Within a month of finding their new living arrangements, the lease had been signed for the new storefront, all workshop supplies had been moved, and sample dolls were set up prettily in the window. The final touch was the hanging of the new “C. Laurent Fashion Dolls” sign, made professionally by a local sign-maker in dark green with white letters and a small doll’s head painted on it.
Almost immediately, curious onlookers were crowded about the shop, always interested when a new purveyor of goods arrived. They quickly lost interest when it turned out to be a seller of inferior items, or the same bits of laces, cosmetics or quill pens that could be found anywhere.
Claudette needed to keep the interest of the passersby, and posted a notice in the window.
ON MAY THE TWELFTH
IN THE YEAR OF OUR LORD, 1786
COME TO SEE A MARVELOUS NEW CREATION!
DIRECT FROM FRANCE!
UNIQUE AND UNHEARD OF IN ALL ENGLAND
A LIMITED NUMBER OF ORDERS
WILL BE ACCEPTED AT THAT TIME
Although the English detested the French, they were intoxicated by French fashion and style. Her trials as Mrs. Ashby’s lady’s maid and her initial sales to Lady Parshall were reflections of English envy of the modes set by the Parisians.
Béatrice tilted her head to one side in front of the sign, frowning. “Whatever is it that we are going to be offering?”
“I believe the time has come for England to be introduced to the grandes Pandores. We are going to build two of them; one for display on May twelfth, the other that we will offer to the highest bidder to take home that day. All other buyers will have to wait a month for delivery of their creations. I want these dolls to be very much in demand.”
Béatrice’s eyes grew large. “Oh, Claudette, do you really think this will work? We’ve never made them before. What if customers don’t take to the dolls? All of the money invested will—”
Claudette smiled confidently. “It will work. We are going to set London on its ear.”
Although most of Claudette’s apprenticeship had involved working with fashion dolls, her father had dabbled in the grandes Pandores that had become the rage of fashionable Paris. These life-sized dolls, built on metal frames, were an extremely effective method for displaying wealth, even among those who were fabulously rich and already jaded by the luxuries of grand estate homes, gardens, jewels, and liveried servants. The dolls were difficult to create, though, and her father had soon abandoned them to return to the fashion dolls that he knew so well.
Claudette set the new workshop to an even more furious level of activity. The spacious quarters meant that the workshop could be set up in a more organized fashion. A long, wide table was in the middle of the room, and the floors were required to be swept clean after each day’s work. Around the perimeter of the room, wooden crates were affixed to the walls at angles, each containing supplies in the order in which they would be worked. Candles in scones were affixed in many places to the walls to ensure the workers had as much light as possible for their detailed work. Several woven rugs were scattered about the wooden floor, to help maintain warmth during the winter.
She stopped all other projects in the shop to have her workers learn how to build grandes Pandores. She first sketched out a few simple designs for this new doll, and then hired a blacksmith to build the doll’s frame. The metal grid frame was shaped like a bell to represent a woman’s flared skirt and forged onto a center pole. Another smaller bell shape was inverted and placed on top of the “skirt” to represent the torso. Now nearly five feet tall, the doll frame balanced itself on the ground. From there, the shop employees padded the frame, then went to work making stuffed arms and large wax molds for the head.
Creating these molds was the most painstaking part of the creation, and utterly unlike the woodcarving to which her employees had become expert. Claudette was surprised when Roger Hatfield quickly became most adept at knowing how hot to make the wax, and exactly how long to let it cool in the wooden mold before breaking the two halves of it apart and letting the doll head drop gently into his lap. The enormous man would coddle the mold in his hands as though it were a puppy, talking to it and coaxing it apart. His expertise came at a price, as he frequently spattered the hot, melted liquid on himself and the worktable, and Claudette and Béatrice could hear him swearing and muttering under his breath. After removing the mold from the cooled wax and smoothing down any rough parts of the head, he would gently pass it on to someone else to paint on facial features.
The final step to affix the wax heads required several tries, as they had difficulty securing them onto the enormous frames. Either Roger or Claudette would arrive at the shop in the morning to find a wax head split apart on the floor next to the frame. Eventually they hit upon pouring hot wax into a mold with two pieces of three-foot-long twine in it. When the mold was removed and the head painted and bewigged, they would place the wax head on the frame, and run the twine through the middle of the frame, securing it on opposite sides of the lower metal skirt.
While Roger and the other workers finished up the actual doll construction, Claudette took measurements for the doll’s trousseau. She designed the clothing and gave it to Agnes for sewing. Béatrice assisted Agnes later with the detail work of sewing on lace and embroidering designs on it. They gave the doll a robe à la française, a popular style characterized by a skirt completely open in front and draped on both sides, under which a woman wore a petticoat and other complementary garments. Agnes and Béatrice embroidered a pattern of bright butterflies in reds and oranges and pinks running down either side of the pale blue robe’s opening. They embroidered one small butterfly on the cream petticoat peeping out from underneath, to look as though the insect had somehow jumped from the robe to the undergarment.
Even young Joseph, whose work consisted mostly of cleaning and sorting supplies, understood and appreciated the magnificence of the embroidery work, and came in eagerly each morning to view the previous day’s progress before tending to his own tasks.
The two women created a very small headdress of feathers attached to a dark blue muslin cap and perched it on the side of the doll’s head, enough to complete the outfit but not enough to distract from the artistic work of the doll’s head and wig, which was pulled up high off the forehead and swept into a large pouf on top of the head, with tendrils hanging down the sides.
When the doll was completely finished, all of the shop workers stood admiring it. This was truly a new facet in their dollmaking business, one they knew would bring in yet more customers and make the shop famous. Béatrice hugged Claudette close.
“Mon amie, look at what you have done for us. For all of us.”
All of this work kept Claudette and her employees busy for weeks. As she saw all of the dolls take shape and become more and more human-sized, especially as their wax heads and limbs were removed from molds and set in place, she nearly clapped with happiness. What would Papa say if he were here now? She sighed. He would be proud of her. He would laugh at her boldness. And perhaps he would tell her that the eyes on one of the dolls were not evenly spaced. Hmm, that would have to be fixed.
Claudette was gratified to see a small band of onlookers already crowding the window of the shop when she arrived the morning of the presentation. The previous evening she had covered the windows with curtains, to heighten curiosity and prevent anyone having an advance look at the grandes Pandores. She greeted the small throng, and asked them to be patient just a few more moments while she prepared.
Inside the shop, Béatrice and Roger were just finishing last-minute preparations and readying the shop for customers. Joseph was positioned on the floor next to a round wooden platform by the shop window, both hands on a turning crank attached to the platform. The most fabulous of the creations was on this platform. It took him four cranks to turn the doll one complete revolution, and he was puffing furiously with the exertion.
Together, Claudette and Béatrice pulled open the curtains to
a gasp of admiration outside the windows. Patrons began spilling into the store with a ferocious excitement, peppering Claudette and Béatrice with questions about the dolls. Wherever did you find these dolls? Are they really from France? Does anyone else in London have them?
One intrepid woman attempted to lift the skirt of the revolving doll. Seeing this, Roger barged over and hoisted the crouched woman forcibly under both arms and removed her from the store, lecturing her on the improprieties of lifting a lady’s dress. The woman scurried away shamefaced, but returned later in the day with a friend, pointing excitedly through the window at the shop’s amazing offerings.
Throughout the day, they were visited by new customers and old friends. Lizbit Preston, Gerard and Diane Gifford, Jack Smythe, and Nicholas Ashby all arrived at various points to hail the shop’s success.
The introduction of the grandes Pandores was an immediate success. The workshop was now receiving commissions from minor nobility, and various liveried servants began rushing in and out of the shop each day, placing orders for their employers. Fashionable women realized that they could be gossiped about quite thrillingly by having at least one of these gorgeous creations in their homes.
Claudette gave the second doll away by lottery, and the gentleman who won it for his wife acted as though he was the recipient of an unexpected fortune.
Orders did not diminish over the following weeks. It seemed that all of London was talking about the “doll companions.” Rumor was brought to Claudette by one of her customers that even Queen Charlotte had heard of them, and looked up interestedly enough from reading to inquire as to how one could possess a doll so large and not have to give it a room of its own.
But even the interest of England’s queen did not move Claudette as much as a note from William Greycliffe, congratulating her success as “heir to the finest dollmaker in all of France.”
She read and reread his letter in private, away from Béatrice’s questioning eyes, and could not resist bringing the thick, cream-colored paper to her face to try to catch his scent on it. She inhaled deeply and was rewarded with the faintest whiff of leather and his strong male fragrance.
Claudette, she thought. You are the idiot that Mr. Greycliffe calls you. This can never be. He is a married man, and a gentleman besides. He is not in a position to do more than sport with your affections. Stop this now before he destroys you.
She reluctantly folded the letter again into its small rectangle, noticing the return address in Kent. Word of her growing doll shop had traveled far if he knew about it from there.
Or maybe he was interested enough that he was avidly seeking news of her?
Cease this once and for all, she told herself sternly.
She dug out the old tool chest she had rescued from her father’s doll shop and used it as a hiding place for the letter. The chest was full of trinkets: broken doll parts, a few coins left over from her manic saving days at the Ashbys, brightly-hued threads, rusty scissors, and a small jar of gesso, among other heaped belongings. She also had Mr. Greycliffe’s previous letter to her from just after her accident with the show birds. Holding both letters in her hands, she made a foolishly sentimental decision. Claudette dashed off to the workshop and returned with a spool of pink ribbon. Removing a long length, she tied the two notes together and buried them at the bottom of the chest. Her hand slid over another ribbon-wrapped stack and she pulled it out. It was her small stack of love letters from Jean-Philippe. She had nearly forgotten them. She sank to the floor on both knees to read them.
His teenage bravado dominated the letters, and she allowed the bittersweet rush of memories of her foolish youth, his headstrong opinions, and their innocent and pure romance to wash over her.
Ah, Jean-Philippe, who knows what might have been had we not been torn apart?
But the pain did not knife through her as it once did. She folded his letters and retied them to return them to the chest. For reasons she dared not think about, she moved Jean-Philippe’s letters to the bottom of the chest, and put Mr. Greycliffe’s at the top where she could more easily find them.
One last time she admonished herself. Claudette, thoughts of that man will only bring you to ruin!
16
London, June 1786. The shop seemed busier than ever, especially since Miss Claudette, as she was now affectionately known to her customers and employees, was offering the grandes Pandores to an approving public. The English aristocrats were wild for them, some even going as far as “inviting” their doll companions to tea, or having them accompany them in their landaus when they went calling on their friends. Agnes found this type of doll easier to work with, as her patterns for clothing were of the same dimensions as when she had once worked as a déshabillé maker, creating underclothing and loose gowns for women.
Around noon one day, Claudette stepped into the workroom, sighing and pushing a loose tendril into her hair band. She poked aimlessly at the dolls in various stages of completion on the worktable, examining them for flaws. Stepping away from the table, she moved over to the row of grandes Pandores in various stages of dress. Agnes asked, “Miss Claudette, can I help you? Is anything wrong?”
“No, I just needed a rest from the customers. It has been a particularly trying day so far with Béatrice sick at home.”
The bell tinkled in the outer room. Claudette straightened, arranged her skirt, patted her hair, and turned to welcome another customer.
Entering the C. Laurent Fashion Doll Shop was an exquisitely dressed gentleman and what could only be described as his entourage. He was the sun around which several people danced, including two women who appeared to be competing for a nod or acknowledgment from him. Claudette took her position behind the counter while the group examined the sample dolls in the shop. From her vantage point she could observe the customer without appearing obvious. He was a handsome man—no, not just handsome, he was actually quite beautiful. He was dressed in the French fashion, as were the members of his party. He turned his profile toward Claudette, and she could see his rounded eyes with their long lashes, his aquiline nose, his high-set cheekbones above a strong jaw. Claudette actually felt herself gasp inwardly as the Adonis made his way to her counter. He stopped, imperceptibly snapping to in military fashion, and gracefully made a small bow to her.
“Mademoiselle, I am Count Fersen of Sweden, and a very close friend of the king and queen of France. I should like to requisition several of your creations. They seem to be the talk of London since I have arrived.” He spoke in French! He saw Claudette’s startled look. “Everyone says, ‘You must visit the little French doll-seller on Oxford Street.’ So I assumed that French would be welcome here, although it is not in many circles of England.” His voice was gently teasing. He played with some loose wool on the counter. “I do not see any of these lifelike dolls I hear of, grandes Pandores I believe they are called?”
“I am so sorry, but we have none on display. They have been very popular and sell quickly. All we have are partially made samples in the workroom.”
“Then I insist that you allow me to escort you to this workroom immediately.” He held out an arm, and Claudette found herself swept under his spell. Agnes, too, was agog at the handsome count who gallantly swept her a bow upon entering the workroom.
The count spent the better part of an hour appraising the large dolls under construction, examining their birdcage construction and realistic features. He also went back into the display room and looked over various doll styles. His entourage waited to one side, the women shooting daggers at Claudette, unsure what his intentions were with her. Finally he placed an order for three small fashion dolls, to be made in the latest English styles, which he said were a pale imitation of French fashion. He directed that the dolls be delivered to Marie Antoinette, the Queen of France. “She will be utterly amused by them. She is a great enthusiast of dolls, and she will no doubt be delighted in seeing how far behind the English are in their fashions. And you should know that the queen enjoys bein
g a patron of talented artists. You may find that she becomes your benefactor if she likes your designs.”
A small alarm bell sounded in Claudette’s head. She remembered her first benefactress in London, who insisted that as such she did not need to pay for the dolls. All turned out well for Claudette, but could she afford to be supplying the entire royal court of France with dolls with only vague promises of payment and—
“Of course, we have not yet resolved the price for the dolls, and since I will be leaving England soon, it would be best if I paid you in full now, yes?”
So the deal was struck, and Claudette was left with the most important commission she had ever had. How proud Papa would be.
She later received a note from Count Fersen that Marie Antoinette had been delighted with her dolls, claiming them better quality than anything else in her collection. She had Fersen place more orders. Soon thereafter Claudette began receiving orders from a select few members of the queen’s court, those that did not think the dolls foolish. These orders were accompanied by notes saying that the customer found her dolls to be “quaint,” or lovely “conversation starters.” No one other than the queen seemed to value them for their inherent artistic excellence.
Once the English aristocrats realized that the French were interested in Claudette’s grandes Pandores as well, their own fascination trebled. Orders were now placed with instructions to make them “more stylish than what goes to the frogs.”
How do I follow such an instruction? Claudette wondered.
She started making the French export dolls just a tad shorter as a way to establish the English ones as “better” without offending her French clientele.
And so her personal coffers grew. Another trip to Mr. Benjamin resulted in an additional investment, this time in a sugar plantation in Barbados, a faraway place she had never heard of, but which Mr. Benjamin told her would give her lucrative returns. She also opened an account for Béatrice and deposited a substantial sum for her faithful and hardworking friend. How far they had come from their arrival on the London docks with Marguerite and Lizbit Preston.
The Queen's Dollmaker Page 15