Disclaimer: I own no rights to The Mentalist or The Prisoner of Zenda and am making no money from this story. I'm just having some good old fashioned fun.
Author's Note: Though this was inspired by the Prisoner of Zenda, I'm not going to stick to the speech patterns of the late nineteenth century, and some of the behavior may be much more suited to our modern characters than the time period. But this is for fun, right? So just relax and go with it. :)
Tip of the hat to the queen of AU fic, Donnamour1969, whose excellent stories have given me hours of entertainment and the courage to try this.
Chapter One: Patrick Jane Takes a Journey—or Several
"Patrick," Samantha Barsocky said, sweeping into the parlor of her new home, "are you ever going to do something with yourself? Or are you just planning to sit here until you're old and gray?"
Patrick Jane rested his head on the back of his chair and gave her his most charming grin. It must have lost some of its effect upside down, however, because she merely rolled her eyes and swatted his shoulder as she passed. "Why should I have to do anything?" he replied. "That was the whole point of that last con, to make us all rich enough to never have to do anything again. And now you have this lovely house by the sea and never have to leave Ireland again. You said I could stay as long as I wanted, remember?"
"You can't just sit around the house or roam the shore forever," she said, folding her arms. "You need to get out there, meet people."
"And by people, you mean that nice young lady in town you've pointed out to me, what, six or seven times now?" He smirked to let her know she wasn't fooling him.
"Twice at most," Sam corrected. "Anyway, what's wrong with her? She's pretty and comes from a good family. And you need to settle down, Patrick. Life's too short to waste it sitting in my parlor."
"And drinking my good whiskey," her husband Pete added as he came into the room. "Maybe this will perk you up, Paddy. Letter from Paris."
Jane took the letter and opened it, scanning the scrawl with a growing smile. "It's from Walter. He's bored out of his mind and wants me to come enliven his life in Parisian high society."
"You should go," Sam urged.
"Why?" Jane asked. "I've had my fun in Paris. Besides, I've no desire to see Kristina again."
"She'll probably be off on her husband's estate communing with the spirits," Sam said. "Now that you're a bona fide rich man, you can find yourself a sweet little thing to get serious about."
Jane sobered. "I never intend to be serious about a woman again. My Angela was one of a kind. Irreplaceable."
Pete sighed. "She was that. But she'd want you to move on, Paddy." He patted Jane's shoulder. "You don't want to grow old alone, my boy."
"That wasn't my plan," Jane said bitterly. "But those poachers in Lisvonia had other ideas. The family I was going to spend my old age with is lying in an unmarked grave in the woods." Then an idea occurred to him. "You know what? I think I will go to Paris. Great stonemasons there."
"Think you can find the grave after five years?" Sam asked gently.
Jane gave her an incredulous look. "Blindfolded."
mmm
"Patrick! Welcome to Paris!" Walter, first Viscount Mashburn, greeted his old friend as Jane entered, looking around at the marble hallway.
"Walter, good to see you. Or do I have to call you 'my lord' now?"
"Please," Mashburn said, waving a hand dismissively. "I only make people who work for me use the title. That's what I bought it for."
"I thought it was to impress the ladies," Jane grinned.
"It does, too," Mashburn assured him. "You should get yourself one. All it takes is a big enough loan to a cash-strapped monarch or his heir, and they pretty much all need money. You have to come to this party I'm going to tonight. Prince Frederick will be there, and he's about to marry the new queen of Lisvonia. He could use the money. Bet you could afford a dukedom in a little country like that."
"Lisvonia?" Jane stopped looking around at the ostentatious decor and focused on Mashburn.
"Yeah, a little place near the Tyrol, over by Lichtenstein."
"I know it. I went through there several years ago, before we met." Jane carefully kept all emotion off his face. "There's a queen? I thought the old king had two sons."
"Three, originally," Mashburn informed him. "One died as an infant, the one the queen died having. The oldest died of a fever four years ago, I think. And the last son was killed in a hunting accident the day after the old king died. Tragic. So now there's this young queen hardly anybody knows anything about. Apparently she raised her brothers and kept out of the public eye. And her first order of business is to marry that wastrel Frederick so his father won't try to annex her kingdom and she can get herself an heir. Otherwise her cousin Duke John might persuade the Parliament to legitimize him and hand him the crown."
"The one they call Red John?" Jane asked.
"Oh, you've heard of him. Nasty piece of work. He has good taste in women though. You'll meet one of them tonight. Lorelei de Martins."
"I saw him once, from afar. We were camped out at the edge of his estate at Napa. I was thinking of going back there, actually."
"Should be fun," Mashburn said. "There'll be plenty of lambs to fleece, what with the wedding. Wish I could go with you, but I'm negotiating for a wife. Have to have a little tyke to be the second Viscount, after all."
"Negotiating?" Jane pulled himself out of his musings about Napa and his murdered family and shot Mashburn an amused look. "Most people court their future wives, Walter."
"Call it what you will," Mashburn chuckled. "If they don't have a miserly father, they have a harridan for a mother. Rich, pretty, or both, believe me, it's all one big negotiation. On the lookout yourself, Patrick? I can give you some tips."
"Me? No. I prefer to have no one to please but myself. What time is this party? I need to spruce myself up."
Mashburn laughed. "All is vanity. As if you couldn't walk into any ballroom just as you are and sweep any woman off her feet. But luckily for me, we have two hours. I'll have my housekeeper show you to your room."
"Housekeeper. You've certainly come up in the world. Remember that tavern in Innsbruck you were staying in when we met? With the drunk old barkeep and his daughter? What was her name?"
"My friend," Mashburn said, slapping him on the shoulder, "it is extremely rude to remember a thing like that. I might have to start remembering things too. Oh, by the way, Kristina says hello. She's sorry to miss you; she and the Comte are in the country."
"You know, Walter, you're entirely right. With an old friend, a good memory is an unpardonable offense," Jane said with a smile.
mmm
Jane wasn't really in the mood for a party, but he was curious to see Mashburn's candidates for viscountess and to meet someone familiar with Lisvonia, his next destination. So he put on his best new suit, his most comfortable shoes for dancing, and his most dazzling smile, and went with Mashburn to a massive house in the most fashionable part of the city.
Jane was used to turning female heads, but the reaction of this crowd was something different. He was aware of whispers as he and Mashburn made their way through the crowd, and his friend was looking increasingly amused. Suddenly it felt like a setup.
"Walter, what's going on?" he murmured.
"Why Patrick, has anyone ever told you that you have a terribly suspicious mind?" Mashburn grinned.
"Only guilty people," Jane retorted.
A dark haired woman in a fashionable powder blue gown sidled up to him. "Why, you sly dog," she chuckled. "You should have warned me you were coming incognito. I like the beard."
"Excuse me?" Jane replied, surprised. "I don't believe we've been introduced."
She smirked at him as if sharing a joke. "Haven't we? I'm so sorry. Allow me to introduce myself: Lady Erica Flynn. And whom have I the honor of addressing?"
She was charming, Jane thought, but he knew a fellow con artist when he met one. "Patrick Jane."
"Ah. Irish? How charmingly exotic," she said with a sly look.
"And where are you from?" he asked to be polite. He was intrigued to find himself a target for a con artist; it might be fun to play along and see what she was hoping to get.
Just then there was a stir near the doors, and the announcer called, "His Royal Highness Frederick, Prince of Ruritania."
Jane saw Lady Erica's expression change to shock as Mashburn tried to stifle a laugh into a cough. Then he turned to see what everyone was staring at—and came face to face with his mirror image.
The crowd went silent, except for a few nervous titters and whispers, as the two men stared at each other in astonishment.
"So," Mashburn murmured, "why didn't you tell me you're related to royalty, Patrick?"
The prince turned to the military man at his side and whispered something, then smiled at someone nearby and went over to speak to them. Erica hurried in that direction as Jane turned to Mashburn. "You did this on purpose."
"Of course! It's the most fun I've had in ages. I wrote to you the minute I laid eyes on him," Mashburn grinned.
"I'm so pleased I could be of use," Jane grumbled. "Who was the woman?"
"Lady Erica? His mistress, of course. You really had no idea what was going on, did you? That was the best part! I nearly choked trying not to laugh," Mashburn chortled.
Someone tapped Jane on the shoulder, and he turned to find the prince's military escort glowering at him. "I'm to escort you to meet with His Royal Highness."
"Oh? And you are?" Jane could be as haughty as any prince when he felt like it, and he suspected this man would respond to that.
"Colonel Bosco, the prince's bodyguard. Come on."
Jane eyed the stocky, muscular man and decided not to argue. "I'd be delighted to meet with my long-lost cousin," he said loudly. "After you, good colonel."
Bosco scowled, but he didn't comment further as he led the way through the crowd to a door, which he opened. He then escorted Jane down a hallway to a comfortable sitting room. "He'll be here shortly. Who are you?"
"Patrick Jane. Nice of you to ask."
"Irish?"
"Partly. Part Ruritanian, too, apparently. Guess those rumors about dear ole great-grandma and the crown prince were true after all." No one was more surprised than Jane; he'd always assumed his father had made up the tale of royal blood in their family tree.
Bosco reddened with anger. "Do not cast aspersions on our royal family!"
"What aspersions? So your randy crown prince had a good time with a pretty peasant girl. Happens all the time. We Janes are famously attractive. Well, most of us." His father had gotten the short end of the stick there, but he'd obviously passed the royal looks on intact.
"Why are you here?" Bosco demanded.
"Because you graciously invited me to this charming room," Jane said pleasantly.
"Paris. What are you doing in Paris?"
"A friend invited me to visit. A friend with what turns out to be an unfortunate sense of humor," Jane replied. "And you? What are you doing in Paris?"
"The prince is readying his wardrobe before proceeding to Lisvonia for his wedding."
"I must remember to congratulate him when we meet," Jane said. "I don't suppose there's any chance of a cup of tea while we wait?"
Bosco folded his arms and pointedly stood between Jane and the door. "Did you know the prince was here?"
"Not until Viscount Mashburn told me. And he didn't mention the resemblance." Jane smiled, making it slightly vacuous. "Colonel, I assure you, there's no nefarious plot afoot. At least not one I'm involved in."
"Is there one you aren't involved in?"
"Not to my knowledge."
"Then why did you say that?"
Jane shrugged. "Where there's a prince, there's a plot, right?" Besides, the man's whole demeanor screamed it: Colonel Bosco was convinced his prince was in danger. "Really, a cup of tea would be very welcome."
His request was met with a stony silence that lasted for a full half an hour, until the door finally opened and Prince Frederick joined them. Jane stood as he came over to him, and the two men stared at each other in fascination.
Up close, Jane noticed that the prince was slightly taller, maybe by an inch, and a shade paler. Otherwise their builds were identical. The prince's nose was a tad sharper, he was clean shaven instead of wearing a short beard, and his eyes were a pure baby blue instead of Jane's blue-green. Anyone who knew one of them very well would be able to tell them apart, but most people would guess they were twins.
Jane smiled. "A pleasure to meet you, your highness."
Frederick's answering smile was cold. "You must always let royalty speak first. What is your name?"
"Patrick Jane. I gather my great-grandmother was slightly acquainted with your great-grandfather."
Frederick's smile grew slightly more genuine. "Many women apparently had that dubious pleasure. But I have never met a cousin so eerily similar." He walked a slow circle around Jane. "Uncanny. We even wear our hair the same way. Don't shave, cousin, or you may find yourself forced to attend untold tedious affairs in my stead."
"Thanks for the warning," Jane said.
"In fact I am tempted to enlist you myself for the worst of them," Frederick said. "I don't suppose you'd consider a journey to Lisvonia? I have so many receptions to attend before the wedding, when I'd much rather be hunting."
"Your highness!" Bosco protested.
Jane chuckled. "Your fiancee wouldn't mind?"
"Oh, we've hardly met more than four times in our lives, with no desire to increase the acquaintance," the prince said carelessly.
Jane felt sorry for the queen, who was obviously marrying for duty and not for love. It was true, he thought, that wealth and position didn't always bring happiness. He'd been poor most of his life, but he'd known love and joy. For a little while.
"Tempting," the prince mused, tapping his lips with a finger. Jane recognized the gesture as one of his own and marveled at the traits he shared with this stranger. Then Frederick sighed. "But no. You'd doubtless make some horrid gaffe and disgrace me."
Jane did his best to look like an ignorant bumpkin instead of a man who'd devoted most of his life to studying the manners of the rich and entitled in order to mingle with and scam them. "I'm sure I could do it," he said, laying a hand on the prince's shoulder. "C'mon, Fred, it'll be fun!"
The prince stepped out of reach, his expression one of distaste. "I think not. In fact, cousin, if I were you, I'd consider leaving Paris. Immediately. Colonel Bosco will buy you a train ticket anywhere you'd like to go."
"But I'm having such a great time," Jane protested.
"And you may again, once I'm safely in Lisvonia," Frederick said. "This is for your own safety, Patrick. I would hate for our superficial resemblance to get you into trouble. A prince's life is fraught with difficulties."
"I'm sure. If you'll be so kind as to buy me a train ticket, I'll be happy to get out of your way," Jane said.
"Colonel Bosco will escort you to the station now and see that your luggage is sent after you. It was...interesting to make your acquaintance, Patrick."
"Yours too, Fred. Say, give the lovely Erica my best, would you?" Jane flashed his widest grin as he went to the door, Bosco scowling as he opened it for him.
mmm
Jane amused himself by making Bosco buy him a ticket to St. Petersburg, which cost a princely sum. Bosco watched him board and then stayed to make sure he was on the train when it left, but Jane merely disembarked at the next stop, cashed in his ticket, caught the next train back to Paris, and arrived at Mashburn's house for breakfast.
"You took your time," Mashburn greeted him. "Have a seat. My cook knows how you like your eggs."
"Thanks. You didn't send my luggage to St. Petersburg, I hope?"
"No, though you're all packed. I take it the prince didn't embrace you as a long-lost relative?"
"Not exactly, no. I got the impression he'd rather our paths didn't cross again."
"Probably afraid of the competition. He's quite a ladies' man. Lorelei seemed quite taken with him; I thought she and Lady Erica might scratch each other's eyes out. Life in Lisvonia is about to get interesting," Mashburn chuckled. "But by all accounts, Queen Teresa will get him in line. She's supposed to be quite a fierce little thing."
"Poor lady," Jane said. "Walter, I appreciate your hospitality, but I must be off."
"Where to?"
"Lisvonia. I have business there. I'll telegraph you my address once I'm there so you can send any parcels that arrive on to me."
"Lisvonia? Patrick, what are you up to?"
"Family business," Jane said. "I'd just as soon get it finished before the prince arrives."
Mashburn looked suspicious. "What family business could you possibly have there?"
"I'll tell you someday, maybe. You'll send my parcels after me? I'm afraid I did quite a bit of shopping yesterday."
Mashburn shrugged. "Sure. Knowing you, that's one new shirt and maybe, if you were desperate, a pair of boots."
Jane grinned. "You know me so well."
It would be ample payback for Mashburn's trick when the enormous marble sculpture Jane had ordered as a grave marker for his family arrived on his doorstep.
With the bill.
mmm
Jane settled into a quaint, rustic inn in the small town of Napa, nestled in the valley below Duke John's castle of the same name. The forested mountains were as beautiful as he remembered, but as he wandered through the woods he was assailed by painful memories of the last time he'd been here, searching for his wife and daughter who'd gone for a walk and never returned.
They'd been traveling with the carnival at the time, and Jane had been gambling with the locals to supplement their meager income. When the duke's head gamekeeper pronounced his family's deaths the work of known poachers, Jane had blamed himself. The poachers had probably been among the men he'd fleeced at the card table during their stay, and they'd killed his family either from revenge or desperation not to be turned in to the Duke for killing his game to feed their families. No matter that his kind, compassionate Angela would never have reported poor men to their master for trying to feed their families. No matter that his cheerful, friendly little Charlotte had probably not even understood what she'd seen.
He found the graves as the light was fading. The white flowers he remembered Sam planting had grown and spread, making a beautiful carpet over the mound of soil that covered what was left of his girls. They'd broken camp the next day, foregoing any kind of service, Jane too lost in his grief to care. But now, looking at the graves, he thought that Angela would have liked to have a priest bury them. Maybe he should have them moved to the nearest churchyard, have a proper burial. That way their names could be remembered by the people in the village, long after he was gone.
He stayed until it began to get dark, then made his way back to the town by the light of the nearly full moon. The spire of the church shone above the rest of the buildings, and he headed for it, thinking he'd talk to the priest about the re-burial.
It was a nice churchyard, with big trees to give shade, Jane thought as he walked through it. The church was old and small, but well maintained. The doors were closed, but he could see lights on inside, so he walked up the front steps.
Before he could knock, the right door swung open, light spilling out and making Jane blink. There were two silhouettes, one obviously a priest and one a small, slim woman in a veil and riding habit. As his vision adjusted, he realized they were staring at him, just as surprised as he was.
"Pardon me," he said.
The woman lifted her veil to reveal a beautiful, annoyed face and narrowed green eyes. "How nice of you to let us know you arrived, your highness," she said, her voice sharp.
"I'm afraid you've mistaken me for someone else," he replied. "My lady." He guessed she was of noble birth from her posture and attitude, despite her simple clothes.
The priest frowned and drew breath to speak, but she held up her hand and he subsided. "It's best we both remain incognito until we're back in the capital," she said. "Grace?"
A tall redhead appeared from behind her. "Yes, boss?"
"Tell Cho we've got company. Have Rigsby find another horse. We have an addition for our ride home."
The redhead hurried out toward the road. Jane tried again. "I'm sorry, but I'm not who you think I am. My name is Patrick Jane. I'm here to see the priest."
"You may talk to him tomorrow," the woman replied, "since I came here to ask him to join me in the capital. Where are your servants?"
"I don't have any," he said. "I'm not the prince. He's still in Paris, as far as I know."
"He is not," she said. "We had word this morning that he has disappeared. Now I know why. Hoping to escape, Frederick? I sympathize, but we must both do our duty for our people. Father Minelli, thank you for your counsel. I will see you tomorrow."
"You will, your majesty," the priest replied. "God bless you with a safe journey tonight."
"It's just one valley over," she replied. "And Cho could ride it blindfolded. Good night. Come along, your highness."
Jane grinned at the shift in her tone. So this was the queen he'd felt sorry for. She was fond of the priest but not of her fiancé, apparently. He didn't blame her.
She strode toward the road, her stride firm and quick, almost masculine. After a few paces, she realized he wasn't following and stopped. "Are you planning to sleep in the churchyard?" she demanded.
"No," Jane said. "I plan to sleep in the room I have already paid for at the inn."
She marched back to him, anger in every line of her body. He could see her eyes flash in the light still spilling from the church door, Minelli apparently intending to see her safely to the road before retiring. "No, you will not," she hissed. "You know perfectly well, or at least you should, that this is the Duke of Napa's land. And he of all people would like nothing better than to stop our wedding by whatever means necessary. You are coming back to the palace with me where you will be safe."
"Look, really, I'm not who you think I am. My great-grandmother went to Ruritania and came back with a souvenir. I met the prince in Paris. You must see the differences between us."
"You're a bastard, all right, but not by birth," she muttered. Then she grabbed him by the arm and tugged, knocking him off balance enough to begin dragging him toward the road.
She'd raised her brothers, he remembered. Well, there were worse things than being mistaken for a prince, as long as he was gone before the real one got here. And in the meantime, he thought he might enjoy getting to know the fierce little queen.
"Teresa," he murmured. "That's a nice name."
She muttered something under her breath that sounded like a most unroyal "Bite me."
