Francis had been informed that there was to be a passenger on their mission, which of course he had been against for the notion of someone tagging along on what he knew to be a dangerous voyage with so much that could go wrong. He had been reluctant when Sir John said they would be assigned to his ship, Terror and he had been astounded when he found out it would be a woman passenger. He thought it some cruel joke, mocking him for the rejection of Sir John’s niece.
Still he had greeted her politely as they set sail and shown her to his own quarters for tea as he tried to ascertain why on earth she had asked to join them on such a voyage. “Ms
Kimbleton, I worry that Sir John was not inherently clear to you on the nature of this expedition.” He began softly, his thick Irish accent rare amongst those of his own rank, but he did not allow much thought on it as he stirred his tea. “You understand that we are the discovery service and that we will be looking for the Northwest passage? On the other side of the Atlantic… we’ll be in the Arctic circle.” He clarified perhaps patronisingly but he felt he had to tell her what it was she was getting into, even as they left the port.
There were plenty of ships departing England that fateful morning, yet out of all those she tried boarding serendipitously on such short notice, it was only Sir Franklin who was surprisingly accommodating. Permission aboard two formidable exploration vessels commanded by the Royal Navy worked perfectly in her favor. In an almost too good to be true sort of way. However, it was only in this conversation with the Captain of the HMS Terror that both the necessary details – and the reality of just what she was getting herself into – was made clear to Priscilla.
Thoughtfully she gazed into her teacup, but she soon resolutely returned a cordial smile to the gentleman in front of her. “I understand, Captain Crozier.” she replied calmly in a blanket statement to harness her wandering thoughts. Taking a sip of tea, she continued “If I may be of any service, please let me know, as I do not wish to be in any way burdensome. You see, long overseas journeys are not foreign to me, as I myself am an explorer and natural historian. As was my Uncle before me.” There did seem to be a twinkle of adventure in her eyes, or was it that which was hiding secrets?
After another sip, she enquired curiously, “Just how far into the Arctic do you plan to sail?”
“Is that so.” The inspector’s reply drawled from him infused with what could charitably be called skepticism— but charity wasn’t an indulgence of his. A blunter assessment would recognize the feeling for what it was: disdain, for a double offender. She had lied and now he was certain of it, because he had proof of the crime that would bring her into the dock. Or would soon. The object in question wasn’t unique. She might have found it elsewhere. “Where did you get it then? The mirror, not the heart. Mine is safely locked away— some even doubt I have one.”
This little speech hinted it was less true subconsciously than he’d like.
“A gift from my late husband.” She replied nonchalantly, to this day straining to have to mention the man in question was deceased. Yet oddly, there was some reprieve in it now. “He purchased it at a private auction in Vienna, an original, dating to the 17th century.”
She stared into the reflection at both their faces searchingly. “If it didn’t hold the sentiment I’d donate it to a museum.” Her gaze lingered before she grinned cleverly and turned away.
“Is that so, Monsieur Inspector~? To be honest, I commend you. It is a greater shame for those ‘some’ to make such a bleak assumption about you on face value. After all, do we not mine for gold and precious ores?” She glanced back at him over her shoulder before her hand stealthily held a small framed daguerreotype photograph of her and her late husband’s portrait and turned it face-down on the console table. “— As for me, I’m not sure where mine is. Buried? Misplaced? – Perhaps it is why I wish others could lend me their hearts.”
Shaking her head and the fleeting thoughts, she turned back to him pleasantly “Could I interest you in some tea or coffee, Monsieur?”
She had arrived in Paris on extended holiday. Scotland Yard had gotten too close to comfort, so she had to, in a word, disappear for a while.
But this, she knew, was only the beginning. Great planning leads to good execution, so she had to ensure that she was always one step ahead of those pesky detectives. Just the thought of it – the new undiscovered challenges that awaited her in this brilliant city was titillating.
Let the games begin.
The private carriage strolled up to the Police Station. It’s adorned coachman stepping down to open the door and aid its passenger into the building. In opulently embroidered maroon velvet she made her presence known. All eyes were upon her. Clearly, from one glance at the luxurious golden-haired beauty, she was of more than modest wealth – nay, with that magisterial air she must be an aristocrat!
“It is with great urgency that I speak with the Inspector!”
She exclaimed. For an English woman, her French was impeccable. In anguish, she repeatedly patted her gloved hand to her bare clavicle – the place a necklace would be. Choking back sobs, she rushed over to the man in question: Javert.
“Oh, Monsieur Inspector! Please, I beg of you to help me! Someone’s broken into my apartment and stolen my jewels!”
Thus far it had been just another day for Inspector Javert of the Paris police. Nothing about the stirrings of this suggested different. The city was full of foreign visitors. Naturally a certain percentage of them would experience something that came under the prefecture’s purview. Just the threat of tears did not endear him, however. They only distracted from her, and therefore soon to be his purpose.
“Details, madame,” he broke in cooly. “Start from the beginning.”
Taking a heavy sigh, she tried composing herself. “I had been out and about for the day. Sight-seeing. Lunch with acquaintances. A visit to the art gallery. A lovely matinee performance. And then. No less than an hour ago – I find to my horror! The absolute horror! That my boudoir dressing table had been spoiled! The devastation!”
After recounting her tale, the woman took a seat, opened her purse and removed a folded handkerchief. Unfolding it, she pulled out a snagged, tattered cloth and handed it to Javert with the edge of her fingertips. “I found this on the floor near my dresser. Clearly – it’s not mine.”
People with red soul colors are usually cheerful and active. They are optimistic and turn negative situations into a positive one. They are dreamers and visionaries, ready to aim high and achieve great things.
One thing this color is never short of is attention. Whether they’re actively seeking it out or getting it unknowingly, this color basks in the positive praise of others. Their charismatic and high energy personality draws people to them.
Often competitive, this color is always trying to outdo themselves. Perfection is a never ending goal, and they will constantly feel like they’re never doing enough. They’re always looking for new and exciting, often overlooking things that are a constant in their life and taking them for granted.
One thing that’s notable about this color is their explosive temper. Because they feel so deeply in what they do, they will often lash out when feeling threatened. They have a knack for saying things they don’t necessarily mean. However, it’s often short lived, as is their attention, and they will most likely forget about what angered them in the first place.