The Châtelet Apprentice (32 page)

He went up to Semacgus and held out his hand.

‘I'm very sorry about Saint-Louis but I think there's little hope of finding him alive.'

They went out, impatient to get away from the Bastille where the surgeon and his gaoler seemed to be the only living souls. They were eager to get back into the open air and to escape the oppressive atmosphere of the place. The cold and the sun, which had reappeared, did them good.

Nicolas was pleased to discover that the inspector shared his
opinion. He, too, had noted the constant ambiguity of what Semacgus said. The ironic detachment he had shown since the very beginning with regard to this business could only work against him. The only thing that could not be doubted was his unswerving affection for his black servant. And yet there was nothing in his statements to make them question the truth of what he had said. However, Bourdeau added, it was always the same story with the confounded fellow. You wanted to believe him even though all the unanswered questions left plenty of room for suspicion. The result was that, according to the moment or the mood, he seemed to be either a very clever impostor or a bungling innocent.

Nicolas enlightened Bourdeau on the incident with the watch. He thought it wiser to keep Semacgus in solitary confinement until the circumstances of Lardin's death became clear. Bourdeau remarked that Mauval should at the very least be questioned but he did not pursue the idea, much to Nicolas's relief. That would have meant going into details that he was not able to give.

As they talked, he was thinking that, even if the Lardin case was becoming clearer with the discovery of the commissioner's body, the same could not be said for the case involving the King's papers. And what about the messages Lardin had left? Would more be found, and for whom would they be intended? Had they been written before or after he disappeared? What was his motive in giving them to those close to him? Was it to further complicate the dangerous game he was playing? Nicolas was still convinced in his own mind that these messages were a kind of last will and testament. The mention of the King's name showed how important they were. The more he thought about it, the
more certain he was that they were the key to the mystery. But there was considerable danger in drawing attention to this search. In the shadows lurked Mauval and the person directing him and others as well. Overtures had probably been made to agents of the warring powers. Paris was full of English, Prussian and even Austrian spies; France's allies were always on the lookout for possible ways of exerting pressure to strengthen the alliance and influence operations.

There was still the matter of finding Marie Lardin, whose exact involvement was unclear to the young man. He had not been convinced by her sudden and convenient religious calling and he felt sorry for the young woman, who was still a child. He remembered their last meeting that night on the staircase at the Lardins'. Then Marie's face faded in his mind before Isabelle's. Had he read the letter from Guérande in the right way? As he already knew, emotions were not always easy to put into words. Why did people have such difficulty expressing their feelings? He remembered a sentence of Pascal's that he had learnt at school: ‘Words arranged differently have different meaning and meanings arranged differently have different effects.'
3
What until only recently had seemed to him full of artfulness now suddenly became touching in its awkwardness. He preferred to try and banish this thought. Nothing should distract him from his task.

Seeing Nicolas so blank-eyed and deep in reflection, Bourdeau had refrained from disturbing him. But the clatter of their carriage was already resounding beneath the archway of the Châtelet. Nicolas took Bourdeau off to the duty office. Commissioner Desnoyers from the district of Saint-Eustache was looking up some records. They had to wait for him to finish.

‘We are at a crossroads,' Nicolas said. ‘We need to decide which way to go.'

‘You think Saint-Louis has been killed, don't you?'

‘I don't think anything. I know that the watch given to him by his master was in the possession of Rapace and Bricart. What's more, if the remains found in Montfaucon are not Lardin's, who do they belong to? Why not to Saint-Louis? We must go by what we know and the facts in our possession. If the remains are those of his coachman, this doesn't necessarily clear Semacgus of the crime, quite the reverse. Remember Descart's allegations. In the case of Lardin, his wife's accusation is categorical. I think the law will follow its usual course so that for her and for Semacgus the use of preliminary torture will be inevitable. There are three deaths involved.'

‘And what about Descart's murder?'

‘The same thing applies. If we can pinpoint the time of Lardin's death then at least Descart can be ruled out, even if in his present state it doesn't make much difference to him. Have you sent for Sanson?'

Bourdeau nodded.

‘Then we'll be able to clear Lardin, who also had every reason to want to eliminate his wife's cousin. As for Semacgus and Louise, we cannot exclude the possibility that they are guilty. We have yet to determine the reason why the mysterious murderer ransacked the doctor's house in Vaugirard.'

‘And what about Mauval? You're still forgetting Mauval …'

‘I'm not forgetting him at all; he's involved in everything, as I said before.'

‘He seems to enjoy an extraordinary degree of impunity.'

‘And because of that we must be certain before we strike.
You must never miss with a snake. You won't get a second chance. For the time being I need to think things over and give Monsieur de Sartine an account of the latest developments. Bourdeau, I want you to hurry Sanson up and report back to me as soon as possible. Check that Louise Lardin is kept in solitary confinement and that her cell is properly guarded. I don't want her to be eliminated.'

Just as they were about to go their separate ways, old Marie appeared. A young woman who ‘looked a bit like a whore' was asking for Nicolas concerning an ‘important and urgent matter'. Nicolas asked for her to be shown in and requested Bourdeau to stay. Nicolas recognised La Satin immediately. The brown cape she was wearing barely concealed her flimsy, very low-cut dress and her delicate ballroom shoes. Her make-up had come off and her cheeks were red with cold or emotion. Nicolas took her by the arm and offered her a seat. He made the introductions. Bourdeau lit his pipe.

‘What are you doing here, Antoinette?'

‘Well, Nicolas,' she said in a plaintive, childlike voice, ‘you know that I work at La Paulet's. She's not an evil woman; she has her good points. The other evening …'

‘Which evening?'

‘Two days ago. I was in the corridor up in the loft where I was going to hang the washing to dry when suddenly I heard someone crying in a vacant room. I tried to find out who was there but the door was locked. What was I to do? I preferred not to get involved. The less you pry into other people's business, the better. But the following day I got caught up in it in spite of myself. La Paulet sent for me and gave me some of her very own ratafia. As you know she's very keen on her pick-me-up. She
used to be very beautiful in her time; she's slept with marquises, but now she can't stand the sight of herself in the mirror.'

‘So what did she want from you, then?'

‘She simpered, said all sorts of nice things to me and in the end asked me to do her a favour. She'd been given a novice.'

‘A novice?'

‘Yes, that's what we call the new recruits, the virgins, the ones who are new to the game and untrained in its ways. They're choice morsels, very sought after by the madams. Not like an old hand who pretends she's still untouched. She's a healthy young thing who won't pass on the pox to the man who has her. There are plenty of takers, including some very grand ones. So La Paulet wanted me to soften the novice up, to prepare her and convince her to make the sacrifice. Apparently she was refusing to do so and threats and blows hadn't done the trick. They'd thought I might persuade her gently to agree. What could I do? La Paulet promised me a nice tip if I succeeded. Before answering I thought through the pros and cons of the whole thing. What decided me was that perhaps I could help the poor girl. Added to that I'm always short of money for the little one and the wet nurse. So, anyway, La Paulet took me up to the second floor, to the room where I'd heard the crying and left me alone with the poor little thing who seemed to come from a good family. She heard me out but wouldn't have anything to do with it. I could quite understand. She told me the whole story. She'd been kidnapped at night, bundled into a carriage and taken to La Paulet's. She had no idea what was going on or what was being done to her. Since then she'd been threatened until her head was spinning in order to make her give in. Won over by my openness and trusting in me, she begged me to do something for her. At
first I said no, because it was too dangerous. With Mauval roaming about the house every day and being in fact the real master of the Dauphin Couronné I was taking a big risk. But she promised me she would protect me if she managed to escape. When she mentioned your name I gave in. I felt sure you wouldn't let Mauval do me any harm. I had to come to find you in the Châtelet to warn you that she's in great peril. Nicolas, there's not a moment to lose. Mauval has arranged a special game of
faro
this evening for a very select gathering, and she's to be the prize!'

Nicolas took his sword and attached it to his belt. He motioned to Bourdeau who was already checking his pistol.

‘Old Marie,' he said to the usher, who had remained at the door, ‘I'm leaving Antoinette in your care. You will answer for her with your life.'

‘I could have chosen worse,' the old man said with a smile.

Nicolas and Bourdeau ran down the steps of the grand staircase. Their cab was still there. It set off at full gallop. 

N
ICOLAS
had just explained to Bourdeau the nature of his relationship with La Satin. The inspector had made no comment. The carriage had had to slow down because despite the shouted warnings and a few cracks of the whip it was impossible to force the pace without running the risk of knocking down passers-by. Nicolas found the journey interminable. He mulled over the latest developments.

So Mauval was holding Marie Lardin prisoner – the ‘novice' could only be her – and was intending to hand her over to the highest bidder. Then she would be forced to engage in the vilest of trades, or even worse be forcibly taken off to the Sultan's harems or sent to the American colonies. It was obvious that there was a scheme afoot to get rid of her, and thus Lardin's heiress, and more unexpectedly, Descart's. Yes, this complicated plot had certainly been well prepared. Nicolas imagined the scene when the notary enquired about Marie so that she could claim her inheritance. No one would have been
able to find her. Not having heard from her stepdaughter since her sudden departure for Orléans, Madame Lardin would have become worried. Monsieur de Sartine's police enjoyed a good reputation, but it was not unknown for an ordinary traveller to disappear without trace. At the other end of her intended journey a message or forged letter would be conveniently discovered, apparently lending credence to the young woman's recent calling to become a nun. But ultimately her fate would remain a matter of pure speculation. Gradually people would lose interest and then all would be forgotten.

Nicolas suddenly felt his stomach turn. He had to swallow the bitter bile filling his mouth. His heart began to race and he broke out in a cold sweat. Bourdeau turned towards him and examined him. Nothing could be read from the inspector's placid expression.

Trying to overcome his sudden indisposition, Nicolas wondered once more about the true character of his deputy. There were really two Bourdeaus. One was a jolly fellow who enjoyed life, a good husband and father, someone giving every outward sign of being happy with the routine of his job and the little pleasures of a simple and uneventful existence. The other, a character of greater depth, concealed a capacity for secrecy and even dissimulation honed by extensive contact with criminals. The young man wondered about the enigma of the human character. People were judged on appearances but it was difficult to find the flaw that revealed the truth about someone. Since leaving Guérande this question had haunted him constantly. Innocent looks might well disguise the truth. The Marquis de Ranreuil, Isabelle, Semacgus, Madame Lardin, Mauval and even Monsieur de Sartine had given him ample proof of this. At best,
faces were mirrors that reflected your own questions. Thus every secret confided, every attempt at friendship and every giving of oneself came up against the invisible wall of other people's defences. Every individual was alone in the world and this solitude was the common lot.

Nicolas watched with unseeing eyes the busy passers-by in the street. What was he doing here himself, an accidental newcomer to this city, and what was the real point of this frenzied pursuit of an unseen enemy that he had been engaged in over the past eight days? Why had destiny chosen him and for what ultimate purpose, when he could have stayed in Rennes carrying out the routine, reassuring tasks of a notary's clerk?

They had reached Rue du Faubourg-Saint-Honoré. Nicolas knocked on the body of the carriage to stop it. They had left the Châtelet in such a hurry that they had not yet prepared a plan of attack. Bourdeau had not wanted to disturb Nicolas's reverie. They now needed to decide what to do.

‘I know this place well,' Nicolas said, exaggerating slightly. ‘If Mauval is around, we need to be careful because he's dangerous. The best thing is for me to go into the Dauphin Couronné on my own and try not to arouse any suspicions.'

‘I wouldn't think of letting you go on your own,' Bourdeau answered. ‘We'd do better to wait here for reinforcements. Remember what happened in Faubourg Saint-Marcel. We mustn't make the same mistake twice. Let's wait for the officers.'

‘No. Time is short and our best weapon is surprise. You're the key to my plan. I know from La Satin that the house has a secret exit leading into the garden. I want you to station yourself there. If Mauval is inside he'll avoid a direct confrontation. He slipped through our fingers this morning and he must be
convinced that we've come in large numbers. So he'll try to escape through the back. That's where you'll nab him. You're the one I'm worried about. Be on your guard. He's a treacherous devil. We'll send the coachman off to fetch help.'

After being suitably instructed the man turned the carriage around and Nicolas and Bourdeau went their separate ways. The young man headed off towards the Dauphin Couronné. He knocked on the door several times. A spy-hole with a grille opened and he was subjected to close scrutiny by a person he could not see, who eventually opened the door. Nicolas was expecting to see La Paulet or the little black girl and was surprised to find instead a tall, elderly woman swathed in black veils, her face plastered with a thick layer of ceruse, with garish rouge on her cheeks. Her trembling hands, covered with
floss-silk
gloves, rested on the pommel of a cane. The overall effect was of a widow or even a nun who had swapped her convent clothes for more secular dress. She raised her head and gave him a sidelong glance.

‘Good day, Madame. I'd like to speak to Madame Paulet.'

‘Monsieur,' she replied in a husky, simpering voice, ‘Madame Paulet is in town at the moment, attending to business. Perhaps you would like to wait for her. She shouldn't be long.'

She bowed and stepped back a little to let him in. He recognised the hallway and as he expected was shown into the yellow drawing room. Its appearance had not changed. The shutters were closed and hidden by heavy curtains. The room was poorly lit by a single candlestick placed on a pedestal table. What had seemed on his first visit to be the height of luxury now struck him as vulgar and dirty. In the shadows he noticed the parrot cage and went up to it, intrigued by how calm and quiet
the bird was. It was then that he noticed it had been replaced: instead of the feathered creature there was a china imitation.

‘Monsieur will have known Coco, I assume,' said the old woman, seeing his surprise. ‘Alas, he has left us! He died of shock. He was a funny little creature who talked so well. Too much, sometimes.'

She cackled and went towards the door.

‘I must go. I have things to do. Madame Paulet won't leave you waiting for long.'

Nicolas sat down in a daffodil-yellow
bergère
. He could have decided to force his way in and search the house from top to bottom, with the risks that might entail for the young woman being held prisoner. But as the old woman did not know him it was better to wait patiently for La Paulet and make her admit to what she had done. That would also give the reinforcements time to arrive.

After about ten minutes he stood up, went towards the fireplace and looked at himself in the mirror. He had aged and was looking tired and drawn. As he continued to stare at himself he suddenly felt a sort of tingling between his shoulders. A shudder ran through him. He could sense that someone was looking at him. He moved imperceptibly to the side and
eventually
in the right-hand corner of the mirror he saw the old woman's face as she moved silently towards him. She had thrown back her veils to reveal a doll-like face but her eyes were now wide open, and in their green glint Nicolas recognised Mauval and could see his murderous determination. He knew even before seeing the weapon that his enemy was about to thrust a sword into him. He stood stock still, not moving a muscle. He had to avoid doing anything that showed he was on his guard.

In an instant he knew what could save him. As a hardened player of
soule
he had learnt how to dive to the ground and take a fall. He had to reverse the situation and put his aggressor in a position of uncertainty. Admittedly Mauval's advantage was that he had Nicolas in front of him but, if he lost sight of him, then they would be back on an equal footing.

Nicolas suddenly threw himself onto the pedestal table. The piece of furniture collapsed, knocking over the candlestick. Nicolas deftly put out the candle. The room was now in total darkness. As he touched the ground, Nicolas had pushed the pedestal table towards his aggressor in the hope of confusing him and slowing his progress. He rolled to the side. Silence hung over the room like a pall.

For a moment he considered shouting out to alert Bourdeau, but he immediately thought better of it. Would his deputy hear him and could he get into the house? Mauval would have taken every precaution. He was annoyed with himself for falling into this trap and decided that the first thing he had to do was protect himself from behind, and so avoid being pinned to the wall like a butterfly on a board.

Crouching near the fireplace, he groped around and felt some cold metal rods: fire tongs. He managed to get hold of them and, taking care not to knock anything over, hurled them across the room. They brushed the chandelier, which tinkled discreetly, then there was a snapping sound and a chiming of crystal. One of the wall mirrors must have smashed and fallen down. There was a rustle of fabric, a thud and the sound of a piece of furniture being knocked over. Nicolas prayed to heaven that his adversary did not possess a tinder-box. He reassured himself, however: the first person to strike a light would reveal himself.

With his back to the wall, Nicolas settled down to wait. There was a serious risk of him becoming drowsy and losing his bearings in this fearsome place. He was under no illusions. This was a fight to the death: Mauval could not afford to let him live. He still clung to the faint hope that Bourdeau would intervene in time, or that the watch would arrive in great numbers.

The curious thought occurred to Nicolas that he was like Phineas tormented by the Harpies. Would Zetes and Calais arrive in time to get him out of this predicament? This idea gave him food for thought. According to tradition the blind old king had only a staff with which to fight off the monsters that might attack him. He had a sword. All of a sudden he had the idea of combining defence with attack, making use of a stratagem suggested by this mythological reference.

He slowly unsheathed his weapon, placed it on the floor and then just as cautiously removed his frock coat. Moving to the right, he felt his way along the wall until he reached the window near to the parrot cage. Occasionally he stopped, his heart pounding, to peer into the threatening shadows in an attempt to find out whether Mauval, too, were planning something. It was likely that he had chosen the same way of protecting himself by staying with his back to a wall, probably near the door.

At last Nicolas felt the marquetry table on which the cage stood. He went closer, opened the mesh door and took out the china bird. He put it down on the table, then froze at the sound of distant creaking floorboards. This noise was followed by the scraping sound of furniture being pushed or dragged. He needed to act as quickly as possible and use speed to surprise his aggressor. He draped his frock coat over the cage as if making a scarecrow, and tested its weight to be sure he could brandish it.
What was to follow would require the perfect coordination of extremely difficult movements but Nicolas felt relieved: he had weighed up the pros and cons and now the die was cast.

After putting down his sword, he took hold of the cage by the middle and lifted it up. He took the china parrot in his right hand and immediately hurled it violently across the room; Coco's death had not been in vain. At the same time as he heard it shatter against a wall, he distinctly felt his enemy make a sudden move, knocking over another piece of furniture. Then holding the cage covered by his coat in one hand and his sword in the other, he moved forward, finding his way along the wall on his right. On that side at least he was protected against any attack. Moving sideways he attempted to reach the door. A blade swished through the air and slashed his coat. There was Mauval.

For a moment the shock of it took his breath away. Nicolas had the feeling that he was not going to be able to reach the door to defend himself in broad daylight in an honourable combat. If there were no way out, then chance alone or the hand of God would direct the battle and decide the outcome, which would reward neither courage nor skill. For some unknown reason, fate would determine the result of this absurd uniting of their two destinies.

Nicolas took a large stride to the left. He assumed that Mauval had understood he intended to get to the door. He was anticipating the next attack that logically should come from his right. Not content to merely teach him the rudiments of fencing, the Marquis de Ranreuil had also introduced him to chess. He remembered that you always needed to think five or six moves ahead before deciding where to put your pieces. The problem here was that he was only vaguely aware of his opponent's positions.

He heard a blade being driven into the tapestry on the wall. He had to resist the temptation to respond. He had a different plan and decided to remain where he was. The cage was not very heavy, but the added weight of his frock coat made it unbearable and he felt his arm getting numb and beginning to tremble. Soon he would get cramp. He began to swing it backwards and forwards to produce a slight noise and specifically to deceive Mauval with the resulting displacement of air. Suddenly there was another thrust where he was not expecting it, to his left. It grazed his shoulder, making him let out a cry that he had the presence of mind to transform into the moan of someone who has been wounded. He ducked immediately and the next lunge went just over his head. He stood up again and rattled the cage loudly. Mauval had presumably come nearer to finish off his victim. He must have been able to sense the frock coat in front of him, and as he had not suffered a counter-attack might believe that Nicolas were seriously wounded. His sword sank into the coat between two bars of the cage, without touching the young man. Nicolas swung round sharply, trapping Mauval's weapon. Since he now knew precisely where his adversary was, he struck out with the point of his sword and felt the weapon slide over a hard obstacle then enter a body. He heard a long sigh and the sound of something collapsing in a heap. For a moment he suspected a ruse similar to his own. He began to move towards the door again, fearing another attack. But nothing came and eventually he reached the handle and turned it feverishly. The door opened and, after drawing aside the velvet curtain in front of it, he was bathed in the red glow of sunset entering the hallway through the bull's eye above the door.