02x02 - Not in Scotland Anymore

Previously...

If I don't set that hand, he'll be crippled for life.

These men must be quarantined.

There's nothing more you can do here.

The Comte will not forget what happened.

You've made an enemy here today.

The Duke of Sandringham likes to talk.

It certainly is a most extraordinary document.

We can infiltrate the Jacobite movement.

Get close to the key players and find a way to disrupt their plans.

Your cousin Jared lives in Paris.

He can vouch for us.

What is the fire that burns within you?

I'm sorry I doubted you.

You'll help us, then?

Run the wine business in my absence.

And in return, I will give you the run of my house in Paris.

You don't trust me to know the true reason behind this cloth of lies.

I vow to you, I'll tell you everything that has happened, at the proper time.

♪ Sing me a song ♪
♪ Of a lass that is gone ♪
♪ Say, could that lass ♪
♪ Be I? ♪
♪ Merry of soul ♪
♪ She sailed on a day ♪
♪ Over the sea ♪
♪ To Skye ♪
♪ Billow and breeze ♪
♪ Islands and seas ♪
♪ Mountains of rain and sun ♪
♪ All that was good ♪
♪ All that was fair ♪
♪ All that was me ♪
♪ Is gone ♪

[i](Singing in French)

♪ ♪
♪ Over the sea ♪
♪ To Skye ♪

(Claire breathing heavily)

(Both moaning)[/i]

Oh, don't stop.

(Speaking gaelic)

(Gasps, breathing heavily)

Is it another one? Another nightmare?

He's gone, Jamie.

He's alive... in my head.

I canna get him out.

You will in time.

I promise.

I won't be getting any more sleep tonight.

I'll, uh, be going over this week's receipts.

Black Jack Randall is dead.

I know.

See you in the morning, Sassenach.

(Door closes)

I noticed Madame has folded her clothes again this morning.

Yes, Suzette.

Why does Madame insist on making her own bed and folding her own clothes?

(Door opens)

I suppose it's habit.

I'm just not used to having servants around me all the time, attending to my every need.

But a woman of your distinction... and with child, no less... it is just not done.

Fine. I will endeavor to be sloppier in my personal habits.

Oh, Madame.

Oh, that would make me so happy.

I should be gone an hour or two.

That should give you plenty of time to strip and remake my bed to your satisfaction.

Oh, Madame, you are too kind.

(Sighs)

Good morning, Madame. Your carriage awaits you.

Of course it does.

Running a great house in Paris had proved more complicated than I'd ever imagined. Fortunately, Jared had selected his servants with care, so we had no worries regarding their trustworthiness. Even after several weeks, Paris itself remained an endless source of fascination. As I gazed upon the quaint city streets, I found it hard to believe that in a mere 40 years, the French Revolution would turn them into rivers of blood. The last time I had been here was during the delirious celebration marking the end of the Second World War. I had hoped to climb to the top of the Eiffel Tower, but the Nazis had closed it during the occupation, and it had yet to reopen. Now I had arrived a hundred years before it existed.

(Sighs)

(Indistinct chatter)

Madame?

(Indistinct chatter continues)

[i](Mysterious music)

♪ ♪[/i]

Madame?

Then I shall make it easier for you.

Mustard... thyme in walnut oil, I believe, but... what on Earth do you use to make it smell so nasty?

I see your nose is not purely decorative, Madonna.

As for the smell, well, um... that, actually, is blood.

But not crocodile blood.

So much cynicism in one so young.

No, in fact... it's pig's blood, Madonna... pigs being so much more available than crocodiles.

Fortunately, the ladies and gentlemen of the Court are more trusting and foolish than you are.

I was wondering...

Hmm.

Do you carry Nepeta cataria?

Someone having trouble sleeping?

My husband.

Is the problem the result of excessive eating or drinking, perhaps, a nervous disposition?

It's nightmares.

I see.

Then I would, uh, suggest, uh...

Uh, Delphine, s'il vous plaît.

Yes, I would suggest, uh...

Valeriana officinalis...

Combined with a touch of Humulus lupulus.

(Sighs)

(Chuckles)

You have a knowledge of herbs, haven't you?

You're a professional, are you?

Well, I suppose that would depend on what you mean by the term "professional."

I'm a healer.

Ah... a healer.

I see.

The size and overall look is as stated.

Your name wouldn't happen to be Claire Fraser, would it?

Yes, it is.

Are you a mind reader as well?

No, but I have an excellent memory for names, and, uh... yes... I've recently heard yours in connection with your rather dramatic arrival on our shores.

Comte St. Germain told me all about your part in the burning of his pox-afflicted vessel, "The Patagonia."

You're friends with the Comte St. Germain?

Au contraire.

You may, shall I call us, rivals.

A pleasant term for enemies, is it not?

And since he's your enemy as well, you must, in point of fact, be my friend.

Thank you.

I could use a friend.

Accept this mixture as my gift to you and your husband.

Have him steep the infusion in a cup of tea before bedtime.

I guarantee he will keep you awake all night with his snoring.

(Loudly imitates snoring)

(Chuckles)

(Swords clanging, men grunting)

You're a dead man, lad.

That left hand of yers is still as weak as a kitten.

Aye, there's no strength in stiff fingers.

Aah!

What of the new sword? Does it satisfy?

This one's lighter than I'm used to.

I still prefer a Scottish blade.

You're cutting too wide, leaving yourself open.

Fight it.

Come on, fight it!

Enough!

Have you never seen two men practicing the art of the sword, eh?

Oh, clear off.

(Crowd gasps)

You cannot blame them for gawking.

Dueling is outlawed in France.

No doubt they think we mean to run each other through.

Yet another wrong to mark against this misery of a country.

(Exhales deeply) Would you look at me?

I'm out of breath already after hardly an hour.

It's the air.

Arses and armpits!

Too many people.

Scotland doesn't exactly smell like a lady's boudoir.

Aye, but it's an animal smell.

This city reeks of the chamber pot.

Don't you miss it, lad... the smell of fresh Scottish mud, huh?

It pains me to admit so, but I even find myself longing for the company of Lard Bucket and Big Head.

You mean Rupert and Angus?

(Chuckles)

Lard Bucket...

(Laughs) Rupert would call it muscle.

But wee Angus does sport a curiously large head.

I'm sure they miss your sunny countenance as well.

(Speaking Gaelic)

We won't be here forever.

No, but it'll seem so.

I thought we came here to prevent a rebellion.

Instead, what have we become... wine merchants?

Wine is for drinking, not for selling.

What would you have me do?

If you want to kill a snake, you cut off its head.

And the head of this rebellion is Charles Stuart.

Kill The Prince, you kill the rebellion.

I'm no assassin.

No, but I'm betting there are plenty round here willing to earn that title for a handful of coin.

We don't even know for certain if he's in Paris.

I'll find him. I swear it.

And then what?

Charles' death will still leave his father for us to deal with.

You propose we do away with James as well?

(Sighs)

Is your longing for home worth the murder of a prince and The King?

No, for all we know, the death of his son would make James even more determined to sit on the English throne.

I talk of action, and you give me logic.

Aye.

Well... if it's action you crave...

(Speaking Gaelic)

How's your hand?

It's mending.

This arrived for you today in the post.

It's from Jared.

Finally.

Hopefully it's good news.

(Speaking Gaelic)

Good man.

Has he arranged an introduction with the Jacobite leaders?

He's done better than that.

"Prince Charles Stuart requests the company of Lord Broch Tuarach, James Fraser, to discuss such matters as the current political situation amongst the Scottish clans."

And Jared suggested that you meet Charles at Maison de Madame Elise.

What is that?

It's a brothel.

(Indistinct chatter)

Mm!

(Laughter)

(Indistinct chatter continues)

Excuse me.

Your Royal Highness, if you will indulge me for a moment, I would very much like to discuss the reason for our having this meeting here tonight.

I was about to suggest that very thing.

(Men gasp, murmuring)

Look at their faces... terrified.

(Laughs)

James, this is why I admire the French.

They're so wonderfully vulgar.

They never allow their exquisite manners to interfere with their baser instincts.

Yeah, they do find unique ways to enjoy themselves.

Brave. Brave, bravissime. (APPLAUSE)

Very clever, indeed.

Mark me... if I had a wife, I'd buy all three... for variety. (LAUGHS)

You ask me, the French are a sorry bunch of sodomites that canna please their women.

Forgive me. I do not recall asking your opinion nor inviting you here this evening.

Where he goes, I go.

My friend Jared Fraser claims you're a man of substance, that you speak your true mind in all matters.

Mark me...

I hope it is so.

I have no desire to add another sycophant to my acquaintances.

I have about me too many already.

Tell me... what are the state of affairs in Scotland?

Are your clans prepared to hear my call to arms, rise up against the heretical traitor that dares to sit upon my father's throne?

You ask of the clans?

Well, sire, the truth of it is, the clans canna agree on the color of the sky, let alone put aside their old grievances and band together to fight the British.

No, sire... they're not ready to hear the call of the pipes nor likely to be so for many years to come.

I dare say...

If that is the truth... it is one I have yet to hear.

Damnable defeatist talk is what it sounds like and very peculiar coming from a supposed Jacobite.

Ooh, monsieur...

Non, merci.

I assure you, sire...

I hate the English as much as any man.

I carry the scars of 200 lashes on my back that remind me of the fact every day.

You asked for the truth, and the truth is what I gave you.

Would you rather I whispered honeyed words of reassurance in your ear, words that would lead you... lead all of Scotland... to disaster?

God demands that a Catholic king sit on the English throne.

My father is that king.

I wish for that as well.

I'm pleased to hear it.

But wishing... has proven time and again to be no match for the muskets of the British Army, as it did during The Rising of Fifteen.

I will not repeat the mistakes of Lord Mar.

He hesitated when victory was within his grasp.

Above all else, a leader must be decisive.

May I ask, Your Royal Highness, have ye ever been to Scotland?

I regret having not had the pleasure...

Having spent my early years in Italy, where my father was forced to seek exile.

Then ken this...

Scotland is a beautiful country... its glens, its lochs, its mountains.

We're a people of the land, a simple people with no great love for outsiders.

We will fight... have fought... each other more than not.

But you ask us to shed our blood for what... to put a more sympathetic arse on the English throne?

Is that cause enough for a cotter to exchange his scythe for a sword, to leave his home, his crops, and charge into a cannon's blast?

It would appear you have now heard the truth from two loyal Scots.

And what about God's truth?

For His is the only truth that matters, is it not?

I tell you both... it is God's will that I, Charles Stuart, unite the clans.

It is God's will that I be the beacon of light, for I am, by divine right, the outstretched hand of God.

Our cause shall succeed, but it cannot move forward without money, and money it shall have.

But to get it, we must win the support of the French Minister of Finance, a certain Joseph Duverney.

As I am in this country unofficially, I cannot be received at Court.

But you, my Lord Broch Tuarach...

You can go in my place.

Me... sire?

I see you have the heart of a true patriot willing to risk my divine wrath in order to safeguard your countrymen.

I can think of no better man to help me in this time of need.

Go to the Court of Louis.

Be my advocate for rebellion... for your Prince, for the rightful King, and for the God that sits in judgment of us all.

I will...

Sire.

And now I am in need of a woman... or maybe two.

Mark me... is she not a rare beauty?

Che bella donna...

(Sighs)

I'm proud of you, Jamie.

You spoke your heart and still won a place at The Prince's side.

The man is a blockhead and a dangerous one, at that.

He'll get us all killed if we don't stop him.

I wouldna trust The Prince with Lallybroch's vegetable patch, let alone the fate of Scotland.

It was just one meeting.

Charles isn't ready to set sail for Scotland anytime soon.

You'll have time to open his ears.

It'll all be for naught, I'm afraid.

The man won't listen to me nor anyone.

Charles listens only to God.

Well, he is right about one thing.

Wars cost money.

And without funds, Charles is helpless.

All we have to do is see to it that his war chest remains empty.

Let's hope the French Minister of Finance knows a bad investment when he sees one.

If the Scottish rebellion can be plotted in a French brothel, then perhaps it can be stopped at the French Court.


The next step in the plan was to get an invitation to Versailles. Louise de la Tour Marquise de Rohan had become my particular friend in the three months we'd been in Paris. I'd found her to be a warm and caring friend, if, like other ladies of her class, she also tended towards the superficial and the frivolous on the surface.

(Grunts in pain)

(Chuckles)

Poor thing. It's a shame she has to be caged up.

(Sighs) Yes, Colette is a cute little rascal, but she has a tendency to bite.

The bite of the man is desirable, but the bite of the monkey, not so much.

Mary!

Mary?

You fearful little child.

Stop hiding and come meet a new friend.

Such annoying girl.

I regret my pledge to her uncle to chaperone her around Paris.

Such a bother.

(Scoffs) Stop clutching yourself as if you were on display in a slave market.

(Grunts in pain)

But I'm as good as naked.

(Laughs) Ignorant child.

Must I drop my robe and show you what naked means?

Please don't.

Then calm yourself. Your innocence is safe with us.

Mary, allow me to introduce a fellow Englishwoman, Lady Broch Tuarach, Claire Fraser.

M-Mary Hawkins, Madame.

Mary Hawkins?

I'm sure I've heard that name before somewhere.

I don't believe we've met.

Mm. Well, it will come to me, somehow.

And what brings you to Paris, Mary?

M-my Uncle Silas Hawkins is here on business.

Mary's going to wed the Vicomte Marigny... a widower of means.

Why a girl soon to be so wealthy cannot even manage a smile is beyond me.

The Vicomte Marigny.

Is he the older gentleman with all the...

Warts. Yes, that's him.

Ah, I see.

And your uncle has arranged the marriage?

A most fortunate union, in spite of the difference in age.

Aah!

I think I should get dressed.

You will do no such thing.

Her legs are hairier than Colette's, and no Frenchman will suffer to bed a monkey.

You say such horrible things.

Smile. You've met a new friend.

Claire, you say you wish to go to Court?

You shall accompany Mary and me to Versailles.

Oh. Thank you, Louise.

Perhaps I can bring my husband.

If you must... though you'd have more fun without him.

I'll make you an appointment with Madame Tabanou.

She'll make you a dress fit for a queen.

(Laughing)

But such incredulous faces.

Has no one told you?

In Paris, a hairless mount is de rigueur. and the men find it absolutely irresistible.

It's so warm and so comforting being put on and so painful when it is pulled off.

(Sighs) Such is life.

Aah!

(Monkey squeals)

Claire... what have you done to yourself?

Yer honeypot... is bare.

I'm aware of that.

I was there when it happened.

And I also did these.

Ah.

That's bad enough, but... to rid yourself of such a lovely forest, I...

(Moans softly)

I thought you'd be intrigued... something different.

Aye.

It's different, right enough.

What must it look like?

Why don't you see for yourself?

Any thoughts?

Aye. It's more complicated than it looks thatched over.

(Chuckles softly)

Oh, very smooth.

Do you like it?

You're a daring woman, Sassenach.

I suppose that makes me a very lucky man.

(Grunts)

It's okay.

It's okay.

Let's just go to sleep.

Aye.

(Indistinct chatter)

Civilized... very civilized.

Though you'll probably be the only one at Court with a beard.

Ye expect me to shave for a bunch of French fops?

Ye could've at least washed your knees, ye swine.

I did.

I see we're all ready to go.

Murtagh, please try not to insult too many people tonight.

Are you... mad, woman?

I can see every inch of you, right down to your third rib.

No, you can't.

Christ. I can see right down to your navel.

Surely you don't mean to go out in public like this.

I most certainly do.

I'll have you know, I helped design this dress.

Ah, Christ.

Sassenach, first your honeypot, now this.

I'll... I'll wait in the carriage.

No, you won't.

I suppose it'll have to do.

You could cover up a bit.

Oh, I already thought of that.

You're gonna to need a larger fan.

(REGAL MUSIC)

♪ ♪

(Speaking French)

I'm intimate with all the noble families, their genealogies, and their allegiances.

So, if there is anyone you wish to meet...

Oh, I've heard Monsieur Duverney is an interesting gentleman.

Oh, a man of rather gross sensibilities.

But fear not, if he is here, I shall find him.

Annalise.

Claire...

Annalise de Marrilac.

Annalise...

Claire Fraser.

Charmed, I'm sure.

Let me congratulate you on having won such a strong, passionate man for a husband.

Yes. I'm quite fortunate, aren't I?

Tell me, did he fight many duels to win your affection?

Actually, he won my heart without having to draw his sword.

Oh, more's the pity.

When I knew him, he had quite the appetite for the blades.

Mm.

Did he?

It was just one duel... one very small, insignificant duel.

As I recall, I merely scratched my opponent.

Mm.

The ironic thing is... and it's really quite funny...

Annalise ended up marrying the lucky fellow.

Oh, how romantic.

He's dead. Smallpox.

Jamie...

You don't mind if I borrow your husband for a few minutes?

Be at ease.

I can only bring him to the door of The King's bedroom.

The dressing of The King is a male-only affair.

(Speaking French)

Murtagh.

Hmm?

You'll accompany them?

Where are we going?

To witness the dressing of The King, you foolish man.

Ah, I wouldn't wanna miss that.

(Straining)

Only in France does a King need an audience to shite.

(Clears throat)

If you're lucky, you'll be given the honor of wiping the royal arse.

Tsk!

(King sighs)

(Crowd groans)

(Clears throat)

Seigneur Broch Tuarach.

(Straining)

(Groans)

James Fraser...

Porridge, you say?

Aye. It is the breakfast of choice in the Highlands of Scotland.

Is that so?

Unfortunately, The King has never acquired a taste for peasant food.

(Laughter)

(Groans loudly)

(Sighs)

Perhaps this would be the perfect time.

(Grunts)

(Indistinct chatter, laughter)

(Laughter)

Tell us, Madame Fraser, what do English ladies call a male member?

Ah, well, I've... heard it referred to as "peter."

Though there are those who prefer "prick."

"Prick."

No offense intended, my dear.

(Chuckles dismissively) None taken.

That wicked little minx... she's found herself a lover even before the exchange of wedding vows.

It's hardly that, I'm sure.

If you'll excuse me, ladies, I, uh... need to get some air.

Excusez-moi.

No, no, no, no, no.

Lady Broch Tuarach...

Excuse me?

I am told you are desirous of the company of Monsieur Joseph Duverney.

Since I alone, in all of France, answer to that name, it is I you have been praying for.

It's indeed an honor. My husband...

No, no, no, there is no need to speak of husbands or wives.

No, no, no, no.

Instead, let me worship at your... feet.

(Scoffs) Monsieur, I think you are, uh...

Oh, my God!

Grossly mistaken!

Monsieur!

(Grunting)

There is no need to play the coquette.

(Chuckles)

Let us take the few brief moments we have and find ecstasy in each other's embrace.

Come to me, my little mouse.

Let me hear you squeak!

(Yelps)

No, Jamie, don't!

Aah!

(Water splash)

That was the Minister of Finance.

Monsieur Duverney?

The very same.

I tried to tell you, but it all happened so fast.

Paris.

I told you that dress would bring us grief.

(Grunts)

Please, accept my most fervent apology for my beastly behavior.

Minister Duverney, I'm happy to accept your gracious apology.

As am I.

Thank you both, most sincerely.

What can I say? I've grown too fond of The King's ever-flowing champagne.

If my wife had caught me attempting to make love to yet another woman...

Oh, yeah.

My beloved possesses a fiery temper.

Well, she need never know.

God's blessing on you both.

Mm.

(Chuckles)

Perhaps there is some way I can be of service?

Your friendship is service enough.

Then you shall have it.

Tell me, do you, by any chance, enjoy the game of chess?

Oh, he's a master.

Master? No.

But I have been known to brood over a board or two.

Wonderful. We must have a game.

Aye.

The King.

(Laughter)

Judas!

You'll pay for yer treachery.

Murtagh.

Never draw your weapon in the presence of the King.

It is death.

If that's an apology, and I do hope it is, I accept with all good grace.

Jamie, dear boy, upon my word, I'm delighted to see you looking so healthy.

Ah, Mrs. Fraser, what a joyful reunion.

I wish I could say the same.

You cut me to the quick.

But I suppose I deserve it.

Let me assure you, I had every intention of delivering that Petition of Complaint to The Court of Sessions, as I had pledged to do.

It was that damned Randall.

The brute insisted I give it to him instead.

I had no choice whatsoever.

Will you ever forgive me?

What's done is done.

How true.

What's passed is passed.

What are you both doing here in France?

Jamie has been employed by his cousin Jared.

The wine merchant?

What a serendipitous surprise.

Tomorrow I go back to England.

But I shall return shortly, and when I do, I should be very interested to sample some of that rare Belle Rouge port I understand he's stocking.

I must have a case.

Hmm. How much?

I'd be willing to pay 20% over the asking price.

Sold.

On credit, no doubt.

Jamie, why don't you take Murtagh to have a drink with our new friend, the Minister of Finance?

I see you're already cultivating important people in high places.

How very in keeping with your character.

Poor Jamie, he must be missing Scotland terribly.

I suppose it's no longer a safe haven for either of you.

Hmm.

Yes... and so here we all are... on the same side, no less... all supporters of the Jacobite cause.

Of course, you being an English aristocrat, that position makes you a traitor to the Crown.

I see time has done nothing to dull the sharpness of your tongue, Madame.

Your Grace, uh, the fireworks are due to begin in a moment.

Ah.

(Coughing)

If you must cough on someone, find a servant.

Was that a bit harsh?

Just a little.

Are you all right, sir?

Your pardon, Madame.

It's chronic, I'm afraid.

Some Althea officinalis should help soothe your throat.

Didn't I see you talking to Mary Hawkins earlier?

You know her?

Enchanting girl.

Yes, she is.

Where are my manners?

Mrs. Claire Fraser, may I introduce my new secretary, Alexander Randall.

Yes, the name is not a coincidence.

Alex is the younger brother of Captain Jonathan Randall, Esquire.

Mrs. Fraser and your brother are very well acquainted.

Well, I will have to tell Jonathan that I have met you.

Tell him?

(Scoffs) I-I don't understand.

Your brother, he isn't... dead?

I certainly hope not.

I received a letter from Scotland this morning that he posted only two weeks ago.

Can I be of assistance?

I'm fine. Thank you.

I suppose I... heard a false rumor of his demise.

Jonathan did suffer wounds in the line of duty.

They were not insignificant, but, luckily, my brother is blessed with a much stronger constitution than my own.

(Coughs)

(Fireworks explode, crowd oohing)

Oh! (LAUGHS)

How lovely.

Must they be so thunderous?

Go and fetch my carriage.

(Chuckles)

I barely heard the fireworks. What would happen when Jamie found out that Black Jack Randall was alive? Would his need for vengeance eclipse our resolve to prevent the uprising? Should I even tell him? Even if I tried to keep that appalling news from him, in time, he'd be sure to learn the truth. What then?