Prince Michael sure took it on the chin!RossN said:
while it is nice that she has such good principles, what will be better is if she squashes any fascist takeovers...
that was slick! ! ! ! ! !RossN said:
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while it is nice that she has such good principles, what will be better is if she squashes any fascist takeovers...
All liberal canadian hope now rest on the shoulder of the Empress. She must stop the fascist Belaouf by whatever mean. At last she has been forced to exercise her constitutional role which I think is prefectly legal since she is trying to protect the country. I expect a showdown coming up.
BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! TAKE THAT FRENCHIE!!!
Now, I just hope that she does veto it, and that my dear Irish Fenians can reassert themselves.
Now, I just hope that she does veto it, and that my dear Irish Fenians can reassert themselves.
nice update , let's hope the Empress and her Council of State can curb the Fascisti for the sake of Glourious Canadia
, let's hope the Empress and her Council of State can curb the Fascisti for the sake of Glourious Canadia
Well, she's trying to take back power from Belaouf. But he may have grown too accustomed to the behind the scenes power to let her. Something tells me he might find a way.
Kill Belaouf! Canada needs an Irishman as Minister of Justice! What better than black beer and celtic music to keep the mob in place?! :rofl:
GhostWriter: Well I think Joséphine has a bit of Bonaparte steel in her, so lets wait and see.
prussiablue: Well said!
J. Passepartout:
Jape: Hurrah!
coz1: Could be...
Patrick O'Harte: What indeed? :rofl:
Part 89: Countdown
Above: Members of the ICC Palace Guard division, May 1918
Never interrupt your enemy when he is making a mistake. - John Milton
The Council of State of State had not previously met under Joséphine, and only twice under Napoléon - though under the Regency it was constantly in session. It was a major step, indicating (unofficially) that the Crown had very severe doubts over the direction of Goverment policy.
Present were 7 Ex-officio members (including the Prime Minister Peter French), the two living former Prime Ministers (John Devoy and Robert Borden) and the 7 Imperial apointees, of which the most important were the Archbishops of Montreal (Roman Catholic) and Ontario (Anglican). A group unlikely to support any radical move.
French, a plank like non-entity of man had been extensively briefed by Belaouf but it was quickly apparent he would massively outvoted: Borden and Devoy in particular tore him apart, so by the end of that first terrible day, the first of three set aside for the Council, he left the Palace and went straight to the Belaouf residence to confess his inability.
Belaouf was clearly unhhappy but not terribly suprised:
"Very well, on to plan 'B' then."
The second morning of the Council meeting (on the 24th of April 1918) had barely got into it's stride when it was interupted by an urgent phonecall for the Empress. Who returned looking troubled and informed the Council:
"That was the police. I have just recieved some disturbing news: it seems someone has reported a bomb in the Palace. Naturally they will have to search the Palace and therefore we will have to postpone our meeting until the all clear is given so we should plan to reconvene in a week. I apologise for your trouble."
She drew Borden and Devoy aside as the others were leaving:
"Please stay in the city for the next few days. I may need to call on you."
They exchanged quzzical looks, but gave their agreement and took their leave. Joséphine promptly turned on her heel and went to see her husband and son.
"I'm afraid things might be quite dangerous for a while Michael. Please take Alex and the yacht to Bahamas and wait there until I send word. I am making you Viceroy of the Indies, so it is all official and no one will be able to stop you."
She could feel the tears welling up and a catch in her voice, but strove on doggedly as she saw her husband about to argue:
"Please Michael! I need to know you two are safely away. I'm not sure how far he is going to go, but I'm not going to take chances with the people I love. Please just go with me on this."
The hugged each and kissed.
Joséphine went to her room after Michael and Napoleon-Alexander had been dispatched to the royal train to take them to Quebec City and the sea (and how hard that had been to say goodbye to her son! He was becoming a young man now and she was not entirely sure how much those dark, slightly sad, intelligent eyes had understood of the real reasons for his departure - certainly he had behaved with a level of maturity and faith in his parents far beyond his years at this sudden upheavel).
Carefully she selected a simple yet regal gown and and subtle jewelry befitting her status. |Reverently she placed an open crown upon her head and looked in the mirror. Every inch the Empress.
Then she sent the summons to Jean Belaouf, Minister of Justice.
Time for an audience with the enemy.
prussiablue: Well said!
J. Passepartout:
Jape: Hurrah!
coz1: Could be...
Patrick O'Harte: What indeed? :rofl:
Part 89: Countdown
Above: Members of the ICC Palace Guard division, May 1918
Never interrupt your enemy when he is making a mistake. - John Milton
The Council of State of State had not previously met under Joséphine, and only twice under Napoléon - though under the Regency it was constantly in session. It was a major step, indicating (unofficially) that the Crown had very severe doubts over the direction of Goverment policy.
Present were 7 Ex-officio members (including the Prime Minister Peter French), the two living former Prime Ministers (John Devoy and Robert Borden) and the 7 Imperial apointees, of which the most important were the Archbishops of Montreal (Roman Catholic) and Ontario (Anglican). A group unlikely to support any radical move.
French, a plank like non-entity of man had been extensively briefed by Belaouf but it was quickly apparent he would massively outvoted: Borden and Devoy in particular tore him apart, so by the end of that first terrible day, the first of three set aside for the Council, he left the Palace and went straight to the Belaouf residence to confess his inability.
Belaouf was clearly unhhappy but not terribly suprised:
"Very well, on to plan 'B' then."
*
The second morning of the Council meeting (on the 24th of April 1918) had barely got into it's stride when it was interupted by an urgent phonecall for the Empress. Who returned looking troubled and informed the Council:
"That was the police. I have just recieved some disturbing news: it seems someone has reported a bomb in the Palace. Naturally they will have to search the Palace and therefore we will have to postpone our meeting until the all clear is given so we should plan to reconvene in a week. I apologise for your trouble."
She drew Borden and Devoy aside as the others were leaving:
"Please stay in the city for the next few days. I may need to call on you."
They exchanged quzzical looks, but gave their agreement and took their leave. Joséphine promptly turned on her heel and went to see her husband and son.
"I'm afraid things might be quite dangerous for a while Michael. Please take Alex and the yacht to Bahamas and wait there until I send word. I am making you Viceroy of the Indies, so it is all official and no one will be able to stop you."
She could feel the tears welling up and a catch in her voice, but strove on doggedly as she saw her husband about to argue:
"Please Michael! I need to know you two are safely away. I'm not sure how far he is going to go, but I'm not going to take chances with the people I love. Please just go with me on this."
The hugged each and kissed.
*
Joséphine went to her room after Michael and Napoleon-Alexander had been dispatched to the royal train to take them to Quebec City and the sea (and how hard that had been to say goodbye to her son! He was becoming a young man now and she was not entirely sure how much those dark, slightly sad, intelligent eyes had understood of the real reasons for his departure - certainly he had behaved with a level of maturity and faith in his parents far beyond his years at this sudden upheavel).
Carefully she selected a simple yet regal gown and and subtle jewelry befitting her status. |Reverently she placed an open crown upon her head and looked in the mirror. Every inch the Empress.
Then she sent the summons to Jean Belaouf, Minister of Justice.
Time for an audience with the enemy.
Plan B for Bomb?
I hope that the Empress has a bomb covertly attached to Belaouf, set to denotonate at some suitable time after leaving the palace. Or that she up and shoots him herself. Now that would be cool. Or at the very least he needs to be impeached. What is the process for impeachment of MPs in imperial Canada?
I hope that the Empress has a bomb covertly attached to Belaouf, set to denotonate at some suitable time after leaving the palace. Or that she up and shoots him herself. Now that would be cool. Or at the very least he needs to be impeached. What is the process for impeachment of MPs in imperial Canada?
I predict that Belaouf will be arrested on the spot, put in a jail for, oh maybe ten to fifteen years where he will write his autobiography - "My Struggle" - and then burst back on the scene finally realizing his dream. Far fetched? Maybe not so much.
Jape: Thank you.
J. Passepartout: I think Joe has a trick or two up her sleeve yet...
coz1: Maybe not indeed.
Oh and Happy Christmas to all my loyal readers!
Part 90: Showdown at the Palace
War is much too serious a matter to be entrusted to the military. - Georges Clemenceau
The de facto and de jure rulers of the Canadian Empire held a brief, yet tense meeting in the Blue Room of the Montreal Palace.
"I'm afraid the evidence is quite conclusive Your Majesty," said Belaouf in apologetic tones, "there are definitely hostile forces attempting to overthrow you."
"I can see that," replied the Empress dryly.
He sat there in his sharp suit, all polite deference and formality and something in Joséphine's instincts revolted. Though he was slim and relatively handsome she had the impression of a toad, a toad grown fat and cold and old upon the damp. How could she allow this man to reign in her father's Empire?
Belaouf droned on about political minutae for a while, obviously hoping to addle what he must have felt was an overbred, underbraiined aristocrat figurehead. He had severly underestimated Joséphine however who asked him bluntly:
"Just how long are those additional policemen going to stay in residence outside my front door Mr Belaouf?"
He licked his lips, displaying a tiny sign of discomfort: "Only as long as there is a danger, your Majesty."
In other words: until she learned to play along the Empress of Canada would be a virtual prisoner in her own Palace. Too important and visible to kill, too vocal to be let out. Or at least kill yet.
"I am afraid I shall have to veto your Bill," she said sadly, "even if the Council can't meet I still have that power."
He smiled dangerously: "I think not Majesty."
Another monarch might have gotten angry there and then, but Joséphine was more than clever enough to realise that would get her nowhere. Instead she rose and brusquely dismissed Belaouf. "Gooday Mr. Belaouf. I imagine you can see yourself out."
"I shall return tomorrow," he replied. Half threat half statement of fact.
"Yes, I imagine so," was the absent reply.
In the end in her flight from the Palace worked perfectly - though it was certainly a nerve wracking experience.
Exchanging uniforms with a loyal maid of the same height and size she had slipped down out the servants entrance into the garden. To her horror one of the police officers caught her eye for a second as she calmly walked down the upper garden, but he simply nodded and looked away. That was the thing about servants - people rarely looked twice at them: a young woman in a maids costume was a maid. By the time something had connected in the officers mind and he sought her out for a second look the 'maid' had long since disappeared.
Stopping only to call upon Borden, they and Devoy piled into the laters automobile, affectionatly named "Katie": a novel experience for Joséphine, who had never previously ridden in one. Now she hid in the back under blankets, and dozed off on the long drive to Quebec City.
She was very tired.
J. Passepartout: I think Joe has a trick or two up her sleeve yet...
coz1: Maybe not indeed.
Oh and Happy Christmas to all my loyal readers!
Part 90: Showdown at the Palace
Above: "Katie", John Devoy's automobile, 1918
War is much too serious a matter to be entrusted to the military. - Georges Clemenceau
The de facto and de jure rulers of the Canadian Empire held a brief, yet tense meeting in the Blue Room of the Montreal Palace.
"I'm afraid the evidence is quite conclusive Your Majesty," said Belaouf in apologetic tones, "there are definitely hostile forces attempting to overthrow you."
"I can see that," replied the Empress dryly.
He sat there in his sharp suit, all polite deference and formality and something in Joséphine's instincts revolted. Though he was slim and relatively handsome she had the impression of a toad, a toad grown fat and cold and old upon the damp. How could she allow this man to reign in her father's Empire?
Belaouf droned on about political minutae for a while, obviously hoping to addle what he must have felt was an overbred, underbraiined aristocrat figurehead. He had severly underestimated Joséphine however who asked him bluntly:
"Just how long are those additional policemen going to stay in residence outside my front door Mr Belaouf?"
He licked his lips, displaying a tiny sign of discomfort: "Only as long as there is a danger, your Majesty."
In other words: until she learned to play along the Empress of Canada would be a virtual prisoner in her own Palace. Too important and visible to kill, too vocal to be let out. Or at least kill yet.
"I am afraid I shall have to veto your Bill," she said sadly, "even if the Council can't meet I still have that power."
He smiled dangerously: "I think not Majesty."
Another monarch might have gotten angry there and then, but Joséphine was more than clever enough to realise that would get her nowhere. Instead she rose and brusquely dismissed Belaouf. "Gooday Mr. Belaouf. I imagine you can see yourself out."
"I shall return tomorrow," he replied. Half threat half statement of fact.
"Yes, I imagine so," was the absent reply.
*
In the end in her flight from the Palace worked perfectly - though it was certainly a nerve wracking experience.
Exchanging uniforms with a loyal maid of the same height and size she had slipped down out the servants entrance into the garden. To her horror one of the police officers caught her eye for a second as she calmly walked down the upper garden, but he simply nodded and looked away. That was the thing about servants - people rarely looked twice at them: a young woman in a maids costume was a maid. By the time something had connected in the officers mind and he sought her out for a second look the 'maid' had long since disappeared.
Stopping only to call upon Borden, they and Devoy piled into the laters automobile, affectionatly named "Katie": a novel experience for Joséphine, who had never previously ridden in one. Now she hid in the back under blankets, and dozed off on the long drive to Quebec City.
She was very tired.
Ah, yes, Quebec city, that land of... I know rather less about this city than about Montreal. Nicely pulled escape so far though.
Long live the Empress. Damn that Belaouf. Now our empress need to find her allies and get rid of that rodent.
Thank goodness it appears the Empress is surviving the plot. Hopefully she recovers and crushes these impudent foes. An excellent work, RossN!
J. Passepartout: I'm afraid I don't know much about it either. o
prussiablue: Well said!
Mettermrck: Thank you! I'm really glad you like it Mettermrck, I'm a big fan of your own work.
Oh and happy St. Stephen's Day people!
Part 91: Secrets and Lies...
Above: Her Imperial Higness Joséphine I, Empress of Canada and France, Queen of Hawaii and the West Indies
The nerve that never relaxes, the eye that never blanches, the thought that never wanders, the purpose that never wavers - these are the masters of victory. - Edmund Burke
16 Hours Later...
The Police HQ in Quebec City had had a quiet few weeks and the only officer available that crisp morning in May was an unfortunate desk sergeant. Who found himself face by two elderly gentlemen in fine suits, a glittering troop of Cavalerie Impériale in full uniform. And the Empress of Canada, resplendent in regal gown a tiara, riding a white stallion.
He dropped his pen.
"In the name of the Imperial Throne and Her Majesty the Empress I herby order you to turn over any and all files Her Majesty deems neccesary in the safeguarding of the Empire of Canada, as guaranteed under Section XIV, Paragraph 6 of the Imperial Constitution. Vive l'Impératrice!" rattled off the cavalry captain.
The policeman gaped at him, a thin bead of sweat visible on his balding forehead.
Joséphine shot him a sympathetic, rather girlish smile. "Military men eh? Would you prefer it if I ask you? Nicely?"
The station yielded more than she could ever have hoped for: documents, budgets, prisoner lists... Much of blatantly, even brazenly crooked. An astonishing amount of corruption, that even by itself would be sufficent to destroy Jean Belaouf forever proffesionally. It wasn't by itself however: more important by far were the confessions.
Joséphine had been particularly worried about getting confessions. That useful clause (sufficently loosely interpretated - thank God for having two former Prime Ministers in tow!) might have made a search legal, but she knew herself incapable of allowing torture, and if they had decided against talking...
But they didn't call her bluff. The Chief - a slimy looking fellow, who had obviously risen due to politics rather than honesty or ability - broke down and flung himself at her feet begging for mercy. Most of his fellows swiftly followed suit.
It was all so damning - stories of intimidation, of staged riots and attacks against rivals, of the jailing of socialist sympathisers, of 'disappearances' that after a while Joséphine had to turn away personal interviews simply due to the glut of information.
"What now?" asked Devoy, looking at the young Empress with respect, and not a little awe. Who would have thought such a slender, pretty, pleasant young woman had such audacity in her?
"Well obviously we can't go to the police," she grimaced, tugging at her dress a little (she'd borrowed it from her sister and while very impressive to look at it wasn't a perfect fit) "I think we will have to go to the newspapers. The honest ones anyway. Whatever their politics. Word has to get out about what's been happening."
"I wouldn't like to be in the PIPC tomorrow," drawled Borden, "but what about today?"
"Well I guess we will have to go back to Montreal and face Belaouf in person, he has to know he's lost. What happens there will be the real test."
She smiled. Though things could still go badly wrong at home, she suddenly felt as if a great weight had fallen from her shoulders. She'd win in the end now, she was sure of it.
Waving aside an offer of a car she elected to ride home with her cavalry escorted. The rain of the previous night had gone and the grass and trees seemed more vividly alive than she'd ever seen them and it looked like the beginnings of a beautiful day.
o prussiablue: Well said!
Mettermrck: Thank you!
I'm really glad you like it Mettermrck, I'm a big fan of your own work.Oh and happy St. Stephen's Day people!
Part 91: Secrets and Lies...
Above: Her Imperial Higness Joséphine I, Empress of Canada and France, Queen of Hawaii and the West Indies
The nerve that never relaxes, the eye that never blanches, the thought that never wanders, the purpose that never wavers - these are the masters of victory. - Edmund Burke
16 Hours Later...
The Police HQ in Quebec City had had a quiet few weeks and the only officer available that crisp morning in May was an unfortunate desk sergeant. Who found himself face by two elderly gentlemen in fine suits, a glittering troop of Cavalerie Impériale in full uniform. And the Empress of Canada, resplendent in regal gown a tiara, riding a white stallion.
He dropped his pen.
"In the name of the Imperial Throne and Her Majesty the Empress I herby order you to turn over any and all files Her Majesty deems neccesary in the safeguarding of the Empire of Canada, as guaranteed under Section XIV, Paragraph 6 of the Imperial Constitution. Vive l'Impératrice!" rattled off the cavalry captain.
The policeman gaped at him, a thin bead of sweat visible on his balding forehead.
Joséphine shot him a sympathetic, rather girlish smile. "Military men eh? Would you prefer it if I ask you? Nicely?"
*
The station yielded more than she could ever have hoped for: documents, budgets, prisoner lists... Much of blatantly, even brazenly crooked. An astonishing amount of corruption, that even by itself would be sufficent to destroy Jean Belaouf forever proffesionally. It wasn't by itself however: more important by far were the confessions.
Joséphine had been particularly worried about getting confessions. That useful clause (sufficently loosely interpretated - thank God for having two former Prime Ministers in tow!) might have made a search legal, but she knew herself incapable of allowing torture, and if they had decided against talking...
But they didn't call her bluff. The Chief - a slimy looking fellow, who had obviously risen due to politics rather than honesty or ability - broke down and flung himself at her feet begging for mercy. Most of his fellows swiftly followed suit.
It was all so damning - stories of intimidation, of staged riots and attacks against rivals, of the jailing of socialist sympathisers, of 'disappearances' that after a while Joséphine had to turn away personal interviews simply due to the glut of information.
"What now?" asked Devoy, looking at the young Empress with respect, and not a little awe. Who would have thought such a slender, pretty, pleasant young woman had such audacity in her?
"Well obviously we can't go to the police," she grimaced, tugging at her dress a little (she'd borrowed it from her sister and while very impressive to look at it wasn't a perfect fit) "I think we will have to go to the newspapers. The honest ones anyway. Whatever their politics. Word has to get out about what's been happening."
"I wouldn't like to be in the PIPC tomorrow," drawled Borden, "but what about today?"
"Well I guess we will have to go back to Montreal and face Belaouf in person, he has to know he's lost. What happens there will be the real test."
She smiled. Though things could still go badly wrong at home, she suddenly felt as if a great weight had fallen from her shoulders. She'd win in the end now, she was sure of it.
Waving aside an offer of a car she elected to ride home with her cavalry escorted. The rain of the previous night had gone and the grass and trees seemed more vividly alive than she'd ever seen them and it looked like the beginnings of a beautiful day.
On a horse! In his office?
This is great, now all we need to know is how thouroughly the law allows Belaouf to be punished.
This is great, now all we need to know is how thouroughly the law allows Belaouf to be punished.
J. Passepartout: I imagine the sound of 30 horses riding into his station courtyard would be reason enough to look out the window.
Jape: Ah, so you've read fiction before then...
GhostWriter: Thank you.
prussiablue: Yep!
Part 92: The Winner Takes It All
The most dangerous moment comes with victory. - Napoleon Bonaparte
It was not until the early hours of the following morning that a weary Joséphine actually did reach the Palace. Events had simply moved far too quickly to allow a moment of rest.
Clearly word had spread - Montreal was a city abuzz with conflicting rumours and nervous crowds unsure of what was going on. Several prominent cabinet members (including the Ministers for Justice, War and Foreign Affairs) had and ICC officials had dissappeared leaving politics in a bit of a vaccum - though that hapless pawn Peter French had stayed behind (presumably because he didn't know anything). Somewhat at a loss with what to do with the rube, but (correctly) guessing that he was not one of the knowingly guilty so she gently accepted his resignation and sent him home to his wife.
Fortunatly a major debate on the establishment of relations, or otherwise, with the new Russian Goverment had been scheduled for that day, so within three hours of of arriving in Montreal the Empress was able to address a quorum of Imperial MP's in the House, wherein she outlined the major events of the previous few days and more generally the previous few years. She was blunt:
Not even the 36 PIPC nervous wrecks sitting on the goverment benches objected. A vote of no confidence brought down the goverment officialy and Joséphine appointed Flynn acting Prime Minister as both the leader of the largest party and the most experienced politician still sitting in the House. He proceeded to follow her advice and appoint Lomer Gouin as his Deputy.
It was passed unanimously.
There would plenty of time to write in the fine print tomorrow, but for the time being it would hold. Thankfully there had been relatively little turnover in the Montreal Metropolitan Police over the past decade which meant the great bulk of it was uninfiltrated by the Belaouf administration - they could confidently be trusted to maintain order should events go untoward. There would be no need to bring troops into the city for which she was profoundly thankful.
She was so exhausted when she got into the darkened Palace that at first she didn't notice the man sitting in the chair in her study, idly contemplating the officers sword in his hands.
It was Jean Belaouf.
Jape: Ah, so you've read fiction before then...
GhostWriter: Thank you.
prussiablue: Yep!
Part 92: The Winner Takes It All
Above: Peter French, Prime Minister of Canada 1916-18 (pictured with his wife)
The most dangerous moment comes with victory. - Napoleon Bonaparte
It was not until the early hours of the following morning that a weary Joséphine actually did reach the Palace. Events had simply moved far too quickly to allow a moment of rest.
Clearly word had spread - Montreal was a city abuzz with conflicting rumours and nervous crowds unsure of what was going on. Several prominent cabinet members (including the Ministers for Justice, War and Foreign Affairs) had and ICC officials had dissappeared leaving politics in a bit of a vaccum - though that hapless pawn Peter French had stayed behind (presumably because he didn't know anything). Somewhat at a loss with what to do with the rube, but (correctly) guessing that he was not one of the knowingly guilty so she gently accepted his resignation and sent him home to his wife.
Fortunatly a major debate on the establishment of relations, or otherwise, with the new Russian Goverment had been scheduled for that day, so within three hours of of arriving in Montreal the Empress was able to address a quorum of Imperial MP's in the House, wherein she outlined the major events of the previous few days and more generally the previous few years. She was blunt:
Not even the 36 PIPC nervous wrecks sitting on the goverment benches objected. A vote of no confidence brought down the goverment officialy and Joséphine appointed Flynn acting Prime Minister as both the leader of the largest party and the most experienced politician still sitting in the House. He proceeded to follow her advice and appoint Lomer Gouin as his Deputy.
It was passed unanimously.
There would plenty of time to write in the fine print tomorrow, but for the time being it would hold. Thankfully there had been relatively little turnover in the Montreal Metropolitan Police over the past decade which meant the great bulk of it was uninfiltrated by the Belaouf administration - they could confidently be trusted to maintain order should events go untoward. There would be no need to bring troops into the city for which she was profoundly thankful.
She was so exhausted when she got into the darkened Palace that at first she didn't notice the man sitting in the chair in her study, idly contemplating the officers sword in his hands.
It was Jean Belaouf.