Madame Tussaud's Apprentice

by Kathleen Benner Duble

I tie the sheets firmly to one leg of a chair, working as quietly as I can so as not to rouse Tante Anne-Marie. I wedge the chair under the sill of the window and toss the sheets down to the street below. I will not get my clothes back, but in the criminals’ camp, there are always clothes from recent robberies to be bartered for.

  I throw my legs over the window, pausing for a moment on the ledge and holding on to a pillowcase with my drawing inside. Can I do this without Algernon’s help?

  In spite of my fear, I cannot linger, or I will be caught. Tante Anne-Marie is just outside the door. And so, holding the pillowcase with my teeth and grabbing hold of the sheet, I ignore my pounding heart and let myself down, going hand over hand. My arms shake as I slide down the sheets, and my grip slips several times.

  But at last, I reach the street safely. I run on light feet toward the alley Algernon had pointed out to me.

  “Algernon?” I call out softly when I reach the corner.

  There is no answer.

  “Algernon,” I call more sharply.

  Nothing.

  It seems there is little choice. In this silly nightgown and bare feet, I will have to make my way through the darkened streets of Paris. And I pray I will find the criminals’ camp before some other criminal finds me.

  I stumble my way down alley after alley, straining to see ahead while keeping close to the walls. I have never been on these streets before. They are dark as pitch, and as deserted as a jail cell whose door has been left open.

  My bare toes squish in the mud and muck left over from the rain, sending up wafts of human waste and rotten food. Slime runs down the sides of the buildings and sticks to my lovely nightgown as I sidle my way in the dark, the pillowcase clutched tightly to my chest.

  I hear a sound and stop, barely daring to breathe. But it is only a rat digging in a pile of garbage. A few streets later, I hear voices. Again, I halt. But the man and woman who slide past me are hurrying, and do not notice me hiding in the shadows.

  I long for the warmth of a small fire and Algernon’s laughter when I tell him the story of how I escaped. I want Algernon beside me, with his quick reaction to danger and his determination to protect me.

  At last, I come upon something familiar, the pungent smell of the river. The Seine meanders its way through the city of Paris like a long snake making its way through tall grass.

  I remember my first sight of the river and of Paris, when Algernon and I had entered the city. I had been enchanted with all the grand buildings and fancy people traveling in fast carriages through the streets, carrying women with powdered wigs piled so high, they had to hang their heads out the window, for they could not fit their hair inside their vehicles. The jewels about their necks had sparkled in the sunshine, dazzling my eyes.

  Then, I had seen the underside of it all: The beautiful buildings are for wealthy people only. If you are not of noble birth, your entry is barred. In this regard, the city offers little change from the countryside for France’s poor.

  I follow the scent toward the river, picking my way along, until at last the Seine lies before me, glittering in the moonlight that has just made its appearance through the low-lying clouds. But which way should I follow it? Right or left?

  Suddenly, bells sound out. Relief sweeps over me at the familiar sound coming from Notre Dame, the great cathedral of Paris. Now I know which way to turn—away from the church and back toward the Palais-Royal.

  I follow the narrow pathway along the river, taking a deep breath as I scurry under the bridges that cross the water, hoping no one evil is lurking there. There are people under each bridge, but they are all deep in sleep, curled up next to each other, the smell of their bodies drifting out along with their soft snores.

  At last, I come to a spot I recognize. I take the stairs up, away from the river, cross the gardens of the old palace, the Tuileries, and wend my way toward the Palais-Royal. When I see the Palais with its shops and arcades and empty tables and chairs, a sort of giddiness runs through me. I have made it. I am home.

  At night, the Palais is eerily empty. I run past a children’s museum, a millinery, a confectionary, a distillery. Finally, I scurry along a side street and find the hidden alleyway—the Den of Thieves. The lane’s dark recesses are lit by small fires, beside which people lie, wrapped tightly in stolen or discarded blankets. Some sit up, scratching and yawning as they greet the new day.

  I hurry to our own little spot, tucked into the corner of the stone tavern, and find Algernon sleeping. In the firelight, his lashes lie thick against the sun-browned curve of his cheek. My eyes linger on his slender fingers, clutching at the puppy, which lies sleeping beside him. I imagine reaching for him, and it is all I can do to not do this very thing.

  But instead, I force myself back to practical matters.

  I bend near my boy, but not too close. He is a restless sleeper with lightning-quick reflexes. I do not want to risk a stab wound.

  “Algernon,” I whisper.

  He is awake in an instant, sitting up, a knife at the ready. The puppy barks.

  “It’s me,” I say, scooting quickly back an inch or two.

  Algernon rubs the sleep from his bright green eyes. Then he reaches out and takes my hand. “Are you all right?” His voice is filled with anxiousness.

  “I’m fine,” I reassure him.

  “Where were you this evening? I waited hours for you,” he asks. “I was worried about you.”

  “I had a little mishap,” I say. “I stumbled onto a room full of severed heads.”

  Algernon’s eyes grow wide, and I laugh.

  “They were heads for that waxworks house at the Palais-Royal,” I tell him. “You know the one by Robert André’s bookshop, where that big man is always calling out and advertising the shows?”

  Algernon nods. “Oui. I know the place.”

  “Well, that’s where the lady who caught me works,” I say. “And that bag that Nicholas stole?”

  Algernon waits.

  “Full of nothing but those wax heads!” I let out another hoot of laughter.

  Algernon’s face lights up. “Truly?”

  I nod.

  Algernon’s eyes dance with merriment, and he laughs, too. “Serves Nicholas right for being in our corner of the Palais.”

  Then he frowns. “But that doesn’t explain why you didn’t escape like you were supposed to. Did they mistreat you? I’ll kill them if they did.”

  I hesitate. I don’t want to tell Algernon this part, but he will want his explanation, or he will take after Manon and her family on my behalf.

  “I fainted at the sight of those heads,” I finally confess.

  Algernon scowls. “Good criminals don’t faint, Celie. Only fancy women have the luxury of that.”

  “I didn’t mean to,” I protest. “It just took me by surprise, is all.”

  “Nothing should surprise a good thief,” Algernon reminds me.

  I give him my evil eye. Does he think I don’t know this?

  His gaze sweeps over me now that he is fully awake, and I see him take in the flimsy nightgown. His eyes rest on the curve of my hip, which is outlined by the sheer fabric.

  “What happened to the pants and shirt I filched for you last week?” he finally asks, his voice tight.

  “They made me take a bath,” I tell him.

  His eyes meet mine, not as a teacher to a child but like a boy might look at a girl. My heart thumps, hard.

  I sit down next to him. I finger the soft fabric. “The gown they gave me is beautiful, n’est-çe pas?”

  His eyes slip over the silk and satin trim. I hear his breath quicken.

  I lean in closer, putting my mouth just inches from his neck. I can see a vein there, pulsing sharply. I have hope.

  “They gave me lavender soap,” I whisper. “It was nice. Do you like it?”

  Algernon says nothing. I wait.

  Then abruptly, he turns his head. “Well, I hope the smell wears off soon. We can’t have you playing the blind be
ggar girl and smelling fancy. So put that gown away, and find some old breeches.”

  Disappointment washes over me.

  “Get dressed, Celie, please,” he says with an edge of anger to his voice.

  I do as he bids and reach into an old pile of clothes. My hands shake. I find a pair of breeches, slipping them on. Reluctantly, I take off the nightgown, and pull on an old ratty shirt. I tuck the lovely nightgown safely under my thin blanket. Now when I sleep, I will finger the soft fabric and remember that this beautiful thing made Algernon notice me, if only for a moment.

  “You didn’t happen to take a thing or two on your way out, eh?” Algernon asks, his voice cracking.

  “I may have fainted, but I’m not stupid,” I say, my voice stiff, too.

  From inside the pillowcase, I pull out a small china swan and a set of silver hairbrushes I have stolen from the green bedroom.

  “Now, there’s my girl,” Algernon says, turning around. He sets the dog down and takes the items from me, turns them over in his hand, and nods approvingly. “They’ll fetch a nice price.”

  He smiles, the old Algernon again. “You’re an uncommon thief, Celie.”

  His compliments don’t warm me as they usually do.

  “Still,” he says, sighing, “we’ll have to keep a low profile for a while.”

  He holds up the Comte’s bag of coins. Those coins should make me feel better, but they don’t.

  “When we finish these, it’s back to robbing houses,” Algernon says. “Such a shame. That card deal was working well. Did you happen to take a look around the house before you hightailed it out of there?”

  “I always look around me. You know that.” I lay down on my blanket. I am suddenly very tired. I have only had a few hours sleep in the last two days. And I am exhausted and humiliated from my failed attempts to make Algernon see me in a romantic light.

  Discouraged, I pull out the drawing I did of Manon’s kitchen, unroll it, and place it near me.

  “Ah,” Algernon says, leaning over and peering at the drawing, “so that is the inside of their fine house, eh?”

  His face is close to mine. I could kiss him if I wanted to. His eyes move from my drawing to my face, and his jaw twitches. He sits up and moves away once again. This time, I am prepared for the rejection. I look wearily up at the sky.

  The first rays of morning sunlight suddenly flicker in the alleyway, making me squint at the brightening sky.

  Algernon stands, his eyes roaming the bodies packed next to each other. “Ah, there is that rogue, Nicholas. Let’s go have some fun, shall we?”

  He turns and offers me a hand up. I take it, the feel of his skin warm against mine. He pulls me to my feet, makes sure I am up and steady before dropping my hand. Then he strides away, leaving the puppy and me to follow.

  When Algernon reaches a lump curled in the dirt, he gives the figure a poke with his foot.

  Nicholas groans and looks up, his eyes still unfocused from sleep. “What?”

  “Heard your takings at the Palais-Royal were a little unusual yesterday,” Algernon says, grinning down at him.

  In spite of my frustration with Algernon, I laugh.

  “That’ll teach you to stay away from my section of the Palais,” Algernon tells him. “I see you there again, I’ll give you something really unusual to think about—a good beating.”

  “You ain’t the king, last time I checked,” Nicholas spits out. “If I feel like doing a little pickpocketing there, I’ll do as I like.”

  “Anxious for more of those wax heads then, I take it?” I ask, teasing him.

  Nicholas scowls up at me.

  “He may not be, but I am!”

  I turn. Behind us, Manon stands with a sergent, both disguised in dirty old rags. They look like any of the criminals in the alley, except for one thing: The sergent is holding a musket.

  Chapter Five

  We are caught, and I am a fool! Why had I thought that this woman would give up so easily, that she would be content to let matters drop? She must have followed me here.

  I should have been more careful, and I want to kick myself for my stupidity.

  “You’d best be on your way,” Algernon says, planting his legs firmly and crossing his arms. He reaches out and moves me behind him to defend me, his fingers resting lightly on my arm. “One word from me, and these fine people will rip you limb from limb.”

  The sergent steals a glance nervously over his shoulder at the other criminals in the alley. But Manon does not quiver. Her gaze on Algernon and me is rock steady.

  “I’ve come for the girl,” Manon says, “and my heads.”

  “You can have the heads,” Algernon tells her.

  He waves carelessly toward Nicolas. “You heard the lady, Nicky. Give her the bag you stole from her yesterday.”

  “Why should I?” Nicholas whines.

  “Because I’ll give you to the sergent here if you don’t,” Algernon says. “Now hand it over.”

  Nicholas turns his back on us and rifles through a pile of things lying near him. In a moment more, he hands over the bag. Manon takes it from him and glances inside. She nods, seemingly satisfied.

  “And now the girl,” Manon says.

  “You can’t have her,” Algernon says, his green eyes darkening. “She’s my sister. And even fancy folks such as you aren’t allowed to take our own siblings away from us.”

  He pauses, then adds mockingly. “Even if we are poor.”

  Sister? I almost cry, for—unfortunately—brotherly is the only way he has ever treated me.

  “Your sister?” Manon says, ignoring Algernon’s jibe about being poor. “You must have different fathers then.”

  Algernon doesn’t flinch. “That’s really none of your business, now is it? We’re family, and that’s just the way of things.”

  “It is also just the way of things that men who rob the brother of our good king usually find themselves swinging at the end of a rope,” Manon says softly, “and then what would happen to your sister?”

  Her words chill me.

  “Lay a hand on him,” I warn, stepping forward, “and I will kill you myself.”

  Algernon puts his arm about my waist and squeezes a warning. His fingers graze the space between my shirt and my pants. I can feel that touch all the way to the roots of my hair.

  “What is it you want with Celie?” Algernon asks.

  “Her skills at drawing,” Manon answers without hesitation.

  Algernon nods his head, as if mulling this over. “Perhaps we can work something out?”

  I feel a sudden quiver of uncertainty. Is he about to treat me as something to be bartered for?

  Algernon’s grasp on me tightens, so I say nothing.

  “How much would you like for her?” Manon asks.

  Algernon laughs. “I would never sell Celie, mademoiselle.”

  Giddy relief washes over me. How could I have doubted him?

  Manon snorts. “Ah, a thief with morals. Then what do you propose, monsieur?”

  “A place to sleep and eat for the both of us,” Algernon says without hesitation. He glances at the sergent. “And a promise to drop all charges, of course.”

  Manon does not flinch. “Agreed. But you will work to earn your keep. And let me warn you, monsieur, should you choose to steal from me, it will be the noose you’ll sleep with.”

  “Eh, that isn’t fair,” Nicholas whines. “I should be the one getting food and a bed. It was me that stole the bag in the first place!”

  “And it was you on my turf in the second place,” Algernon says, and the anger in his voice makes Nicholas flinch.

  Algernon turns to me. “Grab up your things, sister. Seems as if we are moving this fine day to better accommodations than these streets.”

  “Two more things,” Manon says.

  She points to the animal at Algernon’s feet. “No dog. In my line of work, puppies are much too boisterous to have around.”

  Algernon considers for a momen
t and then nods. He scoops up the puppy and hands him to Nicholas. “For you. Take good care of him, or you’ll answer to me.”

  Nicholas’s face lights up. He hugs the animal tightly. I can see they are a good match, though Algernon looks a bit bereft.

  “And the second thing?” I ask.

  “While you are packing,” Manon says, “please bring along the china swan and the silver hairbrushes you took from me when you ran away.”

  Manon’s eyes on me are steely hard. Suddenly, I wonder if Algernon has done the right thing. The lady seems clever and quick, and I pray that Algernon doesn’t think he can outsmart her. In that contest, I’m not so sure we would win.

  • • •

  I wake the next day in the late morning and stretch myself out in the clean sheets. My wish has been granted. I have had time to sleep in this bed and luxuriate with dreams of Algernon.

  My boy was smart to bargain for this. Now, we will be fed and clothed and for a time not have to worry about getting caught by the sergents du guet. Instead, we can work on ingratiating ourselves with the rebels in Paris while living in safety.

  I rise and dress, easily making my way to the kitchen in the daylight this time. When I push the door open, Tante Anne-Marie greets me with a smile, which is kind considering I betrayed her by escaping last night.

  “Ah, our little sleepyhead is finally awake,” she says. “Come and have some breakfast.”

  I think I will faint with pleasure. Cook is spooning out a heap of fresh eggs onto a plate with sliced bread, her apron splattered with grease.

  I walk swiftly to the table, and grabbing a fork, I dig in fast. The last time I tasted eggs was the morning my father was shot.

  “Cooking this late in the morning isn’t right,” Cook grumbles. “The girl should rise at a decent hour if she wants breakfast.”

  “Ah now, Marthe,” Tante Anne-Marie says, “she was tired from all the goings-on last night.”

  “Goings-on? I’ll say!” Cook says. “Stealing our stuff, and then Manon bringing her back. Should have turned the three of them over to the sergents du guet, if you ask me.”

  I had not thought of this before. Algernon and I are fairly trapped in this house, there for the taking should Manon become displeased with us or change her mind. We will need to arrange an escape route as soon as possible.