“Jean left this with me three years ago, after the Emperor lost his army in Russia. He said it was a precaution ‘in case anything happened to him’. He’s taken a few things out since and added others.”
“What’s in it?”
“He didn’t tell me and I never asked. He only said that, if he died, he wanted me to use the contents to help Margot and Lucienne.” Margot was Lucienne’s mother who died two years ago. “There are only two keys, Jean had one and I kept the other in case I needed it.”
He selected a key from his ring and opened the box, which contained papers and a few small leather bags, tied tightly with thongs. Martin and I looked at each other. We both knew Lefebvre’s story and his notorious past.
“Are these what I think they are?” I pointed to the leather bags.
“Probably.” Martin pulled one out and untied the thong. He upended the bag onto the palm of his hand.
“My God!” Jewels glittered in the candle light, red, blue, green and white. A king’s ransom lay before us. “I thought he was poor!”
“He wouldn’t touch these. He told me once that he’d never make old bones and he wanted Margot and Lucienne to be cared for.”
“They would have been, even without these,” I muttered.
Martin gazed at me. “I know that and so did he, but these are his legacy to the ones he loved.”
“The stones aren’t mounted,” I said, picking up a sapphire and held it up to the light. “This one has no marks to show that it has ever been set. Are the other bags the same?”
One bag held pearls, the other golden Louis d’Or. A fortune and no mistake. I could not help wondering who these treasures really belonged to and if their owners could be traced. Lefebvre had once been the greatest jewel thief in Paris. Martin must have been thinking along the same lines because he said,
“Shall we see what these papers say?”
The one on top was Lefebvre’s will, drawn up by an advocate whom Martin knew.
“A more decent man than most of his kind,” Martin described him to me.
It was a simple document. Lefebvre left everything to Margot and Lucienne. He noted that his sister’s son, the inn-keeper Bourienne’s child, died of fever some years ago and so he had no other relatives. If neither Margot nor Lucienne survived, his goods should be divided between his ‘good friends’ Martin and me. We looked at each other.
“Now if I was an evil man…” Martin said with a lopsided grin.
“A pity I am still a police agent.” I replied, wondering if this was still the truth. “Let’s see what else there is.”
The box contained several legal papers, leases and so forth, mainly old ones. Lefebvre moved his living quarters a lot. I found some notes about his cases, usually ones we shared. I realised right away that these were sensitive documents, which he had obviously kept in case anyone made trouble for us.
“I’ll take these, if I may,” I said to Martin.
“Please do, I wouldn’t know what to do with them,” he replied.
At the bottom of pile, almost as if he had hidden them there, lay three letters. They were sealed with wafers and written in newer ink than anything else. They were addressed to Lucienne, Martin and myself and bore the note that they should only be opened if Jean was dead.
“Wait a moment,” Martin said. He vanished again and then came back with some brandy and a couple of glasses.
“I need a drink before I read his letter. I bet you do as well.”
He gave me a glass. I took a gulp before I, too, broke the wafer and started to read Lefebvre’s words:
‘My dear friend,
If you are reading this, I am no longer alive and this is my last letter to you.
Firstly, I want to thank you for all the times you have stood my friend, even at some risk to yourself. You saved me from the guillotine and from that old witch who tried to kill me when we investigated the case of the New Messiah. I would have been dead long ago without you. You gave me many years of life but now they are over and I must make provision for my daughter’s future.
Please be my friend now, as you have always done before and ensure that my wishes are carried out. I have left a similar note for Jacques Martin, who is the only other man I trust with important things. You are not fond of him, but he is honest and will not fail me. I ask you to act together, as you have done in the past whenever it was required.
In the box I left with Jacques, I have placed all my wealth. You will find a few trinkets in my apartment, which have only sentimental value. I do not believe in banking houses; they are too easy to rob, as I know well. Better to leave valuables in the hands of honest men, if you can find any.
Knowing your principles, I must tell you at once that the jewels and gold inside the box are not the products of my former career. They have been bought over the years from the investments I made in two firms, one a sword-smith and the other a rifle-maker. The Emperor’s wars have made me a rich man once again, this time by honest means not robbery. Gold and precious stones keep their value, no matter who rules in France. I preferred no one to know of this, in case Laurent or one of his henchmen attempted to deprive me of my property. Jacques has handled some of the transactions for me and you may trust him to do the same in future.
There are three bags, one of gold, one of pearls and one of precious stones. The bag of gold is to be used firstly to pay my debts. Then it is to be divided equally between yourself and Jacques. This is to enable you to fulfil my wishes and as a token of gratitude for your friendship over many years.
Since my poor nephew, Philip Bourienne, died of fever a few years ago, my daughter, Lucienne Lefebvre is my only living relative.
I appoint you, Alain Duval, to be her guardian until she attains the age of twenty-five or marries beforehand. She said that she wished to leave Paris and wanted us to accompany you and Eugénie to Grenoble. If she is still of the same mind, I would beg you to take her there. If she chooses another course, I trust you to see she is placed in a situation where she is well provided and cared for. The bag of pearls should be sold as required and used to pay for her upkeep until she leaves your care. You would do this in any case, but there is no need for me to encroach any more upon your generosity. It is my responsibility to provide for my daughter.
The bag of jewels is for Lucienne’s dowry. She will be rich enough to attract a good husband, but, I pray you to see that he cares for her and not for her possessions. Half the proceeds from the sale of the jewels should be paid to her husband on their wedding day. If she remains unmarried, she should receive this share on her twenty-fifth birthday. Give her the remainder when she is thirty, married or not.
Remind her of me often and assure her of my love. It has not always been possible for me to be the kind of father I wished to be. Since her mother’s death, she has been first in my thoughts. Look after her for me, old friend.
I made one of my better decisions when I came to your aid, that first night you arrived in Paris. Do you remember? We have lived through many adventures since. Without you, I would never have met my darling Margot, who is with me now, I hope.
Give my love to Eugénie, who has also been my dear friend, your daughters and that little scamp Jean-Pierre, my godson. There is a token in my box for each of them, so they do not forget me.
Bless you, Alain. May God keep you and yours safe and well in the future.
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 obviously 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 ourselv
es 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,
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