“I guess this is where Trump took his inspiration from. I don’t think I’ve ever seen more gold adorn any walls and ceilings than this,” Sam joked. “I mean, look at these views!”
“Isn’t it spectacular? Can you imagine living here? Such opulence. No wonder it angered the Parisians. The monarchy lived like this while they barely had bread to eat.”
Philippe stopped when they reached the other side of the room and opened the glass-paned French doors. “Follow the stairs and enter to your right. Enjoy your evening.”
“That’s it? You’re not staying?” Sam teased only to receive a barely noticeable smile from Philippe before he turned and left.
“Do you think we’re going to meet Mr. Anonymous?” Alex whispered to Sam.
“Now that would be nice. We can put an end to this silly game of his.”
But much to their disappointment their arrival in the even more luxurious ballroom was met by about four dozen guests distinctly higher in class than the partying crowd they had just left. So too was the ambiance the exact opposite than when they’d arrived with soft classical music playing in the background and small cliques of men and women in subdued discussion.
“And there it is, the rude awakening that we’re not wealthy. I feel like a fish out of water,” Sam whispered.
“We should move around, blend in,” Alex whispered back, grateful the mask hid her discomfort.
“Why do you think Mr. Anonymous brought us here? To feel what it was like to live amongst the noblemen in the royal castle?” Sam asked.
“Not sure, but judging from the two at your ten o’clock, I’d think we had better take it easy on the champagne.”
Sam’s eyes trailed to the two men Alex pointed out and then landed on two more to the right of them. “They’re not alone. Might just be that trap we were talking about. Think it’s the guys from the train?”
“Hard to say with the masks on. Stay off the bubbly, Sam. For all we know they laced it.”
While they slowly moved through the crowded space a couple who looked considerably less stuck-up than the rest motioned for them to come closer.
“Good evening, may we join you?” Alex asked with her limited French vocabulary.
“Oui, but of course,” a tall, burly Frenchman with a big nose and almost bearlike demeanor answered; his perfect English only slightly laced with a French accent.
“Forgive me; I haven’t spoken French since my school years.”
“No need to apologize, madame. There are quite a few of us who speak perfect English. We’re all here for the same reason, no?”
“Indeed,” Sam interrupted, “wouldn’t miss something this exciting.”
“Well, exciting isn’t quite how we’d describe it in French, but I suppose you have a different meaning for the word in English,” he said, pushing out his big belly as he proudly threw his shoulders back.
Alex shuffled uncomfortably in the wake of their overt declaration that they didn’t have the slightest notion why their guests were there. “How would you describe it, monsieur? Perhaps you’d be so kind as to give us a lesson in your fine language.”
“But of course, madame. With something as sacred as this only happening once a year, it would not be right of me not to honor the Royal Family. We have indeed suffered a great loss.”
“Sacred indeed, yes,” she echoed in the hopes of baiting him for more information when the bubbly French woman behind him interrupted.
“Aren’t you going to introduce us, Etiénne?”
“You’re right, mon chérie, we have not introduced ourselves. Forgive my rudeness. I am Count Etiénne du Bois, and this is my beautiful wife, Josephine.”
“Nice to meet you, I’m…“ Alex paused, briefly contemplating whether she should divulge their real names and then continued, “Elizabeth and this is James.”
Relieved Alex had the swiftness of mind, Sam played along, and, with authentic French charm, kissed the back of Josephine’s hand.
“You’re a lucky woman, Elizabeth. How long have you been married?”
“We haven’t yet, we’re still engaged.”
“How lovely?” She batted her eyes at Sam.
“When is the wedding?” Josephine continued her inquest.
“In a couple of weeks,” Alex smiled.
“You can’t go wrong with a French wedding. The lavender is in full bloom this time of year.”
“That’s precisely what I said, Josephine. No one does ‘love’ quite like the French right?” Sam added with that all too familiar twinkle in his eye.
The music suddenly stopped and, as if one body, everyone turned and faced the front of the room.
A distinguished gentleman wearing a gold embroidered three-quarter length jacket, and peacock blue sash entered the back of the room and passed through a line of six similarly dressed men. Looking like he’d just stepped out of the history books he took his place behind the small podium.
“Who’s that?” Sam whispered to Josephine, who stood far too close to him.
“That’s Lord Alphonse. We have him to thank for this lavish affair.”
The room listened as the French-speaking lord welcomed everyone before reading from what appeared to be an ancient scroll.
“My French is a tad rusty; what’s he reading?” Sam whispered to Alex.
“Something about a life cut short and the memory of the monarchy. It sounds a bit like a eulogy,” Alex replied.
Lord Alphonse continued reading from the scroll for another fifteen minutes after which he then lit ten candles while a priest prayed. Acutely aware of still being watched, Alex didn’t close her eyes. Instead, she took the opportunity to scan over the guests. When the prayer finally ended a blue and gold satin pillow was passed down the line of men who all wore matching blue jackets with white sashes. The guests responded by crossing themselves as Roman Catholics typically did in a blessing.
“I feel like this is a church service. What’s happening?” It was Alex who asked Sam this time to which he just shrugged his shoulders.
One of the blue jackets moved between the guests carrying the blue and gold pillow to which several guests responded with the same French saying. Alex and Sam waited for the pillow to come past, eager to see what was on top. And when it did, it merely displayed three gold embroidered letters: L.C.B
“What’s LCB?” Sam asked Josephine after the pillow made its way back to the front of the hall.
“My dear, James, you do not know? Louis Charles Bourbon of course. That’s why we’re here, silly; to remember the sweet boy. He died so frightfully young. That was the young prince’s pillow before they took him, poor thing.”
Josephine fanned herself as if she was about to faint. Alex and Sam exchanged looks as they came to realize it was a memorial for the dauphin.
“You really think he died of tuberculosis?” Sam quietly nudged Josephine for answers, purposefully standing closer to her. She liked him, and he used it to glean the information they desperately needed.
“But of course, James. It was written in the history books, no?”
“That doesn’t mean it’s true, mon chérie,” the count whispered before continuing. “We have been debating this for years. My dear Josephine believes he died in that tower. But not I. My pappy told me many stories when I was just a young boy and his pappy before that.”
“So you think the boy never died? That he lived?” Alex whispered back as a small choir filled the room with a somber song.
“I do, Elizabeth. It is said his body was never seen. The doctor was the only one there; declared him dead, but no one saw his body removed from his cell. Many have come looking for his grave over the years, and it’s not where the doctor said it was.”
“Etiénne, you’re filling our new friends’ heads with your family’s silly stories. Don’t listen to him, darlings. They performed an autopsy on the boy. He never lived. All these theories are desperate straws created by royalists like my dear husband over here. If our young dauphin
were alive, he would have come back to claim his position as heir, and he never did.”
“That cannot be true, mon chérie. Lord Alphonse is his royal descendant. How could that happen if the boy died?”
“Pfuh, Lord Alphonse. Darling, Etiénne, Lord Alphonse is nothing but a treasure seeker. The monarchy is dead, and so is the boy.”
Chapter Nine
While the choir’s hymns paid tribute to the young heir who never became king, the count and his bubbly, outspoken wife’s political quibble entertained Alex and Sam. And the more they heard, the clearer it became that the exclusive gathering was, in fact, a group of royalists who clung to a monarchy that no longer existed, desperate to believe that Lord Alphonse’s claim to be a royal descendent was valid.
“So why are you here, Josephine? I mean if you don’t believe he lived,” Sam queried.
“My dear, there are two groups of people here, all still believing in the monarchy. We just don’t all agree on what happened back then. Some here, like my husband, believe the boy somehow escaped and was adopted, just like his older sister, Marie Thérèse. And the others, like me, believe he died. No one really knows what happened. Many have lent their ears out to ridiculous tales their grandparents made up—unproven tales and gossip.” She cleared her throat hinting at her husband being one of them, “but either way, we’re all here to remember the young prince and what he went through. Besides, who’d want to miss this? It’s the one time of the year we get to debate openly with each other.”
“Not to mention my chèrie gets a chance to pick up on all the latest gossip,” Etiénne teased as he pulled her closer to him and continued their playful banter.
“Sam, your three o’clock,” Alex whispered as she marked one of the suspicious-looking men moving along the side of the room toward them.
“I see him. Where are the others?”
Alex scanned the room. “I lost them. We should get out of here.”
“Too late. Over there, at the entrance.”
“Can you see another way out of here?”
“Nope… unless…”
“What? Unless what, Sam?” Alex whispered back feeling a slight wave of panic rise up.
“Friends, what do you say we all get out of here before you two kill each other? Perhaps you might know how we can do so undetected and without offending our host?” Sam whispered to the quarreling French couple who instantly stopped midway in their now fiery debate.
“Well, James, I think you’re right. My husband could do with some cooling off,” said Josephine, winking at her red-faced husband who responded simply by shrugging his shoulders in typical French fashion while blowing a puff of air through pursed lips.
“Oui-oui, I know just how,” the count responded, somewhat relieved to have escaped the imminent spectacle that seemed to have become their hallmark at these gatherings.
“This way,” the count whispered as he quietly led them to the back of the room. From behind the guests where they stood eyes-closed and with their backs toward them in yet another prayer ceremony, he paused, pinning his back against the wall.
“The door is that way,” Alex whispered when they lined up against the wall next to him. The count wedged one finger under his big nose over his lips before his hand slipped behind his back against the baroque painted wall behind them. The faintest clicking sound alerted Alex and Sam that the innocent looking Frenchman had somehow opened a secret door behind the paneled wall.
“Well, what do you know?” Sam whispered. “Seems this guy has a few aces up his sleeve.”
One by one they managed to slip undetected through the small opening in the wall and descended a narrow, spiral staircase built entirely from stone. With the wall panel securely back in place, the steep staircase disappeared into the darkness, challenging the four escapees to feel their way along the cold walls. Alex yanked off her mask in an attempt to see better in the near pitch-black darkness, but it had little to no effect on her vision—or lack thereof. The air was thin, saturated in a strong musky scent, and icy cold which caused her skin to break out in goosebumps as the chilly air brushed over her bare shoulders.
“Where are we going?” Alex whispered.
“Oh, no need to whisper, my dear,” Etiénne chuckled. “These walls are as thick as they come. No one will hear you from down here. It was the very tunnel our Sun King used to visit with his mistresses.”
“I literally have no idea who you’re talking about, Etiénne,” Sam’s voice echoed from the back followed by several subdued noises as he continually bumped his head on the low roof of the spiraling steps above his head. “I’m assuming he was the shortest king alive though.”
“Oh, mon Dieu! You need to study your French history, my friend. King Louis XIV, of course. He called himself the Sun King because he believed in a centralized government with himself at its center. He chose the sun as his emblem; to show off his power to the people. Some say he was a Greek god, like Apollo. It is he who ordered the construction of the Palace of Versailles and that enormous fountain of Apollo in the gardens. He wanted to separate himself from the people. He had many, many mistresses, and this is how he sneaked them into the palace.”
“And how is it you know about these secret passages?” Alex asked with curiosity.
“It is not a secret anymore, my friends. These tunnels were discovered in the mid-1800s when they restored the palace, and my great pappy was lucky enough to have been part of the restoration team.”
“And that’s why my beloved husband thinks he knows everything about the Royal Family,” Josephine giggled as they finally reached the bottom of the stairs.
“Wait here,” Etiénne ordered, and they heard his feet shuffle away from them. Moments later, the welcoming light of a small lantern declared their surroundings.
“What is this place?” Alex asked in awe.
“King Louis XIV’s private wine cellar. This is where he used to court his mistresses, here, at this very table,” he said ushering them over to a small round wooden table in the center of the damp cellar. Cobwebs clung to the silver candelabra that still held a pair of melted down candles. To the right of the table, a narrow wooden shelf displayed two pewter wine goblets, and a glass carafe also covered in cobwebs.
“This is amazing, Etiénne! Are you telling me this is as it was left when he was here?”
Etiénne shrugged his shoulders again, “Oui-oui, my dear. It was discovered during the renovations and precisely left as it was then, but no one ever recorded it when it was discovered. It’s never been open to the public. Now, not many people know it even exists. Most have already passed on and taken it with them to the grave. I only know because my great pappy learned it from his father and passed it on through my family. Maybe now my dear Josephine will believe me.”
“Still doesn’t prove our little dauphin lived,” Josephine sneered.
Alex circled the closed-off room looking for a door. “Is there any other way out?”
Etiénne’s large clumsy body rapidly moved closer to her. “But of course, dear Elizabeth. It’s one of the many secrets I know.” He raised his eyebrow at his wife who responded by rolling her eyes and folding her arms across her busty chest.
They watched as Etiénne twisted a sequence of dusty wine bottles, one by one as if turning a combination lock on a safe. Some to the left and others to the right; each time it sounded a soft clicking noise. Twelve turns later and a cloud of dust puffed into the air when one of the wine racks receded into the wall and revealed a small arched opening.
“Ha-ha! I wasn’t sure it would still work. The last time I was in here was with my pappy when I was a child. It was the best day of my life. Come, come.”
Sam squeezed Alex’s arm as he watched her face light up. She was especially susceptible to hidden passages and secret doorways. It excited her beyond measure, and Sam loved seeing her come to life like this.
“It’s a lot smaller than I remember,” Etiénne uttered as he was forced to tip his head onto
his shoulder and shuffle sideways to fit through the narrow passage. “Watch your head, James. I have a feeling you might encounter the same challenge as me. Not far now though,” he continued with a giggle as his wife squealed each time a spiderweb got tangled in her white wig.
“How deep are we under the ground?” Sam said with the slightest hint of claustrophobia in his voice.
“Deep enough not to want to have all of this cave in on us,” Etiénne chuckled, purposefully attempting to evoke a reaction from his wife to drive his point home, but much to his dismay she didn’t take the bait. She was too caught up in pulling more webs from her mouth.
The lantern’s flame flickered against the grey stone walls followed by the slightest waft of cold air that brushed over their skins.
“Are we close to an exit?” Alex asked.
“Not just yet, my dear. That might have just been a spirit passing through,” the count responded.
“A spirit? What do you mean a spirit, Etiénne? I’m not walking with ghosts. Get me out of here you foolish old man!” Josephine’s panicked voice finally spoke.
“Oh yes, mon chérie, there are lots of tales about spirits haunting the secret tunnels under the palace. It’s said that many of the king’s courtiers were killed to conceal his scandalous affairs. They roam the corridors and haunt those who don’t respect the monarchy.”
“If I die down here, Etiénne Du Bois I will haunt you till the day you die!” Josephine yelled in panic at her mocking husband—her idle threat, causing him to burst into laughter.
“He’s joking, Josephine. Ghosts don’t exist,” Sam comforted her.
A minute later and the narrow, grey-walled passage suddenly opened to a chimney reaching several feet into the darkness above their heads. The faint light of the lantern exposed the rungs of a ladder protruding from the wall that extended upwards into the chimney.
“I’ll go first. It’s about fifty steps to the top if I remember.”
“Hurry on up then, Etiénne, and get us out of here,” Josephine urged her husband who further relished her angst as he blew out the lantern’s flame and hung it on the wall, casting the small group into total darkness. The sound of his shoes on the rungs echoed through the small space. Alex and Sam counted the steps out with Josephine, trying hard not to giggle at her gullibility.
The Dauphin Deception Page 7