The Queen's Dollmaker

by Christine Trent

Genres: Historical Fiction; Historical Fantasy; International Crime & Mystery

Synopsis

Dollmaker Claudette Laurent fled Paris for London after tragedy destroyed the life she once had.  But life is not easy in a new country that despises the French. Nevertheless, she establishes her doll shop again and soon has English society wild for her fanciful creations.  Moreover, Claudette finds a surprising new customer in Queen Marie Antoinette, an avid doll collector herself.

That royal favor, though, will prove to be dangerous for Claudette when she decides to journey back to France for an audience with the queen despite the growing fanaticism and civil unrest in her home country. Soon swept up in a web of political intrigue by unknown malevolent forces, Claudette finds herself deemed an enemy of France.  Her fate is either disloyalty…or death.

Glittering with atmospheric period detail, The Queen’s Dollmaker is the first in the Royal Trades series.

Release date: January 1, 2010

Publisher: Kensington Books

Print pages: 352

Sample

Paris, 1765. Five-year-old Claudette Laurent raced down the street from her father’s doll shop to knock on the door of Charles and Michelle Renaud.

“Madame Renaud!” she exclaimed when the door was opened. “Is Jean-Philippe here? Papa is taking us to see the Dauphine. Can Jean-Philippe go along?”

Claudette’s best friend, barely a year older than she at age six, popped his dark head around his mother’s skirt.

“Claudette?”

Claudette reached out to grab his hand. “Come, Jean-Philippe, we’re going to see the Dauphine!”

“What’s a Dauphine?”

“Papa says she’s a princesse who is coming from a faraway land to marry the king’s grandson. One day, when the king dies, they will become the king and queen.”

Jean-Philippe’s eyes were round. “Is the king going to die soon?”

Claudette frowned. “Papa didn’t say. But come, Mama and Papa are waiting.”

Étienne and Adélaide Laurent, along with their young daughter and her friend, lined the dusty street of St. Denis along with hundreds of other French citizens. The day was unseasonably hot, but the expectant crowd was in high spirits. Some of the crowd was also in high smell, from both the heat and being unwashed, and combined with the odor of various animals roaming the streets it bordered on noxious. Standing in close confinement with so many other people gave the inquisitive Claudette an opportunity to listen to plenty of gossip and hearsay, most of which she couldn’t understand. She overheard two women talking nearby about the new Dauphine.

“I hear one of the king’s four daughters entered the Carmelite nunnery here, and that’s why they’re visiting here on their way to Versailles.”

The other woman nodded. “Poor thing will have a time of it. She’s but a child, and undoubtedly old Louis will send her Austrian entourage back right away. She won’t have a soul for a friend.”

The first woman elbowed her friend. “Better a peasant than a princesse, eh?”

“Hah! Better to drink imported bourbon than to be in the House of Bourbon.”

The women laughed uproariously at their own jokes.

Claudette was still puzzled by part of their conversation. She pulled on her father’s sleeve. “Papa, what is the Dauphine’s entourage?”

“Eh? Oh, an entourage is a group of other people that surround the Dauphine, either as advisors or servants. Some of them will be French, and some from her native land.”

“Does she have friends in her entourage?”

“Well, the people that have come with her from Austria might be her friends, particularly her personal maids. Most members of the entourage, though, have either their own motives, or are under strict orders of the king to watch the Dauphine’s every move.”

Claudette was puzzled. “What is a motive, Papa?”

Étienne patted his daughter’s head. “Never mind. Keep watch for the Dauphine.”

Many children, Claudette and Jean-Philippe included, held flowers at the ready for strewing in front of the Dauphine’s carriage. After several hours of waiting, the crowd could see the stirring-up of dust in the distance, a sure sign that the troupe was on its way. The dust cloud got larger and the sound of hoofbeats louder as the carriages approached. The cavalcade slowed near the town, as the Dauphine’s procession prepared to make a stop to greet its residents.

Claudette clutched a handful of wilting posies in her hand. She tried to peer around her parents to see the oncoming carriages, but the crowd was too thick. Jean-Philippe took up her free hand and whispered, “Let’s try to get closer.”

With the young boy in the lead, the two children pushed their way through the throngs of people. A woman swatted at them, chastising them to get out of the way. Jean-Philippe looked up at the woman with a winsome smile.

“Madame, if you do not let me pass, the Dauphine will miss seeing me.”

The woman shook her head in exasperation, but smiled and let the children through. Jean-Philippe used his youthful charm to get them past the burly fishwives and their husbands. Finally Claudette burst in front of the crowd. Her flowers were now mostly mangled. Jean-Philippe, still clutching her hand, continued pulling her away from the squeeze of eager spectators.

“Claudette, let’s go meet the Dauphine!”

“No, Jean-Philippe, Papa will be mad if we leave.”

“Follow me!”

Claudette was swept down the street toward the carriage procession. In the background she heard her mother shrieking, “Claudette, no! Come back this instant! Étienne, she will be injured.” Her father was also shouting to her, but Jean-Philippe’s grip was secure and their destination exciting. She willingly ran with him, closer to the approaching mass of horses and carriages.

The man riding the first horse in the procession was dressed in a fancy uniform of white. He was wildly waving at the children to get out of the way, but they stood there, dumbfounded by his finery.

“Brats! Out of the way! I shall run you through myself!” He put his hand menacingly on the sword belted to his side. From far behind them the children could hear a collective gasp from the crowd, and the faint calling of Claudette’s parents floated distantly through the air.

Claudette and Jean-Philippe reacted to his movement and stepped quickly aside. However, by this time the entire entourage had slowed down. As horses and their conveyances were brought to a walk, the children got a good look at the riders and the carriage occupants.

They gaped at the gentlemen and ladies who rode by in an endless pageant of silks, satins, feathers, bejeweled throats and wrists, and ribbons fluttering in the breeze. Near the center of the pageant was the largest and most spectacular carriage of them all. The closed white carriage, shaped like an inverted teardrop, was decorated with gilded wheel spokes and gilded moldings along the top edge. Paintings depicting themes of love decorated all sides of the carriage. From spires on the four top corners of the carriage flew a hodgepodge of colored ribbon streamers, still flapping gaily even though the conveyance was moving at an unhurried pace. It came to a complete halt next to Claudette and Jean-Philippe. A man who had been riding horseback just behind the carriage leapt down, ran to the door and unfurled a small folding stair next to it. Opening the door, the snowy-liveried servant proffered his arm to the occupant.

Out stepped a young girl only about ten years older than the children on the ground. She was petite and delicate, her fresh features marred only by a lower lip that protruded unpleasantly from her face. She was dressed even more elegantly than anyone the children had seen yet in the procession. Her robin’s-egg-blue gown was stitched with lace and many sizes of pearls, and her tiny feet were adorned with heeled shoes encrusted with a matching pattern of pearls. The sumptuous gown was dusty all along the edges from road travel, and her shoes had splotches of mud on them, but she bespoke elegance, style, and sophistication. In her hand she held a small box tied with a bright white ribbon, a white lily tucked in the loops.

The beautiful girl called out in very rough French, “Come to me, little enfants, I have a treat for you.”

Claudette and Jean-Philippe approached cautiously, their earlier bravado having fled completely in the face of this graceful creature.

She leaned over, holding out the box with one hand, untying it with the other. “Would you like some marzipan candies? Everyone loves sweets. I know I do.”

They reached into the box and each took a sweetmeat, chewing slowly. The girl giggled delightedly.

“Do you know who I am?” They both nodded dumbly. “I am the new Dauphine of France, and I have recently met my new husband and now I am being taken to the Palace of Versailles. Do you know where that is?” They shook their heads no, still silent.

“Well, I am a bit frightened, first of the king, second of the Dauphin, but mostly of this strange new country that is now my home. So next time you are frightened by someone on his big horse waving a silly sword, remember me. Remember that even a princesse has moments of terror.”

The children’s mouths hung open, showing the Dauphine chewed-up candy. She giggled again and looked expectantly at Claudette. When Claudette did not move, the princesse asked, “Are those for me?”

Claudette looked down at the drooping flowers in her hand. “Yes, Mama told me I should throw them in front of your carriage. I did not do it. I was too afraid. I am sorry, Princesse.” A tear rolled down Claudette’s cheek. She struggled not to burst into a sobbing bawl and shame herself before this very nice lady who was not even mad at her for interrupting her travel.

“There is nothing to be sorry for. If you will give them to me now, I shall take them with me as a souvenir of my stop in St. Denis.”

Claudette handed over the flowers, many of which were matted in her tiny, grubby hand. The princesse acted as though she were receiving a gift of great value.

“And what is your name, little one?”

“I am Claudette Laurent,” she said shyly.

Jean-Philippe stepped forward. “And I am Jean-Philippe Renaud. Claudette is still only a baby. I made sure she got down here to see you.”

“I am not a baby! I’m almost as old as you.”

“You’re just a noisy little girl. I’m nearly a man—my father says so.”

The Dauphine broke into their disagreement. “Well, Jean-Philippe, you are indeed brave. I am pleased to make your acquaintance.” With that, the princesse reentered the carriage, and waved to the children as the procession embarked again on its journey through St. Denis.

Paris, September 1781. After a busy day in her father’s shop, Claudette was deep in a sleep of pleasant dreams.

“Claudette! Claudette! Up, my child.” Her beloved papa’s grimy face appeared above hers. Why was it so black? “Quickly, il y a le feu. A fire is burning down the street and will be here soon. Get dressed, then join your mother outside. I must go back and help.” As quickly as he had appeared, her father was gone, clattering down the stairs.

She lay still for several moments, still half asleep, and then she heard the shop door slam shut. The sound brought her more fully awake. Papa never hurried unless he was upset.

Had she just dreamed that her father, covered in black streaks, had told her there was a fire outside? Surely not. Surely that was part of her dream. She rolled onto her side, resting her cheek comfortably on her long, curly golden hair. The faint aroma of burning wood tickled her nose. Sniffing the air cautiously, she realized it was no dream. Reluctant to leave her cozy bedcovers, Claudette slowly sat up and stretched. She never slept with her hair tied up at night, and a curl from her perpetually unmanageable blond tresses fell forward into her eyes. She brushed it away impatiently. She could hear men shouting in the distance. Throwing back the blankets with a resigned finality, she walked to her bedroom window.

Pushing up the sash, she could see the glow of a fire less than a mile away. Other neighbors were in the street, carrying lanterns, and discussing the severity of the fire.

“What do you think, Michel? Is it coming this way?” the butcher across the street said to his friend.

Squinting his eyes and looking into the fire’s distant glow, Michel responded, “No, I think it’s far away and will burn itself out before it gets here.” The two moved on down the street.

A merchant talked with his wife. “Well, here we are again. The king does nothing to protect the streets of Paris, and now we have another fire. I promise you there will be no help from old Louis for those poor people losing their homes.” The two walked hastily up the street in the direction of the glow, as though to get a closer look.

The owner of the Hôtel de Garamond, however, hurried his guests out of the building and into the street. Grumbling and demanding a refund, one portly guest threatened to burn down the inn himself if he was not permitted to reenter and gather his things.

The crowd in the street grew larger and more unpleasant as neighbors began arguing with each other, then took wagers as to which direction the fire would eventually go. No one seemed to perceive any immediate danger.

From her second story vantage point, Claudette was aware of a sudden wind shift that the people on the street could not sense. Waving out the window, she called out, “Mes amis, the wind is shifting. Listen to me! The fire might be turning this way.” She was completely drowned out by the noise of the street.

Turning back into her room, Claudette realized her father was right. She needed to get dressed and leave the house immediately. She carefully made the bed, and hurriedly dressed in a plain dress made specially for her tall, willowy figure, and sensible shoes, which she thought suitable for what might amount to a temporary flight out of the city. She pulled her unruly hair back into a knot and ensured Jean-Philippe’s ring was still hidden on the chain around her neck. Claudette found her reticule and packed it with her treasured possessions. She stuffed it with her letters from Jean-Philippe, a comb, a mirror, and a miniature of her parents. Lifting her head, she noticed that the smell of smoke was becoming more intense. She crossed quickly back to the window. The glow was much higher now, and she could hear distant creaking and booming, as though buildings in the fire’s path had protested all they could, and were now succumbing to their fate.

She also saw that her neighbors were now realizing that the fire was more dangerous than they had thought. Claudette’s mother was across the street, talking frantically with another neighbor. The neighbor looked puzzled. Claudette knew that her mother was probably babbling in a mixture of French and English, as she did whenever she was agitated. Born of an English mother and French father, Adélaide learned both languages growing up, but could not concentrate enough to use one or the other when upset. She had insisted that young Claudette also be taught English, and the girl was fluent in both tongues.

“Mama! I’m coming down! Wait for me,” Claudette shouted through cupped hands. Adélaide did not notice her through the din on the streets. Claudette turned once more into her room, grabbed her reticule, and headed into the hallway and down the stairs.

She paused at the entry to the workshop, then shook her head against the thought of taking along any dolls. More than likely, the fire would be put out before too much damage was done. She passed through the doorway of the workshop into the showroom, looked with regret at the latest grandes Pandores she and her father had created, then opened the door onto the street to join her mother.

 

Her mother was no longer with the neighbor. In fact, the street was now thronged with people hauling carts behind them laden with furniture, clothing, and all of the other household wares that could be carried away in a frantic rush of fear. Crying, barefoot children were dragged along by harried parents. An unkempt man, staggering and carrying a bottle of some sort of intoxicant, came lurching by and stepped across Claudette’s toes.

“Ow, monsieur. Please watch your step.”

“Eh, you’ll be burning in hell soon, mademoiselle. My, but you are a pretty one. How about a last-minute romp with old Pepin before the devil takes us all?” He leered at her with bloodshot eyes, then put his face near hers. The stench of alcohol was overwhelming.

“Get away from me!” Claudette pushed her way past him and moved into the crowds. When she turned around to look moments later, the drunkard was moving up the street in the opposite direction. The crush of people trying to leave the area was becoming oppressive. She could not see where her mother may have gone.

“Mademoiselle Claudette!” She heard a voice above the commotion. Old Jacques, who was their neighbor and a wine importer, was calling to her from nearby. “Mademoiselle Claudette, your mother is looking for you.” Claudette made her way back through the crowds to the shop near her father’s. “Come inside, my dear, or you will be trampled to death.”

Stepping into the wine merchant’s shop, she saw her mother get up dazedly from a chair. “Oh, Claudette, I was not sure where you were.”

“Mama, I was sleeping of course. Where is Papa?”

“He has gone to help a family named Bertrand save their home.”

“But what about our shop?”

Giving a helpless shrug she said, “You know your papa. Someone came asking for help, so he went.”

“Mama, we need to leave the area right away. The fire will likely come through here.”

“Yes, my dear, you’re right.”

“Thank you, Jacques, for keeping Mama safe. Will you come with us?”

“No, I’m staying here. The fire may not come this far, and you know my shop will be the first one ruffians will break into when they think no one is looking.”

With Claudette guiding her mother out, the two women stepped back into the clamor of the street, and Claudette began walking quickly in the opposite direction of the spreading glow of the fire. Adélaide tugged on Claudette’s arm. “Claudette, we should go and find your papa.”

“No, Mama, we need to leave.”

“I cannot leave without knowing where your father is.”

“Mama, please, we have to get out of here. Papa will find us, I’m sure. Besides, we will never find him if he is helping others put out the fire.”

Adélaide stood still and refused to budge, much like some of the braying donkeys now crowding the street, refusing to move for their masters out of sheer stubbornness. Claudette, exasperated, said, “Very well, we’ll go and look for Papa.”

Turning toward the fire instead of away from it, Claudette grabbed her mother’s hand so they would not be separated.

The closer they got to the edge of the burning area, the more difficult their journey became. More and more people were streaming away from the fire, and the smoke became denser, choking them and stinging their eyes. “What are you doing, walking into that kingdom of hell?” shouted a woman carrying what was apparently an infant securely wrapped in several dirty rags. A toddler was crying at her feet. “Best you turn back now. You’ll never get out of there alive.”

Claudette looked at her mother. “Mama, we should not do this.”

“I want to find your papa.” Adélaide was resolute.

The mother and daughter continued their uphill battle against humanity, smoke, and the occasional burning embers floating around them. A piece of ash landed in Adélaide’s hair, but she seemed unaware of it until Claudette saw it and tamped out the cinders with her hands.

They finally reached the outer perimeter of the firestorm. The heat was intense. Claudette worried that she and her mother would suffer burns to their skin simply from the heat. She stopped the nearest man she saw and asked, “Have you seen my father, Étienne Laurent?”

“No, I don’t know him.”

She moved on with her mother, asking everyone who would stop for her whether they had seen Étienne Laurent. Finally, a young man lugging two pails of water was able to help them. “Oui, your father is over on the Rue d’Henri.” He pointed off in the distance. “Go through that alley and turn right. You’ll find him there for sure.”

“Merci.”

Claudette and her mother hurried in the direction the young man had pointed. In the alley, dark now that the buildings obscured the fire’s glow, they obtained some relief from the overpowering heat of the inferno, but did not stop for respite. At the end of the alley, they turned right as instructed, and came upon a line of men passing buckets of water to quell the furious burning of a parquetrist’s warehouse, where the combination of wood flooring and stains was threatening to make the fire even more incendiary. Searching through the sweating, breathless, straining assembly of men, Claudette spied her father near the front of the line, grunting under the weight of each bucket passing through his hands.

“Mama, wait here. Papa!” She hurried over to the line.

“Ah, Claudette. What are you doing here?”

“Mama is with me. She wanted to find you.”

“I told her to go with you out of the city.” A yielding sigh. “Very well, where is she?”

“I’ll bring her to you.”

Claudette ran back to her mother to let her know that she had found Papa. Together they went to where he was accepting yet another heavy wooden pail. His face was beet red, but it was unclear if this was from the heat or the exertion. Claudette’s mother rushed forward. “Étienne, I’m so scared without you. Come with Claudette and me now.”

“Adélaide, I told you to take care of Claudette. I’ll find you later.” He hastily kissed the top of her head and continued passing buckets.

“No, Étienne, I want to be with you.”

“Come, my love.” He signaled for the other men to continue while he attended to his wife, and steered her away from the frenetic work with the water buckets. Claudette joined her parents as her father walked her mother about twenty feet away. He sat her down against an overturned barrel in the street. “Now, you must promise to stay here until I am finished; then we will all leave together. Will you promise?”

“Yes, Étienne.” She had a desperate look in her eyes, and she seemed unable to release her hold on her husband.

Claudette approached the two of them. “Papa, I’ll stay here with Mama. Mama, let go of Papa’s arm and hold on to me.”

Adélaide took this instruction literally and gripped her daughter’s arm fiercely. “I’m so afraid.”

“It will be fine, Mama.”

With a deeply concerned look, Claudette’s father turned to resume his work, while his wife and daughter watched from afar. The band of fire was approaching closer to the long line of makeshift firefighters, devouring everything in its path and threatening to encircle them. Claudette felt an unease she could not explain. “I think that perhaps—”

Her father dropped the pail he was holding and crouched down with his hands on his knees. His chest was rising and falling rapidly. He closed his eyes and began swaying. He crumpled to the ground in a curled position, his eyes staring sightlessly at his wife and daughter. The worker to his left simply continued the fight, handing buckets of water over his prone figure. No time to help a fallen worker.

Claudette’s mother made a strangled noise in her throat. “No, no, no, no, no.” The words stuck in her throat and she gave a long, low moan. She stood up from the barrel and staggered to where her husband was lying on the ground. “Oh, Étienne, my love, no.” She dropped on her knees next to him, and threw herself on his chest. “No, no, no, it cannot be.” Her sobbing caused her chest to rapidly pulse in a mock parody of the way her husband’s had only moments ago.

Claudette’s eyes opened in horror at what was happening before her. A hand over her mouth to stifle a scream, she watched her mother’s agony. Yet even through her anguish, Claudette sensed that something else was wrong. Another noise was rising above the din of men shouting, fire crackling, and women screaming for their children. Out of her peripheral vision she caught a flash of the source of the noise. Crashing through the middle of the already chaotic melee was a horse pulling a driverless carriage. The frightened animal galloped wildly through the streets. The firefighters began to disperse, some of them trying in vain to seize the horse’s reins whipping behind its head. One managed briefly to grab the side of the carriage, but slipped on the wet pavement and released his hold.

The commotion was now out of control. No one was able to pay much attention to the loose horse. In an instant, all of the fire’s madness—the noise, the heat, the smell—receded into the background, as Claudette watched the horse carelessly gallop straight toward her parents and leap over them, leaving the carriage to drag itself full force over the prone figures.

Claudette succumbed to shock and smoke, collapsing in the street.

Her lungs were gasping for air. She was drowning. No, water was dripping on her face. It was raining. Pain and soreness were making themselves uncomfortable companions throughout her body.

“Mademoiselle Claudette?” A face loomed over her. Papa? “You are awake, no?” It did not sound like her papa. “Mademoiselle, let me help you sit up.” Masculine arms pulled her unwillingly into a sitting position. She gradually opened her eyes. She appeared to be in a park. What was she doing here?

Focusing her eyes, she looked up into the face of Old Jacques. His kindly, wrinkled, unshaven face peered with concern into hers. It all clicked into place. Old Jacques had reunited her with her mother, then she and Mama had gone to look for Papa, then the rampaging carriage—

“Can you walk?”

She choked out an answer. “I believe so. I need to stand and walk, to clear my head.” He helped her struggle to her feet, handed her her reticule, and began guiding her through the pathways of the park. The early dawn revealed hundreds of homeless Parisians, some under makeshift tents of clothing and linens, some simply sitting in the elements. There was an eerie quiet to it all, as though her fellow city dwellers were stunned into silence that their worlds had collapsed around them so quickly.

“Jacques, how did I get here?”

“I was worried when you and your mother left the shop and I saw you turn in the direction of the fire. Étienne would have never forgiven me if I allowed his wife and daughter to wander about in that confusion, so I decided to follow you to make sure you were both safe. I did not catch up to you until you turned the corner and found your father working to put out the fire at the Bertrands’. I had just decided to turn back, when I saw Étienne fall, then your mother go to him—” He stopped this line of thought. “Well, then I saw you fall to the ground, and knew that you might end up trampled yourself. So I picked you up and carried you myself to this park. You have been unconscious for hours.”

“I must return and find my parents.”

He looked at her pityingly. “Claudette, there will be nothing to find, little one. The fire spread from there down to our block.”

“Someone may have found them and taken them to a hospital.”

“Cherie, no,” Jacques shook his head. “No one will have found them.”

Claudette blinked rapidly at him. She felt tears burning her eyes, but was unable to stop them. In a rush, she threw herself at her family friend, sobbing against his shoulder. He patted her head awkwardly while she grieved.

Raising her head eventually she declared, “But I must give them a proper burial.”

He shook his head again. “No, Claudette, it is best that you not return there, for you will find nothing but sorrow and wreckage. You will find nothing of the doll shop, either, as passersby have told me that our street is almost completely destroyed. I assume my wine shop is gone, but to fire, not vandals, as I had originally feared. I have a cousin in the town of Versailles, and I will head out there to stay. Why don’t you come with me?”

“No, no, I must return home.”

“But there is nothing left. We are all homeless.”

“I must see for myself.”

“Mademoiselle, where will you go from there?”

“I cannot think of that now. No, wait, I will find Jean-Philippe and his family, and they will take me in.”

“Jean-Philippe? The Renauds? Why would they take you in?”

“Because I—because Jean-Philippe is my—oh, because our parents know each other.” Claudette could see a mixture of skepticism and sympathy in his eyes for this girl who he obviously thought was out of her head from grief. She offered her hand, which he took and kissed.

“Farewell, Jacques. Thank you for saving my life. I shall never forget you.”

“Farewell, little Claudette. Remember, my cousin is Bertrand Jonceaux, and he lives just two blocks from the palace. You will always have a friend there.”

She looked up, saw the Notre Dame spire in the distance, and used it as her compass needle to find her way back home.

 

As she trudged her way back to whatever might be left of her home, she noticed that the farther she walked, the fewer people she encountered. An occasional dog or cat wandered by, but of course what Parisians would be wandering around in the rain through burnt-out ruins? At a street corner she saw a discarded bucket that was filling with rainwater. She knelt and peered down into the water, into a filmy reflection that shocked her. Her cobalt-blue eyes, normally sparkling and inquisitive, were overcome by the heavy dark circles under them. The rest of her face was thin and pale, and she had lost the band that had held back her disorderly golden hair, which now cascaded in a tangle midway down her back. She scooped water up to rub grime from her face, neck, and arms, and used her slightly clean hand to run a finger across her even front teeth. Her dress was still sooty, and now stained by wet grass, but the wash made a small improvement in her appearance.

Rising from the bucket, she felt distinct aches in her back and legs that not even youth would heal rapidly. She felt much older than her tender years. She continued her journey through the wreckage until she came to her father’s doll shop. She had called the E. Laurent Fashion Dolls shop home f