17:48 (London Time)
Friday, July 18, 1856 ‘A’
14 Belgrave Square, Belgravia District
London, England
Gordon, slouched in his favorite easy chair and enjoying a good book in the lounge of his London house, looked up at his father as Sir Charles Smythe walked in from the outside. The tired, dejected look on his father’s face alarmed him, making him get on his feet and put down his book.
“Something went wrong at the meeting of the Board of Control, Father?”
Throwing first his leather briefcase on a sofa, Sir Charles looked with discouragement at his son.
“That damn Lord Dalhousie set up the East India Company for a hard fall and none of these idiots on the board can see that, that’s what went wrong! My first reaction would have been to bail out of the company, if I didn’t have so much invested in it.”
Patting sympathetically his father’s shoulder, Gordon started leading him towards the dining room, across the hallway from the lounge.
“Come on, Father, supper should be about ready by now. We can talk about this at the table.”
“Thank you, Son. Let me wash a bit and change first, though.”
“Take all your time, Father.” Replied Gordon gently. As Sir Charles tiredly got up the stairs to the first floor, Gordon went through the dining room and into the large kitchen. The place was hot and full of activity, with Jeanne and two maids busy preparing supper while Elizabeth Hatfield took care of the six children present. Going to Jeanne, who was stirring a pot of soup, he glued himself to her back and held her waist while kissing her neck. She moaned with pleasure and caressed his left leg with one hand while holding a spoon and stirring the soup with the other. The couple exchanged caresses for a few seconds before Jeanne gently pushed Gordon away.
“Gordon, there are young children watching.” She chided him in a low voice.
“Alright, I will be a good boy…until late tonight.”
“I was counting on that, my dear hunk.” She said softly before kissing him on the cheek. Clara, Judith and Elizabeth sighed in unison, envious of Jeanne, who couldn’t help smile at them.
“You should get yourselves a good man each, girls.”
“Finding a man is easy enough.” Replied philosophically Clara, the older maid. “Finding a good man: now that’s the tough part!”
That got knowing giggles from the three other women in the kitchen.
Sir Charles, informally dressed with gray trousers, slippers and an open collar white shirt, came down the stairs and into the dining room fifteen minutes later. Gordon let him take the place of honor at the head of the big rectangular table, sitting himself to his right. Judith was finishing to put the table, while little Helen, Thomas, Peter and Mary were already sitting down the table’s sides. Jeanne soon came in from the kitchen with little William, with Elizabeth Hatfield close behind and carrying Harry. Sir Charles smiled at seeing the young, lively scene around the table.
“This house certainly has quite a life to it now, Son.”
“I always loved children, Father.” Replied Gordon quietly. “If me and Jeanne can help raise some in happiness and love, then we will be a content couple.”
“I see that I raised a good son.” Pronounced proudly Sir Charles. Gordon smiled at the compliment, then became serious.
“Tell me about your meeting, Father.”
Waiting until Clara had put a bowl of hot soup in front of him, Sir Charles then spoke slowly as the others around the table got served as well.
“Well, as you may know, Lord Dalhousie has just returned from India after being replaced by Lord Canning as Governor General. Today’s meeting was to assess his final report on India. Dalhousie of course painted a rosy picture, enumerating in particular all the Indian kingdoms and principalities he annexed under one pretext or another during his many years in office. What he failed to mention and what the other board members didn’t catch on was the tremendous resentment his policies must have created in India. Imagine! Last February, he annexed the Kingdom of Oudh, one of the oldest and most powerful kingdoms in India, on the flimsiest of pretexts. I tried to point out to the board that such a move was sure to inflame sentiments in our Sepoy soldiers, many of whom come from Oudh, but my opinion was dismissed as too pessimistic. With all the vexations, heavy handed policies and crushing taxes levied by Dalhousie to pay for his military adventures, the Indians must be near revolt and I’m afraid that It won’t take much to ignite this powder keg.”
“Could our troops handle such a revolt?” Asked Gordon, making his father puff up in indignation.
“Not if our own Sepoy soldiers revolt thanks to this idiotic Dalhousie. The armies of the East India Company count about 200,000 Sepoys, while British troops in India number only 38,000 men. If our Sepoys turn against us, it will be a massacre.”
Gordon exchanged a glance with Jeanne before looking back at his father.
“Do you really think that our Sepoys would revolt?”
“Why not? With his stupid General Service Enlistment Act, Dalhousie has revoked a privilege dear to the Sepoys of the Army of Bengal, which dispensed them from overseas service. Now, as you must know, leaving India would make Sepoys of high caste lose their caste, something tantamount to a sacrilege to them. This, allied with the annexation of Oudh, is bound to create dissensions and discontent.”
“So, what do you plan to do, Father?”
“I don’t know.” Answered Sir Charles dejectedly. “Pulling my financial assets out of the company is not something I am prepared to do without much more solid information. The problem is that I can’t rely on the official reports out of India, as I suspect them to be way too optimistic. I would go myself but I’m afraid that I am getting too old for such a trip.”
There was silence for a moment from the adults around the table. Jeanne then spoke quietly while looking at Sir Charles.
“Sir Charles, you know my reputation as an inspired investor. That reputation was built through the analysis of the financial, commercial and political situations all around the World, and this with the help of many friends and agents that provide me constantly with updated information on local situations. I have already started disinvesting from the East India Company, as I believe firmly that the revolt you are fearing is indeed close at hand. Going to India or sending anyone in your place to investigate would be both extremely risky and unnecessary. I thus counsel you strongly to bail out of the East India Company without delay, before it collapses from a armed rebellion in India. I could provide you with good tips on where to reinvest your money then.”
Sir Charles stared back in silence at her for a moment, weighing her counsel. Jeanne was indeed known to be a most savvy investor with an apparently flawless instinct on where and when to invest money, acquire or let go assets. Many big financiers would have followed her investing trends if not for the fact that Jeanne always conducted her affairs through anonymous intermediaries, thus hiding her financial moves from others. Some investors had grumbled at her successes, even accusing her on a few occasions of insider trading. Those jealous men had however been unable to make any of those charges stick, with some even being hit with countercharges of false accusations. And all that from a young woman who was only 25 years old! That young woman was now richer than ever as a result, with her estimated fortune having ballooned in the last two years to over fourteen million Pounds Sterling. Yet, from what he could see and hear about her, Sir Charles knew that Jeanne lived quite modestly compared to what her fortune would allow her to do. Most of her fortune apparently went into various charity and social justice schemes, like the dwellings she had bought and was maintaining in Winchester for the families of the troopers of the 8th Hussars, a venture Sir Charles was most proud of helping Jeanne with their administration. A final look in her green eyes then decided him.
“Alright, Jeanne. I will start bailing out of the East India Company next week.”
“Then I will get my local financial representative in London to visit you here on Monday to give you tips on where to reinvest your money. How much do you have invested in the East India Company, if I may ask?”
“About 340,000 Pounds. Nearly all my fortune is in that company.”
Jeanne nodded her head slowly. Her father-in-law would have faced financial ruin if he had not followed her counsel, as the East India Company would be totally discredited and would be disbanded on orders of the British government after the suppression of the Sepoy Mutiny. That mutiny would shake the very foundations of the British Empire and wake many in England to reality, forcing them to drastically revise the way Britain had ruled overseas for decades and centuries. Unfortunately, it would also result in an horrific bloodbath in India, with often blind mass retaliations by the British troops rushed in from England against the Indian population, this in retaliation for the massacres of British soldiers and civilians committed by the mutineers in a number of places. An awful reality then hit her mind and she looked with concern at Gordon, who apparently understood at once what was going through her head.
“Jeanne, if I get to be called to go to India to quell such a rebellion, I will be going alone. I don’t want you to put yourself and William at risk by going with me.”
“But, I am still officially the senior nurse of the 8th Hussars, Gordon. I can’t let down our regiment like this!”
With Sir Charles and the maids listening on with concern, Gordon bent over and stared firmly at his wife.
“Jeanne, I have served in India before. I know how ferocious Indian soldiers and warriors could be and I have no wish to risk you or our son in what would certainly be a most bloody affair. For once, I will ask you to obey my will on this, for the sake of our love and of our son.”
“Gordon, I can’t let you down like this!” Protested Jeanne, dread filling her. Gordon shook his head at that.
“You wouldn’t abandon me then, Jeanne: you would just insure the safety and future of our only son. William must be the main concern, for both of us. Please, be reasonable and promise me that you will stay with William if I ever have to go to India.”
Jeanne swallowed hard as tears came to her eyes, watched by the others. She finally lowered her head and spoke softly.
“I…I promise to stay and take care of William. Please, Gordon, be careful if you have to go.”
Gordon smiled at that and patted gently her hand.
“Of course I will be careful, Jeanne. I have no wish to be cut from you or from our son.”
Sir Charles felt his eyes become moist as he watched his son kiss tenderly Jeanne, while little William looked up with innocence and incomprehension at his tearful mother.
09:42 (Paris Time)
Thursday, June 25, 1857 ‘A’
Hôtel de Brinvilliers, 12 Rue Charles-V
Paris, France
The young messenger smiled with more than simple professional courtesy when a young oriental woman opened the door of the big residence where he had been sent to deliver a telegram: the woman was very pretty and was a delight to look at.
“Télégramme pour Madame Jeanne Smythe-D’Orléans!” Said the young man cheerfully, making the oriental girl smile as well.
“I am her personal assistant. I will take it.” She replied, also in French.
“Then please sign here.”
Li Mai did so, then thanked the messenger and closed the door. With the telegram in hand, she went to the nearby office suite used by the staff of the D’Orléans Social Foundation, where Jeanne presently was. Mai found Jeanne in her director’s office, reading a file. Going to her desk, Mai put the telegram on it and bowed.
“A telegram for you, Jeanne.”
“Thank you, Mai.” Said Jeanne while grabbing at once the telegram and opening it quickly. With Mai still standing in front of her desk, Jeanne’s face grew somber as she read the three sentences and the name of the sender in the telegram, making Mai ask out of concern.
“Is something wrong, Jeanne?”
Jeanne kept her eyes down as she answered in a slow, hesitant voice.
“Gordon has left for India with his regiment. He sends to me and William his love.”
Mai, knowing how much the couple was in love and having read about the bloody insurrection that had erupted in India, didn’t reply or comment on that, instead bowing again and walking out of the office to leave Jeanne alone. Once Mai was gone, Jeanne got up slowly from her chair and left the office, going to the first floor room where her son William was playing with the other young children of her staff and of her maids. She smiled when she saw on entering the large playing room that 23 month-old William was running around and squealing with joy while playing tag with three more toddlers. She let William play for a few more minutes, then went to him as soon as he and the other children calmed down somewhat. Crouching in front of him, Jeanne let the boy run into her open arms and kissed him.
“William, you are truly a joy to have.”
With her son still in her arms, Jeanne got up and walked slowly towards one of the windows of the room, stopping in front of it and looking out at the street activities and at the skyline of Paris. A tear rolled on her cheek as she pressed gently William against her chest. The words she next said were for the other love in her life in this century.
“Please come back to me, Gordon.”
19:11 (Paris Time)
Wednesday, October 21, 1857 ‘A’
Hôtel de Brinvilliers, 12 Rue Charles-V
Jeanne, being nearest to the main door when someone knocked on it in the early evening, went to it and opened it. She found herself facing Sir Charles, alone with a travel bag on the entrance steps. A carriage that had been waiting in front of the door left as soon as Jeanne had opened the door, the driver probably satisfied that his customer would not be left alone in the darkening street. Jeanne was about to greet warmly her father-in-law when she noticed his sad expression. It was for her as if a hammer had just hit her on the head when she understood in a flash why Sir Charles had come to Paris without prior notice. Tears flowed out of her eyes at once at the same time.
“Nooo! You’re not here to tell me that Gordon is dead?”
“I…I’m sorry, Jeanne.” Said weakly Sir Charles. “I wish that I could have come for a better reason.”
He then stepped forward to hug Jeanne, who was now crying. He held her for a long moment, until she regained some control on herself and invited him in.
“Please, come in. I…I will show you to a guest room.”
Without a word, Sir Charles picked up his lone bag and followed her up to the first floor, where he and Jeanne entered a vacant bedroom. Once he put down his bag, he faced the tall French woman, his expression sorrowful.
“I suppose that you want to know how he died.”
She nodded her head once, unable to speak as sobs came back to choke her. Sir Charles sat on the edge of the bed before speaking slowly, his own eyes lost in painful images.
“Gordon was killed in the battle for Delhi, on September 20th. He was buried there, along with the rest of the 4,000 British soldiers who died to retake that city. I got an official dispatch from the War Office announcing his death three days ago.”
Jeanne, unable to take more, then sat on a nearby chair and started crying hysterically. Sir Charles went to her at once, holding her hands and trying to console her. She finally managed to say a few words between sobs.
“I…I should have gone with him. Maybe I would have been able to save him, along with others.”
“You know that you couldn’t go with him, Jeanne: William needed you here.”
“And how am I supposed to tell William that his father is dead? He still doesn’t speak well enough to fully understand that! He will be lucky if he still remembers his father by the time he starts going to school.”
“We will keep the memory of Gordon alive for him, Jeanne. We can’t do less than that for Gordon.”
That made Jeanne cry even more, prompting Sir Charles in hugging her again, his own eyes moist.
“I have other things to discuss with you, Jeanne, but those can wait until tomorrow, if you prefer.”
Jeanne shook her head at once, signaling him to continue.
“Please, go on. Nothing can change what happened now.”
“You are right, Jeanne, as always. To make things quick, Gordon made me the executor of his last will. I am ready to tell you about it when you want to.”
“Let’s get William before you do that, Sir Charles.”
“Of course, Jeanne.”
Jeanne, still crying a few tears, left the bedroom with him and went to her main lounge, where Li Mai was watching over William and a black toddler girl. Li Mai got up as Jeanne showed the little girl to Sir Charles.
“This is Florence, the daughter of one of my maids. She and William play a lot together.”
Sir Charles smiled gently to the little child, then sat in an easy chair opposite a sofa that Jeanne took after grabbing two year-old William in her arms. Extracting first an envelope from a pocket of his vest, Sir Charles opened it and referred to the document inside as he spoke slowly.
“It probably won’t come as a surprise to you that Gordon is leaving his house and possessions in London to your son William, with you acting as a tutor until his majority. He also expressed in his will his wish that the staff at his house be kept on the payroll and retained in the service of the house, with you to administer the property and staff. As for the dowry you brought to Gordon at your marriage, it goes back to you now.”
“That money will go into a trust fund in the name of my son, Sir Charles. I personally don’t need it. As for the servants in Gordon’s house, I will go visit them with you when you will go back to England, in order to reassure them that they will be taken care of. They are good people and I have no intentions of abandoning them now.”
Sir Charles nodded his head with satisfaction at that.
“For that, I sincerely thank you, Jeanne. Gordon cared a lot about his domestic staff.”
By now Jeanne felt strong enough to go back to the painful reason of her father-in-law’s visit.
“Sir Charles, did the War Office dispatch mention if Gordon’s body would be repatriated to England?”
Sir Charles lowered his head at that, having been hit hard by the official answer.
“Unfortunately, the War Office has already decided to let the remains of fallen British soldiers buried in India. We lost too many men there to make body repatriation practical or even possible. Gordon is supposedly buried with other soldiers in a British war cemetery besides Delhi. I suppose that you will want to visit his grave one day, Jeanne?”
“Once the insurrection is over, yes. I will also be going with William. Gordon would have wanted that.”
Sir Charles swallowed hard then as he eyed his little grandson in Jeanne’s lap. William was now the most precious thing in the World for him and his wife Carmelia.
“I am sure that Gordon would have, Jeanne.”
17:06 (India Time)
Friday, July 23, 1858 ‘A’
British military cemetery
Delhi, India
Jeanne, riding Pegasus and with little William, who was going to be three years old in five days, sitting in front of her in the large saddle, attracted a lot of attention as she arrived at the entrance of the British military cemetery near the walls of Delhi. For one, she was a European woman traveling alone with a small child. Second, she wore a riding skirt and a light cotton blouse, along with high black boots and a wide brimmed Australian bush hat with a cloth to protect her neck from the fierce sun, instead of the long dresses that forced the other European women to ride Amazon-style. What was most striking however to the Indian locals watching her pass was the fact that she wore a gun belt supporting two holstered revolvers and a large hunting knife, while a curved saber was slung across her back and a carbine was sheeted in a long saddle holster. Contrary to most of the British traveling on horseback around India, she had no baggage animal and had only two large saddle bags and a bedroll on the back of her horse as baggage went. The two British soldiers standing guard at the entrance of the cemetery watched her with curiosity as she jumped down and helped down her child before tying her horse to a post near the entrance. They then came to attention when she approached them with the little boy.
“Good afternoon, madam.” Said politely the corporal in charge while secretly admiring the very tall and pretty young woman. “May we do something for you?”
“You may, Corporal. Could you please watch my horse while I go visit the cemetery, so that no thief grabs my belongings?”
“With pleasure, madam! Private Adams will watch it for you.”
As the second soldier went to take position besides the horse, the corporal couldn’t help ask a question to the woman, who was about to enter the cemetery.
“Are you here to visit a specific grave, madam?”
“I am.” Answered cautiously the woman while staring in the eyes of the corporal. “My husband was killed during the siege of Delhi. He was part of the 8th Hussars.”
“Then, you will find the graves from the cavalry regiments in the northeast corner of the cemetery, madam.”
“Thank you, Corporal.” Said the woman with a nod before entering the cemetery with her child. The corporal followed her with his eyes for a moment, then returned his attention to his guard duties.
Jeanne, with William held in her arms, went to the northeast part of the cemetery, then started reviewing each grave marker in that area one by one. It took her fifteen minutes to find Gordon’s grave among the thousands of other graves filling the cemetery. Stopping and facing the cross bearing Gordon’s name, regiment and dates of birth and death, Jeanne contemplated it in silence for a moment before crouching and placing William in front of her, facing the marker.
“This is why we came here, William. Your father is buried here.”
The little boy looked at the cross with incomprehension at first, then at her, speaking in his tiny voice.
“He will never come back, Mother?”
“No, William: he can’t come back.” Said Jeanne, tears appearing at the corner of her eyes. She then took and guided William’s right hand, making him feel the engraved name on the marker. “Your father was a hero, William. You are now the one who will be bearing his name. Always be proud of it.”
Jeanne was silent for a few seconds, then started singing quietly a melancholic song in honor of her lost husband. The Indians and the few British passing by the cemetery at that time and who could hear her looked at her with surprise and curiosity, as she sang in some unknown language instead of in English. None of them could know or recognize the fact that she was singing in Sanskrit, a language long forgotten in its oral form. She had once sang that song as Noor of Madras 21 centuries ago, on losing her lover.