Jacqueline de Belleville Pt. 06

Part 6 -- Jacqueline's Fate

Chapter 16: Paris

The next morning A'isha joins us as usual, but she surprises me by not asking for another story from my previous adventures. She seems strangely subdued after reading the story I wrote yesterday. Apparently my five years spent as one of Inspecteur Georges Lebranleur's Parisian mistresses doesn't interest A'isha or her brother. I can guess why, given what she told me about Georges' father, Louis Lebranleur, and his unsavoury association with both A'isha and Hassan. Besides, my time in Paris isn't a particularly interesting tale unless you like stories with plenty of fucking in one of the most romantic cities in the world. Oh! You do? Well, when I've finished whatever task A'isha wants me to perform I'll tell you the highlights.

"Follow me, Zakiyah," commands A'isha, addressing me by the false name given to me on arrival here to disguise my real identity. She promptly hands me a djellaba to wear. We are obviously going outside of the harem.

This is the first time I've been outside of the harem since I and the other 31 captive women arrived at Wadi Halaf. A'isha takes me into the building where her brother, Hassan, supposedly conducts business. I've only previously caught glimpses of Hassan and I've never spoken to him directly. I follow A'isha's example and remove my shoes as we enter. She leads me along a wide corridor until we reach a large room where five men are sat on large cushions in a semi-circle. I recognise the man in the centre as Hassan and the man next to him might be the man who came aboard the Humphrey when we arrived in Salé. Unsurprisingly, the others are strangers to me.

"Brother. Uncle. Cousins. Greetings," says A'isha to each man in turn. She receives a nod from each man in response.

Her greeting confirms my suspicion that the older man sat to the left of Hassan is his uncle Rashid who purchased the thirty-two "Dickey-Wickey girls" from the wretched Captain Dickey and Doctor Nathaniel Wickliffe. We aren't invited to sit down and the pair of us are left standing facing Hassan.

"This is Jacqueline de Belleville," says Hassan to the other men before turning to me. I notice he doesn't bother using my false name. "Tell me Jacqueline, what do you know of an English admiral called Lord Exmouth?"

"Umm, His given name is Edward Pellew. He was one of England's best navy captains during the recent wars against Napoleon Bonaparte," I reply. "More recently he was promoted to admiral and elevated to the peerage for services to King George's navy. Last year he commanded the English fleet which destroyed the fortifications at Algiers and freed numerous European slaves."

"Is it true that his successful attack on Algiers was, in part, due to intelligence gained by an English spy in Paris?" asks one of Hassan's cousins. "And is it true that you were that spy?"

"What makes you say that?" I ask, sensing a trap. "I lived in Paris for six years until recently, but only as the mistress of a government official."

"Hmm. Yes. One of Inspecteur Georges Lebranleur's numerous mistresses, if I'm not mistaken," continues the cousin. "The same Georges Lebranleur whose father Louis was the French ambassador to the Algerian court at the time."

"I'm not going to admit to anything," I reply defensively.

"Ah! Don't be concerned, Jacqueline," says Hassan. "We aren't trying to trap you into a confession. It's just that both Lord Exmouth and Louis Lebranleur will be guests at the upcoming festivities where you and your friends will be providing entertainment. We wanted to establish whether your inclusion in the entertainment is going to cause a problem."

"Not for me it won't. But I think you should be more concerned about the potential problem of having Edward Pellew and Louis Lebranleur within arms reach of each other," I reply, accepting Hassan's reassurance for the time being. "The English attack on Algiers probably wrecked Louis Lebranleur's profitable trade in European slaves."

Although the treaty ending the American war against the Barbary States some years earlier had officially banned all trade in European slaves, in reality it did little more than make it less public. The very presence of thirty two captive European women in this fortress only proves that the trade still exists. City states such as Algiers had openly flouted the treaty. Only once the war against Napoleon was finally won, and English navy no longer relied on Algiers for supplies, did the English take any action to bring the rogue state into line.

The men talk among themselves for a few minutes. They switch from English to Arabic, so I can only understand one or two words. A short while later, I'm escorted back to the harem and put to work doing a stack of laundry with Dorothy and Abigail. At least I'm not sent to the larger laundry across the compound where I suspect many of the other captives are working in sweltering heat.

We've quickly learned that washing the variety of bedding and clothing in the cramped harem laundry is a task best done while naked. It's far easier to get into the cistern with the laundry and work from within than lean over the cistern sides and try to scrub from there. A few weeks ago Dorothy and Abigail would probably have baulked at doing so much as showing a bare ankle in the company of someone else. But trying to do the laundry while clothed in only asking for soggy clothes. We aren't allocated much in the way of spare clothing, so if your clothes get wet and uncomfortable, then tough luck.

"So A'isha has decided you've written enough about your life," comments Dorothy when she sees I'm about to join them.

"Apparently so," I reply. "She and Hassan don't seem bothered about my time in Paris."

"Paris... oooh... I hear it's a beautiful city," says Abigail. "My grandmother spent some time there before the revolution. Now Bonaparte has been overthrown, I had hoped I would get to see it."

"It's worth a visit," I reply. "When you get released you'll surely get the opportunity."

As the daughters of English aristocracy, both Dorothy and Abigail can expect their ransoms to be paid before too long. Not so for me. Nobody is going to pay a bent farthing for my release. Well, apart from the English admiralty who have posted a reward for my capture so I can stand trial in England. But their reward isn't enough to tempt Hassan to sell me to them. At least, not yet.

"So tell us how you got to Paris in the middle of a war, and what you did there," says Dorothy. "And we want all the juicy bits as well."

"Well remember that my father was French and that I can speak French fluently," I begin. "Consequently, I had no difficulty in passing for a French citizen. In 1810 I travelled from the south of France to Paris using the time honoured system of a ride-for-a-ride."

"What system is that?" asks Abigail with all the innocence of the truly naive.

"She paid for her journey by allowing the coachmen to fuck her," sighs Dorothy, who is clearly far more worldly than Abigail, despite their similar age and upbringing.

"I had previously met a man called Georges Lebranleur in my travels," I continue. "He had invited me to visit him if I was in Paris and I did so. He was a man with quite exotic tastes in sexual games, and I impressed him by being able to convincingly take on the role of anything from a submissive harem slave to a domineering lusty pirate. In the end I think the exertions wore the poor man out. He died a few weeks ago. Which is when I decided to leave France... and ended up here."

"So you lived with this man for six years?" says Abigail.

"Not exactly live with him," I reply. "At least not all the time. Georges had at least six mistresses at any one time and he used to flit from one to the other like a butterfly. He paid for my own small apartment in the centre of Paris and I worked as an artist's model whenever Georges was otherwise occupied. I painted a few pictures myself and I even managed to sell one or two. It was an arrangement which suited me fine. I had a safe place to live and I was able to use Georges' government position to deflect any interests in my real identity. While both the French and Spanish governments wanted to execute me for piracy, they weren't as persistent in achieving my demise as the English."

"You have had a far more interesting life than I'm every likely to experience," sighs Abigail in a way only the filthy rich can view the life of the poor.

"So what's the most daring thing you did in Paris?" asks Dorothy, showing an unladylike interest in my sexual escapades.

"Hmmm. Well Georges could get quite inventive and he never passed on the opportunity to fuck me whenever we were together. I suppose the most daring time was when I became involved with a man called Emile."

I can see that I've got both Dorothy's and Abigail's full attention, so I launch into my story.

"Georges collected taxes for the Napoleon Bonaparte's Revenue Department. He would sometimes enlist my help when he needed to investigate someone for tax avoidance. The man he was interested in was a wealthy merchant called Pierre DuLac. He was craftier than most, and for years he paid no more than a nominal amount of tax. But none of the tax inspectors had been able to find out how he managed to get away with his scam. Georges wanted to have someone watch DuLac's warehouse, but its location meant that it was impossible to do so without being seen. He suggested that I dress as a prostitute and ply my trade near the warehouse while keeping an eye on activity. I wasn't keen on doing that and I pointed out several flaws in his plan. But he seems wedded to the idea. In desperation, I offered to see if I could come up with a better alternative.

"Using what little information Georges could provide, I discovered an old map showing that there was a secret tunnel linking the warehouse to the river. Finding the tunnel entrance by the river was tricky, but once I knew where it was it soon became obvious that this was the route used to smuggle goods into and out of the warehouse.

"Once Georges knew about the tunnel it was only a matter of time before Pierre DuLac was arrested and presented with a huge tax bill and fine. Which surprisingly he paid without any difficulty and he was promptly released from prison. Georges lost interest in Pierre after that, but something about Pierre attracted my attention. With Georges moving on to another of his mistresses, I had some time on my hand.

"I should perhaps mention at this point that Pierre was the sort of man who makes many women go weak at the knees. Of course I'm not so feeble minded as to swoon at the sight of an attractive man, but he was certainly worth checking out. My intuition proved well founded and I was pleased to discover that he was hung like a horse and more than willing to put his cock to good use.

"He wasn't as inventive as Georges in sexual play, but he more than made up for it in his vigour. After a few days he introduced me to his friends Emile and Antoinette, and before long we were engaged in a foursome. We spent several days in our frolics before the demands of work forced us back to reality. It was enormous fun although somewhat exhausting.

"That would have been the end of the story had Emile not slipped up a couple of times and enabled me to spot that his French accent was fake. Indeed I soon discovered that he was an English spy gathering intelligence on Napoleon's activities. Unfortunately for me Emile recognised the tattoo on my pussy from the description on a wanted poster for my capture he had once seen. Consequently he knew my real identity. We had a stand-off with each of us knowing the other was not who they claimed to be, but neither of us in a position to expose the other without endangering our own cover."

"So what happened next?" asks Abigail.

"We reached a compromise," I continue. "I periodically helped Emile by using my connection with Georges to gather information of interest to the English. In exchange, Emile made it know to certain people in England that Jacqueline de Belleville was helping their cause and deserving of a reprieve from the hangman's noose."

"But you are still wanted by the English," observes Dorothy.

"Yes, but supposedly for crimes punishable by deportation to a penal colony for life rather than being hanged," I reply. "But I don't trust the English lords to honour their word, and besides, a life spent as a convict in a penal colony is hardly an attractive alternative."

Samed came to check on our progress a short while later. Fortunately we hadn't slowed in our work while I was telling my story. He hasn't needed to use his cane on any of us since my punishment on our second day, but none of us are under any illusion that he won't do so if required. We finish our work and I go to prepare to join Catherine, Sally, Elena, Ruth, and Julia for our afternoon dancing practise.

Chapter 17: The Festival

My routine for the next couple of days is much the same. In the morning I work with the other captives in the laundry, kitchen or in cleaning the harem. Cleanliness and hygiene are almost an obsession with A'isha. In the afternoon I join Catherine, Sally, Elena, Ruth, and Julia for dancing practise for the upcoming festival. The festival is tomorrow and while I think our dancing has improved dramatically under Fatima's guidance, she always insists that we can do better.

We aren't told much about the festival other than it will last for several days and that the six of us will be entertaining about forty men during the evening of the first day. Samed and Mustafa will be escorting us to the venue, which we gather will be in Salé itself. I can't be the only one who is having mixed feelings about doing this, but we aren't being given any alternative options. Even A'isha is nervous, and she'll be staying at Wadi Halaf until later in the festival. I can't help feeling this festival is going to be like walking into a room full of gunpowder carrying a naked flame.

The day of the festival arrives. The six of us are excused work duty in the morning and given the opportunity to do one final practise. The afternoon is spent in the baths scrubbing ourselves clean and allowing ourselves to be perfumed and decorated with jewels. The value of each dancer's jewels probably exceeds the ransom demanded for her release, and I admit I am contemplating making a piece or two quietly disappear later.

Transport to the venue is by covered wagon. We are carefully positioned in the wagon to prevent our costumes becoming ruffled. It's not particularly comfortable, but I've endured worse. The whole effect is somewhat spoilt when Samed locks a coffle chain to each of our left ankles. I wasn't planning on trying to escape tonight, since such a move would be ridiculously stupid while dressed in this costume. I'm more offended by the insult to my intelligence than the physical restriction. But none of us have any say in the matter.

The journey takes about half an hour by which time evening is approaching. The wagon cover is pulled back to reveal that we are inside a walled courtyard of an opulent mansion. Needless to say, we have no idea where we are. We are ordered to disembark still wearing the coffle chain and Samed leads us into a nearby building. Mustafa is following behind and both men seem more than usually alert for trouble. We pass several people in the corridors, but none of them speak to us. Only once we are inside a windowless room and a grille door locked behind us does Samed remove the coffle chain.

"Keep together at all times, and return here if there is any trouble," says Samed. "Trust nobody you don't know. If for any reason you find yourself separated from the rest, then stay where you are and say nothing. Mustafa or I will come for you."

If we were feeling nervous before, then Samed's words have done nothing to ease our concerns. Indeed, weaker souls would be terrified at this point. But our captivity has had the unintended side effect of strengthening our unity and resolve. As long as we are together, we will come through this okay. We hope.

The room we are kept in has been prepared for us. There are six rolled up mattresses along one wall and tables with pitchers of water and a few plates of light foods. A small annex is clearly for ablutions. Lighting is provided by a mixture of candles and lanterns. The facilities are basic but adequate for our needs. Samed and Mustafa leave us to ourselves and stand guard in the corridor on the other side of the grille. I don't fail to notice that Samed locks the grille behind him. Whether that's to keep us in, or visitors out, is an open question.

Over the next hour there are several men who come to briefly talk with Samed and Mustafa. After receiving one such visit, Samed tells us that we will be summoned to the main hall in about fifteen minutes and that we should prepare ourselves.

At the appointed time Samed and one of the house servants escort us to the main hall. Mustafa remains behind to guard our room, although quite why that is necessary isn't explained. We hear the sound of music and laughter long before we see the entrance to the main hall. The closer we get to the hall, the more numerous the guards stationed at strategic points become. If anyone was planning an armed assault on the place, then they would need to bring an army. We are admitted to the hall through a side door and discreetly taken to a small annex where we can make our final preparations. A troupe of African male dancers are finishing up their performance and only one or two of the guests even notice our arrival.

In the brief interlude which follows the end of the African dancers' performance, I take a quick look at the audience. There are nearly a hundred people in the room, although only about forty are guests. The remainder are servants, musicians and a few squads of guards trying to look inconspicuous. The guests seem to include military officers, merchants, diplomats and officials of several nations. Although I've never seen Lord Exmouth, I identify him by his uniform and the description of his features I once read. Among the merchants are Hassan and his uncle. I can't see Hassan's cousins or Louis Lebranleur, but I only have time for a quick scan.

At the appointed signal, we gracefully glide into the centre of the performing area. The music starts and we begin the first of the five dances we are to perform. The first dance isn't overly erotic but it is nevertheless greeted with lewd remarks and words of encouragement from the audience. I concentrate on my dancing and ignore the audience for the time being. The first dance ends without any major mistakes on our part, and we are allowed a couple of minutes break. It's only then that I realise that Catherine is in a near panic.

"My father is in the audience," gasps Catherine. "What am I to do?"

"You dance as we practised," I reply, suddenly getting an insight into what this charade is about. "That is, unless you want to feel Samed's cane on the souls of your feet afterwards."

We resume our performance. To give Catherine credit, she overcomes her panic and does precisely as I said. This time I pay more attention to the audience. I don't know which of several well dressed European men is Catherine's father, but I finally spot Louis Lebranleur skulking to one side in the company of the vile Nathaniel Wickliffe. While some of the men look on horrified as we perform increasingly erotic dances, most of the audience simply enjoy the spectacle of near naked young women prancing about for their delight.

The spectacle is over is just under an hour and we are returned to our room. Abal and Jamilah, two of the free women I've seen at Wadi Halaf, are waiting for us. They collect the jewels we are wearing and place them in a box. They carefully check off each item against a list they a carrying, so my plan to pilfer some of the pieces is thwarted. Satisfied all the jewels are accounted for, the two women lock the box and leave us to our thoughts. It's only then that Catherine sheds some tears. I let Elena comfort her while I check that none of the other girls saw relations in the audience.