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We're leaving in a few minutes. Oh. I didn't mean to wake you, Sassenach. Another long night at Maison Elise? Aye. I fear Prince Charles has run out of patience with your husband. Last night he demanded that I finally arrange that meeting he's been wanting with Minister Duverney. And he wants it subito. That's Italian for "right away. " I know what that means. Well, I suppose it had to happen sooner or later. I'm impressed you managed to delay it all this time. Do you think Duverney will consent to a meeting with The Prince? I have no idea, but I really have no time for that now. I must away. A government inspector's coming to examine Jared's warehouse, and then it's a mad gallop to Versailles, chess and a blether with Duverney. Then another mad gallop, hopefully with the Minister by my side, to Maison Elise, and then another night of drink. And yet more blether with that loon of a Prince. Still, I suppose stopping Charles' rebellion is worth losing a bit of sleep. You've lost more than a little bit of sleep, I'm afraid. Ah, (SPEAKS GAELIC), Sassenach. I'll get to close my eyes on the journey back to the palace. But, I appreciate your concern. I ken. I reek of smoke. Mm, and cheap perfume. Doesn't exactly help my morning sickness. I hung my head out of the carriage on the way here, but it was all for naught, it appears. Go back to sleep, Sassenach. You and the bairn need rest. Ye've time before you join Louise and the ladies for tea. I would not want to be late for tea. Ah, it's a tedious business, I grant ye. You never know, today could be the day you learn some bit of vital information that could stop the chances of Charles' rebellion from happening, once and for all. Well, who's going to give up this vital piece of information? Louise? Madame Geyer? Christ, I don't believe it. He's gone. Sawney. Had him since I was a wee lad. Look, I'm sure he's around here somewhere. Have the servants search the house, Sassenach, for a wee wooden snake about yon size. Don't worry. We'll give the house a thorough going-over. I'll leave it in your capable hands. Give my regards to your ladies at tea. They're not my ladies. I can't marry a Frenchman! Why, is there something wrong with Frenchmen? You don't know about Frenchmen? How they You are English. Do you know what she's talking about? I'm afraid I don't. Well, of course you wouldn't. You're husband's so g-gentle and so kind. I mean, I I know he doesn't trouble you in that way. Mary, do you mean W-what they do in b-bed. My maid said that a a Frenchman's "thing," you know, they put it right between a lady's legs. I mean, right up inside her. - No! - Yes! An Englishman, or even a Scot Oh, I didn't mean it in that way, but a man like your husband, surely he'd never dream of forcing his wife to endure something like that. Mary, I believe we need to have a little talk. Men don't do things like that where I come from. And where is that? The moon? Seaford. In Sussex. I found this in the, uh the attic of my grandmother's house in Sussex. So even your grandmother was a historian. Well, all families recorded the births, deaths, and marriages in the front - of the family Bible. - Mm-hmm. This one only goes back seven generations, but according to this, your beloved husband got his start in 1746, when Jonathon Wolverton Randall Married Miss Mary Hawkins. Ma chère, Claire. Are you all right? I hope I didn't upset you. Somewhere in the back of my mind I must have known. If Jack Randall had really died at Wentworth Prison, he obviously could not later wed Mary Hawkins and sire Frank's direct ancestor. And in that case, Frank himself would never exist. Perhaps I hadn't allowed myself to think about it until now, but I was faced with the terrible knowledge that Frank's very existence now depended on Jack living for at least another year. Welcome home, Madame. In your absence, you received three invitations to dinner parties and salons for the next week. A thank you card arrived from Madame Cholbi and the search for the little, wooden snake creature continues, but no success as yet, and I-I found this in the kitchen. I believe it is yours? I gave this to Suzette to mend. Suzette? Did I not ask you to mend Did you need something, milady? No. I won't apologize for spending time with your lady's maid, if ye have a mind to reproach me. What you do with your time is your own concern. Aye, it is. But, don't you have anything else you could be doing? I know Suzette certainly does. It is the middle of the day, after all. As a matter of fact, I don't. Since when did you become such a priggish scold when it comes to frolicking between the sheets? You can mind you own bloody business, and remember who runs this house! Murtagh, I'm I'm sorry. That was unforgivably rude. I'm just not myself. No. No, you're not. - Jack Randall is alive. - What? No. I saw him lying dead with my own eyes, he was bleeding on the stone floor of Wentworth Prison. Apparently he has made a miraculous recovery. When we were at Versailles, I spoke with the Duke's secretary, who, as it happens, is Alex Randall His brother. Recovered? "Injured in the line of duty" was how he put it. Jesus wept. Randall really is the Devil's spawn. - Ye Ye havena told Jamie? - No. - Good. - Is it? Aye, unless ye want him running back to Scotland to seek his vengeance and that would most likely end up with Jamie being arrested and hanged whether he kills Randall or not. But I'm living a lie. Hey. You're keeping a secret to save his life and if it keeps the lad from running off in a blind fury only to meet his maker at the end of a rope, I'll be keeping that secret with ye. Thank you. Aye. Now, if you don't mind, I have some business with yer maid to finish. I don't suppose you've ever thought of birth control? Control? Never mind. I'll pick up something for Suzette. Our involvement in Austria has depleted our resources. The King is not inclined to fund another foreign adventure, but I'm here to play chess, not to debate politics, and I will have you in three moves. What is politics But chess on a grand scale? How long have you been planning that? Since you opened with a Spanish game. I'm going to get you. Check. Huh. The game is yours again. You played well. But, if I may return to more pressing matters. When you and I first met, you offered to be of service if ever I needed you. You know, James, if you desire my help, it would not be a bad idea to lose a game once in a while. I respect you too much to allow such a cheap victory. I give you permission to respect me less. Now, how can I be of service? Tell Prince Charles what you told me. That King Louis has no intention of funding the rebellion. You want to discourage Prince Charles from mounting your rebellion? Why? Scotland and our people cannot bear another failed rebellion. We must not invade until we're certain we have the resources and finances to win. As Minister, I cannot speak officially to the emissary of a monarch not recognized by The King. - You know that. - Of course, but if you were to meet with Charles unofficially, in a place that values discretion above all Which would be? Maison Elise. Mm. I have not been there in months. My wife She need not know. You can honestly tell her you're simply out with me playing chess. Ah, Madonna! What a pleasure to see you again. Are you always that friendly with your so-called enemies? Sometimes mutual interests force us to associate with people we do not like or trust. Please, come inside and tell me how can I help you. I'm interested in stopping a pregnancy from happening. Ah. It's not for me. Ah, bon. Bon, bon. Well, perhaps then I would use mugwort. Delphine, can you check in the back? Aconitum Napellus. Monkshood. Woop-oop-oop-oop-oop. You must take care, Madame. I know this is poison. I'm not aware of any medicinal uses for monkshood. Nor am I, Madonna. - Yet you sell it in your shop. - I have it in my shop. What I sell to my customers who, usually in a moment of passion, want to poison their enemies, is bitter cascara. The effect is most immediate. The stomach seeks to purge itself, and then, well, you get the idea. Then it makes the enemy suffer visibly, but it doesn't kill them. Precisely. Poisoner attributes the recovery to the intervention of a priest or some sort of counter-spell. No one dies, and the customer is satisfied. So, you're a canny businessman and a humanitarian. Who is the contraceptive for, if I may ask? - My lady's maid. - Oh. It is usually the other way around. The maid buys a preventative for her lady so the lady can maintain the pretense of fidelity. Well, I am an unusual lady. Or, at least, I used to be. What, madam? Oh, it's nothing. I feel since I've come to Paris my life has got more and more conventional by the day, as, I suppose, have I But it's of no concern. I wonder if you have ever considered putting your medical talents to use? L'Hôpital des Anges is always looking for help. What is L'Hôpital des Anges? The charity hospital down near the cathedral. The nuns who run it do their best, but they must rely on medical volunteers. Not all of them as perceptive as you Or as in need of helping others. For your maid. This is why ye rushed home and harried me along with ye? You don't even have to come inside. You can stay here with the carriage. Jamie will not like this. He'll be happy if I'm happy. - - Or you'll be needing to go in there. - - - - Broch Tuarach? And how can we help you, Madam? Is one of your servants here today? No, as I mentioned earlier to Sister Angelique, I have some medical skills I thought might be useful here. Indeed. It was urine, undoubtedly, but without chemical tests, or even litmus paper, what conceivable use could a urine sample be? Can you tell from what she suffers, Madam? Possibly. I suspected the cause straight away, but I took a moment to recall the 18th century term for diabetes. I believe she has Sugar sickness. And can you tell whether she will recover? She won't. I'm afraid she won't last the month. This is what Monsieur Parnelle said. I have never seen a woman who knew the science of urinoscopy. Perhaps you could help Sister Angelique dress the wounds of a young boy with Scrofula? His Majesty has seen fit to approve the Spanish crown's request for a sizeable loan, which, in turn has seen French merchants, uh, taking their businesses out of the country to avoid tax increases we have had to levy. I understand completely, Monsieur. Wars are expensive. Aye. Very expensive. In blood and gold. Exactly. Which is why I would never approach His Majesty, King Louis, with empty promises or empty pockets. Rest assured, I have already secured the vast majority of funds for our cause. You have? Oh, yes. Funds nearly sufficient to finance our entire campaign. I see. Perhaps I misunderstood the position of Your Highness. I hope you will forgive my error. I have been in secret negotiations with several wealthy and highly-influential members of the British aristocracy who believe my father is the rightful heir to the English throne. Mark me, these patriots are willing to fund his return to glory, and have already pledged an amount to the cause nearly sufficient to accomplish that divine purpose. My friend James is astonished. I cannot tell you how happy I am to see the look of relief and shock upon your face, James. Those are the very words, Your Highness. "Relief and shock. " I, too, share in, uh, happy edification. But, Highness, in light of this, uh, happy news, I must ask as to the role you see for my King? Should King Louis support our cause, I offer France an alliance with Britain in the aftermath of victory. Britain and France allies? Oh, it would change the world, Highness. Yes, but France will have to stand with us now. Add your funds to what I've already secured. Help me secure victory. Close the gap between what I have and what I need and I will give you the world. I will speak to the King on your behalf, but I will first need some evidence of your English patriots and their "ample funds. " And you shall have it. - Let us celebrate. - Hm. Claire? Claire! Suzette! Yes, Milord. She has not returned since she went out with Monsieur Murtagh this afternoon. Merci. Jamie? I'm so glad you're here. I've had the most wonderful day. I lanced two boils, changed filthy dressings, and saw my first case of full-blown Scrofula. The carriage ride home was full of delightful tales of blood and pus and gangrenous toenails. Where have you been? Certainly not at Madame Louise's for tea. At L'Hôpital des Anges. Do you know it? The charity hospital? Aye. What took you there? I'll just go and find myself something to eat. I told ye he wouldn't like it. I heard they were in need of people with my skills. So, as I had time today, I went and volunteered. Mother Hildegarde, she's the matron, she's a complete force of nature. She was a musical prodigy and goddaughter of King Louis' great-grandfather. She's not going to make it easy for me, but when she saw me taste the urine, the tides began to turn. I haven't won her over yet, but I will. What's the matter? I thought you'd be happy for me. Did ye now? Well, yes, I did. What's wrong? You're with child, for one. You could catch a filthy disease. What of the bairn? Have you not thought of that? Of course I've thought of the baby. I would only treat patients that have injury, not diseases. Or at least diseases I know I can't catch. Why take the chance? It has been a long time since I have felt useful. I need to feel a sense of accomplishment. I need a purpose. Purpose? I thought our purpose for being in this godforsaken city was to stop the rebellion. It is. That hasn't changed. Then tell me, how will lancing boils and tasting urine help us to save Scotland? Well, what would you have me do, Jamie? Go to Maison Elise with you and Charles? Or do you want me to run the wine business in your place? What I want, when I come home with a problem, is to be able to turn to my wife for help. Tonight, The Prince told Mr. Duverney that he's secured significant funding from several prominent Englishmen with which to fund the rebellion. Could that be true? But The Prince offered Duverney an alliance with England. All I could do was sit there as the wine turned sour in my stomach. But that's impossible. Britain and France won't become allies for another century. All I know is Charles is more canny than he seems. He's keeping secrets, I dinna ken what to do about it. I'm sorry, Jamie. Truly, I am. I know this has all been my idea: changing the future, stopping the rebellion and right now, all of it, it falls on you, but I will try and help you in any way that I can. So I believed. That's why I came home looking for you. Instead, you were out indulging yourself with poultices and potions. I assure you, there was no indulging involved. I was helping people. But yes, that makes me feel good, gives my day meaning. What about me? I spend my days and nights wheedling and flattering a man so I can gain his secrets and undermine his cause. When do I get to feel good? When do I get to find meaning in my day? I knew that wasn't gonna go well. So sad. How can there be love in the marriage when love leaves the bed? Huh? A lady's maid knows what does, and does not, occur in her mistress' boudoir. Ooh! - - First of all, I'm a dirty Scottish bastard. Okay, then. Take me to the police - and I will find your wife. - Ah, you speak English. And I will tell her that you rut with whores. No, no, no. No police. And my wife would not believe you, but Madam Elise will likely not appreciate having a thief for a servant boy. N-n-not Madame Elise, no. Please, she she will kill me if she thinks I steal from her customers. Aye, she's not a forgiving kind. I don't do it every night. J-Just when we are very busy and, like, the gentlemen are very drunk. I'm not interested in your methods, but I am interested in you. Hey, I-I'm no whore. I I don't want that, either. Then what? I want to offer you a job, ye wee fool. A job? Doing what? Exactly what you have been doing. Put me down! Stop! You can keep all of this, but from now on, you're going to do all your stealing for me. You wee bastard. That's my snake. How much do you pay? Who the hell are you? What are you doing in my house? You said the same thing to Suzette. That doesn't make me feel very special. But the ladies at Maison Elise were always very very generous when I give them compliments. So was Suzette. She gave him the chicken leg. Yeah. Well, that's very interesting, but I still don't know who you are. Take him up to the servants' quarters, Murtagh. Suzette is preparing a bath and has some nightclothes for him to wear. Wait. Good night, Madame. Ah, Christ. And watch your (SPEAKS GAELIC). Bed and bath? He's a pickpocket. His name's Fergus. Well, actually it's Claudel, but we agreed that wasna very manly. So, you invited him into our house? I hired him from Maison Elise. Hired him? Because every fine house needs a pickpocket, I suppose? It's part of my plan. We need information that I cannot get directly from The Prince. Information that comes in the form of letters from his father, from other potential financiers, and most importantly, from these wealthy Englishmen, if they do even exist. So, Fergus steals the letters, and Aye, and we copy them, and then he puts them back before anyone notices they've gone missing. That's a good plan. Thank you. Well, good night. As the days passed, our house settled into a routine that kept us all busy. Fergus spent his time, with Murtagh's help, stealing letters to and from The Prince. Jamie's days were spent out with Prince Charles Now, we drink. Who continued to be long in rhetoric and short on specifics. My days, in between social engagements, were spent in the hospital where I began to develop an appreciation of Mother Hildegarde's medical knowledge. Jamie and Murtagh's time was spent trying to piece together the puzzle of the Jacobite rebellion and discover if there really was an English conspiracy willing to fund the cause, or if it was all a ruse by a desperate prince trying to restore his father's throne. He must get these letters back to the tavern before they're missed. Is that King James' signature at the bottom? I recognize his hand, by now. Everything else is in code. The seal had been removed at least three times before I took it off myself. Yeah, we're not the only ones interested in the Stuart correspondence. Can you decode it? Most of the codes are fairly simple. Usually only talking about family gossip and such. Suppose they'd rather not let anyone know. I think I can work this one out. When I can see straight, that is. Wha What the devil is this? It's music, ye dolt. I know music when I see it. But what's it doing in a letter? I was trying to puzzle that one out, myself. "A Song of the Country. " The lyrics are about a bonnie day in a meadow. Just another code? Maybe, but nothing in the code has anything to do with the notes. Maybe it's not a code. Perhaps some German friend of Charles just sent him a piece of music to enjoy. Aye, but this message is in German, but was sent from England. A code in music? Aye. Maybe tomorrow you can ask around for a music teacher or composer that can speak German. There's somebody I know who, uh who might be able to read it But you're not gonna like it. The skin is pink, with good granulation. There's no bad smells or dark streaks, but his urine is very dark and odorous, and he's incredibly warm. Perhaps a secondary infection? Bladder or appendicitis? Mm. There's no abdominal tenderness. Bouton. No, you are right. It isn't that. But that's almost healed. It's not infected. No? You see? A pocket of putrefaction. Shall I summon Monsieur Forez? No, I can handle it. I'll need a small scalpel, some alcohol, and cloth, please. While the tiny entrance wound had healed cleanly, the deeper wound had festered and formed a pocket of pus around the intrusion, buried in the muscle tissue where no surface symptoms were visible To human senses, at least. Forceps. Voila. Jamie what are you doing here? I, uh I need help. Musically speaking. Well, you did say Mother Hildegarde kens music. I was hoping Wondering if there was something odd about the music. The way it's written. Can you assure me what you're doing is neither illegal nor dangerous? I can assure you, if my husband is asking, then it's for a good reason. That is the basic melody. It then repeats itself in variations. You know, I have seen some things reminiscent of this. Yes, an old German friend of mine, Herr Bach, has done work very similar to this. Johann Sebastian Bach? I'm surprised you have heard of him. He sends me things now and again. He calls them "inventions," and they are really quite clever, but I'm afraid his music is not the sort to endure. Clever, but no heart. This is a clumsy version of this. "Goldberg Variationen. " "The Goldberg Variations. " Now, you see here, your mysterious composer has repeated the same melody as Herr Bach almost but changed the key each time. The key and that's unusual? Oh, yes. Five changes in such a short piece, and some changes for no reason whatsoever. Hm. No musical reason. The key is the key. - Aye. - What key? The musical key. Whoever wrote this had a diabolical sense of humor. Oh, aye, diabolical. Two flats means you take every second letter, beginning at the start of the section. Three sharps means you take every third letter, beginning at the end. Does it make sense? Aye. Aye, it does. "I have successfully concluded negotiations with our three partners, all of whom are willing to contribute to our cause. " So, the English conspirators are real? Aye. "I can guarantee the amount of £40,000 will be made available to you. " £40,000. It's a sizeable amount, right enough, but it's not enough to fund an entire war. So, Charles was lying to Duverney. Exaggerating. Duverney is smart enough to expect a certain amount of that in a business like this. 40,000 may not fund the war, but it may be enough to convince Duverney and The King that the Jacobites have a chance. "I will be back in Paris at the month's end, and am eager to finally meet you face-to-face to solidify our arrangement. " And then it's just "S. " Aye. One letter left over. A signature, I reckon. - S - Sandringham. It's the Duke. I'm sure of it. The Duke's had secret dealings with Dougal for years. Dougal is a committed Jacobite. He's playing both sides against the middle. He may well be hedging his bets for and against a Stuart restoration. If we can meet with Sandringham, convince him this is a bad investment You know what this means? We figured it out. This calls for a celebration. - Uh, whiskey - Sandringham, lass. If Jamie sits down with him and his secretary, you know what will happen. He'll find out Black Jack Randall is still alive. You need to tell him, and you need to tell him now. I can't tell you how good it feels to make progress after fighting feathers for so long. We still have problems to solve, but we'll solve them too. To Mother Hildegarde, without whom our enemies would remain unknown to us. To my wife who's always there when I need her. - I - What is it, Sassenach? I just love seeing you so happy.