Duval and the Empress's Crown (Napoleon's Police Book 5)

by Michele McGrath

  “The equerries are no problem, but even I cannot allow you to question members of the imperial family. Only the Emperor can do that. I hoped to reveal this affair to him, holding the crown in my hand. However, this cannot be kept from him any longer, under the circumstances.” He rang a small bell and a lackey came into the room.

  “My cloak and hat. Have my carriage ready for me immediately.” The lackey bowed and left to carry out his instructions.

  “Come with me,” Fouché said, rising. “The Emperor will undoubtedly want to question you and we can talk further as we travel.” I grimaced at the thought and then hoped he did not see my expression. If he had, he ignored me. Perhaps he felt, as I did, apprehensive about Napoléon’s reaction to the news we were bringing him.

  “Would any of the suspects recognise the crown for what it was?” Fouché asked me as we jolted our way towards the palace.

  “I don’t know about the equerries, but Margueritte told me that all the Princesses had seen it. They commented on it when they came to the workshop on other occasions. It was incomplete then, but the basic shape has not changed…” I hesitated.

  “You have had a sudden thought, what is it?” Fouché asked me swiftly.

  “It’s strange. None of the visitors mentioned the crown today, although it was lying there in full view of everyone.”

  “Unusual. Someone should have said something, unless there was a good reason for their silence,” Fouché said, frowning. “That in itself is suspicious. Perhaps it was not there? If the workman is lying that is possible.”

  “Indeed, Monseigneur. But if he is lying, where did he put it? He never left the room and the others vouch for his presence the whole time. It would have to be a conspiracy.”

  “Perhaps it is. It would be the simplest solution.”

  “Yet we have found no evidence.”

  “Garnier may be lucky. Let us hope so.” Silence fell for a while. Then Fouché said, as if musing, “If one of the Princesses did not take the crown, they may well be protecting their equerries.”

  “It’s possible. Fournier has gone to question them now. He’ll find out as much about them as he can. There is a suggestion that one of them, Dupré, may be in debt, which would give him a reason for committing the theft.”

  “Do not forget that there may be several other reasons besides money for this robbery to occur.” Fouché said and I nodded.

  Thoughts of alternatives motives had been niggling at me for hours. The thief would have to be willing to wait for months or years to see his money. If the theft had been planned, then Margueritte’s employees were the culprits and were working together. This theft did not seem like that to me. Conspiracies are rare because the more people involved, the more likely one of them is to crack and implicate the others. The workers seemed nervous when we questioned them but not quaking with terror. Jacques, in particular, did not seem to be the type of youngster who was courageous enough to be part of a plot. I would not have trusted him with the secret of my great-aunt’s age never mind the theft of a crown. If by any chance he was in a plot, Garnier was just the man to force the truth out of him. I had no evidence to support this theory, but the idea of a profit motive felt odd to me. Over the last few cases I learned the hard way to pay attention to my instincts. They have been right more often than wrong in various situations. If my feelings were correct this time, the theft was spontaneous.

  If this was impromptu, there were too many coincidences. Everything happened so fast and in the presence of a number of the most unlikely witnesses. The message from Madame de Herlay argued against this, though. The false summons could easily be a ruse to lure Margueritte from the scene of the crime. Otherwise it was a mistake and that, at this moment, seemed unlikely. If it was a ruse, who had instigated it? One of the workers or someone else? If we could find out, then we would be near to a solution of the whole problem.

  On the other hand, the thief might simply have seized an opportunity when it was offered and acted on it. If we discounted the workmen, then the Princesses or their equerries must be guilty. It was a simple as that. They were the only other people present. Yet who would ever expect members of the Emperor’s family or of his court to act like that? I wondered if I had missed something. It was possible. If I had, I hoped fervently I would discover it soon. My heart sank. Then I realised that Fouché was continuing to speak and I had not heard some of his words,

  “…The Princesses and their equerries are not likely to agree to be questioned willingly?” I nodded since he seemed to expect an answer from me. “This event plays into the Bonapartes’ hands. None of them wants the Empress to be crowned. One must presume that the equerries share their opinions or at least would not openly run counter to them. If the crown has vanished, then, guilty or innocent, no one will want it to be found. You will need all your tact and address to find out anything at all. Try not to anger the Princesses unless it is necessary.”

  “I’ll try,” I said and there must have been doubt in my voice because Fouché smiled his thin smile. I did not ask him if he would come to my rescue if I made a mess of it. I am aware that Fouché considers the impact of any action on his own position first. He would not put himself in jeopardy to save a member of his staff. I doubt he would support his own brother if to do so was against his interests. That is why he has survived so long in the murky political arenas of the Revolution and the Directory. I have worked for him for four years and he has shown me a certain amount of favour, but I never trust him completely. So far, I have survived too. I crossed my fingers for luck and hoped to do so again.

  All too soon for me, we reached the palace. Fouché insisted on being admitted to the Emperor’s presence immediately. This obviously did not please Napoléon, who was frowning when we came into his salon. He did not stand or walk down the room to greet us as he usually did with visitors, a bad sign.

  “Sit down,” he ordered. “What is so important that you need to interrupt me? I am very busy as you can imagine.”

  “I am sorry, Sire,” Fouché said with a bow, “but this matter is urgent.”

  We sat down and Fouché began to tell him about the theft.

  “What?” Napoléon thundered, springing to his feet and slamming his fist on the desk, causing Fouché and I to jump. “You are telling me that the Empress’s crown has been stolen and that one of my sisters may be the thief?”

  He was scarlet with anger. I looked at him apprehensively. Although I had fought in two battles under his command, this was the first time I had seen him up close for some time. He had grown stout and his black hair was receding a little. The eager young general had turned into a middle-aged tyrant in a towering rage. I was glad I rarely moved in his circles. I only wished I was not standing before him at this moment. Fouché, however, knows him much better than I do and he did not seem ruffled in the least.

  “Calm yourself, Sire, I beg you,” he said. “Your sisters may prove to be only witnesses to the theft. Dupré and Saint Victor also had the opportunity.”

  “Dupré does what my sister, Pauline, tells him to do, or what he knows will please her. Saint Victor is too stupid to act on his own initiative.”

  Napoléon obviously knew that Dupré was rumoured to be the latest of Princess Pauline’s many lovers.

  “My sisters would be delighted if the Empress’s crown wasn’t available for the coronation,” Napoléon continued. “They do not like my wife and they do nothing but thwart me; after all I have done for them!” He swung round to gaze out of the long window and I could see his hands clenching and unclenching behind his back as he controlled his rage. Then he turned to face us again.

  “Very well. You may question them, Fouché, but go yourself. In a matter of this importance, why did you not investigate personally from the very beginning?”

  “Because Duval has acted most successfully for me before,” Fouché said. He reminded Napoléon of the affairs that had brought me to his immediate attention, the case of the missing Englishman amo
ng them. “At your Majesty’s command I will, of course, go myself, but I believe that an oblique approach is more likely to be beneficial at this time. People guard their tongues closely when they speak with me nowadays. They rarely let slip anything of importance. Duval, who is unknown to them, may discover things that I cannot. They may think he can be fooled until they find out their error.”

  For a moment both men stared into each other’s eyes and then the Emperor nodded, thoughtfully.

  “There is something in what you say. Very well, do as you think best, but remember that speed is of the essence. The crown must be found before dawn on the 11th of Frimaire at the latest.”

  “It will be, Sire, I’m sure of it,” Fouché agreed. “Duval will need written authorisation from you to show to the imperial ladies. Princess Caroline, in particular, is unlikely to accept anything less.”

  The Emperor went over to his desk and scribbled some hasty words onto a sheet of paper which he thrust at me.

  “Tell my sisters that, in this, they will, for once, obey my commands or risk dire consequences. I will not allow myself or the Empress to be made ridiculous before the whole of France, by my family or anyone else.”

  “If one of the Emperor’s sisters really did take the crown, what would happen to her?” I asked Fouché later, on our way back to the Ministry.

  “Very little, as long as the crown was found in time for the coronation. The Emperor is unlikely to denounce and punish a thief in his own family. It would cause far too much scandal. He would find ways of making her uncomfortable, but that is all.”

  “Then none of the Princesses really need to fear the consequences? If that is so they will be even less inclined to answer my questions honestly.”

  “I agree with you. It will be difficult.”

  “If the theft was unplanned,” I said, thinking aloud, “the robber had the most amazing fortune. Everyone knew that Margueritte was making the Empress’s regalia but no one could know Robart was working on the crown that morning. Who would guess that he would leave it unguarded on his bench?”

  “Unless he was bribed to do so,” Fouché said quickly.

  “That’s possible of course. Fournier is checking on his circumstances and whether he needs money. If he does, we will take him into the cells and question him further. But suppose that this was an impulsive crime? The thief suddenly saw the crown, recognised it for what it was, and picked it up. He or she could conceal it within their clothes easily enough. One of the equerries was wearing a frogged coat, which would have had long skirts and deep pockets. Élisa we know wore a scarf. Who would demand to search any of them unless the crown was known to be missing? Even then, most people would hesitate, given who they are. This may have been simply an unexpected piece of luck which one of them acted upon. If they had been searched and the crown was in their pocket, they could have laughed and said it was a joke.”

  Fouché nodded. “It might have happened like that. On the other hand, if one of the Princesses asked to see the crown during their visit, I doubt whether any of the workmen would deny them.”

  I stared at him as I suddenly thought of a possible answer to one part of the puzzle.

  “Perhaps that was why an attempt was made to lure Monsieur Margueritte away from the workshop,” I said slowly. “He would have the authority to refuse their request.”

  “He was lured away?” Fouché asked me sharply. I told him what we had found out so far.

  “You are talking about a conspiracy now, not an accident.” Fouché looked at me thoughtfully.

  “Another line of enquiry to be followed up, certainly, if Garnier finds nothing. If there was a conspiracy, who are the plotters? The Princesses and their friends or the workmen? Christophe is the type of man who would keep his own counsel but neither Robart nor the apprentice, Jacques, are made of the same stern stuff. They would break under questioning, I am sure.”

  “Then I will give orders for Garnier to question them further when he returns. That should save time while you follow the other leads.”

  “Thank you, Monseigneur. There is something else I need to ask you.”

  “Well?”

  “If the crime was a spontaneous act, Princess Élisa and the two equerries had the best opportunity to snatch it. They were beside the workbench for the longest time. Can you tell me anything about them, Monseigneur?”

  “Their records are in the Ministry files and I will send them to you. I wouldn’t have thought that Élisa was daring enough to attempt something like this. She is intelligent and might work out the details of such a plot, I suppose. The Emperor does not seem to be particularly fond of her which should make her cautious of inciting his displeasure. Of all his brothers and sisters, she is too like him for his comfort. I could more easily believe such a thing of either of the others. Princess Caroline is often reckless while Princess Pauline is the Emperor’s favourite and she knows he would forgive her anything in time. She has tried his patience many times in the past. All the Bonaparte family are used to his tantrums but nothing ever happens to any them.”

  “Lucien was sent into exile when he annoyed his brother,” I reminded Fouché. Lucien had been dismissed from the court for marrying a woman of whom Napoléon disapproved.

  “Lucien is a misguided fool. He ought to have known his brother’s opinions,” Fouché snapped. “Forget him. He, at least, is innocent unless he has learned the art of black magic.”

  “If any of the Princesses took the crown, their motive would be to prevent the Empress’s coronation,” I mused. “What better way to do that than by removing her crown? Another crown could never be made or a substitute found in time. Those sort of things vanished during the Revolution.”

  “That part of the ceremony would have to be cancelled and it would cause an immense scandal.” Fouché confirmed.

  “The equerries’ opinions are not yet known. It is possible that Dupré may have acted to please Princess Pauline. Rumour says that her affection for him is cooling.”

  Fouché nodded. “Rumour in this instance speaks truth. She has selected a young captain in the Imperial Guard as her next conquest. Dupré is a spent force. He will soon be on his way back to his regiment.”

  “I know nothing of the other equerry, a man called Saint Vincent, except that he comes from Corsica and is said to be a friend of the Emperor’s family.”

  “There is a file on his background and activities and one on Dupré. From what I can remember, neither of these men has concerned us very much.” At this point, we drew up outside the Ministry and Fouché alighted.

  “You can keep the carriage until this evening, Duval,” he said to me. “It will look better if you do not arrive on foot.”

  I was pleased, for the weather was vile and the Princesses’ hôtels were separated from each other by some distance. So I rode to my first audience in style but with a sinking feeling at the bottom of my stomach. Despite the Emperor’s authorisation, I felt uneasy about tackling his sisters, although it had to be done. Fournier was correct; it was my responsibility since the case had been given to me. I had decided to get the worst over with and directed the coachman to drive to the Princess Borghese’s, the former Pauline Bonaparte.

  I quickly learned, however, that in this, I had made a bad mistake. Although it was early in the day, Pauline had obviously dined too well. An excess of wine had brought out those characteristics for which she is most famous. Her eyes were luminous and her smile an open invitation to dalliance. I bowed and handed her the Emperor’s letter which she glanced at and then gave back to me.

  “Let us be comfortable while you tell me what my brother wants of me,” she said, sinking onto a couch and patting the place beside her. I reluctantly sat down into the haze of the heavy perfume that she wore. As she leaned back against the cushions, her breasts tilted provocatively. The thin silk of her dress did not conceal their attractive shape. Despite Eugénie’s tuition, I understand very little about women’s fashions. Yet I could see clearly that she
wore almost nothing beneath her frock. I felt hot at the thought, even though I realised how indecent the style really was. I couldn’t stop my eyes from following her breasts although I tried hard not to. Such a feat was beyond the strength of any man, as she knew.

  I took a deep breath and began my story. Far from being upset, before I realised what was happening, she was stroking my arm and looking up into my face, fluttering her long lashes. It was a prostitute’s trick and I wondered where she had learned it. It seemed very strange to me to be propositioned by Napoléon’s sister. If I had never met Eugénie, I might very well have been tempted, because she is truly a beautiful woman. But to compare the two is to compare quicksilver with gold. I am a fortunate man, who has no intention of playing fast and loose with his good luck. Life without Eugénie would be unthinkable.

  I kept edging away from Pauline until I reached the far end of the sofa but she followed me. So I stood up and walked into the middle of the room, turning to face her.

  “Please tell me everything you can remember about your visit to the jeweller,” I asked her, trying to keep my voice level.

  She sighed. “That imbécile made my earrings too long so they scratched my shoulders whenever I turned my head. I told him they must be shortened yet again. I don’t think he ever listens to me. Why my brother ever picked the firm out of all the jewellers in Paris! That man, Christophe is his name! He complained there wasn’t enough time but I ordered him to make the alteration at once and no excuses.”

  There was more of the same tale but I wasn’t interested in her jewellery. I tried to lead the talk around to what she had or hadn’t seen in the workshop. I don’t know if the woman was naturally unobservant or playing a clever part, but I didn’t get much sense out of her. Eventually I lost patience and asked her outright about the Empress’ crown.

  “That bauble!” she exclaimed contemptuously, “a fit piece of trumpery for the head of a trollop.” I was taken aback that she should say such a thing to someone she had never met before, but then I remembered that she had been drinking. Certainly she did not seem to care whether I repeated her words.