Redemption: Supernatural Time-Traveling Romance with Sci-fi and Metaphysics (24 page)

“I know His Majesty, the King of
France and Navarre, was delighted with it!” says Babette, nodding her
agreement.

Isabelle clears her throat,
trying her best to ignore the awkwardness of the situation. “I’m glad you and
His Majesty enjoyed it,” she says. “It was my pleasure to entertain you. It is
wonderful to see how fully Paris has embraced the opera.” She fixes Lady
Colette with her most ingratiating smile. “The King of France and Navarre seems
to have developed quite a taste for opera. A real passion, you might say.” A
look of concern flitters across Lady Colette’s face and her smile begins to
falter.

I don’t like the look of this
, Isabelle
thinks, as the women turn to general small talk about life in the court.
What is Babette doing with these horrible
people? They clearly don’t like me. In fact, this Colette looks at me as though
she badly wishes I was dead or
tortured at least
! Could
Babette be part of this?
She looks around at the faces of the crowd and
suddenly they all seem to be unfriendly, full of envy and malice.
It’s not a good sign. I am surrounded by
enemies,
she thinks, her panic returning.
I need to get out of here! Now! Why won’t these wretched women go away
so I can have a moment to speak with Babette?
But none of them show any
signs of wishing to depart, and Isabelle is forced to carry on listening to
them, nodding occasionally whenever it seems appropriate. She is not really
paying any attention to them, though, but finds herself beginning to suffer
with a headache and slight nausea. The wild thoughts that are dizzying her head
do not help and finally she cannot take it anymore.
I need to go and rest!

“Please excuse me, Lady Aurora,
Lady Colette, Lady Babette,” she says, cutting across the tedious conversation.
“It’s been a long day and I must get some rest for fear off collapsing right
here.” Babette doesn’t offer to accompany her and again Isabelle feels a sickening
stab of worry. Somehow she finds her way back to her room, though she cannot
remember how. A couple of the servants help her on the way and by the time she
gets there she feels feverish from anxiety and the sense of impending trouble.

Who can help me with the affairs of the King’s court?
Her thoughts dart through the faces of all those she knows, but
there is no one she can turn to, not Albert, not Henri, not even the King
himself. If these women are out to get her, no one can protect her. For a
desperate moment she considers going to see Lucie.
After all, it was Lucie who helped me on my climb all the way to the
palace. Lucie knows people… but not the right people. Lucie isn’t involved in
the King’s Court and palace life herself. No, Lucie can’t help me. Nor do I
have time to make new friends of influence. I’m all alone,
she thinks,
sitting down at her dressing table and staring at nothing.
I’m in a trap like that wretched deer, in the forest, back when I was
hunting for Albert.
Isabelle’s head hangs down, face in her hands, as she
tries desperately to think of a way out, a way to escape the envy. She knows
without any doubt that those envious women want to get rid of her and they will
do everything in their power to do it. Raising her head she catches sight of
herself in the mirror.
Look at me!
She rubs her eyes and looks again at the large, black circles around them.
How is that even possible in just one night?

She goes to bed, trying to sleep,
but she is shaking from her fever
and
spends the next hours tossing and turning, unable to settle. So she
calls for her maid, Giselle, to make up a bath in her chambers in the hope that
it will help stop her shivering and she can get to sleep.

Isabelle looks at Giselle as her
maid fills the tub, a small, round woman in her fifties, her face and hands
rough from years of hard work.
Surely,
Isabelle thinks,
she must know at least a
little about what goes on behind the scenes here at the palace. Maybe I can get
some useful piece of information from her.

“Giselle?” she says, as she
lowers herself into the steaming water.

“Yes, milady?” Giselle’s voice is
as rough as her hands, the sort of voice a crow might have if it could speak.

“You’ve worked here for a long
time, yes? And had many other mistresses before me?”

Giselle smiles, spreading
wrinkles across her face. “Oh, indeed, milady. Many years and many mistresses.
Before you there was Madame Yvaine de Beaumont, a lovely old dear if I may say
so. And Mademoiselle Beatrice Dupont. She
was
a funny one.”

“Quite,” says Isabelle,
interrupting her quickly. “And were any of these ladies objects of envy or
intrigue? Did they ever fear for their lives?”

“Why all of them, milady.”
Giselle looks surprised, as though this is obvious. “I never knew a lady in
court who didn’t!”

Isabelle considers this before
asking, “So what did they do, Giselle? How did they avoid getting taken out by
their enemies?”

“Well, many of them didn’t,
milady.”

“Didn’t? But they must have
tried?”

The maid picks up a lavender
scented soap tablet and begins to wash Isabelle’s back. “Oh they tried all
kinds of things, milady. Some would get servants to taste their food before
they ate it or get them to try on their clothes before they put them on, to
make sure they hadn’t been tampered with. Some of them even used to take a
small portion of poison each day to build up an immunity, though that didn’t
work so well for poor Beatrice.”

“How do you mean?” Isabelle turns
to Giselle with a concerned look. “Was she poisoned?”

“Only by herself! She took too
large an amount and ended up killing herself. Sad times, milady.”

Isabelle faces away again, hoping
her maid doesn’t see the look of despair on her face. “So there really is no
obvious way to avoid getting killed?”

Giselle stops a moment and thinks
about this. “Not so far as I can see, milady,” she says, carrying on washing
Isabelle’s back. “If court people want someone dead, they’ll get them in the
end.”

Thanks so much for a nice, relaxing bath
, thinks Isabelle.
There’s
nothing for it but to get away from this place. Away from the palace and the
ladies in court…
She just sits there as Giselle resumes washing her back.
And where would I go? I won’t go back to
Jean-Pierre’s house… The slums?
She feels
giddy at the
thought
of her filthy, old home and orders Giselle to wash her hair quickly so she can
get out.

And if I do that, I’ll lose everything, everything I’ve worked so
hard to get, the King, Albert, Henri, all my beautiful clothes and jewelry, the
Opera and palace. Everything!

When at last she is alone and
lying on her bed, she closes her eyes and is overwhelmed by a sensation that
she is falling, deeper and deeper, into a vast, black cavern. Eyes glare out at
her from the darkness. The eyes of the women in Court, Lady Aurora de la Maume
and Lady Colette de Dallos, and the eyes of Babette, eyes full of scorn and
envy and hatred. She wants to scream and
opens her mouth
,
but she can’t make any sound.
She feels
like all the air has been sucked out of her and she cannot breath.

Suddenly she bursts awake,
sitting up in her bed drenched in a cold sweat, her heart beating like
galloping hoof beats. Her body shivers as an icy chill envelops her, but all
the same, her brief, fitful sleep has helped her. She has made up her mind. She
knows now what she is going to do.

“I’m not leaving!” she says
aloud, with a steely resolve in her voice. “I am staying here in the King’s
palace, no matter what!” Even as the words leave her mouth, she finds herself
finally beginning to relax and feel calmer. She hurries to her desk to write
out a list of all her possessions, which she decides to send in a letter to
Lucie in case anything happens to her. This done, she returns to her bed and
settles quickly back to sleep.

~

Isabelle’s daily routine begins
an hour or so after the sun has risen and she emerges from her rooms looking
resplendent in her favorite dress, her face delicately powdered and rouged, to
cover any trace of the dark shadows around her eyes and the anxiety of the
previous night. Hanging from her neck is the locket the King gave her, held in
place with the blue silk ribbon. She has been asked to join Louis’ entourage as
his guests are shown around the grounds of Saint-Germain-en-Laye, waited on by
a hoard of smartly dressed servants. She makes small talk with some of the
other women, smiling and showing an interest in all they have to say. In the
eyes of many of them she sees the same envy that was so evident in those of the
queen’s lady-in-waiting, and she finds herself just going through the motions
in a kind of daze.

So many enemies
, she thinks, looking
around her at the faces of the crowd.
So
much envy built up in a single night. How long before one of these vipers
decides they need to strike?

In one of the brief breaks in the
day’s activities, Isabelle sees Babette approaching her along the corridor.

“Good morning, Babette,” she
says, slightly hoping that she was mistaken about her. But Babette nods curtly
and carries on her way without looking back.
All right. As I suspected, she is on their side.
She shakes her
head sadly at the thought. And Babette is not the only one. As the days go by,
more and more of the women in Court begin to shun Isabelle, excluding her from
their conversations, ignoring her when she tries to speak with them, walking
away when she approaches them. She joins the Kings retinue less and less
frequently. This is not only because of the attitude of the women, but
something strange is happening to her. She starts to lose her appetite,
refusing food and drink brought to her room, and her enjoyment in life begins
to wane. A mere two months after her great performance in the Opera, she sends
a message to Giuseppe to cancel her singing lessons and the sound of her
beautiful voice is no longer heard in the palace rooms.

Then, a few weeks later, she
cannot find the energy and the motivation to get out of bed. Nothing Giselle
does seems to make any difference and, concerned for her mistress, she sends a
message to the Royal Chamberlain asking him to inform His Majesty of Isabelle’s
illness. Before the sun has reached its zenith, Louis’ head physician hurries
in to see Isabelle, but despite his best efforts nothing he prescribes can stop
her condition deteriorating and she continues to grow weaker and less
interested in life.

Both the King and Henri come to
visit her in the following days and they are both clearly upset to see her in
such a state. She asks them for forgiveness for being unable to greet them
properly, but they brush this aside. Their care and concern give her some
comfort.
It is good to know that not
everyone is against me,
she thinks,
and
that there are at least some who will miss me.
There is no sign of Albert,
but this comes as no surprise to Isabelle, who assumes he has been poisoned
against her by Babette.

Little by little she grows sicker
and weaker, until late one afternoon, having slipped the letter with the list
of her possessions to Giselle, instructing her to take it to Jean-Pierre’s
house and place it only in Lucie’s hand, Isabelle feels herself fading and
knows her time is over. With shaking fingers, she undoes the blue silk ribbon
tied around her neck and fumbles with the clasp of the locket. It slips from
her fingers and drops to the floor. With the last of her reserves of strength,
she reaches a hand down to find it, but it has landed somewhere out of reach.
Feeling under the bed, her fingers touch something that feels like the silk
ribbon. Clasping it and bringing it up to her face, she sees it is a small
doll. What is most striking is the tiny silk dress it is wearing, an exact
replica of the one she wore in the opera. The hair, too, matches hers. So
similar is it, in fact, that it could have been taken from her own head.

“It’s me!” she whispers, her
voice hardly more than a croak, her breathing ragged and shallow. In the body
of the doll, in the place its heart would be if it had one, there is a single
needle skewing it through. With shaking fingers, Isabelle reaches up to pull it
out, but she has no strength left and her arms drop. The doll slips from
lifeless fingers and the darkness closes in. A single tear glides down her
cheek and Isabelle quietly passes away.

Chicago, U.S.A. 2045

Chapter Twenty-two

A
nn blinked her eyes open, taking a moment for them to adjust to the
light of a burning candle. She felt drained, worse than any of the previous times
she had woken on this couch.

“How long was I out?” she asked,
turning her head to peer at the psychic.

As before, the old woman was
lighting another candle, the black one with the calming scent. “Oh, a couple of
hours or so.”

“A couple of
hours
?” Ann was surprised. She felt as though she’d been out more
than a year! She rubbed a hand across her weary head. Beneath the tiredness
there was a terrible sadness at seeing yet another death in her life stream.
She had only just come to terms with the idea that Mi had died for freedom and
Ra for love, but Isabelle… why did she have to have such a tragic end? Surely
her fate could have been different?

“Do you know what fate is?” asked
Ann, sitting up and turning round to face the psychic.

The old woman paused before
giving her answer. “Fate is simply a script that is written for you.”

“And can I change that script?
Can I alter my fate?”

“Of course not!” said the
psychic. “No one can
change
their
fate. It’s written for you and only for you, for your personal way to
perfection. But you can make your own choice of how you react to what is
written in that script.”

Ann looked confused. “You mean
fate and freewill are somehow compatible? That they co-exist?”

“Exactly.” The psychic beamed,
spreading a network of wrinkles across her face. “Now then, dear. Would you
care for some tea?”

~

“Mademoiselle?”

Ann tried to focus on Rob’s
screen. This third visit to the psychic had really taken it out of her.
Thankfully she didn’t have to concentrate on driving, having decided to take
the tunnel and leave the car in the safe hands of the SmartDrive system.

“Mademoiselle?” repeated Rob, who
was busy waving a hand to get her attention, dressed up in a black moustache
and white
jabot
.

“Yes, very funny, Rob,” she said.
“What is it?”

His pixels rippled and he looked
his usual self again. “You have a video message.”

Ann sat up in her seat,
intrigued. “Well let’s see it then!”

Immediately the waterfall graphic
on the windshield disintegrated, replaced with a beautiful bouquet of white roses
against a pink background. The sound of birdsong and gentle music filled the
car as did the gentle smell of flowers.

“Nice!” said Ann, smiling in
appreciation. “Who’s this message from?”

As if in answer to her question,
Michael’s face appeared over the roses, a charming smile lighting up his eyes.

“I wish you a wonderful day, Ann!”
said his recorded voice. “Looking forward to seeing you soon!” With that, the
waterfalls returned as the message ended and the birdsong and the music faded
away. Ann sighed and breathed in deeply, savoring the last fragrance of the
flowers before it evaporated. Closing her eyes she allowed herself to daydream
for a little, thinking back to the vision of Isabelle as she toyed with the
handsome Albert, though instead of Albert’s face she pictured Michael instead.

We haven’t been in touch for quite a long while… Since that dinner
and dancing in the nightclub.
Ann sighed.
He left me alone then… once again in fact…
“Who is this guy?” she whispered in irritation. “What is his intention?” The
words fell into a silence without answers as the car continued its journey
through the tunnel.

“Well, that was a nice message!”
said Rob, now appearing with curly blond hair like Michael’s, his voice chirpy
and a broad grin on his face.

Opening her eyes, Ann frowned in
Rob’s direction. “You’re no help, Rob! I need to talk to someone who
understands about these things!”

“Would you like me to find you a
relationship counselor, my lady? According to my database there are
twenty-seven in the central Chicago area alone.” To demonstrate this, a stream
of names and contact details scrolled across the screen of the E-A device.

“Thank you, Rob, but no. I know
exactly who I need to talk to.”

Rob’s face, his hair a mass of
unruly curls, reappeared, giving her a knowing look. “I’ll put a call through
to Nina then, shall I?”

Nina answered on the first ring
and her face appeared emblazoned across the windshield.

“Ann, darling, I was just talking
about you.”

“You were?” said Anne, hunting
for the switch to move her seat back so her friend’s image was not quite so
overwhelming. “Who with?”

“With dear Federico. He’s such a
love.”

“Federico?” Ann looked up in
astonishment. “Who’s he? What happened to… what’s his name? You’ve only been
seeing him for a week or so.”

“You mean George? Oh, he’s still
around, sweetie, don’t worry.”

“So who’s Federico?”

“He’s what you might call a
comparison. Just a little something to lay alongside George.”

Ann laughed. “Laid is right! Your
ever-changing stream of boyfriends will never end. Could we talk about mine for
a moment, please?”

“The lovely Michael?” Nina raised
her eyebrows in delight. “I didn’t realize he was your boyfriend, darling. Go
you!”

“Well, no. He’s not. That’s the
problem.”

Nina put on her serious face,
which just made her look even more mischievous. “Tell me about it, my sweet.”

“One moment,” said Ann,
disengaging the car from the tunnel’s SmartDrive server and taking hold of the
wheel. “Just coming up to my exit.” Finding herself sitting too far back to
reach the pedals, she fumbled around for the button again to make the seat move
forward.

“Are you done?” asked Nina, her
face shifting from the windshield to the E-A device. “What’s the problem?”

“It’s just all moving too slowly,”
said Ann, steering the car up the ramp to join the city traffic.

“Too slowly for what? For sex?”

“I guess,” Ann shrugged
expressively. “Sex, something tangible, the suggestion that there is a
relationship at the end of all this. That we are more than just friends.”

“Well, I can’t say I’m surprised,
darling. He’s an archaeologist. Those boys deal in eons and ice ages, and they
move about as slow as a glacier. Can’t you wait?”

Ann threw up her hands and
quickly grabbed the wheel again to avoid hitting a cyclist. “Of course I can
wait. But I’ve been waiting for years! And now that I’ve found a nice guy,
waiting is not what I expected. He’s taking forever to make any kind of move to
the next level. What the hell can be wrong with him?”

“He’s an archaeologist, like I
said. Glaciers, remember!”

“Point taken.” Ann pulled up at a
set of traffic lights and looked at her friend’s face, still wearing its
serious expression. “Tell me, Nina. In your experience how long does the
average man take to get going with the physical side of things?”

“It depends, darling,” said Nina,
considering the question for a moment. “At one end you have guys like Graeme,
you remember him don’t you? The stock car racer? Unfortunately he wasn’t so
speedy in the bedroom. It took over a week to get him to take me for a spin!
Then at the other end there’s Paul.”

“Paul?”

Nina smiled at the memory. “Paul
the banker. Terrible bore, but thankfully wasn’t interested in conversation. By
my reckoning it was under three minutes from me walking into the bar and him
bedding me.”

Ann stared in surprise. “Three
minutes!” A car behind her beeped its horn and she realized the lights had
turned green. “He bedded you in three minutes?”

“Well, his hotel room was just
above the bar. Classy boy, Paul!”

“So in your experience anywhere
between three minutes and a week is how long we should be looking at?”

“Give or take, yes. How long has
it been with Michael?”

“More than three months!” Ann
shouted, thumping the steering wheel and accidently beeping at the car in
front.

Nina’s face disappeared from the
screen, replaced by what looked like a ceiling light. “Sorry,” she said,
bobbing back into the picture. “I knocked the phone over. More than three
months? Three months! How have you survived, darling? It sounds like torture.”

“It does, doesn’t it? And yet he
keeps leaving me lovey-dovey video messages and wanting to meet up for outdoor
activities.”

“Outdoor?” Nina says the word as
though spitting out something unpleasant. “A lover whose activities are all
outdoors is no lover at all, sweetie! Your Michael is a strange one.”

“He’s not
my
Michael! And since he doesn’t seem to want to take this
relationship anywhere, I’m wondering what it is that he actually wants… Maybe
he’s a spy.”

“A spy? Like James Bond? Well,
darling, that would certainly be something, a proper Hollywood thriller! But I
thought such men were supposed to be swift workers when it comes to
indoor
activities!”

“Not that sort of spy. I mean
like a competitor. Someone trying to find out what we’re up to at A.I.I. and
milk me for information.”

“Has he tried to… milk you?” Nina
laughed at the idea. “Do you talk about business with him?”

“Not at all,” said Ann, the
frustration clear in her voice. “But I can’t see any other reason for him being
so damned nice to me all the time. If he doesn’t want this,” she gestured to
her body, though Nina couldn’t see most of her, “then what else could he be
after? Maybe he’s waiting for the right moment to hack into my computer or
force valuable insider information out of me.”

“But even if he is a corporate
spy, he’s still a man! And men only really want one thing.” Nina winked at her,
to make sure her meaning was clear.

“I guess. Unless he’s got a
girlfriend or a wife back home somewhere, and he doesn’t want to cheat on her.”

“Seems unlikely to me, darling.
All men cheat if they can get away with it. At least, all the men I know
anyway!”

Ann sighed, slightly louder than
she meant to, and was glad to see that she was nearly back at her apartment
building. “I’m exhausted, Nina,” she said, and sounded it. “I need to get some
rest and forget about all this stuff for a while.”

“Come on, darling. It’ll all be
all right. You’ll see.” Nina gave Ann a kindly smile. “He could just be a bit
crappy at relationships. And let’s not forget the ice ages and glaciers. He’s
an archaeologist remember, maybe he’s just playing a long game. A really, long
game. Whatever it is, it’ll all become clear in time.”