Nicolas knelt down beside the body to look at the wound. It was black, and the tear in the skin, the width of the bullet, seemed already to have been closed over by the epidermis; a little congealed blood was visible but it had mainly spread out into the flesh. The young commissioner noted down his observations in a small notebook. He described the way the body was lying and added that the victim was wearing civilian clothes. He was struck by the state of the hands and the fact that they were clenched. The fancy boots were muddy and all the lower part of the body was soaked with foul-smelling water as if the young man had crossed through a pond or an ornamental fountain before returning home to put an end to his life.
Nicolas walked over to the window and studied it carefully. The inner shutters of light oak were bolted. He undid them and noted that the window was also shut. He put everything back in place, picked up the candle and lit the hurricane lamp on the desk. The room suddenly emerged from the half-light. A voice behind him made him turn.
‘May I be of assistance, sir?’
The door was still open and on the threshold stood a young man, wearing livery but wigless. Monsieur de Sartine had not detected his presence since the back of the armchair hid the stranger almost completely. His uniform was neat and buttoned up but Nicolas was surprised to see he was in stockinged feet.
‘May I ask what you are doing here? I am Nicolas Le Floch, a commissioner of police from the Châtelet.’
‘My name is Lambert and I am the manservant and factotum of Monsieur the Vicomte de Ruissec.’
Nicolas was shocked by his slightly provocative tone of voice. He did not admit to himself that he hated tow-coloured hair and eyes of differing colours: on his first day in Paris his watch had been stolen from him by a brigand with just such eyes.8
‘And what are you doing here?’
‘I was asleep in the servants’ quarters when I heard Madame the comtesse’s cries and so I quickly dressed and hurried here. Please forgive me,’ he said, nodding towards his feet. ‘In my haste … my eagerness to be of assistance …’
‘Why did you come here first?’
‘I met old Picard in the entrance hall. He explained what had happened and his fears for my master.’
Nicolas rapidly made a note of everything he was told, registering the possible contradictions and the contrasting impressions that the valet’s words had on him. The fellow’s tone of voice held more than a hint of mocking sarcasm, something unusual for a person of his station when addressing his betters. The man was not as straightforward as he at first appeared. He claimed to have dressed in a hurry, whereas his uniform was immaculate down to his knotted cotton cravat, and yet he had failed to put on his shoes. Nicolas would need to check which way he had come and compare his statements with Picard’s. Was it necessary to go outside and then through the courtyard to get to the vicomte’s rooms or was there a secret passage via the staircases and corridors connecting all the buildings in the Ruissec mansion? Lastly, the man seemed quite unmoved, though admittedly he might not have seen the corpse as it was hidden by the armchairs and by Nicolas himself. As for Monsieur de Sartine, he remained impassive and silent, and was contemplating the back-plate of the fireplace. Nicolas decided to get straight to the point.
‘Do you know that your master is dead?’
He had moved closer to the manservant, who screwed up his pockmarked face into an expression that could have been interpreted either as a fatalistic acceptance of the fact or as a sudden feeling of sorrow.
‘My poor monsieur. So he finally kept his word!’
As Nicolas remained silent, he went on: ‘Over the past few days he had become sick of life. He had stopped eating and was avoiding his friends. A disappointment in love or at cards, or both, if you ask me. All the same, who would have believed he would have done it so soon?’
‘He kept his word, you said.’
‘His promise, to be more precise. He kept saying that he would create a stir, one way or another. He had even mentioned the scaffold …’
‘When did he make such a strange remark?’
‘About three weeks ago at a rout with his friends in a tavern in Versailles. I was there to serve them and supply them with drink. It was quite a party!’
‘Can you name these friends?’
‘Not all of them. I only really know one of them: Truche de La Chaux, a Life Guard at the palace. He was a close friend, even though he is only gentry.’
Nicolas noted that failing common in footmen of adopting their masters’ prejudices. In this way contempt for others was to be found at all levels of society, permeating the nobility and their servants alike.
‘When did you see your master for the last time?’
‘Only this evening.’
At his reply, the Lieutenant General of Police jumped out of his armchair; Lambert recoiled in surprise at this pale apparition, leaping up like a jack-in-the-box, with a ruffled, precariously perched wig on his head.
‘Well, Monsieur, please tell me about this evening in detail.’
Lambert did not ask who he was dealing with and recounted his story.
‘My master was on guard last night. The Queen and many of her entourage were at cards. After coming off duty he rested until midday. He then went for a walk around the park on his own, instructing me to be in the forecourt at four o’clock with a carriage. He wanted to spend the night in Paris, so he said. We arrived this evening at about nine o’clock, without incident. He then told me to leave as he no longer needed me. I was tired, so I went to bed.’
‘You were due back on duty tomorrow morning, were you?’
‘Yes, indeed. At seven o’clock I would have brought hot water up to his lordship.’
‘Was the weather fine in Versailles?’ Nicolas interrupted, to the evident annoyance of Monsieur de Sartine, who did not see the point of this digression.
‘Misty and gloomy.’
‘Was it raining?’ He stared at the manservant.
‘Not at all, sir. But perhaps this question relates to the state of my poor master’s clothes. I suggested he change before leaving Versailles. Lost in melancholy thoughts, he had slipped during his walk and fallen into a small drainage canal. That was the explanation he gave me when I expressed my concern at the state of his clothes.’
Nicolas was trying hard not to give in to his instinctive mistrust of the manservant. He kept repeating to himself that to judge somebody on first impressions always carried the risk of serious error. He recalled Inspector Bourdeau’s words. In his youth the inspector had usually trusted his initial judgements. He had attempted to correct this tendency, but as he had grown older experience had taught him the value of his first reaction – when instinct alone had its say – and he had returned to the habits of his youth as a surer means of discovering the truth about a person.
Annoyed by this introspection the young man decided to wait until later to marshal his thoughts. At present it would not be justified to hound the manservant when the case seemed a clear-cut one of suicide. He merely needed to clarify the circumstances in order to understand what had led the unfortunate young man to commit the fateful act. So with Monsieur de Sartine’s agreement Nicolas dismissed Lambert, advising him to remain in the corridor; he wanted first of all to question the major-domo.
At this point some police officers appeared. He asked them to wait until the initial investigations were complete and instructed them to keep an eye on Lambert and not allow him to speak to anyone.
When he went back into the room, Sartine was again slumped in the armchair, apparently grappling with his thoughts. Nicolas did not disturb him, but returned instead to the body.
Candlestick in hand, he examined the scene, starting with the wooden floor. He spotted a few recent scratch marks, which could have been caused either by gravel sticking to the sole of the boots or by something quite different.
His attention was then drawn to the desktop. Under the hurricane lamp in the middle of the desktop leather he found a shee
t of paper and, scribbled in large capitals, the words: ‘FORGIVE ME, FAREWELL’. To the left of this sheet lay a quill next to an inkstand. The position of the armchair behind the desk indicated that the person who had written this message had then stood up, pushed the chair back and made off to the right towards the door, presumably to go round the front of the desk and to end up where the body now rested.
He looked at the corpse once more, paying special attention to the hands, and tried unsuccessfully to close the eyes. He then had a thorough look around the room and noticed to the left of the entrance a huge, elaborately carved wardrobe that almost reached the ceiling. Its doors were ajar. He pushed one open and looked inside; it was dark and cavernous, reminiscent of the box beds of his childhood in Brittany. A strong smell of leather and earth filled his nostrils. In the bottom part was a collection of boots, some in need of a good brushing. He pushed back the polished door of the wardrobe, then drew a plan of the apartment on a page of his notebook.
Continuing his inspection, Nicolas spotted a break in the moulding of the wainscoting. To the left of the alcove a door opened on to a dressing room with deal half-panelling and an adjacent water closet. The room was tiled in Lias9 and black marble. The walls were hung with wallpaper depicting exotic birds. It was lit by a bull’s-eye, which he checked was closed. He stood in thought for some time before the dressing table and its fine porcelain bowl, admiring the toilet case with its razors and mother-of-pearl and silver-gilt instruments carefully laid out on a white linen towel. He also subjected the brushes and combs to the same scrutiny, as if mesmerised by the sight of such splendours.
When Nicolas returned to his superior, Monsieur de Sartine was pacing to and fro in the bedroom, carefully avoiding the corpse. His wig was straight again and the colour had returned to his bony cheeks.
‘My dear Nicolas,’ said Sartine, ‘I am in the most terrible predicament. Like me, you are convinced that the young man took his own life, is that correct?’
Nicolas was careful not to answer and, taking his silence to be tantamount to assent, the Lieutenant General carried on, though not before checking in the pier glass that his wig was properly back in place.
‘You know the procedure in such cases. The assumption is one of suicide, and the commissioner who has been informed goes to the scene without his gown and draws up a report without the least fuss or publicity. Then at the request of the grieving relatives, but equally to preserve the conventions, the magistrate requires the parish priest or requests him via his bishop to conduct the funeral service for the deceased and to bury him quietly. As you are also aware …’
‘Until recently the bodies of those who committed suicide, since they were deemed to be their own murderers, were tried and sentenced to be dragged along on a large timber frame attached to a cart. I know that, sir.’
‘Very good, very good. However, notwithstanding this appalling public ordeal on the hurdle, the body was hanged and denied burial in consecrated ground. Fortunately a more enlightened philosophy and our more compassionate times now spare the victim and the family such distressing and shocking excesses. However, we have just such a tragedy here. The elder son of a noble family with a promising future ahead of him has just died. His father is close to the King, or rather to the entourage of the Dauphin. Foolishly – because one should not speak of death to royalty – Madame Adélaïde was informed of the vicomte’s suicide and quickly gave in to the Comte de Ruissec’s entreaties. Without weighing her words she gave me some recommendations, which I pretended to take as orders, though in fact she is not entitled to give me any. However, it is difficult to deny her wishes and I need to deal carefully with a family that has her support. Nevertheless …’
‘Nevertheless, sir?’
‘I’m thinking aloud here, Nicolas. Nevertheless …’ The tone was again warm and frank, the Lieutenant General’s usual way of speaking to Nicolas. ‘Nevertheless, on behalf of the King, I am also responsible for law and order in Paris, which is no easy task. Too strict an application of the rules could lead to trouble. The wise thing to do would be to make the body presentable, send for a priest and a coffin, and spread the word that the young man mortally wounded himself while cleaning a firearm. The funeral Mass would take place, the princess be obeyed, the parents grief-stricken but their reputation intact, and I would have no more problems, having satisfied all concerned. Can I in all conscience act in such a way? What is your feeling? I trust your judgement, even if you are sometimes overhasty and your imagination runs away with you.’
‘Sir, we must give the matter careful thought. We are accountable to both the ideal of law with justice and of wisdom with prudence.’
Sartine nodded approval of this carefully worded preamble.
‘Since you do me the honour of asking my opinion I feel it appropriate, given the current state of the investigation, to sum up our dilemma. We know that suicide is an act that offends against the divine order, a misfortune that visits opprobrium on an honourable family. The body we see before us is not that of a man of the people, not a pauper driven to this extreme by hardship. Here we have a gentleman, a young man of good education, who knows perfectly well what his actions will mean for his parents and close relatives, and who without further reflection performs the irrevocable deed without offering his family any means of escaping the shame. Do you not find it strange that he did not write to you, as many do, in order to avoid any difficulties after their death?10 All he left was this.’
He picked up the sheet of paper on the desk and handed it to Sartine.
‘Lastly, sir, I have to say that it will be very difficult to keep the news quiet. It has already spread to the Opéra and around town; it will soon reach the Court. The princess will certainly have mentioned it and everyone will repeat her words. A dozen or so people have already been informed: police officers, servants and neighbours. No one will be able to stop the rumour and uncertainty will only make it grow. It will be a godsend for the hawkers of handbills.’
Monsieur de Sartine was rhythmically tapping the wooden floor with his foot.
‘Very well put, but where does it get us and how will all your meanderings extricate us from this maze? What do you suggest?’
‘I think, sir, that without divulging any details and without dismissing the idea of an accident or a fit of madness, we should have the vicomte’s body taken to the Basse-Geôle11 in the Châtelet to be opened up and examined in the greatest secrecy. That will in the first instance allow us to gain some time.’
‘And in a few days we’ll be back in the same position but with a scandal blown up out of all proportion. Not to mention the task you’ve presumably left me of informing the Comte de Ruissec that I’m going to hand over his son’s body to the medics. For goodness’ sake give me a more convincing argument.’
‘Sir, I do not think you have taken in the full implications of my proposal. If I am suggesting that the Vicomte de Ruissec’s body should be opened up it’s precisely in order to preserve his memory and the honour of his family, because in my opinion the examination will show that he was murdered.’
NOTES – CHAPTER I
1. It was submitted to Louis XV on 30 November 1761.
2. Victoire de France (1733–1799), the second daughter of Louis XV and Maria Leszczyńska.
3. The names given to the two opposite sides of the auditorium where supporters of the French or Italian styles of opera gathered at the time of the ‘quarrel of the corners’.
4. The comic sequence of the opera Les Paladins that was strongly criticised at the time.
5. A tragic opera in five acts by Jean-Philippe Rameau, first performed on 5 December 1749, in which, amongst other innovations, the composer replaced the prologue with an overture.
6. This suggestion of Nicolas’s was in fact implemented by Sartine in 1764.
7. Lenoir, the Lieutenant General of Police, improved the lighting of Paris by introducing streetlamps to replace candle lanterns.
8. See The Châtele
t Apprentice, Chapter I.
9. A fine, hard-grained limestone.
10. It was common practice at the time to send precautionary letters to the Lieutenant General of Police.
11. The morgue, situated in the cellars of the Châtelet (cf. The Châtelet Apprentice).
II
RECONNAISSANCE MISSION
‘The truth is perhaps what you do not want to hear; but if I do not tell you it now there will be no point in my revealing it to you on another occasion.’
QUINTUS CURTIUS
Monsieur de Sartine did not immediately reply to this calmly delivered statement. He reacted only with a doubtful expression followed by a sort of wince. He took a deep breath, put his hands together and, having cleared his throat, finally spoke.
‘Monsieur, I might well have been perplexed by the gravity of what you have said, and, I make no secret of it, my initial reaction should have been to put you back on routine duties. However, I have not forgotten that the reason for your presence here was precisely to deal with matters that are out of the ordinary. Besides, your suspicion takes a weight off my mind. As usual you will not give me any explanations and will save up your dramatic effects until your magic lantern suddenly lights up the truth, which until that moment will have been apparent to you alone …’
‘Monsieur …’
‘No, no, no. I am not listening and wish to hear no more. You are a commissioner and a magistrate, and as such I am entrusting this investigation to you. I am leaving it to you, putting it entirely in your hands and will have nothing further to do with it. And do not try to drag me into one of those complicated demonstrations you specialise in because you think you know it all and want to show you do. Whether you are right or wrong does not matter for the moment. I plan to leave you and make my way quickly to Versailles to deal with more urgent aspects of the case. I shall alert Monsieur de Florentin1 in order to use my modest influence to combat the storm that the Comte de Ruissec will undoubtedly stir up. But we have one ace up our sleeves. Not so long ago Madame Victoire called our minister “a fool”; as always at Court the remark was repeated to him and however meek and mild he may seem he’s bound to be pleased at the prospect of going against her sister Adélaïde and saying the right things to the King. His Majesty has total confidence in him and does not like the normal course of his justice to be impeded. No, no, do not interrupt …’
The Man with the Lead Stomach Page 3