The Man with the Lead Stomach (27 page)

When he arrived he did indeed see a woman standing there motionless. She had her back to him. She seemed to be wearing something enormously thick but then fashions did favour an exaggeratedly crumpled and untidy look. Nicolas felt that this did not flatter the female figure. The aim seemed to be to
demonstrate
how many bits and pieces could be used in the making of a single garment The size of the panniers added to the general overblown impression. He had a momentary doubt that this was the Marquise de Pompadour, but on hearing his footsteps on the gravel, she turned and he recognised her. Beneath her dark green satin cape she wore a bottle-green bodice embroidered with silver thread, trimmed with chenille and the looped bows that the favourite had made fashionable. Embroidered silk florets
stunningly
set off the whole. A light muslin veil discreetly protected the marquise’s face.

‘I see, Monsieur Le Floch, that you have wasted no time in following my advice. You wished to speak to me and here I am.’

‘Madame, forgive this intrusion. I wish that I could have spared you, but I have reached a stage in my investigation that requires me to account to you.’

‘You mean to inform me …’

‘I have made some progress, Madame. A solution is in sight, but I still need to order the details into a coherent whole, rather like those children’s games of patience where each card represents a part of a map.’

She lifted her veil. Her eyes were strangely cold, with no flicker of benevolence. She looked tired.

‘I have no doubt that you will succeed, however hard it is. You bring to the task the methodical approach you have previously demonstrated and I find this very reassuring.’

There was no real feeling behind these words. Nicolas took Madame Adélaïde’s ring out of his pocket and handed it to the marquise. She gazed at it without taking it.

‘A handsome item.’ As Nicolas said nothing she continued more quickly, ‘Why are you showing it to me? Are you offering it for sale? I do not wear rings.’

‘No, Madame. I would like to ask you a question.’

She pulled down her veil again and walked away a little, looking exasperated.

‘Madame, I must insist. Forgive my audacity. Have you seen this ring before?’

She appeared to reflect a moment, then imperceptibly relaxed and began to laugh.

‘You are a redoubtable adversary, Monsieur Le Floch. When one sets you a task, there is no point in hoping that something might slip past you.’

‘I am at your service, Madame, and that of the King.’

‘Well, as I have no choice but to come clean, I admit that I do know this jewel. It comes from the King’s collection. He showed it to me several years ago, when he made a gift of it to his eldest daughter.’

‘Is that all, Madame?’

Her foot, beneath her voluminous gown, crunched the gravel.

‘What more could there be, sir?’

‘That’s what I am trying to find out, Madame. Might you have seen the jewel again since His Majesty showed it to you?’

She was unable to conceal her impatience. ‘You are starting to annoy me, Monsieur Le Floch. Are you trying to read my thoughts?’

‘No, Madame, I am striving to prevent a dishonest man compromising you, as indeed he has already begun to do. At the moment I am the only one to have seen through him.’

‘Compromising me? Me! You forget yourself, sir. To whom are you referring?’

‘A man I came across as I arrived at your chateau in Choisy. A man who apparently stole this ring from Madame Adélaïde. A man who seems to be in league with the King’s enemies and yours, Madame. A man, in fact, who has the audacity to use your name to provide himself with an alibi for a crime. That, Madame, is what prompts me to remember your benefaction and to do my utmost to be worthy of it.’

He had the impression that he had gradually raised his voice but that in doing so had given his words a warmth and persuasiveness that she could not fail to respond to. In any case after this outburst there was no way out. She immediately put a brave face on it; with a charming gesture she took his hand.

‘All right, I give in. Let us make our peace. It is no more than I deserve and it will teach me to turn to a sleuth of your calibre. It is obvious that you would not let such a thing go.’

‘Madame, what I am doing, everything I do, is dictated by what you asked me to accomplish: to be fully informed in order to serve and protect you better.’

‘I understand. It was wrong of me not to have told you the
whole truth. Here is what happened: I came to know Truche de La Chaux while he was serving at Court. One day he offered to sell me a piece of jewellery, the ring you showed me. I immediately recognised it as belonging to Madame Adélaïde and saw that I could make use of this discovery. I also knew that he had ready access to Madame’s apartments. He was originally a Protestant, although he has since converted. The princess, who is still besotted with religion, loves neophytes. I offered him a deal: either he worked for me or I would reveal what he had done.’

‘I am sorry to tell you, Madame, that there is every chance that he has done the same with your enemies. For the same reason that you have a hold over him, the Comte de Ruissec had him in his power. He had discovered that he was responsible for stealing from Madame’s jewellery collection. I suppose that knowing that the Life Guard had free access to your chateau, the comte did the same as you. He used him for his underhand schemes. I am almost certain that the tract you passed to me was put in your apartments by Truche de La Chaux. To cut a long story short, caught in a bind and also probably for financial gain, he became a double agent and it is impossible to tell where his loyalties lie or even if he has any!’

‘Sir, you have earned my gratitude a second time. I will think about what you have told me.’

‘If I may be so bold, Madame …’

‘By all means, sir. I have every confidence in your good sense.’

‘Continue to pretend to Monsieur de La Chaux. Treat him exactly as before. If you have a trusted servant make sure he keeps a careful watch on him when he is in your houses. Do not warn
him until this affair is resolved. I think he is only a minor figure in it. A crook and a thief, certainly, but a minor figure.’

‘You have set my mind at rest, sir. I shall follow your advice. Goodbye.’

She smiled, arranged her veil, gathered up her voluminous dress and disappeared, taking the same path he had used. Nicolas, not wishing to appear to follow her, set off in the opposite direction.

He lost his way amidst the alleys, went round in circles several times and eventually came upon a small square dominated by the figure of a large lead monkey. Finally, he found a way out. He thought that his journey through the labyrinth was symbolic of his investigation. He found himself in a broad avenue lined with hornbeams, at the far end of which he recognised Bacchus’s Basin. From there he reached the central prospect of the palace and walked back towards it.

He had still not recovered from his encounter with Madame de Pompadour. He sensed that their relationship – if that was the right word – would never again have the same frankness. He had overcome her defences, made her disclose one of her secrets and in addition had almost forced her to reveal her own meddling in the Household of the King’s eldest daughter. For a brief moment she had allowed herself to appear before him stripped of all her authority, but, if this were to become known, her situation would be very delicate and greatly weakened.

In addition, Nicolas had still not made up his mind about Truche de La Chaux. He was small fry but involved in serious matters, and evidently careless and heedless of the danger of his actions, and of the indiscretion of his words.

Just as he was coming out into the central area of the gardens Nicolas recalled the little deaf-and-dumb boy. He felt that he would never have a better opportunity to check whether the child he had rescued really was the one who carried Monsieur de Ruissec’s messages.

The weather was fine and clear, and it would be pleasant to walk in the park. In the distance the heights of Satory, topped with a bluish haze, were tinged with gold and crimson. He walked briskly to the Sailors’ Gate, near the Grand Canal. There he questioned the guard, who was not the same one as previously but was able to tell him the way to the shed belonging to Le Peautre, the fountaineer. It was no easy task to cross the uncultivated land through the tall trees and thickets. The workshop was in a part of the park that was still very nearly in its original wild state. Nicolas’s heart began to race when a wild sow, followed by its young, burst out of a coppice right in front of him. Further on, a large solitary stag was belling, a column of steam rising above it in the dim light of the undergrowth.

Shortly before reaching the shed he heard strange noises, an irregular banging followed by a long creaking sound. He headed towards them and discovered that they came from the log door of the shed as it slammed in the wind. After making sure that his sword moved easily in its sheath, Nicolas knocked. As there was no reply he went inside.

To begin with he could make out little. A small opening cut into the thick wall let in only a glimmer of light. He dimly perceived a heap of disparate objects. The building was narrow
but surprisingly long, and Nicolas continued forward, still
disconcerted
by the banging and creaking of the door that accompanied his progress. He was startled by a distant whinnying and was immediately on his guard. He was now in total darkness.

He became aware of something else that added to his unease at being in the dark: a metallic smell he knew only too well. He took a few more steps and felt a viscous substance beneath his feet. He bent down and touched it with his hand, then recoiled in horror and immediately ran back towards the light at the entrance to confirm his fears. His hand was covered in blood. His heart began to beat so fast that he was suddenly short of breath and nearly keeled over. What new horror must he face now?

At first sight the place seemed deserted but he had to make sure. He tried to remain calm and to act like the King’s servant he was. He would have to deal with this alone. It was no doubt connected with his investigation but it had happened in the royal domain, in the great park, which meant that if he went to seek help immediately it would become public knowledge. He felt that it was important to keep the matter secret and avoid any scandal.

He looked around for something he could use to make a torch. He found the resinous branch of an old pine tree and gathered some dry moss, which he moistened with the sticky sap. He struck a light and, by blowing gently, managed to ignite the moss, which produced a short yellow and blue flame. The pungent smell of the resin mingled with the autumnal forest scents.

Nicolas went back inside the workshop and at first could see nothing but a heap of logs and bars of lead piled one on top of the other. The torch was guttering and giving off as much smoke as light. On a workbench littered with tools he found a candle stuck
into a crudely fashioned lead holder. He lit it and stamped out the torch. His field of vision was now wider. He advanced towards the far end of the workshop and immediately spotted the apparently huge dark pool of blood. Then he heard murmurings and whispered words. Fumbling his way forward, he eventually discovered a low door at the far end of the workshop. Cautiously he turned the knob, pulling it towards him. A narrow passage a few yards long led to another door behind which people were talking. He listened, pressing up against the door, all senses alert.

‘Will you finally tell a dying man what all this means?’

Nicolas recognised the voice of the Comte de Ruissec. His words were interspersed with rasping croaks. Why on earth was he here when he was supposed to be accompanying the funeral cortège of his wife and son?

Another voice spoke. ‘I have been waiting for this moment for a very long time. Here you are at my mercy at last. First the son and the wife, now it’s the turn of the father and husband …’

‘But what treachery is this? Did we not have common cause?’

The second voice mumbled something that Nicolas was unable to catch. The Comte de Ruissec let out a loud cry.

Nicolas was about to leap forward to open the second door and had already placed his hand on the hilt of his sword when he was struck a violent blow on the back of his head. He fell senseless to the floor.

He could hear Bourdeau’s voice distinctly and clearly, yet it seemed unreal. He felt about with his hands, finding grass
beneath them. This, and the smell of the vegetation, brought him back to reality.

‘Look, Doctor, he’s coming round.’

Nicolas opened his eyes to see both the inspector and Semacgus leaning over him, anxiously studying him.

‘He’s a strapping lad and it’s not the first time he’s been knocked out. Nor the last, probably. Bretons are headstrong.’

‘That’ll teach him to be so reckless,’ Bourdeau added.

Nicolas straightened up. A small, clear flame was flickering before his eyes. He touched the back of his neck and could feel a bump the size of a pigeon’s egg.

‘Are you two proposing to render me senseless again by smothering me with your chatter?’ he said. ‘Or are you going to tell me what you’re doing here and what happened?’

Bourdeau nodded, satisfied. ‘Thank God, he grumbles; he must be alive! Monsieur de Sartine, who values you more than he chooses to show, gave me instructions not to let you out of my sight. So the doctor and I followed you here. As we came inside we saw you lying unconscious in this wretched
passageway
. Two people fled on horseback. We were sick with worry after wading through all that blood.’ He showed his
bloodstained
shoes.

‘Thank God you’re safe. I asked Dr Semacgus to take you outside and I searched further. Behind the door where you were I discovered the Comte de Ruissec’s body. He’d been killed by a pistol shot. He had his sword in his hand but he stood no chance: a bladed weapon is no defence against a firearm. However, the struggle must have started in the workshop and his opponent dragged him into the room behind. It looks as if he was able to
wound his assailant before dying. A trail of blood led to the vegetable garden where the horses waited.’