The Saint-Florentin Murders (40 page)

He let go of him, leaving him moaning beside the coffin, and walked quickly back to the long table.

‘Gentlemen,’ he continued, ‘I ask you to look at that man. During the discovery of the victim on Île des Cygnes, I found in the young girl’s undershirt, in the presence of Inspector Bourdeau, a human fragment. A nail which had got caught on the cloth and been torn off, taking a piece of skin with it. Here it is.’ Nicolas took out his little black notebook and carefully unfolded a piece of silk paper containing a fragment of nail and dried skin.

‘Eudes Duchamplan, approach.’

Bourdeau had to go and get him.

‘Remove his chains.’

As if filled suddenly with an absurd hope, the man rose to his full height, once again as arrogant as ever; he had not even heard what Nicolas had said.

‘Show us your hands,’ said Lenoir.

‘What reason would I have to show you my hands?’

‘Don’t argue.’

The two magistrates leaned forward. Duchamplan had rather long nails. But the nail on the middle finger of the right hand was broken, and there was a still visible cut on one of its edges. Nicolas approached, and grasped the hand firmly. The fragment in his possession exactly fitted the wound on the finger.

‘What’s the meaning of this?’ stammered Duchamplan.

‘The meaning, Monsieur,’ said the Criminal Lieutenant, ‘is that the evidence gathered by Commissioner Le Floch confirms the accusations made against you. Take him away.’

‘So, Nicolas,’ said Noblecourt, carefully putting down the fine porcelain cup, ‘the year has finished better than it started! What a terrible, unbelievable series of events!’

It was two months since Nicolas had confounded Duchamplan at the Grand Châtelet. He lifted his head with a sigh.

‘Alas, they’re not over yet. I’ve just learnt some surprising news.’

‘Tell me.’

‘Duchamplan, secretly tried by an ad hoc commission, has escaped the death penalty. The galleys for life, that’s not much to pay.’

‘I already knew that. Secrets are never well kept … I was told that your brilliant demonstration and the weight of the evidence presented didn’t completely convince the learned assembly. What else did they need? It was only a pretext, I fear, to spare someone who knew too much about certain people.’

‘What you don’t yet know is that Duchamplan was discovered to have choked to death on the road to Toulon. His companions on the chain hadn’t noticed a thing. The dust from the straw in the prison at Clamecy is believed to have asphyxiated him!’

‘Was there an autopsy?’

‘Of course not! He was immediately buried in a common grave.’

‘Are we certain it was really him?’

‘I dare to hope so. With Mauval and Camusot still at large, not to mention my English friends, that now makes a lot of people after me. I really need to be careful.’

‘You’ve been through some difficult times: 1774 will remain for you the year of mourning and slander … both against you and against La Vrillière. Did the duc at least show his gratitude for having got him out of trouble?’

‘I was hardly expecting him to do so. There’s a kind of
embarrassment
between us now. I know too much about him. And he still doesn’t know the main thing. He’s still a minister, but it’s been noticed at Court that the King is more distant towards him than before. The duchesse sent me a gracious message through Madame de Maurepas, who is still very besotted with “young Ranreuil”.’

‘Now you really are “new Court”! At the home of Philemon and Baucis … In a way, the wife of the gravedigger.’

Nicolas did not understand the allusion. ‘The gravedigger?’

‘Alas, my friend, close as I may be to the
parlement
and its little schemes, I’ve always supported the rights and prerogatives of the Crown against the encroachments and ravings of a body which has led us, among other things, to chase out the Jesuit fathers, with the consequences I once pointed out to you. Now, on 12 November, the well-chosen day of Saint-René …’

‘The first name of the Comte de Maurepas.’

‘Precisely! That day, the King presided over a bed of justice ratifying the recall of the
parlement
and sounding the death knell of the Maupeou reforms.’

‘It’s a mistake, when you really look at it.’

‘A mistake, yes. A sin, certainly. It will remain vaguely in people’s minds that the
parlement
is a power that cannot be broken
since we are forced to reinstate it. The whole of Paris is repeating the comment of Chancellor Maupeou: “Thanks to me, the King won a trial which had gone on for a hundred and fifty years. If he wants to lose it again, he is the master!”’

‘Now I understand what the English ambassador meant,’ remarked Nicolas. ‘Monsieur Lenoir, whose complete trust I now enjoy, asked me to translate for him an extract from a dispatch intercepted from Lord Stormont.’

‘What did it say?’

‘Basically, that the young King thought that his authority had been sufficiently established by this act of recalling the parliament. He concluded with this terrible phrase: “Clearly he will be disappointed by the end of his reign.”’
1

‘May heaven grant that I do not see it! The late King would never have yielded, I’m sure of that.’

‘To get back to our case,’ said Nicolas, ‘the young girl from Brussels has returned home, her mother having immediately come to fetch her. They left in tears, taking back the remains of their sister and daughter. You know the role that corpse played.’

‘Yes, all that was well arranged. What about Chambonas?’

‘The marquis seems to be recruiting again.’

‘And those mysterious creatures whose strange appearance at Trianon you told me about?’

‘They have been seen on two occasions, still dressed in those extraordinary garments. No one has yet been able to explain their presence. The last time, the alarm having been raised, the gardens of the Trianon were surrounded by guards and servants. It was nothing more nor less than a hunt, an attempt to lure the unknown women into a trap. Nothing! No one! In this particular case, my
foresight has been called into question. The Queen has gently mocked me. What can I do?’

They were silent for a moment. A log collapsed in ashes in the fireplace.

‘And how is your son?’ asked Noblecourt.

‘Oh, he’s a Breton, which means he adapts well to difficult circumstances. He’s been accepted and has avoided the roughest ragging, although I suspect he’s received and distributed a few blows along the way.’

‘He seems to have his father’s powers of seduction.’

‘And his grandfather’s! In his last letter, he asked me to thank you again for the
friponnes
from Cotignac that you gave him. They contribute very pleasantly to the transition between day and night and make a welcome change from the dreary repetition of the college routine. Hard bread, stringy beef, beans in rancid oil, lentils with stones, rice mixed with weevils, sour vegetables and dessert noticeable by its absence. I quote him.’

‘It seems,’ said Noblecourt, barely containing his gaiety, ‘nothing has changed in our schools, whether they are Jesuit or Oratory! Your son describes it very well. I predict he’ll be a skilful wielder of the pen. His father knew how to tell a story, the son will know how to write. Like father like son, as our late lamented monarch liked to say. I was sometimes unfair towards him. Despite his many faults, he was a king!’

Darkness was falling. It was a moment of peace, a moment to daydream. Cyrus and Mouchette lay asleep on the floor near the chimney screen. Poitevin entered the room carrying two letters, which he handed to Nicolas. A porter had delivered the first, and the second had been handed in from a well-appointed coach.
Asking Noblecourt to excuse him, the commissioner began reading. The old magistrate, who had been dozing off, opened his eyes when he heard a sigh from Nicolas.

‘Bad news?’

‘Some bad, some good.’

‘Then they cancel each other out.’

‘One won’t make up for the other.’

Silence fell again.

Nicolas, as if reluctantly, began speaking. ‘I’ve had a letter from Antoinette, informing me that she’s leaving Paris. She’s sold the business in Rue du Bac and is moving to London to open a lace shop there. She left the city two days ago after paying a visit to Louis in Juilly …’

He stopped, a lump in his throat. So many images and memories had suddenly risen up from the past.

‘She preferred not to see me. She entrusts Louis to me.’

With a grave air, Noblecourt sat up in his armchair. ‘What happened to explain this unexpected gesture?’

‘I think I know, and I alone am responsible. In October, when I was at Versailles for my investigation, I met La Satin in the lower gallery of the palace. She was there on business, selling trinkets from a stall a few days a week. Her presence there upset me, and I wasn’t quite able to conceal my reaction. In addition, at that moment, I recognised Lord Ashbury and set off after him … An unfortunate combination of circumstances.’

‘I understand what was at the bottom of your mind, Nicolas. It wasn’t that her presence was inconvenient to you, am I right?’

‘Of course not! I was thinking of Louis, the last of the Ranreuils. I don’t know if my half-sister Isabelle is married, or if
she will ever have any offspring … I suddenly imagined, somewhat frivolously I admit, Louis as a page to the King, or as a bodyguard, to which his name entitles him … And his mother selling things in the gallery.’

Noblecourt was thinking, his head nodding gently. ‘My friend, without absolving you of your reaction, which you were unfortunate enough to reveal, I think you should consider the possibility that La Satin understood the situation perfectly. It would have been better for her to think before she acted and avoid placing you in such a delicate situation. The wrong having been done, she decided to sacrifice her love as a woman and a mother for the future of her son. Understanding you without a word being spoken, she has elevated herself to a kind of heroism, and you should be grateful to her. There’s no point now in feeling remorse. The only thing she can expect of you is to respond to her silent appeal by guiding Louis towards a destiny worthy of the glorious name he will no doubt bear one day. She made the right decision. Remember she’s still young, and so are you. Your life is still ahead of you, and she is entitled to a second chance. It can’t have been easy for her to remain in your shadow, you to whom she owed both love and loyalty.’

‘But what of Louis? What will he think? He’ll be angry with me.’

‘I’m certain La Satin didn’t tell him about your encounter. The reasons she will have put forward won’t set the son against the father. Louis is mature enough to have already understood that your relationship had ended. At his age, he needs you. Reassure him and reassure yourself. And what of the good news?’

‘Oh, a trifle. Admiral d’Arranet has invited me to dinner in Versailles in three days.’

‘That’s very good. You’re young, you should take advantage of such things. They say he has a lovely daughter.’

Noblecourt knew nothing, but always suspected everything. Nicolas sighed. Happiness was never unalloyed. You always had to pay for it, and dearly. This terrible, painful year was coming to an end. Time was slipping away like sand in an ever-open hand, and at the same time strengthening his soul. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The shores of his childhood reappeared, swept by wind and sea spray. He saw the horizon receding in the distance, and a new headland emerging. He was going to have to reach it before discovering the next one. The way appeared clear and free, but he knew now that he would have to allow for the opposing currents of life. Realising that fact nourished his anguish and his hope.

La Marsa, la Bretesche, Glane, Ivry

August 2002–November 2003