Wolf Hunt (11 page)

‘In short, I hope that my newspaper with its controversies and ideas will give the public something to read that will contribute to all the strands of thought that enliven and transform people’s lives.’

Madame Mitterburg blinked again but said nothing. There was the sort of silence that makes you rapidly run through in your head the gamut of small talk that could restart the conversation, something unremarkable. The silence stretched out. Madame Mitterburg was still looking at Margont. He wondered if she was simply trying to fathom what it was about him that so appealed to her daughter. ‘You must have a drink,’ she declared finally. ‘You’ve done so much dancing ...’

She turned towards the buffet and asked for a drink. So much dancing? That was a bit of an exaggeration - he had danced two waltzes with Luise. He began to understand how far removed Austrian high society felt itself to be from the universe he operated in. In their world everything was regulated by a multitude of rules, codes, precepts and obligations. The slightest transgression set in train a flood of reactions designed to correct the misdemeanour. Madame Mitterburg was merely keeping Margont away from her daughter with this now rather ridiculous chat.

In the meantime, an Austrian nobleman had replaced the gangly creature, and others followed afterwards. So Luise danced but she did not derive any pleasure from it. Her waltzing was now just the conscientious application of the steps she had learnt in many hours of practice.

Margont thought of Relmyer. His criticisms of the investigation into Franz’s death had ruffled society feathers. He had been told to keep quiet, but gagging him had only suppressed his words, not his feelings. This world defended its image and its privileges and considered scandal its worst enemy, the potential source of its destruction.

The waiter arrived with a crystal glass on a silver tray, and Margont had an impulse to send the whole lot flying.

Astonishingly, Madame Mitterburg seized the glass and said to him, ‘Luise has had a great deal of grief in her life. Think about

that.’

She put the glass in his hand, which she grasped tightly in both of hers. The crystal was freezing, her fingers burning.

‘If you ever make her suffer, I swear that I will pay someone to kill you like a dog.’

With that, she left, abandoning Margont to his lemon punch.

Saber, who loved to gossip, joined him. With his head held high, accentuating his proud bearing, his glittering gaze and supercilious air, he looked like a brilliant general who had had to borrow a uniform from his batman, his own having been stained in heroic battle.

‘Poor old Quentin, your beautiful Austrian has ditched you. Dance with someone else to make her jealous. It’s even more effective if you dance with her best friend. The waltz sums it up: if you want to seduce an Austrian, you have to make them turn round in circles.’

Saber’s words of wisdom ... Saber wanted Margont to introduce him to Relmyer but was too proud to ask. Margont decided to make him wait.

Jean-Quenin Brémond whirled past with a brunette in a white satin and silver lame dress. She was gazing at him adoringly. Saber was rooted to the spot.

‘Jean-Quenin’s done well! All the girls love “Herr Doktor”! I’m happy for him/

He had sai d th is last in the tone of‘I hope he drops dead!’ Even in matters of love, Saber went to war. His rivals were his enemies. He did not seduce, he executed manoeuvres. The heart of a beautiful girl was a bastion he set himself to assault, then abandon, broken under his heel. It was not the women who attracted him the most, nor the most seductive, that he paid court to, but the most unattainable. That way, he was able to boast about his ‘victories’. And he was undeniably charming; alas, his Adonis-like beauty was like a spider’s web.

‘Antoine is not very lively this evening.’

It was true; Piquebois held himself aloof, leaning against a column, daydreaming. Distractedly he followed some of the couples

with his eyes, but more because he was mesmerised by the movement than because he was interested in them.

The music stopped and Luise rushed over to Relmyer, who was becoming increasingly agitated. She dragged him off forcefully to dance a polka. Lefine, in his turn, went over to Margont, euphorically brandishing his glass.

‘Schnapps - waltz, vodka - polka, punch - mazurka!' He emptied his glass with one gulp and concluded: ‘Another pleasure snatched from the jaws of death.’

Luise smiled at Relmyer, exaggerating her joy to try to impart some to him. The polka, madly jolly, had the dancers leaping about. Officers and their beautiful partners jumped, turned and laughed. But Relmyer remained like an ice cube, detached from the warm ambience.

The polka came to an end and Relmyer immediately left the dance floor. Luise pretended to be out of breath to excuse herself from an officer of the artillery of the Imperial Horse Guard, in a dark blue pelisse edged with silver fur and dripping in gold braid. His voluminous rounded black fur bearskin transformed him into a colossus with an enormous head. He was extremely surprised as he watched the beautiful Austrian girl depart: the Imperial Guard was not in the habit of being defeated. Luise marched over to Margont.

Saber murmured hurriedly in his ear: ‘She’s coming! Talk to me, act as if you haven’t noticed her and behave as if she’s interrupting us.’

Act as if he had not noticed her? Margont had eyes for no one else. Luise spoke to him urgently.

‘I’m entrusting Lukas to you. I want you to keep an eye on him. Promise me now.’

‘In view of his duelling skill, it’s more a question of asking him to protect me.’

‘It’s already done. Now it’s your turn, promise!’

‘I promise you/

Luise held his eyes to seal the oath. Margont looked at her without letting his pleasure show. So she had made him promise to

protect Relmyer! Saber was horrified.

‘She’s giving you orders! And you’re going to obey? What will happen if women start to control everything?’

The entire world is at war, so things can’t get any worse than they already are,’ retorted Luise.

Relmyer erupted into their midst, cutting off their squabbling like a ball running into a game of skittles.

‘Madame Blanken is finally here, the 
alte Funzel,
 wicked, greedy old hag ... Let’s grab her straight away before she’s embroiled in meaningless small talk with everyone.’ 

MADAME Blanken was nothing like the portrait that Relmyer had painted of her. He had said she was unfeeling. Yet when she saw Luise she smiled affectionately. Her smile faded, though, the moment she laid eyes on Relmyer. Luise curtsied to her. Margont imagined a line of little girls, including Luise, curtsying in unison as Madame Blanken passed down a long corridor.

‘Madame Blanken, please could you talk to Lukas for a few moments?’ implored Luise.

The old woman turned towards Margont, who introduced himself. ‘He’s a friend,’ explained Luise. ‘He’s helping us with our search ... Lukas and Captain Margont would like to go to the orphanage to question Wilhelm’s friends ...’

Madame Blanken’s face froze, giving her a steely look.

She said sternly, ‘If they come anywhere near the orphanage I shall have them both arrested. And rest assured I will succeed in that. Very easily, in fact. General Lariboisiere is staying with me ...’

She pointedly ignored Relmyer. He clenched his teeth, as stiff as a blade. Luise tried to think of an answer, but there was none.

‘Please let them. So that this saga can be settled as quickly as possible and so that we can finally be free of it! Allow Lukas to come, for pity’s sake, so that he can find whatever is there to be found, and even if he finds nothing, he will finally be able to rid himself of this business!’

Madame Blanken took her hand. ‘He’s already been. Didn’t he tell you?’

All three turned to look at Relmyer, who up until then had been ignored.

‘Why did you not tell us that you’ve already been to Lesdorf?’ fumed Margont.

‘It wasn’t important, and I didn’t find anything. It was just before the Battle of Essling. Wilhelm had disappeared, I was very worried about him. May I remind you, Madame, that I barely had time to talk to two or three people before you threw me out.’

Madame Blanken went over to Relmyer.

‘What cheek! How dare you complain about having been thrown out! After the scene you made? You forced your way into my orphanage, shoving the concierge and his son, you started shouting, demanding to see this or that person, you terrorised everyone by stomping furiously about the corridors ... If you behave like a fox in a henhouse, you can hardly be surprised if the next thing that happens is that the farmer appears with a gun! We had to call the imperial police to get rid of you! It’s lucky for you that Luise is so fond of you. It’s only because of her that I turned a blind eye. That time! But if you come near Lesdorf again, you or your hussars, I won’t be so lenient!’

‘Why don’t I come on my own?’ proposed Margont.

‘Same problem, same effect. You have to leave it to the police. It’s true that most of the police have fled Vienna, or have gone with the Austrian army. The few who remain already have enough to do keeping order, in accordance with your Napoleon’s instructions. But, as soon as the war is over, life will return to normal and the investigation can start again. Until then, unfortunately we can only

wait...’

Relmyerwas incensed.

‘Is that all? The man who murdered Franz has killed another orphan, and your idea is just to wait until the end of hostilities? As for the Austrian police, the most polite thing that can be said about them is that they are not known for their efficiency/

Madame Blanken stared at him contemptuously.

‘I suppose you have something better to suggest? You want to carry out your own investigation? You want to insult everyone and make a great hullabaloo! Where will that get you? Exactly nowhere! However, I do have something to show to you, and to Luise as well.’

She revealed a notebook that she was holding discreetly in her hand. Margont had noticed it a little earlier but had immediately forgotten about it. Now this little object had momentarily become the most important thing in the world.

‘I thought that Luise would invite you this evening and that you would take advantage of it to try to speak to me,’ she went on, still holding the notebook prisoner in her bony fingers. ‘Despite our disagreement, I would like to prove that you are wrong about me. I have always done my utmost to protect the young people in my care. As the police failed in their inquiry, I carried out my own, in my own way. And I was meticulous; in fact I am still investigating. If you had not left, Lukas, I would have let you know my initial conclusions. As I would have let you know, Luise, had you not broken off contact with me because you held me responsible for Lukas leaving. I drew up a list of all missing orphans, not just from Lesdorf but also from neighbouring orphanages. Then I tried to find out what had happened to all those young people. I wanted to follow up each case to learn if any of the disappearances was in fact a kidnapping, or worse. I counted only forty between 1803 and 1809. I couldn’t go back any earlier than 1803. After long investigation, either by me or financed by me, I was able to trace twenty-nine of them. I noted the names of those boys and girls, the dates of their disappearance, and when and where they finally reappeared, if they ever did.’

She held out the little book to Luise, who opened it, but Relmyer took it from her. The information was meticulously presented in neat scholarly handwriting. Madame Blanken was obviously happy to be able to prove her good faith. She smiled, confidently waiting for Luise and Relmyer to praise her efforts and apologise for having criticised her so often. But this was not at all what happened. Relmyer started as if struck by an invisible blow, and flared up. ‘What is this nonsense? How can you write that Mark Hasach served in the army? You write that he disappeared in December 1804 and that he was killed on 2 December 1805 at the Battle of Austerlitz, which he took part in as a soldier in the Infan-terieregiment 20 Wenzel Kaunitz. That’s impossible! I knew him: he was also at Lesdorf,’ he explained to Margont. ‘His mouth was in a terrible state, full of broken teeth. Now having bad teeth is one of the few things that prevent you joining the army, because you have to be able to tear open the canisters with your teeth in order to pour the gunpowder into the chamber of your rifle. In any case, he hated soldiers because the war killed his parents.’

Madame Blanken frowned. ‘I didn’t know any of that. What exactly are you getting at?’

Relmyer leafed rapidly through the notebook, turning the pages so fast that some of them tore.

‘And this one!’ he exclaimed. ‘Albert Lietz: disappeared in August 1805 and apparently died at the Battle of Austerlitz, in the Infan-terieregiment 29 Lindenau. I also knew him. I promise you it is impossible that he would ever join the army! Albert was the biggest coward you’ve ever met. When he was fifteen, he was afraid of boys who were twelve and he let them bully him. Do you remember, Luise? He cried at the least little thing. He ran away from anything that came near him. It’s unimaginable that he should become a soldier.’

‘That’s true,’ confirmed Luise.

‘A scaredy-cat in 1804 who transforms himself into a fighter in 1805? And here! Ernst Runkel. He disappeared in October 1805 and turns up dead at Austerlitz in the Infanterieregiment 23 Sals-burg! Ernst, a soldier! All that bigot dreamt of was becoming a

priest! He read the Bible all day long, he was in the choir, he bored us with his parables ...'

‘That’s also true,’ said Luise categorically.

This information is all false!’ concluded Relmyer. ‘So where are all these boys really?’

Madame Blanken stiffened. The muscles in her neck contracted visibly beneath the skin.

‘Lukas, you’ve taken leave of your senses! You’re so traumatised by what you went through that you see kidnappings everywhere! All that does is convince me that I’m right: we have to leave this to the police. They have the necessary skill and they, unlike you, won’t be blinded by emotion.’