Axel Fersen stared in dismay at the letter that had been secretly couriered to him from the queen, who was now living at the Tuileries Palace. She and the king were virtual prisoners inside their new home, a residence that had not been used by the royal family since Louis XIV abandoned it in the late seventeenth century. Surely it was not fit for his captivating and exquisite Antonia. Soon he would have to do something to save her. But what?
The fall of 1789 continued to be chaotic in France. In October, the National Assembly split itself into three groups. The first group, the “Patriots,” was also known as the Center because they sat in the center of the Assembly hall. Their leading figure was Lafayette. Sitting on the right side of the hall were the Royalists, who wanted to see the government returned to what it was under the king. To the left of the hall resided the extreme revolutionaries, or Jacobins, led by Maximilien Robespierre. This group was not afraid to use violence to accomplish its radical goals of equality for all men.
November was a new month, and the burgeoning new government was busy developing new plans for running the country. On November 2, the National Assembly took matters into its own hands to begin solving France’s financial problems by taking over church lands and issuing assignats. These bonds pledged an interest rate of five percent, and the public could buy them to exchange for the land the government had seized. The move outraged the clergy and initiated more howling from disgruntled groups.
Soon after, the Civil Constitution of the Clergy was enacted. As a follow-up to its earlier confiscation of church property, the Assembly decreed that the selection of priests would be conducted by district electoral assemblies. Bishops and clergy would be paid from the government purse, and, as a final sword thrust at the church, it abolished all papal jurisdiction in France.
Chaos and outrage continued throughout the remainder of the year.
Hevington, December 25, 1790. Claudette closed the shop during the week of Christmas to give her grateful workers time with their families. She and Béatrice accepted William’s invitation to spend Christmas at Hevington, and rode there with Marguerite in his finest carriage, sent up to London to fetch them. Hevington was ablaze with lights, and coaches were scattered all over the drive. William greeted them warmly, and introduced Claudette to face after face of his neighbors and associates. The Bewleys were there, but the Duke of Dorset and the delightful Giovanna were absent. William told her quietly that Dorset had finally put The Baccelli aside under pressure from his family, and had recently married a young heiress whom he detested. Much to the duke’s dismay, Giovanna had run off in protest with the Earl of Pembroke, a family friend. The duke no longer visited socially and instead stayed cooped up morosely at Knole.
“Poor Giovanna!” said Claudette. “She loved the duke so much and she was of so much help to me. I must write to her when I return to London.”
After a joyous and boisterous dinner of roasted goose, vegetable pies, pudding with brandy sauce, sugared fruits, and other dishes from estate-grown livestock and vegetation, finished off with aged bottles of claret from the cellar, they moved into the music room where Lady Something-or-other sat down to play the pianoforte. This time, Claudette slid easily into William’s arms as they danced the minuet together. For once, she felt completely at ease in his lifestyle.
Béatrice retired early, suffering an upset digestion from the rich dinner. Marguerite stayed with the party, in complete rapture over being in attendance at this adult event. She practiced dancing off to one side, stepping backward and forward and twirling by herself, until one of the male guests noticed her and squired her onto the floor.
The festivities went on into the wee hours of the morning. When the door closed behind the last guest, and Marguerite had sleepily wandered off to find her room, William asked Claudette to accompany him to the north wing of the house, as he wanted her opinion on something there. Puzzled, she took his proffered hand and followed him to a room she had not been in before. He opened the door, and she was startled by what she saw in the glow of dozens of candles placed on tables around the small room and reflecting off a mirror hanging over the room’s fireplace. Next to the crackling fire was a chair, but not just any chair. It was gilded in the French style, and its lushly padded seat covered in cerulean blue brocade. Scattered around the chair was a profusion of loose stems of roses and lilies, their fragrance enveloping Claudette in wonder.
She stood there, dumbstruck, until William urged her into the room and guided her over to the chair. She sat down, and he took his place on one knee at her feet.
“Claudette, have you been happy here tonight?”
“Of course. Why ever should I not be?”
He did not answer her question but returned with another of his own. “And my friends? Are you comfortable with them now? Do you realize that you are their equal and more?”
“I believe I do. Giovanna helped me to realize that. But what—”
He picked up a single red rose and a snow white lily from the floor and brought them both up to her. She took them and inhaled deeply.
He smiled. “They are good together, are they not, the rose of England and the lily of France?”
She nodded, still puzzled.
William wrapped his hands around both of hers, which still held the blooms. “Sweetheart, darling, I would like you to be my lily here at Hevington forever. Please marry me.”
“Oh,” she breathed. “Oh. Oh my, yes, William. Yes, a thousand times yes!” She leaned forward against him and he lost his balance, sending them both tumbling into the mass of flowers. They laughed together as they saw stems and petals crushed into each other’s hair and clothing. Claudette picked up an unharmed lily, and, propped up on one arm, batted William on the nose with it.
“You realize that I am a wild-grown lily, and not the greenhouse variety?” she teased.
He laughed again. “As though I could be happy with any other kind.” He pulled her down for a long kiss. They continued to lie there together among the floral debris, with the fire slowly crackling down to embers.
As the early morning light began encroaching into the room, Claudette sat up.
“William, I must make a request of you.”
“Of course, anything,” he mumbled, overcome by the warmth of the room and his own sleepy contentment.
“I would like our betrothal to be a secret between us for now.”
This snapped William awake and into an upright position. “Why? I thought we might be married immediately.”
“I would like nothing more than that. But I’m worried about Béatrice. You know she is utterly dependent on me, and we even have adjoining flats. I think she would be devastated if I left her suddenly like this. It would be preferable if I could bring her along a little further in managing the doll shop, maybe even turn over daily management to her, so that when we are married, she can feel confident staying there and being on her own. Marguerite is showing some interest in the shop as well, and I would like to train her a bit.”
“Are you saying you plan to give up the doll shop?”
“Mmm. Not initially. But I suppose when I have a flock of Greycliffe sons to look after, I’ll have to rely on someone else to manage the shop on a daily basis.” She smiled at him, and he stood, offering her his arm as assistance up from the floor.
“Well, my future Lady Greycliffe, I agree to your terms. We had better get some breakfast now, to begin fortifying ourselves for the time that I start getting sons on you.”
Tuileries Palace, January 1791. An urgent rap on Count Axel Fersen’s door was immediately followed by a desperate cry and rattling of the knob. Fersen opened the door and admitted the queen, who immediately threw herself in his arms. He quickly kicked the door shut before any curious palace servants or guards could see them together. His new accommodations at the Tuileries had been prepared with the greatest secrecy, and few people on the outside knew that he spent as much time here as in his rented lodgings in town.
“Antonia, wh
at is wrong?”
“Oh, Axel. It just isn’t fair. Everyone is leaving me! What am I to do?” The queen sobbed against his shoulder. Her wig was in disarray and her rouge was wearing off onto Fersen’s jacket.
“Antonia, you must tell me what has happened.” He led her to a cream silk-covered settee, which matched one in the queen’s apartment. Gently offering her a handkerchief, he waited for her to stop trembling.
“Axel, she’s going away.”
“Who is going away?”
“It’s Madame Bertin, my dressmaker. She said she cannot remain in France, in this palace, another moment. She is leaving, and will not even tell me where. I begged her to stay, but it seems that being the queen of France no longer means anything. I pleaded with her, promised her more money, but she wouldn’t listen. She said that all the francs in the treasury could not keep her here, and that she did not think that we have any control over the treasury anyway. Axel, Axel, are you my only friend in the world?”
He pulled her close again. “Antonia, Madame Bertin is a faithless friend to you, something that you know I shall never be. But what of it? She’s just a seamstress.”
“Axel! She is the royal dressmaker. She selects all of my clothes for me and I am greatly reliant on her. Who has her talent and skill when it comes to fashion? Besides, I thought she cared for me, despite her temper.”
“Come, stop these tears. You have me here, and I will always stand by you, no matter what. Here, take a new handkerchief. That’s my sweet love.” He cupped her face in his right hand. “Antonia, it’s time to be serious about your situation. Your life, the king’s, that of the children; I fear you are in danger again.”
“But Axel—”
He continued over her protest. “We must do something to prepare for any eventuality. You need to leave France.” Her eyes flew open. “I know we have tried to convince the king of this before. But we must try again. Just temporarily. Just until we can bring Austrian troops in to regain control. We need to begin planning.”
“Axel, I could not even begin to think of this. How disappointed my mother would be if she were still alive. To see what has become of her favorite daughter, her great hope of an alliance between Austria and France.” Drops spilled down her cheeks again. “I am so weary of being hated.”
“I’ll take care of this,” he soothed her. “I will ensure your safety and that of the entire royal family. Don’t worry, Antonia. Leave everything to me.” He lifted her chin. “Let’s meet tomorrow. We will walk in the gardens and talk, far away from prying eyes. Say yes.”
The reputedly haughty queen of France wiped a moist eye with Fersen’s handkerchief. “Yes, tomorrow.”
“Will there be anything else, my lord?” Fersen’s valet was tired, but maintained his customary correctness, never letting his master know when he was exhausted from unending service in support of the count’s career—the constant rounds of dances, masques, dinners, hunts, and other previous court entertainments, now replaced with furtive meetings, hallway whispers, and secret messages. He knew that the queen had been alone with Fersen this afternoon for nearly an hour in his room, and his master had been pensive and withdrawn ever since, barely touching his supper tray. Lucien’s curiosity had been short-lived, though. Years of living with the vagaries of the aristocracy had taught him never to be astonished by anything they did.
“No, I am fine for the evening. Please just have some wine brought to me. And I shall not need you until at least eleven o’clock tomorrow morning.”
Lucien inwardly heaved a sigh of relief. He could spend a long night sleeping, even if he did have to share a room with three other servants. He shut the door behind him gracefully, permitting only the tiniest click of the lock to intrude into the room.
Fersen sat down at the writing desk, surveying the small apartment he had been given, located behind a disguised panel under one of the palace’s many sweeping staircases. The queen had managed to provide him these secret lodgings at her own personal risk, and he made sure to depart and arrive back to his quarters as unobtrusively as possible. His personal valet was hardly noticed in the crush of all the other servants at the Tuileries. Although tiny in comparison with rooms he had rented on his own nearby, the room was still as elegant as anything to which Antonia touched her hand. The ceiling was skillfully painted with cherubs darting in and out of clouds, and the wall panels were trimmed in gold leaf. Silk curtains of pale blue—the queen’s favorite color—adorned the windows, and the finest wool carpets on the marble floors provided a soft cushion for his feet.
He could probably slip unnoticed to her apartment later, but he would not visit her, not tonight. He needed time to think. He sat perfectly still behind the writing desk, his gaze lodged on a portrait of old Louis XI across the room. “The Spider King” he had been called during his fifteenth-century rule, partially because of his paunchy body set on spindly legs, but also because of his constant and tireless work in rebuilding France after a series of revolts started under his father.
How would you fix France now, Your Majesty?
As if the old king were calling to him from across the room and across the centuries, a tiny seed of an idea was dropped into Axel’s mind. He drained the decanter of wine brought to his room before pulling quill and paper from inside the desk, and beginning the first of several letters that would set his newly-germinated plan in motion.
Marie Antoinette was sufficiently recovered when she met Fersen the next day in a section of the Tuileries gardens that contained tall hedges. Her gowns were becoming slightly shabby, although her toilette was still impeccable. He recognized this particular dress as one that had been a favorite of hers to wear at her Hameau, but the fichu had tears in it. Her wardrobe was not being taken care of properly. Why had he not noticed this before?
They walked about the grounds of the Tuileries. The landscaping had been quickly refurbished for the royal couple to some level of grandeur so that passersby would not think that the revolutionaries were keeping them in a cruel state. Unfortunately, the interior of the palace was not yet back to its full glory and probably never would be. So the gardens had become a place of serenity and peace for Marie Antoinette, but not today. Fersen was trying to distract her with comments on the white Bourbon lilies that were attempting to poke themselves out of the ground. She responded that the flowers had more freedom of movement than she did, so he dropped that line of conversation and simply walked companionably with her until they reached a large fountain containing three large dolphins in its center, each poised animal spraying water enthusiastically into the air. They sat together on the fountain’s outer ledge to talk, so that the noise of the jetting water would ensure their conversation was not overheard.
“I believe I know how to get you out of the country and into Austria, but you will need to convince the king.”
“Axel, you know he doesn’t listen to anyone, now least of all me. Besides, we no longer have control of the treasury, so how can we possibly do anything?”
“I can get access to some considerable sums of money.”
She looked at him quizzically. “How is this?”
“Antonia, you have only to trust me. What is important is that you persuade the king to do as I suggest, which is to prepare the family to leave the palace in secret. Pack only necessary personal belongings, and sew any valuables into your clothes. I will arrange new identities for all of you. How would you like to pose as a governess?”
Marie Antoinette, who had never in her life known a single moment when she was not either an archduchess or the Dauphine or the queen, laughed.
“You must be prepared to depart swiftly at my prearranged signal. I will ensure that you are accompanied by various trusted agents throughout the trip to the border, and you will be handed over to Austrian officials once you arrive.”
The queen felt a small glimmer of hope. Perhaps they could get out of danger, and who could she trust more than Count Fersen, the handsomest, most loyal man ever to gra
ce her court.
They stood up together to begin walking back toward the palace. They had been gone long enough, and the queen needed to make an appearance inside before her absence became noteworthy.
“I’m ready to do as you say, but it is ever so ridiculous that a reigning king and queen must sneak out of their country in the middle of the night like common thieves. Were ever two monarchs so plagued by misfortune?”
“Soon it will be over, and I’ll meet you in Vienna. From there we can plan how you and the king can regain control of the government once troops have been sent in to quell the rioting.”
Almost as if in response to his statement, a thinly-clad, unshaven man loitering outside the grounds peered through the hedges and saw the pair walking. Recognizing the queen, he began jeering at her and shouting, “Austrian whore! Baker’s wife! See what we think of you here?” The man proceeded to urinate openly against the shrubbery.
Marie Antoinette ignored the man entirely, but Fersen could see that her lips had gone white. He escorted her quickly to the nearest entrance to the palace, which was hidden from public view by a small portico. Before releasing her to the guarded fortress she now called home, he folded her into his arms and gave her a lingering kiss.
“Au revoir for now, Antonia.”
Tears shined in her eyes. “Au revoir, my love. I hope it is not a permanent good-bye.”
Tuileries Palace, June 1791. Louis had been waffling and hesitating for months as to what to do, despite the queen’s pleading and begging that he agree to flee the country. She had earlier even attempted to declare war on Austria, knowing it would compel Austria to respond in force against France, thereby providing the royal family an opportunity for exile in Austria. Unfortunately, such an act by the queen was tantamount to treason and only worsened their living conditions. Servants now looked askance at them, and were slow to obey the simplest orders. Marie Antoinette might be kept waiting for an hour for her breakfast tray, and she had no power to gainsay their behavior. She maintained a quiet, dignified composure to cover her mounting anxiety.
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