Madame Tussaud's Apprentice (24 page)

I could have refused to go to
Versailles
. But was there not a part of me that wanted to be caught up in that world of luxury and privilege? To see it all close at hand?

“I knew there would be some violence,” Algernon says almost to himself, and I hear the desperation in his voice, his need to puzzle it out, to understand what has happened to him. “There is no way to liberate a country without some loss of life. And yes, I wanted no more monarchy. I wanted to emulate the Americans, to have a system where the people choose their leaders. When the king and his family were imprisoned, I thought it for the best. We could rule ourselves. There was no need for a king to guide us. But to put him on trial? To behead him? To behead them all, so senselessly, now that they were rulers no more?”

Algernon shakes his head over and over as if he cannot believe the horror of it all. Now before me once more is the boy with whom I lived in alleys and broke the law in order to survive. He goes on, still sounding mystified. “I did not wish any of that. I did not want those terrible things to happen. But I was in too deep then. And there was no way to escape. And you had made your choice. You had chosen
her
. I had to carry on alone, unsure.”

Algernon’s disillusionment wraps itself around my own crushed hopes for something better, something finer for the people of France. We stand here now, both our dreams of equality consumed by the hatred and fear and violence of a revolution that has left us divided and bereft of spirit.

He gazes up at me with eyes almost black with despair. “Do you think me a monster then, Celie?”

Who can say what a monster is? A king so separated from his people that he can’t see their pain? A girl so enamored of her art and her position that she abandons the very person who saved her life? Or a boy so caught up in a cause that he lets himself do things he will forever regret?

He is Algernon, my Algernon. And we are all capable of thoughtless deeds. I will not be the one to cast this stone.

“
Non
, Algernon,” I say softly. “I do not think this.”

“I do not understand how this has gotten so out of control,” Algernon says. The bewilderment in his face makes my heart lurch. His pain is my pain once again. “I meant well. I truly did. But somehow it has turned out so very wrong.”

I nod, tears in my eyes, thinking of Manon’s words to me after the violence in the Place Vendôme. I think not only of the revolution and its horrible beheadings, but also of the king and Madame Élisabeth, who had been unable as rulers to bring about change.

“I cannot stop her execution, even if I wanted to,” Algernon says, looking up at me, his voice cracking. “I do not hold that high a position.”

“Then spare me this, Algernon,” I beg him, kneeling down in front of him. “You can at least spare me this.”

“Spare Manon, you mean?” he says with bitterness.

I grab his hands, lace my fingers with his. We may be disillusioned, but we do not need to be defeated. There is a road back to each other. We can find it. “
Oui
, Algernon. I care for Manon, and the aunts, and l’Oncle. It is true. But how could you think I have stopped caring for you? Love has no limits, Algernon. Mine is infinite.”

“I have missed you, Celie,” Algernon whispers, pulling me close to him, his breath soft and hot on my skin.

“Then come back with me,” I urge him, gripping his shirt in my fists. “Come back, and we can be together. Leave all this behind. We can ride this out. Manon will welcome you back, and I will never leave you alone again. I promise.”

Algernon shakes his head. “I cannot. I have been too long with them. They would arrest and kill me.”

He is right. I know he is right. If he walks away, the revolutionaries will have no choice but to declare him a Royalist and execute him. But how am I to bear this?

“Revolution is a hard thing,” Algernon whispers, “a very hard thing to get right.”

Still kneeling before him, he kisses the top of my head, and I let out a little sigh through choked-back tears.

“I relieve you of this duty,” he says, clearing his throat and rising from his chair. “I will employ a balladeer to tell of her beheading instead. I will tell the Council that the wax could not be obtained in time.”

I cannot speak for love and gratitude. I rise too, and place a hand on his chest, feeling the warmth of it and the beating of his heart as we stand together.

“Now, you must go,” Algernon says, “for I have work to do.”

“
Non
. I cannot leave you,” I protest.

“You have no choice,” Algernon says, closing his eyes. “Even with the mistakes that have been made, we must press on. France must be stabilized.”

He barks for his man to come, and within seconds, the man is at the door.

“Please, Algernon,” I beg him.

He pulls me toward him. He strokes my cheek, lets his fingers linger on my lips. Then ever so slowly, he bends and gently puts his lips to mine. At last!

I kiss him back with all the love I feel for him, and he wraps his fingers in my hair, draws me closer, kisses me more deeply.

Then he finally breaks from me and puts his lips to my ear. “I love you, Celie, far more than I ever loved her.”

I stand speechless at this unexpected declaration.

Before I can respond, he is pushing me away from him.

“Take her,” he commands the man.

“
Non
,” I cry.

“
Au revoir
, Celie,” Algernon says, turning so I can no longer look him in the eye.

And I am spirited away before I can even think how to fight my way back.

I cannot eat or sleep. I toss and turn in my bed and barely speak. Algernon has rescued me when I needed him most. How can I not do the same for him? But what am I to do?

The day of Madame Élisabeth’s execution arrives. The world is bathed in soft spring sunshine.

“She shouldn’t die alone,” Manon says. “I must go and be with her at the end.”

“I will come with you,” I say, though I am tired and shaky these days, and do not know how much more I can bear without losing my own mind.

“I am coming, too,” Jean-Louis pipes up.

“
Non
, Jean-Louis, you are too young,” Manon says.

“She was there for
me
when my
papa
died,” Jean-Louis argues, his lower lip trembling. “You cannot stop me from being there for
her
.”

“He is right, Manon,” I tell her wearily. “Jean-Louis loves Madame Élisabeth.”

Reluctantly, Manon nods her head.

• • •

The crowd is smaller than those that gathered at the executions of the king and queen. I pray this means that the people’s need for revenge against their sovereigns will, like a fire washed by blood, soon be extinguished.

The drums begin to roll, and Madame Élisabeth climbs the stairs to the guillotine. She is dressed simply, her hands clasped before her.

Manon moves closer to the platform so that Madame Élisabeth might see us, and Jean-Louis bows to her.

Madame Élisabeth’s eyes light up when she sees us standing there. Then she bends her head in prayer. The executioner gives her a few moments, then he nudges her and points toward the guillotine.

Madame Élisabeth smiles sadly. “
Merci
,” she mouths.

She is strapped to the contraption, her head put in place.

I do not watch the end, but I hear the swish of the blade and the thump as it hits the wood. I hear Jean-Louis cry out, but not one other soul makes a sound. Silence reigns at Madame Élisabeth’s death.

Finally, I open my eyes, but I cannot look at the scaffold. I cannot believe that Madame Élisabeth is truly gone.

Jean-Louis is in Manon’s embrace.

I can think of nothing now but home and bed, and the sweet release of sleep. I long to sit next to Jean-Louis tonight, with a fire and l’Oncle reading to us as Manon sews or works on an exhibit.

Then, suddenly, I hear it—a tapping. I whirl around, my eyes searching wildly for Algernon’s tall body and brown-haired head. But he is nowhere to be seen. Have the day’s events unhinged my mind? Have I only imagined it?

“Celie?” Manon asks.

“Sssh,” I command her.

There. There it is, once again. I listen to the tapping, translating as fast as the beats ring out.

“Celie, what is it?” Manon asks.

Tears fill my eyes, as I think of the young prince and princess still in prison. “There will be no more royal beheadings. They are done. Finished.”

Finally, I think, the people of France can once more turn their thoughts to living. The dying is over.

My heart beats with gratitude to Algernon for letting me know this good news after such a horrendous day. I feel his love for me as if it is his own strong arms wrapping around me, and the pain of not being with him now is all the greater, as I feel his obvious concern for my well-being.

But then, the tapping starts again. I hold still, listening. The weight that has been in my chest lifts as I translate his message.

Go home. Wait for me there
, he taps to me.
I will come for you tomorrow. I have a plan
.

He is coming. Tomorrow. He has a plan.

I turn and take Manon and Jean-Louis each firmly by the arm. “Come,” I say. “We must hurry home.”

• • •

I wait the next day. Impatience burns inside me.

“What has got you so distracted?” Tante Marthe grumbles when I spill Jean-Louis’s glass of milk, and the cup shatters as it hits the floor.

I cannot tell her, for I do not know when Algernon will be here, or what he will have planned when he does come. Will he ask me to leave Manon, Jean-Louis, and the aunts and uncle behind? If that is his plan, how am I to choose? Will he ask me to keep our flight secret? Will I have to slink away, like a shadow in the night? How can I leave these people who have become so dear to me? And yet, how can I not go with Algernon, should he ask it?

I dig my nails into the palms of my hands with worry as I work in the museum.

“
Mon Dieu
, Celie,” l’Oncle snaps. “Where is your head?”

If I weren’t so consumed with uneasiness, I would have to laugh at l’Oncle’s question. Heads are everywhere here. Why ask where one is?

But my future with Algernon is no laughing matter. If we do flee, where can we go? Hiding is a temporary fix only. Eventually, the National Assembly will find us. We have no family outside France to protect us.

“Celie!” l’Oncle snaps.

I am brought out of my reveries. “I’m sorry,
mon oncle
,” I say. “I think Madame Élisabeth’s death has me on edge.”

L’Oncle’s eyes soften. “
Mais oui
. You are right. I was foolish to think work would ease your pain. Go. Rest. We can take this up when you are feeling better.”

I leave, a liar for misleading him. Madame Élisabeth’s death still distresses me, but it is Algernon’s face that haunts me. I go to my room and pace. When will he come? What will he say?

By dinner, he is still not here. I go to the kitchen, but cannot eat. I excuse myself and go back to my room to renew my worrying.

Manon pokes her head in. “Celie, are you ill?”

When I shake my head, she sighs. “I wish you would tell me what is wrong.”

But my throat is closed tight.

By midnight, I am still alone in my room and am forced to face the fact that he is not coming, that something or someone has prevented him from being here.

I remove my shoes, roll down my stockings, and prepare for bed. I lie staring out into the dark. Have they found him out? Has he been arrested? How can I lie here, not knowing what has become of him? How can I sleep, knowing he may even now be in a cell somewhere? But there is nothing I can do. No one I can turn to. I no longer have friends in places that could get me answers.

Eventually, I fall into an uneasy sleep.

I am awakened by a strange noise, and a hand is suddenly over my mouth.

I am about to scream, when I realize that before me is the face I have longed for all day.

He smiles.

“Algernon,” I whisper when he drops his hand from my lips.

I bury my face in his chest, breathe in the smell of Paris on him.

“I can’t stay long,” he says.

“Why not?” I ask.

He grimaces. “A man has been watching me. It took all my considerable cunning to give him the slip and make my way here.”

“Do they realize you were lying when you said we could not mold Madame Élisabeth’s head for lack of material?” I ask, my throat thick with fear. Have I caused Algernon to be noticed by the Assembly in a way that could endanger him?

He shakes his head. “
Non
, but I have been arranging a ship and transport to England. Perhaps they have noticed my extended absences.”

He has said it. We are to go to England. I pray that no one involved in his escape plans has talked. But I say nothing. We both know the risks.

He stands. “You must gather your things over the next few days, Celie. We will have to slip away as soon as the weather turns for the worse.”

“The worse?” I repeat, my mind racing ahead to Manon and Jean-Louis, my heart in my throat as I consider leaving them behind.

“There is talk of rescuing the young prince and princess,” Algernon says. “They have blockaded part of the river, looking for any who would help restore the monarchy by putting the young prince on the throne.”

I consider this. “Then how will we set sail?”

Algernon grins. “As we have many times before. By our wits.”

He strides toward the door. “Now I must go. Be ready, though.”

“Algernon,” I say, “be careful.”

“Aren’t I always?” he asks.

He pauses. “You have not asked about Manon or Jean-Louis.”

I shake my head. “
Non
. Though I will miss them, I will go with you.”

He laughs, a laugh so loud that I am sure it will wake the whole household. His eyes are dancing with merriment. “I am delighted with your devotion, Celie, but you need not have made that choice, for they are coming with us.”

“Truly?” I ask, barely able to believe in this miracle.