The Ruby Talisman

by Belinda Murrell

‘Could that poor lady do anything right?’ Tilly asked.

  ‘She lives her whole life in the public eye,’ Amelie said. ‘She cannot even take a bath without a bevy of ladies-in-waiting hovering in attendance. Aristocratic ladies, like Tante Beatrice, squabble for the right to pass the Queen her nightgown.’

  By this time, Amelie had finished her own hair in a similar style. The girls donned gloves and straw hats trimmed with flowers. Amelie fetched a pair of Henri’s black shoes, and they were ready to go out.

  By now, the sun was up. The girls slipped out of Amelie’s boudoir and into the drawing room, with its green silk wallpaper, white wainscoting and gilded furniture.

  Mimi was sleeping curled up on the brocade sofa. She awoke and scampered over to Amelie and Tilly, chattering noisily. Mimi sniffed at Tilly suspiciously, turned her back on her and clambered up Amelie’s skirts to sit on her shoulder, hairy brown arm entwined around Amelie’s neck.

  ‘Bonjour, Mimi chérie,’ Amelie whispered.

  ‘Isn’t she gorgeous? I’ve never seen a tame monkey before.’ Tilly tried to stroke Mimi’s back, but the monkey bared her fangs and hissed.

  ‘Do not mind Mimi. She takes a while to warm to people. Would you care for some breakfast?’ asked Amelie.

  Tilly’s stomach grumbled, and she nodded fervently. ‘Yes, please.’

  ‘I will call for Claudette.’ Amelie reached over and rang the bell on the sideboard.

  In a few moments, Claudette appeared with a demure curtsey. She glanced curiously at the early-morning visitor but merely nodded as Amelie gave her orders. She soon returned with a platter of warm, flaky croissants, pastries and rolls of soft, white bread, covered with white linen. An oval rosewood table was already set with cutlery and fine porcelain. Crystal dishes held curls of golden butter, berry jam and creamy honey.

  A small spirit stove was set up on the sideboard with the makings for hot chocolate beside it. In a small saucepan, Claudette added bitter, grated chocolate, an egg yolk, sugar and cream, which she gradually heated over the flame, constantly whisking the mixture while it thickened. Soon the smell of sweet hot chocolate mingled with the croissants. When Claudette had served the chocolate, she curtseyed once more and withdrew.

  ‘Claudette usually wakes me with my morning chocolat,’ commented Amelie. ‘When my aunt has her morning tea she requires three maidservants to serve it. One pours the teapot, one holds the cup and adds the sugar, and another must pass Tante Beatrice the teacup on a silver salver.’

  ‘How ridiculous,’ said Tilly. ‘I think I would hate having all those people fussing around me all the time.’

  The girls sat at the table and sipped on the frothy hot chocolate. The croissants were light, fluffy and buttery, a perfect match for the sweetness of the raspberry jam.

  ‘This is absolutely delicious – and so French,’ enthused Tilly, helping herself to another croissant. ‘I can’t think of a better breakfast.’

  ‘Croissants are actually Austrian,’ noted Amelie, feeding Mimi some flaky crumbs. ‘The Queen introduced them from Vienna when she was a girl. The King prefers to eat chops and pigeons and boar’s head and ox tongue for breakfast. You should see what that man can eat in a single sitting. It is quite an entertainment at court to watch the King dine.’

  When the girls had finished eating, they left their plates and cups on the table, slipped through the Comte’s apartment, past the footman at the front door and out into the corridor.

  ‘Versailles is more like a city than a palace,’ explained Amelie as they pattered along the tiled corridor, passing numerous locked doors, which presumably led to other apartments similar to the one they had come from. ‘Thousands of courtiers, aristocrats and servants live here, dancing attendance on the King and Queen.’

  ‘What’s that terrible smell?’ asked Tilly, nearly gagging. There was an overpowering stench – a mixture of stale urine, dog poo and perhaps something dead. A creature scuttled beside the skirting board in the shadows. It was a large brown rat, its tail writhing in the air.

  Tilly shrieked. Mimi jumped up and down on Amelie’s shoulder, chittering in disgust.

  ‘You become accustomed to it,’ Amelie assured her, stroking Mimi to calm her down. ‘Or at least a little. The odour is worse on a hot day. Many of the courtiers keep pets, which run freely throughout the palace, and there are not enough privies for all the people who live here. We all pretend not to notice it.’

  ‘It would be a bit hard to miss!’ retorted Tilly, holding her lace handkerchief over her nose.

  ‘Do you know,’ Amelie added with a giggle, ‘that one day a lazy maid actually tipped a brimming chamber-pot out a window onto Marie-Antoinette’s head when she was Dauphine? Can you imagine that?’

  Tilly shivered with revulsion. ‘How disgusting!’

  They passed servants scurrying along with trays and baskets, a couple of dandies staggering back from a late-night card game, two pages gossiping outside a doorway and a large grey Persian cat with a diamond collar, licking its paw. The corridors were like busy laneways.

  The girls swept down three flights of stairs, through another long passage and out into the open air. A huge court lay before the palace, separating it from the town of Versailles, the uneven cobbles strewn with straw, manure and debris. Cobble sweepers worked their way across the courtyard, chatting and laughing.

  As well as the strong smell, Tilly noticed the noise. There were people everywhere, now bustling about their business: red-coated soldiers, grooms, black-clad priests, servants, tattered beggars, vendors, chambermaids, tradesmen and haughty nobles.

  Bells rang, stallholders shouted their wares, carriages rattled over the pavement, dogs barked, women gossiped. Armies of servants hurried on errands, dressed in the various colours of their livery – blues, greens, crimsons and pink. As well as those in the extravagant clothes of the nobles and their servants, many wore the shabby, ragged work clothes of the very poor.

  Looking back, Tilly gazed in awe at the grand, golden palace behind her. Its sheer size dwarfed everything around it.

  Tilly stared all about her, intrigued by everything she saw. A shiver ran up her spine. Where were the revolutionaries? When would the violence begin? Amelie led the way across the forecourt to the vast network of palace stables. At last, the girls found their way to the stalls that had been allocated to the Comte.

  ‘Voilá, my Angelique,’ announced Amelie, stroking the nose of the pretty black mare, who snorted and whickered in welcome. ‘Is she not très belle?’

  Tilly stroked Angelique in appreciation. Before her father had left, she had learnt to ride at holiday pony camps and riding lessons, but there was not enough money for horse-riding anymore.

  The girls chattered quietly as they petted Angelique and fed her a handful of oats from the feed bin. Mimi swung across from Amelie’s shoulder and onto Angelique’s neck, which made the horse roll her eyes and flicker her ears in distress. Amelie scooped Mimi back onto her own shoulder with a stern scolding.

  ‘Non,naughty Mimi. We should return,’ Amelie suggested. ‘It is nearly time for my music and singing lessons.’ She raised her eyebrows and shrugged her shoulders comically. ‘The Chevalier wishes for a wife who can sing. My music teacher is trying his best to perform miracles.’

  Tilly pulled a face and shook her head in mock horror.

  7

  Brigands

  Out in the courtyard, a loud clattering and commotion heralded the arrival of a cumbersome travelling carriage drawn by four heaving, sweating horses. A postillion rode on the front-left horse, a driver rode up top, and two footmen hung on behind. The sudden noise made Tilly’s heart thump.

  The carriage swept through the stone archway and rolled to a stop. A large coat of arms was emblazoned upon the yellow carriage doors. The postillion jumped down and took the horses’ heads, calming them with his voice and hands. The driver stumbled down, and the girls realised with shock that he was splattered with blood.

  ‘’Tis
my uncle’s carriage,’ cried Amelie, her brow furrowed. ‘Pierre, what has happened? Are you hurt?’

  The driver looked pale, his chest and breeches sodden with mud and blood. The postillion’s filthy legs were shaking with shock. The two footmen looked dishevelled, their white, curled wigs askew.

  ‘Mademoiselle, your aunt and uncle...’ Pierre, the driver, muttered. His eyes were searching wildly, as if for an escape. ‘Brigands ... shot at us ... shot–’

  Amelie moved forward, her heart beating wildly. ‘Tell me exactly what happened, Pierre. Where are the Comte and Comtesse?’

  Pierre took a deep breath, trying to steady his voice. ‘The Comte and Comtesse attended a ball in Paris last night.’

  ‘Oui, I know,’ coaxed Amelie. ‘Where are they now?’

  ‘Monsieur le Comte called for the carriage at about three o’clock this morning and ordered us to drive back to Versailles,’ Pierre began. ‘Just before dawn, we were attacked by brigands a few miles down the road. There were five of them waiting for us, hiding in a copse of trees. They had pistols and mufflers covering their faces. The brigands shot at us, ordering me to pull up. I tried to gallop past them, but they shot again, missing my shoulder by a few inches.’

  Amelie clutched Tilly’s arm, drawing her near. Mimi put her arms around Amelie’s neck.

  ‘The leader shouted that the next one would be through my heart if I did not pull over,’ Pierre continued. ‘We were ordered to surrender our pistols and climb down, even the Comte and Comtesse.

  ‘All of us had to lie in the road with our hands behind our backs. The Comte and Comtesse were ordered to hand over all their jewels and valuables.

  ‘Monsieur le Comte tried to draw his sword, ordering the brigands to throw down their weapons, then ... Then they shot him and the Comtesse,’ Pierre sobbed.

  ‘Mon Dieu,’ Amelie gasped and sank against Tilly. Mimi pinched Tilly’s ear, as though to punish her for Amelie’s distress.

  ‘The leader ordered me to check that they were dead. Jean and I had to drag their bodies into the copse. As we pulled them away, the leader dipped his finger in the Comte’s blood and wrote on the carriage door.’

  Tilly and Amelie stared at the door. Against the yellow paintwork could be seen three words written in dried, rusty-brown letters: Liberté. Égalité. Fraternité.

  A freezing hand clutched Tilly’s heart, chilling her blood.

  ‘Liberty. Equality. Brotherhood,’ whispered Tilly. ‘It has begun.’

  Amelie glanced at Tilly in horror, then back to Pierre.

  ‘The brigands ordered us to leave the bodies and return to Versailles immediately on pain of death,’ continued Pierre. ‘We didn’t know what else to do.’

  Amelie started to shake. Mimi patted her cheek softly.

  A third man strolled into the courtyard, dressed impeccably in the dark blue velvet livery of the Comte de Montjoyeuse, a tricorne tucked under his arm. It was the Comte’s valet, Jacques.

  ‘Jacques, Jacques,’ blurted Pierre, his voice trembling with shock and relief. ‘Madame and monsieur.’

  Jacques frowned, taking in the blood-stained clothes of the servants, the empty carriage and Amelie’s distress.

  ‘Mademoiselle de Montjoyeuse, I imagine there has been some kind of disaster?’ Jacques asked with a bow.

  ‘My aunt. My uncle. Brigands ... murdered,’ stammered Amelie.

  ‘We had to leave the bodies,’ added Pierre. ‘There was nothing else we could do.’

  A flash of concern flittered over Jacques’s normally impassive face. He patted Pierre on the shoulder, calming his outburst.

  ‘Please don’t fret, Mademoiselle,’ Jacques suggested to Amelie. ‘I’ll deal with all of this. The authorities should be notified and the bodies retrieved. I will send a groom with a message for Monsieur Henri at once. ’Tis a terrible outrage. The brigands have become very bold. Pierre, I’m sure you did your best.’

  Amelie nodded gratefully, leaning on Tilly for support.

  ‘Mademoiselle, perhaps you would kindly escort Mademoiselle de Montjoyeuse back to her boudoir?’ suggested Jacques to Tilly with a bow. ‘She should rest and let me handle all the details.’

  ‘Merci, Jacques,’ Amelie said thankfully. ‘You are very kind.’

  ‘Not at all, mademoiselle. I am at your service,’ Jacques replied. ‘Pierre, change the horses and be ready to leave at once.’ He turned to the two footmen. ‘Alain, you and François must take a cart back to the copse and retrieve the bodies of the Comte and Comtesse, God rest their souls. Their bodies should be returned to the chateau for burial. You had better take some blankets.’

  Tilly took Amelie gently by the arm and led her away. She was unsure of the way and they were soon lost, wandering aimlessly in the seemingly endless palace corridors. Amelie was in a fug of misery. Her legs trembled, barely able to carry her.

  Thoughts tumbled through Tilly’s mind. Who had killed the Comte and Comtesse? Why? What did this mean for Amelie? What could she do now?

  Tilly found a seat in a quiet corner so they could sit down for a while and rest. At last, Amelie recovered enough to give directions back to the Montjoyeuse apartment.

  There was another shock in store for them when they finally returned to the apartment. There was no footman at the door to let them in. No-one answered Amelie’s call. Inside the small apartment, every room had been ransacked and there was no sign of any of the servants. The girls went from room to room. Ornaments had been taken, armoires emptied, even the velvet hangings had been torn down from Tante Beatrice’s four-poster bed. Mimi jumped onto the bed and scampered around the vast counterpane, searching for her mistress.

  Amelie rang the bell loudly but no-one came.

  ‘Where are the servants?’ asked Amelie. ‘They always answer the bell. My uncle would be furious if he had to wait more than a minute for a servant to appear.’

  ‘I’d say they ran off with all the valuables when they heard your uncle and aunt were dead,’ guessed Tilly dryly.

  ‘Mais non,’ disagreed Amelie. ‘Our servants would never do anything like that. They love my uncle like a father. They must have packed everything up and taken it back to Henri at the chateau for safekeeping.’

  Tilly glanced at Amelie in disbelief, thinking of the Comte. She didn’t think anyone could love him as a father, perhaps not even his own son, Henri.

  The girls checked the tiny chamber where the servants slept, prepared meals and stored their meagre belongings. This was empty too. A pair of stockings, half darned, was abandoned on the table. The girls wandered back into Tante Beatrice’s bedroom.

  ‘Tante Beatrice’s jewellery chest is gone.’ Amelie pointed to the spot where the chest usually stood. ‘Who did this?’

  ‘What should we do?’ asked Tilly. ‘Call the police or the guards?’

  ‘Non. The guards protect the royal family,’ Amelie explained. ‘So many people come and go in the palace constantly, it is impossible for them to monitor everything. They try to move the beggars on, but they just change position. Things are stolen all the time, even from the King and Queen’s own chambers.’

  Amelie shook her head helplessly, overwhelmed by the shock and the mess.

  ‘We must do something,’ insisted Tilly. ‘There must be someone we should tell.’

  ‘Jacques said he would deal with everything,’ Amelie reminded her. ‘Jacques has worked for the family for years. He will know what to do.’

  A crystal perfume bottle was smashed on the floor, filling the boudoir with its strong, sweet odour. Among the shattered shards was a scrap of paper.

  Tilly stooped to pick it up but struggled to read the scrawled, ornate handwriting.

  Taking the paper from Tilly with shaking hands, Amelie read the note out loud:

  ‘For my darling daughter, Amelie-Mathilde-Louise.

  Here are my wedding rubies, a talisman of my love for you.

  I will watch over you always.

  Maman.’

 
Amelie collapsed to her knees and sobbed, clutching the faded note from her long-dead mother.

  ‘Amelie, Amelie,’ crooned Tilly, hugging her around the shoulders. ‘It’s all right.’

  Gently, Tilly lifted Amelie to her feet and helped her back to her own room. This room had also been searched, leaving drawers open and powder spilt on the floor.

  Amelie fell onto the bed, curling up into a ball and weeping as though her heart would break. Tilly tried to comfort her, but at last just sat beside her quietly and waited. Eventually, Amelie could cry no more.

  No-one came near and Amelie was in a daze of helpless grief. Mimi comforted her with gentle pats and chitters.

  Tilly felt frightened, torn between staying with Amelie in the Comte’s apartment or going out and looking for help. At last Tilly ventured out into the corridor. She saw a chambermaid carrying a bucket of water, heading to the next-door apartment.

  ‘Excuse me,’ said Tilly, mustering up her courage. ‘Did you notice anyone emptying the Montjoyeuse apartment this morning? We think they may have been robbed.’

  The chambermaid rested her heavy bucket on the floor, wiping her red chapped hands over her perspiring face.

  ‘Oui,’ she replied. ‘I saw all the Montjoyeuse servants carrying trunks and portmanteaus out this morning. They seemed in a dreadful hurry. I asked Claudette where they were going, and she said they had received orders to pack up quickly. She said there had been some sort of trouble but didn’t tell me what it was.’

  ‘I think there was a death in the family,’ responded Tilly evasively.

  The chambermaid hurriedly crossed herself, picked up her bucket and opened the door to her master’s apartment. ‘Well, best be getting back to work or I’ll be in big trouble. I still have to fetch a few more loads of water.’

  ‘Don’t you know where they went?’

  ‘Non,’ the servant replied before scuttling through the door.

  Back inside, Tilly went in search of food and drink, discovering the leftover bread and jam on the breakfast table, and the spirit stove that she could use to make hot chocolate.