The Châtelet Apprentice (12 page)

‘Should we inform Madame Lardin of her husband's death?'

‘Provisionally.'

‘Provisionally?'

‘Yes, but I'll see to it. As for the evidence' – he pointed to what was lying on the table – ‘have it put away somewhere cool. I shall keep the letter and the token. Goodbye for now, Bourdeau.'

Nicolas decided to go on foot to Rue du Faubourg-
Saint-Honoré.
It was a long walk but the weather, although cold, was set fine. Once more, frost had made the ground hard and the young man strode jauntily along the uneven cobbles and the frozen ruts in the streets of the capital. He had always enjoyed walking; it gave him the opportunity to think. In his native Brittany, wandering along the empty shoreline, he liked to see the headlands shrouded in mist on the horizon. He would reach one and then discover another that he would make for in turn. This morning the walk did him good. It cleansed his soul. The image of what were presumed to be Commissioner Lardin's
remains haunted his thoughts and became mingled with Sanson's gruesome account.

Something was not right. Why had the body been chopped up, the clothes scattered and everything deposited in Montfaucon when it would have been so easy to throw it into the Seine? Why had the murderer or murderers not gone through the pockets of the leather doublet carefully, in order to remove possible clues that could incriminate them? Clues that on the contrary seemed to have been planted there so that they could be easily discovered. Why had the jaw been deliberately broken and what was this inexplicable mark on the skull? And besides, what was going on in Rue des Blancs-Manteaux? What was Madame Lardin's purpose? Was Catherine's hatred for her to be understood merely as the rejection of a stepmother who had usurped the position of Marie's mother? And this persistent and ever-present horseman, a distant reminder of the threatening figure of Commissioner Camusot? And above all this loomed Monsieur de Sartine, close but unapproachable, who, Nicolas felt, was seeking to put him off the scent.

Nicolas had reached a vast open space that had formerly been marshland. Now a square was being built there, upon which the city fathers wished to erect an equestrian statue of the reigning monarch. The place was usually a hive of activity but the harsh winter had interrupted the work. Along the edge of the river and all around the perimeter, an octagonal enclosure surrounded by a wide ditch was beginning to take shape. Towards the city two enormous symmetrical buildings rose up from the ground.
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Wooden scaffolding, covered with frost, gave them the appearance of ephemeral crystal palaces. The whole scene was a chaos of monstrous blocks half hidden beneath the snow, an
urban glacier riddled with cracks, caves, channels and precipices. It shimmered in the gleaming sunlight and from it trickled icy water that erupted into a display of all the colours of the rainbow.

Nicolas made a long detour along its banks and crossed the gardens that took him to Rue de la Bonne-Morue which intersected Rue du Faubourg-Saint-Honoré at a right angle. A few houses further down he picked out a handsome-looking two-storey building; its sole distinguishing feature was a wrought-iron sign depicting a crowned dolphin.

He lifted the door knocker.

A
LITTLE
black girl, swathed in brightly coloured cottons, opened the door and, in a lisping voice, asked him what he wanted. A small monkey dressed up as a harlequin leapt around her. When it saw Nicolas it quickly ran up to the little girl's shoulders, holding on to the material with its small hands. It clung on to her cap and, bubbling over with anger, began to spit and howl as it eyed the visitor. The young girl brought the animal back under control by tugging its tail. This put an end to its performance and it let out a brief yelp that was answered from inside the house by a muffled, hoarse cry: ‘Come in, handsome Messieurs.'

When informed that Nicolas wished to speak to La Paulet, the maidservant gave no sign of surprise and showed him into an anteroom with a polished tile floor and bare walls. A geometrical frieze running along the cornice and an enormous crystal-drop chandelier brightened up a space which was empty except for two seats facing each other, upholstered in grey velvet. She drew
aside a curtain of the same material and invited him into a drawing room where, without saying a word, she left him.

The room was spacious, an impression reinforced by the profusion of large mirrors covering the walls. The skirting boards and cornices were encrusted with gilt carvings. Heavy rugs muffled the noise from the street. Ottomans and
bergères
upholstered in daffodil-yellow, white, pink, blue and green silks created a bright, cheerful and spring-like effect. Those walls without mirrors were hung with grey damask and decorated with framed engravings showing scenes that surprised Nicolas by their explicitness. Opposite the windows, a large grey-velvet curtain concealed a sort of dais. Nicolas, whose natural taste had become increasingly sophisticated, was not taken in by this dazzling decor. He had enough time to observe that this ostentatious display of luxury disguised a reality that was more modest. The mediocre quality of the stained materials, the gilt on the carvings that had merely been painted on and the threadbare state of the rugs might have gone unnoticed to a visitor whose eye was drawn to other scenes, but a detailed examination soon dispelled the illusory splendour of this glossy spectacle.

‘Do you like her? Do you like her? Naughty boy! Naughty boy!'

He turned. On a perch in the window recess, with a raised foot and its head cocked to one side, a feathered creature which he immediately identified as a parrot was gazing at him. Madame de Guénouel, Isabelle's aunt, possessed one that was always by her side. But it was old, losing its feathers, cantankerous and fond only of its mistress. This one was quite beautiful, the brilliant grey of its body contrasting with the sparkling red of its
tail. Its gold-flecked eyes looked inquisitive rather than aggressive. It began to strut solemnly along its bar, warbling and cooing as it went. Nicolas, who in the past had had some unfortunate experiences with other such birds, cautiously offered it the back of his hand in order to give it less scope for a possible attack. Puzzled as to what to do, the bird stopped, ruffled its feathers, then rubbed its beak against the outstretched hand, letting out tiny squeaks of pleasure.

‘I can see that Coco trusts you. That's a good sign.'

Nicolas turned round in surprise.

‘Coco knows how to choose his friends. I trust him completely. He's like my very own Lieutenant General. But to what does La Paulet owe the honour of the visit of such a handsome young man?'

Nicolas, though ready for anything, could not have imagined the madam as she appeared before him. Almost monstrous in size, a feature emphasised by her short stature, she was far more corpulent than dear old Catherine, who was already well built. This hulk of fat possessed a puffy face into which her eyes seemed to have been embedded. Beneath a knotted headscarf it was plastered with thick layers of lurid make-up. The body disappeared into a shapeless dress of violet muslin with red stripes. The black stone necklace was more like a belt than an item of jewellery. Stubby fingers burst out of their silk mittens. Lastly, the flowing material allowed occasional glimpses of dropsied feet sticking out of old beaver-fur shoes that were worn out and stretched like slippers. This caricature was brought to life by eyes that constantly darted here and there, when the folds of flesh did not cover them up, and which were as cold as those of a reptile on its guard. The parrot, annoyed at the lack of
attention being paid to it, began to utter high-pitched little squawks and to beat its wings furiously.

‘Coco, stop it or I'll call the watch,' La Paulet teased.

Nicolas, who had no set plan and who, for once, had not been able to imagine in advance his meeting with La Paulet, saw in a flash a possible way forward. It was risky, but he had no choice. With a charming smile he exclaimed:

‘Madame, you wanted the police. Here we are to serve you.'

The madam's reaction was beyond anything Nicolas could have hoped for.

‘Hell! Camusot is in a great hurry for his little monthly gift. He's early, but he thought he might be forgiven if he sent you here, and I certainly haven't lost out. The strapping fellow that usually comes, that devil of a Mauval, has a look that chills my blood, and it takes a lot to frighten me! He's got such a wicked tongue that I have to do my best not to get into an argument with him. When he comes he takes over the place, plays around with the girls, drinks my wine and disturbs the customers. However sweet-natured I may be, I must really like the police if I put up with that predatory pimp.'

She gave him a leering look that reminded him of old Émilie's in the cab taking them to Montfaucon.

‘I know what we owe you, Madame. And the police reciprocate.'

‘Yes, yes. I'd like to see the evidence of it. You have to make a living somehow and nothing's ideal. I do favours, I report back, I give warnings and I lend a hand. And I get protection in return. It's a very fair deal for me – I make a profit and so do you. A bit pricey, though!'

‘My superiors have a high opinion of you. Do you know any other commissioners, Madame?'

The question was far too pointed and the feint unsubtle. To allay La Paulet's suspicions he was relying on his innocent appearance and his ability to charm. She stared at him for a moment without answering, but the young man's face simply bore a look of naïve ingenuousness and she fell for it.

‘Old friends, we are all old friends: Cadot, Thérion, that blasted Camusot and that scoundrel of a Lardin. What a character he is!'

‘Is he one of your customers, too?'

‘Mine? That's very polite of you, but I've been put out to pasture, even if on occasion … No, Lardin's a gambler, you should know, you're part of Camusot's set-up.'

‘Indeed, but how did all this come about? I only know the general facts not the details, and you're so kind …'

‘I'm happy to tell you the whole story – you young people need to learn about things – but before I do so, do me the honour of sitting down. I tire very quickly when I'm standing. It's bad for my complexion.'

Nicolas wondered what her complexion had to do with it; her natural colour could not have shown through the plastered-on layer of white that covered her face very often. Paulet settled back in a wide
bergère
that she filled completely, and invited him to sit down near her on an ottoman. With one hand she pulled towards her a small hardwood drinks cabinet that stood on a pedestal table and opened it up. Several carafes of liqueurs appeared, with their sets of small glasses.

‘It's a long story. I'm building up my strength and you're going to keep me company like a proper gentleman. I've got
some ratafia that comes straight from Île Saint-Louis. A planter friend of mine gets me some every year. Come on, it won't kill you and it tastes very good.'

She filled two glasses and handed him one of them.

‘Madame, I'm overwhelmed by your kindness.'

‘My dear boy, with manners like yours, you'll get far – or you'll get nowhere. But let's get back to the point. Lardin is a special case. He was the joker in the pack, you might say. But he wasn't up to it, despite all the Berryers and the Sartines. They wanted him to clean up a business that he was already up to his neck in. When Berryer gave him the task of investigating our little arrangements, Camusot took fright. But I, being La Paulet, kept a cool head. Lardin was a really heavy gambler. He played and lost, that was the rule. But in
faro
, his favourite game, the banker is just an out-and-out rogue and the punter a fool who everyone agrees not to make fun of. You can always change the rules or at least influence someone's luck … So the further his investigation advanced, the more unlucky he was at cards. Wham!'

She drank her glass and helped herself to another.

‘Wham?'

‘Yes, my
faro
croupier had been pandering to him for a long time. He didn't know when to stop, and he was betting more and more heavily. One day he tried to break the bank. Break it like I'd never seen it done before, I swear to you. A fatal move.'

‘Fatal?'

‘The amount was so big that he couldn't recover. He was ruined and he had to pay up, whatever the costs. I set Camusot on his trail. At least one person was happy! In this business we both go halves, well, two for him and one for me.'

‘But will he be able to pay? You say he's ruined?'

‘He'll find the money somewhere and pay up, or else …'

Nicolas preferred not to dwell on the threat these words contained.

‘But, heavens, why did he need to bet so much?'

‘Come on, a handsome big body like yours needs another drink.'

She poured him another full glass and filled up her own.

‘The story goes back a long way. Lardin and I are old chums. Ten years ago after his first wife died he felt very lonely. He got into the habit of coming to the Dauphin Couronné. My establishment wel-comes the best people. I have courtiers who come here in carriages without their blazons or coats of arms, with unliveried footmen. The house is frequented by the richest clientele. Well stocked as I am, I always kept some new little tart, a dainty morsel, aside for Lardin. You can't imagine the trouble I take to satisfy respectable people! He dined, played a quiet game, then went upstairs with one or other of my girls.'

‘Without paying?'

‘That was one of our customs. The secret of success is having friends in high places. One evening there was a theatrical
performance
…'

‘A theatrical performance?'

‘Yes, sweetie, don't put on that bemused look. You see that curtain, it opens onto a stage where we put on special little productions that are, well … quite spicy. You don't seem very
au fait
!'

‘I'm drinking in your every word, Madame.'

‘Drink what's in your glass instead. Some wealthy connoisseurs enjoy seeing live performances of suggestive,
saucy little plays. These productions stimulate the most dulled senses. It turns into – are you following me, for heaven's sake, with that dewy-eyed look of yours? – outright debauchery. In short, scenes that would have given even the Duc de Gesvres an erection.
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One evening there was such an assortment of people that Lardin found himself matched up with a sweet little thing he found irresistible. He had already got through half a dozen bottles of champagne. He fell madly in love with her on the spot. To let him have such a gem on the cheap would have been an insult to God or to the devil, as you prefer. On my advice the girl toyed with his feelings, made him pine and languish. He was withering away. The crafty fellow begged me to act as
go-between.
Men are like that. I got a tidy sum out of it and we pretended it was payment for petty debts. He married her and his life became hell. She had as many lovers as Paris has parish churches. The bitch is greedy, voracious and coquettish, and she loves fine clothes, her own comfort and good food.'

‘But,' said Nicolas, ‘she's from a good family, isn't she? She has a relative who's a wealthy man, from what people say.'

La Paulet's eyes widened and she stared at him coldly. She moistened her lips.

‘Sweetie, you seem to know more about all this than I do …'

Nicolas felt a cold sweat come over him.

‘Commissioner Camusot told me that a cousin of hers was a doctor …'

The mention of the commissioner seemed to reassure her.

‘What Camusot told you was right. The parents of this Lardin woman died of smallpox when she was only fourteen. Her cousin Descart, the doctor, got hold of the family fortune and apprenticed the girl to a milliner. The inevitable happened:
she was ready and willing and gave herself to the first person who came along. That's how she ended up with me, having burnt the candle at both ends, to say the least. Kind soul that I am, I welcomed her with open arms and set her up in society.'

She made a show of wiping away an improbable tear and emptied her glass with the emotion of it all.

‘She must really hate this hard-hearted relative, mustn't she?' Nicolas ventured.

‘When you get to know women better, sweetie, you'll discover that they don't always behave as you'd expect. Apparently she's on the most intimate terms with him. She knows what she's doing, and I have a feeling that one day she'll get her family fortune back, one way or another. Knowing her as I do, I think she's capable of avenging herself even more cruelly, especially as the devil in question, who's another customer of my establishment, isn't worth the rope needed to hang him. A dirty old man, a puffed-up bigot who needs to be served chocolate with amber and cantharides
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before he can
perform.
A skinflint who'll argue down to the last penny, someone for whom you have to provide secret, carefully arranged assignations with play-acting and masks, someone who requires nothing less than the choicest morsels, even if he's not up to doing them credit …'