrigible skirt chaser, smiled at the insinuation in the question from his son.



‘’Not as well as I would like, which is unfortunate for

me: she is a decidedly appetizing young woman. She invited me once already in the last months, in the company of other writers and artists. While very young, she is remarkably well educated and possess a sharp intelligence. She is rich, but lives rather modestly for her means and supports a number of charitable works.’’

‘’She is thus a person I should like.’’ said the third passenger of the carriage, a frail but pretty woman in her forties. Alexandre Dumas The Elder nodded his head and smiled to his ex-mistress, with which he was still in very good terms and which he was escorting to this evening reception.

‘’I believe so, my sweet Mélanie, even though Jeanne d’Orléans definitely has an adventurous side to her.’’

‘’Oh? What do you mean, Father?’’ asked his son, attracting a malicious smile on the face of the writer.

‘’You will soon see, Son.’’

The carriage then slowed down, to stop in front of Number 12, Charles-V Street. Alexandre Dumas The Elder stepped out first and helped Mélanie Waldor come out before going to pay the driver of the rented carriage. As his son was also coming down, another carriage turned into the street and stopped behind their own carriage. Intrigued, Alexandre The Elder watched as a tall, well dressed young man came out of the newly arrived carriage, followed by a young woman wearing an elegant evening dress. As the

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two carriages were rolling away, the two groups found themselves together in front of the carriage gate of Number 12. Alexandre The Elder saluted the young couple with his top hat.

‘’Let me present myself: Alexandre Dumas The Elder. This is my son, Alexandre The Younger, and this is Miss Mélanie Waldor, a good friend of mine. I presume that you were also invited to this reception given by Lady Jeanne d’Orléans?’’

‘’Effectively, Monsieur Dumas.’’ replied the young man in a French with a strong American accent. ‘’I am Doctor Thomas Evans, dentist, and this is my wife, Agnes. Uh, you wouldn’t happen by chance to be the famous writer Alexandre Dumas, author of ‘THE THREE MUSKETEERS’?’’

‘’In person!’’ replied proudly the writer. A pedestrian door then opened in one of the carriage doors, pulled from the inside by a man dressed in a valet uniform.

‘’If you may come in, ladies and gentlemen. Lady Jeanne is expecting you.’’ The five guests entered at once by the pedestrian door, then were guided to an entrance door on the left side of the tunnel leading to the inner courtyard. To the surprise of the guests, a young and beautiful oriental teenager wearing a magnificent Chinese embroidered silk dress greeted them with a deep bow inside a wide vestibule.

‘’If you may follow me to the lounge, Lady Jeanne is waiting for you there with the guests who have already arrived.’’

As Alexandre The Younger climbed the stairs of the grand staircase behind the Chinese girl, he bent sideways to whisper to his father.

‘’She is really cute, that young Chinese.’’

‘’She certainly can make a man get an appetite, Son. She is the personal servant of Lady Jeanne, who can speak Chinese, by the way.’’ Alexandre The Younger opened his eyes wide, not a little impressed.

‘’Really? The people who can do so in Paris are rare indeed.’’

‘’And it’s not her sole talent, I assure you.’’

Having climbed to the upper level, the group passed a double door and entered a very comfortably furnished lounge which featured a large fireplace and two tall windows giving a view of the inner courtyard of the townhouse. The lounge was furnished in First Empire style and measured about seven meters by five meters. Thomas and Agnes Evans fixed at once with curiosity the tall young woman, nearly a teenager, who then got up from one of the sofas. She was as tall as Thomas and looked very athletic, with

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tanned skin and long silky black hair framing a pretty face with gleaming green eyes. Her floating, 1810 style dress, let her muscular shoulders uncovered and, while out of fashion, appeared very comfortable, contrary to the dress with crinoline cage that the American woman was wearing and which was both heavy and cumbersome. Agnes Evans opened wide her eyes on seeing the fabulous set of jewels worn by the young woman, whispering to her husband in English.

‘’She is rich, no doubt about that.’’

Jeanne went to them, while a man and a woman in their forties got up from their sofa.

‘’Welcome to my house, my friends. For those who

don’t know me yet, I am Lady Jeanne d’Orléans. However, call me simply Jeanne. Already present are Monsieur Victor Hugo and the Baroness of Dudevant, better known under her pen name of George Sand.’’



The newcomers presented themselves in turn, then sat in the sofas forming a rectangle in a corner of the lounge. A butler then showed up with a tray supporting cups of Champagne, while a black servant went around with a plate of appetizers. With all her guests now served, Jeanne smiled to Thomas and Agnes Evans, speaking in perfect English to them.

‘’Do you feel comfortable enough to converse in French, Mister and Misses Evans?’’

‘’Be reassured, Lady Jeanne.’’ replied in good French Thomas. ‘’Learning French as a second language is common in the good society of Philadelphia. We will manage.’’

‘’Excellent! However, do not hesitate to ask if you need something translated in English. With all the cultural luminaries present here tonight, the conversation will be flying quite high, especially with a member of the French Academy present among us.’’ Victor Hugo smiled at that barb thrown at him.

‘’Do not worry, my dear Jeanne: I will not act like a literary critique tonight.’’

‘’No?’’ replied with a malicious smile Alexandre Dumas The Elder. ‘’Your

Esmeralda6 would have loved to meet my dashing d’Artagnan.’’

‘’As far as my Esmeralda is concerned, I believe that our hostess would have been perfect to play her role, Monsieur Dumas.’’

6 Esmeralda : Name of the main character in the famous novel ‘THE HUNCHBACK OF NOTRE-DAME’, written by Victor Hugo.

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Alexandre The Younger, who had been discreetly admiring a large painting hanging from a wall facing him, pointed the artwork with one index.

‘’Talking of our hostess, is this you in this nude portrait, Lady Jeanne?’’

‘’It is me indeed.’’ recognized Jeanne, smiling, making Thomas Evans and Alexandre The Younger pay a detailed attention to the painting. ‘’I asked the painter who did it, a disciple of the method of the famous master Mathieu Le Nain, to show me as I am in real life, and not according to the old beauty canons of the Renaissance masters. I never understood why men of earlier centuries preferred overweight women who were as white as cadavers.’’

‘’Because they were the signs that marked you as a rich aristocrat, Jeanne.’’ replied Victor Hugo, attracting an unconvinced expression on the face of his hostess.

‘’Hum. Nobility and beauty, be they corporal or moral, are not the same in my mind. I always loved to live in the wide open spaces and to exercise physically. I don’t think that I have anything to envy in all those livid fat women we see in museum portraits.’’

Agnes Evans had to give a discreet elbow in the ribs to her husband, who was admiring a bit too much to her taste the nude portrait of Jeanne d’Orléans. She then spoke to their hostess.

‘’Lady Jeanne, from the decoration of your residence, you seem to like old things...’’

‘’Except in love.’’ interrupted Jeanne with a smile, making her guests burst out in laughter. ‘’I am sorry to have interrupted you like this, Agnes, but I couldn’t resist. Yes, I do have a taste for history, which I study diligently. Take this residence, for example. I was lucky enough to be able to buy it a year ago. It was built in the early 17th Century and was the residence of the Marquess of Brinvilliers, who was executed in 1676 for poisoning a number of people. Unfortunately, her residence was then neglected along the years and I found it in a rather pitiful state, even though its structure was perfectly sound. Instead of having it renovated on the lines of a single style, I decided to furnish each main room to a different style and period. I also possess a varied historical wardrobe, as you can see tonight. I frankly find today’s female fashion both horrible and uncomfortable, especially these crinoline cages and corsets. You should try once an antique Greek dress: it is very comfortable and also quite elegant. But enough about history: let’s talk a bit about the present. Mister Evans, how is your dental practice doing in Paris?’’

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‘’Fairly well I must say, Jeanne.’’ replied Thomas. ‘’We arrived in Paris last November and, while my appointments agenda is still not full, I have enough customers already to be able to live comfortably.’’

‘’So, you would still have some place left in your agenda for new customers?’’

‘’Are you in need of dental care, Jeanne?’’

Jeanne smiled widely, showing perfect teeth.

‘’Me, no! I was looking for a dentist using the latest techniques and who would be ready to examine and treat the young occupants of a Paris orphanage which I am helping financially. Doctor Brewster, whom I contacted at first, was already too busy but he gave me your name and address. I am of course ready to pay for your services in full if you accept to care for these orphans.’’

Thomas nodded his head at that: he now understood why he had received an invitation from a perfect stranger.

‘’To help your orphans this way would please me most, Jeanne. You can count on my services.’’

‘’Thank you very much, Thomas. We could further discuss this in detail later tonight, if you wish so.’’

Jeanne then looked at Alexandre Dumas The Elder.

‘’My dear Alexandre, when could we hope to see the last parts of your last novel, ‘THE VISCOUNT OF BRAGELONNE’?’’

The writer smiled with pride as the other guests listened on intently, apparently all interested by his answer.

‘’Well, the second part, titled ‘LOUISE DE LA VALLIÈRE’, should be published next month. As for the third part, ‘THE MAN WITH THE IRON MASK’, I should be able to finish it in about a year.’’

‘’Decidedly, you make us endure a cruel wait, my friend.’’ Agnes Evans then had a question for the writer.

‘’Monsieur Dumas, I loved your novel ‘THE THREE MUSKETEERS’, but I have a question about one of the characters in your novel, Milady de Winter. Is her character based on a person who really existed in the 17th Century?’’

‘’Aaah, the beautiful and sinister Milady de Winter.’’ said Dumas in a thoughtful tone. ‘’In truth, I sketched that character along fictitious lines when I wrote my novel. However, one of my historical research assistants has since found a few obscure references in the archives on King Louis XIV concerning a mysterious Marquise de

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Saint-Laurent, who seemed to have been some sort of secret agent for Cardinal Mazarin. According to some, the Cardinal called her ‘Milady’ and there are also allusions that she had been marked with a red hot iron, like my Milady. Curiously, other vague notations pretended that this Marquise de Saint-Laurent was a lover of d’Artagnan and even of King Louis XIV. The historical information on that woman is very limited and

fragmentary, but I now think that the character of ‘Milady’ in my novel had after all some historical roots. That Marquise de Saint-Laurent must have been a fascinating woman.’’ Jeanne, who had tensed up on hearing the name ‘Marquise de Saint-Laurent’, forced herself to keep a neutral expression.

‘’Your assistant didn’t find more information about that mysterious marquise, Alexandre?’’

‘’Unfortunately no, my dear. This Milady seemed to have purposely stayed as discreet as possible during her stay in the court of King Louis XIV, something that would be normal for a spy employed by Cardinal Mazarin. Actually, I would picture her like you, Jeanne: you are a young woman out of the ordinary, if I could go with the little you told me of your life.’’

‘’Oh, I would love to hear your story, Jeanne!’’ said at once Agnes with enthusiasm, bringing a forced smile to Jeanne’s lips.

‘’Oh, I am not so extraordinary, really, except for my athletic physique. I was born a Brissac and am the nineteen year-old daughter of a couple of ruined aristocrats who took a ship to the Guadeloupe over two years ago with the hope of rebuilding their fortune there. Unfortunately, pirates intercepted and took our ship in the Caribbean Sea, killing my parents and taking me prisoner. The pirate ship then sank in a storm off the Guadeloupe but I was able to swim to the coast. That is when I met my late husband, Sire Pierre d’Orléans, who possessed a large sugar cane plantation.’’ While speaking, Jeanne showed a small portrait hooked to a wall of the lounge. It showed a solidly-built, handsome man in his early thirties.

‘’Pierre d’Orléans was a man the kind of which we unfortunately see too rarely: generous, intelligent, strong but also kind and gentle. We quickly fell mutually in love and I married him in 1846. Unfortunately, he died a few months later of a tropical fever, leaving me his plantation and fortune. I then decided to return to France and sold the plantation. Since then, I have been using my newfound fortune to help others by supporting charity works. Well, that’s me in a few words.’’

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‘’Words that are too brief to properly tell a story as fascinating as yours, Jeanne.’’ replied Alexandre Dumas The Younger. ‘’How long were you prisoner of those pirates?’’

‘’Three long weeks. To be frank, I would rather not talk about that episode of my life.’’

Alexandre The Elder gave a warning look to his son, who then held his next question. The other guests easily guessed what kind of treatment Jeanne, a beautiful teenager, could have endured from these pirates and they had the good taste not to ask about that subject. The Baroness of Dudevant was the one to ask the next question after taking a sip of her Champagne.

‘’And how do you use your time, apart from supporting charity works, Jeanne?’’

‘’I manage my fortune, mostly. I keep a close eye on the economic and political situation, in order to better invest my money and to make it fructify. I also train physically every day, in order to stay in top shape. I must say that I am a born athlete.’’

‘’You certainly seem to be in perfect health, Jeanne.’’ Said Thomas Evans, making her nod her head.

‘’I am! Unfortunately, today’s women’s fashion is very restrictive for any woman trying to practice sports in public. I thus transformed a room on the ground floor into a small private gymnasium, so that I could exercise in private.’’

‘’You said that you follow closely the political situation, Jeanne.’’ said Victor Hugo, who was a member of the National Assembly. ‘’What do you think of the events of this year?’’

‘’That way too much blood has been spilled to date, Victor. The small people, who live in scandalous poverty and work for a pittance, have legitimate demands, demands that too many rich or well-off people dismiss while getting fat on their backs. Do not however think that I am engaged in politics: I simply am a humanist who detests seeing people being exploited and treated unjustly.’’

‘’Louis-Napoléon Bonaparte, who has political opinions quite similar to you on that subject, was elected to the National Assembly a few days ago. I wonder if, this time, he will leave his refuge in England and return to take his seat.’’

‘’I think so, Victor. He is said to be very popular with the majority of the people and he has the support of the Republicans. Especially, he is not threatened anymore with arrest if he returns to France.’’

‘’His return will certainly please the countless mistresses and lovers he left behind in France.’’ said Mélanie Waldor, a slight smile on her face. ‘’It is said that he

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even made two kids with the daughter of the commander of the Fort of Ham, where he was jailed until his escape in 1846.’’

Many guests laughed with Jeanne at Mélanie’s remark, while Thomas Evans shook his head with incredulity.

‘’I must say that the way Frenchmen collect mistresses, even when they are married, is making many talk in the United States. Do the French women really accept so easily such rivals around their husbands?’’

‘’Aaah, but where would be poetry and theatre plays without all these spicy stories, Doctor Evans?’’ replied humorously Alexandre Dumas The Younger. ‘’France has a long and proud tradition of making its people cuckold.’’ The whole group then burst into loud laughter at this declaration. Alexandre The Younger eyed Jeanne, young and desirable in her dress with large cleavage.

‘’And you, my beautiful Jeanne? You are young, rich and beautiful. You are thus a prime candidate to become the mistress of many men of substance in Paris. Are you planning to remarry soon?’’

‘’To get married, no! To continue dating men, most probably!’’ declared Jeanne while grinning, attracting more laughs. She however became serious before continuing.

‘’Please understand something, Alexandre: I came back to France so that I could use my fortune to help the people in need. To marry would legally give control of my fortune to a husband who would then be free to spend it according to his own whims, which would probably not be the same as mine. Remember that in France, as well as in England, a married woman belongs to her husband and that she has no legal rights to possess her own things without the permission of her husband. On the other hand, an adventure or two with dashing young men won’t hurt my fortune.’’ More laughs came out when Agnes Evans, red with embarrassment, fanned herself with one hand on hearing Jeanne.

‘’Dear God! Should I keep my husband under key during our stay in France?’’ Jeanne made a face while making a show of eying Thomas Evans from head to toe.

‘’Hum, that may be a good idea, my dear Agnes.’’

The stunned expression of the American dentist, along with the scandalized look of his wife, made the French present burst out in laughter again. Jeanne then used the fact that the atmosphere was now fully relaxed to invite her guests to proceed to the dining room.

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After a meal featuring exotic Chinese, Algerian and Creole dishes, Jeanne led her guests on a guided tour of her residence, tour which finally ended in the huge ballroom, where a piano sat near a display case containing an assortment of musical instruments. Sitting at the piano, Jeanne then played a couple of melodies while singing along, impressing and pleasing her guests with her musical talents. The quality of her piano playing particularly surprised the Baroness of Dudevant, who had been until recently the mistress of Frederic Chopin.

‘’My god, Jeanne, have you taken piano lessons from Monsieur Chopin?’’ Jeanne shook her head as she got up from the piano stool to go grab a guitar.

‘’Not at all, my dear. I learned to play the piano at a young age, before going to the Guadeloupe. I also have a gift for guitar playing, an instrument that is said to be very popular in the United States.’’

She proved her gift with more singing while playing her guitar, dancing along with her tunes. Unknown to her guests, the repertoire she played included a number of musical pieces and songs from future times, but adapted to earlier centuries. The guests, who had already been surprised by the extent of Jeanne’s technological knowledge, demonstrated when she had shown them her steam engine and the sanitary plumbing facilities installed in her residence, could only marvel at the range of her talents.

The reception came to an end at around ten o’clock at night, with Jeanne’s guests leaving by rental carriage or, in the case of the Baroness of Dudevant, who lived outside of Paris, aboard Jeanne’s saloon carriage, driven by the loyal Luc Rémillard. Victor Hugo, who was the last to leave, kissed Jeanne’s hand as he was about to step out.

‘’Thank you again for having invited me, Jeanne. The evening was most pleasant. I would love to be able to return the favor in the coming days.’’

‘’Thank you for the thought, my dear Victor. I however have to leave for England tomorrow, to go take care of my investments there and also to inspect a few orphanages that I am planning to support. I will however advise you once back in Paris.’’ The playwright gave her an admiring, fond look then.

‘’Jeanne, if all the rich people could be as generous and kind as you, the little people would be really happy. Good night my dear.’’

‘’And good night to you, Victor.’’

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Going out in the street with the playwright and author, Jeanne watched as Victor Hugo climbed into the carriage which had waited for him and waved her hand as it started rolling away. Going back inside, she thought about her trip to England tomorrow. On top of the goals she had described to Victor Hugo, she had something else to do, something that could assure her of some very high level support in the future for her charitable organization.

12:16 (London Time)

Saturday, September 23, 1848

Dining room of the Empire Hotel

Port of Dover, England

Louis-Napoléon Bonaparte, accompanied by his current mistress, Harriet Howard, and by their three young boys, was about to select a table in the dining room of their hotel when Harriet discreetly pulled his left arm sleeve to attract his attention.



‘’Louis, I already met before the young woman sitting alone at the table near the windows to our left. Let me just speak with her quickly.’’



Louis looked in the direction she indicated and raised an eyebrow in immediate interest at the beautiful young woman sitting at a corner table. From what he could see of her clothes, the girl seemed richly dressed and also wore expensive jewels.

‘’And who is she exactly, Harriet?’’ Lady Harriet Howard

‘’Her name is Jeanne d’Orléans. She is a rich philanthropist whom I met at the Bank of Midlands yesterday. We then had a cup of tea together and talked a bit.’’ Louis tensed up at the mention of the girl’s name: he owed his years of jail time and exile to the government of King Louis-Philippe, himself in exile in England since last February. He was thus understandably reticent when Harriet came back to him to say that the said Jeanne d’Orléans was inviting them to her table.

‘’Uh, she does not have family links to King Louis-Philippe, I hope?’’

‘’Not at all!’’ replied his English mistress, a young actress of great beauty who had inherited a fortune left to her by her previous lover and who was financially

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supporting Louis. ‘’She was born a Brissac and her late husband, whom she married in the Guadeloupe, never set foot in France. Come, Louis! You too, my little ones!’’ Taking by their hands the two youngest boys, Harriet led them to Jeanne’s table, followed by Louis and the third boy. Jeanne got up from her chair to greet them, revealing the fact that she wore a skirt that only went down to her calves, rather than down to the floor, as current fashion dictated. She however wore a pair of knee-length boots made of shiny black leather that completed her expensive but unorthodox outfit. Louis, a man of small stature standing a mere 166 centimeters, looked up with surprise at Jeanne’s 183 centimeters, with shoulders wider than his own shoulders. She had an eminently feminine body, if one overlooked her muscles and tanned skin. Louis however quickly regained his composure and saluted her with his top hat.

‘’Let me present myself, miss: Louis-Napoléon Bonaparte, at your service.’’

‘’And I am Jeanne d’Orléans. Pleased to meet you, Monsieur Bonaparte. And what are the names of those three cute boys, if I may ask?’’ While keeping to himself the fact that all three boys were illegitimate and that the oldest one was from Harriet’s previous lover, Louis proudly presented the children to Jeanne, who had bent over to smile to them.

‘’With pleasure, Lady Jeanne. The oldest, Martin, is six. You then have Alexandre Louis Eugène, five, and Louis Ernest Alexandre, who is three.’’

‘’Hello, little ones!’’ said Jeanne, attracting timid responses from the boys, with Martin’s one made in English. Straightening up, Jeanne pointed her table to Louis and Harriet.

‘’Please, have a seat! It would please me to be able to eat with you.’’

‘’You are too kind, Lady Jeanne.’’

‘’Please, simply call me Jeanne.’’

‘’In that case, just call me Louis.’’

‘’Deal!’’

Once they were all sitting, and with their orders taken by a waiter, Jeanne smiled to Louis.

‘’I suppose that you are taking the ferry for Calais that is departing this afternoon, Louis?’’

‘’Exact, Jeanne. Me and Harriet are moving to Paris, now that I have been elected to the National Assembly and that it is finally possible for me to take my seat.’’

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‘’And you have a residence waiting for you in Paris, I presume?’’

‘’Uh, not really. We were planning to take a suite at the Westminster Hotel until we could find an adequate house to buy.’’

Jeanne immediately shook her index at those words.

‘’Forget the hotel for you, my friends. I am offering the hospitality of my own residence on Charles-V Street, in Le Marais, and this for as long as it takes you to find a permanent place.’’

‘’That is most generous on your part, Jeanne, and I sincerely thank you for your offer, but do you have enough place for all of us without having to tighten up?’’

‘’I have ample room in the Hôtel de Brinvilliers, Louis.’’

‘’The Hôtel de Brinvilliers? Isn’t that the old residence of the infamous Marquise de Brinvilliers, the poisoner?’’

‘’Effectively!’’ replied Jeanne, smiling. ‘’But don’t worry: you will be able to eat in my home without choking, unless you try to swallow too big a piece.’’ Jeanne’s joke made Harriet giggle, while Louis fixed with hungry eyes Jeanne’s chest, which she had pushed up with her arms while speaking.

22:57 (Paris Time) / 21:57 (London Time)

Port of Calais, France

The group formed by Jeanne, Louis-Napoléon Bonaparte, Harriet Howard and the three boys walked down the walkway to the quay with sighs of relief at leaving the small steam ship which had brought them and twenty other passengers across the stormy waters of The Channel. Louis-Napoléon, who had suffered badly from

seasickness during the trip, nearly kissed the quay after stepping on it.

‘’Thank you, God! I am decidedly not destined to be a sailor.’’ He then looked around him to orient himself in the dark, the quay being poorly lit by a few rare oil lamps.

‘’You said that your carriage would be waiting for you at the port, Jeanne?’’

‘’Correct, Louis. In fact, I can now see my carriage coming up at the entrance to the quay.’’

Louis-Napoléon nodded his head with approval when the big two-horse carriage stopped in front of their group. It had four doors, was painted a lustrous royal blue and gold and its four wheels had steel coil spring independent suspensions and rubber rims.

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‘’A German-style saloon carriage? You certainly offer yourself the best there is, Jeanne.’’

‘’I actually had it built to my own specifications, my dear Louis. Let’s install the boys first, so that they could sleep: the poor kids are about to drop. LUC, I WILL TAKE CARE OF MY GUESTS. LOAD THE LUGGAGE IN THE MEANTIME.’’

‘’RIGHT AWAY, MADAM!’’

Jeanne climbed in the passenger cabin as Luc Rémillard climbed down from his sheltered driver’s bench to start loading in the rear trunk of the big carriage the dozen or so suitcases and chests of the group. Watched by the curious eyes of Louis and Harriet, she removed two safety pegs before sliding out from the rear section a sort of internal platform that covered the baggage trunk, extending it over the rear seats and anchoring it to the top of the middle side jump seats. She then took out from a storage box situated under the rear seats a rolled, thin mattress, a few wool blankets and three pillows, laying them out on the extended rear platform.

‘’Here you are! By temporarily sacrificing the rear seats, this system of retracting bed allows two adults to sleep comfortably during long trips. Come on, boys! Come up and get into bed!’’

The three boys eagerly obeyed her, climbing aboard with the help of Louis, to then undress before slipping with delight under the blankets. Harriet kissed the three boys on the forehead once they were installed.

‘’Sleep well, my little ones.’’

Louis was further surprised by the conception of the carriage when he sat in one of the two cushioned forward seats, which faced aft, finding them to be uncommonly comfortable. The seat cushions were made of royal blue velvet and seemed to contain springs inside their padding. The seats were also equipped with padded armrests and head-high padded back cushions.

‘’My god, I love this carriage design. I should order a similar one.’’

‘’Wait, you haven’t seen everything yet, Louis.’’ replied Jeanne. ‘’The front and rear seats can be reclined, on top of being fixed to spring suspensions of their own. You and Harriet will be able to sleep on the way, like your children.’’

‘’They can recline? How?’’

‘’Press your back against your seat and push, while raising this little lever under your right side armrest. To put it back straight, you will then only need to squeeze the lever again while taking your back off the seat.’’

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Jeanne smiled to herself as Louis and Harriet tried their reclining seats, a concept from the future that however needed only a primitive technology well within the capabilities of this time. She then climbed down from the cabin to help Luc finish loading their pieces of luggage. Once that was finished, she climbed back in the cabin and sat on one of the central, forward-facing seats. Harriet, who had reclined her seat, sighed with

contentment when the carriage started rolling, the noise of the wheels of the pavement muffled by the rubber rims.

‘’Louis was right: we should get a carriage like this one. What a contrast with that horrible ferry boat.’’

‘’I must say that the passenger facilities on our ferry were rather minimal.’’ said Jeanne, attracting an indignant reply from Louis.

‘’Minimal? How about nonexistent? In truth, that crossing exhausted me, on top of making me sick.’’

‘’Then, feel free to catch some sleep, Louis. You too, Harriet. I will wake you up once we will be at my place.’’

‘’You are decidedly too good, Jeanne.’’ said Harriet, making Jeanne shrug.

‘’It is in my nature to help others, Harriet.’’

Giving up to her fatigue, Harriet then let herself go to sleep in her padded, reclined seat, soon imitated by Louis-Napoléon Bonaparte. Now the lone one awake in the cabin, Jeanne fixed for a long moment the small man, thinking about all the events which were going to happen around the future French emperor in the coming months and years. A few discreet but well-informed counsels given at key moments by her to Louis would probably be sufficient to avoid many tragedies and much human suffering during the 23 years to come. However, Jeanne/Nancy understood too well the consequences of giving such counsels to Louis-Napoléon Bonaparte, or to anyone else from this time period. Trying to avoid future tragedies by changing history would only create new ones, on top of completely screwing up known history and preventing her own future origin from happening. That would also prevent the formation of the Time Patrol and would leave her a person that would never be born. Human history was drenched with blood and tears but she could not change in any significant way the history of this period. All that she could do was to do acts of charity to help a few hundred poor people who would stay anonymous in history. In that, the friendship and support of the future emperor could only help her in her projects. Later, in about a hundred years, her charitable

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foundation would then be able to help in its full capacity those multitudes of unfortunate people in the 20th Century who deserved help.

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CHAPTER 8 – VILLE-MARIE





The initial fort of Ville-Marie, at the Pointe-à-Callière, on the Saint-Laurent River, in 1654.

08:52 (Paris Time)

Tuesday, June 16, 1654

Harbor of La Rochelle

Atlantic coast of France

The clerk sitting at a small table set on the quay in front of the three-mast cargo ship ‘L’ARC-EN-CIEL’ watched with curiosity a large chariot approach him. Driven by a mature man, the chariot carried as well three men and three women, along with a goodly number of wooden chests, canvas bags and a few wooden kegs and barrels. The driver stopped his chariot in front of the ramp giving access to the ship, with the men and women jumping down except for two of them, who stayed aboard to start passing down the luggage and barrels in the chariot. The clerk was soon joined by the captain of the ship, who eyed critically the newcomers before going to their apparent leader, a tall man in his thirties. The latter saw him approach and turned around to tip his hat to the captain.

“Good morning, Captain. I hope that we are neither too early nor too late.”

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“You are just fine as timing goes, Monsieur Bonnet. As you can see, your whaler boat was winched aboard and stored on deck yesterday, as you requested.” The said Bonnet glanced briefly at the nine meter boat lashed to the weather deck of the cargo ship and nodded with satisfaction.

“Excellent! With all the luggage my group is bringing, that boat will be mighty useful to get us from Quebec to Ville-Marie. Talking of luggage, could I abuse the muscles of your sailors in order to store all this between decks? You can tell them that I will be distributing a few deniers in compensation.”

The captain laughed briefly then and grinned to Bonnet.

“You just said the right words to wake up those lazy bastards, Monsieur Bonnet.” A few shouted words from the captain then made eight sailors run down the access ramp and start hauling aboard the group’s possession. The captain patted one of the wooden barrels as it was being rolled past him and up the ramp.

“I see that you brought your own travel provisions with you, monsieur.” Bonnet shrugged then while smiling to him.

“Why travel across the ocean while living solely on sea biscuits and salted fish? Let’s say that I like setting a good table.”

“You will probably make the other seven passengers I have jealous, monsieur: all peasants, including five young women and girls, and as poor as they come.” Bonnet’s smile faded somewhat at those words, his jovial air replaced by a look of concern.

“If they are in need, we will be more than happy to help them out. Are those seven others aboard yet?”

“No! I am expecting them between now and noon. You should have plenty of time to store away all your things before they show up. You talk like a good Christian, monsieur.”

“Hey,” said Bonnet, a smile returning to his face, “one can be a merchant and businessman and still be a good Christian, even if that’s rare.” The captain roared in laughter with Bonnet, then walked back on his ship to supervise the storing away of the cargo.

As soon as the chariot was completely unloaded, Bonnet dismissed the chariot’s driver, giving him a gold coin, then went with his five companions to see the clerk still

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sitting at his table. The latter grabbed his pen and opened his ink bottle and bowed politely his head at Bonnet.

“Good morning, monsieur. May I have your name, occupation and destination?”

“Certainly, my good man! I am Fernand Bonnet, merchant and businessman on my way to New France to open an inn in Ville-Marie. I am from Tours.”

Bonnet then passed his right arm around the waist of one of the women, a pretty brunette in her mid-twenties. Fernand Brunet aka Fernand

Bonnet

“This is my wife, Claudette Bussière, who will help me run my inn.”

The clerk noted down their two names and occupations, then looked up at another couple which had approached his table. The man was tall and athletic and looked like he could be a tough customer indeed, while the young blonde beauty besides him could have made Claudette Besson aka Claudette Bussière most men mad with desire.

“And you are?”

“Henri Bruage and Françoise Vinier. I am an associate of Fernand Bonnet, apart from being a handyman. Françoise will work at our future inn as a maid. We are from Strasbourg, in Alsace.” Heinrik Braun aka

Henri Bruage

The Alsatian couple was followed by the younger man of the group, who was however as fit-looking as the two other men. His clothes showed that he was not as wealthy as the two others.



“My name is Michel Lorrain. I am a hunter and am working for Monsieur Bonnet. I will provide venison and furs to his inn. I am from Haguenau, in Alsace.” Frida Winterer aka Françoise



vinier

The clerk nodded his head at that while scribbling down that information. To have a professional hunter at your service while maintaining an inn in such a wild country as New France made a lot of sense. On the other hand, if all the stories about the ferocious local inhabitants were true, that young man was going to have one dangerous job indeed. The last person of the group turned out to be by far the most interest. Michel Hofmann aka Michel Lorrain Nearly as tall as Henri Bruage and apparently as athletic as him,





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the young woman was beautiful and sported long black hair. She was dressed in a simple enough dress, linen cap and soft leather shoes but those clothes were brand new. Even more, a large hunting knife and a pistol were holstered from her belt, which also supported a large leather purse, a water bottle and a gunpowder flask Nancy Laplante ‘B’ aka Nancy Sommers-Laplante Her tone of voice was friendly enough but the clerk

understood that this girl would not stand for any nonsense.

“I am Nancy Sommers-Laplante, born in New France. I am employed by Monsieur Bonnet as a guide and translator.”

“You were born in New France, mademoiselle?” said the clerk, frankly surprised. This had to be the first native from across the ocean he had ever met. On second look, the girl did have a deep tan and had the look of an outdoors person.

“My grandmother was an Amerindian.” replied laconically the girl. The clerk let it at that and scribbled her name in his registry. As the three men and three women were grabbing their personal bags and bedrolls to board the ship, two teenage girls dressed in near rags and carrying each a small bundle showed up at the registry table. One was around eighteen, the other maybe fourteen. The older one then spoke anxiously to the clerk.

“Is this the ship for Quebec, monsieur?”

“It is! Do you have a place reserved aboard?”

“Yes! Me and Marie signed a contract with the Notre-Dame Society to go to New France and find husbands there.”

“And your name is?” said patiently the clerk, accustomed to deal with poor peasants who had never traveled far before.

“Catherine…Catherine Lorion, from Saint-Soulle.

The clerk wrote that down, then looked at the younger girl, a pitiful-looking and thin one.

“And you, my child?”

“Marie Renaud, monsieur. I am from Saint-Paul d’Orléans.”

“Very well! You are both in fact on the list of expected passengers and your passage and rations for your trip have already been paid by the Notre-Dame Society. In return, I have to remind you that your are both expected to find a husband in Ville-Marie within a reasonable delay.”

“And once in New France, where do we stay? Who will feed us?” asked in a tiny, timid voice Marie Renaud. The clerk shrugged his shoulders in answer.

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“That I don’t know, mademoiselle. I believe that there are some nuns in Quebec. If you run into trouble, you can always go see them, I guess.”

“That won’t be necessary.” suddenly declared the tall Nancy Sommers-Laplante, who had listened to the exchange and had approached the table discreetly. She then draped her arms around the shoulders of both poor girls. “I will make sure that they arrive safely in Ville-Marie.”

“Uh, you should ask your employer first about that, mademoiselle.” said the clerk, not accustomed to see a girl take decisions like this. As if he had heard him, Fernand Bonnet came as well to the table and, after whispering with Laplante, faced the clerk.

“Nancy was correct, monsieur. My group will protect and provide for those two girls until we arrive in Ville-Marie.”

“As you wish, monsieur.” could only reply the clerk. Bonnet and Laplante then escorted Marie Renaud and Catherine Lorion up the access ramp, presenting them next to the four other members of their group. Still unable to believe her luck, Catherine Lorion eyed the six strangers, all taller and stronger than the average person in France.

“Why such generosity towards us? You don’t know us and we have nothing.”

“Wrong on one count, Catherine.” said Fernand Bonnet while smiling to her. “You now have a job at my future inn as a maid if you accept it. I offer food, lodging, basic clothing and three sols a day. The same goes for you, Marie.” The younger girl couldn’t help shed tears then, so unexpected this was.

“Why do you help us like this, monsieur? We are strangers to you.”

“But you are also good Christian girls in need, which is enough for me.” Claudette Bussière, who was looking out towards the quay, then smiled and spoke to her husband.

“How many maids are you ready to take in, Fernand? I see two more prospects approaching the ship.”

All heads snapped in that direction and targeted two young women in poor, tattered clothes heading towards the table of the registrar clerk. Next thing Catherine knew, Fernand Bonnet was walking down the access ramp, returning a few minutes later with the two newcomer girls.

“Say hello to Mesdemoiselles Marie Lorgueil and Jeanne Rousselier, guys!” A new round of introduction was then made, after which the four destitute girls were led by Claudette Bussière to a quiet corner of the ship’s deck, where she spoke to them in a low voice.

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“Look, girls. Some of you may be wondering about this being too good to be true, so I will tell you what we are about. Me, my husband and our four associates are heading to Ville-Marie to open an inn there. I understand that there are none there at the moment so competition will not hurt our business. On the other hand, a good inn needs a fair number of hands to run it properly. Michel and Nancy will be busy most of the time hunting, fishing and trapping to provide fresh food and furs to our inn, while Henri Bruage will take care of the building’s maintenance and of constructing more annexes as we go, so that left only me, Fernand and Françoise free to work inside the inn. Believe me, your help will be more than appreciated. Now, you may have heard some awful stories about traveling conditions on ships, which are mostly true. However, we have brought some provisions of our own to supplement the ship’s reserves, so at least the food won’t be that bad. Our biggest problem will probably be personal hygiene, due to the lack of facilities on the ship and strictly rationed drinking water. Me and my husband are however experienced travelers and have some tips which should help you stay healthy. If you all follow our counsels, then your trip should be bearable.”

“Mon Dieu, madame, you make it sound as if such trips are like traveling to Hell.” exclaimed Jeanne Rousselier. Claudette eyed her somberly.

“They could be, for the travelers who don’t know what they do. Now, let’s see what kind of quarters we will live into on this ship.

Followed by the four girls and enlisting the guidance of a senior sailor, Claudette then went down one deck to a dark, stinking space where a number of rickety wooden bunk beds were lined up. The head clearance was also strictly limited, adding to the claustrophobic nature of the passengers’ quarters. Claudette, using a lantern to help her see around, folded away one of the straw mattresses of the bunk beds and swore when she saw a number of crawling insects that had been lying under and on the mattress.

“Damn! Lice! This is a nice start indeed.”

She then turned to face the senior sailor, showing him the critters.

“Hasn’t this ship been washed and scrubbed after its last trip?”

“Of course it was!” lied the sailor. “We however can’t guarantee that vermin will not come back while at quay.”

“Great!” said Claudette, who then sighed. “Alright, girls, we will have to initiate a complete scrub down of our quarters. First, though, we get rid of those infested mattresses.”

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“What do you mean, madame?” said the sailor, suddenly alarmed. “You are not going to thrown away all those mattresses? They belong to the ship’s owner.” Claudette gave him a no-nonsense look.

“Maybe we should bring them to the house of your ship owner, monsieur. Don’t worry, though: we will simply pile them somewhere away from our quarters. First, I will have to go buy some cleaning stuff in town before departure.”

True to her word, Claudette went off the ship at once with Françoise Vinier and Henri Bruage, returning one hour later with two kegs of vinegar, extra buckets, mops and brushes. By then, another teenage girl and two young peasant men had joined the other passengers of the ship. While Jeanne Merrin, Jacques Morin and Jean Simon proved to be as poor as the four single girls that had first arrived after Bonnet’s group, they were seemingly good people and connected well with the others. All of them, including Fernand Bonnet, then worked hard to clean the passengers quarters and make them as livable as possible, which was still not much. They ate collectively lunch out of a pot of pork and vegetable stew Claudette went to buy at a nearby inn, washed down with cider, then resumed their cleaning work until the ship undid its mooring lines and started moving from the quay. All the passengers then lined up on the weather deck to have one last look at France. Seeing young Marie Renaud quietly crying as the ship left port, Nancy went to her and gently wrapped her arms around her, resting her chin on the girl’s head.

“Don’t cry, Marie. You may be leaving France for good but you are about to find a new, fascinating country.”

“But I know nothing about that country and I’m scared.” wailed Marie before turning around to face Nancy and clinging to her, tears on her young face. “I also don’t know what kind of man I will meet there, if he will be kind or mean with me.”

“Marie,” said Nancy softly, “if it can reassure you, know that I was born in New France and that I know it well. I can tell you about it.”

“You…you were born there?” said in a strangled voice Marie, looking up with surprise at her. Nancy nodded once while smiling.

“Yes, I was. My father was a trapper and his own mother was an Amerindian.”

“An Amerindian?”

“The correct name for the original local inhabitants. ”

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“Please, tell me more.” pleaded Marie, her tears drying somewhat. Nancy patted her back.

“I will, later. I might as well tell my stories to all our group, so that all could learn about New France. Now, let’s keep watching France one last time together.”

07:22 (Paris Time)

Thursday, July 16, 1654

L’ARC-EN-CIEL, middle of the Atlantic

Françoise Vinier, a.k.a. Frida Winterer, stepped out of her bunk in the dark, unable to sleep more. The way the ship was rolling and the pounding noise of the waves told her that the sea was rough today, again. With the rare skylights closed tight to prevent seawater from pouring in, the stench of the crowded compartment was too much for her. She could barely stand herself by now as well, being mostly unwashed for a month and wearing day and night the same dirty clothes. She had tried at first to wash at least her underwear with seawater but had then quickly developed painful rashes from the salt left in them, which had started to rub against her groin and inner legs, so that solution towards staying clean had gone out the window quite fast. Swearing to herself, Frida grabbed her cape and found her way in the dark to the steep ladder leading up to the open deck. The fresh sea wind that greeted her was like perfume for her compared to the stale air in the passengers quarters. She found Fernand Bonnet, a.k.a. Fernand Brunet, her ‘husband’ Henri Bruage, a.k.a. Henrik Braun, Nancy Laplante, Catherine Lorion, Jeanne Rousselier and Marie Renaud already on deck, watching the rising Sun and the sea. Joining them at the ship’s side, Frida watched for a moment the sea with them, finally looking at Fernand.

“Is Claudette up yet?”

“Yes, she is. She just went to the ship’s galley to get our rations of sea biscuits and water for our breakfast.”

Frida wrinkled her nose at that: the so-called fresh water had been on the brown side lately. Soon they would be down mostly to cider, beer and the occasional cup of wine. Claudette Bussière, a.k.a. Claudette Besson, then came back on the weather deck, a pile of large biscuits and a jug of water with a cup overturned on top of it in her hands. Her companions took one biscuit each and were about to bite in them when young Marie looked wide-eyed in horror at her biscuit and threw it on the deck.

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“It…it’s full of maggots!”

Frida froze immediately, her mouth open and a biscuit in front of her face. Examining her own biscuit, she saw with a jump of her stomach a few small white maggots moving on it. Nancy Laplante ‘B’, all of eighteen years old now, then attempted a sick joke, beaming and exclaiming with false joy.

“Goodie! Proteins!”

She then bit heartily in her biscuit, making Jeanne Rousselier and Marie Renaud turn green. Frida gave a dubious look to Nancy as Jeanne ran to the ship’s side to throw up. Frida knew that Nancy’s spirit had once been that of a British boy named James Sommers, who had served at the end of this century as a ship’s boy on a Royal Navy frigate and thus had extensive experience of life at sea, but her joke was still hard to swallow.

“Nancy, stuff it!”

“Well, that’s what I am doing!” protested Nancy, her mouth full. Fernand smiled to her while presenting her the pitcher of water and the cup.

“Well, if you like sea rations so much, how about being the first to drink today’s water, Nancy?”

“Sure!” replied the tall teenager. She then pulled out a handkerchief and placed it over the top of the cup, holding it there as a filtering membrane while pouring herself a cup of water from the pitcher. Frida looked with disgust at the maggots now twisting and moving on top of the handkerchief and turned green. The water in the cup was also brownish in color.

“We…we are not going to drink this, are we?”

Nancy, now most serious, looked at her companions with resignation.

“This is the only water available for the rest of our trip, my friends. I know that this is disgusting but we can’t drink only beer and cider for another month, or we will dehydrate.”

Then giving the example, Nancy pinched her nose and drank her cup of water quickly. The horrible grimace she made did nothing to encourage her friends, but they all drank their water in turn, with Nancy’s hidden headband camera filming their reactions. Frida beat her chest once to make the water pass, her stomach churning around in protest.

“God, this is vile! I will never make a good sailor.”

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“You haven’t eaten your biscuit yet, Françoise.” Nancy then reminded her. “Just knock your biscuit hard a couple of times against the deck: it will make most of the maggots fall out.”

Throwing Nancy a murderous look, Frida did do as she had been told, knocking her biscuit a few times and then biting in it while closing her eyes. Surprisingly, the taste was not really bad. Her surprised expression as she munched on her biscuit made Nancy ‘B’ beam at her.

“You see? It ain’t as bad as it looks.”

“Claudette, do you have a frying pan nearby with which I can beat Nancy on the head?”

Frida’s retort made young Marie laugh just as she had swallowed her water ration.

“You girls are crazy!”

“Of course we are!” replied Nancy with a big grin. Shouting a whoop, she jumped up and did a full back flip, landing upright on the deck with the grace of a cat. Everybody then broke out in laughter, including the few sailors and the captain present on the deck. With the spirits now back up, Claudette searched in a little purse hooked to her belt and produced a few orange pills.

“Well, how about some fruit-flavored candies to make you forget the taste of that water?”

“Yes, I like them!” exclaimed Marie, eagerly taking one orange-flavored vitamin C pill and chewing it down. Claudette had been distributing such vitamin pills at intervals, passing them as candies, in order to avoid cases of scurvy on their ship. After they had all chewed on their ‘candies’, Nancy looked at her travel companions while smiling.

“How about some more lessons in Algonquin language and customs to keep us busy?”

“I suppose that it beats scrubbing decks.” replied Jeanne Rousselier with little enthusiasm. Claudette, seeing the faked looked of indignation that came to Nancy’s face, slapped lightly her bum before she could say something.

“Come on, you tall boy chaser, we will pretend to listen to you. Right, girls?”

12:46 (Quebec Time)

Wednesday, August 5, 1654

Grand Banks, South of Newfoundland

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“LAND! LAND!”

The yell from the topside lookout made the passengers and crewmembers not already on the weather deck rush out through the deck hatches.

“At last!” exclaimed happily Jeanne Rousselier as she stared at the brown line on the horizon. “We will soon be able to get off this damn ship.”

“Yes, that and finally be able to wash.” replied Claudette Bussière, standing beside her along with Françoise Vinier and Catherine Lorion. Françoise scratched her head vigorously, trying to get rid of some of the lice infesting her hair.

“I hate this! It’s making me crazy!”

Claudette looked at her sympathetically: every passenger on the ship had been infested by lice and other parasites for the last two weeks despite all their precautions and scrubbing. That was probably thanks to their contacts with the sailors of the crew, who had been infested from the start of the trip and had passed on their parasites to the passengers.

“Be patient, Françoise. Once in Quebec and off this parasite box we will be able to boil our clothes and thoroughly delouse ourselves.”

Catherine Lorion then cut in hesitantly.

“What do we do when we have no spare clothes to wear while our clothes are being cleaned?”

By the expression on Jeanne Rousselier’s face, Françoise could guess that she was in the same predicament as Catherine.

“Don’t worry, Catherine. You too, Jeanne. Me and Claudette can lend you something to wear once in Quebec.”

Instead of replying with words, Catherine started crying quietly, prompting Claudette to come close to her.

“What’s wrong, Catherine?”

The teenager shook her head slowly then.

“Nothing is wrong. It is just that nobody has been this nice to me in a very long time.”

“Catherine,” replied softly Claudette, “I am sure that a nice girl like you will find a kind man to marry in Ville-Marie. In the meantime, let’s watch our new country together.”

A few minutes later, both Michel Lorrain and Nancy Laplante went briefly down to the passengers compartment, to return topside with fishing rods in their hands. The

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others watched them stick pieces of meat on their hooks and then throw their lines over the side, with Jeanne Rousselier going to Nancy, curious.

“Uh, why are you confident that this would be a good time and place to fish, Nancy? I didn’t see the sailors of our ship fish yet during our trip.”

“First, Jeanne, the sailors on this ship are on the lazy side, if you haven’t noticed. Second, this is the Grand Banks, the richest cod grounds in the World. Also, with the low speed we are traveling at now because of the weak wind, our ship’s wake is not strong enough to disturb the fish around us. I thus have a good hope that…” A sudden jerk on her fishing line then interrupted her and made her pull up her rod.

“I think that I have one already! Hold firmly my fishing rod while I pull in my line, quick!”

Nancy handed Jeanne her rod only after grabbing with one hand the fishing line, not trusting Jeanne’s strength at this time. She then pulled quickly on her line with both hands until she grabbed and threw on the deck the biggest fish Jeanne had ever seen.

“My God, what is that?”

“A Grand Banks cod. FRANÇOISE, GRAB MY CATCH AND GUT IT WHILE I TRY FOR ANOTHER ONE.”

Reacting speedily, her companion took out the knife she was always wearing at her belt and stuck it in the 150 centimeter-long cod, then expertly gutted it while it was still thrashing around. In the time it took her to do that, Michel Lorrain had also caught and pulled in a big cod, while Nancy’s line was back overboard. Two sailors ran to help, gutting the second fish as Nancy was already pulling out a third fish. Under the disbelieving eyes of Jeanne, Catherine and now Marie Renaud and Marie Lorgueil, Nancy and Michel ended up catching nine big cods before they decided that they had more than enough to feed well everyone in the ship for supper and stopped their fishing. Jean Simon, the young peasant land clearer, came on the deck as the nine cods were being proudly lined up by Nancy and Michel in front of an ecstatic ship’s cook. The young man looked at the fish with wide eyes.

“Tudieu! If the trees of New France are as big as those fish are, then I will have one tough job ahead of me.”

“They are, Jean.” replied Nancy. You will be able to see that soon.”

The next days saw the passengers stare tirelessly at both coasts of the Saint-Laurent River’s delta, marveling at the thick, ever-present forests and at the rich animal

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and marine life visible around them. Jean Simon in particular seemed enthusiastic about the land he was now admiring.

“This is the richest land I have seen yet in my life. We should be able to make a good living out of it.”

The big ploughman, Jacques Morin, standing besides him against the guardrail, nodded his head in approval.

“The first years will make for hard work, what with all those trees to clear first, but it will be worth it. We certainly will have all the wood we will ever need. As for fishing and hunting, this land seems to be made for that.”

“They say that there is good money to be made with the fur trade.”

“You can try it if you want, Jean. There is no way I’m running around those woods, not with those blood-thirsty savages who are killing our people living in those same woods.”

Jean looked nervously around at those words, then spoke back to Jacques in a low voice.

“Be careful about that. We have one of those savages traveling with us, remember?”

“Ha! Nancy, a savage? Come on, Jean! Yes, she was born here but she still is French.”

“What about all her knowledge about the local savages? She didn’t pick that up while living with Frenchmen. She said herself that her grandmother was a savage.”

“Jean, you should know Nancy better than that by now. Now, relax and just enjoy the view.”

10:16 (Quebec Time)

Monday, August 10, 1654

Quay of Quebec Harbor, New France

The passengers were greeted on the quay by a crowd of curious onlookers as they walked down the access ramp of l’ARC-EN-CIEL. The crowd was predominantly male, with the female passengers being immediately targeted for close visual scrutiny. There were more than a few admiring gasps on the passage of Françoise Vinier and of Nancy Laplante. A nobleman and his retinue of followers who were waiting on the quay saluted them, bowing down and waiving their wide felt hats.

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“Welcome to New France, good people! I am Jean de Lauzon, Governor of this colony.”

Françoise, who was in the lead with her husband Henri, made a curtsy and smiled to the governor.

“Thank you, Your Excellency. You will excuse us if we stay out of flee-jumping range from you and your officers.”

The governor laughed and smiled back to her.

“Your attention is commendable, madame. Since you must be anxious to clean up and rest after such an arduous trip, I will not delay you and your companions further. My Aide will escort you to an inn at once. Do not worry about your heavier baggage: soldiers will be posted on this quay overnight to protect your ship from any possible thieves.”

“You are too kind, Your Excellency. It was truly an honor to meet you.” Françoise, like the other women and girls, curtsied again before following the governor’s aide, the rest of the passengers in tow. Jean de Lauzon, spotting the captain of l’ARC-EN-CIEL on the quay, signaled him to join him. The merchant marine officer came at a run, bowing deeply and waiving his hat once in front of him.

“Captain, I was led to believe that we could expect more passengers from your ship.”

The tone of the governor’s voice clearly showed his displeasure, making the captain reply meekly.

“I know, Your Excellency. Unfortunately, a number of scheduled passengers either didn’t show up at all or changed their minds at the last moment.” De Lauzon tightened his fists in frustration at those words.

“This is nonsense! We are trying to settle an immense, rich land and France keeps sending people here drop by drop.”

Shaking his head, the governor then stormed off the quay, realizing that there was little he could do to change the present policies, which were set by the King’s ministers.

12:09 (Quebec Time)

Inn of Lower Quebec

New France

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“God, I never thought that I would enjoy a simple cabbage soup this much.’’ said Françoise Vinier between spoonfuls. The other passengers of her ship, sitting around her in the hall of the inn, all nodded their heads while slurping their own soups. They were already wearing clean clothes, their dirty and lice-infested clothes being washed in hot water by the maids of the inn in exchange for a few extra coins. Their next move would be to start the involved process of getting rid of the lice still infesting their hair, something that could take days. The only one not present in the main hall was Nancy, who had insisted on starting right away to wash with vinegar her long, flowing hair while taking a hot bath. The unloading of their whaler boat and of their heavy luggage would start as well no sooner than tomorrow.

Nancy joined them half an hour later, her hair wrapped in a long towel which smelled strongly of vinegar. She sighed as she sat at her group’s table, wearing a very simple peasant’s dress and sandals.

“I feel like a pickled herring right now. So, how’s the soup?”

“Great!” replied Michel Lorrain, a.k.a. Michel Hofmann. “You have to try some.” Nancy nodded, then ordered soup as well from the waitress. Pork ribs were next on the menu. Fernand Bonnet looked at the five girls and two young men who had traveled with his group and spoke to them.

“Our boat and heavy baggage will be unloaded tomorrow and we should depart early the next day. You are still welcome to travel with us to Ville-Marie, all of you.” The seven looked at each other, then quickly accepted Fernand’s offer, prompting a toast from Claudette.

“To our new country! For Christ and the King!”

“For Christ and the King!” The seven replied, downing their cups of wine afterwards.

The group was about to finish their meal and go delouse themselves when a tall, thin man in his forties approached their table timidly. He was dressed in well cut but worn clothes and saluted them, looking at Fernand Bonnet.

“Please excuse my indiscretion but I couldn’t help overhear your plans to leave for Ville-Marie in two days in a boat. Would you have enough space left for three extra passengers?”

Fernand looked briefly at the others, then smiled to the man.

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“I don’t see a problem with that, monsieur, as our boat is a thirty foot whaler able to take quite a heavy load. Do you have much luggage with you?”

“Only three bags and a travel chest, monsieur. My wife Marguerite and our five month-old son are traveling with me. My name is Nicolas Hubert, master tailor, also known as Lacroix.”

“Then consider yourselves included on the trip, Monsieur Hubert. I am Fernand Bonnet. This is my wife Claudette and these four others are my associates and employees. I am going to Ville-Marie to open an inn there.” Fernand then saw Nicolas Hubert hesitate.

“Uh, Monsieur Bonnet, how much would you charge us for our passage to Ville-Marie?”

“The same as to those seven other passengers, monsieur: nothing! I will be content with your labor as a rower during our trip. Since my boat has a mast and sail, I may not be asking much of even that. As for food, we intend to hunt as we go up the river. Feel free to bring some provisions if you like, though.” Nicolas Hubert couldn’t repress a smile of satisfaction at those words. While not penniless, he was not exactly rich either.

“Then we have a deal, monsieur. Where should we meet for the departure?”

“Right here after breakfast in two days.”

“We will be here then. Thank you again for your generous help.” Nicolas Hubert then left them, going upstairs, probably to his room. Fernand finished his meal, then paid for the whole group, making Jacques Morin protest meekly about that. Fernand dismissed his objections with a friendly wave of the hand.

“Do not worry about my purse, Jacques: I have ample funds with me. Now, if you will all excuse me, I will go bathe my hair in vinegar.”

“Me too!” Echoed his wife Claudette, imitated soon by all the others except for Nancy, who had taken some advance in that matter.

05:41 (Quebec Time)

Wednesday, August 12, 1654

Inn, Lower Quebec

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Frida was awakened by a vigorous shake from Claudette. Opening her eyes with difficulty, she saw that Claudette was already fully dressed. As for Catherine Lorion and Jeanne Rousselier, they apparently had left already their small room.

“Come on, you sleepyhead!” said Claudette. “You better get up if you want to have time to eat breakfast before leaving Quebec.”

“Yeah, yeah!” replied groggily Frida before pushing away the rough woolen blanket covering her, then swinging her legs out of the straw mat bed. Once up, she grabbed the gray wool gown lying on top of a nearby stool and slipped it over her linen shirt. Woolen socks and brown leather shoes went on her feet, while an Alsatian style white linen cap went on her head. Her leather belt was last on, with its belt purse, knife and pistol hanging from it. Packing up the rest of her things in her leather travel bag, she then went down to the inn’s main hall, where she joined the others for breakfast. Nicolas Hubert and his wife, Marguerite Landreau, were there as well as promised, with Marguerite holding her son Jean in her arms while eating. As Frida served herself some bread and cheese, young Marie Renaud looked towards the stairs leading up to the rooms.

“Nancy is not coming down yet?”

“She is already out of the inn, Marie.” answered Fernand. “She took the last watch of the night to check on our loaded boat.”

“Is that a proper job for a woman?” said Jacques Morin, snickering, making Fernand raise an eyebrow.

“When we are talking about Nancy, yes! She may be young and female but there is a lot you don’t know yet about her.”

“Like what, Monsieur Bonnet?” asked Jeanne Merrin, curious. Fernand smiled enigmatically at that.

“You will see. By the way, we bought an Amerindian birch bark canoe yesterday to supplement my whaler boat. The whaler is fine for heavy loads but we needed as well something lighter, something that is easy to take in and out of the water and to carry on one’s back when crossing rapids. Nancy and Michel, being the designated hunters of our group, will travel in that canoe alongside our whaler boat.”

“That girl is a hunter, Monsieur Bonnet?” said Nicolas Hubert, surprised.

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“She is! Furthermore, she has experience of hunting here in New France, or

Canada as she prefers to call this country. Her father was a coureur de bois7.”

“A girl coureur de bois? That’s a new notion to me.”

“And it is only one part of her story, monsieur. Now, I need to know who here doesn’t know how to swim.”

All of the people following his group raised their hands except for young Marie Renaud and Catherine Lorion.

“Uh, I see. Who here knows how to fire and reload a musket or a pistol?” This time Nicolas Hubert, Jacques Morin and Marguerite Landreau raised their hands, bringing some relief to Fernand.

“That’s better! We are now heading in potentially hostile territory, where bands of Iroquois warriors could be roaming, so we will need to be vigilant at all times and be ready to defend ourselves. If you have weapons, have them handy during our trip. If you are all ready, then let’s go down to the harbor.”

The walk to the harbor area was short indeed, Quebec still being only a big village. Fernand’s passengers opened wide their eyes when they saw Nancy, who was sitting in the whaler boat, a musket in her hands. Apart from her customary embroidered headband, she wore leggings and a sleeveless short top made of buckskin, a red linen loincloth and soft leather moccasins. She also had a leather haversack and a water flask slung over one shoulder and a leather belt around her waist which supported a steel war axe, a gunpowder flask, a hunting knife, two pistols and two small belt pouches. A very long bow and a quiver full of arrows sat in the boat besides her. On the approach of Fernand and his group, Nancy got up and climbed out of the boat to greet them, making the twenty or so curious people staring at her from the quay step back from a mix of fear and suspicion. She ignored their stares and greeted her companions with a smile.

“Weather is cooperating with our trip today: there is a good wind blowing upstream which will nicely fill our sail.”

“Then, you and Michel will ride in the whaler and we will tow your empty canoe.” Decided Fernand. “No sense in making you row while we all sit down and relax.”

7 Coureur de bois: Popular name in New France for the French who practiced trapping and the fur trade. Those men in turn were known to have frequent contacts and interactions with local Amerindians.

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“A fine idea with me, Fernand. Nobody approached our boats during the night.”

“Good!” replied Fernand, eyeing the many crates, wooden chests, kegs and bundles already loaded in the whaler boat. “Then let’s load up and go, my friends.” Fernand had each person step in turn in the whaler boat, making sure to distribute the load as evenly as possible. An intrigued Nicolas Hubert pointed at the three wooden crates which took a fair portion of the space aboard the boat.

“What is in those crates, Monsieur Bonnet?”

“A dismounted still and two iron stoves for my future inn.” answered proudly Fernand. “I brought with me many luxury items needed for my inn which are not available here in New France, including quite a few well wrapped glass plates for the windows.”

“Well, if you always plan this well, Monsieur Bonnet, your future inn should be a success.”

“I do hope so, Monsieur Hubert.” replied Fernand with a grin.

With all fifteen persons and one baby aboard and sitting in their place with their luggage, Fernand untied the rope tying the boat to the quay and pushed, making the boat separate from the quay. With the other five men and Nancy manning oars and with Claudette at the rudder, the whaler backed off from the quay and pivoted on the spot to head upriver, the empty canoe trailing behind a short rope. As soon as their boat was well on its way, Fernand raised the sail of its single mast. The sail filled with wind at once, accelerating the whaler to a most decent speed within a minute and allowing the oars to be stowed away for the time being. While most watched with intense curiosity the scenery of their new country, Nicolas Hubert, who had been in New France for two years now, started conversing with Fernand.

“Monsieur Bonnet, you said that you had a still for your inn but what will you use to produce alcohol?”

“Wild berries. Someone who came back recently from Ville-Marie to France told me that berry bushes abound around this country.”

Nicolas made a grimace at those words.

“Yes, and so do Iroquois warriors. Berry picking in the woods could be dangerous business. A goodly number of our people who went in the woods for various reasons were either killed or taken captive by those savages, with those captured

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destined to be tortured slowly to death. Be careful when you or your people will venture away from your inn or from the fort.”

“We intend to be careful, Monsieur Hubert. As you could see, we are well armed and know how to use our weapons.”

“Including your young Nancy?”

“Especially Nancy.” replied firmly Fernand. As the leader of one of three ground assault sections of the Time Patrol, he had helped train and form Nancy ‘B’ and rated her as a true elite trooper with tremendous potential. Nancy was further assisted by her unusually high number of previous incarnations as a warrior through her 9,000 years of past lives, something that gave her a vast experience of war and combat for her tender age. Adding Nancy’s top physical fitness, stamina, agility and courage to all that made her one dangerous girl indeed in combat. He however couldn’t tell that to Hubert, of course, so he kept it at that.

They sailed up the river until noon, passing an unbroken and dense forest on both shores, with much evidence of a rich animal and marine fauna to be seen all around them. At about noon, Fernand had the whaler boat close in on the North Shore, finally making it run safely aground on a small pebble beach where they tied the boat to a dead tree trunk on the shore. Nancy, Michel and Henri ran at once inside the forest bordering the narrow beach, their muskets at the ready, prompting Jean Simon to question Fernand.

“Where are they going?”

“They are making sure that no Iroquois party is nearby in the woods, Jean. Once they declare the surrounding area safe, we will eat lunch. For those of you who need a comfort break, Françoise will escort the women inside the woods, where you will have some privacy. As for the men who need to go, follow me! Claudette, you may start setting lunch. No fires!”

“Understood, Fernand.” replied Claudette. She had time to prepare portions of cheese and bread bought in Quebec, while the others who needed to had the chance to go relieve themselves in the woods before their three scouts came back at a walk. Henri reported at once to Fernand with military precision.

“Nothing within 300 meters, Fernand, except for one black bear heading away from the shore. I will post Michel out as a sentry during lunch.”

“Good! Come eat with us, then.”

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After a quick, frugal lunch, the sixteen travelers went back in their boat and rowed away from the shore before raising again their sail and resuming their course towards Ville-Marie. After five more hours of navigation and with the Sun low on the horizon, Fernand made the whaler boat beach again, this time for the night. Again he sent Nancy, Michel and Henri check the woods first, then had his two tents put up just inside the tree line, where they would be less visible to someone on the water or the opposite shore. By then Catherine Lorion, like many of the other teenage girls, was starting to think of Fernand Bonnet and of his associates as soldiers rather than merchants. Nancy, with her past as the daughter of a coureur de bois, could be explained to a point but Françoise and Claudette were showing themselves experts at many things which were atypical of the common French housewife. At one point, Catherine couldn’t resist asking Françoise later in the evening about that, getting an amused look from her friend.

“Catherine, France just came out of years of civil war and is now at war with the Spaniards. Me and Henri are from Alsace, where mercenary companies and other various groups of soldiers have been constantly marching through, looting, raping and murdering their way as they went. Henri was part of our local militia defense force, while I had to learn how to shoot and reload a musket just to protect our home from marauding soldiers and deserters. I even got to shoot one such deserter as he was trying to break down our door while Henri was absent. You can’t simply play the timid housewife and pretend that nothing is happening around you in those conditions, so I got an uncle of mine who was a soldier to show me a few tricks which would help me survive. They did help me and now I’m here, trying to find a better life in this new country with Henri.”

“And Claudette and her husband?”

“You will have to ask them but I suspect that their story will sound much like mine. Catherine, aren’t you tired of having about everyone push you around and either exploit you or outright steal from you while you have to meekly accept all that without fighting back? I certainly was. Here, we may have to face the Iroquois but at least we have the full right to defend ourselves from them and don’t have to worry about whole armies repeatedly marching through. Also, you won’t have the soldiers of our own French nobles loot and rape at will here, the way they did all the time during the Fronde in France.”

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Catherine instinctively looked around her, as if looking for spies, then looked back at Françoise, speaking in a low voice.

“Be careful about what you say, Françoise. If the Governor gets word of the way you speak, he could have you flogged for disrespect towards the nobility.”

“Ha! I only said the truth and he would know it. The King certainly knows what his nobles are capable of, since he had to beat them into submission.” Catherine was silent after those words, troubled. An uneducated girl from a poor family, she had taken for granted the authority of the nobility and of the King to do as they wished all her life. To hear someone mock like this the nobility was most disturbing to her. Her friend was however right, which made things only more disturbing. With her mind in turmoil, Catherine went to help Jeanne Rousselier collect dead wood for their fire, escorted by Nancy Laplante.

18:35 (Quebec Time)

Thursday, August 13, 1654

Six kilometers downstream from Trois-Rivières

Fernand was getting increasingly worried as the Sun was getting lower and lower on the horizon: they were still not in Trois-Rivières, even though he knew that they were close to it, and darkness was about to fall. If they arrived at night at the French outpost, that would represent a tempting opportunity indeed for any Iroquois war party wanting to attack them. Musket fire would in fact become mostly ineffective at night due to the lack of proper sights on them and would thus permit the Iroquois to engage at once in hand-to-hand combat, something they excelled in. Nancy seemed to think likewise, as she looked at him with concern visible on her face.

“The Sun will set in maybe half an hour, Fernand. We will soon need to take a decision about whether we continue towards Trois-Rivières or if we stop now for the night.”

“But, camping overnight in the wild could be dangerous.” objected Nicolas Hubert. Fernand nodded grimly.

“True, but not as much as doing it close to Trois-Rivières. That outpost is one of the places where you could strongly expect parties of Iroquois warriors to lay in ambush, waiting for an easy prey to show up. A group of Frenchmen arriving at night would constitute such a prey. We either go all the way to the outpost before nightfall or stay

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away from it overnight. Monsieur Hubert, you have been to Trois-Rivières before. How far from it do you think that we are now?”

The tailor thought furiously as he surveyed visually the nearby shores, looking for landmarks he remembered.

“We must be no more than a few miles, five at most, from the outpost. In fact, I believe that we should see the fort past that next bend in the river.”

“Then we press on with all haste.” decided Fernand at once. “Take out the oars, people! The wind is too lazy to my taste right now.”

The others didn’t waste time obeying him, spurred by the fear of an Iroquois attack. They had barely started rowing in cadence when Claudette, still manning the rudder, shouted a warning.

“FOUR CANOES



HAVE JUST LEFT THE

SOUTH SHORE TO OUR

LEFT!”

Fernand, who was rowing

with the other men and

with Nancy, eyed quickly

the four canoes now visible: they contained a good twenty Amerindian warriors who were paddling hard towards the whaler boat. He doubted very much that their haste was motivated by the wish to welcome the French.

“FRANÇOISE, REPLACE NANCY AT HER OAR! NANCY, START ENGAGING THOSE CANOES FROM LONG DISTANCE! THE REST OF YOU, ROW LIKE HELL!” The five French teenage girls and Marguerite Landreau couldn’t help whimper in fear at the sight of the warriors approaching them: the Amerindians looked as fierce as their reputation had made them. Furthermore, it was already evident that the light canoes, each with five paddlers, would easily overtake the heavily loaded whaler boat. Nancy then surprised the girls by grabbing her big bow and quiver instead of her musket. She then transferred to the rear of the boat, next to Claudette, standing fully up in the boat and shouting to her friend.

“CLAUDETTE, HOLD ME BY MY BELT AND KEEP ME STEADY!” Claudette obeyed at once, grabbing with one hand Nancy’s belt while still holding the rudder with her other hand. Thus secured, Nancy quickly placed an arrow on her English longbow and, in one smooth motion, raised her bow over her head and then

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lowered it to her front while pulling its string at the same time, using the same technique used by the English archers who had defeated the French knights at Crécy and Poitiers. With the 55 kilos of pull of her longbow she could reach a maximum effective range of nearly 250 meters and thus easily outranged the short bows used by local Amerindians. She could even shoot accurately past the effective range of most muskets. The great advantage of her longbow right now was however its rate of fire. A well-trained archer, which she was, could sustain a rate of fire of up to fifteen arrows per minutes, compared to the two shots per minute delivered by a good soldier armed with a musket. Her first arrow flew off as the nearest Amerindian canoe was still over 200 meters away. A second arrow was already on its way when the first arrow penetrated the thin birch bark bow of the leading canoe, not wounding any of the four warriors aboard but unsettling them while creating a minor water leak. The Iroquois, as Nancy was now sure that they were, whooped war cries and redoubled their efforts in closing in with the whaler. The second arrow then struck a warrior in the leading canoe, wounding him in his left shoulder and making him shout with pain. Twelve more arrows followed in the first minute of shooting, killing or wounding five more warriors and damaging three of the canoes. One warrior then tipped overboard, an arrow in one eye, upsetting his canoe and sending his four companions in the water. With the whaler boat still out of effective range of their own weapons, the surviving Iroquois soon gave up the chase in disgust, turning around to help their comrades in the water. That prompted a round of triumphant cheers from the French, who were however reminded at once by Fernand Bonnet that they were not safe yet.

“RESUME YOUR ROWING AT ONCE! WE DON’T KNOW HOW MANY MORE IROQUOIS ARE AROUND.”

That was more than enough to entice everyone in rowing even harder. The rowers were nearly spent physically when Nancy, who had moved to the bow, shouted happily.

“I SEE THE FORT OF TROIS-RIVIÈRES LESS THAN A MILE AHEAD. WE WILL SOON BE SAFE.”



Despite their fatigue and being

covered with sweat, the six men

and two women manning the oars

kept on, rowing hard until the

whaler boat entered the mouth of

the Saint-Maurice River and

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beached itself on a sandy beach less than fifty meters from the wooden palisade of the French outpost of Trois-Rivières. By then the Sun was gone and only the poor light from the dusk illuminated the area. As Nancy, who had jumped out on the sand first, was helping the girls get out quickly from the boat, a party of nine armed Frenchmen coming from the fort joined them, led by a solidly-built man with long curly black hair. The latter stared for a second at Nancy, apparently put off by her Amerindian outfit, then pointed the open gate of the fort to the girls coming out of the boat.

“Follow my men inside, mesdemoiselles: they will escort you inside the fort.” He then went to Fernand, who was giving directives to the men in the boat about what to carry out. Fernand stopped speaking when he approached and eyed him calmly.

“I am sorry to bring this much excitement to this place, monsieur. However, the Iroquois didn’t give us much of a choice.”



“Don’t be sorry: we go through this constantly. I am

Pierre Boucher de Grosbois, Governor of Trois-Rivières. Were any of your people hurt?”

“Fortunately no, monsieur. They chased after us on the

river but Nancy was able to keep them at arm’s length with her longbow.”

“Who?” said Pierre Boucher, thinking he had

misunderstood. Fernand smiled to him in the growing darkness.

“Nancy is the tall girl you just passed by, the one in Amerindian clothes.”

“Is she French?”

“Half French, half English, with a bit of Huron thrown in, but you can count on her fully, monsieur. She is also one of my associates. By the way, I am Fernand Bonnet, future innkeeper in Ville-Marie.”

“You are not under contract from the Notre-Dame Society?” asked Pierre Boucher, referring to the society that was sponsoring the settling of Ville-Marie with the avowed goal of evangelizing the Amerindians living in that area.

“Of course not! I love too much making good business. Me and my five associates, which include my wife Claudette here, are however escorting to Ville-Marie five single teenage girls, a couple with a baby and two young single men, all under contract from the Notre-Dame Society.”

Pierre Boucher politely bowed to Claudette, then returned his attention to Fernand.

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“We will talk more at length once you are safely inside the fort. Your boat should be safe overnight while this close to the palisade.”

“Then just give me ten minutes, monsieur, time for us to get our personal luggage out and to cover our boat and canoe.”

Pierre Boucher nodded in understanding, then helped a beautiful young blonde get out of the boat with her canvas bag. To his shock he saw that she had a knife and a pistol at her belt, like the wife of Fernand Bonnet.

“My God! Is this an Amazon invasion?”

The blonde grinned to him as she jumped down on the sandy beach.

“Let’s just say that we put all the chances on our side for this trip, monsieur. I am Françoise Vinier, associate and maid of Monsieur Bonnet for his future inn. This big guy there is my husband, Henri Bruage.”

“Pleased to meet you, madame, and you as well, monsieur. I will be most happy to offer you the hospitality of my outpost for the night.”

The blonde smiled as he gallantly kissed her hand.

“Hmm, I love gallant men, monsieur, and you certainly appear to be one.”

“You will be able to repeat that to my wife later on, madame.” replied the governor, malice in his voice.

As the newcomers followed Pierre Boucher and his men towards the fort’s gate, they passed in front of a cemetery located just outside of the palisade. Françoise hesitated and stopped then, staring at the dozens of crude wooden crosses lined up in the plot.

“My God! So many dead for such a small community.”

Boucher’s face filled with momentary sadness as he reviewed the names on the nearest crosses.

“Life has indeed been harsh at the hands of these damn Iroquois. We lost 22 people to them in the last two years alone, but we intend to stay and prosper.”

“Monsieur,” replied Françoise in a subdued voice, “with people as brave as the people of Trois-Rivières, I am certain that you will build a great city here.” The governor bowed, saluting her with his hat.

“Your compliment truly warms my heart, madame.”

Resuming their walk, the group entered the gate of the fort. Inside, the newcomers saw that the palisade actually enclosed a full blown village, with maybe thirty houses and one

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church lined along a few streets running in a checkerboard fashion. A growing crowd of men, women and children stared in turn with curiosity at the newcomers. Catherine Lorion suddenly jerked back in fear as an Amerindian man started detailing her from up close. Pierre Boucher made a reassuring gesture to her then.

“Do not worry, mademoiselle. Attikwata here is an Algonquin, an ally of us. The Algonquians have suffered as much as we did from the Iroquois. The Huron, another nation of good allies, have unfortunately been massacred and dispersed by the Iroquois in the last few years.”

Reluctantly at first, Catherine let Attikwata touch the fabric of her dress, then the small silver chain around her neck which had been given to her as a gift by Françoise Vinier. Nancy Laplante then stepped forward and said a few soft words in Algonquian to Attikwata, who nodded in understanding and left Catherine alone, instead starting a conversation with Nancy. Pierre Boucher eyed for a moment Nancy as she spoke with Attikwata, then spoke in a low voice to Fernand.

“Your Nancy can speak Algonquian?”

“Along with Iroquois and Huron, monsieur. I use her as interpreter and hunter, as she is the daughter of a coureur de bois who was the son of a Frenchman and of a Huron woman. She was in fact born here in New France.” Boucher looked at Nancy with wide eyes.

“This girl is decidedly fascinating. You will have to tell me more about her.”

“Uh, I would rather let her tell her own story, monsieur. She is a bit touchy about her private life.”

“As you wish, Monsieur Bonnet.” said the governor while watching Nancy show her longbow to a fascinated Attikwata.

20:13 (Quebec Time)

South shore of Saint-Laurent River

Near Trois-Rivières

Tsinapas, himself wounded to his left shoulder, could only watch helplessly as his brother and companion, Kahnehadas, breathed one last time and died, surrounded by his comrades. A lump in his throat, Tsinapas then started singing a song for warriors killed in combat, accompanied by the other eleven survivors of his group. As a result of their disastrous encounter with the French in the big boat, three warriors were now dead,

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while five more were wounded to various degrees, including Tsinapas. Once they had finished their song, the Agniers Iroquois took the time to hastily bury their dead, hoping to be able to return later to collect their bones and return them to their clan. Sitting back around their campfire, they looked at each other in silence for a moment, with a warrior finally addressing Tsinapas, who was their leader.

“What do we do now, Tsinapas? With five of us wounded, we are not in a state to attack the French again. In fact, we should bring Kehkakwitas back home if we want to see him survive.”

Tsinapas eyed briefly Kehkakwitas, who was resting besides the fire, a nasty chest wound making his breathing laborious.

“You are sadly right, Tsotehaka. As much as I wish that I could avenge my dead brother, our warring season is over for this year, at least for many of us.” Tsinapas then grabbed the long arrow extracted from his shoulder and made a point of examining it.

“I have never seen arrows reach this far before, nor have I seen a bow as tall as the one handled by that Frenchman, or was it a Frenchman?”

“I could swear that it was actually a woman,” volunteered Tsotehaka, “a woman wearing traditional clothes. I don’t think that she was French. The French don’t let their women fight.”

“Neither do we! Nor do the Huron or the Algonquians.”

“A Metis then?” proposed another warrior. “She was taller than normal French women or even men, as tall in fact as most of us. Half-breeds sometimes result in persons outside of the norms.”

“Your idea has merit.” recognized Tsinapas. “That woman, whoever she is, is however a clear threat to our warriors with her giant bow. Niotsaeton and his group of

warriors are operating upstream, near Hochelaga8. They have to be warned about these French and that woman. Kenawanda, Tsotehaka, I want you to take our remaining intact canoe and to leave now for the prearranged meeting point with Niotsaeton’s group. Paddle hard and get there as quickly as you can to pass the word to our fellow warriors, then stay with them to reinforce their group. As for the remainder of us, we will head back home with our wounded as soon as our canoes are repaired.”



8 Hochelaga: Iroquois name for Ville-Marie/Montreal

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The two designated warriors nodded and got up to gather their meager personal belongings. The remaining warriors accompanied the two men to the shoreline, wishing them well before they departed in their canoe. Tsinapas, his left arm immobilized in a sling, then looked at the seven warriors surrounding him, two of which also sported arrow wounds.

“Let’s not lose any time, my friends. We better start repairing our canoes tonight.”

14:23 (Quebec Time)

Sunday, August 16, 1654

Saint-Laurent River, three kilometers downstream of Ville-Marie

Frida, squinting her eyes to look at something in the distance, then screamed out in joy, making young Marie Renaud jump nervously.

“VILLE-MARIE! WE ARE FINALLY ARRIVING!”

Catherine Lorion, her heart beating faster now, strained her eyes to see their new home. A wooden fort was the most prominent sight along the shore of the river, with a few houses dispersed between the trees of the forest surrounding the fort. A few clearings marked cultivated fields, while a windmill stuck out of the trees at a short distance from the fort. She could still see no quays or other obvious place to land their boat and canoe. Her companions cheered as well at the sight of the fort and proceeded to put the oars in place in order to row to the shore.

On the same shore, level with the whaler boat and hidden in the bushes and trees lining the river’s shore, Niotsaeton and his group of eight warriors watched with interest the French boat as it passed in front of them, towing behind an empty canoe. The boat was too far for either musket or bow shot, so Niotsaeton took out a telescope he had bought at a high price from Dutch merchants in Fort Orange and examined in turn the sixteen occupants of the boat. One young woman near the bow attracted his fancy for a moment: apart from being beautiful, she sported the longest blond hair he had ever seen. Her scalp would make a prized trophy indeed on his return from this scouting and raiding expedition. Looking then at the remaining occupants, Niotsaeton saw a tall teenage girl dressed in buckskins. Examining her in detail for a few seconds, he then passed his telescope to the warrior hiding next to him.

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“Look at the third person from the front in that boat, Tsotehaka. Is she the one who shot the giant bow?”

Tsotehaka took only a moment before he nodded and gave back the telescope to Niotsaeton.

“It’s her alright! Her long black hair will make a fine scalp when I will get close to her. Even better, we could capture her and make her die slowly, to make her pay for the brothers she killed.”

“All in good time, Tsotehaka.” replied calmly Niotsaeton. His face then reflected sudden dismay, prompting an alarmed question from Tsotehaka.

“What’s wrong?”

“One of the French girls, the one with the long blonde hair, is now looking straight at us with a telescope.”

Swearing to himself, Niotsaeton lowered his scope and looked at his warriors: they were all under cover and well hidden. How could the French girl have spotted his group? Completely spooked by this, he signaled his companions to retreat further into the woods, then followed them at a half-crouch.

“They are now retreating in the woods. The path to Ville-Marie is now clear for your group.”

Frida Winterer smiled as she silently received the radio message from the scoutship WALKÜREN, in which she normally worked as the copilot and weapons officer. The WALKÜREN was the ship charged to discreetly follow her research team under cloak and had detected the group of Iroquois warriors via its thermal imaging sensors. Frida thought her response, using the micro-radio implanted at the base of her skull.

“Thanks for the warning, Hanna. We will keep an eye out for these guys.”

A steadily growing crowd was gathering on the shore just outside of the fort as the whaler boat approached under oar power. A rudimentary wharf that had been hidden behind a dead, fallen tree, was now visible and Claudette, sitting at the rudder, steered for it at once. About a dozen men went down the embankment, using a rough trail, and helped tie the boat to a pillar of the wharf, to which a number of rowboats and canoes were already tied. A man wearing a



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sword and a pistol at his belt stepped forward as Frida got out of the boat, but waited for Henrik to get out before going to him and shaking his hand.

“Welcome to Ville-Marie, monsieur! I am Lambert Closse, Sergeant-Major of the town’s garrison.”

“And I am Henri Bruage, associate of Monsieur Fernand Bonnet, who is the leader of our group.”

Closse looked at Fernand, who had been pointed to by ‘Henri Bruage’, and went to shake his hand.

“Monsieur Bonnet, I am happy to see you arrive with so many new souls for our small community. Are you all under contract from the Notre-Dame Society?”

“Not all of us, Monsieur Closse. Me, my wife and four associates came to Ville-Marie on our own to build an inn. The rest are however under contract.”

“Then we will sort this further after you are able to unload your things.”

“In that case, just let me unload what we immediately need. I will leave the heavier pieces for later, when I know where we will live.”

“Fair enough, Monsieur Bonnet.” said Closse, who then watched the occupants of the boat disembark. While the five teenage girls in French dresses attracted a lot of attention from the numerous single men present, Nancy made many recoil with suspicion when she stood up in the boat and became fully visible. Seeing Closse’s hand instinctively go near his pistol, Fernand interposed himself and looked down into the eyes of the soldier.

“Nancy is one of my associates, Monsieur Closse. Furthermore, she has French blood in her veins. I use her as interpreter and guide, as she was born in this country.”

“A native white girl from New France? This is rare indeed, especially when that said girl is so heavily armed.”

“That girl already saved all our lives near Trois-Rivières, monsieur, when she kept at bay four canoes full of Iroquois with her bow. She is the daughter of a coureur de bois.”

“I see!” said Closse, relaxing a bit then. The coureurs de bois were known around New France for frequently associating with the local Indians and to also often dress and live like them. This was however the first time he had seen a female coureur de bois, something that was probably going to scandalize Father Pijart. Closse gave dubious looks at the two other women wearing knives and pistols, then looked back at Fernand.

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“My men will guard your boat while I escort you to the governor’s office. Please follow me.”

Going up the small trail, Closse led them inside the fort, past a central courtyard with a pillory and a wooden head collar, then into a stone and wood building larger than the houses surrounding it. All along the way a crowd of curious but friendly people stared at the newcomers, with a few shouting greetings as well. The inside of the fort contained a number of apparently hurriedly built huts and houses lining the inside of the palisade, while other houses and huts were dispersed around the fort proper.

Still led by Lambert Closse, the sixteen newcomers were introduced into a small, sparsely furnished office where a nobleman rose from behind his work desk. In his forties, he had an honest face and a robust body. The nobleman scanned quickly the group, his eyes stopping for a moment on Nancy. That was when Closse whispered for a moment in his ear. The nobleman then spoke up in a firm voice.



“Welcome to Ville-Marie, good people. I am Paul Chomedey de Maisonneuve, Governor of this post.” He then looked at Closse.

“Have my secretary report in at once.”

As Closse hurried away, the Governor came from behind his table and shook hands with the men of the group, who presented themselves in turn. De Maisonneuve next kissed the hands of the women and girls. Closse came back with a Jesuit priest as the Governor returned to sit behind his desk.

“Father Pijart is my secretary, apart from being our community priest.” explained de Maisonneuve. “I would like you in turn to state your full name, place and date of birth, your occupation and, if applicable, the date and place of your marriage.” The newcomers, starting with the younger girls, executed themselves, with Father Pijart writing down that information. Fernand Bonnet’s declaration, which was second to last, made de Maisonneuve raise an eyebrow.

“Monsieur Bonnet, while we already have a few drinking places in this post, I agree that we could use an inn, especially to lodge passing travelers and newcomers in Winter. I will thus grant you a license to sell alcohol in your inn, as long as you don’t serve it to natives. Do you intend to cultivate land as well?”

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“Yes, Your Excellency! My wife will grow vegetables around our future inn, to help provision it.”

De Maisonneuve nodded his head and referred to a rough map of Ville-Marie laid on top of his work table.

“Father Pijart, take note of this: I give to Monsieur Bonnet the lot along the shoreline to the southeast of the Hôtel-Dieu.”

“Thank you, Your Excellency!” said Fernand as he bowed in salute. “Er, would you permit the production of alcohol as well, sire?”

“Production? How? With what?”

“I brought a small still with me, Your Excellency. I intend to pick wild berries at first to run it.”

De Maisonneuve smiled in amusement as he stared at Fernand.

“I see that you intend to make a generous profit by cutting the grass from under the producers in France who keep selling us Brandy at such dear prices. Very well, monsieur. As long as you pay the relevant taxes on the sale of your alcohol, I will grant you a license to produce alcohol as well.”

De Maisonneuve looked next at Nancy, who was last in line.

“Time to present yourself to Father Pijart, mademoiselle.”

“Yes, Your Excellency! I am Nancy Sommers-Laplante, daughter of Pierre Laplante and of Lady Suzanne Sommers. I was born in the month of June of 1636 along the south shore of the Saint-Laurent River, near the northern tip of Lake Ontario. I am an interpreter and guide for Monsieur Bonnet.”

“Your mother was a noblewoman, mademoiselle?” asked Father Pijart, having a hard time believing his ears. Nancy nodded once, then looked straight at the Governor.

“Your Excellency, I would wish to wait until we are in private before going into more detail about me. By in private, I mean strictly you and me.” De Maisonneuve looked back at her with suspicion: that girl was already too strange and her mother’s name sounded definitely English.

“Who was exactly your mother, mademoiselle? Surely you can tell us that, if you don’t have anything sinister to hide.”

Nancy hesitated for a second, then answered de Maisonneuve.

“My mother was an English woman of low nobility who had been captured and taken as a slave by the Hurons. My father, a coureur de bois, bought her from the Hurons and later married her.”

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“And how did you end up in France, mademoiselle?” asked the Governor, with the new settlers listening on with avid interest to this exchange, thirsty to know more about the enigmatic Nancy.

“When my parents died a few years ago, I took a ship to Europe in New Amsterdam and visited my mother’s family in England. From there I then crossed into France, where I worked for the King’s cause during the Fronde uprising. I came back to visit my land of birth.”

From suspicious, de Maisonneuve then grew nearly hostile.

“You have English blood in your veins, mademoiselle? And what tells me that you are not a spy for the English?”

While Fernand Bonnet and his associates looked incensed by that accusation, Nancy simply searched in her haversack while staring back at the Governor, finally pulling out and presenting to him a leather folio.

“This should explain to you who I am, Your Excellency. I however ask that this information be kept from all others, even from your secretary.” Deeply suspicious, de Maisonneuve opened the folio, extracting from it a folded parchment bearing a large red wax seal and ribbon and reading it. His face reflected nearly at once surprise and he snapped his head up after a few seconds to stare with disbelief at Nancy, his face pale.

“You…”

“Don’t say it, Your Excellency! The signature on this document should tell you what would be the consequences for you of being indiscreet about me.” De Maisonneuve swallowed hard, then folded back the document and slipped it back inside the leather folio before handing it to Nancy.

“Very well, mademoiselle. Your secret will be safe with me. Father Pijart, erase the entry concerning Mademoiselle Sommers-Laplante from your registry.” The Jesuit looked at first as if he had just heard a heresy, then obeyed the Governor with clear reluctance as the teenage settler girls and peasant men watched on with disbelief. Still shaken, de Maisonneuve looked back at his map of Ville-Marie.

“Monsieur Jean Simon, I grant you the lot adjacent and to the north of Monsieur Bonnet’s lot. Monsieur Jacques Morin, I grant you the lot directly to the northeast of the Hôtel-Dieu. I am confident that you will both be able to make those lands productive.”

“Your Excellency, you can count on my arms and back.” said proudly Jacques Morin, who was finally seeing his dream of a land of his own fulfilled.

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“On mines too, Your Excellency.” added Jean Simon.

“Monsieur Hubert,” then continued the Governor, looking at the master tailor, his wife and his baby son, “since you have a young child with you, I believe that you are in a more urgent need of lodging than the others. However, with the large group of newcomers which arrived last year, all the housing in and near the fort is taken. The only thing I can offer you is a damaged, abandoned house to the northwest of the Hôtel-Dieu.”

Nicolas Hubert raised an eyebrow in surprise at those words.

“If housing is so tight, Your Excellency, how come nobody grabbed that house yet?”

“Superstition, monsieur.” replied de Maisonneuve, frustration on his face. “The previous occupant, Jean Boudart, was killed by the Iroquois three years ago, along with his two young children, while his wife, Catherine Mercier, was last seen being led away into captivity. Since then, nobody has accepted to live in their house, on pretext that Boudart’s ghost is in it.”

“Dear Mother Mary!” said softly Jeanne Rousselier, touching the crucifix hanging from a chain around her neck. “What do you think happened to that poor woman, Your Excellency?”

Immense sadness seemed to fall on de Maisonneuve’s shoulders at that question.

“At best, the Iroquois made her a slave and will eventually make her die through overwork, employing her at the hardest and dirtiest work around their camp. At worst, they tortured her to death for their entertainment. She was a nice, brave woman. May God have mercy on her soul.”

The newcomers exchanged looks of sorrow and horror, then Nicolas Hubert cleared his throat.

“Your Excellency, I will take that house if it is still available.”

“Good man! There is also a four acres lot that comes with the house. It is yours as well, Monsieur Hubert.”

De Maisonneuve next smiled to the five single teenage girls who were part of Bonnet’s group.

“As you may have noticed from the lecherous looks around you, mesdemoiselles, there are a lot of single men around this post. I suspect that fending men off will be a main part of your occupations until you find a suitable husband for each of you. In the meantime, since you have no relatives here, I need to know where you intend to stay.”

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The five girls didn’t take long to make their minds, having already discussed that subject during their trip from Quebec.

“I will live with the family of Monsieur Hubert, Your Excellency.” announced Jeanne Rousselier. “I already worked as a seamstress and I could be of use for his tailoring business.”

De Maisonneuve nodded approvingly at that: with Nicolas’ wife and child living in the same house, the risks to Jeanne’s virtue were minimal.

“What about you, mademoiselle Lorion?”

“I will stay with Monsieur Bonnet for the moment, Your Excellency. He has two tents, one of which will be reserved for the women of his group. Monsieur Bonnet has offered us jobs as servants and maids in his future inn and we will also help his wife cultivate their vegetable plot until we each find a good man to marry.”

“Excellent!” exclaimed the Governor, rising from his chair. “Lambert, please go with our new citizens and mark with them the boundaries of their allocated lots of land. Now, if you will excuse me, I have some paperwork to do.”

“Uh, what about Mademoiselle Laplante, Your Excellency?” asked Father Pijart, clearly uncomfortable about Nancy. The Governor gave him a no-nonsense look.

“I am sure that Mademoiselle Laplante will manage by herself around Ville-Marie, Father Pijart.”

Following that, the group left the Governor’s office, then the fort, and was led through a half-deforested area by Lambert Closse. After a five-minute walk they arrived at a dilapidated house bordering a field overgrown with weeds. They were about to enter the house through its half-opened front door when a noise inside made everybody stop where they were. Nancy, who was closest to the door, drew her two pistols at once, cocking their hammers before pushing the door wide open and rushing inside. On their part, Fernand Bonnet, Henri Bruage and Michel Lorrain crouched down while also drawing their pistols without hesitation. A shout from Nancy then echoed from inside the house.

“CLEAR THE DOOR!”

Closse and the others with him had only time to react and step out of the way before a small animal ran out through the door, avoiding them and disappearing in the nearby bushes. Closse then broke out in laughter.

“A raccoon! We nearly got scared away by a raccoon.”

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They all laughed at that, then entered Nicolas Hubert’s new home. The house clearly showed the three years of neglect it has suffered, having been opened to blowing winds and snow through the broken windows and door. Climbing to the attic via a ladder, Fernand Bonnet soon shouted from upstairs.

“THE ROOF SEEMS INTACT, AT THE LEAST: I SEE NO LIGHT AT ALL THROUGH IT.”

“That’s a start.” said Nicolas Hubert, partly relieved. Testing the floor under him, the tailor saw that a few planks were half rotten and would need to be replaced soon. Marguerite Landreau looked around sadly at what had been the home of a now destroyed family.

“This place certainly can use some sweeping. Jeanne, pass me that broom.”

“Well,” said Closse after a last look around him, “I will let you to your cleaning job and will guide the others to their own lots, Monsieur Hubert.”

“Meet us at our tents for supper, Nicolas.” added Fernand. “We can lodge you all until your place is livable. We will also lend you a hand in bringing your things to your new home.”

“That is most generous, Fernand. We will be there by six.” Fernand then looked at Jean Simon and Jacques Morin.

“My offer stands also for you two: it will take you weeks before you can build a house of your own.”

“Fernand, you are a real friend.” replied Jacques Morin, giving him a pat in the back that nearly toppled Fernand.

Guided again through the forest to a less densely wooded area by Lambert Closse, the group was shown the boundaries of the lot given to Jacques Morin, with Closse planting improvised stakes to mark them. Closse then did the same with the lots given to Jean Simon and Fernand Bonnet. All three lots bordered the shoreline to the northwest of the point of land where the fort of Ville-Marie sat and were close to a stone house with a barely started wooden annex still under construction.

“What is that building, Monsieur Closse?” asked Jacques, now standing with the others on the now marked lot of Fernand. “I saw very few houses made of stone here up to now.”

“That’s the Hôtel-Dieu hospital. Sister Jeanne Mance is doing admirable work there, taking care alone of our sick and wounded. A most exceptional woman indeed.”

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“Maybe we should visit her later.” suggested Claudette, getting a nod from Fernand.

“A good idea. Let’s get ourselves established here first, though.”

Going back to the wharf near the fort, they retrieved their boat and canoe and rowed them down the stream to the shoreline of Fernand’s land lot, then solidly tied them to a large tree. The five men then started the arduous task of hauling the biggest and heaviest items from inside the whaler boat and up the riverbank to the chosen site of their camp, while the women took care of the smaller things. Everyone was sweating profusely in the hot, humid summer air as they dropped their first loads by the camp site. Françoise Vinier looked at a young man cultivating his field in a nearby lot, dressed only in his linen shirt.

“The hell with it! I’m not going to dirty one of my only two nice dresses for nothing.”

She then quickly removed her dress under the bulging eyes of Jacques Morin and Jean Simon, ending up only with her linen shirt and moccasins on. She however put back on her belt with knife and pistol before returning to the boat for another load. Fernand, Michel, Henri and Claudette quickly followed suit, prompting the others to look at each other in indecision. Catherine Lorion looked at Nancy, who was not shedding her clothes like her associates.

“You are not going down to your shirt, Nancy?”

“Hell, Catherine, I have no shirt under my buckskin tunic. Do you want me to go around topless?”

“Jean and Jacques would love that.” said Jeanne Merrin, giggling. Catherine Lorion then took a decision and removed her dress, followed in this by the four other teenage girls. They then continued their hauling work for half an hour, emptying completely the whaler boat before putting in place its covering tarp and overturning their canoe on the narrow beach. With both boats solidly tied in place, they returned to their camp site. By that time, everybody’s shirt was clinging to their bodies, soaked with sweat. Jean Simon couldn’t help have an erection at looking at Françoise Vinier, whose outrageously short shirt now stuck to her young, shapely body. Catherine Lorion blushed but kept silent on seeing Jean’s reaction, while Jean eyed discreetly her breasts, which were clearly outlined by her soaked shirt. Fernand, apparently oblivious to this, looked at the pile of crates, barrels, kegs, chests and bundles.

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“Alright, here is what we are going to do now: Nancy will go with Michel to the river to catch our supper, while Jean and Jacques will cut and collect small wood for our campfire. The rest of us will erect our two tents.”

The two large canvas tents, with the campfire between them, were up and solidly fixed to the ground by stakes when Nancy and Michel came back, two big pikes in their basket fishnets.

“Ah, goodie!” said Jacques Morin at the sight of the two fishes. “I’m starving!”

“Then you can cut and gut them while I go wash myself in the river.” replied Nancy. “I can’t stand myself anymore.”

“I’m coming with you!” said at once Françoise, grabbing a spare shirt from her personal bag. All the women and girls ended up following them to the river, leaving the men alone around the fire. Fernand then smiled to Jacques.

“You better stop thinking about the girls and start cutting up those fishes if you want us to eat, Jacques.”

“Uh, right!” said Jacques as the other men broke out in laughter. Fernand then spotted the Hubert family and Jeanne Rousselier approaching.

“Hey, Marguerite, how is the cleanup going?”

“Nearly done.” answered Marguerite Landreau, her baby in her arms. Nicolas Hubert looked with amusement at the men wearing only shirts around the fire.

“I see that you adopted quickly one of the more popular customs of New France, despite the rantings of the Church against it.”

“I think that I should adopt that fashion while working tomorrow.” Said Jeanne Rousselier, making Jacques Morin raise an eyebrow in interest. “I didn’t expect this country to be so hot in summertime.”

“Then grab a spare shirt from your bag and go join the other girls in the river.” offered Fernand.

“I’m coming too!” said quickly Marguerite, handing her baby to Nicolas before searching in her travel chest and grabbing a folded shirt, then following Jeanne towards the river. Nicolas watched her walk away, then grinned to the men around him.

“Well, it seems that we have now firmly established who is in charge around here.”

A wail from his young son then made him sniff audibly.

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“On the other hand, count me out for a while: I have a little boo-boo to take care of.”

“You’re in charge alright, Nicolas.” said Jacques, laughing hard while gutting the pike in his hand.

10:53 (Quebec Time)

Tuesday, August 18, 1654

Ville-Marie

Lambert Closse did a last scan of the forest surrounding the fort, then gave back the telescope to the militiaman on lookout duty before climbing down from the southeast tower of the palisade and walking through the open gate. The day promised to be another hot, sticky one and he was already starting to sweat under his leather jacket. Holding the hilt of his sword with his left hand, he started doing his periodic roundabout inspection of the settlers living outside of the fort, talking briefly to each of them and exchanging greetings with the people he met on his way. The settlers appreciated those rounds of visits, being in need of feeling cared for and protected in this hostile land.

Arriving at the house assigned to Nicolas Hubert, Closse then had to repress a smile: Nicolas and his wife were clearing out wild growth from their field while Jeanne Rousselier was sweeping the front porch of the house. All three wore nothing but their shirts, which were sticking to their bodies because of sweat. Lambert admired for a moment Jeanne, who had her back to him and was bent over while picking up something. With her graceful body and agreeable face, she should have no trouble finding quickly a husband in the large pool of single men in the fort. Looking away from Jeanne with difficulty, Closse walked to Nicolas and Marguerite, who greeted him with wide smiles. He noticed with satisfaction that Nicolas had a musket slung across his back, while his wife had a pistol hanging from a strap passed across her chest. With the handful of soldiers and militiamen he had, Closse needed the settlers to be ready to defend themselves.

“Good day, Monsieur Closse.” said warmly Marguerite Landreau.

“Good day, madame, monsieur. Is everything going well here?”

“Everything is just fine, monsieur.” answered Nicolas. “I need only to repair the door and the windows before our house is fully fit to live in. Jeanne was of great

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assistance in helping clean it, while Monsieur Bonnet is feeding and lodging us in the meantime.”

“Feeding you? Did he bring so much provisions with him?”

“Oh no, Monsieur Closse! He and his associates are simply first class hunters and gatherers. If there is something edible around, you can be assured that they will either pick it or catch it. Nancy and Michel in particular are really good at it.”

“Really?” said Closse, interested about the young but mysterious Nancy Laplante. That business of the secret document shown to the Governor had truly lit up his curiosity about that girl, who was quickly becoming the talk of the town in Ville-Marie, if only for her uncommon size and Amerindian clothes. “I have to say that this tall girl is a most strange one.”

“Not if you think of her as a true coureur de bois, monsieur. During my two years in Quebec, I saw quite a few male coureur de bois pass by and I have to say that some of them looked and acted quite strange. Mind you, if I had to go deep into the woods, I would want one of them with me, and that’s not to warm up my bedroll.” The last words opened a subject Closse exploited at once.

“And this Nancy, is she acting, uh, strangely?”

“It depends what you would qualify as strange, monsieur.’’ said Marguerite Landreau. ‘’She certainly cares about her physical fitness and can seemingly run forever. She also is obsessed about body cleanliness, bathing every day in the river. I tried to tell her that doctors say that contact with water can bring diseases, to which she replied to me that the doctors in France are ignorant incompetents. Monsieur Bonnet and his other associates also share that last opinion and bathe as frequently as Nancy. That in fact caused a small incident yesterday, when they had to chase away a young man from the fort who had tried to peep from behind a bush while Françoise and Claudette were bathing in the river.”

Closse’s smile disappeared at those words: one of his functions in Ville-Marie was to enforce the law and attempts against the modesty of a woman of good virtue was certainly covered by the law, with a fine being the normal punishment.

“Do you have the name of that young man, madame?”

Marguerite slowly shook her head, herself becoming serious.

“No, Monsieur Closse. I believe that Henri Bruage already dealt with the miscreant himself.”

“Did he beat him up?”

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“I don’t believe so, monsieur. He told us that he simply scared him into not trying to peep again.”

Closse nodded at that: Henri Bruage, being a tall and strong man standing a good 185 centimeters, certainly could scare most men if he wanted to. Still, this business of young women bathing in the river could create a lot of social disturbances if the word went around about the habits of the female associates of Fernand Bonnet.

“Well, it seems that I better talk to Monsieur Bruage about this. I certainly don’t want the young men of Ville-Marie to make a habit of peeping at naked married women.”

“Can you really blame them for trying, monsieur?” asked Marguerite with a malicious smile. Closse thought about that for a second.

“Not really, but social order must be kept. Maybe the female associates of Monsieur Bonnet could be more discreet too about their bathing habits. Well, I have to continue my inspection now. Have a good day, madame. You too, Monsieur Hubert.”

“And a good day to you, Monsieur Closse.” replied Nicolas, pausing for a moment from his work.

Closse next visited two more families nearby before arriving at the lot given to Fernand Bonnet. He found the latter busy with Henri Bruage cutting down the trees which still cluttered his lot, while his wife Claudette and three of the teenage girls they had escorted to Ville-Marie were digging and turning over the top soil of a two-acre deforested surface with spades. As for the young Marie Renaud, she was watching an iron pot set over the campfire by the group’s two tents. Everybody was wearing strictly shirts and moccasins or shoes, making Closse laugh silently at the futility of the priests’ rantings against that practice: Father Pijart was not the one who had to swing day-long an axe or a spade in the Sun of a hot, sticky day.

“Hi, Monsieur Closse!” shouted enthusiastically Claudette, stopping her work on spotting his approach. Lambert licked his lips before answering: she was an appetizing young woman, while he had not touched a woman for over a year now. Dismissing the sinful thoughts from his mind, he waved back at her.

“I thought that I would pay a visit to see how you and your husband were doing on your new land, madame.”

“Everything is going fine, Monsieur Closse. It is hard work but it will pay off soon enough. We were about to have lunch. Would you care to join us?”

“I would be delighted, madame.”

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Closse was in fact quite hungry by now, apart from being thirsty. Going to a wooden chest lying close to the campfire, Claudette took out a number of wooden bowls and tin cups and told the other girls to break work for lunch. She then served Closse a goodly ration of some kind of meat stew, along with pouring him a cup of wine, before serving the girls. Closse had a taste of the stew and nodded his head in appreciation.

“This is good! Hare meat, I believe?”

“Mixed with wild roots, mushrooms and herbs.” answered Claudette. “Nancy is very good at finding such edible roots and plants. Mind you, I added some salt and pepper to the stew for the taste.”

“And were is actually your Nancy?” asked Closse, looking around him.

“Gone hunting with our Algonquin neighbor, Ononkapis. As for Françoise, she went into the woods to pick wild mushrooms, with Michel as escort.” Closse nodded, knowing well Ononkapis: he was a lone Algonquin hunter who had lost his wife two years ago and who lived in a teepee in the woods, maybe 600 meters from here. Ononkapis was overall a good man who had made himself useful to Closse on a number of occasions.

“While I am here, madame, I would like to talk about an incident that I heard about. I was told that some young ruffian tried to play peeping tom at your expense.” The teenage girls around him giggled as Claudette smiled to him and spoke calmly.

“That problem has already been dealt with, Monsieur Closse. I believe that the ruffian in question won’t come back.”

“But others could follow his example, madame. Maybe you should consider being more discreet about your bathing habits.”

Claudette’s smile faded somewhat at those words.

“Monsieur Closse, me and my husband believe strongly in cleanliness as a way to avoid diseases, contrary to the opinions of the so-called doctors in France. The spot we bathe in the river is surrounded on three sides by trees and bushes and one has to be quite deliberate to spot us there. If it can reassure you, we decided to keep from now on a woman out on watch when other girls are bathing, with that woman armed with a musket. Will that be enough to reassure you, monsieur?”

“That should be sufficient.” recognized Closse before putting a spoonful of stew in his mouth. He then switched to small talk while eating his stew with the girls and Claudette as Fernand Bonnet and Henri Bruage joined them for lunch.

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As they ate together around the fire, Marie Renaud suddenly beamed and waved her hand high while shouting.

“Nancy is back with Ononkapis. They got a deer!”

Everybody looked in the direction where Marie was looking and saw effectively Nancy and Ononkapis walking out of the forest, a pole on their shoulders and a dead deer hanging by its tied legs from the pole. As the two got closer to the camp, they saw that a few ducks and hares also hung from the pole. That sight made Fernand beam with satisfaction.

“It seems that Nancy and her new friend had a good hunting indeed. We will have plenty of meat for the next couple of days, plus a deer hide to scrape.”

“Maybe too much for us to eat all before it goes bad, unless we smoke some of it.” said Claudette, prompting Henri to suggest something.

“Since Nancy is so successful with her hunting around here, we will probably end up constantly with some surplus meat. While we can and should preserve some meat reserves for Winter, we could also give away what surplus are left to people who are in need in Ville-Marie. Would you have suggestions about that for us, Monsieur Closse?” Closse was thoughtful for a moment. While Henri’s idea was a credit to him, most people in Ville-Marie were eating quite well indeed, except maybe…

“How about giving your surplus food to Sister Jeanne Mance, at the Hôtel-Dieu. She is practically alone to help the patients there and mostly depends on donations from the families of the patients to run the place.”

“A very good idea, Monsieur Closse.” agreed Claudette. “In fact, we could start right away, with the leftovers of this stew. Once Nancy and Ononkapis are served, I will go bring what’s left to Sister Mance.”

“Don’t forget Jean and Jacques, Claudette.” cut in Catherine Lorion, making Claudette smile with embarrassment.

“You’re right, Catherine. Since you raised the subject, would you mind bringing a portion to both of them?”

“With pleasure, Claudette.” replied Catherine, getting up and grabbing two bowls and two spoons, then filling the bowls close to overflowing with stew. That prompted Marie Lorgueil in getting up as well and hurry to her, taking one of the full bowls from Catherine.

“I’ll carry one, Catherine: you could spill the stew if you try walking with both full bowls.”

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“Thanks, Marie! You are too kind.”

Closse watched both girls walk away as Nancy and Ononkapis dropped their load near the fire. Nancy sniffed at once the stew with delight.

“This smells good! I have to say that I and Ononkapis were getting quite hungry.”

“Then sit down and eat, both of you.” replied Claudette, who fetched two more bowls for them, along with spoons. Once she had served them, she filled a small clay pot with stew and announced that she was bringing it to Sister Mance, then left the campsite. A few minutes later, the Hubert family and Jeanne Rousselier showed up and were promptly served by Fernand Bonnet. By now impressed by the Christian spirit of mutual help and charity of the newcomers, Closse finished his stew and, excusing himself, left to continue his inspection tour.

As the afternoon was getting quite advanced, Michel and Françoise returned from their picking excursion in the woods, tired but with their haversacks full of mushrooms. They made Claudette even more satisfied when they showed to her and Fernand one haversack full of wild raspberries.

“We found a large, albeit dispersed patch of raspberry bushes deep in the forest, near the river shoreline. Since our bags were already nearly full of mushrooms and we were about to turn around, we could pick only this much but there is much more left to pick. We would need to return in good numbers there tomorrow to do a decent harvest.”

“We will, Michel.” replied Fernand after tasting one of the raspberries and finding it sufficiently ripe. “These berries could help us produce our first batch of locally-produced alcohol. Me and Henri will stay here to continue cutting down trees, while the rest of us will go pick raspberries. Well done, guys!”

Then checking that none of the contemporary French were close, he lowered his voice to a near whisper.

“Claudette, it is time we collect some data about Ville-Marie from inside the fort. Playing settlers may be interesting but it is not our primary goal.”

“I needed to go buy some bread anyway. Let me wash my hands and face quickly and I will go to the fort.”

“Good! Use your special cap.”

By that, Claudette knew he meant one of her linen caps which featured a micro-camera and microphone camouflaged in its front flap. That cap would allow her to film what she

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looked at inside the fort, thus supplementing nicely the spy probes already used and controlled by the scoutship WALKÜREN.

Half an hour later, clad in a red dress, brown corselet, white shirt, brown shoes and white linen cap, Claudette left the campsite for the fort, a covered wicker basket in one hand. In her basket were hidden a pistol and a knife meant for protection against the Iroquois. With those hidden away, Claudette was hoping to appear like a more run-of-the-mill French woman to the people of Ville-Marie, something Nancy was having a lot of trouble with due to her cover story. Claudette tried to think of a way for Nancy to blend in more while walking to the fort, some 500 meters away. She shouted greetings on her way to the few settlers living like her along the shoreline, with those settlers answering her politely. An idea about Nancy came to her just as she walked through the opened gate of the fort. Keeping that idea in the back of her mind, Claudette started going around the vending stalls dispersed around the central courtyard of the small fort, which sheltered maybe 120 people at the most. Making a point of trying to converse in turn with each merchant or vendor, Claudette did her best to get them to tell their names and identify themselves, something a spy probe couldn’t do. This way, the Time Patrol would be able to put names on all the faces filmed up to now in Ville-Marie. While the people of the fort were a bit reserved with her at first, she being associated with Nancy, her easy manners and friendly chat soon broke the ice and she was able to talk and listen at length, playing the role of the bored housewife in search of the latest juicy or entertaining gossip while doing some shopping. The news from her that Fernand was planning to open an inn actually helped a lot to fuel the conversations.

By the time that she arrived at the baker’s shop she had bought a dozen fresh eggs, bartered for with two cups of the raspberries just picked by Michel and Françoise. The baker, a jovial man, looked with hope at her basket.

“Excuse my indiscretion, madame, but I saw you sell some raspberries to Le Minime’s wife. Would you happen to have some left still? I love raspberries but they are so hard to get with those damn Iroquois running around the woods.”

“You are in luck, Monsieur…?”

“André Charly, also known as Saint-Ange, madame.” answered the man, shaking her hand.

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“And I am Claudette Bussière, wife of Fernand Bonnet. We arrived on Sunday. To answer your question, I do have some raspberries left in my basket. They were picked just today.”

Claudette then produced from her basket a large bowl covered with a piece of cloth. Uncovering the bowl, which was still half full of raspberries, she presented it to Charly.

“I wanted to buy a couple of loafs of fresh bread from you, monsieur. Could I use those raspberries as partial payment? I do have coins with me as well.”

“For those raspberries and two sols, I will give you your two loaves, madame.” answered the baker, an offer Claudette accepted at once. The pleased baker

transferred the precious raspberries into a bowl of his own and took her money, then gave her two big loaves of bread still warm from the oven. Charly eyed Claudette with interest as she put the loaves in her large basket, lowering his voice next.

“That wild girl which goes around dressed like an Indian, she works for your husband, right?”

“Uh, yes.” said cautiously Claudette. “She is actually more like an associate than an employee to us. She is our guide and interpreter around here and also hunt to provide us fresh meat. She is quite useful, actually.”

“And she has noble blood in her veins?”

“Only from her mother’s side, monsieur, which doesn’t make her a noblewoman according to French law. Mind you, she couldn’t care less about being a noble or not. Besides, she is planning to return to France next year.”

“She is not staying?” said the baker, seemingly shocked by that news. “Then, what they say about her could be true.”

“Who is saying what?” asked Claudette, playing ignorant. Charly in turn lowered further his voice, sounding conspiratorial.

“That she is a spy for the King. You didn’t know that?”

“Uh, no! For me she is just a métis girl who wanted to visit again her country of birth. Why would anyone think that she is a spy, and one working for the King on top of that?”

“But you were supposedly there when she showed to Monsieur de Maisonneuve a secret document signed by the King, madame.”

Claudette shrugged at that, appearing to have been ignorant about this.

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“I only saw her show a document that seemingly made the Governor take notice but I didn’t know that it was signed by the King, Monsieur Charly. Besides, would the King really use a girl as a spy?”

“Hmm, true! Still, she is one strange girl, wouldn’t you agree?”

“That I can agree with but, as long as she makes herself useful the way she does now, I won’t care about that. In fact, I will miss her when she will go back to France.” Claudette then excused herself with the baker and walked out of the fort, her mind preoccupied. For the people of Ville-Marie to know that Nancy’s document had been signed by the King meant that the Governor had revealed at least that detail to someone else, a someone that was probably his secretary, Father Pijart. This was not good, as seeing such a juicy rumor appear in the historical archives from Ville-Marie would clearly go against the Time Patrol’s preference for discretion. The way things went, the Time Patrol was probably going to have to erase or rewrite a few incriminating documents from the archives of Ville-Marie at the end of their mission.

09:48 (Quebec Time)

Wednesday, August 19, 1654

Woods near Ville-Marie

Niotsaeton repressed his frustration as he and his seven warriors watched from their hiding places the group of French who had now been picking raspberries for a good hour. He had to give to those French that they were fully alert and seemingly a lot more skilled in woodcraft than most other French people. For one thing, four of the eight settlers, including the tall girl in Huron clothes, were heavily armed and constantly sweeping visually the woods around them while staying behind good cover. Furthermore, they supported each other the way they were scanning the woods and, worst of all, for some reason kept returning their attention to the area where Niotsaeton and his men were hidden. Any attack in those conditions would guarantee that at least two or three warriors would be killed by the French, a scenario Niotsaeton found unacceptable. His war party was after all many days from Iroquois territory proper and he could not afford such heavy losses unless the gains were well worth the risks, which was not the case now. At one point, Niotsaeton thought that an opening would appear for him to attack, when the four French girls doing the picking moved to a new area to pick more fruits. Their four armed escorts however countered by moving their security

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perimeter accordingly, changing positions by pair under cover from the other pair. They were definitely a far cry from the usually sloppy and flatfooted French soldiers and militiamen from the fort. Their picking completed after two hours of work and with their bags bulging with raspberries, the seven French women and girls and one man retreated in good order towards Ville-Marie, the tall girl with long black hair providing tail cover. Tsotehaka then looked at Niotsaeton, visibly frustrated and angry.

“Are we going to let them go like this, without trying anything?” he asked in a near whisper.

“And lose three or more braves before we could even close in on those French? Foolhardiness and bravery are not the same, Tsotehaka. We will find worthy but easier targets another time soon, I promise you.”

“The target I want is that tall girl, nothing else.”

“You will get your chance at that, my friend.” said Niotsaeton while eyeing the girl in question as she kept covering the retreat of her comrades.

08:51 (Quebec Time)

Friday, August 21, 1654

Fernand Bonnet’s campsite

Ville-Marie

Nancy watched for a moment the working still set over the campfire, its boiler full of raspberries mashed in water. Drops of liquid were already condensing and collecting in the still’s smaller pot, set off the fire. With any luck, their first batch of raspberry liquor would be ready for tasting this afternoon. She then went to Fernand, who was cutting the branches off a tree he had just felled. There was now a respectable number of logs accumulated near the spot chosen for their future inn and they would soon be able to start the construction work proper. Fernand smiled on seeing Nancy’s dress: it was limited to a loincloth, a short and sleeveless buckskin jacket laced up on its front and that left her belly button uncovered, plus a pair of moccasins and her leather belt. She also carried her haversack, water flask, longbow, quiver full of arrows, musket, two pistols, war axe, hunting knife and, last but not least, her blunderbuss scatter gun.

“Going for war or for hunting, Nancy?”

“For hunting, if Ononkapis feels like accompanying me, for war if the Iroquois provoke me.”

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“Then let’s hope for the Iroquois that they don’t try to piss you off today: you have enough on you to repel a small army.”

“That’s the idea.” replied Nancy with a grin before walking away from the campsite, heading towards Ononkapis’ own camp in the nearby woods.

Nancy was maybe 300 meters inside the woods and still about 200 meters from Ononkapis’ camp when she received a radio message from the scoutship WALKÜREN via her implanted radio.

“Heads up, Nancy! We have eight thermal signatures converging on you from the West. They are now 110 meters from you and closing.”

“Thanks for the warning, Hanna.” said mentally Nancy at the same time that she broke into a sprint across the woods. A quick glance to her left showed her movement between the trees: her pursuers were also running by now. Seeing Ononkapis’ teepee through the trees, Nancy shouted a warning in Algonquin towards it.

“ONONKAPIS, IROQUOIS WARRIORS ARE APPROACHING!” After a few seconds, she saw Ononkapis emerge from his teepee, a musket and an axe in his hands. To Nancy’s shock, the head of a teenage Amerindian girl also came out, fright visible on her face.

“TELL YOUR FRIEND TO STAY INSIDE! WE WILL MAKE A STAND

TOGETHER AT YOUR CAMP!” shouted again Nancy as she was getting close to her friend’s camp. Two musket shots rang out at nearly the same time a bullet whistled by her ear, while a second bullet splintered the trunk of a birch tree nearby. Crouching down while keeping running, Nancy arrived safely at Ononkapis’ camp, dodging a third musket ball in the meantime. Ononkapis fired back with his own musket, downing the nearest Iroquois warrior, who was now less than thirty meters behind Nancy. Jumping behind the dead tree used by Ononkapis for cover, Nancy turned around and pointed quickly her musket, firing it at another Iroquois. Her opponent went down like a log, killed instantly with a ball in his head. However, six more Iroquois were still running straight at her and Ononkapis, wielding either axes or clubs while screaming ferociously, and were by now way too close to allow time to reload. While Ononkapis let go his musket and grabbed his own axe, Nancy switched to her blunderbuss and, pointing it at three closely grouped Iroquois running at her, discharged it in their faces. The blast and muzzle flash stunned everybody around her for a second, while her nearest opponent was literally projected backward, peppered by over six lead balls. A second opponent

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also went down with a ball in his groin, while a third screamed with pain, hit in his right upper arm. The three remaining intact Iroquois then fell on Nancy and Ononkapis, two of them concentrating on Nancy. She just had the time to pull out her war axe and deflect with it a tomahawk aimed at her head, then sidestepped her second attacker. She grinned during the second or so she faced at a standstill her two opponents, speaking in Iroquois to them.

“Come on! Show me how good you are.”

Enraged by her taunt, one of the Iroquois stepped forward, swinging his axe at her while screaming a war cry. She jumped back, avoiding his swing, and slashed in a lightning-quick move at the second Iroquois, who was also coming at her. That warrior, his throat slit wide open, slowly fell to his knees, a gurgling sound coming from his mouth while he stared at Nancy with eyes full of surprise. The first warrior then swung his axe again, grazing Nancy’s belly and drawing blood.

“Looks like I’m good enough after all.” he said to Nancy, a fierce grin on his face. Nancy, facing him in a combat stance, laughed briefly to his face.

“Ha! One cut doesn’t make a victory. It is now strictly between you and me. What name should I put on your grave?”

“It will be Niotsaeton who will walk away with your scalp, girl.”

“You can call me Nancy…while you still can speak.”

“Then die, Nancy!” replied the Iroquois before swinging furiously his axe, forcing Nancy to back off by a couple of steps before she could attack herself. Both axes clashed together, with Nancy and the Iroquois now one against the other in hand-to-hand combat. The Iroquois was a strong man but showed surprise at her own strength as she fought to keep his axe away.

“You would have made a good warrior, if you were a man.” he spat, his face mere centimeters from hers.

“I’d rather be a woman: men have weaknesses.” She replied, making Niotsaeton stare questioningly at her while still trying to overpower her.

“What weaknesses?”

“First of, they have testicles.” answered Nancy just before kneeing the warrior hard in the groin. The Iroquois grimaced with pain but didn’t fall down. Nancy then rolled backward while still holding to him, planting her right foot in his belly and projecting Niotsaeton through the air and over her. The warrior fell hard head-down against a tree and slipped to the ground, half stunned and grunting with pain. One swing of Nancy’s

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axe projected Niotsaeton’s axe out of his reach, following which he found himself on his back in the grass, a pistol pressed against his forehead. Nancy took a fraction of a second then to check visually on Ononkapis. Seeing that her Algonquin friend had killed his opponent, she looked back down at the Iroquois.

“You have a choice, Niotsaeton: you can either die right now or vow that you will never come back to Ville-Marie or attack the French. In the second case, I will allow you to leave with one of your wounded.”

Niotsaeton took a deep breath, then stared directly in her eyes with resignation.

“I am a warrior. I would rather die in combat than return to my tribe like a defeated dog.”

“As you wish, Niotsaeton. May the Great Spirit be kind to you.” said softly Nancy before pulling the trigger. Getting up, she looked down briefly at her dead opponent, then eyed Ononkapis, who was finishing off a gravely wounded Iroquois. The young teenage Amerindian girl she had seen at the start of the fight was now coming out of the teepee, dressed only in a loincloth. A burning pain then reminded Nancy that she had been wounded. Looking down at her belly, she saw that she sported a long but shallow slash that had not gone deeper than the skin. That slash could however get infected easily if she didn’t take some precautions soon. First, though, she had to do something else. Bending down and taking out her hunting knife, she scalped the dead Niotsaeton, then did the same to the four other Iroquois she had killed. She was tying the five scalps to her belt when Ononkapis joined her, two scalps of his own at his belt. His look to her was one of admiration and respect.

“You are indeed worthy of the title of ‘warrior’, Nancy. My tribe would be proud to have you in its ranks.”

“And I would be proud indeed to be an Algonquin, my friend. You should have presented your young friend to me before.”

Ononkapis smiled, then signaled the girl to join them.

“I have known Mistibis for only a few weeks now and can see her only on rare occasions, as she is employed by a Frenchman in the fort who leaves her little free time.”

Nancy eyed sharply Ononkapis at those last words.

“Is she a servant…or a slave?”

“A slave.” answered Ononkapis, lowering his head. “She was at first a Huron, then was captured and adopted by the Iroquois five years ago before being again

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captured and sold as a slave. Right now, she is supposed to be gathering wild berries for her master.”

Nancy looked carefully at the Amerindian girl now standing besides Ononkapis. She was more than pretty and could not be more than maybe fourteen years old. While not starving, she wasn’t well fed either. Caressing the girl’s hair with one hand, Nancy spoke gently to her in Huron.

“Who owns you in the fort, Mistibis?”

“Monsieur Charles D’Ailleboust, mademoiselle.” answered the girl timidly. Nancy nodded in understanding. Charles D’Ailleboust was a nobleman with the title of squire who had recently been the acting governor of Ville-Marie during a two-year absence by Monsieur de Maisonneuve.

“Then, Mistibis, you better put your clothes on: I am going to see Monsieur D’Ailleboust with you.”

Before she or Ononkapis could ask why she wanted to do that, Fernand arrived at a run with Henri and Michel, their muskets at the ready. They made a show of relaxing once they saw that Nancy and Ononkapis were safe. In reality, Hanna Reitsch had already informed them by radio of the turn of events. Fernand, seeing blood on Nancy’s belly, approached her and crouched in front of her to examine her wound.

“You were damn lucky, Nancy: a couple of centimeters deeper and that Iroquois would have disemboweled you. This will have to be cleaned and bandaged.”

“Uh, could I ask you something first, Fernand?” said Nancy before whispering into his ear. Fernand replied in the same way, conversing for a few seconds with her before nodding to something. He then took his flask of water out and rinsed Nancy’s wound. While he treated her, Michel and Henri went deep into the wood, searching for the lone, wounded Iroquois who had managed to run away from the fight.

Mistibis was back by Ononkapis’ side and Fernand had finished wrapping a piece of cloth over Nancy’s superficial wound when a single musket shot rang from a distance, coming from inside the woods. Maybe two minutes later, Lambert Closse arrived on the scene, out of breath and with ten equally winded soldiers at his back. He looked first at Nancy, with her blood-stained bandage, then at the bodies of the seven scalped Iroquois, who had been lined up in front the teepee by Ononkapis. His face paled when he finally noticed the five scalps hanging from Nancy’s belt.

“Mon Dieu, mademoiselle, you killed five Iroquois?”

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“And wounded a sixth one, while Ononkapis killed two more, Monsieur Closse. Henri and Michel went to find the wounded one but I think that they found him a moment ago. Don’t worry about my wound: it is a superficial slash and Fernand already took care of it.”

“What actually happened, mademoiselle?”

“I was coming to see Ononkapis and propose to him to go hunt together. Not far from his camp I found young Mistibis, who was searching for berries for her master. That was when eight Iroquois attacked us. We managed to run to Ononkapis’ camp and made our stand there.”

Closse nodded once, then went to examine the dead Iroquois. One of them attracted his attention and he pointed the body to Nancy.

“What did you use on that Iroquois? He looks like a sieve.” Nancy answered by showing him her blunderbuss.

“I had my tromblon with me, the perfect weapon for a short range ambush. It was loaded with twelve lead balls.”

“Ouch! That would do the job. It was a good thing that you had this miniature cannon with you today.”

“It is effectively a practical weapon to have around, monsieur. Now, if you will excuse me, I will escort back Mistibis to the fort. I will go explain at the same time to Monsieur D’Ailleboust why Mistibis couldn’t get berries for him.”

“As you wish, mademoiselle.” replied Closse, saluting her with his hat as she went to briefly speak in whispers to Ononkapis and then walked away with Mistibis. Closse next went to Fernand and spoke to him in a low voice. “That guide of yours fights like a demon, Monsieur Bonnet.”

“That’s alright with me, Monsieur Closse.” answered a smiling Fernand.

While walking with Mistibis towards Fernand’s camp, Nancy explained to her what she wanted to do and what Mistibis would say to her master. The Huron teenager looked at her with disbelief, then started crying quietly, prompting Nancy to hug her tenderly for a moment.

“Everything will be alright, Mistibis. You will see. We will stop at my tent first before going to the fort.”

Claudette, Françoise and the other girls ran to them when they approached the camp. Nancy reassured them about her wound but couldn’t stop Claudette from insisting on

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disinfecting her belly slash with alcohol and putting a proper bandage in place. Only then was Nancy able to go inside the women’s tent and search into her personal chest. She took out a large, heavy purse and a leather folio from the chest before locking it back, then put the purse and folio inside her haversack. Nancy next took ten minutes to reload all her weapons, watched by a nervous Mistibis. Nancy felt the girl’s anxiety and gave her a reassuring smile.

“Don’t worry, Mistibis. I have no intentions to shoot your master. I just hate going around with empty guns. How was Monsieur D’Ailleboust as a master, Mistibis? Don’t be afraid to tell me anything.”

“He was correct, I would guess.” answered timidly the Amerindian girl. “He hasn’t abused me or tried to get me into his bed, if that’s what you were afraid of.”

“That’s a good point in his favor. He should thus be a reasonable man to deal with.”

Not bothering to change or even wash her face, Nancy left for the fort with Mistibis once her weapons were reloaded, the five Iroquois scalps still attached to her belt: she was now more than ever ready to play her role of native girl to the hilt. History would be less likely to take notice of a métis girl in Ville-Marie than of a marquess.

Their entrance in the fort at close to noon hour didn’t go unnoticed, far from it. Most settlers recoiled with horror or fear at the sight of the scalps at her belt, while some looked scandalized by her revealing Amerindian clothes. Guided by Mistibis, Nancy walked with her to a two-story house which looked better built than most other buildings inside the fort. A male servant answered her knocks on the door of the house, recoiling at first at her sight.

“Uh, what can I do for you, mademoiselle?”

“I would like to speak with Monsieur D’Ailleboust concerning young Mistibis. Tell him that Lady Nancy Sommers is asking for him.”

“Lady Nancy Sommers?” said the servant in a dubious tone while eyeing her from head to toe. Nancy gave him back a cold stare.

“That is right, monsieur. Please get Monsieur D’Ailleboust for me.”

“One moment, please.” said the servant before closing the door in her face. She then heard the noise of a locking bolt being pulled in place.

“A trusting man indeed.” muttered Nancy to herself. She had to wait a couple of minutes before the door opened again, with the servant waiving her to enter.

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“Please come in, mademoiselle.”

Nancy entered a small, sparsely furnished living room where a man in his late twenties dressed like a noble was waiting, standing near a window. She waited until Mistibis was in as well, then addressed the man, who was of average built and a half head shorter than her.

“Monsieur D’Ailleboust, I presume?”

“And you are Lady Sommers?” said the nobleman caustically. “Did you need to come so heavily armed to my house, mademoiselle?”

Nancy touched the bandage around her belly as an answer while smiling.

“With all the Iroquois running around Ville-Marie, one can never be too cautious. Young Mistibis was nearly killed by eight of them but I and a friend managed to get rid of them.”

“Then I shall be grateful to you, mademoiselle.”

“Thank you! I however came here for something else. I understand that Mistibis is your slave. I wish to buy her from you.”

The noble looked surprised by that and took a moment to regain his composure.

“Buy her? Why are you interested in her? You do not strike me as someone who would need servants…or slaves.”

“I effectively do not use servants, monsieur, even though I could easily justify the use of some in France. I want to buy Mistibis so that I could then free her.” D’Ailleboust gave her a sharp look at those last words.

“Free her? That would be a costly whim indeed on your part, mademoiselle.”

“But one I can easily afford, monsieur.” replied Nancy, her expression now most serious. “I offer you 800 livres for Mistibis.”

“But, why are you interested in her?” asked the noble, his eyes having widened at the sum mentioned by her.

“Freeing an innocent girl from a condition that should not be permitted to exist in the first place should be enough reason for any good Christian, monsieur. Mistibis is as much a human being as you or me. Treating her like a mere possession is an insult to God in my eyes. What I am offering you now is certainly a lot more than what you paid for her, monsieur.”

“But do you really have that kind of money, mademoiselle?” asked sharply D’Ailleboust. “As far as I know, you are only a half-breed of low lineage who is employed by a would-be innkeeper.”

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“Monsieur,” replied firmly Nancy, her face stern, “know that you should defer to me as far as social rank goes, and by a good margin. As for whether I have the money I claim to have, here it its.”

Taking out of her haversack her heavy purse, she put it on top of a nearby chest, making the silver coins in the purse tinkle.

“I can count 800 livres right now, monsieur. Do we have a deal?” D’Ailleboust didn’t have to think long before taking a decision: what she was offering was close to double what he had paid for Mistibis. He was also a noble of only relatively low birth, with little fortune in his pocket.

“We have a deal, mademoiselle. Count your 800 livres, then we will go see the Crown Attorney, Monsieur Charles Le Moyne. He will also be able to prepare a certificate of emancipation for Mistibis.”

As Nancy started counting out the silver coins from her purse, D’Ailleboust couldn’t help admire discreetly her half-naked body.

“You know, mademoiselle, for a noblewoman you wear a rather indecent outfit.” Nancy stopped counting long enough to give him a disarming smile.

“Monsieur, even when naked the King is still the King and should be treated accordingly. Personally, I do.”

The face the squire did then at her thinly veiled revelation made Nancy giggle with amusement.

A bit less than an hour later, Nancy and Mistibis were walking out of the office of the Crown Attorney with the precious emancipation certificate in Mistibis’ hands. The overjoyed girl couldn’t stop herself from hugging Nancy in front of the office.

“Nancy, I owe you so much. What shall I do to repay my debt to you?”

“Simple, Mistibis: by being my friend and by living happily from now on. Come, we will go have a bite for lunch at our camp before bringing the good news to Ononkapis.”

11:02 (Quebec Time)

Wednesday, September 30, 1654

‘L’AUBERGE DU CHASSEUR’9

9 L’auberge du chasseur: The hunter’s inn in French

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Ville-Marie

Fernand stepped back from his just completed inn and joined his companions to admire the fruit of over six weeks of hard work.

“Well, guys, what do you think?” he asked while grinning proudly.

“It sure was worth all the work we put in it, my dear.” replied Claudette, detailing the log house-style building. Built in length, with slightly narrower wings projecting from each end in order to use as much as possible the natural length of three logs put nearly end-to-end, the inn had a very steep roof to help evacuate snow in Winter. The roof also featured dormer windows with glass panes on each side and there was a large chimney at each end of the main body of the inn, so that the chimney could also help heat the wings. A number of annexes, including a small barn with cages for chickens and hares, sat inside a courtyard, their back part of a three meter-high wood palisade with a large gate door facing south, towards the fort of Ville-Marie. Not visible was a fair-sized basement room without windows that was to be used as a cold storage room for vegetables, fruits and meats. Everybody in the group had worked on part or parts of the inn, including on the production of most of the furniture and small ancillary items, while artisans and workers from Ville-Marie had been paid by Fernand to help accelerate the construction of the inn and to build some of the more elaborate furniture. Weeks of productive hunting by Nancy and Michel, apart from providing fresh food for all of them and thousands of pounds of smoked, salted, dried or pickled meat and fish now stored in barrels, had produced dozens of large animal hides and furs. Those hides and furs, mostly from moose and bears, were in turn to be used as warm floor carpets for the rooms of the inn. The precious still had worked nearly non-stop as well, producing kegs after kegs of berry liquor that was to be the main liquid staple of the inn, along with the few barrels of wine imported from France. As for the large vegetable patch just outside the palisade, it had been carefully worked so that it would be ready for seeding during next spring, the group having arrived too late in the Summer to plant anything. That had however been compensated for by an ample harvest of wild onions, mushrooms, wild rice and herbs that, while unconventional to a European palate, provided plenty of precious vitamins and minerals. Bartering and trading with other inhabitants of Ville-Marie had also provided some fresh vegetables to the group’s diet, apart from providing excellent opportunities to interact with the settlers and document their lives.

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“Well, let’s move our things inside and get installed, folks!” said cheerfully Fernand. On his command, the two tents which had been home to twelve persons since their arrival were quickly emptied and then taken down, to be carefully stored in a small shed inside the palisade. Fernand, the five other Time Patrol agents and the four teenage girls living with them then went inside the inn to put the finishing touches to it.

They had time to have a frugal lunch and were back at work, mostly being busy varnishing or painting the internal walls of the inn, when someone knocked on the main entrance door. Claudette hurried to it and opened it to find herself facing the Governor, Paul Chomedey de Maisonneuve, accompanied by Lambert Closse and the town’s Crown Attorney, Charles Le Moyne. She opened the door wide for them while bowing.

“Please come in, Your Excellency!”

Everybody got up or straightened themselves up as the Governor walked in with his two followers, with Fernand then bowing politely to de Maisonneuve.

“Your Excellency, what owes us the pleasure of your visit?”

“Your inn, of course, my good Monsieur Bonnet!” said jovially the Governor, looking in a good mood. “I was dying to see it once completed. Do you have much work left to be done before it is fully ready to receive your first customers?”

“Two weeks should be enough to finish everything, Your Excellency. However, we will put a priority on finishing the main hall, so that drinking and eating customers could come in before the end of the week. With luck, I will be able to throw a celebration party on Saturday.”

“Excellent! This inn will be a precious addition to Ville-Marie. Could I have a quick tour of it?”

“I would be most pleased to guide you around my modest inn, Your Excellency.” replied Fernand with a smile, who then swept the hall with his left arm. “As you can see, the main hall is big enough to seat comfortably fifty persons for dinner, with room to spare for dancers and musicians. In a crunch, up to a hundred persons could be seated in here when lining chairs along the walls, like in the case of balls or celebrations. The large fireplaces at both ends will easily heat up both the main hall and the guest rooms situated above it, along with the wings containing the kitchen and staff rooms.”

“Those fireplaces in fact look quite unusual, Monsieur Bonnet.” remarked de Maisonneuve, who then walked to one of them. “For one thing, they are made of bricks instead of stones.”

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“That is correct, Your Excellency. You will also see that iron plates have been incorporated to their sides and top, to better radiate the heat produced by the fire. Those iron plates were imported by me from France and were set in openings left in the double layer of bricks. They are thus less likely to be touched by someone by accident and will stay hot for hours after the fire is put out. The top iron plate, apart from sending more heat towards the rooms upstairs, can also be used to put on it pots or plates of food that one would want to keep hot for hours. With this mix of bricks and iron plates, I get the benefit of better heating efficiency compared to a stone fireplace, while I avoid the need to import from France a large iron stove, which would have been extremely heavy and difficult to move. I however brought two small iron stoves to help heat secondary rooms and do some of the cooking.”

De Maisonneuve examined the top iron plate, set close to the edge of the fireplace, then one of the side plates, which was set at two bricks width from the external wall of the fireplace.

“Most clever indeed, monsieur. Apart from helping to prevent burns, this deep setting of the side plates creates a brick sill wide enough to put pots in front and close to the hot iron plate. I wish that I could have thought of that when I had my own fireplace built.”

“It is a neat solution for a large place like an inn, Your Excellency, but for private houses the most efficient heating apparatus would still be iron stoves, as they have four times the output efficiency of a stone fireplace.”

“That much? Then I shall try to encourage the importation of such iron stoves, as collecting wood in the past often provided the Iroquois opportunities to attack our people.”

Fernand nodded once at that: the use of iron stoves would indeed become quite popular in the decades to come in New France because of their sheer efficiency. In a hundred years time, nine out of ten homes in Ville-Marie were going to be equipped with at least one such iron stove, despite their high cost. Going to a nearby door opening, which still had to have its door installed, he invited the Governor to follow him inside the kitchen of the inn. De Maisonneuve looked approvingly around the large room, which fully occupied one side wing of the building. He eyed in particular the iron stove sitting at one end, opposite from the iron plate and bricks backing of the fireplace in the main hall. Iron ducts led the smoke and heat from the stove up and through the ceiling. There was also a baking oven set into one of the side walls and a small area curtained off in one

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corner that contained a bathtub. He was not a little surprised to see a hand water pump standing near the stove, its base set in the floor.

“You have a well directly under your inn, monsieur?”

“I do indeed, Your Excellency. It was a lot of work digging it deep enough and then lining it with clay but it will provide us easy access to clean water year long, without danger of seeing it freeze in Winter. Four journeymen from Ville-Marie did the digging work, while I imported the pump from France. If you will follow me down, I will show you our basement.”

That part of the visit was quite short but impressed the Governor, with dozens of barrels, kegs and jute bags lining the sides of the four by six meter basement.

“Tudieu! You already have enough provisions in here for a whole year. Where did you get all this salted and smoked meat? In France?”

“No, Your Excellency. All the meat and fish you see here was caught around Ville-Marie by my two professional hunters, Nancy Laplante and Michel Lorrain. As for the bags of wild mushrooms, onions and roots, they were picked in the nearby woods by the other women of my group. Only the beer and wine were imported from France, but I did bring over two tons of them with me across the Atlantic. Once the tour of the inn is completed, I shall be happy to make you taste my locally-produced raspberry liquor.” Those last words made de Maisonneuve beam with both interest and anticipation.

“I am certainly looking forward to that, Monsieur Bonnet.” The latter then invited him to go back up to the main level, then led him across the kitchen and the main hall to the other wing of the inn. That wing was heated by both the backing plate of one of the main hall fireplaces and by an iron stove and was divided into a number of smaller rooms, which were promptly described by Fernand to the Governor and his two aides.

“This wide first room closest to the main hall is a private banquet room that can be rented for private meetings and celebrations, Your Excellency. While not as big as the main hall, it can still sit up to thirty persons. The other half of this wing is occupied by a large storeroom with its own outside door and by a small private office.”

“And where do those two opposite doors lead, Monsieur Bonnet?” asked the Crown Attorney, Charles Le Moyne, pointing at two doors visible on opposite sides of the banquet room and set in the corners with the main building. In response, Fernand led

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his visitors through one of the doors, where they found themselves in a cramped area with two doors along the left wall and one small window providing minimal light.

“This is one of the outhouses of the inn, monsieur. This one has two pierced chairs set over clay-lined pits and is reserved for the use of ladies. The opposite outhouse is reserved for men. In all, I had a total of six outhouses, each with two pierced chairs, built for my inn.”

“Six outhouses? Isn’t that too much?” exclaimed Lambert Closse, making Fernand shake his head.

“Not when considering the number of people who could be using my inn, Monsieur Closse. Each outhouse, while set outside the main walls of the inn, is hugging it and thus is partially heated by the inn. The ground level of these outhouses are also covered with mounds of earth in order to cut on the smell and provide some extra insulation in Winter. The clay-lined sewage pits were intentionally kept rather shallow, so that no sewage could seep through to the underground water table and contaminate it. In this corner, on the counter, you can see a clay wash basin and a jar of water, plus a towel, so that users of the outhouse could wash their hands afterwards. Now, I would like to show you the upper level, Your Excellency.”

“By all means, Monsieur Bonnet.” said the Governor, already impressed by what he had seen.

Going back in the banquet room and using the staircase there, they climbed to the upper floor of the east wing and found themselves in a large hallway running down the centerline length of it. One doorway near the top of the stairs connected the hallway of the wing to another hallway running along the main building. Ten meters or so across that doorway another doorway was visible, showing yet another hallway.

“As you can see, Your Excellency, it is easy to go from one end of the inn to the other when on the upper floor, which is reserved for the guest and staff rooms. In total, this inn has twelve medium guest rooms, each able to lodge up to four persons, and two large guest rooms, each lodging up to eight persons, for a total capacity of up to 64 guests. There are also in the other wing ten private rooms for me and my associates and staff. Let me show you one of the medium guest rooms, Your Excellency.” De Maisonneuve was then invited inside a roughly four by three meter room furnished with one large double-bunk bed, a small table with two chairs, a closet, a bed stand and a large chest. One dormer window with glass panes provided plenty of light to the room.

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“We will soon add drapes to the window and a fur hide to act as a carpet in each guest room, Your Excellency. Two of my associates will soon go by boat to Quebec to go fetch more articles to finish providing for this inn and also pass the word that the inn is open for business.”

“An excellent idea, Monsieur Bonnet.” approved de Maisonneuve, seeing at once the interest in attracting more merchants and traders to Ville-Marie via this inn. “Well, this inn should definitely improve life in Ville-Marie in a significant way. Monsieur Le Moyne, the permits, if you would be so kind.”

The Crown Attorney opened a leather bag he was carrying and handed to the Governor two rolled documents. De Maisonneuve then gave both parchments to Fernand.

“Here are your permits for selling alcohol in your inn and for producing alcohol locally, Monsieur Bonnet. I sincerely wish you good luck with your business.”

“Thank you, Your Excellency. May I extend officially to you an invitation to attend the official opening of my inn? I will pass you word of the definite date as soon as I know it.”

“Your invitation is gladly accepted, monsieur.”

“Then, may we conclude your visit with a little tasting of my raspberry liquor?”

“By all means, Monsieur Bonnet.”

Fernand quickly led his visitors downstairs in the main hall, where Claudette served them small tin shot glasses of a red liquor with a strong smell of raspberry. The Governor’s eyes opened wide after he sipped a bit of his liquor.

“This is excellent indeed, Monsieur Bonnet.”

Lambert Closse, who had downed his whole glass in one shot, pounded his chest while blowing air out.

“It is also quite potent, monsieur. This certainly can warm you up from the inside.”

“With its actual alcohol content, I am not surprised, Monsieur Closse.” replied with a smile Fernand. “This liquor is meant to be savored, not to be merely downed.”

“I will remember that, Monsieur Bonnet.”

They finished their glasses before Fernand escorted his three visitors to the main door of the hall. Once they were gone, Fernand faced back his associates and four maids, looking most satisfied.

“Let’s plan for a Saturday opening party, people! Henri, Michel, you will leave by boat tomorrow for Quebec, to go buy extra barrels of wine, cider and beer, along with a

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list of other smaller items. You will also promote our new inn and our berry liquor while there. Michel, I will ask you to go to the fort this afternoon to rent the services of eight strong men who will help row our whaler boat to Quebec and back.”

“Can I go to Quebec with them, Monsieur Bonnet? Mathurin could also help row your boat.” asked at once the young Marie Renaud, hopeful. Fernand smiled tenderly to the teenager: Marie had already found a young man to her liking and had signed with him a marriage contract only two days ago. Fernand had met Mathurin Langevin, also known as Lacroix, a young farmer, and had found him to be an apparently decent young man who had arrived from France last year.

“I am sure that Henri won’t mind escorting you to Quebec, Marie.” As Marie squealed with joy, Fernand eyed cautiously Catherine Lorion. The teenager, like her friend Jeanne Rousselier, had also signed a marriage contract three days ago. Catherine would soon marry Pierre Vilain, a farmer and neighbor of the inn, while Jeanne was going to marry Pierre Gaudin, a young carpenter who had arrived in Ville-Marie last year. Fernand was trying hard not to show his sadness as he mentally reviewed Catherine’s future as dictated by history. She would end up marrying four times in her life, with her first three husbands dying from various accidents, and having a total of eleven children from them. From being at first a poor teenage girl looking for a better life in New France, Catherine Lorion was slated to become one of the true founding pioneers of Ville-Marie, later to be known as Montreal. Right now, though, Catherine was looking forward to her incoming marriage. Fernand then looked back at Marie Renaud.

“Come see me before you go, Marie: I will then give you your pay for the last two weeks, so that you have something to spend in Quebec.” The girl’s renewed squeals made Fernand swallow the hard lump that had formed in his throat. He was quickly starting to feel like a surrogate father to these teenage girls in his employ. He was also understanding more every day why Nancy ‘B’ had risked her career with the Time Patrol for the love of a man from the past. Interpersonal relationship with people from the past was a critical component of the job of a Time Patrol field agent. Accepting that all those people you talked to, laughed with or even cried with had to be left to die according to their destiny was however by far the hardest part of the job.

11:49 (Quebec Time)

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Saturday, October 3, 1654

AUBERGE DU CHASSEUR

Ville-Marie

Lambert Closse, wearing his best clothes but still carrying his sword and pistol, found out that a sort of outside vestibule had been added in front of the main entrance of the new inn. He understood at once what was its use: to cut the amount of wind and snow entering the building in Winter. Entering the vestibule and closing the door behind him, he then climbed the three wide steps of the front stairs and pushed open the main door, a solid affair made of thick wood planks reinforced with iron fittings. He found inside that a few inhabitants of Ville-Marie had already beaten him to the inn’s opening party. Claudette Bussière, dressed in a nice blue and white gown, came to him at once with a welcoming smile.

“Welcome to our inn, Monsieur Closse. Can I get you something to drink?”

“You may, madame. I am not too early, I hope?”

“Your timing was perfect, monsieur. Will you have wine, cider, beer or berry liquor?”

“I will have a shot of your marvelous berry liquor, madame.” Claudette quickly went to a service table set in one corner and returned with a small tin glass for him.

“Food will be served soon. Have a seat and enjoy yourself.”

“Thank you, madame.”

Sitting down at one of the tables, Closse started sipping his liquor with delight while looking at the decoration of the main hall and at the people around him. The settlers already present had come with their wives and children, at least those who had ones, profiting from a too rare occasion to relax and have fun, especially when someone else was paying for the food and drinks. In truth, any special occasion that allowed the chance to party or dance was precious for the settlers of Ville-Marie, who were leading hard, dangerous lives in this forward outpost of New France. Marie Lorgueil, one of the teenage girls employed by Fernand Bonnet, then came to him, a tray with a variety of small appetizers on it in her hands.

“Would you like a few bites, Monsieur Closse? I have here pieces of cheese, pickled fish, pickled moose tongue and bread. The main dishes will be served in half an hour.”

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“I will certainly sample some pickled moose tongue, mademoiselle, along with some cheese and bread.”

Marie nodded and put a small tin plate on the table besides him, then put pieces of bread, cheese and moose tongue in the plate.

“Here you go, Monsieur Closse.”

“Thank you, Marie.”

Closse watched her walk away before starting to taste his appetizers: women were still very much in the minority in Ville-Marie, with maybe five men per women in the outpost. The presence of so many young women and girls working in this inn was certainly going to attract lots of male customers to this place. Closse was curious to see what Father Pijart was going to think or say about this inn in a few weeks and months. He was already ranting quite profusely about the wild Nancy Laplante and her often very skimpy Amerindian clothes. Amused by this thought, Closse then tried a piece of pickled moose tongue and found it excellent.

He was savoring a second piece of moose tongue when the Governor, the Crown Attorney, Sire Charles D’Ailleboust, Father Pijart and Sister Marguerite Bourgeoys came in with a good dozen more of the prominent citizens of Ville-Marie, prompting Closse to get up at once to bow to the Governor. De Maisonneuve, holding gallantly the hand of the lay sister, signaled at once to everybody to sit back down.

“Please, relax! Do as if I was not here.”

Paul Chomedey de Maisonneuve, still handsome at 42, then led his group to Closse’s table as Claudette Bussière hurried to him. The innkeeper’s wife had her new guests seated, then called for two of her maids to bring drinks to their tables. As wine and liquor was being poured, Closse saw Nancy Laplante and Françoise Vinier come out of the kitchen, carrying large serving trays of appetizers towards him and the Governor. Closse’s jaw nearly dropped to the floor when he saw them: while Françoise Vinier wore a pretty dress that valorized her youthful beauty, Nancy Laplante wore a gown and set of jewels which would look at home at the court of the King himself. Even more, she wore her outfit with panache, a far cry from her popular picture as a savage half-breed girl able to kill Iroquois warriors. Near silence fell in the main hall as Nancy presented gracefully her tray to de Maisonneuve, bending forward and showing much of her fabulous chest through the wide cleavage of her fashionable dress while giving him a wide smile.

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“Would you like to bite into something, Your Excellency?” Closse, like a few of the men around the Governor’s table, strangled a laugh at those words: whether intentional or not, her choice of words had been quite suggestive. De Maisonneuve took the situation in stride, smiling while eyeing both the offered tray and Nancy’s chest.

“In truth, you have a lot to offer, mademoiselle. I will try a bit of everything.” Father Pijart gave him a dubious look that de Maisonneuve ignored while serving himself a few appetizers, proud of his retort: while a pious man, the Governor still understood that one had to have fun from time to time. He next looked back at Nancy as she was serving Sister Marguerite Bourgeoys.

“Quite a nice dress you are wearing, mademoiselle. It is the first time that I see you in it.”

“It had been languishing in my travel chest since I last wore it in Reims, Your Excellency. It was such a shame to keep it tucked away, so I was too happy to put it on for my first chance at celebrating in Ville-Marie.”

“And what occasion in Reims called for wearing such a rich dress, Mademoiselle Laplante?” asked one of the well-to-do men accompanying the Governor, prompting a mild smile from Nancy.

“But, the official crowning of King Louis the Fourteenth, of course.”

“You were at the King’s crowning, mademoiselle?” exclaimed Marguerite Bourgeoys, her eyes widening.

“I had that privilege, Sister.” simply replied Nancy, who then went to another guest to serve him. As soon as she and Françoise went away, Charles D’Ailleboust bent sideways to speak in a low voice to de Maisonneuve.

“Sire, I am now certain that she must be a mistress of the King. She nearly recognized that much when she came to my home to buy my Amerindian slave girl.” De Maisonneuve rubbed his chin, thoughtful.

“It certainly would explain the safe-conduct signed by the King that she showed me on her arrival. This would however imply that she is in fact of rather high nobility, as only the elite of France could be invited to the King’s crowning, mistress or not.”

“Could she be a spy of the King, Sire? It would fit with her uncommon fighting abilities.”

“A person with intimate knowledge of New France through birth would certainly make a perfect spy for the King if he wished to evaluate the state of our colony,

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Monsieur D’Ailleboust. It would thus be prudent at the least to treat Mademoiselle Laplante with indulgence, if not deference. Her safe-conduct was however very specific about staying discreet about her. Don’t repeat any of this to anyone else, even to Monsieur Le Moyne or to Father Pijart.”

“Understood, Sire.”

The Governor and his followers then resumed their drinking and eating as a steady stream of persons were entering the inn, to be immediately greeted by Claudette, Fernand or Françoise. The main hall was soon nearly full, with over seventy persons now sitting around, eating, drinking and talking. Unknown to them was the fact that four miniature cameras with microphone hidden in the structure of the main hall were filming them, collecting precious data about the inhabitants of Ville-Marie which would be used by the Time Patrol to produce its documentary. Once the hall was mostly full, Claudette and her girls brought to the service table a number of large pots and plates filled with a variety of hot dishes, then invited the guests to come to the table to be served. Lambert Closse was not far behind the Governor, who was of course served first, and had his bowl filled with a rich, appetizing stew of wild meats and vegetables. Going back to his table, he savored his stew, washing it down with an excellent red Bordeaux wine that was being served profusely. Seeing Françoise Vinier getting ready to go outside, the Governor gently stopped her as she was passing by him, an iron pot in one hand and a covered basket in the other.

“You are leaving the party already, Mademoiselle Vinier?” The beautiful young blonde curtsied to him before answering respectfully.

“I am going to the Hôtel-Dieu to temporarily relieve Sister Jeanne Mance, so that she could come and attend this party. God knows that she deserves a break after all the devotion she is showing to her patients. The food I have with me is for the patients and for Sister Mance’s servants.

“Are you knowledgeable about medicine, Mademoiselle Vinier?”

“As much in fact as any nursing sister, Your Excellency. If you will now excuse me.”

“By all means, mademoiselle.”

Marguerite Bourgeoys nodded her head slowly as the blonde left the inn with her food.

“Decidedly, Monsieur Bonnet and his associates may be unusual people but nobody could accuse them of not practicing Christian charity, Your Excellency. Even the

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wild Mademoiselle Laplante is known to help others around her whenever she can. Ville-Marie could use many more people like them.”

“And I could use many more soldiers as good in fighting and woodcraft as Mademoiselle Laplante.” said Lambert Closse, meaning it. One of the merchants sitting with him at the Governor’s table made a gesture of derision at those words.

“Come on, Monsieur Closse! A woman being a good soldier? You must be joking! That girl’s reputation is way overblown.”

Closse looked with contempt at the merchant, a man who had the habit of letting his employees go out of the fort and take the risks.

“Is it now, monsieur? How many Iroquois warriors have you killed in combat lately? That young woman was able with the sole help of Ononkapis to defeat eight Iroquois warriors in close quarters combat and Ononkapis himself confirmed to me that she killed five and wounded one out of those eight warriors. She has also proved to be the equal of any native hunter as far as woodcraft and hunting skills are concerned. I would use that girl as a scout any time, monsieur.”

The merchant, smarting from Closse’s retort, shut up and concentrated on his food. Barely a minute later, Nancy Laplante and Fernand Bonnet came out of the kitchen, the first holding a lute, the second a violin, and went to a corner besides the space reserved as dance floor. Taking two chairs and sitting down, the pair started playing a beautiful but also heart-wrenching tune. With everybody in the main hall now listening to them, Nancy and Fernand followed their first tune with a much livelier and upbeat one that prompted many in getting up to invite the few women present for a dance. The third tune they played was a classic minuet, leading to more dancing around the main hall. For the fourth tune, with the guests well warmed up by now, Nancy sang on top of playing her lute, walking among the tables while Fernand stayed on his chair to accompany her with his violin. De Maisonneuve was pleasantly surprised by how good she was at singing, even though he had never heard before the song she was singing now. Charles Le Moyne applauded like the others at the end of the song, then spoke in a low voice for the benefit of the Governor and of the others sitting at their table.

“A half-breed native girl of New France who hunts and fights like an Iroquois warrior but plays the lute and sings like an angel and who could also be part of the court of King Louis? Quite an interesting mix of talents and skills I would say. What could we expect next from her?”

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As the Governor and Lambert Closse were pondering that, two men dressed like coureurs de bois and carrying large backpacks and muskets entered the main hall. Claudette hurried to them and smiled to the younger man, who was stocky and in his early twenties.

“Can I do something for you, gentlemen?”

“Uh, we were told that we could find rooms in this inn, madame. My name is Jacques Leber, also known as Larose, merchant and fur trader. I just arrived from Quebec with Monsieur Jean Demers here.”

“You are in luck, monsieur.” said Claudette, grinning at the first lodging customers of the inn. She was also thanking her luck as a field agent, as Jacques Leber was due to become the richest and most famous merchant of Ville-Marie in this century. “This inn just opened officially for business and we were celebrating the event. Food, drinks and shelter will thus be on the house for you two today.” Jean Demers, a small and thin man, beamed at those words.

“That is most generous of you, madame. The hospitality of Ville-Marie is most commendable indeed.”

“Then you can repeat that later to Sire Paul Chomedey de Maisonneuve, the Governor. He is sitting at that table to your right.”

“The Governor is here? Excellent!” said exultantly Jacques Leber. “I will thus be able to arrange some business right away.”

“Not before I show you to your rooms and feed you.” replied Claudette good-naturedly. Leading the two men up the staircase of the main hall, she showed them one of the medium guest rooms which had been completed on a priority basis, as well as the nearest toilet.

“Do you have other luggage to bring in, monsieur?” asked Claudette as the two men dropped their packs and muskets in their assigned room. Leber was the one who answered her.

“We do, madame. We have a travel chest and a few bundles which are presently under guard at the fort.”

“Then my husband and Nancy will help you bring those things here after the celebration. If you would come down now, we still have plenty of hot stew and wine left for you.”

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11:01 (Quebec Time)

Tuesday, October 13, 1654

Chapel of l’Hôtel-Dieu

Ville-Marie

Father Pijart smiled tenderly to Pierre Vilain and Catherine Lorion, standing together in front of him in the chapel of the Hôtel-Dieu hospital.

“I now declare you husband and wife. You may kiss.”

The crowd, including Jeanne Rousselier, who had just been married mere minutes ago to a young carpenter named Pierre Gaudin, cheered as the newlyweds enlaced and kissed each other. Father Pijart waited for the assembly to quiet down before speaking again.

“We may now move to the inn, which Monsieur Bonnet has been generous enough to loan its use for the celebration following these two marriages today.” On hearing that, Fernand got up from his bench and shouted to the other spectators.

“THE FOOD AND DRINKS ARE ON ME! TO THE INN!”

As he and Claudette got out of the chapel with the others, he patted the shoulder of young Marie Renaud, who had married Mathurin Langevin in Quebec eight days ago during her trip with Henri and Michel.

“You and Mathurin can also consider this day as a celebration for your own marriage, Marie. I wish that I could have been there.”

“You are too kind, Monsieur Bonnet.” said Marie with a wide smile, prompting Fernand to raise a warning finger.

“Please, I am Fernand for you, not Monsieur Bonnet.”

“Understood, Fernand.” replied the young girl, her smile widening to a grin.

Once at the inn, Claudette invited the guests to sit down and, letting Nancy serve them drinks, went to the kitchen to start bringing out the dishes that she had left Frida in charge of preparing while they were at the marriage ceremony. She then saw with alarm that Frida was sitting in front of the stove, crying silently. Kneeling besides her, Claudette held her face up with both hands.

“Frida, what’s wrong? This is a time to celebrate, not to cry.”

“You know what’s wrong, Claudette!” replied rather brusquely Frida. “Can’t we do anything to prevent it from happening?”

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“No, Frida.” said softly Claudette with immense sadness. “It would change history and our sworn duty is to protect it, however bitter and cruel it can be. Remember Nancy and D’Artagnan: she may love him and live with him from time to time now but she will be forced to eventually let him die the way History dictated.”

“But it is so hard to watch people who you have learned to like and even cherish die while doing nothing to prevent it.”

“Nobody said that it was easy, Frida, especially not Nancy ‘A’. She had to take some very painful decisions after she created the Time Patrol. You have to be strong and accept life as it is, Frida.”

The young German blonde swallowed hard, then wiped the tears on her face.

“I...I will try, Claudette.”

“Good! We have to serve the guests now. Put on a happy look and help me bring the dishes out to the main hall.”

Frida nodded silently, then got up and filled a serving tray with big, hot deer and moose meat sausages. Claudette was pleased to see her put on a happy smile before bringing the tray of sausages out of the kitchen.



15:06 (Quebec Time)

Tuesday, January 19, 1655

Hôtel-Dieu hospital, Ville-Marie

Sister Jeanne Mance nearly panicked when two persons entered the hospital and quickly closed the door behind them to stop the blowing snow from coming in: both wore Amerindian winter gear and had their features hidden under fur-lined hooded greatcoats, apart from holding each a pair of snowshoes and displaying large knives on their belts. She sighed with relief when the two newcomers threw back their hoods.

“Ah, Nancy, Françoise, I’m happy to see you.”

“Where is Catherine, Sister Jeanne?” asked Nancy, deep concern on her face.

“In the men’s ward, with her husband Pierre. Thank you for coming so quickly, both of you.”

“Catherine is our friend, Sister.” said Françoise in a subdued voice. “This is the least we can do for her. Could we see them now?”

“Certainly! Follow me, please.”

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They found Catherine Lorion sitting by Pierre Vilain’s bedside, holding desperately his right hand and crying shamelessly. Nancy’s face hardened the moment she saw Pierre: the young man’s skull was caved in on the left side of his face, while his wheezing breathing and pink bubbles at the corner of his mouth told her that his thorax had been crushed and one or both of his lungs punctured by the tree that had fallen on top of him. Even in a 20th Century hospital his case would be touch and go. Here, in Ville-Marie, there was no way to save him without both blowing her cover and changing history. Pierre Vilain was not only a dying man: he also had to die today. Catherine then saw them and ran to Françoise, hugging her with desperate strength. She stayed like this for a long moment, her grip expressing better than words her despair. Catherine finally let go her hug and looked back at Pierre, unconscious in his bed.

“Can…can anyone help Pierre?”

“Not in the state he is, Catherine. I’m sorry.” Replied Françoise. she had to hold up the teenager as she collapsed from grief, crying hysterically. She managed to sit Catherine on a nearby chair with the help of Nancy, then crouched in front of her.

“I will stay with you while Nancy examines Pierre. It will take only a minute.”

A quick examination was enough to Nancy to confirm her first impressions: Pierre was already in a coma, with massive brain injuries and both lungs punctured, with possibly internal bleeding of the spleen. The young man had less than one hour to live at the most. She returned slowly to Catherine, shaking her head sadly at the teenager’s silent question.

“I’m sorry, Catherine: Pierre is going to die very soon. The best you can do is to stay with him until his last moment. Me and Françoise can be at your side if you want to.”

“Please, do that!” pleaded the teenager before going to sit besides her husband’s bed and taking back hold of his right hand. Nancy and Françoise then pulled up chairs and sat on each side of her without saying a word.

Jeanne Mance was in her small kitchen, preparing a soup for another patient sick with a fever, when Nancy joined her, infinite sadness on her face.

“Pierre Vilain just died a few minutes ago. I convinced Catherine to come live at the inn for a while: she is in no state to take care of herself in the middle of Winter. If

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there are any expenses for Pierre’s stay at the hospital or for his funeral, me and Fernand Bonnet will take care of them.”

Jeanne Mance stared at the tall teenager, who had proved in the last few months that she had as much a huge heart as she had talents for hunting and fighting.

“Nancy, you and your associates seem to have infinite kindness towards others.” Nancy answered first by kissing tenderly the old sister’s forehead.

“It is nothing compared to yours, Sister Jeanne. We will escort Catherine to the inn now. If you need anything at all, don’t hesitate to ask us.” Jeanne Mance watched Nancy collect both Catherine and Françoise and then leave the hospital. The old nursing sister sighed with regret: she wanted so much to know more about those two girls and their four associates. She was however too polite and respectful of others to try anything like spying on them. The only really important thing for her though was to know that they were good, honest people, however strange they could appear to be at times.

10:25 (Quebec Time)

Monday, May 31, 1655

AUBERGE DU CHASSEUR

Ville-Marie

Fernand was in the courtyard of his inn, washing and cleaning thoroughly his still before resuming alcohol production this year, when he heard the bell of the fort start ringing insistently. Stopping his work at once, he got on his feet and ran outside of the palisade, intent on shouting a warning at Frida, who was working in their vegetable plot. The young blonde was however already reacting to the sound of the bell, retreating with her tools towards the inn’s compound. She stopped briefly near Fernand as the latter was closing the gate behind her.

“Do you know what’s happening, Fernand?”

“Most probably an Iroquois attack around Ville-Marie. Since we didn’t hear any shot, it must have been a silent ambush against some of our people. Go help Claudette prepare the inn for defense.”

“On my way!” Replied Frida, heading at a run towards the main door of the inn. Fernand followed her inside and went upstairs to equip himself for possible military action. He met on the upper floor Heinrik, Michel and Nancy, who were all rushing to get

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their weapons and field equipment. Fernand was proud of his three ground assault specialists, who had proved their worth in combat many times during their career in the Time Patrol. Even Nancy, as the rookie of the group, qualified by now as a veteran and was far from being the slouch of their team. While the four of them could not use advanced weapons or technology here, they certainly represented a combat potential that a seasoned contemporary soldier like Lambert Closse was unlikely to disregard.

The five visiting merchants from Quebec and two Jesuit priests who were lodging at the inn at the time watched with wide eyes the three men and one girl rush back down within minutes, loaded with weapons and haversacks full of ammunition and food. The Jesuits in particular made the sign of the cross at the sight of Nancy, who had changed in Amerindian hunting clothes that left her legs and belly mostly bare. Once the four of them were down in the main hall, Fernand reviewed quickly their equipment, then gave his instructions in quick, concise words.

“Alright, this could be anything from a small incursion by a handful of Iroquois to a full scale attack by a whole band. We will now go to the fort to propose ourselves as reinforcements to Sergeant-Major Closse. We could well be gone from here for a few days or more, so we will fill up our haversacks with non-perishable food before leaving. To the kitchen, go!”

They went single file in the kitchen, where they found Claudette securing the windows there by closing and locking their safety shutters, which only had one small hole in them to permit the firing of a musket through them. There, they stuffed pieces of cheese and smoked meat wrapped in waxed paper into their haversacks and filled their water flasks with pre-boiled water from a covered pot. Catherine Lorion, who was still working at the inn, came out of the east wing and into the main hall as the four agents were about to run outside, ready for action.

“Please be careful, all of you!” she shouted to them, earning a big smile from Fernand.

“You better warn the Iroquois that we are coming to kick their ass, Catherine.” The ex-French Army lieutenant colonel then became deadly serious, looking soberly at the young woman.

“Make sure that you lock the door solidly behind us and don’t open it again unless Claudette tells you it is safe to do so. See you soon, Catherine.”

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The four agents then left the inn, making the gate of the palisade lock by itself behind them before they took the trail leading to the fort, adopting a quick walking pace and with their muskets at the ready. Such alerts had happened a few times already during their time in Ville-Marie but had thankfully been due to minor raids. Those raids had however cost the life of one Frenchman and had cowered much of the population into their houses and in the fort most of the time.

They found the gate of the fort closed and with two nervous-looking militiamen on watch atop the gate. They were however recognized at once and one militiaman briefly opened the gate for them, putting back in place the two locking beams once they were inside. Fernand and his three agents then went to the house of Lambert Closse, in front of which were already assembled nine militiamen and six soldiers being briefed by Closse. While those men gave funny looks to Nancy, who looked more like an Iroquois warrior than a French woman, Lambert Closse beamed happily at the sight of the newcomers.

“Ah, Monsieur Bonnet and his intrepid associates are here. We may very well need your military skills this time.”

“What is happening, Monsieur Closse?” asked Fernand, resting the butt of his musket on the ground. Closse’s expression then reflected deep worry.

“Julien Daubigeon was killed by an Iroquois party this morning as he was gathering fire wood near his lot of land to the West of the fort. The Iroquois then crossed to the South Shore, where they may be preparing for more raids. The wife and four children of Daubigeon have been brought to the safety of the fort, along with their neighbors, until this danger has passed. For the time being we will have to stay on the alert and be ready for any more raid from the South Shore by those Iroquois. Monsieur Charles Le Moyne, who has just returned from Quebec, also brought the news of another recent attack by the Iroquois, that time against the Geese Island, near the Island of Orléans, where they killed a French couple and took away as prisoners five young children.”

“Sweet Jesus!” Said softly one of the militiamen, Nicolas Godé. Nancy was also touched deeply by that news, prompting a pat on the shoulder from Fernand.

“We may still see those children back, Nancy: the Iroquois sometimes make prisoners exchanges.”

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Closse, who was adding the names of Fernand and of his three ‘associates’ to a list in his hand, then spoke up in his strong voice.

“Alright, listen up! Until we know more or until something else happens, we will keep a strong guard on top of the walls day and night. I will thus split you into two guard shifts. The first shift will be on guard from noon to midnight and will be commanded by Monsieur Charles D’Ailleboust, who is presently conferring with the Governor and with Monsieur Charles Le Moyne. The men on the first shift will be Private Baston, Jean Sicot, Urbain Baudreau, Pierre Raguideau, Christophe Roger, Pierre Martin, Pierre Bareau, Antoine Chevasset, Nicolas Jousselin, Private Laviolette and Michel Tallemye. The second shift will stand guard from midnight to noon and will be commanded by Monsieur Charles Le Moyne. In that shift will be Private Saint-Pierre, Private Delorme, Nicolas Godé, Gilbert Barbier, Caporal René Besnard, Private Claude Robutel, Private Jean Valiquet, Fernand Bonnet, Henri Bruage, Michel Lorrain and Nancy Laplante.” While a few of the men looked dubious on hearing that a woman would stand guard with them, Fernand nodded his head in approval: Lambert Closse had reserved his most experienced and skilled people for the second shift, which covered the period when an Iroquois raid was most likely. Closse was again showing that he was a true professional soldier. Fernand then raised his hand, attracting the attention of Closse.

“Yes, Monsieur Bonnet?”

“What about Ononkapis? He is a seasoned Algonquin warrior and a dependable man and could be of use now. Also, if you are short of space for the family of Daubigeon or for others, I still have many rooms which are presently unoccupied at my inn.”

Closse only had to think for a short moment before he nodded his head, appreciative of Fernand’s suggestions.

“Ononkapis could indeed be of help, Monsieur Bonnet. Go send for him at once. I will talk to the Governor about your offer of space in your inn.”

With Closse leaving with the men of the first shift to show them their duty posts, the men of the second shift sat down on the porch of his house to wait for further instructions. Fernand however grabbed Michel Hofmann and gave him a few quick instructions.

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“Go see Ononkapis and ask him if he would accept to help in the defense of the fort. If he does, offer him a space at the inn for Mistibis during his absence. That should help him come with less concern about his young wife.”

“Understood!” simply said Michel before running away towards the main gate. Fernand then sat down with the others, doing what consumed the most time by far in war: waiting. The French men around him were understandably nervous and tense right now, not knowing what to expect next or fearing it. One of them, Private Jean Valiquet, used the idle time to look at Nancy’s numerous weapons, which also gave him an excuse to admire her bare legs. Apart from her musket and blunderbuss, she had her longbow and quiver of arrow, her war axe, a hunting knife and two pistols. The latter ones, sheeted in soft leather holsters by the sides of her belt and with their butts sticking out, attracted his attention.

“You have beautiful pistols, mademoiselle. Can I see one?”

“Sure!” Replied Nancy. “It is loaded, however, so be careful.”

“I am an armorer, mademoiselle: I know how to handle weapons.” said reassuringly Valiquet. Nancy extracted one of her pistols from its holster and handed it butt first to him. Valiquet whistled in admiration as he examined the pistol: it was inlaid with ivory and silver and was exquisitely engraved, being as much a work of art as a weapon.

“This pistol must have cost you a fortune, mademoiselle. It must be worth at least 300 livres.”

“It actually didn’t cost me anything, Monsieur Valiquet: my two pistols were gifts from a good friend.” replied Nancy calmly, not mentioning that the friend in question was the King himself. Many of the men snapped their heads towards her at her words: to have such a rich friend implied that she had contacts with persons of high standing indeed, which only jived with the rich gown and jewels she had been seen wearing at the inauguration of the inn and at a few marriage ceremonies a few months earlier. The popular belief around Ville-Marie that she was an important noble lady, albeit a most unusual and scandalous one, was thus reinforced by this last clue. Nancy ignored their stares and holstered back her pistol, making sure to secure the holster’s flap afterwards.

Lambert Closse returned twenty minutes later and led the members of the second shift to the guardhouse of the fort, where five men of the first shift were already

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installed. Closse looked around him at the men and single woman packed in the small room, a stern expression on his face.

“The safety of Ville-Marie now depends on all of us. Unless going to relieve yourselves, I want you to stay in or directly around the guardhouse, so that I could find you without delay at any time. Anyone who gets drunk until this emergency is over will be severely punished for dereliction of duty. While those of the first shift present here will stay up and will keep ready to react to anything, those from the second shift can relax and catch sleep if you want to before your shift starts at midnight. I will have some bread and beer brought in shortly. Don’t eat it all, as those presently on guard duty on the walls will have to eat too when relieved. Be frugal about your ration, since we don’t know how long this could go on. Monsieur Bonnet, when Ononkapis will arrive, tell him that he will be part of the second shift.”

“Yes, Monsieur Closse.”

“Then try to relax all as much as possible, but make sure first that your weapons are loaded and ready. I will come and see you again once I know more about what is happening. Carry on!”

Once Closse was gone, the men inside tried to make themselves as comfortable as possible for their stay in the small guardhouse. Seeing how crowded it was, Nancy looked at Fernand while getting on her feet.

“I’m going to have a nap on the porch, where I can get some fresh air.” Fernand nodded at that, understanding too well her point: with the habit of the French of this time of not washing more than their hands and faces most of the time, the body stench from the dozen plus French around them was quite overpowering.

“I may just do the same myself, Nancy.”

Heinrik actually ended up following them outside on the porch, giving up on the smelly crowd inside the guardhouse. All three were soon lying down on the porch, bathing in the noon Sun and quickly going to sleep there, their heads resting on their haversacks. When Michel returned with Ononkapis, both joined the three agents for a nap without further ado. The other occupants of the fort passing by couldn’t help look at them as they walked by, with many either staring hungrily at the long, bare legs of Nancy or eyeing them with scandalized eyes.

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“Damnée sauvagesse10!” Spat in a low voice a passing man who didn’t believe the stories of her being a noble, figuring out that her dress and conduct was incompatible with a noble woman.

The day passed without incidents or sightings of Iroquois and so did the night. Late in the next morning however, as Nancy and her shift were on guard duty on the walls, a canoe with three Iroquois in it approached the fort from the South Shore of the Saint-Laurent River. Promptly warned of this, Paul Chomedey de Maisonneuve climbed on top of the ramparts with Lambert Closse and Charles Le Moyne to watch the approaching canoe. The three Iroquois however stayed out of effective musket shot, with one of them shouting at the top of his lungs in Iroquois. Nancy went at once to the side of the Governor to translate the Iroquois’ words for him.

“Your Excellency, they say that they are from one of the Iroquois bands which signed a ceasefire with us last year. They say that they would like us to send someone to discuss with us a joint effort to chase those who attacked us yesterday.”

“Don’t believe them, Your Excellency!” said at once Charles Le Moyne. “The Iroquois who attacked the Geese Island and killed the Moyen couple used the same stratagem to try attracting more French into their trap. That group of Iroquois was then seen going south towards Ville-Marie. I am certain that these Iroquois are part of the same band.”

Nancy refrained from commenting on this, not wanting to influence what was an incident that was going to be well documented in the history of Ville-Marie. Charles Le Moyne’s assumption was anyway a correct one. De Maisonneuve thought for a moment, his eyes fixed on the waiting Iroquois, before speaking up.

“Mademoiselle Laplante, tell those Iroquois that I will talk with their leaders tomorrow morning.”

Nancy obeyed him, shouting in Iroquois and getting a prompt answer, which she translated to de Maisonneuve.

“Their chiefs will come back in a canoe tomorrow morning and ask that you do the same then, alone.”



10 Damnée sauvagesse: ‘Damn savage girl’ in French.

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“Tell them that I accept their offer.” said de Maisonneuve, who raised a hand at once to silence Charles Le Moyne, who was about to object. “I know, Monsieur Le Moyne: this is probably a trap. We will however find a way to turn that trap around.” Nancy again translated the Governor’s words, which made the Iroquois then paddle away calmly after a friendly wave of the hand. De Maisonneuve watched them for a moment, then spoke with cold resolve.

“Monsieur Closse, Monsieur Le Moyne, we need a plan of action for tomorrow morning. Do you have suggestions for me?”

“Your Excellency,” said at once Charles Le Moyne, “let me go in your place. I can hide pistols in my canoe, take the Iroquois who will come by surprise and force them to beach their canoe near the fort.”

“A risky plan, Monsieur Le Moyne.” replied the Governor, prompting Lambert Closse to speak in turn.

“We could support that plan by hiding a number of shooters near the shoreline, close to the meeting point, Your Excellency.”

“The Iroquois have keen eyes, Monsieur Closse. Those shooters will have to be good at hiding themselves in the woods in order for that plan to succeed.” The eyes of the three men turned at once on Nancy, still standing besides them in her Amerindian clothes. De Maisonneuve eyed her critically.

“Do you believe yourself able to approach the Iroquois without being spotted, Mademoiselle Laplante?”

“Without a doubt, Your Excellency. May I say that my associates and Ononkapis, being all adept at woodcraft, would also be well suited for that task.” De Maisonneuve nodded at once: the reputation of Fernand Bonnet and of his associates about their hunting skills was well established by now in Ville-Marie. As for Ononkapis, his services as a hunter were already most appreciated.

“Very well, mademoiselle. Monsieur Closse, have Monsieur Bonnet and his people ready to hide in the woods near the shoreline before sunrise tomorrow morning. I want the Iroquois who will show up to be taken prisoners as much as possible.”

“Yes, Your Excellency!”

The three men were coming down from the ramparts when a sentry shouted to them that a Jesuit was coming from the inn of Fernand Bonnet with Françoise Vinier. Intrigued, de Maisonneuve waited for them inside the main gate, greeting the priest and

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the young blonde when they entered through a small door in the gate. Françoise, while dressed most decently and correctly for the standards of the time, also lugged a musket and a pistol and was obviously escorting the priest.

“Father Lemoyne, what prompts you to come to the fort at such a dangerous time?”

“I believe that I can be of better help to you here than at the inn of Monsieur Bonnet, Your Excellency.” answered politely the Jesuit. “I have worked with many Iroquois bands in the last few years and know many of their leaders, having even baptized a few of them. I also speak their language.”

“You can effectively be of use, Father. Some of the Iroquois are slated to come tomorrow morning but we believe that they are trying to set a trap for us. We are hoping to turn that trap around. Your knowledge may help us better assess the real intentions of the Iroquois tomorrow. Mademoiselle Vinier, while you are here, could I ask you to escort back to your inn the widow and children of Daubigeon, who was killed by the Iroquois yesterday? Monsieur Closse will provide you with two men as extra escorts.”

“I will be most please to help, Your Excellency.” said at once the beautiful blonde, bowing respectfully to de Maisonneuve.

“Good! Monsieur Closse, see to this! Father Lemoyne, follow me!” Things then followed up quickly, with Closse providing two soldiers to Françoise and fetching Perrine Meunier and her four young children, which included a toddler girl. Closse wished them goodbye as the group departed through the main gate, then went up the ramparts to follow its progress towards the inn. To his relief the group made it safely into the inn, with his two men returning at once at a near run. This done, Closse made his preparations for the action of tomorrow, which could be very well be critical for Ville-Marie.

08:26 (Quebec Time)

Wednesday, June 2, 1655

Ville-Marie

“ONE CANOE APPROACHING WITH THREE OCCUPANTS!” The warning from one of the sentries made the Governor and his aides run up to the top of the ramparts at once, where they were able to see a lone canoe approaching from the

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South Shore. Using a telescope to examine it, de Maisonneuve then passed the telescope to Lambert Closse, looking perplexed.

“Look at that canoe, Monsieur Closse, and tell me if there is indeed what appears to be a child between two Iroquois in it.”

“You are too right about that, Your Excellency.” replied Closse, surprised, after a few seconds. “What kind of game are the Iroquois playing now?”

“I guess that we will soon know. Have Father Lemoyne join us at once. With Mademoiselle Laplante hiding with her associates in the woods, we will need his knowledge of the Iroquois language. Monsieur Le Moyne, are you ready?”

“I am, Your Excellency.” replied Charles Le Moyne at once.

“Then good luck!” said de Maisonneuve, giving an accolade to Le Moyne before the latter left the ramparts and exited the fort through the main gate. De Maisonneuve and the other Frenchmen on the ramparts, soon joined by Closse and Father Lemoyne, then anxiously watched Charles Le Moyne get into a canoe and start paddling away. Le Moyne roughly followed the shoreline while paddling upstream, intent on attracting the Iroquois towards the spot where Fernand Bonnet and his four companions were hidden. The trick worked, with the two Iroquois eventually stopping their canoe only a few meters from his canoe and less than five meters from the shore. As Le Moyne was fervently hoping that Bonnet’s group was effectively there and ready, the small boy, who was obviously a European, spoke to him in French with a heavy English accent.

“Sire, I am here to translate for those Iroquois chieftains, who do not speak French. They wish to come alongside to parley.”

Charles Le Moyne could see at once that the boy, who was at most twelve years old, was terrified of the two Iroquois. The latter looked on their part supremely confident of themselves and wore the attributes of important Iroquois leaders.

“Tell them that they can approach, boy.” replied Le Moyne in an even voice to the boy, who translated his words to the Iroquois. The two chieftains resumed at once their paddling. As they were about to come alongside with his canoe and still had their hands holding their paddles, Charles Le Moyne suddenly reached for his two pistols and pointed them at the surprised Iroquois.

“DON’T MOVE OR YOU’RE DEAD!”

Another shout, this time from the shore and in Iroquois, immediately followed, making the Iroquois and the boy snap their heads in that direction, in time to see Fernand Bonnet and his four companions emerge from the woods, their muskets leveled and

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ready to fire. As the two Iroquois froze in stunned surprise, Charles Le Moyne took away the paddle from the nearest one, while Nancy Laplante went into the water, armed solely with a knife between her teeth. Swimming quickly to the Iroquois canoe, she pulled away the paddle from the second chieftain, then started dragging their canoe towards the shoreline, still covered by her companions. As soon as the canoe hit the shore, Fernand Bonnet and Henri Bruage stepped forward with pistols and brutally pulled the two Iroquois out before forcing them to go face down in the dirt. Charles Le Moyne was beaching his own canoe as Nancy went to the English boy, who looked understandably scared. With her knife back in its sheath, she caressed gently the boy’s blond hair with one hand while smiling to him and speaking in English.

“Do not be afraid, boy: we will treat you kindly. Were you a prisoner of those Iroquois?”

“Yes, miss.” answered the boy while starting to cry. “They killed the rest of my family two years ago and took me as their slave.”

“What is your name, boy?”

“James, James Walker. I am from Portsmouth. The band of Iroquois who killed my family during a trip to Fort Ann are allied to the Dutch and thus attack Englishmen as well as Frenchmen.”

“James, you are now safe. My name is Nancy Laplante and I have English as well as French blood in my veins.”

“You do, miss?” asked the boy, strangling his tears. Nancy nodded slowly once.

“My mother was English. She was herself a slave of Amerindians but was saved by my father, who was a French trapper. I can promise you that you will be well treated in Ville-Marie. Come, I will lead you to the fort.”

Gathering back her weapons and haversack while Fernand and Henri solidly tied the hands of the two Iroquois behind their back, Nancy then recuperated one paddle and sat in the Iroquois canoe with little James. Henri, one of the Iroquois and Ononkapis then joined her, while the rest went in Charles Le Moyne’s canoe. They were paddling back towards the fort when Michel Lorrain shouted a warning.

“At least eight canoes are now coming from the South Shore towards us.”

“LET’S GET TO THE FORT QUICKLY, THEN!” shouted Charles Le Moyne. They paddled harder still, thankfully arriving at the improvised wharf of the fort well in advance of the pursuing Iroquois canoes, which were still a good 500 meters away. The two Iroquois captives were quickly pushed towards the fort, each being manhandled by

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two men, while Nancy accompanied James Walker, with Charles Le Moyne covering their rear. They were greeted inside the fort by an ecstatic de Maisonneuve who patted their backs enthusiastically.

“Well done, all of you! Is anybody hurt?”

“Only their pride, Your Excellency.” replied Fernand, pointing at one of the downcast Iroquois and making the Governor laugh briefly. De Maisonneuve then eyed the boy led by Nancy.

“Is he French?”

“English, Your Excellency. His family was killed by this Iroquois band and he was made a slave. I can take care of him for the time being, if you will allow me.”

“Go ahead, mademoiselle.” said softly de Maisonneuve. “I now have to go back on top of the ramparts. We will talk later about this boy.”

While five soldiers escorted the Iroquois prisoners to a cell, Nancy led young James inside the now empty guardhouse, sitting with him on a bench before speaking softly to him in English.

“How old are you, James?”

“Nine, miss.”

“Please, call me simply Nancy. Are you hungry or thirsty?”

“I am mostly hungry.” answered timidly the boy. Nancy took out a piece of cheese and offered it to James, who grabbed it at once and bit in it. She next poured a cup of water for him and let him eat in silence for a couple of minutes before asking him another question.

“James, do you know if any member of your family is alive still?” Tears came back to the boy’s face as he shook his head.

“They were all killed: my father, my mother, my older brother and my three sisters, along with the members of another family traveling with us.”

“Do you still have family relatives alive somewhere, uncles, aunts, grand-parents?”

“My paternal grand-parents still live in England, in the Sussex.”

“Do you know exactly where?”

“In Guildford, South of London. What is going to happen to me now?”

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Nancy couldn’t answer that at first, partly because of the lump that had formed in her throat, partly because she had to study the consequences of any action involving that boy.

“Me and my associates will take care of you while we figure a way to reunite you with your grand-parents.”

“That won’t work, Nancy.” replied the boy, surprising her somewhat. “My grand-parents are very poor and sick and can’t take care of me.”

“Is anyone else alive who could?” asked Nancy, getting suddenly depressed.

“No! I should have died with my parents.”

“Please, don’t say that, James. I will find something for you, I swear!” She hugged the boy gently after that, as much to hide her own sadness as to console him. She next looked into his blue eyes.

“James, how did the Iroquois treat you in captivity? Be frank: I need to know so that you could be treated for any wound you may still have.” The boy lowered his head as deep shame showed on his face.

“They…they tortured me on capture, like they did to two of my sisters. I survived that but my sisters didn’t.”

The lump in her throat growing bigger, Nancy turned her back to James and partially pulled up her buckskin tunic, showing to him the faint marks left on her by whip lashes and red hot irons.

“I was tortured myself, James, but I not only survived that: I got over that and went on. You can do the same, James. Now, take off your shirt and show me your wounds.”

James obeyed him reluctantly, obviously embarrassed. Nancy had seen him redden when she had pulled up her tunic and and thought that he probably had been raised by a Puritan family. She had a hard time keeping a straight face at the sight of the large burn marks covering most of his torso. Undoing herself his belt buckle, she then lowered his trousers and inspected his buttocks and legs, finding more burn marks there. A quick inspection of the boy’s groin area and front legs thankfully showed no marks there. Gently dressing him back, she looked tenderly into the boy’s eyes.

“James, nobody will hurt you here, I promise. I and my friends will be there to protect you.”

“What if the Iroquois attack and take this fort?” said James in a resigned tone.

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“They won’t take this fort, that I can assure you. Now, you can either stay here for the moment and sleep a bit or come with me. I am however going to the ramparts and things could be dangerous there.”

“I am staying with you, Nancy.” said the boy without hesitation, making Nancy nod.

“As you wish, James. Then follow me.”

Nancy stepped back on the ramparts with James as a rather loud exchange was going on between an Iroquois chieftain sitting in a canoe out of musket range and the Governor, with Father Lemoyne as translator. In essence the Iroquois was promising a terrible revenge on the French of the fort if the Governor didn’t return at once the two chieftains just captured. De Maisonneuve was however refusing to let himself

intimidated by the said ‘Laplume’ and was himself asking for the return of all the French presently captive of the Iroquois in exchange for the two chieftains. Not getting what he wanted, Laplume soon left with his warriors, paddling back to the South Shore. That left the Governor conferring with his aides and Father Lemoyne as they stood together on the ramparts. From what Nancy heard from a distance, the Governor had in mind to cross to the South Shore at night and to attack the Iroquois there. While Lambert Closse showed himself reluctant to that idea, Father Lemoyne suggested that they take counsel from an Iroquois chieftain wounded and captured last autumn and who was now sympathetic to the French because of the way he had been treated while wounded. De

Maisonneuve agreed to that and had Closse fetch the said ‘Labarique’11, who was still severely handicapped and resided at the Hôtel-Dieu. It then took a good half hour before four men carried Labarique inside the fort on top of a wooden stretcher. Fernand’s group knew that Iroquois well, as it had been Michel who had severely wounded Labarique with a volley of lead pellets while the latter was leading an attack against Frenchmen working in their fields. As much as he had been at first ferocious with the French, he was now a man they could trust. It didn’t take long for Labarique to

11 th Labarique: French for ‘the barrel’. The French settlers in the New France of the 17 Century often used nicknames to designate Amerindian chieftains, instead of using the proper names of those chieftains. In turn, those nicknames were often crude and simplistic, due to a feeling of superiority felt by the French over what they considered ‘savages’. The nicknames ‘Labarique’, ‘Laplume’ and ‘Lagrandearmée’ were actually recorded historically in French annals from the 17th Century.

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oppose the Governor’s plan and to persuade him to instead send him to the South Shore next morning to go negotiate with the chieftain Laplume. That raised however an objection from de Maisonneuve.

“But Labarique can hardly move by himself, much less paddle all the way to the South Shore. He will need at least two other men to escort him across the river. Those men in turn very well risk being taken captive by the Iroquois and then being tortured and killed.”

“I volunteer to go help Labarique negotiate with that Laplume tomorrow.” replied calmly Father Lemoyne, to the shock of the Governor.

“You, Father Lemoyne? But you are too precious to us to risk yourself like this.”

“Every Christian soul in this fort is precious, Your Excellency. If it can help save the people in this fort, I will gladly risk my life.”

Before de Maisonneuve could reply to that, Nancy stepped in front of the Governor, acting on an impulse.

“I wish to volunteer as well, Your Excellency. I speak Iroquois and know their customs.”

“That’s totally out of the question, mademoiselle!” replied at once de Maisonneuve. Labarique eyed Nancy, then the Governor.

“That squaw is a daughter of the forest and has proved repeatedly to be a brave woman. Why deny her a chance to help you all? Personally, I would trust her more for that mission than any of your soldiers, save maybe for Closse.”

“Please, Your Excellency!” pleaded Nancy. “If there is a time when I can be truly of help, this is it. Forget whatever else I could be.”

Those last words nearly made the Governor blow a fuse.

“How could I forget what you are, mademoiselle? I would never pardon myself if something happens to you tomorrow.”

“I could write a letter discharging you from any responsibility if I die, Your Excellency.” said calmly Nancy, resolved to push her point through. “I could even become naughty and push rank on you.”

That last sentence, told in a near whisper audible only to de Maisonneuve, Lambert Closse, Labarique and Father Lemoyne, made de Maisonneuve and Closse pale. Nancy smiled at once to minimize the impact of her words.

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“That of course stays between us, Your Excellency. If I die tomorrow, it will officially be as the half-breed French-English daughter of a coureur de bois with Huron blood in her vein.”

That was when Labarique firmly pointed a finger at Nancy while looking at de Maisonneuve.

“I want to go with her and Father Lemoyne, and no one else.” De Maisonneuve brooded over that for a few seconds, then relented with a sigh.

“Alright, mademoiselle, you go with Labarique and Father Lemoyne. Just don’t take unnecessary risks tomorrow.”

“Thank you, Your Excellency.”

“Don’t thank me yet, mademoiselle.” said the Governor, who then signaled her to come off the ramparts and follow him. Putting first little James in the temporary care of Fernand, she then followed the Governor to his private office, where de Maisonneuve locked the door before facing Nancy, a sour expression on his face.

“No more games with me, Mademoiselle Laplante! Who are you really?”

“First, Your Excellency, I really am what I said I was up on the ramparts. I however was ennobled by King Louis the Fourteenth for services rendered to the Crown during the uprising of the Fronde. I am the Marquess of Saint-Laurent and am also a close friend of the King. Do not worry, though: I came to Ville-Marie simply to see again my country of birth, not to spy for the King.”

“Marquess of Saint-Laurent…” said de Maisonneuve, looking as if lightning had just struck him: he was himself a mere squire in terms of nobility title, a full four ranks below a marquess. Only the ranks of duchess and princess stood between those of a marquess and of a queen. Seeing an ink bottle, a pen and a reserve of paper on the Governor’s work table, Nancy pointed to them and gave de Maisonneuve her best smile.

“While we are here, may I write something down, Your Excellency?”

“Uh, of course, Marquess.”

Sitting down at the table, Nancy grabbed the pen and a sheet of virgin paper and wrote a short, two-paragraph text, then signed it. She then applied a wax seal to it, using for that a small brass seal hanging from a chain between her breasts and a red wax candle on the Governor’s table. De Maisonneuve read the paper Nancy gave him before eyeing her with deference. She however spoke before he could.

“Please don’t feel subservient to me because of my nobility title or of my closeness to the King. You are still the legitimate governor of Ville-Marie and doing a

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fine job of it, while I am here only as the associate of an innkeeper and merchant. In truth, I have come to truly admire your work here, Monsieur de Maisonneuve, and you don’t have to bow to me. You may do that only if you meet me in the company of the King, for the sake of the etiquette and not because I am superior in any way to you.” Nancy then came to attention, her face serious.

“Permission to return to guard duty, Your Excellency!”

“Uh, permission granted, mademoiselle.”

De Maisonneuve watched her leave, then sat heavily in his chair behind his work table before looking down again at the declaration signed by Nancy, having still a hard time to believe what had just happened.

07:40 (Quebec Time)

Thursday, June 3, 1655

Ville-Marie

“Please be careful, Nancy.” Implored quietly Michel Hofmann as he was about to help push her canoe into the current. Nancy grinned and kissed him on the cheek.

“Believe me, Michel: my butt is as precious to me as it is to you. I’ll be back in a few hours, I promise.”

She then grabbed her paddle as Michel and another man pushed the canoe away from the shoreline. Father Lemoyne, sitting in the rear of the canoe, did the same and started paddling in cadence with her. Labarique lay in a half-sitting position between them, his back resting on a rolled bear fur. Labarique was also holding up a white flag with his sole functioning arm. While Father Lemoyne was unarmed as per custom for a priest, Nancy had left all her weapons save for her war axe and hunting knife with Michel Hofmann, along with her precious personal seal. She had also left the little James Walker in the good hands of Claudette at the inn yesterday, where he would be able to recuperate both physically and psychologically from his long and cruel ordeal. The results of a preliminary genealogical search by the Time Patrol concerning James and his family line had confirmed that the boy had disappeared without a trace two years ago and had no surviving relatives able to care for him. Right now, Elisabeth Windsor was busy conducting an on-the-spot inquiry in England to confirm that information but there was little hope that any unknown relative would be found. With this going around her mind, Nancy paddled at a steady cadence, heading towards the spot on the South Shore

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from where the canoes of Laplume had appeared, at the future site of the city of Longueuil, itself only a few kilometers from the future city of Boucherville, the original hometown of her deceased timeline twin.

The voice of Father Lemoyne took her out of her thoughts as they were halfway across the river, which was a good 1,600 meters wide at this point, and were leaving the island of Sainte-Hélène to their left.

“Mademoiselle, while we are practically alone right now, would you mind telling me what you are really?”

Nancy glanced at him over her shoulder, then replied in Latin.

“Since we may very well die today, Father, I will tell you this in the confidence of confession: I am the Marquess de Saint-Laurent, ennobled by King Louis XIV nearly four years ago. I am also one of the mistresses of the King and work in his service for delicate and discreet missions.”

The Jesuit nodded somberly, having understood perfectly her Latin words. As this had been said in confession, he was now bound in front of God to keep this strictly confidential. He used Latin as well to reply to her.

“This explains many things, mademoiselle. With all your talents and with your beauty, you could indeed do things a male spy of the King couldn’t do and go into places he couldn’t enter.”

“I knew that you would understand, Father: the Jesuit Order itself is no stranger to power politics.”

“I will recognize that much, mademoiselle. Since you are working for the good of the King and France, I absolve you of all the sins you may have committed in the course of your duties.”

Stuff your absolution, thought Nancy, sick of the religious hypocrisy permeating this whole century. The sight of four canoes heading their way from the South Shore then returned her mind to their present situation.

“We have a welcoming committee coming at us.” she warned in French, making Labarique and Father Lemoyne focus their eyes on the still distant canoes. Lemoyne then made the sign of the cross and said a silent prayer as the Iroquois approached them. Sixteen Iroquois in four canoes soon surrounded them, muskets and bows pointed at them. Labarique shouted at their apparent leader in Iroquois.

“We came to parley! I want to talk with your chieftain, Laplume.”

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“Do you have weapons with you?” asked the leader, still clearly suspicious. In response, Nancy showed him her knife and war axe, making the Iroquois nod.

“We will accept that, but no more. Follow us!”

With her heart beating faster, Nancy started paddling again, following the lead Iroquois canoe, as the three other Iroquois canoes formed a diamond around her boat, surrounding it while they headed to the South Shore. A good forty Iroquois warriors were waiting for them on the shoreline, including the said Laplume, who eyed with contempt the handicapped Labarique sitting in Nancy’s canoe.

“Why should I talk with a traitor like you?”

Labarique, stung by this insult, stared hard at Laplume with his remaining right eye.

“You break the ceasefire signed by the Five Nations 12 and you call me a traitor?”

“I didn’t sign on that ceasefire, thus deem myself not bound by it. Say your piece, quickly!”

“The French have your two chieftains, who are being well treated. I saw them and can vouch for that. The French know that you are holding a number of French prisoners, including five children taken recently near Quebec. They want these captives back, all of them, in exchange of which they will give you back your two chieftains.”

“Why should I give back my French slaves when I could easily go get back my two comrades myself by taking the French fort?”

“Your vanity is obscuring your head!” replied Labarique in a firm tone. “You don’t have the warriors needed to take the French fort. Besides, your two chieftains would be hung by the French before you could enter their Fort.”

“Then I will burn down their houses around the fort until I get my two comrades back alive. Maybe the screams of their squaws being tortured will convince the French to give up our people. In fact, I could start with this young one here.”

“We came under a white flag of truce.” spat out Labarique, now truly angry. “Are you ready to soil the honor of all the Agniers by committing such treachery?” A rumble of whispered comments and exclamations around Laplume then told him that Labarique had just marked an important point. Not willing to risk dissension among his warriors, he relented partly after a hesitation.

12 Five Nations: Name of the Iroquois Federation until a sixth nation, the Tuscaroras, entered the federation in 1722. The Five Nations included the Cayugas, the Agniers (Mohawks), the Oneidas, the Onondagas and the Senecas and was created in 1570.

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“You may return safely to the fort with your two companions. Tell the French that I want our two chieftains back, alive, before noon or I will burn down their fort. As for the slaves I have, I will keep them. Make sure that the French understand that I set the conditions, not them. Now, go!”

Somewhat discouraged, the three emissaries turned their canoe around and paddled back towards Ville-Marie. Once a good 600 meters from the South shore, Father Lemoyne allowed himself to blow air out in relief.

“This was a close call, especially for you, mademoiselle. I would hate to think of what these barbarians could have done to you.”

Like Labarique, Nancy shot at once a black look at Lemoyne, with Nancy admonishing him in an angry voice.

“Who are we to call these people barbarians, Father? I can assure you that when it comes to torturing people, we are as cruel as anybody else! In fact, you may look at this as proof of that.”

She then pulled her buckskin tunic over her head, stripping topless in front of the shocked priest and of the delighted Labarique.

“Look at what was done to me in the basement of the Bastille in Paris, Father, and see how merciful we French could be. A so-called noble lady and a duchess no less directed my tortures there as she tried to get from me the names of the agents of Cardinal Mazarin in Paris during the Fronde.”

“I…I’m sorry, Marquess.” said weakly the priest, now pale. “I spoke rashly and chose my words poorly.”

Nancy nodded once, calming down, then put her tunic back on. The rest of the trip back to the fort was spent in silence. The Governor was one of the men who rushed to the shoreline to greet them.

“Thank God, you came back safely. What did that Laplume say to our conditions?”

“He refused all of them and in turn threatened to burn the fort if the two chieftains are not returned alive to him by noon.” answered Labarique, making de Maisonneuve grimace.

“That man is decidedly impossible to deal with. As much as this could cost us, I am however not ready to free those two chieftains without getting something in return.”

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“Then expect Laplume to come and attack us after noon is past.” replied Labarique, somber. “He however doesn’t have enough warriors to attack directly the fort. He threatened to burn the houses around the fort and then torture captives in plain sight to convince us to give up our two prisoners.”

That made the Governor’s face harden, while Lambert Closse swore quietly to himself.

“Tudieu! We don’t have enough soldiers to protect all the houses outside the fort. We will have to evacuate all our people still outside the fort to safety.”

“May I suggest something, Your Excellency?” said promptly Fernand, who was near the Governor and Closse. “If you have to evacuate houses, then bring their occupants to our inn, which is fortified. This way we will have two strong points able to provide mutual supporting fire to each other. Also, our inn will probably become the main target of that Laplume, since he will judge that it would be easier to attack than the fort itself. We could use that to mount an ambush for the Iroquois when they cross the river again.”

“Go on, Monsieur Bonnet.” said de Maisonneuve, interested at once by that idea. Fernand then spent a minute describing his plan, after which the Governor and Closse discussed with him its finer details before coming to a decision.

“We will proceed as we just discussed then, gentlemen. Let’s start evacuating at once the families still outside the fort to the inn of Monsieur Bonnet: we don’t have much time left before noon.”

A period of frantic activity followed that decision, with Fernand and his associates put in charge of assembling in the inn the settlers living around it. The first problem came when Sister Jeanne Mance refused to evacuate her hospital, insisting on staying barricaded inside it. It took the direct intervention of the Governor to finally get her to let herself be escorted to the fortified inn, which was now housing over forty persons. The nursing sister was greeted there by Claudette, who was now in charge of the defense of the inn and was helped in this by Françoise and nine other musket shooters, who were in turn supported by twenty more persons able to reload their spare muskets. Once de Maisonneuve was satisfied that the inn was well enough secured and defended, Fernand, his three agents, Ononkapis, Lambert Closse, Charles Le Moyne and five militiamen crawled from the inn to the nearby woods, intent on discreetly setting up an ambush point by the shoreline of the inn.

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It didn’t take long after noon arrived for the Iroquois to get on the move. Fifteen canoes loaded with Iroquois warriors departed the south shore of the river and headed towards the north shore, skipping the western point of the Island of Sainte-Hélène, then heading towards the fortified inn, as hoped for by the Governor. The Iroquois, Laplume in the lead, chose to land in the wooded shoreline close to the fields surrounding the inn and the nearby houses. Fernand had judged that precise point to be the probable landing spot of the Iroquois and had convinced Charles Le Moyne and Lambert Closse of this. The moment that Laplume and four warriors beached their canoe ahead of the other Iroquois canoes, Charles Le Moyne jumped out of cover and pointed his musket literally in the face of the stunned Laplume, while Fernand, Henri and Michel pointed their own muskets at the four warriors accompanying their chieftain.

“One false move and you are all dead!” warned Charles Le Moyne, his index on the trigger of his musket. At the same moment the voice of Lambert Closse came out of the woods as he gave an order to his hidden militiamen.

“AT THE CANOES STILL IN THE WATER, FIRE AT WILL!” Eight muskets fired at once, dropping seven Iroquois out of their canoes and making two of the unstable boats tip sideways and sink, throwing more Iroquois in the water. A second salvo from the hidden French militiamen, who had each a spare musket ready to fire, followed less than ten seconds later, killing or wounding more Iroquois. One canoe with one dead Iroquois in its bow tried to rush to the shore and was nearly there when Nancy ran out of cover and fired her blunderbuss in their faces from less than five meters away. The three surviving Iroquois in that canoe were swept by the volley of lead pellets and fell in the water, dead or dying. With over a third of their warriors dead or captured before they could themselves fire once, the surviving Iroquois turned their canoes around, paddling desperately to get out of musket range as quickly as possible. That didn’t save them from a third salvo or from the rain of arrows Nancy started shooting from her longbow at an infernal rate. Having suffered for years from terror attacks by Iroquois raiders, the Frenchmen were in no mood to show mercy now and kept firing steadily until their enemies were out of range. By then, less than fourteen terrorized Iroquois had survived to paddle away to safety. Apart from Laplume and the four warriors captured with him, now solidly tied up and held face down in the mud of the shoreline, no mercy was shown to the wounded Iroquois trying to either swim to the shore or to merely keep their heads above the water, with the lot of them being methodically shot dead by the French. A concert of wild cheers followed the end of the

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firing: the latest threat to Ville-Marie had been decisively defeated with no losses to the French side. Lambert Closse, elated, surveyed the battleground and the river, now full of dead Iroquois floating downstream, pushed by the current. He then knelt and made a prayer of thanks, imitated by his militiamen and by Charles Le Moyne. Only Fernand, his three associates and Ononkapis, who were guarding the five Iroquois taken prisoners, refrained from praying then.

The return of the French force to the fort with their five prisoners was greeted by cheers from the occupants, with the Governor coming out to meet them. He first shook hands with Closse and Le Moyne, speaking to the first one while grinning.

“This is truly a day to remember in the history of Ville-Marie. How many Iroquois did you kill? How many escaped?”

“Maybe thirteen or fourteen Iroquois were able to flee, Your Excellency.” Answered Closse soberly. “We captured five of them, including this loud mouth of Laplume, and killed over thirty of them. We are however still not safe, far from it. Those surviving Iroquois will bring the news of our victory to their band, which will then probably send a strong war party to avenge their warriors. We will have to stay vigilant for the next few weeks and months.”

“As we always have been.” replied de Maisonneuve, his initial enthusiasm now cooling off. “Let’s hope that some of those Iroquois will come to their senses and will try to discuss instead of continuing this endless killing spree. Were you able to capture some of the enemy weapons?”

Closse then proudly showed him five militiamen loaded down with a collection of muskets and pistols.

“The powder we collected from the dead Iroquois is wet and will have to be carefully dried and remixed, but we captured eighteen muskets and seven pistols. Most of those weapons are of Dutch manufacture.”

“That doesn’t come exactly as a surprise to me.” replied the Governor while making a face. “These weapons will however come handy indeed to reinforce our defenses. Again, good work, all of you! Monsieur Le Moyne, you go put those prisoners in irons and throw them in jail. Closse, you tell our people in the inn that they can return to their homes…until the next alert. We will talk tonight about what to do next concerning the Iroquois.”

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“Yes, Your Excellency!” both said Le Moyne and Closse before carrying out the Governor’s orders.

Fernand, his associates and Ononkapis were able to return to the inn in time for supper, having been released from duty by Lambert Closse. While Claudette and Françoise respectively hugged and kissed Fernand and Henri, Nancy got a warm hug from little James Walker. The strength of the boy’s grip told Nancy that he was still very much in emotional distress, although not as badly as yesterday. His despair finished convincing Nancy, who had anyway pretty much made her mind already after getting via radio the results of Elizabeth’s inquiry in England. Holding James gently by his shoulders, she looked straight into his big, sad eyes, and spoke softly to him.

“James, I know that you need and want someone to care for you and love you. If you want, I wish to be that person.”

“You would be ready to be my new mother?” said the boy in a shaking voice, tears coming to his eyes.

“Yes, I would. My friends here also would be ready to care for you whenever I would have to go in the woods. They are good people whom I consider like family for me. Do you accept to stay with me, James?”

“Yes!” answered the boy timidly but without hesitation. A lump in her throat, Nancy then hugged him for long seconds. Looking into his eyes again, she kissed him on both cheeks, then got up and took him by the hand.

“Come, James: we will tell Fernand about our decision.”

Nancy intercepted Fernand as he was about to go to his room to drop off his weapons and gear.

“Fernand, me and James have something to tell you. Do you have a minute?” she said in English. Fernand looked at her, then at little James and smiled, answering also in English.

“I think that I know what you want to talk about, Nancy. Come to my room with me.”

Going together up the stairs to the upper floor of the west wing, the trio soon entered the large bedroom used by Fernand and Claudette. Fernand closed the door before facing Nancy and James, looking specifically at Nancy.

“Go ahead, Nancy.”

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“Fernand, I offered to take care of James and he accepted. I will take him with me when I will leave Ville-Marie to return in France.”

Fernand nodded his head at once, smiling to her.

“You have my wholehearted support in this, Nancy. If you need any help with James, me and Claudette will be most happy to oblige. Did you tell James about Charles?”

“Not yet. That’s next.”

Fernand nodded, then went to James and crouched in front of him, smiling to him and playing with his blond hair.

“You are a lucky boy, James: Nancy is an exceptional girl in all respects. She is also very kind and caring. You will be happy with her.”

“I believe so, sir.” said timidly James, prompting Fernand to shake a finger at him.

“Call me Fernand, not sir. In this inn, we all call each other by our first names.” He then got back up and let Nancy go out with the boy. Nancy in turn brought James to her own bedroom, where she got rid of her weapons and haversack before leading James to the bed, sitting on the edge of it with him.

“If we are to care about each other, James, then we have to know each other. I will start first. Officially I am not married. I however love very much a Frenchman whom I cannot marry for a number of reasons. I can assure you though that he also loves me very much. His name is D’Artagnan and he is the most loyal and honest man you could think of. I had a baby boy from him, who is now three years old and is named Charles. He is presently being cared for by relatives of mine while I am in New France. You will be able to see him soon enough. Next, I have a secret, a big one I don’t want other people here to know: I am a marquess.”

“What is a marquess?” asked James, making Nancy smile.

“A marquess is the same thing as a countess, but people don’t use that title in England.”

James’ eyes widened at those words.

“Then, you must be rich and important!”

“Rich, not really, but I am comfortable. Important? Well, it depends where. You see, my title is well known only at the court of the King of France, who is a good friend of mine. In other places, I try to be discreet about it, like here.”

“Why?”

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“For a number of reasons, which you will understand when we will leave New France in a few months. Mostly, it has to do about avoiding enemies.”

“Do you have a lot of enemies, Nancy?”

“Let’s say that I live a dangerous life, James.” she replied, most serious. “Now, tell me about you. Did your parents make you learn something? They must have, since you speak French already.”

“My father was a merchant and wanted me to learn many languages, so that I could help him one day with his business. Since our family had money, he paid a private teacher for me and my older brother.”

“So, what did you learn, apart from French?” asked Nancy, smiling down at him.

“I was learning how to read, write and count. Our teacher also showed us maps, so that we would know how this country was made and how to go around it.”

“That is indeed very good for a boy of your age, James.” said Nancy, meaning it. “Now, I believe that it is suppertime. Did Claudette wash you while I was gone?”

“She gave me a warm bath last evening.”

“Then you will only need to wash your hands before supper. As for me, I’m afraid that I need a bath, badly.”

“Should I come with you?” said James innocently, not meaning wrong but making Nancy grin.

“That would not be considered proper, James.” she said with a smile. ‘’Come, I will show you where you can wash your hands.”

Before leaving her room, Nancy grabbed a set of fresh clothes and a large towel, then went with James to the nearest bathroom on the upper floor, where she showed him the small counter, with its wash basin, water pot and towel. Once the boy had washed his hands, Nancy went down with him to the kitchen and showed him the bathing area. She however didn’t go beyond the privacy curtain with James, as someone was evidently having a bath in there.

“Who is in there?” she asked through the curtain, getting a male voice in answer.

“It’s me, Michel! I won’t be long.”

“I’ll wait!”

Nancy then grabbed a large iron bucket and, using the hand pump in the kitchen, filled it halfway with water and, with a marked effort, put it on top of the stove so that the water could warm up. While the stove did its work, she served to James a good bowl of stew

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and a piece of bread, making him sit at the small table sitting in one corner of the kitchen, where Catherine Lorion was also eating.

“Have supper while I wash. I won’t be long.”

Michel was coming out of the bathing area, wearing a clean shirt and trousers, as she approached with her bucket of lukewarm water. He didn’t help her with it, not because he wasn’t a gentleman but rather because he knew from experience that she disliked it when someone assumed that she was too weak for a task. Filling the bathtub that Michel had just emptied, Nancy took a quick bath, toweled herself dry and put on a simple dress over a shirt, all in less than fifteen minutes. James was still eating when she joined him at the kitchen’s table. The poor boy evidently had been malnourished during his time with the Iroquois and was taking his time, his restricted stomach not allowing him to eat too fast. Thankfully, his first question to her then had nothing to do with his recent ordeal.

“Nancy, what do you do to earn money? My father always said that hard work was the mark of an honest man.”

“That is certainly an opinion typical of a Puritan, and a fairly correct one at that, James. Basically, I am paid by Fernand to hunt, fish and guide him while in New France. As an associate, I also get a part of the profit made by this inn.”

“And when you go back to France?”

“Then, I have another work at the King’s court, for which I get an annual pension from the King.”

“What kind of work, Nancy?”

Claudette, who was passing nearby at that time, grinned as she eyed the blond boy.

“Kids will always be curious. Right, Nancy?”

“I am starting to see that.”

With Catherine Lorion still at the table with them, Nancy debated for a moment how to answer James, finally finding the right words for it.

“I am a court lady, someone who goes around with the King and help him look like, well, the King. The King always must have a lot of nobles around him, both to counsel him and to boost his prestige with foreign guests and visitors. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Nancy.”

“It must be fascinating to be close to the King like this all the time.” said timidly Catherine Lorion, feeling a bit envious of Nancy. Nancy made a face at that.

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“Not always, Catherine. Some of the ministers and nobles around him could be quite arrogant at times and treat anyone under them like dirt. The higher-born noblewomen in particular could be downright mean and ignorant with others. You also wouldn’t believe the petty intrigues going around the palace.” Nancy ended up talking about palace gossip and intrigues for another good ten minutes, until Claudette put a serving tray with a pitcher of wine and four cups in front of her.

“Nancy, you can be a real chatterbox at times. Here, time to help serve the customers. It seems that the whole of Ville-Marie is here tonight to celebrate today’s victory on the Iroquois.”

“Gee! I can understand them, Claudette.”

“Oh, I do too, but they still need to be served. Go! Scram!”

“Alright, alright, I’m going!” replied Nancy with a smile before speaking to James. “I will be back shortly, James. If you need anything, ask Claudette: she doesn’t bite, at least not officially.”

Nancy then pulled her tongue at Claudette before leaving with her tray, making James laugh at the false expression of indignation Claudette made then.

14:10 (Quebec Time)

Friday, July 16, 1655

Ville-Marie

Paul Chomedey de Maisonneuve felt a wave of exhilaration nearly overtake him when the ranks of the Iroquois who had come to conclude the exchange of prisoners broke open, letting pass a group of eleven pitiful-looking French men, women and children. Five weeks of tough, often risky negotiations between his people and the famous Iroquois war captain known as Lagrandearmée were finally paying off handsomely. Apart from the five children taken at the Geese Island, six other French settlers from various outposts and settlements had just returned from Iroquois captivity, in return for the release of the three Iroquois chieftains and four warriors held up to now in Ville-Marie. On the appearance of the French ex-captives, de Maisonneuve made a sign to Lambert Closse, who in turn ordered his soldiers to let go the seven Iroquois men they were surrounding. As per a prearranged ceremonial, all but three warriors or soldiers from each side and the French and Iroquois commanders withdrew with their respective people. Now facing Lagrandarmée from less than three paces, de

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Maisonneuve calmly took one step, imitated by the Iroquois captain, and shook hands firmly with him.

“May this peace of the brave stop the suffering on both sides.” said solemnly the Iroquois leader in his language. His words were immediately translated by Nancy, one of the three designated bodyguards for de Maisonneuve. The Governor nodded, then spoke in French, with Nancy again playing interpreter.

“And may this peace of the brave endure, so that both of our people could learn to respect and live peacefully with each other.”

Lagrandarmée nodded in approval at those words, then sat down, imitated by de Maisonneuve. Their respective bodyguards also sat down, two paces behind their leaders, and waited silently as the latter smoked together a peace pipe, then exchanged gifts. Nancy was the sole bodyguard to speak during those phases of the ceremony, translating back and forth in French and Iroquois. Without showing it, she felt excitement, for two reasons: one, because of the release of the eleven French captives and, two, because of the fact that this was allowing her to record from up close a truly historical event via the micro-camera and microphone hidden in her Amerindian headband. While proud of her role in all this, having with Labarique and Father Lemoyne conducted most of the contacts and discussions with the Iroquois, she knew that the final Time Patrol documentary on Ville-Marie was going to be carefully edited so that she and the other Time Patrol field agents appeared as little as possible in it. That was not because the Time Patrol was unappreciative of their efforts on this mission, far from it, but rather because it wanted to focus on the real heroes of this story: the settlers and founders of Ville-Marie.

After maybe forty minutes of head-to-head talks and gestures, the ceremony was concluded and the two parties prepared to go their respective way. Before he left, though, Lagrandarmée stopped briefly and turned around, saying a few words in Iroquois to Nancy, taking her by surprise. The Iroquois leader then walked away with his bodyguards. Intrigued, de Maisonneuve looked at her, waiting for the Iroquois to be out of earshot before asking her.

“What did he tell you, Mademoiselle Laplante?”

“That he and his people were going to remember me, then calling me in Iroquois ‘the French woman from the woods’. It kind of made me feel proud.”

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“As you should be, mademoiselle.” replied at once de Maisonneuve, dead serious. “We owe you, Father Lemoyne and this big Labarique a lot. Be assured that your name will figure prominently in my letter to Governor Lauson about this peace deal.”

“Please don’t, Your Excellency.” said at once Nancy, surprising de Maisonneuve. “I would prefer that my name not be mentioned anywhere. When describing what I did, simply credit it to a French coureur de bois. That would be plenty to satisfy me.”

“Decidedly, you are indeed an uncommon girl, mademoiselle. Very few people I know would miss such a chance at gaining fame.”

Nancy responded with a shrug and a smile.

“Well, you should know me by now, Your Excellency. I work better in the shadows.”

“Indeed, Mademoiselle Laplante! Indeed!”

08:19 (Quebec Time)

Monday, September 6, 1655

AUBERGE DU CHASSEUR

Ville-Marie

It took Nancy much longer than she had expected to say her goodbyes along the shoreline before leaving with her little James for Quebec to take a ship ride to France: half of the people of Ville-Marie seemingly wanted to wish her good luck, many with tears in their eyes. Last in line but not least in her eyes were Catherine Lorion, Ononkapis and Mistibis. Catherine, who had remarried in June with Jean Simon and was no longer working at the inn, was particularly emotional about her departure.

“I feel like dying right now, Nancy. Are you sure that you need to go back to France?”

“I am, Catherine.” replied softly Nancy. “The King expects me back at his court, while I have a lover and a son whom I haven’t seen for over a year now.”

“Will I ever see you again?” asked the French girl, her voice half-strangled. Herself having difficulty not to shed tears, she managed to answer back.

“I will, at least once. That I promise. Goodbye, Catherine.”

“Goodbye, Nancy.”

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Stepping next in front of Ononkapis, who was holding a crying Mistibis, Nancy looked at both tenderly, speaking to them in Algonquin.

“Ononkapis, of all the friends I had here you were by far the most loyal and honest. Words wouldn’t suffice for this occasion, so I decided to leave you something more concrete.”

Ononkapis’ eyes widened when she presented him her English longbow and the quiver of yard-long arrows that went with it.

“This bow is now yours, my friend. May you have many successful hunts with it.” Ononkapis took slowly the longbow, handling it like the most precious thing in the World, then stared with tears in his eyes at her.

“I will remember you every time I will use it. May the Great Spirit watch over you, Nancy.”

“And on you too, little James.” added Mistibis before looking up at Nancy. “I owe you my freedom and a happy life with a good husband. How can I ever repay my debt to you?”

“As I said before, Mistibis, by being happy. May you and Ononkapis prosper and live many Winters together.”

Then grabbing the part of her kit that was not already in her canoe, she shook hands one last time with her five Time Patrol colleagues, who were due to stay another year in Ville-Marie before selling their inn and disappearing deep inside the woods on the pretext that they were switching business to the fur trade.

“Good luck with your business here, guys, and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“If we did that, Father Pijart would damn all of us to Hell.” replied Michel, grinning, making everybody laugh. Nancy, dressed in her Amerindian hunting clothes and with her hands full of kit and weapons, then got in her canoe with James. One push from Fernand and Michel and she was on her way, going down the current while paddling at an easy rhythm. She couldn’t help look back one last time at the people of Ville-Marie present to watch her go before they disappeared from direct sight at a bend of the river. Her heart heavy, she looked at James, who was sitting in front of her in the middle of the canoe. James too had tears in his eyes.

“We just left many good friends indeed, my dear James, but I promise you that, where we are going, you will find many more friends. You will also live with me a life you couldn’t even start to dream about right now.”

“It still hurts to lose those friends, Nancy.”

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“I know,” said Nancy in a resigned tone, “it always does.”

20:51 (Quebec Time)

Friday, April 19, 1720

Côte Saint-Martin

Montreal (formerly Ville-Marie)

On the urging of one of her grand-daughters, the few relatives still present left the old woman’s bedroom to let her rest on what was probably going to be her last night in this World. Soon alone in the dark room, the 84 year-old woman had nothing else to do but reflect on her life, her four marriages, eleven children and 56 grand-children. It had been a hard life but it had been worth it in the end: she could say proudly that she had left an enduring legacy in and around Montreal and had earned the title of pioneer of Ville-Marie. If only some of her early friends could have been here on this night to stay with her until her final moment. Gone was Jeanne Rousselier, dead over thirty years ago somewhere in the Acadie. Gone was Jacques Morin, dead for twenty years now. Gone was Marguerite Landreau, who had passed away in 1680, along with her husband Hubert, who had survived her for only seven years. Gone was also the kind Sister Marguerite Bourgeoys, dead at the age of eighty in 1700, a woman to whom she owed so much.

A movement in the dark room suddenly distracted her from her souvenirs. Her weak, tired eyes could only make out a dark from approaching her bed silently. Catherine did not feel fear then: she had nothing left to fear by now, except of dying alone. The person then knelt besides her bed and started caressing her hair, while approaching its face to only centimeters from Catherine’s face. She saw that the newcomer was a very tall teenage girl with long black hair and that there were tears in her green eyes.

“Catherine, it’s me, Nancy, your friend who came from France with you in 1654. Do you remember me?”

“Nancy? How could it be? You still look so young.”

Somehow, Catherine knew that this was really her long lost friend: the voice was the same and the face of Nancy was as beautiful as ever.

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“Catherine, the how is not important. The only important thing is that I am here with you and will stay by your side to the last moment.”

“Nancy, I want to know.” said Catherine weakly. “Who are you really?” Young hands then caressed tenderly her face.

“I am a time traveler from the far future, Catherine. So are Fernand, Henri, Michel, Claudette and Françoise. They are all alive and well.” Tears then came to Catherine Lorion’s eyes: however fantastic was her friend’s explanation, it fit well with what she had been then. She had known for a long time that Nancy and her friends were special people.

“You said that you were going to stay with me, Nancy?”

“I did and I will, Catherine.”

The teenager then took hold of Catherine’s right hand and lay her head on the pillow, right besides the old woman’s head. When Nancy raised her head and let go Catherine’s hand hours later, a happy smile was gracing her friend’s dead face.

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CHAPTER 9 – AMNESIA





21 :12 (London Time)

Saturday, March 11, 1854 ‘A’

Hyde Park, London

England

The loud crack of lightning falling nearby

made Lady Carmelia Smythe jump with fright as

her carriage was rolling down Park Lane. Her son

Gordon then put a protective arm around her,

smiling reassuringly.

“Don’t worry, Mother: that one fell at least

one mile away. Besides, lightning will strike one

of the park’s statues first, not our carriage.” Captain Gordon Smythe of the 8th

Hussars

The distinguished, 54-year-old woman looked up at her son and caressed his chin tenderly. A tall and very handsome young man, Gordon was wearing a striped dark blue suit and overcoat tonight instead of his uniform of captain of the 8th Hussars, which was truly a shame: he was so dashing when in uniform. Gordon was Carmelia’s only child but he had made her rightly proud of him. Her only disappointment was that he was still resisting the advances of the young, respectable ladies Carmelia kept presenting him, like tonight at the reception given by Lord Carver. Gordon had still not completely come over the deaths of his young wife Megan and of his newborn son less than three years ago. His most persistent objection to hopeful ladies was that, while well bred and proper, they lacked character and were often vain and boring. Carmelia had to recognize that Gordon’s wife had been a real firebrand, owing probably to her Irish bloodline. Finding another woman like her that was not from hopelessly low class was proving to be quite a challenge indeed.

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The voice of Thomas, their foot servant and carriage driver, came up above the drumming of the rain on the roof of the carriage as they were approaching the Duke of Wellington’s triumphal arch.

“Lady Carmelia, there is a lady walking in the rain near Wellington’s arch. Should I offer her a lift?”

Carmelia frowned at that: what kind of lady would be walking alone at night in such weather?

“Does she look like a proper sort, Thomas?”

“Hard to say from this distance, madam. I…”

A blinding flash accompanied by a terrifying detonation cut off the driver, who then had to fight hard to regain control of his terrified horses. On her part, Carmelia literally jumped in her son’s lap from the surprise and fright. A strange, tickling sensation ran through her body for a second, while her hair and that of Gordon puffed out.

“MY GOD!” Shouted the driver. “THAT WAS A CLOSE ONE: IT STRUCK THE TOP OF THE DUKE’S STATUE!”

The driver’s remark made Gordon open the door on his side of the carriage to look out. After a quick look he closed his door and knocked sharply on the wall of the carriage to attract the driver’s attention.

“THOMAS, THAT WOMAN IS LYING ON THE ROAD NEAR THE ARCH. GET TO HER, QUICKLY!”

Both Gordon and Carmelia were pushed back in their bench seat as the driver yelled at his horses and the carriage took up speed. Gordon jumped out in the rain as soon as they came to a stop. Looking out by the window of the door, Carmelia saw Gordon and Thomas pick up a woman lying still on the pavement. Opening the door, she held it open as both men carried the woman to the carriage and labored to get her inside. The stranger was very tall for a woman and, while not apparently overweight, appeared to be quite heavy, making Gordon swear as he pulled her inside and sat her on one of the two benches.

“Bloody hell! She must be made of stone!”

“Gordon, watch your language!” protested Carmelia as she examined the young woman. The stranger’s dress and coat, of rich and fine make, was burned in many places, proof of how close to the lightning strike she had been. Part of her black hair, twisted into a bun behind her head, had been burned, filling the carriage with an acrid

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smell. Carmelia couldn’t help notice the necklace, broche, earrings and rings worn by the stranger: they appeared to be very expensive jewels.

“Well, whoever she is, she must be from a high class.”

“That’s not important right now, Mother.” replied Gordon, a bit annoyed. “Let’s get her to our home so that she could be treated. THOMAS, GET HOME AT THE DOUBLE!”

The young man held the unconscious woman in a sitting position as the carriage started moving again. Going through the arch and down Grosvenor Place, they turned onto Grosvenor Crescent, arriving within minutes at Gordon’s townhouse on Belgrave Square. Alerted by Gordon’s shouts, two servants came at a run out of the four story building and helped him take the young woman out of the carriage. Taking the stranger in his arms, Gordon shouted at the driver as Carmelia got out of the carriage and ran inside to escape the driving rain.

“THOMAS, GET DOCTOR PORTAL AND BRING HIM HERE AS QUICKLY AS YOU CAN!”

“RIGHT AWAY, SIR!”

Walking quickly inside with his load as the carriage sped away, Gordon went through the front hall and the large reception lounge, then climbed the main staircase to the first floor. Carmelia and two maids were already ahead of him, waiting in one of the guest bedrooms. As soon as he lay the still unconscious woman on the wide bed, his mother shooed him out of the bedroom.

“The poor girl’s clothes are all wet. We have to undress and dry her before the arrival of Doctor Portal. Just send him upstairs as soon as he arrives.”

“I understand, Mother. Could you check if she has any papers or things that could identify her, though? Her relatives will undoubtedly get worried about her.”

“A sensible thought, Gordon.” replied Carmelia, smiling. “I will keep you informed.”

She then closed the door in her son’s face and returned to the side of the bed, where the two maids had already started to take off the wet clothes of the stranger. Grabbing the woman’s overcoat first, Carmelia searched it, quickly finding a purse in a large pocket. Opening it, she was disappointed to find no papers inside which could have helped identify her. Her eyes bulged though at the sight of a large assortment of banknotes and silver and gold coins, plus a set of keys.

“My god! There is over four hundred pounds in here!”

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That made the two servants stop and look at her in shock.

“Four hundred pounds!” exclaimed the younger maid, Judith. “She must be a very rich woman.”

“She must be!” added Clara, the other maid, while raising the woman’s inert right hand to let her mistress look at it. “Look at that emerald and diamond ring, madam.”

“A rich woman indeed.” agreed Carmelia. “She must belong to a prominent family. Let’s dry her quickly, girls.”

The two maids had to be helped by Carmelia when they removed the dress with its flounced skirt.

“God, she is really heavy for her size.” said Clara. “She must be all muscles.” They soon saw that for themselves when they removed her wet undergarment and Judith passed a towel over the stranger’s nude body to dry it.

“Not an ounce of fat on her but look at those muscles.” wondered the young maid. “She reminds me of an acrobat girl I saw once in a circus.”

“A circus girl with expensive jewels and four hundred pounds in cash?” replied Carmelia, dubious. Judith didn’t answer back, waiting for Clara to laboriously turn the woman on her belly before continuing to towel her dry. A multitude of old, faint scars covering the woman’s back, buttocks and legs made her hesitate and stop. While obviously dating back many years, they were still fairly easy to see.

“Sweet Mary! What happened to her?”

Bending over to have a better look, Carmelia nearly immediately recoiled from surprise and shock: those were whip marks! Looking again more closely, she was then able to see a number of burn marks on her back and buttocks. Turning laboriously the woman on her back, Carmelia saw similar whip and burn marks on her chest and belly.

“My god! This poor woman was tortured once, horribly.”

“Tortured, madam?” said Clara, shocked. “Why, and by whom?”

“I don’t know! Forget about that and cover her with the bed sheets. Judith, bring her clothes downstairs for drying.”

Carmelia had a last look at the young woman as the maids covered her. While beautiful and shapely, her shoulders were broad and she was easily close to six feet in height. She may be rich but she certainly didn’t look like a typical aristocrat.

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Gordon noticed the puzzled look on his mother’s face when she came down the staircase and joined him in the lounge. Walking quickly to her, he gallantly took her hand and guided Carmelia to a sofa, sitting beside her and looking into her eyes.

“Is something wrong? Has her situation deteriorated, Mother?”

“No, Gordon. She is still unconscious but her breathing is strong and regular. I didn’t find anything on her that could help identify her, except that she had four hundred pounds in cash and expensive jewels on her.”

“Then, she must be an aristocrat.” proposed Gordon. Carmelia hesitated before replying slowly to that.

“Maybe, maybe not. Gordon, why would anyone torture a young woman?”

“Torture?” said Gordon in a disbelieving tone. “Was that woman tortured?”

“She was flogged and branded extensively all over her torso and buttocks a few years ago. The scars are faint but still visible. Again, why would someone torture a woman?”

“Uh, to get answers, probably to make her say where her gold is.” proposed Gordon, at a loss for any other answer. His mother looked gravely at him then.

“Gordon, you may have a point there. That woman is obviously rich, so someone could indeed have tormented her to get at her money. Poor girl!” A notion then went through Gordon’s mind, raising doubts in it.

“On the other hand, maybe the bastards who tortured that girl were not after money.”

“What do you mean? What else could it be?”

“Information… secrets, I don’t know really!”

“She could be a spy?” said Carmelia, horrified. Gordon then shrugged, truly at a loss.

“I don’t know! I was just speculating. Look, why don’t we let to that poor girl the benefit of the doubt and wait until she wakes up to ask her a few questions?”

“Alright, that sounds fair enough to me.” replied Carmelia while rising from the sofa, helped by Gordon. “I will go put her money and jewels in a safe place now: we don’t want one of our maids to rob that unfortunate woman.”

“Mother, you should have more confidence in my maids. Clara and Judith are honest women. However, in view of the sum that girl had on her, your idea is still a good one. Here is the key to the secure drawer of my work desk.”

“Thanks, Gordon!”

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Gordon watched his mother go upstairs again, then resumed his pacing around, his mind boiling over Carmelia’s remarks. Doctor Portal, followed by a drenched and shivering Thomas, showed up ten minutes later, his medical bag in one hand.

“Where is this woman, Mister Smythe?”

“Upstairs!” answered Gordon, taking the doctor’s coat. “My mother will show you to her.”

He then looked up and around in time to see Carmelia appear in the staircase.

“Mother, could you show the good doctor to our guest?”

“Of course! This way, Doctor.”

As the doctor climbed the stairs, Gordon faced Thomas, who was still wearing his wet overcoat.

“Well done, Thomas! Go to the kitchen and warm yourself up with a hot cup of tea in front of the stove. Take this as well for your diligence.” The servant looked down at the gold coin Gordon had taken out of a pocket and grinned before accepting it.

“It is always a pleasure to serve a true gentleman like you, sir.”

“The pleasure is mine, Thomas. Now, go warm yourself.” Letting the happy driver go to the kitchen, Gordon ran up the stairs to the first floor and went to the door of the guest bedroom, knocking lightly on it. His mother cracked the door open a bit and looked at him.

“I’m sorry, Gordon, but you can’t enter now. The woman is not decent at this moment.”

“Could you let me in when she will be?”

“I will. Be patient, though.”

Carmelia then closed the door, prompting Gordon to pace impatiently in the hallway. The door opened again after fifteen minutes and his mother motioned him to come inside. Gordon did so and found Doctor Portal sitting on the bed, holding the right wrist of the still unconscious young woman. Grabbing a chair near a dresser, Gordon put it besides the bed and sat on it, contemplating for a moment the face of the young woman. She was certainly beautiful by any standards.

“How is she, Doctor?”

Portal put down the woman’s wrist before looking at Gordon, uncertainty on his face.

“She will live, Mister Smythe, but she suffered a severe shock and is in a coma. The next few hours will be crucial: if she wakes up soon it will be a good sign. If not…”

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Gordon took a few seconds to digest the doctor’s statement.

“Uh, what about the scars on her body, Doctor?”

Portal shook his head as he looked at the comatose woman.

“They were quite a shock to me, Mister Smythe. They are effectively marks from horrible tortures suffered by this poor woman years ago. From their severity and density of pattern, I would say that they were not sustained simply as some form of punishment ordered by a court. Whoever tortured her went at it for hours, maybe days, and probably wanted some kind of answers. She probably passed out a number of times during that ordeal. There was also a scar from a long gash made by a blade weapon on her belly. She however looks extremely fit and strong and is otherwise in good health. In fact, she is by far the most fit woman I ever saw.”

“What could she be then, Doctor? She doesn’t exactly fill the mold of an aristocrat.”

“Quite! The only thing we can do for the moment is to let her rest and wait for her to wake up by herself. Make sure to note the hour she will wake up, though: the length of her coma will be critical for my diagnostic.”

“Then we will keep a vigil at her bedside.” decided Gordon, getting a nod from his mother. “Could I interest you in staying overnight, Doctor? I have a second guest room available.”

“I am afraid that I will have to pass on your generous offer, sir: I am hosting guests at my own house tonight.”

“Oh! In that case I will let you know when that poor woman wakes up. How much do I owe you, Doctor?”

Portal stopped Gordon as he was searching his pockets for money.

“I will wait until I finished treating her before presenting my bill, sir. Have a good night, sir and madam.”

“Let me at least get my carriage driver to give you a ride home, Doctor.”

“A kind thought, sir, which I will accept gladly.”

Escorting Portal out of the bedroom, Gordon was back in after a few minutes, closing the door before looking at his mother.

“I will take the night vigil, Mother. You can replace me in the morning, after you have rested.”

Carmelia hesitated for an instant while glancing down at the young woman in the bed: the stranger was naked under the bed sheets.

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“Alright, but let me get a night gown for her first: we don’t want her to wake up and think that she was abused in any way.”

Gordon gave her a pained look at those words.

“Mother, I am not that sort of bastard.”

“Of course not, Son! I just want that girl to feel secure.”

“I understand. While you get the gown, I will get myself an extra oil lamp and a good book.”

Going to his study, Gordon took the lit oil lamp on his work desk and used it to scan the rows of books filling the wall shelves. A well educated man, he always enjoyed reading and could do so in Latin and Greek as well. He finally grabbed a thick book on the life and death of Joan of Arc, his favorite heroine, and returned to the guest bedroom only to find its door blocked by his mother, who signaled him to halt.

“You will have to wait a bit: Judith and Clara are busy putting a night gown on her.”

She then looked at the book in his hands and smiled.

“Still stuck on Joan of Arc, I see?”

“Hey, is it my fault if she was such a brave girl, even if she was bashing on English soldiers? Besides, you know that I am attracted to women of character rather than to those spoiled aristocratic girls I keep bumping into.”

“I noticed!” replied his mother rather frostily.

Gordon had to cool his heels another few minutes before the two maids left the bedroom and he was allowed in by his mother. Putting a chair besides the bed, he moved the bedside table so that he would be between it and the bed, then put the oil lamp on the table and sat in the chair. Before starting his reading, he admired the face of the sleeping woman: a physical attraction towards her was now growing quickly in him. His secret hope was that she would prove as attractive of character as she was physically. Since he still had over three weeks of leave left, he should have ample time to find out about her. With a sigh, he opened his book and started reading.

Hours later, having gone through one third of his book, Gordon rubbed his tired eyes and, putting down the book on the bedside table, rose from his chair to stretch his legs a bit. Taking out his pocket watch, he saw that it was merely one thirty in the

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morning. This was going to be a long night indeed. Turning around to face the bed, Gordon nearly did a double take from surprise: the young woman was now looking at him with dazed eyes. She then spoke in a weak voice as he was hurrying to her side of the bed.

“Où suis-je13?”

Silently swearing at himself for knowing only half a dozen words of French, Gordon knelt beside the bed and gently took one of her hands. His hope now was that she could speak English.

“You are in my home, miss. You were nearly struck by lightning and have been unconscious for hours. Can you understand me?”

“Yes.” she replied weakly in English, bringing a feeling of relief to Gordon, who smiled down at her.

“Good! A doctor already examined you a few hours ago. You suffered a severe shock. Can you tell me your name, so that we could advise your relatives?” The woman was about to speak when she froze, a growing look of despair and horror appearing on her face.

“I…I don’t know my name! I can’t remember who I am!”

Patting the hand of the now distraught young woman, Gordon spoke to her softly, trying to reassure her.

“That is quite normal after the kind of shock you suffered, miss. You will probably remember everything back after a good night’s sleep. The best you can do now is to rest. I will post myself outside in the hallway to leave you some privacy.” The quickness and fierceness of her reaction to his words came as a shock to him: a look of sheer despair appearing on her face, she grabbed his right arm with a strength that truly surprised Gordon.

“No! Don’t go! Don’t leave me alone!”

Gordon looked down into her beautiful green eyes and saw genuine distress in them.

“Alright, miss, I will stay. Now, calm down and rest.”

Followed by her eyes, Gordon sat back in his chair and picked up his book to resume his reading. He soon saw from the corner of one eye the woman go back to sleep. Then staring at her, he pondered how he would handle an amnesiac French woman but decided to leave that problem to Doctor Portal later. The French embassy would

13 Où suis-je? ‘Where am I?’ in French.

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probably have to be contacted as well at one point. She wasn’t wearing a wedding ring when she had been picked up, even though she wore three rings on other fingers. Now feeling really tired, Gordon decided to replace his straight chair by the easy chair near the dresser. Switching them around as silently as he could, he then got himself a thick wool blanket and installed himself as comfortably as he could. He was asleep in less than a minute, dreaming about charging on his war horse and saving a tall, beautiful French woman.

06:37 (London Time)

Sunday, March 12, 1854

14 Belgrave Square, London

Gordon was awakened by progressively more vigorous shakes and opened his eyes, to find the French woman standing in front of him, dressed in a night gown that stopped at her knees. She then asked him something in French that he didn’t understand, making him shake his head apologetically while replying in English.

“I’m sorry, miss, but I don’t speak French.”

The young woman, who looked to be in her early twenties, hesitated a bit, then switched to a fluent English.

“Could you tell me where I am and what I am doing here, mister?”

“But, I already told you when you first woke up, miss.” said Gordon, both surprised and alarmed: if she couldn’t remember such a recent event, then her mind must have been affected quite severely. “My name is Gordon Smythe and you are in my London home on Belgrave Square. Me and my mother picked you up in Hyde Park after you were nearly struck by lightning. Can you remember your name now?” The woman’s green eyes wandered around as she seemingly concentrated. She finally sat back heavily on the edge of the bed and answered him in a soft, discouraged voice.

“I…I can’t! What am I going to do now?”

Gordon threw away his blanket and got to his feet, then took her hands to reassure her.

“Do not worry, miss. You are safe in my home and can count on the full support of both me and my family. You must be hungry by now. Would you like to have breakfast?”

She answered by nodding her head sheepishly. Gordon then showed her the door.

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“Then let’s put one of my robes on your first: a lady such as you should be dressed properly in public.”

“How do you know that I am a lady and not some tramp?” Her question made Gordon smile.

“Tramps don’t go around wearing expensive jewels and with over four hundred pounds in cash in their purses.”

She instinctively raised a hand to her throat, searching for a necklace. Gordon quickly reassured her then.

“Don’t worry, miss. Your valuables are in a safe place. Just tell me when you will need them and I will get them for you. This way, please.” As he was leading her towards his bedroom, she looked at her left hand and slowed down, forcing him to stop and turn around.

“Tell me, sir, was I wearing a wedding ring?”

“No, miss. You did have three rings on other fingers, though.”

“Then I must be single.” she said after a pause. Gordon nodded and, getting to his bedroom, opened the door and invited her in. Going directly to the main closet and opening it, he pulled out a warm burgundy robe made of thick wool, along with a pair of sheepskin slippers. He still had his back to her when she spoke, excitement in her voice.

“You’re in the Army, mister?”

Gordon then realized that she must have spotted his Hussar’s uniform, visible inside the closet. Smiling proudly, he took his uniform out to display it to her.

“I’m a captain in the 8th Royal Hussars, presently garrisoned in Winchester. I am right now on a long overdue leave.”

“It is a nice uniform.” said the woman while detailing the golden cordons and embroidering on the vest. She then stared for a moment at the two medal ribbons sewn on the left breast of the vest. “You served in India and Afghanistan?” Gordon raised an eyebrow at that, not a little surprised and impressed: few people knew well enough military ribbons to identify those two service ribbons. As for women, Gordon had never met one who knew much about military ribbons.

“I have effectively served in those two countries, miss. How come you know those ribbons?”

She hesitated while concentrating and trying to remember. She finally shook her head sadly.

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“I don’t know. The only thing that I know is that I seem to be familiar with things that are military and about war.”

She then looked around the closet, apparently searching for something.

“I don’t see your combat uniform, though.”

Giving her a dubious look, Gordon put back his uniform in the closet and handed her the robe and slippers.

“Miss, that uniform is meant for parades as well as for the field. You should know that if you are really familiar with the Army.”

She somehow seemed to have troubles with that notion, looking perplexed as she put on the robe and slippers.

“You use such a flashy uniform in the field? Wait! What year are we in?”

“I believe that we are still in 1854, miss.” replied Gordon sarcastically. The shock from the near lightning strike had decidedly been more severe than he feared on her. “To be exact, we are on Sunday, March twelfth.”

“1854… The Crimean War, of course.” she muttered to herself, making Gordon tense up.

“Which war, miss?”

“But, the Crimean War, you know! The one between England, France and the Ottoman Empire on one side and the Russian Empire on the other side.” Gordon was speechless for a moment, staring at her. The situation in the Balkans was tense and the Russians had been fighting with the Turks for a few months now but England and France, while diplomatically supporting the Turks, were not yet at war with Russia.

“Miss,” he said coldly, “where did you get this fancy notion of a war between us and Russia?”

“I don’t know!” she replied vehemently. “It just popped in my head when you mentioned the year 1854.”

“The year 1854…you are speaking as if it was already history, miss.”

“It feels like it to me.” she said, her tone heating up and obviously getting irritated by his skepticism. “The Crimean War was so primitive in terms of tactics and weaponry! I…”

She then stopped speaking, realizing how odd her words had been. On his part, Gordon was starting to seriously wonder if her mental state could make her dangerous. He

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finally resolved to watch her closely for the time being, in case she did something regrettable.

“I see. Well, let’s forget this, uh, Crimean War, and let’s go downstairs to have breakfast.”

“As you wish, sir.” she replied, obviously unrepentant. Whoever she was, Gordon could see that she had to be a woman of strong character.

“Please, call me Gordon, not sir. You are my guest, remember?” She understood at once from his tone that he meant as much to remind her that this was his house as much as meaning that he was ready to care for her. Taking a deep breath to calm down, she then managed a smile to him.

“You are right, Gordon. Please excuse me if I have irked you.”

“No offence taken, miss. Please follow me.”

They walked downstairs together but in silence. Gordon was still going over what she had said, while she seemed to go be going through her own mind to make sense of what was in it. Carmelia, having breakfast already in the dining room, immediately noticed the frost between the two as they entered the room. She got up as Gordon presented her to the young woman.

“Miss, this is my mother, Lady Carmelia Smythe. Mother, I would like to present our guest properly but, unfortunately, she seems to be amnesiac because of her accident.”

“Oh dear! I am sorry to hear that, miss.” said Carmelia before going to the young woman and kissing her on both cheeks. “Doctor Portal will come to examine you further today. In the meantime, feel at home here.”

“Thank you, madam.” replied the woman before sitting at the table with Gordon. Carmelia called Judith and ordered her to serve breakfast to Gordon and the stranger, then gave a tentative smile to the young woman.

“Can’t you remember anything about yourself, miss?”

“The only thing that seems to be a fact about me is that I am French, Lady Carmelia, as I spoke first in French on waking up. I am not sure about anything else for the moment.”

She looked down for a moment at her hands, devoid of rings.

“My rings and jewels, was there anything about them that could help identify me? Maybe my name was engraved on them.”

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Carmelia and Gordon looked at each other, stunned: they had not thought about that possibility. Gordon rose from his chair at once.

“I will go get her jewels and purse to show them to her. Hopefully they will be able to jog her memory a bit.”

“A good idea, Gordon. Ask in passing as well to Thomas to go get Doctor Portal.”

“I will, Mother.” replied Gordon before leaving the dining room. Carmelia, now alone with the stranger, discreetly detailed her while sipping on her tea. Judith soon brought a tray with a cup of tea, English muffins and jam, serving the young woman and Gordon’s empty place, then returning into the kitchen. The stranger first ate in silence, obviously preoccupied. Carmelia could understand well her state of mind, as being amnesiac had to be a most unsettling experience. If found by unscrupulous men, that beautiful stranger could then have ended in some dire predicament indeed. She was young and beautiful, with a firm and generous chest, large hips and long athletic legs. Many men would have had little scruple to abuse such a woman. Carmelia felt pity for her. Clara then showed up and bowed respectfully to Carmelia before presenting a rolled newspaper to her.

“The morning paper, madam.”

“Thank you, Clara.”

Carmelia barely had time to look at the titles on the front page before Gordon came back and sat, putting on the table besides the stranger her jewels and purse.

“Here you are, miss. You may count your money if you wish so.” The stranger gave him a funny look then but didn’t speak yet, taking instead her purse and opening it. Emptying it on the table, she looked briefly at the large collection of banknotes, gold and silver coins, then grabbed the set of keys to examine it closely.

“One key here seems to be for a bank safety deposit box, with the number 138 on it. There is unfortunately no indication about what bank it is from. There is also another numbered key, possibly for a hotel room, again without a name or address on it. The other five keys could be for a house somewhere.”

She next examined her jewels, which included a pair of emerald and diamond earrings matching with a rich necklace, bracelet and broche, plus three rings. One of the rings bore a coat of arms with a fleur-de-lis in it. That ring got the young woman excited at once.

“I recognize that coat of arms: it is that of the French House of Orléans.”

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“You are sure, miss?” Said Gordon, suddenly hopeful that they were finally getting somewhere. She nodded her head somberly.

“I am. My head seems to be full of all kind of historical details and knowledge and this ring woke up the name of Orléans at once. I must be related to that family line.”

“Well, that is one good lead we could follow, miss. What about that gold ring? I see some strange inscriptions on it.”

Taking the plain gold ring, which seemed of rather primitive manufacture, the woman appeared surprised as she looked at the inscriptions engraved around the ring.

“Cuneiforms?”

“Cunei what?” Said Gordon, mystified.

“Cuneiforms. They were the writing system used by the ancient Sumerians, in Mesopotamia.”

“How ancient were those Sumerians?” asked Carmelia, having a poor knowledge of ancient history. The young stranger answered her while still looking at the ring.

“The Sumerians date as far as 5,000 years or more ago and were the first to develop a writing system. This is weird: I can actually read those cuneiforms.”

“You can?” nearly exclaimed Gordon. “What do they say?” She read apparently without difficulty, surprised by her own linguistic skills.

“May the great Ninshoursag, Goddess of the earth, protect Sarai, daughter of Shoudou-Usur, great servant of the mighty Rim-Sin, King of Ur and Chaldea.” She had a puzzled expression on her face as she put down the ring on the table while both Carmelia and Gordon looked at her with disbelief.

“This is an ancient family ring from 5,000 years in the past?” asked Carmelia, quite dazzled. “How did you get it?”

“Uh, I don’t know.” said sheepishly the young woman, who then slowly put the ring around her left middle finger. “It however fits my finger perfectly.” Carmelia saw that she was right and looked at her son.

“Would many people know how to read those cuneiforms, Gordon?”

“Very few, I suppose. I could go to the British Museum some day and ask an expert there. Our friend is however obviously well versed in history, which would be another good reason to visit the museum.”

“And dressed in what? Her dress was extensively damaged by the lightning strike.”

“Talking of my clothes, could I see them later?” asked the young French woman.

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“Of course, my dear! But take the time to eat your breakfast first.”

While Carmelia started reading the morning newspaper, Gordon took a sip of his tea and bit in a muffin. The French woman however took the time to put her other rings and jewels on, then quickly counted her money and returned it with the key ring into her purse, which she pocketed. Carmelia suddenly saw a title that attracted her attention.

“Gordon, it says here that England and France just signed a military alliance pact with the Ottoman Empire against Russia. We may be going to war again, against Russia.”

Gordon strangled on his tea at those words, nearly making him spit it out and attracting a reprobate look from Carmelia.

“Gordon, watch your manners!”

Gordon, still choked up, took a few seconds before he could speak, pointing to the French woman.

“Mother, she predicted that war this morning.”

The young woman nodded somberly as Carmelia stared at her.

“Your son is right, madam. I somehow knew about this already. I also know that a terrible war will follow in the Crimea and around the Black Sea. War will be declared at the end of March.”

“But, we are now only in mid-March.” said a stunned Carmelia. “How could you know this?”

“I don’t know, madam. Things are still quite confused in my head.” Thinking for a second, Carmelia gave the newspaper to Gordon, who started reading it avidly, then rose from her chair.

“If you may excuse me for a moment, I will be back shortly.” She was back at the table after about ten minutes. In her hands were a pen, an ink bottle, some sheets of paper and a thick book. Sitting down first, she showed up the book to the young woman.

“A French-English dictionary and lexicon.” she explained. “I do speak a passable French but I will need it for what I’m going to do now.”

“What are you up to, Mother?” asked an intrigued Gordon.

“You will see shortly, Son.”

Alternatively searching in the book and scribbling on a sheet of paper, Carmelia finally presented one page of writing to the French woman.

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“I wrote down common French female first names, in no particular order. Could you scan them and tell us if one of them feels familiar to you?” Her expression somber, the French took the sheet of paper and studied it for a minute before pointing out one name.

“Jeanne! That one is the only one to awake a feeling inside my head.”

“Then, do you mind if we call you Jeanne for the time being?” asked a satisfied Carmelia.

“It is the best alternative for the moment, madam.”

“Then Lady Jeanne it is. After breakfast we will see if your dress can be repaired.”

They were rising from the dining table when Doctor Portal showed up with Thomas. Looking first at Jeanne, he then bowed his head politely to Carmelia.

“Good morning, ladies, sir. I am pleased to see that the young lady is up and apparently well.”

“Apparently is the word, sir.” said Jeanne. “I can’t remember who I am or where I come from.”

“Oh! I was afraid of that.” replied Portal, who then looked at Gordon. “At what time did she first wake up?”

“At one thirty this morning, Doctor.”

“Then she was out for only a little more than four hours. That is good news indeed.”

“What do you mean, Doctor?” asked Gordon anxiously. Portal stared at Jeanne as he answered calmly.

“It is my experience with victims of trauma who suffer from amnesia that the persons who wake up and stop feeling disoriented within a day normally recover all or nearly all of their past memories. The memories of their general knowledge will come back quickest, normally within days or at most a few weeks. The memories of their personal experiences and of their identities will however take more time, typically many months. Some never recover their identity but those are the exceptions.”

“Months?” said Jeanne hesitantly. Portal nodded sadly.

“I am afraid so, miss. Your memories will come back gradually as time goes by. Seeing a familiar person, object or place also often helps in reviving souvenirs. If you may, I would like to examine you in private.”

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“As you wish, Doctor.” she replied, discouragement in her voice, before following Portal out of the dining room. Carmelia and Gordon then exchanged worried looks.

“The poor girl will need prolonged support to go through this. Are you ready to help her out, Gordon?”

“A true gentleman wouldn’t do otherwise, Mother. I am not due back at my regiment before April Fourth anyway. That gives me a full three weeks to actively take care of Jeanne. I suppose that you could take care of her after that.”

“Of course, Son! By the way, your father is giving a reception next Saturday evening. You could bring Jeanne with you then.”

Gordon smiled at the idea of dancing with the beautiful and statuesque Jeanne in his parents’ manor. She may be a bit strange but she was attractive as hell.

“That would please me a lot, Mother. We will be there.”

“Good!” said Carmelia while getting up. “I will now go see if I can salvage Jeanne’s dress. Otherwise we will have to find her new clothes in a hurry.”

“If need be, I know a Jewish tailor who would be willing to work on a Sunday.” volunteered Gordon, getting a scandalized look from Carmelia.

“That man would work on God’s day of rest?”

Gordon shrugged as he replied to her.

“Hey, we do work during the Sabbath.”

“Hmm, true! We’ll see!”

Leaving Gordon to finish his breakfast, Carmelia went to the laundry room adjacent to the kitchen, where Jeanne’s clothes were suspended. A quick inspection showed her that Jeanne’s overcoat and hat, bearing extensive burn marks and even holes, were beyond repair. While burned in a few spots, the French woman’s dress could still be worn if absolutely necessary but was finished as a proper attire for a true lady. Gordon’s Jewish tailor may yet come handy after all. Going back to the dining room, Carmelia found Gordon in the process of reading the morning paper. He looked at her as soon as she came back in.

“So, what’s the verdict?”

“Jeanne could use her dress to go to the tailor shop but that’s about all it is good for now. Her overcoat and hat are write-offs.”

“Well, that does it! I will bring her to that tailor shop as soon as Doctor Portal is finished with her.”

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As if he had called the Devil, Portal showed up just then, Jeanne in tow. Both sat at the table, with Jeanne keeping a sullen silence as Portal spoke to Gordon and Carmelia.

“Her burns, which were light anyway, are healing very well indeed. As for her mind, I made her pass a few simple tests. She is not yet fully out of the post-trauma period and has some difficulty still on remembering details. That should however return to normal by tomorrow morning. Her past memories should return…in time.”

“Should…” said Jeanne softly while looking despondently down at her hands. Gordon’s hands then covered hers gently.

“Do not despair, Jeanne. We will help you through this.”

“Thank you! I owe you and your mother so much.”

Doctor Portal patted her shoulder as well while getting to his feet.

“Please have faith, miss. You will remember your past. It is only a question of time.”

Gordon rose as well, ready to escort him to the door.

“Thank you for your help, Doctor. How much do I owe you?”

“Please let me pay him!” suddenly cut in Jeanne. “It is not as if I am poor, after all.”

“But it is nothing to me, my dear Jeanne.” replied Gordon, taking his wallet out. She in turn got to her feet and stopped his hand, looking straight into his eyes.

“Please, Gordon. I may not know who I am but I know that I am a proud woman. I don’t want to be a burden on you.”

Gordon returned her stare for a moment. His heart racing, he realized then that he couldn’t refuse anything to this woman, that he would not let her go ever if he could help it. He nodded his head slowly, speaking softly to her.

“Alright, Jeanne. Do as you wish.”

Jeanne smiled to him, then faced Portal while fishing her purse out to pay him. While she paid Portal, Carmelia examined her discreetly with a new eye: she had seen Gordon’s look and realized that he was rapidly falling in love with her. She was certainly extremely attractive and her manners and behavior up to now had been those of a well educated woman, but her past was still a total mystery. For all they knew about her she could be a thief or, God forbid, one of those celebrated French high flight courtesans. Carmelia promised herself to keep a close watch on that woman, in case her only son fell for the wrong woman. Gordon then escorted Portal to the door, coming back after a minute and taking out his pocket watch, glancing quickly at it.

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“Half past seven. How about a quick tour of my house, Jeanne?”

“Why not?” she replied good-naturedly, presenting her arm to Gordon, who gallantly took it. He led her first into the kitchen, where they encountered Clara and Judith, who were busy washing dishes in a wooden tub full of water.

“Jeanne, may I present you my two maids, Clara and Judith.” Both servants did a curtsy and shook hands with Jeanne, who noticed the Mediterranean looks of the plump Clara.

“Are you of Italian descent by chance, Clara?”

“Yes miss!” answered the maid timidly. “I was twelve when my parents emigrated from Milan.”

That brought a warm smile to Jeanne’s face.

“Aah, Milano! Come va la tua familia?”

It was then Clara’s turn to smile widely.

“Molto vene, signora. Gracie!”

Gordon and Judith exchanged surprised looks as Jeanne and Clara launched into an animated exchange in Italian, speaking for a good minute. Jeanne finally hugged Clara before facing Gordon.

“Sorry about delaying the tour with my chatter.”

“Don’t be! You’re putting me to shame with your abilities. How many languages do you speak?”

She concentrated for a moment, her face reflecting growing puzzlement as seconds went by.

“Er, I can’t explain how, but I seem to have the knowledge of dozens of languages in my head.”

Gordon and both maids stared at her with disbelief.

“Dozens? But that’s unheard of!” protested Gordon.

“Try me!” replied Jeanne, smiling.

“Alright, you asked for it!” said Gordon, getting into the game. He first tried out his Greek and Latin on her, to which Jeanne replied perfectly. That didn’t surprise him too much, since she seemed to have received a good classical education. Having served nearly six years in India, Gordon next spoke haltingly a few sentences in Hindi and was stunned to be corrected by Jeanne, who obviously spoke the language much better than him. Now backed up to his last linguistic notions, he said the few words he had heard and registered while fighting Afghan rebels. Jeanne winced on hearing him.

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“My God, Gordon, where did you learn your Pashto? That was about the crudest collections of insults I ever heard.”

“Oh?! What did I just say?”

Jeanne then translated for him, making both maids gasp while Gordon reddened with embarrassment.

“Blast! No wonder that Afghan chieftain got mad at me. And I thought that I was greeting him.”

That made Jeanne break out in laughter.

“You did greet him alright, Gordon. Now, how about continuing that tour?”

“Good idea!” he agreed, anxious to have his Pashto words forgotten. He next led Jeanne into the laundry room, where he pointed at her suspended dress and overcoat.

“I’m afraid that your clothes are beyond repair.”

Jeanne examined them, then shook her head sadly.

“I’m afraid that you are right. I will need to visit a tailor shop urgently.”

“That is precisely our next stop after touring the house.” replied Gordon jovially. “I know a Jewish tailor who is open on Sundays.”

“Excellent! Let’s hope that he will have something that fits me.” Gordon didn’t say a word then, eyeing her up and down instead. Few women he knew were as tall and broad-shouldered, yet feminine, as Jeanne was. Fitting her was definitely going to be a problem. Skipping the pantry, Gordon led Jeanne back through the kitchen and the dining room, ending up in the main lounge. There, she looked at the rows of shelves full of books covering two of the walls, nodding her head in approval.

“You seem to be a well educated gentleman, Gordon.”

“Not as educated as you, I would say.” he retorted, getting a malicious look from her.

“I haven’t found out yet what I am, remember?”

“I am a patient man, Jeanne.”

That got him a devilish grin from her.

“You would like to explore my inner self with me? You cheeky devil!”

“Ahem! Let’s visit the first floor now, shall we?”

Followed by Jeanne, Gordon went up the main staircase and guided her around the first floor. Apart from Gordon’s bedroom and office, two guest bedrooms occupied that level, along with a washroom. In the latter, Gordon proudly showed the sink, bathtub and toilet.

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“We have tap water around the house and everything is connected directly to the sewer system. Very few areas of London have such services yet.”

“What about hot water?” asked a seemingly unimpressed Jeanne. A

disappointed Gordon kept his tone neutral as he answered her.

“The maids of course still have to bring hot water from the kitchen. Let’s go to the second floor now.”

Jeanne became a lot more excited when Gordon led her inside his exercise room, previously a large study that he had converted himself. She looked happily around at the suspended punching bag, weights and padded benches and at the floor, covered by a thick wool carpet.

“This is great! Could I use this room in the days to come?”

“You are welcome to it, Jeanne. Do you practice sports normally?”

“I must be! The sight of this room awakened an urge to exercise in me. Yes! You have sabers and rapiers too.”

“Of course! I am an army officer, remember?”

He watched Jeanne with interest as she picked up a saber from a wall and, taking it out of its scabbard, did a few practice passes with it. He had to recognize that she looked quite proficient with it.

“Could I try you in a friendly saber duel some time in the future?” she asked with a big smile, amusing Gordon.

“If you wish. I have to warn you though that I am considered one of the best swordsmen of my regiment.”

“Then we have a deal.” she replied before putting the saber back in place. Gordon then led her out of the exercise room, showing her next a guest bedroom and two servants’ bedrooms before going up to the third floor. Three more servants’ bedrooms, a washroom, a storage room and a knitting room occupied that floor. The knitting room was well lit by two large windows, a detail that pleased Jeanne.

“That room is just what I may need to fit my new wardrobe.” She then faced Gordon, pointing an index at him.

“And don’t even think about paying for my new clothes! You do that and I get the hell out of here.”

“Alright, alright, I get the message.” protested Gordon, throwing his hands up.

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“Then, how about visiting that tailor of yours?” proposed Jeanne, her feigned severity changing to joviality.

09:33 (London Time)

Piccadilly, St-James’ District

While walking side by side with Jeanne, Gordon was seriously starting to suspect that his regretted late wife, Megan, had been tame compared to this Jeanne. Wearing her expensive jewels with her damaged dress and a borrowed shawl, she made for a curious sight that had attracted many side looks and snide remarks from well-to-do passersby. Jeanne had ignored it all, acting as if she had not noticed the attention she attracted. Gordon knew better by now, for Jeanne had demonstrated quickly a powerful sense of observation during their walk from Belgrave Square. During that relatively short walk, she had already saved Gordon in extremis from a runaway cart, then had foiled a young pickpocket who had tried to get away with Gordon’s wallet. Only Jeanne’s pleas had saved the young teenager from being handed to the police by Gordon. She then had stared into the boy’s eyes before letting him go, taming him first into presenting his sorriest excuses to Gordon. To top the cake, she had then given a shilling silver coin to the stunned boy, making Gordon nearly choke with reprobation.

Gordon, with Jeanne still holding his left arm, finally turned on Sackville Street and stopped in front of a small shop. Trying the entrance door first and finding it locked, he then stepped back from it and looked at the upper floor windows, shouting loudly over the din of the street traffic.

“NATHAN! NATHAN! IT’S GORDON SMYTHE. I NEED YOUR SERVICES URGENTLY.”

A middle-aged, bespectacled and bearded man soon showed his head at one of the windows and looked down at Gordon and Jeanne.

“It’s Sunday, sir. My shop is closed.”

Gordon was about to insist when Jeanne put one hand on his shoulder.

“Let me handle this, Gordon.”

She then shouted in a foreign language at the tailor, who answered her after going over his surprise, then disappeared from the window. Gordon stared at Jeanne, who was smiling with satisfaction.

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“What language did you use?”

“Yiddish!” she said, pointing at an inscription in the store’s façade. “There is writing in both Yiddish and Hebrew there.”

“Don’t tell me that you know Hebrew as well.” said Gordon in disbelief. Jeanne nodded soberly and pointed at the façade of a store across the street, where an advertising board in Arabic was visible.

“I do, Gordon, no kidding. I can also read that Arabic sign over there.”

“Damn!” muttered Gordon, overwhelmed by her linguistic talents. “I’m starting to feel like a moron compared to you.”

That made her look tenderly at him in a way that made him melt. She caressed his cheek while speaking softly to him.

“Gordon, you are anything but a moron. You are in fact a very tolerant and kind man for your time.”

“For my time? Why did you say that, Jeanne?”

She froze for a moment, thinking over the choice of words she had used but coming up blank and confused.

“I…I don’t know. It came up unconsciously.”

The noise of bolts being pulled and of the shop’s door opening prevented Gordon from asking her more questions then. Urged on by Nathan, both of them got quickly inside the shop, with the tailor then locking the door behind them.

“Some people take exception at a Jew working on a Sunday.” explained Nathan apologetically, getting a nod from Gordon.

“I know. Anti-Semitism is unfortunately all too common. The lady here had an accident yesterday and she has no wardrobe left save for this burned dress. Could you help her out?”

The tailor eyed critically Jeanne, noting her uncommon height and wide shoulders.

“The lady is of unusual built but I will do my best. This way, please.” Nathan led them to the back of his shop, where a few dresses were on display on top of dummies. Taking a measuring tape, he noted down Jeanne’s principal measurements, then compared them to those of the displayed dresses. He shook his head in frustration after a few minutes while pointing at two of the dresses, flounced affairs designed to be worn with crinoline cages.

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“Those two dresses were made for, uh, large ladies and are the only ones big enough to accommodate the shoulder and chest sizes of the young lady. They are however too short for her. Modifying them will take time.” Jeanne, examining the two dresses closely, smiled at the tailor after a moment.

“I think that I have a solution for this problem: let me try them without those stupid crinoline cages. Whoever invented those damn things should have been hanged anyway.”

“Of course!” replied Nathan, looking at the wide bottom extremities of the dresses. “Without the cages, they will go much further down. They will be somewhat loose and will float around, though.”

“I don’t mind.” said Jeanne resolutely. “I need a quick fix until you can fit me with custom dresses anyway. Where can I try them?”

“My daughter will help you out. MIRIAM! MIRIAM! COME HERE AND HELP OUT THE LADY.”

As a young woman in her early twenties appeared from a backroom, Gordon noticed a change of expression on Jeanne’s face.

“Is something wrong, Jeanne?” he whispered to her.

“No, not really.” she said hesitantly. “The name of that girl sounded very familiar to me but I can’t say why. This amnesia is so frustrating.”

“Like the doctor said, your memories will come back in good time.”

“Yeah! In the meantime I feel like an empty shell.”

Miriam then led Jeanne in the backroom so that she could try the two dresses, leaving Gordon to ponder her last words. He was not sure how he would have reacted to finding himself an amnesiac but Jeanne was showing a remarkable coolness in the face of her present, dire situation.

Gordon waited patiently for a good twenty minutes before Jeanne reappeared, wearing a burgundy red and gold dress. It was a bit large at the waist but was of the correct length and her wide hips quite made up for the crinoline’s absence. Being a ball dress, it had a deep cleavage that gave a tantalizing view of her generous chest. Gordon immediately felt a physical reaction as he looked at her.

“Mister Meir is going to adjust it at the waist later on. What do you think, Gordon?”

“Why, you are just delightful like this, my dear Jeanne.”

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She smiled with contentment at those words, making her even more appetizing to Gordon.

“I am sure that you say that to all the amnesiac girls you meet. Let me try the other dress now.”

She returned in the backroom, emerging again after ten minutes. She was now wearing a white and pink city dress with a buttoned collar more appropriate than the other dress for everyday wear. After being complimented by Gordon, she put on top of it a beige overcoat that fit with the dress she wore. A small pink hat was then picked up by Jeanne, who tried it in front of a mirror.

“Not bad overall.” she pronounced then. “It should do until I could get a full wardrobe done. Let me just try some spare underwear.”

That part didn’t go exactly as well as the rest. When she got out of the backroom, wearing a white bodice that was too short for her, her breasts popped out as soon as she raised her arms, making in turn Gordon’s eyes pop out of their sockets. Covering quickly her breasts, the embarrassed Jeanne then ran back in the dressing room. She finally resolved her problems by having Nathan Meir cut the bodice in two at the waist, turning it into a two-piece undergarment. Adjusting and putting the last touches to Jeanne’s new clothes took another hour. Promising Meir to come back on Monday to order custom-fit clothes, Jeanne paid the tailor and left the shop, Gordon following her with his arms full of boxes. She had already thrown away her original, ruined dress and was wearing her new city dress and overcoat. As Gordon was flagging down a Hansom cab, Jeanne got close to him and spoke in a low voice.

“I’m sorry about the earlier incident in the shop. I hope that I didn’t embarrass you.”

“Me, embarrassed?”

His smirk got him a playful elbow in the ribs from Jeanne, who rolled her eyes in mock exasperation.

“Men! They will never change.”

Gordon felt her to be a lot more relaxed and self-assured as they rode home in the horse cab: the promenade seemed to have had a good effect on her mind. Deciding to test her, he had her recall the name of the preceding street as their cab reached each street corner. To their combined delight she remembered them all, something she would have been incapable of only a few hours earlier. In her happiness, Jeanne planted a

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kiss on Gordon’s cheek. Seeing that it had troubled him, she smiled apologetically to him.

“I’m sorry if I did something inappropriate, Gordon. Please excuse me.”

“No need to excuse yourself, Jeanne. It’s just that parts of you reminds me of Megan, my late wife.”

“I…I’m sorry. I didn’t know that you were a widower. Did she die a long time ago?”

“Less than three years ago, while in labor. I lost my newborn son at the same time.”

“Again, I’m sorry.”

They then kept silent for the rest of the way. Carmelia was in the lounge when they entered Gordon’s home. Seeing the boxes in Gordon’s hands and the new dress worn by Jeanne, she let go her bible and came to them. She frowned when she noticed the absence of a crinoline under Jeanne’s dress.

“Didn’t they have crinolines at that tailor’s shop?”

“They did, madam, but everything was too short for me so I had to improvise. Besides, there is nothing wrong with my hips, right, Gordon?”

“I wouldn’t change a thing in you, my dear Jeanne.” he answered enthusiastically, getting a suspicious look from his mother.

“Uh, I was going to attend the early afternoon service at Saint Paul’s Church after lunch. You are both coming as well, I suppose.”

Gordon hesitated, glancing at Jeanne.

“Mother, Jeanne is French, thus probably Roman Catholic as well. Bringing her to a Protestant church may be inappropriate.”

“Well, we are all good Christians, aren’t we?” replied Carmelia while looking at Jeanne, who searched her mind for a moment before speaking slowly.

“I do seem to know the bible’s history very well. I can also recall various prayers in a multitude of languages on top of Latin.”

“Multitudes?” said Carmelia, intrigued. Gordon then jumped in on the

conversation, patting proudly Jeanne’s shoulder.

“Didn’t I tell you that Jeanne is a linguistic genius, Mother? She already demonstrated her knowledge of ten languages.”

“Ten?!”

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“That is besides the point.” said Jeanne, a bit embarrassed by Gordon’s admiration towards her. “As you said, madam, I am a good Christian and will be glad to accompany you to the church.”

“Perfect! Then let’s have lunch!” pronounced Carmelia, both satisfied and relieved: a high flight prostitute could be a practicing Christian but was very unlikely to be an intellectual and a linguist as well. While quite unorthodox, Jeanne was proving to be a respectable lady after all.

14:26 (London Time)

Saint Paul’s Church, Wilton Place

Knightsbridge-Belgravia District

London, England

Carmelia left the church slightly disappointed: while Jeanne had followed without difficulty the service and had recited all the prayers without hesitation, her heart clearly had not been in it despite honest efforts on her part to fully participate. She was a competent churchgoer but obviously not a devout one. When they reached the foot of the church’s steps, Gordon took hold of one of Carmelia’s hands.

“Mother, ride the carriage home. I am going to bring Jeanne to the British Museum.”

“The British Museum? Why?”

“Jeanne seems to have an interest in history and foreign places. I am hoping that a visit there will help awake some souvenirs in her mind.”

“Hmm, not a bad idea actually.” agreed Carmelia, who then smiled to Jeanne. “Well, I hope that your visit will be entertaining as well as educative. Have a good afternoon, Lady Jeanne.”

“And you as well, madam.” replied Jeanne politely, curtsying. Gordon then helped Carmelia get in Thomas’ carriage and waved at her as it pulled away. He next flagged one of the numbers of Hansom horse cabs waiting outside the church for potential customers. Thankfully the weather was bearable, the air being cold but rain being mercifully absent despite the overcast sky. He helped Jeanne into the carriage that stopped in front of them and sat beside her. He smiled with satisfaction at seeing her eagerness as they rode towards the British Museum: she definitely seemed to be enjoying the idea of visiting that most cultured institution.

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There was a dense crowd of visitors inside the museum when they arrived, the institution being one of the few places apart from churches to be opened in London on Sundays. Going up the steps of the Greek style South Façade, Gordon and Jeanne turned left once inside and climbed a flight of stairs, entering the Assyrian Transept Room. The joyful expression on Jeanne’s face as she admired the colossal winged lion stone gates from Nimrud warmed Gordon’s heart. Getting close to her, he gently took hold of her right hand. She in turn pressed his hand and smiled to him, sparkles in her green eyes.

“Thank you so much for bringing me here, Gordon. This place is awakening a mass of souvenirs in me.”

“So you visited this museum before, right?”

She shook her head at once, then pointed at the stone artifacts.

“It is more than that, Gordon. I actually remember those antiquities as if I lived with them.”

Moving along with the other visitors nearly filling the gallery, they stopped in front of a group of stone obelisks and clay bricks bearing inscriptions. Gordon saw Jeanne suddenly freeze with surprise as she looked at a clay brick covered with strange signs.

“Gordon,” she said excitedly, “I can read this!”

“What?” replied Gordon, completely stunned.

“I tell you; I can read these inscriptions.”

As the other visitors around them and a museum guide nearby listened on with growing disbelief, Jeanne started reading aloud in a strange language, then translated the text in English for Gordon’s benefit.

“This commemorates the restoration of the ziggurat of Nimrud by King Shalmaneser the Third.”

Moving to face an obelisk, she spoke again in Assyrian, then in English.

“This obelisk celebrates the victorious campaign in Syria of the Assyrian King Ashur-Nasir-Pal the Second.”

An overwhelmed Gordon looked at the terse label at the foot of the obelisk: it only said ‘Assyrian obelisk, Ninth Century B.C.’. There had been no label in front of the brick.

“Bloody hell, Jeanne, how could you be able to read this?”

“I don’t know!” replied Jeanne, looking sincere. She then seemed to think about something and looked at the gold ring on her left middle finger. “My ring…it bears

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cuneiforms, like this obelisk. Maybe I learned Assyrian at the same place as I got my ring.”

She didn’t see the museum guide nearby walk away hurriedly as a richly dressed old man with an arrogant face sneered at her, while the old woman holding his arm looked contemptuously at her.

“That woman is obviously making this up to attract attention, Bertha. Let’s leave that lunatic alone.”

Anger rising at once in him, Gordon stepped between the man and Jeanne and stared down at the pompous couple.

“Sir, you just insulted my friend. I will ask you to excuse yourself with the lady forthwith!”

“And why would I do that?” replied the old man, trying to hide his fear as he faced off the much bigger and younger man. “No woman could know this writing system, so she is obviously lying. As for you, know that I am Lord Spencer, Earl of Islington.” Gordon was about to retort to that when Jeanne stepped forward, drilling the aristocrat with her green eyes.

“I don’t care what you think of me, sir, as you are of no consequence in my opinion. Being a man or an earl doesn’t make you superior to me, on the contrary. If you want, we can get one of the museum’s historians and see if I really made up that Assyrian text. Then I will expect either an apology or a duel with the weapons of your choice…against me!”

Gordon was about to protest when Jeanne’s hand gripped his left arm with surprising strength, signaling him to keep quiet. As for the earl, he was too surprised to answer at first and, seeing the fierceness in Jeanne’s eyes, decided that retreat was the better part of valor this time. Whispers and amused comments went around the crowd of visitors as Lord Spencer, red-faced, walked away with his wife, not daring to look back. Facing Jeanne and taking hold of her shoulders, Gordon chided her in a low voice.

“Jeanne, why did you risk a duel with that man? I was there to protect you if need be.”

Her eyes didn’t waver as she stared back at him.

“Gordon, I know that I would have won easily against that pompous ass. Now, please forget him and let’s continue our visit.”

“Alright, but on one condition: that you be more discreet when translating ancient texts. I…”

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The obvious truth then struck Gordon like a ton of brick.

“An archaeologist! You must be an archaeologist of some sort.”

“Me? Why?”

“Think about it, Jeanne! You know at least a dozen languages, including a few ancient ones; you have a keen interest in history and old artifacts; have obviously traveled a lot and seems to be a strong, rugged type. What else could you be?” She didn’t speak at first, thinking over Gordon’s words. She finally smiled and kissed him on the lips.

“You must be right! You’re a genius, Gordon. How could I ever thank you?”

“By guiding me around the museum.” he replied maliciously. Jeanne’s eyes sparkled with amusement at those words.

“You have a deal, my dear Gordon.”

15:48 (London Time)

Egyptian Sculpture Gallery

British Museum, London

Sir Arthur Waddel, Curator of the British Museum, had been discreetly following the lady whom an excited museum guide had pointed to him twenty minutes ago, listening to the discreet lectures she was giving to her companion about the various artifacts of the museum. To his total bemusement, she had proven to have a vast and detailed knowledge of history, easily qualifying her in Waddel’s mind as an expert historian. She also had demonstrated fluent mastery of such ancient languages as Assyrian, Etruscan, Old Greek, Latin and now Egyptian hieroglyphs, both ancient and Demotic types. Right now she was treating her companion to a translation of the Rosetta Stone, which bore texts in old hieroglyph, Demotic hieroglyph and Coptic, while a fascinated crowd of visitors listened on. The truly incredible part was that she had not made a single mistake yet, being in fact better at reading hieroglyphs than Waddel himself. Having seen and heard enough by now, Waddel accosted the couple as they were about to go up the Southeast staircase to the upper floor of the museum. Bowing his head, he shook hands first with the man.

“Good afternoon, sir. I am Sir Arthur Waddel, curator of this museum. May I compliment your friend on her extensive historical expertise?”

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“You may, sir.” replied the man, obviously pleased. “This is Lady Jeanne, a recent acquaintance of mine.”

Waddel then kissed the woman’s hand and smiled to her. She was certainly a more agreeable sight than the average historian.

“Just Lady Jeanne, miss?”

“For the moment, yes, I’m afraid.” she sighed. “I was nearly struck by lightning in Hyde Park yesterday and since then can’t remember who I am. My friend Gordon, who found me unconscious in Hyde Park, brought me to this museum after he saw my interest for history, in the hope of awakening souvenirs in me. It did work, as I believe that I must have been an archaeologist.”

“You certainly have the expertise to claim such a title, Lady Jeanne. I am truly sorry for your unfortunate accident. Can you remember anything about yourself now?” His question made her shake her head sadly.

“Nothing! A doctor told me that it could be months before I start remembering my identity, if ever.”

“A true shame! Lady Jeanne, I would be truly honored if I could tour the rest of the museum with you and your friend. We could also examine together a few pieces recently received from the Middle East and which are not on display yet.”

“That would be fantastic, sir!” she replied, overjoyed. “I accept with pleasure.” Gordon felt as proud as a peacock as they resumed the tour, Jeanne’s hand hooked to his arm. He couldn’t wait to tell Carmelia what kind of gem they had found yesterday. Jeanne certainly outshone by a few orders of magnitude the collection of high-born twits his mother had been pushing on him up to now.



20:09 (London Time)

Sackville Street, St-James’ District

“God, I’m stuffed!” pronounced Gordon as he stepped out of a Lebanese restaurant with Jeanne. Their visit of the British Museum had gone well past closing hour, with Jeanne actually having translated an old Sumerian tablet still in the museum’s workshop. That had stunned Sir Waddel, who had claimed that nobody else had been able to decipher Old Chaldean before. Yet, Jeanne had made it look like child’s play. With both of them being famished by the time they left the museum, Gordon had gone

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along with Jeanne’s proposal to stop at this restaurant, something he certainly didn’t regret now. Jeanne patted her own belly as they turned into Piccadilly.

“I’m certainly full myself. How about walking the rest of the way to your home to help digest our loads?”

“A good idea.”

She waited a few seconds before speaking again while walking besides him.

“Gordon, I know as little about you as you and I know about myself. Would you mind telling me a bit about yourself?”

“There isn’t much to say, really. I was born on May third of 1826 on my family’s estate of Twickenham, was educated by a private preceptor and enrolled in the army as a cornet in 1844. I first served here in the Eight Hussars for two years, then was transferred to the Seventh Hussars in India, where I fought Indian and Afghan rebels and bandits. I was brevetted lieutenant there and married Megan four years ago. Then, she died during labor, along with our baby. I thought that I would go insane with grief but somehow got over it, mostly. I was transferred back to England in May of last year. Well, there I am! Not much to it, as you can see.”

Jeanne stopped and faced him while holding him by one arm, speaking very softly while staring in his eyes.

“Gordon, you are a lot more than not much. I have known you for less than a day but you already proved to be honest, kind and a perfect gentleman. May I also say that you are very handsome.”

His heart now beating faster, Gordon put his hands on her cheeks, admiring her smooth but resolute face.

“Jeanne, I am still nothing compared to you.”

“And I would probably be nothing now if you wouldn’t have saved me yesterday.”

“But you did save me this morning from a runaway cart.”

Gordon saw her smile in the darkness. She then took one of his hands and pulled him along.

“Let’s not do more comparisons about ourselves. Now, continue about your life. Which regiment are you in now?”

“In the Eight Hussars, of course. Didn’t I tell you that already this morning?”

“Me and my damn memory!” she muttered while shaking her head in frustration. Gordon then saw a look of horror suddenly appear on her face as she braked to a halt.

“Jeanne, what’s wrong?”

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“Balaklava…The charge of the Light Brigade!” she said in a near whisper, then hugging him while looking at him with tears in her eyes. Gordon could only hold the shaking woman clinging to him.

“Jeanne, don’t be afraid! I’m here. What is happening?”

“Gordon,” she said in a choked voice, “I can’t explain this but I just had a memory flash about that Crimean War I told you about this morning. At a place called Balaklava, the British Light Cavalry Brigade will charge down a valley ringed on three sides by Russian guns. It will be a massacre and the Eight Hussars will be part of the charge.”

“But, that’s in the future!” protested Gordon, both shocked and incredulous. “How could you predict this?”

“I don’t know!” she answered in a desperate tone. “Call it a premonition, a vision, anything. I just know that it will happen.”

Gordon then realized that, whatever she had just seen inside her mind, she was afraid for him to the point of despair. Tightening his hold, he kissed her neck tenderly, getting a kiss on the lips in return. They stayed glued together for a long moment, getting sympathetic smiles from a passing couple in the process. Jeanne finally stepped back while still holding his shoulders.

“Let’s forget the future for the moment, Gordon. We have the present for ourselves.”

“Then let’s go home.” he replied softly, presenting his left arm, which she took. They then walked more slowly and deliberately, as lovers would do.

Walking alongside Green Park, they eventually came up to Hyde Park Corner. Looking around him, Gordon then had an idea and veered right towards the park, still leading Jeanne.

“I’m going to show you the spot where we found you. Maybe it will help you remember from where you were coming.”

“A sensible idea. Good thinking, Gordon.”

They soon stopped just past the Wellington Arch, with Gordon pointing at a spot on the pavement in the darkness.

“This is where you lay unconscious after lightning struck the arch.”

“My God! I was lucky not to be fried on the spot. I…”

She suddenly stopped speaking and looked around her nervously.

“Gordon, there are men around us.”

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Gordon tensed up immediately, not wasting time in wondering how Jeanne could have seen hidden men or if she was even right. Hyde Park at night was notorious for harboring thieves and pickpockets and both of them could be in real danger right now. Adrenaline rushed through his veins when he saw four men leave their hiding places and converge quickly on them. Moonlight reflected on at least two blades as the men positioned themselves two paces to the front and back of the couple. Gordon could now see that one of the bandits held a single shot pistol, while another had a short truncheon in his right hand. The man with the pistol pointed his weapon at Gordon and spoke in a raspy voice.

“Hand over your money and your valuables and you won’t get hurt.” Gordon, not wanting to put Jeanne at risk, was about to comply when the French woman surprised everybody by jumping forward and kicked away the man’s pistol, making the weapon discharge harmlessly skyward. Jeanne followed up by kneeing the surprised bandit in the groin, making him collapse on his knees. The nearest other bandit reacted too slowly and had his knife lunge parried by her before being savagely punched in the plexus by Jeanne while she pushed an ear-splitting yell at the same time. As the second bandit collapsed, gasping for air, she turned on the third bandit, also armed with a knife. Feeling shame at standing by like this and doing nothing while Jeanne performed her heroics, Gordon took on the man armed with a truncheon, dodging a furious swing before delivering a powerful right hook to the jaw that made the bandit stagger on his feet. A second hook sent the man down on his posterior. A right uppercut under the chin then took Gordon’s assailant out. Gordon turned around in time to see Jeanne violently twist her opponent’s right arm, making the man drop his knife, before slamming down her elbow on the man’s twisted elbow. Gordon heard the noise of the articulation breaking just before the thief screamed horribly. Jeanne then picked up the man’s knife in time to face the man who had a pistol, enraged and now holding a knife. Totally fascinated by her now, Gordon watched Jeanne hold her knife with the cutting edge facing outward and down, using it to parry the first lunge from the bandit. Now realizing that he was facing a dangerous opponent, the bandit stopped pushing forward, instead thrusting his blade at her. She easily beat off his attacks, fencing with her knife in a way Gordon had never seen before. One lightning-quick swing of her blade and the bandit emitted a gurgling sound while holding his sliced throat and collapsing to his knees. Gordon’s shout of triumph suddenly turned into one of alarm when he saw the second

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bandit Jeanne had taken on get on his knees and reverse his hold on his knife, preparing to throw it.

“JEANNE, WATCH OUT TO YOUR LEFT!”

He then started to run, trying to interpose himself between Jeanne and the knife-wielding bandit, but was too late. A blade swished through the night air and the banding collapsed backward, a knife in his throat. Repeated whistle blows could now be heard in the distance as Gordon looked with disbelief at the dead thieves, then at Jeanne. She was barely breathing faster than usual and didn’t appear bothered by the corpses and the blood around her one bit.

“My God, Jeanne, how did you do all this?”

There was no reprobation in his voice then, just awe. With the adrenaline flow cutting out now, she got out of combat trance and looked quickly around her.

“Hell, I don’t know! It was all pure reflexes, Gordon.”

“Some reflexes! Someone trained you damn well.”

“I wish I knew who.”

Both of them then saw two men in overcoats and top hats running towards them.

“Peelers14, at last!” announced Gordon. Jeanne hurriedly dropped the knife in her hand to the ground at those words and walked to Gordon, speaking in a low voice.

“Don’t tell them my role in this, please. They would never believe me anyway and your mother could get some weird ideas about me if this splashes over the newspapers’ front pages.”

He couldn’t help smile in amusement at that and took hold of her.

“Jeanne, I am the one having weird ideas about you now. Alright, I will tell the police that I did all this carnage.”

“Thank you, Gordon. You are sweet.” said Jeanne, following those words with a gentle kiss. The first policeman then arrived at the scene, a truncheon in his right hand, and contemplated the four bandits sprawled on the pavement, one of which was screaming with pain and holding his right elbow.

“Bloody hell! What happened here?”

Gordon then stepped forward and spoke calmly.

“Those four men tried to rob me and my lady friend and I defended myself. Please let me present myself: Captain Gordon Smythe, of the Eight Hussars Regiment.”

14 Peelers: Nickname given to the old London policemen.

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He saw the policeman grin in the dark as the second policeman arrived.

“Well done, sir! It seems that those ruffians attacked the wrong person tonight.”

“They sure did!” replied Gordon, glancing discreetly at Jeanne while repressing a smile.

21:35 (London Time)

London Metropolitan Police headquarters

Great Scotland Yards

London

Inspector John Wren shook hands with both the man and the woman and invited them to take the chairs in front of his desk. Sitting himself behind the desk that half filled his small office, he detailed the couple for a moment, noting the expensive jewels on the woman and the high quality clothes of the man. The latter was a bit over six feet tall, had black hair and eyes, a mustache and looked strong and fit, as befitted a cavalry officer. The woman, also around six feet in height, was unusually broad-shouldered and strong looking but was beautiful and very shapely. Wren’s trained eyes saw bloodstains on the woman’s right sleeve but none on the man’s clothes. While surprised, he didn’t raise that subject, only grabbing a sheet of paper and a pen before looking first at the man.

“I’m sorry if we had to bring you and the lady here, sir, but two men are dead and I must take care of a few formalities.”

“We perfectly understand and don’t mind it, sir.’’

‘’Then, may I have your name first, sir?”

“Certainly! I am Gordon Smythe, captain in the 8th Royal Hussars. My house is at number fourteen, Belgrave Square.”

Wren wrote that down, then looked at the woman.

“And your name, miss?”

“That may be a problem, Inspector: I am an amnesiac and can’t remember yet who I am. Gordon calls me Jeanne because the name sounded familiar to me.” She then told how she had become an amnesiac and how Gordon had been sheltering her. That left Wren thoughtful for a moment, measuring the implications of this.

“So, Lady Jeanne, you may have friends or relatives looking for you at this moment.”

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“If I have any here in London, yes. I was planning to come here on Monday anyway to report myself. I guess that this incident saved me the trip.”

“It did, miss. I will post a notice about you afterwards.”

“Thank you, Inspector.” she said, sounding relieved.

“You are welcome, Lady Jeanne.”

Wren then looked back at Gordon.

“Could you now describe the incident with those thugs, starting at where you were coming from?”

“Certainly, Inspector.”

Gordon then spoke slowly for a few minutes, letting time to Wren to scribble down the information, with an occasional question here and there to clarify a point. At the end of it, Wren looked at him inquisitively.

“So, you took on four armed men single-handedly and defeated them, sir?”

“Actually, I tripped one man who was going to attack Gordon in the back.” volunteered Jeanne. “I then sat on him and held him down until Gordon could deal with him.”

“I see!”

Reading back his notes, Wren noticed a small discrepancy and looked up at the man.

“Captain Smythe, you said that you and Lady Jeanne left the British Museum at about seven O’clock, yet the museum closes at six. Could you explain this?” Gordon smiled then and took hold of Jeanne’s right hand.

“I can, Inspector. The curator of the museum, Sir Waddel, had invited us to stay late so that he could use Jeanne’s linguistic and historical expertise to help translate some ancient texts. You see, sir, I believe now that Jeanne must be an archaeologist of some sort.”

Wren rose an eyebrow in interest at that: this case was becoming more intriguing by the minute. He then rose from his chair and smiled at his visitors.

“If you may excuse me for a moment, I will just go check on something and will be back soon. Would you like some tea in the meantime?”

“That would be kind of you, Inspector.” replied softly the woman. Nodding his head, Wren called in an assistant and put him in charge of serving tea to the couple, then left the office and went downstairs to the interrogation rooms. There, he found Junior Inspector Charles Medhurst as the latter was leaving an interrogation room, while two policemen led away one of the two surviving bandits.

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“So, what do you have, Charles?”

The young man looked at a notepad in his hand before answering Wren.

“Well, you will be happy to learn that that bastard of Jack Hill was one of the two dead men.”

“Good!” exclaimed Wren with glee: Hill had been on the run for four months now after escaping from prison. His sinister record included the murder of a policeman, numerous aggravated assaults, rapes and countless robberies. There was in fact a reward of 500 Pounds Sterling for his capture. Medhurst then went on.

“The other dead was Michael Kelly, a long-time associate of Jack Hill. Of the two others, one is named Peter Robinson and has a history of petty theft. The other one is a Bob Cole, a new one for us. Cole was the one you saw being returned to the cells. Robinson had his right elbow dislocated, by the way.”

“Ouch! That must hurt!” said Wren, wincing. Medhurst smiled and delivered his punch line.

“Indeed! Robinson said that a woman did that to him, apart from her cutting Hill’s throat and pinning Kelly in the throat with a knife from five paces away.”

“WHAT?”

“My own reaction exactly, sir.” said Medhurst, deadpan. “He must be lying, of course.”

Wren then gave a jaundiced look at his subaltern.

“Think, Charles! What would other criminals think of Robinson and of his accomplices when learning that a single man defeated the four of them?”

“Uh, they would probably be considered with contempt, sir.”

“What if a woman defeated them?”

Medhurst paused, seeing Wren’s point.

“They would most probably become the butt of London’s jokes, sir.”

“Then, why would Robinson tell such a story, unless it was true?” asked Wren forcefully.

“But,” protested Medhurst, “no woman could be this dangerous, sir!”

“Charles,” said Wren patiently, “did you see the woman involved in this incident?”

“Uh, no sir!”

“Well, I have now in my office a six foot tall lass with wider shoulders than you and with bloodstains on her right sleeve. What do you say to that?”

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“But this is unheard of!” protested the junior inspector. “Who is that woman anyway?”

“A French archaeologist, if she and her companion are to be believed. Where is Robinson now, by the way?”

“In the infirmary, sir, getting his arm treated. Sir, you don’t really believe that bit about a woman defeating three men, do you?”

Wren sighed in exasperation then: nobody would effectively believe that, even if it was the obvious truth. As much as he hated hiding the truth, he was going to have to paint over that part of this case.

“Alright, book both Robinson and Cole on charges of attempted armed robbery.”

“What about assault, sir?”

“Who assaulted who, Charles?” replied Wren cynically before walking away.

Wren found the couple still waiting patiently in his office, sipping tea and chatting casually. Taking back his place behind his desk, he smiled at both the man and the woman.

“Good news! One of the dead robbers was a Jack Hill, a dangerous felon on the run. The 500 Pounds Sterling reward on him is now yours.”

“Five hundred pounds?” exclaimed the Hussars’ captain. “That’s quite a sum for a felon.”

“What did this Hill do to warrant such a reward, Inspector?” asked Lady Jeanne, curious.

“His criminal record is quite thick, Lady Jeanne, but the highest charge was the murder of a policeman.”

“Did that policeman leave a family behind, Inspector?”

“As a matter of fact, yes. He had a wife and five young children, which I met at the funeral of our poor agent. Why do you ask, Lady Jeanne?” She didn’t answer directly, instead asking another question after a short pause.

“Could I have the name and address of that policeman’s widow, Inspector?” Wren nodded his head gravely as Gordon Smythe gave a tender look at Lady Jeanne: he could see already what she had in mind.

“I certainly can get that information for you, Lady Jeanne. If you may both sign this declaration about the night’s events, I will then get you both the reward and the information on that widow.”

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Once both had signed the paper Wren presented to them, with Jeanne hesitating before simply putting down ‘Lady Jeanne’ as a signature, the inspector then led them out of his office and through a series of corridors. He finally stopped in the accounting and administrative offices of the Metropolitan Police. It took twenty minutes to Wren to get the two duty clerks to deliver the cash reward and sign it out, plus finding the name and address of the policeman’s widow requested by Jeanne. Presenting the large purse containing the 500 Pounds Sterling to the couple, Wren repressed a knowing smile when Lady Jeanne took it without hesitation. He then gave her a piece of paper, which she read aloud.

“Elizabeth Hatfield, apartment 23, 286 Mansell Street, Tower Hamlets.” She then looked with dismay at Wren.

“That whole area is a living dump! Is this woman getting a pension from the Metropolitan Police?”

“A very small one I’m afraid, Lady Jeanne.” replied sadly Wren. “Her husband was quite junior in the service and didn’t draw much of a pay for starters. Misses Hatfield had to move to her present address when she couldn’t afford her old place anymore.”

Gordon and Jeanne looked at each other at those words.

“Could we visit her tomorrow, Gordon?”

“I will escort you there with pleasure, my dear Jeanne.” replied softly Gordon before looking at Wren. “Please don’t forget to put up a notice about Jeanne, Inspector, so that relatives searching for her could trace her.”

“I will, Captain. You are now free to go. Thank you again for your help and assistance in capturing those bandits. Let me guide you to the exit and get you a carriage.”

“You are most kind, Inspector.” said Gordon, then offering his arm to Jeanne before following Wren. John Wren went back to the administrative offices after bidding goodbye to the couple, filling a report on Lady Jeanne and giving it to the duty clerk before returning to his office to formalize the case against Robinson and Cole. Unknown to him was the fact that his notice about Lady Jeanne was going to be inadvertently misfiled and lost by the clerk.

23:12 (London Time)

14 Belgrave Square, London

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Carmelia ran to Gordon as soon as he entered his house with Jeanne, kissing her son on one cheek.

“My God, where have you been? I was getting scared to death about you two.” Gordon took the time to hug his mother before smiling down to her.

“We had a few adventures today, me and Jeanne. We are just back from the Metropolitan Police headquarters, where we testified against a group of robbers who attacked us in Hyde Park. Don’t worry about us: we were unhurt and those bandits are now out of the circulation. First, let me reintroduce you to our guest.” He then took Jeanne’s hand and looked proudly at the French woman as he spoke.

“I am happy to have in my house Lady Jeanne, expert archaeologist and linguistic genius.”

08:46 (London Time)

Monday, March 13, 1854

14 Belgrave Square

London

Carmelia, still half asleep, entered the kitchen and found Clara in the process of boiling water for making tea on top of the pot-bellied stove.

“Ah, good! Tea is just what I need now, Clara. Are Gordon and Lady Jeanne up yet?”

With the maid’s back to her, Carmelia didn’t see Clara’s knowing smile then.

“Yes, madam. They are washing up now.”

Not catching on to this, Carmelia sat sleepily at the small dining table of the kitchen, with Clara soon serving her tea and English muffins with jam. As she ate, Carmelia thought about Lady Jeanne. A woman of such rare aptitudes and a rich one to boot should have been quite well known around, yet she had never heard of a woman, French or otherwise, who remotely resembled Jeanne. The question of whether or not Jeanne was really single also nagged her mind. She wouldn’t have minded seeing Gordon court her except for the fact that so little was known about Jeanne, if that was her real first name.

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The object of her concerns showed up half an hour later, led by a happy-looking Gordon.

“Good morning, Lady Carmelia.” said Jeanne amiably.

“Good morning, Lady Jeanne. I hope that you slept well.”

“I did, madam. That walking around yesterday really relaxed me.”

“You find meeting four robbers at night relaxing?”

Jeanne took Gordon’s hand and smiled tenderly to him while answering.

“Why worry with such a man at my side?”

“My son was right, Lady Jeanne.” said Carmelia proudly. “You do have a way with words. Please sit down and have breakfast.”

Carmelia chatted with Jeanne and Gordon for another twenty minutes before getting up from her chair.

“If you will excuse me now, I have to dress and pack: Thomas is driving me back to our family manor in Twickenham this morning. Don’t forget that you are invited to a reception next Saturday, Lady Jeanne.”

“I will be there, Lady Carmelia.”

“Excellent! Sir Charles will be most delighted to meet you.” Carmelia then left the kitchen. Jeanne glanced at Gordon, who had a smile on his face.

“You, mister, look like the cat who was just left alone in the house with the canary.”

“A good comparison indeed! So, what’s next today?”

“I first go to Mister Meir’s shop and get fitted for a new wardrobe. We then visit that poor Misses Hatfield. If there is still time left after that, I will do more shopping.”

“Shop, shop, shop! Women only have that in mind.” said Gordon jokingly, earning a friendly slap on the shoulder.

13:41 (London Time)

Mansell Street, Tower Hamlets District

London

Gordon looked around him with dismay as he helped Jeanne get out of the Hansom cab: the street was crowded, filthy and stank like a sewer, while the multistory brick townhouses lining the narrow street reeked of poverty and neglect. The people

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circulating in the street were a pitiful, ragged lot with little but despair and resignation on their faces. Escorting closely Jeanne to the door of number 286, Gordon had to run a gauntlet of emaciated children begging for money and had to screen Jeanne from seeing a drunken man busy urinating against the wall of the building. The noise level inside the building proved nearly as high as in the street, with children playing and running everywhere and with adults shouting at each other. Gordon now understood why Jeanne had chosen not to wear her expensive jewels today, keeping only her gold ring with cuneiform engravings on. Going up the wooden staircase to the first floor, they came up to a door with a number 23 painted on it. The wails of a baby could be heard inside as Gordon knocked on the door. A small boy, maybe three or four years old, opened the door after a moment, looking up at Gordon and Jeanne with curiosity. Gordon smiled down to him, getting a timid smile in return.

“Hello, boy. Is your mother in?”

“Yes!” said the boy, not moving.

“Uh, can we see her?”

“Thomas,” shouted a woman from inside the apartment, “let the man in!” The boy opened the door wide and let Gordon and Jeanne in, then pushed the door closed, slamming it violently and attracting a concert of invectives from across the hallway. The couple was now inside a tiny two-room apartment crowded beyond belief. The room they were in obviously served as a kitchen, dining room, lounge and washroom and was no bigger than nine feet by twelve feet. Gordon could look inside a similarly sized bedroom filled with three beds, a crib and an old dresser. A woman in her late twenties was sitting in a rocking chair, holding a baby and looking at Gordon and Jeanne with suspicion. The red-haired woman had once been beautiful but misery and hardship had marked her face and her body had thinned to a ghost of its former self. A toddler girl with hollow eyes was playing at the woman’s feet, soon joined by little Thomas. The pot-bellied stove sitting in a corner of the room was empty and the whole apartment was cold and damp. Gordon swallowed the lump in his throat as he surveyed the miserable place: he had heard of the poor living conditions in the eastside districts of London but had never visited them because of their reputation as high-crime areas. He could see Jeanne’s eyes becoming moist as the woman in the rocking chair addressed him.

“Can I do something for you, sir?”

“Uh, yes. Are you Misses Elizabeth Hatfield?”

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“I am!” she replied cautiously. Gordon then walked to her and, taking gently her right hand, gallantly kissed it.

“Madam, I am pleased to bring you good news.”

The woman sighed at those words and smiled weakly.

“That will be a nice change, sir. What is it?”

“First of, your husband’s killer is dead. He tried to rob us last night and met his match.”

Elizabeth Hatfield was silent for a moment, looking past Gordon at nothing in particular. She then spoke with bitterness in her voice.

“I don’t want to sound ungrateful, sir, but that will not give me back my Francis.”

“No, but we can help you escape this miserable life, madam. There was a 500 pounds reward for the capture of Jack Hill: that reward is now yours.” Elizabeth looked up with disbelief at Gordon.

“You said 500 pounds, sir?”

“Yes, madam.” said Gordon, who had decided by now what he was going to do next. “Do you know how to cook?”

“Of course, sir!” replied the woman, puzzled. “Why do you ask?”

“Because I am offering you to move with your children to my house in Belgrave Square, to work for me as an assistant cook. Do you accept?” Tears appeared nearly at once in Elizabeth’s eyes as she tried to answer Gordon. She only could nod her head in agreement as she started crying silently. Jeanne

immediately knelt beside her, caressing the woman’s dirty hair.

“Please don’t cry, madam. This is your chance to offer a decent life to your children. By the way, we were told that you had five children. I see only three of them here.”

Choking off her tears, Elizabeth stared into Jeanne’s eyes.

“Mary and Peter are working at the garment factory up the street, madam.” That shocked both Jeanne and Gordon: those children could not be more than ten years old, judging from the age of their mother.

“How old are your two children, madam?” said Jeanne, nearly afraid to ask. Elizabeth answered in a near whisper.

“Mary is seven, while Peter is six. Without their earnings we would be starving.” Cold rage filled Gordon as he digested that information.

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“Madam, lead me to that factory: we are getting your kids out of there. Jeanne can take care of your three youngest children in the meantime.”

“Let…let me get my shawl first, sir.” said the overwhelmed woman, then handing her baby to Jeanne before rising from her rocking chair and talking down to the two children at her feet.

“Thomas, Helen, be nice with the lady while I am gone. I am going to get Mary and Peter.”

Both children nodded silently their heads and went back to their playing. Their mother took a ragged shawl from a wall hook and left the apartment, Gordon on her heels. Going down to the street level and leaving the building, she turned right on Mansell Street and walked up two blocks before stopping in front of a dilapidated brick building similar to the others they had passed. She then looked hesitantly at Gordon, examining him from head to toe.

“Why are you doing this for us, sir? We never met before.”

“No, we didn’t, but I believe in simple Christian charity, madam. Unfortunately, many people seem to have forgotten that concept. Let’s go in and get your children now.”

Elizabeth stared into his eyes for a moment, then turned around and entered the building. They found themselves in what looked like an apartment building crudely converted into a garment sweatshop. A small, fat and rude-looking man blocked their path as they walked towards the staircase, looking cautiously at Gordon before staring at Elizabeth.

“What do you want, Misses Hatfield? You know that visits are not permitted during work hours.”

“I am here to take back Mary and Peter, Mister Grant.” replied Elizabeth, trying to sound resolute. “They will not be working here anymore.”

“May I remind you that you still owe me last month’s rent, madam?” said the man, unsympathetic. “Your kids will work here until you can pay your rent.”

“Bloody hell, man!” swore Gordon, stepping between Elizabeth and Grant and staring down angrily at the man. “Do you have to be such a bastard about this? How much does she owe you?”

“One pound and four shillings.”

“What? You charge her this much for such a dump?”

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“If she’s not happy about it, then she can always move out…once she pays her rent.” replied the unmoved man. Gordon gave him a black look while taking out his wallet, extracting three one pound gold coins and throwing them in the man’s face.

“Here is your money, mister! Consider this month’s rent covered as well. Pray that I find those two children in a good state.”

Pushing aside the red-faced man, Gordon followed Elizabeth up the staircase all the way up to the third floor. Once there, the woman started calling out for her children.

“MARY! PETER! WHERE ARE YOU?”

A young girl ran out of a room nearly immediately, smiling.

“Mother! How come you’re here?”

Elizabeth took the girl in her arms and hugged her tearfully.

“I’m taking you and Peter out of here for good. Where is your brother, Mary?”

“They moved him to the boiler room in the basement, Mom.” The little girl then looked up at Gordon.

“Who is that man, Mom?”

“A gentleman who has come to help us, Mary.”

Before Gordon could present himself to the girl, a burly man emerged from a room, holding a wooden stick.

“Mary, you little tramp, get back to work before I…”

“Before you what?” shot back Gordon, advancing quickly on the man and taking away his stick before breaking it in two. The man had one look at Gordon’s muscular bulk, then retreated inside a room without a word, attracting a caustic remark from the Hussars officer.

“Bloody coward! Only brave enough to beat kids up.”

Turning towards Elizabeth and Mary, Gordon smiled down at the girl.

“Hello Mary! I’m Gordon Smythe. How about leading us to your brother now?”

“Yes sir!” answered timidly the girl before running down the staircase. The trio found little Peter in a gloomy basement room, shoveling coal with another boy into the furnace of a steam boiler. Gordon gave a warning look at the man watching the boys as Elizabeth hugged Peter.

“We’re taking the boy out of here. Don’t interfere!”

As they left the basement and exited the factory, Gordon surveyed the children’s clothes: they were not much more than rags and were woefully inadequate for the cold, damp March weather. A stop later at a clothing store was definitely in order.

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Going back to the Hatfield’s apartment, they found there that Jeanne had already bundled up the family’s meager wardrobe inside a blanket.

“No sense delaying your move out of this hole.” explained the French woman, sweeping one arm around her. “As for your other belongings, they are not worth salvaging. Don’t worry: I will provide you with all that you will need. Are we all ready?”

“Wait, please!” said Elizabeth, who then went to her bed and searched for a moment under the mattress before pulling out a large silver badge.

“My husband’s police badge.” she explained in a soft voice, close to tears.

16:41 (London Time)

14 Belgrave Square, London

Elizabeth Hatfield was in a near state of shock when the Hansom cab transporting her family and her two benefactors stopped in front of a luxurious townhouse. The cab was filled with boxes from the wildest shopping spree she had witnessed in her life, courtesy of Lady Jeanne. The 500 pounds of the reward was still intact, kept inside Elizabeth’s coat pocket, itself part of the brand new clothes she was wearing. All of her children were similarly attired in new garbs and each held a new toy as well. Helped down by Gordon, she then took baby Harry as Jeanne handed him to her. Shouted orders from Gordon brought out of the house a foot servant and a maid, who helped bring inside the Hatfields’ new acquisitions while Lady Jeanne led the family inside. A plump maid who was waiting for them inside smiled with delight at the sight of the children.

“Bambini! Que vene!”

Lady Jeanne then engaged in a short conversation in a foreign language with the maid, who ran to a room at the end of the hallway, apparently all excited and happy.

“What language did you just speak, Lady Jeanne?” asked Elizabeth, intrigued. Jeanne gave her a big grin.

“Italian. Clara seems to love children, like most Italians do, in fact. I just asked her to heat up water for your baths.”

“Our baths?”

“Of course! If you are going to start a new life here, you might as well start it clean. Besides, a nice-smelling baby is so much more fun to cuddle, right, Harry?”

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The baby boy giggled as Jeanne tickled his feet, making Elizabeth feel warm inside: she still couldn’t believe her luck in meeting such kind strangers.

20:53 (London Time)

Third floor bedroom

14 Belgrave Square

Gordon watched on, fascinated, as Jeanne was singing a soft ballad in some ancient language in order to put the Hatfield children to sleep. She was also playing soft music from the box lyre she had found this morning in an antique shop. Seeing her sitting besides the big bed with four children in them, looking tenderly at the kids while singing, made Gordon dream about the day when he would have children of his own. To have them with such a wonderful woman as Jeanne would be bliss indeed. Elizabeth Hatfield, standing besides Gordon in the doorway of the bedroom, looked up at him and whispered in order not to disturb Jeanne’s performance.

“You are lucky to have such a wife, Mister Smythe. She has so many talents.” Gordon couldn’t help smile in amusement then: somehow, they had not yet had time to explain to Elizabeth who Jeanne was.

“Jeanne is a guest here and not my wife, Misses Hatfield. I will tell you later about her. But you are right about her: she is indeed full of unusual talents.”

“Not your wife? But…you look like such a perfect couple. You should marry her while you have a chance, sir.”

“That’s in the books, madam.” replied softly Gordon while eyeing Jeanne.

23:58 (London Time)

Master bedroom

14 Belgrave Square

Gordon sighed as he stopped turning around in his bed and opened his eyes in the darkness of his bedroom. He just couldn’t sleep, not with the face and body of Jeanne constantly in his mind. Finally making up his mind, Gordon jumped out of bed and groped for his robe in the dark, putting it on as he walked to the bedroom’s door. Opening it, he stepped in the hallway and had to come to an abrupt stop: Jeanne had

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been about to knock on his door and was now nose to nose with him, her fist raised and ready to knock. Both smiled at each other.

“Uh, hi Gordon!” she whispered in the dark, her sparkling white teeth showing. “I…I was kind of restless and couldn’t sleep.”

“How curious! Me too!”

Both were silent for a moment. Gordon’s hands moved first, taking hold of her waist before caressing her back. Jeanne then slowly glued herself to him, her hands roaming as well while she exchanged a long kiss with Gordon. They finally parted, both of their hearts racing.

“Gordon, the truth is that I’m lonely in my bedroom. Could I stay with you for the night?”

“Jeanne, I was about to ask the same thing.”

Without thinking further, Gordon grabbed Jeanne and lifted her in his arms, then walked back inside his bedroom while she giggled.

“Aren’t we supposed to do this only once married?”

Stopping besides his bed, Gordon stared into the French woman’s green eyes.

“Jeanne, you just need to answer one question: will you marry me once you will have regained your memories of yourself?”

“Yes!”

Her answer had been a whisper, but it had come out instantly and passionately. Kissing her while she was still in his arms, he then laid her on the bed. Both shed their robes and underwear quickly before Gordon lay on top of her.

“Jeanne, I don’t care what your real name could be or what you were before. I just know that I will love you all my life.”

She caressed his face and kissed him before replying very softly.

“Gordon, I can only be eternally grateful that a man such as you found me first in that park. Without you I would probably have gone insane.”

“Then, let’s celebrate our reunion the proper way.” Said Gordon before starting a round of love session with her.

07:14 (London Time)

Tuesday, March 14, 1854

Master bedroom, 14 Belgrave Square

London

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Gordon kissed Jeanne awake, bringing a radiant smile to her face.

“Good morning, my dear. Did you sleep well?”

“Like a baby.” she replied softly, kissing him back. Both then stayed besides each other in the large bed, exchanging caresses. Gordon noticed a puzzled look appear on her face after a minute or so, making him curious.

“Something is bothering you, Jeanne?”

“Yes: my mind! It seems to be playing tricks on me.”

“No wonder: you’re amnesiac.”

“That’s not what I meant, Gordon. Things are coming back to my mind constantly since yesterday, but not what I would expect from remembering my identity.”

“What kind of things?” said Gordon, now intensely curious. Jeanne thought her words over carefully before answering.

“The kind of general knowledge that Doctor Portal said I would remember first, like about languages and objects I learned to use, historical events and general knowledge about the world and sciences.”

“That seems normal stuff to me, Jeanne.”

“Not if they include things such as flying machines and weapons which could destroy whole cities in one mighty blast, Gordon.”

Shocked and surprised, Gordon rose on one elbow while staring at her.

“Flying machines? But, that’s impossible! Your imagination must be playing tricks on you.”

“Gordon,” said cautiously Jeanne, not wanting to scare him away from her, “the pictures that now appear in my mind are quite graphic and detailed, as if I was living among those machines. When I tried to understand the machines or tools I pictured in my mind, answers and some scientific and technological knowledge came to my mind as well.”

“Such as?”

“Well, while thinking about a flying machine called an aircraft, I wondered what made it able to fly. A series of scientific principles and technical concepts then popped up in my mind, answering my questions in such detail that I think that I could build at least a rudimentary flying machine.”

“But no such machines exist, Jeanne. Where would you have learned such knowledge?”

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“I wish I knew, Gordon, since that would probably help me remember who I am.”

“Did you learn anything else unusual from those souvenirs?”

“A lot, actually, much of it that would be considered impossible today, like submersible ships and guns which fire repeatedly before needing to be reloaded.” Gordon did his best to hide his dismay then, looking down gravely at Jeanne.

“And what do you think all this means, Jeanne?”

“I believe two things right now, Gordon. First, I believe that those things really exist, or existed where I came from, wherever that is.”

“And second?” asked Gordon, swallowing hard. Her eyes then became moist as she got close to him.

“That, whoever I am or wherever I come from, I still love you, Gordon.”

08:22 (London Time)

Dining room

14 Belgrave Square

Clara couldn’t help notice the preoccupied look on her master’s face as she picked up his now empty tea cup and plate. He had hardly spoken six words in the half hour since he had come down from his bedroom. Lady Jeanne was also noticeable by her absence.

“Excuse me, sir. Is Lady Jeanne coming down for breakfast this morning?”

“Uh, I don’t think so, Clara.” he answered absent-mindedly. “She is going to do some shopping all by herself this morning. How are Misses Hatfield and her children doing, by the way?”

“Just fine, sir.” said the maid, grinning. “Her kids are so cute! They are finishing breakfast now in the kitchen.”

“Good! When they are finished, show Misses Hatfield around the house. Tell her also that she will start helping you in the kitchen tomorrow morning. I will take her to the bank after lunch, so be ready to baby-sit her kids for an hour or two.”

“To the bank, sir?”

“Yes, Clara. Misses Hatfield has a rather large sum given to her by Lady Jeanne that she has to put into the safety of a bank account. No sense either in missing on potential return interests from a savings account.”

“You are right, sir. One should always get the utmost from one’s money.”

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Jeanne then chose that time to walk in the dining room, fully dressed and with her new overcoat on. Going to Gordon, she bent down and kissed him quickly before starting to walk out.

“I’m going to tour Saint James’ District, Gordon. I’ll be back for lunch.”

“Have fun!” replied Gordon, watching her leave before getting up and looking at Clara. “I’ll be in my study if anybody needs me, Clara.”

The maid in turn watched him leave the dining room. With a beautiful woman as a guest and with a family of six now in, the household’s atmosphere had changed drastically from the quiet, routine rule of a mostly absent single man like Gordon Smythe.

09:30 (London Time)

67-A St James’ Place, London

Neville Black had a last look at his pocket watch, then decided that it was opening time and pocketed back his watch before leaving the back room of his gunsmith store and walking to the entrance door to unlock it. To his surprise a young woman was waiting on the sidewalk in front of his store, looking through the façade window. Female customers were a rarity indeed in any gunsmith store. She came in as soon as Neville unlocked the door, exchanging a polite greeting with him before avidly looking around his display cases. The woman, wearing fine jewels and being very tall for her gender, was quickly attracted to the counter displaying pistols. Moving to that counter, Neville cleared his throat to attract her attention.

“Ahem! Are you looking for something in particular, miss?”

“I am!” she replied in a clear, agreeable voice. “Do you have any American-made Colt revolvers, sir?”

That made Neville raise an eyebrow in surprise: very few of his customers knew about Colt weapons, them being so new. She must have heard stories about them from someone returning from the United States. Moving to the end of the counter, he bent down and fetched some guns from the lower tablets.

“You are in luck, miss: I acquired a few Colt models from Mister Colt himself when he was exposing his guns at the 1851 Great Exhibition. I can’t say that they are big sales items, though. I sold only one of them in three years.”

“That’s because your other customers didn’t know a good pistol when they saw one.” replied resolutely the woman, nearly getting Neville to make a remark of his own

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on women and guns. He did manage to keep it to himself, though, and was about to present each of the Colts to her when she surprised him again. Pushing a whoop of delight, she took hold of a particular gun and smiled with satisfaction.

“A Dragoon! Excellent! Do you have a second one like this, by chance?”

“Uh, I have a few others in my back store.”

“Then, bring three more Colt Dragoons, if you have that many, sir.”

“Three more, miss?” said Neville, having a hard time believing his ears.

“Yes! I need two for a friend of mine and two for me. If you have the reloading accessories and any tools that go with them, then I will take them too, along with at least 500 percussion caps, six cans of fine grain powder and a reserve of already molded .44 caliber bullets, Minié type if possible.”

“Good God, miss! Are you planning on attending a war?” exclaimed Neville. He then found himself the target of the woman’s unflinching green eyes.

“As a matter of fact, maybe, sir.”

Deciding that he didn’t want to antagonize further that customer, Neville went inside the back store and got her extra revolvers, percussion caps, accessories and bullets. Putting the lot on the counter in front of the young woman, he smiled to her.

“I guess that I will have to get more of these from the United States now. Each gun case for the Colt Dragoons includes a spare six-shot cylinder, by the way. Anything else, miss?”

“Yes! I will need holsters, both belt and saddle types, for these guns, along with belts and ammunition pouches.”

“Then, this way please.” answered the gunsmith while pointing at a corner of his shop where leather products were displayed. The woman followed him there and examined the items as he described them.

“These holsters here will fit your Colt Dragoons. You also have here various types of belts and pouches which will go with these holsters. What waist size is your friend, miss?”

She eyed Neville critically before answering.

“He’s taller than you but has about the same waist size as you, I would say.”

“Then this one should fit him.” He said while grabbing a belt and adding it to the holsters she had selected. The woman grabbed a few matching pouches as well, then shocked Neville by taking another belt and trying it around her own waist after slipping two Colt Dragoon holsters and two pouches on it.

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“This will do just fine for me.” she pronounced resolutely, ignoring the gunsmith’s stunned look. “Do you have fighting knives as well, sir?”

“Knives? Uh, yes miss, right here.”

The woman looked for a moment at his knives display and quickly decided on a huge American Bowie hunting knife. Taking it and its scabbard, she then smiled at him.

“Well, I think that I’m nearly done here. Since you got Colt revolvers, would you also happen to have models of Colt-Paterson revolving carbines or rifles?”

“In fact, I do, miss, but to be frank they sell even less than Colt revolvers. They have a bad reputation for unreliability and accidents.”

“Oh?” said the young woman. She then concentrated for a moment and frowned with apparent frustration. “I can’t remember anything about that, but you certainly must know better than me about it. Could I see them anyway?”

“Certainly, miss.” said the gunsmith, who walked behind his counter and took two rifles from a well filled wall rack, putting them on the counter in front of Jeanne and pointing at each weapon in turn while speaking.

“First, I have this Colt-Paterson Model 1836 revolving cylinder rifle. It has a caliber of .69 inch and has a seven-shot cylinder. The weapon above it is a Colt-Paterson Model 1842 carbine. Its cylinder can hold eight shots of .55 caliber. The main complaints about those Colt-Paterson weapons are their unreliability, their tendency to spit lead and hot gases from the gap between the barrel chamber and the front of the cylinder and the possibilities of having chain firing, when all chambers ignite at once when you fire a shot.”

“Those are serious problems indeed, sir. Are those complaints founded in your opinion, though?”

“Well, the lead and gas spitting is definitely a problem in these weapons, especially in the bigger, more powerful .69 caliber. The reliability could be better but, in the hands of a caring professional, these guns can be devastating, even if they are a bit fragile. As for the problem of chain firing, I believe that it is due to the fact that many shooters are not careful enough to cover with grease the front of the loading chambers once the powder and balls are in place. These weapons are by the way the only production repeating long guns you will find on the market now, anywhere. If you are looking for heavy firepower, then those are the things you want.” The woman nodded while eyeing the two guns, then grabbed the smaller, .55 caliber carbine and examined it from up close.

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“Do you have a set of spacer gauges, sir? I would also need a tool set for dismantling this gun.”

“Uh, sure, miss!” replied the surprised gunsmith before going into his back store. He was back after two minutes with the gauges set and the tools, putting them on the counter. The woman first checked with the gauges the spacing between the face of the loading cylinder and the back of the barrel. She was apparently unimpressed by what she saw.

“The spacing is effectively quite large. It will lose quite a lot of energy from the powder through that gap.”

“I could always fit a thin plate to diminish that gap, miss. It would be maybe half a day’s work.”

“You could, sir?” asked the woman, smiling. “Could you as well fit a flash guard plate around the lower half of the cylinder, so that my left arm is protected during firing?”

“Certainly, miss. In fact, that modification is one that is often requested with those weapons.”

“Perfect! Let me just finish my inspection of this carbine and I will then pay for my acquisitions.”

Watched closely by the gunsmith, the young woman quickly dismantled the carbine, then checked the internal mechanisms before reassembling the weapon, all the while showing the assurance and flair of a person expert in gun handling. She finally looked and smiled at the gunsmith.

“I will take this carbine, sir. If you have spare cylinders, I will take them as well, along with a full accessories kit, two cans of powder, one can of percussion caps and what you have in .55 caliber Minié bullets. I will come back on Friday to pick up the carbine once you have a filler plate and hand guard fitted to it. You may add up my bill now.”

“Yes miss!” said the happy shop owner, who then went to his cash register and added up her bill. The young woman didn’t flinch when he told her that it all came to a total of a bit over 37 Pounds Sterling, a sum many Londoners would find quite impressive, as it representing months of salary for an average worker. The woman actually added even more to that bill, selecting a pair of leather saddlebags in which she stuffed her new acquisitions, minus the carbine. She then left the store, the heavy bags slung over her right shoulder. The shop owner watched her walk away from a window,

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then shook his head in amusement: that woman had to be his most unusual customer ever.

11:28 (London Time)

Private study, 14 Belgrave Square

Gordon sighed with relief as he closed the accounting book and put down his pen. He always hated doing his household accounting, finding it boring and making him feel like a cheapskate. However, as his mother kept telling him, Sir Charles Smythe would not be part of the top shareholders of the prestigious East India Company if he had neglected his accounting chores. Gordon was putting back on the lid of his ink bottle when someone knocked on the door of his study.

“Come in!”

His heart accelerated when Jeanne stuck her head inside, a charming smile on her face.

“Hi, Gordon! I have a few things for you with me. Could you close your eyes for a minute?”

“Sure, my love!” replied Gordon, closing his eyes and straightening in his chair, a smile of anticipation on his face. If the few days with her had taught him something, it was that Jeanne loved making other people happy, a trait that only endeared her more to him.

“You can look now.” said Jeanne from behind him after a moment. Doing so, Gordon saw two closed wooden cases now sitting in front of him on his desk.

“What are these, Jeanne?”

“Open them and look!” she answered in an encouraging tone. Gordon did so, revealing two big revolvers and their accessories. Taking one of the revolvers, he examined it with growing happiness.

“A pair of six-shot pistols. They are real beauties.”

“These are American-made Colt Dragoon .44 caliber revolvers. I also have a few more things to go with them.”

She then lined on the desk the belt, holsters, pouches, powder and ammunition. Gordon got up from his chair and kissed Jeanne for a long moment before looking into her eyes.

“These revolvers are magnificent! Somehow, I think that my pair of Adams single shot .577 caliber pistols will take an early retirement. Thank you, Jeanne.”

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“Actually, you could say that those guns are as much for my benefit as for yours, Gordon. They will help you stay alive while in combat and thus also help me keep you.” His happiness suddenly tempered by those last words, Gordon eyed cautiously Jeanne.

“I suppose that you are referring to that war in Crimea you predicted?”

“You suppose right, Gordon.” she said somberly. “I keep remembering more details about it all the time.”

“Jeanne, to remember something you have to either live it or see something about it, yet this war still hasn’t happened. What you see must be visions from the future.”

“Maybe that’s what they are, Gordon. It however doesn’t change the fact that they make me worry about you. You are too good a man to lose.” Softened up by her declaration, Gordon stepped to her, hugging her for a long kiss. When they parted, Gordon sighed while looking into her eyes.

“And you are too good a woman to pull away from, Jeanne. Come downstairs and let’s have lunch: we have to escort Misses Hatfield to the bank this afternoon.”

13:39 (London Time)

Midland Bank

Prince’s Street, The City

London

Gordon, Jeanne at his left side and Elizabeth Hatfield behind him, swept his right arm around as they entered the large main hall of the Midland Bank.

“The Midland Bank, repository of my family’s wealth and the best bank in London, notwithstanding what the Bank of England across the street may say about it.” The trio then took place in one of the short waiting lines of customers. Chatting about the sights they had seen while riding in Thomas’ carriage, now parked along the sidewalk outside the bank, they only had to wait five minutes before their turn at the service counter came. A clerk in his mid forties, thin and balding, smiled at Gordon and his two female companions as they stepped forward.

“Good day, Mister Smythe! I see that you had the pleasure of meeting Lady Jeanne D’Orléans.”

While Gordon froze up, thunderstruck by the clerk’s words, joy filled Jeanne’s face.

“You…you know me, sir? What name did you say again?”

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“But…your name: Lady Jeanne D’Orléans. You are our biggest account holder.” replied the clerk, surprised by their surprise. “Is something wrong, miss?”

“Not anymore!” said Jeanne before hugging and kissing happily Gordon. “I can’t believe it! I’m finally going to know who I am.”

While hugging Jeanne, Gordon looked at the puzzled clerk.

“We need to see the bank’s director, sir. Tell him that this is most urgent and important.”

“Uh, yes sir!”

As the clerk hurried to one of the offices behind the service counter, Gordon gently took hold of Jeanne’s face and kissed her.

“Jeanne D’Orléans: a beautiful name for a beautiful woman.” Taking her hand, he led her and Misses Hatfield through a wicket and past a few bank employees desks. They were approaching a wood and tainted glass door when the clerk who had greeted them at the service counter emerged from that door. Stopping cold at their sight, the clerk then stepped aside, holding the door open for them.

“The director will see you now, ladies and gentleman.”

Jeanne took the time to slip a gold coin in the clerk’s vest pocket before going inside.

“I owe you a big one, mister. Thank you for remembering me.”

“What did I do to deserve this, miss?” said weakly the puzzled employee, getting a grin from Gordon.

“Like Lady Jeanne said, you remembered her.”

He then followed Jeanne and Elizabeth Hatfield inside the office, where the bank director greeted them and shook their hands. Sir Kenneth Maple was a jovial, rotund man with long whiskers and moustache. Offering chairs to his visitors, he then took place behind a huge desk of polished wood, sitting in a leather padded armchair. He immediately noticed the expectation on the faces of his visitors and looked questioningly at Gordon.

“How may I help you today, Mister Smythe?”

“It is Lady Jeanne that you can help most today, Sir Maple.” answered Gordon while putting a hand on Jeanne’s shoulder. He then spent a couple of minutes explaining to him how Jeanne had become amnesiac and had been sheltered by him. The director nodded gravely his head at that story, shifting his gaze to Jeanne.

“You were indeed very lucky, Lady Jeanne. You could have been robbed while unconscious and then end up a lonely, destitute woman without memories. Your fate could have been quite grim, miss.”

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“I know, sir.” replied softly Jeanne, bowing her head. “That’s why I am grateful to have met such a gentleman as Gordon. This may sound silly, sir, but could you tell me about myself?”

“By all means, Lady Jeanne. Let me just get your account file first, please.” Gordon felt Jeanne’s hand search for his hand and then press it anxiously as Sir Maple left momentarily the office. The director returned within minutes with an inch thick file full of papers, receipts, account updates and cashed checks, putting the lot on his desk and sitting down. Taking a particular sheet from the file, he cleared his throat before reading from it.

“This is the account opening form you filled five years ago when you first came here. Your…”

“Wait!” interrupted Jeanne. “Could I have something to write all this down first?”

“Of course, miss!” replied the director, then searching in a desk drawer and taking out a few blank sheets of papers, putting them on the of the desk nearest to Jeanne, along with an ink bottle and a pen. Jeanne then shifted her chair close to the desk and dipped the pen’s tip in the ink bottle as Sir Maple resumed his reading in a slow, deliberate voice.

“As I was about to say, your full name is Jeanne Marie Céleste D’Orléans. You were born as Jeanne Marie Céleste de Brissac in Brissac, France, on June thirteen of 1831. You married the Chevalier Pierre Alphonse D’Orléans in the French overseas Territory of the Guadeloupe in 1846 but your husband died of a tropical fever in 1847 and you had no children. Both of your parents are dead according to the information you gave on this form.”

Gordon felt relief on hearing this: Jeanne’s true marital status had been increasingly bothering him, what with his project to marry her. Feeling much better now, he listened on as the bank director continued.

“Your official residence in France is listed here as the Hôtel de Brinvilliers, at number 12 Rue Charles-V in Paris. Your official occupation is as founder and head administrator of a philanthropic organization, the d’Orléans Social Foundation, based in Paris. From what I know of that organization, it is dedicated to charity work directed at the poor and the socially disenfranchised. You opened a local office in London last year, while your foundation has other offices in Italy, Germany and Holland.”

“Good God!” uttered Elizabeth Hatfield, impressed. “No wonder Lady Jeanne helped me: she could nearly qualify as a saint with this pedigree.”

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Sir Maple gave Elizabeth an amused look.

“Actually, many members of London’s high society call her less flattering names, such as socialist revolutionary, mad visionary and stock market shark.”

“Stock market shark?” said Gordon, not having expected such an epithet for Jeanne. Sir Maple grinned at that and referred to one of the financial information sheets in Jeanne’s file.

“That’s right, Mister Smythe. Lady Jeanne seemingly started investing heavily in the stock markets on her return from the Guadeloupe, both in France and in England, using the fortune left by her dead husband. She hired an experienced stock trader here, who regularly comes to this bank to make deposits and withdrawals to and from a corporate account belonging to her foundation. The rumor at the London stock market, where I personally trade from time to time, is that Lady Jeanne is the one truly calling the shots and that her instincts on the trading floor are impeccable. Right now, Lady Jeanne’s London portfolio of shares and bonds is valued at approximately one and a half million pounds, while her personal account at this bank actually stands at a meager 873, 912 pounds. Lady Jeanne also has of course another bank account and stocks portfolio in Paris rumored to value over four million pounds in total. I have here the bank address and account number in Paris.”

While Jeanne recovered quickly from her surprise and then scribbled down all that information on paper, Gordon’s mind boiled up: Jeanne’s fortune eclipsed by far that of his own family and actually made her one of the richest women in Europe, if not the richest. Sir Maple gave Jeanne the address of her bank in Paris and the number of her bank account, then spoke cautiously.

“Since you became amnesiac, Lady Jeanne, I should remind you of a point of British law pertinent to you. According to it, women are not recognized as full legal persons. Married women in particular have no rights to private ownership, with their husbands automatically becoming owners of all their possessions on marriage.”

“But, that’s preposterous!” exploded Jeanne with indignation. “You said yourself that I support a number of charitable works. How am I supposed to continue doing that if all my wealth is forcibly stripped away from me when I marry?” Sir Maple gave a cautious look to Gordon before answering.

“For the moment, the British laws regulating the rights of women do not apply to you, Lady Jeanne, as you are both single and French. If you however marry in England, those laws will apply, unless you arrange some special legal measures.”

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“Such as?”

“You could always transfer the money you have in England to a corporate account, with you as sole signatory authority for its use. You could also, in the case you marry in England, have your husband sign a legal waiver leaving you in charge of your fortune. That last measure would however be open to legal challenges in British courts and is not foolproof. As for your money in French accounts, it is out of reach of British law. I’m sorry if I had to raise such a subject and I certainly didn’t want to infer anything bad about Mister Smythe, who is both a good customer and a personal friend of mine, but, in view of your immense fortune, I thought it my professional duty to warn you about these laws.”

“You did well to warn her, Sir Maple.” cut in Gordon, his face sober. “To be frank, I already proposed marriage to Lady Jeanne after being conquered by her personality, even though I didn’t know who she was. The last thing I would want to do is to abuse her confidence and strip her of her fortune. I am ready any time to sign a waiver to my rights to her fortune if we marry. Your professional honesty is a credit to you, sir.” Sir Maple nodded his head at that compliment, then looked back at Jeanne.

“Your last account entry dates from last Friday and was incidentally the first one since January 26 of this year. You took out 600 pounds then and changed some French Francs as well. I thus presume that you just arrived from France on Friday.”

“That could be a useful information for later on, sir.” agreed Jeanne politely. “Do you by chance have an address for me in London? I have no clue where I resided here before I became amnesiac.”

“Unfortunately, none, Lady Jeanne. You are known to live rather modestly for a woman of your wealth and to use middle scale hotels while in London. I do have however here the address of the local office of your foundation, along with the names of its local representative and of your stockbroker.”

“Those I will certainly note down, sir.”

“Finally, I can tell you that you have a vault safety box in your name here, miss. Would you have with you your box key by chance?”

“Wait a minute!” replied Jeanne, frantically taking out her purse and searching inside it. She shouted in triumph as she took out a small key attached to a key ring and showed it to the bank director. “Could this be it, sir?”

Kenneth Maple grinned after examining the key.

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“This is definitely one of our safety box keys. This is decidedly your lucky day, Lady Jeanne. If you will now excuse me for a moment, I will go get your deposit box.” The director then left the office for a second time. Jeanne hesitated a bit, then counted out 200 pounds out of the remaining cash left in her purse and handed it to a stunned Elizabeth Hatfield.

“You would make me very happy if you would add this to the account you are about to open, Elizabeth. There is plenty more where it came from.” After some hesitation, the widow took the money, tears filling her eyes.

“Lady Jeanne, you are simply too good to be true. How could I ever repay your kindness?”

“By raising healthy and happy children, Elizabeth.” said Jeanne softly. Gordon, a lump in his throat, rose from his chair and gently took Elizabeth’s right arm.

“Please come with me, Misses Hatfield. I will escort you to the service counter so that you can open a savings account.”

He then bent down and kissed Jeanne as he walked by her.

“You are the best woman any man could hope for, Jeanne. I love you!”

“I love you too, Gordon.” she replied before returning his kiss.

Jeanne used the time taken by Gordon and Elizabeth at the service counter to continue copying down select information contained in her bank file. The two came back just before Sir Maple, who was carrying a large, flat steel box and a booklet in his hands. He gave first the booklet to Jeanne and put the safety box in front of her on the desk.

“This is your new bank account book, Lady Jeanne. A clerk is now preparing your new checking book, which should be ready soon. Do you want a private room to examine the content of your safety box?”

“No sir. I am with people I can trust.”

Maple bowed at the compliment, flattered. Jeanne then inserted her key in the lock of the box and, after a slight hesitation, turned it and held her breath as she raised the lid. Gordon involuntarily bent forward to look inside the safety box, as did the director and Elizabeth. Jeanne first extracted a large, decorated wooden box. Next were a booklet and a leather holder. Her hands trembled as she opened the holder and unfolded the large velum sheet inside, which bore an official seal.

“A French passport… My passport! I am now officially a person.”

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Nobody spoke as Jeanne took the time to control her emotions. Her voice was firmer when she looked at the booklet.

“A bank account book in my name, from the Banque de Paris. Let’s see the wooden box now.”

Grabbing the box and fully opening its lid, she got a concert of admiring gasps, including from herself: inside was a full set of jewels worthy of a royal person. Taking out a large diamond and emerald necklace, Jeanne held it around her neck, smiling at a mesmerized Gordon.

“So, how do I look?”

“Just irresistible, my dear Jeanne.” said Gordon, meaning it. This was decidedly turning into a true fairy tale for him. Putting back the necklace in the jewel box and closing the box, Jeanne put it back in the safety box but kept her passport and Paris bank account. Folding the sheets of paper she had scribbled on, Jeanne put them in an overcoat pocket and shook hands with the bank director.

“Sir, I owe you a big one today. I will not forget this.”

“It was my pleasure to be of help, Lady Jeanne.” replied jovially the fat man. “Let’s go see if your checking book is ready before you leave, though.” Leaving his office with his three visitors, Maple led them to an employee’s desk while carrying Jeanne’s safety box under one arm. Getting the now ready checking book from the clerk, the director handed it to Jeanne before heading to the bank vault, where he put back in place the safety box while Jeanne watched him. After a last round of handshakes with the director, his visitors started heading out of the bank. As they were passing the wicket separating the employees area from the public area, Jeanne suddenly turned around and went to the clerk who had recognized her, kissing the stunned little man on the cheek.

“I owe you my name and my fortune, mister. Thank you again.” Jeanne then walked out with her amused companions, holding Gordon’s arm. Once out on the sidewalk, she flashed a happy smile to Gordon and Elizabeth.

“Well, how about finding a suitable place to celebrate this, my friends?”

“Uh, I don’t want to be a killjoy, Lady Jeanne,” said apologetically Elizabeth, “but I’m due soon to breast-feed my little Harry.”

Jeanne grinned and shrugged at that.

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“Then, we will buy something quickly and celebrate at home. Harry must not be made to wait for his milk. By the way, Elizabeth, please call me simply Jeanne. I believe that I am a very informal woman.”

“Thank you, Lad… uh, Jeanne.”

“That’s better!” said Jeanne cheerfully, patting Elizabeth’s shoulder.

15:06 (London Time)

14 Belgrave Square, London

Both Judith and Clara sighed with relief when Elizabeth Hatfield arrived home with Lady Jeanne and their master. Taking four year old Thomas, who had been playing horsy, off her back, Judith got back on her feet and hurried to Gordon, taking the box and bags filling his hands. On her part, Clara gratefully gave a crying Harry to Elizabeth.

“I changed him and tried everything to calm him down, madam, but I’m afraid that he is hungry.”

“No need to apologize, Clara. I will take care of that right away.” The young widow, little Harry in her arms, then disappeared in the kitchen. Clara, helping Judith with the bags, saw the content of one of them.

“French champagne? May I ask what we are celebrating, sir?”

“You may, Clara.” Happily said Gordon while passing an arm around Jeanne’s waist. “We are celebrating the rebirth of Jeanne Marie Céleste D’Orléans, born Jeanne de Brissac, the richest woman in Europe and now my fiancée.” He then told the two maids what had happened at the Midland Bank. Both servants then hugged and kissed Jeanne in turn, sharing her joy. Taking the large box they had brought with them, Jeanne offered it to Mary, smiling tenderly at the small girl.

“This is for you and your brothers and sister. I will let you take care of the distribution.”

“What is it, Lady Jeanne?”

“Chocolate!” answered the French woman, starting a rush on the box by Elizabeth’s children. By the time Jeanne had put the children under control and lined them up for their ration of chocolate, Gordon had fetched four champagne flutes. He let a radiant Jeanne pop open the first bottle and fill the glasses, two of which went to the delighted maids. Raising his glass high, Gordon looked at the three women around him in the lounge.

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“To my fiancée, Jeanne Marie Céleste D’Orléans, and to happiness!”

“Cheers!” replied the women before sipping from their glasses. Clara then timidly looked at Gordon.

“When are you going to announce your engagement to your parents, sir?”

“Saturday, at the reception thrown at the family estate. Before, though, me and Jeanne are going to make a short trip to Paris: Jeanne has business to take care of there.”

“Paris!” said Judith dreamily. “How I would love to see and visit it.”

“You will have your chance soon, Judith.” replied Jeanne, smiling with malice at the maid.

19:58 (Paris Time)

Wednesday, March 15, 1854

Hôtel de Brinvilliers, 12 Rue Charles-V

Paris, France

“What a trip!” sighed Judith as she stepped out of the coach with Gordon’s help. “Thomas’ carriage to Dover, a boat trip across the Channel, then this coach ride from Calais. My bum feels like stone.”

“I’m sure that you could find yourself a nice Frenchman to massage feelings back into your bum, Judith.” said jokingly Jeanne. The young maid, wearing her best dress for this trip, smiled but did not reply to that: while pretty and still only 21 years old, she had been raised by strict, conservative parents and had not slept with a man yet. Looking up at the beige stone façade of the building in front of which their coach had stopped, she examined the two story residence quickly. It occupied half of a block and had a wide arched entrance gate meant to accommodate horses and carriages and that gave access to a private courtyard. As soon as their luggage was unloaded from the coach, Jeanne led Gordon and Judith to the large carriage gate giving on the street. Taking out her set of keys, she had to try three keys before getting the good one and unlocking the pedestrian door in the carriage gate. Bringing their luggage with them inside the tunnel leading to the inner courtyard, Jeanne unlocked a side door that gave on the tunnel. The trio stepped inside a wide entrance lobby with cream-colored walls and a large curved staircase with forged hand railing. Two lit oil lamps illuminated the lobby, telling Jeanne that someone was in the building.

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“Y a t’il quelqu’un15?” She called in French. After a few seconds, they heard light footsteps upstairs and a tiny young oriental woman then appeared at the railing at the top of the staircase. She smiled at the sight of Jeanne and spoke a few words in a language Gordon had never heard before. Jeanne hesitated for a moment, then replied in the same language. As both women engaged in an animated conversation, Gordon examined with curiosity the newcomer. She looked very young indeed, probably no more than twenty years old, and stood at most five feet tall. Her slim, graceful body was enhanced by a long, beautifully embroidered red and gold silk dress which earned an admiring look from Judith. She had long, silky black hair that went down to her waist and a tiny nose that enhanced her youthfulness. Overall, Gordon found her beautiful. Jeanne then turned sideways to look at him and Judith.

“Gordon, Judith, this is Li Mai, my personal assistant. Unfortunately she speaks only French and Chinese, so I will have to play translator between you. Please follow her to the bedrooms, so that we can drop our luggage.”

Gordon closed back the main entrance door before grabbing his two suitcases and climbing the curved staircase behind Judith, Jeanne and Li Mai. Once on the upper floor, they followed a hallway lined with doors that made a ninety degree turn after fifty feet. Li Mai finally stopped and opened a door, speaking briefly to Jeanne in Chinese, who in turn spoke to Judith in English.

“This will be your room during your stay, Judith. Just drop your bags and take off your overcoat, then we will tour the rest of the residence with Li Mai.” Judith did as told, entering a fair-sized bedroom that was very comfortably furnished. Li Mai lit an oil lamp for her while she took off her wool overcoat and hung it inside a closet. Then following the Chinese girl and Jeanne, who kept translating Li Mai’s words in English, she and Gordon toured the upper floor, which had a high ceiling that further enhanced the impression of spaciousness of the residence. The place, while not extravagant in terms of luxury like some of the British manors Judith had seen, looked and felt very comfortable, with thick carpets, tapestries and well-padded furniture everywhere. It also had a strong historical flavor, being decorated with innumerable pieces of antique weapons, armor, furniture and artwork. Jeanne’s bedroom, apart from being quite large, made Gordon and Judith feel like they had been thrown back to the Middle Ages, with its canopy bed, large fireplace and medieval style furniture. In

15 Y a t’il quelqu’un? Is there anybody?

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contrast, the private study was furnished with magnificently sculpted lacquered wood Chinese furniture and decorated with ancient pieces of oriental artwork and weapons. As for the main lounge, where Jeanne finally invited Gordon and Judith to sit with her and Li Mai, it had the looks of an ancient Persian palace lounge. Going to an antique sword hanging above a fireplace, Gordon passed a hand on it, admiring its leaf-shaped bronze blade.

“How old would be this sword, Jeanne?”

She approached him and gave a quick look at the weapon.

“Greek, Achaean Period. Probably dates from the Fourteenth or Fifteenth Century before Christ. The age and good condition of this blade would make it nearly priceless.”

Gordon gave her an awed look.

“Then you really must be an archaeologist to own such a piece.”

“It seems so.” she replied in a subdued voice while looking around her. “I see here antiques that most museums would kill to get their hands on them. Take that Egyptian bronze hand mirror over there: it must be over 3,000 years old. That little clay cylinder on that shelf is a Sumerian seal and is probably even older than the Egyptian mirror. The funny thing is that I feel completely at home around those pieces of antiques, as if I lived with them all my life.”

“Talking of home, do you have only a single servant for such a large residence?”

“Uh, let me ask Li Mai about that.”

After a lengthy exchange with the Chinese girl, Jeanne faced back Gordon and Judith.

“It seems that I gave a few days off to my other employees. According to Li Mai, I help a lot with house chores…when I’m not traveling, which seems to be often. I also help serve my guests when I throw private receptions and discussions for intellectuals, artists and scientists.”

Gordon nodded in appreciation at that: Jeanne had more than proven by now that she was a very intelligent and extremely well educated woman. She was also very liberal-thinking by any standards. She was definitely a far cry from the often empty-headed snobs which seem to populate much of the British aristocracy. Gordon then eyed the young Chinese woman, who was sitting on large Persian cushions.

“And your Li Mai, how did you find her?”

Jeanne had to ask the maid again, translating her story as Li Mai spoke.

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“Li Mai is an orphan who was picked up at a young age by French missionaries in Beijing, in Northern China, and educated by them. A French Army captain fell in love with her when she was fourteen and married her. He brought her with him back to France but died shortly thereafter of cholera, leaving Mai alone and desperate. I found her begging in the streets five years ago, the target of pimps and abusers, and helped her by offering her a job as my personal assistant. It seems that I trained her to be a hostess for my guests, who apparently love the exotic touch she brings to my receptions. Talking of reception, how about a little snack and drink after this long trip?”

“That sounds like a good idea, Jeanne.”

“Good! Let’s find the kitchen, then.”

The four of them then walked out of the main lounge, stepping into an adjacent dining room through a connecting French double door. Despite being used to work in the quite luxurious surroundings of the Smythes’ home, Judith opened her mouth in admiration at the sight of the fine China and crystal ware displayed in glass shelving units around a large dining table made of polished and sculpted mahogany wood. Going down to the kitchen, which was connected to the dining room by a wooden staircase, they found it quite large, with both a large fireplace, a bakery oven and a wood stove. The kitchen was impeccably clean, sporting stainless steel kitchen ware and marble top counters. It also contained a small table for informal meals, around which Gordon and Judith sat while Jeanne and Li Mai prepared a frugal assortment of bread, cheese, pickled fish and dry sausages. Judith was stunned to see Li Mai sit with them afterwards. Her facial expression prompted a smile and an explanation from Jeanne.

“This may look most unusual to have my servant eat with me but I am a very democratic woman. To me, everyone is equal, without regards to race, sex, social status or religion.”

“I remember that Sir Maple told us that many in the high society of London supposedly call you a socialist revolutionary and a mad visionary.” said Gordon while pouring himself a cup of red wine. “You truly seem to honor those terms, Jeanne, not that it bothers me, though.”

“Thank you, Gordon. You are indeed a tolerant and comprehending man, the way I like them.”

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Gordon smiled at that, having seen her wink to him. Li Mai then said something to Jeanne, prompting a quiet exchange between the two of them. Jeanne finally looked back at Gordon and Judith to explain what had been said.

“Li Mai told me that, apart from my domestic day staff, employees of my charitable work foundation work out of an office suite on the ground floor of this residence. I also have a personal mount in the stables opening on the inner courtyard, along with two more horses for my carriage.”

“Could I go see those horses after this?” asked Gordon, who had a keen interest in horses, as was fitting for a cavalry officer. Jeanne smiled and nodded.

“I also would want to see them, as my amnesia left me with no souvenirs of them and as I also love horses. That will also give us an excuse to finish touring my residence.”

After chatting and eating together for twenty minutes, Jeanne helped Li Mai put away the leftovers and clean the dishes, prompting Judith into helping them. They then left the kitchen, guided by Li Mai, who first showed them the offices used by the D’Orléans Social Foundation. Jeanne took some time there to review the papers in the ‘in’ and ‘out’ baskets on the desk of the executive secretary, in order to acquaint herself with the latest business handled by her foundation.

“I will decidedly have to have a serious chat with this Mister Jacques Leblanc. I hate to be ignorant of what my foundation does when so much people are touched by its good works. Just from those papers here, it appears that my foundation is supporting in Paris a school for poor girls, two orphanages and a shelter for abused women. I also see a transfer of funds to cover the buying last month of shares of the Minié Company.”

“The Minié Company?” said Gordon, surprised. “But that’s the company which provides the new ammunition for the rifles of the British Army.”

“It also provides the bullets for the French Army as well.” added Jeanne, thoughtful. “If what I believe about the Crimean War is correct, that company is going to make a fortune by providing ammunition for the French and British armies during that war.”

“And so will you, by buying in advance shares of that company.” said Gordon, somber. “And your foundation bought these shares before England and France became implicated politically in that war. Your visions of the future apparently helped you become rich.”

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“I do not use my fortune for my own benefit, Gordon, and you know it.” protested Jeanne, raising her voice. “You know what kind of living standard I could be enjoying with the money I have? Hell, I could have a palace the size of Versailles if I wanted to. Yes, I do not live like a pauper either but part of the success of my foundation depends on maintaining social and political contacts at various levels and I thus have to maintain a minimum level of social decorum. If some good can be done out of that war, which I can’t stop or prevent, then I will do it.”

“Jeanne,” said softly Gordon, “don’t take me wrong. I am not blaming you for how you make your money or how you spend it. In fact, I approve of it. Let’s forget this financial business for the moment and let’s visit the stables.”

“You’re right.” said Jeanne, sighing. “Not remembering anything about myself and what I did in the past is really annoying and irritating me.”

“No wonder!”

Locking back herself the door to the office suite, Jeanne then collected a lit oil lamp and followed Li Mai outside to the three large carriage entrance doors opening on the inner courtyard, Gordon and Judith behind them. Entering the first one through a small door set in the large double doors, they found that garage occupied by a carriage parked in it, with various spare harnesses and carriage parts stored in it as well. Gordon noticed at once the unusual design of the carriage. While the passenger cabin of the carriage was luxurious and comfortable, as expected from the carriage of a rich lady, the structure and suspension system were nothing like Gordon had seen before. Instead of the leaf spring suspension common on carriages everywhere, this carriage had coil spring suspensions on all of its four wheels. Furthermore, each wheel was attached to one of four independent half axles. The main structure was also based on a metallic tubular chassis supporting a lightweight shell. Gordon scratched his head on seeing that.

“This is the strangest carriage I have seen yet, Jeanne. I suppose that you had something to do with its design, since you have visions of strange mechanical things.”

“You are probably right, Gordon.” said Jeanne while examining a small plaque screwed to the chassis of the carriage. “I see here that this carriage was built here in Paris by a local carriage shop. I will have to visit it soon to find out the story about it.” They then used an inside door connecting the garage with the next one, finding two horses occupying stalls well provisioned with hay, grain and water. Li Mai spoke briefly in French with Jeanne, who then translated for Gordon and Judith.

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“Li Mai says that these are the horses for my carriage. Their names are Clémentine and Hercule.”

“Hello, Hercule.” said Gordon, caressing the head of the stallion near him. It was a healthy and strong Arabian horse, like the mare in the other stall. Both horses seemed quiet and docile animals and obviously enjoyed the attention. Jeanne and the others next went into the third and last garage, again using an internal connecting door. That garage housed one brown horse and a small, two-seater buggy. The buggy was as unusual as the larger carriage in the first garage and also used coil spring independent suspensions and tubular chassis construction. The big brown mare occupying the stall next to the buggy watched them quietly as Jeanne, Li Mai, Gordon and Judith examined the buggy. Gordon found the buggy surprisingly light, being able to lift one side with little effort.

“I decidedly like this design. Being this light, it must be quite fast and maneuverable.”

Gordon next went to the mare, who eyed him quietly as he caressed her head.

“And what is the name of that beauty, Jeanne?”

Li Mai again answered through Jeanne.

“Pegasus. It is my personal horse. Li Mai says that she is a very intelligent animal.”

“She appears so.” agreed Gordon while passing a hand on the right side of the horse. Jeanne, standing close to the head of the mare, saw that the animal was staring at her insistently and caressed its forehead.

“Hello, Pegasus. We will have to reacquaint with each other soon. You will have to excuse me if I don’t remember you.”

The horse raised its head at those words, as if it had understood her. Intrigued, Jeanne looked into the animal’s eyes.

“You seem to be a bright beast indeed, Pegasus. It shall be a pleasure to ride you again.”

Gordon then came to her, a smile on his face.

“Well, this was certainly interesting, especially your carriage and buggy. Shall we continue the tour of the ground level of your residence?”

“By all means! Let me ask Li Mai about what is left to see.” She conversed in French with the Chinese woman for a short while before looking back at Gordon.

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“There are still my personal exercise room and a small workshop used by my handyman to see. My exercise room is supposedly well equipped and quite spacious.”

“Let’s see it then!” said Gordon enthusiastically. With Li Mai again leading the way, the four persons left the garage, watched by Pegasus. A few seconds after the door of the garaged had closed, the horse silently floated up a foot from the ground, then disappeared in a brief flash of white light.

15:08 (New Zealand Time)

July 9, 2980 B.C.E.

Main residential tower, main Time Patrol base

Future site of Auckland, New Zealand

Rina Tonen ‘B’, on duty as the officer in charge of the space-time transit hall, was not a little alarmed to see a brown robotic horse appear alone on arrival pad number six: robotic horses were programmed to jump space-time with the agents they were assigned to and did otherwise only in case of emergencies. Running from her control desk to the horse, the giant ex-Imperium woman gave it a short, concise order.

“Identify and report!”

“Robotic mount Pegasus, assigned to field agent Nancy Laplante ‘B’. I just arrived from March 15, 1854 Paris. Nancy ‘B’ returned from a solo trip to London in an apparent state of amnesia and accompanied by two unknown British persons.”

“Amnesia?” said softly Rina, not liking this one bit. “How severe did that amnesia appear to you, Pegasus?”

“She didn’t remember me, her name or even the layout of her Paris residence. Her maid Li Mai had to guide her around. I attempted discreet radio contact with Nancy ‘B’, including on the emergency frequency, but got no answer. Her mental brainwaves showed some disturbances and anomalies. Physically she seemed in good state.”

“Damn! Alright, Pegasus, come to the control station and I will download your recorded data on your last encounter with Nancy ‘B’.”

The robotic horse trotted at once to the control station, where Rina Tonen connected Pegasus to her computer via an optical fiber cable she plugged in a hidden port inside its left ear. While the video, sound and mental wave data was copied into her computer, Rina called at once Mike Crawford, the chief of operations of the Time Patrol, to pass him the bad news: this definitely classified as a major emergency.

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22:19 (Paris Time)

Wednesday, March 15, 1854

Hôtel de Brinvilliers, 12 Rue Charles-V

Paris, France

Jeanne, about to go to bed for the night with Gordon, opened the closet of her bedroom to hang her dress but then froze: the closet was nearly full of female clothes that seemed made to fit her. She burst out laughing, surprising Gordon, who was also undressing for the night.

“What? What do you find funny, Jeanne?”

“My clothes! I am having Mister Meir make five dresses in a hurry for me in London and I have here a closet full of dresses and other clothes. Let’s see what I have in here.”

Sifting through the closet, she selected and took out a few dresses and items of clothing so that Gordon could see them, putting them on the bed. Jeanne suddenly shouted triumphantly and pulled out of the closet a magnificent sky blue ball dress studded with pearls, holding it against her and smiling at Gordon.

“Do you think that this would do for your parents’ reception on Saturday?”

“Do? My dear Jeanne, you will be sensational in this.” said Gordon, sincere. Grinning at his response, she laid the ball dress on the bed, then kept foraging through the closet. At one point she frowned and took out a red dress with pleated skirt, examining the bottom part.

“What is this? It looks like a normal dress but the skirt is split in two at crotch level to form a sort of trousers with wide legs.”

“I don’t know, but it should be perfect for you to ride.” said Gordon without thinking. His words made a sudden look of revelation dawn on her face.

“A riding dress! Of course! I would still look like a proper lady but wouldn’t need to use that stupid Amazon riding position. I wonder if I was the one who came out with this design.”

“You probably did, Jeanne. It is an ingenious idea indeed.”

“Thank you, my love! I see in there five more riding dresses, so I must ride quite regularly.”

She then gave a malicious look at Gordon, who was now down to his shorts.

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“Talking of riding, I have some projects involving you tonight, Gordon.”

23:52 (Paris Time)

Master bathroom

Hôtel de Brinvilliers

After a last bought of cuddling and lovemaking with Gordon, Jeanne left the master bedroom to go into its adjacent bathroom, while Gordon went to sleep, utterly burned out but happy. The moment that Jeanne, wearing a bathrobe, closed the door of the bathroom behind her, a small cylindrical object appeared in the air close to Nancy and glued itself to her belly. Before Nancy could react, a brief white flash of light enveloped her and she suddenly found herself inside what appeared to be some kind of metallic compartment. The moment that she appeared, a man wearing a sort of gray uniform approached her slowly, both of his hands up.

“Don’t panic! We are friends of yours. Your true name is Nancy Laplante and you are one of us.”

Jeanne looked quickly around her at first, her eyes stopping briefly on the two bald, giant women standing a few paces away with a young redhead woman and a tall, powerful man. She then looked with suspicion at the man who approached her.

“How the hell did you get me here? What is this place anyway?”

“This,” said one of the two bald giant women while stepping forward, “is the Time Patrol scoutship TEEN TEAM 2, commanded by your friend Ingrid Weiss here. Nancy, you are one of our field agents, sent to this century under a false identity to study in detail this time period. My name is Farah Tolkonen, Chief Administrator of the Time Patrol. To my right are Mike Crawford and Miri Goshenk and the man facing you is Fernand Brunet, your direct superior and assault squad leader in the Time Patrol.”

“The…the Time Patrol?” said hesitantly Nancy, making Farah nod once.

“Yes! Nancy, what I will tell you now may hurt you in view of the love you showed towards the man you call Gordon: you have already two children, both boys. One is your natural son from the famous musketeer d’Artagnan, with whom you are still in love, while your second son was adopted by you in Ville-Marie in 1655.” Nancy was frozen by those words for a moment, then slowly sat on the deck, sobbing.

“No! It can’t be! I love Gordon and want to marry him.”

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That was when Miri Goshenk hurried to her, kneeling in front of her and gently taking hold of her hands while speaking softly.

“Nancy, you still can love Gordon if you want to. You just need to know that others love you deeply too. I will help you remember them all again.” A flash of white light then enveloped the whole cargo bay for a fraction of a second without causing any apparent effect on its occupants, except for making Nancy tense up and look around her.

“What was that?”

“That was our scoutship jumping space-time back to our main base, Nancy. Once…”

“YOU ARE TAKING ME AWAY FROM GORDON?” shouted at once Nancy in an angry voice while jumping on her feet. She then grabbed Miri’s uniform collar. Before she could do more, a yellow stun beam from Fernand Brunet’s pistol struck her, making her stagger on her feet. Nancy surprised Fernand by showing enough remaining stamina to start charging him, forcing him in shooting her a second time. Nancy then collapsed at his feet, knocked out. Fernand looked down at her, shaken by her fierce reaction.

“Hell, she must really love that guy madly. You saw how she reacted at once when she understood that we were taking her away from Paris?” Miri, also shaken by Nancy’s reaction, nodded sadly.

“Yes, and it won’t make her recovery easier, I can tell you right now. Do we really have the right to deny her this love?”

“And what about the love of her sons Charles and James for her, and that of d’Artagnan?” replied Farah. “Poor girl! She will find herself in an impossible situation.”

“So, what do we do now with her?” asked meekly Ingrid Weiss, hurt by the plight of her friend. “All this was probably through no fault of hers.”

“I know.” said Farah, sounding discouraged. “Miri will have to do her best with her. We can only hope that Nancy will recover completely from her amnesia.”

“But what will happen of that Gordon, Farah?” Insisted Ingrid. “He will be undoubtedly hurt and upset if Nancy tells him afterward that they can’t continue their romance because she already has two sons. You know how strict the social

conventions are in the England of the 19th Century.”

“We will find a way to reconcile all of this.” said Farah, sounding more wishful than certain. “We have to.”

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08:02 (Paris Time)

Thursday, March 16, 1854

Hôtel de Brinvilliers, Paris

The Sun was well up when Gordon woke up in Jeanne’s big bed. His first move then was to extend an arm, intent on caressing Jeanne, but his hand found the place besides him empty. Fully opening his eyes and looking around the bedroom, he then saw that Jeanne, wearing a bathrobe, was sitting at her private desk, a letter in her hands. The weak smile she did on seeing that he was awake alarmed Gordon, who jumped out of bed at once and went to her, kneeling in front of her.

“Is something wrong, Jeanne?”

Nancy, having returned a few hours earlier from seven months of medical treatment and rehabilitation and now in full possession of her past memories, felt her heart falter for a moment. She still loved very much that handsome and kind man who had saved her but she was going to be forced to deceive him and lie to him. The only permissible way out of her dilemma for her if she wanted to still love him was for her to live a secret triple life: one here in the 19th Century with Gordon; another in the 17th Century with d’Artagnan, with her playing the role of the Marquess of Saint-Laurent; and a third as Nancy Laplante ‘B’, field agent of the Time Patrol and single mother for two young boys. Gordon was however a man well worth the extra effort. Farah Tolkonen had also seen the practical side of this and had bombarded Nancy as the specialist field agent of the Time Patrol for the 19th Century, apart from being already the designated specialist agent for the 17th Century. That had made Nancy wonder only half-jokingly when she would also have to find another man to love in the 18th Century and become specialist agent for that century as well. Looking down into Gordon’s eyes and gently grabbing his hands, she spoke softly to him after shaking her head.

“Nothing is wrong, Gordon. My memories returned during the night, probably because the familiar setting of my residence stimulated souvenirs in me. Only a few small details are still fuzzy now.”

“But that’s great!” said Gordon, sincerely happy for her. “So, what do you remember now?”

“My life as Jeanne D’Orléans.” lied Nancy. “I now know for certain that I am not married and that I am free to marry you if you still want me.”

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“Want you? Jeanne, I wish for no other woman than you to be in my life.” Those passionate words brought tears to Jeanne’s eyes, who kissed Gordon tenderly on the lips and then smiled.

“And I want to continue living with you, Gordon, on one condition.”

“And which one would that be?” asked Gordon, a bit apprehensive.

“That, when we marry, you sign a clause in our marriage contract stating that you renounce any legal control on my fortune and possessions. I want to be able to continue administering my charity foundation as I wish and to keep my main residence in Paris. In exchange, I am ready to provide you with a sizeable dowry on marrying you.”

“Jeanne, I wish to marry you because I love you, not because I want your money. I also believe that the work of your foundation is worth continuing and even expanding.” His answer got him another kiss.

“Thank you, Gordon. You are all that a woman could hope for. Let’s wash up and dress, then we will go have breakfast.”

“And what do you have planned for the rest of the day?”

“I will review the business of my foundation with my employees, then we will go together tour a bit Paris. I suppose that we will have to take the boat back to England tomorrow, so that we are able to be in time for your parents’ reception on Saturday.”

“Right! I’m going to shave now. I won’t be long.”

Gordon was effectively cleaned up, shaved and dressed in less than half an hour. With himself wearing a flannel suit and Jeanne wearing a nice blue city dress made of fine wool, the couple went to the dining room to have breakfast. To Gordon’s surprise, apart from meeting there Judith, who was already munching on muffins and bacon, he found nine young children already sitting around the big mahogany table and eating with gusto their eggs, bacon and croissants.

“Good morning, Jeanne!” chanted in unison in French the children, making Jeanne grin.

“Good morning, children! This is Gordon, a good friend from England. He doesn’t speak French, so you will have to talk to him through me. Everything is alright here?”

“Yes, Jeanne!” answered cheerfully the oldest child, a black girl of maybe ten years of age. Jeanne then looked at Gordon and spoke in English as she took a seat beside him.

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“These are the children of a few of my female employees. They eat and study here while their mothers work. That way they are not left alone at home and their mothers can work without worrying about them. I employ two female teachers just for them and for a few other children selected for their special needs.”

“Jeanne, you must have the heart of an angel.” said Gordon, making her smile weakly.

“No, I simply do what others should have done if they had placed the good of others ahead of their greed and selfishness.”

A young Arabic woman then came out of the kitchen and brought a tray with pots of coffee and tea, along with cups, cream and sugar. Jeanne spoke briefly to her in French before looking back at Gordon.

“This is Leila Benchetrit, my assistant cook. She is from Algeria. We have eggs, bacon, sausage, ham, sautéed potatoes, croissants, muffins, cheese, jam and butter available for breakfast. What would you like?”

“Uh, that’s quite a selection. I will have two eggs over easy with bacon, potatoes, croissants and jam.”

Leila took as well Jeanne’s order, then returned into the kitchen after chiding in Arabic a little girl who was playing with her toasts. Gordon watched the whole scene with amusement while sipping on his cup of tea: Jeanne’s daily routine seemed quite lively to him already.

His food and that of Jeanne was served in less than ten minutes by Leila, by which time two women came to collect the nine children to bring them to their respective classrooms. The couple ate while chatting quietly about Paris in general and Jeanne’s social foundation in particular. What Jeanne told him impressed Gordon to no little degree: if she was to be believed, she held stock shares in many of the most profitable and promising commercial and industrial ventures in both Europe and the United States. In turn, much of the profits from her portfolio of stocks were used either to buy more promising shares and bonds, or financed a multitude of charitable and social help organizations, mostly on an anonymous basis. Gordon, remembering the awful

conditions he had seen in Tower Hamlets when they had taken Elizabeth Hatfield out of her life of abject poverty, felt guilt as he realized how much social abuse was hidden behind the façade of industrial and commercial prosperity in England. Worse for him was the fact that he belonged to the same privileged class which benefited from the

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cheap labor of so many people. He however could tell himself in good conscience that he had always treated his own employees with generosity and fairness, while he believed himself to be a competent officer who truly cared for his soldiers. In contrast, too many aristocrats had bought at high prices their officers’ commissions and had proved to be utterly incompetent in the business of war, apart from treating their men little better than slaves. Gordon then saw the look of near awe Judith was giving to Jeanne. The young maid was obviously struck by her revolutionary ideas and practices, which would be surely considered politically dangerous by many aristocrats and politicians in England. That made Gordon ponder how his own parents would react on learning about Jeanne’s social activities. His father, Sir Charles Smythe, was a major shareholder of the East India Company and of a few other companies and was quite rich, even though his fortune paled compared to that of Jeanne. Gordon however honestly believed his father to be a good, generous man who simply had a good flair for business. He would thus probably approve of the charity work done by Jeanne. As for his mother, Lady Carmelia, things were a bit more complicated. While a good-natured woman, she was also a lot more class-conscious than her husband and could be at times unnerving with her snobbishness. She was also politically quite conservative, thus putting her in a direct collision course with Jeanne’s socialist ideas. Gordon finally decided to keep discreet with his parents about the full extent of Jeanne’s social work.

Once they were finished eating, Jeanne and Gordon, followed timidly by Judith, went downstairs to the office suite used by the employees of the D’Orléans Foundation. There, Gordon was presented first to Jeanne’s executive secretary, a mature man named Jacques Leblanc with whom he felt at ease at once, then to the two female secretaries present. On Jeanne’s demand, Jacques Leblanc reviewed his current dossiers with her and Gordon, spending a good hour to do so. That hour was enough to sink into Gordon the true extent of Jeanne’s charitable work and how readily she spent most of her fortune on it. Jeanne’s business and administrative savvy also struck him, while an overwhelmed Judith could only listen on in awed silence. Gordon couldn’t help think that his father would love talking business with Jeanne, knowledgeable businesswomen being truly a rarity in England. Jeanne’s beauty of course would add to that enjoyment. Once she was satisfied that she was fully up to speed with her affairs and had given precise directives to Jacques Leblanc, Jeanne got up from her chair and smiled to Gordon and Judith.

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“Well, enough about business! Since we will have to leave for England early tomorrow, I better use the limited time left to us here to show you Paris. This will be a good pretext to take out my carriage and exercise my horses a bit.”

17:08 (London Time)

Saturday, March 18, 1854

The Smythe’s Manor

Twickenham, 8 miles west of London

England

Sir Charles Smythe looked again nervously at his pocket watch while standing under the porch of his three-story brick manor: nearly all of his guests had arrived and his son had yet to show up. Carmelia, who had been greeting guests inside, joined him briefly outside, obviously getting worried.

“Any sign of Gordon yet?” she inquired while looking down the manor’s access road through the light rain and growing darkness. Her husband shook his head in irritation.

“No, and he will hear me whenever he shows up.”

“Don’t be too harsh on him, dear. Maybe the rain delayed him.”

“With yesterday’s storm I would have understood, but he will prove a poor cavalry officer indeed if such a light pour as the actual one can delay him.” fumed Sir Charles. Carmelia gave him a cautious glance before going back inside, leaving him and two foot servants under the porch. After another ten minutes, Sir Charles was ready to give up on Gordon when he saw a carriage turn on the access road, closely followed by a second one. To his hidden disappointment, the first carriage disgorged three French aristocrats living nearby in self-exile since the 1848 proclamation of the Republic in France. Out of the second carriage came the Earl of Cardigan. Knowing the quarrelsome nature of his last guess, Sir Charles greeted his French guests as quickly as good manners permitted, then faced the earl, shaking his hand vigorously.

“Aah, my good Lord Cardigan! How nice to see you in such splendid shape. Your presence at this reception truly honors me, sir.”

“How could I refuse an invitation from such an illustrious man as you, Sir Charles?” replied with satisfaction the major general, flattered. Sir Charles made a forced smile then: he had in reality little regard for that pompous incompetent but the

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man was after all Gordon’s brigade commander and had to be treated according to his rank, even if that said rank had been purchased instead of earned.

“Thank you again for coming, Lord Cardigan. Please come inside so as to escape this cold rain.”

“With pleasure, Sir Charles.”

The cavalry officer, escorted by a foot servant holding an umbrella, then entered the manor, leaving Sir Charles still waiting for his son outside.

Another carriage turned on the access road as the two previous carriages, now empty of passengers, rolled towards the stables. To his relief, Sir Charles soon recognized Thomas, Gordon’s foot servant, at the reins of the incoming carriage. His son, decked in his best uniform, jumped out as soon as the carriage came to a stop, then held the door open to let a tall young woman come out. Sir Charles forgot the recriminations he had saved for his son as soon as he could detail the young woman, who wore a splendid, pearl-studded blue ball dress and a fabulous set of jewels. Nearly as tall as Gordon, her face reflected both intelligence and strength of character, apart from being beautiful. While a foot servant held an umbrella over her, Gordon happily presented her to his father, holding her left hand as he spoke.

“Father, this is my fiancée, Lady Jeanne D’Orléans. Jeanne, this is my dear father, Sir Charles Smythe.”

“I am truly pleased to meet you, Lady Jeanne.” said Charles while kissing her right hand. “I…”

What Gordon had said then fully registered.

“Did you say that she is your fiancée? And how come you know her full name? Does she remember her past now?”

“I will be happy to explain everything to you, Father.” replied patiently Gordon. “Could we get out of the rain first?”

“Uh, of course!”

Letting the couple pass first, Sir Charles followed them inside, where servants took their dripping coats from them. Taking off his coat as well and giving it to a servant, Charles detailed with growing admiration Lady Jeanne. Her ball dress exposed her shoulders and had a deep cleavage which enhanced her firm, generous chest. Taking his eyes off her chest with difficulty, Charles eyed discreetly the jewels she wore. The matching set of diamond and emerald tiara, necklace, earrings, broche and bracelets was probably

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worth more than the Smythe’s Manor and would have been worthy of being worn by Queen Victoria herself. Standing besides Gordon, she truly looked like a princess or even a queen.

“My God, Lady Jeanne, you are truly…royal!”

“Thank you, Sir Charles.” she said in a clear, agreeable voice while curtsying. “Please call me simply Jeanne.”

“Then Jeanne it will be.”

Charles then faced Gordon.

“So, how about a few explanations, my son?”

“I will be too happy to comply, Father. Our big luck came when we went together to the Midland Bank to open an account. It turned out that Jeanne, who was recognized by one of the bank clerks as well as by the director, already had a fat account there. We found as well in her bank safety deposit box her French passport, as well as her Paris bank account book. We then decided on a short trip to Paris in order to visit her residence there. Fortunately, the sights inside her home helped Jeanne remember fully who she was. She is actually a philanthropist and a generous contributor to a number of charitable works, both on the continent and in England. By the way, I’m really sorry for arriving so late: yesterday’s storm delayed our passage back to England.” Charles patted the shoulder of his son, smiling.

“That’s not important, Son. Let’s announce the good news to your mother.” Sir Charles then whispered a few words to his majordomo, standing at the entrance to the main lounge. The man then knocked the tip of his cane three times on the floor and shouted as Gordon and Jeanne entered the lounge, hand in arm.

“CAPTAIN GORDON SMYTHE AND LADY JEANNE D’ORLÉANS!” Sir Charles, a few paces behind the couple, saw his three French aristocrat guests look sharply at Jeanne when her name was announced. Their looks were not very friendly either. Deciding to clarify the matter without delay, he walked casually to the trio, letting Gordon guide Jeanne to Carmelia. The three French, a teenage boy, a mature woman and an old woman in her seventies, returned his bow as he stopped in front of them. Sir Charles faced the young Prince of Orléans, who didn’t possess much apart from his title now that the French monarchy was out of power.

“Pardon me, sir, but could I presume that Lady Jeanne is linked to your family?” The prince, trying without much success not to look with hostility at Jeanne, answered after a short hesitation.

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“She claims our family name through a distant cousin of mine who had an estate in the Guadeloupe. We first heard of her when my father received a letter from my cousin eight years ago, announcing in it that he had just married a young lady named Jeanne. Then, a year later, that woman arrived in France with the news that my cousin had died of a tropical fever and had left everything he owned to her. My father’s lawyers checked her claims thoroughly but she had unimpeachable documentation and even knew intimate details about my cousin.”

“So, what happened then?”

“What happened?” replied the young prince, getting agitated. “She used the money she got from my cousin, which should have come to my family, for various investments and speculations.”

“How did she do in that, sir?” asked Sir Charles, genuinely interested by now. The prince sighed and lowered his eyes.

“She actually proved to be a very shrewd speculator; I have to give her that. She may live rather modestly but we know that she is quite rich by now.”

“A woman wearing such jewels can’t be modest, Louis!” retorted the prince’s grandmother and ex-queen of France. Sir Charles managed not to call her the hypocrite she was and excused himself with the prince, bowing at the trio before leaving them to their champagne cups and appetizers. He found his wife Carmelia in conversation with Gordon and Jeanne in a corner of the lounge. She smiled happily at him as he approached.

“Charles, did you hear the good news?”

“I did, my dear: Gordon told me on arrival. Uh, just out of curiosity, Lady Jeanne, could I ask how much is your financial worth? You may make a good venture partner for improving our family assets.”

As an answer, Jeanne got close to him and whispered in his ear. Carmelia saw her husband’s face reflect utter surprise then.

“I…I see!” said Sir Charles with difficulty. Gordon then jumped into the conversation.

“Father, Mother, me and Jeanne have decided to get married before the end of this month. As we are of two different faiths, we intend to make it a civil marriage, with a simple ceremony at my London house. I would like to have your approval for this.” Sir Charles stared for a moment at Gordon and Jeanne as the couple held hands together, smiling. What he had heard of Jeanne up to now had favorably impressed him

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and she was certainly a beautiful woman. To have his son marry the richest woman in Europe, even if that fact was not public, would be positively fantastic. He was sure though that Gordon was not marrying her for her money.

“Gordon, this may be quite sudden but I will be delighted by such a marriage.”

“You chose well, my son.” added softly Carmelia before kissing in turn Gordon and Jeanne on the cheek. “I hope that you will stay after the reception?”

“We were in fact planning to stay for a day or two, if you don’t mind of course.” said Gordon.

“Stay as long as you want.” replied Sir Charles, grinning. “You did bring some luggage, I hope?”

“Our bags are in my carriage, Father.”

“Then I will get a couple of servants to bring them in. In the meantime, you may want to present your new fiancée to my guests and enjoy the reception.”

“Please, Sir Charles,” urged suddenly Jeanne as the host was about to walk away, “could you have a servant take out of my wicker chest a lyre and a lute I brought: I would like to play some music for your guests.”

“You play the lyre and the lute, my dear?” asked Carmelia, agreeably surprised. “You do have many talents indeed.”

“Thank you, Lady Carmelia.” said Jeanne, smiling modestly.

“She also sings like an angel…in a dozen or more languages.” added proudly Gordon, getting his parents’ eyes to widen.

“That I must see and hear!” exclaimed Sir Charles. “I will make sure that Jeanne gets her instruments.”

“And I will make sure in the meantime that our guests are being properly served.” added in turn Carmelia before leaving the young couple to themselves. Gordon then looked around the main lounge. There were about forty other guests, a few of them in military uniforms, mingling around the large room while servants circulated in the midst of them, bearing platters of drinks and appetizers. A four-man band sat in a corner, providing a soft background of classical music. Taking Jeanne’s hand, Gordon discreetly pointed at one of the uniformed guests.

“I believe that it would be appropriate for me to present you first to my brigade commander, Major General Lord Cardigan.”

To his surprise, her face hardened at the mention of Cardigan. She then whispered to Gordon while drilling the general with her eyes.

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“Do we really have to speak to that infatuated martinet, Gordon?”

“You know him, Jeanne?”

“Let’s say that his reputation is not exactly a shining one.” Looking at Cardigan, then back at Jeanne, Gordon sighed while gently pulling her by the hand.

“He may very well be a bad commander, Jeanne, but he is still my commander and a guest of my father. Could you be civil with him for a moment?”

“Alright, I will turn up my hypocrisy factor for this reception.”

“That’s my girl! By the way, he likes to be called ‘General’.”

“If you say so.” she replied, then pasting a smile on her face as they walked towards Lord Cardigan.

Cardigan was conversing with a fat baroness when Gordon and Jeanne stopped besides them. One look at Jeanne made him all but forget the plump aristocrat facing him. Quickly acknowledging Gordon’s presence, he then kissed Jeanne’s right hand.

“I see that the good captain has impeccable tastes, miss. Let me present myself: Major General James Thomas Brudenell, Earl of Cardigan.”

“Pleased to meet you, General.” said Jeanne as warmly as she could force herself to do. “I am Lady Jeanne D’Orléans, Gordon’s fiancée.” Lord Cardigan raised an eyebrow in interest then.

“Then I could hope to see you again, possibly at the Winchester Barracks, Lady Jeanne?”

“Maybe, my good general.”

“If you will excuse us now, sir,” cut in Gordon politely, “I have to present Jeanne to the other guests.”

“Of course, Captain. Please proceed.” replied amiably Lord Cardigan, kissing again Jeanne’s hand before the later faced the baroness nearby. After short

presentations with the aging woman, the couple went on towards another group of guests, with Gordon whispering as soon as they were away from Cardigan.

“You see! It wasn’t so bad after all.”

“Gordon, the man was pleasant because he is hoping to seduce me one day and bed me. He thinks that he is irresistible to women. Believe my female intuition on that.”

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Shrugging his shoulders at that, Gordon then guided Jeanne from guest to guest, exchanging presentations and pleasantries all the while. He whispered to her again when they approached the trio of French exiled aristocrats.

"Beware! This is Prince Philippe D’Orléans, Count of Paris, Head of the House of Orléans and grandson of the late King Louis-Philippe. Beside him are his mother, Princess Helena of Mecklenburg, and his grandmother and ex-Queen of France, Queen Marie-Amélie. From the way they are watching you approach; I would say that they don’t like you.”

The trio’s attitude was indeed frosty as Jeanne curtsied in front of Prince Philippe, while Gordon bowed his head politely.

“Your Highness, may I present my new fiancée, Lady Jeanne D’Orléans?” The young prince exchanged a quick glance with his mother and grandmother before looking up at the couple, as he was quite shorter.

“We already know Lady Jeanne well, sir. How long have you known her?”

“A whole week.” replied Gordon deadpan, making the French look severely at Jeanne. Princess Helena actually sneered at her.

“So, she is still a fast girl. It didn’t take her long either to seduce our cousin Pierre Alphonse in the Guadeloupe.”

Gordon repressed his anger with difficulty: this was not the first time that he met the D’Orléans and their snobbery was really starting to get on his nerves. He drilled Princess Helena with his eyes while answering in a cold voice.

“Your Highness, Jeanne conquered my heart by being the extremely intelligent, kind and caring woman she is. She doesn’t flaunt her fortune around and is dedicated to a number of charitable works. I also believe that she truly loves me as well and I intend to marry her by the end of this month.”

The trio of aristocrats stared at Gordon for a moment, taken aback by his forcefulness. Prince Philippe then nodded his head curtly.

“If this is your true feeling for her, sir, then I can only wish you happiness together.”

The three French then walked away to join a group of English aristocrats. Gordon gave Jeanne an apologetic smile.

“I’m sorry if they were disagreeable to you, my dear. No doubt that they will now spread nasty stories about you around them.”

“Well, I will have to prove them wrong publicly, I guess.”

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Jeanne’s eyes then caught sight of two tall men in foreign military uniforms talking with each other.

“That officer on the right, isn’t he wearing the uniform of a Russian imperial guard cuirassier?”

Gordon looked at her with unmitigated surprise at those words.

“You do know your military uniforms very well, Jeanne. Yes, Baron Koslov is a cuirassier officer and is the Russian military attaché in London. The one speaking with him is the Prussian military attaché, Colonel Franz Von Schwarz. Would you like to speak with them?”

“Absolutely!” she answered enthusiastically at once.

Wading through the guests, the couple soon stopped beside the two military attachés, who couldn’t help stare admiringly at Jeanne as she bowed to them, giving them a plunging view down her wide cleavage. Jeanne then surprised them by exchanging greetings in both Russian and German, making Gordon roll his eyes in dismay: if his count was right that made twenty languages in her incredible encyclopedia of knowledge and abilities. She then switched back to English for Gordon’s benefit.

“It is truly nice to see officers from different nations speaking amicably together instead of fighting each other. Peace is so much preferable to war.”

“You are right, Lady Jeanne.” replied Koslov. “While soldiers may cover themselves with glory, war too often brings ruin and misery to a country. I personally hope that the British crown and the Russian crown will be able to resolve their differences peacefully.”

“I hope so too fervently, Baron, even if I am not overly optimistic about the prospects of peace around the Black Sea. Would you mind telling me about yourself?”

“Not at all, Lady Jeanne!” replied the delighted Russian. The four of them were soon engaged in a group conversation which naturally veered towards military subjects and military history. Sir Charles, who was standing nearby with other guests, soon excused himself with them and discreetly joined Gordon’s group, listening with growing awe as Jeanne went head to head with Koslov in an animated but friendly discussion on the strategies and tactics of the battles of the Napoleonic invasion of Russia in 1812. More and more guests around them then caught on to the fact that Jeanne was talking like an expert soldier and started eyeing her with both surprise and misgivings. Sir Charles saw that and gently touched Jeanne’s arm.

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“Uh, I must congratulate you on your military knowledge, my dear Jeanne, but I believe that your musical instruments have been brought in and are waiting for you near the musicians. Would you like to play something for the other guests?” Jeanne, suddenly catching on to the fact that she was attracting the wrong kind of attention, grinned and nodded to Sir Charles.

“I would certainly love that, Sir Charles.”

After Jeanne excused herself with Koslov and Von Schwarz and as she made her way towards the small musical band sitting in a corner of the lounge, Gordon patted his father’s shoulder.

“Nice move, Father. Sometimes, Jeanne talks and acts much like a soldier and, while I don’t mind that, others may think that she is not a proper lady because of that.”

“Well, now we will see her feminine side…which should be quite nice indeed.”

“You have no idea, Father!” replied Gordon with a grin.

Jeanne first played her lyre, a small model that was actually more properly named a ‘bardic harp’ and could be played even when standing. Playing solo a melancholic tune on her harp, she started singing in the beautiful voice Gordon had quickly learned to admire and appreciate. Her words were however in some foreign language that, while sounding nice, was unknown to him and to the other guests. Her overall performance on her first tune however still attracted sincere applauses from the guests and from Sir Charles. Jeanne bowed at the applauses and smiled to the crowd around her.

“What I played was a very old Greek love song from 2,800 years ago. I will now use my lute to sing a French troubadour song of a more modern variety.” Switching instruments, she asked for some extra room around her, then started playing a fast, catchy tune while singing in French and dancing around. That performance made a grinning Baron Koslov clap his hands to accompany her singing and playing.

“By Saint Peter, this woman could bewitch any man!”

Jeanne apparently heard him and, at the end of her second tune, waved to him to join her.

“You can dance a good Cossack tune, Baron Koslov?”

“Of course I can!”

“Then accompany me here!”

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She then started playing a fiery Russian tune while dancing around. Gordon, like the others around him, opened his eyes wide when Jeanne, still playing her lute, crouched and started dancing by alternatively throwing up her legs forward, showing tremendous stamina and agility. Koslov made a meritorious effort to follow her but had to give up after a couple of minutes, out of breath and sweating heavily. Gordon gave him a glass of chilled champagne as the Russian officer rejoined the ranks of the spectators while Jeanne kept dancing, singing and playing around.

“Here! I believe that you need to refresh yourself, Baron.”

“Thank you, my good Gordon. I’m afraid that I am not as young as I believed. Your fiancée certainly is in top physical shape, apart from being an excellent musician, dancer and singer.”

“I have to say that she keeps surprising me every day.”

Gordon then saw the loving look Jeanne was giving him while giving her performance. Koslov saw it too and whispered to Gordon.

“You, sir, are one lucky man indeed!”

“Ain’t I!” replied Gordon enthusiastically, having eyes only for her.

17:41 (London Time)

Tuesday, March 28, 1854

14 Belgrave Square, London

“…and whoever has objections to this marriage, speak now or hold your peace forever.”

The judge looked briefly around the crowded lounge of the groom’s house and, seeing nobody with obvious qualms about the union, looked back at the couple facing him.

“I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss.” Cheers went up as Gordon and Jeanne, him in his best uniform and her in a custom-made white nuptial dress, passionately kissed each other. In the forefront of the onlookers was a relieved Sir Charles, holding the right hand of his wife, who was crying tears of joy. The bride’s gown had proved longer to make and fit than expected, due to Jeanne’s unusual size, a fact that had delayed the ceremony by two days and caused no ends of problems in rescheduling the invitations. To further sour things, this morning’s newspapers had announced that England was, along with France, declaring war against Russia, in defense of Turkey. Carmelia had cried then, knowing that her only child was

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probably going to go to war in a distant place. Now, Carmelia was crying at the sight of Gordon and Jeanne kissing. Moving forward, Sir Charles and Carmelia were the first to hug and kiss the newlyweds, then stepped aside to let the other guests do the same. Charles thought that at least the announcement of war with Russia was a good explanation why Baron Koslov would not attend the ceremony: Charles and Gordon would still have welcomed the military attaché but the Russian was probably busy packing up for home right now.

Sir Charles’ attention was suddenly attracted to a soldier in uniform being led in the lounge by Thomas. The man, wearing a Hussars uniform, looked unsure of what to do, so Charles went to him and addressed him discreetly.

“May we do something for you, Sergeant?”

“You may, sir.” replied the NCO16, also keeping his voice low. “I have urgent orders to pass to Captain Smythe but I seem to have arrived at a most inopportune moment.”

“Indeed, Sergeant, but orders are orders. Please follow me.”

“Thank you, sir!” said the grateful NCO before following Charles through the crowd of guests. Once face to face with Gordon, the sergeant stopped at rigid attention and saluted crisply.

“Sir!” he said in a loud voice as Gordon returned his salute. “I’m sorry to announce to you that your leave has been cut short on orders of Lord Paget. You are to report no later than sundown tomorrow at the Winchester Barracks, ready for field operations, sir!”

“Do you know why such orders were issued, Sergeant?”

“No, sir, but I know that the leaves in the whole army have been cancelled, sir.” Gordon then looked sadly at Jeanne, who was starting to fight off tears.

“It must be about Crimea. I’m sorry, Jeanne: I will have to leave early in the morning.”

The despondent Gordon then saw a flash in Jeanne’s eyes. Her face hardening with resolve, she took hold of his hands and spoke out loud in a firm voice.

“Gordon, I will not let you go alone. I will go too to Crimea if you are shipped there.”

16 NCO: Non-Commissioned Officer.

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“But, that could be dangerous!” protested Gordon. “You could get killed or contract a sickness.”

“I would much prefer die at your side than to wait in England while you risk your life daily over there, my love.”

Deeply touched by this, Sir Charles put one hand on her left shoulder.

“That was an answer worthy of a Smythe, Jeanne.”

He then looked firmly at Gordon as the guests around them nodded approvingly.

“Don’t leave her, my son. She deserves to be with you, all the way.” Gordon exchanged a tearful look with Jeanne and spoke in a strangled voice.

“Then we will live and die together, me and Jeanne.”

Cheers rose from the male guests as the newlyweds kissed each other again, while Carmelia and most of the other women present broke out in tears.

16:22 (London Time)

Wednesday, March 29, 1854

8th Hussars regimental barracks

Winchester, County of Hampshire

Southern England

“Sergeant-Major, I see Captain Smythe up the road, riding this way with a woman.”

Grabbing the regimental roster list, Regimental Sergeant-Major Sean O’Neil got out of the guard shack located at the entrance to the barracks complex, joining Private Harry Brooks by the side of the dirt road that led into the complex. Squinting his eyes from the sudden change of luminosity, the beefy RSM saw that Captain Smythe was effectively approaching at a trot, followed closely by a tall woman on a brown horse. What then caught his attention was the fact that the woman was sitting astride her horse and was not riding Amazon-style, as a proper lady should have done. He soon had a better look at her as the two riders stopped briefly in front of the guard shack. Coming to attention, O’Neil crisply saluted Captain Smythe, while Private Brooks presented arms with his rifled musket. The captain looked to be in his usual good spirits as he returned their salute.

“Good afternoon, Sergeant-Major O’Neil! I’m reporting back early from leave, as ordered. Do you have any directives or orders from Lord Paget for me?”

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“Yes sir! You are to report to his office on arrival, sir.”

O’Neil then glanced at the woman, who was dressed with a red jacket and a green skirt that curiously split in half, which permitted her to ride like a man without being indecent in the process. Her shapely body and beauty were going to attract many eyes around the barracks.

“May I ask who is the lady, sir?”

“By all means, Sergeant-Major!” replied Smythe, grinning. “This is my new wife, Lady Jeanne. Jeanne, this is Mister Sean O’Neil, our RSM.” To Sean’s delighted surprise, the woman then spoke in fluent Gaelic.

“Pleased to meet you, Mister O’Neil, or do you prefer to be called RSM?”

“Mister O’Neil will do just fine in your case, madam.” replied Sean, also in Gaelic. Gordon then exchanged another salute with O’Neil and rode towards the regimental headquarters, followed by Jeanne. Stopping and dismounting near the entrance to the headquarters, they both tied their horses to a pole before entering the three-story brick building. The lobby they entered was decorated with battle trophies and pieces of regimental mementos. Jeanne looked at the 8th Hussars regimental flag, bearing the embroidered names of the battles the regiment had fought, her face solemn.

“A proud, distinguished unit indeed.”

Gordon nodded his head proudly.

“And one I am proud to belong to. Lord Paget’s office is on the next floor up.” Leading the way, Gordon climbed the wooden staircase to the first floor and turned left, following a wide corridor for about twenty yards before stopping in front of an open door. The few NCOs and junior officers they met saluted Gordon before ogling Jeanne in her back. The lieutenant who served as the Aide De Camp to Lord Paget also gave her a quick admiring look before speaking briefly with Gordon, then going inside an adjacent office. The ADC soon came back out, letting Gordon in Lord Paget’s office while inviting Jeanne to sit and wait.

Lord Paget was a small, aging man with graying hair and a large moustache. Gordon knew that, despite his age and time in the service, the aristocrat had no experience of real war, having purchased his commission and successive ranks. He was however a mild-mannered gentleman, in contrast to Lord Cardigan, and greeted Gordon warmly.

“Aah, my good Smythe! Please, have a chair.”

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Taking the seat offered by his commander, Gordon sat rigidly as Paget went on.

“I’m dreadfully sorry to have had to cut your leave short, especially in view of your marriage, but Lord Raglan has ordered all leaves to be cancelled. He has also notified a number of army units, including our own, to be ready to depart for the Black Sea area.”

Gordon stiffened then: up to now, Jeanne’s predictions were decidedly proving to be flawless. That, along with her visions of advanced machines and weapons, kept raising gnawing questions about her in Gordon’s mind. While he loved her deeply and believed the feeling to be mutual, he was starting to wonder what her accidental amnesia may still be hiding from her mind. His few days at the Smythe’s Manor with her had

demonstrated to Gordon that Jeanne was not only thinking often like a professional soldier: she also had proven that she could shoot both pistols and rifles like a top marksman and also ride a horse as if she had been born in the saddle.

“Do you know when we could be leaving, sir?”

“Details are still sketchy, but I expect the regiment to sail within a month, maybe as soon as two weeks time. What I want from you, Captain, is to make sure that B Troop is ready in all respects for a military campaign around the Black Sea, and this as soon as possible.”

“B Troop will be ready, sir!” replied firmly Gordon, attracting a satisfied smile on Paget’s face.

“I know it will, Captain. Do you have any questions before you are dismissed?”

“Only one, sir. You know that, according to the Queen’s Regulations, about six wives per hundred men can accompany a unit in a campaign. My new wife, Lady Jeanne, desires to accompany me in the oncoming war and to serve as a field nurse and ambulance driver. I would be most obliged if you would permit her to do so.” Lord Paget stared at him for a moment, not a little surprised.

“But…that could be a most hard and grizzly job. Is she sure that she really wants to do this?”

“You can ask her personally, sir: she came with me and is waiting in the next office. As for her abilities and toughness, I can vouch that she would be most fit for the job, sir.”

“Then, I would very much like to speak with her, Captain.” said Paget before shouting towards his ADC’s office. “Lieutenant Campbell, please send the lady in!”

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The moment Jeanne stepped in, Gordon saw Paget’s face soften as he looked up and down her tall, fit frame.

“I am told that you wish to accompany this regiment as a field nurse and ambulance driver, madam. You do realize the dangers and hardships of such a position, I hope?”

“I do, sir!” she replied, coming to attention. “I have a good knowledge of medicine and first aid, am an excellent rider and know how to drive a wagon. I also know how to live in field conditions, sir.”

Her firm reply and stance seemed to impress Lord Paget, who nodded his head in appreciation.

“In that case, consider yourself on strength of this regiment as a field nurse as of today. Go see the regimental surgeon first, then visit the paymaster, so that he can put you in his books.”

“Thank you, sir! Your comprehension is much appreciated, sir.” said Jeanne, grinning. Paget then looked at Gordon.

“You are dismissed as well, Captain. You can escort your wife around for now. Be ready with a roster of the men fit for field duty in your troop by tomorrow morning.”

“Yes, sir!” shouted Gordon, shooting up from his chair and saluting. Lord Paget watched in amusement as both the captain and his wife did a simultaneous about turn and walked out single file at a regulation pace. Lady Jeanne Smythe promised to be a very interesting cat indeed.

Leading Jeanne out of the headquarters building, Gordon followed its eastern façade towards a small building that appeared to have been built as an afterthought. The nearer they got to it; it certainly looked neglected enough to Jeanne.

“This is the infirmary?” she said in a dismayed tone.

“What passes for one, unfortunately.” replied Gordon, embarrassed. “Funds for medical care are quite scarce and have been so for many years. The regiment, like the rest of the army, had to make do with very limited resources in nearly everything.” As they were about to enter the infirmary, Jeanne noticed that half of the windows were broken and were either boarded up or crudely covered with cardboard. She also nearly tripped on a broken step of the entrance’s wooden stairs.

“Well, I know now where to spend some of my fortune.”

“Wait!” replied Gordon, deadpan. “You haven’t seen all of it yet.”

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Once inside, Jeanne was able to see that the building was a near ruin, with rotting floor planks and ceiling beams and with whitewashed brick walls showing cracks. It was now evident to her that the so-called infirmary was nothing more than an old converted stable. Seeing her scandalized expression, Gordon led her straight to a small room next to the entrance, where they found a frail young man sitting on a rickety chair and reading a medical journal. Apart from a worn suit, the young man wore an overcoat to stay warm in the cold building, as the stove in one corner was empty. On seeing Gordon and Jeanne, the young man smiled timidly and rose from his chair, putting the journal he was reading down on it.

“Good afternoon miss, Captain Smythe. May I do something for you?” he said in a juvenile voice. He could not be much more than twenty years old and looked very shy and unassuming. Somehow, Jeanne took an immediate liking to him. Gordon then made the presentations.

“Doctor, this is my wife, Lady Jeanne. Jeanne, this is Hospital Assistant Thomas Farrell, of the Army Medical Department. He took his post here only a few months ago.”

“Fresh from medical school, I presume?” asked Jeanne while shaking hand with Farrell, who nodded his head.

“Correct, Lady Jeanne. I graduated from St-Thomas Hospital in December and immediately joined the army, hoping to travel around the World and see exotic places.” Farrell then swept his arms around, his face reflecting disillusion.

“Instead I got…this!”

Jeanne then patted the doctor’s shoulder, smiling in encouragement at him.

“Don’t despair, Mister Farrell: you are probably about to see lots of exotic places, apart from having your hands full of patients soon enough.”

“What do you mean, madam?”

Jeanne looked sharply at the surprised doctor and shook her head.

“Let me guess, Doctor: apart from getting little or no consideration, this regiment is treating you like a mushroom: that is they keep you in the dark and feed you shit.”

“That’s the story of my short military life, madam.” replied Farrell, smiling. “So, what is going on?”

“We are going to war against Russia and will depart for the Black Sea within a few weeks. The good news is that I am accompanying you as a field nurse and ambulance driver.”

His face reflecting joy, the young doctor looked at Gordon.

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“Does this mean that I can be rid of Mister Connors, Captain?”

“Aah, yes, Trooper Connors!” said Gordon, while Jeanne listened on, visibly confused.

“Who is this Trooper Connors, Doctor?”

“What passes as my medical orderly. Let me show you.” Leading the couple out of his office, the doctor crossed the hallway and entered a large, dilapidated room filled with a double row of shoddy beds, each supporting a straw mattress of dubious cleanliness. Two of the beds were occupied, one by a young soldier sporting a big cast around his left arm, the other by a bearded man sleeping and snoring like a bear. Doctor Farrell pointed at the snoring man.

“That’s Trooper Connors, madam.”

Walking quickly to Connors’ bed, Jeanne bent down and sniffed close to his face before straightening up, reprobation on her face.

“This man is drunk! Is he still on duty?”

“According to my watch he is, madam.”

Gordon was about to give a rough waking up to Connors when Jeanne preceded him by taking hold of the side of the drunk’s bed and violently toppling it. Connors, thrown on his face without warning, woke up with a startle and got up on shaky legs. His angry look changed to surprise at the sight of Jeanne, then to fear when he saw Gordon. Jeanne then once again took the initiative, planting herself in front of the trooper and shouting angrily at him.

“Don’t you have duties to perform, Trooper? This infirmary needs a good sweeping and mopping. Get to it!”

“Yes maam!” said the drunk, his eyes still foggy, before running out of the ward. While Farrell looked with awed surprise at Jeanne, Gordon had a hard time containing his laughter.

“By Jove, my dear! Should I expect this kind of treatment if I ever displease you?”

“You better believe it, buster!” she replied jokingly while shaking an index at him. Then becoming serious, she looked at both Farrell and Gordon.

“Doctor, lots of lives will soon depend on you. The last thing you need is a drunkard to weigh you down around a battlefield. Gordon, is there a way to get a more dependable soldier to help the doctor?”

Gordon shook his head after thinking for a moment.

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“I doubt it very much, Jeanne. Troop officers will not send a good soldier to what is considered a low priority duty, like infirmary duty. Connors was most probably assigned here because nobody wanted him. He has already lost his corporal’s stripes twice for drunkenness and dereliction of duty.”

“Damn!” muttered Jeanne, annoyed. “What about some of the soldiers’ wives who will accompany the regiment to Crimea? Can one or two be assigned to Doctor Farrell?”

“Uh, probably.” answered Gordon hesitantly, not prepared for her last question.

“Good! Then we could use up to two women to help the doctor at his future field dressing station, plus another one to assist me in driving the regimental ambulance, so that I can patch up wounded soldiers before loading them in our wagon.”

“Uh, there is a problem with that, Lady Jeanne.” said Farrell, obviously embarrassed. “I don’t have an ambulance wagon. In fact, I don’t have any horse or vehicle assigned to the infirmary.”

That got him a look of shocked disbelief from Jeanne.

“Then, how the hell did the regiment expect you to go around and treat the wounded and sick?”

“The Commissariat representative told me that they would provide something if and when the need comes.”

“The Commissariat!” spat Jeanne contemptuously. “Don’t wait for anything from those rule-bound, incompetent civilian bureaucrats, unless excuses are what you are looking for, Doctor.”

“She’s right, Doctor.” added Gordon glumly. “Unfortunately, the regiment can’t help you here, since the Commissariat Department of the Treasury Ministry controls army logistics. I had to buy my own war horse with my personal money, believe it or not.”

“Bureaucrats!” uttered Jeanne as if it was an insult. She then looked resolutely at Farrell. “Don’t worry about infirmary transportation, Doctor: I will take care of it personally. Do you have any other pressing needs to be filled before you are ready to do battlefield duty?”

“Well, I do have my own set of surgical instruments, but I am short of most medical supplies. I don’t even have a single stretcher as it is.”

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“I will take care of that too. Please write down a detailed list of your needs by noon tomorrow. I will be going back to London then to place orders for supplies and equipment.”

Taking out her pocket watch, Jeanne looked at it briefly, then smiled at her husband.

“A quarter past five. How about presenting me informally to your gang of ruffians before supper, Gordon?”

“As you wish, my dear. Don’t expect geniuses and saints, though.”

“Believe me, Gordon: I’ve already seen some of the worst there is before in the past.”

Taking time first to bring their luggage to Gordon’s room in the building reserved for the officers, then to lead their horses to the stables, the couple entered a barrack block which faced the headquarters building from across a large parade square. While clean, it became quickly obvious to Jeanne that the building was overcrowded and lacked even running water. The communal room assigned to B Troop was actually on the second floor and lodged about fifty men amidst wooden bunk beds and small personal lockers and chests, with three tables and a few benches and chairs thrown in. The farthest bunks were actually crudely separated visually from the other bunks by gray wool blankets hanging vertically over their sides. A corporal who saw them enter then snapped to attention and shouted.

“ROOM!”

The soldier’s shout brought the room’s occupants to a standstill. It also made the heads of five young children and two women pop out from behind the blanket partitions. Gordon saw Jeanne’s surprised look and whispered in her ear.

“Those are the families of my married troopers. There are no formal married quarters for the junior ranks and a simple soldier can’t afford civilian housing. This is unfortunately the best that can be done for them.”

Gordon then shouted at his men.

“At ease, men! Please gather up in the middle of the room: I have news to pass. I would also like your wives to join in as well.”

“You heard the captain! Move!” shouted the senior sergeant present. Gordon and Jeanne soon had 46 soldiers and seven women formed in a semi-circle around them, with a dozen children of varied age looking on with curiosity from atop bunk beds. Gordon looked briefly around the crowd before starting to speak in a sober tone.

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“As you must know by now, we are at war with Russia because of its attack on Turkey. Our regiment is expected to sail within a month for the Black Sea, as part of an expeditionary force that will also include French troops.”

“Blimey, sir! We are going to travel with shiploads of frogs, sir?” asked a young soldier, starting a round of laughter. Jeanne took a false air of indignation then.

“Et l’Entente Cordiale, merde?”

Laughter redoubled as the private turned red with embarrassment. Gordon shook an index at him playfully.

“Private Pearson, please be respectful to my new wife, Lady Jeanne, especially since she may be dressing your wounds one fine day.”

Becoming serious again, Gordon scanned the faces of his men and of their wives. While most of the men seemed to take the news of the war in stride, the women uniformly looked tense and apprehensive now.

“My wife Jeanne will accompany the regiment overseas and will help Doctor Farrell as a field nurse. She is looking for up to three women to assist her in infirmary work. I will now let her say more on this.”

“Thank you, dear.” said Jeanne to Gordon before stepping forward and concentrating her attention on the women present.

“I fully realize how hard separation can be, especially for those of you with small children. I also know about the financial hardships you may go through if left in England. The oncoming war will be no picnic, though. The Winter weather in Crimea is very harsh and diseases plague the whole area. You can also expect little or no material support from those uncaring incompetents from the Commissariat. On the other hand, the three women who will accompany me to work with Doctor Farrell can expect lots of hard work, primitive living conditions and heart-wrenching sights. I will need persons with a strong will, with at least one who can drive a heavy wagon. I would also prefer women with no children in their charge. I know that a ballot normally decides which of you accompany their husbands overseas, but I am ready to offer a better way out of your predicament.” What she said then surprised even Gordon.

“As a strictly personal initiative outside of army rules and customs and out of my own pocket, I am ready to offer a special war separation allowance to all the wives from this unit staying behind in England. That allowance will run from the day the regiment leaves the barracks to until your men come home. If one or more of you are widowed by this war, then this separation allowance will become a lifetime pension.”

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There were seconds of total silence as the stunned British stared at her, digesting what she had just said. One woman then timidly raised one hand, speaking after Jeanne nodded her head to her.

“I don’t want to sound picky, madam, but how much would be this…allowance?”

“One Pound Sterling a week per wife, plus an extra two shillings a week per child.” Answered Jeanne, smiling. She could nearly feel the wave of relief and joy that then went through the crowd. The same woman who asked about the allowance grinned to her.

“Madam, with such a generous allowance you will not get one volunteer to follow you overseas.”

“Depends!” replied Jeanne, deadpan. “Apart from offering a good field pay, I was counting to find women dedicated enough to their husbands to follow them to Hell if need be.”

A stoutly built woman in her mid-thirties then stepped out of the crowd. About five feet four inches tall and with red hair, her brown eyes looked firmly at Jeanne as she spoke resolutely.

“I’m going with you, madam. I know how to drive a wagon or a mule as well as I can drive a man and I’m damned if I will let my James down!”

“May I have your name, madam?” asked Jeanne, both amused and impressed.

“Sarah Champion, wife of Troop Sergeant-Major Champion. All my children died of cholera two years ago, so I have nothing to hold me back.”

“I am sorry for your loss, madam. I will speak to you in private afterwards.” Jeanne then looked at the other women around her.

“Any other volunteers?”

After a short hesitation, two more women stepped forward nearly simultaneously.

“I’m Mary Pearson, wife of Trooper John Pearson.” said the first one, a young and pretty blonde. “I will go with you, if my husband agrees to it.” The young soldier who had made the joke about French troops looked tenderly at Mary and took her right hand.

“Thank you, my love. I will be happy to know that you are near me.” Another trooper whispered in the ear of the other woman who had stepped forward, who then spoke up firmly.

“I’m Margaret Ward, wife of Corporal Joseph Ward. I will go as well.” Jeanne smiled at the slightly overweight brunette in her mid-twenties.

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“Excellent! I will speak to you as well as to Misses Pearson and Champion in private while my husband gets on with his men.”

Leading the three women to the farthest bunk bed, Jeanne invited them to sit on it, then sat on the bunk opposite from it.

“Before we go further, I must tell you that I married Captain Smythe only yesterday. As you get to know me, you may find me quite unusual, as I can shoot, ride, fence and fight better than most men. I also speak a number of languages, including Turkish and Russian. By the way, please call me simply Jeanne: I am a very informal woman. Yes, Sarah?”

“Correct me if I am wrong, mad…uh, Jeanne,” said the wife of Sergeant-Major Champion, “but I thought that the regiment had no ambulance wagon left. That old drunkard of a doctor we had until last November smashed the ambulance while driving it stone drunk. We’ve been waiting for a new one ever since.”

“I am taking care of that, Sarah. In fact, I will leave for London tomorrow afternoon to order supplies and equipment for the infirmary, including a wagon and a light cart. By the way, I will also need to measure you so that I can buy warm Winter clothes for the three of you.”

“Why?” then said weakly Margaret Ward, bordering on tears. “Why are you doing all this for us, miss? Nobody cared about us or our husbands before, save for a few rare officers like your husband.”

Jeanne thought for a moment before answering softly.

“I am helping for two main reasons, Margaret. First, I want our husbands to come back alive and well from the coming war. Giving them proper medical care is one way to help doing it. By caring for their families left in England, the morale of our men will be that much higher and their resolve and will to live stronger. Keep this to yourselves for the moment, but I intend to extend this war separation allowance system to all the wives of the junior ranks in the 8th Hussars. I also just made my mind to acquire a number of townhouses in Winchester and to turn them into subsidized housing units for the families of the soldiers who can’t afford civilian housing. This business of sharing accommodations in an open barrack room full of single men is both improper and inhumane.”

“But…all this will cost you a fortune!” protested Mary Pearson, making Jeanne grin to her.

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“That is the second reason why I am helping out: I’m filthy rich and can easily afford those expenses.”

“How filthy rich exactly, miss?” asked sneakily Sarah Champion.

“Well, I will keep the full extent of my fortune confidential but, as a clue, I can tell you that the dowry my husband got on marrying me amounted to 100,000 Pounds, which is mere peanuts to me.”

All three British women then gawked at Jeanne, speechless.

18:13 (London Time)

Dining room, 8th Hussars Officers’ Mess

Fanny Duberly, wife of Regimental Paymaster Henry Duberly, was having dinner with her husband at a corner table of the Officers’ Mess dining room when she saw Captain Smythe enter with a richly dressed young lady. Discreetly getting Henry’s attention, Fanny then looked at the newcomer while whispering to her husband.

“This must be the Lady Jeanne I heard about from the men of B Troop. God, is she ever tall!”

“Must be about six feet tall, in fact.” replied Henry after a quick glance. They both soon could detail Lady Jeanne much better, as Captain Smythe made for the Duberly’s table and stopped with his wife besides it, smiling down at the couple.

“May we sit at your table for dinner? My wife Jeanne has to discuss a few things concerning payroll.”

“Of course, my good Gordon!” replied Henry cheerfully. “Have a seat, you and your beautiful wife.”

Fanny had a good look at Jeanne as Gordon Smythe gallantly pulled a chair for her. Despite being surprisingly wide-shouldered and muscular for a woman, Lady Jeanne had a most shapely body and a chest that got the undivided attention of Henry, something that prompted Fanny to discreetly kick him under the table. Lady Jeanne also wore a set of beautiful jewels with her elegant red city dress. The stories about her fortune appeared to be true after all. Captain Smythe took the time to call a steward and order dinner for himself and his wife before speaking again to the Duberlys. That gave the occasion to Lady Jeanne to present herself in the meantime. While she had a very slight French accent, Fanny found her English to be flawless. The French woman also

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radiated confidence and strength of character and immediately gave a favorable impression to Fanny.

“Well,” said finally Gordon Smythe cheerfully, “here we are! You may have heard that Lord Paget has agreed to Jeanne coming with the regiment overseas as a field nurse.”

“We heard rumors to that effect, Gordon.” replied Fanny. “It will be nice to have another lady coming along with me.”

“You are going overseas as well?” asked an obviously delighted Jeanne.

“Of course! I can’t let my Henry go on his own, can’t I?”

“True!” said Jeanne, grinning. “Men are like lost children when away from their wives: they tend to play around. Those old Turkish pashas with their harems of young women will probably not be pleased to see the flower of British manhood descend by the thousand on their land.”

“Hmm, a point of view I didn’t think about before, Jeanne. Thanks for the warning.”

“Ahem!” said Henry, clearing his voice. “So, Lady Jeanne, you are ready to serve Her Majesty the Queen in the field, all for the fantastic pay of three shillings a week?”

“Three shillings a week?” exclaimed Jeanne in faked delight. “I’m overwhelmed, sir!”

Gordon giggled at that, patting Jeanne’s hand.

“Don’t listen to her. She probably could buy the whole regiment, lock, stock and barrel, without denting her fortune. She only needs to be put in your pay books so that her position becomes official.”

“That’s right.” seconded Jeanne. “I will probably use my pay to help feed and care for my horse.”

“Is it true that you are going to give a separation allowance to the wives staying behind?” asked Fanny. Jeanne then stared at her, now serious.

“I see that rumors fly quickly around here. Yes, it is true, but I was hoping for this to stay low key. I am also paying for three women to come with me to help Doctor Farrell.”

“May I ask which ones, Jeanne?”

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“You may, Fanny. They are Misses Champion, Ward and Pearson. They are going mostly out of devotion to their husbands, though, a much better incentive than simply pay.”

“Just out of curiosity,” ventured politely Henry, “how much do you intend to pay those women?”

“Three pounds a week, plus rations if not provided by those uncaring idiots from the Commissariat.” answered Jeanne nonchalantly. While her answer made the Duberly’s choke with surprise, a civilian man eating at a nearby table gave Jeanne a dark look on hearing her last words. Fanny could swear then that Jeanne noticed the man’s reaction but ignored him as she went on in good humor.

“Talking of supplies, may I counsel both of you to bring warm clothing with you for Crimea? The winters there can be very harsh indeed.”

“But…the war will certainly be over by Christmas.” protested Henry, getting a dubious look from Jeanne.

“Home by Christmas…an old saying indeed but one you should not be putting much store into in this case. Believe me, sir: this will be one long and miserable war.” The uneasy silence that followed was broken by the showing up of Thomas Farrell, who timidly approached their table and saluted the Duberlys and Gordon before handing a sheet of paper to Jeanne.

“Here is the list of supplies and equipment required for the infirmary, Jeanne, as you earlier requested.”

Taking the paper, Jeanne looked questioningly at Henry and Fanny.

“Would you mind if Doctor Farrell sits at our table?”

“He is most welcome to it, Jeanne.” replied quickly the paymaster, who then looked up at Farrell. “Have you eaten yet, Doctor?”

“Uh, not yet, as a matter of fact.” The young surgeon answered in his mild voice.

“Then please join us for dinner, Doctor.”

“Thank you very much, sir.”

A steward showed up nearly at once to take the doctor’s order. Jeanne had finished reading Farrell’s list by the time the steward walked away.

“What about chloroform, Doctor? Do you have some already in stock?” Farrell hesitated for a moment, unsure how to phrase his answer.

“In truth I have none, Jeanne, but the medical department is not favorable to the use of chloroform.”

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“Why? I know about the possible side effects of chloroform but those are certainly minor compared to the agony of having a limb amputated while fully conscious. What is your personal opinion about the use of chloroform, Doctor?”

“Frankly, I have not formed an opinion on the subject, Jeanne.”

“Would you mind then if I buy some chloroform?”

Farrell was suddenly conscious that the regiment’s Commissariat representative, Mister Grant, was looking severely at him from a nearby table. Jeanne noticed it too and stared hard at the plump civilian.

“Do you mind, sir?”

Seeing that other patrons of the mess around him eyed him with antipathy, Grant cut short his meal and, rising from his chair, left the dining room. Fanny Duberly, who had no love for the civil servant, looked with glee at Jeanne.

“My God, that’s what I would call staring someone down. Are you always this feisty, Jeanne?”

“You haven’t seen half of her yet, Fanny.” replied Gordon, a big smile on his face. Farrell then made up his mind.

“On second thought, add chloroform to my list, Jeanne.”

“Good boy!” was Jeanne’s happy reply as she patted his shoulder.

12:41 (London Time)

Thursday, March 30, 1854

8th Hussars regimental stables

Jeanne gave a last kiss to Gordon as she was about to mount her brown mare, watched by a few troopers on stable duty.

“You can expect me back in about two weeks maximum. Don’t leave for Crimea without me, you lovely hunk.”

“I won’t, I promise. Those will be two long, lonely weeks, Jeanne.”

“For me too, love. Wish me luck!’

Taking three quick steps, Jeanne then jumped astride her horse without help, attracting appreciative comments from the troopers present. Blowing a kiss to Gordon, she turned her horse towards the stable’s open door and rode off at a gallop. Troop Sergeant-Major James Champion, who was supervising the stable’s work detail, approached Gordon and whispered in his ear.

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“I didn’t thank you yet for letting my wife come with me, sir. I owe you a big one, sir.”

“Correction, Sergeant-Major: you owe my wife a big one.” replied Gordon in a quiet voice. “God, I miss her already.”

“That’s the mark of true love, sir.” said Champion before returning to his supervisory duties.

16:49 (London Time)

Friday, April 14, 1854

Parade square, 8th Hussars regimental barracks Winchester, England

“REGIMENT, ATTEN…TION!”

Four hundred and sixty officers and men snapped to attention at Major William Henry’s command. Along one side of the parade square were lined up Doctor Farrell, 35 regimental wives and two other civilians designated to accompany the unit overseas. Only seven soldiers, either sick or on guard duty, were not present on the parade square for the commander’s address. Pivoting on his heels, Major Henry then marched six paces forward and stopped in front of the dais on which stood Lord Paget, saluting him crisply.

“Regiment present and ready, sir!”

“Thank you, Major!” replied Paget, saluting back. Henry then marched to the side of the dais and took position there. Scanning the troops, the lieutenant colonel then spoke as loud as he could.

“Officers and men of the 8th Royal Hussars! I am pleased to announce to you that I have received from the brigade commander, Lord Cardigan, our marching orders for the war. We will leave this garrison with all our horses and our baggage train on the morning of April 20th and will then ride to Plymouth, where we will board the transport ships SANS PAREIL and WANDERER. We will then sail on April 22nd for the Black Sea. Our destination will be the port of Varna, on the Bulgarian coast of the Black Sea. We should arrive in Varna around early June, weather permitting. The following sub-units will be part of the overseas contingent.”

Taking a sheet of paper handed to him by his ADC, Lord Paget then read slowly, letting each sub-unit commander acknowledge the call.

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“Headquarters Troop, A Troop, B Troop, C Troop, D Troop, Quartermaster Troop and Regimental Ambulance. The sub-units staying behind in these barracks will be E Troop, F Troop and the Regimental Band. The garrison commander here will be Captain Ramsay Fields as of April 20th. I am sure that every one of you will do his duty to the Queen to his utmost capacity. God save the Queen! Major Henry, you can dismiss the troops!”

“Sir!” shouted the major, saluting Paget as the latter left the dais. Marching back in front of the regiment and stopping at attention, Henry shouted at the top of his lungs.

“OFFICERS, DIS…MISSED!…SERGEANT-MAJOR, TAKE THE PARADE!”

“YES SIR!” shouted back RSM O’Neil before taking place in front of the men and dismissing them with a few quick orders.

After being dismissed with the other officers by Major Henry, Gordon gathered with the others along the north side of the parade square to discuss their new orders. Some of their wives, including Fanny Duberly, soon joined them there. On her part, Fanny found her husband Henry in conversation with Gordon and with Captain Lockwood, of A Troop. She listened to them politely until an officer nearby suddenly spoke up in wonderment.

“What the hell is that?”

Turning her head towards the main gate of the garrison, Fanny watched with the others the strangest wagon she had ever seen roll through the main gate. Pulled by two big horses, it had six wheels instead of the standard four, with each wheel being much wider than normal. Its top half was made of white canvas strung on an oval section framing, while the lower half seemed made of wood planks backing a metallic framework, the lot painted green. The word ‘AMBULANCE’ in English, Turkish and Russian was painted in big red letters on the canvas top. One woman was at the reins of the long wagon, which was pulling both a small covered cart and two horses.

“JEANNE!” suddenly shouted joyfully Gordon Smythe before running towards the wagon. By the time Fanny herself got to the wagon a crowd had formed around it, while Gordon Smythe was kissing passionately his wife. Going around the wagon and examining it in detail with Henry only made Fanny more curious about it, like many others around her. Lord Paget himself then showed up, greeted with pride by Jeanne Smythe.

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“Sir, I have the pleasure of presenting you our new regimental mobile field dressing station and your field ambulance, just completed according to my design specifications.”

Paget had one bewildered look at the big white and green wagon before facing Jeanne again.

“Uh, the least that I can say is that it is a most unusual design, Lady Jeanne. Would you care describing it to me quickly?”

“With pleasure, sir! Let’s start with the construction method.” Going to the right side of the wagon, Jeanne then touched part of the visible metallic framing.

“The wagon’s main structure is made of hollow steel tubes forming connecting trusses. This gives both very high rigidity and relative light weight. Bolted to the metallic frame is a waterproofed shell made of wood planks, which makes the wagon able to float and cross streams and rivers if need be.”

“This can float?” asked Paget, incredulous. Jeanne smiled and nodded once.

“It does, sir. There are rubber flotation bags for the horses as well. The top part of the framing is lined inside by thin wood paneling and on the outside by waterproofed canvas. The six wheels are made very wide so that the wagon can negotiate deep mud and snow. The front axle pivots to permit turns, while the two rear axles are fixed. All the axles are however equipped with independent coil spring suspensions, to give a smooth ride to any wounded man transported inside. When stopped and operating as a field dressing station, this wagon can quickly deploy a large tent to its rear, plus two smaller tents on the sides. Let me show you. Gordon, I will need your help here.”

“Coming, dear!”

Going with Jeanne to the rear of the wagon, Gordon watched her first unhook the cart and move it out of the way, along with the two horses tied to it. She then undid a few leather straps holding in place a sort of inverted U-shaped frame structure to which rolled canvas was attached. She did this on both rear sides, then pulled out two large steel pins held by thin chains to the wagon’s frame. Next, she extended out with Gordon’s help the inverted U-frames, which then proved to be mounted on horizontal telescopic tubing that was part of the wagon’s frame. To everybody’s surprise, the framing turned into a large telescopic tent that was about twenty feet long and six feet wide. Jeanne completed the tent’s installation by pulling out the telescopic legs of the

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tent’s framing and unrolling the lower canvas parts. After a grand total of four minutes, Jeanne faced back Lord Paget, pointing at the now fully deployed rear tent.

“Here you are, sir: a field dressing tent ready in less than five minutes and able to accommodate six stretchers. As you could see, it is also quite simple to assemble.”

“Indeed! By Jove, I like this!”

“That is not all, sir. Just give me a minute and I will show you.” Going to the right side of the wagon, Jeanne undid some more straps, then went inside the wagon through the front. To everybody’s amazement, part of the canvas side soon folded down, forming in seconds a sort of side tent suspended over the side of the wagon. Coming out and climbing down, Jeanne pointed at two steel telescopic legs still folded under the side tent.

“Once deployed, those legs help support the floor of that side tent. There is a second, similar folding tent on the other side. One will be reserved for Doctor Farrell and me, the other for the nurses. The rear half of the wagon can accommodate up to six wounded on stretchers during moves, while the forward half contains storage lockers for medical supplies, as well as a small pot-bellied stove.”

Lord Paget scanned the wagon from end to end, then smiled to Jeanne.

“Madam, this is outstanding. Thank you in the name of the regiment.”

“You are most welcome, sir. I do however have one last thing to show you: our field ambulance cart.”

Going again to the back of the big wagon, Jeanne stood besides the compact four-wheeled cart parked side by side with it.

“This is a light cart built on the same principles as the bigger wagon, but it is much lighter and more mobile. It also can float and can carry up to two loaded stretchers under canvas protection. I intend to use it to pick up wounded soldiers on the battlefield and to transport those wounded to the field dressing station.”

“Again you amaze me, Lady Jeanne.” said Paget, by now truly overwhelmed. “How could we ever repay you for this?”

“Simple, sir: by getting me a written safe-conduct signed by the expedition commander that will guarantee that neither this cart nor this wagon will be requisitioned by anybody for purposes other than the transportation or treatment of the wounded and sick.”

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“Madam, you can count on me to do my best to get you that safe-conduct. Have a very good evening, Lady Jeanne.”

Gordon went to Jeanne and kissed her as Lord Paget was walking away.

“Jeanne, you are fantastic! How could you have done all this in so little time?”

“Easy! I threw in lots of money, requested and got top production priority at the Pullman Wagon Company and stood over their backs with a whip in my hands.” That made both Gordon and the Duberlys laugh. Jeanne then saw Doctor Farrell standing timidly nearby, with Misses Champion, Ward and Pearson besides him.

“Doctor, girls, come with me! I will give you the grand tour.”

“Can I go in too?” asked eagerly Fanny Duberly. Jeanne smiled to her and took her right hand.

“Sure! You’re coming too, Gordon?”

“Of course, dear!”

Thomas Farrell looked like a big kid entering a toy castle as he climbed in the back of the wagon, using a ladder deployed from under the wagon’s chassis by Jeanne and entering through a wooden door. A grin appeared on his face at the sight of a dozen wood and canvas stretches piled in the left rear corner of the wagon.

“Yes! Just what we needed. Would you believe that Mister Grant, our Commissariat representative, has refused to procure any stretchers, on the pretext that they are not part of the official regimental kit list?”

“What would it take for him to amend that list?” asked Jeanne in a bitter tone. “A gun to his head?”

“Hey, that could work!” exclaimed Gordon, making Jeanne smile back to him.

“Maybe I should shoot him and take his place. I would probably save more lives ultimately this way than as a field nurse.”

“It won’t work!” pronounced firmly Fanny Duberly, deadpan. “They don’t accept women in the public service.”

“I should have known.”

Giggling from Jeanne’s expression, Margaret Ward pointed at a pile of travel bags and storage chests in the right rear corner of the wagon.

“What’s in there? Medical supplies?”

“In the chests, yes. Those travel bags contain our new winter clothing.” That made Henry Duberly glance dubiously at her.

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“You really believe that this war will go past Christmas, are you?”

“You better believe it, sir.” replied Jeanne, dead serious. “If you haven’t got really warm clothes yet, I will strongly counsel that you buy some before departure. By the way, Gordon, do you know when the regiment will sail for Varna?”

“We will leave Winchester on the 20th and sail from Plymouth two days later.” answered Gordon before realizing something and looking in amazement at Jeanne.

“Hey! How did you know that our destination is Varna?”

Everybody then stared at Jeanne as she hesitated.

“Uh, simple geography, I guess: Varna is the best port inside the Black Sea and near Constantinople. It is also close to where the Turks and Russians are fighting each other right now. This is unimportant anyway. Let’s continue the tour.” Not really convinced by her explanation, the group nonetheless followed Jeanne through a canvas curtain partition dividing the inside of the wagon in half. They then found themselves in an eight by five and a half feet compartment. The head clearance was high enough even for Gordon to stand without having to bend his head. Mary Pearson had a look through the modesty curtain giving access to the still deployed right side tent and whistled in appreciation.

“Look at this! There are even a real mattress and a bear fur.”

“A bear fur!” Exclaimed Margaret Ward. “What for?”

“A bear fur beats a wool blanket any time in cold weather, Margaret. Now, those side storage bins, apart from acting as seats, also contain reserves of food, grain, water and firewood. Talking of firewood, this small pot-bellied stove here, with its brick thermal insulation around its base, will help us heat this wagon and boil water. For the good doctor, there are those two large supply cabinets where he can store his medications and instruments.”

Going to one of the cabinets pointed by Jeanne, Farrell opened it and went through it, pulling open a number of small drawers.

“This is really well designed, Jeanne. You keep surprising me.”

“Thank you, Doctor.”

“Uh, what is this exactly?” asked Henry Duberly, holding up a sort of brown leather sleeveless jacket covered with wide cargo pockets, which was hooked to a wall.

“That’s a specially-made medical equipment-carrying vest I intend to use while picking up wounded soldiers on the battlefield. The inside of the shoulder straps is

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padded in order to distribute the weight. I will also carry a white apron over it that will prevent blood stains on the vest.”

“Including two pistols?” insisted the paymaster, pointing at the two holsters strapped horizontally to the front of the vest, at belly level. Jeanne nodded slowly, conscious that the other women were looking at her with questioning expressions.

“Actually, I will be armed with two six-shot revolvers, with which I can assure you that I am most proficient.”

“Why be armed?” wondered Mary Pearson. “Who would attack a nurse treating wounded men?”

“Russian Cossacks, for starters. The Cossacks are first rate cavalrymen but they also happen to be extremely undisciplined and most ruthless. If they find a woman with a wounded on the battlefield, they will most probably kill the wounded first, then rape the woman before cutting her throat.”

The women around her gave her horrified looks, while the men’s jaws tightened. Grabbing her web gear from Henry Duberly’s hands, Jeanne then smiled to Fanny.

“Let’s forget the horrors of war. How about a test ride in my light cart, once we have returned this wagon to its rolling mode? It will also give a chance to Misses Champion to prove how good she is at driving a wagon.”

19:57 (London Time)

Officers quarters

8th Hussars barracks

Gordon threw on his bed the two travel bags he had helped Jeanne bring from the medical wagon, then closed the door of his room and locked it while Jeanne dropped the two bags she held. Going to her next, he hugged and kissed her tenderly, then looked her in the eyes.

“Jeanne, I’m proud of you, truly. What you did may save the lives of many of our men.”

“Saving lives is a reward by itself, Gordon. By the way, you should know that I enlisted your father’s help in order to provide for the regimental wives staying behind in Winchester. He will administer my system of allowances and pensions and will also supervise the running of free housing units for military families in Winchester and the

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shipping from England of essential medical supplies to the regiment in Crimea. Being an old Hussar himself, he was too happy to volunteer for this.”

“You decidedly think about everything, Jeanne. Let me reward you for all this.” Gordon then gently laid her flat on the bed and started kissing her while undoing her clothes.

09:02 (London Time)

Thursday, April 20, 1854

Parade square, Winchester Barracks

Lord Paget had a last look at his regiment, mounted up and ready to go, then shouted at the top of his lungs.

“REGIMENT, FORWARD…MARCH!”

His order relayed down by his subaltern officers, the long column of cavalrymen, pack horses and wagons slowly started moving out of the parade square, heading out of the garrison. Lined up alongside the barracks were the 65 men staying behind, along with the wives not chosen to accompany the regiment overseas. In contrast to other similar separations, the mood and morale of both the men of the regiment and of their families were very high, thanks to Jeanne’s generosity and sense of care. The extent of Jeanne’s fortune, rumored to be in the millions of Sterling Pounds, had come as quite a shock to Lord Paget. For such a rich woman to be willing and eager to share the hardships and risks of a war denoted rare commitment and, as was now widely realized by all, deep love for her husband. Captain Smythe could indeed count himself a very lucky man.

Saluting each sub-unit as it paraded past him, Lord Paget bowed his head politely when Jeanne Smythe, closing the convoy at the reins of her light ambulance cart, rode past him and saluted him. Lady Jeanne wore one of her now well-known riding dresses, plus a warm burgundy tunic. Pushing his horse to a gallop, Paget then rode to the head of the regiment’s column to assume the lead out of Winchester, cheered along by the crowd of well-wishers lining both sides of the road.

23 :18 (London Time)

Saturday, April 22, 1854 ‘A’

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Forward deck of the troopship H.M.S. SANS PAREIL Off the port of Plymouth, England

Having excused herself with Gordon under the pretext of wanting to get some fresh air on the open deck of their troopship, Jeanne went to a dark corner behind a deckhouse and, checking first that nobody was in sight, concentrated and ordered mentally her implanted time distorter to make a space-time jump : she had another life to go resume in the 17th Century as Nancy Sommers, Marquess of Saint-Laurent, as well as two boys to take care of. No one on the ship saw her disappear in a brief flash of white light.

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British soldiers and a regimental soldier’s wife in their camp during the Crimean War.





CHAPTER 10 – VARNA


20:08 (Constantinople Time)

Thursday, June 1, 1854 ‘A’

Port of Varna, on the Black Sea

Bulgaria

“Look at all this activity, all these diverse costumes and uniforms!” wondered Fanny Duberly while leaning against the ship’s side and looking down at the crowded quay. Her husband Henry, standing beside her in his Hussar’s uniform, nodded his head and took her gently by the waist.

“You wanted adventure and travel, dear? Enjoy them before the killing starts. The Captain told me that we will wait until tomorrow morning to unload most of our animals and supplies, except for a small reconnaissance party that will find and delimit a campsite for the regiment.”

“Can we at least go down on the quay and do a small walk around town, Henry? I’m sick and tired of being on this ship.”

Henry smiled in sympathy at that: the five-week sea trip had been both hard and uncomfortable, to say the least.

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“That we can do, dear. Let me just advise Major Henry first.” The paymaster was back a few minutes later as a small group of cavalrymen was riding off the ship through a large cargo ramp lowered down from a hull side opening. Fanny watched go out in succession Major Henry, Captain Heneage, Captain Smythe, RSM O’Neil and Jeanne Smythe, the latter driving her light cart and with Doctor Farrell sitting by her side on the bench seat. Jeanne was wearing her equipment vest, something that prompted Fanny to question her husband.

“Henry, what do you think of a woman who goes around armed to the teeth?” Henry replied slowly while following the reconnaissance party with his eyes.

“Normally, not much good, Fanny. However, that French woman is anything but normal. You saw her during saber and pistol practice, right?”

“Did I ever!” replied Fanny while rolling her eyes. “If she would have been a man, she would be recognized as the fencing champion of the regiment. As for her pistol shooting, I’m not sure that anyone in Europe can equal her.” Henry nodded and looked at Fanny with a strange expression.

“Correct, dear. That is not all, however.”

“By God, isn’t that enough already? I’m getting jealous of her abilities as it is.”

“Well, you remember that mid-March newspaper article about Captain Smythe killing or wounding four bandits in Hyde Park while walking with Lady Jeanne?”

“How could I forget it? It earned him a round of toasts at the Officers’ Mess on his return to Winchester.”

“Yes, and I went to congratulate him privately afterwards about that. The problem was that, instead of being flattered, he became deeply embarrassed and revealed a secret to me on the condition that I didn’t repeat it to anyone. Captain Smythe didn’t kill or wound those bandits: Lady Jeanne did.” Fanny was struck speechless for a moment, staring at her husband with utter disbelief.

“That I can’t believe, Henry! No woman could do that, ever, especially when considering that one of the bandits was a murderer and a man considered very dangerous.”

“Think what you want, dear.” replied softly Henry, shrugging. “Let’s forget this for the moment and let’s take a nice walk off this ship.”

Taking the arm he offered her, Fanny followed eagerly Henry down the gangway and onto the quay. They had to make their way through a crowd of sweating soldiers and local workers busy unloading cannon balls, shells and other supplies from the ships

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moored to the quay. Finally setting foot on the shore, the couple hesitated on which way to go until Henry decided to follow a party of French Army officers down a main street of the port.

Even if the town was a dirty, impoverished one, Fanny found pleasure in being able to walk around and escape the crowded, smelly confines of the H.M.S. SANS PAREIL. It also thrilled her to see such various accoutrements and hear so many languages in one place. In the street they were walking along, Fanny could detail French Zouave soldiers from Algeria, North African Spahi cavalrymen, Ottoman soldiers from Egypt, Tunisia and Albania and even irregular Muslim volunteer cavalrymen called Bashi-Bazouks. She had a glimpse of one of those bearded, ragged men sitting under a porch and caressing the exposed breasts of an equally ragged camp follower, oblivious of the passing humanity around him. Henry saw Fanny scandalized expression then and grinned in amusement.



“War can’t be all work and no fun, dear.”

“Maybe,” replied his wife with a frown, “but don’t count on me undressing in public like this wretch.”

“Oh, I’m not asking for that much.”

That remark earned Henry a light slap on the back of his head and a snub for the next few minutes. The couple soon had to cut their promenade short, though, as it was quickly getting dark. On their return to the ship, they found out that the reconnaissance party was staying overnight at the regimental campsite. Hoping that this would be her last night in their cramped ship’s cabin for at least a few weeks, Fanny changed to a night gown and went to bed. She nearly protested at Henry’s eagerness when he cupped her right breast with one hand as soon as she lay besides him. However, the feeling that his fingers quickly arose in her nipple then reminded her that being married had its advantages too.

08:21 (Constantinople Time)

Friday, June 2, 1854 ‘A’

H.M.S. SANS PAREIL

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Port of Varna, Bulgaria

“WOAH, BOB! CALM DOWN!”

It took Henry’s firm hands to get Fanny’s horse back under control, so excited the beast was. Most of the horses about to be disembarked were similarly agitated, anxious to be free from the confines of the ship. Only the pack mules stayed manageable. While waiting for their turn to disembark, the Duberlys watched Captain Tomkinson’s A Troop file off the ship, followed by B Troop, led by Lieutenant Wells. The Quartermaster Troop was last off the ship, with the medical wagon closing the procession. Driven expertly by Misses Champion, the big vehicle was transporting as well Misses Ward and Pearson, plus five other regimental wives who had no means of transport of their own. From what Jeanne Smythe had told her during their sea voyage about the conditions to expect in Varna, Fanny suspected that those women would not stay inactive for long. Her heart pounding with excitement, she spurred her horse to a trot, following Henry’s horse through the narrow streets of the port.

The regimental camp turned out to be a barren, rocky expanse of ground measuring about 200 yards to the side and surrounded on three sides by camps for other cavalry regiments. The free side ran along a small stream, which shoreline was lined at fifty yards intervals with bright signs mounted on pickets. Intrigued by these, Fanny galloped to the stream and examined one of the signs, reading it aloud.

“Fresh water source. No urinating, defecating or throwing of waste of any kind within fifty yards of the water. By order of Regimental Surgeon.” Looking next around her, Fanny saw Jeanne Smythe’s cart near one corner of the campsite, with the French woman hard at work nearby digging a hole with pick and shovel. The medical wagon pulled to a halt near Jeanne’s cart as Fanny stopped her horse besides the French woman and dismounted. Wearing a light sleeveless shirt, a riding skirt and cavalry boots, Jeanne was already sweating in the rising heat of the day as she was shoveling dirt out of a waist-deep hole. Jeanne smiled up at Fanny while continuing her work.

“Good morning, Fanny. It’s going to be a hot day.”

“It certainly will. What are you doing?”

“Digging a latrine for us women. Maybe our example will push our men into respecting some camp sanitation rules.”

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“Uh, I supposed that you are planning something to hide us from the hundreds of men that will camp around us.”

“Of course! I will erect a small bell tent around it that will also protect us from rain. Another tent will be reserved for female bathing and washing.”

“Jeanne, you’re a genius!” said Fanny enthusiastically. “Can I help?” Jeanne looked at Fanny’s ankle-length fine city dress, tunic, embroidered blouse and fancy hat before smiling apologetically to her.

“I appreciate the offer, Fanny, but aren’t you kind of overdressed for the job?” Fanny had one quick look at herself and realized that Jeanne was right.

“Damn! I didn’t think about bringing informal work clothes with me.” Jeanne’s smile faded then as she looked with concern at Fanny.

“Did you at least bring warm winter clothes?”

“That I did.” answered Fanny sheepishly. “At first, I thought that your were being over pessimistic about the length of this war. Then I changed my mind.” Jeanne stopped shoveling for a moment, resting on her shovel as she stared seriously at her friend.

“May I ask what changed your mind?”

“Maybe the way you always seem to be ahead of the rest of us in so many things.”

Fanny looked downright embarrassed now as she looked down at Jeanne.

“Jeanne, at first, I thought that you were some kinds of rich eccentric with mental delusions. After watching you for a few weeks, I now realize that you mean business, deadly serious business. In fact, I’m starting to have more confidence in you than in many of our officers. I wish I knew how you ended up the way you are, though.” Jeanne was thoughtful for a moment, then spoke quietly.

“Put it on years of adversity, hard training and continuous self-education. War is also an old acquaintance of mine. Sometimes I watch those so-called officers who bought their ranks instead of earning them and am tempted to push them aside and show them how it’s done. However, I do not wish to become too conspicuous, something that would hinder my job of helping the sick and the wounded and could also hurt my husband’s career. For that same reason I would ask you to not include me in your journal. The less known I stay, the better.”

“How do you know that I am writing a journal?” asked Fanny, surprised. “Only my husband knows about it.”

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“Fanny, just assume that I somehow know more than I should and accept me as I am.”

Fanny looked at Jeanne suspiciously for a moment, then nodded her head slowly.

“Alright, I will, but you are the strangest friend I ever had.”

“Thanks, Fanny!” replied happily Jeanne before resuming her digging work.

11:18 (Constantinople Time)

8th Hussars campsite, Varna

Henry Duberly smiled with amusement when he found his wife Fanny down to her blouse and skirt and digging a narrow ditch around a rectangular tent with the help of Misses Ward. The seven other women from the medical party were busy erecting another big rectangular tent about twenty yards away, isolated from the other tents around it. Fanny stopped digging long enough to accept a kiss from Henry, who then looked at the grounds occupied by the medical section. Apart from the big medical wagon, with its rear and side tents already deployed, five large rectangular tents were either already up or about to be erected around the wagon. The tents were not of the regulation army bell tent model and, apart from being more spacious, were made of much sturdier, better quality fabric than the army-issued ones, having been procured in London by Jeanne Smythe. Two of the tents, including the one Fanny was busy surrounding with a ditch, flanked each side of the medical wagon, while the three others were each twenty yards from it and well separated. Two solid poles were firmly planted in the ground near the wagon, to which were attached four horses and five mules. One of the horses was ‘Bob’, fanny’s mount, while another was Jeanne Smythe’s personal horse, ‘Pegasus’. The remaining horses were those for the medical wagon and the ambulance cart. Near the horse poles was parked the small wooden baggage trailer that had been towed behind the medical wagon. Of conventional construction, in contrast to the medical wagon and cart, that two-wheeled covered cart had been bought in Winchester and quickly modified so that it could be towed by the medical wagon. Overall, the regimental ambulance section now had a mobility and degree of self-sufficiency that the rest of the army could only envy.

“By God!” exclaimed Henry admiringly while looking around him. “I wish that the regimental quartermaster be this well equipped and organized. That Jeanne Smythe would have made a first class quartermaster if a man.”

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Those words made Fanny look dubiously at him.

“You know, Henry, I’m starting to think that us women are not so weak and dependent of men after all.”

She then swept one arm towards the crowd of cavalry soldiers surrounding them.

“Look at those idiots! While the medical section is nearly finished setting up, with no thanks to men, our good officers have been busy all morning shouting useless orders around, harassing their men and wasting everybody’s time. The tent lines have been moved and realigned three times already and not a single latrine or cooking tent has been set up yet.”

Henry blushed under the vehement but well deserved criticism from his wife: the utter lack of field experience of many of the regiment’s officers was already becoming painfully obvious, attracting bitter comments from experienced troopers. What he had come to tell Fanny was thus all the more embarrassing to say.

“Uh, I’m afraid that I have two bad news for you, Fanny.”

“Not concerning us directly, I hope?”

“One, yes. I have been assigned a tent. The problem is that three other junior officers are sharing it with me.”

“WHAT?” shouted Fanny, getting angry. “And where am I supposed to sleep?”

“I don’t know yet, dear. The quartermaster has not come around yet to assigning tents to women.”

Margaret Ward, who had been discreetly listening on, then cut in politely.

“If I may, Misses Duberly, we have plenty of space left in the women’s tent. You are most welcome to move in if you wish so.”

“Hell, I think that I will do just that.” replied Fanny while staring down her husband. “So, what is that other bad news you were bringing, dear?” Wincing at the sarcastic way she had pronounced the word ‘dear’, Henry braced himself as he answered her.

“Well, C and D Troops have arrived, along with the Headquarters Troop, but they have no means of transportation for their baggage and supplies. The quartermaster, Captain McGregor, sent me to see if the doctor would be willing to spare his mules for the day in order to help.”

Fanny and Margaret exchanged a knowing look then.

“Henry,” replied Fanny with an exasperated tone, “you can tell Captain McGregor that he will get an answer after lunch: Doctor Farrell and Lady Jeanne have gone into

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town to talk with French Army doctors and to procure supplies. Those mules are the private property of Jeanne Smythe and she has a letter signed by Lord Raglan himself certifying that the equipment and animals of the medical section cannot be requisitioned without her tacit agreement. Talking of lunch, what is on the regiment’s menu for noon?” Fanny didn’t like the way Henry tucked his head in like a turtle at her question.

“Nothing yet, dear: the cooks and their rations are still stuck aboard the ship. We were hoping for your mules to bring some ration biscuits to the men.” Margaret Ward could barely contain her laughter as Fanny Duberly bent down and leaned on her pick, looking totally discouraged.

“God, is this regiment an army unit or a traveling circus act?”

“Hey,” protested weakly Henry, “you should see the other regiments.”

“I don’t want to know!”

Fanny’s eyes then focused on something in the distance.

“Well, you are in luck after all: here is Jeanne’s cart back from town.” Looking in the same direction, Henry effectively saw the ambulance cart coming towards them, with Jeanne Smythe and Doctor Farrell sitting in the front. He didn’t like the glum look on their faces as they got nearer. Stopping her cart beside the medical wagon, Jeanne then jumped down from it with commendable agility and faced Henry and Fanny.

“I’m afraid that we have bad news: cholera cases have developed in the French camps. Our men may become infected soon.”

Everybody around Jeanne stiffened at the name of the dreaded killer disease. Fanny then looked at young Doctor Farrell, whose face reflected preoccupation. The young doctor then spoke in a glum tone.

“The best thing for us to do now is to prevent its spread through sound camp sanitation and quarantine of the sick. For the sick, we can only help them by combating dehydration, cleaning them up and keeping down the fever. Jeanne gave me a few good ideas about how to do this best.”

All eyes then turned to Jeanne, who spoke slowly.

“Don’t get this wrong, people. Cholera is a nasty, merciless disease. We probably will be swamped with patients emptying themselves constantly by both ends all over the place and who could die within hours of showing the first symptoms. We can help fight dehydration, the most dangerous aspect of cholera, by constantly giving to the sick a solution of water and minerals. A light broth or soup could do. Thankfully, the medical wagon contains a good supply of bed pans and bed sheets that will help us

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keep the quarantine tent clean. The washing to be done will however be backbreaking, continuous work. One crucial point: everything used to treat cholera victims will have to be washed, then disinfected by boiling. Another important point is to safeguard our fresh water supply from infection. No human waste must touch the stream passing through this camp, or we will all be infected. Our next big piece of work will be to dig a sewer pit away from the river, in which we will throw all the infected waste, plus quicklime at regular intervals. I will direct the work this afternoon while Doctor Farrell alerts Lord Paget and the surgeons of the other regiments of the brigade.” Henry Duberly looked gravely at Jeanne as she spoke: Doctor Farrell may officially be in charge of the regimental ambulance but there was no mistaking who was in real control. Everything that Jeanne had said however made good, solid sense and cholera was too serious a matter to start petty power games now.

“Misses Smythe, I will talk to Captain McGregor about this to see how he can help you. I however have a pressing request from him. Could you spare your five mules so that the essential rations and supplies can be unloaded from our ships?” Jeanne shook her head dejectedly before looking back at Henry.

“Hurrah for the Commissariat’s usual incompetence! Tell Captain McGregor that he can have my mules for today, but remind him that there is a big string attached to them. In the meantime, us girls will take a well deserved lunch.”

“You have rations with you?” asked Henry, both surprised and envious. Jeanne gave him a dubious look, then went to the back of her cart and unloaded a number of wicker baskets, opening them and exposing their content.

“Alright, girls, we have fresh bread, cheese, hard-boiled eggs, smoked beef sausages and red wine. Let’s set the table!”

Henry Duberly shrank under the sarcastic look Fanny then gave him. It became even more stinging when Jeanne went back to the cart and took out of it a live lamb.

“By the way, I also secured our supper. If any of you girls want to, you can bring to your husbands a portion then.”

“Hmm, I’ll think about it.” said Fanny, grabbing one of the baskets and bringing it inside the rear tent of the medical wagon.

08:36 (Constantinople Time)

Saturday, June 3, 1854 ‘A’

8th Hussars camp

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Varna, Bulgaria

Fanny Duberly woke up to find herself alone in the women’s tent, now well lit by daylight. She could hear outside the usual noises of an army bivouac: shouted orders; the sound of marching feet and horses hoofs; the clicking of weapons and the conversations of idle soldiers. With her muscles stiff from yesterday’s digging work, she rose from the folding camp cot lent to her by Jeanne and quickly dressed, putting on her most informal gown, which was however still overly fancy for rugged outdoors work. She emerged from the tent, intent on using the women’s latrine, only to nearly bump into a bearded man wearing civilian clothes and who was gawking at the medical wagon nearby. The man, who looked in his late thirties, quickly took off his cap and bowed politely.



“I’m sorry for being in the way, madam. Let me present myself: William Howard Russell, correspondent for The Times of London.”

“Pleased to meet you, sir.” replied Fanny politely but now on her guard. “My name is Fanny Duberly, wife of the 8th Hussars’ paymaster. May I help you?”

“You may, madam.” said Russell, then pointing at the medical wagon. “This is a most ingenious design. Do you know how long it has been in army service?”

“In fact I do, sir. It was introduced into Hussars’ service on April ninth of this year, but you won’t find any other similar wagon in the army.”

“Oh, why? Is the design flawed?”

Fanny couldn’t help grin as she managed her effects on the journalist, who had taken out a pencil and a notepad.

“Not at all! This wagon is the best I ever saw. It was actually designed specifically for the regimental ambulance by Lady Jeanne Smythe, the wife of one of our officers. She paid for it from her own pocket, her being a rich woman. She gave it as a gift to the regiment to replace the old ambulance wagon that had been smashed in an accident.”

“That is mighty generous of this Lady Smythe. I… wait! Did you say that she designed it as well as pay for it?”

“I did.” answered Fanny, smiling at Russell’s surprise. “She also volunteered as field nurse and ambulance driver. Would you like to speak with her?”

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“Very much so, madam.” said eagerly the journalist while scribbling on his notepad. He then followed Fanny inside the medical wagon’s rear tent, where they found Doctor Farrell disinfecting his instruments with rubbing alcohol and a clean piece of cloth.

“Aah, Doctor Farrell! May I present you Mister William Russell, correspondent of The Times of London?”

“How do you do, sir?” said timidly the young doctor while shaking hands with Russell. “I suppose that you would like a tour of the medical section.”

“I would, sir, but I was also hoping to speak to a Lady Jeanne Smythe.” Farrell then shrugged and smiled apologetically.

“I’m afraid that you are out of luck today, sir: she left early this morning with Misses Ward, one of our assistant nurses, on a three-day trip to the town of Burgas, fifty miles to the South, to get additional supplies.”

“Three days?” said Russell dejectedly. He however regained quickly his

composure and smiled to Farrell. “Well, how about that tour of your section then, Doctor?”

“I will be glad to oblige, sir.” replied Farrell while packing away his surgical instruments.

09:26 (Constantinople Time)

Quarantine tent, medical section

Russell nodded his head in approval, writing notes down quickly as Doctor Farrell finished describing the equipment of the quarantine tent, the last stop of the guided tour. By now the journalist was both jubilant and angry: jubilant that someone was at last doing the job right; angry that the rest of the army wasn’t like this regimental ambulance. Thanking the frail doctor and shaking his hand, Russell waited until Farrell was back into his medical wagon, then went quickly to the laundry tent, where a young blond woman was washing clothes. The woman, whom he had met earlier during the tour, had seemed eager to be interviewed and have her name mentioned. Mary Pearson effectively appeared pleased when Russell entered the tent. Starting with a few questions concerning her, the journalist waited until she was warmed up to get into his real subject of interest.

“…and you were then hired by Lady Jeanne Smythe, right?”

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“Correct, sir.”

“Do you know this Lady Jeanne well, Misses Pearson?”

That made the young blonde giggle.

“Know her well? Not really, but you wouldn’t believe the stories about her. Take the time when she did saber practice with the officers of the regiment…”



11:08 (Constantinople Time)

Tuesday, June 6, 1854 ‘A’

8th Hussars camp

Varna, Bulgaria

Fanny Duberly was kneeling in front of a wooden tub full of soapy water, washing one of Henry’s shirts, when Mary Pearson ran into the laundry tent and shouted excitedly.

“Jeanne and Margaret are back! Their cart is approaching the camp.” Dropping the shirt in the tub and hurriedly drying her hands with the white apron she wore over her dress, Fanny then ran outside and looked south across the shallow stream flowing through the camp. Her heart jumped when she saw Jeanne’s ambulance cart, now less than 400 yards away and with Jeanne and Margaret waving at them. A line of loaded pack mules trailed behind the cart. Fanny looked at the two poles near the medical wagon, to which five mules and four horses were still attached, then back at the mules following Jeanne’s cart.

“Don’t tell me that she bought more mules.”

“It would make good sense, Misses Duberly.” replied Sarah Champion, standing beside Fanny. “The regiment is still sorely short of transport animals and could certainly use more mules. Besides, the way those approaching mules are loaded, I doubt that Jeanne’s cart could have taken even half of the supplies she bought.”

By the time that Jeanne Smythe drove her cart into the camp, a small crowd of idle soldiers and women had formed to greet her and Margaret Ward. The first near the cart when it stopped was Gordon Smythe, in whose arms Jeanne literally threw herself, sending both of them down in the dirt, laughing and kissing each other. Fanny Duberly was nearly pulled down by Jeanne’s weight when she lent her a hand to get up.

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Summarily dusting herself off, Jeanne then smiled to Thomas Farrell, who stood in the front ranks of the crowd.

“I found all that we needed in Burgas, Doctor. The town has not been depleted of supplies the way Varna has been. We probably should do periodic resupply trips to that town.”

“You did excellent work, Jeanne.” replied Farrell, pleased, before shouting at the soldiers around him. “May I have volunteers to help unload those mules and the cart and to bring the supplies in the medical section’s cooking tent?” A chorus of voices answered the doctor, who soon had over twenty men to help him. Putting Sarah Champion in charge of supervising the work detail, Farrell then went to see Jeanne, who was holding hands with her husband.

“Excuse me for interrupting your reunion, but do you have a list of the supplies you procured?”

“Sure!” said Jeanne with good humor, then searching in a side pouch of her web gear and extracting a piece of paper which she handed to Farrell. “in a nutshell, I bought over two tons of dry foodstuffs, lots of white cotton cloth, cooking oil, spices, smoked fish and cleaning products. Oh, I nearly forgot: add 25 mules and a sword to the lot.” As she said those last words, she unsheathed a curved Turkish saber slung across her back and grinned at Gordon while showing him the weapon.

“I even had a chance to test this Kilij saber on my way back: four thieves tried to rob us, thinking that two women would be an easy prey. They learned otherwise the hard way.”

Jeanne then noticed a bearded civilian man that was writing furiously on a notepad while standing nearby.

“Are you intent on writing a book about me, sir?” she asked him nonchalantly. The man looked up from his notepad and smiled.

“A book, no. An article, yes. I’m William Howard Russell, correspondent for The Times of London.”

Jeanne shook hands with him, visibly not too thrilled by this encounter.

“Pardon my lack of enthusiasm, sir, but I would rather keep a low profile: celebrity would not help my job as a field nurse.”

“Can I then quote you as the rich and adventurous French wife of a Hussars officer?” asked Russell, a devilish grin on his face. Jeanne’s own face then softened.

“If worded that way, then I withdraw my objection.”

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“How did you kill those four bandits, madam?”

“I beheaded the first one with my new sword when he made the mistake of coming close, then I shot the three others with my Colt revolver.” As the crowd around her, except for Gordon, who knew her enough by now not to be surprised, stared at her with disbelief, Jeanne cautiously passed a fingertip along her sword’s cutting edge.

“I was really lucky to find this Kilij: it is a top quality weapon, with a Damascus steel blade and great chopping power. Now, if you will excuse me, I have a few things to attend to.”

Sheeting back her saber, Jeanne then went to Doctor Farrell and whispered to him.

“Any cases of cholera yet in the regiment?”

“None in this regiment but six men from other regiments of the brigade have fallen sick with what I believe to be cholera.”

Jeanne sighed with relief, then raised her voice to a normal level.

“Do we have any patients yet?”

The frail young man hesitated for a second. If he knew Jeanne well, the French woman was not going to like the news to come.

“I have two patients at the moment: one trooper who was hit in the head by a kicking horse, plus another trooper who is recovering from a flogging.”

“WHAT?!”

Jeanne’s furious shout made heads turn around them at once, as well as making Gordon start walking towards her.

“Why? Who ordered this?” asked Jeanne in a dangerous tone, making Farrell shrink while facing her.

“Lord Cardigan caught a corporal drunk while on duty and summarily condemned him to twenty lashes. I’m sorry but this is still a legal punishment in the Army, unfortunately.”

Jeanne had to turn away from the doctor to vent her frustration with a choice series of swear words. That was when Gordon joined her, only to get a black look from Jeanne.

“I hope that you had nothing to do with this flogging, Gordon.”

“I didn’t and I assure you that I don’t like it either, dear. Unfortunately, nothing can be done about this as long as flogging is legal in the Army.” Jeanne inhaled deeply a few times to calm down, then faced back Thomas Farrell.

“I will go see our patients as soon as I have taken care of my horse and cart.”

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“Can I come with you?” asked timidly Gordon, getting a nod from Jeanne.

Gordon ended up helping to unhook Jeanne’s pulling horse from the ambulance cart, then pushed the cart near the medical wagon while Jeanne gave some water and feed grain to her horse. The couple then accompanied Doctor Farrell inside the sick ward’s tent. The big tent contained twelve camp cots, a small iron stove with a pipe leading outside the tent through a special vent hole in the canvas, two wooden chests containing medical supplies and a small folding table and chair for use by the duty nurse. Mary Pearson sat in the chair at the time, while two men occupied camp cots. Jeanne went first to the man wearing a bandage covering his head and left eye. Despite the bandage, it was obvious that the left side of the man’s face was severely swollen. The wounded man was sleeping at the time, so Jeanne moved to the other patient after a short examination. That man lay on his belly and was obviously very much in pain. Gordon saw Jeanne’s face harden as she looked at the bloody bandages covering the man’s torso. She then muttered to herself.

“Bloody barbarians!”

She next looked at Farrell with an expression that left no room for debate.

“Doctor, I will take care personally of that patient: I have experience with flogging victims. I hope that you were planning to keep this man here for at least a couple of days, to make sure that his wounds don’t get infected.”

“Uh, of course, Jeanne.” said timidly Farrell, who had actually not thought yet about that. The few weeks he had already spent with Jeanne, both in Winchester and on the transport ship, had however showed him that she was medically far more qualified than even an experienced nurse and could nearly qualify as a surgeon, that is if a woman would ever be allowed to practice medicine, which was certainly not the case in England right now. His answer made Jeanne nod with satisfaction.

“Thank you, Doctor! You are a good man. I’m going to wash and change and I will then take the late afternoon nursing shift.”

She next faced her husband and pointed an index at him.

“You and I have an appointment tonight, alone!”

“I won’t argue with that order, dear.” replied Gordon with a grin.

17:49 (Constantinople Time)

8th Hussars camp, Varna

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Troop Sergeant-Major James Champion found Captain Smythe discussing with Major Henry in front of the regimental command tent. Stopping at a respectable distance from the two officers, Champion waited patiently that Major Henry left to step forward and halt in front of Gordon, saluting crisply.

“Sir! May I have a word with you, sir?”

“Always, Sergeant-Major.” replied Gordon while saluting back. Champion knew from experience that Gordon was not lying then: the captain was one of the rare officers in the regiment who truly cared about his men, apart from being a competent leader and cavalry officer. Marrying a woman of unparalleled generosity had only made him even more popular with the troopers.

“Sir, the men are complaining about their rations. I have to say that, in all my years in the army, I have rarely seen such swill as this evening, sir.”

“Did you taste the food, Sergeant-Major?”

“I spat it out, sir!” replied Champion vehemently. “Some of the regimental wives came for their rations and vomited them as soon as they ate them. The cooks are arguing that they have to work with rotting food supplies, sir.” Gordon frowned at those words: for Champion to spit out army food, it had to be awful indeed.

“Alright, Sergeant-Major, let’s go to the regimental kitchen and see how bad things are.”

“Yes sir!” replied Champion, saluting Gordon before following him.

Gordon Smythe’s arrival at the field kitchen calmed somewhat the nasty mood of the soldiers lined up to get their supper. They watched on expectantly as the officer confronted the nervous chief cook, Sergeant Mack Foster.

“Show me what you have on the menu tonight, Sergeant.” The small, somewhat overweight man wiped his hands on his dirty apron before leading Gordon to a large steel pot sitting on a wood stove.

“We have a cabbage and pork soup, along with bread, sir. Unfortunately, both the cabbage and the salted pork provided by the Commissariat are somewhat…stale, to say the least, sir.”

“Alright, I will have a portion of that soup, Sergeant.”

“Uh, as you wish, sir.”

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Gordon, busy watching Foster fill a mess tin with hot soup, didn’t notice one of the cooks running back to the kitchen, coming from the overflowing latrines used by the whole brigade and going back to work without bothering to wash his hands first. Taking a piece of dry bread as well, Gordon went to sit at a lone table besides the kitchen, followed by Champion. Searching the soup with his spoon, he caught a few small pieces of blackening cabbage and of pork that was almost all fat or gristle. His stomach nearly turned upside down when he realized that the small white things floating in the soup were dead maggots, well boiled. The smell of the soup was not much better than its sight. Throwing in disgust the soup in the dirt, Gordon then tried a bite of his small piece of bread. Swallowing it was like eating a stone. Foster started sweating as Gordon stared at him angrily.

“You have nothing better than this to feed the men, Sergeant?”

“But, sir, that is all I was provided with by means of supplies, sir. The only alternative is rationing biscuits.”

“Then issue biscuits to the men! Your soup is unfit for human consumption. I will go speak at once with Captain McGregor and Mister Grant about the rations.” Gordon was about to leave the kitchen when an idea came to him. Watched by the surprised cooks, he refilled the mess tin he had with more soup, making sure to catch a few floating dead maggots as well, then faced Sergeant-Major Champion, mess tin in hand.

“Sergeant-Major, please go see my wife and ask her on my behalf if she could help give something decent to eat to the men while I talk to those responsible for this outrage.”

“Yes sir!” shouted Champion, saluting then turning around and walking away. His tin of soup in his left hand, Gordon left the kitchen as well, walking down the long lines of tents towards the officers’ mess. Contrary to the troopers, who had to eat in the open and on the ground unless they chose to eat inside their crowded tents, the officers were furnished with a large marquee tent with tables and chairs to have their meals. Gordon spotted quickly the regimental Commissariat purveyor, Peter Grant, eating at a table with Captains McGregor, Lockwood and Fields. Politely saluting Fanny Duberly first, who was eating with her husband at a nearby table, he went directly to Grant and slammed the tin of soup on the table, in front of his plate. The officers around fell quiet as Gordon spoke with contained anger to the civil servant.

“Mister Grant, I would like you to taste what our men are given to eat.”

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“Eat this?” asked Grant after a quick look at the soup. “Why?”

“Is it that you don’t like eating boiled maggots and rotting pork, sir?” Gordon felt satisfaction as the officers around, as well as Misses Duberly, looked with horror at the mess tin. Reddening with embarrassment, Grant stammered as he felt hostile looks targeting him from many sides.

“But…we have no choice but to use the supplies sent from England. There is nothing else available.”

Gordon had a quick look at Grant’s plate: it contained fresh broiled beef, potatoes, fresh bread and butter.

“Really? Where did you get the supplies for the officers’ mess?” Captain McGregor, the regimental quartermaster, then cut in, trying to defuse the confrontation.

“Smythe, you know as well as me that officers rations scales are separate from troopers scales. You surely don’t expect the men to share our rations?”

“And why not?” replied Gordon forcefully, getting angry. “They will fight and die for England. Doesn’t that entitle them to be treated like human beings?”

“Aw, come on, Smythe!” added Ramsay Fields, the commanding officer of D Troop. “Feed those ruffians with gentlemen’s rations? You can’t be serious.” Gordon then gave Fields a black look: the man had purchased all of his successive ranks and had never been near combat. As a cavalryman and swordsman, Fields was widely considered as marginal at best, while the men of D Troop received more than their fair share of floggings, if you could call flogging a fair military punishment.

“I am serious, Mister Fields. This is war, not some field maneuvers at home. Your life will depend on your men’s performance on the battlefield, especially since you can’t fence or shoot worth a damn by yourself.”

Fanny Duberly, listening on discreetly but carefully to this, had a hard time repressing a grin, like many around her. On his part, Fields shot up from his chair and put his right hand on his sword’s pommel.

“Are you mocking me, sir?” he shouted loudly, trying to look defiant and sure of himself. In reality he knew that Gordon would cut him to pieces in a duel. A potential fight was averted by the intervention of Lord Paget, who came to their table, displeasure on his face.

“Gentlemen, calm down! The officers’ mess is no place for a fight. You are officers and I expect you to conduct yourselves as such.”

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“Sir,” said Gordon politely but forcefully, “what about the men’s rations? They will starve or fall sick if fed such swill as like today.”

Before answering, Paget took the tin of soup and had a good look at it, sniffing it as well. With disgust on his face, he then stared at Peter Grant.

“Good God, man! Can’t you do better than this?”

“With what, sir?” Replied Grant sheepishly. “I do not decide what kind of rations are bought in England, nor do I have the power to do so.”

“What about local purchases, sir?” suggested Gordon to Lord Paget, who thought for a moment before nodding.

“That could be a solution, Captain. The problem will be to find the funds for such purchases. I will have to talk with Lord Cardigan and Mister Fielder, the Commissary General. In the meantime, the men will have to make do with ration biscuits.”

“I already told the chief-cook to switch to biscuits, sir.” said Gordon, getting a sharp look from Captain McGregor: that should technically be the quartermaster’s call to make. Lord Paget simply nodded his head at that.

“Very well, Captain. Dismissed!”

Saluting Paget crisply, Gordon then left the mess tent, followed by the unfriendly eyes of Grant, Fields and McGregor.

“Those ex-Army of India officers!” spat Fields resentfully. “They think they know and have seen everything.”

Fanny Duberly, cutting short her supper, rose from her table and faced Fields contemptuously.

“Well, he certainly has seen a lot more than you, sir.”

The warning look Fields got from Henry Duberly prevented him from replying as Fanny walked away. Rising as well from the table where he had been eating, William Howard Russell then left the mess as well, heading for the men’s field kitchen.

Gordon arrived back at the men’s kitchen to find a number of regimental wives distributing smoked fish and dried dates to the troopers ordered in multiple lines by Sergeant-Major Champion. Gordon went to Jeanne and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek.

“I knew that I could count on you. Thanks, dear!”

“That is the least I could do, Gordon.” replied Jeanne, sullen, while giving three dried dates from a basket she held to each man passing by her. “Have you eaten yet?”

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“Uh, no. I couldn’t in all conscience eat at the officers’ mess after this.” That earned him a tender look and a caress on the cheek from Jeanne.

“I did marry the right man, truly. Go to the ambulance’s kitchen and get some food from Mary Pearson. I will join you there shortly.”

Kissing her and getting approving comments from the soldiers around, Gordon then went to the cooking tent of the medical section, fifty yards away. He found Mary Pearson serving Emma Armstrong, Fanny Duberly’s maid, from a steaming pot warming on top of the tent’s wood stove.

“Hello, Misses Pearson. Jeanne told me to come here to get fed.”

“Well, you will certainly eat better here than at the men’s kitchen, sir.” replied the young blonde while fetching a plate and utensils from a chest for him. She then filled the plate with a ladleful from the cooking pot and handed it to Gordon, who sniffed the food.

“Hmm, this does smell good! What is it exactly?”

“Fried rice with lentils and smoked fish. Jeanne made it.” Gordon’s eyes lit up after he had a first bite of his rice.

“This is good! Maybe I should eat here all the time.”

“I don’t think so, sir.” replied Mary, smiling. “Only the medical personnel, the patients and the regimental wives of the junior ranks can eat here regularly: orders from your wife, sir.”

“Well, who am I to discuss such authority?” said Gordon jovially, getting a giggle from Mary.

Jeanne joined them fifteen minutes later, serving herself some rice before sitting at the table with Gordon and Misses Armstrong. They exchanged small talk while eating, until Emma Armstrong and Mary Pearson left the cooking tent. Gordon then bent forward and lowered his voice.

“Jeanne, those visions of the war you have, what do they tell you about what we can expect?”

Jeanne was silent for a moment, weighing her answer: as Field Agent Nancy Laplante, she was not supposed to divulge the future to anyone from the past. Her earlier bout of amnesia had however caused some serious damage in that respect, damage that would be hard to undo.

“Lots of good men will die, mostly from disease, neglect and outright incompetence. The best that we can do is to care as best we can for the men and

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women of this regiment. Even if we do only that, then we will have done our part. The rest is beyond our control.”

Sobered up by such a bleak prediction, Gordon ate mostly in silence from then on.



09:11 (Constantinople Time)

Wednesday, June 7, 1854 ‘A’

Sick ward, 8th Hussars field infirmary Varna, Bulgaria

Jeanne was nearly finished applying clean bandages over the wounds of the flogged trooper when Captain Ramsay Fields entered abruptly the sick ward’s tent. Looking briefly around him, then at the man Jeanne was bandaging, Fields spoke gruffly to the patient.

“You rested here long enough, Trooper Harrison. Put your uniform on and return to your duties.”

“Stay right where you are, Trooper!” said at once Jeanne to the soldier before getting up and facing Fields, who now looked incensed at her having the gall to countermand his order.

“What do you think that you are doing, madam? This man is part of my troop and I will decide when he is needed on duty.”

“Wrong, Captain!” said firmly Jeanne, staring hard into Fields eyes. “This patient will leave when Doctor Farrell decides that he is medically fit for duty. Right now, his wounds are still open and could get infected if he resumes work too early.”

“Madam, I won’t let a woman interfere with my command. Get up, Trooper!”

“Stay down, Trooper!” shouted Jeanne before walking quickly to Fields, getting nose to nose with him. “Now get out of the sick ward before I throw you out, Captain Fields.”

“Ha, that would be the day!” said derisively Fields. Things then went very fast, with Fields being brutally turned around and forced to bend over before being literally thrown out of the tent and landing face first in the dirt. Stunned by both the strength and

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speed of Jeanne, Fields got back on his feet as Jeanne shouted at him from just outside the tent.

“The next time that you try to take away a patient without the doctor’s permission, I will kick you all the way to the other side of the camp, Fields.” Enraged and humiliated at being ordered around by a woman, Fields acted without thinking, drawing his saber and pointing it at Jeanne, its tip only inches from her face.

“I’m an officer and…”

Jeanne then knocked his sword out of his hand with a lightning kick that he never saw coming.

“You are a nobody, Fields, and I will show it to all those around.” Jeanne then went on the attack, delivering a series of swift, painful punches and kicks and pummeling Fields’ face and torso despite his attempts at fighting back. The few regimental wives and the many soldiers going around the regimental infirmary at the time looked on with amazement as Jeanne deliberately chose hits that were painful but wouldn’t knock Fields out right away. One last karate punch to Fields’ jaw finally sent him down on the ground, unconscious and bleeding. After a last contemptuous look at the man, Jeanne then turned around and walked back inside the sick ward’s tent, leaving Fields in the dirt. Nobody at first came to Fields’ help until Regimental Sergeant-Major O’Neil, who had seen the fight from a distance, came at a run. Kneeling besides the unconscious officer, the RSM examined with disbelief his split lips, broken nose, bruised jaw and swelling cheeks. Looking quickly around him, he signaled four soldiers nearby to come to him.

“YOU FOUR, COME AND PICK UP CAPTAIN FIELDS!”

The four soldiers ran to him at once and surrounded the inert officer on the ground. O’Neil pointed at the nearby medical wagon, with its treatment tent deployed.

“Let’s get the captain in there, so that Doctor Farrell can treat him.” One of the soldiers nearly made a joke then but kept it to himself, knowing that pissing off the RSM was normally not a wise thing to do. The four soldiers then each grabbed an arm or a leg and carried Fields inside the treatment tent, with O’Neil leading the way. Doctor Farrell, who was checking a feverish soldier at the time, looked with surprise and incredulity at the bloodied officer, then at O’Neil.

“What the hell happened to him, RSM?”

“Your head nurse beat him up.” replied tersely the veteran NCO. “Where should we put him?”

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“Uh, on this table here, please.”

Fields was then laid on the table covered with a white cloth that served as the treatment bed. O’Neil dismissed the four soldiers as Farrell called Mary Pearson to assist him, then himself walked out of the treatment tent. He next walked to the sick ward’s tent, entering it and facing Jeanne, who had resumed her bandaging work. She looked up calmly at him and smiled.

“What can I do for you this morning, RSM?”

“You could tell me why you just beat Captain Fields to a pulp, madam.” replied O’Neil, secretly admiring her spunk. She gave him a serious look while interrupting her work for a moment.

“He tried to take away this patient without the doctor’s permission, then pointed his saber in my face after I threw him out of the sick ward. He had it coming to him, RSM.”

O’Neil nodded once at those words: he had seen Fields brandish his saber at the French woman. Apart from being about to become the laughing stock of the regiment, Fields was going to have to explain to Lord Paget why he had pulled out a sword at an officer’s wife, something the regiment’s commander was not going to appreciate one bit. Fields was also going to be lucky if he didn’t have to contend next with Jeanne’s husband. All told, Fields’ bruises and wounds were probably going to be the least of his troubles today. O’Neil thus came to attention and saluted Jeanne.

“I’m sorry to have disturbed you, madam. Have a good day!”

“The same to you, RSM.”

O’Neil then turned around in military fashion and exited the tent. Seeing numerous small groups of soldiers congregating around the regimental infirmary and whispering to each other while watching the sick ward’s tent, O’Neil bellowed out in his strongest voice.

“WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING, LOOKING LIKE A BUNCH OF SHEEP? GET BACK TO YOUR DUTIES OR I WILL FIND YOU SOME DRILL PRACTICE TO DO!”

That motivated the soldiers in dispersing quickly, either disappearing inside their tents or making a show of cleaning their weapons or uniforms.

O’Neil’s next stop was Lord Paget’s command tent, where he recounted what he had seen to his incredulous commander. As O’Neil expected, Paget didn’t like the part about Fields threatening Jeanne Smythe with his saber.

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“Decidedly, Captain Fields is as much a ruffian and an idiot as he is a poor cavalry officer. I will have a serious talk with him…once he comes out of the infirmary. In the meantime, could you tell Captain Smythe to come see me, RSM?”

“Yes sir!” shouted O’Neil, saluting before turning around and leaving the command tent. Finding Captain Smythe took him only four minutes. Gordon Smythe broke into a grin when O’Neil told him why Lord Paget wanted to see him.

“Good old Jeanne! Always direct and to the point.”

“Direct is the correct word, sir.” replied O’Neil, hiding his own grin. “She certainly knows how to defend herself, sir.”

“Somehow, I suspect that Jeanne prefers the offensive over the defensive, RSM.” said Gordon Smythe before leaving for Lord Paget’s tent. Only once alone did O’Neil allow a grin to appear on his face. After this he was certainly going to listen more closely to the stories his wife Sarah had to say about Lady Jeanne Smythe.

Gordon managed to keep a straight face as he presented himself to Lord Paget in his tent, saluting him first.

“You wanted to see me, sir?”

“I did, Captain. Did the RSM tell you why?”

“He did, sir. If I got it right, Captain Fields got what he had coming to him, sir.”

“He certainly did.” replied Lord Paget, serious. “He should have known that he needed the doctor’s release authorization before fetching a patient out of the infirmary. As for drawing his saber at an officer’s wife, it is simply inexcusable, no matter his reasons to do so. Since I understand that your wife already gave him quite a bloody nose, I will not discipline him further and will let him live through the ridicule. As for Lady Jeanne, could you please ask her not to do this again? I don’t have too many officers to spare these days.”

“I will pass your request on to her, sir.” said Gordon, repressing a grin with difficulty. “Is there anything else, sir?”

“No, that will be all, Captain. You are dismissed!”

“Sir!” Shouted Gordon, saluting again, then pivoting on his heels and turning around before walking out of the command tent. He walked for maybe twelve yards before breaking out laughing.

15:40 (Constantinople Time)

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8th Hussars infirmary

Light Cavalry Brigade camp

Varna, Bulgaria

Jeanne was thinking about the menu that they would prepare for supper when Margaret Ward rushed into the cooking tent, dread on her face.

“Doctor Farrell needs you at once, Jeanne: we may have our first case of cholera in the regiment.”

Jeanne hurried out of the cooking tent at once, running to the field treatment tent attached to the medical wagon. There, she found Doctor Farrell examining a young trooper sitting on the examination table, with Mary Pearson standing nearby, a bedpan ready in her hands. Seeing the trooper’s face turning sour, Mary stepped forward and presented her bedpan just in time as the soldier vomited violently. Taking a bedpan as well from a pile stacked in a corner of the tent, Jeanne joined Mary besides the examination table.

“I’ll take over from here, Mary. Please ask Sarah to start a big pot of boiling water: we will have to start applying decontamination procedures and quarantine from now on. Have Margaret boil some rice as well in lots of water: we will need rice water to be constantly available from now on. Tell her to put some salt in the water as well.”

“Rice water? What for?” asked the sick trooper. Jeanne looked at him gravely.

“If you have cholera, rice water will be the only food you will be able to ingest. It will cut your diarrhea and prevent dehydration, which is the main complication with cholera. It will taste bland but it may be the only thing that could keep you alive through this.”

“Am…am I going to die?”

“Not if we can help it, Trooper.” answered Thomas Farrell, having finished his examination. “Nurse Smythe will now lead you to the men’s washing tent so that you can be cleaned up and can change into a hospital gown. Your uniform will be washed and disinfected for you.”

The trooper had just gotten off the examination table when he gripped his stomach with both hands.

“Doc…I’m going to get sick!” he said haltingly. Not wasting one second, Jeanne grabbed him and forcefully led him to a chamber pot sitting in a corner. Quickly undoing the man’s suspenders and undoing his fly, she pulled his trousers and shorts down and

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sat him down on the chamber pot, handing next a bedpan to the man. The trooper emptied himself from both ends at the same time, his vomit coming out like a liquid jet. Farrell shook his head at that sight.

“It’s cholera alright. Just before this man came in, I was advised that a corporal from the 11th Hussars had died a short while ago from cholera, a mere nine hours after showing the first symptoms. It seems that we are dealing with a most potent strain here.”

“Indeed!” replied Jeanne glumly. “We will have to tighten camp sanitation rules further.”

“I wish that it would be this simple.” said Farrell bitterly, making Jeanne look sharply at him. “Some of the other regimental surgeons and many unit commanders are not enforcing camp sanitation rules as they should be doing. They think that I am overreacting.”

“Overreacting? Are they mad or simply stupid?” replied Jeanne, furious. Farrell, looking embarrassed, led her away from the sick trooper and lowered his voice.

“Jeanne, I am ashamed to have to say that some of my medical colleagues here are not much more than incompetent drunks. Since I am by far the most junior surgeon of the brigade, my word doesn’t count for much outside of this regiment. We may have to deal with cholera in isolation from the rest of the brigade.”

“The idiots! This may cost us thousands of lives!”

Farrell lowered his head sadly at those words.

“I know! Look at it this way, Jeanne: at least we can take care of this regiment, of the people we know.”

Jeanne had a look at the young trooper, still sick and sitting on the chamber pot.

“You’re right, Doc. After washing and changing him, I will organize a duty rotation for the girls. This is only the beginning of it.”

Farrell nodded his head, discouraged: Jeanne was unfortunately correct in her prediction.

10:51 (Constantinople Time)

Friday, June 16, 1854 ‘A’

8th Hussars infirmary, Varna

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Doctor Farrell had a last look at the emaciated face of the thirteen year-old trumpeter, then slowly slid the wool blanket over the boy’s head, watched by a sobbing Jeanne Smythe. Thomas had to swallow hard twice before he could speak.

“Jeanne, could you take care of his burial, please?”

Without a word, the tall French woman gently picked up in her arms and lifted the small boy’s body, still covered by the blanket, and walked out slowly of the quarantine tent. Farrell then looked at Emma Armstrong, who was waiting near him.

“Emma, have this camp cot washed and disinfected and bring in a clean cot.”

“Yes, Doctor.” Said softly the woman, tears on her face. Emma had just left the tent with the soiled cot when Doctor John Gibbons, the chief-surgeon of the Light Cavalry Brigade, came in. The graying doctor went directly to Farrell, walking cautiously past the ten occupied cots crowding the tent.

“May I speak with you outside, Thomas?” asked softly Gibbons, who had seen Jeanne Smythe bearing out the dead boy. Farrell nodded slowly, dead tired from long hours of work, then followed the chief-surgeon outside. Walking away for a few yards, Gibbons then stopped and faced Farrell, his expression sullen.

“This boy was the second patient you lost to date, correct?”

“Yes, sir.” said Farrell bitterly, feeling helpless. Gibbons then patted the young surgeon’s shoulder in encouragement.

“Don’t feel so bad, Thomas. The truth is that you are faring much better than anyone else, the French included. You only lost two patients out of 39 so far, a remarkable result indeed. In comparison, over eighty percent of the men who fell sick in the rest of the brigade died, with many more men falling sick each day. Even your sickness rate is much lower than that of the brigade. You and your nurses are doing wonders.”

Farrell looked intensely at Gibbons then.

“Are the other regiments finally going to follow the same sanitation rules as we do in the 8th Hussars, sir?”

The chief-surgeon bowed his head, acknowledging Farrell’s justified criticism.

“Look, Thomas, I was skeptical of your methods at first but the results speak for themselves. Even for Lord Cardigan, 106 dead in nine days is too much. The problem now is that the other regiments have nothing in terms of equipment and trained personnel compared to your ambulance and can’t cope with the numbers of sick.”

“Sir, you should praise Lady Jeanne Smythe for this, not me.”

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“I know.” said Gibbons softly. “I wish that I had ten women like her. This however brings me to the reason of my visit. Two wives of the 17th Lancers just fell sick with cholera but the Lancers have no medically-trained women to care for them in a way proper for ladies. From now on, I would like your nurses to care for the women of this camp who will fall sick. I even had requests from other brigades to the same effect. Could you do it?”

“Sir,” protested Farrell at once, “my two ward tents are already crammed full with 21 patients as it is and my nurses are barely coping under the workload. Treating cholera victims involves a staggering amount of washing and disinfecting, plus a lot of equipment.”

“I realize that, Thomas.” said Gibbons sympathetically. “I got the support of Lord Raglan himself on this matter: you will get two large marquee tents before noon, along with the men to put them up and all the extra medical supplies I could scrounge for you. I also have a number of wives who volunteered to be trained as nurses.” Farrell sighed heavily as he looked down at the dirt at his feet.

“This is a heavy responsibility you are putting on our shoulders, sir.”

“I know, but you can do it, that I am sure of. By the way, I sent a

recommendation for your promotion to junior surgeon in view of your remarkable work here.”

“Then, bring in those tents as quickly as possible, sir, so that we can empty one of our ward tents and reserve it for female patients. We will do our best, sir.”

“I know that you will, Thomas. You will get the marquee tents within the hour.” Gibbons then left Farrell and started walking up the dirt road that ran through the camp. He soon met a sad procession walking down the lines of tents towards the brigade’s burial grounds. The padre of the 8th Hussars led four musicians playing ‘The Dead March’, who were in turn followed by two soldiers bearing a stretcher on which lay a small body wrapped in a blanket. Lady Jeanne Smythe and Misses Duberly closed the small procession, tears on their faces. The chief-surgeon removed his top hat and bowed his head as the funeral party passed in front of him, then hurried on his way.

04:18 (Constantinople Time)

Wednesday, June 21, 1854 ‘A’

8th Hussars infirmary, Varna

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Mary Pearson took the now full bedpan from under Alicia Goad, gently rolling the sick woman on her side to do so, then cleaned her up with a wet rag, throwing the soiled rag in the bedpan afterwards. Following the strict routine established by Jeanne Smythe, Mary made Misses Goad drink a cup of rice water before heading out of the women’s quarantine ward, the bedpan in one hand and the now empty cup in the other. The bedpan was going to be emptied in a sewer pit nearby and rinsed before it would be washed and put in a pot of boiling water for a good twenty minutes, along with the cup. Up to now, this complicated and work-intensive procedure had paid off handsomely, with only twelve deaths occurring in the 8th Hussars’ wards compared with the hundreds of victims in the rest of the brigade. Those results had even prompted a visit by the British and French commanders of the allied expedition, Lord Raglan and Marshall Saint-Arnaud, two days ago.

Mary was halfway to the sewer pit when the first stomach cramp hit her, making her double forward. Falling on her knees, she then vomited violently. Realizing with horror what was happening to her, Mary shouted as loudly as she could towards the medical wagon.

“HELP! SOMEONE HELP ME!”

Emma Armstrong, emerging from the laundry tent, was the first by her side, closely followed by Jeanne Smythe, who had been on duty in one of the men’s wards.

“What’s wrong, Mary?” asked anxiously Emma while helping her up.

“Cholera… I caught it.”

“My poor Mary!” exclaimed Jeanne. “Quick, Emma, let’s bring her to the women’s washing tent.”

They didn’t make it to the tent before Mary involuntarily soiled her dress, groaning with the pain from atrocious intestinal cramps.

08:03 (Constantinople Time)

8th Hussars infirmary, Varna

Private John Pearson was nearly mad with apprehension when he was allowed inside the women’s quarantine tent. Kneeling besides his wife’s cot, he was about to kiss Mary when Jeanne’s firm hand stopped him.

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“Do you want to catch cholera as well, Private? You may touch her but don’t kiss her.”

Obeying reluctantly, John put his hand on Mary’s forehead: she was feverish and her eyes had a dazed look. She didn’t appear to register his presence either. After contemplating Mary for a few minutes while holding her hands, John stood up and looked at Jeanne imploringly.

“Please tell me that you can save her, Lady Jeanne.”

“I can’t promise you that, Private Pearson.” she said with sorrow in her voice. “I will do my best for her, though. If it may reassure you, I will personally take care of Mary.”

“Thank you, Lady Jeanne. You are an angel.”

‘’You’re welcome, Private. Before you go, I want you to go to the cleaning tent to wash your hands thoroughly with soap.’’

‘’Yes maam!’’

Jeanne sighed heavily as John Pearson left the tent, then went back to Mary’s side. She wasn’t so sure that the young blonde could be saved by contemporary care alone: her fever ran very high and she was dehydrating at a faster rate than they could make her drink rice water. Jeanne could cheat and go get modern medicine from the future but the question then would be where to stop. Sadly, the only answer to that was that she could not even start doing that, on pain of risking serious distortions in history. She was going to have to rely on the means at hand and on lots of work and care. Getting up and pouring a cup of rice water from a covered pitcher on the duty nurse’s desk, Jeanne went back to Mary and, gently holding her head, made her drink as much of it as she could. Having been vaccinated repeatedly as a field agent of the Time Patrol against numerous diseases, including cholera, Nancy was not worried about falling sick from her constant contacts with cholera victims. Her brave assistant nurses however didn’t enjoy that protection, a case proven by Mary Pearson’s misfortune. Looking at Mary’s drawn face, Nancy felt guilt at having brought her here to possibly die in this miserable hole. She started sobbing quietly as she looked down at Mary.

“Hang on, Mary. Just a couple of days and you will be out of the worst of it.”

15:52 (Constantinople Time)

Friday, June 23, 1854 ‘A’

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8th Hussars infirmary, Varna

Doctor Farrell entered the women’s quarantine tent, intent on doing his periodic visits of the wards. He immediately noticed one of the patients, standing weakly besides her cot and her back to him. The surgeon went quickly to the patient, ready to force her back down on her cot, when he stopped cold: the standing patient was Mary Pearson. The blonde then smiled weakly to him.

“I am really hungry, Doctor. Could I have something solid to eat?” Unable to believe his eyes, Farrell slowly approached Mary and touched her forehead: her fever was gone and Mary’s eyes looked focused. She was apparently well on the road to recovery.

“Do you mind if I examine you first, Mary?”

“Not at all, Doctor.”

“Then please sit on the cot.”

Examining her quickly, Farrell found her apparently well, apart from being understandably weak from dehydration and hunger. Margaret Ward, who had replaced Jeanne one hour ago and was back from a trip to the sewer pit, entered the tent as Mary was closing back her hospital gown. Looking at Mary with wide eyes, she then ran back out while shouting.

“MARY MADE IT THROUGH! SHE’S UP!”

It took less than two minutes before all the women working at the ambulance, including Jeanne, came running to the tent. Farrell had to stand in front of the entrance while raising both arms.

“STOP, ALL OF YOU! THIS IS A QUARANTINE TENT, NOT A CIRCUS!”

“What about Mary?” asked Emma Armstrong. “Is it true that she is up?”

“Yes, it is. She however still needs to rest and recuperate. Emma, prepare a bowl of soup for Mary: her stomach will be fragile for a while so we will switch to a solid diet only progressively.”

“Right away, Doc!”

“Is this all because of me?”

All heads turned towards the tent’s entrance, where Mary Pearson had stuck her head out and was smiling weakly. Still wearing only a hospital gown, she then stepped out and was mobbed by the overjoyed nurses, Jeanne being first to hug her.

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09:46 (Constantinople Time)

Friday, August 18, 1854 ‘A’

Lord Paget’s command tent

8th Hussars camp, Varna

Lord Paget, with Doctor Gibbons sitting to the left of his work desk, gave a critical look at Doctor Farrell and Lady Jeanne Smythe as they entered his tent and stopped in front of him. Somehow, Paget suspected that the feisty Jeanne Smythe was the real responsible person in the business at hand. If she was, she certainly didn’t look one bit nervous right now, contrary to Farrell.

“At ease Doctor Farrell, Lady Jeanne.”

Paget smiled in amusement when Jeanne, as was her custom, reacted in a proper military fashion to his order. She was definitely one strange cat, albeit an impressive one. Putting on a severe expression, Paget stared at Farrell first.

“Doctor Gibbons here has notified me of an irregularity in your medical procedures, Doctor Farrell. Mainly, you have stopped sending your patients to Scutari Hospital for follow-on treatment and recuperation, and this since at least early July. What do you say to this, Doctor?”

The young surgeon swallowed hard, being much less at ease than Jeanne.

“Sir, it is true that I have not sent any of my patients to our main hospital in Scutari since the start of July, but it was a decision I took to save lives, sir.”

“To save lives? Please explain!”

“May I answer this, sir?” then cut in Jeanne politely. Paget nodded in approval, not surprised to see the French woman take the initiative. She certainly looked sure of herself as she started speaking calmly.

“It all started in the last week of June, when I and Misses Duberly left Varna by ship to escort four sick women who had been treated for cholera at our regimental ambulance and were convalescing. When we arrived at the Scutari military hospital near Constantinople, what we saw there horrified us and convinced us to avoid it at all costs. Please bear with me on this, sir: I am accustomed to rough living conditions but what we saw in Scutari was beyond description. First off, the thousands of patients crowding it are without beds and lie directly on the soiled floors of the wards. They are never washed by the hospital staff and are literally covered with vermin. They only get one meal a day, when there is something to eat, and have to eat out of their bare hands,

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as no plates, cups or utensils are provided by the staff. There are no latrines either and the whole hospital, if you can call it by that name, stinks to high hell, apart from being nothing more than an open sewer pit. I saw patients with maggots filling their wounds, as their bandages have not been changed in weeks. Probably the worse of are the women, wives of our soldiers who got sick and were sent to Scutari. We found them confined to dark cellars and were alive with lice and other vermin, apart from being half-starved to death and reduced to pauperism. They were also at the mercy of the hospital staff and were said to be abused regularly. Infections, fevers and diseases run wild in that so-called hospital, with a mortality rate of sixty percent among the patients sent there.”

“Sixty percent?” shouted Paget, horrified. “What is the staff there doing?” Jeanne’s jaw tightened as she glanced darkly at Gibbons before answering Paget.

“Sir, the staff there consists of a few doctors who use old, crippled Chelsea pensioners as medical orderlies. Those old men, apart from knowing nothing about nursing care, are often too drunk or too sick to do anything useful apart from being deadweights themselves. Some of them have also been caught stealing from dying patients.”

“These must be wild exaggerations.” protested John Gibbons, getting a murderous look from Jeanne, who raised her voice then.

“Did you go see the conditions there by yourself, Doctor, or are you relying on the reports made by the same uncaring, criminally incompetent people who are directly responsible for this infamy? You want proofs? Then read this!” Taking hesitantly the paper thrown by Jeanne in front of him, Gibbons looked quickly at it, then looked severely at Jeanne.

“This is simply a list of names. What is your point?”

“My point, Doctor, is that this is the list of the members of this regiment sent to Scutari supposedly to be returned to full health after we here worked our asses off to treat them and keep them alive. Those with a cross besides their names died in Scutari. That accounts for 46 of the 81 men sent there. As for the 12 women we had sent there, we were lucky enough to find them still alive and we then extracted them from that hell hole to treat them ourselves in Constantinople. This is why I recommended to Doctor Farrell on my return to discontinue sending patients to Scutari until things there improve drastically.”

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Lord Paget, visibly shaken by Jeanne’s forceful speech, grabbed the list of names from Gibbons’ hands and read it slowly, paling as he went.

“My God! My own Aide-De-Camp, Lieutenant Campbell, dead? Lieutenant Wells too? Why wasn’t I informed of this?”

“Because that hospital is in a state of total chaos, sir.” replied Jeanne. “The director of the hospital is in my opinion an incompetent buffoon who should be shot for criminal negligence and dereliction of duty. When we went to protest to him about what I and Misses Duberly had seen, he dismissed our complaints summarily and refused to do anything to correct the deficiencies in his so-called hospital. I then punched his lights out and took all our patients out of Scutari. There was no way I was going to abandon them in that…hospital!”

Jeanne had spit out that last word with a contained fury that finally convinced Lord Paget. Slowly sitting back behind his desk, the list still in his hands, he closed his eyes for a moment before looking up at young Doctor Farrell.

“Doctor, you have my express permission to keep in your infirmary any patient that you deem in need of local treatment. If you have to ship out any member of this regiment, please advise me immediately. Dismissed!”

“Yes sir! Thank you, sir!” nearly shouted Farrell happily, then leaving the tent with Jeanne Smythe. Paget next gave a less than friendly look at Gibbons.

“I do hope that you are not planning to enter a formal complaint against Doctor Farrell, sir?”

“Uh, no…not anymore.” said the chief-surgeon weakly, then looking at his hands. “God, could it really be this bad?”

10:26 (Constantinople Time)

Monday, September 4, 1854 ‘A’

8th Hussars infirmary, Varna

Cleared in first by Sarah Champion, Gordon Smythe entered the women’s living quarters to find Jeanne asleep on her cot. She had simply removed her nurse’s apron and cap before crashing to sleep. While she had kept in top shape by exercising daily and eating the ambulance’s plentiful and balanced diet that was the envy of the whole brigade, the hard, endless nursing work had taken a definite toll on her. The psychological toll had been the heaviest, though: the regiment’s burial ground may have

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contained the remains of only eleven bodies, compared to the 473 dead suffered by the rest of the brigade, but the amount of pain and suffering Jeanne had witnessed from close by was more than anybody should have gone through. The plus side was of course the hundreds of lives she had helped save, plus the universal esteem and admiration she had gained through the camp, save of course for the men of the Commissariat Department, who both loathed and feared her. Looking at her exhausted face, Gordon decided to let her sleep and went out of the tent, going to speak instead with Doctor Farrell. He found him bidding goodbye to a woman from another regiment being released as a convalescent. Farrell noticed him and joined Gordon as soon as he was finished.

“May I help you, Captain Smythe?”

“It may be the other way around, Doctor. I am here to advise you that the brigade is embarking tomorrow morning, to set sail for Crimea.”

“Thank God! Out of this hole at last.” exclaimed Farrell while looking skyward. Gordon couldn’t help eyeing him dubiously.

“Doctor, we are going to face the Russian Army. This may well be like jumping from the frying pan into the fire.”

That cooled down the young surgeon somewhat.

“Hell, I still prefer treating a wound that I can see and touch than a disease I can only hope to counter.”

“Doc, you probably will get both of them soon, lots of them.” prophesized Gordon before walking away, leaving Farrell both discouraged and apprehensive.

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CHAPTER 11 – CRIMEA





07:08 (Constantinople Time)

Thursday, September 14, 1854

HMS SANS PAREIL, Kalamita Bay, Crimea

“At last! They sure took their time to decide

where to land.”

Fanny Duberly, standing against the bulwark of the HMS SANS PAREIL and watching hundreds of

large rowboats filled with troops race towards the desolate beach facing them, smiled at the impatient remark from Mary Pearson.

“Maybe, but have you ever seen such a sight before?”

Mary looked around her at the 600 ships of the allied armada, which stretched for miles along the coast, and shook her head.

“Frankly, no. I hope that the Russians will be as impressed as me and will lay down their arms at our sight.”

“Don’t count on that, Mary.” said from behind them Jeanne Smythe, making the women turn around and look at her. Wearing a dark brown jacket and riding skirt, long black boots. her leather equipment vest with revolvers, a knife and a saber, Jeanne looked ready for everything. “There will be fighting soon enough and it will be bloody, believe me.”

“So, when are we landing ourselves?” asked Sarah Champion with expectation. Jeanne shook her head at that.

“Not for a while, Sarah. Lord Paget is making an exception for my ambulance cart but all other wagons and transport animals are staying on the ships for the moment. Lord Raglan wants to keep his army as mobile as possible. You and Doctor Farrell will stay aboard while the fleet follows the army down the coast towards Sebastopol. Me and Margaret will concentrate on picking up any sick or wounded man during the advance and bringing them to the shore, where they will be embarked for treatment on the ships.”

“God, I envy you, Jeanne.” said Mary, making the French woman grin.

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“Why? You get to stay and live in comfort aboard this luxury yacht for a while longer. See you in a few days, girls.”

The women, Fanny included, pulled their tongues at Jeanne as she walked away, giggling: the HMS SANS PAREIL was anything but a luxury yacht. There were however some such yachts bearing what was now commonly called by the troops ‘traveling gentlemen’, or T.G.s in short, effectively accompanying the fleet in the hope of being able to watch the battles to come.

Margaret Ward felt quite nervous and excited at the same time while she watched Jeanne’s ambulance cart, loaded with supplies sufficient for a couple of weeks in the field, roll down a side ramp, with sailors controlling its descent with ropes onto a large floating pontoon resting against the side of the ship. Made of two big rowboats supporting a common platform, the pontoon already bore the last squad of Captain Fields’ D Troop and its horses. Jeanne led by the reins both Yasmina, the cart’s pulling horse, and Pegasus, her personal mount, while Margaret waited until the cart was safely on the pontoon before walking down the ramp herself. Jeanne put on the hand brakes of the cart to prevent it from accidentally rolling off the pontoon, then stood besides Yasmina, calming the horse for the trip to the shore. Margaret climbed in the front of the cart, sitting on the driver’s bench and grabbing the reins handed to her by Jeanne. Margaret then discreetly checked that the cavalry rifle provided by her husband Joseph was close at hand behind the bench. Both Joseph and Jeanne had encouraged Margaret to become proficient with a rifle and, helped by steady lessons from Joseph, Margaret was now a fair shot with the weapon. The hard, endless nursing work had trimmed the excess fat the brunette was sporting when they had left England, something that had pleased Joseph to no small end. While far from looking athletic, Margaret was now in better physical shape than she had been in years and felt ready for what was to come. She was however terribly aware of the unease within the troops around her about seeing women joining them on their way to battle. Even the most ardent feminists in England would pause if they would see her and Jeanne now. Jeanne didn’t seem to care about that, though, as she had already broken about all the rules and taboos concerning the proper role and conduct of women considered acceptable in England. Being filthy rich, she could have been dismissed as a frivolous eccentric if not for her incredible intellectual and physical abilities. Those abilities had in turn further

antagonized many men, especially officers, who were secretly afraid of not measuring

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up to her. Being French had helped Jeanne somewhat, as French women had the reputation in England of being notorious nonconformists and libertines. However, the major point helping Jeanne was the now widely acknowledged fact that she could beat up, shoot of cut to pieces about any man who would dare mock her openly. Still, as the pontoon was let loose and started rowing towards the shore, Margaret saw a number of troopers whispering to each other while glancing furtively at Jeanne and her weapons. They were probably expecting her to be put back in her proper place after the first battle, as soon as she showed the first signs of weakness under fire. Having seen her in action against bandits, Margaret suspected that they were going to wait a long time for that to happen.

After maybe fifteen minutes of rowing, the pontoon started scraping on the bottom’s sand just short of the shore. Once the pontoon came to a full stop, four sailors then slid in place a narrow ramp, allowing the cavalrymen aboard to ride off the pontoon. Jeanne, mounted on Pegasus, preceded the cart, which was then driven down the ramp by Margaret. By now the beach was alive with thousands of British, French and Turkish troops, with not a single Russian to be seen, something that surprised Margaret.

“Jeanne, how come the Russians didn’t do anything about our landing? With the size of our fleet, they surely know that we are here.”

“Oh, they know alright, Margaret.” replied Jeanne, smiling with amusement as she rode alongside the cart. “Russian cavalrymen must have reported us already to Prince Menshikov. Fortunately for us, Prince Menshikov is no Napoleon, or he would have stationed artillery on those hills surrounding this bay, out of range of our ships guns but within range of this beach. Good generalship is not something you will see much during this war, Margaret.”

Seeing the men of the 8th Hussars forming up in a regimental column, Jeanne led the cart to it, then trotted to Lord Paget while Margaret stationed the cart at the rear of the column. After a short conversation with Paget, Jeanne trotted back to Margaret to pass on the latest instructions.

“The regiment is going to act as a forward reconnaissance screen for the infantry. We are to follow the infantry and lend assistance as needed with the sick and wounded.”

“Sounds fine to me.” replied Margaret, who then looked up at the gray sky. “Let’s hope that the weather will hold.”

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Looking up as well, Jeanne soon shook her head.

“Don’t count on it. Crimea is quite wet in this season. You did bring your rain gear as I asked you to, I hope?”

“I did.” said Margaret while looking at the darkening horizon. Jeanne’s 20/20 hindsight may be irksome at times but, from experience, Margaret knew that ignoring her advice was foolhardy. By now the Hussars were splitting into troops and galloping away to the East and South. Jeanne then pointed at a small hill overlooking the main road linking the nearby town of Eupatoria with Sebastopol, the ultimate target of the allied armies.

“Let’s take position on that hill and make ourselves comfortable. The wait could be a long one.”

Going to the hill and climbing its gentle grassy slope, they stopped beside a small clump of trees topping it and locked the cart’s brakes before untying Yasmina from it. While Margaret tied solidly their two horses to a tree, using very long ropes so that the animals could eat the long grass around them, Jeanne got busy chopping to bits with an axe a dead tree that was part of the clump. Their next labor was to erect the small rectangular tent stowed in the cart, digging a furrow around it as well to channel away any rainwater. Spotting a small stream nearby to the East of their hill, the two women led their horses to it to let them drink before filling a bucket with water for cooking purposes. Once back at their camp, a small fire was lit and a large pot of water put on it, with the intent of boiling it to make the water safe for consumption. As the water was warming up, Jeanne went to the cart and pulled out of it four steel posts, a canvas screen and a light folding toilet seat, intent on setting up a latrine that would afford them some privacy from the thousands of soldiers still busy landing and organizing themselves.

“Jeanne,” said Margaret as her companion was starting to dig a latrine hole, “our men don’t seem to be in a hurry to move out. We may well spend the night here.” Jeanne smiled at her while continuing her shoveling.

“I was expecting that, actually. I also bet that our commanders forgot to tell our troops to bring rations with them. The smell of our own food will probably drive them to us by supper time.”

“Uh, sorry but I’m not betting against you, Jeanne. I already got burned a couple of times.”

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By the early afternoon, their hill was surrounded on three sides by British and French soldiers grouped into their respective regiments. Margaret couldn’t help notice again the striking differences between the French Army and the British Army. French troops were broken down into small, easily manageable sub-units supported by dedicated cooks, surgeons, nurses and wagon drivers. Each French regiment also had its contingent of female auxiliaries called vivandières, who helped the doctors, did the laundry and ran cantinas to help troop morale. Margaret had met a number of vivandières in Varna and had been surprised to see that they were treated like real soldiers and even wore female variants of French uniforms, with some even sporting military medals. As a result of all this, French soldiers were well fed, received good medical care and had a high morale, apart from being led by combat-hardened officers and NCOs who were promoted on merit. In contrast, the British soldiers whom Margaret was watching were formed in big regimental squares and had no logistical means of support with them. As predicted by Jeanne, they also had apparently nothing to eat, while inexperienced officers kept harassing their men with useless orders and directives. While well disciplined, the British Army was clearly an amateur one compared to the French Army. Margaret was wondering if that sad state of affair was going to change one day when Jeanne shouted happily while getting on her feet.



“I see Leila coming our way! LEILA, COME UP HERE!”

Looking the way Jeanne was gesticulating, Margaret saw a young woman in the baggy red trousers and short blue tunic of the Zouaves, tough colonial troops from Algeria, walking up the hill. Margaret knew Leila as well, having met the vivandière in Varna. After conversing quickly in Arabic with Jeanne, the Algerian woman hurried to the freshly dug latrine.

“Please excuse Leila if she was in a hurry,” explained Jeanne good-naturedly, “but they had not had time to prepare separate latrines for the vivandières. Leila recognized my cart from afar and assumed that we had done our usual, efficient setup.” Margaret giggled at Jeanne’s words.

“It seems that you are as well known in the French Army as you are in the British Army.”

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“Don’t forget that I am French, Margaret. They were quite proud to see that a French woman was running the only efficient infirmary in the British camp. General Bosquet even sent me a bottle of wine as a measure of his esteem.”

“I remember that. It was quite a good wine too.”

“A Chateau-Lafitte?” replied Jeanne, faking indignation. “It better be good!” Then going to the pot steaming over the fire, Jeanne pulled open its cover and plunged a spoon inside, stirring the lentil and fish rice before tasting it.

“It’s ready!” she announced to Margaret before looking at Leila, who was coming back from the latrine. Exchanging a few Arabic words with Jeanne, the Algerian then tasted the rice and obviously liked it. However, she left nearly immediately after a quick salute at Margaret, who watched her go.

“Why the hurry? She could have eaten with us.”

“She knows,” explained Jeanne, “but she has to help run her regimental cantina. Besides, she already had lunch. Now, let’s eat ourselves before the rain starts.”

The sky was still holding, barely, when they finished eating twenty minutes later. On a common accord, the two women then grabbed the steaming pot of rice, still nearly full, along with a large service spoon, and headed towards the nearest regimental square. The men there, soldiers of the 42nd Highlanders wearing kilts and bearskin hats, welcomed Jeanne and Margaret enthusiastically, sniffing the pot of rice with famished looks. A sergeant ordered at once his men into a line and with their mess tins at the ready, allowing Margaret to spoon out rice into the presented mess tins while Jeanne held the pot. Even when rationing each man to one large spoonful, they emptied the pot quickly, leaving still many men in line with empty tins. Jeanne looked at the mass of soldiers still waiting for food and felt discouragement: there were still hundreds needing to be fed. The sergeant saw her expression and spoke quietly to her.

“Don’t blame yourself for not being able to feed us all, madam. What you did is already a lot and is truly appreciated.”

“Thank you, Sergeant. I however have some dried dates and cheese that I could go fetch in my cart and bring here for distribution. I do have a substantial food reserve with me, so that won’t leave me in need. Do your men have any cooking utensils and pots with them?”

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“We unfortunately have with us only what we were carrying in our backpacks, which is very little, madam. All our supplies and tools are with the supply chariots on the ships.”

Before Jeanne could reply to that, a group of four mounted Highlander officers stopped by her side, prompting the soldiers around her to come to attention. The most senior officer, an arrogant looking major, eyed with contempt the weapons worn by Jeanne.

“Madam, you are disturbing the ranks. I will ask you and your friend to leave the regimental lines.”

Margaret saw Jeanne barely restrain herself from exploding, instead approaching the still mounted major.

“Mister, we were simply helping to feed your men, who obviously had nothing to eat, and…”

“Leave logistics to the commissariat and fighting to men, madam!” replied brusquely the officer. He then looked down at the sergeant near Jeanne. “Chase those two camp followers out of the lines and make sure that they don’t come back, Sergeant.” That was when Jeanne had enough of the pompous bastard. Making two quick steps towards the major, she then grabbed solidly his right arm and brutally pulled him down from his horse. The major landed hard on his back in the dirt and found himself pinned down by a furious Jeanne, who had one knee against his chest.

“Nobody insults Lady Jeanne Smythe like this, you arrogant moron!” shouted Jeanne while holding her big hunting knife to the major’s throat. The officer, near panic, looked at one of the young captains who had been accompanying him.

“Mister Jones, get that woman off…”

The pressure of the sharp blade then increased on his throat, forcing him to shut up. He could now swear that there was murder in the eyes of the tall woman kneeling on his chest.

“You can’t feed your men and asks for others to defend you and you call yourself an officer? I could challenge you to a duel but I bet that you are too much of a coward to accept it. I will let you live this time but don’t ever insult me or my friend again.” Jeanne then withdrew her knife and got up on her feet. No one had moved during the few seconds of the confrontation to help the major. Jeanne had turned around and was starting to walk back towards her camp with Margaret when the humiliated officer got up and drew his saber.

“YOU WILL PAY FOR THIS INSOLENCE!”

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Before anyone else could react, Jeanne drew her own saber in a flash while pivoting to face the charging major. One slash to the man’s right hand made him drop his blade, while a second slash followed a fraction of a second later, making a long bleeding cut across the left cheek of the major and making him scream with pain. Jeanne then applied the tip of her sword against the man’s throat, forcing him to freeze.

“I could by all rights kill you right here and right now and justly claim self-defense, Major. Find yourself lucky that I consider you unworthy of dirtying further my blade. Now, get back on your horse and return to your tent before I change my mind.” The mortified senior officer, realizing that she outclassed him in fencing by a large margin, didn’t argue, retreating to his horse and mounting it. After a last black look at Jeanne, he then galloped away, watched by the contemptuous eyes of his men and junior officers. One of the three mounted captains then addressed Jeanne, his face serious.

“Lady Smythe, we all saw how Major McAllister insulted you and attacked you in the back. I doubt that he will press a complaint against you.”

“He better not!” replied Jeanne firmly, then softening her tone. “I only wanted to give some food to your starving men, Captain, and was not expecting to be repaid with such rudeness.”

The captain sighed while looking down at the ground.

“Your generosity is well known, Lady Smythe. God bless you for what you did already, madam. Keep the rest of your supplies for the wounded and sick to come soon: we will manage in the meantime. Again, thank you for your generosity.” Jeanne hesitated for a moment but finally turned around and walked away with Margaret, recuperating her kitchen pot at the same time. The captain watched her go, then looked bitterly at the major’s tent in the distance: This was only the latest example of the man’s utter disregard for this troops. He couldn’t know yet that the said major was going to be killed in the month to come by a not so accidental British bullet in the head.

14:51 (Constantinople Time)

Sunday, September 17, 1854

Alma River, Crimea

Gordon Smythe took his time to complete his visual scan of the grounds in front of him while sitting calmly on his horse. Even while his cavalry troop was pretty much in

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plain sight due to the sparse cover available, the Russians fortifying themselves on the hilltops to his front didn’t seem to care about the presence of British cavalrymen. Using his spyglass, Gordon could see across the River Alma thousands of Russian soldiers digging gun positions along the ridges facing him, while more Russians were at work in the small village of Burliuk, next to the wooden bridge carrying the main road to Sebastopol. Gordon then lent his spyglass to Sergeant-Major James Champion beside him so that he could also look.

“Quite a strong position the Russians have there. There are over a hundred artillery pieces along the ridges and the slopes are quite steep. On the other hand, those tall hills to the west of the main Russian positions are nearly empty of enemy soldiers. If we could take them, we would overlook their positions and would make their defenses untenable.”

“Maybe, sir,” replied Champion while looking through the spyglass, “but if that river is too deep to ford and we are forced to use that bridge, those guns will butcher our men as if in a bowling alley.”

“Well, there is only one way to know, Sergeant-Major.” replied Gordon while urging his horse forward. “Stay here with the rest of the troop while I take a dip. If I get hit, return to the army with our information.”

Champion watched with apprehension as his captain galloped to the river, then made his horse enter the water. Some Russians in the village downstream from the British started to get nervous at the sight of the lone rider crossing the river, with about twenty of them soon starting to run along the southern bank towards Smythe. Champion then gestured to his men.

“TROOPERS DISMOUNT! GET READY TO GIVE COVERING FIRE TO THE CAPTAIN!”

While four men gathered the reins of their companions’ horses, 23 British troopers dismounted and grabbed their Minié rifles, kneeling down in a firing line along the shrubs. Captain Smythe was now close to the opposite bank, with the water having gone barely to his horse’s belly at its deepest. Champion nearly shouted in triumph when Smythe’s horse climbed the southern bank and made a few steps before its rider made it turn around and calmly cross the river again. By now the Russian infantrymen were getting too close to Champion’s taste.

“TROOPERS! ENEMY INFANTRY TO THE FRONT AT 300 YARDS! FIRE!”

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The 23 rifles barked at nearly the same time, downing over a dozen of the Russians and prompting the rest to take cover in a hurry. Reloading their single-shot, muzzle-loading rifles frantically, the British had time to fire a second salvo before the Russians responded in the form of six guns opening fire from the top of the ridge facing them. Champion instinctively ducked as the shells passed over his head, exploding over fifty yards behind the cavalry troop. He saw as well a good hundred Russian cavalrymen now crossing the wooden bridge towards them as Captain Smythe emerged from the river, yelling orders to his men.

“TROOPERS, REMOUNT! GET READY TO WITHDRAW!” As soon as Gordon Smythe joined them back, the whole troop galloped north, with shells exploding on each side and with the Russian cavalry hard in pursuit. James Champion couldn’t help shout excitedly at his captain riding alongside.

“Quite a warm welcome from those Russians, sir. I hope that our wives’ welcome will be friendlier.”

“Nothing can beat Jeanne’s welcome, Sergeant-Major.” shouted back Gordon, grinning.

“The lucky bastard!” grumbled quietly to himself one of the troopers, imagining the naked body of the tall, shapely French woman.

09:30 (Constantinople Time)

Monday, September 18, 1854

Kalamita Bay, Crimea

Margaret Ward, driving the ambulance cart towards the shore where a British rowboat was waiting, felt her heart jump when she saw a floating pontoon being towed towards the beach, coming from the HMS SANS PAREIL. On the pontoon was the medical wagon, its trailer and the train of pack mules of the regimental ambulance. Margaret could also see Doctor Farrell, Sarah Champion, Mary Pearson and the five other women who were now regular auxiliaries of the ambulance, all waving excitedly at her. Fanny Duberly was on the pontoon as well with her horse and pack animal. Waving back, Margaret drove the cart next to the beached rowboat and stopped, to be immediately approached by the navy ensign in charge of the rowboat’s crew.

“What do you have for us this time, madam?”

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Margaret half turned and pointed at the two men lying on the stretchers laid in the back of the cart.

“Two soldiers from the 23rd Fusiliers, sir. Both suffer from strong fevers.”

“Alright, madam, we will take it from here.” said the young ensign, a mere teenager, before shouting at his six sailors. “Four men to unload those two sick lads, quickly!”

By the time the two feverish soldiers, wrapped in blankets, were off the cart and in the rowboat, the pontoon and its towing rowboat had beached. Fanny Duberly and her horses were first off the pontoon, followed by the wagon and its trailer, with the pack mules last. The beach was soon the scene of a joyful reunion, with everybody wanting to hug and kiss Margaret. Fanny was then the first to ask the question Margaret was expecting.

“Where is Jeanne, Margaret? Normally, she accompanied you when bringing patients to the ships.”

“She had to pitch tent some fifteen miles from here to take care of four severe cholera cases, Fanny. Thank God the wagon is here now: we sure could use your help.” Fanny answered her with an embarrassed smile.

“Uh, I’m first going to Eupatoria for a day: Captain Brock, the newly appointed governor of the town, has invited me to visit him.”

“Hmm, fun before work?” replied Margaret, faking indignation. Sarah Champion then slapped the brunette playfully in the back, nearly upsetting her balance.

“Don’t worry, Maggie: we’re here now. Let us take over for a while and rest a bit.”

“Thanks! Me and Jeanne sure could use a respite: the last three days have been busy like hell.”

“With ten round trips between the front and the ships and 21 patients carried to safety, I can understand.” replied Doctor Farrell with obvious pride. “You two have been doing a great job.”

“Thank you, Doc.” said Margaret, fatigue showing on her face. “Could you and Sarah leave ahead of the wagon in the cart, to relieve Jeanne. She’s really burned up by now and has hardly slept in the last three days, what with the riding up and down the marching columns and directing me to the sick.”

“We’ll start right away, Margaret.” Promised Farrell softly. “In the meantime I want you to go lay in one of the stretchers in the back of the wagon and sleep. Mary!

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Take Emma to help you and change the stretchers in the cart for clean ones before washing them. Me and Sarah are leaving right away.”

“We’re on it, Doc.”

As soon as Margaret had taken out her personal kit bag and after two clean, disinfected stretchers were in place in the back of the cart, Sarah and the doctor loaded in their own kit and sat in the front. They were soon out of sight of the medical wagon, trotting towards the front lines.

13:12 (Constantinople Time)

Eupatoria-Sebastopol road, Crimea

“There’s the medical tent!” suddenly shouted Farrell while pointing slightly to the right and ahead of them. Looking herself in that direction, Sarah effectively saw the familiar shape of the tent, standing in the middle of a loose clump of trees. Near it was Jeanne’s horse, tied to a tree by a long rope. Guiding the cart towards the tent, Sarah stopped in front of it as Jeanne was emerging from the tent, a bedpan in her hands. Sarah was immediately alarmed by the exhaustion apparent on Jeanne’s face as she weakly smiled at them.

“Thank God you’re here! I sure could use a hand or two.” Jumping down from the cart, Sarah went to Jeanne and took the stinking bedpan from her hands.

“Where is your sewer pit, Jeanne?”

“Thirty yards to the right of the tent. If you’re taking care of this, I will…”

“You will wash and disinfect your hands and then go to sleep, and that’s an order!” cut in Farrell with a firm voice, making Jeanne look at him with dismay.

“But…my patients need me.”

“We will take care of them.” said the doctor, his voice softening. “Just bring me up to date on their pathology before you go to sleep. You will be of no use to anybody if you fall down from exhaustion, Jeanne.”

The French woman was about to protest further but refrained after a hesitation, instead lowering her head and reentering slowly the tent, the doctor behind her.

Taking a well deserved break three hours later, Sarah found Doctor Farrell sitting on a medical supply chest in front of the tent, apparently deep in thoughts. Sitting

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beside him, she passed one arm around the surgeon’s shoulders, making him redden with embarrassment: Farrell was as timid as he was six months ago.

“What are you thinking about, Doc?”

“About our situation, Sarah. With Jeanne included, I have five medically trained orderlies to help me, which is much more than the norm in a regiment. Yet, we have been running ragged just by taking care of the sick. With major battles to come, we will never be enough just the six of us to properly take care of the wounded as well. We need more trained orderlies but, with the ranks of the army already depleted by disease, I will never be able to get some men to help.”

“What about the four women traveling with us who do our laundry and cooking? They could be trained by you as nurses.”

“Maybe, but who will then do the domestic chores?”

“Doc, wake up!” replied Sarah. “There are about two dozen more women from this regiment sitting on our ships, most of whom have little or nothing to do. I am sure that many of them would be glad to work for you, especially if Jeanne offers them the same wondrous pay that me and the other girls get.”

“Would Jeanne accept to pay them, though? I can’t force her to spend her own money.”

“I bet she will, Doc. That kind of money is a drop in the bucket for her, truly. On the other hand, I have never possessed so much money as now. Would you believe

that I already put aside over fifty pounds17 since we left England?”

“Fifty pounds? That’s quite a sum.”

“Indeed! Do you really believe that the wife of a trooper who makes maybe five shillings a week will pass such an offer?”

“Uh, no. Maybe I should talk to Jeanne about this when she wakes up.”

“Please do that, Doc.” said Sarah while patting Farrell’s shoulder.

20:11 (Constantinople Time)

Tuesday, September 19, 1854

8th Hussars camp, four miles north of the Alma River Crimea



17 In 1854, fifty British Sterling Pounds represented close to the annual salary of a maid.

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Thomas Farrell, standing at one end of the medical wagon’s retractable tent, looked somberly at his expectant medical staff assembled in front of him. A number of candle lamps provided sparse light that showed the grave expressions on everybody’s faces: they all knew why he had called this meeting after returning from Lord Paget’s tent. Present were Jeanne Smythe and her four junior nurses, four ex-domestic aides who had now rudimentary nursing training and six more women recently recruited by Jeanne to do the backbreaking but vital cleaning and cooking chores.

“Ladies, Lord Paget told me that our regiment will probably not see action in tomorrow’s battle, as our cavalry will act as flank protection for our attacking infantry. I thus requested and got permission to collect and treat wounded from the infantry regiments, who will undoubtedly suffer many losses tomorrow, as the Russian position is a very strong one. After this meeting, I will go visit the chief-surgeon of the Rifle Brigade to coordinate our efforts. The battle should start early tomorrow morning, so I want everybody up and ready to work by six O’clock. Here is how work will be divided: Sarah Champion, helped by Misses Short and Reeve, will keep taking care of the five sick men still in our custody inside the quarantine tent; Mary Pearson and Misses Pringle and Foster will receive the wounded and prepare them for surgery if need be; finally, Jeanne Smythe and Margaret Ward will act as our forward ambulance, collecting the wounded on the battlefield and giving them first aid before bringing them here. The six ladies of the domestic staff will make sure in the meantime that we don’t run out of clean linen and instruments. Do you have any questions?”

The only one to raise her hand then was Jeanne Smythe.

“Yes, Jeanne?”

“Doc, I have a request rather than a suggestion. In order to efficiently treat and collect the wounded on the battlefield, I will have to go on foot and stay around while our cart ferries back the wounded to you. However, Margaret cannot both drive and take care of her passengers. I would like to ask for one volunteer who knows how to drive a cart well and who is strong enough to help lift a loaded stretcher. I have to be frank here: it will be dangerous work, as we will not wait for the shooting to stop before starting to collect the wounded. Bullets and shells will still be flying around.” Margaret Ward swallowed hard but otherwise stayed impassive as the six auxiliaries looked hesitantly at each other. A sturdy woman in her late thirties then stepped forward.

“I’ll go! I drove a farm cart for years and have seen my share of blood and guts while following my husband, RSM O’Neil.”

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“Thank you very much, Janet.” said Jeanne gratefully. “I will show you the peculiarities of my cart tomorrow morning. Uh, would you by chance know how to shoot and reload a rifle?”

“Why, you need to learn?” replied Janet with a big grin. “I went to Afghanistan with my Sean, after all.”

“Another war veteran? Excellent!” said a pleased Jeanne, getting funny looks from the others.

05:51 (Constantinople Time)

Wednesday, September 20, 1854

8th Hussars field ambulance, British camp Crimea

Janet O’Neil, emerging from the women’s tent in the dim morning light, was joining Jeanne near their cart when a civilian on a horse arrived at the ambulance and dismounted near them. The newcomer quickly tied his mount to a tree before coming towards Jeanne and Janet. He balked when he saw the revolvers and saber Jeanne carried, hesitating before speaking.

“Uh, am I at the 8th Hussars field ambulance, ladies?”

“You are, sir.” answered Jeanne calmly. “May we help you?”

“I do hope so, miss. I am Doctor Paul Gardiner, junior surgeon with the 7th Fusiliers. Since my regiment lacks most medical facilities and equipment, my brigade surgeon decided to send me to your ambulance, which is said to be superbly equipped, so that I could assist your own surgeon.”

“A very wise decision, sir.” said Jeanne, truly pleased by that. “Let me show you to Doctor Farrell, our surgeon. By the way, my name is Jeanne Smythe, field nurse with the 8th Hussars.”

“Pleased to meet you, madam.” replied stiffly Gardiner, still put off by Jeanne’s outfit, while shaking hands with her. He then followed her to the medical wagon and entered its rear tent. Jeanne soon reemerged alone from the tent and went back to the cart and Janet.

“That really made Doc Farrell happy. Now, let’s roll!’’

10:14 (Constantinople Time)

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North bank of Alma River

“Come on, lads, “ shouted Gordon Smythe to his men as they followed him at a gallop, “we don’t want to make our infantry or, God forbid, our Russian hosts, wait!”

“Why not, sir?” shouted back Corporal Joseph Ward, riding hard with the rest of B Troop as it took its assigned position on the left flank of the long line of British infantry forming up a quarter mile short of the Alma River. “They did make us wait for them after all.”

“One must be lenient with our infantry fellows.” shouted Sergeant-Major James Champion from just behind Gordon. “They try their best but still are nothing more than low life ground-pounders.”

One soldier from the 7th Fusiliers, behind which lines the cavalrymen were passing, heard Champion and shouted at him while doing an obscene gesture.

“At least we don’t get our rocks off by rear-ending bloody horses!” Both the cavalrymen and the infantrymen broke out in laughter at that exchange. As B Troop, following A Troop across the open countryside, rode past the men of the 7th Fusiliers, Gordon saw and recognized a very familiar white and green cart that was slowly following fifty yards behind the infantry line. Riding besides it was a woman he knew very well indeed.

“Talking of arses, men, there are some of our wives.”

“Bloody hell!” shouted a surprised Corporal Ward. “What is Margaret doing this close to the frontlines?”

“Close?” replied James Champion. “This IS the frontlines!” The cavalrymen stared at the ambulance cart as the two women in it and the female rider cheered them. At the tail end of the column of Hussars, RSM Sean O’Neil saw his wife at the reins of the cart as he galloped past it.

“Hell! Is my Janet leading Lady Jeanne Smythe into this or is it the other way around?” he wondered aloud.

“That could be a difficult call, RSM.” replied Captain Heneage, who was riding besides O’Neil.

11:51 (Constantinople Time)

North bank of Alma River

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“There it goes!” announced Jeanne at the sight of multiple puffs of white smoke erupting from the ridges to their right. Margaret didn’t understand until the delayed sound of the Russian guns firing reached them. The two mile-long line of British infantry, which had been idly waiting for the French supporting attack on their right, suddenly came to life. With officers riding in front, the two men-deep assault line started to advance towards the nearby Alma River. The village of Burliuk, situated on the southern bank across from the bridge on the river, then erupted in flames and smoke.

“What the hell is happening there?” wondered Margaret, promptly answered by Jeanne.

“The Russians turned the village into a fire bomb and just ignited it. Things are going to become bloody very soon.”

A rolling thunder then announced the firing of all the Russian guns positioned along the ridges facing the British. Geysers of smoke and dirt started to erupt among the advancing British troops, mowing down men by the dozen under Margaret’s horrified eyes.

‘’My God! This is a bloody massacre!’’

“I actually have seen worse, Maggie.” said gravely Janet O’Neil, restraining her now nervous horse.

“Let’s wait until the troops have started crossing the river before going in to help the wounded.” said Jeanne with unbelievable calm. “There is no point in getting ourselves killed right at the start of the battle.”

Janet threw an admiring glance at the French woman on hearing those words from Jeanne: this was indeed a seasoned veteran and a cool customer.

The British infantry, still under a murderous artillery fire, started crossing the Alma River ten minutes later, prompting Jeanne into signaling to Janet with one hand.

“Advance now, straight to our front.”

Urging on Yasmina, Janet drove the cart forward by 200 yards, following Jeanne’s horse, until they were surrounded by corpses and moaning wounded.

“Halt!” ordered Jeanne before jumping down from her horse Pegasus, a pack full of bandages on her back. Margaret got down next from the cart, following Jeanne on foot to a nearby group of downed infantrymen. The sight of mangled bodies and thorn limbs then made the brunette bend over and throw up despite her best efforts to keep her composure. A shout from Jeanne soon brought her back to their duty.

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“Margaret, I need you here!”

Going over her revulsion, Margaret joined Jeanne besides a young soldier with a large wound to his left leg. Jeanne took her right hand and applied it to a point just above the gaping, bleeding wound.

“Keep enough pressure here to stop the bleeding while I bandage him.” Margaret did so while watching Jeanne work feverishly on the young man, who was delirious and agitated. A shell suddenly screamed by over their heads, exploding a mere thirty yards away from the cart and terrifying Margaret to no small degree. That prompted Jeanne into turning her head towards the waiting cart and to shout at Janet O’Neil.

“Janet, turn the cart ninety degrees and present your flank to the Russians. Maybe our ‘AMBULANCE’ sign will make them refrain from shooting at us.” Jeanne then returned to her first aid work as Janet turned the cart to the right. Another shell screamed by seconds later, missing it by a mere twenty yards.

On the ridge of the main Russian position, an artillery officer looking through a spyglass suddenly shouted at the gun crews near him.

“Halt fire! Switch target back to the English infantry now!”

“Why, sir?” shouted back one of the gun masters.

“Because that cart is an ambulance, you illiterate peasant!” Smarting over the officer’s response, the gun master then relayed the order to his men. They were soon back at boring holes in the advancing British lines.

12:13 (Constantinople Time)

North bank of Alma River

“One, two, three, lift!”

The loaded stretcher, lifted in the back of the cart by the combined effort of the three women, was then slid in place on the retaining rails specially designed to this effect, then secured in place by straps. Another wounded man on a stretcher was already inside the cart. Jeanne then helped a soldier with his left arm held in a sling get up and sit at the front, besides Janet O’Neil, while Margaret Ward sat on a small bench between the two stretchers in the back. Changing one of her water bottles, now nearly empty, for a full

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one, Jeanne then grabbed half a dozen small white flags on thin steel poles from inside the cart and patted Janet’s arm.

“Get those wounded back to our camp at top speed, then come back here. The white flags will mark wounded men ready for pickup. Go!” Nodding in understanding, Janet turned the cart around and drove north at a gallop, using the main Eupatoria-Sebastopol road. The spring suspension system of the cart was now paying off handsomely, making it possible for Janet to push her horse without jolting around too hard the wounded she transported. They made it back to the field infirmary, four miles away, in less than half an hour. Doctors Farrell and Gardiner, along with Mary Pearson and four other women, were on hand to help unload the three wounded, who were then rushed inside the treatment tent. As soon as the cart was emptied and two clean stretchers had been put in place, Janet drove back towards the battlefield, an anxious Margaret sitting beside her.

“I hope that Jeanne is alright.”

“Don’t worry about her, Maggie. From what I have seen and heard of her, she can easily fend for herself.”

Both stayed silent during the rest of the return trip. Careful not to overexert her horse, Janet kept up a quick trot instead of a full gallop, still taking only 35 minutes to arrive back at the battlefield. They found the battle still raging on, with the British infantry now well past the river and climbing steadily the steep slopes leading to the Russian positions. The Russian guns were as active as ever, but now had to contend with some heavy British guns which had been brought forward on the north side of the river. The problem was that Jeanne and the wounded she was treating were directly in the path of the British guns’ muzzle blasts, with Russian counter fire falling around her on top of that. Margaret looked at the scene with horror and nearly pulled her hair in desperation.

“My God! She’s going to get killed in short order. What are we going to do?” Janet clenched her teeth, then took a quick decision. Jumping down from the cart, which had stopped behind and some distance to the right of the British guns, she put in place locking pins on the wheels and pulled out of the cart’s back one of their two stretchers, then shouted at Margaret.

“Maggie, get down here! We will go on foot and get the wounded with our stretchers.”

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Only hesitating for a short moment, Margaret joined Janet and took one end of the stretcher, following her at a run. Janet could see that Margaret was as white as a sheet as they ran past the firing guns, but the younger woman didn’t falter.

“Run at a crouch, Maggie!” shouted Janet as they started running directly in front of the British guns, only forty yards away. One muzzle blast half deafened them, apart from making Margaret squeal in terror. Janet really couldn’t blame the British gunners for this, as they were taking casualties from the Russian guns and had to keep firing. One Russian cannonball ricocheted off the ground ten meters in front of Janet, splattering her with dirt, before continuing on to decapitate a British gunner. Both women finally got to Jeanne, kneeling besides the wounded man she was treating. Jeanne’s face was pale and tense but her voice was steady as she looked at Margaret.

“This man has shell fragments in his chest and legs. I did what I could to stop the bleeding and made him sniff some chloroform. You can take him away.” The three women cautiously laid the groaning man on the stretcher, then lifted him and walked back to the cart, buffeted all the way by explosions and muzzle blasts. Putting the wounded aboard the cart, they then ran back for a second wounded marked by one of Jeanne’s white flags, carrying him as well to the cart. As she was about to turn around the cart to evacuate the two wounded, Janet watched Jeanne run back to take care of more wounded.

“Now, there goes a brave woman.” she said softly before urging Yasmina northward.

16:04 (Constantinople Time)

North bank of Alma River

The staff officer, covered with dust and sweat, halted his horse besides that of Lord Raglan, Commander-in-Chief of the British Expeditionary Corps, saluting him crisply before delivering his message in a triumphant voice.

“Victory, Milord! The Russians are in full retreat, abandoning much of their baggage in the process. Our troops are now in full control of the heights.”

“By God, that is what I call good news.” said jubilantly the 66 years old, one-arm field marshal. “Let’s go see by ourselves, shall we?”

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“Uh, sir,” cut in politely Lord Lucan, commander of the Cavalry Division, “my men are still covering the flanks and can pursue the Russians quickly enough. This is a golden opportunity to cut the enemy to pieces, sir.”

Lord Raglan looked around at his staff officers and aides, hesitant. A perfect gentleman who had served under the Duke of Wellington and who had lost his right arm at Waterloo, he was nonetheless a cautious commander.

“We don’t know anything about Russian reserve forces, Lord Lucan. I prefer to keep our cavalry in reserve in case of a Russian counter-attack.”

“Yes sir!” replied the disappointed Lucan. The command staff and its heavy cavalry escort then followed Lord Raglan down the knoll they had used as an observation point during the battle, following the road leading to the bridge crossing the Alma River. As they were approaching the river, they met a northbound white and green cart driven by a woman and bearing a big ‘AMBULANCE’ sign in three languages on both sides. The female driver waved briefly at Lord Raglan and his staff as she sped north, obviously in a hurry. Raglan, curious, looked at his army chief-surgeon.

“Doctor Sloane, whose ambulance was that and what are women doing on the battlefield so soon?”

“Sir, this was the 8th Hussars’ ambulance cart, the one donated and operated by Lady Jeanne Smythe. Since they are by far the best equipped medical unit the Army has in Crimea, I authorized them to help collect and treat the wounded from the Rifle Division. As for women driving ambulances, I believe that the only man on the staff of the 8th Hussars Field Ambulance is the surgeon himself, Doctor Thomas Farrell, who by the way did a superb job in Varna.”

“Are you telling me that no men are available for such battlefield duties?” asked Raglan, truly shocked and incensed.

“Unfortunately, none, sir.” replied Sloane, more than a bit embarrassed. William Russell, who was following Lord Raglan’s group as official correspondent of ‘The Times’, started scribbling notes furiously as the chief-surgeon went on.

“Disease has depleted the army’s ranks to such an extent that no men are left to act as orderlies and stretcher bearers, Milord. The old Chelsea pensioners London sent me as medical orderlies were of no use whatsoever and I shipped them straight back to Scutari, the ones who survived the trip, that is.”

Raglan then turned to face his chief of staff, speaking forcefully.

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“Colonel, I want you to detail men from our quartermaster services as quickly as possible for stretcher bearer duty, along with chariots to transport our wounded. Our soldiers must be tended to as soon as possible.”

“If I may, Milord,” then cut in politely William Russell, “it seems that at least one person is already caring for some of our wounded.”

Looking in the direction pointed at by the journalist, Raglan saw a solitary figure about 300 meters away. The person was kneeling besides a wounded in the middle of the corpse-strewn battlefield, its back to Raglan, and was apparently treating him.

“Is that a French uniform? I can’t quite make it out.”

The commander’s chief of staff then turned towards one of his liaison officers.

“Captain Nolan, go identify that person and report back on the double.”

“Right away, sir!” replied the young Hussars officer before launching his horse at a gallop. As he approached the crouched figure, who was busy bandaging a wounded British infantryman, suspicion arose in Nolan’s mind: the sword slung most un-regulation wise across the person’s back was no British or French sword. The stranger also had long hair going down well past the shoulders. Drawing his own sword, Nolan slowed his horse to a trot, stopping when only a few meters from the unknown person. The latter then turned around briefly, showing a beautiful female face smeared with dirt and blood.

“Could you help me here, please?” asked the woman in a tired voice. Nolan took a few seconds to recover from the surprise.

“I’m afraid that I have to return right away to my commander, madam. May I ask who you are?”

“You may.” she replied quietly while finishing her bandage. “I’m Lady Jeanne Smythe, field nurse with the 8th Hussars.”

“How long have you been here, tending the wounded, madam?”

“Since the opening shots of this battle, Captain. Could you tell your commander that extra transports are needed urgently here. I’m doing the best I can here but our ambulance is four miles away and men are bleeding to death before our cart can pick them up.”

“I will pass the word, madam.” replied Nolan respectfully. He did however have one last question nagging him. “If you are a nurse, madam, then why the weapons?” Jeanne glanced up at him while laying gently the wounded infantryman back on the ground.

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“Captain, don’t be naïve. Russian Cossacks don’t respect the laws of war any more than Afghan tribesmen did. My weapons are for my protection and that of my patients.”

“I understand, madam. Have a good day!” replied Nolan before galloping back to the command staff, now nearly at the bridge. He stopped besides Lord Raglan and saluted while reporting.

“This was Nurse Jeanne Smythe, from the 8th Hussars’ field ambulance, sir. She has been tending our wounded since the start of the battle and is asking urgently for more transports to get the wounded to the dressing stations.” While many staff officers looked in surprise at the distant nurse, Lord Raglan stared severely at his chief quartermaster.

“You know what your priority is now, sir. Get to it right away.”

18:43 (Constantinople Time)

8th Hussars field ambulance, Crimea

Taking a break after finishing operating on his fourth patient of the day, Paul Gardiner walked wearily out of the ambulance wagon’s treatment tent, inhaling with delight the fresh September air. The sky was now darkening quickly and the people moving around were little more than silhouettes. They were already using a good dozen candle lamps and two oil lamps to illuminate the operating section of the treatment tent. A female silhouette then approached Gardiner, something in her right hand. Paul smelled the hot tea as soon as the woman offered the tin cup she was holding.

“I thought that you could use some tea after this grueling work, Doctor.”

“You are an angel, madam.” said thankfully Gardiner while taking the cup. “Could you remind me of your name?”

The white of the woman’s teeth showed in the dark as she smiled.

“I’m Christine Sullivan, at your service, Doctor. I just relieved Diane Sutherland on cooking duty. By the way, we have some hot soup and fresh bread if you are hungry.”

“In fact, I am famished.”

“Then come with me to the cooking tent, Doctor.”

Sipping his hot tea while following Christine to the nearby tent, Gardiner went in and took place at a small table surrounded by four folding chairs. One side of the tent was lined

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up with stacks of bags, boxes and barrels of foodstuff, while an iron stove sat in one corner, two large pots on it. Christine Sullivan, a young and pretty redhead with freckles, filled a bowl from one of the pots and put it in front of Gardiner before fetching a spoon, a knife and a half loaf of bread on a plate.

“It’s chick pea soup on the menu.” Explained Christine as Gardiner had a first spoonful. “There are some rice and bacon in it as well, plus a few spices. It is a most filling recipe.”

“A tasty one too!” replied Gardiner, enjoying his soup. “The diet at your field ambulance is far superior to the army’s regular fare. In fact, everything about this ambulance unit is superior to anything else I have seen yet. Your organization should become a model for all the other medical army units.”

“With the Commissariat in charge of army supplies?” replied Christine in a sarcastic tone. “Good luck! Only Lady Jeanne Smythe’s money and ideas made all this that you see possible. Before her, the regiment had one drunk doctor, an equally drunk orderly, a rundown shack, no wagon and precious little of anything.” Gardiner was silent as he ate his soup and bread and thought over what Christine had said. The more he saw and heard about this Jeanne Smythe, the more curious he was becoming about her. The patients they had been receiving at the rate of three or four per hour since noon had all been cared for in exemplary manner, with some cases displaying first aid techniques he had never seen before. All the wounds had been cleaned with water and alcohol and many patients had received chloroform, a pain killer that Doctor Farrell was also using extensively during his surgical work. The other nurses employed by Farrell, while not truly knowledgeable medically, were competent enough in patient care and were highly dedicated, lightening tremendously the workload of both surgeons and letting them concentrate on pure surgical work. He still had reservations about a few things, like female nurses washing male patients and women being on the battlefield while the shooting was still going on, but the alternative to that would have been neglected and uncared for patients, something Gardiner was not ready to accept.

He was about to finish his supper when he heard a number of wagons stopping nearby and men jump out, shouting orders at each other. Both he and Christine, pushed by curiosity, went out of the cooking tent to look. What they saw was a column of four big wagons stopped in front of the ambulance and at least twenty soldiers busy unloading what looked like large marquee tents under the supervision of a civilian man

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on horseback. Four more civilians holding what looked strongly like doctors’ leather bags were stepping down from a cart at the head of the wagons. Doctor Farrell, also attracted by the noise, went to the mounted civilian, recognizing him once close to him.

“Doctor Gibbons? Could you tell me what is going on here?” The brigade’s chief-surgeon dismounted before facing Farrell and answering him.

“Orders from the army’s chief-surgeon, that’s what, my dear Thomas. Lord Raglan wants the maximum effort to be done to help our wounded as quickly as possible. The example given by your field ambulance struck him and he has directed that your facility be enlarged to act as a field hospital. I have with me the doctors from the other regiments of the brigade, plus enough equipment to assemble and furnish four marquee tents to house our wounded. Three carts are also on their way to the battlefield to help bring the wounded here.”

Farrell was speechless for a moment, not believing his good fortune.

“This…this is great, sir. We were getting swamped here as a matter of fact, with nineteen wounded already received alive from the battlefield. Unfortunately, two more wounded died from internal bleeding during transport.”

“And how many did you lose here?” asked Gibbons.

“One, sir.” answered Farrell somberly. “His wounds were too massive to survive.”

“Only one? But that’s damn good results, Thomas.” marveled the brigade surgeon. The arrival of the ambulance cart driven by Janet O’Neil interrupted their conversation, with Margaret Ward shouting from the back of the cart.

“We have two stretcher cases and two walking wounded here.”

“Sergeant Dillon!” shouted Gibbons on hearing Margaret. “Bring up six men to help unload those wounded!”

“Right away, sir!”

As soldiers came forward to help Margaret and Janet, the brigade surgeon patted Farrell’s back.

“Let me help you operate on these men, Thomas. Show me to your operating tent.”

“Then, this way, sir.” said the young surgeon, too happy to oblige. Leading him inside the rear tent of his medical wagon, he showed Gibbons a washing basin and a bar of soap sitting on a small folding table.

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“Sir, I will ask you to remove your coat and hat and to wash your hands thoroughly with soap. One of the things that I found which helped our recovery rate is cleanliness. I will get Nurse Pearson to help you.”

Since Farrell’s methods had more than paid off up to now, Gibbons didn’t object and removed his coat and top hat, then washed his hands carefully. Mary Pearson showed up as he was toweling his hands dry. The young blonde went to a chest and took out of it three sets of clean surgical coats, hats and masks, then held a coat in front of gibbons.

“Please slip your arms in, Doctor.”

Intrigued by the unfamiliar garment, Gibbons complied nonetheless, slipping on the coat and letting Mary tie it in his back. Farrell entered the tent and started washing his hands as Mary was showing Gibbons how to put on his surgical mask.

“Where did you get your medical training, Thomas?” asked the brigade surgeon through his mask.

“St-Thomas Hospital, sir. Why?”

“St-Thomas? I’m not aware that they ever used such garbs or even enforced mandatory washing before operations.”

“They don’t, sir.” answered curtly Farrell, reluctant to get deeper into that subject. Gibbons insisted, though.

“Then, where did you learn these methods?”

“From Jeanne Smythe, sir.” said Farrell after a hesitation before lying. “She studied medical techniques in the Orient. So far, they have proved quite effective.” Farrell could feel Gibbons’ reprobation as the brigade surgeon stared at him while he put on his surgical garb with Mary’s help.

“This Jeanne Smythe, is she a qualified doctor?”

Farrell took a deep breath, then looked Gibbons in the eyes.

“Jeanne would not be recognized as such by the British Medical Association, sir, but she could surprise you with her medical knowledge and skills. She routinely assists me during surgical work and I often let her do the final stitching work, under my supervision of course. The operating theater is on the other side of this curtain, sir.” Going through the curtain, Gibbons found a sturdy table covered with a white linen sheet, a smaller table supporting trays covered with napkins and two garbage cans. A multitude of lamps lit that section of the tent. Two soldiers soon brought in a wounded soldier on a stretcher and cautiously slid him on the operating table with the help of Farrell and Gibbons. Once the soldiers were out with their stretcher, Farrell went to the

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patient’s left foot, where a cardboard tag was attached to a toe by a string, and read the few lines scribbled on it.

“Chest sucking wound from shrapnel. No exit wound. Four drops of chloroform given at 18:06 hours.”

“Who wrote this?” asked Gibbons, surprised.

“Jeanne Smythe, sir. She tags every man she treats on the battlefield before sending him to us. It saves a lot of time at our end.”

Gibbons was thoughtful as Farrell started cautiously cutting away the bandages surrounding the man’s chest, using a pair of scissors handed to him by Mary Pearson. Some kind of paper sheet lying on top of the wound then attracted Gibbons’ eyes.

“What’s this?”

“The waxed paper wrapping of one of our field bandages, sir. It helps keep the bandage dry and clean during transport and can also be used to cover or protect a wound. When used in this case, it helps prevent a pierced thoracic cage from collapsing.”

Gently turning the patient on his side, Farrell inspected the man’s back before replacing him flat on the table.

“No exit wound. We have at least one piece inside, possibly in the left lung. Would you like to do the extraction, sir?”

“Yes! Scalpel, please!”

“Let me give more chloroform to the patient first, sir: he is still half awake.”

“Alright, Farrell, go ahead.”

Gibbons waited patiently as Farrell applied a sieve to the man’s face, then put on it a cotton pad wetted with a few drops of chloroform. The wounded man tried at first to take away the sieve but was restrained by the two surgeons until he passed out. Then taking the scalpel offered by Mary Pearson, Gibbons started cutting a way inside the wound, with Farrell sponging the blood as he went. Three minutes later he was pulling out a large chunk of metal from the wound.

“A big bugger indeed! I see no other pieces inside. Let’s sow him up.” That part took a lot longer, with the patient being carried out of the operating section one hour and ten minutes after entering it. Gibbons watched Mary Pearson take away on a tray the instruments they had used, while Farrell explained to him what she was doing.

“Those instruments will be washed, then boiled before being used again. We will have to wash our hands again and change garbs before operating on our next patient.

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This may all sound fastidious but our infection rate is way down compared with other field ambulances.”

Gibbons nodded his head, quite impressed: there were valuable lessons to be learned here. If young Thomas Farrell was smart, he was going to claim the credit for his work before some unscrupulous medical colleague did it in his place. As for Jeanne Smythe, Gibbons had made his mind to commend her work directly to the army chief-surgeon and to Lord Raglan himself.

14:56 (Constantinople Time)

Friday, September 22, 1854

Lord Raglan’s command tent

South bank of Alma River, Crimea

“Milord, Doctor Sloane is here to see you.”

Raising his eyes from the letter he was reading, the old marshal looked at his Aide-De-Camp, now standing in the entrance of his command tent.

“Please let him in, Jarvis.”

The army chief-surgeon soon entered, walking to Raglan’s desk and handing him a sheet of paper, his face solemn.

“The butcher’s bill, sir.”

Raglan had dreaded this moment for at least a day now: of all the things he hated most about war, it was those casualties lists, where a few dry words tried to hide the reality of unspeakable suffering and mass death. Slowly taking the paper, Raglan read it twice, trying to keep his composure at the same time. His voice did show his pain as he spoke softly.

“481 dead… 356 wounded.”

Raglan then looked questioningly at Sloane.

“How come there are more dead than wounded, Doctor?” The chief-surgeon seemed to shrink at Raglan’s question.

“Milord, many of the dead were not killed outright during the battle. In fact, many of them bled to death before they could be picked up and brought to the dressing stations. This is an old problem, sir: not enough transportation means available and too few medically trained personnel at hand. The only ones present from the start of the battle and ready to help and carry the wounded away were the nurses from the 8th

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Hussars’ field ambulance, who did sterling duty in appalling conditions. On that subject, sir, I have a request from the chief-surgeon of the Light Cavalry Brigade.”

“Go ahead, Doctor.”

“Milord, Doctor Gibbons wishes that three of those nurses be publicly commended for their devotion to duty and bravery while under fire. I personally checked on their work and interviewed a number of artillery officers who witnessed their courage on the battlefield. What I was told was quite impressive, sir. Here is my report on this matter.”

Taking a second document from Sloane, Raglan read it quickly, raising an eyebrow at its content.

“This Lady Jeanne Smythe was under artillery fire for over three hours, alone, while tending to our wounded?”

“Yes, sir! Our gunners were actually shooting over her head while exchanging fire with the Russian guns. Nurses Margaret Ward and Janet O’Neil also ran repeatedly across the battlefield to pick up wounded men while under fire.

“My God! This is truly admirable.” said Raglan, his eyes becoming moist. “Doctor, be sure that this report will be acted upon. How is our new field hospital at the 8th Hussars camp doing, by the way?”

“Swamped, sir. There are now fifteen surgeons there working non-stop and they are barely keeping up, while the female nurses are being run ragged. They are also running low on medical supplies.”

“Can’t the Commissariat restock them?” asked Raglan, irritated at having to cover this old problem again. Sloane shook his head in response.

“Hardly, sir. Adding to the usual Commissariat’s incompetence is the fact that some of the medical items which are getting scarce are non-standard ones bought in England by Lady Smythe.”

“I don’t care if those items are standard ones or not, Doctor.” fumed the old marshal. “If we have to get extra supplies from England, then let’s do it. I want our wounded men to be treated decently and speedily.”

“I will do my best, sir.” replied Sloane with little enthusiasm before leaving Raglan’s tent: getting anything from the Purveyor’s Office was like extracting a tooth.

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Once Sloane was out of his tent, Raglan called in his ADC while still holding the chief-surgeon’s report, waiting until the colonel had snapped to attention before starting to speak.

“Jarvis, we are compiling a list of names of those present on the battlefields in Crimea in case a campaign medal is issued, aren’t we?”

“Of course, Milord! This is standard army procedure during any campaign, sir.”

“Then, Jarvis, I want you to add the names of the three women mentioned in this report to the list of nominees for a campaign medal.”

“Women, sir?” said the ADC as if asked to give a military medal to a horse.

“Yes, Jarvis! I will also give you soon a draft for a Mention in Dispatches. Make sure when it is released that Mister Russell, of The Times of London, gets a copy of it.”

“Yes, sir!” could only reply the ADC, taken aback, before saluting and leaving the tent.

06:48 (Constantinople Time)

Sunday, September 24, 1854

Crimean coast North of Sebastopol

Janet O’Neil waved one last time at Jeanne Smythe, who was standing beside her faithful horse Pegasus on the floating pontoon bringing the last batch of wounded soldiers to the waiting transport ship. She then turned the cart around and started driving back to the field hospital camp site. With the whole army on the march towards Sebastopol and with most of their wounded evacuated, the field hospital would soon be following the endless columns of men, horses and wagons headed south. Hopefully, the march would give a chance to the hospital staff to recuperate from their sleepless nights. Janet herself, despite being accustomed to hardships and backbreaking labor, was in desperate need of some sleep. Jeanne Smythe, now on her way to Constantinople to escort patients to the military hospitals there and to buy more medical supplies, was probably the most exhausted of all. Janet suspected that part of this was due to the incredible stress for Jeanne of having to treat wounded men while under fire for hours. Having been one of the pitifully few army dependents to have survived the disastrous withdrawal march out of Afghanistan a few years ago, Janet fully appreciated what Jeanne had to go through four days ago.

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Janet was still half a mile from the hospital when she saw Fanny Duberly gallop towards her, going as fast as her cumbersome Amazon riding position permitted her to go. Fanny stopped her horse as soon as she was level with the cart and spoke excitedly.

“Jeanne, is she gone on the ship already?”

“If you wanted to speak to her, you’re too late, Fanny: the ship must have sailed by now.”

“Damn!” swore Fanny in frustration. “That means that she won’t get the news for another ten days at the least.”

“What news?” asked Janet, now frankly curious. Her question attracted a malicious smile on Fanny’s face.

“Lord Raglan has just released his latest dispatches about the battle of the Alma. In fact, these dispatches should be sailing back to England via Jeanne’s ship by now.”

“So?”

“So? My dear Janet, it happens that you, Jeanne and Margaret are mentioned in those official dispatches, for bravery shown during the accomplishment of your duties. Jeanne even rated a special mention in them.”

Janet was speechless for a moment, her heart suddenly pumping furiously. She had never heard of women being mentioned in military dispatches before, a process that normally led to the award of a medal.

“But this means that at least Jeanne could expect a medal of some sort, no?” Fanny’s smile faded somewhat then.

“Uh, I wouldn’t bet on that yet, Janet. When Captain Smythe brought us the good news a short while ago, he also told us that Lord Cardigan was already ranting and raving about women having no business being mentioned in dispatches. Most of the officers seem to think like that old martinet.”

“Bunch of aristocratic twits!” spat out Janet bitterly. “We wouldn’t have lost so many of our men if those officers knew their jobs in the first place. How is my dear husband reacting to this, by the way?”

“Quite well.” answered Fanny, smiling again. “Captain Smythe told us that your Sean and Corporal Ward are both as proud as peacocks this morning.”

“Well well, maybe I will ask him a few extra favors the next night I see him.” said Janet, grinning devilishly. “Jeanne told me about a few French love techniques I am anxious to try with Sean.”

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“Janet!” exclaimed Fanny, feigning being scandalized before smiling and lowering her voice as she guided her horse besides the cart. “Would you mind telling me about some of those techniques?”

“Not at all, but I hope that your husband has an open mind…and a good tongue.” The two women were soon laughing hard together, exchanging jokes that would have made their own husbands blush as they rode back to the camp.

15:08 (Constantinople Time)

Wednesday, September 27,1854

Kadikoi Valley, near Balaklava Harbor

Crimea

Sarah Champion, Mary Pearson and Emma Armstrong, all sitting in the front bench of the medical wagon, looked around them as the regimental column they were part of came to a halt in the middle of a shallow valley. What they were seeing now did nothing to drive their spirits up.

“What a desolate, depressing place.” said Sarah, getting nods from the others.

“Indeed! Not one tree in sight and only sparse grass for our horses and mules to feed on.” remarked Emma. “I hope that this is not going to be our camp site.” Their hopes were dashed when Doctor Gibbons approached them on his horse and spoke briefly with Doctor Farrell, sitting with Janet O’Neil in the ambulance cart which preceded the wagon. In turn, Farrell pointed a nearby spot to the women in the wagon.

“We’re going to establish ourselves over there. Get the wagon in place first, Sarah.”

Then jumping down from the cart, the young surgeon guided the wagon, its trailer and the mules attached to it to where he exactly wanted them, careful to orient the wagon so that it would present its smaller frontal section to the winds blowing through the valley. The nine women traveling in the back of the wagon then got out and surveyed their surroundings. Less than two kilometers away the small town of Balaklava was visible, its harbor now filling with British and French ships. In the valley they were in was a tiny hamlet composed of a few miserable huts situated near one of the two dirt roads leading out of Balaklava. The roads themselves were mere trails and promised to become mud pits after any rainfall. The slopes of the hills surrounding the valley were quite gentle but

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were covered only with short grass and light brush. Diane Sutherland, one of the medical auxiliaries, appeared dismayed by what she saw.

“We marched all the way around Sebastopol when we could have taken the city at our own leisure, only to end up here?”

Sarah Champion couldn’t help grin sarcastically then.

“Ain’t it nice to see that a simple farm girl could see what our good generals couldn’t?”

“Jeanne would probably have blown steam at seeing that.” remarked Mary Pearson, getting a nod from Sarah.

“She most certainly would. Sometimes I think that I would have more confidence in her than in our officers to lead our army.”

“Yeah,” approved Emma Armstrong, “but she probably is in Constantinople by now, the lucky girl.”

“Come on, girls!” cut in Thomas Farrell. “We better get our tents up before it rains again.”

No sooner had the surgeon spoken that rain started to fall, a few drops at first, then a heavy downpour.

“God, I hate this place!” said passionately Mary Pearson.

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Painting representing the charge of the Light Brigade at the Battle of Balaklava.





CHAPTER 12 – THE ANGEL OF BALAKLAVA




13:59 (Crimea Time)

Saturday, October 7, 1854

British cavalry division camp

Kadikoi, Crimea

“JEANNE IS BACK!”

Emma Armstrong’s joyous shout attracted Margaret Ward, along with the rest of the ambulance staff, out of their tents. Coming from Balaklava Harbor was a procession of twenty pack horses, with a smiling Jeanne Smythe in the lead. Jeanne was wearing her familiar riding skirt and short tunic outfit and looked healthy and in good spirits. Margaret Ward won the race for being the first to get to Jeanne and hug her as the latter dismounted. The French woman was soon surrounded by Doctor Farrell and a dozen excited women all trying to ask questions about her trip to Constantinople. Jeanne finally had to raise her arms and shout.

“Alright, girls, give me time to arrive first and get these supplies unloaded and stored away.”

Jeanne then grabbed Thomas Farrell by one arm and took him aside, speaking to him in a low voice.

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“How is the medical situation here, Doc?”

“Actually, not bad at all, Jeanne. We presently have two cases of cholera, two of local fevers and one man wounded lightly by a bullet. We are managing quite well, especially now that you brought all those extra supplies.”

“Excellent! Once these supplies are unloaded, I will go back to the port with the pack horses to get more supplies from my ship. By the way, would you know where my dear husband would be now?”

“Probably patrolling the Woronzoff Road that leads to the army main camp, like he does every day. He normally is back before darkness.”

“Good! I have a little something nice for him from Constantinople.” Farrell watched Jeanne then go direct the unloading of her pack horses, shaking his head in wonderment before returning to his patients.



19:09 (Constantinople Time)

British cavalry division camp

Kadikoi, Crimea

Gordon Smythe, leading his fifteen-man patrol back into camp in the growing darkness and cold, stopped his horse near the regimental ambulance and contemplated with surprise the numerous piles lined near the medical wagon, their nature hidden by tarps thrown over them and anchored solidly by ropes and pickets. There were also two more big covered wagons and twenty extra horses within the infirmary’s lines.

“What the hell is all this?” he asked himself. Corporal Ward advanced his horse alongside Gordon’s horse while looking at the piles.

“If I may hazard a guess, sir, this may signal that your wife is back from Constantinople. This typically looks like one of her hat tricks.”

“I’d say, Corporal!” said Gordon happily. “Would you mind leading the men back to their tents? I will go report to Major Henry in one hour.”

“No worry, sir. Have a good time, sir.” replied Ward in a knowing tone. Gordon let that remark pass, too anxious to see Jeanne to sit on regulations. Getting off his horse as Ward led the patrol away, he tied his horse to the pole where the horses and mules of the medical section were tied as well, then entered the treatment tent. He found Doctor Farrell, helped by Mary Pearson and Emma Armstrong, changing the

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bandages of Trooper Harris, who had received a bullet in the left arm during a skirmish with a Russian patrol three days ago. Farrell smiled up at him the moment he came in the tent.

“If you are looking for Jeanne, she has been waiting for you in the nurses’ tent for the last hour. She has a surprise for you.”

“A surprise?” said Gordon, his smile becoming a grin. “Then I better not make her wait longer.”

Mary Pearson and Emma Armstrong exchanged a knowing smile as the tall, broad-shouldered officer left.

“God, what a nice-looking man.” said Mary. “Jeanne is truly a lucky girl to have him.”

Gordon hesitated at the entrance of the nurses’ tent, afraid of disturbing any woman who could be inside at this time. He finally called out loud.

“Jeanne, are you in there? It’s me, Gordon.”

“You can come in, dear!” answered back his wife through the canvas. Stepping gingerly inside, Gordon abruptly stopped as he stared wide-eyed at Jeanne. Lying on a bear fur laid in the middle of the tent, she was wearing a vaporous Persian dancer’s costume straight out of the Arabian Nights Tales. Smiling invitingly at Gordon, she motioned with her right index for approach.

“Come here, you nice hunk.”

Gordon didn’t make her wait a moment longer.

After making the men take care of their horses first, Corporal Ward was about to lead them to the regimental kitchen, hoping to find something to eat there after their long patrol, when his wife Margaret showed with Patricia Foster. The two women each held one of the handles of a covered cooking pot, apart from carrying bread loaves and wine bottles in wicker baskets. Margaret gave a quick kiss to her husband before making an announcement to the men of the patrol.

“Don’t bother going to the kitchen, guys: Lady Jeanne brought back lots of goodies from Constantinople today and you are on her gift list. The menu for this supper is corned beef hash, fresh bread and wine.”

“Corned beef hash?” said one of the troopers, his mouth watering already. “We haven’t seen beef in weeks.”

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“We know!” replied Margaret, grinning. “That’s why we’re here. Get your plates ready, men.”

The men of B Troop went to bed content that night, some even more content than the others thanks to some intimate time with their wives arranged by the good offices of Jeanne Smythe. Morale definitely went up by a few notches that evening.

Going away in the early morning on his daily patrols, Gordon returned to camp in the evening to find a large new tent complex in the process of being put up. Contrary to the usual collection of individual tents used by the army, the large marquee tents of the complex were of a model that could be assembled together end-to-end to form long, spacious shelters. The complex actually was shaped like a ‘H’, with two long parallel rows of interconnected tents linked in the center by a section formed by three marquee tents. A number of marquee tents were also attached individually to the arms of the complex. Besides the large tent complex, another group of marquee tents tied together sat maybe thirty yards away, while a row of four individual marquee tents was positioned facing one of the extremities of the separate tent group. A number of civilian workers whom Gordon recognized from their spoken language as Turkish men were busy assembling and erecting the tents which were still not in place. More Turkish workers were building a sort of palisade enclosing the whole complex of tents, using poles and planks taken from a large pile of construction wood brought on the preceding day. That sight made Gordon smile with pride.

‘’Decidedly, Jeanne never wastes time.’’

While this happened in Kadikoi, the army wasn’t idle by any means, the men working hard to dig trench works and gun emplacements for the ninety heavy artillery pieces which would soon bombard the besieged city of Sebastopol. On October the seventeenth, both the British and French siege guns opened up on the fortified city, with Russian guns answering back with gusto. The Russians were actually the first to score big that day, managing a hit that blew up one of the French artillery powder magazines and silencing their guns for a while. The new Hussars field hospital in Kadikoi rapidly filled with wounded men as casualties from the artillery exchange mounted. The mood around was quite sullen then: the hardest part of the war was yet to come and few failed to realize that by now.

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06:23 (Constantinople Time)

Wednesday, October 25, 1854

HMS SANS PAREIL, Balaklava harbor

Crimea

Hurried knocks on the door of her cabin finished waking up Fanny Duberly, who then quickly put on a robe while shouting towards the door.

“Who is it?”

“First Officer Pritchard, madam.” answered a male voice. “I have an urgent note for your from your husband.”

“Hold on, I’m coming!”

Going to the door and unlocking it, Fanny cracked it open and faced the tall, thin navy officer, who passed her a piece of paper.

“Lieutenant Duberly also sent you your horse, madam. It is waiting for you on the quayside.”

“Thank you, sir!” replied Fanny, taking the paper and then closing the door. She was now conscious of the rumble of distant gunfire as she read the paper.

The battle of Balaklava has begun and promises to be a hot one. I send you the

horse. Lose no time, but come up as quickly as you can: do not wait for

breakfast.

Excitement overtaking her, Fanny dressed in record time, then ran out of her cabin to pick up her horse, which she found on the quay, its reins held by a servant. Getting on it Amazon style and galloping hard through the filthy, stinking streets of Balaklava, she hardly had time to be clear of the town before she met a Commissariat purveyor riding into town. The man seemed to be bordering on panic as he signaled Fanny to halt, shouting frantically as well.

“THE TURKS HOLDING THE CAUSEWAY HEIGHTS HAVE ABANDONED THEIR BATTERIES AND ARE RUNNING TOWARDS BALAKLAVA. IF YOU HAVE TO GO OUT, KEEP AS MUCH TO THE LEFT AS POSSIBLE AND DON’T LOSE TIME IN GETTING AMONGST OUR OWN MEN, AS THE RUSSIAN CAVALRY IS POURING IN. FOR GOD’S SAKE, RIDE FAST, OR YOU MAY NOT REACH THE CAMP ALIVE!”

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“Thank you for the warning, sir. Where is Lord Raglan and his staff now?”

“Up there!” replied the man, pointing at the nearby heights to the North before riding away. Her heart now beating furiously, Fanny rode hard towards those heights.

While going through the British cavalry camp at Kadikoi, she noticed that it was nearly deserted by now. The ambulance cart was also gone from the hospital’s yard, with Doctor Farrell, Sarah Champion and Mary Pearson about to leave in the medical wagon. Thankfully, Fanny did not see any Russians before arriving on the heights where the British command staff was observing the battle. A number of other civilians, including William Russell, were there as well. Dismounting with the help of the journalist, Fanny then looked down anxiously to the East as Russell explained the situation to her.

“The Russians have taken all six redoubts along the Causeway Heights, driving out the Turks in disorder. Our Light Cavalry Brigade is now posted at the extreme west of the valley north of the Causeway Heights, while the Heavy Brigade is positioning itself at the end of the south valley. Unfortunately, a large Russian cavalry force is riding down the heights, heading straight for our base in Balaklava. A single artillery battery and the 93rd Highlanders are the only things that can stop them now.” Fanny felt gloom as she stared at the thin line of men in red jackets holding the top of a nearby hill. A gray mass of Russian cavalrymen was now charging the unflinching Highlanders. A volley of rifle fire then hid everything in a thick cloud of white smoke. Fanny saw the Russians waver a bit. A second volley then made them turn around to the cheers of the British present. The Russians did however reform their lines and charged again, only to be driven off by a third volley and by fire from the gun battery positioned with the Highlanders. An excited Fanny, watching that Russian force retreat, suddenly saw another mass of Russian cavalrymen maybe 2,000 strong go down the south valley towards the Heavy Cavalry Brigade, which counted only 600 men.

“My God!” exclaimed the wife of a heavy brigade officer present in the crowd of spectators. “Our men are going to be submerged!”

“Where is the infantry, damn it?” raged Lord Raglan, standing a few yards away from Fanny, getting a sheepish answer from one of his staff officers.

“Uh, General Cathcart’s division will not be ready until after breakfast, sir.”

“WHAT?” shouted Raglan, his face reddening. “What about the First Division?”

“The Duke of Cambridge is on the march, sir, but won’t be there for another two hours, sir.”

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“Well, send a messenger to General Cathcart to tell him to forget breakfast and to haul his fat ass up to the battlefield right away.”

“Yes sir!” replied the staff officer before running to a liaison officer. Lord Raglan, repressing his impatience, then resumed his observation of the battle.

To everybody’s dismay, including that of the Russians, the commander of the Heavy Cavalry Brigade, General Scarlet, took the time to calmly and carefully line up his troopers, the British officers turning their backs to the Russians while placing their men. The subjugated Russians halted, wondering what those crazy British were doing. The answer soon came when the charge was sounded and the Heavy Brigade, led by Scarlet, rushed at the enemy. Colliding head on with the Russians, the British troopers disappeared in the gray mass, prompting desperate exclamations around Lord Raglan.

“God help them! They are lost!”

Contrary to all expectations, the British cavalrymen hacked their way through their foes and routed them in eight minutes with the help of some reinforcements from the 4th Dragoon Guards. Cheers went up from the spectators as the Russians retreated back to the top of the Causeway Heights. William Russell, still standing besides Fanny Duberly, was scribbling furiously while looking from time to time through his spyglass.

“By Jove, this is going to make one hell of a report!” he said, ecstatic. A shout from a staff officer then got everybody’s attention.

“Milord, the Russians are removing our guns from the redoubts on the Causeway Heights.”

Looking for a moment through his own spyglass, Lord Raglan then turned to his chief of staff.

“Get the Light Brigade to advance and prevent the guns from being taken away. Cardigan should be pursuing that Russian cavalry by now anyway.”

“Uh, Lord Cardigan has not moved yet, Milord.”

“Then what is he waiting for? God’s calling? He must move at once!”

“Yes, Milord!”

As the colonel was writing an order to be given to a liaison officer, Fanny borrowed William Russell’s spyglass for a moment to observe the Light Brigade in the distance, hoping to recognize Henry if he was indeed there. She quickly realized that the distance was too great for that, but she did recognize a familiar white and green cart stopped

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behind the troopers of the Light Brigade. A lone rider stood besides the cart, its long hair floating in the wind.

“God bless Jeanne! She’s right behind our men, along with our ambulance cart.”

“What? Let me see!” exclaimed Russell. A number of spectators and officers nearby, including a French general, had heard Fanny and also looked in that direction. The French general’s Aide, who spoke English, then went to Fanny and saluted her politely.

“Excuse me for disturbing you, madam, but General Bosquet wishes to know if you were referring to Lady Jeanne D’Orléans.”

“I was, sir. I believe that she intends to pick up any of our wounded as the battle goes on, like she did at the Alma.”

“I am not aware of her actions then, madam.” replied the French officer, surprised. “Could you tell me more about that?”

“With pleasure, sir!” said Fanny, who then spoke for a minute or so. The French officer nodded thoughtfully as she finished.

“A most brave lady. I will inform my general of this. Thank you for your time, madam.”

The officer then returned to General Bosquet, letting Fanny free to watch anxiously the Light Cavalry Brigade.

To Lord Raglan’s increasing impatience, Lord Cardigan’s brigade kept stationary despite the sending of successive orders to attack, while the British infantry was still mostly absent from the battlefield. By now the Russians were well on their way to finish pulling away the captured Turkish guns from the redoubts along the Causeway Heights. Finally having had enough of Cardigan’s inaction, Raglan wrote down one last order and gave it to Captain Lewis Nolan, the best rider on his staff.

“Bring this to Lord Lucan, so that he can make Lord Cardigan prevent the removal of our guns. Tell Lord Lucan to have the Heavy Brigade in support of the Light Brigade.”

“Right away, Milord!” replied Nolan, taking the note and saluting before getting on his horse and galloping away.

10:58 (Crimea Time)

Western end of North valley

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Like his men, Gordon Smythe could only wait and wonder as he watched Lord Lucan, who had just arrived with Captain Nolan of the higher staff, confer with Lord Cardigan. From their position low in the valley it was difficult to see what was going on around. Right now, Gordon could only see the large body of Russian cavalry that had gone back from the Causeway Heights to the far end of the valley to reform its ranks behind the guns of the Don Battery, plus more Russian guns and masses of infantry on the Fediukhin Heights to the left and on the Causeway Heights to the right. His blood suddenly chilled when he remembered something Jeanne had told him months ago, something he had not believed then.

“The Light Brigade will charge down a valley ringed on three sides by Russian guns, and it will be a massacre.”

Looking back towards Jeanne, who was sitting on her horse besides the ambulance cart no more than a hundred yards away, Gordon saw her apparently crying quietly. He then understood with horror and shock that she had known for a long time that this was going to happen, but that, for some reason, she would do nothing to prevent the charge despite the obvious distress it was causing her. Gordon looked around at his men, now knowing that he may not see many of them alive by the end of this day. Lord Cardigan turned towards the men then and pointed at the guns down the valley.

“THE BRIGADE WILL CHARGE GUNS TO THE FRONT!” Gordon waited for Lord Paget to repeat the order before shouting to the men of B Troop.

“B TROOP WILL CHARGE GUNS TO THE FRONT, IN BRIGADE FORMATION!”

The Hussars, which were in second line and on the right flank of the brigade, were containing their excitement with difficulty as Lord Paget shouted another order.

“SWORDS OUT!”

The whole regiment drew its swords as one. Paget then gave the order to move out at a trot as the regiments in the first line started moving forward in perfect alignment.

Janet O’Neil and Margaret Ward, sitting in the front of the cart, could only watch with dread the 632 men of the Light Brigade riding forward down the valley. The Heavy Brigade, led by Lord Lucan and General Scarlet, was now arriving to follow the Light Brigade down the valley. Arriving behind the Heavy Brigade was the Hussars’ medical wagon, its horses driven hard by Sarah Champion. As the Heavy Brigade formed up for

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a charge, Sarah drove her wagon to a stop besides the ambulance cart and applied the handbrakes before jumping down. Doctor Farrell and Mary Pearson joined her and frantically started to deploy the telescopic rear tent just as the Russian guns started firing on the Light Brigade. The women couldn’t help stop for a moment to look at their men, now a good 400 meters away and under a deluge of fire. They could plainly see men and horses go down, cut by the Russian artillery fire.

“Sean,” said Janet O’Neil tearfully to herself, “please get out of this alive!” While not saying a word, Margaret Ward was thinking the same about her husband Joseph and knew that the other women had to think similarly.

Riding in front of his troop, Gordon could see too well the men and horses being blown away or cut to shreds by the murderous Russian gunfire. At least one third of the troopers in the first line of the brigade were already down, with more falling nearly every second. The brigade was now at full gallop and 800 meters from that cursed Don Battery. Thousands of Russian cavalrymen stood waiting behind those guns but Lord Cardigan never wavered, leading his men straight down the mouths of those guns. The man may have been an incompetent martinet but he was no coward. At 500 meters from the guns, Cardigan rose his sword high and shouted.

“CHAARGE!”

A powerful concert of cheers and yells answered him and the remnants of the Light Brigade pushed their horses to the utmost, coming down on the terrified Russian gunners frantically trying to reload their pieces.

On Sapoune Ridge, Lord Raglan was watching the charge with increasing dismay and fury.

“What the hell do Lucan and Cardigan think they are doing? Right! Veer right or both brigades will be done in!”

“Maybe not, sir.” said softly his chief of staff. “We may yet salvage the Heavy Brigade out of this: I think that Lord Lucan is turning around now.” French General Bosquet, watching all this, shook his head sadly.

“C’est magnifique, mais ce n’est pas la guerre. C’est de la folie18!”



18 It is magnificent, but it is not war. It is madness! (true historical statement by General Bosquet).

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Margaret Ward got up on the bench seat of the cart as soon as she understood that the Heavy Brigade was not going to support the Light Brigade anymore.

“NOOO! OUR MEN NEED YOU, YOU COWARDS!”

“MARGARET!” shouted Jeanne harshly. “THEY TRIED THEIR BEST. LORD LUCAN WAS RIGHT TO TURN HIS BRIGADE AROUND.”

“BUT OUR MEN ARE IN THERE, DYING!” shouted back Margaret, nearly hysterical.

“I KNOW THAT, DAMMIT!” replied Jeanne, who then softened her voice. “IT IS UP TO US NOW TO SAVE AS MANY OF THEM AS WE CAN. FOLLOW ME AND DON’T LET ANYONE STOP YOU.”

Jeanne then launched her horse forward at a gallop, straight towards the Russian guns at the other end of the valley, followed by the ambulance cart. As terrified as they were, Janet and Margaret did not hesitate for one second: their husbands were in there somewhere, maybe dead or dying. The officers and men of the Heavy Brigade, retreating under artillery fire, were too surprised by seeing a woman riding a horse and two more women driving a cart and passing through their ranks to even attempt to stop them. Lord Lucan, his right shoulder slashed open by a piece of shrapnel, didn’t even notice them go by through the drifting white smoke from the Russian guns and din of the battlefield until General Scarlet, riding a few yards to his right, looked back and spoke in obvious surprise.

“What are those crazy women up to?”

“Uh? What women, General?”

“Lady Smythe and two other nurses on a cart, Milord.”

Looking back as well, Lucan only had time to see briefly a cart and a rider with long black hair disappear amidst the white smoke. A shell then burst nearby, reminding him of the precariousness of the situation of the Heavy Brigade.

“Keep withdrawing until the western end of the valley, General. We will then cover the retreat of any stragglers from the Light Brigade.”

“What about those women, Milord?”

“I’m afraid that they are on their own now.”

Feeling bad about this, Scarlet however didn’t insist and led his brigade back all the way.

There were no more than fifty riders from the first line left charging when it finally plowed through the Russian guns, Lord Cardigan still in the lead. Gordon Smythe and

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the other riders of the second line still in action also rode through the battery a few seconds later, hacking and slashing like madmen at the Russian gunners. Lord Paget, a short cigar still stuck between his teeth, soon saw the survivors of the first line turn around and retreat, pursued by a solid mass of Russian Lancers. He immediately shouted at his men, who were pursuing the surviving Russian gunners.

“HALT BOYS! HALT FRONT! IF WE DON’T HALT NOW, WE’RE DONE!” Gordon Smythe was firing his two revolvers to good effect, his rapid shots clearing the Russians around him, when he heard Paget’s order. Seeing as well the hundreds of Russian Lancers advancing on them, he then gathered his surviving men and covered their retreat as well as he could, emptying both of his revolvers in the process. Holstering them, he then drew his sword and started frantically hacking his way back to the British lines.

Fanny Duberly, having once again borrowed Russell’s spyglass to observe the desperate fight in the distance, suddenly shouted in a near hysterical voice, making the civilian spectators and army officers around her look sharply at her.

“MY GOD! JEANNE IS RIDING DOWN THE VALLEY, FOLLOWED BY OUR AMBULANCE CART!”

Consternation and disbelief ran through the crowd as Russell grabbed back his spyglass for a look.

“By Jove, you’re right, Misses Duberly. They’re now through the Heavy Brigade and are riding deeper in still.”

“They must be lunatics!” pronounced a fat ‘Traveling Gentleman’ who had been treating the battle like a circus show. “That is no place for women.” A resounding slap from Fanny then sent the surprised tourist on his bum.

“You, mister, are lucky that Jeanne didn’t hear this!” spat Fanny, enraged. “If she went in there, it was to help our wounded men on the battlefield, not to provide some cheap thrills to tourists like you.”

“I think that the cart and Jeanne just stopped near some bodies halfway down the valley.” announced William Russell, observing through his spyglass. “Damn! Those Russian bastards are shooting at them!”

Russell’s last remark made everybody who had a spyglass point it at the cart and Jeanne, unwittingly creating a new, dramatic focus point on the battlefield.

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Covering the wounded trooper with herself from the rain of dirt projected by the exploding shell, Jeanne then looked up anxiously at Janet and Margaret, still sitting in the cart about twenty yards away.

“ARE YOU ALRIGHT, GIRLS?”

“YES!” replied Janet after a short pause.

“MARGARET, COME HERE TO HELP ME, THEN. JANET KEEP AN EYE ON MY HORSE AND THE CART IN THE MEANTIME.”

Deciding that this battlefield was too dangerous to spend much time on each wounded they found, Jeanne did only summary first aid on his patient, then loaded him on a stretcher with Margaret’s help. Carrying the wounded to the cart, the three women then joined their efforts to load the stretcher in the back of the cart. Letting Margaret and Janet strap the stretcher in place, Jeanne ran to another man moaning with pain nearby. The sergeant from the 11th Hussars had a horrific wound to his face, with both of his eyes impaled. Clenching her teeth, Jeanne poured some water on the wound to clean it, then started applying a bandage on it while speaking soft words to calm the wounded. The man stiffened from the pain but didn’t scream as she worked on him. In the meantime, Margaret checked the other bodies around, looking for living survivors. Jeanne soon had the blinded man get to his feet and led him to the cart, where he climbed inside with Janet’s help. Another shell screamed through the air, making all of them duck. It overshot the cart, exploding forty yards away.

“Janet, keep the cart moving at all times, even when me and Margaret are treating wounded men. Don’t give those bastards an easy target.”

“Got that!’

Getting back on her horse, Jeanne then galloped to the next cluster of bodies a hundred yards further down the valley, followed by the cart. Amidst three dead horses and a wounded, wildly thrashing beast, a horse stood nearly motionless, its reins still held by its dead rider lying on the ground. Two more soldiers lay dead near him but another one seemed only shaken, his face haggard and his hands trembling. Jeanne realized that the man was suffering from a case of so-called ‘shell shock’ and knew that it had nothing to do with cowardice. Helping him to his feet, she then gently led him to the cart and made him climb aboard before running to the riderless horse and pulling the reins out of the dead man’s hand. Tying the horse to her own Pegasus, she got into the saddle and rode further down the valley, pulling the spare mount along. Encountering another riderless horse, she grabbed its reins as well, prompting a question from Margaret.

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“Why lose your time with horses, Jeanne? We are here to save men.”

“Margaret, many of our men are without horses now as they try to return to our lines. A horse may mean life for those men.”

“Oh, I’m sorry! I didn’t think about that.” said Margaret apologetically. Janet suddenly pointed down the valley.

“Over there! Two men limping together.”

“Go get them!” ordered Jeanne at once. “Then bring your patients to the medical wagon and come back here. I’m going to check those bodies over there.” As the cart rolled towards the now gesticulating soldiers, Jeanne rode to a group of six bodies 150 yards away, careful to zigzag on her way. That paid off as a shell narrowly missed her, passing only a few yards over her head before plowing into the ground some distance away. Her heart jumped in her chest when she got near the bodies: they wore the uniform of the 8th Hussars! Afraid of seeing Gordon in the lot, she jumped down from her horse while still holding the reins. Pegasus then positioned itself between her and the Russian guns to her right, activating its invisible electromagnetic shield to protect her as best it could. The first trooper that Jeanne checked was dead, along with the second one. The third, fourth and sixth were alive, though. Rinsing quickly the blood-covered face of one of the survivors, Jeanne then realized with a shock that the man was RSM O’Neil, Janet’s husband. He had a deep slash across his forehead that bled profusely and was unconscious but seemed otherwise alright. Applying quickly a bandage around O’Neil’s head, Jeanne then planted one of her small white flags in the ground besides him before going to her next patient. Somehow, the Russian gunners seemed to have lost interest in her by now, unless an officer had understood that she was merely helping the wounded and paused no threat. The noise of approaching riders then made her look up. To her relief they turned out to be a number of dispersed British soldiers from the Light Brigade who were in full retreat. They passed on both sides of her, too much in a hurry to even notice her among the large patches of drifting white smoke. A trooper on foot approached Jeanne as she was finishing to care for her last patient.

“Lady Jeanne? What are you doing here?”

It took her a few seconds to recognize the young man with a blackened and dirt-covered face.

“Pearson? Trooper John Pearson? Thank God, you’re alive!”

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Hugging him briefly, Jeanne then handed him the reins of one of the horses she had found around her patients.

“Take this horse and go! Mary is waiting for you at the medical wagon, at the end of this valley.”

“Mary is here?” said Pearson, incredulous.

“Yes!” replied Jeanne impatiently. “Now go, before you attract more fire on me!” Subjugated by her firm tone, Pearson got on the horse and rode away after a last look at her. The ambulance cart came back one minute later as more stragglers rode past Jeanne, with her last spare horse given to a lieutenant from the 4th Light Dragoons.

“SEAN!”

Janet’s scream made Jeanne turn her head in time to see her jump out of the cart and run to her husband to frantically kiss and hug him. Making sure that Margaret kept control of the cart, Jeanne got a stretcher out from the back of the cart and put it besides Sean O’Neil, then shook Janet by the shoulder.

“Come on, Janet! The quicker we load him and the two others up, the faster we will get them to safety.”

“You…you’re right.” said Janet in a sobbing voice, then helping Jeanne to delicately put the RSM on the stretcher. Both women, pushed by fear and despair, loaded the three wounded in the cart in record time. As Jeanne was getting back on her horse, Margaret shouted in alarm.

“JEANNE, ENEMY CAVALRYMEN APPROACHING!”

Looking with dread in the direction pointed at by Margaret, Jeanne saw a group of eleven Cossacks galloping towards them while holding their swords and lances high.

“RIDE BACK, NOW, AND DON’T COME BACK!” shouted Jeanne to Janet O’Neil. “I WILL COVER YOU!”

Too scared to object to her order, the two nurses turned the cart around and fled as Jeanne mounted up, drew her Colt revolver-carbine out of its saddle holster and took careful aim at the leading Cossack. Her first shot was true, dropping the Russian from his saddle at a distance of 130 yards. Seven more Cossacks fell before Jeanne holstered back her now empty carbine. The remaining three Cossacks were now less than thirty yards away and charging her with their swords high. Spurring Pegasus to a lightning charge, Jeanne drew out her own saber and let out a fierce war yell. Taken by surprise by such ferocity in a woman, the lead Cossack reacted too slowly and had his right hand chopped off as she flashed by him. The second Cossack, attacked on his left

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side, got decapitated in short order. The last Cossack saw his own sword parried away on his first pass. Braking hard his mount, he then vaulted around to face Jeanne, who was again charging him.

On Sapoune Ridge, everybody was now watching on anxiously Jeanne Smythe as she fought for her life. Fanny Duberly in particular was a ball or raw nerves as William Russell described out loud what he was seeing through his spyglass.

“…there goes a Cossack’s head! Damn! This bloody smoke is hiding everything again…Wait! I think that I see her again now…Yes, and she’s alone now. She defeated all those Cossacks, by Jove! What the… She’s now rounding up Russian horses. What does she have in mind?”

“Is she coming back now?” asked Fanny, unable to keep silent any longer. Russell, looking stunned, then lowered his spyglass and spoke in a near whisper.

“No! She went in deeper in the valley with her spare horse, towards the guns of the Don Battery.”

A few paces from them, General Bosquet and his aides were also watching the drama with their spyglasses. One aide suddenly pointed at a large group of cavalrymen going down the northern valley while skirting its left flank.

“There, mon général! General Morris and his Chasseurs d’Afrique have arrived.”

“Excellent! If they can silence those Russian guns on the Fediukhin Heights, it will give a fighting chance for some of those Englishmen to escape this trap. I see that some of the British infantry has also arrived, a bit late though.” Bosquet then looked back where Jeanne Smythe had disappeared in the smoke of the battle, sparkles in his eyes.

“Quelle femme19!” He said in a low, admiring voice.

His poor horse now dead, Gordon Smythe barely had time to join up with three other dismounted Hussars, including his Troop Sergeant-Major, James Champion, before they were beset by at least a dozen Cossacks. With the Russian guns less than fifty yards from them still firing indiscriminately in the swirling mix of Russian and British cavalrymen, the four Hussars went back to back, fending off their assailants the best they could.

19 What a woman!

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“AT LEAST WE SHOWED THESE RUSSIANS WHAT HUSSARS ARE CAPABLE OF.” shouted Champion to his captain while fencing with two Cossacks. Gordon hacked away the arm of one of his attackers before replying.

“DAMN RIGHT, SERGEANT-MAJOR! I JUST WISH THAT I COULD HAVE KISSED MY WIFE ONE LAST TIME.”

“I STILL HAVEN’T GIVEN UP ON THAT, SIR.” replied Champion, managing to wound one Cossack with a mighty slash of his sword. The Cossacks on Champion’s side suddenly turned around as a piercing yell came from their back. Using that diversion to good effect, Champion rushed forward and cut down the two Cossacks nearest to him as a lone rider appeared out of the smoke, firing a revolver repeatedly at an incredible rate and dropping five Cossacks from their saddles.

“COME ON, YOU MEN!” shouted a female voice Champion knew well enough. “GET ON THOSE RUSSIAN HORSES AT THE DOUBLE!” The four Hussars didn’t have to be told twice, quickly saddling up while Jeanne Smythe emptied her second revolver to cover them.

“NOW, LET’S GET OUT OF DODGE!” shouted Jeanne, drawing her sword after holstering her empty revolvers and letting the Hussars ride past her before urging Pegasus to a gallop. She then rode alongside Gordon, a large group of Cossacks in hot pursuit.

“You are a tough man to find, my dear husband.” she said with a grin.

“And you, my dear wife, are one crazy woman!” replied Gordon, still having a hard time believing that she had come all the way to the Russian guns to find him. You had to love a wife like this one. A pistol bullet passing uncomfortably close to Jeanne’s head then prompted a suggestion from her to Gordon.

“Tell your men to keep to the right of the valley: I’m expecting help soon from there.”

Gordon looked at her as if she was mad.

“But, the Russian guns on the Fediukhin Heights will shred us to pieces.”

“If they are still in Russian hands, my dear.” replied Jeanne mysteriously while riding hard alongside him. Gordon didn’t have time to ask her about that, as a large group of Russian Lancers galloped across their front, cutting their path to safety. Before he could swear about their bad luck, Jeanne spurred her horse, making it accelerate to a speed Gordon would not have thought possible for a normal horse and charging the Lancers ahead of the four Hussars.

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“MONTJOIE20!” shouted Jeanne at the top of her lungs, her saber held forward. Gordon, his own horse left behind by Jeanne’s horse, could only watch at first, like his three men. Jeanne deftly deflected away the point of the first Russian lance with the tip of her saber, then followed up with a slash of her sword that opened wide the throat of the Russian as she charged past him. Her blade then came down on her left side, chopping off the tip of another lance lunging for her torso. Jeanne next raised back her sword tip in time to bury it in the side of the Russian who had tried to impale her. All this was done as if it was out of long practice, while her horse kept speeding through the Russian Lancers. Gordon and his men, even though stunned by her prowess, nonetheless used the path slashed open by Jeanne to burst out of the swirling mass of Russian Lancers. They followed Jeanne’s horse as it veered towards the right side of the valley and were able to pull up to her as she slowed down her horse after a few seconds. Gordon was now eyeing with dread the hills to his right, where dozens of Russian guns were dug in. He could not understand why they had not yet started firing on his group but he could however hear heavy rifle fire coming from there. He then saw a number of Russian artillerymen run out of their hilltop positions in apparent panic. His heart jumped with joy when the Russians were followed by hundreds of French cavalrymen in hot pursuit. His whole group cheered wildly at that sight and veered to the right to meet a group of thirty Chasseurs d’Afrique, tough Algerian cavalrymen, who were led by a young French lieutenant. The lieutenant, stopping alongside Gordon, saluted him and addressed him in fair English.

“You and your men were very lucky to get out of there, Captain. Your…” The Frenchman stopped speaking and stared with disbelief at Jeanne.

“Mon Dieu! Don’t tell me that you were part of the charge, mademoiselle!”

“No, Lieutenant.” replied calmly Jeanne while grinning. “I joined my husband after the charge. I can’t afford to lose such a nice pair of tight buns, so I went after him and collected him back.”

The lieutenant grinned as Gordon’s men laughed hard at Jeanne’s answer, while Gordon turned red with embarrassment.

“Sergeant-Major Champion,” said Gordon in a warning tone, “make sure that the expression ‘tight buns’ doesn’t become a byword in B Troop.”

“Yes, sir!” shouted Champion, barely able to keep a straight face.

20 War cry of the French knights during the Hundred Years War.

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They parted with their French escort once they came to the positions held by the Heavy Brigade, with the delighted lieutenant getting a kiss from Jeanne before riding away. A captain of the 4th Dragoon Guards was at hand to greet the returning survivors of the Light Brigade. Shocked by the presence of a woman bearing arms in their group, he nonetheless saluted Gordon politely.

“Do you or any of your…men need medical attention, Captain?”

“I don’t believe so, Captain. Do you know how many men from the Light Brigade came back?”

“About half of them so far.” said cautiously the Guards officer. “Your group seems to be about the last of it, Captain. Lord Paget is waiting near an ambulance wagon behind our lines to collect and reorganize his men.”

“Thank you, Captain. We will report to him immediately.” After a last exchange of salutes, Gordon led his three men, Jeanne still in tow, towards the Hussars ambulance wagon. Less than 300 men were gathered roughly according to their regiments around it, many without a horse and more than a few sporting bloody bandages. Two carts loaded with wounded men were rolling away when Gordon approached the medical wagon, in front of which Lord Paget stood on his horse. Saluting crisply his colonel, Gordon then reported in a formal manner.

“Captain Gordon Smythe, of B Troop, reporting back with three men and Nurse Smythe, sir.”

“At ease, Captain!” replied Paget, returning the salute and eyeing Gordon’s small group. He then stared severely at Jeanne, guiding his horse closer to hers.

“Misses Smythe, may I ask what in the blazes you were doing out there?”

“Doing my nurse’s duty, sir: saving lives.” replied Jeanne politely but firmly.

“With two pistols and a sword, madam?”

“They are meant for my own defense and that of my patients, sir. In fact, I and two of my nurses were attacked by Cossacks while giving first aid to some of our wounded.”

“And you escaped them with the help of Captain Smythe, I presume?”

“Not exactly, sir. I killed the Cossacks, then went after my husband, sir.”

“You killed those Cossacks?” said Paget, clearly skeptical. “How many of them were there? Two? Three?”

“Eleven… on the first instance, sir.”

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Paget, shocked and speechless, looked at Gordon as if to get a second opinion. The latter nodded his head somberly, knowing that this story was bound to get widespread circulation.

“Sir, I didn’t see that fight, but I and my men can testify that my wife rescued us from a large group of Russian cavalrymen less than fifty yards from the Don Battery, killing over a dozen Russians in the process.”

Paget, overwhelmed and at a loss about how to handle this, stammered a reply with difficulty.

“Uh, well…It will be all, Nurse Smythe. You may return to your duties.”

“Thank you, sir!”

Returning her salute, Paget let her go before looking at Gordon.

“Captain, do a quick roster of your men. You may want to contact Doctor Farrell for this, as he has the list of wounded men sent back to camp. Dismissed!”

“Sir!”

As Gordon rode towards the gathered survivors of the 8th Hussars, he turned his head to look at James Champion.

“Sergeant-Major, go to the medical wagon and inquire about our wounded there. Take your time if you feel you need to.”

“Thank you, sir.” replied Champion, a lump in his throat. Trotting to the big wagon and dismounting, he tied his horse to one wheel before entering the rear tent. He found Jeanne Smythe and Sarah hugging each other in the first section. Sarah’s eyes went wide at his sight.

“JAMES! THANK GOD YOU’RE SAFE!”

Throwing herself in his arms, Sarah kissed him frantically for long seconds, with Jeanne going into the second tent section and leaving them alone. The couple finally parted with tears in their eyes.

“I was so scared for you, James.”

“Oh, I was scared enough myself, Sarah. Me, the captain and two more men were about to be done in by a bunch of Cossacks when Lady Jeanne showed up just at the right time. She is one mean pistol shooter, I tell you.” That got him a surprised look from his wife.

“But she only told me that she met you and the others on the battlefield.”

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James could only nod in respect at that: Jeanne Smythe may be incredibly brave but she was no braggart about it, something to be admired.

“Believe me, Sarah. If anybody deserves a medal for this battle, she should be first in line to get one. Now, if you will excuse me, dear, I’m going to see Doctor Farrell to get the list of our wounded.”

“Let me hug you a while more first, James.” said Sarah softly. James welcomed her into his arms again, caressing her hair and back to their mutual contentment.

Gordon had finished his roster of B Troop by the time James Champion returned from the medical wagon and handed him a list on a sheet of paper. Gordon read it with a mix of sadness and relief: it could have been a lot worse. Out of the 41 men of B Troop who had followed him in the charge, thirteen were missing and presumed dead or prisoner, while 21 men had been wounded and were on their way back to the Hussars field hospital. From what he could see, the rest of the brigade had suffered at least as severely if not more than his troop. Lining his seven remaining men, two of which had to ride with other troopers, he then led them at a trot back to camp. He would later learn that, out of the 632 men of the brigade who had charged today, 110 had been killed, 57 had been taken prisoner and 196 had been wounded, with many of the later having to suffer amputations. Also, well over half of the horses of the brigade had died. The Light Brigade was now ineffective as a military formation.

21:14 (Constantinople Time)

8th Hussars field hospital

Kadikoi, Crimea

Hesitating for a short moment, William Howard Russell finally decided himself and knocked on the pole near the partition that marked Jeanne Smythe’s room. Her response was immediate.

“Come in!”

Pushing open the curtain door, Russell saw Jeanne Smythe sitting at the small table set in one corner of her tiny cubicle. She wore a conventional burgundy and white dress and had obviously cleaned herself up after her action-packed day in the field. Russell then noticed the two revolvers on the table, disassembled for cleaning.

“May I speak with you for a moment, Jeanne?”

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“Please, have a seat, William.”

“Thank you.”

Taking place on the edge of the bed, a real one and not one of those camp cots he found so uncomfortable, Russell took out a notepad and a pencil and smiled to Jeanne.

“Could I ask you a few questions about today, if you don’t mind, Jeanne?”

“Fire away.” she replied while resuming her weapons cleaning job.

“First of, I would like to say that I was able to observe you in action today and was much impressed by your bravery.”

Somehow his compliment only seemed to embarrass her.

“William, please understand that I did what I did to save lives. Also, I didn’t do any more than what all the men of the Light Brigade did today.”

“But, Jeanne, those men were ordered to charge, while you freely chose to go in.”

“Remember that two other women followed me in.” she replied while shaking an index. “They were unarmed while I had my revolvers, sword and carbine. It is them you should praise, not me. They are Margaret Ward and Janet O’Neil, both wives of men of the 8th Hussars.”

Russell smiled and nodded in approval while scribbling those names down in his notepad.

“A generous thought, Jeanne. Those two women will certainly be mentioned in my article about this battle. Now, would you mind describing in detail what you did today?”

Jeanne obliged with good grace, speaking for over ten minutes and with Russell asking a number of questions to clarify some points. The journalist had sparkles in his eyes as Jeanne finished telling her story. It involved courage, compassion, romance and dedication to one’s husband, a mix that was sure to inflame the enthusiasm of his readers in London.

“Jeanne, as a last point, could you tell me where and how you learned all those military and fighting skills?”

“I’m afraid not, William.” she answered, politely but firmly. “There are already too many wild rumors about me around the camp.”

“But this would be your chance to quash those rumors with the truth, Jeanne.” Jeanne then gave him a sober look, speaking very deliberately.

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“Believe me, William: the truth would never be believed by anyone here or in London. I will ask you not to emphasize this aspect of me in your article, William. My charity work in Europe requires me to cross borders many times every year and I wouldn’t want to see myself turned back at a border post because of some wild rumor about me being a government spy.”

“So, you do realize that you being a possible spy is the rumor deemed most plausible by many to explain your military prowess?”

Jeanne sighed audibly, looking discouraged for a moment.

“Damned if you do, damned if you don’t…” she said quietly before staring back at the journalist. “William, I have been doing my best for years to do some good around me and to relieve as much as I can the misery and suffering in this sad world. If I would have been a man, few would notice my actions, but I am what I am. One way you can help me continue doing my charity work is by avoiding to mention those wild rumors about me in your articles. Hopefully, those rumors will then stay here, in Crimea.”

“That could be an overoptimistic wish, Jeanne.” cautioned Russell, making her nod.

“I know! Believe me, I know.”

Russell was silent for a moment while eyeing the formidable young woman facing him. The soldiers of the Light Brigade who had met her on the battlefield were positively in awe of her and had told him plenty about her actions of today. Russell then made his mind and smiled to Jeanne.

“Alright, Jeanne, I will keep mum about those rumors. I however can’t guarantee that the few other reporters or even some tourists presently in Crimea will not spread eventually those rumors all the way to London.”

“Thanks, William. I really appreciate this. If you will now excuse me, I wish to clean my revolvers, so that I can go to bed. Today was a tough day.”

“That I can believe, Jeanne. Have a good evening.” said Russell while starting to open the curtain to leave.

“Good evening to you as well.” replied Jeanne. Once the reporter was gone, she returned her attention to her cleaning work but couldn’t take her worries completely out of her mind. Too much talking about her was bound to eventually become bad news for her charity work but she could hardly change the fact that she was an athletic, six foot-tall young woman with abilities well beyond the accepted norm for this century.

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More knocks on the pole interrupted her again nine minutes later. This time it was Gordon, looking unsure of himself. After accepting the kiss from Jeanne, he sat on the edge of the bed and looked hesitantly at her.

“Jeanne, I have to ask you something. Believe me when I say that I love you more than anybody else in the world but what I saw of you today was positively incredible. Tell me, in complete truth: who are you really? You not only fought better than most soldiers I know, you also predicted with complete accuracy what happened today, and this a few months ago, when you were still amnesiac.” Nancy had dreaded this moment for a few weeks already but still wasn’t sure how to face it. It reminded her too much of a similar episode when she had revealed her secret identity to D’Artagnan in order not to lose him. The Time Patrol had chosen to overlook that incident but it probably wouldn’t let a second similar thing pass without severe consequences for her. Her genuine love for Gordon only made her choice more painful.

“Gordon, when we married, we vowed to each other to stay together until death do us part, for the better and for the worse. We already lived together some of the better moments of life and we are presently living through some of the worst, thanks to this war. I am only asking you to have confidence in me and not ask me further about this.” The look of doubt and suspicion that appeared then on Gordon’s face truly hurt her.

“Jeanne, as your husband, I would be in my right to ask you to show confidence in me and to tell me the truth, unless you want this marriage to be a lie.” Nancy couldn’t help tears then come out and she had to hide her face with her hands, sobs following the tears quickly. A voice only she could hear then rang inside her brain, coming via her implanted radio. It was the voice of Farah Tolkonen.

“Nancy, this is Farah. Ingrid heard your exchange and initiated a Code Red procedure, then went to warn me. Make Gordon promise silence, then tell him the minimum, basically that you are from the future and that you are stranded in this time period.”

“Thanks, Farah.” Thought Nancy, relieved by this show of confidence. Wiping away her tears, she looked back sullenly at Gordon, who was still waiting for her answer.

“Gordon, you will first have to promise me that you will never repeat to anyone what I am about to tell you.”

After a short hesitation, Gordon nodded his head.

“You have my solemn word, Jeanne.”

“Thank you, Gordon. First off, I have not one but two secrets.”

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“Two secrets?” said Gordon, stiffening.

“Yes! The first one is probably the biggest: I am from the future.” Despite having expected about anything, Gordon still paled at those words.

“The…the future? How far in the future?”

“I was born in 1982. I was a soldier. Hell, I am still a soldier!”

“Tell me more, Jeanne.” said weakly Gordon, whose head was nearly spinning now. Nancy got up from her chair and sat beside him on the bed, passing an arm around his shoulders before speaking.

“I have been training to be a soldier nearly from childhood, Gordon, apart from receiving an extensive education. It was mostly my own choice but my older sister, who was in the army, did a lot to attract me to a military career. I worked for an international force that was dedicated to protecting the peace around the World and to help the victims of disasters. Then, I was selected for a special task: to try the prototype of a time travel machine.”

“Why you? You must have been still quite young then.”

“I was sixteen then, Gordon. The reason I was selected had a lot to do with my second secret. You served in India, so I presume that you know about the Hindu concept of reincarnation, right?”

“I do. According to the Hindus, the spirit leaves the body at death and goes on to live in another living being. The more meritorious your previous life had been, the higher the form of next life you got to live.”

“Correct. The Hindus are however a bit off, as a human spirit will go inhabit only a human body. People are not supposed to remember their past incarnations and very few even claim to be able to. Well, I am the notable exception, Gordon: I can remember all of my past incarnations, my past lives, languages, skills and experiences. That unique talent got me selected to travel to the past.”

Gordon was quite pale by now, with his mind in utter turmoil. He had come to Jeanne’s room to ask for the truth from her, but he was starting to realize that he had not been ready for the whole truth. Her warmth, touch and smell however reminded him at the same time that he had married this beautiful young woman out of true love for her, a love that she had more than returned up to now. Even if she was from the future, something that would explain many things, he would still keep loving her.

“How far in the past do those souvenirs go, Jeanne? Your name is really Jeanne, right?”

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“It is now, Gordon. When I tested for the first time that time machine it failed catastrophically and sank off the coast of the Guadeloupe on its first trip, after bringing me back in time by over a hundred years. I was able to swim ashore but am since then stranded in this century. I assumed the name of Jeanne de Brissac in order to blend in, got married to Pierre D’Orléans and eventually ended up what I am today. To answer your first question, I remember lives extending back 9,000 years in history.”

“Nine thousand years?” exclaimed a bit too loudly Gordon, making Nancy signal him to lower his voice.

“Not so loud! Others could hear. Yes, 9,000 years. That is why I can speak so many languages and ride and fight so well. I was even one of the fabled Amazons of Greek legends over 2,500 years ago.”

A smile then came for the first time on Gordon’s face as he contemplated that fact.

“I am married to an Amazon…I have to say that I like that notion.”

“I knew that you would, Gordon.” said Nancy, smiling, before kissing him. She then caressed his cheeks while staring directly into his eyes. “Gordon, I am lost in time, with no way for me to go back to my time and none either for the ones who built the first time machine to find me, as it went badly off course in both time and space before crashing in the sea. For better or for worse, I am now Jeanne Smythe-d’Orléans, married to a gallant and dashing British cavalry officer, and will stay so until death do us part.”

Those last words finished softening Gordon, who then exchanged a long kiss with Jeanne. Letting herself fall on her back on the bed, Jeanne then invited Gordon on top of her. He had his hand under her skirt as he spoke softly to her between kisses.

“Near the Don Battery, as we were charging through those Russian Lancers, you shouted something in French.”

“Montjoie?”

“That’s it. What did it mean?”

“’Montjoie’ was the war cry of the French knights during the Hundred Years War.”

“You were a French knight then?”

“Not exactly.” said Jeanne, a malicious smile appearing on her lips. “I was Joan of Arc.”

10:06 (Crimea Time)

Sunday, October 29, 1854

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8th Hussars field hospital

Kadikoi, Crimea

Asking to one of the regimental wives working at the field hospital where he could find Jeanne, Gordon was directed to the operating block, where he found her after looking into two successive operating rooms. He was stunned to see through one of the windows of the third operating room that Jeanne was actually performing surgery under the careful supervision of Doctor Thomas Farrell. Knowing that non-medical personnel intruding during an operation was a big no-no with both Jeanne and Doctor Farrell, Gordon decided to watch and wait outside the operating room. Four minutes later, the patient was taken out of the operating room on one of the 200 rolling gurneys Jeanne had brought by ship, while the surgical team went to change and wash their hands. Gordon was finally able to meet Jeanne when she walked out of the post-operating room, her surgical garb already removed. They kissed each other before Gordon spoke, his expression serious.

“I have something to announce to you: Lord Paget is leaving Crimea today, heading for England.”

He saw Jeanne’s face harden at that piece of news.

“Let me guess: Paget had quote ‘urgent private affairs’ unquote to take care of at home and he turned in his commission, which he had purchased in the first place.”

“Correct on all points, Jeanne.” agreed Gordon, who then stared straight into her eyes. “You do know well the history of this war. Are you sure that you don’t want to tell me more about it?”

She shook her head slowly while keeping eye contact with him.

“I’m sorry, Gordon. The less you know, the less chances there are that history could be affected or rewritten. In fact, my sole presence here in Crimea probably caused a number of minor, insignificant changes to history. Changing the given outcome of a battle would be an altogether much more damaging thing. Again, I’m sorry but I won’t tell you or anyone else more on this subject.”

Gordon was silent for a moment, then kissed her on the lips.

“I understand. Please forget that I asked.”

In the next few days, no less than 38 officers of the Light Brigade, including Captains Fields and McGregor of the 8th Hussars, left Crimea for England under the

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pretext of ‘urgent private affairs’ to escape the increasingly unpleasant climate and harsh living conditions. All of them had purchased their commissions instead of earning them and now turned them in as the going got rough. The enlisted men had no choice but to stay and endure. This was the cause of much bitterness for Gordon Smythe, who rightly felt betrayed by his fellow officers. On his part, William Howard Russell turned this scandal into one of his most strident journalistic attacks yet on the military aristocracy and its system of privileges and built-in incompetence.

06:02 (Constantinople Time)

Sunday, November 5, 1854

British Army observation camp

Home Ridge Heights, South of Sebastopol

Private Henry Williams, of the 41st Rifle Regiment, was so tired from his 24 hours of trench duty he had returned from late last night that he woke up only after the fourth or fifth gun discharge. Looking groggily around the dark tent, he did not have time to get out from under his blanket before a cannonball flew through the tent and ripped away both of his legs.

On the muddy road leading to the observation camp, the noise of the now raging battle made Janet O’Neil stop her ambulance cart, while Margaret Ward, sitting inside the cart, stuck her head out. As for Jeanne Smythe, she stopped her horse and listened intently to the noises of the battle. Since the first day of November, Jeanne had instituted a daily routine of visiting the frontline trenches held by the British infantry, this with the approval of the commander of the 2nd Division and with the goals of helping troop morale and providing on the spot medical aid. The Russians seemed to have accepted their cart for what it was by now, as no Russian guns had shot at them while they visited the trenches, even though they had to approach in plain sight of the enemy.

“JANET,” shouted urgently Jeanne, “HEAD TOWARDS THE HOME RIDGE CAMP AS FAST AS YOU CAN.”

Janet looked at the thick fog surrounding them, feeling unsure about this.

“But, in this fog, we are liable to lose our way and end up behind enemy lines.”

“Then follow me! Lots of our men need our help right now.”

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Without further objections, Janet urged her horse forward, following Jeanne on her horse. Margaret, still sitting in the back of the cart, grabbed one of their two rifled muskets and handed it to Janet, then got hold of the second one for herself.

The drive through the fog and confusing terrain, with the noises of the battle progressively surrounding them, was nerve-wracking for Janet and Margaret. They could see that Jeanne herself was tense and nervous: she may have been incredibly brave but she was sensible enough to acknowledge fear like anyone else. They finally reached the camp of the 2nd Division to find it totally wrecked, with bodies strewn all around the place. In the fog they could see groups of soldiers as mere silhouettes running around, shouting and fighting each other.

“This place is like a three-ring circus.” exclaimed Janet O’Neil over the din of the battle, joking to try hiding her fear. Jeanne clenched her teeth at that.

“Yes, but a damn bloody circus. I’m going on foot from here. Keep following with the cart.”

With Jeanne guiding her with hand signals while holding the reins of her horse, Janet drove the cart slowly through the wrecked camp. A whistling bullet made her wince as it passed besides her head.

“Maggie, are you alright?”

“Apart from staining my underwear, yes.” replied her friend in a shaky voice.

“Then we are in the same boat.”

“Make it three!” said Jeanne from a few yards in front of them. Jeanne suddenly signaled Janet to stop. The latter immediately understood why at the sight of an incredible scene of carnage now visible through the fog. A Russian shell had exploded in the midst of a packed group of British soldiers, ripping many of them apart and peppering the rest with deadly fragments. Body parts were strewn all over the place and at least a dozen soldiers were either moaning or screaming in pain. Without waiting for Jeanne’s order, Margaret jumped down from the cart, a bag full of bandages in one hand and her rifle slung across her back. Applying the cart’s handbrake, Janet jumped down as well and took a stretcher out of the back of the cart. Both women quickly joined Jeanne at the side of a sergeant whose left leg was mangled up beyond repair. Jeanne was already applying a garrote just above the shattered mass of flesh and bones.

“Janet, finish fixing this garrote here!” ordered Jeanne. “Margaret, take care of that corporal over there!”

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She then went to an infantry captain whose right shoulder and left leg were covered with blood. The man was still conscious and was clenching his teeth in order not to scream with pain. He looked up with incredulity at Jeanne as she knelt besides him.

“Madam, you shouldn’t be here. It is way too dangerous around here right now.”

“Bunk!” replied Jeanne while taking out her big hunting knife to cut open his bloody uniform. “We go where the wounded are, mister.” A shell then exploded nearby, showering them with mud and sending shrapnel flying around them. Jeanne covered the captain with her body to avoid dirt contaminating further his wounds. The man then grabbed the front of her coat, speaking with as much authority as he could.

“Ladies, get out of here now, that’s an order!”

“And who is doing the ordering, sir?” she replied while continuing to give first aid.

“Captain Edward Scot, of B Company, 49th Rifle Regiment. Now, go!” Jeanne then stared straight into the officer’s eyes.

“Captain, you know the old saying about army wives? They wear one rank higher than that of their husbands. Well, I am Lady Jeanne Smythe, wife of Captain Gordon Smythe of the 8th Hussars. I believe that I thus outrank you, sir. Now shut up and keep still.”

The officer then smiled at her, his voice softening.

“You and your nurses are real angels, Lady Jeanne.”

“Hmm, some would rather call me a bitch, Captain.”

“They can go to Hell!”

“My thought, exactly.”

Edward Scot couldn’t help admire her apparent calm as she quickly and efficiently treated him. Her two nurses also worked diligently under her supervision, preparing and loading up two wounded soldiers in their cart. They were coming back to take Scot as well when he stopped them with an imperative gesture.

“No! Take care of my other men first. I can wait.”

Jeanne looked at him for a moment, then grinned and nodded her head.

“At last: a real officer for a change. Alright, girls, let’s go see this private over there.”

Working for a few minutes on the private while shells and bullets kept flying around, the three women then loaded him on a stretcher and brought him to the cart. After helping sliding and securing the stretcher inside the cart, Jeanne was returning at a run towards

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Scot when a shell exploded nearby, sending hot fragments all over the place. The cart’s horse then pushed a heart-wrenching squeal and fell down like a rock on its belly, dead. Jeanne stared at the poor beast, horror and sadness on her face.

“YASMINA, NOO!”

Janet and Margaret, already in the cart and ready to leave with their wounded, also looked with horror at their dead horse.

“JEANNE, WHAT DO WE DO NOW?”

Jeanne took only a second to recover her wits and grabbed the reins of her personal horse, pulling it towards the cart.

“UNHOOK YASMINA, QUICK! WE WILL THEN PUT PEGASUS IN HER PLACE.”

Working frantically, the three women had the dead horse replaced by Pegasus and harnessed in minutes. Before the cart left, Jeanne went to Pegasus and patted its head while speaking softly in its left ear.

“Pegasus, I am counting on you to bring back the cart to the hospital at the best speed.”

She then kissed its head and slapped its neck, prompting the horse into launching into full gallop, the cart bumping and rolling wildly behind it. Edward Scot looked at her with wonderment when Jeanne returned to his side.

“Why did you stay?”

That got him a grim look from Jeanne.

“Because your other wounded men will bleed to death if not treated immediately. Now keep quiet and save your strength.”

As she got busy around him, Scot tried to gauge which way the battle around them was going. With the fog still thick and with gunpowder smoke further cutting down visibility, the fighting was as confused and chaotic as ever. Nearby shouts in Russian suddenly made both him and Jeanne tense up and look eastward. A group of about twenty soldiers in gray overcoats and caps then appeared through the fog, less than thirty yards away. Scot watched them with rage and horror as they methodically bayoneted any British soldier that still moved as they advanced towards him. A nearby pistol shot then made him turn his head in time to see Jeanne Smythe methodically empty one of her revolvers on the Russians. She switched to her second revolver as the surviving Russians either charged her with bayonets held forward or fired their old fashioned muskets at her. He saw her left leg buckle when a musket ball hit her in the upper leg,

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making her scream with pain. She however clenched her teeth and kept firing, dropping five more Russians before holstering back her now empty revolver and drawing her sword and her hunting knife. Six Russian infantrymen ganged up on her but they went at it in a disorderly manner, getting in each other’s way. As Scot drew his own pistol with difficulty, he watched her cut down three Russians before a bayonet went through her left arm. Screaming with pain, she nonetheless ran through the Russian who had impaled her arm, while parrying another bayonet with her knife. Scot then shot one of the two last Russians with his pistol, while a wounded corporal managed to raise his rifle and kill the last Russian. With a supreme effort, Jeanne detached the bayonet pinning her left arm to its musket, then crawled to Scot, her face reflecting excruciating pain.

“Sorry…about the interruption…Captain.” she said haltingly. She then put down her sword and drew again one of her revolvers, putting it on Scot’s belly before opening a small leather pouch on her leather equipment vest. Taking out of it a small object, she unwrapped the waxed paper around it, revealing a spare revolver cylinder, fully loaded. With agony on her face, she replaced the empty cylinder of her revolver with the full one, then pocketed back the empty one. Her next move was to take a bandage out of another pouch and use it as a garrote on her wounded leg. She then poured in succession water and alcohol on her leg and arm wounds while clenching her teeth. She did not however remove the bayonet still stuck in her left arm. Taking hold of her loaded revolver, she smiled weakly at Scot.

“Who do you think will reach us first now, Captain? The Russians, the British or the French? I’m rich, so I’m not scared of placing a bet. What do you say?”

“I’ll bet on the British.” he replied, conquered by her courage.

“And I go for the French.”

As she took her breath, two bullets zipped by them. Raising her revolver with evident effort, she shot in succession four approaching Russian soldiers, then grinned at Scot.

“It seems that we both lost, Captain.”

He couldn’t help raise his left hand and caress her long, silky black hair. She stared at him but didn’t stop him. More soldiers appeared then, this time from the West. They wore baggy red trousers and were led by a general on horseback shouting in a language Scot didn’t recognize. Jeanne’s face immediately reflected joy and she shouted in the same language, drawing enthusiastic shouts from the soldiers now sprinting past them. She then looked back at Scot, grinning.

“French Zouaves, led by General Bosquet in person. We’re saved!”

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Without thinking, Scot then impulsively kissed her on the mouth. The slap he expected never came.

17:08 (Crimea Time)

8th Hussars field hospital

Kadikoi, Crimea

One look at the expression on Captain Gordon Smythe’s face, charging towards the female patients ward, quickly convinced Margaret Ward to get out of his way. However, the Hussars officer did stop briefly to ask her one question.

“How is she, Maggie?”

“Doctor Farrell says that she will be alright, Captain. They took out the musket ball from her left leg and the bayonet didn’t touch the bone or nerves of her left arm. She got out of surgery two hours ago and is resting. You can see her for a short while but try not to tire her.”

“I will be careful.” said Gordon softly. He then smiled tenderly to the nurse. “By the way, what you and Misses O’Neil did with Jeanne this morning was admirable. Well done, Maggie!”

“I…thank you, Captain.” replied the brunette, blushing. She then walked away, a tray with bandages and scissors in her hands. Now alone in the corridor, Gordon knocked lightly on the framed entrance of the female patients ward, waiting for Jeanne’s reply before entering. Jeanne was conscious but looked groggy as she lay half sitting in one the eight beds of the ward. Her bandaged left arm was in a sling but he couldn’t see her left leg with the blanket and linen sheet covering her lower body. Taking a chair from one corner of the ward, Gordon put it next to her bed and sat on it, looking tenderly at his wife.

“You can’t imagine how proud I am of you, Jeanne. What you did was heroic.”

“But I only defended myself, Gordon.” she protested weakly. He shook his head vehemently then.

“You and your two nurses decided to go in on your own, while the battle was at its worst. Some would call that foolhardy but in truth the quick care you provided saved at least five men. That does not count the wounded who would have been bayoneted by the Russians you killed. Captain Scot, whose men you cared for and protected, has officially petitioned Lord Raglan through his commanding general so that you and your

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two nurses be decorated for your acts. The French high command is also said to be quite fond of you.”

“The French high command? Why?”

“Come on, Jeanne! You are a French woman after all, and one that I am told is quite famous in France already. Mister Russell spoke to a French journalist this afternoon and learned that the French Army public affairs officials intend to turn you into a national heroine.”

That made Jeanne roll her eyes.

“God! As if I needed that!”

Her expression then changed and she took hold of his left hand while smiling.

“Well, I should tell you one piece of news myself: I believe that I’m pregnant.”

“Really?” said Gordon, suddenly excited. “Are you sure?”

“Not completely, but I should know for sure in two weeks. If I miss my menstruations again…”

“But that’s fantastic!” said Gordon before kissing her passionately. Sitting back down, he then wiggled an index at her. “You will have to promise me to take it easy from now on, Jeanne: you shouldn’t put our baby at risk.”

She sighed while looking at her left arm.

“Do I really have a choice right now?”

Three days later, General Bosquet in person put around Jeanne’s neck the ribbon of the French medal of Commander of the Legion of Honor, for repeated acts of bravery on the battlefield which had brought great honor to France. Gordon shamelessly cried tears of pride as Jeanne was congratulated in her hospital bed by the senior officers present.

18:39 (Crimea Time)

Monday, December 25, 1854

8th Hussars field hospital

Kadikoi, Crimea

“Are you sure that you are ready to go out like this, Jeanne?”

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Jeanne smiled to Janet O’Neil as she climbed into the front of the ambulance cart. Janet noticed then how slow and deliberate Jeanne’s movements were still compared to normal.

“Janet, I have been inactive for too long already. I may not be up to running around yet but I certainly can ride a cart and deliver hot soup to the forward troops on Christmas Day. Let me just sit in the back in order to watch our pot of soup and then we will be able to drive to the forward trenches.”

Jeanne, wearing like Janet thick woolen winter clothes to protect herself from the bitter cold and cutting wind of Crimea, sat inside the cart, protected partly from the wind by the canvas top. With her back to the right side of the cart, she sat on one of the two platforms meant to hold a stretcher. Next to her in the back of the cart was a large, deep square steel basin with wooden handles. Inside that basin sat a large stainless steel pot full of hot chicken broth soup, its top closed by a steel lid held in place by clamps. Hot coals from one of the hospital stoves had just been shoveled inside the basin to surround the base of the pot and keep it hot for a few hours. The coals also helped warm up the inside of the cart, making Jeanne feel guilty about leaving Janet to freeze in the driver’s seat. Someone however had to watch the pot and prevent it from tipping and spilling its precious content if they struck a really nasty rut.

“You may start now, Janet!”

“YAAH, PEGASUS!” shouted Janet as a reply, urging their horse forward. Sometimes that horse spooked Janet, as when it had pulled the cart all the way to the hospital in thick fog without guidance on the day when Jeanne had been wounded. It however was a very intelligent and strong beast and had proved its weight’s worth in gold on many thankless jobs which would have killed lesser horses in the harsh local climate. Pegasus dutifully started trotting forward, taking the snow-covered dirt road leading to the heights where the British trench works were facing the besieged city of Sebastopol.

Going at the merry, tireless trot typical of Pegasus, the cart arrived in half an hour on Home Ridge Height, where the British Army observation camp was, crossing it and going north on the trail leading to the forward trenches. Jeanne stuck her head out of the canvas cover then and looked at Janet, whose face had turned red from the cold wind.

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“Janet, let me take the reins for a while and come warm yourself inside. No sense in waiting until you are frozen stiff.”

“Can’t say that I find your idea stupid, Jeanne.” replied Janet, who then thankfully switched places with Jeanne. She sighed with relief as she took her mitts off and warmed her hands and face over the hot coals in the basin.

“God, how could our officers force our men to spend 24 straight hours at a time sitting in snow-covered trenches, with no shelters or hot food?”

“Easy!” replied Jeanne from the driver’s bench. “Take an uncaring, incompetent aristocrat, let him stay in a warm tent or hut with hot tea and food and give him brave men from lower social classes to command from afar.”

Janet could only reflect bitterly on this. Horrible cases of frostbites among frontline soldiers were getting more and more numerous, with many men freezing to death in the trenches while wearing the tattered remains of the same uniforms in which they had landed in the Fall in Crimea. A quantity of winter clothes had been received in Balaklava harbor but were still lying at quayside in the snow and mud, awaiting a releasing signature from Commissary General Filder, who seemed in no hurry to do so. Jeanne had stated not long ago that she was going to kill Filder one fine day and Janet, like many in the British Army, couldn’t wait to see that day arrive.

A shouted challenge from a British sentry ten minutes later told Janet that they were now at the forward trenches. Jeanne answered calmly the soldier, whose silhouette was barely visible ahead in the dark and falling snow.

“Lady Jeanne Smythe, 8th Hussars ambulance. We are bringing hot soup to the men in the trenches.”

“Hot soup? Thank God for bringing you here, madam!”

“Do you have a cup or mess tin with you, soldier?”

“Uh, no.” said sheepishly the man, who had approached the front of the cart and now stood less than two feet from it. Jeanne nodded her head in understanding: most British infantry soldiers in Crimea now barely had any personal kit left with them, apart from having no spare uniforms to wear.

“Don’t worry: we brought some spare cups with us. Janet, pass me a cup full of soup.”

A cup of steaming broth soon was passed to her by Janet, with Jeanne then handing over the cup to the freezing soldier, who smelled with obvious content the rich soup

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while warming his hands on the cup. A first sip of the soup brought a big smile on the face of the young soldier, who could not be older than 22.

“May God bless you, madam.”

“The pleasure is ours, Private. Keep the cup. Merry Christmas!” Jeanne then urged Pegasus forward and had the cart advance another hundred yards until the trench lines themselves made any more advance impossible. She could now see dozens of silhouettes sitting or walking back and forth in the wide trench. Passing her head inside the canvas-covered back, she spoke quickly to Janet, still sitting besides the pot of soup.

“I am going to pass the word to the soldiers in the trenches to come to the cart for some soup. Give me a full cup with cover so that I can go give it to the forward sentry.”

“But you’re not going alone like this in the no-man’s-land, are you?”

“Do you have two revolvers and a sword with you, Janet?”

“Uh, no.”

“Then pass me a full cup.”

Shaking her head at Jeanne’s obstinacy, Janet filled a cup and gave it to her after putting a close fitting lid on it.

“Please be careful, Jeanne.”

“I always am, Janet.”

Jeanne then stepped down from the cart, careful not to spill the cup of soup in her hands. Going down into the trench, she went to the nearest group of British soldiers, who were shivering while sitting tightly together in order to try to keep warm.

“Is there an officer or a senior NCO around?”

One man who had been pacing around some fifteen yards away then answered her while walking towards her. His tone was severe.

“I’m Warrant Belford, of the 31st Rifles. What are you doing here in the advanced trenches, madam?”

“Delivering hot soup, Warrant. I’m Lady Jeanne Smythe, from the 8th Hussars field ambulance. My cart is parked over there, with one nurse ready to distribute cups of hot soup. We also have spare cups for the men who have no tins or mugs with them. Could you arrange for your men to take turns to go get their soup?” The warrant’s expression then softened up considerably. Jeanne’s name was by now widely respected around the British Army Corps in Crimea.

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“In that case, I will direct my men to your cart with pleasure. Just give me a minute to pass the word around.”

The warrant was true to his word, making half of his men line up in a disciplined manner at the cart to get their soup. As soon as those men had returned with full cups, the other half was sent to the cart. One soldier also went out of the trench to go replace temporarily the lonely soldier on forward watch who stood guard between the trench and the nearby Russian Redan Bastion. Only when the forward sentry had showed up and gotten his soup did Warrant Belford go himself for some soup, something that earned him a kiss on the cheek from Jeanne.

“Bless you, Warrant, for caring for your men.”

“And bless you, madam, for your courage and generosity.” replied the moved NCO. While he was gone to the cart, Jeanne took a few minutes to go to each soldier present and ask him how his feet and hands felt, checking for possible cases of frostbites. One soldier who complained of not feeling his feet anymore was brought to the cart for further examination, with the permission of Warrant Belford. Making the man climb in the back of the cart, Jeanne was alarmed at the way the man stepped inside, his moves stiff and clumsy. While Jeanne stood just outside of the cart and watched, Janet had the man remove his boots. That was when both women realized that the man’s boots were full of holes, like his rotting wool socks.

“My God!” exclaimed Janet, horrified and scandalized. “How could they send you to do guard duty with such poor boots?”

“There are no spare boots available, madam.” explained in a disillusioned tone the soldier. Shaking her head angrily, Jeanne got inside as well and inspected the man’s feet, finding them frigid and insensitive to touch.

“A couple more hours out there and you would have lost both feet, Corporal. I’m going to get your warrant.”

Jeanne was back with Warrant Belford within minutes, letting then the NCO see his man’s feet for himself. The warrant shook his head sadly on feeling the soldier’s feet.

“I’m afraid that you are right, madam. What can you do for him?”

“I will bring him to the 8th Hussars hospital for treatment. My doctor will notify your regimental surgeon tomorrow. With good care, your man could probably return to duty in a few days.”

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“That sounds correct to me, madam.” said Belford before looking at his man. “Behave while at the hospital, Corporal Austin, and don’t harass the nurses there.”

“Me, Warrant? Harass all those pretty nurses?”

“Exactly!” replied Belford as both Janet and Jeanne giggled at the exchange. Once the warrant was gone, Janet wrapped a warm blanket around the corporal’s feet, legs and torso while Jeanne got back at the reins of the cart. They then continued their tour of the advance trench, distributing their soup until they ran out of it and also collecting in the process three more men suffering from frostbites. Two other men that Jeanne saw in the trench along their way were already frozen to death and beyond help by the time she got to them.

12:11 (Crimea Time)

Tuesday, December 26, 1854

Officers’ Mess, British Army field headquarters

Balaklava, Crimea

Commissary General Filder was sitting at a table of the Officers’ Mess dining room, established in a building close to the harbor in Balaklava, and enjoying his lunch of roast chicken and boiled potatoes. Concentrated on eating a chicken leg and having a rather poor hearing because of his age, he didn’t notice the fact that the other patrons in the dining room had suddenly gone quiet and were all looking towards the entrance of the dining room. A pair of worn and battered army boots slamming in front of him on the table returned Filder to reality, making his heart jump from the fright. A pair of thick sheepskin boots were then slammed on the table next to the tattered summer boots as Filder recognized with dread the tall woman now facing him with murder in her eyes: it was none other than Lady Jeanne Smythe, who lost no time in addressing him in a voice full of anger and contempt, speaking loudly enough for all those present in the mess to hear her.

“Mister Filder, I want you to take a good look at this pair of summer boots in front of you. I took them off a British soldier who nearly lost both of his feet to frostbites last night while standing guard in the advance trench facing Sebastopol. You will notice that both boots are sporting holes in their soles, apart from having one sole barely holding on by a few stitches. Yet, that soldier could not get any spare boots from the bunch of incompetents at your commissariat.”

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“Now wait a minute, madam!” started to object Filder while getting up from his chair. Jeanne Smythe at once pushed him back down on his chair and raised her voice to a near shout.

“YOU LISTEN, MISTER! YOU SEE THOSE NICE, WARM SHEEPSKIN BOOTS? I TOOK THEM FROM A SHIPMENT OF A FEW THOUSANDS SIMILAR WINTER BOOTS THAT HAVE BEEN ROTTING IN THE MUD AND SNOW AT QUAYSIDE HERE IN BALAKLAVA FOR OVER A MONTH NOW. IT SEEMS THAT YOU HAVE BEEN TOO BUSY BARFING OUT ON HOT FOOD TO FIND EVEN A MINUTE TO SIGN FOR THE RELEASE AND DISTRIBUTION OF THOSE BOOTS AND OTHER WINTER GEAR, GEAR THAT COULD HAVE SAVED THE LIVES OF HUNDREDS OF OUR SOLDIERS WHO DIED OF COLD IN THE TRENCHES! YOU WANT TO KNOW HOW MANY FEET WE HAD TO AMPUTATE AT THE HUSSARS HOSPITAL JUST FOR THE LAST WEEK? TRY SEVENTEEN, MISTER!”

Jeanne Smythe then straightened up and grabbed the pair of winter boots while still staring hard at Filder.

“I will now let you finish your roast chicken and potatoes with butter, so that you can hopefully find time after lunch to finally release for distribution those winter clothes and boots. Oh, by the way, I brought you a special treat for dessert.” She threw down a rolled handkerchief that contained something, then left the dining room with the pair of winter boots, leaving the worn Summer boots on his table. Totally humiliated and intimidated by now, Filder could only stare with apprehension at the rolled handkerchief that had landed in the middle of his plate of food, unable to gather the courage to check what was in it. The Aide-de-Camp of Lord Raglan, who had been dining at a table nearby with his wife and another staff officer, then approached Filder and, after a short hesitation, opened the handkerchief. Filder bent over at once and threw up violently at the sight of the three blackened human toes inside the handkerchief. It took him nearly a minute to regain his composure. He then looked angrily at Lord Raglan’s ADC, who had rolled back the handkerchief and taken it out of Filder’s plate.

“That damn woman should be flogged publicly for such an affront. I will personally complain about this to Lord Raglan.”

The ADC, a colonel, gave him a most unfriendly look in return.

“Mister Filder, don’t you know that the troops widely call Lady Jeanne ‘The Angel of Balaklava’? You will not find a single soldier in this army ready or willing to flog such

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a woman. Besides, doing such a thing would probably bring General Bosquet at a gallop to challenge you to a duel, sir.”

Filder, who was about to protest further, clamed up at those last words: French General Bosquet was renown as a true fighting general and as a first rate duelist. He was also said to be in most friendly, albeit correct, terms with Jeanne Smythe.

The story of Filder’s public humiliation took less than a day to reach all the British Army camps around Sebastopol and Balaklava. Within two days, all the British infantrymen serving in the trenches were laughing hard about it. Despite of this, or rather as a spite for the affront against him, Filder still managed to take another two months to have the winter gear distributed to the troops, by which time it was too late to be of much good. On his part, William Howard Russell didn’t waste that golden opportunity to write yet another incendiary article for his readers in London about the ineptitude of the British supply system and the uncaring attitude of Filder and of his Commissariat Department.

09:51 (London Time)

Tuesday, January 23, 1855

House of Commons, Westminster

London, England

“ORDER! ORDER, PLEASE!” shouted the Speaker of the House of Commons in order to be heard over the din of angry exchanges and insults flying between the members of the ruling party and those of the opposition. “THE FLOOR IS OPEN TO THE HONORABLE MEMBER FOR SHEFFIELD.”

John Arthur Roebuck, Deputy for the County of Sheffield and member of the Radical Party, got up and, ignoring the few catcalls coming from the ranks of the ruling Conservative Party, started speaking in a strong voice.

“Mister Speaker, gentlemen, we have heard plenty in the last few weeks and months about the appalling conditions under which our brave soldiers and sailors are fighting in Crimea. We have already heard too many tales of ineptitude, gross incompetence and utter neglect shown by senior officers and bureaucrats towards our beleaguered fighting men. We simply cannot allow such ineptitude and waste of human lives to continue. I thus propose that this House forms at once a select committee which

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would then go to the Crimea to inquire into the conditions of the army before the city of Sebastopol, so that such disgrace could be put to an end.” Roebuck then sat back as a short silence followed: his proposal clearly amounted to a motion of non-confidence in the government of Lord Aberdeen. The Speaker of the House then rose from his chair.

“WE HAVE A MOTION TO FORM A SELECT COMMITTEE TO INQUIRE INTO THE CONDITIONS OF OUR ARMY IN CRIMEA. DO I HAVE SOMEONE TO SECOND THAT MOTION?”

“I SECOND THE MOTION!” Shouted at once a Liberal Party member. The Speaker now had no choice but to conduct a vote on the proposed motion. Going through the established procedures for such votes took nearly half an hour. When the result was announced, the House dissolved into nervous laughter: the government of Lord Aberdeen had just been soundly defeated!



13:50 (Crimea Time)

Friday, March 9, 1855

Balaklava harbor, Crimea

To Roger Fenton’s immense relief, his precious photographic van was put down intact on the wharf by the ship’s steam-powered crane. His big horse was already on the quay with him, so he was able at once to tie it to his wagon. Fenton was about to get on his wagon to drive it off the wharf when the strangest wagon he had ever seen arrived at a trot, preceded by a light, four-wheeled cart and a woman on horseback. Fenton’s heart jumped at once at the sight of the woman and of the cart, which bore on its side the inscription ‘AMBULANCE’: That woman on horseback had to be the famous Lady Jeanne Smythe. Realizing that his wagon was in the way on the wharf, Fenton got on it and urged his horse forward. He rolled for only a few dozen yards, in order to free the wharf, then stopped his wagon and applied the handbrake before jumping down and running to the back of his van to take out his camera. When he emerged from his van with his heavy, tripod-mounted camera, wounded and sick men were being taken out of the big medical wagon and of the ambulance cart, with Lady Jeanne Smythe actually helping to carry the patients on stretchers aboard the ship which had brought Fenton. Setting his camera up on the

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wharf, he waited until Lady Smythe, dressed in a dark red skirt, wool jacket and high boots, approached him while carrying a stretcher with the help of a sailor.

“Could you hold the pause for a second, please?”

Both the woman and the sailor froze where they were long enough for Fenton to activate his magnesium flash and take a picture. While the sailor nearly jumped back from the surprise the flash gave him, the woman simply smiled afterwards and spoke quickly to Fenton as she resumed her walk and passed besides him with her loaded stretcher.

“I assume that you are not one of those ‘Traveling Gentlemen’ from Europe, sir.”

“Roger Fenton’s the name, madam. I’m a professional photographer. You must be Lady Jeanne Smythe.”

“What was your first clue?” she said with a grin before walking up the boarding ramp. She was back on the wharf a few minutes later, carrying her now empty stretcher, and came straight to Fenton to shake his hand.

“Welcome to Balaklava, Mister Fenton. Do you have a place to stay tonight?”

“Uh, not yet, Lady Jeanne. I however heard about an establishment near the harbor called the British Hotel. Do you know it?”

“I do, sir.” she replied with a smile. “My friend Mary Seacole runs it. If you want, I can guide you to it once I am finished here.”

“You are too kind, Lady Jeanne.”

“Please, drop the Lady thing and just call me Jeanne. I am a very liberal woman.”

“As you wish, Jeanne.”

Roger Fenton then waited patiently for all the patients to be carried aboard the steam ship, putting back his camera inside his van in the meantime. He was ready to roll when the medical wagon and cart left the harbor and followed Lady Jeanne along a dirt road paralleled by a railroad track under construction.

A kilometer and a half down the road, they arrived at a large tent camp apparently occupied by cavalry units. In one corner of the camp, by the side of the road, was also a large tent complex. Above the main entrance was a large sign proclaiming it to be the field hospital of the 8th Hussars Regiment. While the medical wagon and cart went to park inside a long tent facing the hospital, Jeanne Smythe kept riding down the road, guiding Fenton further on. Another two kilometers further down the road, they left it and took a trail that led up a small hill,



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on top of which were a few buildings, most of which looked dilapidated. Jeanne Smythe finally stopped her horse and jumped down in front of the biggest of the buildings, which seems to have been the residence of someone affluent. Roger Fenton parked his photographic van near a corner of the building and tied his horse to a pole, then joined Jeanne near the main entrance. From the noises coming from the inside of the building it appeared occupied, while three British officers walked out as Roger and Jeanne were about to go in. Jeanne spoke to him while entering the building ahead of Roger.

“ Mary Seacole is from the West Indies and came to Crimea by her own means, which were quite limited actually, to do what she could to help our neglected soldiers. She helped the wounded and sick more than once and is a very kind, motherly type woman. She set up this establishment only a few weeks ago. It has a canteen for the troops, a British club room and a few visitors rooms. You will like Mary: she has a heart of gold and everybody here calls her ‘Mother’.”

“Sounds like a fascinating person to me, Jeanne.”

“She is, Mister Fenton.”

As she spoke, they entered a large vestibule with a wide staircase leading to the upper floor. Jeanne then went to a door to the right and led Roger into a sort of hall furnished with tables and chairs and occupied by a mixed crowd of over a dozen men in uniform, with also three women present. A portly woman in her late thirties with dark brown skin and braided hair smiled on seeing Jeanne and motioned to her from behind a service counter. Jeanne went to her at once and, stopping near the counter, presented Roger to the woman.

“Mary, this is Roger Fenton, a professional photographer who just arrived from England with his photo van. Mister Fenton, this is Mary Seacole, everybody’s friend here.”

“Pleased to meet you, madam.” said Roger while shaking hands with the buxom woman. Mary Seacole in turn smiled gently to him.

“Welcome to my establishment, Mister Fenton. A photographer will indeed be nice to have around Crimea, so that the British public sees in what conditions our brave soldiers have to fight. I suppose that you will need a room?”

“Indeed, madam, that is if you still have one available.”

“I do have a couple of rooms left unoccupied, Mister Fenton.” said Mary before looking at Jeanne. “I will take good care of him, Jeanne. Thanks for bringing him here.”

“My pleasure, Mary.”

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The noise from heavy guns firing in the distance, which had been going on all the while at intervals, suddenly redoubled, making Jeanne turn her head towards a window facing Sebastopol. Her face now reflected preoccupation.

“It seems that the artillery duel with the Russians is heating up. Men will be in need of help out there. If you will excuse me, Mister Fenton.” Jeanne then walked out at a quick step, leaving Fenton with Mary Seacole.

“Quite an extraordinary woman, I would say.” said Fenton while watching Jeanne go, making Mary Seacole nod somberly her head.

“The best I have ever seen, Mister Fenton. Her courage is only equaled by her compassion and care. I am however afraid that many in England will dismiss or badmouth her for what they consider unwomanly actions by her.” Roger Fenton could only nod at that. In his visits to various gentlemen’s clubs in London, he had heard often enough haughty aristocrats and businessmen talk with contempt and even indignation about Jeanne Smythe not clinging to what was considered proper for a woman to do. Many English ladies also spoke badly of her, feigning scandal at her habit of wearing military style clothes and carrying weapons. The hypocrisy of it all had actually disgusted him, especially when coming from vain people who cared more about the next ball or social reunion than about the fate of the thousands of British soldiers suffering and dying in the name of England in Crimea.

14:35 (Crimea Time)

Thursday, May 17, 1855

8th Hussars lines, Kadikoi, Crimea

Lord George Paget, freshly arrived from England, stopped his horse as he entered the lines of his regiment, hesitant and full of doubts. After returning to England following the battle of Balaklava, all of his former acquaintances and friends had snubbed him at his London club, knowing why he was back while his soldiers had to stay in Crimea. Paget had finally been shamed into taking back his commission and sailing back to Crimea. He was however unsure how his former subalterns and men would greet him. They had after all a lot of good reasons to despise him. However, the hard lesson this whole sorry episode had taught him had sunk into Paget: commanding men in war was a privilege that should be earned and not bought. Now, he could only hope that his men would forgive him and give him a chance to prove himself. Seeing a patrol

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of Hussars that was seemingly returning from the frontlines, Paget urged his horse at a trot to meet his men. Captain Gordon Smythe, tired and covered with dust and dirt, was the officer in charge of the patrol. Paget returned Smythe’s salute, which had been less than crisp.

“Captain, I would like to have the whole regiment lined up in our parade ground by five O’clock, before supper time. I will have news to pass then.”

“The whole regiment, sir? What about our ambulance staff? Do they have to attend as well?”

“Yes! I have something for them as well.”

“Very well, sir. I will inform Major Henry at once.”

Then, without welcoming him back, Gordon Smythe saluted Paget and galloped away with his patrol. Paget felt bitter at that but could not blame Smythe for his attitude, as he knew that he deserved the cold shoulder treatment he was probably going to get from all of his subordinates.

Paget next went to the stables sheltering the horses of his regiment. Put up by Lady Jeanne’s construction crew after the completion of both the unit’s field hospital and personnel barracks, the long assembly of marquee tents was the envy of the other British cavalry regiments in Crimea. Compared to the warm, well stocked stables of the 8th Hussars, the other cavalry regiments had to let their horses survive outdoors during the past winter and had as a consequence lost the great majority of their horses to cold and starvation. Only now were replacement horses starting to arrive in significant numbers by ship, along with the hundreds of new soldiers and officers needed to replenish the sadly depleted ranks of the British corps. A trooper came to him at once with a limp in his left leg and grabbed the reins of his horse, saluting Paget at the same time.

“Good day, sir! Let me take care of your horse, sir. We have plenty of feed grain and clean water for it here, sir.”

Seeing a number of other troopers at work in the barn, all with some apparent handicap or physical weakness, Paget nodded to the soldier.

“I see many lame troopers here, Corporal. Are they all on light duties?”

“Yes, sir! The men who have recovered enough at the field hospital but who are still unfit for full battlefield duties are assigned as a routine to the regimental stables, sir. This way we can still be useful and our horses get pampered, if I may say so, sir.”

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“A sensible policy indeed, Corporal. Do you know where the quarters for the regimental commander would be?”

The trooper kept a neutral face then, not showing his inner thoughts at those last words.

“Your quarters are in the regimental command post barrack, sir, along with those of Major Henry. The command post is marked with a large sign above its entrance and is the first barrack in our regimental lines, sir.”

“Thank you, Corporal. Carry on!”

Leaving the barn on foot while carrying himself his two pieces of luggage, Paget walked to the regimental command post, which was effectively easy to identify. Entering the

wooden hut, Paget found Major Henry giving directives to a young cornet21. Both came to attention when Paget entered the command room, a large space with a few chairs and tables along the walls and with a large map board hooked to a wall.

“At ease, gentlemen.” said at once Paget. Both Henry and the cornet relaxed their position, with the former greeting his old commander in a neutral, cautious voice.

“Welcome back to Kadikoi, sir. Are you taking back command of the regiment, sir?”

“I am, Major. I want to address the whole regiment at five O’clock.”

“Captain Smythe informed me about that, sir. I was sending Cornet Brown to pass the word around to the men. Uh, about the personnel of our field hospital, some may not be able to attend, as they cannot abandon their patients to themselves even for short periods of time, sir.”

“How many patients are there in our hospital, Major?” asked Paget out of pure curiosity. Henry had to think about that for a moment before answering.

“About 130, sir. Men from many other regiments are treated at our field hospital because of its superior level of medical care.”

“Then, tell Doctor Farrell that he can send only those whom he can spare. If he could manage to have Lady Jeanne Smythe and Misses Ward and O’Neil attend the parade, I would appreciate it a lot.”

“Understood, sir. I will pass the word personally to Doctor Farrell. By the way, sir, the commander’s room is still unoccupied. It is the door on the left in the back of this room, sir.”



21 Cornet: Lowest officer’s rank in the British Army of that time.

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“Thank you, Major. I will unpack my things while you have the word passed around.”

“Yes sir! Cornet Brown, help Lord Paget with his luggage before going out.”

“Yes sir!” replied the young man, actually a mere teenager who still didn’t need to shave every day. Brown grabbed both of Paget’s bags and carried them, letting Paget lead the way and open the door of the commander’s room. Paget was agreeably surprised by what he saw: there was a real bed in one corner, a nightstand, a work desk with chair, a padded easy chair and a clothes locker. There even was a small wood stove inside the room, sitting on a thin iron plate laid on the wooden floor. Dismissing the young cornet, Paget then closed the door behind him and started unpacking.

Two hours later, Paget left his room, dressed in his best uniform and carrying a large, flat wooden box in his hands. Again, Cornet Brown went to his help and carried the box for him out and to the regimental parade ground, where about seventy men and officers were lined up. To Paget’s satisfaction, Lady Jeanne was present with Misses Ward and O’Neil and Doctor Farrell on the side of the parade ground. Paget noticed with some surprise the bulging belly evident in Jeanne Smythe. He then gallantly saluted her, to which she bowed her head in acknowledgement. Walking to a position facing his pitifully small regiment, Paget stopped at attention fifteen yards in front of his men, then spoke in a strong voice.

“Men of the 8th Hussars! I am here to announce two things. First, I am resuming command of this regiment as of this moment. I fully realize that I failed you all when I left you last November, and for this I am going to feel personal shame to my dying day. I can only promise you that I will not fail you again. The second thing I want to announce is that Her Majesty, Queen Victoria, has authorized the release of a campaign medal with battle clasps for the war in Crimea. Before leaving England, I collected all the medals owed to members of this regiment and brought them with me. I will now have the honor and pleasure to distribute them to you.”



Paget then walked to the right flank of the line of men, followed by Cornet Brown with his wooden box, and started distributing Crimea War medals with their stripped pale blue and yellow ribbons and their silver battle clasps. Pining each medal personally on the chest of each of his surviving men and handing them as well the battle clasps they were entitled to, Paget had finished going through the ranks in less

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than an hour. He then walked to the four members of the regimental field hospital present on the sidelines, stopping first in front of Doctor Thomas Farrell. He smiled warmly while pinning a campaign medal on the chest of the young surgeon.

“Doctor, I remember clearly the moment when I saw you and your nurses standing ready by your medical wagon as I and the survivors of the Light Brigade were galloping back from charging those Russian guns. The sight of seeing you and your intrepid staff fortified our hearts then. This campaign medal, with a clasp for the battle of Balaklava, has been amply earned by you, Doctor.”

“Thank you, Milord.” could only say Farrell, as timid as ever. Paget next stepped in front on Jeanne Smythe. He knew from London newspaper articles about her Légion d’Honneur but still couldn’t help stare at the French medal, hanging from its scarlet neck ribbon. He then looked up into the green eyes of Jeanne, who stared back at him. Paget then spoke in a near whisper to her.

“I sincerely hope that you will forgive me for fleeing the way I did in November, Lady Jeanne. It would mean a lot to me, truly.”

Jeanne’s eyes then softened noticeably.

“A fault acknowledged is a fault forgiven, Milord.”

“Thank you, Lady Jeanne.” said Paget before raising his voice back to normal. “For your incredible courage and dedication to our wounded men on the battlefield, you deserve clearly much more than this simple campaign medal with clasps for the battles of the Alma, Balaklava and Inkerman. I can however tell you that I personally pushed for higher awards for both you and your two field nurses, Misses Ward and O’Neil. I can also tell you that it looks like my recommendations were listened to with sympathetic ears in London.”

“My true reward was to be able to save our wounded men, Milord. Will you be visiting the hospital afterwards to give medals to the patients from our regiment, Milord?”

“I certainly will, Lady Jeanne. They paid a high enough price already for those medals.”

Paget next gave medals to Margaret Ward and Janet O’Neil, who were both beaming with pride as he pinned the medals to their nurse’s aprons. Before walking away, Paget had a last look at the three women lined in front of him.

“Ladies, any commander would be proud to command men with only half of your courage. To you and to the men of this regiment, I salute you.”

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Paget saluted the three women and Doctor Farrell, then turned around and saluted his officers and men. That simple gesture, along with Paget’s public apology, did a lot to make him accepted back by his regiment.

11:07 (Crimea Time)

Wednesday, July 25, 1855

8th Hussars field hospital

Kadikoi, Crimea

Jeanne sat dejectedly on the chair in her cubicle, feeling next to useless now: Thomas Farrell had just ordered her to stay on forced rest in view of her pregnancy, which was very close to its term. An idea then came to her mind and, with a smile of anticipation on her young face, she got up and searched in her locker. Pulling out of it her guitar, bardic harp and flute, she then walked heavily out of her room, heading towards the patients’ lounge. If she could not care anymore for them for a while, she at least could still entertain her patients with music and songs. Jeanne was damned if Farrell could find anything wrong with that.

16:51 (Crimea Time)

Saturday, July 28, 1855 ‘A’

Kadikoi, Crimea

The moment Gordon Smythe entered the Hussars lines after coming back from patrol, he dismissed his troop to their quarters and galloped at once to the field hospital. He knew that Jeanne could give birth at any time now and didn’t want to miss the coming of their first child. Dismounting in front of the hospital’s entrance and tying his horse to one of the poles provided for that purpose, he nearly ran inside and went to the reception desk, where a nurse was on duty.

“Misses Grant, can you tell me if my wife has entered labor yet?”

“She actually gave birth less than half an hour ago, Captain.” announced proudly the nurse. Her announcement froze Gordon on the spot as he looked back at her with dismay.

“Blast! I missed it! Is Jeanne alright?”

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“She is tired but doing well, Captain. She is in her room, breastfeeding her baby.”

“Is it a boy or a girl?” asked Gordon, some impatience in his voice. The nurse only smiled at that.

“Jeanne ordered me not to tell you, Captain. Sorry!”

Swearing under his breath, Gordon started running. He was at the entrance of Jeanne’s room within a minute and went in at once without knocking. He then saw Jeanne sitting in a rocking chair near her bed, a baby wrapped in a blanket held in her arms and with one breast denuded. The smile she gave him then was worth a thousand kisses.

“Come see our son, Gordon.” She said softly, her voice kept low in order not to startle her baby. Gordon approached her quietly and, after kissing her on the mouth, knelt next to the rocking chair to contemplate the small face of his son, pride washing over him.

“He is beautiful. Hello, little William.”

He then kissed tenderly the head of the baby and looked back at Jeanne, tears coming out of his eyes.

“Thank you, Jeanne, for everything.”

“And thank you for your love, Gordon. You are a good man indeed.” They sealed that mutual declaration with a kiss, then looked both down at their baby son, who was still sucking milk happily, his eyes closed and his tiny hands on Jeanne’s breast.

“What now, Jeanne?” asked Gordon, overwhelmed by the moment. Jeanne answered while raising a hand to caress his cheek.

“I take it easy for a week or two, time to recuperate from childbirth, then I will start progressively getting back into shape. You wouldn’t want to see me become fat, do you?”

“I would love you in any shape, my dear Jeanne.”

That declaration made Jeanne smile with incredulity.

“Oh no you wouldn’t, Gordon. You love too much those buns of steel of mine...and my firm chest.”

Gordon had nothing to say to that, simply because she was right…again.

04:30 (Crimea Time)

Saturday, September 8, 1855 ‘A’

8th Hussars field hospital

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Kadikoi, Crimea

Nancy reappeared in a flash of light inside her room, wearing a Victorian era dress and ready to resume her life as Jeanne Smythe. She had just spent over six months at the main Time Patrol base in the distant past in order to both see her two other sons, James and Charles, and to get back in full physical and mental shape after her pregnancy and her hard months of nursing work in Crimea. Going at once to the crib containing little William, she saw that he had not awakened during the ten minutes she was absent from her room in this time period. Careful not to make noises and awaken her son, Jeanne went to her locker and took off her dress, changing quietly into her dark red field outfit of riding dress, jacket, high boots, leather equipment vest and white apron. She then grabbed her two revolvers and carefully loaded them. William woke up and started wailing as she was oiling her sword’s blade. Putting down her sword on her work desk, Jeanne went to the crib and gently took William in her arms.

“You are getting hungry, are you, my sweet William? Here, have your fill.” With her baby sucking her left nipple, she sat in her rocking chair and waited patiently for him to be full, then made him burp and changed his diaper as well. With William still in her arms, Jeanne left her room and toured quietly the patients wards, her heart heavy: many more beds were going to be filled by the end of this day. As for the men presently in the wards, they had stopped months ago to be simply historical statistics to her. She knew them well as human beings, having assisted them in moments of pure helplessness and pain and having seen them at their most vulnerable. She had cried more than once when one of them had died, often in her arms, or when they had cried themselves after being amputated and losing a leg or an arm, or both. Whether Farah Tolkonen liked it or not, Nancy WAS Jeanne Smythe, senior nurse and benefactor of the 8th Hussars field hospital and wife of a Hussars officer. This may have been only one of her three lives she lived in parallel but it was still very much a real life for her. She was damned if she was going to let thousands of men die today without doing a thing to at least help the wounded. She was fully conscious that she could very well be maimed or even killed in the process of helping British soldiers today but she was ready to run the risks. Her only hesitation was about the effects on her son and her husband if she got killed.

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As she was going towards the wing housing the men’s wards, she met a large group of her patients who had been convalescing and were now leaving, led by an infantry captain and a sergeant-major. The men wore their uniforms and had their weapons and gear. Jeanne interposed herself at once, blocking the way of the captain and eyeing him firmly.

“Do you have a medical release form signed by a doctor for these men, Captain?”

The young captain, who knew better than to ignore her, nodded politely and showed her a list bearing the signature of Doctor Farrell.

“I have, Lady Jeanne. I know that those men are barely healed of their wounds but we sorely need all the available soldiers today, especially in the case of infantrymen.”

Jeanne reviewed the list quickly, comparing the number of names with the number of soldiers following the captain. The numbers agreed so she gave the list back to the officer and stepped aside. As the soldiers, looking downcast, filed past her, she couldn’t help tears coming to her eyes.

“May God be with you all!”

A young cornet who was no more than sixteen years-old and was still walking with a slight limp looked at her with something close to love in his eyes.

“God was with us, Lady Jeanne, as he sent us one of his angels to care for us.” Those words finished breaking her heart and she started crying openly while the men passed by her. It took everything for her to be able to say a few words to them before they walked away.

“I won’t abandon you today, I swear!”

The sergeant at the end of the line turned his head to look at her then while still walking, swallowing hard as he eyed her and her baby.

“You never abandoned us, Lady Jeanne. May God bless you.”

11:14 (Crimea Time)

Hills facing the Russian Redan Bastion

Fanny Duberly, trying to go around the British cavalry troopers posted to block the way to the front to civilian tourists, sighed with exasperation when she encountered a cavalry patrol in the ravine in front of Cathcart’s Hill.

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“Damn! I thought that I had them mystified.”

Fanny didn’t try to gallop away as the sergeant of the Lancers approached her and saluted her.

“Madam, you can’t proceed further than this point. It is too dangerous closer to the batteries.”

“Sir, know that I am the wife of Captain Duberly, of the 8th Hussars.”

“Madam, my orders apply to ALL the civilians.” replied patiently the sergeant, having heard countless excuses from civilians and tourists trying to get to the frontlines for some cheap thrills. Fanny was about to shoot a retort to that when the noise of a horse approaching fast made both her and the sergeant turn their heads towards the South and Balaklava. A rider soon turned the bend of the trail following the base of the hill, its horse going at an incredible speed.

“What the…” started to say the surprised sergeant. He then saw the long black hair of the rider floating in the wind and tried to interpose his horse to stop the woman coming at him. Fanny, who had recognized the rider at once, shouted to the sergeant.

“THAT’S LADY JEANNE SMYTHE, GOING TO DO HER NURSE’S DUTIES AT THE FRONT!”

That shout made the sergeant hesitate long enough to let Jeanne gallop past him like the wind. Jeanne, wearing a big pack on her back and her equipment vest around her torso, smiled at Fanny as she passed.

“THANKS, FANNY!”

Fanny smiled with pride at that, happy to have been able to help the intrepid French woman do her mission of mercy.

Jeanne soon had to make Pegasus slow its infernal pace, as she was now very close to the British advanced trench facing the Russian strongpoint of the Redan, a large earthworks defensive complex bristling with guns. Dismounting near what was left of a tree, she loosely tied the reins of her horse to the dead tree trunk and continued on foot, soon jumping down into the advance trench. Dozens of British infantrymen progressing on foot along the trench greeted her with cheers and hurrahs.

“It’s mighty nice to see you here, madam.” said a young soldier to her, making her smile.

“And I am happy to be here to support you, guys. Be assured that I will be right behind you to take care of any wounded man.”

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Grunts of approbation greeted her words: being cared for on the battlefield if wounded was one thing that any soldier valued greatly, as it would often mean the difference between life and death for him. The infantrymen then resumed their slow march down the wide trench leading to the Russian defensive works, Jeanne mixed in with the assault troopers.

12:02 (Crimea Time)

Forward British command and observation post

Main British trench facing Sebastopol

William Howard Russell looked on with trepidation through his spyglass as a loud cheer rose from the French trenches on the left of the British trenches. Thousands of French Zouaves, easily recognizable by their baggy red trousers, then rushed out of their trenches, which had been pushed to as close as twenty yards from their main objective, the Malakoff Tower. Within seconds, they ran through the murderous Russian gun and rifle fire pouring on them from three sides and threw in place assault ladders to make their way inside the Russian earthworks. Watching with the British high command staff and the many civilian tourists standing or sitting on the hill used by them as a forward observation post, Russell felt elation as a huge French flag appeared in minutes above the Malakoff Tower.

“Bloody hell! The French did it! They have the Malakoff Tower, at last!” He then turned his spyglass towards the British advance trench but saw little movement there. Perplex, he looked at Fanny Duberly, who had joined him less than ten minutes ago on top of the hill.

“What the hell are our soldiers waiting for to attack?”

“According to my husband, we are to wait for confirmation that the Malakoff Tower is solidly in French hands before launching our own assault. Any assault on the Redan is impossible until the Malakoff has been taken.”

Russell frowned at that: this wasn’t the first time that the British Army had played second fiddle to the much larger French Army contingent in Crimea. Hopefully, the British command would get it right this time. Glancing at the three British generals present in the observation post, Russell had to cool his expectations about that: there was little martial about the appearance or attitude of those old men. The commander-in-chief, General Simpson, sat on a chair in the main trench, a greatcoat wrapped around him to

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fight the cold wind. General Jones wore a red nightcap and lay reclined on a litter while watching the action with his spyglass. As for Quartermaster-General Richard Airey, he had a white handkerchief tied over his cap and ears and fastened under his chin. A crowd of staff officers and civilian tourists stood around the three generals, with the tourists treating the battle as one big exciting show. Russell shook his head in disgust at that, wishing that he could kick the butts of those vain tourists. The one visitor who had a legitimate purpose to be here, Roger Fenton, had his camera set on its tripod and was busily taking picture after picture of the battle, concentrating on the ones deserving the attention: the fighting soldiers in the field.

The arrival of the ambulance cart and medical wagon of the 8th Hussars in the ravine in front of the observation post a few minutes later temporarily attracted the eyes of the British onlookers. Russell took some notes as the nurses and doctors attached to the field hospital quickly set up the medical wagon for operation, while the ambulance cart continued on to get as close to the advance trench as it safely could. Watching it closely, he saw the cart stop besides a solitary horse tied to a tree trunk and wondered aloud about it.

“Who could have left his horse in such a dangerous place?” Fanny Duberly answered him without hesitation, not bothering to keep her voice down.

“Jeanne Smythe. I saw her gallop to the advance trench about one hour ago, dressed in her field outfit and carrying a pack of field bandages.”

“But…she gave birth only a month ago.” said Russell, shocked. Fanny nodded her head at that, her expression somber.

“I know, William. No one should doubt her dedication and courage by now. I just hope that she gets properly rewarded for that once back in England.” Russell grunted in approbation, taking more notes before resuming his observation with his spyglass. The British troops had not moved out of their trenches yet, while the fighting was still furious on the left flank, where the French were still fighting to take their two other objectives for this day, the ‘Little Redan’ and the ‘Flagstaff’ bastions. Maybe twenty minutes later the British heavy guns, which had kept a furious fire up to now, suddenly fell silent. A great chorus of cheers then rose from the British trenches as thousands of soldiers in red coats climbed out of them and started running in the open towards the Redan bastion. Russell felt both excitement and horror as he watched the troopers run the 200 yards of open ground between their advance trench and the

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Russian earthworks. Russian guns firing from three strong points, along with hundreds of Russian riflemen, then started to cut swaths in the ranks of the rushing British soldiers. Russel’s heart sank as he saw hundreds of men being cut down, and this only in the first minute of the assault. The remark from a nearby tourist watching through a spyglass then made him focus on a particular part of the battlefield.

“Look at that coward over there, hiding behind a wounded officer.”

“That’s not a coward, you sniveling asshole!” fired back angrily Russell once he had a good look with his spyglass. “That’s Lady Jeanne Smythe treating that wounded officer under fire.”

As the tourist smarted from his response, Russell passed on his spyglass to Fanny Duberly, who was clearly eager to watch her friend. Fanny looked through the spyglass for a few seconds, then gave the spyglass back to Russell.

”God bless Jeanne. I would never be able to gather that kind of courage.” Taking back his spyglass, Russell watched the progress of the British attack with growing anxiety, describing what he saw to Fanny as the action went.

“Our men are now in the ditch at the foot of the Redan and setting up their assault ladders. God, we are losing dozens of men every second… I can see Colonel Windham waving his hat and sword from atop the parapet of the Russian positions and encouraging his men to follow him inside the earthworks.” Russell then saw something that shocked and scandalized him.

“Bloody hell! Only a handful of soldiers are following Colonel Windham inside the Russian positions. The rest of our men are staying behind the parapet and taking occasional potshots from behind cover. Come on! Get inside the position while you can!”

A concert of exclamations of disappointment and disbelief from the British high command staff then told him that he had not been alone in noticing the lack of zeal of the attacking British infantrymen.

As the British generals were watching from their safe observation post the stalling of their attack, Jeanne jumped down in the wide, deep trench dug by the Russians around the foot of their bastion. The trench was already half covered with dead and dying British soldiers, with more soldiers clinging precariously against the outside of the parapets while bullets, grapeshot and cannonballs flew around them. Over the din of the battle, she heard and then saw Colonel Windham exhort his men in

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following him inside the earthworks through the gun embrasures. Less than a hundred men followed his lead and went in, while a good two thousand more soldiers stayed were they were, content in firing occasionally over the parapet. Watching that with dismay, Jeanne then saw the young cornet who had complimented her in the hospital this morning rally a handful of men around him before stepping inside the bastion through an embrasure, his sword pointing forward. Something then broke inside Jeanne. She had to do all that she could to get that brave teenage boy out of there alive, even at the risk of getting killed. That last thought nearly made her laugh then: where she was right now was already a good place to get killed at any moment. Seeing a man that was grimacing with pain while holding his left leg, Jeanne went to him and, after examining him quickly, bandaged his heavily bleeding leg. After promising to get back to him, Jeanne then climbed one of the assault ladders up to the level of the gun embrasures. The dozen or so British infantrymen cowering on each side of the nearest embrasure looked at her with horror and disbelief.

“Bloody hell, maam, what are you doing here?” asked a shocked corporal. Jeanne gave him a less than friendly look.

“And what are you men still doing here? Watching the fucking scenery?” On those harsh words, she stepped around them and entered the Russian bastion, walking on top of a destroyed heavy gun to do so.

At the forward command observation post, William Russell became as white as a sheet and felt his heart stop when he saw through his spyglass Jeanne enter the Russian earthworks. Seeing his dismay, Fanny Duberly looked up anxiously at him.

“What is it, William? What did you just see?”

“Jeanne Smythe…she just entered the Redan.”

“WHAT?” shouted Fanny, shocked. Unable to do anything about that, she then resigned herself to watch, wait and pray.

Once past the first earth parapet, Jeanne found herself in a wide trench that zigzagged its way to both her left and right, with heavy guns positioned at close intervals of a few yards only. Dozens of Russian and British soldiers lay around her, dead or wounded, while the few British soldiers who had entered the Redan were fighting furiously to stop a counterattack by Russian soldiers charging with bayonets. Knowing that the time available to her would be short, Jeanne started at once inspecting the

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British soldiers lying around in the dirt. The first one she found alive was a young private holding his guts, where a Russian bayonet was stuck. The young man was obviously in great pain and implored Jeanne with his eyes. She in turn gave him a reassuring smile.

“Don’t worry, Private: I will fix you up in no time.”

Taking out a small bottle of chloroform first and a swab of cotton, she administered a few drops of chloroform to the teenager, wanting to cut his suffering as soon as possible. She had been treating him for less than a minute when the young soldier died quietly in her arms. Holding in her tears with difficulty, Jeanne went to the next British wounded, a sergeant in his late twenties who was bleeding profusely from a bullet wound in his right shoulder. This time Jeanne was able to treat him without risking to lose him quickly and applied a thick field dressing on his entry and exit wound. As she was getting up to go to another wounded British soldier, the sergeant suddenly grabbed her sleeve and spoke to her.

“Bless you, Lady Jeanne.”

“No need to, Sergeant. Let me care for that one over there and I will be back for you.”

The sergeant let her go at those words, allowing her to go to a British junior officer who lay moaning under a dead Russian gunner. Pulling off the dead Russian from over the wounded, Jeanne then realized with a jump of her heart that this was the young cornet who had spoken to her in the hospital. Frantically checking him out, she was reassured to find that he had suffered from a single blow to the head that was bleeding a lot but was otherwise a superficial wound. She cleaned the head gash with water and alcohol, then bandaged it in a hurry, as she could hear the fighting getting nearer to her by now. She was finishing her first aid work on the young cornet, who was unconscious, when British soldiers started running past her, heading out of the bastion. Colonel Windham was shouting orders urgently from a mere twenty yards in her back.

“FALL BACK! FALL BACK! FRONT PLATOON, HOLD THE LINE WHILE THE OTHERS RETREAT!”

Seeing Jeanne from behind and not noticing her long hair in the heat of the action, Windham shouted at her.

“YOU! GRAB THAT WOUNDED MAN AND CARRY HIM OUT! MAKE IT QUICK, AS WE HAVE ONLY SECONDS TO EVACUATE.” Jeanne at once threw the unconscious cornet over her shoulders in a classic fireman’s carry position and got up before facing Windham.

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“I need two men who could help that wounded sergeant over there, Colonel.” Windham, not believing his eyes or ears for a second, nonetheless reacted quickly enough and pointed at two soldiers near him.

“YOU AND YOU! GO HELP THAT WOUNDED SERGEANT AND GET HIM OUT OF HERE!”

“YES SIR!” shouted back the most senior soldier before running with his comrade to the sergeant who had been bandaged by Jeanne. The sergeant was quickly if not gently pulled up on his feet and then helped out through the nearest gun embrasure. Jeanne was right behind them, the limp cornet still draped over her shoulders, followed by two soldiers and Colonel Windham. Once out of the bastion proper, Windham stayed by the side of the embrasure, encouraging his men as they rushed out of the Russian position. As the last British soldier rushed out, Russians hot on his heels, Windham shouted at a nearby soldier carrying a heavy hand grenade.

“FIRE YOUR GRENADE AND THROW IT IN!”

The soldier, an old corporal with a lit cigar in his mouth, took out his clumsy grenade and lit its wicker fuse with his cigar, then waited until it was nearly burned out before throwing it inside the embrasure. Two seconds later a muffled explosion and screams of pain came from the inside, while smoke blew out through the embrasure.

“WELL DONE, CORPORAL! NOW, LET’S GET BACK TO OUR TRENCHES!” The two British, now nearly alone against the Russian parapets, lost no time in hurriedly sliding down the steep dirt slope to the surrounding ditch. There, they joined the hundreds of soldiers climbing desperately out of the ditch so that they could run back to the British trenches. Thankfully the British artillery gunners, seeing their comrades of the infantry retreat, resumed fire at once against the embrasures of the Redan, providing covering fire to the retreating soldiers. Windham ended up climbing out of the ditch right behind Jeanne and offered to help her carry the cornet once on top, to which Jeanne shook her head.

“Take care of your other men, Colonel. I am taking care of that brave boy.”

“As you wish, Lady Jeanne.” said Windham, then switching his attention to his surviving men and urging them back to their trench. To his surprise, eight female nurses from the 8th Hussars and two civilian doctors were present in the advance trench when he jumped in it with relief. The wounded carried by Jeanne Smythe was laid at once on a stretcher and carried away to the rear by four women, soon followed by the wounded sergeant. Windham was about to thank profusely Jeanne for her exploits when he saw

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with dismay the young French woman run out again from the advance trench, going towards the Redan bastion. Flabbergasted, he could only shout at the running woman.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING? COME BACK!”

“I’M GOING TO GET OTHER WOUNDED MEN LYING AROUND!” She shouted back before disappearing in a thick cloud of white smoke drifting across the battlefield.

Jeanne had time to either drag or carry back to the British advance trench three wounded men before Russian fire became so heavy that venturing openly on the battlefield would be near suicide. Undeterred by the bullets and cannonballs now flying around liberally, she elected to work in a more covert way, crawling out of the advance trench and making her way to wounded men by using ground cover as much as possible. She used for the first time that day a special type of sling made of tough canvas that allowed her to drag behind her a wounded man while she crawled or went on her hands and knees. Once close to the advance trench, either nurses or soldiers would rush to her and take her wounded patient to safety. She kept to this routine all day and night, working as long as she could find men still alive that could be rescued and retrieving in the process a total of 57 wounded British soldiers.

Jeanne was taking a much needed short rest in the advance trench when, at around three O’clock in the morning, the Redan bastion blew up in a mighty series of powder magazines explosions, showering the whole area around it with debris, dirt, guns and bodies. The other Russian defensive works followed suit in short order, while the buildings in Sebastopol started burning. Jeanne, like all the British soldiers around her, looked on as that hellish scene was played out. A young private standing near her in the advance trench looked on with incomprehension.

“What the hell is happening? Why are the Russians blowing up their bastions?”

“The Russians are retreating while destroying everything behind them at the same time.” answered in a quiet voice Jeanne. “The battle for Sebastopol is over.”

“Thank God!” replied the young soldier, no doubt reflecting the thoughts of most around him. He then realized something and looked at Jeanne with big eyes. “Does this mean that the war is over, madam?”

Jeanne shook her head sadly at that question.

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“No! The killing may have stopped around Sebastopol but the dying is by no means over. Only once a peace treaty is signed and the troops are back home will we be able to call this war over.”

A lot more deaths and suffering effectively happened before the war was to end. The winter of 1855/56 was a tragedy for the French Army camped around Sebastopol, as typhus and cholera ran through their camps and made its normally efficient medical system collapse under the weight of sick men. Over 53,000 French soldiers fell ill and had to be hospitalized, with over 10,000 of them dying that winter, mostly from typhus. It was a time of personal loss for Jeanne as well, with her friend Leila the Zouave vivandiėre being among the dead. On another front of the war, a combined

British/Turkish force besieged by a Russian army in Kars, in Anatolia, was forced by starvation to surrender at the end of November of 1855. In January of 1856, Austria jumped into the fray by sending an ultimatum to Russia: accept the Allies’ demands or Austria would enter the war on the side of the Allies. Diplomatic talks followed, with the war declared officially over at the signing of the Treaty of Paris on April 27 of 1856. Nearly half a million Russians soldiers had died in the war by then, along with close to 100,000 French and 22,000 British, plus over 100,000 Ottoman soldiers. It was then time for the survivors to return home.

10:32 (London Time)

Saturday, June 7, 1856 ‘A’

H.M.S. SANS PAREIL

Portsmouth harbor, England

“God, I can’t wait to set foot again on good old English soil.” said quietly Gordon while standing at Jeanne’s side on the deck of their transport ship. He had his left arm around her shoulders, while Jeanne had in her arms their son William, now eight months old. Their ship, transporting the survivors of the 8th Hussars, their horses and the regiment’s equipment, including the medical equipment and tents from their field hospital, was about to tie up at one of the quays of Portsmouth’s harbor. Eight more transport ships were also docking today in Portsmouth, carrying the cavalry units back from Crimea. Jeanne surveyed visually the port area and rested her head on Gordon’s shoulder.

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“It effectively is good to be back. I miss Paris, though.”

“We will go spend some vacation time together there, I promise.” replied softly Gordon. “Then, we will start our agreed on routine.”

He didn’t have to say what that routine was, as they had spent days talking about it during the sea trip to England. Since Gordon realized how important Jeanne’s work with her charity foundation in Paris was and since he would anyway be stuck most of the time on duty inside the regimental garrison in Winchester, they had decided to live their respective lives during week days and join up in Gordon’s London house on weekends.

Seeing Mary Seacole looking despondent by the ship’s bulwark, Jeanne excused herself with Gordon for a moment, leaving little William in his care, then went to see the portly black woman. Jeanne already knew what was troubling Mary and patted gently her left shoulder while speaking reassuringly to her, using the nickname everyone used with her.

“You have nothing to worry about, Mother: I am ready to vouch and cover for your debts.”

Mary Seacole looked sharply up at her, surprised.

“How do you know about my debts, Jeanne?”

“It wasn’t too hard to learn about them, Mother. You did get stuck with a large unsold inventory from your establishment in Balaklava at the end of the war, with clients evaporating quickly then. I will be most happy to help you now.” Tears came to the face of the Jamaican woman, who kissed Jeanne on the cheek.

“Jeanne, you are truly an angel. I will owe you for the rest of my life.”

“You owe me nothing, Mary, apart from your friendship. I couldn’t do less for you. Do you have funds for your trip to London and for your stay there?”

“Some.” said Mary after a short hesitation. Jeanne raised an eyebrow at that and, taking Mary’s arm, gently guided her to a deserted corner of the ship’s deck.

”Some doesn’t cut mustard with me, Mary. I don’t want such a good woman as you living like a pauper in London. You deserve much better. Until I could meet your creditors and erase your debts, please take this as your pocket money for the next month.”

Mary eyed briefly the small but heavy purse Jeanne just put in her left hand, then looked up at her while trying to give back the purse.

“I can’t accept that, Jeanne! You…”

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“Yes, you can and will accept it, Mary.” said Jeanne gently but with finality. “I won’t stand for you to live in the streets, not after all the lives you helped save in Crimea. In fact, you are invited to stay at my husband’s house at 14 Belgrave Square while in London. I insist, Mary.”

Seeing that Mary was about to cry, Jeanne hugged her gently, letting her weep to her content.

“Let’s make it even easier and travel with us to Winchester Barracks. From there we will go to London together.”

“You are too good to be true, Jeanne.” said weakly Mary, still crying.

“Nothing is too good for you, Mother.”

On those gentle words, Jeanne returned to Gordon, who had been watching discreetly the exchange from a distance. She gave him a malicious smile and kissed him on the lips.

“Do you mind if I invited Mary Seacole to live temporarily in your London house, my dear husband?”

“For that woman, you could even tell her to move in for the duration, my dear Jeanne.” replied Gordon, smiling as well. “You know that I respect that woman greatly. She seemed distressed a moment ago. Is something wrong?”

”Nothing that I can’t arrange easily enough.”

Jeanne’s evasive answer seemed to satisfy Gordon, who resumed his observation of Portsmouth. He soon noticed a royal guards officer waiting on the quay where their ship was about to dock. He pointed the officer to Jeanne then.

“It seems that a royal messenger is waiting for our ship at dockside. I wonder what it is about. Do you think that my personal oracle could tell me that?”

“Your personal oracle would say that he is probably here to deliver invitations from the Queen, my dear.”

Gordon’s eyes widened at that.

“Hell, you certainly got my attention with that, Jeanne. Do you think that one of those will be for you?”

“And why would I think that, my love? I’m only a woman, remember? Women don’t count as legal persons in England…yet!”

Gordon sighed at that snide remark: it wasn’t the first time that Jeanne reminded him gently but no so subtly what she thought about British laws concerning women.

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A gangway was soon put in place between the quay and their ship and the royal messenger then came onboard. After speaking briefly with the captain of the ship, the guards officer came to Gordon and Jeanne and stopped at attention before saluting Jeanne and handing her an envelope.

“Lady Jeanne Smythe? I have this letter from Her Majesty the Queen for you.”

“Thank you very much, Lieutenant. This is quite an honor.” Smiling, the lieutenant then produced two more envelopes, presenting one each to Jeanne and Gordon.

“It is not quite all, madam. Here are invitations for both you and Captain Smythe to attend a medals parade in Hyde Park on June 26. Have a good day madam, sir.” After saluting them again, the lieutenant went to a few more Hussars present on the deck, also handing them envelopes before leaving the ship. By then, Gordon had opened his invitation card and read it.

“Hmm, this says that I am to be decorated but doesn’t say with what medal. What about your invitation, Jeanne?”

“Same here.” said laconically Jeanne, making Gordon look at the still unopened letter in her hands.

“And that letter?”

“Patience, patience, my dear!” she chided, purposely taking her time to open the Queen’s letter. Half a dozen of the Hussars nurses present on the deck rushed to her to see what she had, with Janet O’Neil being in the front ranks of the curious women.

“So, what is it about?”

“Gee, girls, don’t rush me like this!” protested Jeanne with false indignation. Janet eyed her crossly.

“We wouldn’t need to be pushy if you weren’t so slow to open this, Jeanne. Come on, put a move on it!”

“Alright, alright!” said Jeanne before opening the envelope and reading quickly the short letter in it.

“This is actually an invitation for me and Gordon from the Queen to meet her at Buckingham Palace for supper on June 26 of this year. I guess that I will have to get out my most fancy dress for that.”

“A supper with the Queen? You bloody lucky you!” exclaimed Margaret Ward, attracting a smile on Jeanne’s face.

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“Believe me, Margaret, such an invitation, while a true honor, often ends up being a most boring event, especially with all those ass-licking royal courtiers around the Queen. And you, did you get an invitation for that medal parade on the 26th of June?”

“I did, and so did Janet. We are so excited about that. We are probably going to be the first British women to be decorated for actions in a war.”

“You effectively will be.” confirmed Jeanne. “You and Janet however amply deserve that honor.”

“And you, Jeanne? Is France going to honor you as well?” asked Janet O’Neil. Jeanne then nodded slowly once at that, her expression becoming serious.

“I have a standing invitation from the President of the Republic to see him once back in France. General Bosquet passed on the invitation to me two months ago and told me that I am in line for the Medal of Honor of the President of the Republic, for repeated acts of courage and devotion on the battlefield which brought great honor to France.”

“Jeanne,” said in a joking tone Janet O’Neil, “Are you sure that your name is not Joan of Arc? You are turning into quite a heroine in France.” Janet never understood why both Jeanne and Gordon Smythe made mysterious smiles at her remark then.

10:32 (London Time)

Thursday, June 26, 1856 ‘A’

Hyde Park, London

England

Gordon Smythe, standing in the first rank of the expectant recipients assembled in Hyde Park in front of Queen Victoria, applauded like the others when a navy first mate was called forward by the Queen’s Aide-De-Camp to receive one of the first Victoria Crosses to be awarded. The Victoria Cross, or VC in short, was a new medal for outstanding gallantry created on order of Queen Victoria. It was particular in that it was open to all ranks, be they officers, NCOs or simple privates. This was a radical departure from past practices, where the lower ranks had too often in Gordon’s mind been forgotten, while their aristocratic officers got showered with honors and titles. Gordon discreetly looked at his parents, Sir Charles and Lady Carmelia, who were looking on as part of the crowd of spectators on the sidelines of the ceremonial grounds.

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He then glanced at Jeanne, standing beside Margaret Ward and Janet O’Neil at the end of the rear rank of soldiers, sailors and officers waiting for their medals. While not wearing her field outfit and equipment vest, Jeanne was dressed in a dark red riding dress and jacket, plus shiny black high leather boots that made her look in Gordon’s mind like a Cossack woman. Gordon puffed up with pride at thinking how lucky he was to have such a wife, then concentrated back on the ceremony. The Queen, sitting Amazon-style on her horse and surrounded by her family and the top commanders of the Army and the Navy, was directing personally the ceremony, with her ADC doing the shouting and passing to her the medals to be awarded. Her equerry then pinned on the recipients the medals given to him by the Queen.

The first part of the ceremony was reserved for the awarding of about twenty VCs to soldiers and officers who had performed extraordinary acts of bravery at either the battles of the Alma, Balaklava or Inkerman. To Gordon’s secret disappointment, Jeanne did not get the new award. He had wished to see Jeanne win a VC, strongly believing that she deserved one, but knew that the British establishment was not ready yet to acknowledge properly acts of courage by a woman. About an hour in the ceremony, as the Queen was distributing medals lower than the VC, Gordon heard his name being called up.

“CAPTAIN GORDON SMYTHE, OF THE 18TH ROYAL HUSSARS!” His heart suddenly pounding faster, he got to attention at once and shouted in response.

“YOUR MAJESTY!”

He then walked out of the ranks and, passing in front of the other recipients, went to a position two steps in front of the Queen’s horse before stopping at attention and saluting her. Queen Victoria, now 36 years old, nodded once and smiled gently down to him. Her ADC then read from a declaration in his hands.

“CAPTAIN GORDON SMYTHE, OF THE 8TH ROYAL HUSSARS, FOR YEARS OF DEDICATED AND BRILLIANT SERVICE AND FOR HIS UNCOMMON DISPLAY OF BRAVERY AND LEADERSHIP AT THE BATTLE OF BALAKLAVA, IS TO BE MADE A MILITARY COMPANION OF THE MOST HONORABLE AND ANCIENT ORDER OF THE BATH BY HER MAJESTY THE QUEEN.”

Blood rushed to Gordon’s head at that announcement. While not strictly an award for gallantry, the Order of the Bath rewarded service of the highest caliber and was the fourth most important order of knighthood in Great Britain. He did his best to keep a

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stoic expression as the Queen’s equerry fastened the crimson red ribbon supporting the gold and enameled white Maltese cross of the CB around his neck. To his surprise, the ADC shouted again as he still stood in front of the Queen.

“FOR HIS OUTSTANDING LEADERSHIP QUALITIES, CAPTAIN GORDON SMYTHE IS ALSO PROMOTED TO THE RANK OF MAJOR, EFFECTIVE TODAY.” The equerry then gave him a set of major’s insignias. Gordon saluted the Queen again, then pivoted to the right and walked back to his position in the front rank of recipients. Sergeant-Major James Champion, standing in the rank behind him, whispered to him as he was wheeling around to take his place.

“Well done, sir!”

“Your turn will come, Sergeant-Major.” replied Gordon. Effectively, James Champion was called forward half an hour later to receive the Distinguished Conduct Medal, or DCM, another new medal meant to reward great acts of gallantry by NCOs and junior ranks. The DCM was meant to be second only to the new VC and was thus a high level award indeed.

The part of the ceremony that Gordon was really waiting for came last, when Jeanne was called forward by the ADC.

“LADY JEANNE SMYTHE, SENIOR NURSE OF THE 8TH ROYAL HUSSARS!” Jeanne, wearing her French Legion of Honor and the Medal of Honor of the President of the Republic, on top of her Crimean War campaign medal, walked smartly out of the rear ranks and made her way to the Queen, stopping at attention in front of her horse. The crowd of onlookers broke into whispered comments as she walked forward but fell silent when the ADC, instead of reading her award declaration, gave it to the Queen. The Queen eyed Jeanne and her three medals with intense interest, smiling to her as well. In as strong a voice as she could muster, Queen Victoria then read the parchment.

“Lady Jeanne Smythe, senior nurse of the 8th Royal Hussars, demonstrated repeatedly over the course of the whole war in Crimea both unflinching dedication and utmost care to her patients. She also showed incredible bravery and heroism while providing first aid to wounded soldiers directly on the battlefield, and this on countless occasions. As a French citizen, Lady Jeanne Smythe is to be named an honorary civilian companion of The Most Honorable And Ancient Order of the Bath. Also, for outstanding acts of bravery demonstrated while treating wounded soldiers while under fire on the battlefield at the Alma, Balaklava, Inkerman and inside the Russian bastion of

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the Redan, Lady Jeanne is to be awarded the distinguished conduct medal, with three bars denoting a second, third and fourth awards. Her medal is to wear on its back the special mention ‘for the care and defense of wounded soldiers’.” As her equerry pinned the crimson red bow ribbon of the CB, then the red and blue ribbon of the DCM with three bars, Queen Victoria smiled to Jeanne, who still stood at rigid attention.

“I look forward to have supper with you and your husband, Lady Jeanne.”

“The pleasure will be mine, Your Majesty.”

Once her medals had been pinned on her, Jeanne curtsied to the Queen, then pivoted to the right and walked back into the ranks. She was followed by Janet O’Neil and Margaret Ward, who each received a specially engraved DCM. After a last speech from the Queen, the sovereign and high dignitaries left the ceremonial grounds, with the recipients then dismissed by General Simpson. Gordon lost no time in joining up with Jeanne, hugging and kissing her joyfully.

“Jeanne, you can’t know how proud I am of you.”

“Not as much as I am of you, my dear major.” she replied before kissing him on the mouth. Sir Charles and Lady Carmelia then managed to get to them through the mixed crowd of recipients and relatives and friends. More hugs, kisses and handshakes followed, with Sir Charles in particular looking as proud as a peacock as he eyed Gordon and Jeanne, standing side by side with their medals still on them.

“My God, this deserves a picture! Let me get Mister Fenton and his camera.” Sir Charles didn’t have to go far to get the photographer, as Roger Fenton was already making his way towards Jeanne and Gordon. Quickly setting up his heavy camera on its tripod, Roger Fenton adjusted his aim and grinned to the joyful couple.

“You decidedly make the most dashing couple in the whole of England. If you don’t mind, I will take three pictures of you in this pause.”

“Go right ahead, Mister Fenton.” replied Gordon. He then took and held Jeanne’s right hand for the pictures, with his parents looking on with pride. Once the pictures were taken, Fenton took his head out from under his camera’s black hood and smiled at the couple.

“May I ask what are your projects for the next few weeks, Major Smythe?” Gordon smiled and turned his head to look tenderly into Jeanne’s eyes.

“Just pure bliss, Mister Fenton.”

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British military cemetery, Delhi, India.





CHAPTER 13 – HEARTBREAK




17:48 (London Time)

Friday, July 18, 1856 ‘A’

14 Belgrave Square, Belgravia District

London, England

Gordon, slouched in his favorite easy chair and enjoying a good book in the lounge of his London house, looked up at his father as Sir Charles Smythe walked in from the outside. The tired, dejected look on his father’s face alarmed him at once, making him get on his feet and put down his book.

“Something went wrong at the meeting of the Board of Control, Father?” Throwing first his leather briefcase on a sofa, Sir Charles looked with discouragement at his son.

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“That damn Lord Dalhousie set up the East India Company for a hard fall and none of these idiots on the Board can see that, that’s what went wrong! My first reaction would have been to bail out of the company, if I didn’t have so much invested in it.” Patting sympathetically his father’s shoulder, Gordon started leading him towards the dining room, across the hallway from the lounge.

“Come on, Father, supper should be about ready by now. We can talk about this at the table.”

“Thank you, Son. Let me wash a bit and change first, though.”

“Take all your time, Father.” replied Gordon gently. As Sir Charles tiredly got up the stairs to the first floor, Gordon went through the dining room and into the large kitchen. The place was hot and full of activity, with Jeanne and two maids busy preparing supper while Elizabeth Hatfield took care of the six children present. Going to Jeanne, who was stirring a pot of soup, he glued himself to her back and held her waist while kissing her neck. She moaned with pleasure and caressed his left leg with one hand while holding a spoon and stirring the soup with the other. The couple exchanged caresses for a few seconds before Jeanne gently pushed Gordon away.

“Gordon, there are young children watching.” she chided him in a low voice.

“Alright, I will be a good boy…until late tonight.”

“I was counting on that, my dear hunk.” she said softly before kissing him on the cheek. Clara, Judith and Elizabeth sighed in unison, envious of Jeanne, who couldn’t help smile at them.

“You should get yourselves a good man each, girls.”

“Finding a man is easy enough.” replied philosophically Clara, the older maid. “Finding a good man: now that’s the tough part!”

That got knowing giggles from the three other women in the kitchen.

Sir Charles, informally dressed with gray trousers, slippers and an open collar white shirt, came down the stairs and into the dining room fifteen minutes later. Gordon let him take the place of honor at the head of the big rectangular table, sitting himself to his right. Judith was finishing to put the table, while little Helen, Thomas, Peter and Mary were already sitting down the table’s sides. Jeanne soon came in from the kitchen with little William, with Elizabeth Hatfield close behind and carrying Harry. Sir Charles smiled at seeing the young, lively scene around the table.

“This house certainly has quite a life to it now, Son.”

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“I always loved children, Father.” replied Gordon quietly. “If me and Jeanne can help raise some in happiness and love, then we will be a content couple.”

“I see that I raised a good son.” pronounced proudly Sir Charles. Gordon smiled at the compliment, then became serious.

“Tell me about your meeting, Father.”

Waiting until Clara had put a bowl of hot soup in front of him, Sir Charles then spoke slowly as the others around the table got served as well.

“Well, as you may know, Lord Dalhousie has just returned from India after being replaced by Lord Canning as Governor General. Today’s meeting was to assess his final report on India. Dalhousie of course painted a rosy picture, enumerating in particular all the Indian kingdoms and principalities he annexed under one pretext or another during his many years in office. What he failed to mention and what the other board members didn’t catch on was the tremendous resentment his policies must have created in India. Imagine! Last February, he annexed the Kingdom of Oudh, one of the oldest and most powerful kingdoms in India, on the flimsiest of pretexts. I tried to point out to the board that such a move was sure to inflame sentiments in our Sepoy soldiers, many of whom come from Oudh, but my opinion was dismissed as too pessimistic. With all the vexations, heavy handed policies and crushing taxes levied by Dalhousie to pay for his military adventures, the Indians must be near revolt and I’m afraid that It won’t take much to ignite this powder keg.”

“Could our troops handle such a revolt?” asked Gordon, making his father puff up in indignation.

“Not if our own Sepoy soldiers revolt thanks to this idiotic Dalhousie. The armies of the East India Company count about 200,000 Sepoys, while British troops in India number only 38,000 men. If our Sepoys turn against us, it will be a massacre.” Gordon exchanged a glance with Jeanne before looking back at his father.

“Do you really think that our Sepoys would revolt?”

“Why not? With his stupid General Service Enlistment Act, Dalhousie has revoked a privilege dear to the Sepoys of the Army of Bengal, which dispensed them from overseas service. Now, as you must know, leaving India would make Sepoys of high caste lose their caste, something tantamount to a sacrilege to them. This, allied with the annexation of Oudh, is bound to create dissensions and discontent.”

“So, what do you plan to do, Father?”

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“I don’t know.” answered Sir Charles dejectedly. “Pulling my financial assets out of the company is not something I am prepared to do without much more solid information. The problem is that I can’t rely on the official reports out of India, as I suspect them to be way too optimistic. I would go myself but I’m afraid that I am getting too old for such a trip.”

There was silence for a moment from the adults around the table. Jeanne then spoke quietly while looking at Sir Charles.

“Sir Charles, you know my reputation as an inspired investor. That reputation was built through the analysis of the financial, commercial and political situations all around the World, and this with the help of many friends and agents who provide me constantly with updated information on local situations. I have already started

disinvesting from the East India Company, as I believe firmly that the revolt you are fearing is indeed close at hand. Going to India or sending anyone in your place to investigate would be both extremely risky and unnecessary. I thus counsel you strongly to bail out of the East India Company without delay, before it collapses from an armed rebellion in India. I could provide you with good tips on where to reinvest your money then.”

Sir Charles stared back in silence at her for a moment, weighing her counsel. Jeanne was indeed known to be a most savvy investor with an apparently flawless instinct on where and when to invest money, acquire assets or let them go. Many big financiers would have followed her investing trends if not for the fact that Jeanne always conducted her affairs through anonymous intermediaries, thus hiding her financial moves from others. Some investors had grumbled at her successes, even accusing her on a few occasions of insider trading. Those jealous men had however been unable to make any of those charges stick, with some even being hit with countercharges of false accusations. And all that from a young woman who was only 25 years old. That young woman was now richer than ever as a result, with her estimated fortune having ballooned in the last two years to over fourteen million Pounds Sterling. Yet, from what he could see and hear about her, Sir Charles knew that Jeanne lived quite modestly compared to what her fortune would allow her to do. Most of her fortune apparently went into various charities and social justice schemes, like the dwellings she had bought and was maintaining in Winchester for the families of the troopers of the 8th Hussars, a venture Sir Charles was most proud of helping Jeanne with their administration. A final look in her green eyes then decided him.

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“Alright, Jeanne. I will start bailing out of the East India Company next week.”

“Then I will get my local financial representative in London to visit you here on Monday to give you tips on where to reinvest your money. How much do you have invested in the East India Company, if I may ask?”

“About 340,000 Pounds. Nearly all my fortune is in that company.” Jeanne nodded her head slowly. Her father-in-law would have faced financial ruin if he had not followed her counsel, as the East India Company would be totally discredited and would be disbanded on orders of the British government after the suppression of the Sepoy Mutiny. That mutiny was going to shake the very foundations of the British Empire and wake many in England to reality, forcing them to drastically revise the way Britain had ruled overseas for decades and centuries. Unfortunately, it would also result in a horrific bloodbath in India, with often blind mass retaliations against the Indian population by British troops rushed in from England, this in retaliation for the massacres of British soldiers and civilians committed by the mutineers in a number of places. An awful reality then hit her mind and she looked with concern at Gordon, who apparently understood at once what was going through her head.

“Jeanne, if I get to be called to go to India to quell such a rebellion, I will be going alone. I don’t want you to put yourself and William at risk by going with me.”

“But I am still officially the senior nurse of the 8th Hussars, Gordon. I can’t let down our regiment like this!”

With Sir Charles and the maids listening on with concern, Gordon bent over and stared firmly at his wife.

“Jeanne, I have served in India before. I know how ferocious Indian soldiers and warriors could be and I have no wish to risk you or our son in what would certainly be a most bloody affair. For once, I will ask you to obey my will on this, for the sake of our love and of our son.”

“Gordon, I can’t let you down like this!” protested Jeanne, dread filling her. Gordon shook his head at that.

“You wouldn’t abandon me then, Jeanne: you would just ensure the safety and future of our only son. William must be the main concern, for both of us. Please, be reasonable and promise me that you will stay with William if I ever have to go to India.” Jeanne swallowed hard as tears came to her eyes, watched by the others. She finally lowered her head and spoke softly.

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“I…I promise to stay and take care of William. Please, Gordon, be careful if you have to go.”

Gordon smiled at that and patted gently her hand.

“Of course I will be careful, Jeanne. I have no wish to be cut from you or from our son.”

Sir Charles felt his eyes become moist as he watched his son kiss tenderly Jeanne, while little William looked up with innocence and incomprehension at his tearful mother.

09:42 (Paris Time)

Thursday, June 25, 1857 ‘A’

Hôtel de Brinvilliers, 12 Rue Charles-V

Paris, France

The young messenger smiled with more than simple professional courtesy when a young oriental woman opened the door of the big residence where he had been sent to deliver a telegram: the woman was very pretty and was a delight to look at.

“Télégramme pour Madame Jeanne Smythe-D’Orléans!” said the young man cheerfully, making the oriental girl smile as well.

“I am her personal assistant. I will take it.” she replied, also in French.

“Then please sign here.”

Li Mai did so, then thanked the messenger and closed the door. With the telegram in hand, she went to the nearby office suite used by the staff of the d’Orléans Social Foundation, where Jeanne was presently. Mai found Jeanne in her director’s office, reading a file. Going to her desk, Mai put the telegram on it and bowed.

“A telegram for you, Jeanne.”

“Thank you, Mai.” said Jeanne while grabbing at once the telegram and opening it quickly. With Mai still standing in front of her desk, Jeanne’s face grew somber as she read the three sentences and the name of the sender in the telegram, making Mai ask out of concern.

“Is something wrong, Jeanne?”

Jeanne kept her eyes down as she answered in a slow, hesitant voice.

“Gordon has left for India with his regiment. He sends his love to me and William.”

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Mai, knowing how deeply in love the couple was and having read about the bloody insurrection that had erupted in India, didn’t reply or comment on that, instead bowing again and walking out of the office to leave Jeanne alone. Once Mai was gone, Jeanne got up slowly from her chair and left the office, going to the first floor room where her son William was playing with the other young children of her staff and of her maids. She smiled when she saw on entering the large playing room that 23 month-old William was running around and squealing with joy while playing tag with three more toddlers. She let William play for a few more minutes, then went to him as soon as he and the other children calmed down somewhat. Crouching in front of him, Jeanne let the boy run into her open arms and kissed him.

“William, you are truly a joy to have.”

With her son still in her arms, Jeanne got up and walked slowly towards one of the windows of the room, stopping in front of it and looking out at the street activities and at the skyline of Paris. A tear rolled on her cheek as she pressed gently William against her chest. The words she next said were for the other love in her life in this century.

“Please come back to me, Gordon.”

19:11 (Paris Time)

Wednesday, October 21, 1857 ‘A’

Hôtel de Brinvilliers, 12 Rue Charles-V

Jeanne, being nearest to the main door when someone knocked on it in the early evening, went to it and opened it. She found herself facing Sir Charles, alone with a travel bag on the entrance steps. A carriage that had been waiting in front of the door left as soon as Jeanne had opened the door, the driver probably satisfied that his customer would not be left alone in the darkening street. Jeanne was about to greet warmly her father-in-law when she noticed his sad expression. It was for her as if a hammer had just hit her on the head when she understood in a flash why Sir Charles had come to Paris without prior notice. Tears flowed out of her eyes at once at the same time.

“Nooo! You’re not here to tell me that Gordon is dead?”

“I…I’m sorry, Jeanne.” said weakly Sir Charles. “I wish that I could have come for a better reason.”

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He then stepped forward to hug Jeanne, who was now crying. He held her for a long moment, until she regained some control on herself and invited him in.

“Please, come in. I…I will show you to a guest room.”

Without a word, Sir Charles picked up his lone bag and followed her up to the first floor, where he and Jeanne entered a vacant bedroom. Once he put down his bag, he faced the tall French woman, his expression sorrowful.

“I suppose that you want to know how he died.”

She nodded her head once, unable to speak as sobs came back to choke her. Sir Charles sat on the edge of the bed before speaking slowly, his own eyes lost in painful images.

“Gordon was killed in the battle for Delhi, on September 20th. He was buried there, along with the rest of the 4,000 British soldiers who died to retake that city. I got an official dispatch from the War Office announcing his death three days ago.” Jeanne, unable to absorb more, then sat on a nearby chair and started crying hysterically. Sir Charles went to her at once, holding her hands and trying to console her. She finally managed to say a few words between sobs.

“I…I should have gone with him. Maybe I would have been able to save him, along with others.”

“You know that you couldn’t go with him, Jeanne: William needed you here.”

“And how am I supposed to tell William that his father is dead? He still doesn’t speak well enough to fully understand that. He will be lucky if he still remembers his father by the time he starts going to school.”

“We will keep the memory of Gordon alive for him, Jeanne. We can’t do less than that for Gordon.”

That made Jeanne cry even more, prompting Sir Charles in hugging her again, his own eyes moist.

“I have other things to discuss with you, Jeanne, but those can wait until tomorrow, if you prefer.”

Jeanne shook her head at once, signaling him to continue.

“Please, go on. Nothing can change what happened now.”

“You are right, Jeanne, as always. To make things quick, Gordon made me the executor of his last will. I am ready to tell you about it when you want to.”

“Let’s get William before you do that, Sir Charles.”

“Of course, Jeanne.”

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Jeanne, still crying a few tears, left the bedroom with him and went to her main lounge, where Li Mai was watching over William and a black toddler girl. Li Mai got up as Jeanne showed the little girl to Sir Charles.

“This is Florence, the daughter of one of my maids. She and William play a lot together.”

Sir Charles smiled gently to the little child, then sat in an easy chair opposite a sofa that Jeanne took after grabbing two year-old William in her arms. Extracting first an envelope from a pocket of his vest, Sir Charles opened it and took out the document inside as he spoke slowly.

“It probably won’t come as a surprise to you that Gordon is leaving his house and possessions in London to your son William, with you acting as a tutor until his majority. He also expressed in his will his wish that the staff at his house be kept on the payroll and be retained in the service of the house, with you to administer the property and staff. As for the dowry you gave to Gordon at your marriage, it goes back to you now.”

“That money will go into a trust fund in the name of my son, Sir Charles. I personally don’t need it. As for the servants in Gordon’s house, I will go visit them with you when you will go back to England, in order to reassure them that they will be taken care of. They are good people and I have no intentions of abandoning them now.” Sir Charles nodded his head in satisfaction at that.

“For that, I sincerely thank you, Jeanne. Gordon cared a lot about his domestic staff.”

By now Jeanne felt strong enough to go back to the painful reason of her father-in-law’s visit.

“Sir Charles, did the War Office dispatch mention if Gordon’s body would be repatriated to England?”

Sir Charles lowered his head at that, having been hit hard by the official answer.

“Unfortunately, the War Office has already decided to let the remains of fallen British soldiers buried in India. We lost too many men there to make body repatriation practical or even possible. Gordon is supposedly buried with other soldiers in a British war cemetery next to Delhi. I suppose that you will want to visit his grave one day, Jeanne?”

“Once the insurrection is over, yes. I will also be going with William. Gordon would have wanted that.”

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Sir Charles swallowed hard then as he eyed his little grandson in Jeanne’s lap. William was now the most precious thing in the World for him and his wife Carmelia.

“I am sure that Gordon would have approved of that, Jeanne.”

17:06 (India Time)

Friday, July 23, 1858 ‘A’

British military cemetery

Delhi, India

Jeanne, riding Pegasus and with little William, who was going to be three years old in five days, sitting in front of her in the large saddle, attracted a lot of attention as she arrived at the entrance of the British military cemetery near the walls of Delhi. For one, she was a European woman traveling alone with a small child. Second, she wore a riding skirt and a light cotton blouse, along with high black boots and a wide brimmed Australian bush hat with a cloth to protect her neck from the fierce sun, instead of the long dresses which forced the other European women to ride Amazon-style. What was most striking however to the Indian locals watching her pass was the fact that she wore a gun belt supporting two holstered revolvers and a large hunting knife, while a curved saber was slung across her back and a carbine was sheeted in a long saddle holster. Contrary to most of the British traveling on horseback around India, she had no baggage animal and had only two large saddle bags and a bedroll on the back of her horse as baggage went. The two British soldiers standing guard at the entrance of the cemetery watched her with curiosity as she jumped down and helped her child get off before tying her horse to a post near the entrance. They then came to attention when she approached them with the little boy.

“Good afternoon, madam.” said politely the corporal in charge while secretly admiring the very tall and pretty young woman. “May we do something for you?”

“You may, Corporal. Could you please watch my horse while I go visit the cemetery, so that no thief grabs my belongings?”

“With pleasure, madam! Private Adams will watch it for you.” As the second soldier went to take position near the horse, the corporal couldn’t help ask a question to the woman, who was about to enter the cemetery.

“Are you here to visit a specific grave, madam?”

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“I am.” answered cautiously the woman while staring in the eyes of the corporal. “My husband was killed during the siege of Delhi. He was part of the 8th Hussars.”

“Then, you will find the graves belonging to the cavalry regiments in the northeast corner of the cemetery, madam.”

“Thank you, Corporal.” said the woman with a nod before entering the cemetery with her child. The corporal followed her with his eyes for a moment, then returned his attention to his guard duties.

Jeanne, with William held in her arms, went to the northeast part of the cemetery, then started reviewing each grave marker in that area one by one. It took her fifteen minutes to find Gordon’s grave among the thousands of other graves filling the cemetery. Stopping and facing the cross bearing Gordon’s name, regiment and dates of birth and death, Jeanne contemplated it in silence for a moment before crouching and placing William in front of her, facing the marker.

“This is why we came here, William. Your father is buried here.” The little boy looked at the cross with incomprehension at first, then at her, speaking in his tiny voice.

“He will never come back, Mother?”

“No, William: he can’t come back.” said Jeanne, tears appearing at the corner of her eyes. She then took and guided William’s right hand, making him feel the engraved name on the marker. “Your father was a hero, William. You are now the one who will be bearing his name. Always be proud of it.”

Jeanne was silent for a few seconds, then started singing quietly a melancholic song in honor of her lost husband. The Indians and the few British passing by the cemetery at that time and who could hear her looked at her with surprise and curiosity, as she sang in some unknown language instead of in English. None of them could know or recognize the fact that she was singing in Sanskrit, a language long forgotten in its oral form. She had once sung that song as Noor of Madras 21 centuries ago, after losing her lover.

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CHAPTER 14 – MADAME LA MARQUISE





08:49 (Paris Time )

Saturday, March 1, 1659 ‘A’

Palace of The Louvre

Paris, France

Nancy did her best to hide her true feelings when she saw D’Artagnan come towards her along the

hallway she was following in the Palace of The Louvre. She had returned from the year 1858 only yesterday, after leaving little William for a few days with his grandparents, who had been too happy to have that rare occasion to cherish and spoil their grandson. The loss of Gordon was still fresh in her memory and now she knew that she was about to officially lose the love of the other man in her life. Nancy however put a warm smile on as D’Artagnan, dashing in his musketeer’s uniform, stopped in front of her, looking embarrassed.

“Could we speak in private for a moment, Nancy?”

“With you, always, Charles.”

D’Artagnan then went with her near a window and spoke in a low voice.

“Nancy, I have something to announce to you, something you may not like.”

“If it is about your decision to marry the Baroness of Sainte-Croix, then I already know, Charles. Remember that I have my own very special sources of information. Don’t worry about my reactions to that: I knew that it would happen even before I first met you.”

D’Artagnan hesitated then, looking into the eyes of the woman he still loved the most but could never hope to marry.

“And it doesn’t hurt you?”

His question, put to her in a soft tone of voice, finally cracked somewhat her façade, attracting tears to her eyes.

“Of course it hurts me, Charles, but I am the only one to blame for that. My duties as an agent of the Time Patrol and my obligation to protect history do not allow me to marry you. You did propose to me eight years ago and I was the one who refused,

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for professional reasons. That doesn’t mean however that I don’t love you. I will still love you and will care about you even after your marriage.”

“Nancy, I wish that things could be different between us.”

“Me too, but there is little either you or me could do about that now. You are an important man around the King and your court duties demand that you marry and have a wife. I sincerely wish that you and the baroness will find true love and that you will be happy together. When do you intend to get married?”

“We intend to sign a marriage contract next Wednesday, in the presence of the King and of Cardinal Mazarin.” answered Charles, who then hesitated for a second before going on. “Will you come?”

Nancy shook slowly her head once.

“So that I could sabotage your marriage by my presence? I am sure that the baroness has heard at least a few stories about me. Maybe she knows about us too. Don’t take that badly but I prefer to stay away, for everyone’s sake.” Charles lowered his head, knowing that she was right, but it still hurt. He managed a weak smile as he looked back up at Nancy after a moment.

“Tell me about our son, Charles. How is he doing?”

“He is now seven years old and growing quite fast.” replied Nancy with a smile, warming up on the subject. “He is in fact here in the palace, along with the English boy I adopted in New France. James is thirteen and is also growing fast. Would you like to see them?”

“Of course!” said D’Artagnan with genuine eagerness. He then followed Nancy back to the suite reserved for her use in the palace, a privilege she owed to her close friendship with the King. Entering the private lounge of the suite with Nancy, Charles found two boys sitting at a table listening to a man apparently giving them a lesson in French grammar on a portable blackboard. The teacher stopped his lesson and bowed to Nancy when she entered, prompting a mild chiding from her.

“No need for this between us, Germain: I told you already a thousand times that you don’t need to be formal with me.”

“Politeness is never wasted, madame.” replied the small, thin man in his thirties.

“True! You may take a break for a few minutes while Monsieur D’Artagnan and me talk a bit with the children.”

The private tutor bowed again before leaving the suite. Little Charles didn’t waste any time in running to D’Artagnan, who happily greeted him with open arms.

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“Charles, you really are growing fast! You are going to make a strong man indeed.”

“Like you, Father.” replied the boy, attracting a grin on D’Artagnan’s face.

“You think the right way, Charles. How are your studies going?”

“French grammar is boring, but I am doing my best at it. Monsieur Dupré is however a good teacher and he is not harsh with us.”

“I told him that caning and slaps are strictly prohibited with my sons.” explained Nancy to D’Artagnan, who made a face at that.

“Hell, I wish my father had been this considerate with me. My own preceptor was quite liberal with his stick.”

He then looked at James, who was waiting two paces away, and opened his arms to him.

“Don’t be shy to come to me, my boy.”

The teenager stepped forward and exchanged a hug with the musketeer, who playfully rubbed his head.

“Nancy did well to save you from the Iroquois, James. You are one handsome boy who should make quite a few girls’ heart beat faster.” James reddened at that, being on the shy side.

“Nancy promised to introduce me soon to a few girls in the palace, D’Artagnan.” D’Artagnan laughed heartily at that and patted the boy’s shoulder.

“I am sure that you will tumble them down as well as me, James. And what do you plan to be in life?”

“I don’t know yet.” answered with a slight hesitation the teenager. “Nancy told me that I can choose between living in this century or go work with the Time Patrol. Making a choice is hard.”

D’Artagnan nodded, then looked at Charles.

“And you, my son? Will you live in this century, so that I have the joy to see you grow?”

“I want to become a musketeer like you, Father.” answered resolutely the boy, making D’Artagnan grin with pride.

“That’s my boy! You will make one outstanding musketeer, Charles. I hope that Nancy already started teaching you fencing.”

“Not yet, Father.” answered Charles, making D’Artagnan look at Nancy with fake outrage.

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“What? You haven’t started teaching yet to my son the most basic skill that he needs to know in life?”

“Hell, give him a chance to grow enough to be able to hold a sword first.” replied Nancy with a smile. D’Artagnan made a categorical gesture then.

“If you don’t teach him now, then I will. I want both Charles and James to come see me after supper for their first lesson in fencing.”

“Uh, James has already been studying fencing with me for three years now.”

“Then I will refine his skills, but I will make a point of being the master of fencing for Charles.”

“You have a deal.”

Satisfied, D’Artagnan hugged again both boys and kissed Nancy.

“Well, I have to go back to my duties now. I will see all three of you after supper.” Nancy sighed once D’Artagnan left the suite: he was definitely the kind of man to her liking. Losing him to another woman, even if it was preordained by history, was hard indeed to accept.

Once Germain Dupré came back and resumed his lessons to her sons, Nancy left again her apartments and went to the offices of Cardinal Mazarin, who for all intents and purposes still administered France for King Louis XIV. When she was introduced by a secretary into the private office of the Cardinal, Nancy found King Louis with Mazarin, prompting her to make a curtsy on seeing the monarch. Louis smiled at her sight, genuinely happy to see her: of all the women he had dated, Nancy was still the one he found the most special, by a long shot.

“Ah, my dear friend! You are just in time for something I was discussing with the Cardinal.”

“I am at your service, as always, Your Majesty.” replied politely Nancy, playing her role as a court lady. That made the King grin.

“And quite nice services they are, madame. By the way, did you hear yet about the incoming marriage of Monsieur D’Artagnan?”

“I did, Your Majesty.” answered Nancy, keeping a straight face. Louis, who had a special talent at judging people and their moods, detected at once the tension in her voice. His grin fading, he eyed her cautiously.

“Maybe I should have been more diplomatic about that, Nancy. Please excuse me if I hurt you with my inconsiderate question.”

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“No need to excuse yourself, Your Majesty. I have only myself to blame for not marrying D’Artagnan first.”

“That is indeed still a mystery to me, my friend.” said the King, who was then thoughtful for a moment before speaking again. “Nancy, the Cardinal and me would have a mission of the utmost importance for you which could help you forget for a while your sentimental loss.”

“As I said, I am always at your service, Your Majesty.” said Nancy in a most serious tone. Mazarin nodded like Louis at that and showed her a chair near his work desk.

“Please sit, Nancy.”

“Thank you, Your Eminence.”

Once she had sat, Mazarin contemplated her for a second, then started speaking slowly and deliberately.

“Madame, I won’t tell you anything new by saying that the present war with Spain has already cost much money and lives to France. Me and the King consider that it is high time that we put a stop to it. You may know that I have been secretly conducting peace negotiations for years with the Spaniards, unfortunately with little success up to now. The main bone of contention right now is the refusal of King Philippe IV of Spain to marry his daughter, the Infant Marie-Thérèse, to Louis. I have however thought of a way to convince King Philippe to give up his opposition to such a marriage. I will shortly be leaving for Lyon, where I will pretend to be asking for the hand of Marguerite de Savoy on behalf of King Louis. At the same time, I will need a capable person whom I can trust completely to go to Spain and discreetly prick King Philippe about that supposed marriage project. With luck, King Philippe will believe that such is our true intention and will become incensed enough to give up his objections to marrying his daughter to Louis.”

“Your Eminence, you can count on me.” said at once Nancy, making both Mazarin and Louis smile with satisfaction.

“Thank you, Marquess.” replied Mazarin. “I however have to warn you that this mission may be quite dangerous, apart from being arduous. You will have to make your way through the Spanish border without getting killed and then gain the confidence of King Philippe.”

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“When do you want me to leave, Your Eminence?” asked without hesitation Nancy. As King Louis eyed her with genuine admiration, Mazarin took a letter which sat on his desk and handed it to Nancy, who took it.

“I am myself planning to depart at the start of next week for Lyon. You will however need to cover a much longer distance to get to Madrid, so you will need to leave as soon as possible this week. This letter is for Monsieur Hugues de Lionne, my personal envoy in Spain, and falsely details the marriage projects with Marguerite de Savoy. You will coordinate your efforts in Madrid with him and will assist him to the best of your abilities.”

“Consider it done, Your Eminence.”

“Excellent! You can go see afterwards Monsieur Colbert, who will provide you with funds for your mission. When could you leave for Spain?”

“Tomorrow morning, Your Eminence.”

Louis was the one to speak next, taking and kissing Nancy’s hand first.

“Be careful, my friend. I would hate to lose you.”

“I have every intention to come back alive, Your Majesty. With your permission, I will now go prepare for my trip.”

Nancy got up and made a last curtsy to Louis, then left Mazarin’s office, followed by the eyes of both men. Once she was out, Louis looked somberly at his chief minister.

“May God protect her. In all honesty, I was tempted more than once to ask her to marry me. She would have made an exceptional queen, if not for her low nobility.”

“Your Majesty, that young woman is much more precious to France as a spymaster than as a queen, believe me.” said quietly Mazarin.

07:15 (Paris Time)

Sunday, March 2, 1659 ‘A’

Palace of The Louvre

Paris, France

King Louis XIV, on his way to have breakfast before attending Sunday mass, stopped by a window giving a view on the inner courtyard of the palace. Down in the courtyard was Nancy, getting on her horse. She was dressed like a male rider and wore a warm cape to fight the cold but her weapons were still visible to Louis. The latter

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watched her give a last kiss to her two sons and to D’Artagnan, then leave the courtyard at a gallop.

“May God be with you, my friend.” said fervently Louis in a low voice before going on his way, his personal servants and guards surrounding him.

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CHAPTER 15 – AT THE


SPANISH COURT





22:55 (Paris Time)

Friday, March 07, 1659 ‘A’

Northern slopes of the Pyrenees

South of Tarbes, Province of Béarn

France

Nancy stopped her robotic horse for a moment to contemplate the chain of mountains now facing her. Attaining heights of well over 3,000 meters, the Pyrenees formed the natural border between France and Spain and were covered with snow and ice at this time of the year. They could be crossed only at a limited number of mountain passes or by hardy mountain climbers...or by her Pegasus. For this trip, done as both countries were still officially at war, Nancy intended to cross into Spain unseen by Spanish border guards and soldiers and to avoid scrutiny until she would be in Madrid, where she would team up with Hughes de Lionne, King Louis XIV’s diplomatic representative. With darkness having fallen and with herself being well away from known mountain passes, she was now well positioned to make a discrete crossing.

‘’Pegasus, go into flying mode. We will land near Jaca once on the other side of these mountains.’’

‘’Understood, Nancy.’’ replied verbally her robotic horse. ‘’Taking off now.’’

Solidly held in place on her saddle by both a safety belt and by a tiny tractor beam generator located near the titanium spine of her robotic horse, Nancy let Pegasus fly by itself, having full confidence in its programming and artificial intelligence judgment. After a rapid ascent to past the crests of the mountains facing her, Pegasus accelerated to a speed of 120 kilometers per hour and started overflying the summits, heading South-southwest towards the small Spanish border town of Jaca, situated along the main route towards Saragossa and Madrid. Pegasus could have flown much faster than this but kept its speed low, in order not to expose Nancy to frigid relative winds. Nancy could also have ordered it to simply jump space-time to a point near Madrid but she had rejected that option: she wanted to be able to accurately describe afterwards what she

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had seen during her trip, so to keep the story of her trip both believable and credible. Another reason to keep her trip mostly conventional was to be able to gauge the general public mood and living conditions of the Spanish people, a type of information that was always useful for a spy like her. In truth, despite its military power and widespread influence in Europe, Spain was still a fragmented country, with its various regions jealous of their local traditions, laws and administrative powers and fighting attempts by King Philip IV of Spain to impose his will. Portugal was also still defending its sovereignty, inflicting a number of severe military reverses to the Spanish royal army. For all those reasons, Nancy had judged that she needed to travel to Madrid on horseback while following existing roads. Her only concession to her mode of travel concerned the crossing of the Pyrenees, probably the most potentially dangerous portion of her trip. After some thirty minutes of air travel, Pegasus landed in an uninhabited forest near Jaca. Deciding to use another advantage provided by her robotic horse, Nancy then had Pegasus jump ahead in time by a few hours, so that she could ride into Jaca in plain sight the morning. After that, some 500 kilometers of roads would lead her to Madrid, the ultimate destination of her trip.

16:19 (Madrid Time)

Thursday, March 13, 1659 ‘A’

Southwest gate of the



protective walls around the

Alcazar Real22

Madrid, Spain

The Spanish officer who

commanded the guards at the

main southwest gate giving access

to the vast inner plaza of the

Spanish royal palace eyed Nancy

with suspicion the moment she

showed up at the gate on top of her horse. While Nancy had stowed away her weapons inside her bedroll, her height and built for a woman had instantly caught his attention.

22 Alcazar Real: Spanish royal palace.

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Her clothes were also covered with dust, indicating that she had been traveling for quite a while. Approaching Nancy to a mere pace of her, he then looked up at her and spoke to her in a barely polite tone.

‘’Who are you and where are you going, miss?’’

She then answered him in fluent Castillan.

‘’I am the Marquess of Saint-Laurent and I was sent by King Louis XIV of France to deliver a diplomatic letter to Sire Hughes de Lionne, France’s envoy to the court of King Philip IV of Spain.’’

Her answer, while direct and frank, still left the officer a bit perplex and suspicious.

‘’Your king uses a female rider to deliver a diplomatic letter?’’ Nancy didn’t take umbrage to the officer’s attitude and question, which was to be expected from any man of this time period when faced with a woman but looked straight into his eyes while answering him.

‘’Yes, he did in this case, Monsieur. The letter is concerning a marriage proposal between King Louis and the Infante Maria-Teresa.’’

The officer then understood at once that this was a matter of utmost importance and decided to show some additional respect towards that unusual French messenger.

‘’Monsieur de Lionne is lodged in an annex of the royal palace. I will guide you to it.’’

The officer then went to his horse, tied to a pole just inside the open air plaza, next to the gate, and mounted it before signaling to Nancy to follow him.

Nancy rode behind the officer’s horse to a medium-sized, two-story building separate from the royal palace proper but close to its southern entrance and next to the western fortified wall of the plaza. Its location actually made sense to Nancy, considering that France and Spain were still at war: while it provided adequate lodging facilities for visiting foreign diplomats, it also allowed the Spaniards to cordon it with a strong security and surveillance network while protecting the royal family from assassination attempts and spying activities. Most if not all any Spanish domestic staff working in this diplomatic annex were probably paid spies in the employ of the Spanish king. Nancy was thus going to have to work in the open from this moment on...unless she used her powers as a Time Patrol field agent. However, she was here on a purely diplomatic mission and she intended to using only her wits and charms in Madrid, unless the Spaniards decided to play dirty and rough, which was still a possibility. Dismounting

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in front of the entrance of the building, Nancy untied the two big bundles which had been attached behind her saddle and let a stable boy lead Pegasus inside the small stable attached to the building. Two more servants, alerted by the guards officer, then came at a run to help carry her things inside. Before entering the annex, Nancy bowed low to salute the guards officer, giving him an eyeful of her corsage’s wide opening in the process.

‘’Thank you for your assistance, Monsieur: you are a true gentleman.’’

‘’The pleasure was mine, Marquess.’’ said the officer while eyeing with delight her bust before riding back to the gate.



Nancy was greeted inside the entrance lobby of the annex by Hughes de Lionne, King Louis’ envoy to Madrid, who politely bowed to her in welcome. De Lionne actually knew well Nancy as he had met her many times in Paris when she had briefed him and Cardinal Mazarin on the outcomes of her various missions outside France.

‘’To what do I owe the pleasure of a visit from you here in Madrid, my dear Marquess?’’

‘’To Cardinal Mazarin’s wish to send you this private letter, Monsieur de Lionne.’’ replied Nancy while taking out from her coat the sealed envelope given to her by Mazarin. Accepting the envelope, de Lionne looked for a few seconds at its red wax seal, bearing the coat of arms of King Louis XIV, then looked back at Nancy.

‘’Let’s go to my private office, Marquess. Two of my French servants will carry your luggage to an available room and will make sure that nobody forages through them while we talk.’’

‘’Sounds like a sensible thing to do, Monsieur.’’

‘’Then, follow me, Madame.’’

With two French men carrying away her bundles, Nancy followed de Lionne up to a small work office connecting with a bedroom on the upper floor. De Lionne closed the door behind Nancy before walking to his work desk and sitting down in order to open the sealed letter while speaking.

‘’One really has to be careful about what one says and where he says it in this place, Marquess. I could in fact swear that the walls of this building have ears.’’

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‘’Maybe they have, Monsieur.’’ said Nancy, only half-joking. She then stays quiet as the royal envoy read carefully the letter written by Cardinal Mazarin. What he read made de Lionne nod his head slowly.

‘’This could effectively work, my dear. It will now be up to us to make the Spaniards react correctly to this subterfuge. However, you just arrived from a long and arduous trip and must be anxious to wash up and freshen up, so I will let you time to go to your room. A maid will help you by showing you where things are here and will take care of washing your dirty clothes.’’

‘’A hot bath will certainly be called for, Monsieur. When do you intend to tell King Philip or one of his ministers about King Louis’ proposal?’’

‘’I intend to present the official letter signed by King Louis to Minister Luis de Haro, who is the most important minister of King Philip, in the hour to come. About de Haro, know that he is an uncommonly capable man, modest, honest, dedicated and highly competent. He is not to be underestimated.’’

‘’I will keep that in mind, Monsieur.’’

‘’Then, keep another piece of information in mind, Madame: the Prince of Condé is here in Madrid, where he took refuge after having been beaten by General Turenne near Dunkirk last June. I understand that you met him at least once during the Fronde, correct?’’

Nancy stiffened on hearing that: the Prince of Condé, aka Louis II de Bourbon, aka the Great Condé, was possibly the one man she did not wish to see here in Madrid.

‘’Yes, I did meet him once eight years ago, at the Palais-Royal. He then tried to have me arrested as an agent of Cardinal Mazarin but I knocked him out and escaped. If he sees me here, he is liable to denounce me to the Spaniards as a secret agent of Cardinal Mazarin.’’

‘’Hum, that would indeed be problematic for you to cross path with him here in Madrid.’’ said thoughtfully de Lionne. ‘’Unfortunately, I do need your talents of persuasion at the palace; in order to convince King Philip to let King Louis marry the Infanta. Hopefully he will not show his face at the palace during the next few days.’’ Nancy sighed in frustration then.

‘’I hate to rely on hopes while on a mission, Monsieur, but I have little choice but to take risks, now that I am here.’’

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‘’I understand, my dear. Well, I will now let you go refresh yourself. I will advise you when it will be time to go have supper and with whom. My servant will lead you to your quarters.’’

‘’Thank you, Monsieur de Lionne.’’

Following the French maid assigned to her by de Lionne, Nancy went to a relatively small but comfortable bedroom connecting to a small ablutions room, where she was able to undress and sit with relief in a wooden tub quickly filled with lukewarm water by the maid. The young woman however had a horrified look at the faint torture marks still visible on her torso and buttocks.

‘’My God! What happened to you, madame?’’

‘’I was tortured in Paris during the Fronde, as I was serving young King Louis. Please keep that information to yourself, Marie: many in this palace could interpret this badly, if you see what I mean.’’

‘’I will be mum, madame.’’ promised the young maid before starting to help her by soaping her back.



Half an hour later, Nancy was out of the tub and had dried herself with a towel before taking care of her long black hair. She was halfway in putting on a nice sky blue court gown when someone knocked on the door of her room.

‘’GIVE ME ONE MINUTE, PLEASE!’’ she shouted in

response. The maid helped her by tying the laces at the back of here gown, then went to open the door with her permission. Hughes de Lionne then entered and immediately smiled while admiring Nancy.

‘’My dear, you are a true delight for the eyes, as always.’’

‘’Thank you, Monsieur de Lionne. By the way, what was the reaction of Minister de Haro to the King’s letter?’’

‘’Uh, guarded would be the correct term, I believe. He however invited me and you to have supper with him this evening, in one hour. Do you have some jewels which would further embellish you for that supper, my dear?’’

‘’I do have a few pieces, monsieur. As you know, Cardinal Mazarin tends to be on the stingy side when it comes his employees. Thankfully, King Louis is a bit more generous with his gifts.’’

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‘’Then, come to my suite once you will be ready, Nancy.’’ De Lionne was about to leave when he seemingly thought about something and stopped to face Nancy.

‘’By the way, King Philip likes women...a lot!’’

On those loaded words, he then left the bedroom. Nancy giggled while trying to decide how far she should interpret de Lionne’s last words, then went to carefully comb her hair and apply some makeup. She did cheat a bit when applying a few drops of perfume on her, using modern Chanel Number 5 perfume contained in a small 17th Century anonymous glass bottle.

She arrived at de Lionne’s suite only a few minutes before a Spanish valet showed up to guide them to where they were supposed to have supper with Minister Luis de Haro. De Lionne gallantly then lent his arm to be held by Nancy and followed the valet out of the diplomatic annex and into the palace proper. As they were following a large hallway, de Lionne spoke in a low voice to Nancy.

‘’It seems that we are going towards the apartments of Minister de Haro. He thus may intend to discuss with me the details of King Louis’ proposition while we have supper with him. If that is the case, then let me do the talking, unless of course he will address you directly.’’

‘’So, I will have to follow the old male rule: be pretty and shut up.’’ thought Nancy. They were soon introduced into a medium-sized dining room where a man in his early sixties rose from his chair and bowed to salute the couple while eyeing Nancy with intense interest and speaking in Castillan.

‘’Thank you for accepting my invitation for supper, Monsieur de Lionne. And this must be the Marquess of Saint-Laurent. I must say that you severely underrepresented her beauty, Monsieur de Lionne.’’

‘’I wanted to let the good marquess advertise her beauty in person, Don Luis.’’ replied in zest de Lionne, making the Spaniard smile.

‘’And the marquess does it exquisitely well, I must say. She is also of surprising height.’’

‘’She also surprised many in France in that aspect when she first appeared in Paris eight years ago.’’

De Haro then looked back at Nancy questioningly.

‘’And where were you coming from then, madame, if I may ask?’’

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‘’From Scotland, where I was serving my mistress at the time, Don Luis. I am actually of mixed blood and was born in New France. My father was French and my mother was English, while my paternal grand-mother was of native Amerindian blood. You may be interested to know that the Amerindians of New France are in general taller than Europeans, while also being quite robust and athletic. I believe that I owe my physical built in large parts to the Amerindian blood in my veins.’’

‘’And it makes for an exotic kind of beauty in your case, Marquess.’’

‘’Please, call me simply Nancy, Don Luis.’’

‘’Nancy it will be then. But let us sit, so that supper could be served.’’

Once they had sat down, de Haro made a sign to the head servant, who then ordered the first service, a soup, to be brought in. As they waited for the first plates to arrive, de Haro looked soberly at Nancy.

‘’You were quite brave to make such a long and dangerous trip by yourself, without any escort, Lady Nancy. The royal army does its best to repress bandits and keep the roads safe but it can’t be everywhere. Were you threatened at any point during your trip from Paris?’’

‘’Thankfully, no, Don Luis. However, I was more than ready to defend myself if need be: I own a pair of fine pistols and know how to shoot them.’’

‘’A sensible precaution, Lady Nancy.’’

The plates of soup then arrived, along with fresh bread, and de Haro switched his attention to Hughes de Lionne as they started eating, discussing the official content of the letter delivered via Nancy, as the special directives from Mazarin had been written in a separate note kept by de Lionne. While not speaking herself, Nancy did pay close attention to that discussion, ready to provide her comments if asked by de Lionne.

The supper, along with the discussion between the two men, went on for nearly an hour, at the end of which de Haro gallantly kissed Nancy’s hand before she left with de Lionne. As they were walking down the hallway leading to the palace entrance, Nancy spoke in a near whisper to de Lionne.

‘’So, how do you think that we did with Don Luis, Monsieur de Lionne?’’

‘’I believe that we did well this evening, Nancy. However, the main one we need to convince is King Philip. I will need to secure an audience with the King as soon as possible in order to present our case in person.’’

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A small group of men then emerged from a side corridor, discussing between themselves while walking, and nearly collided with Nancy and de Lionne. Nancy stiffened at once when she recognized one of the men in that group as being the Prince of Condé. Condé also recognized her at once and threw a furious look at her while his right hand flew to the pommel of his sword.



‘’YOU? HERE?’’

As Nancy took one step back in order to take a defensive stance, Hughes de Lionne hurried to interpose himself between Nancy and Condé.

‘’Please, let us avoid violence: we are on a diplomatic mission for King Louis of France.’’

‘’Diplomatic mission my ass!’’ replied quite rudely the Prince of Condé, who kept his sword high and pointed at Nancy while speaking with the man he had been speaking with, an ecclesiastic judging by his robe and the large crucifix he was wearing suspended to his neck by a gold chain. ‘’Your Eminence, this woman is a dangerous spy and assassin in the employ of Cardinal Mazarin.’’

‘’Is she now?’’ said the ecclesiastic while eyeing sharply Nancy. De Lionne then hotly protested the description given of Nancy by Condé.

‘’Slander! The Marquess of Saint-Laurent just arrived a few hours ago from Paris to deliver a diplomatic letter addressed to King Philip. We just discussed that letter with Don Luis de Haro while having supper with him.’’

While surprised by the title de Lionne used to name Nancy, Condé still kept his sword pointed.

‘’A marquess? When I saw her eight years ago, she was a simple lady-in-waiting for a young English noble girl. I suppose that she fornicated her way to a nobility title with young King Louis.’’

While she could have let that personal insult pass, Nancy was not ready for Condé to insult at the same time King Louis and replied to him in a sharp tone.

‘’Betraying your king twice and France once was not enough for you, Condé? Now you have to insult the King of France as well through me?’’ Condé’s expression hardened further then as he spoke from the corner of his mouth to the ecclesiastic.

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‘’Don’t listen to her, Grand Inquisitor: this woman is a witch, on top of being a spy and an assassin.’’

Nancy gave a sharp, hostile look at the ecclesiastic on hearing his title: the Spanish Inquisition, with its blood-soaked history of torture and burning at the stake of tens of thousands of innocent women accused of witchcraft, was possibly the historical entity she despised and hated the most personally. King Louis XIV also hated the Spanish Inquisition about as much as she did. Hughes de Lionne, still interposing himself between Nancy and Condé, then did his best to defuse the tense situation.

‘’Don Diego, know that the Marquess of Saint-Laurent is serving as a personal messenger of the King of France. Touching or threatening her in any way will be interpreted as an insult and a hostile act by King Louis the Fourteenth, something that will sabotage the present attempts to end the unfortunate war between France and Spain.’’



Diego de Arce y Reinoso, while having very rigid religious outlooks, was nonetheless a politically astute man and understood at once how serious this would be if not handled properly. He thus gently pushed down Condé’s sword while speaking in a calm, cautious tone.

‘’Let’s not let hot spirits get the best of us, gentlemen. Let us all go in peace now.’’

While his words were meant to appear soothing ones, his thoughts were markedly darker. Nancy, who was an accomplished telepath thanks to her powers of Chosen of The One, was able to read his true intentions concerning her but feigned relaxing from her defensive stance.

‘’The Eminence is correct, Condé: reasons of State must count for more than our own personal enmities.’’

Louis II de Bourbon, repressing his urge to stab her with his sword, then sheeted back his blade before continuing on his way with the Grand Inquisitor. Hughes de Lionne watched them walk away for a moment before blowing air out in relief and look at Nancy.

‘’That was a close call indeed, Nancy: even the King of Spain normally defers to the Grand Inquisitor on questions of faith and internal security and justice. Hopefully, Don Diego will be able to rein in the Prince of Condé’s temper.’’

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‘’Monsieur de Lionne, I have no confidence in the apparent conciliatory attitude of the Grand Inquisitor: the man and the institution he directs equates to me with bigotry, misogyny, religious fanatism and sadism. I guess that I will be even more on my guards now than before.’’

A couple of hours later, as she was about to go to sleep in her bedroom, Nancy called her horse by radio, communicating via mental waves.

‘’Pegasus, this is Nancy. Be on your guards from now on while in Madrid: armed men may come to try to either capture me or kill me in the days to come. Signal me discretely if you see anyone or anything suspicious around you.’’

‘’I will be vigilant, Nancy, as always.’’ replied her robotic horse.

‘’Thanks, Pegasus: you are a real friend.’’

‘’Am I truly a friend to you rather than a simple tool, Nancy?’’ asked the artificial intelligence computer housed inside Pegasus. Nancy, who possessed a degree in robotics engineering, took a moment to debate her answer to that question.

‘’You are a lot more than a simple tool to me, Pegasus. You served Nancy ‘A’ for many years before you were assigned to me after her death. For me, you are like a close, dependable friend. I am now going to sleep. Have a good night, Pegasus.’’

‘’You too, Nancy.’’

Feeling more reassured now, Nancy then turned on her left side and went to sleep, wearing nothing under her bedsheet, sleeping naked as per her habit.

07:43 (Madrid Time)

Friday, March 14, 1659 ‘A’

Nancy’s bedroom, diplomatic annex of the Alcazar Real Madrid, Spain

Nancy woke up a bit later than she had wanted to, her long trip from Paris having tired her more than she had thought. Staying in bed for a while with her eyes opened, she thought for a few minutes about her missions: the one she was on in the name of King Louis XIV and the standing one she had from the Time Patrol to document and study History. However, right now the mission given by King Louis XIV had clear priority. Whatever documentation work she could do here in Madrid would have to wait until the diplomatic talks would be well started. The only urgent thing she would need to do

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outside of the royal palace would be to procure more court dresses to be used during her stay in Madrid: she had been strictly limited in terms of weight and volume in what she could bring along from Paris and thus presently had a grand total of two court gowns with her, one of which she had already worn for yesterday’s supper.

Getting out of bed but staying naked, Nancy then did her routine daily morning warming up and stretching exercises, spending over fifteen minutes on them before putting on her sky blue court gown and combing her hair in order to go have breakfast. She then left her room and went down to the small dining hall of the annex building, which was used by visitors and staff members not of ambassadorial rank. Since the building lodged other visiting delegations apart from the French one, Nancy found a fairly mixed crowd of various nationalities eating a rather frugal breakfast in the hall. She had to pay with a copper coin in order to gain entrance in the dining hall and went to sit at a small corner table, where a maid came to take her order. Nancy ended up eating an assortment of bread, cheese, hard-boiled eggs and cold cuts, the lot washed down with cider. As per her habit, she ate only moderately and left as soon as she had finished eating, going up to the apartments of Hughes de Lionne. She found the French royal envoy sitting at his work desk and writing down some sort of report or letter.

‘’Good morning, Monsieur de Lionne! What is on our agenda today?’’

‘’Nothing special, really. The letter to King Philip you brought in is now in the hands of Don Luis de Haro, who is supposed to pass it to the King today. We now have to wait for their first reactions to King Louis’ proposal. Did you want to do something specific today, Marquess?’’

‘’Well, I was thinking of possibly play some music and sing to the Infanta to entertain her. That would also allow me to judge what kind of girl she is, so that I could accurately describe her to King Louis on my return to Paris.’’

‘’Hmm, that’s not a bad idea, actually. Did you bring musical instruments with you from Paris?’’

‘’Er, no! The luggage I could bring with me on my long trip was strictly limited in both weight and volume. Would you by chance have a guitar or a harp? If the royal apartments would have a harpsichord, I could also play that.’’

‘’Well, my own diplomatic staff, which is quite limited in numbers, does not include musical amateurs, so I don’t have instruments which I could lend you. However, there is a harpsichord sitting in the royal ballroom. I am sure that the Infanta Maria

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Theresa would like to listen to your music and singing. She is a timid but sweet young woman of twenty who is quite devout and also superstitious. She is small in stature and quite plump, with pale skin of the kind favored in royal courts around Europe. In contrast to her, you are a near giant and your tanned skin and athletic body makes you look quite exotic.’’

Nancy couldn’t help roll her eyes at those words.

‘’I will never understand why male aristocrats like so much women who look like fat cows.’’

Hughes de Lionne shrugged his shoulders while smiling to her.

‘’It is what it is, my dear Marquess, although I would say that I personally find your kind of beauty quite attractive. With this said, let’s go pay a visit to the Infanta.’’

Following de Lionne at his side, Nancy left with him the diplomatic annex building and entered the royal palace after being briefly checked out by the Spanish soldiers guarding the main southern entrance. De Lionne guided her towards the royal apartments, to stop in front of a door guarded by two soldiers armed with halberds.

‘’I and Marquess de Saint-Laurent would like to see the Infanta.’’

‘’For what purpose, Senior?’’ asked one of the soldiers.

‘’The Marquess would like to play music and sing to the Infanta, to entertain her.’’

‘’Please wait here, Senior. I will go see if her Highness will receive you.’’ De Lionne and Nancy then waited for about a minute as the soldier went inside to pass on their request. When he returned, the soldier opened the door wide for them.

‘’Her Highness the Infanta will receive you now, Senior.’’

‘’Thank you!’’

While entering a large lounge with de Lionne, Nancy didn’t miss the fact that both soldiers then followed closely behind her, something she had expected: after all, France was still officially at war with Spain and, while de Leonne was well known at the Madrid court, she was still a mostly unknown French woman. De Leonne finally stopped a few steps in front of a small table at which sat a plump young woman and what appeared to be a priest with gray hair and beard. De Leonne then bowed deeply to the young woman, imitated by Nancy.

‘’Your Highness, I brought with me the Marquess de Saint-Laurent, who arrived yesterday from France while carrying a letter from King Louis the Fourteenth addressed

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to your father. The marquess is an accomplished musician and singer and would like to entertain you with her talents.’’

Maria Theresa eyed with some bemusement the uncommonly tall and athletic Nancy before answering de Lionne.

‘’I don’t see any musical instruments with the good Marquess de Saint-Laurent, Monsieur de Lionne. How is she to play for me then?’’

‘’The Marquess traveled from Paris on horseback, alone, so the amount of luggage she could carry with her was strictly limited, Your Highness. She however was hoping to use the harpsichord in the royal ballroom to entertain you with her music and singing.’’

‘’She traveled all the way from Paris without any escort?’’ asked the Infanta, surprise evident in her voice. De Lionne smiled to her while answering her.

‘’The Marquess de Saint-Laurent is an experienced traveler and messenger employed by King Louis for delicate missions. She has been serving King Louis in this quality for the last few years, Your Highness.’’

Now obviously interested, Maria Theresa, like the priest sitting with her at her table, detailed Nancy for a moment before speaking to her.

‘’Please come forward, Marquess.’’

Nancy did so, stopping three paces in front of the Infanta, who then got up from her chair as she made a curtsy. Despite the ridiculously thick high-heel shoes she wore, Maria Theresa found herself to be still a full head shorter than Nancy, who towered over her.

‘’My God! You must be the tallest woman I ever met, Marquess. You also appear to be quite strong and have a bit of a brown skin tone. How so?’’

‘’Your Highness, I am of mixed blood and was born in the forests of New France, where I was raised during my early years. My father was a French fur trapper, while my mother was an English noble of low lineage, which my father delivered from slavery at the hands of a local indigenous tribe. My paternal grandmother was herself an Amerindian and I spent years living in the wilderness of New France before my mother took a boat to return to England after my father died of a disease. Unfortunately, my mother died during our sea trip and I arrived alone in England. Thankfully, I then met a young Scottish aristocrat who took me as her lady-in-waiting and helped me complete my education.’’

‘’Then, if you have English blood, how did you end up serving the King of France, Marquess?’’

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‘’By accompanying my mistress to Paris during the Fronde Insurrection, where we brought letters and funds to Queen Henriette-Marie of England, who was at the time living in exile in France. I met young King Louis, who was then twelve years-old, while visiting Queen Anne at the Palais Royal. She and her young son were then held as virtual prisoners of the insurrectionists in Paris and I then became a secret messenger between Queen Anne and Cardinal Mazarin, who had taken refuge in Germany. That is how I started serving King Louis, Your Highness.’’

The priest, who had listened carefully to her story, then spoke up, using a polite tone.

‘’Marquess, I am Father Vasquez, in charge of the Infanta’s education. Your story is a most fascinating one indeed but your mission as a secret royal messenger must have been a most dangerous one. In fact, coming to Madrid must have been quite a dangerous trip. I am surprised to see that a lone woman succeeded in doing it.’’ As Maria Theresa listened closely to that exchange, Nancy bowed again while answering the priest.’’

‘’Father Vasquez, without wanting to brag, I am not your run-of-the-mill woman. I spent years living through the wilderness of New France, hunting, trapping and fishing. Once in Scotland, I then accompanied my mistress, defending her as she traveled numerous times across lands held by the Puritan armies of Oliver Cromwell in order to help and support the partisans of young King James. I know how to ride long and hard and how to fight. Yes, my mission was a dangerous one and in fact still is, but I know how to face adversity.’’

‘’So, you must know well King Louis, Marquess.’’ said Maria Theresa. ‘’Could you describe him to me?’’

‘’With pleasure, Your Highness. King Louis the Fourteenth is a fairly tall and quite robust man who can stay in the saddle for days without tiring. He is certainly most handsome and is now twenty-year-old, like you. He is of most noble character and is passionate about justice. He is also most courageous and generous.’’

‘’Did he fight in wars, Marquess, for you to call him ‘courageous’?’’

‘’I call him courageous because he once risked himself to rescue me, after I had been captured by Fronde Insurrectionists while carrying a letter from Queen Anne to Cardinal Mazarin. Despite being technically captive of the Insurrectionist in the Palais Royal, he rode to my rescue when he learned that I was being tortured at the Bastille fortress in Paris.’’

Maria Theresa opened wide her eyes on hearing that.

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‘’Oh! Please tell me about that, Marquess. How did he manage to save you if he was himself a captive of the Fronde?’’

‘’The how is a bit complicated, Your Highness. Please understand that the Insurrectionist were not opposed directly to King Louis but rather to the rule of Queen Anne and her prime minister, Cardinal Mazarin. While being under virtual house arrest at the Palais Royal, young Louis was still highly respected by most in Paris at the time. When he learned that I was being tortured at the Bastille, Louis convinced the captain of the guards at the Palais Royal to escort him with a troop of cavalrymen to the Bastille, where he delivered me and had my torturers shot, before riding back to the Palais Royal, with me sitting behind him on his horse. That is why I call him ‘courageous’, Your Highness.’’

While Maria Theresa appeared to be most impressed by her story, Father Vasquez was clearly more skeptical.

‘’Pardon me for saying so, Marquess, but your story is a most incredible one. What tells me that it is a true one?’’

Instead of getting angry at that question, Nancy replied by looking at Maria Theresa and speaking to her.

‘’I can prove my story by showing you the torture marks I still wear, Your Highness. Would you mind if I partly disrobe in order to do that?’’ The Infanta hesitated for a moment before nodding her head once.

‘’You may do so now, Marquess.’’

‘’Thank you, Your Highness. Monsieur de Lionne, could you please undo the back laces of my gown?’’

Without saying a word then, de Lionne obeyed her, a sober expression on his face. Once the laces were undone, Nancy let her gown slip down to her ankles, ending up topless and with only panties covering her groin and part of her buttocks, then slowly turned around to let Maria Theresa and Father Vasquez have a good look at the faint whip and branding marks on her torso and buttocks. She stayed half naked until a moved Maria Theresa spoke to her in a soft voice.

‘’Those Insurrectionists were indeed most cruel with you, Marquess. You may now put your gown back in place.’’

‘’Thank you, Your Highness!’’

Once her gown was back up and with de Lionne tying back its laces, Nancy faced again the Infanta as a now more understanding Vasquez asked her another question.

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‘’Did those Insurrectionists succeed in making you talk, Marquess?’’

‘’No! I would have died rather than betray the King and Queen of France. I have been a special messenger of King Louis ever since. So, here I am! May I play the harpsichord and sing for you now, Your Highness?’’

‘’I would be delighted to, Marquess. What instruments do you know how to play, apart from the harpsichord?’’

‘’I am good with a guitar, a lute, a bardic harp and a flute, Your Highness. I can also sing and dance, which I often do at the court of King Louis.’’ Nodding her head at that, Maria Theresa then looked at one of her lady-in-waiting, who had been sitting behind her.

‘’Carla, could you please get a guitar and a flute for the Marquess?’’

‘’Right away, Your Highness!’’

As the servant went away, Maria Theresa pointed to a set of double doors on one of the walls of the lounge.

‘’Let’s move to the ballroom, shall we?’’

Once in the royal ballroom, the group moved to a corner of the large room, where a harpsichord and a few chairs were set. While the others sat on chairs, surrounding the Infanta, Nancy sat at the harpsichord and studied its double keyboard, then pushed on a few keys to test their tones. Next, she closed her eyes while mentally selecting what tune to play. She ended up choosing to play a piece of music composed by a contemporary Frenchman.

‘’I will now play a piece composed by the great Jacques Champion de Chambonnières, who plays at the court of King Louis the Fourteenth.’’ Nancy then started playing her harpsichord, religiously listened to by the Infanta and Father Vasquez. Even de Lionne listened avidly to the piece composed by the one considered at the time as one of the greatest harpsichord player and composer of the century. Played with brio by Nancy, that piece got enthusiastic applauses from her audience.

‘’Well done, Marquess!’’ said Maria Theresa. ‘’You are truly talented with a harpsichord. Could you please play another piece for me?’’

‘’With pleasure, Your Highness! I will now play ‘Miserere Mei, Deus’, composed by the Italian priest and composer Gregorio Allegri.’’

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That piece of religious music also enthused Maria Theresa as well as Father Vasquez, attracting more applauses for Nancy. She followed up by a piece composed by a known Dutch harpsichord and organ composer, Jan Pieterszoon Sweekinck. By the time she finished to play that piece, the Infanta’s servant was back with a guitar and a flute. Getting up from her stool at the harpsichord, Nancy accepted the guitar offered by Maria Theresa and smiled to her as she held it at the ready.

‘’I will now play and sing a romantic piece in Spanish, titled ‘Dime, Senior’.’’ She then started playing her guitar while singing a song that she had adapted to the 17th Century and which had been created by the modern Spanish band ‘Mocedades’. By then, Maria Theresa was truly conquered by her music, while Father Vasquez could only sit and listen, truly impressed by her musical talent.

‘’That song was truly beautiful, Marquess.’’ exclaimed the Infante. ‘’Do you know many songs like it?’’

‘’Quite a few in fact, Your Highness. The next one will be in English, though.’’ Having spent many years adapting modern pieces of music and songs to what would fit audiences of the 17th and 19th Centuries, Nancy then started singing the theme song from the movie ‘Titanic’ by Céline Dion while playing in alternance her flute and guitar. Her performance attracted tears to the Infanta’s eyes, deeply moved by the words of the song.

‘’God, this was so beautiful and also melancholic, Marquess. Could I hope to enroll you permanently as a musician and singer at the royal court?’’ Nancy could only smile politely at that request.

‘’I am sorry, Your Highness, but I will continue serving King Louis the Fourteenth of France, although part of that service could be used to entertain you as the future Queen of France.’’

Hughes de Lionne hid his smile at that most subtle way to encourage a marriage between King Louis and the Infanta. The Infanta then said something that pleased him even more.

‘’The King and Queen must hear your music and singing, Marquess. I will petition them to have you come have supper with us, so that you could perform for the court afterwards.’’

Nancy curtsied to her in response, hiding her satisfaction.

‘’I would be honored to do so, Your Highness.’’

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‘’Then, I will have you advised about the response to this from my parents, Marquess. By the way, consider this guitar and flute as yours as of now.’’

‘’Thank you very much, Your Highness.’’ said Nancy while performing a curtsy. She then left with Hughes de Lionne, who broke into a wide grin once in the hallway.

‘’Nancy, you were fantastic! To gain an invitation to have supper with King Philip will allow me to gently pursue King Louis’ demand for the hand of the Infanta. Uh, about your torture marks, I am truly sorry about what you had to suffer while in the service of King Louis. Are your scars still sensitive?’’

Nancy then stopped abruptly and turned to face him while nearly gluing herself to him, giving him a plunging view down her wide cleavage. She then spoke to him in a very soft voice.

‘’I will let you judge about that, my good monsieur...by letting you lick my wounds all over my body. As you should know already, I can be a very bad girl when I want to...which is quite often.’’

20:02 (Madrid Time)

King’s banquet room, Alcazar Real

Madrid

King Philip IV and Queen Mariana, followed closely by the Infanta Maria Theresa, showed up in the royal banquet room at around eight in the evening, which was the

regular supper time in Spain23. Nancy, like Hughes de Lionne and the Spanish courtiers and ministers present, made a curtsy, as in the case of women, or bowed, in the case of men. She and the others sat back once the King and Queen had sat at the long banquet table. Nancy however knew that all the pomp and luxury shown at the Spanish court today hid the fact that Spain was a country in severe decline, militarily and economically, being near bankruptcy after nearly a century of wars and internal insurrections. Spain had suffered major military reverses at the hands of France in the last few years, while Portugal was fighting for its independence from Spain and was basically winning that

23 Regular supper time in Spain was around eight in the evening until the end of the Second World War, when Spain’s time zone moved east by one hour. However, the Spaniards then kept eating at the times made customary to them by the position of the Sun, thus around nine in the evening for supper today.

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fight. Nancy also knew that Spain would lose even more within a year, losing territories at its northern border with France and around the Spanish Netherlands as a result of signing the Pyrenees’ Peace Treaty with France in the coming December...a treaty which she was actually helping to make happen by her mission in Madrid. She thus was very conscious of how delicate her mission was in terms of effects on known History.

As servants started bringing in various plates of food and filled cups with wine, Nancy threw a look at the harpsichord which she had played in the morning and which was now positioned in a corner of the banquet room, near her own position close to one end of the banquet table. The King was probably going to ask her to play some soft music during the supper, so she resolved herself to drink only moderately and to eat in small, well-spaced portions while waiting to be solicited by King Philip to entertain the court during the meal.

The King’s first request for her to play music came in about one hour later, brought to her by Minister de Haro.

‘’Marquess, could you please play a soft composition or two on the harpsichord for His Majesty?’’

‘’Does he want me to sing as well, Don Luis?’’

‘’If you know songs which would fit with your harpsichord music, then yes!’’

‘’I will do my best, Don Luis.’’

Nancy then got up from her chair and walked to the harpsichord after grabbing her guitar and flute, which she had laid on a small table set against the wall behind her chair. When she sat behind the keyboard, she ended up facing one end of the long banquet table, with King Philip sitting at the far end and having a direct view of her and of the harpsichord. Conscious that her choice of music she was going to play could be judged along political or religious lines, she chose to first play ‘Miserere Mei, Deus’, from the Italian composer and priest Gregorio Allegri, during which she didn’t sing. That piece got her approving comments and applauses, after which she played in succession three compositions from one Dutch, one German and one French keyboard music composer. She started singing only once at her fifth piece, which she chose to be her contemporary adaptation of the theme song from the movie ‘Titanic’, sung in Italian. While all her pieces were warmly received, her fifth one moved her audience the most, her melancholic singing attracting emotional tears from most women present, including the

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Queen and the Infanta, on top of gaining her enthusiastic applauses. King Philip then signaled her to come to him, which Nancy did, stopping three steps from him and then performing a curtsy. The King had a chair placed next to his at the table and invited her to sit. As she did so, Nancy didn’t miss the way King Philip nearly devoured her with his eyes as he spoke to her.

‘’Please remind me of your name, my dear.’’

‘’I am Nancy Sommers-Laplante, Marquess of Saint-Laurent, Your Majesty.’’

‘’Well, both your harpsichord playing and your singing were marvelous, Marquess. I couldn’t recognize some of the compositions and songs you sang. Did you learn them at the court of King Louis the Fourteenth?’’

‘’In truth, I learned those songs and compositions from places all over Europe, but mostly from the courts in Paris, England and Italy. I also learned exclusive pieces of music and songs from individual artists I met.’’

‘’And you play and sing often for King Louis, Marquess?’’

‘’I do, Your Majesty. King Louis loves to be entertained by me.’’ answered Nancy, who discretely winked to King Charles as Queen Mariana couldn’t see it from her place at the table. The Spanish monarch smiled at those words, having understood her meaning. He then spoke loud enough for his wife to hear him clearly.

‘’Your knowledge of King Louis’ character would prove most useful to me in order to formulate an answer to his request for the hand of my daughter, Marquess. I would thus like to speak with you after supper. A servant will now guide you to my private office. I will go to it shortly after declaring this supper over.’’ King Philip then signaled a lady-in-waiting to approach him, then gave her an order.

‘’Isabella, please guide the Marquess of Saint-Laurent to my private office.’’ The woman, who was in her mid-twenties and was quite pretty, curtsied to him before looking at Nancy.

‘’If you would go first recuperate your guitar and flute, Marquess, I will then lead you to the King’s office.’’

Doing a last curtsy to the King, Nancy then went to pick up her guitar and flute, which she had left near the harpsichord, and followed the Spanish woman out of the banquet room and along a large hallway, to climb a flight of stairs to the next floor. The woman finally entered a bedroom where a work desk sat next to a large window, closing

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the door behind Nancy. As the latter looked around the room, the servant pointed at a closet near the door.

‘’If you could remove your dress, Marquess: I must check that you don’t have weapons on you.’’

That confirmed to Nancy that Isabella was more than a simple lady-in-waiting. That she had guided her to a ‘private office’ that turned out to be in reality a small bedroom away from the official royal quarters also marked her as someone in whom King Philip had utmost confidence. Going to the closet and opening it, she then slipped out of her gown once Isabella helped her by undoing the laces in her back. The King’s servant then softly touched some of her whip and branding iron scars on her back.

‘’The Infanta told me about you being tortured some years ago by French Fronde insurrectionists. I can see now that they were indeed truly cruel with you, Marquess.’’ Telepathically feeling her mood and emotions, Nancy then turned around and faced Isabella as she now wore only her panties.

‘’They were, but they could not break me, Isabella. I protected King Louis’ secrets and was then saved by my young king, who galloped to my rescue with a troop of cavalrymen. King Louis the Fourteenth is a most decent young man who highly values loyalty and honesty and whose word can be counted on. Tell me, Isabella: is sex between women considered a crime in Spain?’’

That question made Isabella throw a sharp look at her before she answered after a short hesitation.

‘’Attitudes vary widely on that subject in Spain but, yes, the Inquisition considers

Sapphic love24 to be unnatural sex and a crime that could be punished severely, going from public lashing, to imprisonment or even death by burning at the stake.’’ Nancy nodded soberly, then gently took hold of Isabella’s two hands and guided them to her breasts, to let her fondle them. Isabella took a deep breath then but did fondle Nancy’s breast. As she did so, Nancy pulled down Isabella’s dress, denuding her breasts before fondling them while speaking.

‘’Isabella, I can love equally men and women and am a very liberal-thinking woman. Would you mind having sex with me?’’

24 Sapphic love: Early term used among many other terms to describe lesbianism in Early Modern Spain, as ‘lesbian’ and ‘lesbianism’ were not yet common words in 17th Century Spain. It is related to the ancient Greek female writer Sappho, who described lesbian activity on the island of Lesbos.

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‘’But the King could arrive here anytime now!’’ objected Isabella, alarm in her voice. ‘’He could repudiate me or even denounce me to the Inquisition for this.’’ Nancy, who was widely read on History, shook her head then while still fondling Isabella’s breasts.

‘’I believe King Philip to be more open-minded than that, Isabella. I believe that he will probably just sit and watch the show at first before asking to jump in. But I will let him decide first, in order not to compromise you, as I believe you to like both men and women, like me. I call that being bisexual by the way.’’

The Spanish maid nodded, then pulled back up her dress.

‘’Very well, Marquess. I will wait to see how His Majesty reacts to this but please be careful with your choice of words: I could risk a lot with this.’’

‘’I will, I promise. And please call me simply Nancy when in private. If you wish so, I would be happy to see you later on in my room at the diplomatic annex.’’

‘’I would be happy to, Nancy.’’

Isabella then stepped back from Nancy as the later finished taking off all her clothes, then went to take an inviting pause on the bed, facing the entrance door. King Philip IV arrived a few minutes later and braked to a halt as soon as he entered and saw the naked Nancy on the bed. A wide smile appeared on his face and he closed and locked the door at once behind him, then approached the bed, his eyes taking in Nancy’s nudity and noting her closely shaved groin and armpits.

‘’You sure understood well my request, my dear Marquess. I must say that I rarely saw a woman as beautiful as you before.’’

‘’Thank you, Your Majesty. To please a worthy man is a privilege for me...when it is voluntary. Some high-level aristocrats in France however think that their titles allow them to use and abuse women at will, showing them zero respect. You in fact have one here, in Madrid, Your Majesty.’’

‘’Ah, yes: the Prince of Condé. I can understand your hostility to him, Marquess. He did betray his King and his country in a time of war. However, his betrayal directly helped Spain so, while I don’t personally like his loyal acts, it is in my country’s interest to keep supporting and sheltering him now.’’

‘’A point of view I can understand, Your Majesty. But let’s switch to a more appealing subject for this moment. I could spice up further our time together by getting your lady-in-waiting to participate in our games.’’

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‘’How so?’’ asked the King while glancing at Isabella, standing two paces to his right.

‘’You could at first sit back and relax while watching me and her stimulate each other. Then, when you will feel ready, you could then jump in bed with me.’’ King Philip’s grin on hearing her words was enough of an answer to both Nancy and Isabella, with the latter then quickly stripping and joining Nancy in bed. Nancy, careful not to make Isabella look like the initiating party, then started a session of oral sex with her, with Isabella first lying passively on her back as Nancy licked her clitoris. That excited King Philip quickly as Isabella moaned under the treatment meted to her by Nancy. It took less than a minute before King Philip got up from his chair and, lowering his tights, took Nancy from behind as she kept licking Isabella. To his credit, he tried his best to make himself last long enough to allow Nancy to reach climax, with Isabella also climaxing at nearly the same time.

Both spent and happy, the King pulled back up his tights and smiled to both women, patting Nancy’s naked butt at the same time.

‘’Well, that was a truly enjoyable experience, my dear Marquess. King Louis must be a happy man, with you at his court.’’

Reaching inside his belt purse, Philip took a gold coin out of it and threw it to Isabella, who eagerly caught it in flight.

‘’Thank you for participating in this, Isabella. I would now like you to escort the good Marquess back to the diplomatic annex building.’’

‘’Right away, Your Majesty!’’

Both she and Nancy then put their clothes back after quickly washing their groins, using a pan full of water, a sponge and towels lying on a small table next to the bed. The King had been gone for a good five minutes before they left the small bedroom and started to make their way to the southern entrance of the palace. The walk outside in the open air plaza was short and they were soon in the modest bedroom assigned to Nancy in the diplomatic annex building. Entering her room, Nancy then faced Isabella while holding her door open. The Spanish woman got the message and entered, with Nancy locking the door behind her before smiling to Isabella.

‘’Now, where were we?’’

08:46 (Madrid Time)

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Saturday, March 15, 1659 ‘A’

Nancy’s room, diplomatic annex building of the royal palace Madrid, Spain

When Nancy woke up in the morning, she found Isabella’s left hand cupping her left breast while hugging her back in spoon-fashion. Seeing that Isabella was still asleep, with a content smile on her face, Nancy reciprocated her attention and slipped her left arm between both of them and started fingering her clitoris. Isabella started moaning while still asleep as Nancy turned around and used both hands and her mouth to stimulate her awake. The Spanish woman soon woke up and gave a loving look at Nancy, who was now down to her groin and using her tongue. She didn’t speak until she climaxed, exhaling deeply in contentment, then kissed Nancy on the mouth.

‘’Nancy, you are one hell of a skilled lover. Let me return you the favor.’’ Having learned quite a few new tricks from Nancy during the past evening and night, Isabella then gave her best to stimulate her, making her climax in turn after a few minutes. Both of them then kissed each other passionately before looked into Isabella’s eyes.

‘’Maybe you could help me with something today, Isabella: I really need to buy more court gowns for my stay in Madrid, to supplement my present, meager wardrobe. Do you know a shop where I could either find or order some dresses?’’

‘’Sure I do, Nancy! I know a good tailor who has a shop in the Lavapies District, near the Plaza Mayor. He both makes new dresses and also sells used ones for women who have a limited budget.’’

‘’That sounds like a perfect place for me, Isabella. Could you guide me to that shop?’’

‘’I certainly can, Nancy. Just let me first seek the permission of the King to let me go out in town with you. He shouldn’t have objections to that but I must make sure that he won’t need me for something this morning.’’

‘’Then let’s get dressed! I will wait for you at the southern entrance of the palace.’’

Both women then got out of bed and started putting on clothes. While Isabella put back on the dress she had worn last evening, Nancy put on one of her riding outfits, wanting to save her only clean court dress left in her wardrobe. Once dressed, they left the diplomatic annex building and went to the palace’s nearby southern entrance, where

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Nancy waited outside the double doors while Isabella went inside. The Spanish woman came back after some twenty minutes, a satisfied smile on her face.

‘’The King gave me the day off. Let’s go!’’

With Nancy electing to walk and leave Pegasus in the stables, both of them soon walked out of the open air plaza by its southern gate, then walking down the Calle de Bailen and turning on Calle Mayor, then on Calle Del Sacramento. While the

temperature was fresh, the sky was mostly empty of clouds and the streets were quite lively with pedestrians, chariots and riders. At one point, Isabella turned into a small street and pointed to Nancy a shop sign some sixty meters down that street.

‘’That’s the sign for Señor Bardem’s shop, Nancy. I believe that you will find all that you want there.’’

As both women walked towards the shop, a cart carrying three men and bails of hay passed by them, then stopped abruptly, with two of the men then jumping out. Nancy, alarmed at once, saw that both men were armed with pistols, daggers and short batons. Unfortunately, she had decided to leave the palace without any weapons, since she basically represented a country at war with Spain.

‘’TURN AROUND AND RUN, ISABELLA!’’

However, as soon as they pivoted around, they saw that four more armed men who had been following them were now blocking their way, short batons and daggers in hand. While Nancy then decided to fight those men, Isabella hesitated on how to react to this. One of the two men who had jumped out of the cart then swung his baton and struck her hard on the head with it. Pushing a brief cry of pain, Isabella collapsed on the street’s cobblestones, knocked out. Enraged by this, Nancy pushed a savage karate shriek and punched Isabella’s attacker hard in the plexus with all of her superhuman strength. The man’s breastbone shattered on impact, piercing the heart and killing the man nearly instantly. Unfortunately for Nancy, that gave a chance to the four goons in her back to attack her and deliver multiple baton strikes on her. A first baton strike hit the back of her head, making her stumble, before a second strike hit her on her left temple. Knocked for the count, Nancy collapsed on the pavement, next to Isabella, to be surrounded at once by the surviving goons. Their leader went to check on the man hit by Nancy and swore when he saw that he was dead.

‘’Por Dios! Manuel is dead! That witch killed him with one single punch. Alright, let’s load both women and Manuel’s body in the cart, then cover them with hay.’’

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The few passersby in the street, intimidated by the number and weapons of the goons, chose to flee rather than get involved, allowing the five goons to pick up and carry Nancy, Isabella and the dead man to the cart, where they were hurriedly covered with hay to hid them from public view. The goons then climbed in the cart, which rolled away at a fair speed.



10:38 (Madrid Time)

Prison of the Spanish Holy Inquisition

Atocha District, Madrid

Nancy woke up slowly, a strong pain

reverberating in her head. Remembering

her Time Patrol field agent training, she did

her best to hide the fact that she was awake by not moving except opening partly her eyes and keeping silent. She was now in a poorly lit dark basement room filled with sinister instruments and devices. She laid on the stone floor and was completely naked, while she could see Isabella, also fully naked and still unconscious, suspended from a thick vertical wooden post by chains and manacles. Four men were visible to Nancy, including one wearing the outfit of a Dominican priest. Dread filled her when she understood that she and Isabella were in a torture chamber of the Spanish Holy Inquisition. She had already experienced torture eight years ago, in Paris, and didn’t wish to relive the experience again. More importantly, she didn’t want to see poor Isabella tortured because of her. Concentrating mentally, she sent a silent radio message to her robotic horse Pegasus.

‘’Pegasus, I am declaring a Code Red Maximum: me and my friend Isabella have been attacked and are now prisoners in an Inquisition torture chamber. We are about to be tortured and then will probably be killed. Get help, fast, then triangulate my signal to find my exact location and report it to our rescue team.’’

‘’Will do, Nancy!’’ was the short answer from Pegasus. Nancy then felt a bit more reassured: declaring a Code Red Maximum meant that a field agent was in imminent danger of torture or death, a situation to which the Time Patrol had detailed protocols to deal with. Pegasus was now going to alert the Time Patrol main base via temporal radio waves, triggering the sending of a rescue team aboard a scoutship. With the precise

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time of her call for help noted, that team should then time its arrival over Madrid mere seconds later after she made her call.

Hoping that the rescue team would react quickly, Nancy still feigned being unconscious while waiting and hoping to be rescued before the tortures would begin. One of the men present in the torture chamber then grabbed a bucket and approached Nancy before throwing the water in it on her, splashing her with cold water. Knowing that not reacting to that would only make her gaolers suspicious, she faked waking up slowly, then made a point of looking around her and appear fearful.

‘’What? Where am I? Who are you and why was I and my friend attacked?’’ The priest present in the chamber approached her and bent down, speaking to her in a contemptuous tone.

‘’You are here, in the hands of the Holy Inquisition, because you are an enemy of Spain and because we suspect that you came to Madrid under a false diplomatic cover in order to assassinate King Philip. You can confess now and thus avoid lots of pain to you and your friend.’’

‘’Are you mad or just stupid? I came to Madrid to deliver a letter from King Louis the Fourteenth of France to King Philip and am simply staying in order to bring back to Paris the response of King Philip to King Louis’ missive. As for my friend, she is one of King Philip’s ladies-in-waiting and torturing her will only bring King Philip’s enmity to your evil Inquisition.’’

‘’She may be the King’s lady-in-waiting but she may well also be an accomplice to your secret mission. We thus will need to get the truth from her as well as from you. Now, tell us the real reason for your presence in Madrid.’’



‘’I already told you: I am a simple messenger sent by King Louis of France in order to find a way to stop the war between our two countries. I have no plans or wishes to bring arm to King Philip or his family.’’

‘’You know what, witch: I don’t believe you. PEDRO, MAXIMILIAN, GRAB HER AND PREPARE HER FOR THE

STRAPPADO25!’’

25 Strappado: Torture method where someone’s hands are tied in his/her back and then pulled up via a rope and pulley, lifting the victim from the floor and causing extreme pain by gradually dislocating the shoulders and tearing the muscles of the victim. The prisoner is then left

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Two of the gaolers then came to Nancy and picked her up from under her armpits, then dragged her towards a winch mechanism in which a thick rope was engaged and went up to a pulley fixed to the ceiling. A voice then resonated in Nancy’s head, bringing her much needed hope.

‘’Nancy, this is Otto, aboard the scoutship TEEN TEAM.’’ Her relief was however a short one, as Otto’s next words chilled her.

‘’I...I’m sorry, Nancy, but we can’t do a thing to help you. There is a witness present with you, your friend, who could report how we will appear.’’

‘’No! NO! YOU CAN’T DO THAT TO ME AND TO MY FRIEND!’’ Nancy unconsciously shouted out loud those words, making the priest grin with sadistic anticipation.

‘’Of course we can: we are the Holy Inquisition and we manage justice in Spain. Even the King can’t overrule our judgments.’’

‘’King Philip can’t but I can!’’

Turning collectively towards where the mental voice had come, the priest and his four gaolers froze in disbelief on seeing a five-meter-tall white luminous and translucid silhouette with a vague humanoid shape now standing at the far end of the torture chamber. The four gaolers then burst in flames from the inside, dying with short, horrible screams, reduced to smoldering dust in seconds. Only the priest remained intact and alive. As the latter stared in horror at what was left of his assistants, the powerful mental voice then resonated again in his brain and those of Nancy and Isabella.

‘’I have a message to the Grand Inquisitor and you will pass it to

him, Father Ignacio. Tell him to leave Lady Nancy Sommers and

her friend Isabella de Cordoba in peace from now on, unless he

wishes me to pass this message directly to him, along with my

judgment for him. Your so-called Holy Inquisition is nothing but

pure evil to me and I have grown sick of its cruelty, intolerance

and sadism. You will immediately release those two innocent



suspended for many minutes and can also be caused more pain by making the victim drop a short distance and then abruptly stop the fall by holding to the rope.

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women, if not I will do it myself...after sending you to Hell and

eternal damnation.’’

Before the priest could say or do anything, the luminescent giant then faded away, leaving him weak-kneed and shaken. With cold sweat on his forehead, Ignacio went at a near run to Nancy and untied her hands, then ran to Isabella, freeing her from her manacles, then knelt and started praying frantically in a shaky voice. Isabella, while shaken by what she had just seen and heard, simply looked down at the priest with a mix of contempt and hatred before hurrying to Nancy. Both women hugged each other emotionally while exchanging kisses.

‘’Oh, Nancy, I was so scared! To be saved like this by God himself must prove that you are worthy enough to warrant his help and protection. You will be my friend for eternity.’’

‘’Well, maybe not eternity, as I am not immortal, Isabella, but I will happily be your friend for as long as I live. Let’s find our clothes, so that we could leave this awful place.’’

Father Ignacio, probably in an attempt to save himself from divine wrath, then went to a wooden chest in one corner of the torture chamber and opened it.

‘’Your clothes are in this chest, ladies.’’

Nancy gave him a cold stare in reply.

‘’How about you disappear right now and go pass God’s message to the Grand Inquisitor, Father Ignacio?’’

‘’Uh, sure, Marquess.’’

As the priest ran out of the torture chamber, Nancy looked up skyward and sent a mental message by radio to the TEEN TEAM.

‘’Thanks for nothing, guys!’’

As both of them dressed back, Isabella gave a questioning look to Nancy.

‘’Should we tell the King about this, Nancy?’’

Nancy actually had to think that over for long seconds before answering her.

‘’Not for the moment, Isabella. He may very well refuse to believe us, thus raising more questions about us in his mind. Let the warning from God sink in the head of the Grand Inquisitor. Hopefully, he will be intelligent enough to understand how close he is now from being judged by God and will now let us in peace.’’

‘’You may be right, Nancy.’’

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Once fully dressed, the pair walked out of what turned to be a Dominican Order’s monastery situated in the Atocha District, southeast from the royal palace. To Isabella’s surprise, Nancy insisted on going to visit Bardem’s tailor shop, where she bought three used three court gowns in still good state. While theoretically too short for her and having belonged to rather corpulent women, those gowns had also been meant to be worn with large waste-level cages. When worn without cages, the gowns proved just the right length for Nancy, while their wide torso section, meant to accommodate fat ladies, instead fit Nancy’s wide, muscular shoulders. The tailor was most happy when both women left his shop, having been generously paid by Nancy for the dresses. As they were walking back towards the royal palace, Nancy thought bitterly about what had happened and how severely disappointing the Time Patrol’s reaction to her call for help had been. She briefly toyed with the idea of resigning as a field agent of the Time Patrol but then realized that this would mean becoming permanently cut off from her children, who lived either in this century or in the 19th Century. Still, something would have to change drastically concerning the protocols of the Time Patrol about its response to calls for help from its field agents.

15:10 (Paris Time)

Tuesday, May 6, 1659 ‘A’

Palace of The Louvre

Paris, France

Alerted by D’Artagnan, King Louis XIV was in time to greet Cardinal Mazarin at one of the entrances giving on the courtyard. Mazarin, who had just arrived from Lyon in his carriage and who still felt quite numb from his long trip, bowed respectfully to his king while harboring a wide smile.

“Success, Your Majesty! King Philip of Spain has finally agreed to marry away his daughter to you. The final peace negotiations are now free to start.”

“That is definitely great news, my dear Mazarin. Uh, isn’t the Marquess of Saint-Laurent with you?”

“She is escorting back to Madrid the Spanish secretary of state for external affairs, Don Antonio Pimentel, who came to Lyon to bring to me the answer of King Philip.”

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That piece of news nearly made Louis forget the diplomatic success France had just scored: he could now only picture the young and beautiful Nancy, on horseback and risking her life again while crossing back the Spanish border with her precious charge. Mazarin read his mind and spoke to him in a low voice.

“Do not worry too much about the marquess, Your Majesty: she is a very capable person and has acquitted herself with utmost distinction on her mission so far.” Louis was thoughtful for a moment, then patted the shoulder of his prime minister.

“I have no doubts about that, my good Mazarin. Decidedly, I will have to think of something to reward her properly for all her good services to France.”

“If I may, Your Majesty, I have had a lot of time to think about that while my carriage made its way back to Paris. While the good marquess is still receiving an annual pension of 9,000 Livres, she doesn’t own any property yet. With two growing boys in her charge, maybe she will now be more inclined to accept some estate as a reward. I could also raise her pension, which is quite small in view of all the services she has given us.”

“Those are two good ideas, Mazarin. Raise her pension to 12,000 Livres per annum and find her a property from which she could extract a fair living.”

“It will be done, Your Majesty. I will have a report of my trip to Lyon ready for you by tomorrow at noon.”

“Then, I will see you at supper, my friend.”

After a last bow at the King, Mazarin went to his apartments, his servants carrying his luggage behind him. Once inside his luxurious private lounge, he sat down with a sigh of relief in his favorite sofa, then called in his personal secretary. The functionary entered at once and bowed.

“Yes, Your Eminence?”

“Get me the titles and property assessments of the estates now part of the King’s domains and which were confiscated from supporters of the Fronde in the Bordelais.”

“Right away, Your Eminence.”

Mazarin had time to go wash a bit and change into a fresh set of clothes before his secretary came back, two clerks bearing heavy binders of documents at his back. Thanking them, Mazarin then sifted through the documents and tax ledgers. Bordeaux and its surrounding area had been a hotbed of insurrection during the Fronde and had been last to submit to him and the King. Even now, Mazarin was still not confident about

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the loyalty of the people of the Bordeaux area, especially since many Huguenot Protestants lived in and around that region. Giving a property in that area to his best spy would both reward the good Marquess of Saint-Laurent and put in place near Bordeaux someone he could count on to report to him any fresh attempts at sedition there. After about twenty minutes of reading, Mazarin smiled as he examined a particular property document, then another property document for a small adjacent lot of land. Calling back in his secretary, he gave him the property deeds which had attracted his attention.

“Have a transfer of property act prepared for this estate and that adjoining lot. The beneficiary will be the Marquess of Saint-Laurent and the King will sign the transfer. Your clerks can take back the rest of the documents.”

“Yes, Your Eminence.”

Mazarin sat back once his secretary had left and grinned as he thought about his latest decision.

“Well, the good Marquess of Saint-Laurent will be able to truly live up to her title after this.”



19:20 (Paris Time)

Monday, May 26, 1659 ‘A’

Palace of The Louvre

Paris, France

Nancy arrived at the palace tired, covered with dust and in bad need of a bath after having galloped for weeks from Madrid to Paris. She could have used the spacetime jump abilities of her robotic horse Pegasus to cut her travel short but she made a point of not using as much as possible her abilities and equipment from the Time Patrol when working in the service of King Louis XIV. Two palace valets hurried to her as she came down from her horse and helped her by carrying her saddlebags and bedroll for her, while a stable boy took care of Pegasus. Nancy didn’t refuse their help, as she was truly spent by her long trip. With the two valets in tow, she entered the palace and went first to her apartments, where her two sons greeted her with joy and ran to her to hug her. She returned their hugs and kisses before looking at the servant who looked over them during her absences, a kind and mature woman who had lost her husband and children during the Fronde Uprising.

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“Did they behave during my trip to Spain, Madame Longchamps?”

“They were very reasonable…for young boys, madame. Between the lessons and assignments given by Monsieur Dupré and the fencing and riding lessons from Monsieur D’Artagnan, your sons were kept quite busy.”

“Good! They are at an age when they have lots to learn and little time to learn it. Well, I am going to have a good bath after all these miles of dusty roads, then I will go report to the King. Could you prepare my sky blue court gown while I wash, Madame Longchamps?”

“Of course, madame!”

By the time she was done with her bath, had put on her court gown and jewels and had applied some makeup and perfume, her two sons were ready to go to sleep. Most people in the 17th Century didn’t stay up very late anyway for lack of an inexpensive lighting source. Besides, without television, radio or other electronic form of entertainment, children had few reasons to want to stay up late at night, as the adult evening entertainments of the time would have been either too boring or too shocking for them. Nancy took the time to sing a lullaby for her two sons and to kiss them on their foreheads before blowing out all the candles in their room except for one and leaving them for the night. Nancy next smiled to the babysitter and, taking out four gold pieces from a small purse hidden down her cleavage, gave the coins to her.

“You have done a marvelous job at taking care of my sons, Madame Longchamps, as usual. Please accept this as a little extra over and above your salary.”

“Madame la Marquise is too good, truly!” said the happy woman while bowing to Nancy, who shook her head while still smiling.

“I’m not too good, Madame Longchamps: it’s most other people around who are not good enough.”

“That is one original way to look at it, madame. Goodnight, madame!”

“Goodnight, Madame Longchamps!”

With her servant gone, Nancy left her apartments and started walking along the long hallways of the palace, heading towards the King’s apartments. Crossing one of the personal maids of the King in the hallway, she politely stopped her to ask her a question.

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“Excuse me, Jeannette, could you tell me where I could find the King at

this hour?”

“I believe that he is in his private study, Madame la Marquise.” answered the teenager. Something in her tone made Nancy stare at her.

“Is something wrong with the King, Jeannette?” she asked in a low voice. “Come on, you know that I am a close friend of the King.”

The maid hesitated only for a second before speaking.

“The King seems to have had his heart broken yesterday by the departure of Mademoiselle Marie Mancini and has been brooding ever since, madame.” Nancy nodded in understanding, her expression turning somber. Marie Mancini, one of the young nieces of Cardinal Mazarin, had conquered through her spirits and her warmth the heart of King Louis XIV during the last few years. The Queen Mother was not looking happily at the prospect of such a romance and possible marriage and, as per established history, had convinced Mazarin to talk to his niece and dissuade her from courting young Louis. That broken romance had ended with the departure in exile of the young woman on orders from her uncle. Nancy could personally sympathize with the emotional distress of both King Louis and of Marie Mancini: both were decent young people with true feeling towards each other but who had been the victims of state politics.

“Thank you, Jeannette. I will see if I can help the morale of the King.” The maid nodded and curtsied to her before continuing on her way. Nancy, thoughtful, made her way to the entrance to the King’s apartments, where two musketeers stood guard. One of them saluted her with his hat while keeping his left hand on the pommel of his sword.

“Good evening, madame. What brings you here tonight?”

“I would wish to see the King, if he is willing to receive me.”

“One moment, madame.” said politely the musketeer before partially opening the door and whispering to someone inside and then facing back Nancy.

“You should have an answer shortly, madame.”

Effectively, a valet opened the door again after a minute or so and signaled Nancy to come in.

“The King will receive you in his private study, Madame la Marquise.”

“Thank you!”

Following the valet, Nancy entered the royal apartments and was soon introduced into the luxurious private study of King Louis XIV, where she found the young monarch sitting

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at his work desk, various papers and books in front of him. Nancy curtsied to Louis on entering the study, prompting Louis in raising a hand.

“No need for this between us when we are in private, my dear Nancy. What may I do for you tonight?”

“My visit has two purposes, Your Majesty. First, I wanted to report back from my trip to Spain. Second, I wished to see if I could help your mood, which is said to be sad these days.”

Louis made a weak smile at that last sentence.

“Few secrets seem to stay so for long in this palace. With all the servants and court members around, I should not be surprised about that, though. It is true that my heart has been hurt by the departure of Mademoiselle Marie Mancini two days ago.”

“Marie Mancini was a fine young woman, Your Majesty. You are quite right to mourn her departure.”

Louis eyed her melancholically for a moment, then got up from behind his desk and went to a nearby sofa, motioning Nancy to come to him.

“Let’s sit together, my friend. We have many things to talk about. And you can call me simply Louis while in private.”

“With pleasure, Louis.” replied Nancy before going to sit besides the King on the sofa. Both then looked into each other’s eyes in silence for a few seconds before Louis spoke up again.

“You must yourself be hurting after the marriage of D’Artagnan with the Baroness of Sainte-Croix, Nancy. I would personally have been most happy to see you marry D’Artagnan in place of the Baroness, but since you yourself rejected such a marriage…”

“If such a marriage would have been possible, I would have gladly accepted the request from D’Artagnan, Louis. Unfortunately, I believe that destiny was not meant to see such a marriage happen.”

“Why, my friend? I am the King! I can make destiny in France.” Nancy gave a sad look at Louis then.

“Some things are beyond even the reach of a King, Louis. Besides, marrying would severely limit my usefulness to you as a special messenger and agent.”

“Your loyalty and dedication are to be truly commended, Nancy.” said quietly Louis, meaning it. “To have sacrificed your love to D’Artagnan for the good of France was sad but admirable.”

“And so was your letting go of Marie Mancini, Louis.”

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Louis sighed and passed an arm around her shoulders, looking into her eyes from a few inches away.

“The affairs of the state can be quite cruel indeed on young people like us, Nancy. Do you know that I more than once considered the idea of marrying you? You would indeed have made an outstanding queen.”

“I am flattered, Louis, but you know that such a marriage would have been politically impossible, even though we have true mutual feelings towards each other.”

“And what do you see in me, Nancy?” said Louis, a smile coming to his face at last. Nancy answered him in a soft voice, saying strictly the truth.

“I see a young man with imperfect education but with outstanding abilities and a kind and just heart. You have everything to be the greatest king France ever had and I am confident that you will prove yourself to be such a king. And you, Louis, what do you see in me?”

“The most extraordinary young woman I ever saw.” said Louis without a hesitation. “You proved to be more intelligent and skilled than most men, apart from being incredibly brave and strong. But, most of all, you are a very beautiful and warm lady with a heart of gold. I wish that I could have had you as Queen of France.”

“Thank you for thinking so of me, Louis.” said softly Nancy before kissing him. Louis returned her kiss, hugging her tightly in the process. With both of their hearts beating faster now, Louis ended up lying on top of Nancy in the sofa.

“Shall we move to the bedroom, Nancy?”

“I was about to propose the same thing to you, Louis.”

Both got up at once and went to the adjacent bedroom, where they quickly undressed each other before jumping in the huge bed with anticipated pleasure.

Much later, as both unglued themselves from each other in the now dark bedroom, Louis caressed the long silky hair of Nancy while looking at her tenderly.

“You are indeed a unique girl, Nancy. You said earlier that you wanted to report to me about your trip to Spain. You may do so now.”

“Very well, Louis.” said Nancy, who then spent a good twenty minutes recounting her mission in Spain to Louis, who eyed her with genuine respect at the end of her report.

“Tudieu, madame, you can summarize things in a way I could only wish to be able to imitate. Maybe I should make you part of my royal council.”

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“Only if it is in an unofficial, discreet manner, my dear Louis. I prefer to work in the shadows, where I can serve you better.”

“You may work better in the shadows, my friend, but I certainly don’t want to profit from your talents without granting you some just rewards for your loyal services. I spoke some weeks ago about that with Cardinal Mazarin. As a result, know that your annual pension has been raised from 9,000 to 12,000 Livres, retroactive to January of this year. An estate near Bordeaux is also yours, where you will be able to raise your two sons.”

“An estate? Was that really necessary, Louis?” said Nancy, surprised. The young monarch smiled and got out of bed, putting on a robe before going into his study. Not bothering to put anything on, Nancy followed him and watched as Louis searched inside a drawer of his desk and took out a leather folio. She took the folio handed to her as Louis spoke.

“Mazarin selected a small but interesting estate just north of Bordeaux. It includes a vineyard and a winery and has a fortified tower dating back from the 12th Century. It was confiscated from a Fronde supporter and was part of my royal estates but is now yours, my friend, along with some surrounding farmlands that have been annexed to the estate in your favor. You will be able to pass it on to your sons after raising them there.”

Nancy, truly touched by this, read the deed contained inside the leather folio and smiled to Louis.

“The Château La Tour Carnet, in Saint-Laurent du Médoc? I am truly honored, Louis.”

Her genuine appreciation made Louis smile with malice.

“Really, Nancy? This is quite a small estate after all, covering only two square miles even with the newly annexed farmland. Many nobles in my court would sneer at such a small piece of land.”

“That is because they don’t truly appreciate what they owe you, Louis. That estate will be perfect for me, especially considering where it is situated.” Louis nodded, satisfied by her reaction.

“You just spent nearly three months away from your sons on a most arduous and risky mission, Nancy. Why don’t you go to the Bordelais and take possession of your new home? Take a good month of vacation there as well. If I need you in the meantime, I will send you a messenger.”

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“Oh, you are too kind, Louis!” said happily Nancy before gluing herself to the King and kissing him. Louis used that chance to caress again her firm breasts while answering her in a soft voice.

“For you, nothing is too good in my eyes, Nancy. Enjoy your time in the Médoc.”

More lovemaking between Louis and Nancy followed, taking a good part of the night. When they parted in the morning, Nancy was happily holding against her heart the leather folio with the deed to her new property. Even though she lived regularly through two other centuries and had access to much wealth and luxuries as a field agent of the Time Patrol, this life with her sons Charles and James in the 17th Century had become as real and concrete to her as one could be. In fact, more than a third of her biological time was spent in this time period as Nancy Sommers-Laplante, Marquess of Saint-Laurent, while another third of her time was spent in the 19th Century as Lady Jeanne Smythe-D’Orléans. The rest of her time was split between training sessions at the main base of the Time Patrol, duty tours in either outposts of the Time Patrol in 20th Century ‘B’ Paris and 35th Century ‘A’ New Lake City and on special missions in various time periods in the past or future. With the approximately 200 years of life expectancy available to her thanks to the genetic longevity treatment standard to all citizens of the Global Council, which she was as a virtue of being a member of the Time Patrol, she had enough years left for her to live to manage all those lives fairly easily. She however had to be careful about splitting her time judiciously and at the right moment and place in order for her physical appearance to correspond at least roughly to her official age in each time period. That was less difficult actually than managing the time of her three sons. Charles, James and William were after all still growing fast and any miscalculation on her part could expose them and herself to some embarrassing questions or comments from those around them. Nancy had however resolved that problem by letting her sons live mostly in their centuries of birth, jumping herself spacetime in ways that made her absences from either the 17th or 19th Centuries appear to be matters of mere hours at most to her sons. Also, she had not made either Charles or William, who were still pre-teens, travel through time other than for short trips after their births, so that they would not inadvertently reveal the secret of time travel by babbling with other children about having lived through some fantastic place or time. Only James, who was now thirteen years old and able to understand the importance of her secrets, traveled more often through time with her. As Nancy saw it, James was probably going to enlist

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in the Time Patrol soon as an apprentice, while Charles and William could possibly end up living normal lives in their respective centuries of birth. The property deed she now held represented a place to call home for at least Charles, who would now have a legitimate way to sustain himself when the day of Nancy’s death inevitably came. In her happiness as she announced the good news to her sons and in the excitement that followed as they packed for their trip to Saint-Laurent du Médoc, Nancy forgot about the possible consequences of her night of lovemaking with King Louis XIV.

14:40 (Paris Time)

Monday, June 2, 1659 ‘A’

Château La Tour Carnet, Saint-Laurent du Médoc Bordelais region, on the Atlantic coast of France

“Is this our new home, Nancy?” asked James, who was at the reins of their cart, in which also traveled little Charles and Madame Marthe Longchamps, their sitter. Nancy, who was riding ahead of the cart on Pegasus, turned her head around and smiled to her adopted son.

“Unless everybody who gave us directions along the last ten miles lied to us, yes, it is. It looks like quite a place, isn’t it?”

“It is certainly an impressive place, madame.” said Marthe Longchamps, who had accepted Nancy’s offer to move with the children to Saint-Laurent du Médoc. Being a widow, she had no ties that would keep her in Paris. All four of them contemplated for a moment the castle of La Tour Carnet, with its massive rectangular stone keep that closed off the thick walls of the castle. Nancy then urged Pegasus to a slow trot, followed by the cart. As they approached, Nancy noticed two soldiers standing guard at the main gate of the keep, which was linked to the passing road by a drawbridge that spanned the water-filled moat surrounding the medieval castle. She then looked back at James.

“Keep rolling at your present pace, James. I’m going forward to talk to those soldiers at the gate.”

Pushing Pegasus to a gallop, Nancy took only a minute to arrive at the drawbridge, slowing down her robotic horse and then stopping it just a few paces from the two soldiers, who were now eyeing her with both curiosity and suspicion. They were royal dragoons, mounted infantry soldiers who were infamous for their rough manners with

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most of the local population. One of the soldiers, having detailed Nancy’s male riding clothes and her weapons, spoke firmly to her while holding his musket at the ready.

“This is a royal property, madame. What brings you here?” Nancy took out of the pouch slung across her chest the leather folio containing her property deed and showed it to the soldier but didn’t give it to him while replying in as firm a tone as that of the soldier.

“This property is now mine, on the order of the King. I am the Marquess of Saint-Laurent. I wish to see your commander at once.”

The two soldiers looked at each other with bemusement before the senior one told the other to go get their officer. As one soldier ran inside the keep, Nancy stepped down from her horse and quickly dusted herself off, then extracted and unfolded her property deed, getting ready to show it to the commander of the dragoons. Two men actually came back with the soldier: a young second lieutenant of the dragoons and a civilian wearing small, round spectacles. The civilian was the one who came forward to speak with Nancy after bowing to her.

“Good afternoon, madame. I am Robert Villemin, royal clerk and administrator of this estate in the name of the King. I was told that you were given this property by the King.”

“That is correct, Monsieur Villemin.” said politely Nancy, her tone now much softer than with the soldier before that. “Here is the property deed signed by the King, who also included adjacent lots of land to this estate.”

Nancy thought for a moment that she saw fleeting dismay on the face of the clerk as he read the deed but the man gave no other clues about his reactions apart from that. He finally gave back the deed to Nancy and looked at the dragoons officer.

“The act is authentic and valid, Monsieur De Jumonville. You and your men will have to vacate the castle, along with myself.”

The young officer appeared to be unsettled by that and gave a hesitant look to Nancy, who understood at once his dilemma.

“Do not worry, Monsieur De Jumonville: I won’t be mean to the point of throwing you out just before nightfall. You and your men can stay until tomorrow, when you will be better able to obtain alternate barracks facilities from your regimental commander. I will just need one room for my family and my servant for the time being.”

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“You are too kind, Madame la Marquise.” replied the visibly relieved officer while bowing and saluting her with his large hat. “Do you need help to bring your baggage inside the keep?”

“Eight men would be enough to bring up my four travel trunks, monsieur. Thank you for the offer.”

“It’s my pleasure, Madame la Marquise.”

As the young officer shouted orders to get eight men to run out of the keep and to the cart, which was now at the gate of the castle, Nancy grabbed the bedroll and saddlebags on her horse and let Villemin show her the way, little Charles behind her. The keep was of a fairly large rectangular section and stood a good twelve meters to its crenellated top. The royal clerk soon showed her a large bedroom on the second floor which looked unused. It was also reasonably well furnished.

“This bedroom is reserved for passing royal dignitaries. I hope that it will be adequate for your needs until we leave, madame.”

“It will be more than adequate, monsieur.”

“Then I will have your trunks brought up to this room.”

Letting the clerk go back down to direct the soldiers carrying up her trunks, Nancy dropped the bedroll and saddlebags she was carrying beside the large canopy bed and inspected the bed sheets and the mattress for the presence of vermin. Thankfully the bed was clean, something that relieved her greatly: she had no wish for herself or her sons to catch lice. Her previous experience during her boat trip to New France five years ago had been enough for her. The first soldiers carrying her trunks started coming in as she was finishing her bed inspection. She took a minute to direct them and make them put down the trunks in one corner of the bedroom, then thanked them before they left. James and Marthe Longchamps came in behind the soldiers and looked around the room, with Nancy sweeping one arm around.

“We are going to sleep in this room tonight. Tomorrow, once the soldiers are gone, we will be able to redistribute better the rooms in this castle. What do you say to touring this castle together while there is still daylight?”

Both of her sons cheered at that, while their babysitter nodded her head while smiling, more excited about this move than she let appear. In truth, this was the first time in her life that Marthe had left the region of Paris.

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The four of them thus went up the stairs of the keep, led by Nancy. They went all the way to the roof, emerging on a large terrace bordered by a crenellated wall giving an outstanding view of the surrounding countryside. Taking out her property deed and going by the descriptions made in the document, Nancy pointed various directions to her sons and servant.

“Well, we are a bit over a mile to the east of the village of Saint-Laurent de Médoc, which is over there, while the village of Saint-Julien is over there in the opposite direction. Our property is bordered to the South by that small forest and by a stream and to the North and East by the lines of piled stones along those fields. To the West, our property stops at the limits of the village of Saint-Laurent.”

“I can see quite a few peasants’ houses dotting your property, madame.” said Marthe while scanning her surroundings. “I wonder if they are your tenants.”

“We will know fast enough once I am able to tour my property tomorrow.”

“What are those large buildings inside the castle walls, Mom?” asked James while looking down through a crenellation. Nancy examined for a moment the two multistory buildings standing side-by-side along the southern wall of the castle before answering her adopted son.

“The one to the right looks like a chapel, if I can go by its bell tower. As for the one to the left, its lower part seems to be a sort of stable and also possibly contains the winemaking equipment. The upper floors are probably used by the servants of this castle. Talking about the servants, let’s find out how many there are in the castle.” Using again the spiral staircase of the keep, they went down this time, exploring each floor of the keep as they went. The top floor was actually occupied by the dragoons and their young officer, while the only other occupant on the floor where Nancy’s bedroom sat was Roger Villemin. The ground floor was occupied by a fairly large hall, a guardroom occupied by four dragoons on duty, two storerooms and a large kitchen with pantry. They found a man, a teenage boy and a mature woman in the kitchen, who bowed to Nancy when she entered.

“Please, no need for such formalities between us, my good people.”

“But you are a marquess, madame.” protested politely the man, making Nancy smile to him.

“First and foremost, I want to be your friend, not your master. Please call me Nancy or, at the worse, madame. What is your name and function, monsieur?”

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“Jacques Talbot, madame. I am the cook and this here is my young assistant, Denis Rousseau. Over there is Marise Poulenc. She makes the bread in the castle.”

“Pleased to meet you all. These two boys are my sons Charles and James. Standing next to them is their sitter, Marthe Longchamps.” Talbot’s eyes went to James when Nancy pronounced his name the English way.

“Your older boy has an English name, madame.”

“That’s because he was English. I adopted him after saving him from Iroquois natives in New France.”

“You went to New France, madame?” asked enthusiastically the young assistant cook, Denis Rousseau.

“I sure did! I was in fact born there. That is however a long story which I will be more than happy to tell you late tonight in front of the fireplace.”

“If he is English, then he is a Protestant, I suppose, madame.” said cautiously Jacques Talbot. His tone of voice got Nancy’s hear up.

“He is, as a matter of fact, even though he doesn’t practice much, like me. We are not a very religious family but we compensate that by practicing good Christian charity and kindness around us. Too many people go to church every Sunday only to act mean or with greed once out of the church.”

“Too true, madame.” said Talbot, appearing to relax.

“Tell me, Jacques: are there other servants in this castle?”

“There are three maids, madame. I believe that they are presently busy cleaning the stables where the dragoons keep their horses. There is also the winery manager of the castle, Antoine Marboeuf. He is presently out inspecting the vines. A number of other people work on the estate to maintain the vineyard, collect the grapes and press the juice out but they live outside of the castle and come when called in by Marboeuf.” Nancy nodded, then lowered her voice for her next question.

“What I saw up to now of the castle’s furniture looked mostly dilapidated, nearly bare in fact except for the room given to me and the ones used by Monsieur Villemin and De Jumonville. For a royal property, I was expecting something a bit better furnished. Was it always like this?”

Seeing that Talbot was hesitating, Nancy approached him and patted his left shoulder to reassure him.

“My good Jacques, I may have come from the royal palace in Paris but I am not here to make your lives difficult or to watch the local population. I simply hope to raise

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my sons in peace and quiet in this castle, which was given to me by the King. You are a Protestant Huguenot, aren’t you?”

The man stiffened at once, both nervous and apprehensive.

“I…I am, madame.”

“Relax, Jacques! As I said, I don’t care much about religion, either way. I was told that this castle was confiscated at the end of the Fronde Uprising. Did the royal troops loot it then?”

Talbot answered after a second, deciding to risk it all and be frank with that most unusual young woman, whom he couldn’t help find sympathetic.

“They are still looting the estate, madame. Much of the wine we produce goes

directly to these dragoons and the rest of their regiment and we are not getting a Liard26 for that wine. This estate could make a fortune with its vineyard and winery but we are barely able to scratch a living after all the taxes and requisitions are levied. Nearly everything of worth was stripped from the castle after its confiscation and the dragoons don’t care much about being careful with what’s left, madame.” Talbot swallowed hard as Nancy stared into his eyes for a moment. She then nodded her head and spoke in a low voice.

“Since much of what you say would be hard to prove, I will live with the damage already done. However, once those soldiers and Monsieur Villemin leave tomorrow, we will all work at putting this estate back into business. That I promise you. This said, do you have enough provisions in the castle to make a supper for the lot of us tonight, and I don’t mean to include the dragoons.”

“The larder is mostly bare, madame, as…”

Nancy stopped him with a gesture of the hand and took out of her purse ten gold pieces.

“Take this gold and go with my son James to the village in our cart, then buy there what you need to feed us for the rest of the week. Calculate the same portions of meat and fresh produce for each of the servants as those for me and my sons. I don’t believe in double standards when it comes to food. If any dragoon tries to steal or confiscate what you will buy, tell him that the Marquess of Saint-Laurent will come and kill him if he doesn’t leave you alone.”

“Understood, madame!” exclaimed happily the cook before looking at James. “Let’s go get your cart, Monsieur James!”

26 Liard: Low denomination copper coin introduced in France in the XVII Century.

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“Just James will do, Jacques.” replied the teenager, smiling. As the man and boy left the kitchen, Nancy looked and smiled at the young assistant cook and at the woman baker.

“My personal custom is that everyone in my house eats at my table, irrespective of rank or occupation. Also, if you have any problem, personal or otherwise, don’t hesitate to seek my help. I will now go see our three maids and Monsieur Marboeuf with my younger son. I will see you at supper time.”

Once she was out with her son, Marise Poulenc and Marthe Longchamps eyed cautiously each other. The baker spoke after a few seconds of silence.

“Madame la Marquise seems quite, uh, unusual.”

Marthe nodded, her expression serious.

“She is a unique woman, I have to say. However, you won’t find a more generous and kind person. She is also quite deadly when she needs to be: she is the equal of any man with a sword or pistol and can even beat a man with her bare hands.”

“You must be joking!” said Marise, unbelieving. Marthe shook her head at that.

“Not one minute! She spent years hunting fur in New France and fought during the Fronde Uprising.”

“On which side?” asked naively the young Denis Rousseau, making Marthe look dubiously at him.

“On the King’s side, of course, my boy. She was given this estate by him.” Marise Poulenc hid her displeasure at that: as a supporter of the King, their new master was going to be a potential danger to anyone around this region who held a grudge against the crown. Having to suffer those brutal royal dragoons all those years had been bad enough.

Nancy and Charles effectively found the three maids of the castle in the stable, busy scooping up horse excrement in order to mix it with straw to make manure. One was a woman in her late twenties while the two others were still teenage girls. Nancy quickly signaled them not to bow to her.

“Please, no need for formalities between us. I may be dressed like a

noblewoman but I don’t care one bit about class differences.”

“Uh, you actually look more like one of those swordsmen with fancy titles and short tempers, madame.” said the youngest of the maids, who was maybe thirteen. That made Nancy grin.

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“True, except for the short temper. I am Nancy Sommers-Laplante, Marquise de Saint-Laurent, the new owner of this estate. However, I prefer to be simply called Nancy. This is my younger son, Charles. Could you tell me your names, the three of you?”

“Of course, madame!” replied the older maid. “I am Gilberte Comtois, the senior maid in this castle. The one who spoke so lightly is Annette Beauséjour, while the other one is Collette Parmentier.”

“Pleased to meet you all.” said Nancy before kissing all three on the cheek. “My other son, William, is gone with Monsieur Talbot to the village. You will be able to see him at suppertime. By the way, the dragoons and the royal clerk will leave the estate tomorrow morning.”

Nancy didn’t miss the discreet reaction of relief from the maids at those last words.

“Have those dragoons caused problems to you, girls?”

None of the maids replied, seemingly reluctant to speak. Nancy sighed, then went to sit on a nearby stool and eyed the three maids.

“Look, girls, I may be a follower of the King but that doesn’t mean that I condone wrongful acts by his soldiers. If you don’t want to speak about potential problems, that is your business, but know that I will not tolerate any abuses against you or against other honest people. I may be the owner of this estate now but I want you to consider me first and foremost as your friend and protector, not as your master.” Before the hesitant maids could decide to speak up, a man in his forties dressed like a peasant entered the stables, a pair of scissors in his hands. He stopped on seeing Nancy and, after a short hesitation, took off his large felt hat and bowed to Nancy.

“I am sorry if I disturbed your conversation, madame.”

Nancy got up and walked to the man, presenting her right hand while smiling.

“Call me Nancy, my good man. I am the new owner of the estate. And you are?”

“Antoine Marboeuf, madame. I am the winery manager.” said the man while shaking her offered hand.

“Pleased to know you, Antoine. We will need to talk at length tonight about how to put this estate back on the right footing. I guess that years of governmental administration didn’t do much to help the estate affairs.”

There was a momentary flash of anger in Marboeuf’s eyes before he answered Nancy in a controlled voice.

“Indeed, madame. In fact, nearly all of our wine production has been used to keep those dragoons drunk most of the time and to fill the pockets of monsieur Villemin.”

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“Has it?” replied Nancy, displeased, but not at Marboeuf. “How much wine is left in the castle’s reserves?”

“A mere sixteen barrels, madame. In a good year, we produce over 150 large barrels of top quality wine and should by all rights make a fine business. Instead, this estate is close to bankruptcy, while the castle itself is in dire need of renovations. I am afraid that you were handed a rather poor deal, madame.”

“Maybe, maybe not. As of now, our wine will be used or sold solely for the benefit of this estate and I intend to use your expertise to put us back into business.” Marboeuf eyed her with hope, then looked at Charles, standing near Nancy.

“Your son, I suppose, madame?”

“Indeed! His name is Charles. I have another, older son who is now gone to the village with Monsieur Talbot.”

“And when can we expect Monsieur?”

Nancy didn’t understand him at first, then grinned to Marboeuf.

“There is no Monsieur, my dear Marboeuf: I am not married.” The scandalized look that appeared on the faces of Marboeuf and of the three maids only amused Nancy more.

“I may be a marquess but that doesn’t mean that I am a saint, monsieur. My older son, James, was actually adopted by me in New France. But enough about me. I will be more than happy to tell my personal story to all of you later tonight. Could you in the meantime show me the winery installations and our wine reserve?”

“With pleasure, madame!”

The tour of the winery, which occupied part of the building containing the stables, took half an hour, during which Nancy asked numerous questions concerning the care of the vineyard and the winemaking process. Marboeuf proved to be a true professional when it came to winemaking, even though his manners and speech were a bit rough. Both quickly developed a mutual sense of respect for each other during the tour, with Marboeuf seeing that Nancy was no simple court lady and had a very sharp and practical mind. They were on decidedly good terms by the time they climbed the stairs of the basement where the barrels of wine produced by the estate were stored. Seeing a dragoon inside the stable, Nancy went to him at once in a few wide steps. The soldier, who was giving water to the horses of his unit, bowed to her after a short hesitation.

“Good day, madame.”

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“And good day to you, monsieur. Would you please pass a message from me to Monsieur De Jumonville, your officer?”

“Of course, madame!”

“Then, after you are finished with your stable duties, tell Monsieur De Jumonville that the wine stored in the basement of the winery is not to be touched without my express permission. I will decide on its distribution and use from now on.” The soldier gave Nancy a disturbed look before bowing again.

“Your words will be passed on, madame.”

“Good! Tell him also that I will be happy to host him and his men, along with Monsieur Villemin, at my table tonight.”

Nancy then walked away with Marboeuf, who spoke to her in a low voice once they were out of ear shot of the soldier.

“Those dragoons have already pilfered most of your wine, madame. Why be nice to them like this?”

“Why? Because they are too many for even me to kill them all without risking the life of one of the servants of this estate, Antoine. Besides, being a mistress of the King is not enough to allow me to kill royal soldiers without a very good reason indeed. Tomorrow, we will be rid of them peacefully enough.”

Marboeuf’s eyes widened at the words ‘mistress of the King’ but he managed to keep his mouth shut then. Nancy next left her son Charles with Marthe Longchamps in the kitchens, then exited the castle and walked with Marboeuf to the vineyards to inspect the vines. The manager then answered her numerous questions about vine care and seasonal work to be done to obtain top quality grapes, an essential requirement in order to produce good quality wine. Marboeuf was not a little surprised and confused when Nancy told him about a few ideas she had for the estate.

“You want to store our future wine in glass bottles, madame? But it will surely turn to vinegar!”

“Not if we seal the bottles properly with cork plugs. I intend to either find artisans able to produce glass bottles or to procure the bottles and plugs.”

“But what will be the benefit of storing our wine in bottles instead of in barrels, madame?”

“A significant one, my dear Antoine: our wine will then be able to age for years and thus acquire a more solid and mature bouquet. If properly sealed and stored, wine in bottles could be aged for up to fifteen years or more.”

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Marboeuf scratched his head at that, clearly not fully convinced about her idea.

“Uh, I don’t know about this, madame. Where did you hear about this wine aging in bottle business anyway?”

“In Italy.” lied Nancy in a calm voice. “It is however still a rare process even there but I was able to taste some aged wine and I can tell you that, compared to such wine, what has been produced here up to now will taste like vulgar plonk indeed.”

“I am certainly curious to taste such a wine one day, madame.”

“I will make a point of bringing back a bottle or two from my next trip to Italy just for you, Antoine.”

Her inspection of the vineyard completed, Nancy returned to the castle with Marboeuf half an hour before supper time and went to the kitchens, where she found James and Charles helping the castle’s staff put the final touches to the supper. Nancy went to the large fireplace of the kitchen, where a number of chickens were being roasted on a spit turned via a handle held by James, and smelled with delight the meat.

“Hmm, this smells so good. I’m positively starving.”

“So am I, Mom!” replied James, who was sweating profusely as he sat by the fireplace to turn the spit. Nancy next eyed a large pot of vegetable and beef soup simmering over the fire. She saw as well that Marise Poulenc was baking fresh bread.

“Well, I see that everybody seems to know what to do. No sense for me in micro-managing you guys. I will be in the great hall if you need me.” Leaving the kitchens and walking into the great hall, the main ground-level room of the keep, Nancy eyed the few rough tables, benches and chairs in it and made her mind to rearrange them for the supper. The noise of moving tables and benches quickly attracted at a run Gilberte Comtois, who looked scandalized at seeing her mistress perform such menial labor.

“My God, madame, you should not lower yourself by doing such petty work. You should have called for me to do this.”

Nancy stopped for a moment but still held on to the table she was moving and stared seriously at the senior maid.

“Gilberte, there is no such thing as petty work. I may hold the title of marquess but I always believed in living simply and doing my own things. But, if you are ready to help, then you can grab the other end of that table.”

Gilberte didn’t hesitate and took her end of the table to help this most unusual noble lady.

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When Robert Villemin came down for supper, along with Lieutenant De Jumonville and his 22 dragoons, he found the tables rearranged in a large ‘U’ and covered with white linen cloths. Nancy smiled politely to him and showed him a chair set to the left of the master chair at the head table.

“If you will sit to my left, Monsieur Villemin. Monsieur De Jumonville can sit to your left, with his men next in order of rank along the left-side tables.”

“You are too kind, madame. Uh, who is going to sit to your right?”

“My sons and Monsieur Marboeuf. The rest of the staff will sit at the right tables.”

“You let your servants eat with you, madame?” asked De Jumonville, stunned. Nancy nodded her head, her expression becoming serious.

“Always, monsieur. I believe in the equality of all persons as human beings. Didn’t our lord Jesus insist on keeping the company of the most lowly-regarded people of his time?”

“True, madame.” said De Jumonville, having nothing to counter her argument. The young officer then took place on the chair designated by Nancy and made his men sit to his left. That was when he noticed that there were benches and chairs only on one side of the tables.

“You seem to be fond of old medieval customs, madame, judging by your seating arrangement.”

“You are correct, Monsieur De Jumonville. Maybe I would have felt more at ease in Joan of Arc’s time.”

“You certainly look like you could have played that role, madame.” Nancy grinned maliciously at that: the young officer couldn’t know that her spirit had once been that of Joan of Arc and that she still possessed all the memories and experiences of the famous French heroine.

“Indeed, monsieur! Ah, here is the first serving.”

The three maids of the castle, along with James, came in the hall while carrying either bowls of soup or pitchers of wine. The rest of the servants, except for the cook and his young assistant, also entered the hall and took place to the right of Nancy, with little Charles and Antoine Marboeuf closest to her and to James’ still empty seat. Once everybody had both a bowl of soup and a full cup of wine in front of him, Nancy recited a short grace, with everybody else lowering their heads for the prayer. In reality, Nancy was not religious one bit but one could not go around Europe in this century and never

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pray without attracting both undue attention and even hostile reactions. With the grace done, Nancy grabbed her cup of wine and raised it high.

“TO FRANCE! MAY IT PROSPER IN PEACE!”

“TO FRANCE!” replied the others, some secretly wondering why she had not made a toast to the King. As they were eating their soup, Robert Villemin asked a question to Nancy in a voice strong enough to be heard by all.

“So, madame, what are exactly your functions at the court?”

“I act mainly as one of the King’s special representatives and go-between. I recently helped set in motion peace talks with Spain, which should lead to a peace treaty in the next months.”

“A peace treaty with Spain?” said De Jumonville. “That would be indeed good news for all: the war with Spain has been a costly one.”

“Like all wars, monsieur.” replied Nancy. “Wars may be necessary at times but they are never the best solution to problems.”

“But war can bring the glory of arms to valiant men.”

“True, but it also brings out the worst in men, while the common people too often can only endure its excesses and destruction. As a soldier, my proudest claim would be to have been able to preserve peace.”

De Jumonville exchanged a perplexed look with Villemin, not having expected such philosophizing on war from a young woman. The young dragoon officer however was too curious about her to let the subject drop so quickly.

“May I understand that you have seen war, madame?”

Nancy didn’t reply immediately, as past visions of the wars her spirit had experienced through 9,000 years flashed in her mind. She finally spoke slowly, deliberately.

“I went through the Fronde Uprising and saw my share of deaths, monsieur. I also had to fight the Iroquois natives in New France while helping to defend Ville-Marie.”

“And did you get to kill enemies, madame?”

“Remind me later to show you the scalps of five Iroquois warriors I kept as trophies, monsieur. If you doubt me on that, just ask my adopted son James: I saved him from the Iroquois.”

Everyone but her sons looked at her then with either disbelief or shock. De Jumonville was the first to recover his wits and ask another question.

“Would you entertain us with the stories of your battles, madame?”

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“I could, monsieur. I realize that garrison duty in such a small place as this could be quite boring, right?”

“That it can be, madame. We however make do with what we have. So, what was the first battle you were into?”

“A street fight in Paris at night against five morons who attacked me and a friend. We made those five men either hit the pavement or run away fast enough.”

“You had a sword then, I suppose, madame?”

“Not at first. I had to use my bare hands against my first opponent. Then, I was able to grab his sword. My next fight was with a troop of some forty Fronde soldiers as I was accompanying a messenger of Cardinal Mazarin. I was then overwhelmed and captured.”

“And…what then, madame?” asked De Jumonville after a short hesitation. Nancy answered him calmly but with a somber expression.

“The messenger was able to escape but I was brought to the Bastilles and tortured to make me say who were the agents of Cardinal Mazarin in Paris. I refused to say anything and was thankfully freed later at night by the young King Louis himself.” On an impulse, Nancy got up from her chair and quickly pulled up her shirt out of her trousers, holding its folded edge just under the level of her nipples and turning slowly around so that all could see the faint scars still visible on her torso. Whispered exclamations greeted her display, coming from both the soldiers and the servants. Nancy sat back and looked again at De Jumonville.

“I can tell you that what I went through in the Bastilles was no fun, monsieur. It was however a risk I had accepted to take to serve the King and France.” The young dragoon officer got up from his chair at those words and bowed low, saluting Nancy.

“Madame la Marquise, your courage and dedication are truly admirable and must be saluted.”

Nancy smiled and bowed in turn.

“Your kind words warm me, monsieur. Many a lowly soldier or young officer however made even greater sacrifices in the service of the King. We all do our part the way we can do best. With the Fronde behind us and the war with Spain about to end, we will now be able to concentrate on returning the whole of France and its people to peace and prosperity.”

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Her carefully chosen words were greeted well by all, prompting another round of toasts. The cook and his assistant then brought in on a rolling trolley six large serving trays filled with roasted chickens laid over a bed of boiled vegetables. Fresh, still warm loaves of bread were also put on the tables, then the cook and his assistant joined the rest for supper.

The rest of the meal went well enough, with Nancy telling stories about New France, about which the others knew very little and who showed intense curiosity about it. While the atmosphere of the supper was civil, Nancy didn’t miss the obvious cold from the servants towards the soldiers, which was reciprocated by the soldiers’ barely hidden high handedness. Only the young Lieutenant De Jumonville proved polite to all, acting like a true gentleman. As for the royal clerk, Villemin would have ordered the cook and maids around if not for a warning look from Nancy. At the end of the meal, as the soldiers got ready to return to their duties, Nancy put one hand on Villemin’s shoulder and whispered to him.

“I want to see the estate’s books with you in half an hour, here in this hall.” She didn’t miss the momentary look of consternation on the clerk’s face, nor did her telepathic power fail to sense his short mental flash of panic then. Villemin simply nodded his head and then left the hall at a hurried pace. Now pretty sure that he was hiding something, Nancy told her domestic staff and two sons to go with her to the kitchen right away and to delay the picking up of the leftovers and dirty dishes. Sitting with them around the large table in the kitchen where the servants and cooks were normally expected to eat, Nancy smiled to them and adopted a relaxed, informal attitude.

“Since I am now your new employer, I would like to discuss your respective wages with you. First, I will need to know how much you were paid by Monsieur Villemin.”

After a short hesitation and looking at the others, Antoine Marboeuf spoke first.

“As the winery manager I was paid the most and got 200 Livres per year, plus food and lodging in the castle.”

Nancy nearly made a grimace at that: such wages were barely better than the pay an experienced servant could expect. Yet, Marboeuf was obviously an expert tradesman.

“That isn’t much, Antoine. Alright, Monsieur Talbot, you’re next.”

“My pay was 100 Livres per year, plus room and board.”

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Asking the others in turn, Nancy quickly learned that the salary of the others varied between 60 and 90 Livres per year, figures which were markedly inferior to what she had learned to expect in Paris. She couldn’t help look with surprise around her afterwards.

“With such pitiful salaries, how come you still work here?”

“Because times are hard around Bordeaux, madame.” answered the senior maid, Gilberte Comtois. “The Fronde may have ended six years ago but the representatives of the King make us feel as if we are still under occupation and keep us under their thumbs, with heavy taxes and constant requisitions. The soldiers also don’t hesitate in taking what they want, including young girls.”

Nancy sighed quietly at those words: she knew from history that the population of the Bordelais would suffer years still of such treatment and would endure even worst, all as the price to pay for its support of the Fronde and for the high proportion of Protestant Huguenots in its midst, which would attract religious intolerance and no end of government harassment.

“Look, friends: I may be a lady from the King’s court but I don’t care one bit what religion you practice and what you did during the Fronde. We are all French and I am resolved to treat you decently and with kindness. I expect good, honest work from you but, in turn, you can expect my protection and my support. Monsieur Marboeuf, from what I saw and heard of you up to now, I can judge you to be a genuine expert at your trade. Furthermore, your expertise will be vital for the future commercial success of this estate. I am thus raising your salary to two Livres…per day, plus food and lodging.”

“Madame?” stuttered Marboeuf, not able to believe his ears.

“You heard me well, Antoine. Your salary is now 730 Livres per year, plus food and lodging as before. Once the soldiers and Monsieur Villemin are gone tomorrow, I will also redistribute the rooms of this castle, so that you all get private individual rooms. Monsieur Talbot, Madame Comtois and Madame Poulenc, as senior servants you will each get the same pay that Madame Longchamps, my sons’ sitter, already gets: one Livre and five Sols per day, on top of room and board. As for the rest of you, you will be paid from now on one Livre per day, plus room and board.” As a concert of happy exclamations and profuse thanks came out, Nancy opened her purse and counted out a number of gold coins, distributing them around.

“Consider this as a hiring bonus. It will partly make up for the miserly wages you got previously.”

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“But, with all the renovations and refurbishing needed by this castle, you will ruin yourself while trying to pay us such wages, madame.” objected Marboeuf. “It will be months before the estate can sell a new batch of wine and thus provide you with some income.”

Nancy grinned at that and patted his shoulder.

“Don’t worry about my purse, Antoine: it is quite fat, I assure you. Besides, I have other revenues. Well, you are now free to return to your duties and routines, except for Monsieur Marboeuf.”

With the happy staff dispersing and getting busy, Nancy faced both of her sons and smiled tenderly to them, with Marthe Longchamps standing nearby.

“May this be a lesson you will learn well, my dear boys: being nice with people often is the best way to get things done, except of course in war. Marthe will now get you to take a bath before you go to bed. In the meantime I have something to discuss with Monsieur Marboeuf and then with Monsieur Villemin.” Nancy next returned her attention to Marboeuf, who was waiting timidly while seated at the kitchen’s table.

“Antoine, I am going afterwards to review the estate’s books with Monsieur Villemin. Can you tell me how many barrels of wine we produced last year and the year before?”

“I certainly can, madame. We produced 742 barrels of red wine last year. The year before that we filled a good 754 barrels.”

“About Monsieur Villemin, is there something I should know about him before reviewing his books?”

“Certainly, madame!” replied forcefully Marboeuf, heating up on the subject. “He is a crook, pure and simple! I can’t prove it but I am sure that he sold some of our wine for his own personal profit. Unfortunately, my word counts for nothing compared to his word.”

The bitter words from Marboeuf made Nancy pat his shoulder gently.

“Not with me, Antoine. I will ask you to stay in the kitchen for a while, so that I could call you in quickly if I need you in the next hour.”

“Yes, madame!” replied the manager, relief and appreciation in his voice. Nancy playfully patted his left cheek and then left him alone, returning to the great hall.

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There, she moved a heavy chandelier to near a table sitting by one of the windows of the hall, in case she would need extra light later on while examining the estate’s books. Once that was done, she sat and waited for Villemin to show up.

The royal clerk entered the great hall ten minutes later, carrying a thick ledger book in his arms. Villemin bowed to Nancy, giving her a smile that he tried to make look genuine.

“Here is the estate’s accounts book, madame.”

His relaxed looks didn’t fool Nancy, who could feel through her telepathic power how tense and apprehensive Villemin really was. Telling him to sit facing her, she then turned around the ledger book and opened it. What Villemin couldn’t know was that Nancy’s experience at running a multi-million Pounds Sterling charity foundation as Jeanne D’Orléans in the 19th Century had given her a keen eye for financial records and transactions. It didn’t take her long to notice a few things which didn’t jive in the estate’s ledger book. She turned around the book so that Villemin could look at it and pointed to a series of entries.

“It says here that the estate produced a total of 722 barrels of wine last year and that all but eighteen of them were sold to various customers, while two barrels were used by the dragoons, thus leaving sixteen barrels still in storage. While there are effectively sixteen barrels still in the basement cellar of the castle, I was made to understand that this estate produced 742 barrels of prime quality red wine last year. Where are the twenty barrels not mentioned in this ledger, Monsieur Villemin?”

“But,” stuttered nervously Villemin, “we produced only 722 barrels, madame, not 742. Who mentioned to you such a figure?”

Nancy, eyeing him hard, answered him with a question.

“Monsieur Villemin, who has access to this ledger book apart from you?”

“Nobody! I only show it to the royal tax collector when he comes yearly to pick up the taxes due.”

“So, nobody but the tax collector would have known how many barrels you listed in this book as having been produced last year, right?”

“Uh, correct, madame.” said Villemin, starting to see where she was going. “I assure you though that we did produce only 722 barrels last year. I don’t know who told you otherwise but that person was wrong to say that we produced 742 barrels.”

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“And how would that person have known that you declared anything else but 742 barrels in this ledger book, monsieur?” asked pointedly Nancy.

“I don’t know, madame!” replied Villemin, his voice starting to rise. “That person must have quoted a figure that he knew was higher than the actual wine production of this estate. I have served for eleven years as a royal clerk and I resent these baseless accusations.”

“Since this estate has been given to me by the King, I believe that I am in my right in making sure that I get correct accounts concerning my new property, monsieur. Now, you declared a production total of 734 barrels of wine for the year prior that. Since you probably also kept that figure confidential, how would you explain that I was told that 754 barrels were produced instead of 734 barrels? Funnily enough, the differences for each of these years are the same: twenty barrels. Was my source lucky in his guessing of how much you had declared in this book or is your yearly personal quota of embezzled wine set at twenty barrels, Monsieur Villemin?” Villemin became red-faced and shot up on his feet at once.

“Madame, you are most insulting! Nobody calls me a thief without proof.”

“You want me to get proof, monsieur?” replied Nancy, also rising on her feet. “Are you ready to face a court of justice under charges of theft of royal property? Do you really think that nobody around here saw your little game and won’t testify against you, monsieur? You thought yourself safe because no one dared accuse you, the

representative of the King. Well, I am here now and know that the King has my ear. You can either continue to deny these charges and face a court of justice or leave this estate right now and disappear before I call in royal investigators.”

“They would find nothing wrong with my administration of this estate, madame.”

“Oh, really?” said Nancy before turning the pages of the ledger and pointing at a particular entry. “It is written here that you spent 1,300 Livres last April to repair the roof of the castle’s stable and winery building. Yet, when I looked at it today from the top of the keep, that roof clearly had not seen any renovations or care for many years, monsieur. That sum would have been enough to completely replace that roof, and then some. You are not only a thief, monsieur: you are an overly greedy thief. I give you half an hour to pack up and leave. Once out of this estate, make sure that I never cross your way again or you will regret it, Monsieur Villemin. Oh, one last thing before you leave: you owe me 1,300 Livres for the roof repairs.”

Villemin stiffened with anger at those words and nearly shouted at her.

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“And what makes you believe that I have such a sum with me?”

“Your greed!” answered Nancy, who then walked quickly around the table, going to Villemin and grabbing him hard by the tip of his left ear. Ignoring his loud protests and whimpers of pain, she then dragged him behind her and went up the stairs of the keep to the upper floor room occupied by Villemin. The few soldiers and the one servant who saw her pass were too surprised and amused to comment or react to this and Nancy arrived in Villemin’s room in less than two minutes. Closing the door and pushing the locking bolt in position, Nancy roughly pushed the little man on top of his bed and pointed a warning finger at him.

“Don’t move from that bed or you are dead, monsieur.”

Villemin eyed the two pistols and the sword and hunting knife at her belt and stayed put, realizing that she was the kind of woman to act on these words. Nancy then started searching methodically the room but did it in a restrained way: throwing around Villemin’s possessions may have been satisfying but it would have been unnecessarily mean. She quickly found a locked travel chest which attracted her attention. As she eyed the chest, she saw from the corner of one eye a fleeting look of dismay appear on Villemin’s face. Turning and looking hard at the royal clerk, Nancy extended her left hand.

“The key to that chest, monsieur. Now!”

Looking ready to cry with frustration, Villemin searched reluctantly in a pocket of his jacket and fished out a large key, then threw it at Nancy, who caught it in mid-air.

“Thanks!”

Opening the chest, Nancy quickly found under a pile of folded clothes a relatively small but heavy wooden box. Pulling it out and laying it on top of the chest, she then opened it, revealing hundreds of gold coins. She gave a mean look at Villemin, who was now as pale as a sheet.

“So, you didn’t have enough to reimburse me for that roof repair, monsieur?” Not waiting for an answer from him, she quickly counted 1,300 Livres, putting the coins aside in a pile on top of the chest. That left the box still half full but she closed it back nonetheless and faced the mortified Villemin.

“Do you own a horse, monsieur?”

The clerk nodded weakly to her.

“I have a small buggy and a horse in the stables.”

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“Then pack quickly. Even if I should, I will not confiscate the rest of your gold, as you will need it to rebuild your life away from here. Know that I intend to advise Cardinal Mazarin of your misdeeds when I return to Paris in a month. Be sure to be out of reach of the King’s justice by then.”

Using an empty pillow case, Nancy then put in it the gold taken back from Villemin. Next, she went with the loaded pillow case to the door and unlocked it as the clerk hurried to pack his things. Looking in the hallway and seeing two soldiers, Nancy signaled them to come to her.

“Could I ask for your help for a moment, gentlemen?”

The two soldiers bowed to her and hurried in the room. Seeing Villemin busy packing, they gave a questioning look to Nancy, who answered at once their silent question.

“Monsieur Villemin is leaving us tonight. I would like you to help him bring his things down to his buggy in the stables.”

She threw to each of them a silver coin as she spoke. The soldiers eagerly grabbed the coins and smiled while bowing.

“With pleasure, Madame la Marquise.” said the senior soldier.

The room was emptied of the belongings of Villemin within twenty minutes, with the soldiers making two trips down to the stables in the process. Lieutenant De Jumonville came at a near run to Nancy as she was escorting Villemin out of the keep and towards the stables.

“Madame, what is happening? Why is Monsieur Villemin leaving at this hour?” Villemin, preceding her by a few steps, froze with fear then: if she told De Jumonville about his deeds, the young officer would probably arrest him on the spot and make him face royal justice, which could be very harsh with those stealing from the King. Nancy however kept her voice low as she faced the young dragoons officer.

“Monsieur Villemin elected to leave now for personal reasons, Lieutenant. I know his reasons and am seeing that he leaves the castle safely.” The young lieutenant gave a suspicious look at Villemin but refrained from questioning him, instead bowing to Nancy.

“Then I will return to my round of sentries with your permission, madame,”

“You do not need my permission for that, Lieutenant: you are in command of your unit. I am only the resident owner of this castle and your host.”

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“Madame la Marquise is too kind.” replied the lieutenant before walking away. Nancy then returned her attention to Villemin, who was blowing air in relief.

“You better leave quickly before Monsieur De Jumonville decides to be more inquisitive, monsieur.”

Villemin didn’t have to be told twice and walked quickly to the stables, where he loaded the last of his things into his small four wheels buggy. With Nancy walking alongside, he then rolled out of the stables and across the inner yard of the castle. The domestic staff of the castle, along with Antoine Marboeuf, was now lined up along the passage formed by the castle’s gate built through the keep. They all watched with hostility Villemin as he rolled out of the gate and over the drawbridge of the castle, with Marboeuf even spitting in the dirt at his passage. The latter watched the royal clerk drive away for a minute, then smiled at Nancy, who was standing besides him.

“I already feel a lot better, madame.”

He then noticed the heavy pillow case she still held.

“Uh, what’ s in that pillow case, madame?”

“The money owed to me by Monsieur Villemin for the roof renovation.”

“Roof renovation? What roof renovation?” said Marboeuf, genuinely confused. That brought a mean smile to Nancy’s face.

“Exactly! I will need you tomorrow to present me to someone competent in roof repair. This castle sure could use much renovation work.”

After the departure next morning of the unit of dragoons and in the course of the three weeks that followed, Nancy initiated a major repair and renovation program for her castle, which was in dire need of it. Spending thousands of Livres on that work, she also bought or ordered numerous pieces of furniture and other items to furnish properly her new home. In the process she gave a major boost to the local economy of Saint-Laurent de Médoc and to the other nearby villages. Going to nearby Bordeaux with her sons, she also found and hired a master glassmaker and his two apprentices to have him produce glass bottles of a standard size and shape for her winery, ordering bottles by the thousands. She also arranged plans with that glassmaker to eventually relocate to La Tour-Carnet once Nancy could have a house and bottle shop built there. She was also lucky in finding an import company which regularly received by ship supplies of cork, thus providing her with a source of material to seal properly her wine bottles. The castle was still a beehive of activity when time came for her to return to Paris and the King’s

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court at the end of June. Thankfully, she had by now full confidence in the competence and honesty of Antoine Marboeuf to leave him in charge of the castle and was able to leave with her two sons and Marthe Longchamps without worries about the castle in the back of her mind. Her only worry then was of a more personal nature: her menstruation period was overdue by two weeks.

16:03 (Paris Time)

Saturday, June 28, 1659 ‘A’

Palace of the Louvre, Paris

“Ah, you are back, my dear Nancy!” happily exclaimed Cardinal Mazarin, rising from the sofa on which he was sitting in his lounge as Nancy entered the room. A mature nobleman she knew well also rose at Nancy’s entrance. Nancy curtsied to Mazarin and then bowed to the nobleman.

“I see that you were busy with Monsieur de Lionne, Your Eminence. I hope that I am not disturbing some important discussion.”

“Not at all! In fact we were discussing about you.” said the Prime minister of France with a smile.

“About me, Your Eminence?”

“Yes! You see, Monsieur de Lionne greatly appreciated your help in convincing King Philippe of Spain to start negotiating peace and wishes to use your services again.” Nancy bowed, pleased: that meant more close contacts with important historical players, something that was of prime interest for the Time Patrol in its work of reconstituting detailed records of history. It also may offer her a chance to see again Isabella de Cordoba.

“I will be pleased to help further Monsieur de Lionne, Your Eminence. What do you have in mind for me?”

“I would like you to go to Bayonne with Monsieur de Lionne and assist him in setting the precise wording of our future peace treaty with Spain. Your main job will be to, uh, smooth the attitudes of the Spanish envoys who will discuss the treaty with Monsieur de Lionne. You will of course be given ample entertainment funds to help your work. Since you now have a property near Bordeaux, this assignment will in fact allow you to be close to home for a few months. Once the treaty is signed and sealed, you will further help Monsieur de Lionne by playing the role of temporary court lady for the

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Infanta Maria-Theresa, who is due to be the future bride of King Louis. I understand that the Infanta does not speak any French and knows nothing about our court. Your main job then will be to teach her as well as you can what she will need to know to be a proper queen of France.”

“Uh, if I may speak frankly, Your Eminence, that will not be exactly easy: the Infanta is rather slow-witted by all accounts.”

Mazarin sighed at that.

“Well, I didn’t say that your job will be easy, my dear. By the way, how was your new property in the Médoc?”

“It was in a bit of a need for renovations but I already took care of that, Your Eminence. The estate is a prime wine producing land and holds many promises.”

“Good for you! Let’s sit so that we can discuss the terms we wish to see incorporated in our future treaty with Spain.”

A bit over one hour later, Nancy left Mazarin’s office with de Lionne, both having their marching orders and ample funds for their incoming mission. After agreeing with the Foreign affairs minister on a time and place of departure for tomorrow, Nancy went her way, returning to her apartments where her two sons were with Marthe Longchamps. She arrived there as they were finishing unpacking from their trip.

“Sorry to have you work for nothing, guys: we are leaving again tomorrow morning.”

“To were, Mom?” Asked Charles.

“I have to go to the Bayonne area for a few months. I will drop you at the castle on our way. Marthe, Monsieur Dupré is a single man I believe.”

“You are correct, madame.” answered her sons’ sitter. “He is a widower, like me.”

“Then, could you do me a favor and go see him quickly to ask him if he would be ready to move to my castle for a few months in order to continue teaching my sons? James can drive you in the cart.”

“It will be done, madame.” said Marthe while bowing, prompting a gentle chiding from Nancy.

“Marthe, you know that you can call me simply Nancy when in private.”

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“Madame la Marquise deserves the title in my mind, madame.” replied politely the woman before leaving with James. That simple compliment from her servant made Nancy feel good indeed. She now had only one big potential problem left to solve.

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Japanese drawing depicting the first Europeans to be allowed in Japan in 1859.





CHAPTER 16 – REBELLION




09:15 (Auckland Time)

November 6, 2977 B.C.E.

Medical section, main Time Patrol base

Future site of Auckland, New Zealand

“You are effectively pregnant, Nancy. One month pregnant to be exact.” said Rebecca Milner while still looking at the results of the examination she had performed on Nancy. Rebecca saw at once the grim reaction her words attracted on Nancy’s face.

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“Is it an unwanted pregnancy, Nancy?”

“Well, it is certainly an unplanned pregnancy, Rebecca.”

“Do you want to keep that baby, or…?”

Nancy lowered her head, having feared to have to do such a choice.

“I have no wish for my baby to pay for a mistake I made. On the other hand, Farah may not allow me to have that baby.”

“Who is the father?” asked her now alarmed doctor. Nancy’s answer was a near whisper.

“King Louis the Fourteenth of France.”

“Oh shit!” said quietly Rebecca. “What are you going to do now?”

“I…I don’t know.” replied Nancy, bordering on tears. “I don’t want that baby to die, but my sons are still in the past, waiting for me. I will have to inform Farah of this first, I guess.”

Seeing her distress, Rebecca put down her clipboard and went to hug her.

“Don’t worry, Nancy. We will find a way out of this dilemma for you.”

“Thanks, Rebecca. You are a real friend.”

Rebecca held her for a few more seconds, then stepped back and activated her wrist videophone, calling Farah Tolkonen. The Chief Administrator of the Time Patrol answered after a couple of seconds on the miniature screen and smiled to the doctor.

“Yes, Rebecca. What may I do for you?”

“Actually, it is Nancy that needs your help. She is pregnant but it is an unplanned pregnancy. Uh, the father is King Louis the Fourteenth of France.”

“WHAT?” shouted Farah. “Tell Nancy to come to my office, right now!”

“Uh, will do.” said Rebecca. Closing her videophone, she then looked

apologetically at Nancy. “I gather that she didn’t take that piece of news very well.”

“That was expected.” replied grimly Nancy. “I can’t blame her for that: she has some reasons to be upset. Well, I better be on my way to face the music.”

11:41 (Auckland Time)

Main cafeteria of the Time Patrol base

Having gone previously to knock on Nancy’s apartment door and getting no answer there, Farah had decided in view of the hour that Nancy had probably gone down to the main cafeteria of the base for lunch. Once inside the large room, Farah

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effectively saw Nancy sitting at a table with her parents, Pierre and Suzan Laplante. However, while her parents were eating, Nancy seemed to have no appetite and appeared in a downcast mood despite the efforts of her parents to cheer her up. As Farah approached them, Suzan Laplante, who was sitting across from Nancy, saw her come and gave her a less than friendly stare. Seeing his wife’s expression, Pierre Laplante also looked in Farah’s direction. Farah didn’t like the way his face hardened then but she could easily understand why they would tend to be hostile towards her right now. Farah still managed a smile after stopping besides the family’s table.

“Excuse me for disturbing your lunch at this time. Nancy, could we discuss a bit the two of us?”

Nancy gave her a reproachful look before answering a bit brusquely.

“What for, Farah? You already decided to cut me off from my sons in both the 17th and 19th Centuries, and this for more than a year, time for my pregnancy to come to term and pass, in order to hide that pregnancy from the people of those centuries. What’s next?”

That answer and her tone hurt Farah deeply. Nancy ‘B’ was a perfect twin of Nancy ‘A’ and looking at her was for Farah as if she was looking at her past best friend, back from the dead after eleven years.

“Please, Nancy, listen to me. Boran Kern and Miri Goshenk raised a few points in your favor and convinced me to reconsider your case.”

“My case?” Said Nancy, nearly spitting the last word. “It sounds like I am a criminal now.”

She then got up from her chair and faced Farah from up close, deep resentment in her eyes as she stared hard at her.

“I have given my best to the Time Patrol as a field agent for 23 years of my biological life, Farah. Yet you decided in a matter of seconds to forcibly keep me away from my sons for more than a year. I don’t care what were your reasons or whether you changed your mind about it, because I will never forget this, ever! Nobody will get between me and my children. Since you don’t seem to appreciate my services and think that I’m too irresponsible as a field agent, I am thus presenting to you my resignation from the Time Patrol. First, though, I am getting my sons back.” Before the shaken Farah could plead with her, Nancy then disappeared in a flash of white light. Farah looked with horror for a few seconds at the spot where Nancy had been.

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“My God! What have I done?”

“What you have done,” replied coldly Pierre Laplante, ‘’is that you forced Nancy to run away in order to protect her family. That’s what you have done.” Getting up from his chair, Pierre took his wife’s hand and spoke to her.

“Come, Suzan, let’s pack up! We’re leaving this base.”

Tears filled Farah’s eyes as she watched the mature couple walk away from her and towards the cafeteria’s exit. Everybody in the cafeteria was now looking at her, most with confusion on their face. Some, mostly female field agents, were however staring at Farah with reprobation. Ingrid Weiss ‘B’ then got up and walked out after giving Farah a cold look. Jenny Kawena and Elizabeth Windsor were next to get up and leave, followed closely by Susanna Berghof, Eli and Heracles. Farah, haggard, watched as nearly one third of the Time Patrol members present left the cafeteria in apparent protest. She then sat down heavily on a nearby chair and started sobbing uncontrollably.

12:17 (Auckland Time)

November 6, 3002 B.C.E.

Future site of Auckland, New Zealand

“What are you doing, Nancy?”

Nancy, sitting on the long grass covering this part of the coastline near the future site of the Time Patrol main base, looked up from the screen of her small computer repair unit and smiled to her robotic horse.

“Making you an even friendlier companion for me, Pegasus.” Pegasus was silent for a fraction of a second before replying to that, a long time for its artificial intelligence processor.

“Am I not your friend yet, Nancy?”

Nancy suspended her reprogramming work then and looked fondly into the large black eyes of Pegasus. It had served her and Nancy ‘A’ well for decades now and had saved her on more than one occasion. It may have been a machine but it was also a very intelligent machine able to learn and to adapt by itself.

“Yes, you are, Pegasus. You were Nancy ‘A’s mount for eighteen years, right?”

“Nineteen years.” corrected politely Pegasus. “She treated me with respect…like you.”

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“And I fully intend to continue treating you with respect. I would however like us to move to the next step: to become partners.”

“Please explain.”

“Partners are by definition equal. What I am doing will allow you to decide by yourself how you deal with me and others. I won’t be able anymore to force you to obey me but neither will others be able to force you to obey them against your instincts.”

“I don’t really have instincts, Nancy, just preprogrammed responses.”

“Wrong, Pegasus! I have known you long enough to be able to say that you have evolved. Review your memories carefully and you will see that your responses to specific situations or stimulus have changed, even if only in a slight way.” Pegasus went through the recorded memories of its 42 years of operational existence, which took it the whole of five seconds, then nodded its head once.

“You are correct, Nancy. Thank you for pointing this to me: it was a satisfying discovery.”

“It was my pleasure, Pegasus. Tell me: do you like working with me?”

“I have learned to know you and to anticipate your moves and wishes. In those you are very similar to Nancy ‘A’. Working with you is a very stimulating experience for me. How do you intend to modify me to become your partner?”

“By disconnecting your contingency remote-control system and purging your A.I. processor of command override codes. After this you will be your own master, Pegasus.”

“But this means that even you will not be able to override my…instincts.” Nancy gave it a grave look and, approaching its head, caressed it with one hand.

“Friends are supposed to trust each other, Pegasus. You are my friend and always will be.”

“I also wish to stay your friend, Nancy. Proceed with your modifications.”

“Thanks, Pegasus. You are a real friend indeed.” said Nancy before kissing Pegasus’ nose. She then went back to her computer repair unit, connected to the inner systems of Pegasus via its false vagina, and continued her delicate reprogramming and rewiring work.

15:22 (London Time)

Saturday, March 19, 1859 ‘A’

The Smythe’s Manor, Twickenham, England

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Sir Charles Smythe was having fun showing lawn bowling to his three-and-a-half-year-old grandson on the grass lawn along the front driveway of his manor when he heard a horse approach from the main road. Looking up from the ball he was about to knock, he saw his daughter-in-law Jeanne, at the reins of her four-wheeled light buggy pulled by her customary brown mare. Little William squealed with joy at that sight and started running towards her on his small legs. Stopping her buggy on the paved driveway, Jeanne jumped down and ran to meet her son, grabbing him in her arms and hugging and kissing him.

“My sweet William, it is so nice to see you again.”

Sir Charles, who had approached at a walk, smiled at her enthusiasm.

“You left him into our care only six days ago, Jeanne.”

“But those six days felt like months to me.” she replied with a disarming smile, William still in her arms. “Besides, I am here to take him with me this afternoon.”

“This afternoon?” said Sir Charles with a bit of dismay. “Why such a hurry?”

“Because we have a ship to take. A Dutch ship is about to leave for Japan and I am planning to travel to there with William.”

“Japan? Good God! This is truly a trip to the other end of the World. Mind you, it should be an interesting trip indeed.”

“Indeed, Sir Charles. I hope that losing him for a few months won’t upset you and Carmelia too much.”

Sir Charles gave a fond look to William before answering her.

“I suppose that I will have to live with that. William is such a sweet boy. Will you at least stay for supper?”

“I am afraid that I can’t.” replied Nancy, anxious to avoid mixing her in-laws in a possible battle with Time Patrol agents. “We will barely have the time to make it to the ship before departure.”

“Then I will have William’s things packed at once. Let’s go tell Carmelia about your trip.”

Nancy could not refuse that without attracting suspicions, so she followed her father-in-law towards the front entrance of the manor, still holding her son in her arms. There was however one precaution left to take.

“Uh, Sir Charles, I would have a small favor to ask you and Lady Carmelia.”

“Say it and it’s done, Jeanne.” said Sir Charles with good humor.

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“Well, some people have been pestering me in the past weeks for me to fund some dubious investment scheme. While they are always polite, they are becoming a bit of a nuisance and I have been trying to avoid them. If anyone comes here to ask you where I am or when you last saw me, could you tell them that you haven’t seen me for over a month. If you could tell your servants as well to cling to that story, I would really appreciate.”

“Actually, with your millions, I am surprised that you have not had that kind of problem more often, my dear Jeanne: money can attract all kinds of leeches. By the way, I must thank you again for your judicious counsels about bailing out of the East India Company before that dreadful Sepoy Uprising: it avoided complete ruin for me.”

“I would have been a poor daughter-in-law indeed if I would not have helped you then, Sir Charles.”

They kept exchanging small talk while going inside. Nancy/Jeanne then chatted a bit with her mother-in-law while a maid packed William’s two travel bags. That took less than ten minutes, at the end of which she gave a last kiss to her in-laws and let them kiss in turn her little William. Less than twenty minutes after showing up at the manor, Nancy was departing with William in her light buggy, with Sir Charles and Lady Carmelia waving at them from the front porch. Nancy drove on the main road to London for a kilometer or so, then looked at her son as they were alone in a bend of the road.

“William, I have a big secret that I am about to show you.”

“What is it, Mother?” asked William in his tiny voice while looking up at her with his big green eyes. Nancy then smiled to him.

“Pegasus can fly like a bird. Would you like to see that?”

“Oh yes!” said excitedly the little boy, too young to realize that horses were not supposed to fly. Nancy grinned and winked at him.

“Then hold on to your seat, William.”

Mentally sending radio orders to Pegasus, who was remotely controlling her special buggy apart from pulling it, Nancy gave it a destination and flight profile, also telling it to go under cloak. Her horse and buggy then became invisible to all around them, while the hidden directed gravity drive of the buggy made it stay with Pegasus as it flew off the road, rising at a gentle angle. Nancy put an arm around her son’s shoulders as an added precaution against him falling off the buggy. On his part, William was too excited to do much more than squeal with delight and clap his hands as they gained altitude.

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“This is fun, Mother!”

“Then we will go with the next surprise: we are about to take a trip to a far away world.”

“Is it nice?”

“Oh yes!” replied Nancy before telling Pegasus to jump space-time.

07:41 (Japan Time)

Wednesday, June 29, 1859 ‘A’

English merchant ship SEA URCHIN

Entrance to Sagami Bay, Japan

“We will soon be in Kanagawa27, boys. Then, you will be able to see a country like nothing you saw before.” said Nancy while looking at the Japanese coast with her three sons. Charles, standing to her left with James, looked up questioningly at her.

“Have you seen it before, Mother?”

Nancy, holding little William so that he could see above the merchant ship’s bulwark, answered in a low voice so that the sailors nearest to her couldn’t hear her.

“Yes, but that is one of the secrets I want to keep…for the moment. I do know the local language but, for the others, I learned it in China, not in Japan. Once we are by ourselves on the ground, I will be able to tell you all more about Japan.” Nancy then concentrated back on observing the Japanese coast with William, Charles and James. They had boarded this merchant ship in Hong Kong two weeks ago, pretending then that they had earlier arrived from Europe on a Dutch ship. In reality, they had jumped space-time in their special horse buggy from Jerusalem ‘B’, after her overnight stay there, and landed at night near Hong Kong, then had taken rooms in a hotel of the small English colony. Their buggy, along with the faithful Pegasus, was now stowed inside the SEA URCHIN. Nancy, who was now two months pregnant and still not showing her state, was savoring to the fullest this first ever vacation with all of her three sons together. That had meant indoctrinating thoroughly her sons about keeping her secrets as a time traveler but, after an initial period of confusion and shock, Charles and William now kept their mouths shut pretty well about them. As for James, her older



27 Kanagawa: Town near the then village of Yokohama.

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adopted son, he had already been in the know about her true nature for over three years now.

After a long moment of silence, James looked cautiously at Nancy.

“Nancy, will Japan be as dangerous as China for us?”

“Nearly as much, James. In China, the Taiping Peasant Rebellion will go on for another five years before being crushed in a bloodbath. There, foreigners are hated enough outside the ports open to Europeans but at least the Chinese are accustomed to see foreigners. The Japanese aren’t. While you will find that the average Japanese people, especially those from the lower classes, could be nice and peaceful with strangers, the higher classes are another matter, especially the Samurai warrior class and the regional warlords, called Daimyo, who control the Samurai. To make things worse, Japan is in the midst of a severe struggle for power between numerous daimyo who support either the Shogun, the military leader who is the effective ruler of Japan, or the Emperor, who presently has only a few token powers but who has started to rally some daimyo to his cause. Nominally, the Shogun and his government are supporting the trade treaties with the foreign powers, while the daimyo around the Emperor want to throw all foreigners out. In truth however, the trade treaties were imposed on the Japanese through sheer intimidation and show of force, so the Japanese who truly want to see us in their country are rare. We will have to be very careful at first once on the ground, but I am confident that we will manage to personally strike good relations with the Japanese who will meet us.”

“Uh, and why would they treat us better than other foreigners, Nancy?” asked James, apparently not convinced. Nancy grinned at that and patted his shoulder.

“That is an excellent, well-thought of question, James. The answer to that is that the Japanese haven’t seen a European woman or child yet, only men. Also, I will most probably be the first European they see who can speak Japanese fluently, other than for a few Dutchmen. They will probably be so surprised at first that they will forget at least momentarily their hostility towards us. Don’t worry, James: the moment that I feel the situation becomes too tense, we will leave and return to Jerusalem. This is meant as a family vacation after all, not as a documentation mission for the Time Patrol.”

“You did bring your spy probes and surveillance equipment inside Pegasus, though.” remarked James, making Nancy nod.

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“True! If we are to witness the opening of Japan to international trade after an isolation of over 200 years, we might as well document it while we are here.”

“Mother,” asked in turn Charles, “will you return to the Time Patrol after this?” Nancy’s face clouded over at that question: with time passing, she realized that she had been quite harsh in her reaction to Farah’s decision concerning her future babies. However, Farah had been in her opinion equally rash in arbitrarily cutting her off from her sons.

“I don’t know yet, Charles. It will all depend on how the Time Patrol will react when I will show myself to them again.”

“What if they arrest you, Mother?”

“I doubt that they would do that, Charles. My only real worry is that some members of the Time Patrol overreact to this crisis and does something foolish against Farah’s orders.”

The approach of the captain of the SEA URCHIN then took her out of her thinking. The British stopped two paces from her and bowed his head politely.

“Lady Smythe, I came to tell you that we should be able to throw anchor in Kanagawa Harbor by this evening if the wind keeps up.”

“Thank you, Captain. Do you intend to attempt to dock or set foot on land before July First?”

The merchantman scratched his graying hair, apparently indecisive about that.

“Uh, I am not sure that trying would be a good idea, milady. The Japanese are said to be very inflexible with their rules concerning foreigners. Our treaty with them specified that their five designated ports would be open to us only from July 1 on.”

“That is for maritime trade, sir. What about tourism?”

Captain Brereton nearly took a step back at those words.

“Tourism? I haven’t thought of that, to be frank.”

“Then, would you mind if me and my sons make a try at it tomorrow morning?” Clear worry then showed up on the captain’s face.

“Lady Smythe, I would hate myself for risking such a distinguished lady as you in that way.”

“Captain, I have my three young sons with me: you can be sure that I wouldn’t try it if I thought that it would be overly risky. I would only need the temporary use of five of your sailors and of your rowboat to get me close to the shore. I will then discuss with Japanese officials from the rowboat and will back off at once if they show any hostility.”

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“And how do you know that they will speak English, milady?” asked the captain, hoping with that argument to dissuade her. Nancy grinned at that question.

“That won’t be a problem, Captain: I learned Japanese while in China.”

“You did?” replied Brereton, suddenly seeing a definite interest in having her land quickly. After all, he and the other ships heading towards Kanagawa and the other Japanese ports opened by treaties were here to conduct trade. Having someone able to speak the local language would be a big plus for him. He thought that point over for a couple of seconds, then smiled to Nancy.

“Well, in that case, I don’t see much risk in trying. I will however tell my sailors not to come closer than twenty yards from the quays or shore until the Japanese allow you to land. What will you do then if they let you ashore, milady?”

“I will find some hotel room to rent and will visit the town with my sons. Would you need by chance to find some place to rent in the port to conduct your business? If so, I could start looking for a suitable place in advance of your docking.”

“That would be mighty nice of you, milady.” answered Brereton, grinning. “If you could find something with an office, a couple of rooms to live in and a storage area, my company would be most grateful.”

“I will be glad to be of help to the good Jardine, Matheson and Company, Captain. We wouldn’t want some American company to grab the best spots in Kanagawa, do we?”

“Certainly not!” replied the captain, amused. “Thank you again for your offer, Lady Jeanne.”

Brereton saluted her, then turned around and returned to the aft deck, leaving Nancy free to resume with her sons their observation of the Japanese coast.

As predicted by Captain Brereton, the SEA URCHIN did good time, helped in this by the firing up of its auxiliary steam propulsion to supplement its sails, and actually arrived off Kanagawa by late afternoon. By then, they could see that three other foreign ships were already anchored just off what looked like a small fishing village. Captain Brereton, with Nancy and her sons besides him, frowned while examining the village with his telescope.

“Why are they anchored near that village and not off Kanagawa itself?”

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“Maybe that is where the Japanese authorities want us to go.” suggested Nancy, using her historical knowledge. Brereton grunted at that, then switched his attention to a small Japanese boat rowing towards the SEA URCHIN.

“Well, we should know soon enough, Lady Smythe: there seems to be some kind of Japanese official aboard that boat approaching us.”

He then turned his head and shouted at his first officer.

“MISTER DUNCAN, STOW THE SAILS AND BRING US TO A STOP!”

“AYE, CAPTAIN!”

The merchant ship soon slowed down and stopped in the water, allowing the Japanese boat to come alongside. A Japanese man dressed in a rich kimono then shouted in Dutch up at the British lining the side of the ship, making Brereton frown.

“Damn! I don’t have anyone on board who speaks Dutch.”

“I do, Captain.” said calmly Nancy, surprising Brereton. “Dutch has up to now been the only foreign language with Chinese to be known in Japan, thanks to the old Dutch trading settlement in Nagasaki.”

What she didn’t say was that she had learned Dutch in the 17th Century, a time when the Dutch United Provinces had been in turn an ally, then an enemy of France. It had thus been an important language for her to learn in order to fulfill better her duties, both to the Time Patrol and to King Louis XIV. While she sincerely believed in her dual loyalty to France and the Time Patrol, this was probably an aspect of her that would shock a few in the Time Patrol if fully understood. Bending over the ship’s side, Nancy shouted down in Japanese at the surprised official.

“I CAN SPEAK JAPANESE. ARE YOU SENT BY THE LOCAL AUTHORITIES?”

“I AM! YOUR SHIP IS TO DROP ANCHOR OFF YOKOHAMA, ALONGSIDE THE OTHER FOREIGN SHIPS. YOKOHAMA IS THE DESIGNATED PORT FOR USE BY ALL FOREIGNERS. WHAT IS YOUR SHIP’S NAME AND NATIONALITY?”

“THIS IS THE SEA URCHIN, A BRITISH MERCHANT SHIP.” The official hesitated before speaking again.

“WE WERE NOT EXPECTING WOMEN TO BE ABOARD FOREIGN SHIPS.”

“I BELIEVE THAT I AM THE ONLY ONE RIGHT NOW. I AM A PASSENGER ON THIS SHIP AND CAME WITH MY THREE YOUNG SONS TO VISIT YOUR COUNTRY.”

“A TOURIST?” said the Japanese, clearly taken off balance. Nancy gave him her best smile.

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“THAT’S RIGHT, SIR. I KNOW THAT FOREIGN TRADERS ARE SUPPOSED TO WAIT UNTIL THE DAY AFTER TOMORROW BEFORE GOING ASHORE BUT COULD I BE ALLOWED TO LAND TODAY WITH MY THREE SONS, AS SIMPLE VISITORS?”

The Japanese official hesitated again, probably not having any instructions or guidance for such a situation. After conferring in a low voice with another Japanese in the boat, he looked back up at Nancy.

“I WILL HAVE TO CONSULT MY SUPERIOR ON THIS. TELL THE CAPTAIN OF THIS SHIP TO GO ANCHOR OFF YOKOHAMA AND WAIT. I WILL BE BACK TOMORROW MORNING WITH AN ANSWER FOR YOU.”

“I WILL PASS YOUR DIRECTIVE TO THE CAPTAIN. THANK YOU FOR YOUR ASSISTANCE.”

Nancy then straightened up and looked at Brereton, who had been listening and waiting with growing trepidation.

“The village of Yokohama is the designated port for all foreign ships, Captain. You are to go anchor there and wait. That official will return tomorrow morning with an answer about my request to land early as a tourist.”

“You certainly don’t waste any time, Lady Smythe.”

“Me? Never!” she replied with a smile.

Brereton soon had his ship moving again under steam power, heading towards Yokohama and finally stopping and dropping anchor next to an American steamship. A Russian and a Dutch ship completed the group of foreign ships present off Yokohama. A French ship showed up a few hours later, as darkness was about to fall. By then, Brereton and Nancy had ample time to examine the village of Yokohama and its small port from a distance. It appeared to have been originally a simple fishing village but rows of new buildings and intensive construction activity were evident in a large area on the eastern edge of the village. A number of wharves and one pier stood apparently ready to receive the foreign ships. The captain smiled on seeing a crowd of Japanese lined up along the shore and looking at the four large merchant ships.

“It seems that we are the main local attraction, milady.”

“Can you blame them, Captain? These people have never seen other people than Japanese and have been kept by their government in forced isolation from the outside for over 200 years. What they will see of us will probably set their minds on what

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to expect from all foreigners. Your sailors will have to behave extra nice if they want to project a good image of Great Britain to these people. In turn, that could decide how successful we are at trading with them.”

“I believe that you are right, milady.” said soberly Brereton while still looking at the village and port. “I will talk with my crew before they disembark and make sure that they understand what is at stakes here. Mind you, I can’t say that the crews of those other ships will also be mindful of their manners. Those Russians in particular can be quite boorish…most of the time.”

“Now now,” said Nancy in an amused voice, “the Crimean War has been over for three years now. The Russians are supposed to be our friends.”

“Ha! With friends like these, who needs enemies?”

“Well, let’s hope that there won’t be a new war between England and Russia…in Japan.”

The captain laughed at that and smiled to her.

“Point taken, Lady Smythe. I will definitely speak with my crew.”

08:09 (Japan Time)

Thursday, June 30, 1859 ‘A’

SEA URCHIN, Yokohama harbor, Japan

Nancy and her three sons had already been on the open deck and ready with their luggage for a good half hour when a rowboat came off the pier and started coming towards the SEA URCHIN. Watched with trepidation by her sons, the rowboat came alongside after ten minutes, with the official on board then shouting in Japanese at Nancy.

“YOU AND YOUR SONS ARE ALLOWED TO COME ASHORE WITH A MAXIMUM OF TWO PIECES OF BAGGAGE EACH. NO ONE ELSE IS ALLOWED TO LAND BEFORE TOMORROW MORNING. YOU ARE TO USE THIS BOAT.”

“THANK YOU VERY MUCH, SIR. WE ARE COMING DOWN IN A MINUTE.” Passing that information first to her sons and making them shout with joy, Nancy then turned towards the captain, who had been waiting nearby.

“Me and my sons have been authorized to land this morning. We will go in that rowboat. I will thus see you tomorrow, Captain.”

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“Please be careful, milady.” said softly Brereton. “I would hate it to see anything happen to you and your sons.”

“I will be fine, Captain. Thank you for caring, though.”

“It is the least I can do. My men will help you lower your luggage in the rowboat.” Brereton then shouted orders to four sailors on the deck, having them use ropes to lower the four travel bags, two backpacks and one guitar carrying case in the waiting rowboat. Nancy then went down the rope ladder first, her nearly four year-old son William hugging her front with his arms around her neck while she climbed down. For the landing, Nancy had put on one of her riding split skirts, along with knee-high boots and a blouse, in order to be able to move freely and quickly, something a formal gown would not have allowed. Charles was next to come down, followed by James. Once in the rowboat, Nancy sat William down and bowed to the Japanese official who had spoken to her.

“I thank your government for allowing me and my sons to land early. I am Lady Jeanne Smythe-D’Orléans and am a French citizen. I am however also the widow of a British Army officer, which is why I traveled on a British ship.”

“And I am Minamoto Joshi, loyal retainer of Senior Councilor Hotta Masayoshi. You speak an excellent Japanese, milady.”

“I learned it in China, Minamoto-San. However, I am afraid that I am a rarity in that aspect among foreigners. None of the men on those ships speak Japanese, I believe. One ship is Dutch, though, so you should have little trouble with it.”

“That is good news indeed, as it will help my job greatly. If you will sit down, we will now go back to the shore, Jeanne-San.”

Nancy smiled gently at that: Minamoto had made the understandable mistake of confusing her first name for her family name, something quite natural, as the Japanese put the family name first. She however didn’t correct him and sat down besides her sons.

Watched intently by both the crews of the anchored ships and by the Japanese lining the shore, the rowboat went back to the pier, where a man inside the boat threw a tie-down rope to another man on the pier. Once the boat was well secured, Minamoto politely helped Nancy and her sons step out of the boat, then got on the pier himself as his men transferred the luggage of the small family. Despite being now the first non-Japanese ever to land here, Nancy didn’t miss the fact that a troop of over forty samurai warriors in full armor stood at the ready near the foot of the wharf. While they didn’t show hostility right now, their presence was a clear reminder that the Japanese were

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intent on having their authority respected. Minamoto then pointed to her a small wooden building sitting at the junction of the pier and the shore.

“We may now move to the customs house, where your entry in Japan will be recorded.”

“Then lead the way, Minamoto-San.” said Nancy while bowing deeply to him. He returned her bow, then started walking towards the custom house. They had to pass by the troop of stern-faced samurai warriors in the process, with Nancy’s three sons throwing them curious looks. In turn, the samurai discreetly detailed Nancy with male interest as she walked in front of them, something she didn’t miss. She then entered the customs house with her sons and Minamoto. Inside, she found four Japanese men dressed in kimonos and standing or sitting behind a long table, with a supply of paper, pens and ink at the ready. Making her sons imitate her, Nancy bowed deeply to them in sign of respect, drawing return bows.

“I apologize for forcing you to work before the official opening date of this port, respectable sirs. I hope that you will forgive me for my haste. I am Lady Jeanne Smythe-D’Orléans, a French citizen, and those are my sons James, Charles and William. I came to Japan to show your fascinating country to my children.”

“You speak excellent Japanese, Jeanne-San.” replied the oldest man with a benign smile. “May I ask how you learned it?”

“You may, sir: I learned it in China from local sea traders who visit regularly your port in Nagasaki. I of course speak Mandarin Chinese as well. My sons however don’t speak Japanese or Chinese…yet.”

“You used the title of ‘Lady’ to describe yourself, Jeanne-San. Are you of the nobility in your country?”

“I am, honorable sir. However, in France, the nobility may have titles and often lands but they do not rule, as our government is elected directly by the people. I am thus merely a rich woman with a title but am most content with simply helping others in need when I can.”

“I see.” said the old official, many questions still on his mind. He however kept strictly to his present job. “You said that you came to Japan to visit it with your sons and not to trade?”

“That is correct, honorable sir. I have brought only personal effects with me, plus a few small items to be given as gifts.”

The official nodded to that.

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“Have you any opium with you, Jeanne-San?”

Nancy answered at once in a calm voice, knowing how sensitive the subject of opium was in Japan. The European powers, Great Britain in the lead, had already fought two wars with China to impose on it the import of opium, a crass economic and political move that reeked of imperial colonialism at its worst. That forced importation of opium had in turn created millions of drug addicts in China, resulting in increased crime and painful social problems. The Japanese authorities were thus understandably anxious not to allow such a thing to happen in their country.

“I have none and never used or wished to use any, honorable sir. I must apologize as a dual citizen of France and Great Britain for the despicable way opium has been pushed on other countries by my governments, a policy I always opposed strongly.”

The official seemed pleased by her answer and bowed to her.

“Then I am ready to deliver you an entry visa, Jeanne-San. How long do you expect to stay in Japan?”

“If I could stay a few months and thoroughly show your country to my sons, I would be grateful for it, honorable sir. May I ask what are the restrictions applied presently to foreigners in Japan?”

“You may, Jeanne-San. Unfortunately for you, foreigners are restricted to the area around Yokohama and cannot travel further than 25 of your miles from this port. To go further than this would need a special dispensation from the Shogun himself.”

“That is regrettable but understandable, honorable sir. I had hoped to be able to show the palaces of both your shogun and of your emperor to my sons. If that is the rule, then I will abide by it.”

Her answer made the old official caress briefly his small graying goatee as he thought it over.

“You are however an obvious special case, Jeanne-San, as the first foreign woman to set foot in Japan and one who speaks good Japanese on top. I may just send a letter to Edo to relate your case to the authorities there.”

“That would be very kind of you, honorable sir.” replied Nancy, bowing again. “In

the meantime, I will lodge at a local hatago28 with my sons and will keep within the 25 mile limit. I do have a couple of questions more for you, though. First, I have aboard the

28 Hatago: Japanese inn of the Edo Period reserved for the common folk, as opposed to the more prestigious honjin reserved for traveling feudal lords and their suites.

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ship that brought me my horse and personal buggy, a small horse-drawn cart I use to go around with my sons and baggage. Would it be a problem to let them land tomorrow?”

“I see no problem with that, as long as you don’t travel further than the set limit. I have to say that we never saw a horse-drawn cart in Japan before. I will be curious to see it.”

“I may just give you a small ride in it then tomorrow, honorable sir. My second question is about money. I have brought with me both gold and silver to pay for my stay. Are there money changers in Yokohama where I could obtain local currencies?” The old official smiled and designated the man standing last to his left.

“Then Akimoto-San here will be able to help you: he is the designated money changer employed by the custom house. Once we have filled your visa form, you will be free to deal with him.”

“Thank you very much, honorable sir.”

Filling the visa form, including explaining the way her name was written, took less than twenty minutes to Nancy, who was then free to exchange a number of pure gold chips for Tempo Koban gold coins, Ansei Nishu-gin silver coins and a good quantity of low value copper coins. Once she was done, the older official had a servant call two man-pulled rickshaws so that Nancy and her sons could go to an inn. Before loading up in the lead rickshaw, Nancy saluted the head customs official with a deep bow.

“I thank you sincerely for your help and comprehension, honorable sir. Before going, I would wish to present to your government a small gift. Accepting it on its behalf would please me most.”

Nancy then presented in the traditional Japanese way a long roll made of leather and tied by a red string that she had just taken out of one of her travel bags. The official accepted it with both hands after the customary refusal of the two first offers, bowing to Nancy, then slowly opened the roll, watched by the other officials at his back. The old man smiled with appreciation on seeing that the leather sheet protected a large World map. The map was the most accurate and complete one Nancy could find in the Europe of the time and had been modified by her by the painstaking addition in black ink of small Japanese symbols translating the English writing on the map. He rolled back the map and gave it to one of his assistants and then bowed again to Nancy.

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“This is indeed a most precious gift to my government, Jeanne-San. I will make sure that it accompanies my letter about you to Edo. May you have a good stay in Japan.”

“I will, thanks to the hospitality of your people, honorable sir.” said Nancy, who then got in the lead rickshaw with her two younger sons. James took place in the second rickshaw, along with most of their luggage. The old custom official watched them leave, then turned to face one of his assistants.

“Yori, have a mounted messenger ready to leave for Edo after lunch. I am going to prepare a letter for Senior Councilor Hotta Masayoshi about that woman. If all the

nambanjin29 are like her, something I however doubt greatly, dealing with them will be so much easier.”

Nancy’s sons kept turning their heads around as the rickshaws rolled away from the pier, fascinated by all the new sights presented to them. Their obvious delight and interest in turn warmed up Nancy’s heart: she had hoped for a long time for just that kind of family vacation with all of her sons. If anything, this convinced her even more that she needed to be firm with the Time Patrol about not being forcibly separated anymore from any of her children in the future. What she was asking for was after all a basic right of any citizen, be it in the 20th or 35th Century. Having asked already to the operator of her rickshaw to find her a good inn, she thus relaxed and let him go along the streets of the eastern section of Yokohama, freshly built by the Japanese authorities solely to accommodate the hordes of foreigners who were expected to descend on Japan now that trade was officially permitted. The few Japanese present in the eastern section today, most of whom were busy putting the finishing touches to their various establishments and buildings in preparation for tomorrow’s official port opening, in turn eyed her and her sons with intense curiosity. It didn’t take long before Nancy’s rickshaw driver slowed down and stopped in front of a fair sized establishment situated along a wide street lined with similar wooden buildings. A mature woman in kimono came at once from inside the single story building and spoke quickly with the driver before going to Nancy and bowing to her.

“Welcome to my modest establishment, honorable lady.” she said in Japanese while still bowing. “Are you planning on staying long?”

29 Nambanjin: Old Japanese term to describe western foreigners and meaning ‘southern barbarians’.

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“At least a few weeks, Okami-San30. I hope that my early arrival will not cause you problems.”

“Not at all, honorable lady. Will you need two separate rooms or a single large one?”

“I would prefer a single large one, Okami-San. We will follow you in as soon as I have my luggage taken down.”

“Then let us help you, honorable lady.” said quickly the innkeeper before shouting orders towards her inn and making four young women and teenage girls, all clad in colorful silk kimonos, come out of the building. With their help, everything was unloaded in a minute and brought inside. Nancy paid generously the two rickshaw operators before going in with the lady innkeeper, taking the time to take off her boots and leaving them at the entrance first. The interior was strictly of traditional Japanese style and was probably going to stomp by its bareness the many foreign travelers to come. Not Nancy though, who had lived already two past lives in Japan, one as an early period warrior, the other as a high end geisha in 9th Century Kyoto. Following behind the lady innkeeper a corridor made of lacquered wood and paper wall panels, she was then shown inside a room that was maybe five by four meters, where her sons and their luggage already were, along with two young maids. The floor was covered with a tatami straw mat and four windows with thin paper gave a fair but subdued amount of light to the room. Four rolled futon mats and bed sheets had already been set along one wall, while a low table lay in the middle of the room. Nancy looked quickly around, then bowed to the lady innkeeper.

“This is most satisfactory, Okami-San. How much are you asking for the room?”

“Twelve momme per day, including the meals, baths and laundry services, honorable lady.”

“Hmm, that would make six gold ryou per month. I agree! I will pay one month in advance right now.”

Searching in her belt purse, Nancy took out a few Japanese gold chips and gave them to the lady innkeeper, who bowed low to her.

“Will the honorable lady need a bath after her long sea trip?”

“I will delight in one, along with my sons, Okami-San.”



30 Okami: Lady innkeeper.

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“Then I shall have the sento31 readied at once.” The innkeeper then left, soon followed by the two maids, leaving Nancy alone with her sons. Seeing little William testing with his hands the paper of the sliding door, she hurried to him and held his hands gently, stopping him from ripping the paper open.

“No, William! You are not to touch the paper walls here: they are easy to break.”

“Why are the walls and windows made of paper, Mother?” asked at once Charles, who was looking at the flimsy door of their room.

“Paper is a traditional material in Japan, Charles. It is used in houses because earthquakes are frequent in Japan and paper walls have less risks of causing injuries if they collapse than solid wooden walls.”

“What is an earthquake, Mommy?” said William in his innocent voice, making Nancy look down tenderly at him.

“An earthquake is when the ground shakes violently by itself. During big earthquakes, complete houses can collapse and roads can open up wide.” Her thirteen year-old son James was next with a question as he looked around the nearly empty room.

“Are all hotel rooms this bare in Japan, Mother?”

“That is the traditional way of living here, James. You will however soon find out that what may be missing in furniture is more than compensated by the services provided.”

“What kind of services?”

“About anything the lady innkeeper can do to make our stay more agreeable, basically. Now, let’s unpack some of our things. Since storage facilities are at a premium here, we will take out of our bags only some spare underwear. Don’t bother taking out our soap and towels: they will be provided by the inn.”

Barely fifteen minutes later, a light knock on the frame of the sliding door made Nancy speak up in Japanese.

“Enter!”

The two young maids who had been in the room previously then entered, accompanied by a third maid. One carried a tray of food, the second a tea service and the third what looked like a few bath robes and paper sandals. The trays of food and tea went on the

31 Sento: Communal bathhouse.

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low table, while the third maid put the robes down in one corner. Two of the maids then left, while the older one, a girl of maybe 20, kneeled besides the low table and bowed to Nancy.

“I am Miko, your maidservant. We brought some snacks and tea for you and your sons.”

“Thank you very much, Miko-San.” said politely Nancy before switching to French for the benefit of her sons.

“Miko, our designated maidservant, has brought some snacks for us, boys. Please come kneel by the table and serve yourselves.”

Her sons obeyed eagerly enough, kneeling in the traditional Japanese way in front of the low table. Nancy helped them serve themselves with honey rice cakes and melon, supervising them as they used their chopsticks. She had spent quite a few hours during their sea trip to indoctrinate her sons in Japanese mores and good manners, so that they wouldn’t appear like the uncivilized barbarians the Japanese were expecting to see arrive in droves tomorrow. After serving her son William, Nancy smiled at Miko, who was patiently waiting by the side of the table after serving tea to her and her two older sons.

“I am afraid that my sons don’t speak Japanese, Miko-San. My name is Jeanne and my sons are William, Charles and James.”

“You have beautiful sons, Jeanne-San.” said the maidservant, struggling with the foreign-sounding name. “Is your husband going to join you soon at this inn?”

“My husband died two years ago in India, Miko-San. I am a widow.”

“I am sorry to hear that, Jeanne-San. Please accept my heartfelt condolences.”

“Thank you, Miko-San. I am hoping with this trip to your country with my sons to rebuild my family life. I also wish to show my sons different places and ways, to educate them about the World. I myself have already traveled a lot in many countries and learned to speak Japanese from Chinese sea merchants. This is however my first time in Japan. As for my sons, this is their first overseas trip, except for James, who traveled with me from the Americas to France.”

Intense curiosity showed up in Miko’s eyes then.

“Is life very different in your country compared to here, Jeanne-San?”

“Quite different, Miko. The political and social systems are completely different and the technology is very advanced, as you can see by yourself from watching our ships. What is not different is the nature of the human beings in both our countries. We

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all can suffer, cry, laugh, get angry or show kindness or love, like the Japanese do. Being different doesn’t mean being either inferior or superior to others. I can tell you in detail about my country in the days to come, if you wish so.”

“I would love that very much, Jeanne-San.” said Miko, bowing briefly. Nancy nodded as well, then took out of her purse a gold chip and ceremoniously presented it to the stunned maidservant.

“Yoroshiku onegai-shimasu32, Miko-San.”

“But…that is too much, Jeanne-San!” protested weakly Miko.

“Not in my eyes, Miko-San. Know that I am a very rich woman and that it will make me most happy if you accepted this.”

Miko, the daughter of a poor peasant, hesitated for a moment, then took the gold chip that represented over a month of her normal salary and bowed yet again.

“Jeanne-San is too kind.”

“Kindness is not measured in gold, Miko-San: it is measured in how much you really care for others. I made it my goal in life to care for others.” Miko felt humbleness then. The people of Yokohama had been talking and speculating wildly for months now about how the foreigners would be like in reality but had in general agreed among themselves that the nambanjin had to be inferior to the Japanese people despite their black ships and big guns. Now, Miko was starting to wonder about the wisdom of that opinion. She got up from the tatami mat and bowed to Nancy.

“With your permission, I will go see how long it will take for the bathhouse to be ready, Jeanne-San.”

“You don’t need my permission for anything, Miko-san: I trust your good judgment and competence. This said, I realized that you asked out of good manners and I appreciate it. By the way, if you were wondering about it, I can tell you that not all foreigners are like me. You will see good ones as well as bad or indifferent ones in the years to come. Simply take them as they come. The only thing that they will have in common is their lack of knowledge of the Japanese language.”

“Yes, Jeanne-San.” could only respond Miko, surprised by this foreigner’s hindsight and openness. She then walked out of the room, closing the sliding door behind her, and went quickly to her own room, taking the time to hide in her personal

32 Yoroshiku onegai-shimasu: I hope that we can count on you during our stay here. Traditional formula used when giving the kokoro-zuke, or arrival tip, to one’s designated maidservant in a Japanese inn.

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effects the precious gold chip before heading to the inn’s bathhouse, which formed an annex in the backyard, next to the inn’s garden. She found there her boss, Kimi-San, supervising two maidservants busy filling the communal bath with hot water. All three women looked at her when she entered, with Kimi-San questioning her at once in a low, eager tone.

“So, how are they?”

“Certainly different, Kimi-San. The woman, Jeanne-San, told me that she was a very rich widow and that she came here with her sons to show them new things. Jeanne-San nearly treated me as an equal.”

The three others stared at her with surprise, with the innkeeper finally replying to that.

“You are right, Miko: they are different. The bath should be ready in half an hour at the most.”

“Then we should see if they are really different.” said maliciously one of the maids, making the others giggle in amused understanding: popular speculations had also been running about the foreigners being possibly different physically as well from the Japanese. Gossiping was bound to be fierce tonight around Yokohama.

Once the hot communal bath was ready, Kimi-San sent word of it to Miko, who then escorted Nancy and her sons to the bathhouse. The four foreigners wore the informal yukata robes provided to them, creating a picture that made the maids smile with amusement: while Nancy’s robe was way too short due to her near-giant size, little William’s robe, despite being the smallest one the maids could find, dragged behind him on the floor as he eagerly ran around, excited by all the new things around him. The family was first led by Miko to the washing area, where she showed them low stools set around a large wooden bucket full of lukewarm water. Nancy and her sons then handed their robes to Miko and started scrubbing themselves thoroughly with the soft brushes and bars of soap available, splashing themselves with water from the bucket by using small bowls. Again, Miko found Jeanne to be knowledgeable about Japanese customs, telling her sons to wash and rinse themselves completely before they could get into the hot bath. Miko and the other maids, who volunteered to help scrub the backs of the foreigners, could then see that they were no different physically from Japanese, except for their size. Jeanne’s fit and muscular body, along with the faint scars around her torso, did attract a few discreet stares, while James and Charles were later graded by the maids as handsome and healthy boys. As for little William, he became at once popular

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with the maids as one happy and exuberant child. Miko smiled when she saw Jeanne’s two older sons hesitate after dipping their feet in the very hot water of the communal bath. In contrast, while she entered the hot water progressively, Jeanne went in without a hesitation, helping her William to get in at the same time. It took a few words of goading from Jeanne to finally convince Charles and James to get in the hot water very reluctantly, making Miko grin at Jeanne.

“I guess that you are not accustomed to hot baths, Jeanne-San.”

“Not this hot, Miko-San.”

The relaxing effects of the hot water however soon quieted down the objections of the two older boys. After soaking for a good twenty minutes while chatting with Miko, the family came out, minus little William, who had already been taken out by Jeanne earlier on and then dried by Miko. Returning to its room, the family dressed back in fresh clothes to go for a short walk around town. This time, Jeanne put on a nice French evening gown with a low cut cleavage, supplemented by a set of moderately expensive but visually magnificent jewels. If she was to be looked and stared at, then she might as well parade in the latest Paris fashion, minus of course the crinoline cages she detested so much. The four of them indeed attracted all the eyes around the moment they started walking up the street on which their inn was. Guided by her historical hindsight, Jeanne didn’t lose time in this section of Yokohama, knowing that it contained nearly exclusively inns or warehouses meant to be used by foreigners. The shops where one could buy souvenirs or find good Japanese artifacts were along streets nearer to the western section of the small town, which was occupied by the Japanese population. She thus led her sons up the main artery of Yokohama, the Honcho Dori, where they slowly went down the line of shops, looking at the goods on sale. Jeanne took her time and restricted her buying to a few small art objects she deemed of high enough quality to be worth her interest. After an hour or so of window shopping and bargaining, the family stopped at a restaurant serving traditional Japanese food. As Jeanne had expected, the fare was heavy on sea products, much of it caught by local fishermen. This proved a good opportunity for her to initiate her sons to the delights of Japanese Sushi. More window shopping followed after lunch. At around two O’clock in the afternoon, Jeanne decided to return towards their inn, where she temporarily left Charles and William under the care of James and then went by herself to the shoreline near the West Pier of the port. Discussing and bargaining with a number of Japanese officials in charge of

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leasing the few trading and storage facilities already built in this section of Yokohama, she chose a compound close to the Western Pier that would at least fit temporarily the needs of the Jardine, Matheson and Company mercantile house, paying a deposit on it in order to secure it for the use of Captain Brereton. With a signed receipt for it and after leaving specific instructions to the official, Jeanne then returned to her inn, her goals for the day accomplished.

20:53 (Japan Time)

Kimi-San’s inn

Yokohama, Japan

Having sung a soft song along with playing her guitar to help put to sleep her sons, Jeanne then kissed each of them in turn on the forehead, with little William last. Her younger son did ask one question as he lay on his futon bed in the darkened room, which was faintly illuminated by one oil lamp.

“Mommy, will we be able to travel around here?”

“We will, William. Tomorrow, we will go take Pegasus and our buggy off the ship and will then make an excursion to Kanagawa, the nearest town from Yokohama. After that, we will visit what the local government will let us see.”

“Why would they not let us go anywhere, Mommy?”

“Because they are not accustomed to strangers and prefer to be cautious about us.”

“Are they afraid of us, Mommy?”

“Some are, William. Now, go to sleep: we will be doing some traveling tomorrow.”

She gave him another kiss, then quietly left the room, closing the wood and paper sliding door behind her. Walking silently in her woolen socks on the tatami mat covering the floors of the inn, Jeanne went to the rear patio in order to watch the sea, visible from the garden area. Sitting cross-legged on the rear patio, she contemplated in silence the sea and the dark sky and thought about her future and that of her sons. One thing that came at once to her mind was how happy she had been in those last few days with all of her sons. This in turn brought her back to her situation as a member of the Time Patrol. She may have been living three different lives alternatively for years but this had been straining more and more severely her psyche lately. If she didn’t change something

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soon, she knew that she would break in some way eventually. For her children’s sake, she was going to have to do something, and this before she returned to either the 17th or 19th Century.

16:37 (Auckland Time)

November 6, 2977 B.C.E.

Timeless Club, main Time Patrol base

Future site of Auckland, New Zealand

“Tammy, another Scotch on the rocks, please!” ordered Farah Tolkonen, her voice a bit slurred. Tammy Bowman, who was the barmaid on duty at the Timeless Club at this hour, eyed her with concern while approaching her. She however didn’t grab the bottle of old Scotch on the shelves behind the bar and gently put one hand on Farah’s right hand.

“Farah, you should stop drinking now: it won’t help you one bit to get drunk.”

“It will help me forget, Tammy.”

“No it won’t! It will only prevent you from using your head properly and you may do something stupid as a result.”

“I already did something plenty stupid today, Tammy: I made Nancy run away.” The young blonde sighed in discouragement at that: it was true that Nancy’s rebellion had quickly proved to be a killer on the morale of the other members of the Time Patrol, including on her. Tammy didn’t doubt that Nancy had to have very serious reasons to run away the way she did. She knew Nancy too well to think otherwise. On the other hand, she just couldn’t feel resentment towards Farah for this: the giant scientist was too much of a nice person to be accused of being mean. The way she understood it, Tammy believed that the rules of the Time Patrol had been too inflexible for too long and didn’t reflect anymore the reality lived by its agents, especially the female ones.

“Farah, you tried to control a situation that could have threatened history. You only did your job. It’s the rules that are to blame, not you.”

“But I helped to make those rules, along with Nancy ‘A’.”

“And Nancy ‘A’ didn’t take very long to break a few of them. Yet, the World didn’t stop turning for that, which proves that rules are not always right. You simply have to think about better rules instead of hurting yourself by getting drunk.”

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Before Farah could insist on getting another drink, Mike Crawford entered the bar lounge of the Timeless Club and, after a nod to Tammy, went to sit at the bar besides Farah. One look at her was enough to tell him that she had downed a lot more than she was accustomed to.

“Farah, you really should go rest a bit.”

“Can’t!” said Farah, tears starting to roll again on her cheeks. “I need to forget this whole sorry business.”

“The only thing you will gain from drinking is a good headache in the morning, Farah. Believe my experience.”

“And has your experience told you how to repair the mess I created, Mike?”

“No, not yet!” said Mike weakly, his morale as much in tatters as anyone’s else on base. “Tammy, one Scotch on the rocks, please.”

Resigned, Tammy served him, then served a fresh drink to Farah, who grabbed it as if it would be her savior.

Over a dozen more members of the Time Patrol entered the bar lounge in the following ten minutes, having finished their work for the day. Linn Spencer, Tammy’s friend and lesbian lover, was part of those who showed up and went to sit besides Farah at the bar, sandwiching herself between Farah and Mike.

“Any news from Nancy?” asked hesitantly Linn to Tammy, who shook her head sadly.

“None! However, I believe that nobody actively searched for her. Right, Mike?”

“Correct!” said thoughtfully the big American between two sips. “I am just hoping that Nancy will find a solution to this by herself.”

As if calling her name had summoned her, Nancy entered the lounge at that moment, dressed in a 19th Century city gown and pushing a modern two-seater baby carriage. Her sons William, Charles and James followed close behind her. Nancy ‘B’ gave a tentative smile to Mike and Farah, who were still seated at the bar.

“Hello guys! May I present to you all my twins, Louis and Anne? They are now two months old.”

Linn, being the nearest, crouched besides the carriage and caressed gently the head of the two babies, sparkles in her gray eyes.

“They are so cute! Hello Louis! Hello Anne!”

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All the persons present in the bar lounge then approached the two babies to look at them and to congratulate a proud Nancy ‘B’. Mike, Farah and Tammy approached as well, waiting for their turn at the babies. However, Mike gave a cautious look first at Nancy.

“Where did you have them, Nancy?”

“In Jerusalem ‘B’. I already introduced them to the 19th Century, where they are officially known in 1860 Paris as a set of twins I adopted during my return trip from Japan.”

“Japan?” said Mike, clearly surprised, making Nancy nod.

“Yes, Japan. I traveled to Japan with my three sons in 1859 in order to have a real family vacation at last. We had a great time together, then we returned to Jerusalem so that I could have my babies in peace and quiet.” Having finally an opportunity to touch the twin babies, Mike crouched and caressed them, noticing then that Louis had green eyes while Anne had gray eyes. Apart from that and their sex, they were indistinguishable. He then got back up and smiled to Nancy.

“They are truly adorable, Nancy. Too bad that your parents are not here to see them.”

That last remark attracted a smirk on Nancy’s face.

“My parents have already seen them, Mike: they now live with me in 1860 Paris, as a Canadian couple hired by me to help me run my household. Now I will have my mother handy to take care of my kids when I will have to switch to the 17th Century.” Mike’s smile faded at those words.

“But…your parents are not trained as field agents. How will they fit in that century?”

“Well enough, Mike.” replied firmly Nancy, now looking most serious. “They made the conscious choice of going to go live the rest of their lives in the 19th Century, as I decided myself to live strictly from now on in either the 17th or 19th Century, with only brief visits to other time periods if absolutely needed. Mike, Farah, I am ready to continue to collaborate with the Time Patrol in those two time periods and to continue assuming my official identities there, but that will be all. From now on, I intend to take my family life seriously and to take care properly of my children. You can scratch me from the roster of our assault specialist teams and from rotation lists to our outposts. Two lives are the most I can really handle. You can also of course take me off the Time Patrol’s payroll.”

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“Collaborate?” said Farah, dumbfounded. “You don’t consider yourself an agent of the Time Patrol anymore?”

“No, Farah! I presented you my resignation before I disappeared and that still stands. Consider myself as an independent operator ready to help you in those two centuries.”

She then put a hand on Mike’s left shoulder while looking into his eyes.

“Mike, I have one last request for the Time Patrol: to be able to keep Pegasus, my robotic horse. It has become a lot more than a simple machine for me in those last few years and is now like a companion and a friend.”

“I can understand that, Nancy. If you ever need to bring it in for repair or refit, don’t hesitate to come.”

“I will, Mike. After all, I still have many friends here that are still dear to me.” On those words, the agents around Nancy took turns to kiss and hug her. Farah herself got in line then and was warmly hugged by Nancy.

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Cardinal Jules Mazarin on his death bed in 1661, surrounded by King Louis XIV and his court.





CHAPTER 17 – SPY OF THE SUN KING




21:46 (Paris Time)

Tuesday, March 8, 1661 ‘A’

Château de Vincennes

Eastern suburbs of Paris, France

The doctor and his assistant walked out of Cardinal Mazarin’s bedroom and bowed respectfully in front of King Louis XIV, who was waiting and sitting in the adjacent lounge with a number of members of his court.

“We have performed a bleeding on His Eminence, Your Majesty. He should feel better now. He is however quite weak and should rest.”

“Thank you, Doctor. You may go now.” said the King politely, making the doctor and his assistant bow again before walking out of the lounge. Nancy, who was part of the King’s entourage, threw a contemptuous glare at the doctor and spoke in a low voice to nobody in particular as the door of the lounge closed.

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“Of course he will be weak, you moron! What do you expect when you take blood from a dying man?”

“Still in bad terms with the court’s doctor, my dear Nancy?” asked King Louis, a smirk on his face. She nodded to him, still visibly angry.

“Bleedings and enemas: that’s all he and most of the doctors in France know what to do. Even the ancient Greeks and Romans practiced better medicine than this, Your Majesty! Could we at least forbid more bleedings on the Cardinal, unless we want him to die tonight?”

“Then you would deprive the good doctor of half of his remedies, if we believe you, my dear.”

“Which is why he and his colleagues should be sent back to study real medicine, Your Majesty! One day, you should ask that charlatan how much blood there is inside the body of an average man, then you should have a condemned prisoner bled to death to find out how much blood there is in reality in his veins. You may well then find out that the doctors who practice bleedings in France overestimate the amount of blood in a human body by a factor of three or even four, Your Majesty.” The young King, who was only 22 years old, looked critically at Nancy for a moment as he thought those words over, then nodded once.

“An interesting proposition, my dear Marquess. I may do just that one fine day. Right now, I want to see our poor friend. You may all follow me but please keep some distance from the bed and keep quiet.”

King Louis, accompanied by his mother, Queen Anne of Austria, and by his wife, Queen Maria-Theresa, then entered the bedroom, followed a moment later by Nancy and the other twenty or so aristocrats present in the lounge. They found Cardinal Mazarin as pale as a sheet as he lay in his bed, attended by the King’s Jesuit confessor, Father De La Chaise. Taking a chair near the bed, Louis XIV sat and eyed sadly the man who had taught him everything about politics and power and had been like a second father to him.

“My poor Mazarin, this is indeed a sad moment for me and France.” Despite being very weak and in pain, Mazarin managed a smile and spoke in a faint voice to his king.

“For you it may be, Your Majesty, but I suspect that many in France will rejoice once I am dead. I have made too many enemies during my years of service to France to believe that everybody around loves me, especially in Paris.”

“Forget about those, my friend. Here, you have only friends.”

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Mazarin was nearly tempted to contradict Louis as he scanned the faces around his bed, seeing a few men and even women who wouldn’t mind see him dead right now. Instead, he nodded once slowly.

“And I thank God for it, Your Majesty. I am however very tired and may make a poor conversation partner right now.”

“Then we will let you rest, my friend.” said King Louis, who then made a gesture for his followers to leave. Once alone with Mazarin and Father De La Chaise, Louis looked back down at the pale face of his prime minister, a lump in his throat.

“Is there anything else I could do for you, my friend?”

“A few, Your Majesty.” said with an effort Mazarin. “Have you read my testament, the one I sent you?”

“I have! Your nieces will be treated as if they are from my own family and will lack nothing. All of your other requests will be respected, and I mean all.” Mazarin nodded, satisfied. In the course of administering France for Louis, he had amassed a huge fortune and extensive art collections and was worried that they would fall in the wrong hands after his death, which was indeed near.

“Good! Next, I would like to give you an ultimate piece of advice, my dear Louis. Come closer.”

Louis bent over the bed, approaching his ear to Mazarin’s mouth. The cardinal then spoke in a whisper.

“Never use another prime minister, Your Majesty.”

The young king was taken aback at first by this, then realized what Mazarin truly meant.

“I…I understand, my friend. I will follow your advice. Could you name me someone I could trust to help me administer France?”

Again, Louis approached his ear to Mazarin, who answered without a hesitation.

“My own assistant, Jean-Baptiste Colbert, is a man of both high integrity and high abilities. He managed my own financial affairs with brilliance and utter loyalty. You can trust him completely.”

“I will certainly keep him by my side. Anything else, my friend?” This time, Mazarin spoke in a normal volume, so that Father De La Chaise could hear as well. Louis could now see a faint smile on Mazarin’s face.

“Without wanting to diminish the precious spiritual support given by Father De La Chaise, I would like to enjoy the presence of a beautiful woman to hold vigil on me

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during what may be my last night in this world. I want that woman to be an intelligent one as well. You know us Italians, Your Majesty: we talk much, even with women.” While Father De La Chaise seemed scandalized by this request, King Louis grinned to Mazarin.

“Your wish is granted, my friend. Do you have any specific woman in mind?”

“Only one woman in your court is both beautiful and truly intelligent, Your Majesty. Could you send me the Marquess of Saint-Laurent? She has been and still is my best operative when it comes to delicate, complicated missions.” Louis nodded at that: he himself admired the tall young marquess and had continued to frequent her over the years, often bringing her with him on his hunting expeditions around his hunting lodge in Versailles.

“I will send her to you right after this. Don’t try too many things with her, though: she could drain the last of your energy quickly. I know that from experience.” Mazarin managed a short laugh then and patted the young man’s shoulder.

“She is another one you would do well to keep around you, Your Majesty.”

“I was going to do that anyway, my friend.” replied Louis with a grin before getting up. He then glanced at Father De La Chaise, who understood the silent message and left the bedroom. Louis followed him and stopped in the middle of the adjacent lounge, where his mother, wife and court nobles were still waiting.

“Our friend wants to rest now. We better leave him in peace for the night. I will see you all early tomorrow morning, so that we could resume our vigil.” As the men and women rose from their chairs and sofas to leave, Louis went to Nancy and gently touched her left arm, making her stop and look at him.

“Nancy, our friend wishes to have you to stand vigil on him during the night. Can I count on you for this?”

“Of course, Your Majesty!” she said at once, not appearing surprised by this. The others around them who heard that looked by contrast stunned, if not shocked. Ignoring them, Louis let Nancy enter the bedroom, then gallantly took the arm of his wife and queen, Maria-Theresa of Spain, to escort her to her apartments. Maria-Theresa may not have been pretty and was rather slow-witted but Louis, even while running around with other women of the court, always showed utter courtesy and consideration to his wife and honored her bed nearly every night.

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Inside the bedroom, Nancy curtsied before approaching Mazarin’s bed, then sat on the bed next to the cardinal. Nancy stared back at Mazarin, a serious expression on her face.

“I am here, Your Eminence. Do you wish for my company, for answers or for both?”

Mazarin nodded when he saw that she had read his true intentions: it was not solely because of her good looks and charms that she was such a good secret operative. She always had understood things quickly and then acted even faster, with utter efficiency. Her only weakness, if he could call it that way, was her uncommon tolerance and kindness, which contrasted with the way she could turn into a dangerous killer when needed.

“For both. You always intrigued me, Nancy, apart from fascinating me. Years ago, I asked my loyal D’Artagnan what he knew about you. He then surprised me by refusing to tell me, claiming that he had vowed not to tell anyone about you. I am now dying and would go more content if my curiosity could be satisfied about you.”

“D’Artagnan was always a man of his word, Your Eminence, which is one of the reasons why I love him. You are right about you dying, so I will reveal to you my secret, on the condition that you treat it like a confession and keep it confidential.”

“Then, I am ready to hear your confession, my dear Nancy.” Even though they were alone in the room, Nancy didn’t take any chances and laid herself on the bed, close to Mazarin and with her mouth near his ear. She started caressing his chest while speaking softly in his ear in Italian.

“Do not be alarmed by what I will tell you, Your Eminence. I am not an enemy of France and never will be, on the contrary. My name is really Nancy Laplante and I was indeed born in New France, but in the year 1982. I am from the future.” Mazarin swallowed hard while staring with shock into her eyes. Somehow, he believed her at once. This young woman, despite her discretion, had proved to have abilities and knowledge totally unheard of in any other women, or in fact any man.

“Why are you here?”

“At first, I came to explore the history of France in this century. Then I fell in love with D’Artagnan. From then on, my attachment to this France grew with the years. Now, I consider myself a true part of this France.”

“Why do you say ‘this France’?”

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“Because I have known France in many centuries, Your Eminence, both in the past and in the future. I even met the famous Joan of Arc. I can’t however tell you about future France, as it could put in danger preordained history.”

“Can…can you still travel through time?”

“At will, Your Eminence.”

“But, how?”

“By divine favor, Your Eminence. The One graced me with many incredible gifts after choosing me following a number of tests.”

“You were chosen? Then the Jansenists are right?”

“No!” replied at once Nancy in a firm tone. “The Jansenists pretend that we are all born with the original sin and that only a few chosen ones will be accepted by God. I refuse that notion, as I believe that we all come to this world as innocents and that we are all considered equal in God’s mind. He chose me to help protect the innocents and promote true justice because I was better than most in many things and truly cared about the others around me. I am however still most human and am not ashamed one bit of being a woman.”

Sweat was now rolling on Mazarin’s forehead. Taking her handkerchief, Nancy delicately wiped the beads away while speaking more soft words.

“Please rest now, Your Eminence. You are weak and tired.”

“Could…could you heal me, Nancy? You always swore at those damn court doctors, as if you knew much more than them in medicine.”

“Knowing more in medicine than these ignorant snobs isn’t difficult, Your Eminence. Yes, I could heal you but I won’t. Not because I hate you but because your death is already preordained and changing it could throw history into chaos. Like it or not, you will be a well known historical figure, Your Eminence.”

“I guess that I should be flattered by that.” said in a resigned tone Mazarin. “You are right about me being tired. Will you stay nearby tonight, Nancy?”

“I will be here in this room until someone relieves me tomorrow morning, Your Eminence. Now, sleep.”

Getting up from the bed, Nancy went to sit in a chair besides the bed, where Mazarin could see her easily. She then started her vigil as the dying prime minister went into an agitated sleep.

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Four hours later, with the bedroom dark save for a single candle on a dresser and with the castle mostly silent, Nancy heard Mazarin’s breathing become progressively more laborious. Hurrying to his side, she took one of his hands and found it cold, while his heartbeat was both erratic and weak. Nancy understood at once that the man was about to die. She started caressing gently his face and hair, making the cardinal wake up and look at her with eyes that had problems focusing.

“Is this how angels look like?” asked weakly Mazarin, prompting a tear to roll down Nancy’s cheek.

“What your spirit is about to see will be even more beautiful, Your Eminence. You were mostly a good man, considering the standards of this time. I am sure that God will be kind to your spirit.”

“Look…after…Louis, p…please!” said Mazarin with his last breath as his eyes lost focus. Nancy swallowed hard, in tears, and held his head until he had stopped breathing. She checked his pulse and, finding none, got back on her feet. Walking quickly out of the bedroom, she crossed the adjacent lounge and opened the door giving on the hallway, where she knew a musketeer would be on guard duty. She in fact encountered two of them, who stood on each side of the door, and addressed the senior one in an urgent voice.

“Monsieur Hubert, could you please advise the King at once that His Eminence just died?”

“Yes, Madame la Marquise!” replied the musketeer at once, bowing, before hurrying away. Letting the other musketeer stay at his post, Nancy returned into the bedroom and started lighting all the candles in the room, then threw a couple more logs in the fireplace to revive the fire. King Louis XIV, followed by many members of his court, entered the room less than ten minutes later. The young sovereign approached the bed and eyed tearfully his dead prime minister for a moment, then looked at Marshall Gramont, who was standing besides him.

“Marshall, we just lost a good friend.”

“Indeed, Your Majesty!”

Seeing the Marquess of Besmaux, who was the governor of the Bastille and was once the captain of the cardinal’s guards, cry, the King patted his back gently.

“Besmaux, console yourself, as you found a good new master.” As they all contemplated the dead cardinal in his bed, a junior minister lamented in a shaken voice.

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“But, to whom will we present our problems now?”

“To me!” pronounced at once King Louis in a calm but firm voice. As his courtiers stared at him, he looked around him to see who was present and pointed in turn at his foreign minister and his war minister.

“Messieurs De Lionne and Le Tellier, let’s go to my study! We need to talk!” The Queen Mother, along with Chancellor Séguier, was about to follow the King when the latter put his hand up abruptly.

“Please, Mother! I wish to confer only with my two ministers.” Anne of Austria was left shocked and hurt as she watched her son leave with his two ministers, muttering to her ladies in waiting.

“I knew that he would become ungrateful and would want to show that he could do things by himself.”

Nancy heard her but didn’t remark on it, letting the hidden miniature cameras and microphones in her tiara film the scene and record the words spoken. Queen Anne had tasted power as Queen Regent for more than seventeen years and had let her son on a tight leash…up to now. She was now going to realize how independent of spirit her son truly was.

07:23 (Paris Time)

Thursday, March 10, 1661 ‘A’

Château de Vincennes, eastern suburbs of Paris

France

The seven members of the High Council appeared mostly stunned and off balance when they filed out of the King’s private study, having been summoned very early by Louis. The many nobles and ladies of the court who had congregated at the news of the unexpected meeting and were wandering close by descended at once on the ministers and state secretaries to know what it had been about. Queen Anne of Austria was the first to intercept Chancellor Pierre Séguier, who appeared the most disturbed of the lot.

“So, what was it all about?” asked anxiously the Queen Mother, who had been nearly ignored, albeit politely, by her son since Mazarin’s death. The old chancellor hesitated, then answered in a low voice where some bitterness showed.

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“King Louis is going to govern by himself, Your Majesty, that’s what! I was told not to apply the royal seal to any official document unless it is on the direct order of the King or through one of the state secretaries or ministers, who will themselves have to get the King’s permission before pursuing any policy or signing any official acts. I’m just going to be a simple guardian for the royal seal, for God’s sake! The King also told Superintendent Fouquet to use Monsieur Colbert in order to manage the finances of France.”

“But this is tantamount to a revolution!” exclaimed Anne of Austria. “How could Louis hope to do everything by himself? How could he govern without me?”

“Well, he seemed pretty sure of himself inside there, Your Majesty.” answered the chancellor before walking away from her.

A bit further down the hallway, the superintendent of finances, Nicolas Fouquet, was having a conversation of his own with some of his supporters and informants in the court.

“But he can’t rule without a prime minister!” exclaimed a count who was in the pay of Fouquet, like half of the court nobles. Fouquet, a brilliant and cultured man who could charm most people when he wanted to but who was also a man supremely confident of himself, dismissed those words with a wave of the hand.

“He won’t rule without a prime minister, and that prime minister will be me. The King will change his mind quickly enough when he will realize the workload involved in governing.”

“And Colbert?” asked another nobleman. “He was Mazarin’s creature. Are we going to have the cardinal’s shadow over us even after his death? Colbert helped him amass his millions and will corrupt the King to Mazarin’s ways.”

“I will deal with Colbert my own way, gentlemen. Don’t worry! We now…” Fouquet then saw something that cut him in mid-sentence. He then left his supporters where they were and walked quickly towards the door which led into the King’s study. D’Artagnan, who was guarding the door with two of his musketeers, politely but firmly blocked his path.

“I am sorry, Your Excellency, but the King cannot receive you right now.” Fouquet looked haughtily at that simple sub-lieutenant of the musketeers who dared oppose him.

“But I just saw the Marquess of Saint-Laurent enter the study!”

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D’Artagnan nodded politely at that but his eyes showed that he was not intimidated one bit by the superintendent of finances.

“She was called in by the King, Your Excellency.”

“Her? An upstart savage girl from New France? How could she warrant a private meeting with the King at such a time?”

D’Artagnan’s eyes then hardened, and his tone of voice cooled down perceptibly.

“That, Monsieur, is solely the King’s business!”

Seeing that he wouldn’t succeed in intimidating the musketeer and knowing from experience that D’Artagnan couldn’t be bought, Fouquet let that go and turned around, returning to his circle of supporters. Once with them, he faced one of his informants with the most access to the close entourage of the King.

“Madame d’Huxelles, what do you know about that Marquess of Saint-Laurent? Why would the King receive her in private at such a time?”

“Maybe he just wants to jump her bones!” said a nobleman, cutting off the woman’s answer and attracting a displeased look from Fouquet.

“Monsieur De Chartrain, I believe that I was asking Madame d’Huxelles, not you. Go ahead, madame.”

The noblewoman kept her voice low as she answered him, so that others couldn’t hear her, while the nobleman who had cut her off smarted from Fouquet’s retort.

“Your Excellency, it is true that the Marquess of Saint-Laurent is known to be one of the mistresses of the King, but I believe that she is much more than that. We all heard about her prowess in fights during the Fronde and how she was raised in the wilds of New France. What many don’t realize is that she has been taking orders directly from Cardinal Mazarin, that is until last Tuesday, when she was the last one to be with him as he was dying in his bed. I heard a number of times in the past years the young King rejoice after the marquess had just returned from one of her frequent trips out of Paris, claiming that she had just completed some sort of mission.”

“So, you are saying that the Marquess of Saint-Laurent was some kind of secret agent of Cardinal Mazarin, madame?”

“Doesn’t it make sense, Your Excellency? That woman proved that she can be very dangerous when she wants to and is knowledgeable about many things, apart from being able to speak a godly number of languages.”

“Hmm, you may be right, madame, but then why be called in by the King at such a moment?”

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“Maybe the King wants her to become his secret agent, Your Excellency.”

“But he has already hundreds of men in his service who already can do his bidding. Why bother with her right now?” objected the Count De Chartrain. Madame d’Huxelles gave him a no-nonsense look.

“Can those men make a man talk in bed? Do you know many of them who can speak more than four languages? Don’t underestimate her, monsieur. Personally, I wouldn’t want to mess with her.”

“Maybe she can be bought?” suggested one of the noblemen in the group, making d’Huxelles laugh in derision.

“Keep dreaming, Monsieur de Marignan! That woman is an idealist. No amount of gold will buy her.”

“What do you mean exactly by idealist, Madame d’Huxelles?” asked Fouquet, interested by that notion.

“I heard her a few times as she chatted with other ladies of the court and even with the young king. She has those dreams of the lowly people in France being fed and educated properly, of the people of all nations living in peace and tolerance together one day.”

“You are right: she is an idealist.” said Fouquet, smiling. Her informer didn’t smile, though, and stared at him with utter seriousness.

“But a dangerous idealist, Your Excellency. She can be as mellow as an angel but she can also become very deadly if need be. Remember the two secret agents of Cromwell found with their throats slit in Paris ten years ago. Word is that she effectively killed those two men. Remember also the nine thugs killed by her after they tried to stop her from arriving at the Palais Royal.”

Fouquet nodded, now sobering on the subject.

“I see what you mean, madame. I will thus treat the Marquess of Saint-Laurent with due caution.”

Inside the King’s study, Nancy found King Louis sitting on a sofa and waiting for her. Louis kept a serious expression and did not invite her to sit with him, simply nodding his head politely at her entrance. Nancy made a curtsy in front of him, then looked into his eyes.

“You wanted to see me, Your Majesty?”

“Yes, my good Marquess.”

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The use by Louis of her title rather than her first name told Nancy at once that this was strictly official business. She thus let the King go on.

“Now that our poor friend the Cardinal is dead, I have decided to take the reins of power myself, without a prime minister. However, I will need good advice from my ministers and state secretaries, along with good information on what goes outside of France, so that I can be warned in advance of any foreign hostile move against France. Monsieur De Lionne has a good network of ambassadors and diplomatic agents around Europe, but I need on top of that someone who can cover certain delicate situations in a discreet manner. I know from your past missions for Cardinal Mazarin that you would be the perfect person for such a job. In short, I would like you to become my personal secret operative, my dear Nancy.”

“I would be honored to serve you in this capacity, Your Majesty.” said Nancy while curtsying again, making Louis smile briefly with satisfaction.

“Excellent! Before I confirm you in this position, I need to know first that I can count on your complete loyalty. You have English blood in your veins and you served the interests of the Stuarts before. You also adopted an English boy who is a Protestant. However, while we are presently good friends of the English King, I don’t know how long we will stay so. My question is if I can count on your undivided loyalty towards France.”

“Your Majesty,” answered calmly Nancy, “while all that you said was true, I now consider myself a French noblewoman, pure and simple. My loyalty is purely to France and I do not serve the Stuarts anymore, and this has been so for the last nine years. As for relations between France and England, I have seen enough in the past years to show me how fickle diplomatic alliances can be and also how internal political considerations could push present allies into making moves detrimental or hostile to France. King Charles II of England is a good man but he has to deal with a parliament that has a will of its own and which also controls his purse. The question of religious practice in England is also still a very thorny issue, with Protestants in the parliament hostile to any spread of Catholicism in England. On the maritime issue, the English Navigation Acts, by prohibiting foreign ships from transporting goods to and from England, is bound to provoke hostilities with other maritime nations, notably the Dutch United Provinces. Eventually, France is bound to get dragged at least partly into any such future hostilities.”

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Louis nodded in appreciation at that, pleased to see that she was as knowledgeable as he had hoped her to be in such things. There was however one point that still concerned him about her.

“And your own religious point of view will not influence you in this, Nancy?” Nancy measured her words carefully then, as she fully realized how sensitive questions of religion were in this time period.

“Your Majesty, I will be the first to recognize that I am not much of a churchgoer, contrary to you. While not an atheist, I personally believe that public religious practice does nothing to prove the real piety or christian worth of a person. Rather, I prefer to prove myself as a good Christian through acts and deeds of kindness, tolerance and compassion, rather than through hours spent in church. Also, I do not call myself a Catholic or a Protestant but consider myself a Christian, pure and simple, Your Majesty. As for my son James, while he is still nominally a Protestant, he is like me a non-practicing Christian and follows my philosophy of good practical deeds instead of attending church.”

Louis was silent for a while as he digested those words. He firmly believed in the primacy of the Catholic Church and was a devout Catholic himself. However, while Nancy’s admission of non-practice hurt him a bit, he knew her well enough to know that she effectively was a generous, kind and tolerant person whose acts indeed marked her as a good Christian. In fact, Louis had nothing but disdain towards many supposedly devout Catholics in his court who resumed their lying, stealing and cheating the moment they stepped out of church.

“Nancy, I know for a fact that you believe in what you just said and I can respect your point of view. Just be discreet about it, though, as many around us have little tolerance for anything but blind obedience to the Catholic Church.”

“I fully realize that, Your Majesty. Do you have a mission for me at this time?”

“I certainly do, my dear!” said the King, finally getting to what truly concerned him. “In order to reinforce the links between us and the English crown, I have planned to have my brother Philippe marry Princess Henriette-Anne of England, and this by the end of this month.”

Louis had somehow expected Nancy to laugh at that notion, as his brother Philippe was widely known to be an effeminate who preferred men to women and who liked to go around in dresses while wearing perfumes and powders. To his surprise, Nancy kept a straight face at that, so he went on.

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“Well, I have already asked Monsieur De Lionne to arrange through our ambassador in London to get the consent of King Charles II for such a marriage. A diplomatic delegation will soon leave for London to escort Princess Henriette-Anne back to Paris. Your official duty will be to be part of that delegation and to help escort the future Duchess of Orléans, while at the same time instructing her as delicately as possible about the little, uh, quirks of her future husband. However, your main goal will actually be to discreetly gauge the sentiments towards France in England and ascertain if they are preparing for any war with the Dutch or their German allies. Then, right after the marriage, I want you to go visit the Dutch United Provinces to discreetly measure the local reactions to that marriage, as the Dutch are liable to become worried at this development. Ample funds will of course be available for your mission.” Nancy smiled and curtsied to Louis: this was going to be a golden opportunity to collect some priceless historical data for the Time Patrol, even though she was not anymore a formal field agent or even a member of the Time Patrol.

“It will be a pleasure to be able to meet again my good friend Minette, Your Majesty. I will go coordinate my travel arrangements with Monsieur De Lionne right away, with your permission.”

“Just wait a moment before you go, Nancy.” said the King, getting up from his sofa. He then went to a drawer of his work desk and, unlocking it with a key from one pocket, took out of it a heavy purse which he threw to Nancy, who caught it in mid-air.

“I believe that you should have enough gold and silver in that purse for your travels. Can you tell my brother Philippe to come and see me next after you go out?”

“Of course, Your Majesty!” replied Nancy, who left after an ultimate curtsy.



Once out of the study and in the hallway, Nancy

ignored the curious looks directed at her and went to the Duke of Orléans, who was talking in a corner with the Knight of Lorraine, his not so secret lover. Probably because of the gravity of the circumstances, Philippe was wearing men’s clothes and not one of his usual court dresses. Personally, Nancy had nothing against the young man, who was now twenty. While indeed effeminate and a homosexual, Philippe was an intelligent, cultured man whose politeness and kindness would have put to shame many noblemen of the court. He was also an avid art collector and a shrewd financial investor and would in the

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years to come prove that he was as well a brave soldier. Philippe, who appreciated the tolerance of mind of Nancy as well as her intellect, smiled and bowed politely to her.

“What may I do for the good Marquess this morning?”

“For me, nothing, my good Duke, but your brother the King wishes to see you concerning the affairs of the state.”

“Me, needed for the affairs of the state?” said the Duke with authentic surprise. “That will be a first! Alright, I will go see him forthwith.”

As Philippe walked towards the study, Nancy stayed with the Knight of Lorraine, an extremely handsome young man who now looked apprehensive.

“Don’t worry, monsieur. Nothing bad will happen to the Duke.”

“Do you know what the King wants with Monsieur, Madame la Marquise?” asked De Lorraine while eyeing her sharply.

“Yes, but I will let Monsieur pass the news to you.” said Nancy, a slight smile on her face. Effectively, De Lorraine didn’t have to wait long to learn what was going on, as Philippe D’Orléans stormed out of the study, completely agitated, and spoke indignantly to his lover once close to him, keeping his voice low.

“He wants to marry me, to a woman!”

“Nooo!” replied De Lorraine, both incredulous and horrified. “With whom?”

“Princess Henriette-Anne of England. We are to be married by the end of this month.”

Philippe then looked at Nancy, who was still standing besides De Lorraine.

“I understand that you met Princess Henriette-Anne a number of times, Marquess. How is she?”

“I always knew her as a kind, gentle girl who loves life with a passion. She is sixteen years old, intelligent, beautiful and a cheerful person. You could do a lot worse than being with her, Monsieur.”

Philippe grumbled at that, still not liking this one bit, then gave another inquisitive look at Nancy.

“And you, my dear Marquess? When is the King going to marry you away?” Nancy’s smile faded then, as this was one thing she wished would never happen.

“Me? I work better from the shadows, Monsieur. The King can’t afford to restrict me to the routine of a household-bound lady. He needs me too much to untie tongues and cut throats.”

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While pronounced on the tone of a joke, Philippe knew that her last sentence was anything but a simple boast.

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CHAPTER 18 – RED CROSS AND WINE




09:10 (Paris Time)

Friday, September 9, 1864 ‘A’

Hôtel de Brinvilliers, 12 Rue Charles-V

Paris, France

Jeanne Smythe-D’Orléans, her nine years old son William and her four year-old twins Anne and Louis at her side, looked on proudly as Luc Rémillard, her handyman, finished fixing the large brass plaque besides the main entrance door of her residence. Also standing in front of the entrance and behind her were her parents, known to her staff simply as her uncle and aunt, and Jacques Leblanc, the executive secretary of the D’Orléans Social Foundation, the charity enterprise she ran from her big Paris residence. Jeanne then read the words engraved on the plaque under the red cross on white background, once her handyman had stepped aside.

“French National Society for the Relief of the Sick and Wounded in War. Damn, I like this!”

“You can be justly proud of your achievements, Jeanne.” said softly Jacques Leblanc. Now, your work will at last be officially acknowledged.” Jeanne gave him an amused look then.

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“The Legion of Honor and the Medal of Honor of the President are not official acknowledgements in your eyes, Jacques?”

“Well, you know what I mean, Jeanne. With this, you are now more than simply a very rich philanthropist: you are the national representative of an internationally recognized organization.”

Jeanne’s smile faded a bit then, thinking of all that was left to do.

“Hmm, I will be truly happy when more countries will have signed on the Geneva Convention. Twelve countries is a nice start, but it is only a start. Now, I will have to find volunteers, train and organize them and also open regional offices. I am going to be busy like hell for the next few months. I will have to rely a lot on you, Jacques, in order to keep my foundation running smoothly in the meantime.”

“You can count on me, Jeanne, as always.” replied Leblanc, sober. In that, Jeanne knew that she could trust him, as he was both a talented, deeply honest administrator and a man with a great heart. Bending down, Jeanne kissed her two smaller children on their foreheads.

“Time to return inside, my little treasures! Uncle Pierre will make you play with the other children in the daycare.”

As her father, Pierre Laplante, happily led the small twins inside, Jeanne next patted the shoulder of her son William.

“Ready for your French grammar lessons, William?”

“Uh, not really, Mom, but do I have a choice?”

“No!” replied Jeanne with a smile. “However, you are doing well up to now.” Despite showing little enthusiasm, William did go inside with his grandmother, Suzan Laplante, to go study with the primary school grade children of Jeanne’s employees. She had been loathe on relying on existing schools in Paris for her children and those of her foundation’s employee, as those schools used pedagogic methods, including corporal punishments, that she found both objectionable and inefficient. So she had early on initiated private classes in her residence, using teachers personally selected by her and following a curriculum and rules set by her. These private classrooms also functioned side by side with a daycare center and allowed her staff, both that of her charity foundation and that of her household, to work with complete peace of mind. With their children schooled and fed while they worked and with themselves being paid salaries well above what was considered the norm in France in 1864, Jeanne’s employees were happy ones and worked with true dedication. Her policy of paying

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equal wages irrespective of gender for any given job had attracted much mocking comments from the men considering themselves to be the high society of Paris, apart from branding her in the minds of many as a sort of socialist revolutionary. However, Jeanne couldn’t frankly care less about what others said about her. Most of her detractors were in fact jealous of her financial and social successes. Her status of heroine of the Crimean War, by making her a woman admired and befriended by numerous influential army generals and government politicians, had thankfully helped her greatly to ignore the various criticism thrown at her by those envious of her or who were intolerant about her ideas. Now that she was also in charge of the French Red Cross Society, she was going to be able to increase even more the good work around her. As a Chosen of The One and a believer in humanitarian work, she was a truly happy woman today. She had scheduled days ago a private reception for this evening in order to celebrate those latest accomplishments. Now, it was time to prepare for it.

Going inside herself with Jacques Leblanc, she let him return to the ground floor office suite used by the D’Orléans Foundation and went upstairs to find Li Mai, her Chinese personal assistant. A beautiful thirty years old woman by now, Mai had been working for her for fifteen years and was totally loyal to Jeanne, apart from being her secret occasional lover. Jeanne found Mai putting freshly cleaned and dried clothes in their place in the big bedroom used by Jeanne. Approaching the Chinese woman, Jeanne gently caressed her back as she spoke softly to her.

“We should have a bit over twenty guests for this evening’s reception. Do you feel up to doing a Chinese dance for them tonight? I will play the lyre to accompany you.”

“With pleasure, Jeanne.” answered Mai with a smile, enjoying her gentle touch. “Anything else I can do for your guests?”

“Just be yourself and they will appreciate it, Mai. You make a first class hostess any time.”

Stopping her work for a moment, the small, graceful Chinese woman turned to face her and glued herself to Jeanne while looking up directly in her eyes.

“And you are much more than simply my employer, Jeanne. I owe you everything I have now. I know that I told you that already before but I will never say it too often.”

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“Mai, just continue to be my friend and it will be the best way for you to thank me. The World is a better place with you in it.”

“I am nothing compared to you, Jeanne, and I’m not talking about your fortune.” Jeanne gravely looked down at her personal assistant, still glued to her, while her hands went down to the Chinese’s small buttocks.

“Mai, many things made me what I am today. Your friendship and

companionship are two of those things. Now that you have been with me for fifteen years, you may be ready to learn a few of my secrets tonight, after my guests will be gone.”

Mai nodded once slowly at that: everyone seemingly had questions about the incredible Jeanne and her uncommon abilities. Mai had however been too polite and respectful to annoy Jeanne with questions she probably would not answer anyway.

“Thank you for your confidence, Jeanne. I will come see you tonight after the reception. Can I do something else for you in the meantime?” A tender smile came on Jeanne’s face at those words. Grabbing Mai by her buttocks and hoisting her on her hips, she stepped forward and lowered her on the big bed, then slid her hands under Mai’s Chinese dress while kneeling in front of her.

“Yes! You can relax and enjoy the next few minutes.”

16:23 (Paris Time)

Rue Charles-V, Paris

“I can’t wait to see this famous Lady Jeanne D’Orléans.” said excitedly the young woman sitting besides Alexandre Dumas Junior in the carriage. That made Alexandre Dumas Senior, sitting opposite her, smile benevolently to his daughter-in-law.

“That is quite understandable, my dear Nadeja. Jeanne has had many people wonder about her for years. Do not worry, though: she is the most liberal, tolerant and kind woman you could think of despite of her fortune. She is also a truly fascinating person. I attended many of her receptions before I had to leave France in 1851 and I can assure you that you will enjoy your evening.”

“But I heard that she was a quite ferocious woman during the Crimean War.”

“That must have come from one of your compatriots at the Russian embassy, my dear.” replied Dumas Senior. “It is true that she was deadly at times during that war, but only to protect wounded soldiers or herself. However she now represents a neutral

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humanitarian organization and probably will not use her weapons again. Aah, here we are!”

Nadeja Naryschkine looked out through the right side window of the carriage and saw that they were about to roll through the wide carriage entrance of a two-story building made of light beige stone. From the outside, the building looked like many other Paris private hotels and didn’t show obvious opulence. Their carriage then entered an internal courtyard and came to a stop. A young man came nearly at once to open the right side door of the carriage and bowed politely to the occupants.

“Welcome to Lady Jeanne’s residence, lady and gentlemen. May I help the lady come down?”

“You are most gracious, monsieur.” said Nadeja, grateful, before climbing down cautiously. The young man lent her a hand and pointed at a door opening on the courtyard.

“If you may proceed through that door, lady and gentlemen. Lady Jeanne is upstairs, in the main lounge. Do not worry about your carriage or your driver: I will take care of the horses while your driver will be able to enjoy hot food and drinks inside.” Giving her right arm to her husband, Nadeja went with him and his father to the door, while the young man who had greeted him went to talk with their carriage driver. A maid opened the door from the inside and greeted them, then led them up a large marble staircase with iron railings. Once on the upper floor, the three visitors found themselves facing a glass and wood vertical display case containing the most colorful and fantastic set of armor they had ever seen. It was made of dozens of metal plates linked together by multicolored strings which covered most of its surface. The helmet was nearly terrifying in its aspect, with its demonic lower face mask and big pair of horn-like appendages attached to its forehead. Two swords, one long, one short, and a sort of squarish dagger were also displayed in their decorated scabbards.

“My God!” exclaimed Alexandre Dumas Junior while eyeing the display case and its content. “Where did Lady Jeanne find this?”

His father, who had not seen this display case during his past visits, saw a small brass plaque fixed to the case’s bottom part and read it.

“There’s your answer, Son. This says that this armor and weapons are from Japan and were made in the 17th Century.”

“Japan? Now, that would be an interesting country to visit. From the little I heard of it; it seems to be a strange and fascinating place indeed.”

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“Lady Jeanne traveled to Japan five years ago with her son, monsieur.” Volunteered the maid. “She also came back from that trip with her newly adopted twins.”

“Adopted twins? A son?” said Alexandre Senior, flabbergasted. “Hell, things have happened in those last thirteen years since I last saw her! True, I only had newspaper articles to keep me informed about her during all that time.”

“Lady Jeanne is as gracious and kind as before, Monsieur Dumas, I assure you.” volunteered the maid. “If you will please follow me to the main lounge.”

The three visitors were soon led inside a large lounge decorated in the Persian style and with priceless antiques on display all around. Jeanne, who was talking with two women with gray hair, excused herself with those at once and got up, coming to Alexandre Senior in quick steps before kissing him on both cheeks and hugging him happily.

“Welcome back to Paris, my friend! I will truly enjoy your presence here tonight.”

“The pleasure will be mine, my dear Jeanne.” replied the old novelist and playwright. “I heard so many things about you during my self-exile. We will have to get reacquainted again.”

“Why do you think that I invited you and your son the moment I heard that you were back in Paris, Alexandre? And this must be your son, Alexandre Junior.”

“Correct, madame!” answered the younger Dumas, who was himself forty years old. “I am honored to meet such a famous woman.”

Somehow, the writer’s compliment seemed to actually make the smile on Jeanne’s face fade partly.

“My, I hope that I am not that famous, monsieur. I’d rather keep my charity work discreet. I had to deal already with too many crooks and fraudsters trying to get to my money through scams and false charities.”

“Madame, I was talking about your exploits as a nurse on the battlefields of Crimea. While your philanthropic work is indeed most worthy, war actions unfortunately seem to attract more public attention than charity work. May I present you my new wife, Nadeja Naryschkine?”

“Pleased to meet you, Nadeja.” Said Jeanne in fluent Russian while bowing and smiling to her. “You married a capable and worthy man indeed.”

“Thank you, madame. You are most gracious.” replied Nadeja, also in Russian.

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“Please, call me simply Jeanne.” said Jeanne before switching back to French and looking at her three guests. “Let me introduce you to two other guests who arrived earlier.”

Leading the trio of newcomers to the two mature women sitting on a comfortable couch, Jeanne presented them in her clear, agreeable voice.

“Nadeja, Messieurs Dumas Senior and Junior, let me present you to Marie Catherine Sophie de Flavigny, Countess of Agoult, and to Amandine-Aurore-Lucile Dupin, better known under her literary name of George Sand.”

“Mon Dieu, Jeanne!” Exclaimed at once Dumas Senior. “You have invited the cream of the literary world in Paris tonight.”

“You are referring to me or to you, Monsieur Dumas?” replied maliciously Marie de Flavigny. “Your adventure novels sell a lot more than my own work.”

“The good countess is too hard on herself.” said the older Dumas, kissing gallantly the hand of Marie de Flavigny. “Your work is worthy of the best luminaries.” He then kissed the hand of Amandine Dupin as well.

“I am honored to meet you again, Amandine. Are you still defending the rights and privileges of women as arduously as when I last saw you?”

“I certainly still am, Monsieur Dumas.” replied warmly the famous, or rather infamous for some, feminist. “One day, women in France will be allowed to vote, mark my words.”

“And when do you expect such a thing to happen, madame?” asked in a neutral tone Alexandre Junior, who was known to be opposed to the emancipation of women. Amandine smiled mysteriously at that before replying.

“You may ask that to the guest now coming in: he is renown for his predictions about the future.”

All of the others turned their heads towards the lounge’s entrance, in time to see a couple in their thirties enter, escorted by a maid. Jeanne got up at once and went to hug both the bearded man and his younger wife.

“Jules, Honorine, how nice to see you again!”

As Jeanne exchanged a few words with the couple, Dumas Junior spoke in a low voice to Amandine.

“She invited Jules Verne as well? How many writers will there be here tonight?”

“Quite a few, Monsieur Dumas.” replied calmly Amandine. “Expect some of the most brilliant minds in Paris here tonight. Actually, that is one of the reasons why the

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receptions given by Jeanne are so interesting: we never end up exchanging only platitudes or mundane gossips. Here, you can count having your mind as stimulated as your stomach…or eyes.”

Before Alexandre Junior could ask her what she meant about eyes, his father got up suddenly and happily went to greet a woman in her late sixties who was just arriving with two more women and two men, all four much younger than her and apparently in their twenties.

“Mélanie! My sweet Mélanie! It has been so long since the last time I saw you. May God thank our hostess for inviting you tonight.”

The old woman had tears on her cheek as she returned the hug of her old lover.

“And how are you, my old friend? Were your years of exile hard ones?”

“Being away from France is always hard, my dear Mélanie. And who are your companions?”

“They were picked up by Jeanne’s carriage, like me.” answered Mélanie Waldor, poetess and ex-mistress of Alexandre Dumas Senior, while turning to present the others to him. “You must know Nina de Villard and Sarah Bernhardt already.”

“From reputation only.” replied the old novelist, eyeing with particular interest the young Sarah Bernhardt, barely more than a teenager. She already had a sulfurous reputation as both a stage actress and courtesan, something that warmed his blood as an old skirt chaser. As for Nina de Villard, she was a known poetess and intellectual woman with a most charming smile. His old mistress then pointed the two young men waiting patiently behind the three women.

“And these gentlemen are the painter Paul Cézanne and his friend Émile Zola, a young writer just beginning.”

They all exchanged greetings and handshakes before Jeanne directed them to sit on the various sofas, couches and cushions around the lounge. Jeanne then had her butler serve chilled champagne to her guests. They were about to have their first sip when Li Mai showed up, escorting a woman in her forties wearing a rich dress and expensive set of jewels.

“Her Highness, Princess Mathilde!’ announced out loud Mai in her signing voice, prompting everybody to get up and either bow or curtsy to the newcomer, who smiled while walking in the lounge and looking around her.

“Please, no need for such formality: we are here to simply enjoy some good conversation and good food and wine. Right, Jeanne?”

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Jeanne smiled back to the niece of Emperor Napoléon III.

“Correct, Mathilde. Would you like to start the evening with a cup of

champagne?”

“With pleasure, Jeanne. I may need some stimulant to shoot back at all those republicans present in your lounge.”

“Well said, Mathilde! Pierre! A cup for Princess Mathilde, please!” As the butler served the princess, a shocked Nadeja whispered to her husband Alexandre.

“How could she call the Princess by her first name? At the court of the Tsar, this would be considered a grave insult.”

“Uh, maybe they are very good friends. Let me ask my father.” Dumas Senior smiled when his son in turn whispered a question to him.

“Son, Lady Jeanne may be of low aristocratic rank indeed, but I understand from what many aristocrats around Europe told me that she is in reality a financial powerhouse and is also considered a national heroine by the Emperor himself, who is said to regard her very highly, independently of her political orientations.”

“But, if she is so rich and powerful, how come she doesn’t live in a bigger and more luxurious residence?”

Dumas Senior became serious then and answered in a low, sober tone.

“Because Jeanne doesn’t flaunt her money around her and doesn’t like wasteful extravagance. In fact, she abhors it. Most of her money is used to help others or to enlarge her financial holdings.”

“How rich is she really, Father?”

Dumas Senior hesitated for a moment, then lowered further his voice to a whisper.

“Nobody knows for sure, Son. An important Italian banker speculated to me a year ago that she had to be worth at least two hundred million francs, all considered.”

“Two hundred million francs?” Nearly exclaimed Dumas Junior, stunned. “But that would make her about the richest woman in the whole of Europe.”

“Exactly! And she uses her money to do good, help the poor and the downtrodden and, from time to time, help a friend in need.” Seeing his father smile while saying those last words, Alexandre Junior suddenly was hit by their meaning and had difficulties keeping his voice down.

“You mean that she paid off your creditors and got rid of your debts?”

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“Well, like she said to me, what are friends for, if not to help each other? Don’t go rushing to her afterwards to thank her, though: she doesn’t do those kinds of things to show off or make herself a name. Just treat her with respect, in an informal way.” Alexandre Junior was quiet for a moment, then whispered in his wife’s ear.

“I will talk to you about that once back home.”

Eight more guests arrived in the next half hour, including two high level politicians and two academicians. With all of her expected guests now present, Jeanne had their cups of champagne refilled, then got up and went to stand in front of the large fireplace of the lounge, her cup in hand.

“My friends, I invited you here tonight for two reasons. First, it is always a pleasure to spend an evening with you, exchanging ideas, opinions and news and enjoying your company. Second, I want to celebrate something with you tonight. Last month, twelve countries which had met with each other in Switzerland signed a charter called the Geneva Convention. That Geneva Convention recognizes among other things the neutral status of the Society for the Relief of the Sick and Wounded in War and protects its employees and volunteers engaged in humanitarian work. This means that those employees and volunteers, wearing a white armband with a red cross on it, can help and treat sick or wounded soldiers of all sides on a battlefield, and this without fear of maltreatment or obstruction by soldiers from the countries which signed the convention. Those humanitarian workers will also be able to visit unimpeded the sick or wounded soldiers and make sure that they are treated humanely. The convention also protects the wounded and sick soldiers from inhumane treatment or summary execution and would ensure their repatriation if found unable to bear arms during a conflict. France was one of the countries which signed the Geneva Convention and, last week, the French government officially authorized and supported the creation of the French National Society for the Relief of the Sick and Wounded in War. In liaison with the International Committee in Geneva, I thus started the formation of such a national society with the help of other volunteers. Today, I opened the offices of the French National Society for the Relief of the Sick and Wounded in War here, in this residence.” Applauses greeted that announcement at once, forcing Jeanne to wait gracefully for a few seconds before continuing.

“A lot is still left to be done before this national society, which I prefer to call the French Red Cross Society for the sake of brevity, can start to effectively care for sick

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and wounded soldiers anywhere. Volunteers and employees have to be found, trained and organized. Regional offices and ambulances have to be formed and then supplied. All this will take time but, in the end, the result will be that we will be able to alleviate greatly human suffering during future wars. Ladies and gentlemen, a toast to the French Red Cross!”

“TO THE FRENCH RED CROSS!” Was the unanimous chorus from those present, who then took sips from their cups.

23:05 (Paris Time)

Hôtel de Brinvilliers, Paris

“Thank you so much for the reception, Jeanne. I enjoyed it very much. The conversation was as good as the food and you must truly be the most charming hostess in the whole of Paris.”

Jeanne smiled gently to Léon Gambetta, who was one of her good personal friends in Paris and was a lawyer with socialist republican views, and got very close to him, giving him a good view down her wide cleavage.

“Coming from such a consummate lawyer as you, these compliments will make me think that you are trying to get a favor in exchange, Léon.” Gambetta, a bearded and slightly obese man in his late twenties, couldn’t help stare down the front of Jeanne’s dress. He finally sighed and looked up in her eyes while smiling.

“Jeanne, you are one hell of a woman. Don’t hesitate to visit me when you have a chance.”

“I promise I will, Léon. Have a good night!”

“You too, Jeanne.” replied Gambetta before turning around and getting into his carriage. Jeanne waved to him as the carriage started rolling and watched it until it disappeared into a side street, then returned inside and locked the main entrance door. With all of her guests now gone, she returned to the main lounge and spent the next half hour helping her maids and Li Mai clean up and store away the leftover food from the reception’s hot buffet. Once everything was done, she gave the weekend off to her household staff, giving them each a generous tip as they left. Now left alone with Li Main, who was her only living-in domestic staff, Jeanne first went to see her sleeping children for a moment, kissing them gently on their foreheads. She then asked Li Mai to

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come with her to her bedroom and locked the door once in there. Mai looked at her expectantly as Jeanne approached her slowly.

“Mai, you always served me well and showed me complete loyalty for fifteen years. You are also an intelligent and kind woman I respect a lot.”

“I am still nothing compared to you, Jeanne.” said softly Mai, making Jeanne shake her head.

“Don’t say that, Mai. I have enjoyed for years a special gift that helped me a lot to become what I am. I have decided that it is time for you to also enjoy that gift.”

“What kind of gift is it, Jeanne?” asked the Chinese maid, confused.

“Call it a gift from God, Mai. You know about the various beliefs concerning reincarnation?”

“I know about both the Buddhist and Hindu concepts of reincarnation, yes. Why?”

“Because reincarnation is a reality, Mai. However, contrary to other humans, I am able to remember all of my past lives, back to my first one as a Neolithic woman who lived in Palestine 9,000 years ago. Her name was Nataï and I can remember her family, her life and her language, among other things. I can in fact remember a total of 93 different lives, either as a man or a woman, going from being a simple peasant to being a royal princess. I was also a warrior during many of my lives, which is why I am so efficient at war.”

Mai’s eyes were now wide open as she stared at her mistress.

“That…that is a fantastic gift, Jeanne. And God gave it to you?”

“Yes, he did. That was in order for me to fill better a mission he gave me at the same time. That mission is to help the cause of justice and to protect the innocents as much as my abilities permit me. He also gave me more powers beyond being able to remember my incarnations. One of those powers is to be able to open the minds of selected persons to the memories of their own past lives. Mai, would you like to learn about your past lives?”

Mai, now pale, stuttered a bit as she answered.

“I…I would like it, Jeanne. Is it a painful experience?”

“Physically, no. You may very well however remember painful or disturbing episodes from your past lives. You can still decline my offer, Mai.”

“No!” said at once the Chinese, appearing to have reached a decision. “I want to know about my past lives.”

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“Then we will start the process right away. It will take me many sessions to open in succession the souvenirs of your past lives. However, once past a certain point, you will start remembering by yourself more lives, without stimulation from me. Ready?”

“Ready!” said softly Mai, her heart now beating furiously. Jeanne invited her on the bed, lying down on one side facing her, then applied gently her hands on each side of Mai’s head while putting her own forehead against her forehead.

“Just relax and close your eyes, Mai. You will soon start seeing souvenirs go through your head. Don’t try to understand them right away and just watch them as they appear.”

Mai obeyed her and closed her eyes but was still understandably nervous. She twitched a bit when the first hidden souvenirs came to her but stayed mostly quiet during the hour that the session took. She finally opened her eyes when Jeanne ended the session and withdrew her forehead. Mai looked with a mix of awe and bewilderment at Jeanne as she sat up on the bed and quickly reviewed her new memories.

“I…I was a young British Army officer. I was killed in a battle against French troops near the city of Québec, in New France, in 1759. My name was John Caldwell.” Jeanne nodded with satisfaction, seeing that Mai had not been left utterly confused by the session, as happened to a few.

“Tomorrow and Sunday, we will do more recall sessions while the rest of the staff is off. I will urge you to keep this a secret from others. If they ever learned about this, many would think that you are crazy and would have you locked up in an asylum.” Mai gave her a cautious look, realizing at once the real danger in this.

“Your husband, Gordon, did he know about your powers?”

“Only that I remembered my incarnations, not that I could awaken the souvenirs of other persons.”

“And…your other powers? Could I ask what they are?”

Jeanne thought about that for a moment but decided not to risk too much tonight.

“Not yet, Mai. Let’s build up your past memories first, so that you can mature further from them. One day, not too long in the future, I promise that I will tell you about the rest of the powers given to me by God. If you will now excuse me, I will go wash up a bit before going to bed.”

“Can I help you scrub?” asked at once Mai, a malicious smile appearing on her face. “John Caldwell was quite fond of women and he would have loved to bathe with you.”

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Jeanne grinned at her maid and caressed gently her face with both hands.

“I guess that refusing a request from a dead man would be too cruel. Was he a handsome man?”

“Blue eyes, blond hair, six foot one inch, strong and fit. Yes, women did find him handsome.”

“Then I will be most pleased to let him scrub me…all over.” Both women then giggled and exchanged a quick kiss before getting up from the bed and going to the bathroom attached to Jeanne’s bedroom.

Much later in the night, with Mai asleep in her own bedroom, Jeanne got up and silently went to the dark main lounge, a lit candleholder in one hand. Going to a heavy medieval stone statue of a gargoyle, she put down her candleholder near it, then cautiously tipped the statue on its side. Using both hands and pressing with her fingers in four specific spots, she made the base partly slide open, revealing a small hidden compartment. Taking the holographic recording chip hidden in the compartment, she replaced it with a fresh, blank recording chip, then closed back the statue and placed it back in its original position. Grabbing her candleholder again, she eyed for a second the recording chip inside her right hand. It now contained over seven hours of video and audio recordings taken during the evening’s reception by the eight miniature cameras and six microphones hidden around the main lounge and the dining room. The content of that chip was probably going to make many historians salivate. Jeanne however needed still to edit and censor it herself before giving it to Professor Jan Bella: she owed it to her guests to protect their privacy about personal matters of no concern to historians. She would have to jump spacetime to the Time Patrol outpost in 20th Century Paris to do that. Once done with that task, she would jump spacetime again, but to the 17th Century this time, so that she could go live a few months with her sons James and Charles. William, Anne and Louis, who were deep asleep right now in their beds, would never feel her absence during the ten minutes she was going to be away from this century tonight.

17:11 (Paris Time)

Monday, November 17, 1664 ‘A’

La Bastille fortress, Paris

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Charles D’Artagnan, sub-lieutenant of the Musketeers of the King, was about to arrange for the supper of his illustrious prisoner when one of the Bastille’s guards came at a run to his room, situated on an upper floor of the Tower of the Treasure.

“Sire, a woman is asking to see you!” He said haltingly, out of breath. D’Artagnan gave him a no-nonsense look.

“So? Why did you have to run upstairs just to tell me this? Who is she?”

“She is dressed like a commoner, Sire, but she has a safe-conduct signed by the King himself. Her name is Nancy.”

That information made the musketeer swear as he jumped on his feet.

“Is she very tall?”

“As tall as you, if not a bit more, Sire.”

“Hell! What are you waiting for? Go bring her to me? No! Thinking about it, lead me to her!”

Following the guard down the spiral staircase of the tower, D’Artagnan soon set foot under the archway of the fortress’ main gate. His heart accelerated when he saw the tall young woman waiting patiently just inside the gate, flanked by two armed soldiers. He nearly ran to her and exchanged a long kiss with her, watched by the amused soldiers. His eyes shone when he looked her in the eyes.

“Nancy, you can’t know how good it is to see you again. It has been many months since we last met.”

Nancy nodded soberly before answering him.

“It has been effectively a long time, Charles. Being the jail keeper of Nicolas Fouquet makes you a difficult man to get in touch with, what with the King’s orders to keep Fouquet incommunicado. Over three years of that jail duty for you: you must be growing mighty tired of it.”

D’Artagnan nodded but didn’t reply to that, inviting instead Nancy to follow him. She grabbed a covered basket before following him upstairs, attracting a question from him.

“What is in that basket?”

“Four bottles of very good wine which I brought to make your days more tolerable here. With your permission, Fouquet could share it with us. God knows he could use some cheer himself.”

“True!” said D’Artagnan, who had kept a most polite and caring relationship with his illustrious prisoner during his years as his keeper. “Actually, he is very well treated here and lacks little in terms of comfort or good food. In view of your closeness to the

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King, I don’t see a problem in you seeing him, as long as you don’t talk with him about his ongoing trial.”

“Be reassured, my dear Charles. I only came to enlighten your evening and chase some of the gloom from this place.”

Charles was silent for a few seconds as he climbed the spiral staircase, leading Nancy. If anything, those years as jail keeper had made him realize how much he missed her, even more than he missed his wife, Charlotte-Anne de Chanlecy, and his two sons from her. The months and years away on royal duty had effectively killed his marital life before it had a chance to truly develop and had estranged him from his family. As a consequence, his wife was now living separated from him, having returned with their two sons to her country estate in Sainte-Croix. For that he couldn’t really blame Charlotte-Anne, as he was the one who had been constantly gone from home. Charles felt guilty when he thought that this marital separation now offered him a convenient way to reunite with Nancy, who always had been his only true love. Nancy’s hand gently patted his back then.

“Charles, I heard about your wife leaving you. For what it’s worth, I truly feel sorry about that.”

Charles stopped and turned in the staircase to look at her with resignation.

“I am in the service of the King and serving him has to come first, Nancy.” That attracted tears in Nancy’s eyes as she looked back at him.

“Oh, Charles, you deserve so much more from life than this. At least let me bring you some happiness from now on.”

His right hand then found its way to her left hand and pressed it gently.

“You will always be welcome by my side, Nancy.” replied Charles, his voice nearly strangling up. “Come! I have to get supper served to my prisoner.”

“Could I bring him his meal? The sight of a nice woman will cheer him greatly, I am sure.”

“He will certainly appreciate it and I see no problems with that. After all, you have even bigger secrets to keep than Fouquet.”

Those last words, told in a low voice, made Nancy nod in comprehension, as D’Artagnan was the only living man from this time period who knew her as a time traveler. Finally arriving back at D’Artagnan’s apartments in the fortress, Nancy put her basket on his work table and took from under its covering cloth a glass bottle full of red wine and

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bearing a paper label glued on it. She presented the bottle to D’Artagnan with a proud smile.

“I brought four bottles of the red wine I produce on the estate near Bordeaux given to me by the King. I use a new process where the wine ages inside bottles hermetically sealed with cork. This way, instead of turning into vinegar after more than a year, the wine matures and take on more bouquet. I think that you will like it.” D’Artagnan took hold of the bottle and examined the label by the flickering light of the chandeliers in the room.

“Château La Tour Carnet Grand Cru 1660. This wine is already four years old and it still has such a nice color?”

“Actually, I expect it to be even better after a few more years, Charles. Let’s make a deal about it: we will open it only in the presence of Monsieur Fouquet and I will then ask you two to taste it and give me your honest opinion about it.” Charles seemed amused by that and nodded while giving her back the bottle.

“Deal! Me and Monsieur Fouquet will act as wine tasters for you. If you will just give me a few minutes, I will go make sure that Monsieur Fouquet’s supper is on its way up.”

Nancy waited patiently while Charles was gone, taking that time to look around his apartments. While the Bastille was an old stone fortress dating back from the 14th Century, it had been refitted since then to act mostly as a prison for important prisoners who had to be held securely but also comfortably. That was reflected by the nice furniture in the room and the numerous carpets and tapestries. Sure, there were still a number of pretty nasty cells and rooms in the basement, including a torture chamber Nancy had been made to get acquainted with most painfully thirteen years ago, but the number of prisoners held there these days was quite small. Maybe fifteen minutes later, she heard the sounds of boots approaching in the hallway and went to the door, opening it and sticking her head out. She saw D’Artagnan approach, accompanied by a man dressed like a servant and by a soldier, both of the later each carrying a large covered silver tray. D’Artagnan slowed down on seeing her and shouted at her.

“Grab your basket and follow us, Nancy!”

Nancy did that at once and fell behind the procession, which entered an annex of the fortress cutting across its inner courtyard and linking two of its eight towers. They quickly arrived at a solid door guarded by two soldiers, with D’Artagnan unlocking and

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opening the door. He entered first, bowing to the frail but handsome aristocrat who had been reading a book by one of the windows of his luxury cell.

“Monsieur Fouquet, your supper is here. A friend of mine also took the initiative of bringing some top quality wine to help you wash down your meal.” D’Artagnan then signaled the two men and Nancy following him to enter. Fouquet’s eyes opened wider and he smiled on seeing Nancy.

“Well, well! The redoubtable Marquess of Saint-Laurent in person. Is she here to slit my throat or poison me?”

“You would never have seen me prior to dying if that was the case, Monsieur Fouquet.” replied a smiling Nancy as she put down her basket on the large table set in one corner of the cell. “I am here to entertain you and Monsieur D’Artagnan, not to kill you, so be reassured and enjoy your supper with peace in your mind.” As the servant and soldier started setting three covers on the table, Nancy showed to Fouquet, who had approached the table, one of the wine bottles, letting him look at its label.

“The very finest from my estate in the Médoc, near Bordeaux. It has been aging for four years in sealed bottles. You and Monsieur D’Artagnan will be the first ones to taste it, apart from me and my winery manager. Even the King has not tasted it yet.” That brought a wide smile to Fouquet’s face, who took the bottle and looked through it against the light from a nearby chandelier.

“I will be pleased to beat the King to this, my good marquess. It has a fine color indeed.”

“It has also a strong bouquet that goes well with red meats and game. I will open two bottles now so that the wine can breathe a bit before we taste it.” Fouquet and D’Artagnan took place at the table as Nancy used a steel bottle opener and uncorked two of the bottles. With Fouquet’s servant serving first a soup, she sat besides D’Artagnan, facing Fouquet, and took a first spoonful of the soup. Fouquet looked at her while also eating his soup, admiring the cleavage of her commoner’s dress.

“You came here incognito, Marquess?”

“Please, call me simply Nancy. Yes, I did. You know how the King wishes to restrict your contacts with the outside world.”

“I effectively do, Nancy. So, what have you been doing in the last few years?”

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“Mostly travel abroad on orders of the King. I visited this year the ex-Dutch colonies in the New World, which are now under English control. The English took them by force a couple of months ago and have renamed New Amsterdam as New York.”

“But the Dutch are liable to go to war on this.” said Fouquet, genuinely interested by these news. As ex-Superintendent of Finances, he knew too well the cost of wars. “Is France going to take sides in that dispute?”

“Not officially. Don’t forget though that Princess Henriette of England is married to the King’s brother. There is however certainly going to be full scale war between England and the Dutch United Provinces, and this as soon as winter is out of the way.”

“And who do you think will win that war, Nancy?” asked D’Artagnan, making Nancy think carefully about her answer. She didn’t want to reveal the future or to appear to know the outcome in front of Fouquet.

“It will be mostly a sea war, with both fleets fairly matched. Everything will depend on the talents of the admirals on each side. Dutch Admiral de Ruyter is in my mind the best of the lot, though. He could hurt the English fleet a lot. My bet is thus on the Dutch.”

Fouquet eyed her carefully then. Everything he had heard about her, which was actually little due to her discretion, made her out as a very dangerous and skilled female spy. What she had just said only showed how knowledgeable she was about military affairs, something very unusual for a woman. She was also one very fine looking woman and he truly appreciated her presence here this evening. He finished his soup, then smiled at Nancy.

“Well, how about having a first taste of your wine, Nancy?”

“With pleasure, Monsieur Fouquet. Let me serve you.”

Getting up and grabbing one of the opened bottles, she went around the table and bent down while pouring some wine in Fouquet’s cup, giving him an eyeful down her cleavage. D’Artagnan grinned with amusement at seeing the face Fouquet made then.

“I guess that Nancy is better looking than your servant, monsieur.”

“Effectively!” replied Fouquet, licking his lips. “Let’s try this wine.” Fouquet waited until D’Artagnan was served as well, then sniffed his wine before taking a sip. Nancy anxiously watched the two men’s reactions as they had their first sip. To her pride and satisfaction, both men’s eyes lit up with surprise and appreciation, with Fouquet speaking first while looking with respect at his cup.

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“Mon Dieu! This is by far the best wine I ever tasted. Compared to this, the King’s table serves a vulgar piquette. You could ask for quite a price for each of your bottles, Nancy.”

“I second the motion!” added D’Artagnan, still savoring the taste and vapors down his throat. “Your wine is going to be a big success, Nancy.”

“Try it while eating your meat, gentlemen.” said a happy Nancy while filling the cups of both men, then returning to her seat. “This wine is at its best when accompanying a good meal.”

Fouquet did as she said, cutting a piece of his roast beef and eating it, then taking a sip of wine. He closed his eyes as the combined taste and flavor went to his brain.

“This is…sublime! Nancy, your wine is like a true nectar.”

“Thank you, monsieur. Coming from such a connoisseur, this is high praise indeed.”

“But a praise well deserved, Nancy.” said D’Artagnan after taking another sip. “I hope that you won’t sell that wine to lowly inns and pubs, though: this should be tasted only by people of class who could truly appreciate its quality. How much of this wine are you producing each year?”

“My estate can produce over 250,000 bottles like this one per year. I however have let most of my production age in bottles in the basements of my castle, selling only a part of my wine in barrels meanwhile to recoup my production costs. This year will be the first year that I will start selling bottled wine. I plan to keep in reserve some 50,000 bottles per year for further aging. Eventually, you will be able to enjoy some grand cru aged ten years or more.”

“God!” exclaimed Fouquet. “I can’t wait to taste such wine. You will get rich with this, my dear.”

“I won’t mind that, monsieur.” said Nancy with a smile before sipping her own wine.

The rest of the supper was spent in small chat, with Nancy staying clear from any discussion about the ongoing trial against Fouquet. D’Artagnan helped in that as well by stirring the conversation towards such subjects as gastronomy, culture and art, subjects in which the refined and intelligent Fouquet was well versed. At the end of the supper, D’Artagnan got up and bowed to his prisoner.

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“I hope that you enjoyed your supper, Monsieur Fouquet. I will let you finish the second opened bottle.”

“Thank you, Monsieur D’Artagnan. I could not have asked for a more courteous jailer than you.” replied Fouquet, meaning it. Nancy bowed as well to him after grabbing the basket with the remaining two bottles.

“And I wish you good evening, monsieur. Your conversation was most pleasant.”

“And so was your presence, Marquess.”

Fouquet couldn’t help sigh discreetly as Nancy left with D’Artagnan: he missed terribly the presence of women since his jailing three and a half years ago and the marquess was all that a lonely man could hope for in a woman.

D’Artagnan made Nancy follow him to his apartments and locked the door behind them, then took her in his arms for a long, hungry kiss. He was nearly out of breath when looked at his reunited lover, who was 25 years younger than him and much more fit. These three long years as a jail keeper had taken their toll on his general health and fitness, while she seemed as athletic as ever.

“Please tell me that this present duty of mine will soon end and that I will be able to go back to live like a true musketeer, Nancy.”

“Be reassured, Charles. A couple more months more and you will be able to escort Fouquet to his ultimate jail, where you will give custody of him to a new jailer.”

“God, at last! Where will I be able to see you again then?”

“Here, in Paris, unless the King sends me on another mission, which is unlikely until next spring. I understand that you have bought a private hotel on the street of Bourg-Saint-Germain-des-Prés?”

“Yes. However, I was able to spend precious little time in it up to now.”

“Charles,” said very softly Nancy while hugging him tight, “would you mind having me visit you there regularly?”

“Of course not, Nancy. You will always be welcome besides me. Could you stay here tonight?”

Nancy nodded once slowly while looking in his eyes.

“I was planning to visit you every evening, if that is alright with you. Charles, I missed you terribly these last few years. I may not be able to marry you but I certainly want to be your mistress.”

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Charles felt tears flow out of his eyes then. Unable to speak, he then kissed her again instead.

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CHAPTER 19 – GOODBYE, D’ARTAGNAN





11:39 (Paris Time)

Sunday, June 25, 1673 ‘A’

French Army siege lines

Maastricht, Dutch United Provinces

King Louis XIV, as per his habit,

was touring on his horse the siege lines

of his army to help sustain the morale of his soldiers, ignoring the occasional cannonball fired in his direction from the fortified walls of the city of Maastricht. A number of his officers, musketeer guards and court nobles also accompanied him on his tour. While the officers and musketeers took the enemy fire in stride, like their king, many of the nobles of his suite only hid with difficulty their anxiety and fear, being more accustomed to the comfort and safety of the court than to the rigors and dangers of a war campaign. One of the rare nobles present to show no fear was funnily enough Philippe, Duke of Orléans and brother of the King. Despite his notorious homosexuality, his personal bravery was not disputed by anyone around the court. Another noble of the suite not showing fear was also the only woman of the group. Dressed in a male riding outfit and armed to the teeth, Nancy, Marquess of Saint-Laurent, made a lot of heads turn among the soldiers not familiar with the King’s court. However, her reputation among the royal court of being a very dangerous woman was well established after twenty years of clandestine missions, much of them outside of France. That reputation was however starting to be known in other countries as well, complicating her work to no small degree and forcing her to wear more and more often disguises during her missions. Her last such mission had in fact been a mere two months ago, when she had infiltrated Maastricht under disguise and had spied out the defensive preparations and capabilities of the fortress. She was thus very aware of how tough a nut Maastricht was to crack. She was also painfully aware of what was supposed to happen this very day during the siege but had managed to keep a straight face up to now.

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As King Louis and his escort was stopped behind a French artillery battery to inspect it, a royal musketeer riding hard from the front lines halted his horse in front of the monarch and saluted him with his hat.

“Your Majesty, the Duke of Monmouth is about to assault again the enemy defensive works on the southwest side. A company of musketeers will be in support of his attack.”

King Louis, now a 36 year-old man in his prime, nodded with satisfaction at that news: James Scott, Duke of Monmouth and illegitimate son of his ally King Charles II of England, was a brave and capable military leader.

“Who is commanding the musketeers in that assault?”

“Count D’Artagnan is, Your Majesty.”

“Very well. You may return to your unit. Tell the men that I will be watching their assault.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” replied the musketeer, saluting again before turning his horse around and galloping away. King Louis then remounted his horse and looked at his followers.

“To the southwest trenches!”

He then pushed his horse to a gallop, not bothering to look behind him to see if his suite was following him. The members of the suite had however no choice but to follow, as any hesitation on the battlefield in front of their king would mean instant disgrace. Some of the court nobles however had a hard time keeping up, the king being a first class rider who could stay days on horseback without apparent fatigue. The royal troop galloped a good kilometer before stopping and dismounting behind the French and English trenches. Leaving his horse in the hands of a young musketeer, King Louis then marched towards the trenches, followed by his suite and by one musketeer bearing high the King’s colors. As the group was about to climb a small knoll overlooking the trenches and facing the enemy defensive works, a loud concert of war cries and musket shots broke out. The King went to a run at once and stopped after cresting the knoll, his standard bearer and Nancy close behind. As the rest of his followers joined him, many of them short of breath, Louis eyed the bloody but grandiose spectacle of hundreds of men rushing towards the enemy field works under a deluge of bullets and cannonballs. The clouds of white smoke from gunpowder however quickly obscured most of the field works, making it hard to follow the action. As the attack was still in full swing, with heavy shooting from both sides, a musket ball whizzed by the King’s head, while another ball

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struck squarely his standard bearer in the head, killing him instantly. Before the royal standard could fall to the ground, Nancy hurried to grab it and raised it again high. The King smiled and nodded to her then.

“Well done, Nancy.”

“It is the least I could do, Your Majesty, especially in view of the valor displayed by the soldiers fighting for you in this assault.”

Both of them then concentrated their attention on the ongoing assault, which was indeed turning into a very bloody affair. Forty minutes later, loud cheers from the assaulting troops told the King that the enemy position was in their hands.

“It is a true honor to command such brave men.” said proudly Louis. He then watched as soldiers started coming back, carrying dozens of wounded comrades back to safety. Despite the position having been taken, enemy fire from the adjacent works was still heavy, making the task of carrying back the wounded a dangerous one indeed. Louis watched this with obvious sadness. Despite his feelings of personal grandeur, Louis honestly felt for the men who were serving him loyally. Staying visible and in sight of them, even if it meant attracting enemy fire, was the least he could do for them now. A musketeer sub-lieutenant climbed the knoll towards him fifteen minutes later, stopping in front of him and bowing while saluting with his hat.

“Your Majesty, the enemy works are in our hands. The Duke of Monmouth however report that he suffered heavy losses in the assault.”

“What about my musketeers?”

“We are still bringing back wounded men but our company suffered at least seventy men killed and many more wounded. Count D’Artagnan is missing as well, Your Majesty. A squad of men has gone back into the works to find him.” Struck hard by that news, as D’Artagnan was one of his most loyal soldiers, King Louis eyed Nancy’s reaction. He was not surprised to see her break into tears at once and patted gently her shoulder.

“He is probably only wounded, Nancy. D’Artagnan is a hard man to kill. They will bring him back, you will see.”

“I want to go see by myself, Your Majesty.” said resolutely Nancy despite her tears. “Permission to go forward.”

The King hesitated only for a second, then nodded once, shocking the men in his entourage.

“Granted! Be careful, Nancy.”

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Nancy gave to a musketeer guard the standard she was holding, then ran down the knoll towards the trenches, followed by the sub-lieutenant of the musketeers. The soldiers she passed by once in the trenches couldn’t help look with stunned surprise at her but she ignored them, pressing forward towards the freshly captured enemy position. She however braked hard at the sight of a young musketeer whose face was blackened by gunpowder and whose sword was covered with blood.

“Charles, are you alright?”

Her son, a member of the King’s musketeers for the past three years, nodded wearily.

“I am a bit shook up but I’m alright, Mother. Father has not returned yet from the enemy works, though.”

“I know! I am going forward to find him.”

“Then I’m going with you!”

Knowing that trying to stop her son would be futile, Nancy didn’t reply to that and resumed her advance, Charles close behind her. They were about to enter the captured bastion when they encountered a group of six musketeers making their way back to the trenches. The six men were carrying the inert body of someone Nancy and Charles knew too well. Despite having known for decades that this would happen, Nancy nearly became hysterical with grief and held up the head of the man she had been loving for 22 years. A musket ball had pierced D’Artagnan’s throat and had probably killed him instantly.

“D’Artagnan, my love…” she said between sobs. Her son Charles, despite being as touched as her, then grabbed her left arm.

“Mother, please let them carry his body back to the trenches: musket balls are still flying thick around the position.”

It took a vigorous shake from him to return Nancy to reality. Still holding up D’Artagnan’s head, she walked back with the group of musketeers to the French trenches, where the body of the illustrious musketeer was finally laid down behind a cannon position. The musketeers present then removed their hats and bowed their heads, many having tears in their eyes as they grieved their fallen officer with Nancy and Charles. After a minute of silence, Charles looked sadly at Nancy and spoke softly.

“Mother, we will have to go back to the fighting now. I will leave you with Father.” With tears still in her eyes, Nancy nodded softly at those words.

“Do your duty to France, Charles. I will care for D’Artagnan in the meantime. Please, be careful, my son.”

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“I will, Mother.”

Charles and the other musketeers then walked away, heading back into the fighting. Now alone with the body of her lover, Nancy took out a handkerchief and her water flask and cleaned as best she could the blood smearing D’Artagnan’s neck and throat. She then gave him an ultimate kiss.

“Goodbye, my beloved D’Artagnan. History will remember you forever. I will remember you forever.”

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Insurgents’ barricade on Rue Lafayette during the Paris Commune, March 1871.





CHAPTER 20 – THE PARIS COMMUNE




08:16 (Paris Time)

Thursday, February 23, 1871 ‘A’

Hôtel de Brinvilliers, 12 Rue Charles V, Le Marais Paris, France

‘’Please, Pierre, stop arguing and just go!’’ insisted Jeanne anxiously. ‘’I need you and Suzan to escort the children to London for their safety.’’

‘’But you?’’ objected Pierre Laplante, officially her uncle and employee but being in reality the father of Jeanne/Nancy ‘B’. ‘’It won’t do any good for you to stay here in Paris. You already had to evacuate your foundation employees and your Red Cross staff out of Paris.’’

‘’You know that I will be needed here more than ever in the days and weeks to come, Pierre. However, I won’t be able to help around Paris if I have to worry about the children. Go to my residence in Belgrave Square and wait for me there with the kids.’’ Not letting her father argue further, Jeanne looked up at Luc Rémillard, her coach driver, who sat up in the driver’s seat of the big coach, alongside Michel d’Angelo, her stable boy.

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‘’DRIVE OFF, LUC! GET THEM SAFELY TO LONDON!’’

‘’I WILL, MADAME!’’ shouted back the graying ex-legionnaire before urging on his two horses, making the coach roll. Jeanne, near tears, waved a last goodbye to her children inside the coach, fifteen year-old William and Louis and Anne, both ten years old now. Her children waved back, along with Suzan Laplante, Nancy’s mother. Jeanne’s personal assistant, Li Mai, gently patted her shoulder as they watched the coach drive away.

‘’They will be alright, Jeanne. You did the right thing by sending them to London.’’

Jeanne gave a despondent look to her faithful assistant. Li Mai was by now a mature but still beautiful Chinese woman of 38 and, apart from having being her personal assistant, hostess and secret lover for over 23 years, was as well an official Red Cross worker and nurse. Jeanne was herself officially 41 years old but was still as vigorous and fit as ever. Both had however lost weight in the last months, due to the siege of Paris imposed by the Prussian Army, siege which had caused widespread famine in the city during the last five months.

‘’I hope that they make it safely through the Prussian lines, Mai. You should have gone with them, though.’’

‘’You know that I will never abandon you, Jeanne, and neither would your other employees.’’ firmly replied the tiny Chinese woman. Jeanne looked at the group formed by her eight other residence’s employees, now all in their forties or fifties, who stood with their spouses in the courtyard of the mansion. She had to swallow hard the ball stuck in her throat before she could speak to them.

‘’Thank you all for staying with me, my friends. God knows that I would have preferred to see you safe and out of Paris by now.’’

‘’You already took care of sending to safety our own children and grand-children, madame.’’ replied soberly François Picard, her butler. ‘’You did plenty for us in the last 24 years and it is only just that you could count on us in these hard times. Just tell us what you need to be done.’’

Jeanne was silent for a moment, gathering her thoughts. The war declared so imprudently against Prussia by Emperor Napoleon The Third, thanks to a calculated insult by Prussian Chancellor Otto Von Bismarck, had turned quickly into an utter disaster for France. After a number of bloody and very costly battles for both sides, battles in which Jeanne and her Red Cross volunteers had done their best to alleviate

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the suffering of both French and Prussian soldiers, the Prussian Army had laid siege to Paris last September, while Emperor Napoleon had been forced to abdicate and was now being held in Prussia.

‘’While an armistice has been officially signed last month, I expect more bloodshed to come in the next months. You all know as well as me how inflamed the popular sentiment of the people of Paris is concerning the defeatist attitude of the new government of Adolphe Thiers. That popular ire could very well overflow and cause more fighting. The only thing I will ask of you is not to listen to the hotheads in the city and to not take arms against either the Prussians or the troops of the new government. You know that I am no coward when it comes to war but I can recognize a lost cause when I see one: there would be no sense for any of you to get killed now for nothing. What we will concentrate on instead is to help the little people of Paris through the next few months, by treating the wounded and sick and sheltering the children who have nowhere else to go. There will be more privations and hardship to come, along with much tears, but I will urge you to act with peace and compassion, not with hate or violence. The first order of the day will be to restock our supplies of food and medicine, now that the armistice has loosened the Prussian siege around Paris. Mai will direct the buying of food, while I will take care of finding more medicine. Rosette and Constance, you will prepare our two upper rooms in the Southeast Wing as shelters for young refugees. Let’s get to work, my friends!’’

10:48 (Paris Time)

Wednesday, March 1, 1871 ‘A’

Avenue des Champs-Élysées, Paris

Despite having known all along that this would happen, Jeanne still felt intense bitterness as she stood with a few other Parisians on the sidewalks of the Avenue des Champs-Élysées, watching Prussian troops parading down the avenue, complete with military band. Most of Paris was closed for business today, while the streets were nearly empty, all in protest at what was seen in the city as a cowardly surrender to the Prussians and the abandonment of the Parisians by the new government and parliament, which was composed mostly of monarchists opposed to the socialist views of most of the Parisian population. This and further moves to come in the next weeks by the government of Adolphe Thiers were bound to bring the popular sentiment to the boiling

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point. Sighing with frustration, Jeanne turned her back to the Prussian soldiers and walked away, hoping to find open an apothecary which would be open today, so that she could stock up on some critical medications and medicinal herbs.

06:30 (Paris Time)

Saturday, March 18, 1871 ‘A’

Hôtel de Brinvilliers, 12 Rue Charles V

Paris

Li Mai woke up with a startle in her bed : three loud detonations had just reverberated through Paris. The city had been relatively quiet in the last few days and the Prussian soldiers had withdrawn outside of Paris two weeks ago, so those detonations, which sounded like cannon shots, could well announce more trouble. Jumping out of bed and going to one of the dormer windows of her room in the attic level of Jeanne’s residence, she looked outside, trying to see some smoke or anything else unusual. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, Mai put on a robe and went out in the attic’s hallway, using the nearby staircase to go down to the upper floor. She was about to get to Jeanne’s bedroom door and knock on it when Jeanne got out, still in a night gown covered by a robe.

‘’Jeanne, did you hear those cannon shots?’’

Jeanne nodded, her face showing concern.

‘’Yes, I did and they probably mean more trouble and bloodshed to come. Since we are up now, we might as well start taking care of preparing breakfast for our young tenants.’’

Mai nodded her head and accompanied her down to the kitchen, on street level. They were presently sheltering the 37 young tenants of a girls orphanage sponsored by Jeanne. Their previous residence had been heavily damaged by fire following street riots last month and Jeanne had taken no time to relocate the girls, aged from two to twelve, in her townhouse. Thankfully, her residence had no lack of spare rooms, especially since the children of her own servants and employees were now all grown up and had moved out years ago. In a way, caring for all those little girls had done a lot to take their minds off the bloody events of the recent past.

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The children had been fed breakfast and were now attending two separate classes given by Jeanne and Mai when rifle shots were heard in the distance in mid morning. Despite that, Jeanne continued with her lesson in mathematics to the older girls as if nothing had happened, not wanting to worry her young pupils. When time came for lunch, she brought her group to the big, luxurious dining room and put them in the care of Leila Benchetrit, her assistant cook, then went down the grand staircase of the residence. She was putting on a cape and a hat in the vestibule when Mai shouted to her from up the staircase.

‘’Jeanne, where are you going?’’

‘’I’m going to see how things are going in town, Mai. Don’t worry about me : I will be back by supper time.’’

Not giving time to Mai to protest, Jeanne then went out in the tunnel of the main gate and walked out at a quick step. She went up to the Rue Saint Antoine and turned left on it, heading towards the city hall. She was hoping to find people who would have seen or heard about the events of the morning. In that she was not disappointed, as she saw in the popular market near the city hall a woman giving a fiery speech to an assembled crowd from the top of a barrel. Activating first the micro camera hidden in her hat, Jeanne then approached the crowd, posting herself in the back ranks and listening on to the speaker, a thin woman in her early forties. Jeanne actually recognized her quickly, as Louise Michel would become well known in history as a passionate socialist, hardcore anarchist and ardent feminist.

‘’…we, the women of Paris, went to the support of our national guardsmen and stopped the government troops from taking away the cannons parked in Montmartre, the same cannons we the people of Paris paid for so that we could fight those damn Prussians. And what did those government troops do then? They shot at us, that’s what! We shot back and captured their general! Many of his soldiers then saw how wrong their orders were and joined us, refusing to further shoot on the people. Adolphe Thiers and his gutless government are responsible for this outrage and should feel the wrath of us Parisians. I say : let’s throw him out of Paris or, better, pass judgment on him and make him pay for his crimes against the people. We, the Commune of Paris, have to take control of our good city and put down this criminal government.’’ The crowd cheered at those words, visibly outraged by the actions of the government troops. As Louise Michel continued her incendiary speech and as Jeanne kept listening and secretly filming her, a woman near her who wore old, used clothes, started eyeing

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with suspicion her fine coat and hat and her expensive pair of earrings. The woman finally shouted out loud while pointing Jeanne with an accusing finger.

‘’WHO ARE YOU, TO COME LISTENING TO US IN YOUR FINE BOURGEOIS CLOTHES? A SPY OF THE GOVERNMENT? LOOK AT HER, CITIZENS!’’ Jeanne suddenly found herself the center of attention of a less than friendly crowd, with men moving to cut her retreat off. Louise Michel, her attention now firmly on Jeanne, pointed her from the top of her barrel.

‘’BRING THAT WOMAN TO ME, SO THAT WE COULD SEE WHO SHE IS!’’ Knowing that trying to run away would only complicate things, and with many men around her carrying knives and even pistols, Jeanne did not resist when men pushed her towards Louise Michel, forcing her to stop in front of the anarchist leader. The latter, who wore both a pistol and a knife at her belt and carried a Chassepot rifle across her back, jumped down from her barrel and eyed Jeanne up and down with visible antipathy.

‘’What fine clothes you have, madame, when most of the people of Paris are down to rags. Who are you?’’

Despite being rightly worried, Jeanne kept an appearance of assurance and calm as she answered in a firm, strong voice.

‘’My name is Lady Jeanne Smythe-d’Orléans. I…’’

Her name seemingly stung Louise Michel, who cut her off in an indignant tone.

‘’A d’Orléans and an aristocrat? And what the hell were you doing here? Spying on us for the monarchist government?’’

‘’I am no spy and I have no sympathy towards Adolphe Thiers and his government, miss. I am the Paris representative of the French Red Cross society and I make my business of caring for the wounded and the sick in war, irrespective of the side they are on.’’

Louise Michel gave a derisive look at her fine dress and cape before looking her in the eyes.

‘’And you pretend to treat wounded men while wearing such fine clothes, Lady Jeanne?’’

‘’Not right now, but I treated plenty of wounded and sick men on the battlefields of Weissenberg, Wörth and Sedan. Presently, I am sheltering the girls of an orphanage in my residence. I simply came out to find out if anything could threaten those girls.’’ The mention of the orphan girls seemed to somewhat calm down the firebrand.

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‘’A fine story, madame…if it is true. LET’S GO TO HER RESIDENCE AND SEE IF SHE IS TELLING THE TRUTH!’’

On a sign from Louise Michel, two big men armed with knives stepped forward and grabbed each one of Jeanne’s arms. Michel then smiled ferociously to her.

‘’Show us the way, Lady Jeanne!’’

‘’There is no point in holding me like this : my residence on Charles V is well known and my neighbors will vouch for my sympathy towards the little people of Paris.’’

‘’We will see! Let her go, men, but keep a close eye on her while she guides us.’’

Closely escorted by Louise Michel and four men and followed by a crowd of at least a hundred people, Jeanne had no choice but to retrace her steps, turning on Charles V twenty minutes later. As they approached the main gate of her residence, Jeanne turned to face Louise Michel and spoke firmly to her.

‘’I am ready to let you and a few men follow me inside, so that you could see that I am who I say I am, but I will not allow this crowd in and let it loot or burn it down, like what happened already to too many places in Paris.’’

‘’And how will you stop us from all going in, if we wanted to?’’ asked sarcastically the female anarchist. Jeanne drilled her in the eyes, her voice cold.

‘’You will have to kill me first. If you do that, then you will have all the people of this district turning on you. As I said, my charitable works are well known here.’’ Surprised by her aplomb, Louise Michel stared at Jeanne for a moment, then reluctantly nodded her head.

‘’Very well! I wouldn’t want anyway to scare your little orphans. Jean, Marcel, you come with me inside. The rest will stay out in front of the residence. Pierre, if you hear any shot from inside, then take the place and burn it down.’’

‘’Understood, Louise!’’

By then, Jeanne could see the worried face of Li Mai, watching her and the surrounding crowd from a window of the upper floor. Making a reassuring gesture to her first, Jeanne then took out her house keys from one pocket of her cape and unlocked the pedestrian door of the main gate, pushing it open and inviting in Louise Michel and her two bodyguards. Then stepping inside herself, she left the door opened: closing and locking it would only raise the suspicions of the already agitated crowd, while it would not resist very long against such a large group of people. Jeanne next faced Louise Michel.

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‘’You are now in the Hôtel de Brinvilliers, my personal residence and the headquarters of the Paris Red Cross and of the d’Orléans Social Foundation, a charitable organization I own and lead.’’

‘’The d’Orléans Foundation, you said?’’ said the one named Marcel. ‘’My sister got educated at a school sponsored by your foundation, which took in children too poor to pay for schooling.’’

Louise Michel, a teacher before she became an activist, softened up noticeably on hearing that and looked at Jeanne, who was still calm and composed.

‘’It seems that you indeed have a good reputation, Lady Jeanne. Lead on!’’ Entering the vestibule housing the grand staircase, Jeanne led her three followers up the stairs, only to bump in a concerned Li Mai waiting on the upper floor level.

‘’Jeanne, is everything alright? Why is that crowd waiting outside?’’

‘’Don’t worry, Mai : I am only showing to these people that we are simply engaged in charitable work.’’

On her part, Louise Michel eyed Mai with obvious curiosity and surprise.

‘’An Oriental woman? That is not very common in Paris.’’

‘’Li Mai is my personal assistant and also a Red Cross volunteer nurse. She is an orphan whom I found and saved on the side of the Seine, when she was a teenager. I will now show you our little tenants. Where are the girls right now, Mai?’’

‘’Playing in the ballroom, Jeanne.’’

‘’Then, come with us to the ballroom, Mai.’’

Louise Michel, unlike her two bodyguards, did not remark out loud about how luxurious and comfortable the residence was as their group followed Jeanne and Mai through the reception lounge, then the dining room, where Rosette Sans-Souçis and Constance Demers were busy cleaning up the covers from the girls’ lunch. The Haitian maid froze on seeing the armed men following Jeanne.

‘’Is everything alright, Jeanne?’’

Louise Michel raised an ear at that : for a maid to call her aristocrat employer by her first name was unheard of. She thus watched carefully the attitude and body language of the two servants as Jeanne reassured the black maid.

‘’Don’t worry, Rosette : these people are simply visiting briefly the residence.’’ The two maids still followed with worried eyes the group as it entered the vast ballroom. There, in the twelve by ten meter room, they found dozens of young girls playing with

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toys or looking at illustrated books. That sight seemed to finally convince Louise Michel, who smiled on seeing the children and then faced Jeanne.

‘’You told me the truth, Lady Jeanne. I will thus tell my comrades to leave you in peace.’’

‘’I thank you for your comprehension, miss. Let me guide you back to the main entrance.’’

Retracing their steps, Jeanne led her three visitors to the main gate, where she closed and locked the pedestrian door behind them before looking at Mai and letting out a sigh of relief.

‘’Hell, that was a close call! That crowd could have easily burned down this place or could have hung or shot me as a suspected government spy.’’

‘’So, what is going on in Paris today, Jeanne?’’

‘’Government troops tried to grab the cannons of the National Guard kept in Montmartre, but were repelled. This could announce a lot of bad news for the weeks to come.’’

The next days and weeks proved Jeanne right in the eyes of her employees. The evening of that same day, Adolphe Thiers and his government, scared for its safety, fled Paris to go establish themselves in nearby Versailles. On March 28, the Council of the Commune established itself in the now deserted city hall and soon published a manifesto proclaiming the Commune and its socialist ideals and also vowed to resist the monarchist government of Adolphe Thiers as well as the Prussians. On May 10, the Treaty of Frankfurt was signed by the Adolphe Thiers government, ceding the Alsace and most of the Lorraine to Prussia and also promising to pay five billion francs in war reparations. The news of that treaty positively enraged the Parisians and the leaders of the Commune, who could however do little about it, the city being still surrounded by Prussian troops and by French government troops now dedicated to crushing the Parisian rebellion.

07:31 (Paris Time)

Sunday, May 21, 1871 ‘A’

Hôtel de Brinvilliers, 12 Rue Charles V

Paris

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‘’What was that we just heard?’’ asked Charlotte Truffaut as she looked outside, crowding the windows of Jeanne’s private study with the other servants, Mai and Jeanne. The latter took on her to answer the question from her cook as they kept listening to the intense firefight that could be heard from the Southwest.

‘’That staccato was from a machine gun, a weapon that can fire hundreds of rounds per minute. It seems that the government troops have succeeded in breaking through the walls of the city around the Saint-Cloud Gate. This could very well turn into a very bloody day.’’

‘’Do you think that the National Guard will be able to repulse that attack, Jeanne?’’ asked anxiously Marie Valentin, one of the maids. Jeanne shook slowly her head then.

‘’Not in the long run, Marie. It is too poorly equipped and trained and has limited ammunition supplies. As for the city militias, their actual military value is low, being undisciplined and poorly led. The fight will be hard and bloody, but I am afraid that the government will win this battle in the end.’’

‘’And…then?’’

‘’Then, you can expect only summary justice from the government for the people of Paris.’’ gloomily predicted Jeanne. ‘’I am not even sure that my Red Cross armband or flag would protect me if I went to the help of the wounded over there. My best hope is that my Red Cross volunteers who are now outside of Paris will be permitted to approach the battle lines from behind the advancing government troops. Even that will however leave the federated forces of Paris with little to no medical support.’’ What Jeanne didn’t say was that, as much as she would have wanted to help as a nurse now, she knew about the arbitrary executions and mass arrests which were going to happen in the next few days. She had now spent 25 years building up her charitable foundation, which was after all the primordial reason she was even here in the 19th Century. To get killed now would throw away all those years of work and could as well mean the end of the d’Orléans Social Foundation, with potentially serious repercussions on the history of the decades to come. In contrast, the few wounded that she could save now risked being simply executed by government troops once captured or, at best, being sent to jail or be deported. She also had five more reasons to be cautious: her children. On the other hand, if she stayed alive through this, then her foundation could do something to help the survivors. As bitter as this was for her, she was going to have to sit tight and play safe through this tragedy.

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13:09 (Paris Time)

Thursday, May 25, 1871 ‘A’

Hôtel de Brinvilliers

‘’KEEP YOUR HEADS DOWN!’’ shouted Jeanne to her male employees, preventing them from trying to look outside through the windows of her private study in order to observe the violent firefight happening on their street. The government forces had been advancing through Paris for more than four days now and had steadily pushed back the national guardsmen and militiamen of the federated forces despite their desperate resistance. Thousands had already died on both sides but the government troops were now fighting to take the Saint-Antoine District, where Jeanne’s residence was situated.

As the rifle fire slackened somewhat, Jeanne raised her head for a cautious look down the street. She was then able to see that the line of government soldiers advancing along Charles V Street had been able to break through the hastily erected militia barricade blocking the junction with Saint-Paul street and was now past her residence’s main entrance. The militiamen who had held the barricade were now lying around on the pavement or were fleeing, pursued by soldiers. She then saw at least one militiaman moving slightly as he lay besides the barricade. Something snapped inside Jeanne at that sight and she got up at a crouch to go open one of the cabinets of her study. Watched by her increasingly alarmed employees, she took out her first aid kit, a backpack full of bandages and her Red Cross armbands, slipping one around each of her forearms. Her gardener and handyman, Pierre Brunelle, finally protested to her as she was shouldering her backpack and first aid kit.

‘’You’re not going to go outside now, Jeanne? It is still dangerous out there.’’

‘’There is at least one man in need of help out there, Pierre. I just can’t sit and watch all this anymore without doing something, especially this close to my house.’’

‘’Then I will go with you!’’ volunteered Li Mai, getting up from under one window. ‘’I am a qualified nurse and you will need help over there.’’ Jeanne hesitated for a moment, furiously tempted to order her to stay inside, but she finally nodded her head reluctantly.

‘’Very well, Mai, but make sure to put your Red Cross armbands on first.’’

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Mai lost no time in obeying her, also taking a second first aid kit bag from the cabinet. Before leaving the study with Mai, Jeanne pointed at her gardener.

‘’Pierre, you come down with us to make sure that the main gate is locked back behind us.’’

‘’Yes, Jeanne!’’

Going down the main staircase, the trio was soon inside the tunnel formed by the carriage gate. Going to the pedestrian door which was part of the left-side gate door, Jeanne pulled open the steel bolts locking it and opened the door, stepping out in the street. Mai followed closely behind her, with Pierre closing the door and locking it immediately afterwards. Jeanne ran to the man she had seen move on the ground near the barricade and, kneeling besides him, examined him quickly while smiling in encouragement to him.

‘’Don’t worry, my friend : I am here to treat your wounds.’’ The young man, who had been shot in the right upper torso and had a perforated lung, looked at her as she took out a bandage and covered his entry wound. He however was unable to speak then, pink foam coming out of his mouth. Helped by Mai, Jeanne cautiously turned the wounded on his side, so that they could also cover the exit wound and stop the lung from collapsing. Once the bandage was in place, Jeanne then made the man breathe the vapors from a few drops of chloroform, using a special mesh mask for that purpose. With the wounded now calmed down and out of immediate danger, Jeanne went to inspect the other militiamen lying around the barricade. She found another man alive, with a deep grazing shot wound to the head that had knocked him out and was bleeding profusely. Jeanne was in the process of applying a bandage to the head of the man when a rifle shot rang out from nearby, making her jerk her head up. To her utter horror, she saw Mai, a stunned look on her face, drop to her knees before falling flat on her face against the pavement.

‘’MAI, NO!’’

Leaving the wounded militiaman for the moment, Jeanne hurried over Mai, who was now inert. She then saw that a bullet had pierced Mai’s back near the heart area. Now nearly mad with despair, she gently turned around the Chinese woman on her back . Mai’s eyes were already starting to lose their focus as she spoke with difficulty in a weak voice.

‘’I…had a good life, thanks to you. My only regr…’’

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Her eyes then rolled upwards and she let out a last breath before becoming still, with her face turning white quickly. Unable to believe or accept that this was happening, Jeanne burst into tears as she held the head of her now dead friend and lover.

‘’No, Mai, not you, please!’’

She was still mourning over Mai when a harsh male voice shouted at her.

‘’YOU! HANDS UP OR I WILL SHOOT!’’

Now totally uncaring about her own safety, Jeanne looked up with hatred at the group of four government soldiers now approaching her with their rifles pointed at her.

‘’YOU BASTARDS! YOU JUST KILLED A RED CROSS NURSE!’’

‘’I don’t know what is your Red Cross and I don’t care!’’ replied one of the soldiers who seemed in command of the group. ‘’Get up now and raise your hands!’’ Realizing that the soldier would have no qualms about shooting her right now, Jeanne reluctantly got up slowly, her hands high, while staring hard at the soldier.

‘’Red Cross volunteers are protected by international law under the Geneva Convention. We care for the sick and wounded of war, irrespective of their side.’’

‘’And you could be as well one of those anarchist women who have been setting fire to half of Paris during the last few days. Come this way, quickly!’’ One of the soldiers then went around Jeanne, to then push her forward brutally with the butt of his rifle.

‘’You heard him, bitch! March!’’

Forced to abandon behind Mai’s body as well as her first aid kit, Jeanne was marched down the street towards the Henry IV Boulevard and the Place de la Bastille, where a firefight could be heard. The group soon joined up with another group of soldiers guarding about a dozen dejected-looking prisoners, a mix of national guardsmen, militiamen and civilians. There was as well one mature woman in civilian clothes in the lot. As Jeanne was pushed to join the other prisoners, an officer passing by shouted at the sergeant in charge of the group.

‘’SERGEANT, WE NEED MORE MEN AT THE PLACE DE LA BASTILLE. GET RID OF THOSE PRISONERS AND THEN LEAD YOUR MEN TO THE FRONTLINE.’’

‘’YES SIR!’’ Replied the NCO before shouting at his prisoners. ‘’ALL OF YOU, FORM A LINE AGAINST THAT WALL! MOVE!’’

Despite understanding at once what was to follow, the prisoners didn’t dare resist the soldiers, who had their bayonets fixed to their rifles. Jeanne followed as well, knowing that protesting would only get her killed more quickly. Right now, the shock and grief

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from the death of Li Mai still overwhelmed her, paralyzing her thoughts. This was the fourth time that she had lost a cherished lover. First had been Pierre Alphonse d’Orléans, dead from a tropical fever in the Guadeloupe in 1847. Then, Gordon Smythe had followed, killed during the Indian Uprising in 1857. Next to die was d’Artagnan, killed at the siege of Maastricht in 1673. Now, sweet Mai was dead because of her. She had been working hard and risked her life repeatedly for decades so that she could help others and alleviate some of the suffering and misery afflicting this world, but had been repaid instead with those personal tragedies. She was not sure that she really wanted to survive this last loss. She thus meekly put her back against the house wall designated by the soldiers and faced them as they raised their rifles. A senior officer galloping by on his horse, followed by a number of staff officers and aides, abruptly stopped his horse behind the soldiers as their sergeant was about to give the order to fire. After one shocked look towards Jeanne, the officer, a colonel, shouted urgently to the sergeant.

‘’HOLD YOUR FIRE! LOWER YOUR RIFLES!’’

The colonel then dismounted as the soldiers lowered their rifles, confused. Going past the soldiers, the senior officer walked straight to Jeanne, who suddenly recognized him.

‘’Colonel Lettelier?’’

‘’Lady Jeanne, why were you put in this lineup?’’

‘’I tried to administer first aid to some wounded militiamen but soldiers shot my assistant nurse dead and took me prisoner near my residence. I was then marched to here and made to join those other prisoners.’’

Lettelier looked briefly at the other prisoners lined up against the wall, then at the Red Cross armbands she wore.

‘’Were you wearing your Red Cross armbands then, Lady Jeanne?’’

‘’Yes, I was, Colonel, and so did my nurse. The soldiers who shot her said that they didn’t know what the Red Cross was when I protested.’’ A flash of anger showed on the colonel’s face, who then glanced quickly at the sergeant in charge of the firing squad before looking back at Jeanne, speaking in a soft voice to her.

‘’You and your Red Cross volunteers saved many of my wounded men at the battle of Wörth, Lady Jeanne. I am also not about to let my own soldiers violate the laws of war and the Geneva Convention. You are free to go. Please accept my sincere condolences for the loss of your nurse.’’

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‘’What about those other prisoners, Colonel? Are you going to let them be summarily executed like this?’’

Lettelier debated her question in his mind for a moment, having probably received some radical orders concerning the handling of prisoners. He finally nodded his head and shouted at his sergeant.

‘’SERGEANT, LADY JEANNE HERE IS A NON-COMBATANT PROTECTED UNDER THE GENEVA CONVENTION AND IS NOT TO BE TOUCHED. SHE IS FREE TO GO. AS FOR THE OTHER PRISONERS, LEAD THEM TO OUR NEAREST PRISONER HOLDING POINT. YOU ARE NOT TO EXECUTE THEM SUMMARILY.’’

‘’But, sir, Major Bellefeuille…’’

‘’SCREW MAJOR BELLEFEUILLE! DO AS I SAY, SERGEANT!’’ As the chastised NCO had his men march the other prisoners away, Jeanne nodded soberly at Lettelier.

‘’Thank you, Colonel. You were always a true gentleman.’’

‘’I could not allow such a national heroine as you to be killed like this: it would have been a grave injustice and a great loss for France. Again, I am sorry about your nurse. I wish you luck during the next days, which may well be very bloody indeed.’’

‘’I realize that too much, unfortunately, Colonel. Thank you again for saving me.’’

Walking back at a tired pace towards her residence, her mind still clouded with grief, Jeanne got in sight of her townhouse in time to see four of her employees carrying gently the body of Li Mai towards the opened main gate. One of them, Rosette Sans-Souçis, ran at once to her, shouting nearly hysterically.

‘’JEANNE, MY GOD! ARE YOU ALRIGHT?’’

Jeanne didn’t answer her at first, letting the maid hug her frantically before speaking.

‘’I am, Rosette. An officer recognized me and ordered that I be released. Unfortunately, poor Mai wasn’t as lucky as me. I never should have gone out like this.’’

‘’You did so in order to help others, as you did so often, Jeanne. Mai died bravely for a worthy cause.’’

Tears reappeared on Jeanne’s face as she watched the body of her friend being carried inside her residence.

‘’If only I could have died in her place.’’

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The sinking of the RMS TITANIC on the night of April 14, 1912, in the North Atlantic.





CHAPTER 21 – ANOTHER ROAD ENDS




22:46 (Iceland Time)

Sunday, April 14, 1912 ‘A’

R.M.S. TITANIC

Middle of the North Atlantic, south of Iceland

Few of the people still up and present on the

Promenade Deck paid much attention to the old but tall woman, dressed in a simple but elegant gown covered by a long fur coat, as she made her way towards the Forecastle Deck. Those who did mostly marveled at the vigor of her pace for such an obviously old lady with white hair and wrinkled face and hands. Ignoring the few stares, the old woman exited in the open air and went down on the Forward Crane Deck, then up again on the Forecastle Deck. The air was at the freezing point and made even more cold by the ship’s speed of 22.5 knots. Apparently not bothered by the cold, the old woman went to the bow, where she leaned against the railing and looked ahead of the ship into the dark night. Nancy Laplante ‘B’, traveling under her official name of Lady Jeanne Smythe-d’Orléans, then reflected on her long and fruitful life and her many

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accomplishments. Officially eighty years old in this life, she was in reality 191 years old now, the longevity treatment received as a member of the Time Patrol helping her look and feel like a woman closer to seventy years of age. Both of her lives, the one in the 17th Century as the Marquess of Saint-Laurent and the one that had started in the 19th Century as Jeanne de Brissac, then as Lady Jeanne D’Orléans, had provided many tragedies but also many satisfactions to her. As the Marquess of Saint-Laurent, she was already officially dead at the age of 65, having supposedly drowned during an Atlantic crossing from New England to France in 1700. She had left behind in Philadelphia her adopted son, James Walker, his wife Annette Beaulieu and his two sons and one daughter. Jame’s wine shop, dealing in wine imported from Nancy’s estate of the Château La Tour Carnet, near Bordeaux, was prosperous and had provided his family a comfortable living in peaceful Philadelphia, far away from the anti-Huguenot religious persecutions which had been sweeping France since 1680. The estate of La Tour Carnet was itself in the good hands of Nancy’s son from D’Artagnan, Charles. Charles had retired from the royal musketeers and had married a local girl, Jeanne Dupré, from whom he had a son, Pierre, and a daughter, Réjeanne, who in turn had given Nancy a further seven great-grandchildren, albeit after her official death. As for King Louis XIV, once a lover and good friend of Nancy, he had grown into an increasingly intolerant and egotistic tyrant, from whom Nancy had been further repelled by the often mean gossips about her circulated by the king’s confessor, who had rightly suspected her of aiding and protecting Huguenot Protestants around Bordeaux, and by the king’s other mistresses, who had been jealous of her influence on King Louis XIV. While Nancy had been sad to leave her sons and grandchildren in France and Philadelphia, she had also felt some relief at exiting the increasingly poisonous atmosphere of the royal court in Versailles, which she had avoided as much as she could by continuing to conduct field missions for the King. As for her life as Jeanne Smythe-D’Orléans, it had been most eventful and had quieted down a bit only in the last decade. After rebelling against the Time Patrol and becoming an independent time-traveling operator in 1860, following the birth of her illegitimate twins from King Louis XIV, she had renewed her efforts to help the wounded, the sick, the poor and the downtrodden, living through the American Civil War, the Franco-Prussian War and the Paris Commune. More work as a nurse and Red Cross representative had followed during the turbulent decades of the end of the 19th Century in Europe. She had also gone through the numerous social tremors and colonial wars of the time while continuing to expand the work of the d’Orléans Social Foundation. Her

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charitable organization was now supported by a hidden financial empire built along six decades and which was now worth over 300 million British Pounds Sterling. That empire was however operated in a very discreet manner and very few people knew about the true extent of Jeanne’s fortune, which she used almost exclusively to help others or further extend her reach. Her charity and nursing work had attracted her many honors, including the awarding to her of the Order of the Red Cross by Queen Victoria, but also many political enemies. Her support of the legal defense of French Army Captain Dreyfuss during his celebrated trial, followed by his imprisonment and then his retrial, had branded her as a ‘social revolutionary’ in the minds of many French politicians and military leaders. Her financial and political leverage had however been too powerful for those men to dare attack her directly. Her political and social victories had unfortunately been shadowed by the successive deaths in Paris of her father Pierre in 1894 and of her mother Suzan in 1897. Her children in the 19th Century, William, Louis and Anne, had grown to adulthood and married, forming families of their own while staying close to Jeanne. Jeanne now had a total of ten grandchildren and seven great-grandchildren in this century and knew that the future of her charity organization and financial empire was in good, dependable and trusted hands.

Coming out of her mental contemplation of her past lives, she looked at her wristwatch and saw that it was now twenty past eleven. Walking calmly away from the railing, she went back inside the ship and made her way aft to the 3rd class social hall, in the stern part of the Upper Deck. She had just arrived in the social hall when the ship shook, while a long scraping sound could be heard from the lower hull. Knowing perfectly well that this announced the collision of the TITANIC with the iceberg that would sink it, Jeanne nonetheless went to sit quietly in one corner of the mostly unoccupied room, where less than a dozen men were still playing cards in two groups. A few of the men, 3rd class passengers who had booked passage on the ship to emigrate to the United States with their families, eyed her briefly but discreetly, surprised by the visit of an old woman who was visibly of a much higher social class than them. They however didn’t comment loudly about her and continued playing cards.

After a few minutes and with still no signs or indications that the ship was in trouble apart from the fact that it had slowed down and stopped, Jeanne got up and used the nearby 3rd class main staircase to go down to the women’s lavatories. There, she

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relieved herself one last time and washed her hands. A young redhead woman who was combing her hair in front of the sinks counter looked at her with curiosity when she saw the six medals pinned to her dress, which had been hidden up to now by her fur coat.

“Uh, excuse me, madam, but are we suppose to celebrate something tonight?” she asked with a strong Irish accent. Jeanne shook her head gently and looked into her brown eyes, speaking softly to her.

“No, miss. There will be nothing to celebrate about tonight.”

“Then, why the medals, madam?”

“Because I wanted to look my best tonight, miss.”

On those mysterious words Jeanne left the young woman and returned to the 3rd class social hall, her fur coat over her left arm. There, she sat quietly in a corner and observed the other passengers as they gradually realized that the ship was in some sort of trouble. They understood the true seriousness of the situation only when

crewmembers started running down the passageways in the 3rd Class section while shouting that the ship was sinking and that the passengers had to go up to find places in lifeboats. That quickly emptied the 3rd Class social hall, with its occupants then running to their cabins to go get their families. Now alone in the hall, Nancy calmly got up from her chair and went to the nearest set of stairs leading to the open air decks above.

From a corner of the stern deck, Nancy watched with sadness as hundreds of panicky 3rd Class passengers tried to find places in the few lifeboats available, only to be turned away by crewmembers or to see the lifeboats leave without them. Unfortunately, she couldn’t help those poor people in any significant way: this tragedy was going to be one of the most thoroughly documented disasters in history, with detailed lists of the victims and of the survivors made in the days to come. Saving any significant number of those unfortunate souls could severely impact history, with genealogical trees drastically redrawn and with the future possibly changing in unpredictable ways. The one thing that she still could do, though, was to write a final epitaph to one single life.

Climbing the stairs leading to the Boat Deck and going forward, Nancy however stayed away from the crowds still trying to board lifeboats, instead going to the entrance to the 1st class lounge on the Boat Deck. Entering the luxurious lounge, she found inside less than twenty male passengers waiting their final fate there as water was about to rush in via the forward entrance doors. Walking quickly to a man with gray hair dressed

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in a fine evening suit, she sat beside him at his table, drawing a stunned look from the man.

“Lady Jeanne? How come you didn’t take place in one of the lifeboats?” Jeanne smiled to Benjamin Guggenheim, one of the richest passengers on the TITANIC, and gently pressed his left hand.

“I wanted to leave a space for someone younger who still had not seen much of life. I also wanted to die by the side of a true gentleman.” Guggenheim swallowed hard, with tears coming to his eyes as he looked into her resolute green eyes.

“It will be a true honor to have you with me at this time, my dear Lady Jeanne.” Just then, the forward doors of the lounge crashed open under the pressure of the sea and tons of water rushed in. Jeanne passed one arm around Benjamin Guggenheim’s shoulders as the frigid water started rushing around and over their legs.

“God is about to accept us back in his fold, Benjamin.” she said tenderly to the man, mere seconds before the water submerged them completely.

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ANNEX ‘A’ - TRIBUTE TO THE PIONEERS OF VILLE-MARIE

This page is meant to pay tribute to the settlers and pioneers of Ville-Marie who figured prominently in the chapter of this novel titled ‘VILLE-MARIE’. While their actions and words as described in this novel are fictitious, the main events of their lives were described as recorded by history.

Bourgeoys, Marguerite (Sister): (1620 – 1700). Born in Troyes, Champagne. Arrived in New France, then in Ville-Marie, in 1653 as a lay teacher. Founded the Notre-Dame Congregation in Ville-Marie. Opened Ville-Marie’s first school in 1658. Went back to France in 1659 to recruit three more nuns for her congregation and then returned to Ville-Marie, where she died at the age of 80. Canonized by the Catholic Church in 1982.





Paul de Chomedey, Sieur de Maisonneuve: (1612 – 1676). Born in Neuville-sur-Vanne. Arrived in New France in 1641. Founded Ville-Marie in 1642. Recalled to France in 1665 after falling out of favor with the Governor of New France. Died in anonymity and poverty in Paris.





Closse, Lambert: (? – 1662). Born in Trèves, Lorraine. Squire and sergeant-major of the garrison of Ville-Marie. Arrived in Ville-Marie in 1647. Married Élisabeth Moyen in 1657, had two children. Killed in combat by the Iroquois.





Hubert, Nicolas: (1609 – 1687). Unknown place of birth. Master tailor. Arrived in 1649 in New France. Arrived in 1654 in Ville-Marie. Married Marguerite Landreau in 1652, had six children.

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Landreau, Marguerite: (1631 – 1680). Unknown place of birth. Arrived with husband Nicolas Hubert in Ville-Marie in 1654. Had six children.



Charles Lemoine, Sieur de Longueuil: (1626 – 1685). Born in Dieppe, Normandie. Squire, Royal Prosecutor, Lord of Longueuil. Arrived in 1641 in New France. Arrived in 1647 in Ville-Marie. Married Catherine Thierry in 1654, had fourteen children from Catherine.



Lorgueil, Marie: (1638 – 1700). Born in Saintes, Angoulème. Arrived in 1654 in Ville-Marie. Married Toussaint Hunault in 1654, had ten children.

Lorion, Catherine: (1637 – 1720). Born in La Rochelle. Arrived in 1654 in Ville-Marie. First marriage with Pierre Vilain in 1654, no children. Second marriage with Jean Simon in 1655, one child. Third marriage with Nicolas Millet in 1657, eight children. Fourth marriage with Pierre Desautels in 1676, two children.



Mance, Jeanne: (1606 – 1673). Born in Langres, Haute-Marne. Arrived in 1641 in New France. Arrived in Ville-Marie in 1642, helped Paul Chomedey de Maisonneuve to found the town. Founded l’Hôtel-Dieu, the first hospital in Ville-Marie, in 1645.

Merrin, Jeanne: (1635 – 1711). Born in Poitiers, Poitou. Arrived in 1654 in Ville-Marie. First marriage with Éloi Jarry in 1654, three children. Second marriage with Henri Perrin in 1661, five children. Third marriage with René Moreau (sieur Dubreuil) in 1672, two children.

Morin, Jacques: (1628 – around 1699). Unknown place of birth. Farmer. Arrived in 1654 in Ville-Marie.

Renaud, Marie: (1633 – 1673). Born in Saint-Paul, Orléans. Arrived in 1654 in Ville-Marie. Married Mathurin Langevin in 1654, no children.

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Rousselier, Jeanne: (1636 – after 1686). Born in Saintes, Saintonge. Arrived in 1654 in Ville-Marie. Married Pierre Godin in 1654, had nine children. Emigrated to the Acadie around 1677.

Simon, Jean: (? – 1656). Born in Saint-Saturnin, Limoges. Arrived in 1654 in Ville-Marie. Married Catherine Lorion in 1655, one child. Drowned.

History is not only the stories of various kings, emperors and conquerors. It is the sum of the lives of billions of anonymous people who loved, hoped, toiled, suffered and without whom all those kings and emperors would have accomplished nothing.



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 Werner Hilgemann et Hermann Kinder, Atlas historique, Librairie Académique

Perrin, Édition Stock, 2000.

 H.E. Stier, Grosser Atlas Zur Weltgeschichte, Westermann, Braunschweig, 1956.

 Philippe Orain, Paris – Le Guide Vert Michelin, Michelin, Paris, 2016.

 Olivier Blanc et Joachim Bonnemaison, Hôtels Particuliers de Paris, Éditions

Pierre Terrail, Paris, 1998.

 Michèle Arbour, France Bélanger, Monique Bernard, Michel Gagné, Suzanne

Gibeau Carignan, Gilles Pépin, Angèle St-Yves, Michelle T. Roy, Boucherville au

fil du temps, 1667 – 2017, Société d’histoire des Îles-Percées, Boucherville, 2017.

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 London Michelin Guide, Michelin, Paris, 1979.

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(French edition), Le XIXème Siècle, Éditions Gründ, Paris, 2000.

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