The Ruby Talisman (10 page)

Tilly straightened her shoulders and breathed deeply. Henri and Amelie needed her to help them survive this night. In her mind she kicked out at the despair trying to take hold. She mustered her strength, ordered her thoughts and made a plan. They must head north. North to England. North to safety. North to a new future of their own.

A loud roar sounded as the roof of the west wing collapsed. A huge cheer went up from the crowd. Amelie sobbed, her back shuddering.

Tilly picked a path, keeping to the safety of the dark. The other horses followed obediently, carrying their silent, unresisting passengers. Tilly knew that the front of the chateau faced north, so if she kept its flaming ruins behind her, they would ride in the right direction. She skirted the village, slipping stealthily past the dark cottages, praying that Juju would not bark and give them away.

After about six kilometres they were deep in the forest, and the adrenalin that had kept Tilly going ebbed away. After the long ride from Versailles, her calves and backside ached and she felt exhausted from the horrors of the day.

‘Henri and Amelie, I think we should stop and make a camp for the night,’ suggested Tilly in a low voice. ‘I think we’re far enough away from the chateau to be safe. Those villagers looked like they were ready to party till dawn.’

‘Sleep, here?’ asked Amelie, staring around in puzzlement. ‘But there’s no inn. There’s nothing. We cannot sleep here.’

‘Amelie, we can’t risk going to an inn or a village near here,’ replied Tilly gently. ‘You and Henri may be recognised. We are all exhausted, so we should sleep here in the forest. It is a warm night. We have blankets and the weather is fine.’

Amelie stared around at the deep shadows of the forest and listened to the branches creaking in the breeze. ‘But there are wolves and boars and brigands in this forest,’ she cried, her voice shaking with fear and distress.

Henri shook himself out of his deep lethargy. He glanced back the way they had come, where the southern night sky was streaked red with fire.

‘Given the choice between wolves and boars, and the gentle lambkins of our village, I think we should choose the wolves and boars,’ Henri decided with a shudder.

‘The horses and Juju will warn us if any dangerous creatures come close,’ Tilly reassured Amelie.

‘We should light a fire,’ suggested Henri.

‘No, we want nothing that might draw attention to us,’ insisted Tilly, urging Mystique off the track into the forest underbrush. The others followed listlessly.

In a few metres they found a small clearing. Tilly once again took charge, ordering the other two to unsaddle their horses and rub them down with the saddle blankets. The horses were tied to a bush by the reins and allowed to graze on the long grass.

Under a spreading oak, Tilly made rough beds on the flattened grass with the blankets, folded petticoats for pillows and placed riding cloaks over the top.

‘Monseigneur, mademoiselle – your chamber is ready,’ announced Tilly with a deep curtsey.

Juju sniffed one of the makeshift beds, turned around three times and lay down right in the middle. She was snoring within moments.

Amelie and Henri smiled in the darkness. Mimi snuck up to Juju and tried to pull her ear.

‘Well, Juju finds my bed acceptable, but I think it would be better if she slept at my feet rather than in the middle,’ joked Henri. The girls giggled feebly.

Despite the fear of brigands, villagers, wolves and boars, the three dropped into a deep sleep.

It was pre-dawn when Tilly eventually woke. Ghostly fingers of mist stroked the clearing. Henri was already awake, sitting by himself with his arm around Juju. Amelie was still curled up in her riding cloak, fast asleep with Mimi snuggled beside her.

Tilly pulled her cloak around her shoulders and went to sit beside Henri and his dog. ‘I’m sorry about your parents and your home, Henri,’ she murmured, stroking Juju’s velvety head. ‘You must feel terrible.’

Henri sighed. Scenes from the last few days played briefly through his mind.

‘We must get to Paris, to my townhouse,’ Henri decided. ‘We will be safe there. I can send the authorities to bring justice against the brigands who killed my parents and those who destroyed my home. I can raise the rents and taxes on the land, and rebuild the chateau.’

Tilly shook her head ominously. ‘Henri, it isn’t safe in Paris,’ she argued. ‘There are riots in the streets and aristocrats being slaughtered. I don’t think the authorities will be interested in bringing justice to the peasants right now. Don’t you see that the villagers attacked you and the chateau because they have been taxed so severely for so many years? They are living on the brink of starvation. You can’t tax them more to rebuild the chateau. It’s gone.’

Henri stared at Tilly in shock.

‘You are the strangest girl,’ he said, holding his gaze. ‘You don’t look like an aristocrat, despite your precious silks and rubies. Your hands and face are brown like a peasant girl, and you do not have fine court manners. Yet you seem to have so much knowledge of the world – and to argue so fiercely. Sometimes you seem so young, like a mere child, and other times you are so fiery and passionate. I would like to know your story.’

Tilly blushed deeply, and looked away.

‘I don’t have a story,’ she said, nervously picking at the precious blue silk of her evening dress.
Henri is right,
she thought.
I am a strange girl. A strange girl in a strange place and time.

‘Forgive me,’ replied Henri – it was his turn to look mortified. ‘That was unutterably rude. I do not know what came over me. It must have been the shock of yesterday. I pray you will pardon me and forget I ever spoke.’

‘We should pack up and get moving,’ Tilly decided brusquely, standing up and brushing off the back of her skirt. ‘There is nothing to eat, and we should get as far away as soon as possible. Perhaps we can buy some food somewhere.’

Tilly woke Amelie. They saddled the horses, packed up their bedding and rode off onto the misty forest track. The ride was hard. Both Amelie and Tilly were stiff and sore from their long ride from Versailles. Henri was silent and morose. Angelique and Mystique had travelled a long way yesterday, so they rode slowly at first, warming up.

After a couple of kilometres they came upon a girl trudging along the track, carrying a laden wicker basket and a full shawl knotted into a bundle. Henri trotted past, but Amelie recognised something familiar in her walk and figure. She hurried forward.

‘Incroyable.
’Tis Claudette, my maid,’ cried Amelie. ‘Claudette, what are you doing here?’

Claudette flushed but looked defiant. There was no polite curtsey or bowed head. ‘I’m going to Paris,’ she declared, clutching her bundle closer.

Henri cantered back, looking furious. Juju galloped up and growled, until she recognised Claudette and gave her an apologetic lick on the hand.

‘Why are you running away?’ Henri barked. ‘What do you know of the attack on the chateau last night? Where are all my servants?’

Claudette stared up at her former master and mistress. Amelie was still wearing the white taffeta evening dress covered with rosebuds, but now it was crushed and dirty with a tear in the flounced hem from where she slid down the sheet rope. With a smudge of dirt on her cheek and tousled and knotted hair, Amelie looked much younger than her fifteen years.

Henri’s hair had escaped from his ribbon and hung over his shoulders. He had a bloody tear in his breeches, torn silk stockings and a nasty wound on his cheek.

‘Why are
you
running away?’ echoed Claudette with quiet dignity. ‘Is it because you fear the villagers would kill you if they found you? What do you think they would do to me? They hate us because we live in the grand chateau and wear decent clothes and eat fine food, even if it is leftovers from monseigneur’s table. The chateau was my home, too, monseigneur. Now I have no job, no money and nowhere to live.’

Henri looked abashed.
‘Excusez-moi,
Claudette,’ he apologised. ‘Where are the other servants? Jacques, Pierre, Jean...’

‘When the villagers came, we all panicked,’ Claudette explained. ‘We knew they were in a violent mood. I ran and hid. Some of the servants were talking about riding for help, or escaping in the carriage, but I was too frightened. It was only when the chateau was on fire that I ran away. Everyone had gone and I was all alone, except for the villagers, so I decided to walk to Paris.’

Henri ran his hand through his hair, thinking. ‘Come with us,’ he offered. ‘You can ride behind one of us. We can take it in turns.’

Claudette looked ahead down the long, lonely forest track leading far to the north, then up at the three riders.

‘You can ride behind me first,’ offered Tilly with a smile.

‘Merci.’
Claudette clambered up behind Tilly.

As the sun rose, the ride became more beautiful. Birds sang and flittered through the trees. Wildflowers bloomed along the track’s edge. Tilly felt her heart lift. It was hard to be frightened and miserable on such a heavenly day.

They stopped at a small brook to drink the clear water and wash their faces and hands. Claudette then changed to ride behind Amelie. After another half hour, they came to a small village of stone cottages huddled around a fountain.

‘We can buy food here,’ suggested Henri, pulling Abelard up and dismounting. ‘I am starving. May I have some of your coins, Amelie?’

Amelie handed over a pile of coins from the pocket hidden under her skirts. Henri strode up to a stick-like old woman knitting on her doorstep in the sun. She had filthy bare feet, a ragged shawl over her head and a mouth full of rotting teeth.

‘Bonjour,
madame. Could we buy some bread and cheese,
s’il vous plaît?’

The old woman looked at him suspiciously, taking in his expensive but torn clothes and bloody wounds. She spat vehemently beside the step.

‘Bloodsucking
aristos,’
she swore. ‘There’s no bread here. Hasn’t been bread for months. The blasted Austrian Queen has been hoarding flour, driving up prices and starving us so she can give blessed France to her Austrian brother.

‘There’s nothing to eat but boiled grass and a few husks. I watched three of my grandchildren die last winter, and buried my daughter. My sons were taken by the King to fight in the war for America. Before I die, I want to see the blood of every cursed
aristo
soaking into the soil of France, starting with yours. Jean! Jean –
aristos!’

A skinny blacksmith came shuffling around the back of the cottage, wielding a heavy scythe over his head. Two more farmers ran from next door, followed by a gaggle of women attracted by the shouts. Juju leapt to the defence, rushing forward, growling and barking furiously. The crowd paused and huddled together, frightened by Juju’s gnashing jaws.

‘Henri,’ screamed Tilly and Amelie together.

The blacksmith took aim and stabbed at Juju. The wolfhound was huge and strong and fast, and looked as though she could snap the blacksmith in two. She darted back and forth, avoiding the man’s clumsy blows. Juju was bred for hunting ferocious wolves, so a half-starved blacksmith was no real threat, even wielding a razor-sharp scythe.

Henri whistled sharply and Juju obediently withdrew to his side, licking Henri’s hand.

With all his courtly grace and flourish, Henri bowed politely to the old woman. Juju copied Henri, crossing her paws and lowering her head. Henri carefully laid all his coins down on the step beside her.

‘Madame, I am so sorry for your losses,’ offered Henri. ‘Take these coins – I pray they may help you buy bread for your family. May God bless you.’

The group of villagers stood thunderstruck, then surged forward to count the coins, laughing and chatting.

Henri returned slowly to Abelard and mounted. Doffing his tricorne at the villagers, he urged the horse into a canter and the four rode on in silence.

‘That was terrible,’ commented Amelie finally. ‘Do you think she was telling the truth, that they had nothing to eat except boiled grass and husks?’

‘They all looked like skin and bone,’ replied Tilly. ‘It must be heartbreaking to have your children and grandchildren die of starvation. No wonder they hate the aristocrats so much.’

Henri and Amelie glanced at one another. Amelie bit her lip and looked away.

‘It’s not just that,’ Claudette added in a low voice, her eyes cast down to the rocky track below. ‘Many aristocrats treat their tenants worse than animals. They beat them, throw them in prison without trial, gallop over their crops and destroy them, do whatever they like without consequences. It doesn’t seem right that a few rich nobles should have everything while millions of peasants have nothing.’

‘That’s the way it’s always been,’ Henri replied.

‘That doesn’t make it right,’ retorted Tilly.

Shortly after the village, they came to a fork in the track. The left-hand track led to Rambouillet, and the road they had travelled from Versailles. The right-hand track led north-east to Paris.

Henri turned to the right.

Tilly pulled Mystique to a halt and turned to the left. ‘Henri, we should avoid Paris,’ she insisted. ‘We should skirt the city and head to the north coast as unobtrusively as possible, where we can find a boat to sail to England.’

Henri’s mouth set in a stubborn line. Amelie, with Claudette behind her, pulled Angelique up and glanced from Henri to Tilly in consternation.

‘Mademoiselle Tilly, we’ve talked about this,’ argued Henri. ‘In Paris, I have a house where we can get food and clean clothes and money and sleep in a bed. It is madness to go to England where we have nothing and know nobody.’

Henri paused before continuing.
‘Très bien,
seeing we live in a world of
egalité
now, let’s take a vote. Who votes for Paris and a warm bed and food, and who votes for rainy England?’

Amelie hesitated for a moment, then urged Angelique into a walk. She turned right.

‘Pardon,
Tilly, but I think we should go to Paris,’ Amelie explained, offering her an apologetic glance.

‘I vote for Paris, too,’ added Claudette firmly.

Tilly looked longingly at the left-hand track, but there was no point taking it on her own. Reluctantly, she turned Mystique’s head and joined the others.

‘Merci,
Tilly,’ said Henri. ‘Let us go.’

Despite her misgivings, Tilly felt a thrill. It was the first time Henri had used just her first name, and he said Tilly with such a gorgeous French accent that it sounded like the most beautiful name in the world. They were young and on an adventure, and riding towards one of the most romantic cities in the world. She would see Paris!

‘Are you very angry?’ asked Henri quietly as they rode side by side.

‘No,’ she replied with some surprise. ‘We’re all in this together.’

They rode through open meadowland. There were no labourers toiling in the fields – there was no-one to be seen at all. As the day grew longer, the sun grew hotter and the hunger pains deepened. Tilly tried to ignore the growling in her belly. Juju padded along tirelessly.

They rode past a small cottage. In the garden, a number of freshly washed clothes were drying on a clothesline. The brown homespun working clothes were a stark contrast to the fine silks and laces that Henri, Amelie and Tilly wore. This sparked an idea.

‘Henri and Amelie,’ called Tilly, reining her horse in. ‘You look like aristocrats, which is far too dangerous. We should disguise you both to give us a better chance of making it safely to Paris. We need to find you some new clothes.’

‘What do you mean?’ asked Amelie. She followed Tilly’s glance and saw the rough peasant clothes flapping in the late-afternoon sun.

‘Oh,
non,
Tilly, we couldn’t possibly,’ argued Amelie. ‘Besides, that would be stealing.’

‘Not if we left them a diamond shoe buckle in payment,’ replied Tilly, slithering down from Mystique’s saddle and holding out her palm. Amelie reluctantly took off one of the diamond buckles still fastened to her rose-pink shoes.

Henri laughed. ‘You are ruthless, Mademoiselle Tilly,’ he teased. ‘And what about you? Do you propose to wear peasant clothes, too?’

‘As you so kindly told me, Henri, I don’t look anything like an aristocrat,’ she replied sweetly.

Henri opened his mouth to protest, but laughed instead. ‘Incorrigible girl.’

Amelie and Henri changed behind a hedge. Tilly left the diamond shoe buckle in the pocket of a brown apron hanging on the line.

Henri wore a pair of long, black trousers, a brown jacket, yellow waistcoat and a brown muffler around his throat. A black cap sat on his head. Amelie wore full, brown skirts over a shapeless petticoat, with a bodice of rough, brown cotton and a knotted scarf over her head that covered her throat and the ruby necklace.

Tilly took some dirt and rubbed it on Amelie and Henri’s faces and hands to disguise the pale skin. Another handful was rubbed into the necks and heads of the three horses. She tangled some leaves and twigs in their manes and tails for good measure.

‘That looks better,’ Tilly said with satisfaction. ‘You don’t look quite so precious now ... except for your shoes, Amelie.’

Everyone looked at Amelie’s feet, which were still shod in rose-pink satin.

‘Well, I am
not
riding into Paris barefoot,’ objected Amelie. ‘Hopefully everyone will just think I stole them from some poor, unfortunate aristocrat!’

Tilly thought for a moment. ‘Well, all right,’ she agreed. ‘Hopefully no-one will notice your feet.’

Their old clothes were packed into Amelie’s portmanteau.