A Royal Likeness Page 12

  Their carriage lumbered patiently up the cobblestone street and through the arched opening in the Lower Ward gatehouse. The horse snuffled his relief when brought to a stop before the Governor’s House, where Sir Alexander greeted them personally. He escorted them quickly through the rain and into his personal quarters to sit before a blazing fire and warm themselves with aperitifs before supper.

  Sir Alexander was an unmarried man about thirty years of age, tall and gaunt. His left sleeve was pinned across his chest, and he told them proudly that he had lost his arm eight years earlier in the Battle of Buren in Holland, during the fight against French occupation. “So now I’ve something in common with Lord Nelson, who also sports a stump like mine.”

  After the battle, Sir Alexander had taken over the running of Edinburgh Castle in 1798.

  He was congenial, soft-spoken for a hardened man of war, and seemed to have no other purpose in inviting them to supper other than to pass time. Once the women were sufficiently warmed, the governor ushered them into his small but elegant dining room, where another fire crackled reassuringly at one end of the room. The rectangular mahogany dining table was awash in candles and pewter plate, as was the sideboard on the long wall behind it. It was surprisingly stylish for a military residence.

  Marguerite was surprised to see another couple and a man in a naval uniform already present in the dining room. Marie had not said there were to be other guests. She glanced over and saw that Marie was as perplexed as she was.

  “Monsieur and Madame Fournier, may I present to you Madame Tussaud, late of London? She is the proprietress of the new wax cabinet on Thistle Street that I mentioned to you. And this is her associate, Mrs. Ashby.”

  “Enchanté, mesdames,” said Monsieur Fournier, a portly, balding man with an equally rotund wife. They stood smiling together like two blueberries beaming in a dish of cream. “Madame Tussaud, I remember hearing of your salon with Dr. Curtius before the … unpleasantness … that forced our retirement to Scotland. How fortuitous for us to meet up with such a remarkable compatriot.”

  His wife chimed in. “I told Monsieur Fournier that we must come to your salon as soon as possible. I hear you have a room devoted to France’s recent troubles.” Madame Fournier was dressed in an unfortunate blend of current and outmoded fashion, with her empire-waist dress of deep yellow and accompanying Indian shawl embroidered in reds and blues, clashing in an almost blinding spectacle with her tall black hat sprouting several ostrich and peacock feathers. Her large breasts were stuffed inhospitably inside her dress and threatened to make an unwelcome appearance at any moment. Yet she was friendly and sweet tempered, and this overshadowed her regrettable selection of clothing.

  “Yes, madame, it is our Separate Room.”

  “Have you a figure of the Princesse de Lamballe? I never did see her, but after the atrocities committed upon her, I am curious now as to what she looked like.”

  Marguerite felt Marie stiffen next to her. Both Marie and Claudette were melancholy whenever her name was mentioned. “Yes, I have a figure of her I made from memory.”

  The governor interrupted their discussion. “And, my dear ladies, this is Lieutenant Hastings of the Royal Navy, in service under no less than Lord Nelson himself.”

  Lieutenant Hastings bowed to them both. He was nearly six feet tall, and what Marguerite might have called “well made” was she so inclined to express any interest. His uniform started with a cream waistcoat and breeches and was overlayed with a crisp, dark blue overcoat. The brass buttons on his coat shone from polishing, suggesting that he took more care with his uniform than his hair, which was dark and unruly and of its own mind to disengage itself from its queue. The lieutenant seemed not to notice his incongruous state.

  “Lieutenant Hastings is in Edinburgh for a short time,” the governor explained. “As another lonely bachelor, I thought he might find good company here with us this evening.”

  Hastings barely acknowledged Hope’s comment with other than a quick scowl. The governor invited them all to sit down. Abandoning the formality of seating himself at the head, he pulled out a chair for Marie to his right on one side of the table. Lieutenant Hastings sat next to Marie, with Marguerite across from him and the Fourniers next to her.

  The staff tending to them seemed to be a blend of regular household servants and sailors, but food and wine flowed freely and efficiently.

  “Madame Tussaud,” Hope began, “I thoroughly enjoyed my visit to your salon. Why did you choose Edinburgh for your highly amusing exhibit?”

  “I have no wish to offend the Scots, but there are many French émigrés here, and they like to see figures of those they once knew.”

  “Such as the princesse,” said Madame Fournier. She patted her husband’s arm, causing him to splatter the soup he had just ladled into his spoon. “Monsieur, we simply must get down to Madame Tussaud’s exhibition right away. Let’s go tomorrow. I need to see the modiste about the bonnets I ordered and we can stop there afterwards.”

  Her husband grunted his assent and returned to his bowl.

  “No offense is taken,” Sir Alexander said. “We are all friends here. In fact, I invited the Fourniers in hopes that they might offer you friendship and a comforting link to the past while you are here. In fact, how long will we have the pleasure of your company, madame?”

  Marie shrugged. “For the rest of this year. If business is good.”

  “Splendid.” Sir Alexander speared a piece of fish with gusto. Swallowing, he said, “We must have you to the castle as often as possible.”

  “The exhibit is very busy. Opens early and stays open late.”

  Marguerite saw that their host was wounded by Marie’s lukewarm response. She is a shrewd and careful business manager, but she is too dismissive of anything that might veer her mind from the exhibition.

  “Governor,” Marguerite said, “I’m sure that in every available free moment we would be delighted to attend more suppers at your residence.” She ignored Marie’s open-mouthed astonishment at her assertive behavior.

  “Marvelous. Yes. Next week I am hosting a small dance in honor of Lieutenant Hastings’s arrival here. It will give some of my officers an opportunity to meet eligible young ladies of Edinburgh. It would be a great boost to our guest list to have you here, Madame Tussaud.”

  Before Marie could utter the no that Marguerite was sure would follow her frown, she jumped in. “Of course, Governor. Madame and I could not think of a better way to spend an evening. I am of course still in mourning, and she is married, so there will be no dancing for us, but we should very much enjoy fine company and music.”

  “Married? You are married?” he asked Marie directly.

  “Yes. François lives back in Paris with our other son. My son Joseph is here with me.”

  “Oh. I did not realize this. You wear no ring.”

  “Waxworking is hard to do with jewelry on hands. I forget to put it on at other times.”

  “But Mrs. Ashby wears her ring still.”

  “She misses her husband too much. But she’s a good woman, a good apprentice to me.”

  I miss my husband too much? Truly, I thought I was getting on with the business of life. My days are so full with the exhibition that I hardly have time to breathe. Why does she say this?

  Marguerite looked up to find Lieutenant Hastings staring at her curiously. Was I thinking my thoughts aloud just now?

  The lieutenant placed his fork down carefully, revealing a significant mass of scarred tissue on the top of his left hand, which extended down the side of his pinky. The scar looked old. Whatever had happened resulted in the scarred finger being rendered useless, for it hung limply on his hand. “Mrs. Ashby, might I inquire as to your background? How did you come to be in the employ of Madame Tussaud in such an unusual profession?”

  “I was widowed earlier this year, and chose to give up my previous profession to start a new life.”

  “And what were you doing before?”

 
“I was a dollmaker.”

  “Indeed?” Lieutenant Hastings leaned forward. “And how did you fare in such an enterprise?”

  “We have the royal warrant.”

  “Have? I thought you said you abandoned your profession?”

  “Yes, but my aunt started the shop and still sees to it.”

  “Hmm. Very well.” Lieutenant Hastings returned to his meal.

  Why do I have the feeling that he disapproves of me?

  “And you, Lieutenant, how does your profession bring you to Edinburgh?”

  “I serve at Lord Nelson’s pleasure. I am investigating whether Edinburgh’s port is secure against any potential invasion from Bonaparte. Sir Alexander is graciously offering men to help with any fortifications that might be needed.”

  “I see. Do you think we are in danger?”

  “Lord Nelson does, and I am loyal to my commanding officer. In truth, though, Bonaparte’s offer of Louisiana to America tells me he suffers greatly from a lack of funds, and his army will devour the proposed eighty million francs quickly. It is my hope that Jefferson’s senate does not agree to the sale.”

  The rest of the table focused in on their conversation.

  “Hastings, do you think that Nelson will call on you to investigate the fortifications going on at Boulogne next?” Sir Alexander asked.

  “At Boulogne?” Madame Fournier squeaked. “An invasion must be imminent.”

  Hastings’s reply was calm and measured. “Bonaparte is no match for the Royal Navy, madame. There is no cause for concern as of yet.”

  “Lieutenant,” said Monsieur Fournier, “do you realize that we are in the terrible predicament of praying for the destruction of the French army before it invades, yet not wanting any harm to come to our fellow Frenchmen?”

  “Yes, monsieur, I am aware of the irony of the situation here in Edinburgh. Obviously, England’s priority will be the destruction of France’s military might.”

  “How awful for us,” his wife chimed in. “So much bloodshed already and now more to come. Are we safe here? Should we go elsewhere? Maybe to America?”

  “Madame Fournier,” said Sir Alexander. “I will do all in my power to make sure you are safe in Edinburgh, and Lord Nelson—with Lieutenant Hastings’s assistance, of course—is working diligently to ensure the waters are safe. I’m sure there is nothing to fear.”

  “I’m just afraid we’ll never be able to go home again.”

  “Courage, madame, we must all have courage. In the meantime, we should look forward to a little gaiety. Madame Tussaud, Mrs. Ashby, I will send a carriage for you next Saturday evening.”

  Marguerite jumped in before her employer could respond. “That is very generous of you, sir. We will await our return with pleasure.”

  “We look forward to seeing you again, too, don’t we?” Madame Fournier tapped her husband’s arm again, although this time his hand held no utensil, thus avoiding more gastronomic calamity.

  “Oui, it will be our pleasure.”

  Lieutenant Hastings remained silent on this, seeming to have no opinion on the good fortune of the waxworkers’ return for the dance.

  After an offering of brandy and port, Marie stood in a silent announcement that she was ready to leave. They said their good-byes quickly in a flurry of affection from the Fourniers. The lieutenant stood to one side, giving them a mere hint of a bow in farewell.

  About halfway back to Thistle Street, Marguerite broke the silence inside Hope’s carriage. “You were quiet tonight, madame. Was anything wrong?”

  “No, nothing wrong, just thinking.”

  “What were your thoughts?”

  “I wonder how a war will affect the exhibition.”

  7

  August 10, 1803 Hevington

  My dearest Marguerite,

  What remarkable adventures you are having. I am breathless just to hear of them. Before I forget, William sends his love, and Little Bitty says she is naming a new kitten for you. Have I told you that that dratted mangy cat she found was a female? Kittens everywhere! It takes all my energy to keep Cicero from picking them up in his slobbery mouth and prancing about like he has single-handedly captured Bonaparte. Did I mention Cicero to you? Our bullmastiff? I’m so busy that sometimes I forget what I’ve said just a few moments ago. Remembering what I’ve written in letters is nearly impossible.

  So you say Marie plans to start creating tableaux in which to set her wax figures? That sounds brilliant, really, creating scenes that put her figures in context. When you return to London again (you will return to London again soon, won’t you?) we will make a special trip in to see all of your handiwork. I don’t think I can spare the time right now for a journey to Edinburgh.

  The doll shop is productive again. Thank heavens for Agnes and Roger, who keep things well in hand while I am home at Hevington. And for my darling William, who suffers gallantly as a courier back and forth to the shop, the bank, and Hevington. I can hardly believe how my life has been transformed over these past dozen years from my troubles in France to lady of the house.

  But you, my dear, have even greater opportunities for success. Take advantage of them. And think about what I said when we were last together. You shouldn’t be alone.

  I send you a thousand kisses and my best wishes for you and Marie.

  I do need to remember to write to her.

  Affectionately,

  Claudette

  The day before the scheduled ball at Edinburgh Castle, Marie pulled Marguerite aside.

  “I am going to teach you something new. Today you will learn how I find and buy supplies.”

  And so while Joseph stayed in the gallery entertaining guests, Marie led Marguerite back to her rooms to review her ordering logs.

  Marie’s quarters were hardly larger than Marguerite’s, and a trundle for Joseph took up additional room. Everything was neat, though, other than her desk, which had several piles of letters, forms, and other documents on it. Marie pulled up a second chair to the desk, and addressed each stack of paper.

  “Here are letters to suppliers. I hand copy each one to remember what I have ordered. I get paint cakes from Mr. Reeves in London. Glass is custom-made for me in Italy, but Bonaparte’s occupation means I have to be careful. Fabrics and trims I always shop for locally. Always look for best price at draper shops. They get plenty of advertisement when their materials hang on our figures. Good, clean wax is always hard to find and is expensive to ship. Difficult clothing is sent out to seamstresses. One has to make good judgments about when to do it, as seamstresses are expensive.”

  “What is this book?” Marguerite tapped a worn leather journal lying by itself on the corner of the desk nearest her.

  “Non, not for you. Account book, I manage. The exhibition’s finances are too precarious for anyone besides me to supervise.”

  “Of course.” Marguerite obediently removed her hand from the forbidden book.

  For the next hour she learned more about the internal operations of the wax exhibit, from how to contract for salon space without seeing it first, to managing the transport of the exhibition to new locations. Marguerite’s head became full near to the point of a headache.

  Marie also shared with her the concerns she had for her salon back in Paris, which she feared was being badly run by her husband in her absence.

  “François has no head for business. Always he is investing in dubious ventures.” Marie shook her perfectly coiffed curls. “Always he is asking me to send him money. Thinks I hide money from him. I say no, I hide nothing, but he must make success of salon at boulevard du Temple. Must work hard. Must be example for our boy Francis.”

  “You have another son? You’ve never mentioned him before.”

  “Yes, he is younger than Nini. Was too young to come here with me two years ago. I regret this. Wish I had him here with me, too.”

  “I’m sure you wish your husband was here, too.”

  “Eh.” Marie shrugged her shoulders. “Enough foolish ta
lk. Mrs. Ashby, you look pale. A headache? We finish now. Next week I teach you how to plan a tableau. I think Nini would like to learn that, too.”

  Sir Alexander was as good as his word and sent around another carriage to fetch the two women at the appointed time on Saturday evening.

  After a long internal struggle, Marguerite decided to leave her wedding ring behind. She had nodesire to meet any gentlemen, so she could not fathom her own behavior. Nevertheless, the bandstayed on her dressing table. She wore a Grecian-style gown of shimmering copper. With some difficulty she tied up her mass of coiled hair with a matching length of material. She decided that she could pass for the wife of an ancient senator.

  Marie’s hair was, as usual, perfect, and topped off with a petite, flat-topped lavender hat Marguerite had not seen before. Marie’s dress, high-waisted and trimmed with pink flowers, was also unfamiliar. Had Marie gone shopping for this event?

  As soon as they arrived at the bustling front entrance of the castle, Marguerite knew that Marie had been right to hesitate over coming. She was not ready for this sort of socializing. Not yet.

  Why did I leave my ring in my room?

  The castle’s banquet hall was populated with a mix of French aristocrats from the ancien régime, soldiers from the castle, and important local Scotsmen to whom Sir Alexander had extended an invitation. The Fourniers were also there, chatting up their fellow refugees. The musicians were just concluding a set as they walked in, so the dancing had stopped and guests were milling about in groups.

  Accepting a cup of punch from her host, Marguerite tried to blend into the Chinese wallpaper panels by herself as Marie was whisked away by their host for private conversation.

  She stood leaning against the wall, debating whether to approach the Fourniers, when she was disturbed by a gentle throat-clearing next to her.