The Orphan's Tale

by Anne Shaughnessy

  On the other hand, Malet thought with an ominous smile, Dracquet had never had to come up against him before! He had been praying for a chance to cross swords with the man, and it looked as though the chance had come at last.

  Malet's faults did not extend to underestimating himself. As Cheat‑Death's chosen successor, he had mastered all the tools in the criminals' arsenal, and he was more adept at their use than the criminals were.

  He smiled and closed the notebook. Well. He had begun to spin his webs, and he would be watching them carefully. He bestowed the notebook in the breast pocket of his jacket and shuffled through the papers on his desk. Saint‑Légère's reports, tied with string, were at the top. He would take them to that inn in Montmartre and review them that night.

  He smiled as he set them to one side. It would be pleasant to see Mme. de Clichy again. Inspector L'Eveque, her cousin, had always been fond of her, and had often spoken of taking Malet to meet her. Malet had managed to sidestep Christien's machinations. It was interesting that this case had made him cross her path.

  She appeared to be an intelligent, charming and capable lady, and he had enjoyed talking with her. He would take care to remove his sword before going into the inn, though, since he did not want to upset the blonde lady who was a co‑owner. What was her name? Mlle. Franchotte, that was it. Possibly she had been assaulted at one point by an armed man. Malet would not frighten her.

  But that would be in the evening. He had the more routine concerns of the Prefecture at the moment.

  He lifted the first document. It was the weekly report on the status of prostitution in the city, a matter of considerable exasperation and tedium to him. He sighed and began to read.

  XIV

  THE GUEST

  All the scattered shoes and piles of newspapers were cleared out of Charles de Saint‑Légère's rooms within two hours. The papers were consigned to the kindling pile in the kitchen while the shoes were bundled into Charles' wardrobe. The wardrobe was manhandled into the small storage room by Claude Kerouac, who had been coachman for the de Clichys when Elise's father was alive, and his nephew, Alcide. The chambermaids then descended on the room under Elise's direction and cleaned it from top to bottom.

  The mattress was turned and aired, the linens and curtains were stripped and replaced by clean, freshly ironed ones, and the carpet was taken outside and beaten clean of dust. The wooden floor was scrubbed, the furniture was waxed until it glowed, and Yvette placed a vase of her best roses on the table in the sitting room.

  Inspector Malet sent two valises and some trunks over to the Rose d'Or later that afternoon. He arrived that evening just at supper time and signed in under the name 'Paul de Colbert'. Elise noticed that he wasn't wearing his sword.

  He greeted Elise and Yvette, and then followed Alcide to his rooms. Alcide reported that he looked around the rooms, missing none of the changes that had been made, paused to sniff Yvette's roses, and then thanked him in a really pleasant way.

  He declined a supper in his private parlor, and instead went downstairs shortly afterward to the common room with a pile of papers and pen and ink. He ate a surprisingly light meal of bread and cold meat and drank a small glass of wine.

  The crowd began to swell around nine o'clock, and Elise called in two of the younger maidservants to wait tables. Malet moved his seat farther into the corner, away from the customers. He did not appear to have any trouble working in the noise and bustle.

  Elise, who had found herself liking him from the start, brought over another glass of wine, and sat down to chat with him. Word had gotten out that a new Police officer was posted to the Rose d'Or, and Elise caught several speculative glances from their regular customers directed toward Malet.

  Malet intercepted one of those stares, returned it with slightly lifted eyebrows, and then turned back to Elise.

  "Pay them no mind, M. l'Inspecteur," Elise said with a smile. "They have heard that you are replacing M. de Saint‑Légère, who was very well‑liked. They're wondering what sort of man you are."

  "They'll find out soon enough."

  As it happened, they found out that very evening.

  A customer, new to the inn, tried to force his attentions on one of the maidservants, a pretty little redhead named Marie. He tried to steal a kiss, and, failing that, had seized her and tried to take matters further by force. The girl, frightened, was reduced to tears.

  Malet had stepped in at that moment. He identified himself as an officer of the Police and called the customer to order. When the man tried to fight, he easily bested him and then ordered that Marie be brought over.

  "This man assaulted you, I believe?" he asked.

  "Y‑yes, M'sieur," she said.

  "So. Did you put your hands on her, my good man?"

  "That's right! She enjoyed it! Do you have anything to say about it?"

  "That remains to be seen," Malet said. His eyes rested meditatively on the man's face for a moment, then flicked to Marie. "He claims you enjoyed it: did you?"

  Marie, still a little shaken, mutely shook her head.

  Malet looked back at the man. "She doesn't appear to agree with you," he said. "I find myself wondering how you would like it if your situations were reversed." His expression grew remote. "In fact, when woman-molesters and rapists are sent to prison, they often end up experiencing firsthand what their victims suffered, only tenfold, at the hands of the other prisoners. Not pretty for them." He looked over at Marie. "I saw what happened," he said. His voice was gentle. "If you wish to make a complaint, I will be happy to write it up for you."

  The silence grew long. Elise touched Marie on the shoulder. "Marie," she said.

  Marie drew a long breath. "N-no," she said. "Thank you, M. de Colbert. I don't want to-to think of it."

  Malet inclined his head and then looked at Elise with lifted eyebrows.

  "I must ask you to leave, Monsieur," she said with dignity to the man. "I do not wish to see you here again."

  The man looked from her to Malet, his face growing red.

  "You heard the lady. Leave at once." He watched the man leave, and then looked at Marie. "Will you be all right?" he asked.

  She had regained her composure enough to hurry to the bar and pour a glass of very good cognac, which she gave to Malet with a flash of a glance at Elise.

  ** ** **

  The staff at the inn decided that they liked him after his championing of Marie, and he fit in well with them. The next few days were peaceful, although they were interrupted by inquiries by some of Constant Dracquet's lower‑ranking people regarding the presence of another Police officer at the inn. Elise answered their queries civilly and relayed them to Malet, who nodded in an unsurprised way, but made no comment.

  Malet was always one of the first ones up. Elise had been astonished to find him sitting in the kitchen the first morning, impeccably groomed and dressed, quietly reading the past day's Globe and pouring a cup of coffee from a pot that he had brewed himself. Judging from the plate before him and three broken eggshells on the table, he had also cooked his own breakfast.

  She had apologized for her lateness, but he had merely smiled, consulted a beautiful pocket‑watch, and told her that he hardly expected anyone to be up before five o'clock, and he was accustomed to preparing his own breakfast. He apologized in turn for his own earliness and told her that he had arisen before his usual time because he had been wakeful the night before.

  Elise had shaken her head. "Very well, Inspector," she had said. "This time you may make your own breakfast: but do me the honor, in future, of allowing me to prepare it for you!"

  He had inclined his head and returned his attention to the Globe.

  "And next time, wait for your hot shaving‑water!" Elise had added.

  Malet had chuckled. "Don't trouble yourself, Mme. de Clichy," he had said. "The cold water is fine."

  "I insist!" said Elise, determined to be up before him if it killed her.

  It became apparent that he ha
d resolved to allow her to arise before him, for she never heard him stir until she had descended the stairs, after which time she could hear him moving about. It was a piece of consideration that touched and amused her more than anything else could have, and she always greeted him warmly when he came downstairs for breakfast.

  His defense of Marie had served to disarm Yvette completely. She was still shy of him, but he no longer made her nervous, and she treated him, to Elise's amusement, much like one of the inn's favored guests, bestowing smiles and silence with equal generosity.

  Malet reviewed most of Charles de Saint‑Légère's reports during that time, and he grew to admire the man's character and ability. He had reread Charles' outline of the bribery attempts, filled in with information obtained unobtrusively from the inn employees, and conferred with four other men from the Police whom he had hand‑picked for their sterling records and their ability to handle extremely sensitive matters. They had been given their instructions concerning Dracquet. As for Malet, his inkling was that the plot was of international importance. He paid special attention to news from London and Spain. It was a busy time, but full of thought. It only remained to sit back and wait.

  And enjoy his time at the Rose d'Or...

  ** ** **

  Two evenings after his arrival at the Rose d'Or, at suppertime, Malet was sitting in the common room and reading a closely written, stamped report that had just been delivered to him at the inn. He had been too engrossed in it to notice when Elise brought his supper, a roast pheasant from Alcide's father's farm, over to him, and set it before him along with a glass of her English ale, which he had not yet tried.

  "M. l'Inspecteur," Elise said for the third time.

  Malet started and looked up at her, and then saw Alcide with the tray containing his supper. He colored faintly and apologized for being preoccupied.

  Elise chuckled and said, "Not at all. You're always the soul of courtesy, M'sieur. It must be quite important. If you wish, I can have this taken back and kept warm until you're ready for it."

  The report was an outline of Dracquet's known activities within the past twelve months. Malet set it aside and rose. "I wouldn't dream of being so rude," he said with a nod to Alcide. "I have read enough, and I find that I am famished: this smells delicious! But have you dined yet, Mme. de Clichy?" he asked, eyeing the pheasant after Alcide had left.

  Elise hid a smile. This part of their conversation had followed the same lines since his first evening at the inn three days before. Now it was becoming a ceremony between them, and she had discovered that she enjoyed being with him. "Not yet," she said.

  "Then would you honor me with your company at supper?" he asked. "There's plenty here for two, as you can see, and I'd be delighted to share it with you."

  "Thank you, M'sieur," she said. "I believe I shall." She sat in the chair that he had drawn aside for her, and busied herself with arranging her skirts while he carved the pheasant.

  He nodded toward his glass. "And what is this?" he asked.

  She smoothed the napkin over her lap. "My English ale, M'sieur," she replied. "You haven't tried it yet. I am known for it, and my customers generally like it: I thought you might, as well."

  He set a choice portion of breast meat on her plate and selected a drumstick for her as well. "English ale?" he said, his eyes widening a little. "I see..." He gave it an odd look and added, "I fought the English in Spain: are you sure it won't poison me?"

  Elise smothered a chuckle and said severely, "It's good for you: try it."

  She watched him take a sip, reflecting happily on the fact that she had come to like him so well in such a short time. They could converse comfortably on any subject, and she had come to recognize his subtle flashes of humor. He treated her not simply as a lady, but also as an intellectual equal, capable of clear thought, or as one whose opinions had value to him, and whom he felt able to needle slightly.

  "It'll probably poison me," he mused at last. "At least it will be a pleasant death."

  Elise reached for the glass. "I don't want you to die!" she said. "I will take it away at once."

  "No, no," he said as he whisked the glass beyond her reach. "Suffering's good for the soul: this is a very satisfactory mortification. I wish all pain could be like this."

  "Well!" she said, raising a forkful of pheasant to her lips. She firmly suppressed a smile.

  Malet looked suddenly contrite. "I was only joking," he said.

  "I know."

  "Then may I please have some more?" he asked.

  XV

  THE SOJOURNER IN A STRANGE LAND

  Inspector Malet seemed exhausted and withdrawn the next evening when Elise brought his supper over to him, though he observed their little ceremony regarding supper and, as usual, gave her the choicest bits. The meal was a simple dish of escalloped veal in pastry with potatoes and onions, something at once elegant and simple, but he did not seem to be hungry. He picked at it while she relayed a query from one of Dracquet's men regarding what hour might find their Police officer at the inn.

  Malet said, "Tell him my hours are very irregular, and then don't elaborate, if you please."

  Elise chuckled. "Those are almost my exact words," she said.

  He nodded and turned his attention back to his supper while she sat there talking of this and that and trying to make him smile.

  He requested a second glass of ale and drank it quietly, then cut through her chatter with an incisive question on the political situation in Paris at the moment that made her pause and then answer.

  "Tell me, M. l'Inspecteur," she said after giving her reply, "Why do you credit me with the wit to answer a difficult question like that?"

  He cut off a piece of veal with the edge of his fork and then, having speared it, paused and looked up at her. "Do you think you don't have the wit to answer it?" he asked with a slightly quizzical lift of his eyebrows.

  "Oh no," she said. "I don't mean that at all. It's unusual to find a man, especially - forgive me - one of your age and rank, willing to credit any woman with sense enough to run her own life, much less think intelligently. You puzzle me."

  He frowned and raised the fork to his mouth. After chewing and then taking a swallow of ale, he said, "But why? Surely all men aren't such idiots as that!"

  "You'd be surprised," she said.

  "Maybe I would," he admitted with a sigh. He frowned down at his plate. "I seem fated to be surprised by people."

  "We all are. People are never predictable. It's foolish to expect them to be."

  "No," agreed Malet. "That's quite true." He frowned thoughtfully into space and lifted his glass of ale. "But I don't know enough about people," he said with a touch of sadness coloring his voice. "I don't understand them. I can deal with criminals. I have been successful at it, but then it's the way I was raised. I know all about them!

  "But the others, the decent, helpless folk: they elude me. They always have. I wonder if it's too late to learn. I wonder sometimes if I should even try..." He sounded very wistful and even a little forlorn.

  Elise did not move, and she hardly breathed.

  Malet was still frowning, and his voice had become very quiet. "Sometimes I feel as though I am walking among a foreign people," he said. "As though, while I know their language and their customs, I am not really one of them."

  Elise's smile faded. She knew that he was telling her something he had never before admitted to anyone. The thought filled her with sudden warmth, for she had come to care for him very much. She felt like one who has coaxed a shy, half‑wild creature to eat from her hand. She schooled her face to calmness and looked down at the table. "Why do you think that?" she asked.

  Looking up, she saw that he had suddenly realized what he had just said. He looked for a moment like a fencer who has discovered that his guard is disastrously lowered. He pushed his supper aside. His eyes were shuttered when he looked up at her, his expression carefully neutral.

  "Why?" she repeated gently, touched
and worried by his obvious distress. "Why do you feel that way?"

  He took up the papers lying on the corner of his table and shuffled them. His cheeks had more color than usual.

  "It doesn't matter," he said at last with a fairly convincing show of indifference, except for the catch in his voice. "It was a foolish thing to say. I beg your pardon for wasting your time."

  "Why, if it's how you truly feel?" she asked. "I can understand."

  "Some truth is best not spoken," he said. "It can annoy - "

  "But I promise you didn't annoy me," she said.

  When he would not look up, she decided to let the subject drop. She motioned to Marie, who took his plate and cup. "Bring Monsieur some more ale, child," she said, and then, turning to Malet as Marie moved away, "And, M'sieur, I apologize for troubling you with my questions. You're obviously tired from a long day, and you spoke at random. I assure you, it is forgotten."

  "I am a bastard, Mme. de Clichy," he said flatly, not looking at her. His voice was subtly altered, as though he were forcing the words out, afraid of her reaction. "My mother was an opera dancer. They tell me she was beautiful. My father was a‑a nobleman who liked to collect beautiful things. De Colbert was his name. He saw my mother and wanted her. He - promised to marry her, and she, loving him, trusted him. I was conceived, and then she discovered that he was already married, with a family in Normandy. She killed him, was sentenced to die, and bore me in prison. She was executed immediately after. She was twenty‑one."

  When Elise did not comment, he continued in a lower voice, "My father's family - the de Colberts - didn't want a murderess' bastard brat. They said so in a letter. I was raised in the prison."

  If Malet had looked up, he might have been surprised by Elise's expression, but he kept his eyes lowered. His voice was carefully expressionless. "It was an unsurpassed education for a Police officer," he said with an attempt at a smile. "You learn so many things in those places: you learn all about crime, filth and the ways to kill or - or cause pain - If you listen to the lies, you start to think that you can only rely on yourself. You learn everything but how to become a friend, and how to be an ordinary mortal, no matter how desperately you want it. If you're wise, you stop wanting it after a while."