by L. A. Meyer
No matter what happens to Jacky Faber, her belly still rules.
On my way here I took a detour to a small town, Château Thierry, figuring the Empress could wait a bit for her good news, and delivered news of another sort to a family who lived there. It was a nice house by a river and I pulled up and dismounted, and then Jacky Faber, the Angel of Death, went up to the front door and knocked, with my sad burden in my hand.
My knock was answered by a tall man with gray hair and beard, who nevertheless looked very much like Bardot, and who, as soon as he saw me and what I held in my hands, knew what awful news I had brought. A woman came into the room, and seeing the tears pour down my face, immediately sat down and buried her face in her hands.
"I...I am sorry to tell you this, but your son Captain Pierre Bardot is dead. He was a brave man and a good friend to me." I was gasping for breath then, but I pushed on. "I was with him when he died and I want you to know that he died easy. He told me of letters to you that he had in his pocket and I swore to him that I would deliver them. Oh, God. I can't stand it!"
I fell to my knees on the floor and covered my own face with my hands. "I saw him die and I saw him buried proper, and here is his jacket and his sword," I wail. "He ... he gave the sword to me, but you should have it ... I..."
The father puts his hands on my shaking shoulders and says, "No. You shall keep the sword, boy. I want no other son of mine to take it up and go off to war. One son for France is enough. Thank you for coming to us this way. I know it is hard for you, for it is plain that you loved him as we did. It ... it is good to know that he had a friend as constant as you. It will be a comfort to us later."
I picked myself up and staggered out and left them to their grief.
When I got to Paris, I took myself, and my horse, whom I had named Rudolf, in honor of his German heritage, to Le Palais de Tuileries and marched Rudy straight up the front steps, scattering various overdressed minions, and announced that I had a message from the Emperor Napoléon to the Empress Joséphine, and was met with much derisive laughter, considering the state of my clothing and general dishevelment.
"Not long ago, I was on the battlefield of Jena, next to l'Empereur," I say to the man guarding the door. "What were you doing on that day, M'sieur? Powdering your bum?" With that I whip out the safe passage with the big blue N, signed by Napoléon himself. He doesn't say anything after that, so I dismount and am ushered into the palace. Rudy, however, has to stay outside. Pity, that.
It is, of course, a glorious place, but I think I am done with glory and glorious things and all that so I am not cowed by it all.
I am asked for the letter, but I wave them off and I tell them that l'Empereur desired that I place the letter directly in Joséphine's own hand, and that they should all bugger off as I am growing impatient with mincing, groveling courtiers.
I am told to wait, so I flop myself down in a gilt chair that, if sold, I know could keep the London Home for Little Wanderers going for at least ten years. My eyes range over the paintings on the wall, the fine tapestries, the elegant statues, and I find myself falling asleep again.
Eventually I am roused and escorted into the Empress's inner chambers. She, dressed beautifully, of course, is seated at a desk and surrounded by ladies of the court. She looks up, I bow, present the letter, accept her thanks, and then walk backward out of the room, 'cause that's what you do with royalty—you ain't never supposed to show 'em your ass is why.
Funny, I thought as I left the place, she looked like any ordinary woman, under all that finery.
I had taken Rudy to the stable where I had bought Mathilde—was it only three weeks ago that I did that?—as the people there seemed to have been kind to Mathilde when she was a resident here. 'Course, I only get ten sous on the franc, but what the hell, it will be enough to hold me for a while and I am getting hungry. The bridle and saddle go with him, too, the saddle being well polished by my bottom over these past weeks. I keep my pistols and shove them into my knapsack and shoulder it. Bardot's saber, which is too long for me to wear about my waist, as it would drag the ground, I have strapped to my back such that the hilt rides above my right shoulder and the scabbard does not get in my way. I had lost my other sword in the battle, when I was thrown from my horse. Never had much of a chance to name that other one, and I ain't named this one yet as I've got to think hard on that, what with it being given to me by Bardot and all. Looking like a proper Tartar, I headed off to my old neighborhood.
I have no idea just what is going to happen to me now and where I will be going. Probably back to Madame Pelletier's and, well, there are worse things in the world than that. And it will be good to see Zoé and the girls again. I don't know, I'll just wait and see what happens.
I knew they would find me here, and sure enough, Jardineaux comes through the door just as I am finishing up, and sits down before me. I signal for a glass of wine for him, as it would look suspicious otherwise. I am learning this game.
"So," he says, ignoring the wine. "Report."
"The Grand Army is in Berlin. Kaiser Friedrich Wilhelm III has capitulated. The Fourth Coalition is shattered. Except for Russia, there are no more anti-Napoléon forces out there. Not to the north anyway. I hear Lord Wellesley is kicking up a fuss in Spain, though, but I'm sure you know about that. I believe Bonaparte intends to move his army north and fight Czar Alexander next year. I heard this from Marshals Lannes and Bertrand and Murat." I pick up a mussel shell from the stew and suck on it. "That Prince Murat is quite a fellow. We should have a few like him ourselves."
He gives a bit of a choke. "And just where did you meet these men?"
"In Napoléon's camp, and at the head of their various Corps. At Jena. Before, during, and after the battle."
"But how...? You...?"He now takes a drink of his wine.
"I was a messenger, remember? Of course I would be there. A fly on the wall, as it were, but there all the same. I do hold a commission as a Second Lieutenant in the Sixteenth Fusiliers. I have my papers in my pocket." I tap my breast pocket, but I do not tell him of that special message I had delivered at the start of the battle.
I take the napkin from my neck and dab at my lips.
"Mon Dieu," exclaims Jardineaux, seeing the medal on my jacket. "What the hell is that?"
"What? Oh, that is the Legion of Honor Medal. Apparently l'Empereur thought I fought bravely at Jena. He was wrong. I was not brave, but I did do my duty for my men, I think, and so I shall keep it. Another glass of wine with you?"
His eyes bug out in amazement. "But how did you get it?"
"The Emperor put it around my neck in his carriage as we were leaving the battlefield. He had offered me a lift, you see, and—"
"You were in the same carriage with that monster?" Jardineaux's face is becoming quite red.
"Yes," I say, and polish off the last of the bread. "I thought that was where you wanted me to be. Actually, I fell asleep in his lap on the way." I chuckle, well beyond caring about what Jardineaux thinks. "I am here because he wanted me to deliver a letter to the Empress. Which I did. Earlier today. She was quite gracious."
Jardineaux fixes me with his eye. "Let me get this straight. You were in the same carriage with Napoléon Bonaparte. I know you carry a knife up your sleeve. Why did you not kill him then? Were you afraid for your miserable little life? Did you think you counted for all that much that you could not do that simple thing and rid the world forever of the greatest tyrant it has ever known?"
"He did not seem like such a monster. He takes care of his men. He takes care of his people."
"I think you have been turned, girl. I suspect your loyalty," he says, his voice low, even, and hard. "...and I believe we are done with you."
"My loyalty? To what? To crazy old King George who never did nothin' for me 'cept send his men to hunt me down like some poor fox what ain't done nothin' to him? And done with me? Fine. I did my best. If it wasn't good enough for you, I am sorry, but, no, not really—I dislike you and I
hate this business. Now let me go home."
"Oh, you shall go home all right," he says, ominously, "and you shall go there today. Get up."
A coldness comes over me. What does he mean by that? What have I done that was so wrong? Could it be...
"Get up, I told you!" he snarls and, furious, he gets to his feet. He grabs me by the arm and hustles me out of the place. Startled faces watch us go and some speak up.
Here, here, Sir! You cannot treat a soldier so!
Soldier? Ha! This is not a soldier! It is a deserter, a damned traitor! Get out of my way!
He drags me to the street, and I see Armand waiting there with the carriage and I am taken up and thrown in. My knapsack follows.
"To the docks!" roars Jardineaux, and the coach rattles off.
I get off the floor and crawl up into the seat and turn around and my jaw drops open in surprise as I see Jean-Paul de Valdon is sitting in the seat opposite me, dressed, once again, in his civilian clothes.
"Jean-Paul!" I exclaim. "I am so glad to see that you are safe! I searched everywhere for you after the battle but could not find you! Oh, I am so glad!" I reach for his hands.
But he does not take them. Jean-Paul's face is set, stony, devoid of expression. He leans across, yes, but not to embrace me; no, instead he pushes my hands away and reaches up my sleeve to take out my shiv. He tucks it into his jacket and then he looks out the window as we start off. He does not look at me, he does not meet my eyes.
"Jean-Paul, I—"
"It would be better, girl, if you said nothing," he says, his voice cold, disinterested.
My mouth is open in disbelief.
Jean-Paul, no! This cannot be! Not you!
"You see," says Jardineaux, smiling, "we have had word of your actions at Jena; oh, no, not from Monsieur Valdon here. He was otherwise occupied, but we had other operatives in the field and they informed me that you had conveyed many messages back and forth between the commanders of Napoléon's cursed Corps, and thus had many opportunities to cause them great confusion, but you did not. No, no, you did not."
He keeps smiling, and I can only think that he had that same smile on his face that day when he handed up that poor girl to the executioner to have her head cut off in my place, and now I know that it is my turn and I know he will smile when he does me, too.
"And then," he continues, "what is most damning, is that we learned that it was you who delivered the message to Murat that ordered him to charge the Prussian line ... the order that probably turned the battle in Napoléon's favor. Do you deny it?"
I don't say anything.
"Valdon," asks Jardineaux, "did you see her deliver the message?"
Jean-Paul flicks a piece of lint from his lapel, then he answers, "Yes, I saw her ride up with it, waving it about and making a great show of it." He returns to looking out the window.
I know I am done, and I can do nothing about it. I can only sit there, stunned. Oh, God, I was such a fool! To think I loved you, Jean-Paul!
"What do you have to say to that, girl?"
"Sod off," I say, revertin' to me Cockney ways, as I always do in cases like this.
"Watch your mouth, girl."
"Watch my mouth? Why, when what you're gonna do is take me off somewheres and murder me 'cause I didn't kill Boney when I had the chance? 'Cause I delivered that message to Murat 'cause I didn't want t'see me mates killed? Why the hell should I watch my mouth when I'm gonna be dead in a few minutes?"
He don't say nothin' to that. He pulls out a pistol and points it between my eyes and smiles. "You really are a piece of gutter trash, when all is said and done, no matter what the people in England think of you. And don't even consider using that sword strapped to your back. Your brains would be splattered before you could get it even halfway out. Understand?"
My chest starts in to heavin' and my eyes would start streamin' but I don't think I've got any more tears in 'em. All dried up, now.
"What I understand is that you're done with me now, right? And now you're gonna kill me 'cause I didn't do what you wanted me to do, but I don't care, you hear me? You can all go to Hell, you and him and all your sorry lot!"
"Shut up, girl."
"And you, Jean-Paul," I say, turning to him, "to think I loved you. Jacky Faber always thought she was clever, smart, but she was neither of those when it came to you. No. She was nothin' but a foolish, gullible girl. So stupid to be taken in that way..." I look down at my hands and think about putting my face in them and bawling for the rest of the journey to my killing ground. But I shall not. I will not give them that satisfaction. I have faced death too many times in the last weeks to tremble now. Let them do to me what they will. "Betrayal ... such an awful word..." is the last thing I say. "...and the worst betrayal of all is to be done in by someone you loved."
I face straight ahead and close my eyes, and I remain that way for the rest of the journey.
Once again I'm sayin g'bye to you, Jaimy, and this time I think it's for real 'cause I don't see no way out o' this one. I hope you'll be able to put me out of your mind and find another girl and raise a fine family and all. I know you won't be able to name one of the kids after me, 'cause your wife'd raise a fuss and I don't blame her, 'cause I'd raise a ruckus, too ... Maybe one of the dogs ... or one of the horses ... that's it—one of the horses, a nice little mare. See what you can do for the kids at the Home for Little Wanderers and the people who work for me at Faber Shipping ... Higgins and Jim Tanner and Clementine and Solomon and Daniel and John Thomas and Smasher and all ... Funny, ain't it, Jaimy, how that little dream of mine almost happened?
Armand pulls the coach to a stop. We are at the edge of a body of water—is it the ocean? The mouth of the Seine? I don't know ... all I know is that I am about to die. I am yanked out of the carriage and taken to the shore and shoved down to the water's edge. It is a deserted shore—there is an old wharf, rotting away, but nothing else— nothing ... no boats, no fishermen, no people, no nothing ... there is no sound, nothing but the squawk of seagulls wheeling overhead.
So this is where it all ends—at the end of some muddy dock in France. A deserted beach, with no one to hear the pop of the pistol that will send a bullet into my brain and so end my life, with no one but the wild birds to see and no one but them to mourn.
I fall to my knees, sobbing. "I don't care, I don't care, just do it," I say, and I feel the barrel of his gun against the back of my head. I don't care, I just wanna go home. Now the tears do come, for my lost life, for my lost future, for my lost everything.
"Look out there, girl, and tell me what you see," says Jardineaux. I sense Jean-Paul standing behind him, but I don't care. I lift my head.
I lift my eyes and look out over the water. Through the tears I see ... what? A ship? Could it be? I wipe my eyes to clear them. Oh, dear Lord, it is the Nancy B! Yes it is, her sails slacked, and her American colors snapping in the breeze! I see a boat being lowered and...
Jardineaux grabs my hair and pulls my head back. "You see that? You know who that is?"
I gasp out, "How could you be so cruel? How could you—"
"There are telescopes trained on us right now, you know that, don't you?"
I don't have to reply, 'cause I know it's true.
"They came here to rescue you, and we knew about that, yes we did, and we were prepared to let you go, but then you did what you did, and now they shall see what happens to turncoats. They came for you, but they shall not have you—what they shall get will be your dead body, and I want them to see it happen!"
He shoves the barrel at the back of my head, and I wait for the sound of the hammer being brought to full cock. Dear God...
But I don't hear it.
What I do hear is a sharp intake of breath, a groan, and then Jardineaux pitches forward, his face slammed in the mud next to me. I look up and see my shiv sticking out of his back, the rooster on the blade's handle starin' directly into my crazed eye.
I am stunned beyond any attempt at
speech.
"I knew what he was going to do to you. I could not let that happen," says Jean-Paul, standing above Jardineaux's still form.
I get to my feet.
"Jean-Paul ... but what about Armand?" I look over to see the man approach.
He shakes his head and looks at me. "I told you before that Armand is from my village. He is my man and will not say anything ... Armand!"
Armand bounds over.
"M'sieur?"
"Get his identification," says Jean-Paul. "We will let the ocean take care of him."
"Oui, M'sieur," says Armand. He pulls out my shiv and runs it through the wet sand to clean it, then hands it to Jean-Paul, who, in turn, gives it back to me. Without thinking, I shove it up my sleeve into its sheath. Armand rolls Jardineaux onto his back and strips him of his wallet and anything else he might have had on him. The tide is coming in and seawater is already washing about the dead man's face.
"He was a cruel man with much hatred in his heart," says Jean-Paul, looking down at the body. "I, too, once had a heart full of nothing but hate ... then I met you." He lifts his head and looks out over the water. "Your friends are out there, Jacqui, and you must go to them."
"Jean-Paul...," I say, putting my hand on his arm, "I..."
"No, Jacqui, you did not want to come here, and this is not where you belong. I know that." He pauses, takes a breath, and then goes on. "I am quitting this game. Armand and I will go back to our village. Without Jardineaux, his organization will fall apart. Someone will eventually bring Bonaparte down, but it will not be him ... or me."
"Jean-Paul..."
He puts his hands on my shoulders and looks down into my eyes and says, "My family's estate, what is left of it, is not far from Paris. I will go back and tend to it now. My father grows old and needs my help." Another pause, as he puts his fingertips under my chin and looks deep into my eyes, a slight smile on his lips. "I may meet a girl, and I may marry, for there is room in my heart for that now, because of you. But I tell you this, Jacqui. Every time I come to Paris, I shall go to the Café des Deux Chats and I will order a glass of wine and I will sit there quietly, and whether it is tomorrow, or next month, or years and years from now, I will lift the glass and think of you, Jacqui, and the short time we had together in Paris. And now, you must go."