Time-traveling Fashionista at the Palace of Marie Antoinette (9780316202961)

by Turetsky, Bianca

  Soon the table was cleared, the grating harpsichord music was starting, and the ever-present platters of sweets were being paraded out of the wings by unsmiling uniformed waiters.

  It didn’t take much time before Louise could no longer concentrate on all of the excess and sweets and fashion. Okay, maybe not the fashion part. That aspect was still pretty awesome. Now, mostly all she could think about was that she had to meet Stella wherever she was. She was ready to go home.

  “Excusez-moi, may I have this dance?” a mustached man in an embroidered tailcoat asked, tapping the Princesse de Lamballe on her shoulder.

  “Oui,” she replied with a blush, accepting his outstretched hand and letting him lead her out to the now crowded dance floor.

  Louise quickly seized this opportunity to sneak out of the party, as there seemed to be a party every night in Versailles, and walked out to the terrace. It was dusk and the reflecting pools cast a beautiful moonlit shadow over the palace.

  Then she realized she wasn’t alone. A black gloved hand grabbed her upper arm in a surprisingly strong grip.

  “Follow me,” a voice whispered behind her.

  Startled, Louise spun around to see a pale, shadowy female face hidden inside a dark velvet-hooded cloak. Before she could get a good look at her, the figure turned and began walking quickly down the dark garden path.

  “Umm, Stella, this is a little creepy. Can’t we just, like, talk here, where there’s candlelight?”

  The cloaked figure motioned for Louise to follow her.

  “Whatever you want,” Louise sighed, trying not to let her nerves get the better of her as she hesitantly followed her guide into the darkness.

  They eventually arrived in the middle of a clearing, and the girl stopped abruptly, lowering her hood. But it wasn’t Stella!

  “I’m glad you received my note. I wanted you to know that I had to send Adelaide on an official expedition to Vienna. I think she was spying on me,” Marie Antoinette stated calmly, holding the dark velvet hood at her shoulders.

  “You did what?!” Louise asked in total shock, realizing the one link to her real life had just been banished from Versailles. “But—but why?”

  “She had been acting so peculiar lately. Like a complete stranger! Asking detailed questions about every piece of clothing I purchased. I think she was sending reports back to my mother. The details my mother wrote in her letters proved to me that she has the ear of someone close to me. I’ve never trusted Adelaide, and I need to be sure I can trust everyone in my inner circle. Can I trust you, Gabrielle? You are now my dearest friend… aren’t you?” The question hovered in the chilly night air, almost like a threat.

  “Of course,” Louise stuttered. Her mind was racing. Stella must have known where her blue dress was, and now she was gone! “But I need to find Adelaide. I’m quite sure this is a huge mistake.”

  “It’s futile,” Marie Antoinette said with an indifferent shrug. “She should be almost at the border by this hour.”

  “I’m sorry, please excuse me, I… I need to go now.”

  Louise ran back up the vast lawn toward the palace. She needed to find Stella and had no idea where to even begin now! What if they were now both trapped in the past forever? She skidded to a stop and asked one of the staunch entryway guards if he had seen Madame Adelaide leave in a carriage. He said nothing and just looked down at her with a quiet, stony stare.

  Louise kept running and burst open the third door on the left, where Stella’s, or rather Adelaide’s, bedroom was. Two chambermaids were silently stripping the bedsheets.

  “Is Adelaide here?” she asked breathlessly.

  “No, mademoiselle, she had to travel to Austria immediately. It was a diplomatic matter for the state.”

  Louise was too late.

  “When did she leave?” Louise asked frantically.

  “Before supper. But she left you this note.”

  The maid handed her a sealed letter that had been propped up on the bedside table, addressed to Duchesse de Polignac in a fancy script. She immediately ripped it open with trembling fingers.

  Louise,

  The note began in a sloppy, teenage penmanship, much different from the flawless calligraphy on the cream-colored envelope. This had clearly been written in a hurry. A dark ink blot was splotched on the lower corner.

  I will see you on the other side. Be careful, we are all under suspicion! The dauphine does not trust anyone. The revolution must go on. It is time to set back the clocks before it’s too late.

  But how could Louise get back to the other side without her dress? Why hadn’t Stella left her the blue gown instead of a cryptic note? Louise put her head in her hands as she sat at the foot of the massive bed. And what did she mean by setting back the clocks? Clocks had nothing to do with anything! Her eyes wandered around the room and fell on a golden clock in a bell jar on the fireplace mantel across the room. Or was this some sort of clue? She ran over to the fireplace and carefully picked up the clock, hoping to find another note underneath. Nothing. Louise slowly lowered herself to the ground in her big pink hoop skirt, feeling utterly defeated.

  Then she saw the faint glimmer of robin’s egg blue peeking out of the fireplace hearth. She frantically pushed aside the screen and saw her lost dress rolled up into a messy satin and lace ball. She could have kissed it! Stella had come through for her! One Traveling Fashionista looking out for the other.

  Holding the magical blue gown in her hand, Louise was suddenly unsure of what to do. Had she accomplished anything at all on this trip? She didn’t think she’d been able to wake Marie Antoinette up to the harsh reality of her own people. Yet she knew the longer she stayed, the riskier it became. Maybe Stella was right that the revolution was inevitable and necessary, that the French people needed a change.

  Louise heard the yipping of a dog skittering down the cavernous marble hallway. A moment later, Macaroon nudged the bedroom door open with his fluffy white head and ran over to her, jumping up on the gown in Louise’s hands and nipping at the silk fabric.

  “Down,” she laughed, trying to pull the dress away from the puppy’s tiny but surprisingly strong jaw. Macaroon pulled harder, and Louise found herself in a tug-of-war with the overindulged shih tzu. “Let go,” Louise whispered as nicely as she could through clenched teeth. The dog growled back at her.

  “Macaroon!” a familiar high-pitched voice called from the hall. “Where are you, my precious?”

  The small white fluffy dog cocked his ear, paused, and looked toward the door, giving Louise the moment she needed to yank the blue dress free. Now she was really ready to leave.

  “Macaroon!” The dauphine’s voice got closer, and the dog yipped excitedly, running across the room. Louise yanked off her present outfit, ripping the delicate carnation-pink fabric in her haste, and hopped into the cumbersome blue hoopskirt without a second to lose. She had just barely pulled up the fitted bodice when the gold doorknob turned and Marie Antoinette stepped into the suite, still dressed in her dark floor-length velvet cloak.

  “Hello, my little…”

  Louise looked directly into the dauphine’s surprised blue eyes before she felt as if the parquet floor split open below her, and she was instantly sucked down, falling and falling fast through a pile of petticoats.

  A barrage of images flashed in front of Louise as she fell, like stop-motion frames from a 3-D movie. Marie Antoinette sweating and weak in her bed and being handed a screaming infant while surrounded by a claustrophobic crowd of people; an angry mob of women marching in front of Versailles with meat cleavers; an older-looking Marie Antoinette terrified and escaping through a secret doorway by her bed; the distraught queen of France gaunt and exhausted, wearing a simple sack dress, sitting alone on a thin mattress in a prison cell; the beautiful face of the Princesse de Lamballe separated from her body and floating in space; a barely recognizable Marie Antoinette looking like a frail old woman dressed in a thin white nightdress, tripping as she is led up the wooden st
eps to her certain death. Finally, Louise saw the grand palace of Versailles aflame, fire shooting out of enormous broken windows, the marble façade crumbling down to the ground in a pile of dust and fiery stone.

  Louise thought she might die of a broken heart before she woke up. As the rushing sound of a guillotine swooshed around her, Louise felt the wind as it sliced down. Before she could scream, she opened her eyes.

  “There is nothing

  new except what has

  been forgotten.”

  MARIE ANTOINETTE,

  queen of France,

  1774–1792

  CHAPTER 33

  Louise awoke, heart pounding, lying facedown in a patch of crinoline. She let out a little sneeze as the scratchy fabric tickled her nose, and she heard the low murmur of familiar voices. What happened to her? How long had she been lying here?

  Her head was pounding as she wiped a wet streak from her left cheek. Had she been crying in her sleep? She was sprawled out on a low Victorian chaise lounge, her hip bone digging into an uncomfortable hooped structure. She looked down and discovered she was swimming in the antique pale blue dress, a little faded and worn, and a flood of memories from what she’d just experienced washed over her.

  “Umm, hello?” she called out hesitantly. Her voice sounded weak but normal. She was definitely speaking English instead of French, and she was pretty sure she was her old self again.

  “Where is that other shoe?!” she heard in response. “I know it’s up the chimney somewhere! These would look fabulous on her!”

  Louise shakily propped herself up and tried to get her bearings. It appeared she was back inside the stone cottage, once again surrounded by rolling racks of vintage dresses and fur coats and leaning towers of striped hatboxes. “I’m over here!” she called out. Did they forget she existed or something? The two salesladies appeared as soon as the thought crossed her mind.

  “Our Fashionista has finally awoken!” Glenda exclaimed, looking down at her with a wink. She was holding out a pair of ruby red Ferragamo wedges for her to try on. “We thought these would be perfect for you. Of course, not with that blue dress.” Glenda shook her head disapprovingly at Louise’s eighteenth-century French couture gown. “Now that would be a fashion faux pas.”

  “Why don’t you put this back on for now?” Marla offered, handing Louise her familiar navy cardigan sweater and pink-and-white floral Betsey Johnson dress that was covered in grass stains from her spill on the front lawn earlier. There were no hoop skirts or gut-wrenching corsets, and at that moment Louise realized for sure that she was back where she belonged, in the twenty-first century.

  “What happened to me?” she asked, shaking her head in disbelief at the crazy adventure she had just been on. Louise smiled as she clutched her favorite Anthropologie sweater tightly to her chest like a teddy bear, so relieved and happy to be back in her real life.

  “It looks like you took a little tumble on your bicycle before you came into the shop. An old-fashioned bump on the head.”

  “You’ll be good as new in no time,” Marla declared reassuringly.

  “Food poisoning, concussions…” Brooke teased as she dropped herself on the Victorian sofa on top of the billowing blue satin skirts. Louise had almost forgotten her friend was at the sale, too. “I think this vintage habit of yours is getting a bit dangerous,” she said, giggling.

  “Nonsense!” Glenda exclaimed defensively.

  “I’m sorry.” Louise took Brooke’s hand. “I should have told you I was coming to the Traveling Fashionista Sale. We always go shopping together and I broke our pact.” Louise looked down, feeling like she might almost cry. She hadn’t even realized how upset this had made her until she said it out loud.

  “Don’t worry,” Brooke replied. “And besides, I think I’m starting to learn a bit about vintage style, too.” She gave her friend a reassuring hug and held out her hand with a giant yellow cocktail ring sparkling on her finger. “What do you think? Is it too much?”

  Louise had a flashback to Marie Antoinette with her giant powdery pouf and had to lie down again. She guessed these were called Victorian fainting couches for a reason. “No, it’s perfect. I’ve just never seen anything quite like it before,” she answered, getting a major case of déjà vu. Her head was strangely itchy and she gasped as she pulled out a tiny jeweled hairpin from her tousled frizzy bun. This miniature sparkly diamond was definitely not hers. It was something Gabrielle would wear.

  “You just missed this awesome girl who was here. You guys would have a lot in common,” Brooke continued, carelessly taking off the dazzling ring and tossing it on the sofa. “She’s almost as obsessed with vintage as you are. You guys would probably be, like, good friends,” she remarked, almost a little sadly.

  “Yes, I am sure you and Stella would have a lot to discuss,” Marla said, shooting Louise a pointed look as she gathered some discarded clothing from the rough wide-plank hardwood floor. Louise thought she caught a glimpse of Adelaide’s long-sleeved beige dress peeking out of the huge ball of clothes Marla had scooped up in her arms.

  Wait, Stella was here—and I missed her?!

  She looked over at her friend happily texting on her cell phone and realized that Brooke was perfectly content in her own real life. She didn’t carry with her the feeling inside that something was missing, as Louise did. That longing for another life, another time, another story. They would always be different in that way.

  “How do I get in touch with her? Do you have her e-mail address? Or her last name? Is she on Facebook?” Louise needed to meet Stella again. She was the only other person who had any idea what she was going through. She wanted more answers.

  “What on earth is a Facebook?” Glenda questioned with a puzzled look. “And do we look like the kind of people who use an e-mail address?” She gestured to a frazzled Marla, who had given up on trying to fold the clothes she was carrying and was now forcefully shoving them behind a potted bamboo plant.

  “I guess we should be going, too!” Louise exclaimed once she had changed back into her much more comfortable and familiar floral sundress, navy cardigan, and beloved pink Converse. Apparently Louise was going to have to investigate the true identity of her fellow time-traveling Fashionista on her own. Luckily, her Internet stalking skills were pretty impressive. She would find Stella somehow.

  “Let me get a bag for you,” Glenda offered, grabbing the delicate blue dress out of Louise’s arms and expertly wrapping it up in a large bindle, which she hung on a bamboo stick that she plucked from the plant in the corner. “Hobo chic,” she declared happily. “Our new look!”

  “You mean I can have this?” Louise asked, almost afraid to take it. “Isn’t the dress extremely valuable?”

  “We know you’ll take marvelous care of it. It could not have a better home or closet,” Glenda said with a proud smile.

  “Thank you,” Louise replied, feeling unbelievably lucky to be back in her old life and with an amazing antique dress to add to her vintage collection.

  “A little treat before you go?” Marla displayed a platter of homemade cookies seemingly out of thin air—or perhaps an open hatbox—for them to choose from.

  “I think I’ve had enough sweets for a while.” Louise thought back to the stomach-turning excess she had just experienced at Versailles as Brooke happily grabbed a misshapen chocolate chip cookie from the tray. “All the sugar I’ve been eating lately seems to be giving me a major headache.”

  She could have sworn she heard the two ladies chuckle quietly together. “Well, we do hope you enjoyed your visit! Please see us again sometime soon, as you know we are constantly discovering fabulous new inventory and accessories. And say hello to your darling mother for us!”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll be back. I mean, we will.” Louise smiled at Brooke, no longer feeling the dull pounding in her head. She was so utterly happy and content to be back in Fairview with her best friend. The two girls skipped outside, down the cottage steps, and into the fre
sh spring afternoon air. Louise hopped on her scuffed but luckily still functioning bicycle, which was splayed out on the front grass next to Brooke’s shiny ten-speed, and they headed home with the train of her blue dress blowing in the breeze behind them.

  CHAPTER 34

  It turned out that Louise did, in fact, have a very mild concussion. Mrs. Lambert took one look at the red bump on her daughter’s left temple and immediately called Dr. Jacobs to make a house call. The pediatrician arrived and, judging by his turquoise polo shirt and madras plaid pants, had been called in during a round of Saturday golf. He ordered Louise to spend the remainder of the afternoon in bed and Mrs. Lambert to check on her every few hours. After the day she’d just had, she wasn’t going to argue. Besides, this gave her time to research what exactly she had just seen firsthand. She opened her laptop and tented it under her grandmother’s patchwork quilt so that her mother wouldn’t walk in and bust her when she was supposed to be resting. Louise needed to find out everything she could about Marie Antoinette and the French Revolution.

  AT FOURTEEN YEARS OLD, MARIE ANTOINETTE WAS TAKEN BY A ROYAL CARRIAGE FROM HER CHILDHOOD HOME IN AUSTRIA TO FRANCE, WHERE SHE WAS ARRANGED TO MARRY LOUIS XVI. ONCE THE HORSE-DRAWN CARRIAGE CAME TO THE MIDWAY POINT OF THE JOURNEY, A BRIDGE OVER THE RHINE RIVER, WHICH WAS CONSIDERED NEUTRAL TERRITORY, SHE WAS TAKEN OUT AND LED INTO A SMALL LUXURIOUSLY DECORATED SET OF ROOMS, WHERE SHE WAS COMPLETELY STRIPPED OF HER AUSTRIAN DRESS AND ALL HER ACCESSORIES, AND EVEN HER CHILDHOOD DOG, MOPS, WAS TAKEN FROM HER. SHE WAS THEN GIVEN A NEW FRENCH GOWN AND STOCKINGS AND JEWELS, AS SHE WAS FROM HERE ON OUT TO PLEDGE LOYALTY TO HER NEW COUNTRY, AND ANY AUSTRIAN ARTIFACTS SHE POSSESSED WOULD BE SEEN AS TREACHERY.