Cadoville (unfinished)

Chapter XI

My cheeks burned but my palms were cold and wet.... Finally at the Palais de Luxembourg, in the musician's gallery looking down into the Grand Salle no less. Quite the sight – marble statues, painted ceiling – something classical and incredible – gaudy red and gold walls, all wrapped up with tricolour bows and ribbons stretching from one end to the other – more than I could take in.... I felt like a fly on the chandelier, and the hall below teeming with sequins, wigs, dresses swishing up and down like ghosts from my past – a bomb through any one of these windows could wipe out half of Europe's nobility in a flash, did they know that? The scene below had touches of Maison Cadoville, more regal surroundings obviously but the fine clientele and the clicking heels..., it just needed my parents down there with a glass of wine – charming, warm and catching everyone's eye.

I had seen the doll.... Lot 192: Poured wax doll, Salzburg, c. 1750. Childhood doll of Marie-Antoinette, former Queen of France, and of her daughter, Marie-Thérèse Charlotte.... Quite the imposter – an unremarkable child's doll, easily miss-able between two magnificent Boulle clocks and a Rembrandt.

Heading back downstairs, I re-joined Dr Spice at a table in a bustling, smoky room with a chequered floor and lots of cravat- and big wig-wearing people sipping coffee and chewing cake. So far, I made a rather convincing boy – my hair tied back and a top hat shadowing my face, a rosette in my lapel to help me blend in.... I tried to warm my chilly hands by the fire at the back before sitting down with him and filling up my cup with lukewarm coffee. Dr Spice tried to put a lit pipe in my hand....

"No, I hate it...,"

"Men smoke," Dr Spice insisted.

I held the pipe, even put it to my lips and played the part, but that was all.

"...So do women," I said, staring at the grit inside it. "I'll be coughing for hours...."

I cradled the pipe between my fingers.

"Finish the tarte aux framboises. Don't let it go to waste...."

Dr Spice jerked his head toward the half a slice of cake still on the plate.

"I can't say I'm hungry." I handed it to a boy in an apron walking by and turned back to find Dr Spice glaring at me, then chuckling softly under his breath. "Did you want it, then?"

"No, I'm sure someone will eat it. I dare say few people outside this room have the luxury of deciding they're not hungry – Gabriella would understand...."

I didn't understand, he should've said stopped me if he wanted it. Waste it? Somebody would it eat it.... My parents' staff and servants used to eat whatever we left at dinner.... Perhaps Dr Spice was bored waiting for his contact to let us know when the doll's buyer came to collect his purchase – there was little chance of anyone trying to outbid him....

"No sign of Angélique...," I said, folding my arms to try and stop my fingers shivering in the cold, the stove in the corner barely smouldering.... "One or two old faces from before but I don't think they'd recognise me, not now...."

"I suspect you weren't a one-eyed transvestite the last time they saw you...."

"Indeed," I chuckled half-heartedly. "I don't understand why they've come. Don't they know they're funding the war against themselves?"

"Naturally.... These people are vultures, not stupid – they'd rather bid over the old King's vases than not come out of principle." Dr Spice checked his pocket watch and looked around – nothing yet, but there was still time. "Any news about the Queen for me?"