Tussaud

by Belinda, Lyons-Lee

  ‘May I remind you of your position. I am in fact the paid artiste, the creator of this girl. You need not concern yourself any further with her, leave her to me. I will put her to bed.’

  ‘It’s not a girl.’ The valet retreated with a scowl to the door. ‘It is nothing but the product of a disturbed mind. I will give you the opportunity to place it in the coffin. Then, we will talk.’

  Marie nodded and watched as he closed the door. She then manoeuvred Elanor to help her lay down in the open coffin. She was pleased to see it lined with soft padding. At least in there she could stretch her legs out.

  ‘Not to worry, dear,’ she said, and bent to stroke Elanor’s hand, which responded by pressing hers again. ‘I know how to deal with gentlemen like that. A change of plan is called for. Leave it all to me.’

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  Philidor

  THE SHOW WAS a success – the fainting girl and the sword- wielding gentleman had just added sensation. A more timely apparition he couldn’t have planned himself, and after his reassurances that it was all part of the show, the audience had relaxed and tittered at their gullibility.

  He watched with pride as the last of the crowd turned the corner and began their ascent through the tunnel to their waiting carriages. Their inhabitants would dissect the show in detail all the way back to London. It had almost been perfect: the setting, the Argand lamp, Antoinette, the glass armonica – all of it. It had been, in every respect, a Grand Gathering of Ghosts, exactly as he had promised the public it would be. With Elanor, it could be better. And without Marie, there were no limits to what he could do to the creature, in private or in public.

  Philidor was still onstage in the glow of it all when an attendant called to him from the aisle. ‘Excuse me, sir, but a gentleman in the audience bade me pass this to you.’ He held out an envelope.

  ‘Thank you.’ Philidor took it. ‘He didn’t say who it was from?’

  ‘No, sir. It was a wonderful show, sir. Truly wondrous it was. Goodnight.’

  ‘Thank you, goodnight,’ said Philidor dismissively, tearing it open. He pulled out the paper to see a drawing of his gold tobacco box. He turned it over – nothing on the back. He scrunched it up and thrust it into his pocket. The gold box symbolised his wealth, his fame, the appreciation of royalty for his services. It was the height to which he had climbed before falling. But now he was a success again. Tonight had proven it.

  Marie had already left, he had noted she looked tired, and there was something in her eyes that reminded him of the first time she had opened the door to him in Paris. He instructed the few remaining attendants to extinguish the lights and leave, then made his way out into the tunnel with his lamp. He lit his cigar and took his time, exhaling the smoke, watching it plume and create wraiths that pushed across the stone walls as if accompanying him. By the time he reached the top of the tunnel, he could see the last of the carriage lights on the long drive and the silhouettes of the attendants walking back to their homes in the village.

  His thoughts turned towards Cavendish’s surprise appearance, if indeed it had been him. Philidor needed to find the valet and press him to reveal the truth. And why had Marie thought it was Cavendish? She must have seen him before. But where, and how?

  Philidor pulled the drawing from his pocket and held it up in the lamp light. Was it from the Collector? No, Gribble had paid the debt. But what if Gribble was lying? Philidor sucked back on his cigar, blew the smoke over the paper then pressed the burning tip to the drawing till it set alight. He quickly dropped it, grinding it under his heel, nothing left of the damned thing but ash.

  He was not going to be intimidated. Not going to be toyed with. Not going to be blackmailed. Whoever had the box could keep it. By the time he was finished with London, he would be able to afford one hundred of those boxes filled with one hundred diamond rings and would return to entertaining the royalty of Europe.

  So many people. So many faces upon him. Staring at him, mesmerised by him. The power he held in his grasp – in his voice, to be exact – aided by his sounds and smoke and tricks, but oh, the thrill of the eyes upon him. To be seen, known, acknowledged, adored, to be someone of import who could seemingly commune with the dead and bring a metal contraption to life. The coins had clinked in a most satisfying way through his hands as he bundled up the night’s takings into a drawstring pouch earlier. He looked forward to counting it all out when he returned to his bedchamber. With it would come all the status and wealth that he desired. He was brought up short, though, by the face of Marie, which appeared in his mind like a black bird of prey, an omen of bad tidings.

  Setting off towards the house, he intended to find the valet first. The wily young fellow had clearly insinuated himself into Cavendish’s trust but he was still just a servant. Still inferior to Philidor. Still paid to serve his betters.

  In his bedchamber Philidor immediately rang the bell for the servants. Surely the valet would still be awake, keeping an eye on his master, or perhaps the maid had recovered from her fainting spell.

  She appeared a few minutes later. ‘Yes, sir? You called, sir?’

  ‘I want the valet.’

  ‘The valet, sir?’ she stammered.

  ‘You do know who I mean, don’t you? You’re not altogether stupid, are you?’

  ‘Yes, sir. I mean no, sir. Yes, I mean, I know who he is, but I’m not stupid, sir. At least not —’

  ‘Stop babbling – I want a straight answer. Where is he?’

  ‘He’s up with His Grace at the moment, I believe, sir. Would you like me to pass on a message?’

  ‘Tell him I require him immediately.’

  ‘Yes, sir, I’ll pass it on. Is that all, sir?’

  ‘You snuck down to the show?’

  ‘I was allowed to, sir. I’d finished all me chores and —’

  ‘Decided to draw attention to yourself?’

  ‘Not on purpose, sir. It was just that —’

  ‘I want a pint of ale and some bread and cheese.’

  ‘Now, sir?’

  ‘When do you think?’ he roared, flecks of spit hitting her face. ‘At three in the morning? For breakfast? Of course I want it now, you dolt.’

  ‘Only that … only that Cook has left for the night, sir, and there’s no one else awake now but me, and I was told to stay in my room.’

  ‘By whom?’

  ‘I … I —’

  ‘You don’t take orders from anyone but myself and the duke, do you understand? Now make my meal, you silly girl,’ he finished in a menacing whisper.

  ‘Yes, sir.’ She bobbed before shutting the door behind her.

  Philidor threw his shoes across the bedchamber. Such incompetence. He changed into his nightclothes, put his robe on then sat at his desk, took out his account book, opened the velvet- lined pouch from his pocket and counted through the night’s takings properly. It took him the best part of half an hour, and the valet had still not appeared.

  Philidor became aware of a smell, dense and rich, making his stomach churn as it seeped into the room.

  ‘Did you give him my message?’ he demanded, as the maid opened the door soon after, keeping it ajar with one foot while she struggled to enter with the tray.

  ‘I did, sir. It took some time for me to walk over to his wing, deliver the message, walk back and fix your meal.’

  Philidor picked up the bread. ‘You’re slow. And lazy.’

  ‘Sorry, sir.’

  He sniffed the bread, then bit into it savagely, before muttering through lips wet with cheese, ‘Go now.’

  She bobbed and withdrew.

  ‘What is that infernal smell?’ he called, before she shut the door.

  ‘It’s the chicken, sir.’

  ‘The chicken?’

  ‘His Grace is insisting that it roasts at all times of the day and night for the next few days.’

  ‘Is company expected?’

  ‘No, sir. He just has to smell it, sir, as it covers up …’
<
br />   ‘Yes?’

  ‘He says it covers up the smells of other people, and —’

  ‘For heaven’s sake, I’ve heard enough.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ She bobbed again and withdrew.

  He had not sat there five more minutes before there came another soft knock on the door. He swallowed quickly. ‘Come in.’

  The valet entered. He looked pleased with himself, and this further soured Philidor’s mood.

  ‘I’ve been waiting close to an hour,’ he said.

  ‘My apologies, sir. His Grace required extra attention this evening, and my first loyalty is, I’m sure you understand, to serve him.’

  ‘What happened tonight?’

  ‘Tonight …’ The valet clasped his hands behind his back. ‘Tonight he decided he would like to see the show, sir. He had his own reasons for doing so, which you will find out in due course. He found his own way in, not knowing the details of your renovations, and he was surprised to find himself centre stage. For a man of such sensitivities, it proved too much for his constitution. I can say no more. His Grace will communicate his wishes to you when he is well enough. In the meantime, congratulations on your success.’

  ‘Yes, it was a success. Look here, Madame Tussaud identified Cavendish the moment she saw him on stage, and I want to know how.’

  ‘I’m not sure I quite understand what you are asking.’

  ‘She said to me it was Cavendish. She must have seen him before. What do you know about it?’

  ‘Nothing, sir.’

  ‘You would tell me if you did?’

  ‘There is a price for everything. As a man of the world, you must understand.’

  ‘Oh I understand, all right. Do you know anything about my missing gold tobacco box?’

  ‘I do not, sir,’ said the valet coldly. ‘I have no wish to compromise my position here by stealing from a guest. Is that all, sir?’

  ‘Rest easy my man, I never thought it was you, I just thought you may have seen something. Marie’s stolen it, I’m sure of it. Seeking to unsettle me, shake my confidence I’m sure. And to this end, I need your help.’

  ‘I’m here to serve, sir.’ The valet’s voice was toneless.

  ‘I am indeed a man of the world as you say, and as such I have money. Power. Influence. What is it that you want?’

  ‘Pardon me, sir?’

  ‘Surely you don’t want to stay here all your life, cleaning chamber-pots for a deluded man and keeping company with that stupid girl.’

  The valet’s face betrayed nothing. ‘I have aspirations.’

  ‘What – London? A suit? Clubs? Ladies?’

  ‘All of them, sir.’ The young man’s eyes remained impassive. ‘But I’m sure it all comes at a price. And I am in no position, not yet, to pay for it.’

  ‘Oh, but you want to, though, I can see it on your face. You’re too astute to stay here – you’ve got a brain and the thirst for something better. I can help you, if you help me.’

  ‘What would I be required to do for you, sir?’

  ‘I have money – here, look at it!’ Philidor emptied the coins onto the desk. ‘I’m a member of certain clubs, you are aware. Exclusive clubs. I will make the necessary introductions – you as my nephew, perhaps? Once you form the right connections, who knows how you might put that intellect of yours to work. Shares? Property? Horses?’

  The valet looked at Philidor steadily and repeated, ‘What would I be required to do for you, sir?’

  ‘I see you want to get straight to the heart of the matter. Excellent. A boy after my own heart. Well, there is no easy way to say this. I want to dissolve my partnership with Madame Tussaud.’

  ‘Dissolve, sir?’

  ‘I mean to be rid of her.’

  ‘Murder, sir?’ said the valet easily.

  ‘No, but she may murder us all if she is allowed to continue. You yourself witnessed her outburst with the knife and the torrid abuse she inflicted upon me. It pains me to say it, but I think she is … mad.’

  ‘Indeed, sir,’ said the valet thoughtfully, ‘she may very well be.’

  ‘I’ve no doubt, dear boy, that she is. And with that knife – well, I just don’t know what she’s capable of if she has a fit of hysterics. One word she doesn’t like, and she could stab you, me, or the duke even! Imagine!’

  ‘Hysterics, sir. Interesting.’

  ‘She also poses a danger to the success of my work.’ Philidor paused. ‘A man such as myself doesn’t get where he is without obligations that require a steady supply of money. Madame Tussaud compromises that and, now she has finished this commission, it would be best – for her, for all of us – if she went away to rest for some time.’

  ‘To an asylum, sir?’

  ‘The very place. My good friend Dr Gribble is a physician at Bethlem, a thoroughly reasonably man. The next step is to have him assess her – a mere formality, really. He just needs to have a conversation with her to ascertain that she’s suitable for his treat- ment. He is already aware of my predicament and has seen many hysterical women. He believes that after her experiences of childbirth and during the Revolution, her nerves may be at risk of breaking down completely without appropriate care.’

  ‘And this is how you want my help, sir – you would like me to bring this physician to Welbeck under the duke’s nose?’

  ‘Yes, and to sign a testimony, if necessary, corroborating my story. Can it be done?’

  ‘Naturally, sir. Let me begin by asking how much a suit is worth from the best tailor on Savile Row?’

  Philidor grunted. They agreed upon a sum, and as the valet departed Philidor ordered, ‘Put the newspaper on the breakfast table first thing in the morning.’

  He got into bed and closed the curtains around him, trapping the smell of roast chicken within. As he stared into the blackness of the canopy, in his mind an automaton boy appeared at a desk with a goose-feather quill in his hand. It scratched across the paper, then his unseeing metal eyes turned upon Philidor as he held up the sheet. Philidor raised his head from the pillow to see better. This time the paper read Success.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  His Grace William Cavendish, 5th Duke of Portland

  UPON WAKING EARLY in the morning he called for his valet, and the young man dutifully appeared, bringing with him calm and reassurance.

  ‘I must have my quill, paper and desk brought to me,’ William said. ‘I need to terminate the contract.’

  ‘Terminate, sir?’

  ‘The whole catastrophe – the Phantasmagoria, as he calls it.’

  ‘Certainly, sir,’ said the valet smoothly, while he pulled back the window curtains to the exact position William required.

  ‘It’s an abomination. It’s … it’s – I can’t have that many people here again, not in my grounds. Oh dear, it was enough to make me faint. That’s why it happened, you know – I fainted from the shock of it all. Such a desperate dirty thing, a show of humanity like that, and all of them looking at me. Their animal eyes on me, devouring my skin, and oh …’ He splayed his fingers over his face. ‘It is a mercy the chickens have been roasting. Their smell has saved me from a complete fit.’

  ‘The audience thought your appearance was part of the performance, sir. They did not identify you.’

  ‘Really, did they not?’ William asked. He was now carefully studying his fingernails for any traces of dirt.

  ‘Yes, sir. Except that woman. The Druce woman, I presume?’

  ‘Oh heavens, the Druce woman. What a loathsome piece of flesh she is. I don’t know what to do about her.’

  ‘She is a problem, sir,’ conceded the valet. ‘Let me think upon it. I will fetch your writing utensils as requested. But before I do, there is the matter of your commission.’

  ‘The girl?’

  ‘You don’t remember?’

  William sank back onto the pillow, turning his face towards the thin light shining through the window. ‘I thought it a dream,’ he said softly.

  ‘It’s
presently in the study, sir.’

  ‘She wants to see me?’

  A pause. ‘You could say that, sir. Yes, it needs to be attended to.’

  ‘But do I want to see her? It will mean talking to her. And what will I say? What in heaven’s name is she?’

  ‘Forgive my impertinence, sir, but it’s what you asked for, isn’t it?’

  ‘No,’ spluttered William, ‘she most certainly is not. She’s … she’s … what is she, I say, what in heaven’s name is she?’

  ‘I’m afraid I don’t know, sir. Does Madame Tussaud know exactly what she has created this thing for?’

  ‘She only created the shell. Something else has brought her to life. Heaven help me, but I know what it is.’

  ‘And what is that, Your Grace?’

  ‘The fireplace. The girl’s foot touched the mantelpiece. And I dreamt of her, I always do. And she now wears the brooch containing the oak leaf… Then there was the lightning strike on the tower – the energy and the bedhead, you see. The mantelpiece, it’s … well, the woman who sold it to me said that it was —’

  ‘Superstition – yes, Your Grace, I see. Again, forgive me, but an educated gentleman like yourself, who has studied history and myths and legends and —’

  ‘What are you saying she is, then?’

  ‘It’s a wicked temptation that will bring ruin upon us. It’s unnatural, and for your own safety it should be taken from here this very morning.’

  ‘You think she’s a demon? A girl like her?’

  ‘Your Grace, the tempter knows many ways to entice us. There is a dark power around this invention, of that I am certain.’

  ‘Impossible. The girl didn’t have a malicious temperament at all. Haven’t you spoken to her?’

  ‘I have seen it, and although I may not be educated in the same manner as yourself, I struggle to believe that —’

  ‘Well, that is precisely the point.’ William slapped the bedcovers in frustration. ‘You are not educated, and even if you were, intellect alone serves no purpose here: our senses say she is real. And she moves as if she is, so therefore she must be.’