Now he was the one under interrogation … He hesitated for a moment, but did not think it right to hide the truth.
‘She’s a very good friend and I’ve known her a long time.’ Marie looked at him with contempt.
‘So you’re just like the rest of them … And with a woman of easy virtue!’
Nicolas exploded.
‘Mademoiselle, that’s enough! Here you are, free once more. I don’t know whether you realise what you’ve escaped, but there’s one thing I’m sure of: in some circumstances it’s better to rely on certain women of easy virtue than on respectable ladies. And the least you can do when you owe them your safety is to be grateful that they felt pity and that they kept their word. Would you now kindly answer my questions and tell me how you came to be at La Paulet’s?’
‘I don’t know, Monsieur,’ replied the young woman, who had stopped calling him Nicolas. ‘I found myself locked up in that room, where you found me. I was completely dazed, ill, my head was hurting. La Paulet wanted to persuade me to involve myself in the vilest of trades. Then this girl came to convince me. As I was crying she felt sorry for me and I tried to bribe her. I had nothing to lose. Either she would do what I asked or she would refuse, in which case I’d hardly be any worse off.’
‘Do you have any idea on which day you were abducted?’
‘My memories are muddled. I believe it was Wednesday of last week. I think my stepmother had overheard our conversation that evening when I tried to put you on your guard, if you remember, Monsieur.’
‘I remember very well. Another thing: did your father at any time send you a message?’ She responded indignantly.
‘You’ve been searching my room. What right had you to do that?’
‘Not only your room, the whole house. But I assume from your reaction that you did indeed receive something. This is an important detail. Answer me.’
‘A note whose meaning I didn’t understand that won’t make any sense to you. He slipped it into my hand the last time I saw him, the day before he disappeared. Do you have any news of my father?’
‘Do you remember the words of that message?’
‘It was something to do with what was owing to the King. I don’t know what it was referring to. My father simply urged me to keep this piece of paper safe. I put it in a drawer and forgot about it. But why this barrage of questions, Monsieur? What about my father?’
Nicolas had the impression she was about to throw a tantrum, like a child. He felt sorry for her. There was no reason to hide the truth from her. It was hardly as if she were a suspect and two witnesses, La Satin and La Paulet, could confirm her account.
‘Mademoiselle, you must be brave.’
‘Brave?’ she said, sitting up. ‘You don’t mean …’
‘I deeply regret having to inform you that your father is dead.’
She bit her fist so as not to scream.
‘It’s Descart! It’s him! I told you. She made him do it. My God, what will become of me?’
‘How do you know it was murder?’
‘She talked about it, she did, with him.’
The young woman started crying again. Nicolas handed her his handkerchief and let her calm down.
‘You’re wrong. Descart is dead too, murdered, like your father.’
‘So it’s Dr Semacgus.’
‘Why do you think it’s him?’
‘It has to be one of my stepmother’s lovers. The doctor always gave in to her.’
‘Or your stepmother herself.’
‘She’s far too crafty to compromise herself.’
She continued to sob and he did not know how to calm her. He gently wrapped his frock coat around her. She slumped onto his shoulder. He did not dare move and this was how they remained until they reached the Châtelet.
Nicolas gave Bourdeau the task of taking down La Paulet’s and Marie’s statements. The brothel-keeper of the Dauphin Couronné was to be kept in solitary confinement until the case could come before a magistrate, according to the normal procedure. La Satin could return home providing she kept quiet about the affair. As for Marie Lardin, she would be taken to a convent and would stay there until the end of the investigation. It was not appropriate for her to go back to the house in Rue des Blancs-Manteaux on her own until the circumstances of her father’s murder were known and her stepmother was no longer under suspicion.
Bourdeau offered to take her to the Convent of the English Ladies1 in Faubourg Saint-Antoine where he knew the Mother Superior. He questioned his chief about what he was planning to do. Nicolas smiled and replied with a hint of irony that he was going back home full of good intentions and would meditate on the insignificance of life while staring up at the ceiling. In any case it was getting late and night was falling. He needed to tend to his wounds, he had to find out how Monsieur de Noblecourt was, and he felt very hungry.
Nicolas’s casualness was only a pretence, but he quite enjoyed keeping Bourdeau guessing. On his way to Rue Montmartre he went over the main stages of his investigation. The connection between certain facts still eluded him. Despite his exhaustion and the shock he continued to feel at the death of Mauval, he knew that thinking things over quietly and having a good night’s sleep would clear his mind. He was famished, but he did not want to satisfy his appetite in one of those mercenary Parisian establishments that cater for the lonely eater. He felt the need for home comforts.
Night had fallen. The cold was intense by the time he crossed the porch into the magistrate’s house. He was delighted to find the familiar smell of warm bread wafting through the air. He took Marion and Poitevin by surprise as they sat talking at the pantry table. A large steaming pot was simmering on the stove. This familiar scene reassured him just as much as the smell in his nostrils. He enjoyed being welcomed like the prodigal son in the Bible. Monsieur de Noblecourt was still unwell, but he had constantly been asking after his lodger. He would be pleased to see Nicolas.
The young man went up to his room via the hidden staircase, taking with him a jug of hot water. He wanted to have a quick wash and tend his wounds before going to see the procurator. He was delighted to find the clothes he had ordered from Master Vachon. By the light of his candle the handsome green coat was resplendent with all its embroidery. When at last he entered the library, joyfully greeted by Cyrus who barked and jumped around, he discovered his host slumped in his armchair with his right foot wrapped in wadding and resting on a tapestry cushion. Monsieur de Noblecourt was reading and had to make an effort to turn towards Nicolas.
‘God be praised!’ he exclaimed. ‘Here he is at last! My premonition was wrong. I’ve been on tenterhooks since yesterday. I’ve had the darkest thoughts. I can even say that each attack of this wretched gout brought on a fit of anxiety to match. Fortunately my fears were misplaced.’
‘Less than you think, Monsieur, and I can thank you for urging caution, which is undoubtedly what saved my life.’
Nicolas then began a detailed account of all that had just happened. This was no easy matter because the old man constantly interrupted him with exclamations and questions. He managed to keep going with his story, however, until Marion interrupted them by bringing her master a cup of clear broth. The magistrate suggested that Nicolas should eat the boiled beef he was not allowed, and all the vegetables. There should also be a good bottle of burgundy brought up from the cellar just for the young man. This suggestion was taken up enthusiastically.
‘Marion has sentenced me to death by hunger!’ sighed the magistrate. ‘Fortunately,’ he added, pointing towards a book he was reading, ‘I make up for it by devouring Le Cuisinier by Pierre de Lune. I nourish myself by salivating. Did you know that this grand master of the art of cooking was superintendent of the kitchens to the Duc de Rohan, the grandson of the great Sully? He’s the inventor of the bouquet garni, stewed beef and the roux. What’s more,’ he added, eyeing longingly the ancient bottle that Marion was putting on the table, ‘I’m not allowed wine. When I’ve had my fill of reading about foo
d, I take up my good old copy of Montaigne. Listen: “Pain will surrender on far better terms to someone who stands up to it. We must resist and stiffen our resolve against it.” I’m doing my best. Good grief, I notice this account of my sufferings has not affected your appetite. That’s the sign of a clear conscience.’
Nicolas looked up, embarrassed at having been caught gorging himself. The warm, tasty food was giving him renewed energy.
‘My humble apologies, Monsieur. Today’s events …’
‘… have made you ravenously hungry.’
‘Monsieur, may I ask your advice on all this?’
The aged procurator looked down, screwing up his eyes. He seemed deep in thought. His flabby jowls drooped around his chin, like a ruff of flesh.
‘The truth is,’ he said, nodding his head, ‘that nothing has been resolved. However, you now possess pieces of information that you still have to fit together. Think long and hard about the circumstances of your investigation. Weigh up impartially the evidence and the assumptions. Then let yourself sink into a deep sleep. Experience has often taught me that solutions occur to us when we least expect them. And my final piece of advice is this: for the truth to be revealed you need to shine a light. If you don’t have a light, just pretend.’
He looked at Nicolas with a glint in his eye. This small satisfaction caused him further pain that made him wince and groan feebly. Nicolas realised it was time to allow his elderly friend to rest. After wishing him goodnight he went back to his room. He lay down on the bed to think. Sometimes the way the case was unfolding seemed clear, at other times its different aspects crowded his mind and became jumbled up. He kept going over the same suppositions, but they led nowhere.
To calm himself he decided to examine the three messages left by Lardin. He spread them out on the writing surface of the roll-top desk and re-read them several times. The sentences danced before his eyes and their contents continued to suggest to him something that he could not manage to pin down. Exhausted, he mixed up the scraps of paper as if he were shuffling cards and he left them there. Then sleep overcame him.
Tuesday 13 February 1761
A hand was hovering over pieces of a puzzle lying on the floor. His brow furrowed with concentration, he was trying to put together the word CAT. He took the first letter, then the second … He looked up, pleased with himself. He had, however, forgotten the T and, like the verger in a church, the canon was impatiently tapping his cane on the echoing kitchen flagstones. Eventually he pointed out to him the missing letter. The familiar voice said to him: ‘Now everything is in the right order.’ But already his guardian was mixing up the pieces of the puzzle again and giving him another word to assemble. As he knelt down, Nicolas could see the canon’s clogs and the threadbare and mud-spattered braid at the bottom of his cassock. Fine was singing an old Breton ballad while plucking some poultry. He was surprised by the grating music that accompanied the gentle lilt of the refrain.
It was at this point that he woke up. He went to the window and drew the curtains. From Rue Montmartre rose the plaintive sound of a hurdy-gurdy played by a peasant from the Auvergne dressed in a sheepskin and accompanied by his black dog. His guardian’s words were still echoing in Nicolas’s head when he noticed Lardin’s three pieces of paper spread out untidily on the desk. Without looking, he mixed them up again and then examined them. How could he not have noticed it before? Everything became clear, or at least he had a new lead that was bound to prove successful. There was now an explanation for Lardin’s determination to leave these cryptic messages behind. But nothing was definite for the moment. At the very most, as in the fairy tale, there was the trail of pebbles left to show the way.
He was ready in an instant. He burnt his throat as he gulped down the cup of chocolate that Marion had hurriedly prepared for him. The old servant bemoaned the fact that he had left her so little time to whisk the drink. This process was necessary, she claimed, for it to develop its smoothness and to bring out its full aroma. Marion had long since taken to the young man, and peeling quinces together the autumn before had marked for her the beginnings of an affectionate bond between them. She trusted him wholeheartedly and was touched also by the respect he showed towards her master. Poitevin, who shared Marion’s liking for Nicolas, gently but firmly made him take off his boots. As quick as a flash he cleaned and then polished them. Finally he shined up the leather by brushing hard and applying plenty of spit. Tearing himself away from the creature comforts of the Noblecourt household, Nicolas rushed cheerfully into the cold air of the fine, icy day which greeted him.
He went first to the Châtelet, where he wrote a message to Monsieur de Sartine. Its purpose was to request his presence that very evening at six o’clock to preside over a general confrontation with all the suspects and witnesses. Then he had a lengthy discussion with Bourdeau. They needed to bring Semacgus from the Bastille and Louise Lardin from the Conciergerie, to summon Catherine the cook, and of course the commissioner’s daughter. For the time being and without any further explanation, Nicolas delegated to his deputy responsibility for taking any decisions or initiatives in his absence.
Once this was arranged he went down to the Basse-Geôle and spent some time considering the remains found in Montfaucon, which were now part of a macabre collection that included the bodies of Descart, Rapace, Bricart, Lardin and Mauval. These corpses gathered together in one place offered a terrifying image of the destructive effects of vice, self-interest, passion and destitution that had finally produced this spectacle of human decay. It was painful for him to see Mauval again. His face, now that it had been cleaned, seemed serene and younger-looking. What tragic combination of circumstances had brought together in this same resting place people so different and distant from one another in life? He again leant over the unidentified body found in the knacker’s yard as if attempting to discover its secret and to obtain some confirmation from it. This was how Sanson found him. Their conversation was lively. They examined Lardin’s body, then Descart’s. Their words were interspersed with long silences. Eventually Nicolas left the chief executioner, having invited him to attend the session at the Châtelet that same evening, to be presided over by the Lieutenant General of Police.
Nicolas had a busy day going from one place to another. He had taken a carriage and travelled the length and breadth of Paris. First of all he had been driven to Rue des Blancs-Manteaux. He carefully examined the Lardins’ house once again, then crossed the Seine to visit the practice of Master Duport, Descart’s notary, but also Lardin’s. He was given a frosty reception, responded in kind and eventually obtained what he had come for. He went back through the city into the heart of Faubourg Saint-Antoine. He got lost in the maze of streets and dead-ends in the district where joiners worked. After many wrong turnings he had to ask passers-by for directions, but their information was contradictory. He finally managed to locate the cabinet-maker whose name was on the invoice discovered in Commissioner Lardin’s library. The craftsman’s papers and accounts were completely disorganised. After a lengthy search the man eventually managed to give Nicolas information about the order in question. Having had his intuition confirmed, he allowed himself a break in a faubourg tavern, treating himself to one of those wholesome dishes he was so fond of. All that was missing to make his enjoyment complete was the friendly presence of his companion Bourdeau, always game for this type of revelry.
Having satisfied his appetite, Nicolas sent the carriage away and walked back via the Rue Saint-Antoine. Amidst the crowd of craftsmen and day-labourers he allowed his mind to roam. Sometimes he was beset by doubts about the validity of his initiative. Was he well enough equipped to justify summoning everyone to appear before Monsieur de Sartine? Then Monsieur de Noblecourt’s words came back to him and restored his determination to succeed. He knew that he was not only trying to secure the successful outcome of the investigation, but also his future in the police force. A mistake would consign him for ever to a lowly position, especially as it was s
till so soon after his phenomenal ascent. Monsieur de Sartine would not forgive his failure, as it would reflect badly on him for having put a young and inexperienced man in charge of such an important case. What mattered to the Lieutenant General of Police was not so much to arrest ordinary criminals as to resolve an affair of State that closely involved the King and the safety of the realm in wartime. He was perfectly aware of the particular reasons why his superior had taken it upon himself, perhaps too lightly, to trust him. Nicolas owed it to himself not to disappoint him. But convinced as he was, deep down, that he had given of his best, even risking his life in the process, his doubts were more a way of warding off ill fortune than a justified fear.
He returned to the Châtelet on the stroke of five. He felt alert and determined. His inner deliberations had culminated in his decision to act and to bring things to a head without too many qualms.
Bourdeau had become concerned about his absence and showed his relief when he saw him, but was careful not to enquire how he had spent his day. He had preferred to present Nicolas’s request orally and in person because he knew how the Lieutenant General reacted when he suspected he was not being paid all the respect owed to his position. Once more Nicolas acknowledged his deputy’s wisdom.
Monsieur de Sartine had indeed balked at the proposal foisted upon him, but in the end he had been swayed by the inspector’s arguments: he would not regret a session in which everything was to be clarified.
Bourdeau looked at Nicolas, whose expression showed neither approval nor concern at this way of putting things to Sartine. But he went on to congratulate him. Now the room needed to be made ready. With the help of old Marie a row of stools was set up in the Lieutenant General’s office. It was not quite the dock but it was not far off it and, he said, it would make the suspects more uncomfortable. There was a lengthy discussion with Bourdeau, which resulted in old Marie being invited to take part in the proceedings. The three of them went in and out of the office several times as if to inspect it. As the appointed hour drew near, Nicolas became more and more excited.
The Châtelet Apprentice Page 31