Redemption: Supernatural Time-Traveling Romance with Sci-fi and Metaphysics Read online

  Isabelle curtsies and pulls at the bottom of her corset, which is still slightly uncomfortable. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

  “Now, I welcome you into my palace. I will give an order for you to be set up with a room of your own.”

  ~

  I can’t believe it, thinks Isabelle and she travels back to Jean-Pierre’s house for the last time. I can’t believe how well my plan has worked out, thanks to my wonderful friends! Oh, I shall miss dear Lucie… but I am certain we can still keep in touch even when I am a lady of the Court.

  Despite this resolution, it is a tearful farewell as Isabelle’s things are loaded into Jean-Pierre’s carriage a few days later.

  “Thank you, my friend,” says Isabelle, her arms wrapped tightly around Lucie. “Thank you for everything.”

  “It’s been wonderful having you here,” says Lucie through her tears. “I have loved every minute of it. Don’t be a stranger!”

  “I won’t, Lucie. I promise.”

  Jean-Pierre opens the carriage door to help Isabelle inside and, for a moment, she glimpses a sad, somewhat lost look on his face, but when she looks again, he is smiling at her kindly.

  “Take care, young Isabelle,” he says, leaning in to kiss her on the cheek.

  “You too,” she replies, meaning to say more, but finding herself too overwhelmed with sadness for him. Despite his faults, she could never have gotten so far and she knows that he is heart-broken to see her leave. But Lucie has promised to take care of him and no doubt she will help him find a replacement mistress.

  Jean-Pierre bangs on the side of the carriage and the driver spurs on the horses. As she looks back at the house Isabelle says goodbye to her former life. Then she sits back in the seat, heading to a new life in the King’s court.

  ~

  “Mademoiselle, your voice grows more glorious with each passing day!” says Giuseppe du Luca, clapping his hands in delight. He is reputedly one of the finest singing teachers in Europe and he has been teaching Isabelle for the last two months.

  Her singing lessons are just one part of her hectic life in court, which turns out to be far busier than she expected. Every day is filled with non-stop routine and the various official procedures of the palace. In addition to these and the daily singing lessons, rehearsals and concerts, she manages to steal a little time here and there to see Albert. Remembering Lucie’s golden rule not to spoil men, however, Isabelle maintains a certain distance between herself and her lover, insisting on meeting him no more than once a week. And Albert is not her only lover. In her time at Saint-Germain-en-Laye, His Majesty the King has already made two visits to her bedchamber. These are not at all arduous, though, as the love-making does not last long and Louis does not hang around afterwards nor waste much time on foreplay. He does, however, always offer her a curt bow before leaving her room and Isabelle is well aware that she is not the only woman in the palace seeking the King’s affections.

  All the same, she thought as Louis closed the door behind him after his first visit. It’s still like being caught in some kind of dream. I can’t really believe that I just made love to His Majesty the King of France! Her heart quickened at the thought and, in her excitement, she took a long time, that night, to get to sleep.

  A few times, she has spied her friend Babette, but even on those occasions where they manage to exchange a few words, there has been no time to tell her just how grateful she is that Babette gave her this golden opportunity. Life is just too busy!

  ~

  “Tell me,” Giuseppe continues, looking thoughtful. “Have you ever considered performing in one of the King’s operas?”

  Isabelle raises her perfect eyebrows in surprise. “Opera? No, I didn’t think I was opera material.”

  “Pah! But you are the ideal material, mademoiselle. Ideal! You are a natural.”

  “Really?” She looks unconvinced. “Do you mean that?”

  “Do I mean it?” Giuseppe raises a hand to his face as if she has slapped him. “Do I mean it? I never meant anything so much in all my days!”

  “Louis… I mean, His Majesty loves opera, doesn’t he?”

  “Yes, yes, yes!” says Giuseppe, waving his arms expansively. “Oh, the opera is one of the King’s greatest passions!”

  “And you think I could get a part in one?”

  “I do not think it, mademoiselle… I know it!” He claps his hands to show that the matter is decided. “Very good! I will speak Jean-Baptiste Lully today and make the necessary arrangements.”

  Sure enough, Giuseppe manages to secure her a small part in Lully’s latest opera, Atys, that is to be performed on the King’s birthday, and he works hard with her to ensure that she is ready. Outside of her singing lessons, Isabelle spends any free time she has finding out everything she can about the opera, the scenery and set designs, the costumes and the props, the orchestra and the music. During rehearsals, when she is not required on the stage, she sits in the wings, listening to the other parts, studying them, learning them, until she knows each one word-for-word and note-for-note. She delights in every aspect of the opera and she feels like she is a part of something grand, something great, something truly significant. As the date of the premier draws closer, Isabelle enjoys standing on the stage long after everyone else has left, imagining the auditorium filled with people, the King seated in pride of place, all listening to her sing in awed fascination. She pictures their delight, their applause, their adoration, and feels the excitement welling up inside her.

  ~

  But two days before the performance, something terribly unexpected happens. The prima donna falls sick. At first it is thought she has only caught a cold, but it soon becomes clear that she has angina with an inflamed and swollen throat. She will not be able to perform any singing in the coming opera.

  Although the opening performance is still two nights away, many guests have already arrived at the palace. Then His Majesty the King and his entourage show up in auditorium.

  “What the devil’s going on, Jean-Baptiste?” the King calls to Lully and he hurries over, trepidation written all over his face.

  “It’s Fleurette, Your Majesty, the prima donna,” Lully explains, bowing so low his wig slips down over his eyes. He stands and shoves it back into place.

  The King narrows his eyes. “What about Fleurette?”

  “She is ill, highness. She will not be able to perform the part of Cybele.” He shrinks back and continues in a frightened whisper. “And I have no understudy for her.”

  “What!” Immediately, Louis flies into a rage, kicking over chairs and knocking Lully’s wig clean off. “How can you have let this happen, you fool!” Behind him, the courtiers chatter in alarm, buzzing like an angry beehive.

  “Your Majesty?” The words are spoken in such a calm, gentle voice that it cuts through the buzzing and rage and everyone turns in silence to face the speaker. It is Isabelle. “Your Majesty,” she repeats, “I know the part of Cybele perfectly. If it pleases Your Majesty, I can stand in for Fleurette.” Isabelle makes a low curtsey in front of the King. His Majesty stares at her for a long moment, clearly considering the offer. “Very well,” says the King and turns to Lully. “I have heard Isabelle sing a number of times and Giuseppe de Luca has nothing but praise for her. Besides, we have no other option. You will give her the prima donna role and ensure that she fills it well. I hold you responsible.” He jabs a finger at Lully before turning on his heel and stalking away, followed by his train of courtiers.

  So, a mere thirty minutes later, Isabelle finds herself in the leading role for the dress rehearsal. And after hours of practice with both Giuseppe and Lully, and a little alteration to Fleurette’s costume, Isabelle sings for the King and hundreds of his guests at the opening performance of the opera.

  It is a tragic love story in which Isabelle plays the prima donna role of the goddess, Cybele, and her love for Atys. Her performance is exquisite, full of drama, desire and vengeance and, as she sings, she looks out at the aud
ience. They are paying rapt attention. His Majesty is seated in front. The King is known for his unmoved expression at such times, but as she catches his eye, the faintest of smiles curls the edges of his mouth. His Majesty is pleased! And so he should be. The music, the scenery and the elaborate costumes all work together perfectly. Whatever Isabelle imagined, while standing alone on the stage, it was as nothing compared to the reception at the end of the show. The applause is deafening, and across the auditorium people jump to their feet calling her name and throwing flowers. Even His Majesty the King stands and offers her a bow. As she gazes out at them, a glamorous smile on her face, she feels once again as though she is in a dream, as though she might wake at any moment and find herself still in dirty rags, lying in the stinking slums by the river.

  As the sound of the crowd’s adulation dies away behind her she heads to the private dressing room to change for the evening’s celebrations. Waving away her maids, she slips herself out of the dress and is beginning to unlace her corset when the door opens. She spins round to see the King pulling the door closed behind him.

  “Well, mademoiselle,” the King says, walking up to her and pulling her body tight against his own. “What a performance! I hope for many more operas to be graced with your beautiful voice. Simply magnificent!”

  She looks down, flattered by this praise. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

  “Call me Louis,” the King whispers into her ear, one hand groping her hip and the other exposing her breasts.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Champagne, my dear?” says Louis, as they lay together naked on the chaise longue. Isabelle’s chest is still heaving from their love-making, a far more passionate affair than the previous times she has been with the King. Reaching towards the bottle he placed on her dressing table, Louis fills two goblets. “I have something for you, Isabelle,” he says, as they drink their champagne, and he rummages through the clothes that have been discarded across the dressing room floor. Eventually he finds what he is looking for and hands her a small wooden box, intricately carved and inlaid with ivory. “Here,” he says, “This is for you, my dear.”

  Isabelle takes it, opening it in breathless anticipation. “Your Majesty!” she says as she stares at its contents. “It’s beautiful!”

  Louis reaches over and lifts out the gift, a white gold pendant with a crystal clear, velvety blue sapphire set within a circle of diamonds.

  Such exquisite work, she thinks, having taken the opportunity to study some of the fine jewelry the palace has on display. And what a gemstone! The pendant is suspended on a blue silk ribbon and His Majesty ties it gently around Isabelle’s neck, the jewels sparkling in her cleavage.

  “It’s a locket,” he says, and gestures for Isabelle to open it. Carefully, her fingers shaking slightly both from the love-making and her excitement, she pries open the delicate gold clasp to reveal a miniature portrait of the King wearing a long, black wig and a white jabot blossoming from the neck of a red waistcoat.

  “Thank you, Louis,” she says, somewhat stunned by the gift, but still making sure to smile at the King. “You are too kind.”

  He smiles back. “It matches your eyes perfectly, Isabelle.”

  What a wonderful present, she thinks. And it’s not just the present. This is more than just a beautiful locket. It’s a totally new status in the King’s court. A status which any woman in France would kill for!

  ~

  Though this is by far the most thrilling gift Isabelle receives that evening, and she is very excited by the new favor bestowed on her by Louis, it is by no means the only thing she receives. No sooner has the King left and she’s put on a new dress than palace servants begin to queue up at her dressing room door with baskets of flowers, perfumed letters and even a pair of star-shaped silver earrings. Sitting at her dressing table more out of curiosity than looking for something special, she opens a couple of the letters to read. As she expects, they are from gentlemen admirers praising her performance and making requests for assignations that are little more than thinly-veiled invitations to their beds.

  A year or so ago, this would have been a dream, she thinks, sighing and laying the rest of the letters to one side, unopened. But now I have the favor of the King and a wonderful lover in Albert. These other admirers simply don’t interest me.

  A knock at the door makes her jump and she calls out, “Not more flowers, surely?!”

  “No flowers, I’m afraid,” says Babette, opening the door with a smile. “But you’d certainly deserve them if I did. What a show! You were wonderful, my dear.”

  Isabelle gets up and embraces her friend. “Thank you, Babette.”

  “The King certainly seemed fascinated by your performance this evening.”

  “That wasn’t the only performance he enjoyed,” she says with a sly wink. “He came to visit me in here afterwards.”

  “Did he now?”

  “Yes, he did and he gave me this.” She lifts the locket that is still hanging from her neck and flicks it open. Babette leans close to examine the portrait.

  “Impressive!” she says, though her smile seems oddly frozen. “A personal picture of His Majesty himself. You truly are favored, my dear. Which reminds me why I came to see you.”

  “What is it?” Isabelle asks, frowning slightly.

  “Only that you are invited to sit at the King’s table for tonight’s Grand Feast. Of course, it’s no surprise after your performance. Or should I say, after your performances!” She raises her eyebrows in mock disapproval, but behind the playfulness, Isabelle notices her friend is not looking at her as she usually does. There is something slightly off in her manner. “Come on. I’ll help you get ready.”

  ~

  As Isabelle enters the palace’s great hall, adorned in an elegant dress by another of the most innovative designers in Paris, decorated with white swan feathers contrasted with the best black pearls available, the size of the room takes her breath away. How does such a place exist, she wonders, gazing at the chandeliers and ceiling with its intricate paintings. I’ve never seen, or even imagined so vast a room. And where should I go? She looks up and down the hall, which has been filled with tables around which hundreds of people stand and chatter with one another.

  “You’re over there,” says Babette, nudging Isabelle and pointing towards a raised dais at the far end of the hall where a long table has been set up. “I’ll come with you.”

  Together they walk up the hall and as she passes each table, the heads of many of the men turn to watch her with admiration. This pleases Isabelle, though she also is aware of many women watching her, whispering to each other with the expressions of envy and dislike. They arrive at the King’s table at the same moment that the King and his entourage enter the room. A courtier sounds a fanfare, signaling everyone to attention.

  “You may be seated, my lady,” a servant whispers in Isabelle’s ear. “At the request of His Majesty, King of France.”

  “Thank you,” says Isabelle, sitting down in one of the few chairs as requested. This breach of court etiquette raises a few eyebrows from those with the King and they begin to point and gossip. Babette makes her way to her own table, pausing to share a few words with the queen’s lady-in-waiting, a young woman whom Isabelle has met only once before. As Louis takes his seat, only a few spaces apart from her, he claps his hands for the Grand Feast to begin.

  The table is beautifully laid out with an emphasis on gold—gold platters, gold cutlery, gold goblets and gold candelabra. Even the tablecloth and napkins are made from gold thread. As before, there are almost as many servants as there are guests, and all around the room there is a steady stream of food and drink to each table. To start with there is light soup followed by roast meats of all kinds accompanied with perfectly cooked vegetables and delicious-looking salads, and red, white and rosé wines from the best vineyards across France. Although Isabelle is not especially hungry, she eats everything she is given all the same, but in very petite portions, a trick she l
earned from being invited to many dinners. For dessert Isabelle is given ice cream, a rare delicacy she has only ever heard about but never actually seen, let alone tasted. As she takes a first spoonful she is stunned by its texture, sweetness and mouth-numbing chill. Her delight is marred, however, as she catches the eye of the queen’s lady-in-waiting, who is glaring at her with undisguised dislike.

  Oh no! Isabelle thinks, immediately guessing the reason for the women’s disfavor. No! Babette told her about the present, the King’s portrait. Isabelle tries to smile at the lady-in-waiting, but the woman’s lip curls into a snarl and she turns away. This is not a good sign! Isabelle finds herself disturbed by this brief encounter and hardly touches the dessert wine, fruits and cheeses that end the feast.

  When the meal is over, the King and his guests make their way out of the palace and gather in the gardens, which, although they are still under construction, are breathtaking all the same, lit with huge torches from the palace all the way to the Grand Canal. Isabelle finds herself on the edge of the crowd as the fireworks begin, bursting in huge glittering fountains of light that are reflected in the water and light up the gardens in red, white and blue.

  As she stands and stares at this display, she senses someone walking up behind her.

  “Mademoiselle,” says a deep voice, and Isabelle turns to see a man standing close to her, his face shadowed by his large, black hat. He bows to her. “May I expresses my great admiration for you. Your performance was a delight, the best I have seen and, of course, heard.”

  Holding out a hand for him to kiss, she asks. “And who might you be, milord?”

  “I am Duke Henri Bernard de Mondo,” he says, taking her proffered hand and kissing it gently. As he does, Isabelle catches sight of his snow-white lace cuffs and the elegant fingers with their two beautiful rings, and she knows immediately that she has seen him before.