The Ruby Talisman Page 8

  Mimi came to rest up on the marble mantelpiece. Staring at her reflection in the huge gilt mirror, she twitched her crushed, gold silk gown, and brushed her brown furry head, patting her little cheeks as though applying rouge. She turned her head from side to side like the vainest of court ladies.

  Amelie and Tilly burst into laughter. The little monkey in her gold dress looked so absurd, copying the Comtesse’s toiletteshe had witnessed so often.

  ‘Mais non, Mimi,’ admonished Amelie, laughing. ‘Come here, you naughty monkey.’

  Claudette, Amelie’s maid, arrived to inform them that their chambers and hot baths were ready, and the girls followed her gratefully through the wide double doors into the main hall, Mimi riding on Amelie’s shoulder. A wide staircase rose from the centre of the room and split into two separate branches that led to the upper storeys. A massive crystal chandelier, holding dozens of candles, hung from a chain above.

  On one wall were hung huge, twin portraits of Amelie’s aunt and uncle, the recent Comte and Comtesse de Montjoyeuse, in full court regalia. The portrait of Tante Beatrice included Mimi the monkey nestled into her voluminous skirts. The Comte glowered at the girls haughtily as they climbed the stairs. Amelie averted her eyes.

  Claudette led them to the left and round the corner into the east wing. They followed along a corridor that overlooked the inner formal courtyard and its fountain and hedges. The maidservant stopped at one of the heavy doors.

  ‘Mademoiselle le Brun’s room is right next door,’ Claudette said. ‘Mademoiselle has no luggage?’

  ‘Non, Claudette,’ replied Amelie. ‘We left Versailles in such a hurry, as you did yesterday, that we had no time to collect mademoiselle’s luggage. Perhaps it will come in a few days. In the meantime, I will lend mademoiselle what she requires.’

  Tilly went into her room and gasped in surprise. The chamber was even more sumptuous than the apartment at Versailles.

  Overhead, the magnificent ceiling was painted with a blue sky, fluffy white clouds and smiling, chubby cherubim. In the centre of the room stood a huge four-poster bed, hung with deep-blue velvet drapes.

  Other furniture included a rosewood writing desk and chair, a bedside table and an ornate armoire. White-painted timber panelling adorned the bottom section of the wall, with pale-blue watered silk above. A richly woven Persian carpet covered the floor.

  A deep, steaming tin tub sat in front of the fireplace. On the nearby chest were a slab of lavender soap, a jug and a pile of clean linen.

  Tilly sighed with happiness. ‘Awesome,’ she whispered to herself. ‘Absolutely awesome.’

  Tilly stripped off the stained white muslin dress, muddy petticoats, stockings, stays and chemise, dropping them on the floor by the fire. She eased into the water, which was almost too hot to bear. Lavender-scented water lapped her skin, soothing away the aching muscles and saddle bruises.

  The soap lathered up richly, and Tilly poured jugful after jugful of water over her head and shoulders. A knock sounded at the door and Claudette entered, carrying a pile of clothes in a wicker basket.

  Tilly blushed. She wasn’t used to strangers walking in while she was taking a bath. She tried to cover herself with her arms, then pulled one of the linen sheets towards her and draped it over her body.

  Claudette placed the basket on the floor and knelt to gather up the fallen garments by the fire.

  ‘Shall I wash mademoiselle’s hair?’ asked Claudette politely. ‘I have finished bathing Mademoiselle de Montjoyeuse.’

  Tilly didn’t know what to do or say, so she nodded uncertainly. ‘Yes, please.’

  Claudette knelt behind Tilly and lathered up her hair with the lavender soap. She gently massaged and washed Tilly’s hair, rinsing it with the jug. Tilly sank further into the bath – it felt blissful to have her head massaged. She felt the tension of the last days, weeks, months gradually loosen and dissolve. Her shoulders and neck relaxed, and she closed her eyes.

  A sheet was used to blot up the excess moisture, then the maid combed a sweet-smelling cream through Tilly’s hair, tugging gently through the knots. This, too, was rinsed away and Tilly’s hair dried with another sheet.

  ‘I’ll be back in a few minutes to help you dress,’ said Claudette, taking up the basket of soiled clothes. ‘I must help my mistress first.’

  As soon as Claudette had left the room, Tilly climbed out of the bath and dried herself, pulling on a clean chemise. She wasn’t sure what was expected, but she certainly didn’t want to be dried and dressed like a child by the maidservant.

  When Claudette returned, Tilly had pulled on stockings, an underskirt, three petticoats, Henri’s shoes and the dress – without the stays – although she couldn’t possibly do it up from behind by herself.

  Claudette smiled and gently but firmly set about correcting Tilly’s clothes – pulling down the sleeves of the dress, twitching petticoats and pulling on the stays, which she laced up so tightly that Tilly’s eyes watered and she felt she could hardly move.

  ‘Please,’ begged Tilly. ‘Not so tight – I can’t breathe.’

  Claudette giggled and loosened the stays a little. The dress was then pinned and buttoned into place. It was an evening dress, for dinner. It was not as formal as the ball dresses with vast panniers that Tilly had seen at Versailles but, with its simpler lines, Tilly thought it was much more beautiful.

  It was pale-blue silk with a low neckline ruffled with delicate, sheer lace. The sleeves were tight to the elbow, also ending with a white lace ruffle. The skirts were full and detailed with a white ribbon at the bust, lace froth at the hem and a blue sash at the waist.

  Claudette combed her hair until it was nearly dry, then dressed it up above her forehead, long curls trailing over her shoulders and down her back. The finishing touches were powder, a hint of rouge on her face and a slick of colour on her lips.

  Tilly looked at herself in the mirror and was thrilled with the vision before her. The ruby necklace nestled just above the neckline and flashed like fire against the snowy lace and white ribbon. At that moment, Amelie scratched on the doorjamb and came in, Mimi scampering after her.

  ‘Magnifique,’ she cried. ‘Très, très belle!Claudette, you are an artiste.’

  Amelie gestured in the mirror at the reflections of both girls. Amelie also looked gorgeous, in a white silk taffeta embroidered with tiny crimson rosebuds and delicate green leaves, with her rose satin shoes and silver-and-diamond buckles.

  ‘Merci,mademoiselle,’ replied Claudette, looking puzzled as she stared at the two girls wearing identical ruby pendants. ‘But mademoiselle, you are both wearing the same necklace?’

  ‘Oui,’ answered Amelie. ‘Is it not odd? They are both precious heirlooms. When we realised they were the same, we felt a special bond, did we not, Mademoiselle Tilly?’

  Tilly and Amelie beamed conspiratorially at each other.

  ‘Come on, Tilly,’ suggested Amelie. ‘Let us go down for dinner. I think Henri will be back by now.’

  Amelie led the way. Along the corridor they passed several doors. Amelie opened a few, showing Tilly the magnificent luxury of the rooms beyond.

  ‘Look at this room, Tilly,’ whispered Amelie, a twinkle of mischief in her eye. ‘In here is my uncle’s collection of more than three hundred snuffboxes.’

  The small room was lined with velvet-covered shelves. Each shelf held a neatly arrayed line of snuffboxes, meticulously organised by size, shape and colour.

  Round ones, square ones, rectangular and hexagonal. Silver-wrought boxes, gilt, tortoiseshell, mother-of-pearl, enamel and jewel-encrusted. Every shade of the rainbow from amethyst, lilac and purple to blues, greens, crimsons and ruby. There was a snuffbox for nearly every day of the year.

  On the opposite wall were the sealed jars of snuff or ground tobacco, flavoured with various fruit, floral and spice oils, including cinnamon, spearmint and rose – each neatly labelled with blend, source and date.

  Mimi scampered into the snuff room an
d clambered onto a shelf. In one paw she picked up a red-and-gilt snuffbox and, in the other paw, a mother-of-pearl snuffbox studded with diamonds. Mimi glanced from paw to paw with a frown, examining them closely, looking for all the world like the old Comte trying to make up his mind which one to carry.

  At last she decided on the blue. With her right paw, she flicked open the lid, took a pinch of snuff and inhaled it with a mighty sniff. Mimi coughed and choked, dropping the snuffbox and scattering tobacco over the floor. A spicy cloud of cinnamon scent wafted through the air.

  Tilly and Amelie giggled at Mimi’s performance. Tilly picked up the snuffbox and returned it to its rightful position. Amelie closed the door carefully and continued on her way, sweeping down the wide staircase and into the drawing room on the eastern side of the foyer. Mimi headed directly to the kitchens, searching for treats and cuddles.

  Now I know why the staircases and doorways are so wide, thought Tilly. None of the ladies would fit through an ordinary door in these skirts.

  In the drawing room, Henri was leaning against the doorway, looking out across the gardens and the lake to the park beyond. At his side was a huge, shaggy, white-and-grey dog – an Irish wolfhound – wearing a silver collar. The dog stood nearly a metre tall, its head at Henri’s waist. Henri turned and bowed to the two girls.

  Henri, as in Tilly’s dream, was wearing breeches, stockings, a white shirt with cravat, waistcoat and tightly fitting jacket, although this time he was dressed mostly in black with a black velvet ribbon at the nape of his neck, holding back his hair. His long dark locks were unpowdered, giving him a much more youthful appearance. His brown eyes looked melancholy.

  Amelie paused, reminded of Henri’s mourning by his sombre attire. His face was still handsome, but more serious than she remembered.

  ‘Henri, I am so sorry about your maman and papa,’ consoled Amelie, stepping towards him. ‘It was a terrible shock. Is there any news of the brigands who attacked them?’

  Henri shook his head, taking Amelie’s gloved hand in his own.

  ‘I doubt they will ever be found, Aimée,’ replied Henri. ‘The soldiers have too much on their hands just now with the riots in Paris and protecting the royal family to worry about another brigand attack.’

  Henri looked out the window again towards the village. Not wanting to intrude on the family’s grief, Tilly stood back by the door.

  ‘Amelie, did I ever tell you the story of when I was born?’ asked Henri, gazing into the distance, absent-mindedly fondling his dog’s head. ‘When I was born my mother wrapped me in a swaddling cloth and sent me down to the village to be raised by a wet nurse.

  ‘I lived with that farmer’s wife for the first three years of my life. Most of the time, my parents were at Versailles or Paris. However, whenever my mother was here she would look out from her bedroom window and, at ten o’clock every morning, the wet nurse would wave a handkerchief to let her know I was still alive.’

  Henri demonstrated with a flick of his own handkerchief. The huge dog pushed her nose into Henri’s hand and licked it.

  ‘My mother tried for many years for a child – to provide an heir for the title. She had several miscarriages and a daughter who died soon after birth. I was the only child to survive.

  ‘I don’t think she saw me until my third birthday when I was packed up, wailing for the wet nurse I thought was my mother, and delivered here to my parents to be raised by servants. Even then my parents seemed to take little interest in my wellbeing or education. It is hard to believe they are gone now.’

  Amelie reached over and squeezed Henri on the arm. ‘I am so sorry, Henri,’ Amelie repeated gently. ‘I know what it is like to lose one’s parents.’

  Tilly shifted, her mind welling with indignation. What kind of mother would send her only child away to be raised by a wet nurse in the village? What kind of parents would depend on a handkerchief wave for the only news of their child’s wellbeing?

  ‘Oui, Amelie,’ agreed Henri softly. ‘But your parents adored you.’

  Henri noticed Tilly for the first time and smiled in half-embarrassed acknowledgement. Amelie saw his glance and turned impetuously.

  ‘Oh, Henri, excusez-moi,’ Amelie apologised. ‘This is Mademoiselle Mathilde, although I call her Tilly. Tilly, this is my cousin, Henri, the Comte de Montjoyeuse, and his dog, Juju. Henri, I met Tilly in Versailles and she helped me escape. I hope you do not mind if she stays with us for a few days?’

  Amelie suddenly glanced at Tilly, and they looked at each other in confusion. How long would Tilly be staying? How could she ever get home to her own time?

  Henri was too self-absorbed to notice the look or wonder why Amelie had brought Tilly. He bowed over her hand in welcome.

  Juju the dog bowed also, crossing one paw over the other and lowering her head.

  Tilly smiled in delight. ‘Oh, isn’t she gorgeous,’ she cried.

  ‘Oui, Aimée, of course Mademoiselle Tilly is most welcome,’ Henri answered, patting Juju on the head. ‘How did you escape? I was so worried when all the servants returned without you, telling me wild stories of murdering brigands.

  ‘I planned to ride back to Versailles tomorrow to fetch you. I could not believe the news that you had arrived here safely all by yourselves. I do not understand why the servants left without you. They said you were with a friend, but tell me all about it.’

  Amelie sat down in one of the armchairs, gesturing for Tilly to take another chair beside her. She spread her skirts and crossed her ankles.

  ‘Henri, we were attacked by brigands in the forest,’ Amelie exclaimed with relish now that they were safe at the chateau. ‘They threatened us with pistols, but I slashed them with my riding crop and Tilly charged them with her sword, and we escaped. It was terrifying.’

  ‘Mon Dieu,’ he exclaimed with shock. ‘Are you all right, Aimée? Were you hurt? You could have been killed!’ Henri glanced quickly from one girl to the other, searching for signs of injury.

  ‘Non,’ replied Amelie. ‘It all happened so fast.’

  ‘Amelie was very brave,’ offered Tilly shyly. ‘She tricked the men by pretending to swoon, then hit one of them across the face with her riding crop. He was taken completely by surprise.’

  A servant arrived to inform them that dinner was served in the dining room in the west wing. Henri gallantly escorted both girls, one on each arm, while they continued to describe the attack and escape. Juju padded along behind them. The sinking sun blazed through the western windows, throwing a rose-coloured flush over the gardens and lake.

  One of the servants moved to close the heavy velvet drapes, but Henri ordered him to leave them open. ‘It is such a gorgeous evening – it would be a shame to close out the light.’

  10

  Dinner Guests

  The long table was set for three places at one end, with silver candelabrum aglow with candles, damask serviettes, flowers, silver cutlery and gold-rimmed porcelain. Three servants, one for each of the diners, carried in soup tureens and bread, placing them at the corners of the table. The servants in their livery then stepped back and stood silently against the wall, staring into space.

  Henri and Amelie continued to chatter, oblivious to the servants standing watch behind them.

  Juju flopped down under the table at Henri’s feet, quietly hoping for titbits.

  The first course included a delicious, creamy chicken and leek soup, a mushroom and tarragon soup and a deep-brown onion soup. Tilly chose the mushroom soup served in flat, wide bowls with a dollop of cream and a sprinkle of chives.

  Tilly stared in consternation at the bank of heavy silver cutlery in front of her – spoons, forks and knives of differing sizes, shapes and uses. She remembered her mother’s advice to always start from the outside implement and work your way in. Just to make sure, she observed Amelie, who picked up the rounded, flat spoon and took the soup from the back of the bowl. Tilly followed, silenced by the opulent surroundings.

  Amelie chatter
ed away, describing all that had happened to them over the last two days, except the extraordinary circumstance of waking up in bed next to a strange girl from another century dressed in hot-pink pyjamas and rainbow socks.

  The servants cleared the soup and brought the next course: a butt of roast beef; crispy roast duck with sweet orange and redcurrant sauce; creamy potato gratin dauphinois; cauliflower with parmesan; mixed green leaf salad with vinaigrette; and crisp, green beans in nutty butter. The dishes were arranged artistically on the table, within reach of the diners.

  The smells wafted through the room, making Tilly’s mouth water. Following Amelie’s example, Tilly helped herself to a small portion of each. The food was exquisite, and Tilly ate as though she hadn’t eaten for days.

  This is one of the best meals I have ever had in my life, thought Tilly as the orange sauce melted on her tongue.

  Juju appeared from under the table, begging for a crispy slice of beef.

  The next course was a game pie, with a pot d’oie – a whole goose stuffed with herbs and smaller game birds. Tilly could not even taste this course, she was so full. She pushed the stuffing around the plate with her fork aimlessly as Amelie explained how they had tricked the Chevalier and left him to book the wedding.

  Henri’s sombre mood had lifted with the good food and Amelie’s merry tales. He laughed heartily at the thought of the Chevalier’s despondence on finding Amelie had flown. The servants cleared the plates, Tilly’s last course completely uneaten.

  The next course was a platter of different cheeses from the local region: a creamy-white goat’s cheese; a strong, full-flavoured cheese with a thick rind of blue mould; and a gooey brie, melting on the plate. Mimi decided to reappear from the kitchen and grace them with her company, scampering in between the legs of one of the servants and nearly tripping him up as he carried in the cheese platter.

  Henri and Amelie helped themselves to a wedge of each, while Tilly had the tiniest taste. Amelie was now describing the scene in the stable where the courtier had been trying to steal their horses.