The Queen's Dollmaker (26 page)

London, June 30, 1792
. Lizbit was a more frequent guest now at Claudette’s flat and in the shop. With Béatrice and sometimes Marguerite, the women would frequently shop and dine together. Lizbit always served as the center of attention, regaling the others with stories about her travels to the Continent. Still her concerns revolved around marriage.

“And why is this precious one not married off to a rich earl yet, Claudette? Doesn’t your gentleman have any good connections?” Lizbit patted Marguerite’s reddening face one day as they parted ways in front of the shop.

“Lizbit! She’s only fifteen.”

“She’s old enough. You can never begin the search too early.”

As cowed as she usually was by Lizbit’s forceful personality, even Béatrice intervened.

“Claudette and I both made love matches, and that’s what I want for my daughter.”

“Oh, piffle. The child is practically a woman and is already devastatingly beautiful with those auburn locks. Best to find her a husband who can help keep you in comfort in your old age, Béatrice.”

“My old—” Béatrice gasped, which led to a coughing fit.

“Thank you, Miss Lizbit, but I don’t plan to marry. I’m going to be a great dollmaker like my aunt Claudette and I don’t need a husband for it.”

Claudette suppressed a smile in seeing her own mulishness in Marguerite’s folded arms and lifted chin.

“No husband at all?” Lizbit said. “Well, well, aren’t you just the old Queen Bess? Never mind then. I don’t want it said that I poked my nose in where it didn’t belong.”

Claudette invited Lizbit to join her and William to see a performance of Sheridan’s
School for Scandal
at the Theatre Royal in Drury Lane. She hadn’t told anyone yet of her secret engagement to William, but was considering doing so tonight. Sipping glasses of cherry cordial in their box seats while waiting for the play to begin, Claudette witnessed her friend flirt outrageously with William. Normally the gallant gentleman, William firmly rebuffed her. Lizbit fanned herself furiously to cover her embarrassment, and, recovering her composure, smiled sweetly at Claudette.

“La,
chérie
, your man is a bit tedious, isn’t he?”

Claudette hid a smile behind her glass. Maybe she should wait to announce her engagement. Lizbit chattered on about a new millinery shop she had discovered, run by a Polish immigrant of all things, until the curtain rose.

Lizbit swept into the doll shop several days later wearing a pale blue hat perched fashionably to one side of her dark-tressed head, a small bunch of lavender tied to it with a cream-colored ribbon. The aroma clung to her like a velvet blanket. In her hand she held a small package.

“Claudette, I just intercepted this.”

She took the parcel from Lizbit’s hand. Inside were two letters, one with a familiar royal seal on it, the other with her name written across the front in Jean-Philippe’s handwriting. She opened the letter she knew must be from the queen. It was more personal than the first one, and asked if the dear dollmaker could come to France to visit a monarch seeking some joy. It would please the queen greatly if Mademoiselle Laurent would accept an offer of an apartment and a workshop at the Tuileries for a short time to make some dolls representing the remaining ladies of her court.

“Is the queen still living at the Tuileries?” she asked.

Lizbit was reading over her shoulder. “I’m sure she is. Are you going to do this, Claudette? It seems very dangerous. What will William say when he returns?”

William was away looking over some Welsh cob studs for his stables at Hevington, and would not return for another week.

“I’ll send him a note to let him know that I’ve gone. He’ll understand.”

“If you say so.” Lizbit seemed unconvinced. “What about your other letter?”

“I think I’ll read it later.”

Later ended up being many hours afterward, once she had returned to her town house. Lizbit departed the shop with her usual flair, then customers streamed in and out in a constant flow until she finally locked the door after seven o’clock in the evening. She and Béatrice had dinner together quietly in the parlor, then she quickly went to her own rooms and shut the door to read Jean-Philippe’s letter.

The letter went on to give details about his planned date of arrival to escort her to France. How presumptuous, she thought. Yet she was strangely thrilled. Jean-Philippe was making it plain that he would be her escort only so that she could feel safe, through the tumult of France, and have the opportunity to meet again with that gracious monarch. His letter closed with continued assurances of his intentions of friendship with her.

“I’ll do it,” she said aloud.

July 15, 1792
. The coach rumbled to a stop at the docks on an overcast but warm afternoon. Stepping down from it, Claudette was assailed by the stench—the seawater, the rotting offal, and the odor of unwashed men—that reminded her once again of her flight to England from Paris.

Jolie had once again proven herself to be a treasure. In her haste, she had sworn the girl to secrecy to prevent Béatrice from finding out before she left and begging her not to go. Giving her mistress only a quick frown, Jolie had agreed and set about helping her pack. The girl was a wonder at it. Inside a small valise and two small trunks were enough to set Claudette up for an extended visit far beyond what she anticipated it to be.

Claudette gave the girl letters for William and Béatrice, and made her promise not to have them delivered until the day after her departure, when Claudette would be safely in France.

“Madame, will you be seeing Monsieur Renaud while you’re there?”

“Hush, Jolie, don’t think about such things. I’m just going back to visit the queen. Our queen of France, remember?”

Jolie’s owl eyes regarded her thoughtfully. “What should I tell Monsieur Greycliffe? He will surely ask me more than what your letter says.”

“You haven’t read my letter.”

“No, madame, but I’m sure that he will want to know more than whatever you’ve told him.”

Impudent girl! Yet Claudette’s face flamed with embarrassment.

“Tell him what you know, which is that the queen seeks my company, and I’ve gone to France to give it to her and will explain everything when I return.” She turned away so those owl eyes could not probe the depths of her own.

Now, though, she was eager to be on her way back to France. Scanning the crowded wooden dock near the
Maiden’s Glory
, Claudette spied Jean-Philippe talking to the ship’s captain.

“Jean-Philippe! Here I am,” Claudette cried excitedly, waving.

“Ah, Claudette, it is indeed a pleasure to see you again.” Jean-Philippe approached, his mouth curved in a grin. “Assuredly, I will take care of you on this trip and return you unharmed and as lovely as ever.” He reached over and took her bag and offered his arm to her, sauntering with her to the waiting vessel.

On board the ship, Jean-Philippe had already made cabin arrangements. “I spent time with Captain Peterson on the way over to England, letting him beat me at several rounds of card games, so that I could ensure the best quarters for you, Claudette. Your other luggage has already been taken down, but let’s not worry about that yet. Would you like to stroll around the ship before it departs?”

“Oh, yes, this is a much bigger ship than what I have traveled on during any of my other journeys.” In a move reminiscent of their past, Jean-Philippe tucked her hand in his right elbow, keeping his left hand curled protectively around the top of hers. They strolled about peacefully. The breeze from this high on the deck blew away the unpleasant smells that clung so heavily to the docks.

“Jean-Philippe, the wind appears to be getting stronger.”

“Mmm, yes, it does seem to be blowing a bit harder. Do not worry, my little dove, this is a big ship and can handle inclement weather.”

Claudette started slightly at his use of his old nickname for her, but decided that he had used it unthinkingly.

Unfortunately, the winds had changed across the Channel, and an unexpectedly large storm was sweeping up the coast, forcing the captain to postpone departure for a day. Walking along the deck where the two stood talking, Captain James Peterson approached them and said, “
Pardon
, monsieur, I would like to advise you and Madame Renaud that we will remain at shore probably until tomorrow while a storm passes through. I recommend that you remain on or very close to the ship, as we will pull out quickly after the storm passes.” Giving a knowing wink to Jean-Philippe, he continued on to relay the news to other passengers.

Greatly dismayed at the thought of remaining on the ship for an extra day, but even more perplexed by the captain’s turn of phrase, Claudette asked, “Jean-Philippe, why did Captain Peterson refer to me as your wife?”

“Ah, Claudette, to get the two best cabins on the ship, I had to assure him that you were my beloved bride returning with me from England to France. Losing a few sous at the card table will ensure that we eat at the captain’s table as well, instead of with the other passengers. Please do not be angry. I did this so you would have a comfortable journey to and from France. You only have to pretend in front of our shipmates that you are my wife, that is all. We have separate cabins.”

Claudette was disturbed, but could see no reason not to do as he asked.

Their next few hours were spent strolling the deck, chatting with other passengers, and watching another ship pull in to expel passengers and mail. At the dinner hour, the captain invited them to his own dining table, as Jean-Philippe had predicted. During dinner, as he shared the captain’s finest Bordeaux, Jean-Philippe regaled Claudette and the other diners, mostly crew members, with stories of the French court.

“The king had so many attendants who had to have the privilege of waiting upon him that sometimes he was left freezing naked in his bedroom, while dozens of courtiers handled his nightshirt before it was placed over his head. And these people were all being paid out of the treasury. It was criminal.”

Claudette hid a smile behind her hand, remembering what a shy, retiring nature the king had, and understanding how he would allow such a thing to happen to him, rather than allow a member of the court to be insulted. Jean-Philippe held up his glass to signal for a refill.

“Louis’s great-great-grandfather, Le Roi Soleil, began some of these ridiculous practices. He instituted feasts with hundreds of dishes, each to be served by someone different, while most citizens were lucky to have a loaf and mutton grease to be sopped up.

“Men were not to be men. He gave his courtiers—many of them granted high posts—nothing to do but write letters, give speeches, fence, and dance. Is it any wonder the government fell into such deplorable condition?”

Tipping his glass back to catch every ruby-red drop of wine, he called out, “More wine here,
s’il vous plaît
.” Hungrily eyeing a newly arrived bottle of wine, Jean-Philippe poured a copious amount into both his and Claudette’s glasses. Claudette began to feel a small prickle of discomfort at the back of her neck.

“You must fortify yourself, Madame Renaud, for the sailing to France may be strenuous,” he said, once again gulping more wine, but this time more clumsily, spattering some of the liquid on his shirt.

“Jean-Philippe, you were telling such amusing stories. Perhaps you have had enough to drink, but please do continue your storytelling.”

Leaning close enough for her to smell the drink on his breath and to see the glitter now formed in his eyes, Jean-Philippe whispered harshly, “Madame, it is not for you to decide for Jean-Philippe Renaud. Here I am the master of your future, not you of mine.”

Gasping audibly, Claudette quickly recovered herself. “Of course,
mon cher
, as you wish.” Her stomach was now overcome with nausea. What was happening to Jean-Philippe? Why was he drinking so much? Where were his impeccable manners?

Jean-Philippe continued his tales, only now in a more sinister vein. “The queen—bah, that Austrian whore. She is pulling the strings of Louis Capet, that paunchy puppet. And all the while she has her lovers of all types, including the de Lamballe. Everyone knows that they are much more than innocent friends. Probably the king watches them together.” Jean-Philippe chuckled at his own cleverness. “Yes, he watches the queen with her ladies-in-waiting, then returns to his room to tinker with his locks and toys, because the queen does not desire him—oh no, her tastes run in a different direction.”

Claudette’s entire body was now rigid. What sort of filth was Jean-Philippe spreading? Who had convinced him of these lies? Jean-Philippe had been a trusted member of the royal household and was handsomely rewarded for his services. Why was he betraying the royal family?

Eyeing Claudette’s full glass, Jean-Philippe nodded to her. “Madame, are you not thirsty?” She shook her head silently. “Very well. I shall enjoy myself from your glass as well.” Again, seeming to enjoy his own private joke, he grabbed her glass and downed its contents in two long swallows. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he stood up unsteadily. “Madame Renaud, it is time to retire to our quarters.”

Paralyzed by fear, Claudette looked around at the other faces at the table. No one else seemed to notice Jean-Philippe’s odd behavior. Probably many of them had spent evenings immersed in bottles. She stood up as unsteadily as Jean-Philippe, but out of dread instead of drink. Desperately, she called over to the captain. “If you do not think we will be departing soon, may we stay the night in town?” She hoped that if she could get Jean-Philippe off the ship, she could sober him up.

Throwing her a lewd look, the captain replied, “The winds have calmed; we will be leaving before dawn.” Sensing Claudette’s tenseness, he said, “Now, now, madame, you have no fear of your new husband’s prowess, now, do you?” The table exploded in laughter. Encouraged, he continued, “Monsieur assured me that a cabin as far below deck as possible would prevent your cries of pleasure from keeping us all awake and jealous.” More laughter.

Claudette’s mind raced. A cabin as far down as possible? What was the meaning of this? She knew from her first journey across the Channel that the cabins farther down in the ship were more cramped, noisier, and dirtier. She should have insisted that Jean-Philippe show her to her cabin when they first came aboard, to see the accommodations.

Jerking her out of her thoughts, Jean-Philippe grabbed her arm and doffed his hat to the table. “Gentlemen, we take our leave of you and will join you tomorrow for a very large breakfast, as I am sure we will both be ravenous.”

He pulled Claudette out of the captain’s dining hall and into the passageway. She squirmed out of his grasp and demanded, “Jean-Philippe, tell me instantly what is the meaning of this. Why is my cabin buried below deck? Why have you degraded me before the captain and his company? And why do you slander the king and queen?”

He stood and watched her thoughtfully, as she trembled angrily. She was obviously terrified, but it was tempered with indignation, and he felt a small rush of desire. She had become a very beautiful woman in the years since that childish betrothal. He almost regretted what he would now do. Seizing her arm once again, he began to drag her down the passageway to the stairwell that would lead them below decks. Claudette cried out, “Stop! I insist that you stop!” She struggled to get out of his grasp.

He slapped her hard across the face with his free hand to silence her. She was stunned for an instant, long enough for him to clap his hand over her mouth and begin dragging her again toward the stairwell. He then made his way down the narrow circular staircase. By now, Claudette had dropped to the ground behind him. Instead of helping her up, he simply dragged her down the stairs, much like mates aboard the ship had probably dragged sacks of flour down the stairs to the galley. She was quickly becoming entangled in her skirts, and she knew that the bump of each stair would be leaving behind a painful bruise.

Claudette begged, “Jean-Philippe, please, let me up. Please.”

At the bottom of the first stairwell he stopped, breathing hard. “You must remain utterly silent, or I will have you thrown off this ship into the Thames. If I give him enough money, the captain will turn his back while I do whatever I wish. Do you understand, my
little dove?
”

She winced. “Yes,” she whispered, barely audible.

They marched another two levels into the ship together, Claudette subdued at Jean-Philippe’s side.

He escorted her down a dank passageway. Several doors stood open, and she could see that most were storage rooms. At the end of the passage, he stopped abruptly, inserted a key into the last door on the left of the passageway, flung it open, and pushed Claudette inside. He followed her in, pulling the door shut behind him.

She could not believe her surroundings. Surely this could not be happening. A straw-filled mattress was suspended from the ceiling along one wall. The linens looked serviceable, but based on the location of the room, she questioned how long it had been since they had been changed. A second wall held a small chest of drawers, and the opposite wall held a rickety chair, with a
commode
next to it. The chest of drawers held a candlestick, a Bible, a small cracked mirror, and a small washbasin. The dust was thick enough to obscure the lettering on the Bible.

“How is this, Madame Renaud? This is what all royal-lovers of your ilk receive.”

“Jean-Philippe, whatever are you talking about?”

“You know. You have been conspiring with the Austrian whore and her husband for years now, have you not? You thought you were very ingenious, did you not, with all of your plotting and planning? Well, I will tell you that I am honored to be the one to prevent you from working against the good of France. You are discovered, Claudette, and you will be brought to justice!”

Feeling weak and confused, Claudette stumbled over to the chair and sat down in a layer of dust.

“Jean-Philippe, you must have me confused with someone else. I am a loyal adherent to both the king and queen and to France.” Tears of frustration welled up in her eyes. “What exactly are you accusing me of? What have I done? Why are you treating me so roughly? We are friends, yet you treat me as a common criminal.” The tears began rolling down her cheeks. “I am beginning to think you are mad, or perhaps I am.”

Erratically changing course, Jean-Philippe threw himself to his knees, and wrapped his arms around her legs, then dropped his head into her lap.

“Oh, my little dove, I am so sorry. I have so loved you since we were children and cannot bear to lose you. I gladly accepted this assignment from Citizen Robespierre so that I could see you again.
Ma chére
, promise to return to me, become my betrothed again, and I will forgive all and see that you come to no harm.”