The Ruby Talisman Read online

  Kara smiled as she passed a plate and knife to Tilly. ‘Is this the girl who declared this assignment to be deadly boring?’ she joked. ‘Of course you can use my computer. I have quite a bit of work to catch up on myself. Let me know if you need any help or if you want to browse my collection of French books. Perhaps we could buy your birthday present tomorrow.’

  Tilly smiled gratefully. At least Auntie Kara doesn’t make a fuss about everything the way Mum does, she thought, munching on her golden honey toast.

  Tilly spent the morning in Kara’s office, trawling history websites and flicking through books. She started writing notes for her assignment but found herself distracted by trivia and sketches of costumes.

  Kara popped her head around the door at lunchtime.

  ‘Enough time on the computer,’ ordered Kara with a smile. ‘Your eyes are turning into rectangles! I’ve made some chicken-and-salad rolls and thought we could sit in the sun out the back and take a break.’

  Tilly rubbed her eyes. ‘Thanks, that would be lovely.’

  Kara had made herself a coffee and a hot chocolate for Tilly. They each picked up a plate and a steaming cup and carried them out into the garden.

  The garden was tiny but lovely, with limestone paving, neatly clipped box hedges, two flowering rosebushes and an antique iron urn on a plinth. A huge gum tree soared over the fence, streaked with rusty sap.

  Aunt and niece sat on two ornate garden chairs at a wrought-iron table in the warm sunshine. Overhead, the sky blazed a deep, startling blue.

  ‘I love your house,’ commented Tilly wistfully. ‘It’s so beautiful and neat and quiet– with no pesky little brother. No fighting. No mess.’

  ‘It’s only quiet because Andrew and Zac are away,’ replied Kara with a laugh. ‘Normally, Zac would be dropping his muddy rugby boots on the floor and racing up and down the stairs with one of his friends. Andrew would be talking on his mobile and spreading the newspaper all over the bench.

  ‘So I’m having a lovely little holiday, too, though personally I miss the noise and the mess when they’re away too long. That’s what families are – but they’re also fun! How are you going with that assignment?’

  Tilly shrugged, remembering her meagre scribbles.

  ‘Okay, I guess,’ acknowledged Tilly, but then she remembered some of the fascinating details she had read, and her voice brightened. ‘You’re right. It’s actually really interesting.

  ‘Did you know Marie-Antoinette was only fourteen when she was married to the Dauphin Louis XVI?’ Tilly asked. ‘That’s only a year older than me! She had never even metLouis when she was married to him by proxy in Austria. She met him for the first time three weeks later in France.

  ‘Marie-Antoinette left her home and family and never saw most of them again. At first, she wasn’t even allowed to take her dog with her. She became Queen of France at eighteen! She was very beautiful and set the most extravagant fashions for the whole world. It was so sad that she was executed in the end.’

  Kara nodded, keen to encourage her niece’s sudden enthusiasm. It was nice to see a spark of the old Tilly. ‘She was an amazing woman. Even with all her incredible wealth and clothes and beauty, I wonder if she was ever truly happy? Perhaps just when she escaped the court to her private retreat and pretended to be a normal mother, wife and shepherdess instead of a queen!’

  ***

  That night when Tilly went to bed she couldn’t sleep. She tossed and turned, images from her dream haunting her with their vivid colour. At last she sat up and turned on the bedside lamp, planning to read awhile. She blinked in the sudden light.

  There, shining in the lamplight, was the ruby talisman, forgotten on her bedside table. Tilly picked up the pendant and pressed it between her fingers.

  I really must return this to Auntie Kara, thought Tilly. It’s too valuable to leave lying around.

  She cautiously slipped the chain over her head and tucked the ruby inside her pink pyjama top. It felt cold and hard against her skin. Turning off the light, Tilly nestled back into her pillows, her mind churning with questions.

  Did I really see Amelie-Mathilde in my dream last night? What happened to Amelie? Did she marry the horrid, old Chevalier – or did she escape? Did Amelie really face danger and adventure on her way to England? Who helped her? I wish I could have a life of adventure and excitement instead of my own boring, miserable life...

  In another room, two hundred and thirty years and half a world away, Amelie fell asleep in her velvet hung, four-poster bed, wearing the ruby pendant that had belonged to her mother. Her mind tumbled with frustration and anger.

  I hate the Chevalier. I hate Tante Beatrice. I don’t want to marry an old man. Oh how I wish someone would come and take me away from all this.

  Amelie cried herself to sleep. She could see no way out of her dreadful situation.

  ***

  Tilly slowly emerged from sleep. Her eyes fluttered open. She closed them again. She must still be dreaming that she was sleeping in a big four-poster bed with plum velvet drapes, next to a girl with long black hair tousled on the feather pillows, who was wearing a white, long-sleeved nightdress...

  Tilly’s eyes flew open again and she gasped, sitting bolt upright. She was no longer in Auntie Kara’s tiny attic bedroom in Annandale. She was in a strange dark chamber, in a strange bed, next to ... Amelie-Mathilde-Louise de Montjoyeuse!

  The loud gasp and sudden movement woke her companion, whose eyes widened in alarm. Amelie opened her mouth to scream.

  ‘No, no,’ Tilly begged, reaching out to Amelie. ‘Don’t scream.’

  Amelie scrambled next to her bed to find a candle and a tinderbox on the chest. With shaking hands she lit the candle and examined Tilly from the far side of the bed.

  ‘Pardon,’ Amelie replied, frowning in consternation. ‘Je ne comprends pas? Qui êtes vous?’

  Amelie rattled off a dozen questions in French. Tilly couldn’t understand more than a few words. She suddenly wished she had paid more attention in French lessons.

  ‘I’m sorry I don’t understand you,’ apologised Tilly, staring at Amelie in awe. ‘I mustbe dreaming again.’

  She gave herself a sharp pinch on the arm. It hurt. Tilly squealed in pain and shock. The ruby pendant thudded against her chest inside her pyjama top. At the same moment, she realised that Amelie was wearing the identical ruby pendant, blazing against her snow-white nightgown.

  ‘Look,’ Tilly exclaimed, crawling across the vast bed towards Amelie. She pulled her own pendant out from its hiding place inside her pyjama top and cradled it in her palm. ‘I’m wearing your ruby!’

  ‘Mon Dieu,’ exclaimed Amelie. ‘C’est incroyable!’

  Amelie picked up her pendant and reached for Tilly’s, holding them side by side in the palm of her hand, chattering all the while in incomprehensible French.

  The pendants were obviously identical, yet subtly different. Tilly’s had a patina of age that was missing from Amelie’s pendant, and a deep-grooved scratch on the gold loop that held the pendant to the chain.

  The two ruby pendants slid together in Amelie’s palm and touched. The fire in them both leapt and flared. At that moment, something incredible happened. Suddenly Amelie’s stream of excited and voluble French shifted and changed.

  ‘Who are you? Why do you have an identical talisman? Did you come to steal mine? Tell me why I should not call the guards at once.’

  ‘I can understand you!’ cried Tilly. ‘Are you speaking French or English? I think you’re speaking French and I can understand you.’

  Amelie dropped Tilly’s pendant, which thudded heavily against Tilly’s chest. She tucked her own pendant back into its usual place.

  ‘Of course I am speaking French,’ replied Amelie, cross. ‘What else would I be speaking? What’s more, you are speaking French, too, and I can understand youquite perfectly. At least now I can...’

  The girls gazed at each other in shock. Tilly stared at Amelie wearing a fine linen nightd
ress, embroidered with flowers and hemmed with lace, a small cap upon her head. Amelie stared at Tilly, wearing faded pink flannelette pyjamas covered in teddy bears, rainbow-striped socks on her feet.

  Amelie started to laugh. ‘What are you wearing?’ she begged. ‘I have never seen such outlandish clothes in my life. You are insane, non?’

  ‘Of course I’m not insane,’ exclaimed Tilly, all her familiar anger rushing to the surface. ‘And my clothes are not outlandish. They’re just pyjamas. Everyone wears pyjamas like this in my day. It’s yours that are prissy and old-fashioned.’

  ‘Old-fashioned? Prissy?’ replied Amelie in an injured tone. ‘You aremad. My nightgown is new, and it is much prettier than the sack I had to wear at the convent. All my new clothes are the very latest fashion, from one of the top dressmakers in Paris. I had to have new clothes so the Chevalier would want to marry me, you see.’

  Tilly snorted in disgust, scowling at the memory of the elderly Chevalier mincing on his high heels. ‘I can’t imagine why you would marry that horrible man. He must be old enough to be your grandfather.’

  Amelie sighed, nodding sadly. ‘Oui. But you see, I must. He is very rich. If I do not marry him, I will be destitute. And my uncle is in terrible debt, so it is up to me to save the family name and fortune.’

  ‘What rubbish,’ announced Tilly crisply. ‘That’s no reason to marry anyone, especially a horrible old man. What about love and respect and having things in common? You can’t possibly marry someone just because he’s rich and your uncle tells you to. It’s criminal.’

  Amelie looked thoughtful, twisting the ruby pendant in her fingers.

  ‘You know, ’tis strange,’ mused Amelie. ‘Last night, I fell asleep wishing with all my heart that someone would come along and rescue me from this despicable marriage. I was imagining a prince in silver armour on a milk-white steed, not a scruffy urchin in pink breeches.’

  Amelie laughed again. Tilly bristled with anger, then she imagined seeing her pyjamas and rainbow socks through Amelie’s eighteenth-century eyes. She smiled ruefully.

  ‘I guess I’m not much of a prince in shining armour,’ Tilly admitted. ‘But who says you need a prince to rescue you? I think you look perfectly capable of saving yourself.’

  6

  Bastille Day

  What’s the date today?’ asked Tilly suddenly. ‘July the fourteenth,’ answered Amelie after a moment’s hesitation.

  ‘And the year?’

  ‘Seventeen hundred and eighty-nine, of course.’

  ‘Bastille Day – the day the French peasants stormed the Bastille and tore it down.’

  ‘Impossible,’ exclaimed Amelie. ‘That could never happen. The National Guard would not allow it. The fortress is impenetrable. I know the peasants have been rioting and lobbying for more power, but they could never overthrow La Bastille. It is too well guarded.’

  ‘Amelie. They did. Today is the start of the French Revolution.’

  Amelie shook her head adamantly, eyes wide, clutching the bedsheets in her hands.

  ‘Non. You are making it up. How could you possibly know?’

  The girls squabbled back and forth for several minutes. Tilly jumped off the bed and strode around the dim chamber, anger flaring up once more at Amelie’s refusal to listen, to believe that her world was about to crumble into chaos. She twisted the ruby in her fingers in her agitation.

  ‘You know,’ said Tilly bitterly, ‘I fell asleep last night in my world, in another country, in another century; and I fell asleep wishing that I could have some adventure and excitement in my life, just like my long-ago ancestress, Amelie-Mathilde, who was so brave and strong that she escaped the terror of the Revolution.

  ‘But instead I find my ancestress is just a silly, stupid girl. Not brave at all. Too silly to accept that her world is changing and will never, ever be the same.’

  Amelie stared, shocked, as though she had been slapped.

  ‘Ancestress?’ she asked. ‘I am your ancestress?’

  ‘Yes,’ insisted Tilly. ‘Look at my ruby pendant. It’s my family’s priceless heirloom, which has been handed down from generation to generation for more than two hundred years. Even my name is yours – Mathilde, though everyone calls me Tilly.’

  Both girls stared at the matching pendants: one shining, one scarred.

  ‘Mon Dieu,’ murmured Amelie, shaking her head in disbelief. ‘’Tis impossible.’

  ‘I know it’s impossible,’ replied Tilly. ‘But somehow, by some magic, I’ve come back in time two centuries. It must be something to do with the ruby pendant.

  ‘The night before, I was wearing the pendant but took it off before I went to sleep, and I dreamt about you. I saw you practising your curtseys with your aunt, and I saw you at a ball, where you met your cousin, Henri, and the Chevalier.’

  Amelie blushed a deep red at the thought that Tilly had seen and heard her conversations with her cousin and intended fiancé.

  ‘That all happened a few weeks ago, not recently,’ Amelie declared.

  Tilly nodded. ‘Then last night, or tonight – whatever it is – I fell asleep wearingthe rubies, and when I woke up I was here.’

  ‘Oui, I too fell asleep wearing the rubies, which I never usually do,’ agreed Amelie. ‘But I wanted to feel closer to my maman and papa.’

  Amelie felt she had said too much and climbed out of bed. She scampered to the window, drawing back the heavy silk drapes. Tilly followed her, curious to see what lay outside.

  The view was awe-inspiring. Immediately below was a huge terrace and a grand staircase leading down to the formal, geometric gardens and lake. The grounds were vast, stretching from the meticulous design of topiaries, statues, fountains, clipped hedges, gravel paths and lawns, away to artificial lakes and woodland.

  Mist hovered over the waterways and trees, and the grounds were shadowy in the dawn light.

  ‘It is early. Do you want to go for a walk? I can show you Versailles. My aunt and uncle were at a ball last night and will not wake for hours. We could go and visit my horse. My uncle gave her to me so I could go riding with the Chevalier. She is beautiful. I call her Angelique.’

  Tilly frowned. ‘I don’t think we should – the Revolution – it might be dangerous.’

  Amelie huffed with disbelief. ‘Do not be ludicrous. I told you there are hundreds of highly trained Swiss Guards protecting the palace. The King is so sure of his safety that commoners are allowed to traipse right into his very bedroom.’

  Tilly glanced out the window at the serenity of the grounds. Curiosity won over fear. She nodded enthusiastically. It would be wonderful to walk around eighteenth-century Versailles and see what it was really like.

  ‘But first we must dress you,’ suggested Amelie. ‘My clothes should fit, although you are taller than me. I hope the skirts do not reveal too much of your ankle.’

  In the corner of the room was a large armoire, which held most of Amelie’s clothes. Amelie rummaged through the linens and silks to find what she needed. She gave Tilly a pile of clothes and instructed her to change behind the bed curtains. Tilly was confused by the array of items.

  Amelie saw her face and laughed.

  ‘This is the informal morning dress,’ Amelie assured her. ‘The court dresses are much harder to put on, especially with the big, wide panniers. It took me a while to get used to it. At the convent we wore very simple gowns. This is the chemise – put that on first, then I will help you.’

  The chemise was a linen shift that came to mid-calf. This was followed by silk stockings that were tied over the knee with coloured tape, and an underskirt.

  ‘What about undies?’ asked Tilly. ‘I mean drawers ... or pantaloons – whatever you call them.’

  Amelie looked at Tilly blankly. ‘I do not know what you mean.’

  ‘Doesn’t matter, I’ll wear my own,’ replied Tilly hurriedly.

  Next was a pair of stays, which the girls had to help each other lace up at the back.

  �
�It’s too tight,’ complained Tilly, huffing and squirming. ‘I can hardly breathe.’

  ‘You will become accustomed to it,’ Amelie remarked callously. ‘Apparently the Queen refused to wear stays when she came to Versailles as a young girl from Austria. It caused a huge scandal. Of course she had to give in.’

  Tilly gave a strong tug on Amelie’s laces in revenge.

  ‘They are nowhere near as tight as when Claudette does them,’ scoffed Amelie. ‘She makes my eyes water.’

  Two more petticoats went over the top. Lastly, a white gown of sheer, floating muslin was pulled over the head and tied around the waist with a lilac sash.

  ‘Look at your enormous feet,’ exclaimed Amelie. ‘You cannot possibly wear any of my shoes. We will have to borrow some of Henri’s. He is home at the chateau for a few weeks, so he will not notice.’

  Amelie slipped her own feet into a pair of embroidered green satin shoes with curved-up toes, curved high heels and silver buckles.

  ‘Now for our hair.’

  Amelie parted Tilly’s brown hair from ear to ear, and made a high bun on top of her head. The front section and the untidy fringe were teased up and pinned over the top of the bun, to give it extra height. The rest of her hair hung long at the back, and Amelie coaxed this into long curled ringlets.

  Finally, Amelie dusted some powder and a hint of rouge onto Tilly’s cheeks, adding a slick of balm on her lips.

  ‘There,’ announced Amelie. ‘Not as good as Claudette’s toilette, but it will do.’

  Tilly examined herself in the mirror – she looked completely different. Tilly smiled at herself. What had Aunt Kara said? One day she might be a real beauty? Tilly had scoffed but, seeing herself transformed in the mirror, she thought she looked prettier than she ever had before.

  ‘And this is an informal look?’ asked Tilly in amazement.

  ‘We call this deshabille, or “undress”, whereas to dress for court takes hours!’ Amelie replied with her gurgling laugh. ‘When Queen Marie-Antoinette had her portrait painted wearing a gown like this, it once again caused a scandal.’