The Queen's Dollmaker by Christine Trent Page A

them at Surrey Street Market. Can you make more by next week?”
    “I suppose I could. Does Mrs. Ashby send you to the market regularly?”
    “No, that’s my own business on my own time. I’ll split the money we make in half with you.”
    “In half! But I have to purchase materials for making the dolls. Wood, paints, fabrics, needles, scissors, that sort of thing. I’ll agree to half, but you have to gather up all of the supplies I need.”
    “Agreed.”
    So the bargain was struck, and, with Béatrice’s assistance, Claudette got to work on creating a dozen crude dolls for the following week, working far into each night, and wondering exhaustedly each morning how Jack managed to spend his nighttime hours prowling the streets.
    Claudette’s work reminded her of her apprenticeship under her father. She knew how to measure and cut small planks of appropriate width, using all available wood as efficiently as possible, and how to sand them to a smooth finish and then bring out the deep grain and color of the wood by wiping the boards with wet cloths. As she practiced her skills she experienced many a cut thumb and splintered palm, until she once again developed the finesse necessary for handling the wood parts. She then spent many nights bent over the tiny individual finished pieces of incomplete dolls, rag and wax in hand, buffing furiously to bring each piece to a final, shiny gloss. What little money she had was rapidly expended on tallow candles to illuminate her midnight work.
    But it was truly the carving that required the most concentration. Claudette spent hours carving the rudimentary dolls. From a roughly-hewn block of wood, she used one of the few paring tools available from her father’s box to first shape a round head, followed by long, shaped arms with rounded knobs for hands, a straight trunk with slots in the top and bottom to accommodate limbs, and legs and knobbed feet. She joined the limbs to the torso using twine, to give them range of motion.
    She then fashioned wigs out of yarn or narrow strips of cloth, gained from discarded rags she took from the trash bin when Mrs. Lundy was not watching. The paints Jack was able to find were poor quality and looked faded almost as soon as they were applied, but she had Béatrice apply coat after coat of eyes, lips, and cheeks until she was pleased with their appearance.
    Each evening, Jack would quietly scratch at Claudette’s door to see what her progress was, almost as excited by the project as the two women were.
    The most difficult part of creating the dolls was keeping it secret from the other servants, particularly Jassy, who seemed to have instinctive talent for ferreting out the activities of the entire domestic staff. The girl’s ruthless spying and reporting to Mrs. Lundy had cowed most of the servants, but Claudette refused to succumb to her intimidation.
    “So, Miss Frenchy Laurent,” Jassy said as she sidled up to Claudette unexpectedly one day while she was chopping vegetables, part of her normal routine when she was not being elevated to lady’s maid. “I notice you’ve been spending time with Jack Smythe.” Her voice was low and sly. “Would you be needin’ someone to guard your door for you at night? I could make sure no one bothers you.”
    Claudette slammed down her knife. “You nasty little chuff. Have you nothing better to do than buzz about tormenting everyone around you like a wasp? For someone of such royal blood, you have no more class than the tomcats I throw scraps to in the side yard. And your temperament is far worse.”
    Jassy was momentarily stunned into silence but recovered herself. “So there is something between you and Jack. I’ll find out what it is, and then I’ll make sure Mrs. Lundy knows. Of course,”—she began sauntering away—“if I don’t find out the truth, I’ll just make something up. You should have learned by now not to cross me.”
    Claudette returned to her work, chopping and slicing