The Orphan's Tale

by Anne Shaughnessy

  Malet ignored the man. He drew rein, checked his watch and then looked around. A confectioner's shop was just before the arch. He took out his snuffbox, opened it, surveyed the candies inside, and then smiled wryly and dismounted.

  "Hold your horse for a sou, Gov'nor!" cried the beggar who had first seen him, a seedy fellow of middling height with a crooked smile.

  Malet surveyed the man from head to foot, his nostrils wrinkling fastidiously, before he handed the reins over. "See you take care of him," he said, "Or I will have your hide for a doormat."

  "Coo‑ee, Gov'nor!" said the man, whose grin was more pronounced. "Keep your pants on! I will guard 'im with my life!"

  Malet favored the man with a frosty nod and went inside, pausing at the door when the man said, "My sou!"

  "You'll get it when I come out," he snapped.

  He bought a handful of toffee candies, paid the shopkeeper, and went outside again to find the beggar holding his horse with every appearance of innocence, except for the knowing smirks of the others.

  "All square?" he said.

  "All square, Cap'n!" the man said, handing the reins back and slapping Lutin on the shoulder.

  "Then stand aside," Malet said. He flipped the man a coin, mounted Lutin, and rode east again along the Boulevard Saint‑Martin past the smaller, darker twin of the Porte Saint‑Denis, the Porte Saint‑Martin.

  When he was well along, he reined the horse to a walk and turned to open the saddlebag. As he had expected, the coin purse was gone along with the folded shirt. As he had also expected, two closely‑written sheets of paper had been set in their place.

  Inspector Gilles d'Arthez of the 12th arrondissement had quite a lot to report, by the look of it.

  Malet smiled grimly, opened the sheets, and began to read. He folded them away after a moment and drew a deep breath.

  Arrivals and departures, all very discreet, and at all hours of the day and night. Curtained coaches, cloaked visitors - all very interesting. And d'Arthez had kept careful count of those of Dracquet's household that he saw coming and going, and it appeared that the household had swelled by about three people. d'Arthez had caught voices speaking English - Hm, thought Malet - and curtains were always drawn in the house by day and by night.

  d'Arthez had been good enough to keep careful track of René Benoit's activities as well as those of Dracquet. It would come in very handy. The next report was due in two days.

  English voices, Malet thought again.

  He drew a deep breath and consulted his watch. Two o'clock. The day was still young. He turned his head to look northwest. The Rose d'Or was not far away, and he recalled seeing a very nice little sorrel mare in the stable. She was obviously a lady's mount: Elise de Clichy's, perhaps? Did she ride?

  He looked up at the sky, which was the sort of clear, exuberant blue only achieved in early autumn. The air was crisp, spiced by a breeze from the west that smelled of mown hayfields and late roses. The streets were filled with brightly clad people enjoying the beautiful day, and flower‑sellers at every corner offered roses and carnations. He knew cafes where you could buy ices, or enjoy tea and coffee along with thin, crisp, buttery almond tuiles.

  He loved to talk with Elise and watch her bustle about the Rose d'Or. How much better it would be to venture out in this splendid weather and enjoy the beauties of Paris with her beside him! It would be splendid to take her to one of those cafes. Not even the strictest‑minded person would find anything to make him raise his eyebrows at such an outing.

  But did she ride?

  Malet drew the reins between his fingers and thought for a moment and then smiled. There was one way to find out.

  XXVII

  A RIDE THROUGH PARIS

  "Take three cloves, Georgine. You'll have two extra in case the toothache persists." Elise unlocked the small wooden box and shook the cloves into her palm, then gave them to the girl standing beside her. "Tell your mother I have never known them to fail."

  Georgine smiled at her, sketched a curtsey, and went skipping off.

  Elise watched her go, conscious of a sudden ache in her heart. If Marie‑Françoise had lived, she would have been just Georgine's age.

  But the moment passed. Elise bent over the spice box and savored the rich, heady scent of the cloves and cinnamon, then locked the box and put it back on its shelf in the pantry.

  She drew a deep breath and looked around. Supper was well underway, and the cook had matters well in hand.

  She untied her apron, carefully folded it and set it aside, and crossed the warm splash of sunlight that spilled across the tiled kitchen floor. It was such a splendid day, she hated the thought of remaining inside. She had to go outside, if only for a moment.

  She opened the kitchen door and stepped into the courtyard in time to see Inspector Malet come riding into the stableyard astride a tall, dappled gray gelding.

  He hadn't seen her; she could observe him to her heart's content, and what she saw pleased her. He sat the horse with an elegant ease, and she found herself enjoying the set of his shoulders and the unexpectedly green tint of his eyes. He was as impeccably turned out as ever, but she could catch the sense of peril that seemed to cling to him, and which she had noticed the first time she met him. He did not frighten her: she had seen that menace directed against those who had tried to harm her.

  He saw her and drew rein, and the sense of peril dissolved as his face warmed in a sudden, almost shy smile. The horse sidled a little and tossed his head, but he stood quietly after a moment and stretched an inquisitive nose toward Elise.

  She came forward to stroke the horse's soft muzzle. "He's beautiful," she said to Malet. "Is he yours?"

  "He belongs to the Police," Malet answered with the flash of a smile. "I ride him sometimes when I have things to do, as I did today. I'd had some errands to run, and I found I wasn't far from here. It's such a beautiful day. I thought, if you cared to come riding with me - "

  Elise smiled breathlessly up at him. "Of course I would!" she said. "That would be wonderful! Wait for me - I won't be long! Tell Claude or Alcide to saddle la Duchesse. I will go inside and change to my riding clothes!"

  "La Duchesse," Malet repeated. "The sorrel mare?"

  "Yes! She's a delightful ride, and I have been neglecting her shamefully!" Elise said. "Wait for me, now!"

  "Of course," said Malet.

  Elise hurried into the inn. She turned at the door in time to see him loop his horse's reins in the brass ring at the courtyard and then go into the stable.

  She ran up the stairs to the second story, where she found Yvette frowning over an armful of clean linens and towels. She took Yvette by the arm and turned her around toward her room. "Help me into my habit, havette!" she said. "I am going riding, and I have got to change quickly!"

  "Riding?" Yvette repeated. "It's been years - " Her eyes narrowed suddenly. "With whom, 'Lise?"

  "With M. l'Inspecteur, of course!" Elise replied. "Come on now, he's waiting! I hope I didn't pack the habit away!"

  "Elise‑Marie de Clichy, have you run mad?" Yvette scolded as Elise feverishly plucked at the laces fronting her bodice. "Here, let me." She unfastened the laces. "Where's your habit? In the armoire here? Or upstairs?"

  "Here, I think - or did I put it in the storage room?" Elise replied. She had stepped out of her dress and was carefully combing her side‑curls.

  "The storage room," Yvette replied. "You'd know if it were here." She was out the door before Elise could say anything, and back with the habit over her arm before Elise could count to twenty. "There," she said. "Not wrinkled, more's the wonder. Here, protect your hair while I slide this over your head."

  "Does it fit?" Elise asked as she emerged from the folds of the dress. "I know I have put on weight." She fumbled with the buttons and then twitched the cuffs down to her wrists. "Oh havette! It's tight!"

  Yvette settled the skirt and twitched the tiny peplum that sat at the small of the back into place. "It fits beautifully," she sa
id.

  "It fits too beautifully!" Elise lamented. "I feel as though I have been poured into it! It's been eight years, and I have grown plump!" She smoothed the maroon wool cloth of the sleeves and touched the loops of braid that edged the wide puff of the sleeve at the shoulder. "Well... Maybe it's not that bad..." She sighed and added, "I never thought it could ever be so out of style..."

  "But smart, still," said Yvette. She handed Elise her gray silk hat with its flowing veil and watched her set it on her head. "Be careful, 'Lise," she said. "I don't want you to be hurt."

  "Hurt?" Elise repeated. "By whom? Him? Yvette! He saved my life and my honor at the risk of his own life! How could he ever hurt me?"

  Yvette had been busy adjusting the bodice. "There are ways and ways of being hurt," she said, surveying Elise with her head cocked. "Oh 'Lise!" she said, "You look like a girl again."

  Elise flung the trailing skirt over her arm and twirled before her. "I feel like a girl again!" she said. "It's been so long since I went riding with a beau!"

  Yvette chuckled and picked up Elise's discarded dress. "Go on with you," she said. "Have a good time - where are you going?"

  "I don't know!" Elise said. "I will be with him, so it won't matter. He said he had some errands to run. It's too pretty a day to stay inside!" She gave Yvette a peck on the cheek and whisked out the door.

  Yvette shook her head, but she was smiling.

  ** ** **

  Elise had not been so happy in a long time. Truly at leisure for the first time in years, she felt pretty again. Her habit might be snug and outmoded, but her escort didn't appear to be aware of the fact. His gaze had been frankly admiring when she descended the stairs to the salon, and his continuing admiration had provided a heady undercurrent to their conversation as they rode along the river.

  "I never dreamed there could be this much open space on land, until I left Toulon," said Malet, motioning southeast along the Champs‑Elysees. They were directly under the Arc de Triomphe, which towered above them like a great white elephant. They could see the crowded axis that was the Rond Point des Champs‑Elysees and, beyond it, the square outline of the Tuileries palace. The day was brisk but beautiful, and the length of the boulevard was crowded with strollers.

  Elise looked back from the Tuileries to Malet's face. Surprising a warmly appreciative smile, she returned it and drew her reins through her fingers. "Did you see land so seldom, then?" she asked.

  "Let us say that I saw mostly ocean," Malet replied. "Toulon is on the coast - it's a naval port - and it's bounded by hills. The prison overlooks the ocean, and I almost never got out of there except to row on one of their galleys - "

  "They treated you like one of the prisoners?"

  Malet smiled at the anger in Elise's voice. "I was one, to all intents," he said. "Born there, raised there, the son of a prisoner, a protegé of prisoners - how else could they judge me?"

  "They could judge you for what you are!" Elise said hotly.

  "For what I was. And, my dear, I regret to say that at that time I was a horrible brat."

  "Not all the time," she returned. "You grew up and became what you are. And I suspect that what you were even then was something very fine. When did you leave that prison?"

  "When I turned fifteen," Malet replied. "I'd been judged an adult." He added, "They were glad to see the last of me, I am sure. It was getting expensive to feed me."

  "And was it then you decided to spend your life protecting others?"

  Malet turned back to frown at her. His frown eased after a moment. "No, not then," he said. "I'd made my choice long before then."

  "Oh?" Elise said. "When?"

  Malet smoothed his horse's neck with an elegantly gloved hand. "I'd made the decision years before that," he said, gathering his reins. "But such ancient history must bore you, and it's too beautiful a day to be bored. If we ride south, to the Pont d'Iena, and cross the river - "

  "I will ride anywhere you want," said Elise. "But I want to know. I won't be bored. How did you get from that prison to where you are now? I'd heard about you over the years through the papers and through Christien. I never expected you to be as you are - such a gentleman - and you did save me, after all. Then, when we spoke together in the kitchen, I was so caught by what you said. I thought - I don't know. It moved me somehow. And yet you could have been a wealthy man by now if you had chosen otherwise, but you did not. Why not?"

  "The fact that a course of action is lucrative doesn't make it right," Malet said. "Whatever else seems doubtful, I know that it is better to be generous than selfish, better to be true than false, better to be brave than a coward. If such a course is doomed to failure in this world, what of it? Society can view me as a fool who's booked passage on a sinking ship because I feel that way. No matter: I choose to go down with the ship. I chose with my eyes wide open, and I have never had any regrets."

  "You'll hear no mockery from me," said Elise. "I had never thought it out before, but I agree with you. But what brought you to that conclusion? Something must have pushed you that way."

  She was not prepared for his answer. "The stars," he said.

  "The stars?" she repeated.

  He smiled reminiscently. "Yes," he said. "When I was six years old. I grew up among criminals from all over the world, and I was something of a pet with the more seasoned criminals in the prison, and especially a fellow named Jacques Grimault, who was better known as 'Cheat‑Death'."

  "Cheat‑Death!" Elise said. "I have heard of him. And you were his pet!"

  "I guess you have heard of him," Malet said. "Most people have. He was a legend, though he was getting very old. He had landed in prison, and this time there was no way out for him, though his luck held in one respect: they couldn't sentence him to death. He decided to train me to be his successor. He assigned various prisoners to teach me their skills: safecracking, lock‑picking, pocket‑picking, how to fight with knives or fists or feet, how to hide. I had learned it all by the time I was six. He even had me given lessons in deportment and dancing. The guards were afraid of me, I think. They gave me more than my share of kicks and cuffs when they could. And for all his power, Cheat-Death couldn't or wouldn't protect me from them."

  Malet's smile had not faded. "One day I was lashed up against a grating and flogged by the prison hangman for something the warden's son had done. I stayed there throughout that hot August day until sundown, then they cut me loose.

  "I had a room up in one of the towers. I crawled back there and collapsed with my sore back against the cold stone wall and stared out the dark window."

  Malet was smiling down the Champs Elysees toward the Tuileries. "I was a mass of self‑pity," he said. "The prison was my world, and I was smart enough then to know that it wasn't the only thing in the world, but I also knew that I couldn't escape it. I remember how despairing I was. And then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a streak of light pass the window. I looked up and saw another, and another. It was beautiful! I watched until dawn. I wondered what they could have been, and whether I'd see them again the next night." His voice was full of remembered wonder. "And I did," he said. "Every night for two weeks, I watched and saw them."

  He slanted a smiling glance at Elise. "It was the Perseid meteor shower that comes in July and August," he said. "Have you seen it?"

  "No," said Elise. "Never. I wish I had. Poor little boy!"

  "Not so poor, after all, as it happened," said Malet. "It was the beginning of a new life. I felt as though I'd managed somehow to crawl out of the squalor of the prison into a high place where everything was fresh and cool and unhurried.

  "I met a new prisoner at this time. His name was Joseph Young. He was an American sailor who had been impressed into the British Navy against his will. He had somehow fallen afoul of the laws of France, and he had been sent to prison. He always dreamed of returning to the sea and his home in America, in Massachusetts.

  "Sailors love the stars, and he saw how I watched them. He'd had children of h
is own years ago, back in America. He became a father to me. Whenever the night was clear, we'd look up at the skies and name the stars. I learned how to navigate by them, and Papa Joseph told me all the old legends of gods and heroes in English, which is why I speak it fluently.

  "Prison life was so trivial: I could judge the actions of man against those of the gods. Who can fear or revere a pack of criminals when he walks with Orion, and who, contemplating Leo, can fear an earthbound rat?"

  "But what of Cheat‑Death?" Elise asked. "Did he allow you to turn away from him?"

  Malet's smile became vaguely vicious. "Oh, I didn't turn away," he said. "I knew he'd kill Papa if I did, so I went along through the years, his acknowledged apprentice and successor, learning all his skills to use against him and his when I was finally free of that hell. He never suspected."

  "What happened to your papa?" asked Elise. "Did he have to stay in the prison after you left?"

  "No," Malet replied. "He died eight months before I left. We thought I could secure his release once I had left the prison. I had something I could offer in exchange for his freedom, and he was old and harmless and had been of use in the years he was imprisoned. He was going to live with me. He said I was his last, and best, child. I didn't tell him I had saved enough money to pay his passage back to America. I wanted to surprise him, but he died. I did tell him... He never saw Massachusetts again. I would have given my right arm if he could have..." He fell silent for a long time.

  Finally he turned back to Elise. "Well," he said. "They buried him at sea. After that I watched the stars and waited for my fifteenth birthday."

  "And you left the prison and went into the Police."

  "Yes," said Malet. "I walked all the way from Toulon to Marseilles. I don't think the Prefect of the Bouches du Rhone Departement was ever so shocked as he was at the moment Cheat‑Death's acknowledged heir came before him carrying a ragged pack and asked to join the Police as a constable. I thought he'd soil his trousers."

  "Paul!"