Title: The Bracelet, Rated K
Author: Sherry Thornburg
Author's Email: Thornburgs77
Feedback: Yes, please
Permission to Archive. Privately only with notice to me as to where it is.
Category: Short Story, Drama
Rating/Warning: K
Main Characters: Queen Victoria and Phileas Fogg
Disclaimer: SAJV and original characters copywrite Tailsman/Promark/etc., no infringement is intended.
Author Note: Short interlude/reimagining scenes.
"It is a good thing you do tonight," Queen Victoria and the Prime Minister assured the Baron, her cousin, as he watched his Aurora rise up into the night sky. "Does he still wear a bracelet?" She asked as the carriage started moving.
"I saw a bracelet on his person," the Baron said. "An odd unfashionable thing for a man of his set."
Not so odd or unfashionable if you knew. But that is for he and I. Victoria smiled and sat back and waited their arrival at the palace.
Aboard the Aurora, Passepartout gave his new employer a curious looking over. "This Phileas Fogg seemed an ordinary looking dandy." He was leaning on the Aurora's rail looking out at the skies. Not at the ground as others did, but straight into the horizon and beyond. "Our adventures may just be beginning," Phileas had said. Passepartout remained noncommittal. The Baron told me this man was special and that it would be my place to take care of him. I do not know if I am worthy of being guardian angel to this man, but it is too late having doubts now. He looked to the controls for a moment. They had been on deck an hour in near silence. Fully dark now. I needing to set night course.
Phileas turned and asked Passepartout, his new employee his first questions. "Had you served the Baron long?"
"Four years," Passepartout answered. "I began as an engineer during the Aurora's construction. I engineered her controls and much of the engine. After launching, I became part-time pilot and valet."
"I have not had a valet for some months," Phileas said. "The last one I sacked rather suddenly over poor preparation of my shaving water."
"If he not be heating the water properly then was right he be sacked," Passepartout said. "Shaving water must be right temperature to be softening skin properly."
"Exactly," Phileas said. "And if you understand that, then perhaps you will continue to be both pilot and valet. For now, it's late. Where is the sleeping cabin?"
Passepartout locked the controls for a circular course and led his new employer up the circular stair to the cabins. The Aurora had three such rooms. He led the Englishman to the one the Baron had used. It was cleared of the Baron's property. Passepartout had cleared it four days ago.
Phileas Fogg looked the room over for a moment and then began unbuttoning his coat and vest. Passepartout took the valet's position helping the man out of his things and putting everything away. The shoes I will take back downstairs for polishing. "For a man without valet, the shoes in very good order. This Phileas Fogg knows how to keep standards himself. Such a man needing no servants that can't heat shaving water right. As he had not come with luggage, he would sleep in his drawers only. Passepartout was about to walk out when the sound of something metal hit the floor.
"D—m!" Fogg quietly swore.
Passepartout retrieved the dropped item only seconds before Fogg himself reached for it. It was a bracelet, one on a large gold link chain with a plate for engraving. The clasp had broken or had newly broken again. bracelet showing much wear, dull and scratched from constant exposure. Passepartout only examined it a moment before Phileas Fogg took it back. "The clasp comes open on me often of late," he said. "I cannot seem to fix it properly."
"I could be fixing it for you, Master Fogg," Passepartout said. "It nothing. The spring holding it fastly being worn away. Catch not closing with tightness."
Phileas seemed on the brink of refusing but relented. "Do you have what you need here for the repair?"
"Yes. Having workshop on Aurora with many bits and pieces to keep ship floating with smoothness. One little spring not be missing long. I fix by morning," Passepartout said.
"As you say then." Fogg handed his cherished treasure over. Passepartout took it and the shoes out of the room to the workshop after seeing his new master into bed.
"Simple repair," Passepartout said, as he laid the gold ornament on the table. Besides the clasp, I do something about scratches and dullness. "Why Englishman with such standards for shoes, not having this professionally polished? And why he doing repairs instead of jeweler?" Passepartout shook his head. "There was never knowing with some men." He found the tools and quickly took to the clasp. As thought, very old, very broken. He repaired it and then tested its tightness. Better than new. He then took a jeweler's cloth to the links polishing them one by one and together until they shined like a new shilling. Lastly, he took a buffer to the plate to remove the scratches before polishing it. The upper side was engraved with a date from twenty years and more in the past. He laid it to the buffer, noticing another inscription on the back; very worn, but still visible.
"Suc-cre-blu!"
Passepartout continued his work more reverently, being very careful that the buffer did not make the inscriptions any fainter. And for that matter I being very careful with shoes too. Baron right; but why he not telling me?
Phileas had finished teasing his cousin Rebecca and reminiscing with the French agent. Nice getting out and seeing old friends. Heading back to the Aurora, he considered the young Frenchman Verne, helping Passepartout in the sewers with the placement of the mole detectors he designed. This was almost like old times when as senior agent in charge of a mission. Phileas thought about that and scowled. It is old times. I've been drafted back into the service on Her Majesty's request. Galling, but not to be refused. "The price of being a loyal subject . . ."
He entered the Aurora after giving a nod to the palace guards who stood about it. That was strange. Upon entering the parlor, he discovered why. Her Majesty Queen Victoria was sitting in his parlor, apparently very at home, tatting a strip of lace. Phileas recovered his surprise and bowed quickly. "Your Majesty, I… I am honored."
"Phileas," she said not standing on ceremony for the moment. "My visit is informal. Please be seated."
At a loss, Phileas did as he was bid. He sat in the chair in front of the Queen, pulled from the castle to serve the purpose, set at exactly the right distance from her presence. Moving things around for the Queen's purposes would have been impossible as all the Aurora's furniture was bolted to the floor. The Queen had taken the comfortable wingback chair for herself, which was the only such piece in the parlor. There was a divan under the windows, but that would not do for her comfort and was too far away for a cozy talk.
"We would thank you for accepting our request to attend us on this trip to France," the Queen said. "You are not required by position, only by your own acceptance."
"I am always your loyal servant Your Majesty." Phileas said.
Dropping her shuttle after the end of a sequence, the Queen reached out and touched Phileas' hand then slipped her fingers to his wrist. It was there, she discovered with pleasure. She moved the chain down so she could see it peeking out from under his sleeve. It was still as shinny and beautiful as it had been when she first gave it to him so many years ago. "You honor me."
"The honor is mine Your Majesty," Phileas said gently. The valet's attention to detail may get him a bonus today. For now, Phileas gave him fervent thanks, remembering what her gift had looked like before his attention. He could not be grateful enough that his queen had not seen her present as it had been last week.
"At the time this was all we were allowed to offer you," she said. Victoria looked to his face again. "We could make this official now. There is no need for secret honors. Accept your place in our service again and it will be done."
"I… thank you your Majesty, truly… but no. I seek no accolades and I wish no official position. Being in your service as it is presently, at your request as a private citizen, is all I wish."
For a moment all formality was indeed dropped. Queen Victoria looked back on the years and saw an injustice she wanted righted. This man deserved better than was given. She had come here determined to see him properly rewarded. "It is not as we wish, however," the Queen said standing. "Our most loyal subjects should not have their acts of fidelity shrouded in secrecy! When you saved my life, I should have been allowed to knight you on the spot. My Prime minister cautioned me to silence, and your father claimed you too young for the honor. And, to my grief, my Albert counseled me to secrecy as well. Are we… Am I not Queen of England? Do I not have some say in these matters?" She said, indignant.
At this unexpected show of his monarch's anger, Phileas felt equally upset, but for different reasons. He was both humbled to his knees at her regard for him and filled with terror at what she had in mind. What might she do to put me under obligations I have thus far studiously avoided? In disowning father after Erasmus' death, I threw aside all position and duties. Now, with one command, she might undo all that, and I'm not... am nowhere near ready to consider that.
Phileas rose, sidestepped away from the queen's skirts and dropped to his knees. "Your Majesty… Please! I beg you to allow me one thing. One thing that is in you power to give."
"And what is this?" She said.
"Time." Phileas said, pleaded. "Could you be moved to give me time to heal? Time to rest? You surely can understand the need to heal after losses." For a moment, Fogg was certain she would drive over that request, but she backed up a step and sat back down going silent. Victoria looked at her hands for a moment. Phileas Fogg had indeed suffered a number of losses of late. He had lost his brother, before his very eyes, as the report had read. He had given up his position, a loss of a career that had been his for many years. Then he had lost his father with angry words between them; words not taken back in time. Father and son had left that chasm standing by Sir Boniface's untimely death. No. Perhaps this is not the time.
"We understand," Victoria said, putting a wealth of kindness into the words. "We will grant you time, but not unlimited time, Phileas. Rest and heal; but come back to us. We will not… I cannot do without you. Men of your loyalty and fidelity of service are too precious to us to spare."
"You do me great honor, Your Majesty. Thank you." Phileas rose and bowed over the royal hand deeply. He had won his boon.
"Rise, Sir Phileas Fogg, and resume your momentary favor to us." Victoria said, smiling. "We will not require more of you for now." With that, she rose, gathered her tatting, and left the Aurora, leaving Phileas drained, but grateful. In the quiet of the now empty parlor, he raised his arm and looked at the token of a very young queen's gratitude again. On the top of the engraving plate was the date he had saved her life. On the back were two lines nearly faded away.
By Royal Declaration
Sir Phileas Plato Fogg