Jean Genie
Copyright© 2026 by Rachael Jane
Chapter 80: The New Masters of Jaén
Jaén, Spain, 1808
The French troops arrive at dawn, without ceremony or warning. The heavy, rhythmic thunder of marching boots rolls through the streets of Jaén like a storm breaking over the hills.
Isabel hears them before anyone else at Casa de los Altamira. She is sweeping the courtyard, her movements slow and careful, the Maristela Bracelet warm beneath her sleeve. She pauses, broom in hand, listening. Her breath tightens. She knows the sound of soldiers. Everyone in Spain does by now. The fragile alliance between France and Spain has fractured. The French armies have come to ‘liberate’ Spain.
I feel Isabel’s pulse quicken.
‘Stay calm,’ I whisper.
She nods slightly, though she doesn’t speak aloud. In earlier times she would have looked to Nicole for reassurance.
But Nicole is gone now ... no longer required as a governess, she married a local man. For the last four years she has been living on the other side of Jaén with her husband and young children. Isabel has no one to lean on except Doña Elvira’s daughter, Adella. However, even Adella must hide her strength behind polite smiles. The household feels emptier without Nicole’s steady presence. Isabel has grown in strength, but she still feels the loss of her mentor.
The courtyard door opens. Adella, only nineteen, but already carrying herself with the quiet authority of a woman twice her age, steps out. Her dark hair is pinned neatly, her expression composed, but her eyes flicker with tension.
“Isabel,” she says softly, “go inside as soon as you have finished sweeping.”
Isabel hesitates. “Yes, señorita. Are they...?”
Adella nods. “Yes. The French army has arrived in Jaén.”
Napoleon’s soldiers. The occupiers who have already taken Córdoba, Sevilla, and Granada. The ones who are now taking Jaén.
Isabel grips her sleeve, steadying herself as a squad of soldiers enters the Altamira courtyard. The soldiers look smart in their blue coats, white straps, and muskets gleaming in the morning light. Their boots strike the ground with mechanical precision. A young officer rides at the front, his posture straight, his expression unreadable. Behind him, two more officers dismount.
The French demands have preceded their arrival, and they are quite clear ... Doña Elvira is ordered to provide quarters for three officers until further notice.
Adella steps forward, her voice steady. “Welcome to Casa de los Altamira.”
The senior officer, Captain Delon, bows slightly. “Is Madame Altamira indisposed?”
Adella nods. “My mother is elderly. My brother Mateo manages the estate. I manage the house.”
As if summoned by Adella’s words, Mateo strides into the courtyard. Only twenty‑two, but already trying to look older, more important, more authoritative. His coat is immaculate, his posture stiff, and his expression eager to please.
He bows deeply. “Captain Delon. Lieutenant Marchand. Sergeant Lefèvre. Casa de los Altamira welcomes you.”
Isabel watches him with quiet dread. Mateo has made his political affiliations clear. He is sympathetic to the French. He believes cooperation is the only path to survival. He believes Napoleon will modernize Spain. He believes that resistance is foolish.
He is wrong.
Adella hides her contempt for her brother behind a polite smile. Isabel sees the tension in her jaw, the way her fingers tighten around the folds of her skirt.
The officers inspect the courtyard. Isabel sees Captain Delon as calm and calculating, while Lieutenant Marchand is arrogant and predatory. Sergeant Lefèvre is quiet and watchful.
Marchand’s gaze lingers on Isabel. She lowers her eyes immediately.
I nudge his thoughts towards something else, and whisper sharply to Isabel. ‘Avoid him.’
She nods, her breath trembling.
Mateo leads the officers inside, eager to impress them. Adella follows, her posture graceful and her expression unreadable. Her footsteps move quickly across the tiles.
Isabel remains in the courtyard for a moment, gripping the broom, trying to steady her breath. I feel her fear, but I also I feel her resolve and growing strength.
She whispers silently, “Jeannia ... what do we do?”
I answer softly. ‘We survive. We watch. We wait. And when the moment comes, we act.’
She exhales slowly. The French voices echo through the house. Doña Remedios, the senior housekeeper and the bane of Isabel’s life, shouts orders in the kitchen. Mateo’s laughter rings out ... too loud, too eager to please the French.
Isabel straightens her shoulders as she steps inside. The occupation has begun. And so has the resistance to French rule.
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