The Man with the Lead Stomach (20 page)

‘Aha!’ said Saint-Florentin. ‘The young man has the ear of our friend the marquise!’

The minister examined the papers. He ordered Nicolas to fetch a magnifying glass from his desk and bring it. Nicolas could not help noticing that the instrument was lying on top of a pile of
lettres de cachet
ready to be signed. Monsieur de
Saint-Florentin
studied the documents carefully and then handed them to Sartine.

‘The tract is nothing unusual,’ said Sartine. ‘I have a dozen or so like this which are seized every single day. But the drawing is intriguing.’

Nicolas coughed. They looked at him.

‘Allow me, gentlemen, to put forward a theory. In my opinion this sketch represents the palace. Look at the cipher in this little square; it seems to correspond to this office.’

Monsieur de Saint-Florentin blinked, deep in thought. He took the document and examined it closely once again.

‘Well, well!’ he said. ‘Your deputy is right, Sartine! This is much more serious. These plans may be an attempt at working out the layout of the palace and moreover, they contain secret information to which we do not have the key but that probably relate to the ciphers. Do you not agree, Monsieur?’

‘I fear so, Monsieur.’

‘Indeed, indeed … I think I’m going to alter the course of these investigations. Listen, Sartine: this must remain secret. I do not want anyone to trouble the King with all this …’

Nicolas recognised almost word for word a concern expressed by the marquise.

‘However, having had to temper the legitimate ardour of our commissioner, much to my regret and for reasons that you will appreciate, I am anxious for this matter to be resolved. I am said to be conciliatory, a friend of order and harmony, but I value above all common sense and everything I have just heard is precisely that. I will not go back over the measures already taken, instead I shall turn a blind eye and give my approval to investigations based on, let us say, individual initiative – yes, that’s a good way to put it.’

He began to laugh, then suddenly appeared serious again, as if annoyed at having let himself go, and he continued with an air of authority of which Nicolas would not have thought him capable.

‘Commissioner Le Floch will gather information about this case by the use of any means he may deem appropriate. In particular he will take as proven that the Vicomte and the Comtesse de Ruissec were murdered. He will unravel the motives behind their deaths. Finally, under your authority, Lieutenant General of Police, he will attempt to solve the mysteries surrounding these papers and seek to explain their connection with the crimes we are dealing with. There we are: your task is urgent but needs total discretion. Total and utter discretion.’

He went to his desk, took two
lettres de cachet,
signed them, furiously sprinkled them with powder and then, after shaking them, handed them to Nicolas.

‘Finally, here are two blank weapons that you have the authority to charge and use!’

He sat down again and turned to the contents of his plate,
without showing any further interest in Nicolas. Sartine signalled to him that it was time to leave. He bowed, went out and found himself back in the palace forecourt, feeling somewhat dazed. Since the start of this case the authorities, with all their orders and counter-orders, had treated him like a plaything and seemed to have no clear idea of how to proceed. The irony of the situation struck him even more after this last audience with the two most important members of the police force in the kingdom. He had been sent to investigate, then the same authority had taken matters back into their own hands, influence had been exercised from various quarters, blowing hot and cold, and finally he had just been put back on track. His mind was made up: he would do his job without worrying too much about the consequences.

The time seemed right to go off fishing for information about Mademoiselle de Sauveté, the Vicomte de Ruissec’s betrothed. According to Bourdeau’s sources, she lived on the Paris road, the wide avenue opposite the palace. This still predominantly wooded area offered a vista of grand mansions, more modest town houses, the barracks of the King’s regiments and inns, all neatly aligned and almost touching. He went there on foot, leaving his coachman free until four o’clock, when he was to drive him back to Paris.

As he walked along, Nicolas sketched out a plan of action. It was clear that the young woman must have gone to Paris to attend her betrothed’s funeral at the church of the Theatines.

She would not be back in Versailles until four or five in the afternoon. That would leave him enough time to question the
servants or the neighbours. He was surprised by how modest Mademoiselle de Sauveté’s house looked, because she was said to be wealthy. What stood before him was no more than a modest country villa, a sort of hunting lodge or one of those gatehouses to be found on either side of the grandiose entrances to great estates. The one-storey building was surrounded by a large garden enclosed by a wall. The overall effect was one of neglect: dead leaves were strewn over the lawn and in the flowerbeds unpruned rosebushes still bore their last blooms, withered by the elements. He pushed open the gate and walked towards the house. A large French window was open; he went closer. It opened on to an old-fashioned drawing room with heavy, elaborately turned furniture. The walls were hung with red damask that had faded and was torn in places. The colours of the threadbare carpets had also faded. Like the outside, the room had a sad, neglected look.

He was about to go inside when he sensed a presence behind him and at the same time he heard a shrill, grating voice.

‘What’s this? Where do you think you are and what are your intentions, Monsieur?’

He turned. A woman stood before him, her right hand resting on a long stick. A full-length dark cloak, in an indefinable colour, almost entirely covered a shapeless purple dress. Her face was hidden by a large muslin veil, which hung over a straw hat; beneath this screen she wore dark glasses, of the sort used by people with failing eyesight. What ghostly creature is this? wondered Nicolas before this shapeless apparition of indeterminate age.

She must surely be Mademoiselle de Sauveté’s housekeeper or a relative. He introduced himself.

‘Nicolas Le Floch, police commissioner at the Châtelet. I beg you to forgive me but I was looking for Mademoiselle de Sauveté to discuss some matters concerning her.’

‘I am Mademoiselle de Sauveté,’ said the grating voice.

Nicolas was unable to conceal his surprise. ‘I thought you were in Paris, Mademoiselle. Your betrothed … Please accept my condolences.’

She struck the ground with her stick. ‘That will do, Monsieur. You have the temerity not only to enter my house but to presume to mention my private affairs.’

Nicolas felt a growing sense of annoyance. ‘Where can we talk, Mademoiselle? It so happens that I am empowered to question you and I warn you that—’

‘Question me, Monsieur? Question me? And for what reason, I pray?’

‘The death of the Vicomte de Ruissec.’

‘He killed himself while cleaning a weapon, Monsieur. That does not justify your request.’

He noted that she seemed well informed of the official version.

‘The circumstances of his death have attracted the attention of the police. I must hear your evidence. May we go inside?’

She barged past him. He caught a whiff of her perfume and followed her. She sought refuge behind a large Spanish leather armchair. He observed her two gloved hands, tensely gripping its back.

‘Come, Monsieur. Let us conclude this quickly. I am listening.’

He decided to precipitate matters. ‘Why is it that you are not at the church of the Theatines?’

‘Monsieur, I have a migraine, I have failing eyesight. I have little taste for society and besides, I did not know Monsieur de Ruissec, having only met him once.’

How absurd! thought Nicolas. Was this a joke at his expense?

‘Are you trying to tell me that you saw your betrothed only once?’ he asked. ‘You will understand that I find that strange and hard to believe …’

‘Monsieur, you are interfering in family matters. The intended union between us related to private agreements in which personal acquaintance had little place. I should add that such arrangements are not your concern.’

‘Very well, Mademoiselle. So I will remain within the boundaries of my function. Where were you on the evening of … your betrothed’s accident?’

‘Here.’

‘Alone?’

‘Yes. I live alone.’

‘What about servants?’

‘I have a gardener a few days a month, a housemaid twice a week.’

‘Why do you live in such isolation?’

‘I like solitude. Am I not free to live my life as I wish without someone constantly asking me to give explanations?’

‘Did you know the Comte de Ruissec?’

‘I was no better acquainted with him than with his son. Our affairs were decided between lawyers.’

‘What are their names?’

‘That is no business of yours.’

‘As you wish. Do you have any family?’

‘I am on my own.’

‘But you have not lived in Versailles all your life, I assume.’

‘I come from Auch originally, and two years ago I settled here to take up an inheritance.’

‘And where did that come from?’

‘From my family. Monsieur, that is enough. Please withdraw. My poor head can take no more.’

She made a strange gesture as if she had wanted to offer him her hand to kiss only to restrain herself at the last moment, after realising the incongruousness of the idea. He bowed and left. He could tell that she was watching him until he pushed open the gate. Only then did she slam the French window shut.

The vision of this strange creature stayed with him. Nicolas could not stop thinking about this being with her ill-defined outline and unbearable voice. The face was indistinguishable, with the gauze veil and thick ceruse. The dark glasses added to the disturbing overall effect.
The angel of death with her sunken eyes
… It beggared belief that the Vicomte de Ruissec, the noble scion of an illustrious family, should have linked his destiny to a scarecrow who was as ugly as a witch. Nicolas could now really understand why the vicomte sought amorous adventures in the boudoir of a sultry actress, who at least, as he knew only too well himself, could provide grace and laughter as well as a dash of
vindictiveness
in her love-making. None of this made any sense. What miracle or what mad compulsion had led the Ruissec family to seek a union between its elder son and this screeching harpy? Could it be that money alone was the reason for this absurd
mismatch? Nothing seemed to indicate the lady’s vaunted wealth, or else she was plumbing new depths in dissembling and
miserliness
. Around Guérande Nicolas had met rich country gentry who liked to disguise the extent of their wealth, earning the contempt of other wealthy landowners for whom ostentation was the rule. Perhaps this explained Mademoiselle de Sauveté’s behaviour.

In any case it was clear that she was completely indifferent to the vicomte’s death. This unclassifiable being had made such an impression on him that he could not take his mind off her, especially her voice with its shrill, false-sounding notes. He must find an explanation for her union with the Ruissec family. Monsieur de Noblecourt’s advice was certainly right: Nicolas would write to the intendant of the generality of Auch to find out more about the lady’s past.

He was walking away deep in thought when a sweet little voice attracted his attention.

‘I say! Have you found what you were looking for? May I offer you my help?’

A prettily dressed little old lady, with porcelain-blue eyes beneath a goffered lace cap was standing on the doorstep of the house immediately next to Mademoiselle de Sauveté’s.

‘In what way, Madame?’

‘I saw you talking to our neighbour. Are you one of her friends or someone who …’ She hesitated. ‘Well … is connected with the police?’

Nicolas was always surprised by the perceptiveness of ordinary people. He was evasive.

‘No, I don’t know her. I just needed a piece of information.’

She blushed and hid her hands beneath a starched pinafore.

‘Oh, good! That’s much better. She’s not liked, you know. She doesn’t speak to anyone. And she always dresses the same way. It’s frightening!’

‘Does she have servants?’

‘None, Monsieur. We find it disturbing. Never a visitor. Whole days go by without her appearing. Sometimes she comes home in a carriage when we haven’t seen her go out.’

Nicolas smiled. ‘Perhaps you just missed her.’

‘Oh, come now! I’m sure you’re from the police but you’re right to be discreet. And I understand why you don’t want to tell me. If I’m so definite about her it’s because my husband and I take it in turns to watch because we’re so intrigued. What did she tell you?’

She put her wizened little face closer to him, at once apprehensive and inquisitive.

‘Nothing that could interest or worry you.’

The old woman huffed. She had been hoping for more than this but Nicolas had already bid her farewell and hurried away. By sheer good fortune he had learnt something without having to ask. Everything he had just found out fired up his desire to learn more. So Mademoiselle de Sauveté had no servants, whereas she had claimed the opposite. Had she thought it would be that easy to get rid of him? She would soon discover the price of trying to fool the police. The Vicomte de Ruissec’s betrothed was added to the long and growing list of mysteries that had been building up since the beginning of this investigation.

Nicolas was once again on the vast Place d’Armes. He returned to his carriage, unsure what to do next. He did not know how to find Truche de La Chaux. He was giving this some thought when his coachman handed him a small note. It was a brief message from his friend La Borde. Sartine must have informed him of Nicolas’s arrival and La Borde had then sought out his carriage to leave him this note. In it he asked Nicolas to go and see him as a matter of urgency. A royal page would be waiting for him at about five o’clock at the entrance to the apartments to act as his guide. The prospect of this unexpected meeting calmed Nicolas somewhat. It would soon be time. He went through the palace’s second set of gates and entered ‘the Louvre’, the innermost precinct of the chateau.