Madame Tussaud's Apprentice (6 page)

I let out a scream, and then, everything goes black.

“She’s awake, Maman.”

I find myself in the bed Manon had put me in earlier that evening, and Manon herself sits beside me. My mind is fuzzy. My shoulder hurts, and my jaw aches.

Manon’s mother brings a cold cloth and presses it to my face. “Poor child. You gave yourself quite a fright, now, didn’t you?”

Suddenly, I remember. The severed heads!

I sit up, my thoughts swimming. What kind of strange people have bloody heads hanging about?

“It’s all right,” Manon’s mother says, reaching for me. “It’s all right.”

I scoot away from her, my heart pounding. I am trapped and ill-prepared to defend myself. But I will have to try.

To my surprise, Manon lets out a light-hearted laugh. “Relax, Celie. The body parts you saw aren’t real. They are reproductions made of wax. The ones you ran into are of a woman and man who stole a diamond necklace from the queen. They were beheaded a few weeks ago, and I made a wax model of them.”

I remember Manon’s statement at the jail, that Nicholas would find nothing but wax heads in the bag he had taken from her. Has
Nicholas
been caught? “Were those the ones stolen from you?”

Manon sighs. “
Non
. I am up making a second set of those. It will be ten days before
they
will be ready again. It would be nice, though, if the boy who stole them was found and the heads recovered.”

I think of the diamond brooch and pearls Algernon and I stole. I pray that Algernon is still out there and not now in prison, slated to be executed or imprisoned for robbery. I must get out of here soon. Does the lady know I was trying to escape?

“What do you want with bloody wax heads?” I ask to keep her talking and alleviate any suspicions she might have, since she seems in no hurry to leave me.

Manon smiles. “
I
don’t want them. The public likes them. Have you never heard of waxwork houses?”

I have, although I had never been inside one. They cost money to gain entry, and I have no extra to spare. I know there is a museum at the Palais-Royal. I have seen the barker outside, calling for people to come and view the exhibits. Supposedly, they have figures of famous people—statesmen, royal family members, and, I now remember, notorious criminals.

“Why do you only have the heads?” I ask.

“That’s all you saw,” Manon says, rising. “Tomorrow I will show you where we build the bodies. We have two museums, one here at the Boulevard du Temple, which is called La Caverne des Grands Voleurs. And one in the Palais-Royal, which is called—”

I remember the name. “
Le Salon de Cire
.”

“Correct,” Manon says.

“Did you make those replicas after they were dead?” I ask.

Manon laughs. “Of course not. I drew them before they were executed. Now go to sleep. I must get back to my work. The museum is known for having the most recent exhibits, and we do not wish to let our public down.”

I think about how Manon had me draw earlier that evening. Suddenly, I understand her interest in my skills. Does she mean to have me draw criminals?

“Maman, do you mind sitting outside of Celie’s room tonight, in case she wants anything?” Manon asks, finally rising.

I cannot have that. How will I escape? “That isn’t necessary, Manon’s
maman
.”

“You may call my
maman
Tante Anne-Marie,” Manon tells me. “And as for her sitting up for your sake, that is not why she will do it. She will do it for me. I wish to be sure you stay in your room and do not try running away again.”

I feel my face flush. I have not fooled her.

“
Bonne nuit
, child,” Tante Anne-Marie says. “I shall be in the hallway if you need me.”

Both women leave, and the room is once more in darkness.

I stare out into the blackness. It is certainly past eleven. But how am I to escape, with Tante Anne-Marie right outside the door?

There is no way I will agree to draw convicted criminals for Manon and her uncle. The criminals might be my friends. And even if I didn’t know them, I am certainly on their side. I support their right to steal from the wealthy.

And I refuse to be parted from Algernon.

Then, my eyes light upon the large windows of my room, and I smile.

• • •

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 beggar 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.