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Authors: Christine Trent
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spirits? Does Marie’s partner claim to be a medium?” William asked Claudette.
“I don’t know. She didn’t mention much about him.”
“Curious that his sign makes so little mention of her exhibit.”
“Uncle William, let’s go find Madame Tussaud.” Marguerite was impatient to meet her new mentor and get a glimpse of what a wax exhibition looked like.
They parted the curtains covering the doorway located several steps to the left of the Phantasmagoria show. Marguerite gasped at what she saw.
Beyond the curtain lay a gallery nearly forty feet long, with no other patrons in sight. The sparkle-infused carpeting of the hallway continued the length of the gallery. At five-foot intervals were double-armed sconces high up on the pale blue damask walls. The walls met ceilings adorned with plaster friezes surrounding more crystal chandeliers.
Candles burned brightly in each sconce, their wax dripping onto glass catch plates fixed at the base of each sconce, throwing a comforting glow over the room’s inhabitants. Beneath each sconcestood a gilded Greek column about three feet in height. Atop each column was a bust of some famous figure of English society. Each bust faced either right or left, and had a regal draping carved into its base and covering its shoulders. A placard on the wall under the sconce provided a visitor with the name of the historical figure and a brief biographical sketch. Some had been typeset, and some were written in a loose scrawl.
Interspersed randomly throughout the gallery were life-sized figures, bewigged and clothed as if real human beings. Marguerite was reminded of nothing more than the
grandes Pandores
of the doll shop.
In the center of the exhibition hall sat a raised platform. Atop the platform was a glass-encased sarcophagus. Were the contents of that real or wax? Marguerite wasn’t sure she was ready to know.
At the end of the gallery lay a door to some unknown room. It sprang open and a petite woman in a plain dress and lace cap bustled out.
“Sorry, friends, I am working in my closet. Admission to the Cabinet of Wonders is—”
The woman stopped and took in who her visitors were. Then covering the distance still separating them, she burst into a torrent of French.
“Claudette! I didn’t realize you were arriving this exact day. This must be your William. Very pleased, sir, very pleased. And this is Mrs. Ashby. Lovely girl. Happy you are here. There’s much to learn.”
Marguerite tried to keep up with the barrage of dialogue. Her mother had taught her French as a child, but she hadn’t used it much since her mother died. After the execution of Marie Antoinette, doll orders from France had declined rapidly and eventually disappeared altogether while Claudette still ran the shop, so there had been little reason for Marguerite to practice it. She had just figured out that Marie Tussaud was welcoming her, mostly because the woman was grasping her hand and pumping it up and down, when the Cabinet’s proprietress turned around and called back to the rear door.
“Joseph! Nini! Come, boy, I need you.”
The door opened again and out came a young boy, walking with an intent and purpose of a much older young man.
“How may I be of service to you?” The child spoke in precise English and executed a very elegant bow before his guests.
“This is my boy, Joseph. I call him my Nini. He’s a good boy. Only here nine months and knows English. Soon he will be a native, won’t you, Nini?” Marie placed a hand on Joseph’s head.
Joseph was dressed in a miniature uniform resembling that of a soldier. His heavily lashed, inquisitive eyes were the color of cocoa, and were obscured by his hair, which swept across his forehead in a determined march down into his dark pools of vision.
“Yes, Maman. Do you need me to take admission?” The boy switched back and forth from English to French easily.
“No, no, these are your
mamans
friends. These are Lord and Lady Greycliffe.
“I don’t know. She didn’t mention much about him.”
“Curious that his sign makes so little mention of her exhibit.”
“Uncle William, let’s go find Madame Tussaud.” Marguerite was impatient to meet her new mentor and get a glimpse of what a wax exhibition looked like.
They parted the curtains covering the doorway located several steps to the left of the Phantasmagoria show. Marguerite gasped at what she saw.
Beyond the curtain lay a gallery nearly forty feet long, with no other patrons in sight. The sparkle-infused carpeting of the hallway continued the length of the gallery. At five-foot intervals were double-armed sconces high up on the pale blue damask walls. The walls met ceilings adorned with plaster friezes surrounding more crystal chandeliers.
Candles burned brightly in each sconce, their wax dripping onto glass catch plates fixed at the base of each sconce, throwing a comforting glow over the room’s inhabitants. Beneath each sconcestood a gilded Greek column about three feet in height. Atop each column was a bust of some famous figure of English society. Each bust faced either right or left, and had a regal draping carved into its base and covering its shoulders. A placard on the wall under the sconce provided a visitor with the name of the historical figure and a brief biographical sketch. Some had been typeset, and some were written in a loose scrawl.
Interspersed randomly throughout the gallery were life-sized figures, bewigged and clothed as if real human beings. Marguerite was reminded of nothing more than the
grandes Pandores
of the doll shop.
In the center of the exhibition hall sat a raised platform. Atop the platform was a glass-encased sarcophagus. Were the contents of that real or wax? Marguerite wasn’t sure she was ready to know.
At the end of the gallery lay a door to some unknown room. It sprang open and a petite woman in a plain dress and lace cap bustled out.
“Sorry, friends, I am working in my closet. Admission to the Cabinet of Wonders is—”
The woman stopped and took in who her visitors were. Then covering the distance still separating them, she burst into a torrent of French.
“Claudette! I didn’t realize you were arriving this exact day. This must be your William. Very pleased, sir, very pleased. And this is Mrs. Ashby. Lovely girl. Happy you are here. There’s much to learn.”
Marguerite tried to keep up with the barrage of dialogue. Her mother had taught her French as a child, but she hadn’t used it much since her mother died. After the execution of Marie Antoinette, doll orders from France had declined rapidly and eventually disappeared altogether while Claudette still ran the shop, so there had been little reason for Marguerite to practice it. She had just figured out that Marie Tussaud was welcoming her, mostly because the woman was grasping her hand and pumping it up and down, when the Cabinet’s proprietress turned around and called back to the rear door.
“Joseph! Nini! Come, boy, I need you.”
The door opened again and out came a young boy, walking with an intent and purpose of a much older young man.
“How may I be of service to you?” The child spoke in precise English and executed a very elegant bow before his guests.
“This is my boy, Joseph. I call him my Nini. He’s a good boy. Only here nine months and knows English. Soon he will be a native, won’t you, Nini?” Marie placed a hand on Joseph’s head.
Joseph was dressed in a miniature uniform resembling that of a soldier. His heavily lashed, inquisitive eyes were the color of cocoa, and were obscured by his hair, which swept across his forehead in a determined march down into his dark pools of vision.
“Yes, Maman. Do you need me to take admission?” The boy switched back and forth from English to French easily.
“No, no, these are your
mamans
friends. These are Lord and Lady Greycliffe.
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