Enchantée(21)

“Oh, that’s too bad,” the girl said, but she didn’t sound at all sorry.

Ignoring her, Camille reached across Alain’s back and into his other pocket. This one felt even emptier than the first. She shoved her fingertips into the lining, checking for any coins caught in the seams.

“Nothing there?” The girl strutted closer. “You’re lucky to have found what you did.”

Camille shook Alain again. She wanted to kick him.

“Dieu, he’s too far gone to wake up. Besides, he’s got nothing. Spent it all, foolish boy.”

“If that were true—”

“Don’t believe me? Ask around.” As if she were a magician herself, the girl gestured in the air and a second girl, just as pale and insubstantial, slipped into the room. She wore a raspberry-pink wig, tall and frizzed. On her powdered face, one of the circles of rouge was smudged. “Tell her, Claudette.”

Claudette smiled. Pockets of darkness showed where teeth once had been. “My friend Sandrine is right, mademoiselle,” she lisped. “That one there’s got a rich friend, and now, poor thing, he’s in that man’s debt. Whatever he makes—and it isn’t much, for he’s not the best at games, is he?—it goes to him. The other one.”

Camille looked from one girl to the other. “Who is he? This other one?”

“You think I would tell you, even if I knew his name?” The ostrich plume in Sandrine’s hair wobbled as she shook her head. “Not worth it to me. He’s not kind.”

“I’m not afraid of him. He’s young, handsome,” Claudette said, eagerly. “Wears a ring with a stone in it. Blue, maybe green? Filthy rich, of course.”

“Where might I find him?” Perhaps if Camille told this rich man what Alain had done, he might help.

Claudette gave Sandrine a knowing nod. “Who knows? Perhaps he’ll come by.”

“And in the meantime,” Claudette said, “I’ll give you a chance to get your dresses back.” Watching for Camille’s reaction, Claudette swept up the scattered cards and deftly squared the deck.

“Those dresses don’t belong to you. Why should I play to have them back?” The money clenched in Camille’s fist wouldn’t pay for one of the dresses, let alone two.

“That’s a no, then?” Sandrine asked.

“I’ll play, too, m’selle,” said Claudette, pulling out a purse and shaking it so the coins clinked together. “Sweeten the pot a little.” She flounced onto one of the chairs and propped her elbows on the table. “Come on! Now or never.”

The coins Camille had would buy a little food. But they would not come close to paying the rent. And the rent was overdue. Alain had stolen their last good dresses and gambled them away as if they were nothing. He’d hit her. And whatever he’d gotten for them—he’d thrown that away, too. Worse, he was in debt to someone these girls were loath to tell her about.

Claudette emptied the contents of her purse onto the table. Four gold louis gleamed among the silver livres and sous. Sandrine flashed her pocked smile. “See?”

Camille wiped her sweaty palms on her skirt. She was certain that if she sat down at the table, she’d see the cards were marked. Foxed, or creased. A flame of anger sparked as Camille watched Sandrine shuffle the cards. As if she didn’t know that someone with two good dresses doesn’t wager them for a handful of coins unless they were going to cheat! She saw the knowing glances the girls cast between themselves, the smiles that crimped the edges of their mouths. They were relishing what an easy mark she would be: That idiot’s sister—coming in here and demanding the dresses, as if they were hers. As if she had a right to them. We’ll take what she’s got just for the fun of it.

Camille couldn’t wait to make them regret it.





13


“Take off the dresses and lay them here.” Camille pointed to a chair at the next table.

“Fine.” Sandrine shimmied them off, one after another, and sat back down, wearing only her chemise and stays. “You going to play standing up?”

“What game?”

“Vingt-et-un.”

It took until the third round before Camille caught Claudette. A small pile of coins, including the gold louis, had grown in the middle. But neither Claudette nor Sandrine had lost a single hand; even more suspicious, their cards consistently beat hers. In front of Claudette lay an eight and a seven. Fifteen.

“Another card?” Camille asked.

“Think about it carefully,” Sandrine said.

As Camille pretended to consider the dresses, Sandrine pulled a card—a ten—from her sleeve to switch it for one of the cards in her hand. Quick as thought, Camille grabbed the girl’s wrist.

“Tired of your cards already?” Camille snapped.

“This?” Claudette simpered. “I must have dropped it.”

Caught red-handed and yet she’d deny it? “How dare you—”

Sandrine’s eyes glinted. “Play our way or don’t play at all, mademoiselle. We at the Palais-Royal have our own rules, n’est-ce pas, Claudette?”

Camille gritted her teeth. What else had she expected? It wasn’t as if she could call on some authority to help her.

“If you say so.” Releasing Claudette’s wrist, Camille tossed her last ten livres on the pile. Her determination dipped when the coins settled, but she pressed on. “A side bet, then. I’ll keep playing, but if I catch you again, all this is mine.”