The Templar Detective and the Parisian Adulteress

by J. Robert Kennedy

  “Albert, my boy, you were given specific instructions not to see Miss Beatrice.”

  Albert paled to the point of blending in with the whitewashed wall lit by candlelight and fire. “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t know. I was summoned by, umm…”

  Joanne rose. “He was summoned by me. And what gives you the right to enter these chambers unannounced?”

  Forbin sneered at her, his contempt clear. “My master does.”

  “Well, I am your mistress, and I order you to return to your station.”

  Forbin laughed. “I’m afraid I don’t take my orders from you, M’Lady, only from your husband.”

  56

  Outside the German Ambassador’s Residence

  Paris, Kingdom of France

  Marcus suppressed a sigh of relief in being right, and a smile at the shocked look on Sir Denys’ face, as the German ambassador stepped through the gates, along with Lord Charles. Simon and the others exchanged muttered comments, obviously as stunned as Denys.

  “Lord Charles! I-I don’t understand! What is happening here? Why are you here?” Denys turned to Marcus. “I don’t understand!”

  “Neither do I!” growled Charles, his eyes wide with rage. “What is the meaning of this? You have no right!”

  Marcus stared at him. “If you’ll give me just a moment, M’Lord.” He turned to Denys. “All will be explained in the Court, but for now, please complete your warrants to include the names of the German ambassador, Lord Charles de Rohan, and Louis Forbin, the captain of his personal guard. Please send some of your guards to arrest him at once. You will find him at Lord Charles’ residence, recovering from a wound one of my men inflicted upon him two days ago.”

  Denys completed the warrants, shaking his head in apparent disbelief at the events still unfolding. He handed the first to one of the soldiers with him. “Take three men with you and bring him to the Court.”

  Marcus approached the soldier. “You should find my squires there as well, David and Jeremy. Have them, Lady Joanne, her chambermaid, Mrs. Thibault, and her man Enzo, join us at the Court.”

  “Yes, sir.” The man bowed slightly in his saddle, then turned with three of his men, charging into the darkness.

  Denys stared at Charles. “Why did you do it?”

  “I did nothing. You will all pay dearly for this.”

  Marcus held up a hand. “Lord Charles, save your arguments for the King’s Court. I understand His Majesty awaits us, and I’m certain he is not a man who likes to be kept waiting, especially at this hour.”

  57

  Outside the de Rohan Residence

  Paris, Kingdom of France

  “Is that Tanya?”

  Jeremy cocked an ear then nodded. “I’d recognize that bark anywhere. Something’s wrong.”

  David urged his horse toward the gates of the de Rohan estate, the reinforced heavy wood doors closed. “Open the gates! It’s Jeremy and David, Sir Marcus de Rancourt’s squires!”

  There was no reply, though David could hear activity on the other side. He didn’t wait, instead dismounting then leaping at the gate, shoving upward with his left foot, gaining enough height to grab the top. Jeremy pushed David’s feet from below, and he swung over, dropping to the ground and drawing his sword as the two shocked guards stood staring at him, unsure of what to do. He reached back and shoved the latch aside, kicking the gate partway open, Jeremy taking care of the rest, joining him with his bow at the ready.

  “Where is Lady Joanne?” demanded David, aiming the tip of his sword at the nearest guard’s throat.

  “She’s under arrest, by order of Lord Charles!”

  David glared at him. “That’s not what I asked.”

  “There!”

  David looked to where Jeremy was pointing, and spotted Lady Joanne and her chambermaid being shoved across the courtyard by several of the guards, one he recognized as the Captain of the Guard they had wounded in Crécy-la-Chapelle. He glanced at Tanya to his right, still tied up from where he had left her earlier, the dog straining against her leash, desperate to get involved.

  And she was exactly the distraction they needed, as the two guards at the gate finally drew their swords. Jeremy buried an arrow deep in his man’s chest as David swung, opening the belly of his before the man’s sword cleared its scabbard. David surged forward, toward Tanya, and swung his sword, slicing her leash. She leaped forward, tearing toward those who would threaten the women, as Jeremy let fly another arrow, dropping one of the guards before they took notice of their arrival.

  Tanya reached them before another arrow could be shot, taking down another guard, leaving only the captain. He spun toward them, his sword at the ready, then turned to swing at Tanya.

  “No!” Jeremy let two arrows fly in quick succession, dropping the man in his place, his sword clattering to the cobblestone as he collapsed to his knees.

  “Kill them!” he cried before his voice turned into a gurgle, blood sputtering from between his lips.

  David turned slowly in a circle, Jeremy pressed to his back as Tanya continued to grapple with her prey. Half a dozen of Charles’ guards encircled them, swords drawn, another half-dozen staff with pitchforks joining them. David reached out and grabbed Lady Joanne, pulling her then Beatrice toward him, placing them between him and Jeremy.

  “Now stop right there! If you come any closer, I promise you death, though not necessarily a swift one!”

  One of them laughed, the others joining in. “We’re twelve, you’re two.”

  David smiled. “I’m happy to see you can count.” He pointed at the man. “Tanya! Get him!”

  Tanya looked up, then to where he was pointing, releasing the mangled arm she had been tearing at, then bolted toward her new target. Jeremy put an arrow in the shoulder of the nearest guard as all were distracted by Tanya’s charge. She leaped through the air and the man dropped his sword, raising his arms to protect his face. The mastiff slammed into him, bringing him to the ground, the snarling beast a terror to behold.

  “Tanya! Get him!” David pointed at the next nearest guard, and she released, sailing through the air at him.

  “What goes on here!”

  David swung toward the new voice, and breathed a sigh of relief as four of the King’s Personal Guard rode through the gate, their swords drawn. “Tanya!” David smacked his leg and the dog broke her grip, returning to his side, panting happily. He stepped toward the new arrivals.

  “I am David, this is Jeremy. We were sent here by our master and Templar knight, Sir Marcus de Rancourt. This woman, Lady Joanne, is under our protection. These men were accosting her when we arrived.”

  The captain of the new arrivals leaned forward in his saddle. “You said Sir Marcus de Rancourt?”

  “Yes.”

  “We were sent here by him to arrest Louis Forbin. Where is he?”

  David pointed at the body. “I think this is him.”

  Lady Joanne stepped forward. “It is. These two brave men and their faithful companion saved us from whatever fate my corrupt husband had in store for us.”

  “Your husband is Lord Charles?”

  She nodded. “Yes.”

  “Then you need not fear him any longer. We arrested him a short time ago. I have orders to bring you to the Court immediately. The King awaits.”

  David bowed slightly. “We shall, but first we have one more task.”

  58

  Palais de la Cité

  Paris, Kingdom of France

  Sir Marcus walked across the polished marble floor, thinking back on the first time he had been here, under arrest, his sergeant and at least a dozen Templars charging in on horseback. It was a sight to behold, and that day had been a shock to all those fortunate enough to have been attending the Court that day.

  Yet though this was late evening, it appeared even more were here, garb from the realms of Europe and beyond, standing to the sides as the accused and witnesses were led into the massive chamber, King Philip IV seated on his throne at the
far end, ceremonial guards on either side.

  Marcus had addressed these people twice now, yet this time he felt insecure, too much of what he was about to say requiring those present to believe him, rather than rely upon physical evidence and confessions. Charles had proclaimed his innocence, but would he continue, once Marcus laid out his case?

  King Philip rose, and the entire Court went silent. “Sir Marcus. Once again, you grace us with your presence. I understand you have some information that could prove of interest to us?”

  Marcus advanced and bowed with a flourish, knowing the vanity of this man demanded observation of all the niceties expected by royalty. “I do, Your Majesty. If you will indulge me, I will explain everything.”

  King Philip nodded then returned to his seat. “Proceed.”

  “Thank you, Your Majesty.” Marcus stepped to the side, motioning toward Lady Joanne. “Two days ago, Lady Joanne, my cousin through the marriage of my sister, arrived at my residence in Crécy-la-Chapelle, pursued by agents of her husband, who had accused her of adultery. After a discussion”—chuckles rippled through the Court, word apparently out on the details of the discussion—“it was agreed that they would return to Paris, and I would follow shortly to meet with their master to discuss the matter. Lady Joanne swore to me that she was innocent of the charges, and I believed her, however I felt the only way justice could be served, was to meet with her husband, Lord Charles.

  “My sergeant and I”—Simon bowed slightly—“left immediately for Paris, and met with Lord Charles that very evening. We were informed that he had received a letter accusing her of adultery with Sir Denys de Montfort”—Sir Denys stepped forward, bowing with a flourish before retreating—“and that he was determined to seek justice. I convinced him to let me look into the matter, as she swore she was innocent. My only promise to him was that whatever I found, even if it were proof of her guilt, I would share with him. In exchange, he promised to not send anyone else after his wife, who was safely ensconced on my farm with two of my squires.” David and Jeremy bowed awkwardly. Marcus turned to Lord Charles. “Sir, do you agree with everything I have said so far.”

  Charles glared at him, but nodded. “Of the things discussed in my presence, yes. What happened between you and my wife, I cannot.”

  Marcus bowed slightly. “Of course.” He turned to Joanne. “And you, M’Lady, will you corroborate the portion of my story that involves you?”

  She stepped forward. “I do.”

  “Thank you.” Marcus turned back to address the Court. “We then visited with Sir Denys, who did not deny the affair, but some doubt was raised as to the identity of the woman he was having the affair with.”

  King Philip raised his hand slightly. “Excuse us? What do you mean? How could there be any confusion?”

  Marcus bowed, the King clearly intrigued, noting that the monarch was sitting on the edge of his seat. “Sir Denys had commissioned a portrait of himself and who he thought was Lady Joanne, unbeknownst to her. It was on display when we arrived, as he was to present her with it that very evening. What was unusual was that the woman in the portrait bore little resemblance to the woman I had just met at my farm earlier that day. So little, in fact, that I was certain they were two different people.”

  “Perhaps the artist was better suited to painting landscapes!” shouted someone from the periphery.

  Laughter filled the room and Marcus smiled, holding up a hand to gently silence them. “Perhaps, though the likeness of Sir Denys was quite excellent. Regardless of the quality of the artist’s work, we met with the woman he was having the affair with, and she soon admitted she was indeed not the Lady Joanne.”

  He paused for effect, and it succeeded, gasps erupting, even King Philip leaning back in his throne, his eyes wide. Marcus let things settle down slightly before pressing on. “In fact, her name was Miss Melanie Girard, and she had been hired to impersonate Lady Joanne.”

  “What proof do you have?” asked someone. “Where is this woman?”

  Marcus frowned. “Unfortunately, the woman was murdered.”

  “Then all we have is your word for it?”

  Marcus shook his head. “No, there were witnesses to her confession.”

  “Then bring them forward.”

  Marcus spun on Charles, holding out his hand, palm open. “Here stands one of the witnesses.” He stepped closer. “Do you confirm that you indeed met Miss Girard, and that she confessed to impersonating your wife?”

  He sighed. “Yes, yes I do. But none of this points to my involvement in any way! I’m innocent—”

  Marcus held up a hand. “We’ll get to that. But you admit that your wife is innocent in the matter of this affair?”

  He nodded. “I do.”

  Marcus turned to Sir Denys. “And you, sir, confirm that the woman you were led to believe was Lady Joanne, is not in fact, this lady?” He pointed at Joanne.

  “I do.”

  Marcus turned toward the Court. “So, we have now established the innocence of Lady Joanne, accused yesterday in this very Court of adultery. I think we can all agree on that?”

  Nods and murmurs encircled the Court, but more importantly, the King nodded. Marcus bowed deeply to him, in case anyone watching the proceedings had missed his acknowledgment. “I thank you, Your Majesty, for agreeing that this poor woman is innocent of these most horrific charges.”

  The King nodded again, Marcus detecting a hint of annoyance at having been forced into what might have been a premature pardon.

  Joanne nearly collapsed with relief, tears flowing down her face as she sought comfort in the arms of her chambermaid. Marcus suppressed a smile at the satisfaction in knowing he had at least succeeded in his original mission of saving his cousin, and proving her innocence.

  But he wasn’t done.

  “Yet that was not all that happened that day,” he continued. “Three other women were accused of the same crime, and the next day, these three men”—he pointed at the Germans who had already been waiting when his entourage had arrived—“turned themselves in, confessing to the crime, and claiming they had been hired by the husbands to impregnate their wives, as they had no male heirs.” Another wave of indignation and disgust made its presence known. “I found this story to be ridiculous at the least, but what I couldn’t understand was why they had turned themselves in. Why not flee? Perhaps if they had declared their love for these women, and begged the Court for leniency on the part of the women they loved, I could understand their actions. But they didn’t. Instead, they told this ridiculous story.

  “I decided to meet with one of the accused men, Lord Gaspard de Laval, and he confirmed with me that while he had no sons, unbeknownst to most, he had a brother who would inherit should anything happen to him, which didn’t match the information I had previously heard.” He stepped toward the three imprisoned wives. “Which of you is Lady de Laval?”

  A woman stepped forward, her chin held high. “I am.”

  “And when you were forced to sign your confession, did you inform them that your husband had a male heir?”

  “I did.”

  “And what was the reaction.”

  She glanced over at the prosecutor, whom Marcus was surprised had remained silent this entire time, only the King, he was sure, able to keep the man’s mouth shut. “He seemed surprised, then amended my confession to include mention of my husband desiring an heir from his direct lineage.”

  Marcus bowed to her. “Thank you, M’Lady.” He turned back to the court. “Obviously, these confessions were based upon the lies told by these three men”—he motioned toward the three Germans—“who obviously didn’t know about the male heir Lord Gaspard had. If one of them were indeed having an affair with his wife, with her knowing full well why, then surely it would have been mentioned long before the arrest, and he would have told the prosecutor that his situation was unique.” He turned to the prosecutor, now beet red. “Did he?”

  The man glanced at the King whose eyes
flared slightly. He turned back to Marcus. “No, he did not.”

  “Thank you.” Marcus faced the three Germans. “Yet more holes poked into the accusations made by these three men.” Marcus turned back to the crowd. “But more was going on here, and it ties back to the celebrations for the canonization of Louis IX on August ninth of this year. I’m sure you all remember the tragic stage collapse?” Assent swept the room. “Many were injured that day, and many required the use of a cane for weeks, and some still do to this day. Why is this significant, you might ask? It is for one reason. The man who hired Miss Girard to impersonate Lady Joanne, did so shortly after the stage collapse, and employed a cane. In later encounters, he did not.”

  “Encounters with whom?”

  Marcus bowed slightly toward the side of the room the question had come from. “I’m glad you asked.” He motioned toward Simone Thibault. “Mrs. Thibault is a woman of many talents in her neighborhood, known to be able to provide all manner of services. She was approached several months ago by a man who employed a cane. He had need of a woman, his description matching that of Lady Joanne, but more importantly, she needed to be trained to act like a lady. Miss Girard was hired, trained, and a month later, contact was made once again with this mysterious stranger.” He beckoned Thibault. “Madam, if you would, please tell the Court how contact was made.”

  She stepped forward, curtseying awkwardly. “A note was left in the far left of the third pew in the St. Severin Church. The very next day, the man returned to my premises to provide final payment. I gave him the address of the girl, and a coachman that could be relied upon. I never saw him again until yesterday when he tried to kill me.”

  “Did you ever see his face?”

  She shook her head. “No.”