“Couldn’t you deport him? To America or one of the Caribbean colonies?”
“Madam, no. Selwyn is no fool like your brother-in-law. He’s dangerous and would find a way back to stir up trouble once again.”
“So what are you saying will happen to him?”
Fox shrugged. “What happens to any traitor. A hanging.”
Marguerite shuddered. Brax, hanged? She could hardly imagine that good-humored, carefree spirit hurtling down the length of a rope.
Brax all of a sudden seemed to understand his own dire situation. “Pardon me. Are you suggesting that after all I’ve done for the Crown, that you plan to … to dispose of me like an unwanted fish carcass into the ocean? Might there be some kind of agreement we can come to? Lord Grey, I’ve been a faithful officer to His Majesty’s navy all these many years. That must surely count for something.”
Grey was unperturbed. “Actually, Selwyn, your years of service to the navy are quite obliterated by the distress and irritation you caused by throwing your lot in with Napoleon.”
“But you can certainly see why I was forced to it? After all, I was languishing without a promotion, with no guarantee of ever receiving one. I had to have an alternate plan. Truly, had I earned a promotion sooner, none of this would have happened, so, ultimately, you are responsible for all of this unpleasantness.”
“I’m sure that will be an interesting defense at your courtmartial.”
Once again, the room went quiet. Except that Brax’s breathing was heavy and audible. Yet he maintained a mask of cool composure.
“So if I am not mistaken, then, you are telling me that all of the plans for my future are to be discarded? That you would instead have me swing? Sirs, I find that not only distasteful, but insulting.”
“Nevertheless, Selwyn, your fate is sealed,” Fox said.
“Is it, now? My apologies, Mr. Fox, if I disagree with you. For you see, I always have an alternate plan. I wouldn’t have gotten this far without claim to at least a little bit of brains and wit.”
“What are you talking about, Selwyn?” Darden asked.
But Brax ignored his fellow officer. Instead, he turned to Marguerite and addressed her as though no one else was in the room.
“Dear sweet lady, this was not the outcome I would have predicted. No, not at all.” He slowly stepped toward her.
“My plan was to ask you to become a captain’s wife, as soon as I received my promotion.”
“But Brax, I never lov—”
“Shh. Please, Marguerite, don’t say the words that I don’t want to hear. Let me have a perfect memory of you.”
He was close enough to her now that she could sense his fear, which was tinged with genuine sadness.
“Brax, I’m sorry.” What else could she say?
He reached out a hand and brushed her cheek, as he had done in front of Darden in the carriage. His eyes misted slightly.
“I really did love you, you know. At first I just wanted to best Hastings in a competition, but it turned into so much more than that. Do you believe me?”
“Yes, Sir Brax, I believe you.” Marguerite was suddenly very fearful, of what she didn’t know. Was he planning to run from the room? He wouldn’t get far. She offered him a tremulous smile.
He gave her one back and bowed to her. “Thank you, my sweet. And now, gentlemen”—he turned to the men at the table—”I’m afraid that I must leave this little meeting.”
No, Brax, please don’t try to run. You’ll have no chance for leniency that way. If they don’t kill you outright when they catch you.
In a move so lithe and quick that no one could react to prevent it, Brax whipped a small dagger from inside his boot and held it up for all to see. “This is my alternate plan, you see. It ensures my … freedom.”
Darden made a move toward Brax. “You’ll have to kill me first before you get to take Marguerite.”
But Brax waved him away. “Hastings, honestly, you continue to live up to my expectations as the most thick-headed lunk to ever sail in His Majesty’s navy. If there is a heaven, surely my reward will be that I won’t find you in it.”
And slowly, for the entire room to witness, he brought the knife up to his own throat.
“You are all responsible for this.”
“No, Brax, please,” Marguerite breathed.
“My love, you know I would look terrible in a hemp cravat. It wouldn’t do at all. And now, let it be said by future generations that I was memorable until my last breath.”
He looked straight at her as laughter bubbled up in his throat and he plunged the knife into his own neck. His eyes bulged as he gasped at his own audacious deed. Marguerite shrieked in horror as she heard the knife make impact with bone and turned away, unable to see any more.
She heard Brax collapse to the floor, making choking noises. Several of the men at the table jumped up to tend to him, but Marguerite knew there was nothing to be done. Avoiding the crowd of men now standing around Brax’s body, she fled the room.
In her haste and anxiety, she didn’t realize that she had no idea where she was and just scrambled down the nearest staircase.
And promptly became confused in the palace’s maze of hallways.
She recognized the heavy steps behind her, but ignored them as she attempted to find her own way out. She slid out of her shoes and carried them in an attempt to step noiselessly, but those footsteps seemed to be instinctively following her.
She reached a door she thought looked familiar. Opening it, she found she was in little more than a forgotten storage room, with furniture covered in sheets standing by, waiting in silent hopefulness for new owners. There was no exit door across the room, so she whirled back to retrace her steps.
And was pulled up short by Darden filling the doorway, arms crossed as he leaned against the door jamb. His shirt was spattered with blood.
“You’re angry,” he said.
“Angry. Appalled. Frightened out of my wits. How observant of you, Captain Hastings. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. It’s your most highly polished trait. Except for your deeply imbedded sense of duty. I mustn’t forget that. How do you expect me to feel? That man just murdered himself in front of me. After I learned that you’ve been playing me false.”
“I believe I deserve an opportunity to explain myself more thoroughly.”
“Do you? And I would say that these opportunities have presented themselves many times, Captain. Why the secrecy on Victory? Why didn’t you tell me then that your future included secret work and a cabinet position? Did you think that as your wife I couldn’t be discreet? You had a second opportunity to explain yourself when you visited the exhibition. And, of course, let us not forget the incredible opportunity you had just hours ago when you unceremoniously threw me on the back of a horse and raced me here like a satchel of letters on the mail road.”
“You’ve thought about being my wife?”
“What? No! I mean, yes. Once, but it was long ago. I can hardly remember it. The only thing I can think of at this very odious moment is that everyone in the British government and Royal Navy has conspired to hoodwink me. You led me to believe you were a French spy, Brax convinced me that he wasn’t, and Fox and Grey must have enjoyed themselves thoroughly at my expense, having me labor to exhaustion over a pointless wax figure. Not to mention that they were more than willing to allow me to be kidnapped at the least, or more likely killed.”
“I never would have let that happen to you.”
“Never would have let it happen! Darden, you were a primary cause of my being in danger.”
He smiled. “Am I Darden again?”
She passed a hand across her eyes. Her headache was easing now that she had left the presence chamber. “I really don’t know who you are. What I know is that there were multiple layers of deception played upon me, and you were at the center of it all.”
He stepped forward to take her hands, but she wrenched free of him.
“Don’t. You don
’t know how much your betrayal wounds me.”
“I did not betray you, Marguerite. I admit that Fox and Grey can be a bit … inconsiderate in their dealings, but the only man who played you false was Selwyn. He deliberately courted you once he realized I was in love with you. He was already dealing with Napoleon when he agreed to the wax figure scheme. He was willing to cause you harm to prove himself to Boney, despite his professed affections for you. He was altogether unsavory.”
“But Brax began courting me the minute he met me. When I was commissioned with the Nelson and Hardy figures. Are you saying you were in love with me that long ago?”
A trail of scarlet rose from underneath his blood-stained shirt and crept up his neck, settling prominently on his cheekbones. Darden cleared his throat.
“Well, I didn’t mean … hmm … it’s just that … honestly, Marguerite, the point here is that I have always tried to care for you and protect you to the best of my abilities. I’m not your enemy.”
“Yet it is always when I’m with you that I’m in the greatest trouble! You seem eminently suitable for protecting and harming a woman at the same time. I can’t decide what to make of you, Darden Hastings. You or that pack of jackals running the country. I need to get away from all of you.”
“I understand. Perhaps some time with your relatives—”
“Oh, certainly! Where everyone can find me and ensnare me into their newly concocted plans. Oh no, I’m going far away from you.”
He stiffened. “How far away is that?”
She folded her arms. “I’m returning to Madame Tussaud. In Dublin. Presumably you’ll have little reason to travel there in your duties. And once I’m out of sight, Fox and Grey will forget me, too.”
“Marguerite, you can’t. First of all, you find sailing intolerable, remember?”
“But I’m finding life here in London even more intolerable. I’d rather face the wrath of the Irish Sea than continue another day in this insufferable situation.”
And with that, she swept past him and back into the corridor to try to find her way out of the palace. She thought she caught “But I do love you” floating in the air behind her, but she was too hurt and angry to care.
And this time, the footsteps did not follow her.
PART EIGHT
Dublin
32
Marie Tussaud expressed both delight and exasperation at Marguerite’s return, happy to see her, but anxious over the closing of the second waxworks.
“I thought we agreed that the exhibition makes more money with two locations.”
“Yes, but I explained to you what happened—”
“Yes, yes, man who claims to love you risks your life. The British government risks your life. You are most persecuted.” Marie shook her head, but her eyes were kind. “You are a good girl, but foolish in this situation. You should have stayed in London with the captain.”
“No, my place is here with you.”
Marie did not broach the subject again, and Marguerite threw herself furiously back into her old life in an attempt to forget everything that had happened. Her long work hours were double even those of Marie, whose entire focus in life was the exhibition. Even Joseph, who was now displaying a serious talent for scenery design far beyond what might be expected in an eight-year-old boy, expressed concern over Marguerite’s almost fiery passion for constructing wax figures night and day.
“Maman,” he asked Marie, “what is wrong with Mrs. Ashby? Is she angry with someone?”
Marie patted her son’s face. “Only herself, Nini. She just doesn’t know it yet. Maybe we help her, yes?”
Marguerite was irritated when Marie decided she should travel to Portugal to seek out new, cheaper textile manufacturers for their costumes. She protested that they had always handled such operations through letters or hired agents. Why the need for Marguerite to make a personal trip?
But Marie was adamant. It was an important transaction and required her physical presence.
So Marguerite boarded a ship once again—a peaceable journey, thanks be to God—for Lisbon. After a few weeks of travel, she concluded her business in mere days, finding the city’s cloth merchants congenial and eager to do business with someone of Madame Tussaud’s fame. But it was nearly impossible to leave. She was invited to dine every evening with practically every merchant in the guild seeking an opportunity to host her. They pressed countless gifts on her, bowing and scraping their pleasure at obtaining custom with the renowned waxworker.
Really, couldn’t this have been conducted without taking me away from my work? I’ve got four incomplete figures in the workroom that could have been finished by now.
With relief she was finally able to crate up her pile of gifts for Marie, secure their new contracts inside a specially constructed pocket in her dress, and begin the exhausting journey home.
Marguerite was pleasantly surprised to find both Marie and Joseph waiting when her ship docked. Although she had written to her friend with her planned arrival date, she fully expected Marie to be too busy with the exhibition to even consider greeting her upon reentering Ireland.
Once her possessions were unloaded from the ship and tied to the top of a hackney, the three embarked on the final leg of Marguerite’s journey back to their lodgings.
Inside the rattling carriage, Marguerite sat across from Marie and Joseph. “Who manages the exhibition today?” she asked.
A curious look passed between mother and son.
“No one manages. I closed it for the day.”
“Closed? The exhibit? Just to meet my ship? Marie, are you quite all right? In the years I’ve known you, when have you ever closed the exhibition for no good reason?”
“My reason is good.” Marie smiled.
Marguerite shook her head. What had happened to her friend while she was away?
“Oh, I meant to tell you. I have all of our signed agreements sewn in my dress. I’ll give them to you as soon as we arrive at our lodgings.”
“Perhaps later. You need a bath and change of clothes. Need time to rest.” Marie reached over and patted Marguerite’s knee.
The exhibition was closed and Marie was suddenly interested in relaxation? Was the woman daft?
But after a long soak and a change from her dusty and sweaty traveling clothes, she had to admit that Marie was right. She hadn’t rested since—well, when had she last lain back to simply close her eyes and be still?
She propped herself up on her bed with her wet, lavender water-scented hair drying around her, and a copy of the newly published novel Leonora in her hands. She read for just a few minutes with the afternoon sunlight streaming into her room, before her weariness overcame her and she shut her eyes for a dreamless nap.
Marguerite awoke like a contented cat, stretching and rolling over, her eyes lazily half-open to observe the world. Why couldn’t life always be this peaceful? How had her life ended up a series of tumultuous acts in a stage play, each one punctuated by death? Well, it was all over, and she wouldn’t berate herself over her temporary blindness where Darden Hastings was concerned. Life from now on would be right here, with the Tussaud wax exhibition.
I have no regrets about my return. Do I?
The sun was making its descent into the horizon. She touched her hair. Completely dry.
A soft rap at the door forced her out of her languid state.
It was Marie. “Marguerite, I left my sketchbook and pencils at the exhibit. I think in the workroom. Will you retrieve them for me? I have ideas for a new tableau and want to work on the design tonight.”
Marguerite yawned drowsily. “Of course. Let me just get my keys.” She went to retrieve the set of keys that locked both the front door of the exhibition and the workroom door.
Marie followed her into the room. “You plan to wear that?”
Marguerite looked down at her pale blue dress. It was a simple gown, part of the trousseau Claudette had purchased. “Yes. Why?”
Marie threw open her armo
ire and began riffling through the dresses hung on hooks. She pulled out a green cotton dress with a wide brown sash tied underneath the bodice.
“You should wear this one.” She held it out to Marguerite.
“To pick up a sketchbook? Marie, you’re acting more than odd today. Are you feeling well?”
Marie pressed the gown into her arms and kissed her cheek. “Yes, this dress is necessary for picking up my sketchbook.”
After letting herself inside the dark exhibition hall, she lit the lamp kept on a small stand near the door. She stepped through the tableaux back toward the workroom where she hoped to find the sketchbook, if Marie’s memory of its location was correct. Otherwise, she’d need to light up the entire exhibit and go through each tableau on a hunt for it.
How strange. There was a candlelit glow coming from the rear of the exhibition. Had Marie left lamps burning? She was never so careless. But even if she had, how could they have lasted so long?
Marguerite held her own taper up for a better view as she approached the lit area. How very strange. It seemed to be coming from the location of their Trafalgar tableau. Except … it was different.
It was no longer Nelson’s death scene. The large canvas painted to look like the inside of Victory remained, but the figures and props had changed, and many-branched candelabra glowed brightly in various positions nearby. The scene now showed Nelson standing before a round table with four chairs around it. On the table were tiny wooden replicas of French, Spanish, and English ships in formation lines for battle. Seated in three of the chairs were Hardy, Collingwood, and Darden, all in uniform and looking down at Nelson’s proposed battle plan.
Darden? Why would Marie select him for a tableau? He wasn’t well-known to the public. She had to admire Marie’s work. Darden was made so skillfully that it was as if she’d done it from a life mask.
Marguerite stepped into the tableau to look more closely at Darden’s figure. She set her lamp down in the middle of the miniature ship grouping and bent to study the figure more closely.
A Royal Likeness Page 45