Chapter Six
If he had made a noise, some sound, he was not entirely aware of it. Jules stood for a moment, wondering at the sudden ache in his chest and the anguish he felt with the words.
Yet why should he be surprised? It had taken Gaspar less than a day to become his friend and that with nothing more than concern and easy words. How completely these others had slipped into his life. How easily he had centered his life on them. They had become his family. They had become his world.
They had nearly driven him mad.
Madness would have hurt far less than this.
They should have known.
"Mr. Verne?"
Jules took a deep breath and walked back to the chair, standing behind it. A moment more to compose himself, his hands resting on the chair back, then he asked, "If it would please your majesty, could you arrange passage for me back to Paris? I have no money with me, but I could reimburse the cost of the tickets once I've returned home."
"You would not prefer to travel with your friends aboard the Aurora?"
He met her gaze evenly. "I no longer consider that an option, your majesty."
"Then you are a fool, Mr. Verne." Her eyes narrowed, the depth of the anger in them surprising him. "As tempted as we are to fulfill your request immediately, we are most aware of the pain this would cause to yourself and to those others whom we would hold dear to our service. Sit down, Mr. Verne."
There was no choice in the matter. Jules seated himself on the chair, then took another swig of tea-laced brandy from the cup.
"We are not in the habit of commanding forgiveness in our subjects or their acquaintances - that matter is between you and your friends, and perhaps your conscience. But we would have you know that the assent of your friends to this test was not given lightly and barely given at the last, were it not for the possible threat to your life." She waited, letting the words sink in, only proceeding when she was obviously certain she had his undivided attention. "We would have been content with a severance of your friendship only - they would be permitted to part with you on the best terms possible, through post or telegraph, or simply by avoiding contact for long periods, as these things do happen in the course of events. You might have been left untested, sadder, but no wiser, Mr. Verne, and could prove no further threat to them."
The thought of this type of parting without actually parting made his blood run cold even now. He fought back a smile at the uncharitable things Fogg and Rebecca would have to say about it, politely, of course, in her majesty's presence. "But Passepartout? Surely there'd be no danger--?"
"So he objected, so they all objected," explained the Queen, with a long-suffering sigh. "Vociferously and at great length - but there was still danger in close contact. We do not need to tell you, Mr. Verne, of letters of resignation written and rejected, the multitude of comments about planning to make one's home abroad, or even being without country, save for the citizenship of the air. It was all quite tedious, I assure you."
"Yes, your majesty," agreed Jules, with what he hoped was a polite smile, although he could barely keep it from becoming a grin.
"The matter might have been placed at standstill until it was decided that perhaps the damage had been done and that you already knew . . . too much."
The words sent a shiver through him. Jules sat straighter in his chair and folded his hands in his lap at the implied threat, but pretended polite ignorance. "Your majesty?"
"It is not the most pleasant duty of a monarch to consider such matters. We would never have approved of such an action, particularly involving the demise of someone such as yourself, Mr. Verne, who has provided such generous service to ourselves and our nation without any thought of reward. But there would be others who might seek you out, unprotected as you would be, to learn what they could from you. Should one of our servants feel the threat was great enough, he might well take it upon himself to do such service to the nation as . . . well . . . it is not something we would wish to see happen."
"Nor I, your majesty," echoed Jules, his voice barely audible.
"Nor Mr. Fogg, nor Miss Fogg, nor Mr. Fogg's valet," she amended, her voice not unkind. "After extensive . . . discussions . . . of the matter, it was agreed that having proved your trust-worthiness would be more than sufficient token for your future good behavior, and what we trust would be the reward of a long and happy life for you, Mr. Verne." She cleared her throat, her lips curling slightly into a smile. "As we have stated, they knew, but they did not agree easily. Having agreed, they forced such constraints upon the enterprise to make it almost unpracticable. Even then, their greatest concern was not that you would fail the test - to their minds there was never any outcome to consider but that you should succeed - but that you should find their collusion in this endeavor so distasteful and hurtful that it would over-ride any friendly feeling toward them. Miss Fogg assured me on more than one occasion that they would hazard anything to maintain your friendship, with the exception of your life."
Jules picked up a sandwich to cover his confusion, then placed it back onto the tray again - hardly a polite thing to do, but he had to do something while he considered the matter. He was being unfair to assume that Rebecca or Fogg or even Passepartout would know what it would mean for him to think himself mad. The 'constraints' the Queen mentioned - he could well imagine they had forced Chatsworth to adhere to the narrowest of specifications in designing this trial. And they couldn't have anticipated Jules forcing his way into Fogg's house and then getting arrested . . . that no doubt caused no end of problems for the spymaster.
The thought of having inadvertently disturbed Chatsworth's well-laid scheme amused him, until he realized that some of the abuse he'd received might well have been a result of that frustration. None of his friends would have permitted what had happened to him had they known of it in advance, neither being confined and left in the cell or the rough handling given by Chatsworth's men.
"Be assured, Mr. Verne," said the Queen, "you need have no fear for your continued well-being. Your actions today have proven you more then reliable and we would have no concern if you wished to end your acquaintance with Mr. Fogg, Miss Fogg, and Mr. Fogg's valet, as you have just mentioned. You will be provided with sufficient funds to cover your passage back to Paris, as well as an additional sum to compensate you for your troubles. I believe that concludes our business?"
Jules glanced up at her quickly, starting at the import of her words. For the sake of form he should rise, bow, and head for the door. But he couldn't leave it like this. He couldn't walk away from his friends without at least having had a chance to confront them. They couldn't have known what they were asking of him . . . and if they were truly ignorant of the seriousness of what they'd nearly done, he would never be able to bring himself to enlighten them.
"Your majesty?" Jules picked up his teacup and cradled it in his hands, making it plain that he wasn't about to rise to his feet and depart in honorable fashion. "I apologize - I spoke hastily. After what's happened to me today, I'm afraid that I'm . . . I'm not entirely myself."
"Indeed, Mr. Verne?" asked the Queen, with a look of concern. "Are you seriously unwell? Shall you require a doctor's assistance?"
He shivered at the memory of the previous 'assistance' given to him by a doctor and then forced himself to meet her eyes. "No, your majesty, but thank you. If it wouldn't be too much to ask, could you spare a carriage to take me to my friends - to Mr. Fogg, Miss Fogg, and Passepartout?"
"You shall not, then, require passage to Paris?"
It was a kind reminder that one should be careful of what boons one asked from princes. Jules lowered his head meekly and answered, "No, your majesty, but I thank you for the kindness of the offer."
"Very well. You do realize, Mr. Verne, this conversation never occurred? There would be those in my service who would prove to be . . . unsettled . . . should such a conversation have taken place, your friends not the least among them."
Jules rose to his feet and nodded. "Of course, your majesty."
"And I find I must decline your request for a carriage." When he looked up in dismay, he found her smiling. There was a fan in her hand and she flicked it open, pointing toward the far door. "Your friends have been waiting anxiously for word of the outcome of your trials. Thomas will take you to them directly, if that's your wish."
"I could ask for nothing more, your majesty." He bowed from the waist, as he had seen Fogg do upon occasion. As he rose, he saw that the Queen had extended her hand.
"You have permission to kiss my hand, Mr. Verne."
This, he guessed, was a signal honor - he had only seen Fogg do it once before when in the Queen's presence. Hoping that he didn't trip on the carpet or fall over in a heap at her feet, he moved to one side of the table, bowed again, and took the Queen's hand with the greatest delicacy. After pressing it quickly to his lips, he returned the hand to her and bowed again.
"We are pleased to see that you are acquiring manners worthy of even Mr. Phileas Fogg, Mr. Verne."
Certain that he'd blushed straight back to the tips of his ears, Jules nodded. "Thank you, your majesty."
He backed toward the door, eyes slightly downcast, but once he reached there couldn't help but glance up at her. She was still watching him, a slight and approving smile on her face. He wasn't entirely certain what caused the impulse, but he raised his hand to wave at her.
And, oddly enough, the last thing he saw before he left the room through the doors opened by those mysterious gloved hands was Queen Victoria of England, more than a little startled, uncertainly waving back at him.
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End of Part 6
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