The Ruby Talisman

by Belinda Murrell

  ‘I can smell smoke,’ said Henri, his face creased with concern. ‘Something is burning.’

  The pounding on the door grew louder. The armoire jumped, as though it was leaping out of the way.

  ‘Amelie, you go first, and be careful,’ Tilly whispered urgently. ‘Hide in the shadows when you get to the bottom.’

  Amelie hugged her portmanteau and swung one leg over the windowsill.

  Henri grabbed the bag. ‘I will throw it down when you get to the bottom.’

  Amelie gasped as the weight of her body dragged on her arms, her legs kicking wildly. Mimi followed Amelie straight down the sheet rope, not waiting to be invited.

  Henri took Amelie’s weight at the top of the sheet rope, while Tilly flew around the room, gathering some items of her own – a blanket, candles, the tinderbox and soap. She knotted these up in the blanket and threw them out the window after Amelie and her portmanteau.

  ‘Your turn now,’ ordered Henri.

  ‘They don’t want me, they want you,’ argued Tilly.

  ‘If the sheets tear with my weight, you will be stuck,’ Henri insisted. ‘I’m not going until I know you are safe at the bottom.’ His face was determined.

  The door splintered. Tilly threw her leg over the windowsill and out into the cool night air. She swung arm under arm as fast as she could, half falling, half scrambling to the ground. She slipped towards the end and dropped the last two metres, falling in a crumpled heap on the ground. Amelie dropped the portmanteau and blanket bundle and rushed to see if she was hurt.

  As soon as Tilly’s weight dropped from the sheet, Henri pulled it up. The next item to come down was Juju, slung in another blanket. Tilly untied the bundle with shaking hands, desperate for Henri to escape.

  In a trice, Henri was out the window as well, dropping down the sheet at great speed. He, too, tumbled the last metre, gasping in pain as his injured leg hit the ground.

  Both Tilly and Henri were on their feet in a moment, helping Amelie snatch up the bundles and blankets and run from the house, the animals at their heels. As they ran past the back of the chateau, they could see a bright, flickering light on the trees, illuminating the grounds all around.

  Through the windows, a bonfire blazed in the library. Women and children fed the fire with armfuls of books from the shelves, papers from the desk and broken furniture. Other furniture and valuables had been dragged from the rooms out onto the grass.

  A group of men sat in velvet armchairs on the lawn, drinking ruby wine from crystal goblets and eating game pie and roast goose from the kitchen. They cheered loudly as the flames surged up and licked the velvet curtains.

  A woman ran across the grass dressed in one of Tante Beatrice’s crimson taffeta ball gowns, the back undone and swimming on her scrawny frame. She whooped with joy, her cheeks painted with rouge, fluttering a painted fan and curtseying to the wine-swilling men.

  Two children sat on the terrace, by the light of the library fire, ripping a loaf of bread to pieces between them. Their filthy cheeks bulged with food, but still they crammed chunks in their mouths.

  Henri stood entranced, horrified by the scene before them, hand resting on the hilt of his sword.

  Two men ran out into the gardens, one was Jean-Pierre carrying his pitchfork.

  ‘The cursed aristoshave locked themselves into a bedroom upstairs,’ Jean-Pierre shouted. ‘We need help breaking the door down.’

  ‘Let the aristosburn like pigs,’ retorted one of the seated men, settling deeper into his armchair and raising his glass. ‘Come and drink wine from the dead Comte’s cellars. We don’t want to miss the show.’

  He gestured over to a pile of bottles beside him and knocked the top off one. ‘Tonight’s a night to celebrate.’

  All the men raised their glasses and cheered, draining the ruby liquid in one swallow and pouring out another.

  ‘The chateau’s burning,’ added another peasant. ‘It won’t last long now.’

  Jean-Pierre drained a glass of wine that was offered to him but refused to sit down. ‘Burning’s too good for that scum. I want to see him writhe on the end of my pitchfork,’ he insisted. ‘I’m going back after him and his arrogant cousin. You can stay here and swill wine, but I won’t rest until I see them all dead.’

  Jean-Pierre threw the glass against a garden wall where it smashed into a thousand tiny fragments. Then he turned and strode back into the chateau.

  Tilly drew Henri gently away by the arm.

  ‘We should get the horses from the stables,’ she murmured when they were a reasonable distance from the house. ‘We can hide in the forest until the morning.’

  Amelie stumbled after Tilly, her eyes blinded by tears. She could not bear to watch the destruction of her family home.

  ‘We can hitch up the travelling carriage,’ suggested Henri quietly. ‘We can drive to Paris to the family townhouse. We will be safe there.’

  ‘Paris is dangerous now,’ Tilly whispered. ‘The Parisians are rioting in the streets and killing people. Besides, the carriage is too conspicuous. Only aristocrats drive in them.’

  Henri did not reply, limping along towards the stables with Amelie’s portmanteau. Tilly lugged the blanket bundle and Amelie trailed behind, her long skirts dragging on the damp grass.

  The argument of whether to take the carriage or not was a wasted point. The carriage was gone, along with the Comte’s finest matched bays. The other horses whinnied in their stalls, unsettled by the unfamiliar noises and smell of smoke.

  Tilly lit a candle, shading it with her hand.

  ‘Can you ride?’ asked Tilly, looking at Henri’s leg. Exacerbated by his fall and the exercise, the blood had seeped through his bandage, soaking the white cloth. Henri gritted his teeth, smiling grimly.

  ‘I am perfectly fine,’ he lied. ‘We do not have much time. They may have discovered our escape by now. The stables will be the first place they look.’

  Amelie had collapsed on a hay bale, her bag at her feet and Mimi snuggling into her side. She sagged further at this prediction.

  ‘Where’s the tack room?’ Tilly asked Henri, who pointed at a closed door. Tilly opened it, bewildered by racks of saddles, pegs of bridles and piles of harnesses.

  Henri hobbled into the tack room. The names of the horses were written above the pegs. He prowled along, selecting tack and blankets for three horses – Angelique, Mystique and Abelard.

  In a few minutes, the horses were bridled and saddled. Amelie’s portmanteau was lashed to the back of her saddle, the blanket rolled behind Tilly’s saddle. Henri gave each of the girls a riding crop, which could be used as a weapon if required.

  ‘I think we should let all the horses go,’ insisted Tilly, looking at the noble steeds peering anxiously over their stall doors. ‘The fire could spread to the stables, or the villagers could set fire to the outbuildings.’

  ‘If we let the horses go, they will be stolen,’ argued Henri. ‘They are very valuable.’

  ‘Better stolen than incinerated,’ said Tilly. ‘Besides, they’ll be easier to steal locked up in the stables than wandering in the fields.’

  Henri did not answer. His mouth set with pain and determination, he hobbled to the nearest stalls and unlatched the door. Amelie and Tilly followed suit.

  When all the stall doors were opened, the three mounted, their stomachs tense with nerves. Mimi swung up by the stirrup onto Amelie’s lap. Everything seemed to be taking so long. Tilly could imagine the villagers creeping through the darkness to surround the stables and burn it down. She hoped Juju would give them adequate warning.

  Henri blew out their candle, then leant down and opened the stable door. Outside, the stableyard was empty and dark and swirling with thick, choking smoke from the burning chateau. Tilly expelled the breath she had been unconsciously holding. The next breath she took was acrid.

  They rode cautiously out into the night, Tilly in the lead. The riders melted into the dark shadows of the shrubbery, with Juju at their heel
s. The gardens and park around the chateau were ablaze with flickering light.

  The fire in the library had taken hold and rushed through the chateau’s three storeys, flames soaring high in the air. Around the building, crowds of villagers laughed, sang, danced reels, drank wine and feasted on the spoils of the kitchen. Children played hide-and-seek and chasings around the piles of furniture stacked on the terrace.

  Farmers’ wives roasted the Comte’s chickens over glowing coals scraped from the very body of the building. There was a loud roar of approval as one of the walls collapsed, sending showers of sparks high into the air like fireworks. Glowing coals fell on one of the plundered piles of treasure, and the villagers raced to stomp out the new fire with a shout of delight.

  Tilly glanced behind her. She could see Amelie’s dark shape slumped in the saddle, cuddling Mimi in front of her, and Henri sitting ramrod straight. She could feel the cousins’ despair envelop her like a cloak, pulling her down.

  Tilly’s eyes were drawn to the surreal beauty of the leaping flames, the dancing villagers, the merry sounds of singing and laughter. She felt an odd desire to join in the festivities and celebrate the toppling of a throne, the destruction of an antiquated way of life and the birth of a new nation.

  Her eyes flickered back to Henri and Amelie’s silhouettes in the shadows. Tilly realised they were helpless, wallowing in loss and grief. The cousins had no idea what to do as their home burnt and they lost everything they owned, everything they believed in.

  Tilly straightened her shoulders and breathed deeply. Henri and Amelie needed her to help them survive this night. In her mind she kicked out at the despair trying to take hold. She mustered her strength, ordered her thoughts and made a plan. They must head north. North to England. North to safety. North to a new future of their own.

  A loud roar sounded as the roof of the west wing collapsed. A huge cheer went up from the crowd. Amelie sobbed, her back shuddering.

  Tilly picked a path, keeping to the safety of the dark. The other horses followed obediently, carrying their silent, unresisting passengers. Tilly knew that the front of the chateau faced north, so if she kept its flaming ruins behind her, they would ride in the right direction. She skirted the village, slipping stealthily past the dark cottages, praying that Juju would not bark and give them away.

  After about six kilometres they were deep in the forest, and the adrenalin that had kept Tilly going ebbed away. After the long ride from Versailles, her calves and backside ached and she felt exhausted from the horrors of the day.

  ‘Henri and Amelie, I think we should stop and make a camp for the night,’ suggested Tilly in a low voice. ‘I think we’re far enough away from the chateau to be safe. Those villagers looked like they were ready to party till dawn.’

  ‘Sleep, here?’ asked Amelie, staring around in puzzlement. ‘But there’s no inn. There’s nothing. We cannot sleep here.’

  ‘Amelie, we can’t risk going to an inn or a village near here,’ replied Tilly gently. ‘You and Henri may be recognised. We are all exhausted, so we should sleep here in the forest. It is a warm night. We have blankets and the weather is fine.’

  Amelie stared around at the deep shadows of the forest and listened to the branches creaking in the breeze. ‘But there are wolves and boars and brigands in this forest,’ she cried, her voice shaking with fear and distress.

  Henri shook himself out of his deep lethargy. He glanced back the way they had come, where the southern night sky was streaked red with fire.

  ‘Given the choice between wolves and boars, and the gentle lambkins of our village, I think we should choose the wolves and boars,’ Henri decided with a shudder.

  ‘The horses and Juju will warn us if any dangerous creatures come close,’ Tilly reassured Amelie.

  ‘We should light a fire,’ suggested Henri.

  ‘No, we want nothing that might draw attention to us,’ insisted Tilly, urging Mystique off the track into the forest underbrush. The others followed listlessly.

  In a few metres they found a small clearing. Tilly once again took charge, ordering the other two to unsaddle their horses and rub them down with the saddle blankets. The horses were tied to a bush by the reins and allowed to graze on the long grass.

  Under a spreading oak, Tilly made rough beds on the flattened grass with the blankets, folded petticoats for pillows and placed riding cloaks over the top.

  ‘Monseigneur, mademoiselle – your chamber is ready,’ announced Tilly with a deep curtsey.

  Juju sniffed one of the makeshift beds, turned around three times and lay down right in the middle. She was snoring within moments.

  Amelie and Henri smiled in the darkness. Mimi snuck up to Juju and tried to pull her ear.

  ‘Well, Juju finds my bed acceptable, but I think it would be better if she slept at my feet rather than in the middle,’ joked Henri. The girls giggled feebly.

  Despite the fear of brigands, villagers, wolves and boars, the three dropped into a deep sleep.

  12

  Ride to Paris

  It was pre-dawn when Tilly eventually woke. Ghostly fingers of mist stroked the clearing. Henri was already awake, sitting by himself with his arm around Juju. Amelie was still curled up in her riding cloak, fast asleep with Mimi snuggled beside her.

  Tilly pulled her cloak around her shoulders and went to sit beside Henri and his dog. ‘I’m sorry about your parents and your home, Henri,’ she murmured, stroking Juju’s velvety head. ‘You must feel terrible.’

  Henri sighed. Scenes from the last few days played briefly through his mind.

  ‘We must get to Paris, to my townhouse,’ Henri decided. ‘We will be safe there. I can send the authorities to bring justice against the brigands who killed my parents and those who destroyed my home. I can raise the rents and taxes on the land, and rebuild the chateau.’

  Tilly shook her head ominously. ‘Henri, it isn’t safe in Paris,’ she argued. ‘There are riots in the streets and aristocrats being slaughtered. I don’t think the authorities will be interested in bringing justice to the peasants right now. Don’t you see that the villagers attacked you and the chateau because they have been taxed so severely for so many years? They are living on the brink of starvation. You can’t tax them more to rebuild the chateau. It’s gone.’

  Henri stared at Tilly in shock.

  ‘You are the strangest girl,’ he said, holding his gaze. ‘You don’t look like an aristocrat, despite your precious silks and rubies. Your hands and face are brown like a peasant girl, and you do not have fine court manners. Yet you seem to have so much knowledge of the world – and to argue so fiercely. Sometimes you seem so young, like a mere child, and other times you are so fiery and passionate. I would like to know your story.’

  Tilly blushed deeply, and looked away.

  ‘I don’t have a story,’ she said, nervously picking at the precious blue silk of her evening dress. Henri is right, she thought. I am a strange girl. A strange girl in a strange place and time.

  ‘Forgive me,’ replied Henri – it was his turn to look mortified. ‘That was unutterably rude. I do not know what came over me. It must have been the shock of yesterday. I pray you will pardon me and forget I ever spoke.’

  ‘We should pack up and get moving,’ Tilly decided brusquely, standing up and brushing off the back of her skirt. ‘There is nothing to eat, and we should get as far away as soon as possible. Perhaps we can buy some food somewhere.’

  Tilly woke Amelie. They saddled the horses, packed up their bedding and rode off onto the misty forest track. The ride was hard. Both Amelie and Tilly were stiff and sore from their long ride from Versailles. Henri was silent and morose. Angelique and Mystique had travelled a long way yesterday, so they rode slowly at first, warming up.

  After a couple of kilometres they came upon a girl trudging along the track, carrying a laden wicker basket and a full shawl knotted into a bundle. Henri trotted past, but Amelie recognised something familiar in her walk and figure. S
he hurried forward.

  ‘Incroyable. ’Tis Claudette, my maid,’ cried Amelie. ‘Claudette, what are you doing here?’

  Claudette flushed but looked defiant. There was no polite curtsey or bowed head. ‘I’m going to Paris,’ she declared, clutching her bundle closer.

  Henri cantered back, looking furious. Juju galloped up and growled, until she recognised Claudette and gave her an apologetic lick on the hand.

  ‘Why are you running away?’ Henri barked. ‘What do you know of the attack on the chateau last night? Where are all my servants?’

  Claudette stared up at her former master and mistress. Amelie was still wearing the white taffeta evening dress covered with rosebuds, but now it was crushed and dirty with a tear in the flounced hem from where she slid down the sheet rope. With a smudge of dirt on her cheek and tousled and knotted hair, Amelie looked much younger than her fifteen years.

  Henri’s hair had escaped from his ribbon and hung over his shoulders. He had a bloody tear in his breeches, torn silk stockings and a nasty wound on his cheek.

  ‘Why are yourunning away?’ echoed Claudette with quiet dignity. ‘Is it because you fear the villagers would kill you if they found you? What do you think they would do to me? They hate us because we live in the grand chateau and wear decent clothes and eat fine food, even if it is leftovers from monseigneur’s table. The chateau was my home, too, monseigneur. Now I have no job, no money and nowhere to live.’

  Henri looked abashed. ‘Excusez-moi, Claudette,’ he apologised. ‘Where are the other servants? Jacques, Pierre, Jean...’

  ‘When the villagers came, we all panicked,’ Claudette explained. ‘We knew they were in a violent mood. I ran and hid. Some of the servants were talking about riding for help, or escaping in the carriage, but I was too frightened. It was only when the chateau was on fire that I ran away. Everyone had gone and I was all alone, except for the villagers, so I decided to walk to Paris.’

  Henri ran his hand through his hair, thinking. ‘Come with us,’ he offered. ‘You can ride behind one of us. We can take it in turns.’