‘Compromising me? Me! You forget yourself, sir. To whom are you referring?’
‘A man I came across as I arrived at your chateau in Choisy. A man who apparently stole this ring from Madame Adélaïde. A man who seems to be in league with the King’s enemies and yours, Madame. A man, in fact, who has the audacity to use your name to provide himself with an alibi for a crime. That, Madame, is what prompts me to remember your benefaction and to do my utmost to be worthy of it.’
He had the impression that he had gradually raised his voice but that in doing so had given his words a warmth and persuasiveness that she could not fail to respond to. In any case after this outburst there was no way out. She immediately put a brave face on it; with a charming gesture she took his hand.
‘All right, I give in. Let us make our peace. It is no more than I deserve and it will teach me to turn to a sleuth of your calibre. It is obvious that you would not let such a thing go.’
‘Madame, what I am doing, everything I do, is dictated by what you asked me to accomplish: to be fully informed in order to serve and protect you better.’
‘I understand. It was wrong of me not to have told you the whole truth. Here is what happened: I came to know Truche de La Chaux while he was serving at Court. One day he offered to sell me a piece of jewellery, the ring you showed me. I immediately recognised it as belonging to Madame Adélaïde and saw that I could make use of this discovery. I also knew that he had ready access to Madame’s apartments. He was originally a Protestant, although he has since converted. The princess, who is still besotted with religion, loves neophytes. I offered him a deal: either he worked for me or I would reveal what he had done.’
‘I am sorry to tell you, Madame, that there is every chance that he has done the same with your enemies. For the same reason that you have a hold over him, the Comte de Ruissec had him in his power. He had discovered that he was responsible for stealing from Madame’s jewellery collection. I suppose that knowing that the Life Guard had free access to your chateau, the comte did the same as you. He used him for his underhand schemes. I am almost certain that the tract you passed to me was put in your apartments by Truche de La Chaux. To cut a long story short, caught in a bind and also probably for financial gain, he became a double agent and it is impossible to tell where his loyalties lie or even if he has any!’
‘Sir, you have earned my gratitude a second time. I will think about what you have told me.’
‘If I may be so bold, Madame …’
‘By all means, sir. I have every confidence in your good sense.’
‘Continue to pretend to Monsieur de La Chaux. Treat him exactly as before. If you have a trusted servant make sure he keeps a careful watch on him when he is in your houses. Do not warn him until this affair is resolved. I think he is only a minor figure in it. A crook and a thief, certainly, but a minor figure.’
‘You have set my mind at rest, sir. I shall follow your advice. Goodbye.’
She smiled, arranged her veil, gathered up her voluminous dress and disappeared, taking the same path he had used. Nicolas, not wishing to appear to follow her, set off in the opposite direction.
He lost his way amidst the alleys, went round in circles several times and eventually came upon a small square dominated by the figure of a large lead monkey. Finally, he found a way out. He thought that his journey through the labyrinth was symbolic of his investigation. He found himself in a broad avenue lined with hornbeams, at the far end of which he recognised Bacchus’s Basin. From there he reached the central prospect of the palace and walked back towards it.
He had still not recovered from his encounter with Madame de Pompadour. He sensed that their relationship – if that was the right word – would never again have the same frankness. He had overcome her defences, made her disclose one of her secrets and in addition had almost forced her to reveal her own meddling in the Household of the King’s eldest daughter. For a brief moment she had allowed herself to appear before him stripped of all her authority, but, if this were to become known, her situation would be very delicate and greatly weakened.
In addition, Nicolas had still not made up his mind about Truche de La Chaux. He was small fry but involved in serious matters, and evidently careless and heedless of the danger of his actions, and of the indiscretion of his words.
*
Just as he was coming out into the central area of the gardens Nicolas recalled the little deaf-and-dumb boy. He felt that he would never have a better opportunity to check whether the child he had rescued really was the one who carried Monsieur de Ruissec’s messages.
The weather was fine and clear, and it would be pleasant to walk in the park. In the distance the heights of Satory, topped with a bluish haze, were tinged with gold and crimson. He walked briskly to the Sailors’ Gate, near the Grand Canal. There he questioned the guard, who was not the same one as previously but was able to tell him the way to the shed belonging to Le Peautre, the fountaineer. It was no easy task to cross the uncultivated land through the tall trees and thickets. The workshop was in a part of the park that was still very nearly in its original wild state. Nicolas’s heart began to race when a wild sow, followed by its young, burst out of a coppice right in front of him. Further on, a large solitary stag was belling, a column of steam rising above it in the dim light of the undergrowth.
Shortly before reaching the shed he heard strange noises, an irregular banging followed by a long creaking sound. He headed towards them and discovered that they came from the log door of the shed as it slammed in the wind. After making sure that his sword moved easily in its sheath, Nicolas knocked. As there was no reply he went inside.
To begin with he could make out little. A small opening cut into the thick wall let in only a glimmer of light. He dimly perceived a heap of disparate objects. The building was narrow but surprisingly long, and Nicolas continued forward, still disconcerted by the banging and creaking of the door that accompanied his progress. He was startled by a distant whinnying and was immediately on his guard. He was now in total darkness.
He became aware of something else that added to his unease at being in the dark: a metallic smell he knew only too well. He took a few more steps and felt a viscous substance beneath his feet. He bent down and touched it with his hand, then recoiled in horror and immediately ran back towards the light at the entrance to confirm his fears. His hand was covered in blood. His heart began to beat so fast that he was suddenly short of breath and nearly keeled over. What new horror must he face now?
At first sight the place seemed deserted but he had to make sure. He tried to remain calm and to act like the King’s servant he was. He would have to deal with this alone. It was no doubt connected with his investigation but it had happened in the royal domain, in the great park, which meant that if he went to seek help immediately it would become public knowledge. He felt that it was important to keep the matter secret and avoid any scandal.
He looked around for something he could use to make a torch. He found the resinous branch of an old pine tree and gathered some dry moss, which he moistened with the sticky sap. He struck a light and, by blowing gently, managed to ignite the moss, which produced a short yellow and blue flame. The pungent smell of the resin mingled with the autumnal forest scents.
Nicolas went back inside the workshop and at first could see nothing but a heap of logs and bars of lead piled one on top of the other. The torch was guttering and giving off as much smoke as light. On a workbench littered with tools he found a candle stuck into a crudely fashioned lead holder. He lit it and stamped out the torch. His field of vision was now wider. He advanced towards the far end of the workshop and immediately spotted the apparently huge dark pool of blood. Then he heard murmurings and whispered words. Fumbling his way forward, he eventually discovered a low door at the far end of the workshop. Cautiously he turned the knob, pulling it towards him. A narrow passage a few yards long led to another door behind which people were talking. He listened, pressing up aga
inst the door, all senses alert.
‘Will you finally tell a dying man what all this means?’
Nicolas recognised the voice of the Comte de Ruissec. His words were interspersed with rasping croaks. Why on earth was he here when he was supposed to be accompanying the funeral cortège of his wife and son?
Another voice spoke. ‘I have been waiting for this moment for a very long time. Here you are at my mercy at last. First the son and the wife, now it’s the turn of the father and husband …’
‘But what treachery is this? Did we not have common cause?’
The second voice mumbled something that Nicolas was unable to catch. The Comte de Ruissec let out a loud cry.
Nicolas was about to leap forward to open the second door and had already placed his hand on the hilt of his sword when he was struck a violent blow on the back of his head. He fell senseless to the floor.
He could hear Bourdeau’s voice distinctly and clearly, yet it seemed unreal. He felt about with his hands, finding grass beneath them. This, and the smell of the vegetation, brought him back to reality.
‘Look, Doctor, he’s coming round.’
Nicolas opened his eyes to see both the inspector and Semacgus leaning over him, anxiously studying him.
‘He’s a strapping lad and it’s not the first time he’s been knocked out. Nor the last, probably. Bretons are headstrong.’
‘That’ll teach him to be so reckless,’ Bourdeau added.
Nicolas straightened up. A small, clear flame was flickering before his eyes. He touched the back of his neck and could feel a bump the size of a pigeon’s egg.
‘Are you two proposing to render me senseless again by smothering me with your chatter?’ he said. ‘Or are you going to tell me what you’re doing here and what happened?’
Bourdeau nodded, satisfied. ‘Thank God, he grumbles; he must be alive! Monsieur de Sartine, who values you more than he chooses to show, gave me instructions not to let you out of my sight. So the doctor and I followed you here. As we came inside we saw you lying unconscious in this wretched passageway. Two people fled on horseback. We were sick with worry after wading through all that blood.’ He showed his bloodstained shoes.
‘Thank God you’re safe. I asked Dr Semacgus to take you outside and I searched further. Behind the door where you were I discovered the Comte de Ruissec’s body. He’d been killed by a pistol shot. He had his sword in his hand but he stood no chance: a bladed weapon is no defence against a firearm. However, the struggle must have started in the workshop and his opponent dragged him into the room behind. It looks as if he was able to wound his assailant before dying. A trail of blood led to the vegetable garden where the horses waited.’
‘Nothing else?’ said Nicolas, taking in all this.
‘Who do you think attacked you?’
‘It wasn’t the man I heard talking to the Comte de Ruissec. I’m sure of that.’
‘So there were three people here: the comte, his assailant and the person who hit you.’
‘And there’s something even more alarming,’ Bourdeau added. He waved a sheaf of papers. ‘I found an old chest in the loft. It contained an impressive number of documents obviously only left behind in the haste of their escape: new plans of the palace, even more detailed than those found in Grenelle, tracts against the King and La Pompadour and the draft of a declaration announcing the death of the “tyrant Louis XV”.’
‘So we’re right to suspect a plot,’ said Nicolas.
The three friends began a thorough search of the workshop from top to bottom. They carried out their task methodically, examining every tool and every nook and cranny of the cluttered room. Although they found several funnels still contained shining traces of molten metal, this was not definitive proof that the Vicomte de Ruissec had been murdered here; they could just be the normal tools of the trade of the fountaineer. But in current circumstances their presence was nevertheless incriminating. A sort of leather litter fitted at the four corners with metal rings reminded Nicolas of the vile mattresses on to which Sanson’s assistants strapped their victims during torture sessions in the Châtelet. Again that was not conclusive, and Nicolas could not allow himself to read too much into it, but there were certainly questions to be answered.
Dr Semacgus examined the Comte de Ruissec’s body. The wound to the heart had indeed been inflicted by a pistol shot. The amount of blood spilt tallied with a bullet severing the main vessels at the base of the lungs or in the region of the heart. It was not yet clear whether it was murder or suicide, and there was no indication of motive. Nicolas found nothing of note when he searched the dead man’s pockets.
The nature of the documents discovered, Nicolas thought, should be considered in conjunction with the volumes justifying tyrannicide in the Vicomte de Ruissec’s library. It meant that there was a real danger of an attempt on the King’s life. What was the Comte de Ruissec doing here? He had obviously slipped away from the funeral cortège he was supposed to be accompanying in order to ride back at full speed to Versailles. But was he an accomplice or a victim? Or an avenger? Was his death the settling of scores between accomplices?
It was too early to answer these questions. For the time being Nicolas gathered up the most telling documents and, after a last glance at the comte’s mortal remains, left the workshop, asking Bourdeau and Semacgus to ensure that no one entered it.
By the time Nicolas returned to the palace it was three o’clock in the afternoon. He immediately headed for the Ministers’ Wing and asked for an audience with Monsieur de Saint-Florentin. He was quickly shown in. The minister listened to him in silence, carefully sharpening a quill with the aid of a small silver penknife. As usual, Nicolas strove to be clear and concise, describing things without embellishment and avoiding unsubstantiated theories. He cautiously suggested that the comte’s body should be removed by some of the King’s officers in the utmost secrecy and taken to the Basse-Geôle. It was essential that the murder remain secret. In any case, no one would be looking for a man known to be taking his place in a funeral cortège. As the comte had left the convoy he had probably given good reasons for doing so; his household would not therefore be immediately worried about a prolonged absence and would not sound the alarm for a few days, if at all.
Once he had settled the problem of the body, Nicolas asked the minister to give him a week to complete his investigations. He said that he felt confident of being able to reveal the truth by then. Finally he ventured to suggest that further measures should be taken to improve the safety of the palace and the protection of the King.
Monsieur de Saint-Florentin broke his silence to approve the suggestions that had just been made. He too was of the opinion that the new development should be kept secret because it would give the police time to act and Commissioner Le Floch time to complete his task. He was due to receive Monsieur de Sartine that evening, so would pass on to him the latest information and the state of his deputy’s investigation. He added that he was extremely satisfied with Nicolas’s work.
In addition the minister would immediately write to the intendants of the provinces to place Le Peautre on the wanted list, noting that he was probably accompanied by a deaf-and-dumb child. Finally, as an extra precaution all workshops unofficially set up in the park, whether they belonged to fountaineers or others, would be put on record. It was important to regulate this practice, to carry out the necessary checks and no longer to tolerate through laziness the illegal occupation of the royal domain without due title or authorisation.
Monsieur de Saint-Florentin added that once the Ruissec case had been solved he wanted Le Floch to devote some time to studying arrangements at Versailles for the protection of the King, the princes of the blood and also ministers. He ordered Nicolas to draw up a report the conclusions of which would be closely examined to decide how to proceed.
As for the case of Truche de La Chaux, the minister seemed somewhat embarrassed and merely made a vague reference to the need to take into account the wi
shes of a person whom Commissioner Le Floch knew, as well as the minister himself did, could not easily be overruled.
Nicolas did not press the matter. He was convinced that although the deceitful, shallow Life Guard was guilty of dishonesty and theft, he was not implicated in the murders.
The minister rang for one of his trusted officials. He ordered him to assist the commissioner to arrange the collection and transport of the body. But when the man suggested that it would be better not to rely on the King’s officers, who were notoriously indiscreet, Monsieur de Saint-Florentin cut him short by sitting down at his desk and beginning to write as though no one else was there. Nicolas and the official silently left the room.
*
It took some time to get the bearers together, find a vehicle and work out from a map of the park a discreet route to the fountaineer’s workshop. Guarded by Bourdeau and Semacgus, the place was found as Nicolas had left it, and placing the body in a temporary coffin the bearers loaded it on to a cart.
The procession emerged from the park near Satory and joined the Paris road. Nicolas followed in his own carriage. They passed through the city toll-gates a little before nine o’clock. Nicolas had sent an officer ahead on horseback to warn the Châtelet of their arrival. The coffin was taken down to a vault in the Basse-Geôle behind the room where bodies were put on public display. Once the formalities were complete, and after Semacgus had left, Bourdeau suggested to Nicolas that they went for a meal in their usual tavern in Rue du Pied-de-Boeuf. They could go by carriage, which would then take them home. Nicolas had eaten nothing since his morning chocolate and he was starving after such an eventful day so he willingly agreed. He was worn out by all that had happened that day, weary from the effort of keeping his nerve and his temples were throbbing. He was in need of sustenance to revive his spirits after the successive ordeals of facing a defensive Madame de Pompadour, the shock of discovering a dead body and the nervous tension of the meeting with the minister.
The Man with the Lead Stomach Page 24