TEMPORAL AGENT by Michel Poulin - HTML preview

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?”