The Queen's Dollmaker by Christine Trent Page B

permission of their owner.
    “Yes?” the woman asked.
    “I am Claudette Laurent. Reverend Daniels has given me reference to work for Monsieur Ashby and his family.”
    The woman held out a great paw of a hand, and Claudette handed over the reference. She glanced down at it, and Claudette thought the woman was unable to read it.
    “Seems to be a reference all right. Who are those two?” she asked, pointing her head toward Béatrice and Marguerite.
    “This is my friend, Béatrice du Georges. We have recently arrived in England and are seeking employment together.” Claudette nudged Béatrice forward.
    “And the brat?”
    “This is Béatrice’s daughter, Marguerite. She is a very well-mannered child and can even help with duties. She is no trouble at all and is very quiet.”
    “Mrs. Ashby won’t like you bringing a worthless mouth to feed. You’d better be off.” She began to close the door, but Claudette stepped forward and held it open.
    “Madame, we are very tired and, quite frankly, very hungry, since we have eaten little beyond pottage and warm ale since arriving here. I was assured that this reference would grant us an interview for work in this home, and I intend to have my interview.”
    The servant stood and stared at Claudette for several long seconds, deciding whether to establish her position and dominance in the household over this sassy young woman, or risk the legendary Maude Ashby anger for not admitting two referenced servants into the house. Slowly she stepped back to let the two women and the accompanying energetic child in.
    “I am Mrs. Lundy. I am the housekeeper and therefore all other servants are in my charge. You’ll wait here and I’ll see if Mrs. Ashby wants to talk to you.” She held the reference out in front of her with distaste, and left the room.
    Béatrice let out a great moan of despair. “Oh, Claudette, that woman does not want us here. It’s Marguerite, isn’t it? She doesn’t like my child. If we don’t find positions here, what will we do?”
    “Stop it, Béatrice. We will find employment here. If we don’t, we’ll knock on every door in London until we do.”
    Marguerite, who was momentarily cowed into silence by Mrs. Lundy, found her voice again. “Mama, Mama, is this our new house? Who lives here? Are they your friends? Mama, I’m hungry.” Béatrice absentmindedly patted her daughter’s head. “Yes, chérie, these are our new friends.”
    After a short wait, Mrs. Ashby arrived. She had clearly been an attractive woman in her youth, and still retained that beauty in a cold, statuesque sort of way, with the help of bold hair dyes, subtle cosmetics, and skin softening lotions. She held the reference in her hand.
    “So Reverend Daniels sent you to me. Don’t I line the church’s offering box well enough without him sending me charity cases on top of it all? Surely he knows that I cannot afford…that I don’t require any more servants here at Ash House.” She stared at the threesome for several long moments, tapping the document against the front of her fancy, if slightly ill-fitting, dress. Claudette envisioned nipping the waist in just slightly to emphasize Mrs. Ashby’s slender frame a bit, and adding some lace to the bottom of her three-quarter length sleeves. A doll would have never left Papa’s shop in such poor condition as what she saw here on this wealthy lady.
    A dramatic sigh emanated from Maude Ashby. “I don’t suppose either of you have ever done domestic work, have you? Let me see your hands. Humph. As I thought, coddled and pampered your whole lives.”
    Béatrice shrank at the accurate description, but Claudette took a step forward. “Madame, I am the daughter of one of Paris’s finest dollmakers. I am well-accustomed to serving customers, cleaning a shop, and all aspects of fine dollmaking. It is my father’s death that brings me to reduced circumstances, but, assuredly, I am used to hard work.” She pulled Béatrice in closer.