The Ruby Talisman (5 page)

‘Voilá,
my Angelique,’ announced Amelie, stroking the nose of the pretty black mare, who snorted and whickered in welcome. ‘Is she not
très belle?’

Tilly stroked Angelique in appreciation. Before her father had left, she had learnt to ride at holiday pony camps and riding lessons, but there was not enough money for horse-riding anymore.

The girls chattered quietly as they petted Angelique and fed her a handful of oats from the feed bin. Mimi swung across from Amelie’s shoulder and onto Angelique’s neck, which made the horse roll her eyes and flicker her ears in distress. Amelie scooped Mimi back onto her own shoulder with a stern scolding.

‘Non,
naughty Mimi. We should return,’ Amelie suggested. ‘It is nearly time for my music and singing lessons.’ She raised her eyebrows and shrugged her shoulders comically. ‘The Chevalier wishes for a wife who can sing. My music teacher is trying his best to perform miracles.’

Tilly pulled a face and shook her head in mock horror.

Out in the courtyard, a loud clattering and commotion heralded the arrival of a cumbersome travelling carriage drawn by four heaving, sweating horses. A postillion rode on the front-left horse, a driver rode up top, and two footmen hung on behind. The sudden noise made Tilly’s heart thump.

The carriage swept through the stone archway and rolled to a stop. A large coat of arms was emblazoned upon the yellow carriage doors. The postillion jumped down and took the horses’ heads, calming them with his voice and hands. The driver stumbled down, and the girls realised with shock that he was splattered with blood.

‘’Tis my uncle’s carriage,’ cried Amelie, her brow furrowed. ‘Pierre, what has happened? Are you hurt?’

The driver looked pale, his chest and breeches sodden with mud and blood. The postillion’s filthy legs were shaking with shock. The two footmen looked dishevelled, their white, curled wigs askew.

‘Mademoiselle, your aunt and uncle...’ Pierre, the driver, muttered. His eyes were searching wildly, as if for an escape. ‘Brigands ... shot at us ... shot–’

Amelie moved forward, her heart beating wildly. ‘Tell me exactly what happened, Pierre. Where are the Comte and Comtesse?’

Pierre took a deep breath, trying to steady his voice. ‘The Comte and Comtesse attended a ball in Paris last night.’

‘Oui,
I know,’ coaxed Amelie. ‘Where are they now?’

‘Monsieur le Comte called for the carriage at about three o’clock this morning and ordered us to drive back to Versailles,’ Pierre began. ‘Just before dawn, we were attacked by brigands a few miles down the road. There were five of them waiting for us, hiding in a copse of trees. They had pistols and mufflers covering their faces. The brigands shot at us, ordering me to pull up. I tried to gallop past them, but they shot again, missing my shoulder by a few inches.’

Amelie clutched Tilly’s arm, drawing her near. Mimi put her arms around Amelie’s neck.

‘The leader shouted that the next one would be through my heart if I did not pull over,’ Pierre continued. ‘We were ordered to surrender our pistols and climb down, even the Comte and Comtesse.

‘All of us had to lie in the road with our hands behind our backs. The Comte and Comtesse were ordered to hand over all their jewels and valuables.

‘Monsieur le Comte tried to draw his sword, ordering the brigands to throw down their weapons, then ... Then they shot him and the Comtesse,’ Pierre sobbed.

‘Mon Dieu,’
Amelie gasped and sank against Tilly. Mimi pinched Tilly’s ear, as though to punish her for Amelie’s distress.

‘The leader ordered me to check that they were dead. Jean and I had to drag their bodies into the copse. As we pulled them away, the leader dipped his finger in the Comte’s blood and wrote on the carriage door.’

Tilly and Amelie stared at the door. Against the yellow paintwork could be seen three words written in dried, rusty-brown letters:
Liberté. Égalité. Fraternité.

A freezing hand clutched Tilly’s heart, chilling her blood.

‘Liberty. Equality. Brotherhood,’ whispered Tilly. ‘It has begun.’

Amelie glanced at Tilly in horror, then back to Pierre.

‘The brigands ordered us to leave the bodies and return to Versailles immediately on pain of death,’ continued Pierre. ‘We didn’t know what else to do.’

Amelie started to shake. Mimi patted her cheek softly.

A third man strolled into the courtyard, dressed impeccably in the dark blue velvet livery of the Comte de Montjoyeuse, a tricorne tucked under his arm. It was the Comte’s valet, Jacques.

‘Jacques, Jacques,’ blurted Pierre, his voice trembling with shock and relief. ‘Madame and monsieur.’

Jacques frowned, taking in the blood-stained clothes of the servants, the empty carriage and Amelie’s distress.

‘Mademoiselle de Montjoyeuse, I imagine there has been some kind of disaster?’ Jacques asked with a bow.

‘My aunt. My uncle. Brigands ... murdered,’ stammered Amelie.

‘We had to leave the bodies,’ added Pierre. ‘There was nothing else we could do.’

A flash of concern flittered over Jacques’s normally impassive face. He patted Pierre on the shoulder, calming his outburst.

‘Please don’t fret, Mademoiselle,’ Jacques suggested to Amelie. ‘I’ll deal with all of this. The authorities should be notified and the bodies retrieved. I will send a groom with a message for Monsieur Henri at once. ’Tis a terrible outrage. The brigands have become very bold. Pierre, I’m sure you did your best.’

Amelie nodded gratefully, leaning on Tilly for support.

‘Mademoiselle, perhaps you would kindly escort Mademoiselle de Montjoyeuse back to her boudoir?’ suggested Jacques to Tilly with a bow. ‘She should rest and let me handle all the details.’

‘Merci,
Jacques,’ Amelie said thankfully. ‘You are very kind.’

‘Not at all, mademoiselle. I am at your service,’ Jacques replied. ‘Pierre, change the horses and be ready to leave at once.’ He turned to the two footmen. ‘Alain, you and François must take a cart back to the copse and retrieve the bodies of the Comte and Comtesse, God rest their souls. Their bodies should be returned to the chateau for burial. You had better take some blankets.’

Tilly took Amelie gently by the arm and led her away. She was unsure of the way and they were soon lost, wandering aimlessly in the seemingly endless palace corridors. Amelie was in a fug of misery. Her legs trembled, barely able to carry her.

Thoughts tumbled through Tilly’s mind.
Who had killed the Comte and Comtesse? Why? What did this mean for Amelie? What could she do now?

Tilly found a seat in a quiet corner so they could sit down for a while and rest. At last, Amelie recovered enough to give directions back to the Montjoyeuse apartment.

There was another shock in store for them when they finally returned to the apartment. There was no footman at the door to let them in. No-one answered Amelie’s call. Inside the small apartment, every room had been ransacked and there was no sign of any of the servants. The girls went from room to room. Ornaments had been taken, armoires emptied, even the velvet hangings had been torn down from Tante Beatrice’s four-poster bed. Mimi jumped onto the bed and scampered around the vast counterpane, searching for her mistress.

Amelie rang the bell loudly but no-one came.

‘Where are the servants?’ asked Amelie. ‘They always answer the bell. My uncle would be furious if he had to wait more than a minute for a servant to appear.’

‘I’d say they ran off with all the valuables when they heard your uncle and aunt were dead,’ guessed Tilly dryly.

‘Mais non,’
disagreed Amelie. ‘Our servants would never do anything like that. They love my uncle like a father. They must have packed everything up and taken it back to Henri at the chateau for safekeeping.’

Tilly glanced at Amelie in disbelief, thinking of the Comte. She didn’t think anyone could love him as a father, perhaps not even his own son, Henri.

The girls checked the tiny chamber where the servants slept, prepared meals and stored their meagre belongings. This was empty too. A pair of stockings, half darned, was abandoned on the table. The girls wandered back into Tante Beatrice’s bedroom.

‘Tante Beatrice’s jewellery chest is gone.’ Amelie pointed to the spot where the chest usually stood. ‘Who did this?’

‘What should we do?’ asked Tilly. ‘Call the police or the guards?’

‘Non.
The guards protect the royal family,’ Amelie explained. ‘So many people come and go in the palace constantly, it is impossible for them to monitor everything. They try to move the beggars on, but they just change position. Things are stolen all the time, even from the King and Queen’s own chambers.’

Amelie shook her head helplessly, overwhelmed by the shock and the mess.

‘We must do something,’ insisted Tilly. ‘There must be someone we should tell.’

‘Jacques said he would deal with everything,’ Amelie reminded her. ‘Jacques has worked for the family for years. He will know what to do.’

A crystal perfume bottle was smashed on the floor, filling the boudoir with its strong, sweet odour. Among the shattered shards was a scrap of paper.

Tilly stooped to pick it up but struggled to read the scrawled, ornate handwriting.

Taking the paper from Tilly with shaking hands, Amelie read the note out loud:

‘For my darling daughter, Amelie-Mathilde-Louise.

Here are my wedding rubies, a talisman of my love for you.

I will watch over you always.

Maman.’

Amelie collapsed to her knees and sobbed, clutching the faded note from her long-dead mother.

‘Amelie, Amelie,’ crooned Tilly, hugging her around the shoulders. ‘It’s all right.’

Gently, Tilly lifted Amelie to her feet and helped her back to her own room. This room had also been searched, leaving drawers open and powder spilt on the floor.

Amelie fell onto the bed, curling up into a ball and weeping as though her heart would break. Tilly tried to comfort her, but at last just sat beside her quietly and waited. Eventually, Amelie could cry no more.

No-one came near and Amelie was in a daze of helpless grief. Mimi comforted her with gentle pats and chitters.

Tilly felt frightened, torn between staying with Amelie in the Comte’s apartment or going out and looking for help. At last Tilly ventured out into the corridor. She saw a chambermaid carrying a bucket of water, heading to the next-door apartment.

‘Excuse me,’ said Tilly, mustering up her courage. ‘Did you notice anyone emptying the Montjoyeuse apartment this morning? We think they may have been robbed.’

The chambermaid rested her heavy bucket on the floor, wiping her red chapped hands over her perspiring face.

‘Oui,’
she replied. ‘I saw all the Montjoyeuse servants carrying trunks and portmanteaus out this morning. They seemed in a dreadful hurry. I asked Claudette where they were going, and she said they had received orders to pack up quickly. She said there had been some sort of trouble but didn’t tell me what it was.’

‘I think there was a death in the family,’ responded Tilly evasively.

The chambermaid hurriedly crossed herself, picked up her bucket and opened the door to her master’s apartment. ‘Well, best be getting back to work or I’ll be in big trouble. I still have to fetch a few more loads of water.’

‘Don’t you know where they went?’

‘Non,’
the servant replied before scuttling through the door.

Back inside, Tilly went in search of food and drink, discovering the leftover bread and jam on the breakfast table, and the spirit stove that she could use to make hot chocolate.

Tilly tried to coax Amelie to eat, but she refused, sipping on some warm chocolate. Mimi stole the piece of bread and jam that Tilly had prepared for Amelie and retreated to the top of the four-poster bed to eat it, ignoring Tilly’s scoldings.

Amelie smiled wanly, the first sign of life for some time.

When she had eaten, Tilly explained what the chambermaid had said about the servants packing up to move.

‘It seems they took everything valuable with them,’ Tilly added.

‘I told you they would have taken it all to Henri,’ Amelie explained. ‘Henri is the Comte now.’

Amelie dissolved into tears once more. Tilly stroked her arm.

‘Are you all right?’

Amelie shrugged. ‘’Tis not just my uncle and aunt, you know,’ Amelie began tentatively. ‘That was a dreadful shock. But it was also distressing to find the note from my maman. Tante Beatrice told me there was a note, but she could not find it.’

Tilly nodded, encouraging Amelie to continue.

‘I had a wonderful childhood. I loved my parents deeply – they were kind and gentle. We had a beautiful chateau surrounded by gardens and woodlands, where I would ride my pony and play. I had a younger brother and an older sister, Edouard and Marguerite.’

Amelie wrung her handkerchief between her fingers.

‘Everything seemed perfect, until one day Marguerite came down with a fever. Soon afterwards my brother became ill, and Maman’s worst fears were realised. It was smallpox. I was sent away, but Maman insisted on nursing Edouard and Marguerite herself. She could not save them. First Edouard, then Marguerite, then Maman, then Papa– they all died.’

‘Oh, Amelie,’ replied Tilly. ‘I’m so sorry.’

Amelie began to sob again, clutching at the ruby talisman around her throat. Tilly sat closer to her and held her other hand, trying to express her sympathy without words. After a moment, Amelie collected herself and went on.

‘I went to live with Tante Beatrice and my uncle, who was Papa’s older brother. You could not have two brothers who were more dissimilar. Papa was kind and generous, my uncle is –
was
– vain and selfish, and could not be bothered with the care of an orphan girl. I think he truly hated my father. Only Henri was nice to me. Then, when I was eleven, Tante Beatrice sent me away to a convent school.’

Amelie sighed, closing her eyes.

‘With my uncle at least I had my pony, and Henri, and the freedom to ride and play and read. But the convent was terrible. I felt so alone and abandoned. And that was my life until four months ago when Tante Beatrice sent for me to prepare for my presentation at court and my engagement to the Chevalier.’

Amelie smiled a wan little smile.

‘At least here I could ride and dance and wear pretty clothes. Now my aunt and uncle are dead; what will become of me? I suppose I will have to marry the Chevalier...’

Amelie began to cry again.

Tilly felt all her old anger rise up again at the thought of Amelie marrying the old, pompous Chevalier.

‘You can’t marry him,’ declared Tilly. ‘You must escape to England. You have to start a new life over there. The revolution has started and it’s going to get bad – really bad. You must leave France.’

‘Mais non,
France is my home,’ wailed Amelie. ‘I cannot even speak Anglais – and they say
Angleterre
is cold and grey and rainy. It’s so far away. I
won’t
go there.’

Tilly huffed in annoyance. ‘Don’t be silly, Amelie– thousands of aristocrats will be murdered in the next five years,’ she insisted. ‘You won’t live to see your twentieth birthday if you stay here. Besides, you’re my ancestor. If you die – my family won’t exist either.’