Duval at Waterloo (Napoleon's Police Book 15)

by Michele McGrath

Your loving friend,

  Jean Lefebvre.

  Tears ran down my cheeks unchecked when I had finished reading. I looked up and saw that Jacques was in no better case. He pulled out a large kerchief and blotted his face.

  “The old rogue, I’ll miss him,” he said.

  I nodded. “Me too.”

  “Well, we’d better start doing as he asked.”

  I gave Jacques the bills and notes of hand I found in Jean’s lodgings. He took enough of the gold to cover the total and then we divided the rest between us.

  “I don’t feel right, taking his money,” I muttered.

  “Nor I, but he knew his own mind, did Jean. Lucienne is well provided for and there is no one else. Suppose he thought he’d need the money, if he lived to be old, but he won’t do that now. Take it.” He thrust a bag at me.

  Chapter 15

  Lucienne was wildly excited when I picked her up from school. Jacques went with me, because he knew Lucienne well and wanted to say goodbye to her. Lucienne was delighted to see him, throwing her arms around him and giving him a hug, not the polite greeting she had been taught. Indeed, Madame Archambault reproved her for it, but Lucienne merely said,

  “Don’t scold me, chère Madame. I am just so excited and Monsieur Jacques understands. Don’t you?”

  “Of course. Lucienne will behave herself properly with others, but I have known her since her cradle, Madame.”

  There followed a flurry of activity, as Lucienne said goodbye to the teachers and the other pupils. Everyone was in floods of tears, especially her close friends. Indeed, Jacques and I were glad to get her away at last, for she was weeping copiously.

  She had obeyed my instructions and brought only a small valise with her. All her other belongings had already been sent ahead on the carrier and should reach Grenoble at the same time as we arrived there ourselves.

  We dropped Jacques at his shop and he put a small gift into Lucienne’s hands as he kissed her cheek and wished her goodbye. It was a small flask of perfume and Lucienne was delighted with it.

  “My first adult perfume.” She took out the stopper and thrust it under my nose, which made me cough.

  “What do you mean?” I asked, for Eugénie used only the one scent and this smelled nothing like it at all.

  “It’s not all flowery like a child’s, it’s spicy. Maman used to wear this scent.” She turned away so I should not see the tears in her eyes, for her mother and for Jean. She had lost both of them now.

  We stayed that night at Fournier’s. Berthe was delighted to have the opportunity to chat with Lucienne. They kept their heads together most of the evenings; woman’s talk, or so they said. Fournier and I left them to it and went to a small tavern where we would be undisturbed. We were both conscious of the fact that, this time, I would not be coming back and this might be our last meeting.

  I tried to thank him for all the help and support he gave me when I first joined the Police and afterwards. He brushed me aside, saying that I helped him too, especially after Gilbert, my original mentor, had been killed during the affair of the Infernal Machine. Gilbert had been his best friend and his death hit Fournier hard. Having me to look after took his mind off his troubles. He said it with a grin and I suddenly realised how much I would miss him and hoped he would come to Grenoble.

  He was staying in Paris for now. The Ministry was still at sixes and sevens but the witch-hunt had not started yet. He kept himself out of the way as much as possible, only doing what he was told to do. No news of Gilles had reached his parents and Fournier was losing hope that there ever would be.

  “If he doesn’t come after Christmas and the situation in the Bureau gets worse, we will pack up and come to you. Can you find me work, if I do?”

  “Certainly. It may not be as well paid as you are used to, but your expenses will be less.”

  “As long as I can support us, I don’t care for money. You know that.”

  “That’s because you’ve never had any!”

  He grinned. “Perhaps the debt collectors won’t be able to find me in Grenoble. Another reason for me to come. What do you think will happen in the Bureau, Alain, now the Emperor’s in exile again?”

  “The Bourbons will be looking for blood this time. They’ll go through all the Ministries, sack anyone who did not support them wholeheartedly and put their own toadies in their places.”

  He nodded. “I agree, and I’ll certainly be one of the ones to be given the shove. I didn’t cover my tracks all that carefully. There are those, like Petit, who will be sure to carry information to the new people making the decisions.”

  “Then leave and come to me, sooner rather than later.”

  “I will but not yet. Berthe is sure Gilles will be home for Christmas. I couldn’t persuade her otherwise and, to be frank, I don’t want to.”

  I put my hand on his shoulder. “You think he will come, also.”

  “No. I hope so, but I don’t think so. It’s been too long and too many have been killed. If he returns it will be a miracle and miracles don’t happen, at least to you and me that is. Leave it now. I meant what I said. If Gilles doesn’t come, Berthe and I will pack up here and travel to Grenoble, as soon as the roads are better. That’s a promise.”

  “I’ll be waiting.”

  We smoked and gossiped and drank for the rest of the evening, as we had done so many times before. He was the only one left of my close friends now, and I could not help thinking how much I would miss him. I hoped fervently that Gilles would appear, to travel with them.

  That journey from Paris to Grenoble possessed a bittersweet quality which I have never forgotten. I knew that I would never come back to the city, unless fate was very unkind. I was leaving the better part of my life behind me, and so was Lucienne. An unhappy thought with which to start a long trip.

  I reserved inside seats, so we were not too crowded and uncomfortable. I wanted to make travelling endurable for Lucienne, because she had only taken short drives around Paris before. Therefore I arranged that we would break our journey and put up for the night at several of the stops. I have tried to sleep on a diligence and never acquired the knack of it. I did not want to arrive home with a girl fainting for lack of sleep. This decision proved to be a good one for both of us, although for a completely different reason.

  Next morning, we started very early. The huge diligence stood waiting for us, its four horses lively and wanting to be away. We handed our valises to the guard, gave Fournier and Berthe one last hug and then I helped Lucienne inside. Our seats were covered with thin leather cushions, so we did not sit on bare boards but I knew how little protection they would give against the endless jolting of the road.

  Lucienne was tired. She sat up late, talking to Berthe. I sent her to bed when I returned with Fournier, telling her she must be ready to leave in only a few hours. She was still deeply distressed by the loss of her father. Her young face looked strained and her eyes red, as if she had cried herself to sleep. She said little and just stared out of the windows at the narrow, torch lit streets. As the light grew and the road became unfamiliar, she looked around her with more interest. She started to ask me questions about the things we saw on the road. Fortunately I’d travelled enough to be able to answer most of them and the countryside was not remarkable at first. Eventually the others in the carriage began to wake up, scratch, talk and open their parcels of food.

  Knowing the ways of diligences, I’d provided us both with bread, cheese and a flask of water. My body longed for strong coffee, but we would only stop long enough to change horses and use the privy before nightfall. Trying to drink coffee at a coach stop guarantees a scalded mouth and I advised Lucienne not to try.

  After the first halt, Lucienne began to think about her father again and she wept a little. She started to say, “Alain, do you remember?”

  Then she stopped because we were not alone in the carriage. She turned her head away and wiped her eyes. One of the fellow passengers, a motherly woman, was obv
iously a great gossip. She spoke to Lucienne in a kindly way and asked her questions: where we were going, had we travelled before and why she was upset. I listened closely, prepared to stop Lucienne if she said too much, but the woman meant no harm and Lucienne gave her careful answers. When she found out that Lucienne had just lost her father, the woman tried to help. Unfortunately her help consisted of recalling all the problems that occurred after her husband died. She meant well but both Lucienne and I were glad when she started talking to someone else. She got down at Fontainebleau, which was a good thing or I might have strangled her. We made ourselves part from her with smiles and good wishes.

  When the diligence got to Égreville, Lucienne and I climbed out. We were so stiff from the jolting of the carriage that we both limped and I thought of poor Aimeé on our last journey home. I had carried her into the first inn, but Lucienne was too old to be carried. I wanted nothing but to sink into bed as soon as possible. Once our valises had been unearthed and dumped at our feet, I went to book our tickets for the next day. The coach left at ten, so we would have a little time to see the village in daylight. I asked the ticket seller to recommend somewhere we could stay. He looked at our clothes and then said that his brother-in-law ran an inn that would suit. We should tell him that Roger sent us. It wasn’t a bad recommendation, although the prices seemed steep for such a small place.

  Lucienne could hardly keep her eyes open, so, as soon as she had eaten, I packed her off to bed. I was feeling less sleepy by then, so I sat by the fire, smoking a thin cheroot and drinking a bottle of indifferent wine. The room was crowded, mostly with locals, I think, because they all sounded alike. There was a cheerful buzz of talk and, as a stranger, I was soon overlooked and quickly forgotten. I thought about how often I had done the same thing before, deliberately, hoping to overhear helpful information. I spent many hours in taverns over the years for such a purpose. Thank heavens I was no longer either a spy or an agent and I would never be so again. I was beginning to think of finishing my drink and going to bed, when another man came in. He was dressed differently from the rest, in a dark coat and breeches, with a white cockade in his lapel. When he entered, the conversations ceased for a moment and then rang out again, more loudly than before. He was a strange figure to be frequenting so small a village and I wondered what he was doing here. My skin prickled, which is always a bad sign. I turned my eyes away, looking into the depths of the fire. All my senses told me that this was a dangerous man. I hoped he would overlook me, but it was not to be. A voice spoke beside me,

  “May I join you, stranger?” The man drew up a chair and sat down, without waiting for me to answer him. “You’re new in these parts.” A statement not a question.

  “I am. I’ve just come off the diligence.”

  “Where from?”

  “Paris.”

  “Live there?”

  “No. Do you?” I decided to challenge him and he understood my intention because he gave a rueful smile.

  “I’m from Tours originally, but you speak with a Savoyard accent if I’m any judge of these things. Am I right?”

  “Nearly. I’m from Vizille, although I live in Lyon now.” I named a town near enough to Grenoble to account for the way I spoke. Yet it was far enough away to confuse an inquiry if anyone asked after me.

  “Never been to Vizille. What’s it like?”

  “A pleasant place to live, if you aren’t looking for excitement. I lived there most of my life, until a few years ago. It’s difficult for me to describe it to a stranger. There’s nothing much to say.”

  “What made you move to Lyon?”

  “My business expanded and there’s more money to be made in a big city.”

  “What business is that?”

  “I’m a locksmith.”

  “Indeed? From your bearing I took you to be a soldier.”

  My skin prickled again and I picked my words carefully. “I was a soldier once, many years ago.”

  “Not recently?”

  “What use would I be? I got injured by the wheel of a gun.” I thrust my leg forward. “I have to use a stick, because I walk with a limp.”

  “Unfortunate. Did you serve in the army of His Majesty?”

  “In 1799, His Majesty did not have an army, or at least not one in France. I ran away from home a few years earlier and needed to earn my bread. The army was as good a way as any to do so. I knew nothing of politics. It did not matter to me as long as I could feed myself and make new friends.” Pierre’s face flashed into my mind as I said the words and my face must have changed because he asked,

  “What are you thinking about?”

  “My best friend who died.”

  “The fortunes of war surely?”

  “Certainly, but that does not take away either the memory or the pain, even after all this time.”

  “You are lucky to have survived.”

  “I am.”

  “And now? Do politics matter to you?”

  I smiled, forcing myself to pretend to be at ease. “Now I have a business to run, a wife and family to support and taxes to pay. Those keep me busy enough without meddling in public affairs.”

  “Nevertheless, you must have opinions about both the King’s government and Bonaparte.”

  “The King seemed to be doing a good enough job before Bonaparte escaped from Elba,” I said. ‘God forgive my lies,’ I thought. “Pity he did not have enough time to finish what he started last year, but he might be able to do so now. I doubt the Allies will ever let Bonaparte return to France. I wouldn’t if I was in their shoes.”

  “I agree.”

  Silence fell for a few moments and I thought I had acquitted myself rather well.

  Then he asked, “What is your name, stranger?”

  “Laurent, and yours?” I smiled inwardly. Laurent, who hated me, wouldn’t thank me for borrowing his name. As a supporter of the King, any search for his name should add to the confusion.

  “Pascal.” He offered his hand to me and I took it. I’ve shaken hands with enough villains and traitors before. A royalist agent, for no one else would wear a white rosette, did not concern me.

  “What brought you from Vizille to Paris? Business?”

  “Not at all. Why do you want to know?”

  “Curiosity and the fact that my masters pay me to keep account of travellers in these parts.”

  “A dull job in an area like this.”

  “I’m not looking for excitement either. You never did tell me, though, why you went to Paris.”

  I had been thinking hard and knew I must give this man some information about myself or I would never be rid of him. I did not want wild rumours starting about me, as they often do with strangers. Better invent my own tale and stick as closely to the truth as possible. So I said,

  “I went to bring my ward away from her boarding school. She’s old enough to leave and the roads are relatively safe in this direction now.”

  “The landlord said you are travelling with a young girl.”

  “So you’ve been making enquiries about me?”

  “I told you; it’s my job.”

  “Well I won’t trouble you long. We’re off tomorrow and I doubt I’ll be back this way for some time, if at all.” I drained my glass, put it down on the table and picked up my swordstick. I left it in my lodgings in Paris before I rode with the Emperor and Fournier retrieved it with my clothes. I was glad to have its familiar presence with me again; I might have to use it soon. Now I leaned on it more than I needed to for balance. No need to let him know that my disability was less than I had told him. “Now, unless you want to ask me any more questions, I will give you good night.”

  The man rose. “A good journey to you for the morrow.”

  “Thank you.”

  I left him there and went up to my chamber, but I was uneasy. The man was a royalist agent, of that I was certain. I often acted in such a way myself before and recognised his technique. He reminded me of Petit, who lacked a subtle manner. I
prefer a more round about approach myself, which I think encourages a suspect to reveal more. I went to bed but I did not rest easily. I kept turning Pascal’s questions and my answers over in my mind, wondering if somehow I had betrayed myself. There had been instances of Bourbon supporters terrorising some areas after the Emperor was sent to Elba. Anyone with sense would expect the same thing to happen again. Hopefully, their vengeance would not extend to Grenoble, although that was a forlorn hope. The city had welcomed the Emperor too enthusiastically. We would have to keep our own counsel and our heads down until their vigilance waned. I decided I must have a quiet word with Lucienne in the morning. I needed to tell her that I came from Vizille not Grenoble and we were going to Lyon. She must guard her tongue until we were safely home.

  Chapter 16

  Égreville is so small it is a hamlet rather than a village. There was nothing to see in the place. Lucienne and I walked a little way out into the countryside, despite a cold wind that stung our cheeks. We pretended to look at the woods and the fields, standing forlorn after the harvest. I told her about my new acquaintance.

  “Are we in danger, Alain?”

  “You are not but I might be, if either of us says too much to strangers. I’m an escaped soldier who fought for the Emperor and also one of his police agents. There are things I know that the Bourbons would be interested in. So it’s important not to mention your father or where we used to work. For this journey, you are my ward, travelling home with me to Lyon. I live there now but I’m originally from Vizille and moved to expand my business. Talk about what you see, the countryside or even the weather. Better still, say nothing at all.”

  “Vizille?”

  “It’s not far from Grenoble. Papa had business there and I used to go with him. I don’t want a hue and cry after me starting in Grenoble; I’m too well known in the city. I said my name was Laurent. If anyone questions you, say yours is Petit. You are still the daughter of my friend, so we cannot have the same surname.”