The Ruby Talisman

by Belinda Murrell

Tilly tried to coax Amelie to eat, but she refused, sipping on some warm chocolate. Mimi stole the piece of bread and jam that Tilly had prepared for Amelie and retreated to the top of the four-poster bed to eat it, ignoring Tilly’s scoldings.

  Amelie smiled wanly, the first sign of life for some time.

  When she had eaten, Tilly explained what the chambermaid had said about the servants packing up to move.

  ‘It seems they took everything valuable with them,’ Tilly added.

  ‘I told you they would have taken it all to Henri,’ Amelie explained. ‘Henri is the Comte now.’

  Amelie dissolved into tears once more. Tilly stroked her arm.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  Amelie shrugged. ‘’Tis not just my uncle and aunt, you know,’ Amelie began tentatively. ‘That was a dreadful shock. But it was also distressing to find the note from my maman. Tante Beatrice told me there was a note, but she could not find it.’

  Tilly nodded, encouraging Amelie to continue.

  ‘I had a wonderful childhood. I loved my parents deeply – they were kind and gentle. We had a beautiful chateau surrounded by gardens and woodlands, where I would ride my pony and play. I had a younger brother and an older sister, Edouard and Marguerite.’

  Amelie wrung her handkerchief between her fingers.

  ‘Everything seemed perfect, until one day Marguerite came down with a fever. Soon afterwards my brother became ill, and Maman’s worst fears were realised. It was smallpox. I was sent away, but Maman insisted on nursing Edouard and Marguerite herself. She could not save them. First Edouard, then Marguerite, then Maman, then Papa– they all died.’

  ‘Oh, Amelie,’ replied Tilly. ‘I’m so sorry.’

  Amelie began to sob again, clutching at the ruby talisman around her throat. Tilly sat closer to her and held her other hand, trying to express her sympathy without words. After a moment, Amelie collected herself and went on.

  ‘I went to live with Tante Beatrice and my uncle, who was Papa’s older brother. You could not have two brothers who were more dissimilar. Papa was kind and generous, my uncle is – was– vain and selfish, and could not be bothered with the care of an orphan girl. I think he truly hated my father. Only Henri was nice to me. Then, when I was eleven, Tante Beatrice sent me away to a convent school.’

  Amelie sighed, closing her eyes.

  ‘With my uncle at least I had my pony, and Henri, and the freedom to ride and play and read. But the convent was terrible. I felt so alone and abandoned. And that was my life until four months ago when Tante Beatrice sent for me to prepare for my presentation at court and my engagement to the Chevalier.’

  Amelie smiled a wan little smile.

  ‘At least here I could ride and dance and wear pretty clothes. Now my aunt and uncle are dead; what will become of me? I suppose I will have to marry the Chevalier...’

  Amelie began to cry again.

  Tilly felt all her old anger rise up again at the thought of Amelie marrying the old, pompous Chevalier.

  ‘You can’t marry him,’ declared Tilly. ‘You must escape to England. You have to start a new life over there. The revolution has started and it’s going to get bad – really bad. You must leave France.’

  ‘Mais non, France is my home,’ wailed Amelie. ‘I cannot even speak Anglais – and they say Angleterreis cold and grey and rainy. It’s so far away. I won’tgo there.’

  Tilly huffed in annoyance. ‘Don’t be silly, Amelie– thousands of aristocrats will be murdered in the next five years,’ she insisted. ‘You won’t live to see your twentieth birthday if you stay here. Besides, you’re my ancestor. If you die – my family won’t exist either.’

  Mimi clambered down the post and offered Amelie her paw, sticky with jam, to lick.

  ‘I am innocent,’ argued Amelie, ignoring Mimi. ‘And I’m a girl. There’s no reason to kill me – they wouldn’t dare!’

  ‘Amelie, they will kill thousands of innocent people. They will even invent a machine called the guillotine to make killing people easier and more efficient. The King and Queen; most of the nobles of Versailles; even the little Dauphin, the four-year-old prince – they will all die.’

  Amelie turned over and buried her face in the feather pillows, covering her ears with her hands. Mimi sat on the pillow beside her head, licking her paw clean, occasionally patting Amelie’s curls.

  Amelie and Tilly spent a miserable day and night in the empty, plundered apartment. Neither of them slept well. Tilly wondered what would happen if she went to sleep. Would she wake up at home in Auntie Kara’s little attic room and find it was all a strange dream?

  They woke early on the morning of July 15, 1789. Amelie tossed and turned restlessly, which woke Tilly. They stared at each other, eyes wide with astonishment to find that Tilly was still there.

  ‘Bonjour,’ mumbled Amelie, rubbing her forehead. ‘I have a headache.’

  ‘And I’m starving,’ complained Tilly. ‘We had nothing for dinner.’

  Amelie sat up and rang the bell next to her bed. Of course, no-one came.

  The girls slowly dressed in their clothes from the day before, helping each other with the stays and their hair.

  ‘Bon. Let us go and find some breakfast,’ suggested Amelie.

  As the two girls walked the tiled corridors of the palace, they could sense something different from yesterday. Courtiers, servants, nobles and pages stood in little huddles whispering and glancing furtively at the girls as they past.

  A large dowager brushed past them carrying a huge gold birdcage with a brightly coloured parrot squawking inside. She was followed by a maid laden down with portmanteaus and bandboxes. The dowager’s dress was rumpled and her hair dishevelled, as though she had dressed hurriedly.

  ‘Something’s going on,’ Amelie whispered to Tilly. ‘I wonder what it is?’

  ‘I told you,’ retorted Tilly. ‘The Bastille fell yesterday and the Revolution has begun.’

  Amelie glared at Tilly and walked faster. With a small cry, she recognised someone in plain black breeches, jacket and waistcoat, hurrying down the corridor towards them.

  ‘Monsieur Lebrun, my music master,’ explained Amelie. ‘He might be able to tell us something. Bonjour, Monsieur Lebrun. Has something happened? What is going on?’

  Monsieur Lebrun stopped somewhat reluctantly and made a little bow.

  ‘Mesdemoiselles, I cannot stop for long,’ warned the music master. ‘Have you not heard? La Bastille was stormed yesterday afternoon by an angry mob. The news came through last night while the King slept.’

  Amelie glanced at Tilly in astonishment. Tilly raised her eyebrows in a told you sogesture.

  ‘Apparently, the rioters assaulted the prison to steal weapons and gunpowder,’ continued Monsieur Lebrun. ‘Over one hundred people died and many more were wounded in the assault, yet the soldiers were powerless to stop them.

  ‘The mob murdered the governor of the fortress and paraded his head around the city on a pike.’

  Amelie shivered with fear, clutching Tilly’s arm.

  ‘The prisoners were freed, and the mob began to tear down the very wall of the fortress. Wild rumours and accusations are flying around Paris against the King and Queen and their favourites. There is talk of more bloodshed. The streets of Paris are dangerous, with aristocrats being pulled from their carriages and murdered in the streets. People fear we aren’t even safe here in Versailles.’

  The music master leant forward in earnest. ‘I’ve heard a rumour that many of those closest to the throne are planning to flee the country. I, for one, am packing my bags and heading to the country until things quieten down. You should advise your uncle, Monsieur le Comte, to do the same.’

  Amelie opened her mouth to explain about her uncle and aunt, but Monsieur Lebrun had bowed and was hurrying away with a final ‘Au revoir, mesdemoiselles’ thrown over his shoulder.

  The girls stared after him, his news churning through their brains.

  ‘So you were right,’
acknowledged Amelie finally. ‘La Bastille has fallen.’

  ‘And you must escape,’ added Tilly.

  Amelie turned and continued down the corridor, Tilly hurrying after her. They swept down two flights of stairs and into the main level of the palace that held the major reception rooms and the apartments of the King and Queen.

  A large group of women, all dressed in black, glided towards them, their massive pannier skirts and tall headdresses filling the whole passageway. A gaggle of lap-dogs yapped at their feet – pugs, terriers and poodles, barking, chasing and nipping each other. Amelie and Tilly stepped aside to let the group past, Amelie dropping into a deep curtsey.

  ‘’Tis the Queen,’ she hissed. ‘Curtsey – and make it deep!’

  Tilly obeyed clumsily, trying to copy Amelie’s graceful reverence.

  A couple of the ladies-in-waiting tittered, which made Tilly blush bright crimson.

  Queen Marie-Antoinette was in the centre, wearing a billowing black dress with white ribbons, and a coiffeur of glossy black ostrich feathers. Her face had deep creases of grief. It was only a few weeks since her seven-year-old son, Louis Joseph, the Dauphin, had died, and the court was in mourning.

  Beside her walked her two surviving children: eleven-year-old daughter, Marie-Therese, and four-year-old son, Louis Charles, the new Dauphin. Both children had the fair hair, blue eyes and striking prettiness of their mother.

  Marie-Antoinette heard the titters and noted Tilly’s blush and Amelie’s pale face and red-rimmed eyes. The Queen smiled warmly at the two girls and nodded her head graciously. She stopped for a moment and took Amelie’s hand in her own black-gloved hand.

  ‘We heard of your loss, Mademoiselle de Montjoyeuse,’ said the Queen in a soft voice with a slight foreign accent. ‘I am deeply sorry for it. The Comte and Comtesse de Montjoyeuse were frequent visitors at Versailles. We shall miss them. Please let my ladies know if there is aught you need.’

  ‘Merci, your Majesty,’ replied Amelie in a low voice.

  The Queen glanced at Tilly, intrigued by her fine clothes and clumsy demeanour. Tilly blushed again.

  ‘This is ... a ... distant relative of mine ... Tilly ... Mademoiselle Mathilde ... de Montjoyeuse,’ stammered Amelie.

  Queen Marie-Antoinette inclined her head graciously. ‘I pray you enjoy your visit to Versailles, mademoiselle.’

  It was too tragic that this kind-hearted – perhaps misguided – Queen would be imprisoned and killed. A rush of fury overwhelmed Tilly.

  ‘Your majesty, you must escape,’ she implored urgently, rushing forward to Marie-Antoinette. ‘You and your beautiful son and the King will all die if you don’t go! I beg you, please don’t delay.’

  There was a flutter of disapproval from the ladies, shocked that an unknown girl with no manners would dare address the Queen about such indelicate matters. One hurried forward as though to usher Tilly away.

  The Queen held out her hand to stop her. She smiled sadly at Tilly, picking up her young son in her arms. She drew her daughter, Marie-Therese, closer to her side.

  ‘Merci, for your concern, mademoiselle,’ replied the Queen with quiet dignity. ‘We live in very troubled times, and I am aware of the grave danger we all face, but my duty as always is to be beside the King. Au revoir.’

  ‘No, your Majesty!’ called Tilly. ‘Please save yourself. Save your children.’

  The Queen glided forward gracefully, head held high, still carrying her son on her hip and holding her daughter by the hand. The retinue of black-clad ladies and gaggle of lap-dogs flowed behind her.

  Tilly stared after Queen Marie-Antoinette longingly.

  At the rear of the group was a young lady-in-waiting, about the same age as Amelie. She stopped beside the girls with a great air of importance, greeting them with an airy ‘bonjour’.

  ‘Bonjour, Mademoiselle Jeanette,’ greeted Amelie, curtseying in reply. ‘The Queen is very brave, is she not?’

  ‘The Queen is most upset,’ whispered Jeanette, peering over her shoulder to make sure no-one could hear her gossiping. ‘She has just received the Duchesse de Polignac. The Queen insists the Polignac family flee to Switzerland today, as she is terrified the Duchesse is in danger. She is to be disguised as a maid.’

  The girl giggled at the absurdity of the Queen’s best friend dressed as a servant.

  ‘The Duchesse so far refuses to go, so the Queen will beseech the King to order their departure,’ continued Jeanette excitedly. ‘All is panic in the royal apartments. No-one knows if Versailles will be next. If the King’s troops could not defend the fortress of the Bastille, how could they ever defend Versailles? The Queen wishes to flee somewhere safer and has ordered us to start packing, but the King refuses to go.’

  ‘Why will he not go?’ demanded Amelie.

  ‘He says his duty is to stay here at Versailles,’ Jeanette replied. ‘He insists that he will not be a fugitive king. He says the people love him like a father.’

  Tilly stamped her foot in frustration. ‘But what about his duty to his wife, the Queen, and his own daughter and son?’ insisted Tilly. ‘Doesn’t he realise that they will die if he doesn’t do something!’

  The girl shook her head in sympathy, brow creased with concern.

  ‘You may well be right, but for once the King will not be swayed. It seems not even the Queen may convince him.’

  Jeanette realised the royal party were nearly out of sight and she dashed after them, flinging a hasty ‘au revoir’ over her shoulder.

  ‘Will the King and Queen escape?’ asked Amelie.

  ‘No,’ replied Tilly firmly, a great weight upon her heart. ‘The King dithers and refuses to accept the situation, so when they finally try to escape it is too late. I told you. They will be guillotined.’

  She thought about her own attempt to warn the Queen. Could I actually change history by urging King Louis XVI and Queen Marie-Antoinette to escape? What if the whole history of the French Revolution was changed by my actions? What would that mean to the world now?

  8

  The Chevalier’s Proposal

  The girls went to the Great Hall, where the palace kitchens were located, and begged some brioche with hot café au lait. Mimi helped herself to an orange, which she ate delicately with her tiny, wizened paws.

  They felt so much better after some food. Their petitdéjeuner was interrupted by the unwelcome arrival of the Chevalier, Amelie’s intended husband.

  He bowed a formal greeting to the girls, fluttering his handkerchief and simpering at Amelie. ‘Bonjour. My condolences, Mademoiselle de Montjoyeuse. I am extremely pleased to find you. I called on your apartment this morning but found no-one at home. Excusez-moi. I know this is irregular, but...’ he glanced at Tilly meaningfully, flicking open his snuffbox and taking a delicate sniff. ‘Perhaps mademoiselle would allow me the indulgence of a private word with Mademoiselle de Montjoyeuse?’

  Amelie glared at Tilly in alarm, begging her not to leave.

  ‘Monsieur could have nothing to say that cannot be said in front of my ... ma cousine,’ replied Amelie, holding herself stiffly. The Chevalier bowed and took Amelie’s hand in his, kissing the top of her glove. Amelie had to restrain herself from snatching it back.

  ‘Très bien. It is about our impending marriage, mademoiselle,’ continued the Chevalier. ‘With your aunt and uncle gone, I feel it is my duty to protect you and formalise our union as soon as possible. In short, ma chérie, I would like our wedding to be conducted in the chapel here at Versailles before the end of the week. We will then retire to my country estate for our honeymoon.’

  Amelie and Tilly stared at each other in horror. Amelie found her handkerchief and covered her eyes, feigning tears to buy herself some time.

  ‘My cousin is overwhelmed,’ confided Tilly. ‘The death of her uncle and aunt has been a great shock. Perhaps we shouldn’t talk about this now, monsieur.’

  The Chevalier looked disappointed but bowed gallantly, one leg stretched before the other
, as though he were an aged ballet dancer.

  ‘I will withdraw, ma chérie, to make arrangements with the priest. I will call on you later this afternoon to give you news of when the ceremony will take place. Sadly, we will not have time to prepare the proper wedding garments that I would wish for my beautiful bride but, in the current situation, I believe time is of the essence.’

  After yet another elaborate bow, the Chevalier kissing his fingertips to Amelie, he was gone, mincing away on his high heels and fluttering his lace handkerchief. Amelie peeked over her own handkerchief.

  ‘Mon Dieu, is he gone?’

  ‘Yes – thank goodness.’ Tilly pulled a face and started to laugh. ‘Oh, Amelie, how could you even consider for one moment marrying that ridiculous man?’

  Amelie smiled, then gurgled a laugh. The two girls laughed and laughed until their cheeks ached and tears glimmered in their eyes. When the last chuckle had escaped, they looked at each other.

  ‘Well, what shall we do then?’ asked Amelie, still smiling.

  ‘Flee,’ replied Tilly. ‘Flee to England.’

  ‘Non. England is too far,’ retorted Amelie. ‘It is nearly three hundred and twenty-five kilometres to the north coast. We should go to the Chateau de Montjoyeuse. We will be safe there with Henri.’

  ‘Amelie...’ began Tilly, ready to argue. Then she held her tongue. At least Amelie was agreeing to go, which was a start. She would have to work on getting to England later.

  Tilly raided the breakfast leftovers, wrapping up some bread, cheese and fruit in a serviette. Now that the decision had been made to go, they wasted no time. They returned to the apartment, where Amelie changed into her green riding habit and riding boots. She found a spare riding cloak for Tilly.

  Amelie packed two portmanteaus, with her ball gowns, fans, shawls, day dresses, linen and her rose satin slippers. Finally, she opened a drawer in her writing bureau. Right at the back was a secret compartment where she had hidden a few coins and the small package of jewels lent to her by Tante Beatrice – the pearl bracelets, diamond buckles and hairpins. She stowed the precious items, along with the note she had discovered from her mother, in a pouch tied around her waist and hidden under her skirt.