The Deeds of the Disturber - Elizabeth Peters [102]
‘I will go anywhere you think best, of course, Aunt Amelia. But if you don’t mind . . . Papa took us to Madame Tussaud’s last year, when we were in London, and oh, it was jolly! I do think Ramses would like it too if he has never been.’
Emerson stared at his nephew. Then his face cleared and he chuckled. ‘He might at that. But what about your sister, my boy? Some of the exhibits –’
‘We will avoid the Chamber of Horrors, naturally,’ I said. ‘The historical exhibitions are quite educational. Ramses spends far too much time brooding over his morbid hobbies; it will do him good to learn something of modern history.’
‘Something modern and cheerful, like the French Revolution,’ Emerson said. ‘Was not Madame forced by the revolutionary government to model the heads brought to her from the guillotine?’
‘Yes, sir, even the head of the poor queen,’ said Percy eagerly. ‘Whom Madame had known well. Only fancy, sir, how horrid!’
‘Dead,’ murmured Violet.
Despite the mournful thoughts that darkened my spirit I felt a stir of pride when I beheld our (temporarily enlarged) family assembled for its outing. Emerson had consented to wear a frock coat and a stiff collar, though he complained that the latter chafed his jaw. No persuasion of mine could convince him to complete the elegance of the ensemble with a top hat; and I must confess that the pipe looked a trifle odd jutting out from between his strong white teeth. However, Emerson looks magnificent at any time and in any costume.
The boys were dressed alike, in sailor suits and caps. The contrast between them had never been more striking: Percy’s fresh English complexion and smooth brown locks next to the unmanageable mop of ebony curls and tanned cheeks of Ramses. I am bound to admit the costume did not suit my son any more than it would have suited Emerson. He looked like a grave, miniature adult dressed in children’s clothes. The sailor suit had, however, the advantage of being washable. That advantage, with Ramses, was considerable.
Violet was so swathed in ruffles it was difficult to be certain a child was inside them. The frills on her little bonnet had not been properly starched; they hung down and hid most of her face. Instead of a doll she was carrying a stuffed lamb, which I recognized as one which had been given to Ramses when he was three. It was in pristine condition, since he had never played with it. (I will never forget the expression on his face when, after contemplating it in silence for several minutes, he placed it neatly on the shelf and returned to his study of hieroglyphs.)
As we drove, I pointed out monuments of historic interest, and I was pleased to see that Ramses stared as eagerly as any other small boy. As we proceeded along Baker Street, towards the Portman Rooms where Madame’s display was housed, he kept leaning out of the carriage as if looking for something, but when I asked what it was he only shook his head.
I confess I have never been able to understand the attraction of waxworks, however accurately they may preserve the features and forms of individuals. It is animation that gives interest to a countenance – the shifting eyes that betray guilt, the quivering lips of an accused suspect.
The historical tableaux were of interest, however, and I gave a little lecture on each of them. Particularly affecting was one that showed Her Majesty as a young girl of eighteen, her hair down upon the shoulders of her modest white nightgown, as the grave, bearded dignitaries knelt to kiss her little hand and hail her as Queen. (For she had, as the Reader may or may not know, been aroused from innocent sleep.) And what tender memories were evoked by the tableau depicting the massacre of the gallant Gordon! I had been in Egypt that year – my first visit to the land of my destiny, my first meeting with my destined spouse. I glanced at Emerson.
‘What memories this tableau evokes, Emerson.’
‘Mmmph,’ said Emerson, chewing on the stem of his pipe.
The cream of the collection is unquestionably the series of French Revolutionary tableaux, and