Suddenly, the two friends were thrown back against the walls of the room. Miette’s thin arms, having turned as stiff as steel, had swollen beneath their fingers, and they had felt an incredible force push them away.
‘He’s resisting,’ screamed Raccard, ‘he’s resisting!’
Nicolas had lived through many dramas and seen many horrible sights in his time, but the scene that followed would lodge itself in his memory and would stay with him until the day he died. Père Raccard was breathing as heavily as a woodcutter trying to fell a great tree, as he mustered all his strength to overcome and chase away the demon possessing Miette. It seemed as though the muscles and tendons were multiplying over the servant’s body, hardening it to an extraordinary extent. The priest’s face was scarlet, sweat was pouring into his eyes, and the veins on his forehead and temples were swollen and bluish, ready, it seemed, to burst. And all through this combat, the thing poured out, in a grating voice, a stream of obscenities which left Raccard impassive, but which horrified Nicolas and Semacgus. Now the priest was shouting to drown out the voice of the demon.
‘Whoever you are, proud and cursed creature, who, despite the invocation of the Divine Name, continue your vexations against this child and spew forth filth, do not think you are safe from the wrath of the Almighty, for fire, hail, snow, ice and the spirit of the storms will be your portion!’
Miette was breathing heavily now, like an animal at bay. Père Raccard redoubled his efforts. He held out the crucifix. As the sacred object came close to her face, the girl sank into the bed, whistling and spitting like a cat and giving off a foul smell.
‘I exorcise you, vile spirit! Leave the body of this creature of God! It is not I, a sinner, who commands you, but the immaculate lamb. The archangels and the angels, the apostles, the martyrs, the confessors and the virgins are coming to vanquish you. Your diabolical forces are collapsing. Restore to your victim the strength of her limbs and the unity of her senses. Do not appear to her either when she is awake or when she is asleep, and do not trouble her in her search for everlasting life. Cursed Satan, accept your sentence. I cast you out and uproot you from the body of this servant. God Almighty, through your mercy, may this tormented body be entirely delivered from the devil’s wiles. Through Jesus Christ Our Lord, who will judge the living and the dead and the century with fire. Amen.’
Exhausted, Père Raccard fell back against the wall. The others felt a strange sensation, as though a hot, fetid breath were passing by them. The pane in the little window shattered, and silence fell once more on the room. Miette lay there calmly, apparently freed from the oppression that had held her in its grip for days. The excreta with which she had been covered at the height of her attack disappeared, as if they had evaporated. Nicolas noticed that Naganda’s drum had ceased its obsessive rhythm. Miette began to move suddenly, with her eyes closed. She rose stiffly and, without looking at the three men, opened the door, went out on the landing and descended the stairs. Nicolas seized a candle and rushed after her, motioning to the others to come with him but putting a finger to his lips to indicate that they should observe complete silence. He wanted to avoid disturbing what seemed to be an attack of somnambulism, doubtless a result of the possession or of whatever had taken its place.
They did not encounter any members of the family, who were all still shut away in their rooms. On reaching the ground floor, the maid entered the servants’ pantry and opened a half-arched, latticed wooden door leading to a steep staircase. At the bottom, they found themselves in a rather large cellar, filled with bundles of hessian, which, to judge from the animal smell that pervaded the room, probably contained the hides used in the Galaines’ business. Miette stopped in front of one of the bundles, fell to her knees and began weeping and putting her hands together as if in prayer, then suddenly collapsed lifeless on the floor. The priest and Semacgus ran to help her. Nicolas pushed aside the bundle: beneath it, the beaten earth showed signs of having been recently disturbed, as if a hole had been dug and then smoothed over. He looked for a tool, but found only his pocket knife. He scratched at the earth, which was still quite loose at this spot, and dug up a few bushels of it with his hands. Soon, his fingers touched a piece of cloth. The smell of decomposition rose to his nostrils, overcoming the acrid odour of the hides. Carefully, he continued working away at the earth and at last brought out a small, light, oblong mass wrapped in cloth: the already rotting body of a baby in its swaddling clothes.
Miette had regained consciousness, but, according to Semacgus, she had lost her mind. She was unable to speak, let alone answer any questions. It was necessary to decide what to do next, and Nicolas was never more at his ease than at these moments when a semblance of order had to be re-established in a disturbed universe. First, Père Raccard would take Miette back up to her room, as there was nothing that could be done for her at the moment. The exorcism had succeeded, but now the sick girl had to be allowed to rest: only the Lord’s tender mercies could help her now. Perhaps her reason would return. Semacgus would examine the corpse of the child, then it would be taken to the Basse-Geôle, where Sanson would perform an autopsy. They were the only ones aware of this discovery. Two suspicious deaths in one house were too much: the whole household had to be arrested and placed in solitary confinement in the Châtelet prison, all separated from each other. Only the cook and Geneviève, the little girl, would be allowed to stay in the house. Dorsacq, the shop assistant, would be arrested as soon as day broke.
Suddenly, through the basement window that looked out on Rue Saint-Honoré, Nicolas heard a voice calling him and recognised Bourdeau. The inspector had the precious and almost magical quality of always appearing at the very moment when his presence was most needed. Nicolas went back upstairs and ran to greet him. Bourdeau seemed to be in a hurry to tell him various pieces of news, but Nicolas interrupted him and briefly brought him up to date with the extraordinary events that had taken place in the house. Bourdeau screwed up his eyes mockingly, which somewhat irritated Nicolas. There was no time to lose, and he quickly ordered him to call the watch, to establish a cordon around the house, and to fetch carriages to take the Galaines to the Châtelet. Dorsacq had to be seized as soon as he got out of bed, and taken to join the others immediately. Everything else could wait until later. And anyone who had not seen what he had seen, added Nicolas, would do well not to mock. Nor did he want anyone to come and tell him, all shamefaced, that on top of everything else, one or other of the suspects had committed suicide. They all had to be watched closely. Bourdeau, laughing up his sleeve, remarked with an ingratiating air that some deputies were increasingly adopting the tone of their chief, and that Commissioner Le Floch was starting to Sartinise with the greatest ease and pleasure. That had the effect of lightening the mood, and Nicolas was unable to suppress a nervous giggle – much to the alarm of Semacgus, who at that moment walked up to them carrying the little corpse in his arms.
Bourdeau left to carry out his orders. The body of the baby had been entrusted to him for transfer to the Basse-Geôle. Nicolas again thought of Naganda, and felt a gnawing sense of foreboding. Why had the drumming stopped? An inner voice told him not to worry, that it had ceased simply because the ritual which the Indian was performing had come to an end. But he wanted to set his mind at rest, and he gestured to Semacgus to follow him. They went back upstairs to the attic. The key was still in the lock. Nicolas opened the door and lifted the candle he was carrying. Naganda’s inanimate body lay on the floor, a knife in his back. Semacgus rushed to him, knelt and felt his pulse. He looked up, smiling.
‘He’s still alive! He’s breathing. Let’s get him out of here. The weapon doesn’t seem to have touched any vital organ. It’s been inserted quite clumsily, at an angle. The only danger might be if the tip has punctured the left lung. The resulting loss of blood might lead to asphyxia. Will you help me, Nicolas?’
They lifted the Indian’s large body and laid it on the palliasse. Semacgus was transformed. He took off his coat a
nd waistcoat. ‘Find me a piece of cloth, and some wine or vinegar.’
Nicolas went back downstairs to his room and came back immediately, holding one of the small phials of Carmelite water with which Père Grégoire supplied him with touching regularity. Semacgus washed his hands.
‘We’ll never know exactly how many of our soldiers and sailors have died from being touched by dirty hands. No one can explain it, but there it is.’
The important thing was to remove the weapon without aggravating any possible lesions, and without provoking a haemorrhage that would flood the victim’s lung. By the light of the candle, the operation was performed without difficulty, made easier by the fact that Naganda was unconscious. The blade had gone through a muscle, then hit a rib. One of Nicholas’s clean shirts was torn to make a reasonable temporary bandage. The wound had stopped bleeding. Cradling him in their arms, they turned him over. He was starting to come to his senses. Semacgus poured a few drops of Carmelite water on his lips. He grimaced and woke completely.
‘I …’ he said, stifling a cry. ‘What happened?’
‘We should be asking you that,’ said Nicolas.
‘I remember feeling a strong pain in my back, and then everything went black.’
‘Someone planted a knife between your shoulder blades. You must have been in the middle of one of your strange ceremonies. I heard you stop drumming, which I thought was odd. It was like an intuition …’
‘It was written that you would be the hand of destiny, and that you would save my life. The sacred frog predicted it. I am sure that, although you not aware of it, you are the son of stone.’
‘Here is your saviour. Dr Semacgus.’
‘I think, Nicolas,’ said the party concerned, ‘that you are underestimating your ability to foresee events. If we hadn’t intervened, Monsieur here would have died. And the son of stone fits you like a glove.’
‘In what way?’
‘Didn’t you tell me that Canon Le Floch, your guardian and adoptive father, found you on the tombstone of the lords of Carne, in the collegiate church of Guérande? That’s one mystery neatly solved. We really are living through some inexplicable events. And, what’s worse, we’re getting used to it!’
‘Naganda, do you suspect anyone in particular?’ asked Nicolas.
‘I’ve never met with anything but hostility and threats in this house,’ the Indian replied.
‘Don’t you have anything to add to what you’ve already told me?’
‘No, nothing.’
‘It’s vital that you tell me everything. If you remember any significant facts, don’t hesitate to send for me. By the way, do you still claim that for nearly a day you were drugged and asleep?’
‘Indeed I do.’
‘Very well. I’m sorry to have to tell you – and this has no connection with our conversation – that the occupants of this house are to be placed in solitary confinement in a State prison.’
Semacgus pointed to the wound and shook his head.
‘Taking your wound into account,’ Nicolas went on, ‘you will be taken to the Hôtel-Dieu hospital to receive the care you require. Very soon, the truth will out. Do you have a shovel?’
Naganda looked him in the eyes. ‘I don’t have one, but you’ll find one in the lean-to in the courtyard, along with the garden tools and a wheelbarrow used for transporting the bundles of hides when they arrive.’
Nicolas left the Indian in Semacgus’s care, and went back downstairs to the shop to think and to wait for Bourdeau, the men of the watch, the police officers and the carriages. It was his first chance to take stock of the night’s events. He had not yet recovered from the shock of what he had seen and, the more he thought about it, the more insane it seemed. He no longer knew what to make of the physical manifestation of Miette’s possession. As the heat of the attack faded, reason came back to him, and with it logic and a degree of scepticism. He had definitely not been dreaming, and nor had his companions, but he had to get back on to firm ground, to a world of facts, evidence and normal life.
The fact remained that Miette’s attack, whatever its cause, had led his investigation in a new direction by revealing what certainly appeared to be an infanticide. It was quite likely that the attacks had their origin in the uneasy conscience of a young girl in a difficult situation, who may have been an accomplice in the murder of a baby. It was certainly an explanation, and Nicolas was quite prepared to believe that complicity in such a barbaric act could lead to a decay of the soul and that the strange manifestations were its consequence. Of course, it still had to be established that the baby was the victim of foul play. Only the opening of the corpse could tell them that. But what seemed certain was that Élodie, a girl of easy virtue, surrounded by many suitors, had reaped the fruit of her wandering ways. Had she decided on the crime herself, or had it been committed without her knowledge? Who could have been the instigators and the accomplices?
Tuesday 5 June 1770
Nicolas had dozed off in an armchair in the shop, and was woken an hour later by Bourdeau knocking at the window. The house immediately came to life. Two stretchers were brought, one for Naganda and the other for Miette: Nicolas did not want to leave her behind, and still hoped that she would recover her senses and be able to give testimony. For that to happen, they would have to keep a close watch on her and make sure she had no contact with anyone except the police. The members of the Galaine family, who had all gone to earth in their lairs, were gathered together. A police officer soon arrived with Dorsacq, hastily dressed and with his hair dishevelled. Nicolas gave a little speech without mentioning either the results of the exorcism or the macabre discovery in the cellar. At this stage of his inquiries, he told them, he considered it vital to their discovery of the truth that they should be separated from one another and placed in solitary confinement in a prison until his investigations were complete. Those who were innocent of any wrongdoing had simply to accept a measure designed to bring the case to a speedy conclusion. As for the others … Since her husband seemed unable to say anything, Madame Galaine made herself the family’s advocate. This was a denial of justice, she cried. The commissioner, whose bias was clear to everyone involved in the case, was acting in a heavy-handed and arbitrary manner. The magistrates would be on their side, she said, and she urged her family not to give in and to resist being removed from their house. But the police, it was pointed out to her, had the power to do what they liked with them: what she called arbitrariness was simply the will of the King, acting through his commissioner, therefore any argument would amount to sedition.
Their departure took place amid noisy protests. A long file of cabs, along with two police wagons carrying the sick and injured, set off for the Châtelet and the Hôtel-Dieu respectively. Before he, too, left Rue Saint-Honoré, Nicolas went to have a quick word with the cook to ask her to look after Geneviève. She assured him that she was perfectly capable of doing so: after all, she had already brought up the girl’s father and aunts. But she was afraid of staying in a house where the devil had been causing mischief for the past few days. Nicolas, however, managed to convince her that all danger was past, and that one of his men would be on duty close by to deal with any eventuality. She was so anxious to give vent to her feelings and to delay Nicolas’s departure that he let her ramble on about the past without even dreaming of interrupting her. These reminiscences eventually included a few anecdotes about the early lives of Camille and Charlotte. In their youth, she informed him, there had been a serious conflict between them. They had been rivals in love, and their quarrel had been so fierce that they had ended up frightening off their mutual suitor.
Nicolas then went upstairs to see Geneviève, who was not asleep but sitting up in bed, clasping a rag doll to her breast, tears streaming down her face. He tried to console her, explaining the situation in simple words, without going into details. He tucked her in and she fell asleep almost immediately. Cyrus, who had followed the commissioner, was playing languidly with a screw
ed-up piece of paper, chewing on it with his aged teeth. Intrigued, Nicolas took it out of the dog’s mouth, unfolded it and moved it closer to the candle. To his surprise, and a kind of glee, he recognised the handwriting: it was that of Élodie’s father, Claude Galaine, who had died in New France. These were his last wishes, written on a small parchment, then folded and refolded. They clearly stated that his entire fortune, listed at the bottom of the document and consisting of a considerable number of investments and properties, was to go to his only child, Élodie. However, she would only have use of it until such time as she gave birth to a male child, who would then become the heir. If she were to die childless, the inheritance would revert to the first male child of Charles Galaine. This opened up some interesting lines of inquiry. The essential thing for the moment was to find out who had possessed this document, and who else knew of it. Nicolas searched among the little girl’s toys and found a necklace of black pearls identical to the pearl found in Élodie’s hand. There could be no doubt about it: the pearls had come from the necklace that had been stolen from Naganda. Geneviève, delighted with these pearls, must have rethreaded them to form a new necklace.
Nicolas was truly sorry to have to wake the little girl. She made a sullen face and stretched. When he questioned her, she first said nothing, then started crying. Yes, she had found the piece of paper and the pearls in her aunts’ work-box. The box contained a mahogany darning egg, which she loved because it was hollow and you could unscrew it. Usually, her aunts put pins and needles in it. The last time she had opened it, she had found a much-folded piece of paper and some black pearls. Nicolas asked her when this had been. In the last day or two – the girl was no longer very sure. Nicolas was intrigued by one thing: when he had searched the sisters’ room, he had not found the box. After digging a little deeper, he learnt that it was not always kept in the bedroom, but was moved about from room to room, wherever Charlotte and Camille happened to be sewing. He calmed the child down, and did not leave her until she was asleep.
The Phantom of Rue Royale Page 22