TEMPORAL AGENT by Michel Poulin - HTML preview

CHAPTER 18 – RED CROSS AND WINE

 

09:10 (Paris Time)

Friday, September 9, 1864 ‘A’

Hôtel de Brinvilliers, 12 Rue Charles-V

Paris, France

Jeanne Smythe-D’Orléans, her nine years old son William and her four year-old twins Anne and Louis at her side, looked on proudly as Luc Rémillard, her handyman, finished fixing the large brass plaque besides the main entrance door of her residence. Also standing in front of the entrance and behind her were her parents, known to her staff simply as her uncle and aunt, and Jacques Leblanc, the executive secretary of the D’Orléans Social Foundation, the charity enterprise she ran from her big Paris residence. Jeanne then read the words engraved on the plaque under the red cross on white background, once her handyman had stepped aside.

“French National Society for the Relief of the Sick and Wounded in War. Damn, I like this!”

“You can be justly proud of your achievements, Jeanne.” said softly Jacques Leblanc. Now, your work will at last be officially acknowledged.” Jeanne gave him an amused look then.

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“The Legion of Honor and the Medal of Honor of the President are not official acknowledgements in your eyes, Jacques?”

“Well, you know what I mean, Jeanne. With this, you are now more than simply a very rich philanthropist: you are the national representative of an internationally recognized organization.”

Jeanne’s smile faded a bit then, thinking of all that was left to do.

“Hmm, I will be truly happy when more countries will have signed on the Geneva Convention. Twelve countries is a nice start, but it is only a start. Now, I will have to find volunteers, train and organize them and also open regional offices. I am going to be busy like hell for the next few months. I will have to rely a lot on you, Jacques, in order to keep my foundation running smoothly in the meantime.”

“You can count on me, Jeanne, as always.” replied Leblanc, sober. In that, Jeanne knew that she could trust him, as he was both a talented, deeply honest administrator and a man with a great heart. Bending down, Jeanne kissed her two smaller children on their foreheads.

“Time to return inside, my little treasures! Uncle Pierre will make you play with the other children in the daycare.”

As her father, Pierre Laplante, happily led the small twins inside, Jeanne next patted the shoulder of her son William.

“Ready for your French grammar lessons, William?”

“Uh, not really, Mom, but do I have a choice?”

“No!” replied Jeanne with a smile. “However, you are doing well up to now.” Despite showing little enthusiasm, William did go inside with his grandmother, Suzan Laplante, to go study with the primary school grade children of Jeanne’s employees. She had been loathe on relying on existing schools in Paris for her children and those of her foundation’s employee, as those schools used pedagogic methods, including corporal punishments, that she found both objectionable and inefficient. So she had early on initiated private classes in her residence, using teachers personally selected by her and following a curriculum and rules set by her. These private classrooms also functioned side by side with a daycare center and allowed her staff, both that of her charity foundation and that of her household, to work with complete peace of mind. With their children schooled and fed while they worked and with themselves being paid salaries well above what was considered the norm in France in 1864, Jeanne’s employees were happy ones and worked with true dedication. Her policy of paying

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equal wages irrespective of gender for any given job had attracted much mocking comments from the men considering themselves to be the high society of Paris, apart from branding her in the minds of many as a sort of socialist revolutionary. However, Jeanne couldn’t frankly care less about what others said about her. Most of her detractors were in fact jealous of her financial and social successes. Her status of heroine of the Crimean War, by making her a woman admired and befriended by numerous influential army generals and government politicians, had thankfully helped her greatly to ignore the various criticism thrown at her by those envious of her or who were intolerant about her ideas. Now that she was also in charge of the French Red Cross Society, she was going to be able to increase even more the good work around her. As a Chosen of The One and a believer in humanitarian work, she was a truly happy woman today. She had scheduled days ago a private reception for this evening in order to celebrate those latest accomplishments. Now, it was time to prepare for it.

Going inside herself with Jacques Leblanc, she let him return to the ground floor office suite used by the D’Orléans Foundation and went upstairs to find Li Mai, her Chinese personal assistant. A beautiful thirty years old woman by now, Mai had been working for her for fifteen years and was totally loyal to Jeanne, apart from being her secret occasional lover. Jeanne found Mai putting freshly cleaned and dried clothes in their place in the big bedroom used by Jeanne. Approaching the Chinese woman, Jeanne gently caressed her back as she spoke softly to her.

“We should have a bit over twenty guests for this evening’s reception. Do you feel up to doing a Chinese dance for them tonight? I will play the lyre to accompany you.”

“With pleasure, Jeanne.” answered Mai with a smile, enjoying her gentle touch. “Anything else I can do for your guests?”

“Just be yourself and they will appreciate it, Mai. You make a first class hostess any time.”

Stopping her work for a moment, the small, graceful Chinese woman turned to face her and glued herself to Jeanne while looking up directly in her eyes.

“And you are much more than simply my employer, Jeanne. I owe you everything I have now. I know that I told you that already before but I will never say it too often.”

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“Mai, just continue to be my friend and it will be the best way for you to thank me. The World is a better place with you in it.”

“I am nothing compared to you, Jeanne, and I’m not talking about your fortune.” Jeanne gravely looked down at her personal assistant, still glued to her, while her hands went down to the Chinese’s small buttocks.

“Mai, many things made me what I am today. Your friendship and

companionship are two of those things. Now that you have been with me for fifteen years, you may be ready to learn a few of my secrets tonight, after my guests will be gone.”

Mai nodded once slowly at that: everyone seemingly had questions about the incredible Jeanne and her uncommon abilities. Mai had however been too polite and respectful to annoy Jeanne with questions she probably would not answer anyway.

“Thank you for your confidence, Jeanne. I will come see you tonight after the reception. Can I do something else for you in the meantime?” A tender smile came on Jeanne’s face at those words. Grabbing Mai by her buttocks and hoisting her on her hips, she stepped forward and lowered her on the big bed, then slid her hands under Mai’s Chinese dress while kneeling in front of her.

“Yes! You can relax and enjoy the next few minutes.”

16:23 (Paris Time)

Rue Charles-V, Paris

“I can’t wait to see this famous Lady Jeanne D’Orléans.” said excitedly the young woman sitting besides Alexandre Dumas Junior in the carriage. That made Alexandre Dumas Senior, sitting opposite her, smile benevolently to his daughter-in-law.

“That is quite understandable, my dear Nadeja. Jeanne has had many people wonder about her for years. Do not worry, though: she is the most liberal, tolerant and kind woman you could think of despite of her fortune. She is also a truly fascinating person. I attended many of her receptions before I had to leave France in 1851 and I can assure you that you will enjoy your evening.”

“But I heard that she was a quite ferocious woman during the Crimean War.”

“That must have come from one of your compatriots at the Russian embassy, my dear.” replied Dumas Senior. “It is true that she was deadly at times during that war, but only to protect wounded soldiers or herself. However she now represents a neutral

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humanitarian organization and probably will not use her weapons again. Aah, here we are!”

Nadeja Naryschkine looked out through the right side window of the carriage and saw that they were about to roll through the wide carriage entrance of a two-story building made of light beige stone. From the outside, the building looked like many other Paris private hotels and didn’t show obvious opulence. Their carriage then entered an internal courtyard and came to a stop. A young man came nearly at once to open the right side door of the carriage and bowed politely to the occupants.

“Welcome to Lady Jeanne’s residence, lady and gentlemen. May I help the lady come down?”

“You are most gracious, monsieur.” said Nadeja, grateful, before climbing down cautiously. The young man lent her a hand and pointed at a door opening on the courtyard.

“If you may proceed through that door, lady and gentlemen. Lady Jeanne is upstairs, in the main lounge. Do not worry about your carriage or your driver: I will take care of the horses while your driver will be able to enjoy hot food and drinks inside.” Giving her right arm to her husband, Nadeja went with him and his father to the door, while the young man who had greeted him went to talk with their carriage driver. A maid opened the door from the inside and greeted them, then led them up a large marble staircase with iron railings. Once on the upper floor, the three visitors found themselves facing a glass and wood vertical display case containing the most colorful and fantastic set of armor they had ever seen. It was made of dozens of metal plates linked together by multicolored strings which covered most of its surface. The helmet was nearly terrifying in its aspect, with its demonic lower face mask and big pair of horn-like appendages attached to its forehead. Two swords, one long, one short, and a sort of squarish dagger were also displayed in their decorated scabbards.

“My God!” exclaimed Alexandre Dumas Junior while eyeing the display case and its content. “Where did Lady Jeanne find this?”

His father, who had not seen this display case during his past visits, saw a small brass plaque fixed to the case’s bottom part and read it.

“There’s your answer, Son. This says that this armor and weapons are from Japan and were made in the 17th Century.”

“Japan? Now, that would be an interesting country to visit. From the little I heard of it; it seems to be a strange and fascinating place indeed.”

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“Lady Jeanne traveled to Japan five years ago with her son, monsieur.” Volunteered the maid. “She also came back from that trip with her newly adopted twins.”

“Adopted twins? A son?” said Alexandre Senior, flabbergasted. “Hell, things have happened in those last thirteen years since I last saw her! True, I only had newspaper articles to keep me informed about her during all that time.”

“Lady Jeanne is as gracious and kind as before, Monsieur Dumas, I assure you.” volunteered the maid. “If you will please follow me to the main lounge.”

The three visitors were soon led inside a large lounge decorated in the Persian style and with priceless antiques on display all around. Jeanne, who was talking with two women with gray hair, excused herself with those at once and got up, coming to Alexandre Senior in quick steps before kissing him on both cheeks and hugging him happily.

“Welcome back to Paris, my friend! I will truly enjoy your presence here tonight.”

“The pleasure will be mine, my dear Jeanne.” replied the old novelist and playwright. “I heard so many things about you during my self-exile. We will have to get reacquainted again.”

“Why do you think that I invited you and your son the moment I heard that you were back in Paris, Alexandre? And this must be your son, Alexandre Junior.”

“Correct, madame!” answered the younger Dumas, who was himself forty years old. “I am honored to meet such a famous woman.”

Somehow, the writer’s compliment seemed to actually make the smile on Jeanne’s face fade partly.

“My, I hope that I am not that famous, monsieur. I’d rather keep my charity work discreet. I had to deal already with too many crooks and fraudsters trying to get to my money through scams and false charities.”

“Madame, I was talking about your exploits as a nurse on the battlefields of Crimea. While your philanthropic work is indeed most worthy, war actions unfortunately seem to attract more public attention than charity work. May I present you my new wife, Nadeja Naryschkine?”

“Pleased to meet you, Nadeja.” Said Jeanne in fluent Russian while bowing and smiling to her. “You married a capable and worthy man indeed.”

“Thank you, madame. You are most gracious.” replied Nadeja, also in Russian.

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“Please, call me simply Jeanne.” said Jeanne before switching back to French and looking at her three guests. “Let me introduce you to two other guests who arrived earlier.”

Leading the trio of newcomers to the two mature women sitting on a comfortable couch, Jeanne presented them in her clear, agreeable voice.

“Nadeja, Messieurs Dumas Senior and Junior, let me present you to Marie Catherine Sophie de Flavigny, Countess of Agoult, and to Amandine-Aurore-Lucile Dupin, better known under her literary name of George Sand.”

“Mon Dieu, Jeanne!” Exclaimed at once Dumas Senior. “You have invited the cream of the literary world in Paris tonight.”

“You are referring to me or to you, Monsieur Dumas?” replied maliciously Marie de Flavigny. “Your adventure novels sell a lot more than my own work.”

“The good countess is too hard on herself.” said the older Dumas, kissing gallantly the hand of Marie de Flavigny. “Your work is worthy of the best luminaries.” He then kissed the hand of Amandine Dupin as well.

“I am honored to meet you again, Amandine. Are you still defending the rights and privileges of women as arduously as when I last saw you?”

“I certainly still am, Monsieur Dumas.” replied warmly the famous, or rather infamous for some, feminist. “One day, women in France will be allowed to vote, mark my words.”

“And when do you expect such a thing to happen, madame?” asked in a neutral tone Alexandre Junior, who was known to be opposed to the emancipation of women. Amandine smiled mysteriously at that before replying.

“You may ask that to the guest now coming in: he is renown for his predictions about the future.”

All of the others turned their heads towards the lounge’s entrance, in time to see a couple in their thirties enter, escorted by a maid. Jeanne got up at once and went to hug both the bearded man and his younger wife.

“Jules, Honorine, how nice to see you again!”

As Jeanne exchanged a few words with the couple, Dumas Junior spoke in a low voice to Amandine.

“She invited Jules Verne as well? How many writers will there be here tonight?”

“Quite a few, Monsieur Dumas.” replied calmly Amandine. “Expect some of the most brilliant minds in Paris here tonight. Actually, that is one of the reasons why the

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receptions given by Jeanne are so interesting: we never end up exchanging only platitudes or mundane gossips. Here, you can count having your mind as stimulated as your stomach…or eyes.”

Before Alexandre Junior could ask her what she meant about eyes, his father got up suddenly and happily went to greet a woman in her late sixties who was just arriving with two more women and two men, all four much younger than her and apparently in their twenties.

“Mélanie! My sweet Mélanie! It has been so long since the last time I saw you. May God thank our hostess for inviting you tonight.”

The old woman had tears on her cheek as she returned the hug of her old lover.

“And how are you, my old friend? Were your years of exile hard ones?”

“Being away from France is always hard, my dear Mélanie. And who are your companions?”

“They were picked up by Jeanne’s carriage, like me.” answered Mélanie Waldor, poetess and ex-mistress of Alexandre Dumas Senior, while turning to present the others to him. “You must know Nina de Villard and Sarah Bernhardt already.”

“From reputation only.” replied the old novelist, eyeing with particular interest the young Sarah Bernhardt, barely more than a teenager. She already had a sulfurous reputation as both a stage actress and courtesan, something that warmed his blood as an old skirt chaser. As for Nina de Villard, she was a known poetess and intellectual woman with a most charming smile. His old mistress then pointed the two young men waiting patiently behind the three women.

“And these gentlemen are the painter Paul Cézanne and his friend Émile Zola, a young writer just beginning.”

They all exchanged greetings and handshakes before Jeanne directed them to sit on the various sofas, couches and cushions around the lounge. Jeanne then had her butler serve chilled champagne to her guests. They were about to have their first sip when Li Mai showed up, escorting a woman in her forties wearing a rich dress and expensive set of jewels.

“Her Highness, Princess Mathilde!’ announced out loud Mai in her signing voice, prompting everybody to get up and either bow or curtsy to the newcomer, who smiled while walking in the lounge and looking around her.

“Please, no need for such formality: we are here to simply enjoy some good conversation and good food and wine. Right, Jeanne?”

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Jeanne smiled back to the niece of Emperor Napoléon III.

“Correct, Mathilde. Would you like to start the evening with a cup of

champagne?”

“With pleasure, Jeanne. I may need some stimulant to shoot back at all those republicans present in your lounge.”

“Well said, Mathilde! Pierre! A cup for Princess Mathilde, please!” As the butler served the princess, a shocked Nadeja whispered to her husband Alexandre.

“How could she call the Princess by her first name? At the court of the Tsar, this would be considered a grave insult.”

“Uh, maybe they are very good friends. Let me ask my father.” Dumas Senior smiled when his son in turn whispered a question to him.

“Son, Lady Jeanne may be of low aristocratic rank indeed, but I understand from what many aristocrats around Europe told me that she is in reality a financial powerhouse and is also considered a national heroine by the Emperor himself, who is said to regard her very highly, independently of her political orientations.”

“But, if she is so rich and powerful, how come she doesn’t live in a bigger and more luxurious residence?”

Dumas Senior became serious then and answered in a low, sober tone.

“Because Jeanne doesn’t flaunt her money around her and doesn’t like wasteful extravagance. In fact, she abhors it. Most of her money is used to help others or to enlarge her financial holdings.”

“How rich is she really, Father?”

Dumas Senior hesitated for a moment, then lowered further his voice to a whisper.

“Nobody knows for sure, Son. An important Italian banker speculated to me a year ago that she had to be worth at least two hundred million francs, all considered.”

“Two hundred million francs?” Nearly exclaimed Dumas Junior, stunned. “But that would make her about the richest woman in the whole of Europe.”

“Exactly! And she uses her money to do good, help the poor and the downtrodden and, from time to time, help a friend in need.” Seeing his father smile while saying those last words, Alexandre Junior suddenly was hit by their meaning and had difficulties keeping his voice down.

“You mean that she paid off your creditors and got rid of your debts?”

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“Well, like she said to me, what are friends for, if not to help each other? Don’t go rushing to her afterwards to thank her, though: she doesn’t do those kinds of things to show off or make herself a name. Just treat her with respect, in an informal way.” Alexandre Junior was quiet for a moment, then whispered in his wife’s ear.

“I will talk to you about that once back home.”

Eight more guests arrived in the next half hour, including two high level politicians and two academicians. With all of her expected guests now present, Jeanne had their cups of champagne refilled, then got up and went to stand in front of the large fireplace of the lounge, her cup in hand.

“My friends, I invited you here tonight for two reasons. First, it is always a pleasure to spend an evening with you, exchanging ideas, opinions and news and enjoying your company. Second, I want to celebrate something with you tonight. Last month, twelve countries which had met with each other in Switzerland signed a charter called the Geneva Convention. That Geneva Convention recognizes among other things the neutral status of the Society for the Relief of the Sick and Wounded in War and protects its employees and volunteers engaged in humanitarian work. This means that those employees and volunteers, wearing a white armband with a red cross on it, can help and treat sick or wounded soldiers of all sides on a battlefield, and this without fear of maltreatment or obstruction by soldiers from the countries which signed the convention. Those humanitarian workers will also be able to visit unimpeded the sick or wounded soldiers and make sure that they are treated humanely. The convention also protects the wounded and sick soldiers from inhumane treatment or summary execution and would ensure their repatriation if found unable to bear arms during a conflict. France was one of the countries which signed the Geneva Convention and, last week, the French government officially authorized and supported the creation of the French National Society for the Relief of the Sick and Wounded in War. In liaison with the International Committee in Geneva, I thus started the formation of such a national society with the help of other volunteers. Today, I opened the offices of the French National Society for the Relief of the Sick and Wounded in War here, in this residence.” Applauses greeted that announcement at once, forcing Jeanne to wait gracefully for a few seconds before continuing.

“A lot is still left to be done before this national society, which I prefer to call the French Red Cross Society for the sake of brevity, can start to effectively care for sick

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and wounded soldiers anywhere. Volunteers and employees have to be found, trained and organized. Regional offices and ambulances have to be formed and then supplied. All this will take time but, in the end, the result will be that we will be able to alleviate greatly human suffering during future wars. Ladies and gentlemen, a toast to the French Red Cross!”

“TO THE FRENCH RED CROSS!” Was the unanimous chorus from those present, who then took sips from their cups.

23:05 (Paris Time)

Hôtel de Brinvilliers, Paris

“Thank you so much for the reception, Jeanne. I enjoyed it very much. The conversation was as good as the food and you must truly be the most charming hostess in the whole of Paris.”

Jeanne smiled gently to Léon Gambetta, who was one of her good personal friends in Paris and was a lawyer with socialist republican views, and got very close to him, giving him a good view down her wide cleavage.

“Coming from such a consummate lawyer as you, these compliments will make me think that you are trying to get a favor in exchange, Léon.” Gambetta, a bearded and slightly obese man in his late twenties, couldn’t help stare down the front of Jeanne’s dress. He finally sighed and looked up in her eyes while smiling.

“Jeanne, you are one hell of a woman. Don’t hesitate to visit me when you have a chance.”

“I promise I will, Léon. Have a good night!”

“You too, Jeanne.” replied Gambetta before turning around and getting into his carriage. Jeanne waved to him as the carriage started rolling and watched it until it disappeared into a side street, then returned inside and locked the main entrance door. With all of her guests now gone, she returned to the main lounge and spent the next half hour helping her maids and Li Mai clean up and store away the leftover food from the reception’s hot buffet. Once everything was done, she gave the weekend off to her household staff, giving them each a generous tip as they left. Now left alone with Li Main, who was her only living-in domestic staff, Jeanne first went to see her sleeping children for a moment, kissing them gently on their foreheads. She then asked Li Mai to

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come with her to her bedroom and locked the door once in there. Mai looked at her expectantly as Jeanne approached her slowly.

“Mai, you always served me well and showed me complete loyalty for fifteen years. You are also an intelligent and kind woman I respect a lot.”

“I am still nothing compared to you, Jeanne.” said softly Mai, making Jeanne shake her head.

“Don’t say that, Mai. I have enjoyed for years a special gift that helped me a lot to become what I am. I have decided that it is time for you to also enjoy that gift.”

“What kind of gift is it, Jeanne?” asked the Chinese maid, confused.

“Call it a gift from God, Mai. You know about the various beliefs concerning reincarnation?”

“I know about both the Buddhist and Hindu concepts of reincarnation, yes. Why?”

“Because reincarnation is a reality, Mai. However, contrary to other humans, I am able to remember all of my past lives, back to my first one as a Neolithic woman who lived in Palestine 9,000 years ago. Her name was Nataï and I can remember her family, her life and her language, among other things. I can in fact remember a total of 93 different lives, either as a man or a woman, going from being a simple peasant to being a royal princess. I was also a warrior during many of my lives, which is why I am so efficient at war.”

Mai’s eyes were now wide open as she stared at her mistress.

“That…that is a fantastic gift, Jeanne. And God gave it to you?”

“Yes, he did. That was in order for me to fill better a mission he gave me at the same time. That mission is to help the cause of justice and to protect the innocents as much as my abilities permit me. He also gave me more powers beyond being able to remember my incarnations. One of those powers is to be able to open the minds of selected persons to the memories of their own past lives. Mai, would you like to learn about your past lives?”

Mai, now pale, stuttered a bit as she answered.

“I…I would like it, Jeanne. Is it a painful experience?”

“Physically, no. You may very well however remember painful or disturbing episodes from your past lives. You can still decline my offer, Mai.”

“No!” said at once the Chinese, appearing to have reached a decision. “I want to know about my past lives.”

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“Then we will start the process right away. It will take me many sessions to open in succession the souvenirs of your past lives. However, once past a certain point, you will start remembering by yourself more lives, without stimulation from me. Ready?”

“Ready!” said softly Mai, her heart now beating furiously. Jeanne invited her on the bed, lying down on one side facing her, then applied gently her hands on each side of Mai’s head while putting her own forehead against her forehead.

“Just relax and close your eyes, Mai. You will soon start seeing souvenirs go through your head. Don’t try to understand them right away and just watch them as they appear.”

Mai obeyed her and closed her eyes but was still understandably nervous. She twitched a bit when the first hidden souvenirs came to her but stayed mostly quiet during the hour that the session took. She finally opened her eyes when Jeanne ended the session and withdrew her forehead. Mai looked with a mix of awe and bewilderment at Jeanne as she sat up on the bed and quickly reviewed her new memories.

“I…I was a young British Army officer. I was killed in a battle against French troops near the city of Québec, in New France, in 1759. My name was John Caldwell.” Jeanne nodded with satisfaction, seeing that Mai had not been left utterly confused by the session, as happened to a few.

“Tomorrow and Sunday, we will do more recall sessions while the rest of the staff is off. I will urge you to keep this a secret from others. If they ever learned about this, many would think that you are crazy and would have you locked up in an asylum.” Mai gave her a cautious look, realizing at once the real danger in this.

“Your husband, Gordon, did he know about your powers?”

“Only that I remembered my incarnations, not that I could awaken the souvenirs of other persons.”

“And…your other powers? Could I ask what they are?”

Jeanne thought about that for a moment but decided not to risk too much tonight.

“Not yet, Mai. Let’s build up your past memories first, so that you can mature further from them. One day, not too long in the future, I promise that I will tell you about the rest of the powers given to me by God. If you will now excuse me, I will go wash up a bit before going to bed.”

“Can I help you scrub?” asked at once Mai, a malicious smile appearing on her face. “John Caldwell was quite fond of women and he would have loved to bathe with you.”

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Jeanne grinned at her maid and caressed gently her face with both hands.

“I guess that refusing a request from a dead man would be too cruel. Was he a handsome man?”

“Blue eyes, blond hair, six foot one inch, strong and fit. Yes, women did find him handsome.”

“Then I will be most pleased to let him scrub me…all over.” Both women then giggled and exchanged a quick kiss before getting up from the bed and going to the bathroom attached to Jeanne’s bedroom.

Much later in the night, with Mai asleep in her own bedroom, Jeanne got up and silently went to the dark main lounge, a lit candleholder in one hand. Going to a heavy medieval stone statue of a gargoyle, she put down her candleholder near it, then cautiously tipped the statue on its side. Using both hands and pressing with her fingers in four specific spots, she made the base partly slide open, revealing a small hidden compartment. Taking the holographic recording chip hidden in the compartment, she replaced it with a fresh, blank recording chip, then closed back the statue and placed it back in its original position. Grabbing her candleholder again, she eyed for a second the recording chip inside her right hand. It now contained over seven hours of video and audio recordings taken during the evening’s reception by the eight miniature cameras and six microphones hidden around the main lounge and the dining room. The content of that chip was probably going to make many historians salivate. Jeanne however needed still to edit and censor it herself before giving it to Professor Jan Bella: she owed it to her guests to protect their privacy about personal matters of no concern to historians. She would have to jump spacetime to the Time Patrol outpost in 20th Century Paris to do that. Once done with that task, she would jump spacetime again, but to the 17th Century this time, so that she could go live a few months with her sons James and Charles. William, Anne and Louis, who were deep asleep right now in their beds, would never feel her absence during the ten minutes she was going to be away from this century tonight.

17:11 (Paris Time)

Monday, November 17, 1664 ‘A’

La Bastille fortress, Paris

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Charles D’Artagnan, sub-lieutenant of the Musketeers of the King, was about to arrange for the supper of his illustrious prisoner when one of the Bastille’s guards came at a run to his room, situated on an upper floor of the Tower of the Treasure.

“Sire, a woman is asking to see you!” He said haltingly, out of breath. D’Artagnan gave him a no-nonsense look.

“So? Why did you have to run upstairs just to tell me this? Who is she?”

“She is dressed like a commoner, Sire, but she has a safe-conduct signed by the King himself. Her name is Nancy.”

That information made the musketeer swear as he jumped on his feet.

“Is she very tall?”

“As tall as you, if not a bit more, Sire.”

“Hell! What are you waiting for? Go bring her to me? No! Thinking about it, lead me to her!”

Following the guard down the spiral staircase of the tower, D’Artagnan soon set foot under the archway of the fortress’ main gate. His heart accelerated when he saw the tall young woman waiting patiently just inside the gate, flanked by two armed soldiers. He nearly ran to her and exchanged a long kiss with her, watched by the amused soldiers. His eyes shone when he looked her in the eyes.

“Nancy, you can’t know how good it is to see you again. It has been many months since we last met.”

Nancy nodded soberly before answering him.

“It has been effectively a long time, Charles. Being the jail keeper of Nicolas Fouquet makes you a difficult man to get in touch with, what with the King’s orders to keep Fouquet incommunicado. Over three years of that jail duty for you: you must be growing mighty tired of it.”

D’Artagnan nodded but didn’t reply to that, inviting instead Nancy to follow him. She grabbed a covered basket before following him upstairs, attracting a question from him.

“What is in that basket?”

“Four bottles of very good wine which I brought to make your days more tolerable here. With your permission, Fouquet could share it with us. God knows he could use some cheer himself.”

“True!” said D’Artagnan, who had kept a most polite and caring relationship with his illustrious prisoner during his years as his keeper. “Actually, he is very well treated here and lacks little in terms of comfort or good food. In view of your closeness to the

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King, I don’t see a problem in you seeing him, as long as you don’t talk with him about his ongoing trial.”

“Be reassured, my dear Charles. I only came to enlighten your evening and chase some of the gloom from this place.”

Charles was silent for a few seconds as he climbed the spiral staircase, leading Nancy. If anything, those years as jail keeper had made him realize how much he missed her, even more than he missed his wife, Charlotte-Anne de Chanlecy, and his two sons from her. The months and years away on royal duty had effectively killed his marital life before it had a chance to truly develop and had estranged him from his family. As a consequence, his wife was now living separated from him, having returned with their two sons to her country estate in Sainte-Croix. For that he couldn’t really blame Charlotte-Anne, as he was the one who had been constantly gone from home. Charles felt guilty when he thought that this marital separation now offered him a convenient way to reunite with Nancy, who always had been his only true love. Nancy’s hand gently patted his back then.

“Charles, I heard about your wife leaving you. For what it’s worth, I truly feel sorry about that.”

Charles stopped and turned in the staircase to look at her with resignation.

“I am in the service of the King and serving him has to come first, Nancy.” That attracted tears in Nancy’s eyes as she looked back at him.

“Oh, Charles, you deserve so much more from life than this. At least let me bring you some happiness from now on.”

His right hand then found its way to her left hand and pressed it gently.

“You will always be welcome by my side, Nancy.” replied Charles, his voice nearly strangling up. “Come! I have to get supper served to my prisoner.”

“Could I bring him his meal? The sight of a nice woman will cheer him greatly, I am sure.”

“He will certainly appreciate it and I see no problems with that. After all, you have even bigger secrets to keep than Fouquet.”

Those last words, told in a low voice, made Nancy nod in comprehension, as D’Artagnan was the only living man from this time period who knew her as a time traveler. Finally arriving back at D’Artagnan’s apartments in the fortress, Nancy put her basket on his work table and took from under its covering cloth a glass bottle full of red wine and

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bearing a paper label glued on it. She presented the bottle to D’Artagnan with a proud smile.

“I brought four bottles of the red wine I produce on the estate near Bordeaux given to me by the King. I use a new process where the wine ages inside bottles hermetically sealed with cork. This way, instead of turning into vinegar after more than a year, the wine matures and take on more bouquet. I think that you will like it.” D’Artagnan took hold of the bottle and examined the label by the flickering light of the chandeliers in the room.

“Château La Tour Carnet Grand Cru 1660. This wine is already four years old and it still has such a nice color?”

“Actually, I expect it to be even better after a few more years, Charles. Let’s make a deal about it: we will open it only in the presence of Monsieur Fouquet and I will then ask you two to taste it and give me your honest opinion about it.” Charles seemed amused by that and nodded while giving her back the bottle.

“Deal! Me and Monsieur Fouquet will act as wine tasters for you. If you will just give me a few minutes, I will go make sure that Monsieur Fouquet’s supper is on its way up.”

Nancy waited patiently while Charles was gone, taking that time to look around his apartments. While the Bastille was an old stone fortress dating back from the 14th Century, it had been refitted since then to act mostly as a prison for important prisoners who had to be held securely but also comfortably. That was reflected by the nice furniture in the room and the numerous carpets and tapestries. Sure, there were still a number of pretty nasty cells and rooms in the basement, including a torture chamber Nancy had been made to get acquainted with most painfully thirteen years ago, but the number of prisoners held there these days was quite small. Maybe fifteen minutes later, she heard the sounds of boots approaching in the hallway and went to the door, opening it and sticking her head out. She saw D’Artagnan approach, accompanied by a man dressed like a servant and by a soldier, both of the later each carrying a large covered silver tray. D’Artagnan slowed down on seeing her and shouted at her.

“Grab your basket and follow us, Nancy!”

Nancy did that at once and fell behind the procession, which entered an annex of the fortress cutting across its inner courtyard and linking two of its eight towers. They quickly arrived at a solid door guarded by two soldiers, with D’Artagnan unlocking and

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opening the door. He entered first, bowing to the frail but handsome aristocrat who had been reading a book by one of the windows of his luxury cell.

“Monsieur Fouquet, your supper is here. A friend of mine also took the initiative of bringing some top quality wine to help you wash down your meal.” D’Artagnan then signaled the two men and Nancy following him to enter. Fouquet’s eyes opened wider and he smiled on seeing Nancy.

“Well, well! The redoubtable Marquess of Saint-Laurent in person. Is she here to slit my throat or poison me?”

“You would never have seen me prior to dying if that was the case, Monsieur Fouquet.” replied a smiling Nancy as she put down her basket on the large table set in one corner of the cell. “I am here to entertain you and Monsieur D’Artagnan, not to kill you, so be reassured and enjoy your supper with peace in your mind.” As the servant and soldier started setting three covers on the table, Nancy showed to Fouquet, who had approached the table, one of the wine bottles, letting him look at its label.

“The very finest from my estate in the Médoc, near Bordeaux. It has been aging for four years in sealed bottles. You and Monsieur D’Artagnan will be the first ones to taste it, apart from me and my winery manager. Even the King has not tasted it yet.” That brought a wide smile to Fouquet’s face, who took the bottle and looked through it against the light from a nearby chandelier.

“I will be pleased to beat the King to this, my good marquess. It has a fine color indeed.”

“It has also a strong bouquet that goes well with red meats and game. I will open two bottles now so that the wine can breathe a bit before we taste it.” Fouquet and D’Artagnan took place at the table as Nancy used a steel bottle opener and uncorked two of the bottles. With Fouquet’s servant serving first a soup, she sat besides D’Artagnan, facing Fouquet, and took a first spoonful of the soup. Fouquet looked at her while also eating his soup, admiring the cleavage of her commoner’s dress.

“You came here incognito, Marquess?”

“Please, call me simply Nancy. Yes, I did. You know how the King wishes to restrict your contacts with the outside world.”

“I effectively do, Nancy. So, what have you been doing in the last few years?”

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“Mostly travel abroad on orders of the King. I visited this year the ex-Dutch colonies in the New World, which are now under English control. The English took them by force a couple of months ago and have renamed New Amsterdam as New York.”

“But the Dutch are liable to go to war on this.” said Fouquet, genuinely interested by these news. As ex-Superintendent of Finances, he knew too well the cost of wars. “Is France going to take sides in that dispute?”

“Not officially. Don’t forget though that Princess Henriette of England is married to the King’s brother. There is however certainly going to be full scale war between England and the Dutch United Provinces, and this as soon as winter is out of the way.”

“And who do you think will win that war, Nancy?” asked D’Artagnan, making Nancy think carefully about her answer. She didn’t want to reveal the future or to appear to know the outcome in front of Fouquet.

“It will be mostly a sea war, with both fleets fairly matched. Everything will depend on the talents of the admirals on each side. Dutch Admiral de Ruyter is in my mind the best of the lot, though. He could hurt the English fleet a lot. My bet is thus on the Dutch.”

Fouquet eyed her carefully then. Everything he had heard about her, which was actually little due to her discretion, made her out as a very dangerous and skilled female spy. What she had just said only showed how knowledgeable she was about military affairs, something very unusual for a woman. She was also one very fine looking woman and he truly appreciated her presence here this evening. He finished his soup, then smiled at Nancy.

“Well, how about having a first taste of your wine, Nancy?”

“With pleasure, Monsieur Fouquet. Let me serve you.”

Getting up and grabbing one of the opened bottles, she went around the table and bent down while pouring some wine in Fouquet’s cup, giving him an eyeful down her cleavage. D’Artagnan grinned with amusement at seeing the face Fouquet made then.

“I guess that Nancy is better looking than your servant, monsieur.”

“Effectively!” replied Fouquet, licking his lips. “Let’s try this wine.” Fouquet waited until D’Artagnan was served as well, then sniffed his wine before taking a sip. Nancy anxiously watched the two men’s reactions as they had their first sip. To her pride and satisfaction, both men’s eyes lit up with surprise and appreciation, with Fouquet speaking first while looking with respect at his cup.

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“Mon Dieu! This is by far the best wine I ever tasted. Compared to this, the King’s table serves a vulgar piquette. You could ask for quite a price for each of your bottles, Nancy.”

“I second the motion!” added D’Artagnan, still savoring the taste and vapors down his throat. “Your wine is going to be a big success, Nancy.”

“Try it while eating your meat, gentlemen.” said a happy Nancy while filling the cups of both men, then returning to her seat. “This wine is at its best when accompanying a good meal.”

Fouquet did as she said, cutting a piece of his roast beef and eating it, then taking a sip of wine. He closed his eyes as the combined taste and flavor went to his brain.

“This is…sublime! Nancy, your wine is like a true nectar.”

“Thank you, monsieur. Coming from such a connoisseur, this is high praise indeed.”

“But a praise well deserved, Nancy.” said D’Artagnan after taking another sip. “I hope that you won’t sell that wine to lowly inns and pubs, though: this should be tasted only by people of class who could truly appreciate its quality. How much of this wine are you producing each year?”

“My estate can produce over 250,000 bottles like this one per year. I however have let most of my production age in bottles in the basements of my castle, selling only a part of my wine in barrels meanwhile to recoup my production costs. This year will be the first year that I will start selling bottled wine. I plan to keep in reserve some 50,000 bottles per year for further aging. Eventually, you will be able to enjoy some grand cru aged ten years or more.”

“God!” exclaimed Fouquet. “I can’t wait to taste such wine. You will get rich with this, my dear.”

“I won’t mind that, monsieur.” said Nancy with a smile before sipping her own wine.

The rest of the supper was spent in small chat, with Nancy staying clear from any discussion about the ongoing trial against Fouquet. D’Artagnan helped in that as well by stirring the conversation towards such subjects as gastronomy, culture and art, subjects in which the refined and intelligent Fouquet was well versed. At the end of the supper, D’Artagnan got up and bowed to his prisoner.

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“I hope that you enjoyed your supper, Monsieur Fouquet. I will let you finish the second opened bottle.”

“Thank you, Monsieur D’Artagnan. I could not have asked for a more courteous jailer than you.” replied Fouquet, meaning it. Nancy bowed as well to him after grabbing the basket with the remaining two bottles.

“And I wish you good evening, monsieur. Your conversation was most pleasant.”

“And so was your presence, Marquess.”

Fouquet couldn’t help sigh discreetly as Nancy left with D’Artagnan: he missed terribly the presence of women since his jailing three and a half years ago and the marquess was all that a lonely man could hope for in a woman.

D’Artagnan made Nancy follow him to his apartments and locked the door behind them, then took her in his arms for a long, hungry kiss. He was nearly out of breath when looked at his reunited lover, who was 25 years younger than him and much more fit. These three long years as a jail keeper had taken their toll on his general health and fitness, while she seemed as athletic as ever.

“Please tell me that this present duty of mine will soon end and that I will be able to go back to live like a true musketeer, Nancy.”

“Be reassured, Charles. A couple more months more and you will be able to escort Fouquet to his ultimate jail, where you will give custody of him to a new jailer.”

“God, at last! Where will I be able to see you again then?”

“Here, in Paris, unless the King sends me on another mission, which is unlikely until next spring. I understand that you have bought a private hotel on the street of Bourg-Saint-Germain-des-Prés?”

“Yes. However, I was able to spend precious little time in it up to now.”

“Charles,” said very softly Nancy while hugging him tight, “would you mind having me visit you there regularly?”

“Of course not, Nancy. You will always be welcome besides me. Could you stay here tonight?”

Nancy nodded once slowly while looking in his eyes.

“I was planning to visit you every evening, if that is alright with you. Charles, I missed you terribly these last few years. I may not be able to marry you but I certainly want to be your mistress.”

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Charles felt tears flow out of his eyes then. Unable to speak, he then kissed her again instead.

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