Jourdain and Moberly were approaching the seated man who, as Jane had pointed out, wore an all-muffling long cloak very similar to their own, except that his was dark red in colour.
Ellis slowed. ‘Stay alert.’
‘Lockland’s right,’ said North, from the rear. ‘He should be wearing a hat – not a cloak. There’s no record of him ever wearing a cloak before.’
Hearing their voices, the man looked up.
Jane, whose research had led her to believe the Comte de Vaudreuil was, in fact, an ugly, middle-aged man, was very surprised to find herself looking at a youth, barely out of his teens. Watery hazel eyes peered out of a long, pale face. His forehead was beaded with sweat. Another one affected by the time-slip.
Matthew blinked. ‘Who is he?’
Luke automatically groped in his pocket.
‘Your scratchpad won’t work in a time-slip,’ said Jane. ‘Remember?’
‘Nothing not from this period will work,’ said Ellis. ‘That was the whole point of the historical briefing.’
‘And because history is important,’ said Matthew.
Everyone politely ignored this plainly inaccurate statement.
Luke patted his shoulder. ‘It’s your upbringing,’ he said. ‘You can’t help yourself. Just breathe deeply and this embarrassing moment will pass.’
‘Pay attention,’ said Ellis, sharply. ‘This isn’t a game.’
Jane had dragged out her notebook. ‘I can tell you who it’s not,’ she said, flicking through the pages. ‘It’s not the Comte de Vaudreuil. He’s older, dark-skinned and with a badly scarred face.’
Ellis nodded. ‘Then I think we need a word with this person, don’t you?’
As if he had overheard them, the young man got slowly to his feet, staring at them in alarm.
‘This isn’t right,’ said Luke, suddenly uneasy. ‘Something’s gone horribly wrong.’
‘He’s the anomaly,’ said North, suddenly. ‘He’s the one causing the instability. He shouldn’t be here.’
Jane stood, momentarily petrified. There was someone else here in the time-slip who shouldn’t be. Ellis had been very clear. The time-slip must proceed exactly as normal. No – wrong word. Usual. Things must proceed as usual. The slightest deviation could cause instability and shut it down. Leaving them inside. Or the other end could wander. The technical people had mentioned it was unstable. It could dump them anywhere. And they had no pod. They’d be trapped there. Forever.
‘Oh, for God’s sake,’ said Bolshy Jane, exasperated. ‘You don’t get any better, do you? You’re a very nearly qualified Time Police officer. You’ve got Ellis with you and he’s the best there is. As is North. You couldn’t be in better hands. Just calm down and try to contribute something positive.’
Yes, thought Jane. Thanks.
‘You’re welcome. Now get on with it.’
‘Stay calm, everyone,’ said Ellis. ‘We have a teeny-tiny situation here. Move forwards slowly and stay alert.’
The young man, seemingly completely unperturbed by the Englishwomen nearby, had taken one glance at the Time Police, realised exactly how much trouble he was looking at, and stared wildly about him as if unsure what to do next.
‘He knows who we are,’ whispered North.
‘Gun,’ said Luke, suddenly, catching sight of a weapon. Instinctively he reached for his useless sonic. ‘Some sort of flintlock, I think. Long-barrelled. Beneath his cloak. If it’s contemporary – it will work.’
Barely had he spoken than the cloaked figure began, slowly, to edge away. That he wasn’t an experienced assassin was apparent as he struggled to extricate the long barrel from the clinging folds of his cloak.
Ellis pushed back his own cloak. ‘Parrish – you stay with Moberly and Jourdain. Keep them on track. North and Lockland – find Marie Antoinette. Protect the queen at all costs. Farrell – with me. After him.’
North took off through the trees with Jane close behind. There was a picturesquely winding path which made progress easier. North, with her conscientiously completed hours in the gym, ran like the wind. Jane, less conscientious but equally keen, was not that far behind. Her cloak hampered her movements, but she dared not shrug it off and leave it. This was a time-slip – the smallest anomaly could derail the whole thing, which was why it was so important to ensure nothing happened to Marie Antoinette.
Being the meticulously cared-for property of the French crown, this wasn’t a real wood. Designer trees stood prettily grouped. There was no untidy undergrowth. No unsightly scrub. And no queen, either.
Jane panted along in North’s wake. The air was hot and strangely oppressive. All sounds seemed muffled and distant. She couldn’t even hear the sound of her own footfalls. There were no woodland noises – no birdsong. Whether the lack of wildlife was due to the excessive tidy nature of their surroundings or the time-slip itself, she had no way of knowing.
Ahead of her, North halted. Jane crept to her side. They stood at the edge of the wood, peering out over an impossibly pretty landscape. About fifty feet away, on the other side of the stream, a woman in a pale blue gown sat among a pile of matching cushions underneath a willow tree. She seemed to be sketching a late flower, concentrating hard on her task. There was no one else around. Was this her? How likely was a queen to be without servants? Surely someone would be within call in case she needed her nose scratched or something.
Jane counted herself lucky to have once caught a glimpse of Julius Caesar. And lately Charles II, of course, the Merry Monarch himself. Many Time Police officers went through their entire service without seeing even a semi-famous historical personage. Now, she was pretty sure she was looking at Marie Antoinette. The woman who, when told the people of Paris had no bread, probably didn’t say, ‘Let them eat cake.’
The queen’s face was shaded by a very pretty Bergère hat. Her full-skirted pale blue polonaise gown billowed around her while, either by accident or design, her white fichu drew attention to the shape of her breasts rather than concealing them. A royal shepherdess dressed in finest silks and lace. Which would account for another small flock of beautifully presented, carefully coiffured, snowy white sheep with the usual matching blue ribbons around their necks grazing tidily nearby.
She was not as beautiful as Jane had been led to believe. Nothing could disguise the typical Habsburg face – big-chinned and with heavily-lidded eyes and full lips. She had pale skin, carefully shaded by her wide hat, and light eyes. Long curls of reddish blonde fell to her shoulders.
Abruptly – whether she was bored, or whether she had suddenly lost concentration was not clear – she sighed, tossed her drawing materials to one side and stood up, shaking out her petticoats. Her blue overskirt was looped up in the manner of peasant girls – presumably to protect it while she worked. Had she ever actually done any work? – and the colour was exactly the same as the ribbons around the sheep’s necks. Matching sheep and shepherdess. Jane could just imagine how that went down with real shepherdesses. And real sheep, come to that. She knew she shouldn’t let her mind wander, but she couldn’t help wondering: if the queen had chosen another gown – yellow, perhaps, or rose – would they change the ribbons on the sheep or bring in a whole new flock? A yellow flock for a yellow dress. Was there a man employed to ascertain the colour of the queen’s gown and proceed accordingly? ‘OK, guys, bring out the blue flock today.’