The Queen's Dollmaker (27 page)

Dropping her hand onto his dark head, Claudette said quietly, “Harm from what? Jean-Philippe, you know that my life is in England now.”

“No! The English are swine. You only became one of them because you thought I was dead. Your future is with me. Let me show you my love.”

Getting up, he swept Claudette into his arms and carried her to the swaying hammock. He gently put her down then climbed in with her, one leg crossing both of hers, his body leaning against her.

“Little dove, little dove, kiss me.”

Wrenching her head away from him, Claudette whispered, “No, Jean-Philippe, remove yourself. What are you doing? I do not understand you.”

He grabbed her face and turned it to him. “You do not realize the trouble you are in. I am the only one who can help you. You will become mine now, and I will give you my name in marriage when we arrive in France.” His eyes became glazed. “I will convince Robespierre that you are innocent. Or perhaps I will find a prostitute and send her in your place. Together, Claudette, we will have many children. You will be my beloved wife.” He placed a gentle kiss on her neck.

“No, Jean-Philippe, no.” Trying to wrestle her way from him, she threatened, “I shall tell the queen, and she will be very angered by this.”

He laughed throatily. “The Austrian whore? Who cares what she thinks? She is nothing, as you are nothing without me.
Mon Dieu
, you are achingly desirable.”

He covered her mouth with his, forcing her lips open and sweeping her mouth with his tongue. He moved to rest his body on top of her completely. Claudette was pinned, and unable to breathe. The alcohol on his breath permeated the room. She could feel his passion welling up against her right leg, as he began groaning against her mouth. She knew that this far into the ship, no one would hear her cries for help. Even if they did, the captain would ensure that no one bothered monsieur as he availed himself of madame on their “wedding night.”

She struggled beneath him, but it just seemed to increase his excitement.

“Jean-Philippe, please, in the name of our friendship, let me go.”

“Ah, Claudette, would that I could. I am crazy for you.” He was now panting. He grabbed her
chemisier
and began fumbling to remove it. In frustration, he ripped the cloth, exposing her shift beneath the material. Now seeing her exposed form beneath the thin material of her shift, he seemed to be infused with a passion beyond all reason. He moved to bring his mouth down to one of her breasts, and began to nibble on it through her shift. His action gave Claudette enough mobility to push him from her, and she leaped up from the hammock in an attempt to run from the room. He grabbed her around the waist just as she was about to touch the door latch. He turned her around to him, and pressed her against the swelling protruding from his midsection.

“My little dove, we are destined for one another. Do not fight me.” He sank to his knees, his arms clutching her tightly about the waist as he once more concentrated his attentions on her breasts. Her arms free, Claudette looked wildly around the room for a way out of her hopeless situation. She spied the dusty candlestick on the dresser. Could she reach it? No, it was too far away. Thinking quickly, she put her hands on either side of his face and murmured, “Oh, Jean-Philippe, you are right. We belong together. Take me to bed.”

Smiling in triumph and lust, he released her momentarily so that he could stand up. She stepped backward out of his grasp toward the dresser, and grabbed the candlestick. Swinging wildly with all of her strength, she connected the brass stick with the side of his skull. Howling in pain, he lunged for the candlestick. Claudette quickly threw it under the bed, hoping he would not attempt to reach for it. He once again slapped her across the face. Putting his face near hers, and grabbing the neck he was lovingly kissing just moments ago, he growled, “You filthy little bitch. You are deluded in your importance, just like Madame Capet. Very well. You will get what is coming to you. You will stay in this room for the rest of the journey.” He then shoved her toward the hammock. She slipped and fell to the floor. She sat up, only to see Jean-Philippe slamming the door behind him, and to hear him turning the key in the lock.

July 30, 1792
. Claudette awoke slowly, pain making itself known slowly from her hips up to her face. She could taste blood. Ah, Jean-Philippe’s handiwork. She opened her eyes. The cabin was dark. She was still on the floor where he had left her. She reached up to her face and felt the side of her mouth. Her cheek was swollen, and blood was crusted on her lips, but she did not seem to have any broken teeth or other permanent damage.

Reaching in the air for the hammock, she lifted herself to a sitting position. Definite bruises had formed on her legs and hips from Jean-Philippe’s careless dragging of her body down through the ship.
I must think
, she mused.
Why am I confined like this? Why was Jean-Philippe accusing me of conspiring with the king and queen? Conspiring to do what? How could the royal family be conspiring to do anything? Perhaps he is simply mad. But he seemed perfectly sane before we boarded the ship. What shall I do?

She crawled in the blackness to the door of the cabin, got on her knees, and tried to call out to any passersby. “Hello? Hello? Please, I need help.” Silence, except for the distant raucous laughter of the ship’s crew and passengers. “Please, please, I’m trapped in my cabin. Help me!” She began banging on the door, becoming more hysterical as she tried to raise her voice over that of everyone else. She knew it was futile. They were too far away. She sank back to the floor, resting her head on the doorframe, tears quietly streaming down her face.

She woke with a start. There was a clamor coming from above. Had they arrived in France? Perhaps Jean-Philippe would be returning soon. She crawled back over to the hammock, and began feeling around for the candlestick she had thrown under it. She would need protection from her captor, whose intentions had proven to be despicable. She patted around the filthy floor. Oh, please, where was it? She crawled farther under the hammock. Finally, her hand closed around her brass savior.

A rattling noise, then the door was thrown open with a loud crash. She winced at the sudden light from the lantern Jean-Philippe was carrying.

“So, Madame Renaud, I trust that you are well rested. We will be docking soon, and I came to tell you exactly how you will conduct yourself on our arrival. Are you listening?” He crouched down and held the lantern near her face.
“Mon Dieu,
but you are grimy. It hardly matters, but here, take this.” He offered her a cloth square from his breeches pocket. Shaking, she reached out her free hand to take the cloth, and feebly attempted to wipe some of the blood and dirt from her face.

“Quickly, then. No need to primp, madame. Where you are going your appearance will certainly not count. Stand up.”

“No.” Barely audible.

“You will get up immediately.”

Claudette clenched the candlestick in her right hand behind her back. She would not easily be able to rise while concealing the heavy brass piece. Taking her unawares, Jean-Philippe reached out and grasped her under her right shoulder and yanked her to her feet. In her surprise, she lost the candlestick, which hit the floor with a dull thud. Both of them stared silently at the floor where the weapon lay.

“So, I see you were planning a surprise for Jean-Philippe, you filthy little whore.” He reached down and picked up the candlestick, placing it on the dresser. “No matter.” He grabbed her chin in his hand and turned it to expose the right side of her face, and once again held up the lantern to look at her. “I believe we can convince the captain that our games got a bit rough last night.” Squeezing her face a bit harder, he said, “Now listen to me. We are going to go back up to the captain’s dining quarters, where I will allow you to eat some breakfast. If Captain Peterson or anyone else addresses you, you will say that you are tired from your husband’s arduous attentions, and would like to be left alone. If you make a signal to anyone, I will bring you down here and finish what I started last night. Is that clear?” She nodded numbly, her face still in his hand. He released her and stepped back.

“We will then go out on deck, and stroll about like a couple in love. When we dock, you will put your hand in my arm, and we will disembark together. Not a soul shall think that you are anything other than my adoring wife. Am I understood, Claudette?”

Trembling once again with a mixture of rage and fear, she replied, “Yes, Jean-Philippe, I understand.”

“Very well, you may step out of the cabin.”

She arranged her torn dress as best she could to maintain her modesty, and they walked side by side down the hallway, back to the foot of the circular stairway, which intersected their hallway with a cross passageway. She paused, unwilling to make the treacherous return on the stairs. “Take my hand, madame, and I will lead you up.” She remained still. Noise from the intersecting passageway indicated that someone was coming. “Do not try it. Take my hand and come up the stairs. Now.” Realizing her futile position, Claudette gave him her hand, and allowed him to lead her back up to the dining room.

Entering the captain’s dining galley once again, Claudette and Jean-Philippe were met with cheers and catcalls. Claudette lowered her head so that no one could see her burning cheeks. Jean-Philippe quickly led her to an unoccupied table at the back of the room, then walked back to the center of the room where most of the occupants were.

“Eh, Monsieur Renaud, your wife is looking a bit tired now, ain’t she?”

Another wag joined in. “Good thing we’re docking. I bet she’ll be eating the rest of our provisions.”

Jean-Philippe smiled indulgently and approached the men with an exaggerated wink. Raising his voice he said, “Now, now, I will not have my tired bride mocked.” Lowering his voice so that Claudette could not hear, he added, “Tired
and
just a bit sore, yes?” Claudette could only hear rollicking laughter near Jean-Philippe, and cringed as she imagined what he was saying.

A mate brought her a wooden platter heaped with salted fish, dried fruit, and cheese, accompanied by a tankard of watered-down ale. Claudette pushed the food around some, nibbled on the cheese, and downed the ale in nearly a single gulp.
Perhaps this will give me strength
, she hoped.

After leaving her alone for several minutes, Jean-Philippe walked back over to her, again using a loud voice. “My darling, are you full? You have hardly touched your plate. I know that you are used to fancier dishes, but I think you should have shown your appreciation for Captain Peterson’s hospitality better than this.” More laughter from the dining room.

Hissing under her breath she replied, “Jean-Philippe, enough. Take me out of here.”

Still keeping his voice raised, he put a hand to her elbow to help her up from the table and said, “Yes, my dear, let’s go up to the deck for some fresh air.”

Claudette rose, and Jean-Philippe smoothly tucked her hand in his arm. He nodded to the crew and passengers as they left the galley. Claudette kept her face lowered, unable to face her audience, until Jean-Philippe subtly squeezed her hand against his side, letting her know that she was not playing her part properly. She looked up, and gave a wan smile to the room, and prayed that she could make it to the exit without fainting.

Outside of the galley, they continued their walk to the deck. Jean-Philippe said under his breath, “Not too bad, my little dove, but our journey is not quite over.” The air on deck was bracingly fresh. After the musty smell of the cabin and the smoke-filled atmosphere of the galley, Claudette felt relief at being in the open air. They were pulling into port. A frenetic level of activity began, as the ship’s mates began yelling instructions to one another to see the ship safely into port. Claudette looked around in desperation, but no one took any notice of Jean-Philippe Renaud’s quiet bride.

Finally, they were ready to disembark. “Monsieur Renaud! Monsieur Renaud!” Captain Peterson was puffing his way up to them. “I take it you found your journey, er, to your liking?”

“Yes, Captain. Madame Renaud and I were delighted with our journey. Is that not so, dear?”

Claudette gritted her teeth and nodded. She saw Jean-Philippe pass a small pouch to the captain, which he took greedily. The bag jingled. She wondered ironically what price her humiliation had been worth to her captor.

“Why, now, monsieur, it almost pains me to take this, seeing as you and your wife have been made so happy on my humble little ship.”

Jean-Philippe’s eyes were twinkling. “Nevertheless, I will insist that you keep it as a token of our gratitude. Now, Captain, may we be among the first passengers to leave?”

“Of course, of course. Lucas, over here, boy. Help this fine couple off the ship. Make sure their bags are brought down. Right away. Stop gaping, you idiot.” The young boy, who could not have been more than twelve, scampered off to do his master’s bidding.

Again ensuring a tight grip on Claudette, Jean-Philippe descended the gangplank with her. At the bottom of the causeway, they paused to wait for their bags. Claudette wondered bleakly where they would be going from here. Soon, Lucas appeared with another boy, both of them dragging down luggage to the waiting couple. Jean-Philippe thanked them. “There’s a sou for each of you to bring our luggage to that coach waiting over there.”

Claudette’s eyes followed his pointing finger. A carriage stood apart from the other conveyances waiting to take away arriving passengers. The boys began eagerly lugging Claudette’s belongings to the carriage. “Is the coach yours, Jean-Philippe?”

“Yes. Come along, wife.”

“Please, no more pretenses now that we are off the ship.”

“As you wish.” Jean-Philippe walked her very casually over to the coach. He flipped each boy a shiny coin, and they ran off, whooping. He then nodded to the driver, as though giving him a silent instruction, and helped Claudette into the coach. The interior of the coach was clean and comfortable, much to Claudette’s surprise after her vile lodgings on the ship.

“You look surprised. Do not let it be said that the French cannot be hospitable, even to traitors.” The coach began to move.

“Jean-Philippe, where are we going? I demand that you take me to the queen. You have much to answer for!”

Chuckling and shaking his head, he said, “
Au contraire
, in fact it is you who have much to answer for. The queen will not be seeing you today, as she no longer sees anyone. That filthy whore and her husband are being kept as, hmm, as guests of the new government.”

“Jean-Philippe! Are you saying that the king and queen have been made prisoners? For what reason?”

“The people have suffered under Madame Deficit and her husband long enough. Soon we will have a government in place that is of the citizens of France, and royalty will be a thing of the past.
Liberté, Égalité, Fraternité!
” His eyes had a gleam that was wild. Claudette shivered inwardly.

“And you, my little dove, will be interrogated as to your part in the plot to whisk the Capets out of the country. Have no doubt, what you have done will be considered treason. And you know what happens to traitors.” The words hung thickly in the air.

“A traitor? But, Jean-Philippe, I have been living quietly in England for years, except for one visit back to France to be introduced to the queen. Why am I accused of treason?”

“Enough. You’ll not trick me into saying something that you can use against the government.” He looked at her speculatively. “However, I might be willing to forgive you your rough treatment of me aboard the ship, and do what I can to protect you from those who now rule France.”

No, not again. “I refuse you.” She turned her head to stare out the window of the coach. They were rumbling down along the Seine, past the familiar sights of the Tuileries and the Palais Royal.

“You? You, a traitor, refuse me? You have become a haughty bitch living in London. You showed me that on the ship. You could have had a very pleasurable crossing to France, but made it difficult for yourself instead. I’ve a mind to show you what it means to have manners. It is unseemly for you to have a business. It has muddled your head with fancy ideas about your own grandness. But I will show you that Jean-Philippe is master here.”

He moved forward suddenly, grabbing both her elbows and pulling her to his side of the coach and onto his lap. “My mistress enjoys a periodic romp in the coach. She thinks it wickedly delicious, knowing that someone might see us.”

“Your mistress is obviously a whore.”

He threw back his head and laughed. “I guess you are probably right, but she would not like to hear you say that. She’s actually quite rich, you know, and a supporter of our cause. Now, give us a kiss.”

Claudette struggled against him, but was powerless in the confined space. He brought his head down to hers, and covered her lips with his. Realizing that her struggle was futile, she became still. Mistaking her calm for acquiescence, he slid a hand under her dress and began moving her skirts out of the way. With her one free hand, she began to beat wildly against his chest to stop him, but it only served to inflame him more.

She whimpered, completely frustrated and helpless. All of a sudden the coach crashed to a halt, tumbling them both over. Swearing under his breath, Jean-Philippe opened the door to yell at the driver.

“What has happened?”

“We are here, monsieur.”

“Take us around the block once more!”

“Monsieur Renaud, the Rue St. Honoré is crowded. I will not be able to pick up your other guest on time if I do not leave now.”

Grumbling, Jean-Philippe lowered himself back to his seat. Claudette had recovered her skirts and was now sitting primly on her seat, staring toward the ceiling.

“We are thwarted again, little dove. Perhaps again someday—”

“Never!”

Without a response, he stepped out of the coach, and pulled her out behind him. She looked up at the imposing building in front of them, of gray stone and narrow slits for windows. Iron bars graced the slits.

“Where are we?”

“See for yourself.”

She looked at the sign on the building. “
Maison de La Force
. What?
Mon Dieu
, Jean-Philippe, no! Do not bring me here. I am guilty of nothing! I swear! Please, I will become your lover if that is what you wish, but do not take me in there, in the name of our parents and all that has passed between us, please do not do this.”