Madame Tussaud's Apprentice
Read Madame Tussaud's Apprentice Online
Authors: Kathleen Benner Duble
Tussaud’s
Apprentice
Kathleen Benner Duble
F+W Media, Inc.
For Liza Drury Duble: Your courage under fire and your resiliency under pressure are awe-inspiring. You are one tough girl and Boston Strong. I love you—always and forever.
Further Reading and Resources Used
Paris
May 1789
“
Mon Dieu
, I will kill you, you ruffians!”
A man’s voice booms from below, and my heart leaps to my throat. The homeowner has come back, and we are about to be discovered robbing him.
I hold a diamond brooch in my hand. Quickly, I look over at Algernon. He pauses, two pearl earbobs in his palm. What are we to do? There is only one set of stairs out of here, and already I can hear the homeowner’s feet pounding up our one means of escape.
Quickly, we stuff the jewelry into our pockets. In the next instant, Algernon is at the window, throwing open the sash and pushing back the shutters. He grabs my hand and hauls me toward the window. Without questioning him, I throw one leg over the sill. Then I pause. We are only one story up, but even from this height, the drop looks menacing. Fear makes itself a knot in my stomach. I don’t want to do this. Before I can change my mind, Algernon pushes me over.
I tumble out, and then halt abruptly in my descent as his hand grips mine. I look up into his green eyes, and he gives me a wicked grin. Then he lets go, and I fall onto the cobblestones below.
I stand and shake myself, feel in my pockets. The jeweled pin is safe.
A shot rings out, and my eyes fly frantically to the window above. With relief I see Algernon’s curly head appear, and in less than a moment, he, too, is over the edge, his strong hands grasping at the windowsill. He lowers himself down as far as possible. Then he lets go, and I catch him as best I can.
I help him to his feet and quickly push him up against the side of the house just as the homeowner’s face and his musket make an appearance in the window above us.
“I am going to get the
sergents du guet
,” the man shouts.
The homeowner cannot see us now, as we are pressed against his house, and so he is unable to shoot. It is a dark, rainy night, and there is no one about, or we would have to worry about strangers accosting us and holding us until the owner could come back down the stairs. But luckily the street is empty, so we can wait until he moves from the window, and then run.
It will be a race now, to see if we can escape. My blood pounds in my ears with anticipation.
Algernon and I stand pressed close together against the house, my body touching the length of his. In spite of the cold and the rain soaking us, warmth radiates from him like the sun.
At last, the owner pulls his head back inside so he can fetch the police, and Algernon and I are off. As fast as we can, we scramble down alley after alley, but it is not long before we hear the whistle of the
sergents du guet
. They are in pursuit, and I almost laugh with the thrill of the chase. I love these moments of danger, when Algernon and I stand on the edge of capture.
Down streets and alleys we dash, the footsteps of the law heavy behind us. Soon my lungs burn, and I don’t know how much longer I can go on. Then Algernon grabs me about the waist and whips me into a neighborhood tavern. The barkeep gives us a look, raises a tablecloth, and we slide under the table. The barkeep drops the cloth back into place.
With my knees pulled to my chest in the darkness under the table, I cannot still the beating of my heart. It gallops with furious pulses, and I fight to control my breathing, for fear it will give us away.
Algernon must be feeling the same rush, for he takes my hand and silently holds it to his chest. Beneath his linen shirt, I can feel his heart racing, and the solid roundness of the pearl bobs we have lifted.
Algernon grins. He is so close, I can see the fine hairs on his upper lip.
“Where are they?”
An authoritative voice rings out in the tavern.
I hold my breath.
“
Pardon, monsieur?
” the barkeep says in an unhurried voice. “What are you saying?”
I have to stifle a giggle. Algernon’s eyes meet mine, and I can see my merriment reflected there, for the barkeep is a friend, a patriot in our cause, and will never betray us.
“I asked you if anyone has come in here just now,” the
sergent
demands. “I am in pursuit of two young robbers.”
“
Non, monsieur,”
the barkeep says. “As you can see, there is no one. I am just about to close for the night. My patrons have all left.”
“And no one has come in here in the last few minutes?” the
sergent
demands.
“
Non, monsieur.
Did you not just ask me this?” the barkeep says.
“You lot are all alike,” the
sergent
mutters, and I can almost picture his annoyance, “protecting each other, lying for each other. But stealing is stealing,
mon ami
. And if I find you have been harboring these criminals, you will hang for it.”
With that, we hear his footsteps and the sound of the door closing behind him. Still, Algernon and I do not move. We will have to stay here a bit longer to ensure the
sergent
leaving is not a ploy, for we know all the tricks of their trade.
In the silence that follows, I hear the sound of glasses clinking together as the barkeep does the dishes. Now that the danger is almost past, I am exhausted and relieved that we have escaped. I lean my head on Algernon’s shoulder, and he rests his head gently on mine. He smells like fresh air, and I breathe him in, trying to ignore the smell of stale ale that surrounds us.
Then, I hear the door creak open again.
“Did you forget something,
monsieur
?” the barkeep asks, his voice bland, as innocent as a babe.
The door slams shut in anger, and once more, Algernon and I have to stifle a laugh. It will be a long night as we wait for the
sergent
to give up.
• • •
I feel a slight tickle on my nose. I sigh and turn over, lost in a dream of brie cheese, bread, and thick slabs of pâté. The tickle comes again, bringing me fully awake to the coughs and snorts of the other criminals in our alley—and to two big brown eyes and a slobbering tongue.
A small mongrel puppy stares at me. I start with surprise, and Algernon laughs.
He is holding the puppy’s tail, which he has been brushing against my cheek. Algernon has let his soft heart get the best of him again, and has rescued yet another starving thing.
“Isn’t he adorable?” he asks me, smiling.
He lifts the puppy onto his lap, and the animal licks his face. Lucky dog, I think.
Algernon’s hair is matted from sleep, but it cannot hide the boyish mischief of his eyes.
“
Oui
,” I agree, grumbling as I shift to avoid a rock that is digging into my side. “He is adorable. But now, we will go hungry feeding this beast, as we did the last one.”
Algernon frowns when I mention the other puppy he rescued. That animal was run over by a carriage not two days after we found him. The people inside the carriage hadn’t even bothered to stop. The dog had been a bump in the road, nothing more. They had driven off, laughing. The coachman hadn’t even looked back.
The thought of the poor animal’s demise and the callousness of the people who ran him over tires me even more than the lateness of last night.
I pull my threadbare blanket up over my head. “Let me sleep just a little more, Algernon.”
“There’s no rest for criminals,” Algernon reminds me. “The day’s a-wasting, and since the jewels we took last night will be too hard to fence for awhile, we have to work today or go hungry. So we’d best get moving.”
He reaches out and pulls back my cover, and then draws back abruptly when he sees that I only have on a chemise. I quickly gather the blanket back up around my neck.
“It was warm last night,” I say, in explanation of why I wear so little.
He nods, and his eyes slide away.
I sigh. I want so badly for us to be together, and I think Algernon wishes it too. But I know there is little hope of it, and this knowledge frustrates me unmercifully.
I am homeless and in this alley struggling to survive because I have lost my entire family. The Comte d’Artois’s men shot my
papa
when he accidentally chased a rabbit onto the Comte’s private grounds. Six months later when Maman and my little brother, Jacques, died from starvation, I had to take to the roads, unable to stay in our cottage, as I could not work the Comte’s fields and pay his taxes alone.
But Algernon is here because of Julia—the girl he had known from childhood, the girl he had loved. She was killed by the guards of His Majesty, Louis XVI. They beat her to death one day when they discovered them both stealing firewood for their families. They forced Algernon to stand and watch as they pummeled the very life out of her. The guards had held him tightly so that he could not save her. When they were done, they had simply walked away, leaving Algernon to carry her body home.
After, he came to Paris, determined to take revenge against the rulers of France and their guards. He speaks little of Julia, but I can tell, he thinks of her often. He is wed to her memory as surely as if they were truly wed in life. Julia is the ghost who floats forever between us, creating a barrier I cannot cross.
“That was some fun last night, wasn’t it?” he says. I know he is trying to lighten the mood between us. “Too bad we missed some things. Do you remember the house well enough to draw it, so we can try again?”
I scowl. How can he even ask me that? I have been with him for over a year now. He knows me better.
Algernon grins at my look of displeasure. “Of course you can.”
He hands me a stick, and immediately familiar desire prickles my fingers. I have never been able to resist the temptation to sketch what I have seen.
“So draw,” he commands me.
I begin scratching in the dirt, the stick rough under my fingers. I draw a map of the rooms and hallways of the mansion we were in last night.
When I have finished, I look up to find a look of satisfaction on Algernon’s face. “You’re a wonder, Celie.”
I have a sudden memory of Maman looking at a drawing of mine and calling it a wonder, too. I remember her telling me my drawing abilities were a gift from God. I don’t know if what she said is true. In this world of have and have-nots, I sometimes wonder if there even is a God.
Either way, what I do know to be true is that drawing has always come naturally to me. I remember everything around me with just one glance. I can tell you how many wrinkles there are around the eyes of the flower seller down the street, or the exact color of the tail on the horse the marquis rode this morning, or how many baguettes of bread the baker had in his shop window five days ago at two o’clock in the afternoon.
Some people find my abilities spooky and witch-like. But Algernon loves me for them, and his praise always makes my bad moods evaporate, as it does today.
“We’ll hit them another time,” he says, leaning back against the stone wall of the seedy tavern in our alley. “You’ll pick their lock easily again. You always do.” He smiles. “Those fingers of yours can draw the details of any house or pick the most complicated lock better than any thief I’ve ever worked with.”