Louisa Rawlings (2 page)

“Oh, what a brave monsieur,” she taunted. “Especially with someone weaker than you. Just for that, I don’t have no knife. Not yours. Nor anybody else’s.” With a defiant gesture, she tossed back the tumbled curls from her face and stared him straight in the eyes.

“By my faith, I’ll…
Oh, Lord!
” He sucked in a sharp breath, his blue eyes widening. He seemed to be looking at Topaze for the first time, his bored expression turning to shocked surprise. His grip on her loosened momentarily.

She wasn’t about to wait around while he recovered his wits. Drawing back her foot, she kicked him savagely in the shin and darted away. She squeezed her thin body through a narrow chink in a stone wall and made good her escape. This time she knew she was safe. By the time he ran around the wall, she’d be halfway to her rendezvous with Michel.

She hurried toward the quay, filled with a strange exhilaration. Maman’s jacket was gone, and she was cold and hungry, but she’d outwitted Dame Fortune for one more day. There’d be food on the table tonight; the little ones wouldn’t have to cry themselves to sleep.

Michel was waiting on the quay, casting stones into the gray waves, when she arrived. He inhaled deeply and wrinkled his nose. “Jesu, but you stink!”

“I had to hide in a fish barrel. And I lost Maman’s jacket. And the pretty handkerchief.” She grinned and produced their booty. “But here’s the purse.” She’d already decided not to tell him about the knife. She’d save it, give it to him for his birthday.

There was less in the purse than they’d hoped. They counted the coins with care, tossed the empty purse into the sea, and ran to make their purchases at the open stalls that sold the cheapest goods: bread, salted herring, bacon, a few turnips and onions, a large cabbage. And enough firewood for cooking, though it wouldn’t last more than an hour or two. They might sleep in a cold room, but at least supper would be a hot, filling soup.

They hurried toward home, their arms filled with their bounty. As they passed a large bakeshop, the door opened and a young man stepped out, rubbing his floury hands on his apron. He was short and robust, with close-set eyes and a large nose. “Topaze!” He reached out to pinch her bottom, but she dodged his fingers. “Why didn’t you buy bread from
me
?” he asked, his voice filled with accusation.

“You’re a thief, Philibert,” she laughed. “That’s why. You guard your money like an old miser.”

The accusation in his voice became condemnation. “Why won’t you marry me?”

She grinned and made an obscene gesture with her finger.

“You wait,” he muttered. “When Madame Givet dies, you’ll come begging to me!”

She tossed her head. “By the Holy Virgin, Philibert, I’d
have
to be a poor beggar to want you! Come on, Michel.”

They passed the noisy shipyards, the sugar refineries belching steam and acrid smoke into the frosty air, the rum manufactories, and made their way into the oldest, meanest quarter of Bordeaux. Michel was strangely quiet, after the enthusiasm that had accompanied their purchases. At last he glanced at Topaze, his soft eyes troubled. “She won’t die. Maman won’t die, will she?”

Topaze shifted her bundles and patted his shoulder. “Do you trouble yourself about that shittlebrain Philibert? He only says those things to try and frighten me into his bed.”

“But will she die?”

“Foolish boy. Why should she? Isn’t she getting stronger every day? And tomorrow, I feel sure, there’ll be a purse big enough to buy some medicine for her.” She tweaked his nose lovingly. “Are you so very unhappy, Michel?”

“I wish we didn’t have to steal.”

“You don’t have to do it. Isn’t Guillaume the carpenter looking for an apprentice?”

“
Merde
, Topaze. You know we can’t afford it. He’d only pay my keep. What about you, and the rest?”

“Do it if you want to. I’ll get money somehow.”

“How? Not every purse is fat. And you’re not nearly so good at thievery as me. You can’t whore, neither. You swore to Papa that you wouldn’t.”

She shrugged. “Maybe I’ll marry Philibert after all, if he gives me a say over his purse.” She laughed ruefully. “A married whore aren’t the same as an unmarried one.”

“But you hate him. You said he’s a pig!”

“
Qu’importe.
What does it matter?” She giggled. “Just think! Every day of our marriage I can steal loaves for you and Maman and the little ones. If I beguile him every night in bed, he’ll never be the wiser. Think what fun I’ll have, to deceive the tight-fisted knave.”

“
I
couldn’t laugh about it!”

“Oh, Michel,” she said, brushing a wayward curl from his forehead, “if we haven’t laughter, what
have
we in this life?”

The Givet family lived in a squalid rented room above a tanner’s shop. Topaze and her brother climbed the rickety stairs accompanied by the sour smells filtering
up from the shop below. The little ones, having heard the shouts of the tanner (“Keep them damned brats quiet tonight, Topaze! You hear?”), crowded around the door to greet them. There were seven in all—not counting Topaze and Michel—ranging in age from two and a half to eleven. Thin and ragged children, with runny noses, watery eyes.

“Good God, let me put down my bundles first!” cried Topaze, as they hugged her and tugged at her skirts.

“I beg you, Topaze. Don’t take the Lord’s name in vain.”

Topaze handed her packages to the older children and crossed to a corner of the room. She knelt to the frail woman who lay on a strip of mattress on the drafty floor. “I’m sorry, Maman. I forget sometimes. I’ll try to do better. How do you feel today?”

Madame Givet struggled to sit up, but Topaze restrained her. “Much stronger,” said the woman. “You see? I feel sure it won’t be long before I’m fit again.”

“And just wait till you see the supper that Michel and I have brought. So many good things to eat.” Topaze stroked Madame Givet’s sallow cheek. “That should put a few roses in your smile.”

“Monsieur Baïse paid you well today, then?”

“But yes! There was a rich marquis staying at the tavern. He was so hungry, I thought I’d never leave the kitchens all day. Cooking. Scrubbing. Oh, what a deal of work. Monsieur Baïse was a tyrant!”

Madame Givet sniffed. “But you smell of fish.”

“I had to clean a whole barrel of them.” She giggled and inhaled her sleeve. “Damnation, but I smell as though I’d climbed
into
the barrel itself! I’m sorry,” she added quickly, as Madame Givet frowned. “I don’t mean no harm by my swearing.”

“But it’s not good for the little ones to hear. Michel was no trouble today?”

“Monsieur Baïse says he’ll make a right proper footman some day, he’s so good at fetching and carrying. But he wants to be a carpenter, Maman. I think we ought to let him go to Guillaume. I can make enough at the tavern without him. Now you rest while Michel and I get a fire going for supper. ’Tis cold in here.” She tucked the thin blanket more closely around Madame Givet.

“Small wonder you’re cold. What happened to my jacket?”

“Some damned…some
wicked
thief took it, while I was at work.”

Madame Givet sighed. “And now you’ll be colder, my poor Topaze.”

“It doesn’t matter, Maman. It was old and torn. And soon we’ll have enough money to buy a new one for you.” She fingered the threadbare sleeve of Madame Givet’s bodice. “We’ll give this one to the beggars. We won’t need it. Just you wait and see.”

While Michel started a fire in the small hearth, Topaze poured some water from a large bucket into a pot to which she added the vegetables they’d bought. The children squealed in delight as she prepared supper, commenting on every item that went into the pot, sniffing at the fish and the bacon as they fried, smacking their lips in hungry anticipation. The dim room rang with happy laughter.

I’ll not eat any of the fish
, Topaze decided to herself. It would be her penance for tonight. She
would
burn in Hell for her lies and wickedness and thievery, as the man with the scar had said. She was sure of it. But how could she tell Maman that she and Michel hadn’t worked for Monsieur Baïse for many weeks? Hadn’t even been near his tavern since that day when the vile man—blast his soul!—had tried to sell her as a whore to a patron? And, failing that, had thrown her down and tried to rape her himself? After that she hadn’t been able to find another job that paid well enough. And then Maman had fallen ill and couldn’t take in washing as before. Little Anne-Marie was learning to mend. It brought in a sou or two, but that was all. No. She couldn’t tell about Monsieur Baïse. Maman had enough grief, enough burdens. She didn’t have to know where they were getting money.

One of the little ones, a boy of five, pulled at Topaze’s sleeve. “Monsieur Sarthe downstairs hit me today. And I didn’t even cry.”

Topaze stirred the soup. “What a brave lad you are, Matthieu. But try to keep away from Monsieur Sarthe. He’s a villain.”

Madame Givet turned on her mattress and sat up. “If we had a man to defend us, he wouldn’t dare to touch the children.”

“I’ll soon be a man,” said Michel, tapping his chest. “And then no one will harm us.”

“Pray God it be so,” whispered Madame Givet, and crossed herself. “Have you been to the shipping company this week, Topaze?”

“Alas, Maman. The clerk says they can’t pay indemnities until they’re certain that Papa’s ship has gone down. And even then, it won’t be much. Not for a common sailor.”

Madame Givet sighed and looked about the cold and cheerless room. “I miss our old cottage. Couldn’t they manage a gold louis or two, at the very least, just to see us through the winter?”

Only for a price
, thought Topaze. The shipping clerk had been very agreeable to an advance. And very explicit: an hour alone with Topaze, among the coils of rope in the little room behind his office. She’d refused him, of course. His demand had dismayed but scarcely horrified her. Except for Papa, she’d never known a man to have any deeper feelings toward a woman than lust. Wasn’t it a natural condition? Maman had been fortunate to have a man who loved her; Topaze prayed that—if Papa’s ship never returned—she could just find a man willing to support her and Maman and the children. It would be enough.

Supper was a rollicking meal. They dined by the light of a smoking rush candle, crowding around the long trestle table. There wasn’t room enough on the three small benches for all the children; Topaze sat with the two youngest on her lap. She was glad that no one noticed she abstained from the fish. She hadn’t really wanted to tell another lie about
that
. Even Maman managed to come to the table and sit with them for a few minutes, while Topaze spun extravagant and amusing tales.

To the accompaniment of much laughter from the children, she mocked herself and the fish smell of her clothes. It was too cold to take off her garments for airing, of course; as for washing them, that was out of the question, even if they’d been able to spare the soap. It didn’t matter to Topaze. The little ones were fed and happy, and Maman was beginning to look better.

They saved out some of the bread for breakfast. Spread with the bacon fat, it would fortify them against another cold day. Then—at Madame Givet’s direction—they knelt and said their prayers, put out the rushlight, and lay down on a straw-covered corner of the floor. The three youngest children crowded onto the pallet with Madame Givet; Topaze and the rest curled up together, arms and legs entwined, and bade one another good night.

In the dark Topaze stroked Anne-Marie’s soft hair, kissed Matthieu on the forehead. Even huddled as they were, and covered by a few thin burlap sacks, she could still feel the cold that seeped in through the edges of the single window.
Dear Virgin Mother
, she thought,
how long can the little ones endure?
Papa’s ship was five months overdue; in that time, they’d had to leave their nice cottage, sell off their furniture and clothing bit by bit. It had become a struggle to survive. Every day she risked being caught, sent to prison for thievery. And still the children were cold and hungry.

She thought of Philibert the baker. Perhaps he could be persuaded to be generous. She didn’t really want to marry him, but if she must… She sighed in the darkness. She’d wait another week or so. If there was still no news of Papa’s ship, she’d accept Philibert. For the sake of the little ones.

Chapter Two

“Topaze
,
there was a man asking for you this morning.”

Topaze turned in surprise, then nodded at
the stooped old man who stood in the doorway of a little shop. “Good morning, Monsieur Parmentier. Asking for me?”

Monsieur Parmentier was a cobbler; his shop was on a side street, just a few steps from the thronging square that fronted the Church of Sainte-Croix. He stepped back from the open doorway, waving his hand in the direction of a small brazier within. “Come inside,
ma petite
. Warm yourself for a few minutes. Your face is red from the cold.”

Topaze accepted his invitation with alacrity. In truth, her face was red from the scrubbing she’d given it, hoping to rid her skin of the smell of fish. She’d had to crack a film of ice from the bucket of water this morning, it was so cold. And still the smell persisted. In her hair, in her clothes. She held her hands to the warming coals. “Who was he? The man who asked for me?” News about Papa? Oh, let it be so!