The Black Tower (12 page)

I’
D RESOLVED NEVER
to ask Vidocq where we’re going. And because I’m a man of my word, more or less, all I can ask him on this occasion is:

“How do you
know
where to go?”

H
E WALKS ME
back then to a point early in his investigation. Chrétien Leblanc has been dead only three days. The dead man’s apartment has been searched, crevice by crevice, for correspondence with unknown parties. The only items that have turned up are a saucer, a shuttlecock, a single yellow glove, and a program from the Jardin des Plantes, all encased in years of dust. Day after day, officers of the Sûreté sift through Leblanc’s incoming post for telltale envelopes—nothing but tradesmen’s bills, still waiting to be paid.

Did Leblanc choose some
other
means of corresponding? The old man was a cautious fish, after all. He might have had a trusted confederate, who could keep the messages close at hand and yield them up when needed. But who?

Not, if her testimony is to be credited, the Baroness. Conversations with the dead man’s neighbors turn up little in the way of close friends or even regular acquaintances. Leblanc was, by habit and nature, a solitary man: light with drink, frugal with talk. Somehow, through all of his years of living, he contrived to leave the smallest possible indentation in Paris’s envelope.

Undaunted, Vidocq makes the rounds of the dead man’s neighborhood—cafés, wineshops, barbershops, tailors’ shops—asking if anyone is keeping mail for a certain gentleman answering to this description. Again and again, he comes away empty.

Then, one afternoon, he is refreshing himself with wine and cutlets at an outdoor table of the Trois Frères when his eye is arrested by something on the far side of the street.

A mannequin, nothing more. Headless and voluptuous, holding court from the damask vacancy of a shop window.

In this instant, the mind of Chrétien Leblanc opens before Vidocq, like a book of spells. Here is the one place that no one would ever connect to an elderly and unattached man.

M
ADAME
S
OPHIE’S

Gowns and Frocks à la Mode for Paris’s Most Beautiful Ladies

Boldly he sallies through the half-open door. Madame Sophie is away on errands, but a milliner named Émilie rises from behind the counter. A brunette, of round and comely figure, with long eyelashes that suggest a heart easily inflamed. When Vidocq announces he has come to pick up a package for his uncle Chrétien, these same eyelashes jerk up like awnings.

Oh, she doesn’t think she can help, she says, folding down her lip. She wasn’t to mention them to anyone.

“Ah, but don’t you see, Mademoiselle? He
sent
me here, didn’t he? How else should I have known to come?”

Mm…well, if he puts it like
that
. Oh, but she hasn’t received any packages in—dear me, it’s been two weeks.

“Well, no matter. Uncle’s off taking the waters at Bad Em, and he asked me if I might look in. You—you’re a good friend of my uncle’s?”

Oh, no, Monsieur! Why, she never laid eyes on him until three months ago. He simply came in one morning and asked if he could engage her to keep packages for him, as he was on the road so often. He told her she need only hide them behind the counter, where they won’t get in anyone’s way and where Madame Sophie won’t notice. He said he’d pay her two hundred sous on each package.

“Ah yes. That sounds like Uncle Chrétien, all right. Such a strange, secretive old turtle. Ha! My sister and I think he must be receiving billets-doux from a young mistress. His step is so light these days….”

But how silly! interrupts Émilie. These aren’t letters!

Instantly conscious of her transgression, she hastens with burning cheeks to assure Monsieur that she would
never
betray his uncle’s confidences by opening the packages. It happened
once,
no more, and only because a burlap corner came loose and she was in the act of resealing it when the thing actually fell out! What could she do? She had to
look
at it.

“Of course, my pet. Was this by any chance the most recent package?”

Yes.

“Oho! I know exactly what it was, then. A gold ring, eh? So wide?”

Indeed it was, Monsieur! (The final battlement of her resistance falls.) And the strangest sort of ring, too, with all manner of scratches and marks. Why, you’d be lucky to get three francs for it at Les Halles. And if it belongs to your uncle’s love, she must have fingers as big as knockwurst!

“Is it this?”

As luck would have it, the article in question is sitting in his watch pocket.

That’s it! cries Émilie. Oh, it’s frightful, isn’t it?

“Yes, indeed,” he agrees. “Why, even Uncle Chrétien wants no more of it. Do you know, just as he was leaving town, he asked if I might return it to its original owner? Which I’m only too happy to do, but damn me, I’ve lost the address. What a wretch I am!”

Well, ventures Émilie, if it’s the same person who’s been sending him those packages, then it must be from…

And out comes the name of a place. A city no more than an hour’s coach ride from Paris.

“Why, of course!” he answers, rapping himself on the temple. “I
knew
it had something holy in it. Now then, if I can just recall the good lady’s last name, I won’t even need the street number.”

And from the eternally charming Émilie, a name flies forth.

H
OURS AND HOURS
of searching, Vidocq will think afterward. And all the while, the answers were waiting on this young woman’s fruited lips.

In a fit of ardor—or through the coolest possible calculation—he applies to these lips the unguent of his own. She omits the customary ritual of slapping him, which raises her even further in his estimation. He asks if Madame is due back within the next hour. She says no. He asks if he might turn the
CLOSED
sign on the window. She says yes. He asks if he might lower the blinds.

No,
she says, taking him aback with her self-possession.
I’ll do that
.

T
HAT VERY AFTERNOON
, one of Vidocq’s men travels to the jurisdiction identified by Émilie and returns with an address to attach to the name. The game has begun. Aubé, after studying a few samples of Leblanc’s penmanship, scratches out the following note:

Awaiting further instructions

The note is dispatched by courier to the party in question. Two days later, as Émilie is only too happy to report, another of Uncle Chrétien’s packages arrives. A simple note, reading only:

Your bundle is ready

“Arrived yesterday by special post,” Vidocq tells me now, striding round his office. “We’re closing in now, Hector.”

“But when are we to go there?” I ask.

“
When?
Why, this very minute.”

“I’ll need to pack…”

“Screw that. I’ve got clothes ready for you.”

“I’ll need to—”

Tell Mother
.

“I’ve already sent word to her,” says Vidocq, smiling dryly.

“What did you say?”

“Oh.” He gives a bored wave of his hand. “Ask Coco, that’s his specialty. Symposium on ergot fever, probably. Outbreak of leprosy in the Loire valley. Something no one would dream of asking you about.” Laughing, he grabs me by the collar. “Listen to me, my friend. If all goes well, you’ll be back at Mama Carpentier’s tomorrow night. With the air—the mystique, yes!—of a man who’s
seen
something. How they’ll envy you, my friend, how their little piggy eyes will start from their—say now, you don’t have a pistol, do you? Never mind. Oh, but the thing is, you really
are
looking pale, Hector. You want a nip of arrack before we go?”

8 B
RUMAIRE
Y
EAR
III

 

Leblanc has proven true godsend. Extr kind, conscientious, willing. Surprisingly gd conversationalist. Ive now passed several happy hrs in his company.

 

Like me, he is v. concerned about Charles, esp. as nature of child’s mental/emotional afflictions becomes increasingly
clear
. Before being incarcerated in cell, Charles experienced egregious abuse at hands of one Simon—
shoemaker
—hired, for unknown reasons, to be boy’s “tutor.” Fm Leblanc, I have learnt full details. Simon was charged by superiors w/effacing “stigma of royalty” fm child. He forced boy to wear red cap, drink large amts of liquor, sing obscene & anti-royalist songs in full hearing of royal family. Boy became Simon’s slave, serving him at table, shining Mme Simon’s shoes.
Regularly
terrorized, beaten for smallest infractions. (Often, in middle of night, Simon wd shake child awake, only to kick him down again.)
Strong
suggestions of abuse of highly intimate nature.

 

Boy ultimately coerced into manufacturing appalling lies re family—most esp. re former queen. Thruout, he was utterly cut off fm comfort. Small wonder he remains in mortal terror of adults, esp. men.

 

Leblanc told me that if he ever met Citizen Simon, he wd happily repay him for his “tutelage.” France has seen to that, I answered, for Simon perished w/his master Robespierre on 10th Thermidor. Leblanc expressed opinion that Simon “got off easy.”

 

10 B
RUMAIRE

 

This
A.M.
, took Charles to tower platform. Vision has improved. Even in sunny conditions, boy able to keep eyes open for 1–2 minutes at time, see objects at distance of 100+ yds.
Most promising
.

 

Curious event: artillery regiment happened to pass by. Sound of drums initially disturbing to boy—he gripped my arm v tightly, cast eyes down. Drums left off near Ste. Élizabeth. Boy able to listen to remaining music w/some pleasure. Said he had not heard music in v long time. (At least 2 yrs, by my estimation.) Band, whether fm calculation or accident, began to play “Marseillaise.” How pretty, Charles was heard to say.

 

1 other thing. W/permission of keepers, boy was suffered to collect some few blades of grass from tower platform + 1 dandelion, which had grown amid cracks in stones. These he attempted to fashion into primitive bouquet. Stalks too small and slight to oblige. Boy’s mood consequently depressed as we returned him to his cell.

 

18 B
RUMAIRE

 

Leblanc has shown notable patience, persistence in drawing boy out. Also has been able to effect modest improvements in boy’s quarters. Lamp may now be lit at twilight, thus allaying fear of dark. Knowing of Charles’ aversion to loud noises, Leblanc has taken steps to muffle sounds of bolts on cell door. Addresses boy always w/marked respect & kindness.

 

Boy’s condition continues to improve. Modest weight gain, most visible in face. Some color in cheeks. Expression in eyes & mouth remains languid, affectless. Speech still difficult.

 

Rations have improved, too. Breakfast = plate of vegetables. Dinner = broth, boiled meat + 1 other dish. For supper, he receives at least 2 dishes. Food plain but relvly abundant.

 

On more than 1 occasion, he has asked to see his sister, who resides on floor below. Commissioners will not permit. “Tyrant’s children” to be kept apart. I have argued that they shd not be punished for sins of fathers, etc. (Me, quoting Scripture.) Wolf cubs grow up to be wolves, they say.

 

6 F
RIMAIRE

 

Summoned for meeting w/Citizen Mathieu, Comm for Pub Safety, who asked if I’d read article in yesterday’s Courrier Universel. Article expressed opinion that “a human being ought not to be degraded below the level of humanity, because he happens to be born the son of a king.” Commissioners shd “take care that he be not, as in former times, deprived of the necessaries of life.”

 

Mathieu asked me point-blank if I was behind “calumnious & royalist” trash. I answered that I was doctor, not journalist. Mathieu pointed out I have
friends
in 4th estate—one in particular, he believed? I reiterated my oath of secrecy.

 

Mathieu
not satisfied
. Warned against “exciting perfidious pity” for “last remains of our tyrant’s race.” (Spoke as if addressing Convention.) Said son of Capet shd be treated no better than any other child.

 

Cd not forbear fm answering that, in my opinion, he was being treated far worse.

 

Mathieu: “There are many more children worth much more than he who are worse in health. There are many who die that are more necessary to the world.”

 

Meeting
distinctly
unpleasant. Followed soon after by meeting w/Commissioner Ducaze, who felt obliged to remind me that royalist plots being fomented on ev side…France’s enemies wd reinstall boy as king if they cd…gd citizens of the Repub must take all precautions to repel “missions of mercy,” whether they come fm w/in or w/out.

 

I pointed out: Temple guarded by 194 members of Natl Guard, 14 artillery members, 4–5 gendarmes.
More than 200 men to safeguard two children
. Surely no further precautions necessary?

 

Was admonished to take better charge of my tongue.

 

10 F
RIMAIRE

 

This
A.M.
, Leblanc and I surprised Charles in cell w/4 pots of flowers. (Chrysanthemums, v fresh.)

 

I believe you used to have your own garden, said Leblanc, smiling.

 

Boy’s response gratifying. At 1st he doubted evidence of senses. Hovered over pots, scarcely daring to touch. Spent some consid time
smelling
, then began, with great care, to examine them. Examination consumed 10–15 minutes.

 

Thank you, he said.