Duval and the Empress's Crown

by Michele McGrath

  I shuddered. “I can only answer for myself. There are plenty of other mistresses to be had if you have money enough, even if they are not all princesses.”

  Fournier smiled. “It might be entertaining to watch him squirm as he makes his choice. But there is a more important question than the identity of the thief. Where is the crown now?”

  8

  8 Frimaire, Year XIII

  (Thursday, November 29, 1804)

  “Lefebvre, this is more your area of expertise than ours,” I said and he nodded. “Where would you expect the crown to be hidden?”

  “I agree with Fournier. The Princesses wouldn’t hide something so important in a bank; they dare not trust anybody else with that kind of a secret. If Napoléon decides he must act, he might order all the safe deposits in Paris to be opened. He’s not a fool and he knows his family and their assets well. After all, he gave them most of their riches. If they did take such a risky action, they won’t want their plan thwarted at the last moment. They wouldn’t put it anywhere where it might be found by chance. It is safest somewhere that will not be searched and so it will be kept near to one of them. If I were in their position, I would certainly fall ill too, to protect my windfall. Except my illness would not be faked; I’d be quaking with terror and wondering how I could return the wretched thing without being caught.”

  “You pudding-heart, Jean!” Fournier exclaimed and Lefebvre grinned.

  “If it is in a secret place, it will be hard to find,” I mused.

  “Is anything really secret in a house full of servants?” Lefebvre asked slyly. “Most of these hidey-holes are obvious, if you know what to look for. Very few people have any imagination. I’ve rarely been defeated.”

  I smiled, seeing a possible way forward at last. “You are certainly the best one to find out.” I said.

  “I will try.”

  “Where will you start?”

  “Caroline’s.”

  “Why Caroline not Élisa?” Fournier asked. “She had the better opportunity.”

  “Caroline’s the one skulking in her bedroom at the moment. Leave this to me. As you say, it’s my expertise.”

  “If Caroline’s feigning a strategic illness, she can’t stay in bed for ever,” I murmured. “Don’t forget there are balls and parties all over Paris. Caroline won’t be able to miss every one of them. Her absence would be remarked on and the Emperor is sure to ask questions. He likes to have his family around him at big occasions. He’s been known to send a physician to ladies who pretend to be sick so they can avoid certain situations. Caroline wouldn’t want to risk being examined by a doctor if she is pretending.”

  “Perhaps the sisters will take it in turn to guard the crown.”

  “They might, but it would be dangerous for them to transfer it between their houses.”

  “Why? Unless you had proof positive that they had it, would you give the order to search the house or the person of one of the Emperor’s sisters?”

  “Not me. I see what you mean,” I said ruefully. “Even with his authorisation, I would be worried.”

  “If Caroline is recovered tomorrow, I wonder which one of her sisters will fall ill?” Fournier thought aloud.

  “If one does, it could tell us where the crown is hidden, especially if Caroline has visited the invalid,” Lefebvre said.

  “So all the houses will need to be watched.”

  “But not by any of the other agents. There’s sufficient gossip in the bureau already. We’ll have to divide the task among ourselves.”

  “Tomorrow will tell us if we are thinking correctly, one way or another.”

  “Yes. But if nothing happens, I will have to confess my failure so Napoléon can act in time,” I said ruefully. My words depressed me so much I took a gulp of the watered wine and promptly choked again.

  “Did you find out anything more about the apprentice or Christophe?” I asked Lefebvre when I could speak.

  “Christophe is an interesting character.”

  “Is he a thief?”

  “None of the fences know him and one of them would if he was.”

  “Then why was he so anxious when we questioned him?”

  Lefebvre grinned. “He has a nice little sideline when he’s not working for Margueritte.”

  “What sort of sideline?”

  “Let’s suppose someone is making up to your wife and you want him warned to stay away. Christophe will make him think twice about continuing his attentions to her if you pay him enough for his services.”

  “A murderer?”

  “Rumour says not. A bruiser with a hard fist and an even harder cudgel. Something for us to check on later after this mess is over.”

  “Certainly it’s of less importance at this moment.”

  “What about the young lad, Jacques?” Fournier asked him.

  “He lives with his mother in the same lodging house as Simon, Madame de Herlay’s servant, used to before he started to sleep in her servant’s quarters. Quite a nice change for him. Simon’s father is still there and the place stinks.”

  “So Jacques and Simon knew each other before?”

  “It’s likely though no one’s admitting it.”

  “Have you discovered why Simon carried a false note?”

  “Not yet. I have set a friend of mine on to find out everything they can about the old lady’s household. When she reports, I’ll have something more to tell you.” He must have seen my face because he continued, “Don’t worry. I didn’t tell her anything except that I was interested in the servants and how the house is run. I’ve been discreet.”

  I nodded. “Perhaps Garnier will get the information from Jacques. Just hope he doesn’t make up fairy stories that send us chasing all over Paris, just to get Garnier to stop questioning him.”

  “He knows his stories would be checked. I wouldn’t want Garnier to know I had been lying, if I was in his position.”

  “I went back to the Ministry and checked our records on this Madame de Herlay,” Fournier volunteered. “They confirmed what you found out from Eugénie. The woman is a former viscountess who fled during the Revolution. If they’d remained here, they’d most likely be dead by now. Her husband died abroad and she came home in 1803, with her daughter. Her son stayed behind so we don’t have anything on him. The old lady keeps her head down. We’ve monitored her correspondence, with little result. She doesn’t write to her son and the letters she does send are trivial ones to friends.”

  “Any reason why she should send a false message?”

  “No, but Lefebvre’s friend may find out something I’ve missed.”

  “And so might Eugénie. Apparently the lady likes her and she knows both her daughter and her daughter’s maid.” I paused. “I’ve asked Eugénie if she will call on them and see if she can find out anything.”

  “Why did you do that?” Fournier asked with a frown. Since my father-in-law died, Fournier, who was his friend, has been very protective of Eugénie and the rest of her family. He hates her being involved whenever I suggest it, but Eugénie has a good brain and a way of thinking that is very helpful.

  “Eugénie chats with the maid when her mistress visits Leroy’s, so it is possible she will find out more than we would. Eugénie’s clever.”

  “She could get into trouble if she says the wrong thing, Alain. I wish you’d keep Eugénie out of our cases.”

  “I would never put her into danger, you know that, and I trust her. She’s far more diplomatic than either of us.”

  “Not hard.” Lefebvre snorted and changed the subject. “Did you find out anything about Robart?” he asked, deliberately breaking the sudden tension.

  “He’s not in debt. He pays his bills promptly and there is nothing in the records. A model citizen, or so it appears.”

  “Isn’t everyone?” Fournier asked, “at least on the surface.”

  “He’s another one Garnier’s been told to question. Don’t envy him the experience but if there is anything to find o
ut, he’ll do so.”

  “Would you say he’s unlikely to take a bribe?”

  “He might. Anyone can be bribed if the offer is good enough, but he’s less likely, I would think than some of the others.”

  “Especially Dupré,” Lefebvre said. “I checked. He is the same man I mentioned before. Pauline paid his debts a few months ago, at the start of their affair. He owed a lot at the time and the merchants were dunning him for their money. It didn’t take him long to return to the same situation. He owes more now and to the wrong people this time. I wonder if Pauline will help him out again now that her passion has cooled. I’ve asked one of Garnier’s men to follow him, in case something happens. And, no, I did not tell him anything more than to report what he sees.”

  I nodded and asked, “Who are these ‘wrong people’ you mentioned?”

  “Not just simple merchants this time. He’s been seen in some of the hells in the Palais de l’Égalité, amongst other places even less salubrious. Not the sort of houses to gamble in without being able to pay your debts, believe me. Do you want to know what’s the main wager he has outstanding at the moment?” There was a glitter in Lefebvre’s eyes, which I knew well. He had obviously saved his best information to the last to surprise us.

  “Tell us.”

  “He’s been betting all over Paris on whether the Empress Joséphine will actually be crowned on Sunday!”

  We decided that until I found out what happened at Caroline’s next morning, there was little point in us standing guard at all three of the Princesses’ hôtels. If the sisters had the crown, it was likely to be at Caroline’s. Fournier wanted to station an agent outside her house to follow her if she suddenly got better and left. I was concerned in case he was observed and the Princess alerted. It seemed unlikely that more than one of the sisters would be keeping to their beds. There was a ball in the Tuileries being held tonight, where they would be expected to be present and their absence would be questioned. Since I was the most respectably dressed, I volunteered to check which of the ladies were at the palace during the course of the evening.

  I felt a little sick whenever I thought about how few hours we had left to find the crown. We would all need to work through the night to tie up the other strands of the investigation. We did not have enough time to follow up all the leads and so we would have to decide which ones seemed most promising. I hate investigations like this one, with no time to do anything except react to circumstances. I had the hollow feeling that I was bound to miss something. I just hoped it would not be important.

  Lefebvre agreed to concentrate on discovering why Simon had given Jacques a false message. Fournier would find and follow Saint Victor. I would do the same with Dupré, who was likely to be near to Pauline, so I could watch her as well. Madame de Herlay would be left to Eugénie. Christophe and the women at Margueritte’s seemed to be of lesser importance for the moment and could wait until the following day. I hoped, by then, Eugénie would have something to tell me. If she had failed, then I would have to interview Madame de Herlay myself. We decided to meet again at Fournier’s apartment at six tomorrow morning to compare our findings and decide on our next actions.

  Fournier had brought with him the files from the Ministry concerning our suspects. We divided them between us and read their contents before we went any further. There was relatively little on the Princesses. Perhaps their papers had been locked away or destroyed at Napoléon’s order. Certainly they were not available to everybody. There was a fat dossier on Margueritte, a much smaller one on Madame de Herlay and quite a lot on the two equerries. I pounced on Dupré’s and skimmed through it. There was information on his financial position, which was poor, with many outstanding debts. His meeting with Princess Pauline was described. He had delivered a message to her from his superior officer who was also her previous lover. The man had made a mistake sending him to her as he found to his cost. Dupré’s address was given as a second floor apartment in a small street just off the Quai Bernard, not a fashionable area at all. I decided to start with a visit to his lodging.

  We left the tavern and went our separate ways. I took a hack due to the press of time. We crossed the river and arrived in the district quite quickly. As I expected, Dupré’s house was like so many in Paris, past its better days. The entrance was dank and malodorous. I knocked up the concierge who was less than happy at my arrival. He changed his attitude when he read the Emperor’s authorisation. Then he could not do enough for me. From him I learned that Dupré was behind in paying his rent. The owners had not started to dun him for they knew that he was keeping company with ‘this rich high-born lady’, to quote the man. He had not seen Dupré for several weeks and from the sound of it, had no wish to do so ever again, although he did not tell me why. I imagined Dupré’s arrogance annoyed him as it had annoyed me.

  He conducted me up the rickety stairs and opened the door of Dupré’s apartment. The place was quite tidy and clean but it had the musty smell of somewhere that is not being lived in. I tipped the concierge and he left me alone with the lantern to investigate. I quickly found candles to add more light and proceeded to make a thorough search. I found lots of bills and love letters from several ladies, but not Pauline. Having met her, I doubted she was one for the niceties of courtship. She wouldn’t have the patience to write to any man.

  The press held some clothes, several of them in need of repair and laundering. Dupré had obviously taken his better garments with him and left these cast-offs behind. I was beginning to think that this search was a waste of time. I have conducted many investigations during my years in the Police. Lefebvre has also taught me some tricks in the time we have been together, although I will never attain his mastery. This experience helped me now. People choose a variety of hiding places and I hunted through them now, hoping to find more than the rubbish I had discovered so far. At first, I found nothing. It was not until I swept aside the remains of an old fire and lifted a couple of bricks at the far corner that I discovered anything interesting at all. I unearthed a small tin box. I felt a stab of excitement as I opened the lid. It contained a passport in the name of Charles Jehan with permission to travel throughout the Emperor’s dominions. I held it in my hand, wondering why Dupré needed such a thing. Why should he want to leave Paris under false papers? The document had been issued about four months ago. I calculated that it had been before he had met Pauline. One explanation might be a desire to escape from his creditors but if so, they must have been very pressing when he applied for the passport. He had not used it,, because his debts had been paid. The need would have become less pressing. It was something I decided I would ask him about the next time we met. I folded the passport and put it into my wallet. Then I rummaged around in the box. A rouleau of Louis d’Or lay beneath a few papers. Emergency money, I thought. Gold is always useful, no matter in which country or situation. There was nothing else. I put the coins back, arranged one of Dupré’s bills on top of them, in place of the passport. I fitted the box into its hole and carefully piled ash on the bricks, pushed the remains of the charred wood over them. By now my hands were filthy and there was no water in the room. I did not want to alert the concierge to where I had been searching. So I left the lantern burning on the table and called to the man as I was leaving the building. I told him to go and lock up the apartment because I was finished. He shuffled out of his doorway, but I did not wait to answer his questions, telling him I was in a rush as I hurried past.

  My next task was to determine who, of the people we were interested in, were at the Tuileries that evening and more importantly, who was not. I found water at a nearby tavern and washed away most of the evidence of my search. Then I tidied my clothes and hair as best I could. I was under no illusion that I was fit for polite company. My cuffs were soiled and I kept finding bits of grit attached to my coat. I cursed but there was little I could do about it here. I would have to trust to Napoléon’s letter to gain me entrance to where I needed to go, despite the state of my
attire.

  Fortunately, this trust proved to be justified. When I arrived at the door of the Tuileries, the majordomo stalked up to me, determined to eject me from the palace. My authorisation caused a change in the man which was almost comical. It was as if he had suddenly been deflated. His shoulders scrunched and his high pitched voice became deferential if not positively fawning. The first hurdle was over.

  The majordomo beckoned one of his lackeys and ordered him to take me wherever I wished to go. I asked the lad, for he was little more, to conduct me to somewhere I could make myself more presentable. He showed me to one of the withdrawing rooms, where a maid brought me water and a comb. The lackey even brushed my coat for me, making a good job of it. Only a small smear or two on the cuffs gave evidence of my activities. The mirrors in the room showed me that, even in such a short time, I looked considerably better. Then I asked the lackey to take me to where I could view the assembled company without drawing attention to myself.

  He brought me to a balcony overlooking the ballroom. A dance was in progress. Long lines of ladies and gentlemen were weaving in and out, touching hands and swaying away. I quickly spotted Pauline, wearing a pale pink dress, with roses and diamonds woven into her hair. The style was close fitting and nearly the colour of Pauline’s skin. No wonder Napoléon frowned when he looked in her direction. They say he has become extremely strict ever since he had been elected Emperor. Dupré was not dancing with her, so I looked around for him in the crowd around the floor. It took some time, but I eventually found him leaning against one of the marble pillars. I watched him for a few moments. He never took his eyes off the Princess, who ignored him, saving her smiles for her current partner. Poor man, I thought again.

  “Is the Princess Élisa here tonight?” I asked the lackey, because, to the best of my knowledge, I had not seen her before and would not be able to recognise her. The pictures in the broadsheets are so bad, they could be anyone.