Napoleon's Police

by Michele McGrath

  “Yes, General.” This was the only answer we could give, but I, for one, was seething inside and I was not on my own. As we left the room, I could not help seeing the look on Fouché’s face. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes looked spiteful. He did not say anything at all until we got into the Ministry building. Then he told us to come with him to his room. Réal was waiting for him and came forward, as if to follow us. Fouché motioned him aside and we went through to his inner office alone.

  Fouché’s anger is a very different thing to Bonaparte’s, I found out that day. Bonaparte is noisy and blusters. Fouché, on the other hand is cold and sharp, like a knife sliding into your heart.

  “Let us be quite clear about what has just happened, so there are no mistakes,” Fouché said to us, as we stood before his desk. “Neither of you will mention anything about the meeting at the palace today. Neither of you will discuss the investigation which is now finished. I will suspend all the activity immediately. You will both be assigned to other duties, more productive ones, I trust. If one word gets out about this affair, you will lose both your jobs and your liberty. Bonaparte means what he says. Everyone will speculate, but you will not to join in or answer any questions put to you. Least of all will you confirm that the change of direction is as a result to the First Consul’s direct orders. This prohibition applies whether you are speaking with your colleagues or your superiors. If there are problems, you will refer the person to me and I will handle him. Do you understand me?”

  “We understand, Citizen Minister,” Fournier said, before I could say anything at all.

  “Very well, you may go.”

  We hurried out and passed Réal without speaking to him. Once we reached the corridor, Fournier clutched my arm and pulled me down the stairs. He did not release his grip until we were outside the building, on the other side of the street where we could not possibly be overheard. Then I shook his hand off.

  “I wasn’t going to say anything. I know how to hold my tongue if I’m ordered to,” I told him angrily.

  He shrugged. “I’m sure you do, but you don’t really know what this place is like yet. It’s full of people who will jump on your every word and twist it to suit them. Laurent, for example, would be delighted if you started cackling. If we do precisely what we have both been told, shut our mouths, never mention the investigation again, we’ll survive. Do what you’re assigned to do and forget it ever happened. If you don’t, you’ll be out of here and into prison so fast you’d think you’d grown wings. Fouché means what he says and he’s the most vindictive man I’ve ever met.”

  I nodded thoughtfully, but I had to ask, “What will happen to the men we know are guilty? The men who killed Gilbert?”

  “There’s more than enough to condemn them, without the bomb plot. They’ll meet the ‘Widow Maker’ for his death, but they won’t go there alone. They’ll have plenty of Jacobins to keep them company.”

  “Even though we know they’re innocent.”

  Fournier rolled his eyes at me. “Jacobins are never innocent! If they’re not guilty of this outrage, they’ll be guilty of something else. Fouché knows that, he was one of their leaders not very long ago. That’s why he didn’t argue it out. Bonaparte understands him and he’s well informed. He had enough information from his friend Augustin Robespierre, before they chopped off his head. We arrested a few Jacobins even before this last bomb went off, a scribbler called Metge and Chevalier who’s a chemist. He’s certainly capable of making bombs and we found some explosives in his house. Both of them were in prison long before this bomb went off, though, so it wasn’t Chevalier’s work.”

  “Doesn’t Bonaparte know that?”

  “Certainly he knows, but guilty or innocent doesn’t make much difference to him. He’ll have his own reasons for saying what he did and sending us off in the wrong direction. As First Consul, he doesn’t have to tell us what they are and we’re unlikely to find out. He gives the orders and we obey. Even Fouché does that, as you just saw.”

  “It’s hardly justice.”

  “Justice is a luxury neither of us can afford while we work for the Police, remember that. If you want to do the right thing, become a priest — although I don’t guarantee it even then. Why do you think I dragged you out here? I thought I’d warn you, that all.”

  “I should thank you, I expect.”

  Fournier smiled at the reluctance in my voice. “You should and you will in time. I can wait for the moment you realise I’ve done you a good turn.”

  Chapter 20

  Ironically, some weeks later, I saw Limoëlan again. We’d arrested and deported over a hundred Jacobins to a slow death in Guyana, by then. Metge and Chevalier were dead also as well as the Chouans, Saint-Régeant, Villeneuve and Carbon, the man with the scar. Their politics differed in some respects, but their fate was exactly the same. Dressed in red, the traditional mark of the parricide or an unintentional killer, they were guillotined on the Place de Grève on the 1st Floreal. I didn’t go to watch it happen, but I did not weep for any of them. They’d killed, or planned to kill, enough innocent people and they all deserved their sentence.

  I had no further official interest in Limoëlan, of course, for the investigation would never be reopened. Indeed, we burned most of the relevant documents on the Minister’s orders. Not even Fournier said anything more to me about it, after that first day. The issue was dead and we had both been assigned to other duties, mostly trivial things. I dealt with some thefts and a case of arson against a baker who hoarded grain to sell his loaves at a higher price. I had expected to be given this sort of work when I started. The affair of the Infernal Machine, as it came to be known, was exceptional. Fortunately, such events rarely happen, even if many are planned. My life became a routine of questioning witnesses, looking for evidence and giving testimony before the tribunal, if we found enough to convict the criminals.

  Interesting work sometimes, but, if I tell the truth, my mind was elsewhere in those months, as spring turned into summer. I had another far more important distraction. Ever since I encountered her in the Palais Royal, I had been meeting Eugénie regularly. That first evening at the Comédie proved a great success. We shared a sense of humour, which I think is rare between men and women.

  Perhaps I have spent too much of my life in men’s company. The women I used to know were those you would expect a soldier to encounter far away from home. With them, there is little time for talking, never mind jokes. I had never been part of a circle of family and friends since I left Grenoble. Soon after taking Eugénie to the Comédie , I fell into the habit of calling on her two or three times a week. Several times I found her with others. A few of whom I remembered from the day I first met her, like the old woman, Agnès, who opened the door to me on that occasion. Once or twice Fournier visited. I had been surprised to see him the first time, but he did not seem to find my presence strange. I discovered later that he often used to come to see Gilbert and Francoise and he saw no reason to change his habits. Occasionally he brought his wife, who turned out to be much nicer than I expected from the way he talked about her. Those evenings, chatting by the fire while Eugénie sewed, were very pleasant. At other times, I took her to eat in one of the new cafés that had opened all over Paris or to the theatre. Sometimes we walked through the open spaces or along the river, telling each other about our lives before we met.

  I remember my horror when I found out that, before the Revolution, Eugénie dreamed of becoming a nun.

  “What a criminal waste that would have been,” I exclaimed.

  She smiled, but her smile was sad. “I liked school and the convent was peaceful. Then the Revolution came and all the convents closed down before I could carry out my intention.”

  “I am very glad to hear it,” I said. “If they opened again do you think you might still be tempted?”

  Her eyes sparkled as she looked up at me through her long lashes. “Perhaps.”

  My heart gave a sudden thud, until I realised s
he was laughing at me. “I can think of a better life to live.”

  “Can you?”

  I smiled because she had given me the opportunity I’d been waiting for. I knew by now that I loved her and wanted to marry her. I had been afraid to ask her, because she might give me a roundabout answer or no answer at all. Then all my hopes would be shattered. On the other hand, her answer could lift our relationship into a new fervently hoped-for intensity. One thing I was certain of, though, I wanted to know. I could wait no longer.

  “Yes,” I answered blandly, “I can.”

  “Tell me then.”

  “The best life I can think of is to be married to you and to be together forever.”

  “Oh!”

  I took her hand in mine. “Marry me, Eugénie, I love you so much.”

  “Do you?” Her eyes dropped.

  “Tell me you love me too,” I demanded. She didn’t answer me for a moment and it seemed as if time stood still. Then she looked up at me and said slowly.

  “I’m not sure I know what love really is, Alain. I am young and I have never thought about marriage, except in the silly way children do.”

  “Think of it now.”

  “Even if I wanted to, I cannot leave Maman so soon after Papa’s death.” I looked at her fully then, and I became aware that she still did not wear anything coloured. Her skirt and jacket were black, although she wore a soft white blouse. The time of family mourning was not finished yet.

  “I can wait, if you will tell me there is some hope for me.”

  At that she grinned, the delightful grin of a street urchin. “I can tell you this at least. If and when I do think of marriage, I will think of being married to you.”

  I gave a great whoop of delight, caught her up in my arms and whirled her round until we were both dizzy. She giggled when I set her on her feet.

  “You lovely girl. I can wait, I will wait, forever if need be.”

  “You need not wait as long as that,” she said with another grin.

  “Tell me when you want me to speak to your mother.”

  “Not yet. She likes you or she would not let me go out with you, but she is lonely and sad without Papa.”

  “I understand,” I said and tried not to let my disappointment show. I have always been impatient and I knew waiting would test me to the limit. Yet if I pressed her further, I might drive her away from me. So I settled for the half loaf she had given me.

  “Enough of serious things, then, let’s have fun.”

  So we did and nothing more was said for some weeks. I never forgot that moment, though, and neither, as she confessed afterwards, did Eugénie.

  Chapter 21

  The next few months were among the happiest in my life. I was more and more in love with Eugénie. She was the friend I never had since Pierre died, although she was so much more. We laughed a lot that summer as Paris sweltered in the dusty heat.

  My work, too, took a turn for the better, mainly as a result of my friendship with Lefebvre. We met regularly, all over the city. As well as conversation, Lefebvre began to feed me scraps of gossip that I found useful for my job. He had the ear of those who knew what was happening in Paris and who was planning what. I was sceptical at first, wondering if his tips were to be believed. I confided to Fournier that I had found a new snitch and together we tested out Lefebvre’s information. Perhaps because I had helped him escape or just for friendship’s sake, Lefebvre continued to pass me these nuggets and they were invaluable. Gradually, my standing in the Ministry rose, as we were able to lay traps for some of the worst criminals and catch them.

  Laurent became more civil to me too, although he was never friendly. Petit went around like a figure of woe for some weeks and then reverted to the man I had known at first, brash and self-centred. Réal was pleased with my progress and one day he told me so. He also told me that my post at the Ministry had been made permanent. On that day, I took Eugénie and her mother out for dinner to celebrate. We toasted my success in fine red wine.

  “May I speak to your mother now?” I whispered to Eugénie when Françoise had left the table for a few moments. “Now my post is confirmed, I can start saving for a home of our own.”

  She looked at me and, for a heart-stopping moment, I thought she was going to refuse. Then a smile spread right over her face and she nodded.

  “You will marry me?” I asked, unable to believe my good fortune.

  “Yes.”

  When Eugénie’s mother returned, I took my courage in both hands and asked her for her daughter’s hand in marriage.

  “I have been wondering when you would ask me, Alain. I know Eugénie cares for you and I am happy for you to be betrothed to her.”

  I started to say something in reply, something inane such as ‘great honour’ but she held up a finger to stop me and continued. “You will have to wait a little while to marry. I must be sure that you are in a position to support her decently and she has all her trousseau to sew. In the meanwhile I trust you to act as you have done so far. Promise me to wait for your marriage before Eugénie becomes more to you than just a friend.”

  I took her hand in mine and kissed her fingers. “I promise.”

  “Eugénie, do you make the same promise? It will be difficult for Alain and not fair of you to tempt him. ”

  “I promise too, Maman.”

  “Sew quickly, Eugénie!” I said and we all laughed.

  Chapter 22

  Some months after my first proposal to Eugénie, we were planning our wedding with little thought for anything else, when I met Limoëlan again. Those two facts, in a strange way, were connected. That evening, I went to her house, after work. I used to call whenever I left the Ministry early enough. She often worked at home on special orders or if the workshop was overcrowded. Sometimes I was lucky, even if we had made no arrangements to meet.

  As I walked down the street, Limoëlan came past me in the opposite direction. I’d passed him before I realised who he was, so I spun on my heel and followed him. A pointless chase, but I never thought the thing through. I acted on instinct. I couldn’t bring him to justice for his crime, but I had tried so hard to find him before. I was reluctant to let him go, without at least speaking with him. I felt surprised he was still in the city and walking so calmly through the streets. He was a killer after all and he must know his colleagues had been arrested and paid the price. Yet he sauntered along, not looking right or left, to all appearances an honest citizen, taking a stroll on a pleasant evening.

  I followed him closely, hoping for the chance to overtake him and working out what I would say when I did. I wanted to find out what he was doing here and, perhaps, also which one of Fournier’s three theories had been correct. Limoëlan made no attempt to elude me and continued to walk unhurriedly. He seemed totally unaware that he was being followed. I am not that adept at following someone and I was surprised he did not spot me.

  When I increased my pace, to bring the chase to an end and overtake him, he glanced behind him for the first time. There was something so furtive in his manner that I did not carry out my intention to accost him. I walked on, passing him by without looking at him, and turned at the next corner. I had not been aware of my surroundings until now, but I suddenly recognised Citizeness Pensol’s bakery. I wondered if he might be going there again. He did not turn the corner after me, though. I stood looking into a shop window and waited a moment to be sure he wasn’t coming; then I doubled back. I walked slowly, glancing into all the shops, in case he was inside one of them, but saw no sign of him. I passed the small alleyway that led to the old church where he had vanished before. Perhaps I missed something the first time I searched for him. I wouldn’t be satisfied unless I tried again.

  I took a deep breath and plunged into the alley, gripping my sword stick firmly in my hand. I half thought it might be a trap and he had been alert to my presence all along. Was he in the shadows, waiting to attack me? No. I walked on down the alley, conscious of the sound of my footsteps e
choing in that narrow place. No doorways or other places offered any concealment; I had been right the first time. Limoëlan was not in the alleyway and only the church remained. I wondered why he would go to such an unlikely and disused venue. I had a wild thought that perhaps I might have uncovered another of his plots, and he was meeting with others to plan some new outrage. Then I dismissed the thought and reminded myself not to speculate.

  As I came into the square, I realised that something had changed since my last visit. The old church was no longer empty. The evening shadows were falling and faint lights flickered in its dirty windows. At first, I thought it was a trick of my imagination, some flash of the sinking sun hitting the glass, but then I saw it again. Someone was definitely inside the building. I approached the place somewhat gingerly. If it was not Limoëlan, then I had lost him again, for he had ample time to vanish if he had not come this way.

  As I climbed up the shallow steps and put my hand on the church door, it opened and a woman came out. She started back when she saw me and let the heavy door fall behind her with a loud bang. She was the last person I expected to meet. At once all thought of Limoëlan flew out of my head as I stared at her.

  “Eugénie, what on earth are you doing here?”

  “Alain...” She kissed my cheek but, when I took her hand, she trembled.

  “Are you all right?” I asked anxiously, wondering what was wrong with her.

  “You gave me a shock bumping into me, that’s all.”

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to. I was on my way to visit you. Are you going back to your house? May I escort you?”

  Eugénie laughed. “So many questions! Yes and yes. I am going home and you may certainly escort me. I would be glad of your company.”

  I drew her hand through the crook of my arm.

  “What a strange place to find you,” she said.