The Lives and Times of Jean-Claude Le Sieur: John Amherst Series, #1

By Robert M Josephs

Mystery, adventure, romance, and humor combine to tell a story spanning nearly four centuries that seeks to uncover the mystery of Jean-Claude Le Sieur. His twin children Richard and Tabitha wish to escape their life in London and find themselves aboard the Lady Maudelyn, a seventeenth-century cargo ship heading for the American colonies. A mysterious object is discovered along the way causing the passengers and crew to experience unexplained events beyond the bounds of this world. Through twists and turns a story unfolds that uncovers life-changing secrets and explores the world from France to England to the American colonies and the Netherlands, while revealing what leads some men into treachery and others to heroism. Inspiring tales of self-sacrifice and redemption emerge as the lives of one-time strangers become intertwined across time in a way they could never have imagined.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Joe McSparin
• Release date: Sep 14, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223046363

Book preview

Robert M Josephs

The Lives and Times of Jean-Claude Le Sieur

Copyright © 2023 by Robert M Josephs

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

Designations used by companies to distinguish their products are often claimed as trademarks. All brand names and product names used in this book and on its cover are trade names, service marks, trademarks and registered trademarks of their respective owners. The publishers and the book are not associated with any product or vendor mentioned in this book. None of the companies referenced within the book have endorsed the book.

Second edition

This book was professionally typeset on Reedsy

Find out more at reedsy.com

To my beautiful Wife Jenny for patiently supporting yet another one of my many projects, and providing me the encouragement to keep trying.

Contents

I. PART ONE

1. The Fire

2. The Tale of Christine and Jean-Claude

3. The Road to Recovery

4. The Cast Off

5. The Life Aboard a Ship

6. The Kidnapping

7. The Richard Incident

8. The Escape

9. The Fight

10. The New Tribe

11. The Pickpocket Plan

12. The Training

13. The Sharks

II. PART TWO

14. The Particle Discovery

15. The Evil Corporation

16. The Charm Offensive?

17. The Jump

18. The Acceptance

19. The New John

20. The Boston Landing

21. The Road to Madness

III. PART THREE

22. The Birds

23. The Bear

24. The Hunted

25. The Arrival

26. The Rescues

27. The Father Who is But Was Not

28. The Wolves

29. The Reckoning

30. The Redemption

31. The Return Home

IV. PART FOUR

32. The Meeting of Minds

33. The New Ally

34. The Plan

35. The First Offensive

36. The Girl Left Behind

37. The Spy Wars

38. The Einhorn Strikes Back

39. The Return of the Good Guys

40. The Reinforcements

41. The Rescue Part Deux

42. The New Choice

Epilogue

Epilogue 2

Acknowledgments

About the Author

I

Part One

The adventure begins.

1

The Fire

On January 2nd, 1684, in London, England, around the fifth hour of the morning, Richard, who had been sleeping peacefully, was suddenly jolted awake, gasping for air. A dense cloud of smoke filled his room, burning his eyes and throat and choking him as he tried to keep it from filling his lungs. Outside his window, he could hear frantic shouts from below.

Start filling that hopper with water!

I want you men ready to start pumping when I give the signal.

The space around him was absolute darkness, like waking inside a buried coffin. Anxiety flooded over his body in a wave of hot and cold that tingled his arms and legs and turned his stomach. His mind raced, caught between the adrenaline that urged him to scream, to run, and the paralyzing fear that froze him in place. As he desperately fought to compose himself, he remembered his twin sister Tabitha sleeping in the next room. Had she woken up? Had the fire already reached her?

Stumbling and falling out of bed, Richard felt his way across the floor. He remembered the wall leading to the door having wainscoting¹ along the bottom half, so with trembling hands, he groped for the shape of the railing. Following the trim, he made his way to the open door, grabbed the heavy casing surrounding it, and pulled himself into the hallway.

The rough plaster wall between their rooms scuffed his palms, catching his fingertips as he made his way through the thick gray smoke. Moving his hands higher up the wall, he started feeling for the sconce between his room and his sister’s. Time seemed to move slower…he was convinced he should have reached it by now. Doubts began to invade his thoughts. Had he gotten turned around in the smoke? Was he going in the wrong direction? Panic rose once again in his chest until…at last, he felt the smooth polished brass of the lamp as it contrasted with the abrasive textured walls. Not much further, and he would reach the opening.

Tabitha! Richard called. Tabitha! Can you hear me? He pushed open the door. A blast of heat poured out of the room, and his arms instinctively rose to shield his face from the blistering air.

I’m here! Tabitha called back. But I can’t tell where I am! Richard scanned the room but saw only darkness and thick smoke.

Tabitha, I can’t see you! Go to one of the walls and follow it to your door!

Unbeknownst to Richard, Tabitha was not in her room. The night before, in one of his rare appearances in London, their father Jean-Claude had taken them out to dinner in honor of them having recently turned eighteen. When they returned home, Tabitha was tired from the evening’s activities and collapsed into the lounging chair at the top of the stairs, where she had promptly fallen asleep. Tabitha had forgotten this happened and, in the darkness, had not noticed her different surroundings.

Realizing now where she was, she called out,

Richard! her voice muffled as she covered her mouth with her skirting to keep from breathing in the smoke. I’m not in my room; I fell asleep on the chaise in the hall! I’m heading for the stairs. The smoke caught in her throat and choked her words, and she wondered if she had even been heard.

Richard crawled across the hallway in the direction of Tabitha’s voice. The stairs were not far from the couch, so he was confident she would make it, and together they could follow the steps to safety. He carefully crawled closer to the stairs until his body brushed against someone’s hand.

Tabitha! Is that you? There was no answer–he frantically followed the arm until he could feel the face. It was not Tabitha. It was the face of an older woman. Helen, the family’s Nanny.

Helen! he called as he grabbed her shoulders, Helen, can you hear me? There was no reply. Richard shook her violently as he yelled her name. But it was too late… A knot formed in his throat. She was undoubtedly coming to wake him and his sister when the smoke overwhelmed her. He was nauseous now and stifling an urge to vomit as an acrid taste filled his mouth. He wanted out of this nightmare but knew he had to find his sister first.

Tabitha, I still can’t see you! A weak voice faintly answered through the smoke.

I’m here by the stairs.

I’m coming your way! Richard answered as he crawled toward her voice. At last, he saw the faint outline of a figure through the haze. He grabbed Tabitha by the hand and pulled her down the steps with him. There, they saw the flames for the first time. The staircase railing was ablaze. They tried to push past it but could see the entire bottom of the stairs was now engulfed in flames.

We have to find another way out, Tabitha said as she pulled Richard back.

The balcony! he answered, We can climb down the trellis.

As they neared the balcony, the heat of the fire from below was stifling, and the floor was becoming painfully hot to the touch. Soon, the flames would engulf the wood beneath them. Finding a chair nearby, Richard hurled it through a window. He grabbed the curtain rod as it fell from its holder and used it to break away the rest of the glass. As he grasped Tabitha’s hand and walked forward, the broken shards cracked under their feet, and the sharp edges cut into their bare skin.

A moment later, Richard heard Tabitha scream in terror, followed by his arm being jerked backward by the weight of her body falling through the floor. Only a last-second lunge allowed him to narrowly grab hold of the window ledge that kept them from dropping through the gaping hole of burning wood. His grip on the window was tenuous at best; he was weak from a lack of oxygen, and his palms were slippery with sweat, but he was resolved he would rather be taken as well than let go. Tabitha’s cries intensified as the flames ignited her dress and started to travel up her legs. Her lower body was completely engulfed in flames.

Fueled by sheer determination, Richard mustered his strength and pulled. He could feel her weight shift, and he continued pulling until she was on solid ground. Without hesitation, he grabbed the curtain from the rod he had previously used to break the window and wrapped it around her lower extremities to smother the flames.

Tabitha was alive but unconscious. Dragging her by the arms onto the balcony, Richard began yelling for anyone who might hear him. Several came running, and he lowered her limp body as far as he could to be caught by the men anxiously waiting below. Next, Richard climbed onto the trellis, but the weight was too much, and it broke free. The men below tried to break his fall, but as he landed, his arm twisted, and he could feel the bone crack under his weight.

Four men picked up the siblings and carted them to a hospital wagon. As they were being carried, Richard grabbed one of the men by the sleeve of his shirt,

Where is our father? The stranger could only shake his head.

I’m sorry, son. You and your sister are the only ones who made it out.

¹ Wooden paneling that lines the lower part of the walls in a room. Generally stops at around 36 inches above the floor.

2

The Tale of Christine and Jean-Claude

The fire and subsequent death of their father was not the first tragedy experienced by the young twins. Twelve years earlier, on a cold night in December of 1672, they had lost their mother as well. They were too young at the time to fully understand the details of what had happened, and in the twelve years that passed after, their father had been reluctant to speak of it. They assumed it was a subject that caused him much distress, so they had not pressed him for details. Suffice it to say, some accident had befallen her back in France, but they could tell you little more than that.

In truth, there was much more to the story of how their mother had died and possibly a more sinister reality than they were aware. Their current residence in London, for example, was the result of the twins’ Father, Jean-Claude Le Sieur, being compelled to leave France with his children under a cloud of suspicion held by most and a foregone conclusion to many that he had, in fact, murdered his wife.

* * *

Before being Jean-Claude’s wife, Madam Le Sieur was Mademoiselle Christine Montclair. She lived a pleasant, if not fairly ordinary, life with her father, who supported them by way of a small gold mine in the American Colonies. The mine produced very little, but it was enough to sustain them and ensure his daughter received a proper education.

Christine was in her mid-twenties when Jean-Claude officially came into her life. Their first introduction came at a formal gala in honor of one of her classmates moving abroad.

Despite being a very attractive young woman, Christine was quiet and modest. While not opposed to the idea of courtship, she made no extraordinary efforts to garner the attention of the young men in her age group as she had observed being done so egregiously by her peers. Thus, She was surprised when the handsome and popular Jean-Claude approached her.

Bonsoir, Mademoiselle, Would you honor me with the next dance?

Oh, uh…oui, monsieur, that would be fine, answered Christine, but with a distinctive halting in her words uncharacteristic of her usual eloquent speech. If a nearby guest had noticed the exchange and chosen to indulge an instinctive urge to eavesdrop, they would likely have concluded her reaction to be that of a young woman’s nerves rattled by the approach of a charming young man. This, however, would have been an incorrect assumption.

Christine was actually lost in thought when Jean-Claude approached. She had never been one to occupy her time at gatherings in what she described as attentive male expectation, easily identified by the covert surveillance to establish each gentleman’s eligibility, followed later by the ever-so-discreet fleeting glances to surmise whose eye of these they may have caught. In light of this, Christine would have described her reaction to Jean-Claude’s approach as more startled than nervous, more perplexed than swooned.

The two eventually found their place among the other dancers in the center of the ballroom. The musicians played a lively Allemande, and the dancers began to gracefully move about, alternating each other’s grasp between their right and left hands. As their movements continued, Christine eventually allowed her mind to stop ruminating upon the circumstances as they fell into the comfortable rhythm of the dance.

When the music concluded, she expected Jean-Claude to move on to one of the several other anxiously waiting ladies in attendance. Instead, his attention continued to be focused on her. As they spoke, she felt as if he was so absorbed in her company that he had become ignorant of the presence of all others around them.

I had the pleasure of conversing with your father this evening, said Jean-Claude. He seemed quite proud to have a daughter who was both beautiful and highly intelligent.

Ah, monsieur, my father is often prone to exaggeration, Christine demurred.

I can attest he was not exaggerating your beauty, said Jean-Claude, noticing her cheeks redden. Pardon, I did not mean to cause you embarrassment. Perhaps you might tell me if there is a particular subject you enjoyed most during your studies. Christine could not recall ever having been asked that question by anyone, much less a young man.

Math was my favorite subject, but I mainly focused on French literature.

Very nice! responded Jean-Claude, Math is my favorite subject as well, though I’m sure you are more proficient than I.

Christine was puzzled by his response. Though she would not admit it to Jean-Claude, she already knew him by reputation and was aware he worked as a math professor at the university in Paris. She could not think of a time when she had conversed with a man who had chosen not to boast of his many talents and accomplishments. Much less be interested in hers. That fact alone would have distinguished him, even if she had not found his appearance to be exceptionally attractive. This, however, presented a problem in itself.

That she could not help but notice Jean-Claude’s appearance was causing Christine to have a personal crisis of self-perception. She had always prided herself on having a depth of character that would never be swayed by such superficiality. She had likewise never been shy in proclaiming her belief in this enlightened opinion. Thus, she imagined her friends’ stares as they quietly whispered to each other, making accusations of her blatant hypocrisy, perhaps even duplicity. No doubt they would say her previous declarations were simply a clever rouse to disguise the target of her designs from others.

I’ll simply deny I noticed his appearance, she thought, then decided that the denial of such an obvious attribute on his part would hardly be believed by anyone and simply add to the assumptions of her duplicity.

As Christine pondered these matters, she suddenly realized she had not been listening to the conversation. When she re-focused her thoughts, she heard Jean-Claude say,

I am an expert in French literature.

Pardon monsieur? She asked, unsure of how much she had missed.

I was saying I should probably mention that while I may concede the possibility of another being my superior in math, I am an uncontested expert on the subject of French literature.

Impressive, said Christine. Not many men are as enthusiastic about the subject. Do you have a favorite author?

Oh, uh, well, you know, obviously it’s hard to pick just one, but certainly anything by, um, Reynard….? Jean-Claude’s voice trailed off into a question as he cleared his throat, And definitely, Francis…uh…Berner…ston…tin…tin?

Did you say Bernerstontintin?

Uh, yes, well…you probably haven’t heard of them. They’re one of the lesser-known, you know, rural, village poets, places where the authentic, you know, deep, real works come from. You would have to be extremely well-versed in French literature, as of course I am, to be familiar with their writing.

Very interesting, Christine said with a smile, I’ll have to see if I can find something of his.

So you assume they’re a he? I’ll have you know Barnertinderston is actually a she.

How progressive of you, but I thought you said the name was Bernerstontintin

Ah, well, yes…her too, Jean-Claude said with a wry grin, and Christine laughed.

The two continued their conversation throughout the evening. She kept anticipating he would be swept away at some point by an urge to engage with others in attendance, but it never happened, and before long, the party was coming to an end.

May I call on you at your home? Jean-Claude asked.

I don’t know, answered Christine, we’ve already discussed so much, I fear we would have nothing more to talk about.

You need not worry, declared Jean-Claude with another coy smile and a slight twinkling in his eye. I have yet to regale you with stories of my pet snail, whom I have named Pierre. I can recount the many exploits of Pierre for hours without fear of exhausting his wellspring of endless adventures.

Very well, then, said Christine, raising a suspicious eyebrow. You may call on Tuesday and regale me with Pierre’s many adventures.

Jean-Claude called on Christine as planned. She enjoyed the time they spent together, and they made arrangements to see each other again. Their romance progressed rapidly, and within three months, Jean-Claude proposed. Christine was elated. In the short time they had spent together, she had fallen in love and could not imagine spending the rest of her life with anyone else.

* * *

During the first few months of their marriage, Christine was as happy as she imagined she would be, but soon, the charming and charismatic man she married slowly ceased to exist. The decline began when Jean-Claude suggested to her father Louis that if he allowed him to oversee the mining operations in America, he could perhaps increase their profits and provide a more substantial living for the entire family. Christine’s father was happy to oblige, and Jean-Claude began spending much of his time in the colonies.

Before long, it became clear that Jean-Claude was consumed by something that Christine could not explain. He had even begun to drink heavily, and his personality was cold and withdrawn. She tried her best to be a loving wife and improve their relationship, even offering to accompany him to the American colonies. Her efforts, however, were consistently rebuffed by excuses that the trip would be too dangerous.

Just before their second anniversary, Christine’s Father passed away. He was her only family besides her husband. Jean-Claude’s lengthy trips abroad would now be even more difficult to bear.

One night, she approached him with her concerns.

I do not understand your obsession with the gold mine in America. It’s destroying you! Your job at the university would make enough to support us. What happened to the good man that I married?

Jean-Claude was silent.

Why won’t you talk to me? she pleaded, but he only looked down at his glass of wine.

I wish, he said, then paused while seeming to reflect on some faraway thought. I wish I could explain it…. Christine walked over to Jean-Claude and sat on his lap.

Whatever it is, let me help you, she said as she kissed him on the forehead. Jean-Claude was moved by Christine’s display of affection. His eyes returned to hers, and for a moment, he seemed to come back from the distant place that consumed his thoughts. He put his arms around her, and they began to kiss. That evening, they shared an intimacy that had not existed in the marriage for several months.

Soon after this, Christine found she was pregnant. She was sure her husband would now feel it incumbent upon him to remain home and help raise their new family. This was, however, not to be. Jean-Claude was absent during the children’s birth, and when he finally saw them for the first time, they were almost nine months old, and he seemed to show little regard for his progeny.

A few years later, and not long after the twins turned five, Christine thought she saw a glimmer of the man she married. Jean-Claude agreed to go on a picnic and seemed to be genuinely enjoying himself and the children. But her hopes were short-lived. Not long after, he returned yet again to America.

The situation remained unchanged until one fateful night in December. Jean-Claude had returned from an extended trip abroad and unexpectedly suggested to Christine they go for a walk and look at the stars. It was extremely cold that night, but Christine obliged him, feeling perhaps he was attempting a romantic gesture. She made sure the children were asleep first and then walked out into the cold night air. Her steps made a crunching noise as they broke through the icy layered snow on the ground, and she could smell the coldness in the air around her. It was a distinct aroma that could only be observed when autumn had officially changed to the intense cold of winter.

The tragedy that occurred that night is one still shrouded in mystery and unanswered questions. According to Jean-Claude, they had walked to the nearby bridge in their neighborhood to get a better view of the stars. Through panicked and breathless speech, he related his story to a constable. My wife…she…she, he struggled to catch his breath, she was reaching for her hat that had blown off; I guess it was caught or wedged on the other side of the bridge rail. I couldn’t see what she was reaching for until it was too late. His breaths were ragged as he continued to relate his account. When she reached out, her feet slipped, and I…I, He stammered, I grabbed for her, but the rail was too slippery, and neither of us could hold on.

Christine had fallen some twenty feet to the frozen river below. Her body had slammed against the solid ice. While she might have survived the fall, the ice began cracking beneath her from the impact. Her unconscious body was quickly enveloped by the dark water and disappeared underneath to be washed downriver by the current.

With Christine and her father dead, Jean-Claude inherited sole possession of all that once belonged to them, including the mine in America, where he had spent so much of his time. The police immediately suspected that Jean-Claude had murdered his wife. It was well-known in the community that he spent most of his time abroad and had become a drinker at home. Had they any proof, he would have indeed been arrested and gone to the guillotine. However, there were no witnesses, and it was learned that the mine he inherited produced such an insignificant amount of income that it seemed to offer little in the way of a financial motive to kill the mother of his children. The general opinion in the community, however, did not change. They believed that Jean-Claude had indeed done away with his wife. Thus, within a short time, he moved to London with the now six-year-old twins.

Life had not been easy for them there. They did not speak the language and could rely on little from their father in the way of emotional support. Jean-Claude arranged for them to be cared for by a nanny named Helen Langshire. She educated them, taught them English, and served as the only source of stability in their life after the death of their mother.

Over the years, Jean-Claude had made some attempts at fathering. He would take them out occasionally, but he was rarely home and had little relationship with the children as they grew up. By the time the twins turned eighteen, they cared little for their father’s company. At this point, his death merely represented the loss of a benefactor who supplied their necessities. Of course, he was still their father, so they felt a modicum of sadness for his passing, but he had earned little more than that.

3

The Road to Recovery

Richard was sitting in his sister’s room at the hospital. He opened and closed his fingers as he adjusted to the splints that had been attached to his arm after they set the bone. He moved his chair to Tabitha’s bed and laid his good arm by her side, on which he rested his head. The doctors had given her a mixture containing opium to help with the pain, and she was now sleeping soundly.

Tabitha’s bed was one of eighteen that lined the walls of the hospital room. Six beds were placed evenly apart on three walls, with the fourth wall housing various medical supplies and a desk. Two of the bed walls had a pair of windows. They allowed the sun to shine into the room and provided a nice view of an outdoor garden. There were currently ten patients, including the woman in the bed beside her who was recovering from surgery to remove stones from her bladder. The bed on the other side was currently unoccupied.

Tabitha had second and third-degree burns over most of her right leg and part of her left. In some places, the flames had reached high enough that burns could be seen halfway up the right side of her waist. She was a bundle of bandages and cloth. As Richard sat and watched her, finally calm and resting, he laid his head on her bed and began to sob uncontrollably. The weight of what they had just lived through was finally hitting him. They had nothing left. Their home and all of their possessions were gone. They had already lost their Mother and now their Father too.

Richard was glad Tabitha was sleeping, he thought, as he gulped back tears… he dreaded facing her when she woke. He had suffered a broken arm that would mend…but Tabitha’s injuries would forever remind her of this terrible night.

It took Tabitha a month to sit up in the hospital bed. It was three more months after that before the burns had scarred over enough that she could walk outside with only mild discomfort. Her left leg and the burns on her hip healed, with only minor scarring. The right leg, however, was much worse and was completely covered in scars that took on the shape of melted skin.

* * *

After one more month, Tabitha was released from the London hospital. During her convalescence, Richard was allowed to stay in the room with her and even sleep on a nearby bed if one was empty. Upon Tabitha’s discharge from the hospital, they found themselves entirely alone and without a place to live.

The hospital offered them a ride to wherever they needed it, so they asked to be taken back to their home site. When they arrived, they could see immediately there was nothing left, like a campfire that had been left unattended throughout the night, so that in the morning, all that could be seen was a pile of ash. The house had burned entirely into the ground. Even the few small items that might have survived, a chipped teacup or cooking pot, had long been scavenged by some other needy passerby. Nothing was left of their previous home except rubble and black soot. Richard caught sight of the small shack on the back of the property where they had stored tools and firewood. It had somehow survived the blaze, and despite its dark and dirty interior, they could at least use it to escape the weather.

Inside the shed, Richard stood up crates and wiped the dirt from them as best he could to provide seating. A few months earlier, he had gotten a job at a feed mill in town, so he said,

I’ll get some feed sacks tomorrow and fill them with hay. That will at least give us something to sleep on. Tabitha surveyed the room, but her expression betrayed no hint of her thoughts. Eventually, she sat on one of the crates close to a wall and leaned back with her eyes closed to contemplate their future quietly.

It was now early May, the rain was frequent, and the long nights were cold. They huddled together for warmth but slept very little.

The next day, as he said he would, Richard took several burlap feed sacks, filled them with hay, and arranged them in a row on the floor of the tool shed for each of them to have a comfortable bed to sleep on, as well as some protection from the cold ground that seemed to suck the heat from their bodies.

* * *

While Tabitha was in the hospital, Richard was often provided meals, allowing him to save most of the earnings from his job. Thus, on their second night spent in the tool shed, he decided he would use some of the money to give the two of them a hearty supper to try and lift their spirits.

After scavenging through piles of burned debris, Richard found a few flat pieces of timber that could be salvaged. He stacked some square pieces of stone from the foundation about four feet apart, onto which he rested the recovered timber pieces to form a small table.

When the table was finished, it looked like someone’s crude attempt at a makeshift footbridge for crossing a shallow creek, but it would do for now. He left and returned a short while later with Shepherd’s pie, extra sausages on the side, and a large serving of baked beans. This was followed by a bread pudding for dessert. They both agreed it was delicious, and it did indeed lift their spirits. As they ate, Tabitha asked Richard,

What if we went to America?

Why America?

I don’t know. A fresh start? Tabitha responded. What reason could we possibly have for staying here? Richard sighed as he pondered her