Duval and the Empress's Crown (Napoleon's Police Book 5)

  Duval

  and the

  Empress’s Crown

  Michèle McGrath

  In memory of my uncle

  Louis Alexander McGrath

  Who would have loved this tale

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  About Michèle McGrath

  Duval and the Empress’s Crown

  1

  8 Frimaire Year XIII of the Republic

  (Thursday, 29 November, 1804)

  “Duval, the patron wants you.”

  Rollin put his head round the door and called out to me. I looked up from the pile of letters I was reading; correspondence from one of the marshals to his wife. The marshal was boring and his wife was a very silly woman, with nothing on her mind except her ailments and problems with her servants. Neither of them was likely to hatch plots against the Emperor. Unfortunately his soldiers liked this marshal, which is not always a good thing in France. It is a task given to agents working in the Ministry of Police, checking on suspected persons. I had become inured to the tediousness of it by now. I was glad of the interruption, if the truth was told, although a summons to the minister is never routine or to be taken lightly. He rarely sends for anyone unless there is trouble.

  “What have you been up to now, Duval?” Petit asked, a certain amount of relish in his voice. He would be pleased if I was about to be reprimanded for some fault.

  “Nothing,” I muttered.

  “Really? No sins to confess? What does he want you for then?”

  “No idea.”

  “Stop chattering and get out. Don’t keep him waiting if you know what’s good for you.” Laurent’s voice was strident as usual. He doesn’t like me and I don’t like him. Pity we have to work together. He is the leader of my section, but he had no hand in my selection, which did not please him. Fouché himself appointed me after a request from one of his relatives, who was my former colonel. Laurent has always resented me and he thinks I have too much influence with the minister. Stupid man. He should know by now that Fouché does not play favourites so I have no influence with him at all.

  I brushed down my coat, ran my hands over my hair to tidy it and went out. Rollin hadn’t waited for me, of course, once he had delivered his message. He is another one who doesn’t like me. He thinks I cheated him out of the credit he was due for an arrest some years ago. I didn’t, but he won’t believe that and the witnesses who could back me up are dead now.

  I hurried along the corridor and climbed the stairs, examining my conscience at the same time. I couldn’t recall doing anything wrong. My most recent adventure was some time ago and the last few months had been filled with routine work. I reflected ruefully that Petit would have been joyous to know just how much his remark had unsettled me. Damn him for making me so nervous.

  “Where are you off to in such a hurry?” Fournier was coming down the stairs as I was going up. He carried a pile of papers under his arm and looked concerned.

  “The patron’s.”

  “Are you, by Hades? Something’s happened up there. Réal looks as if he’s just been condemned to death and everybody is tiptoeing around him. Done anything you shouldn’t?”

  I shook my head. “Don’t you start! Petit’s already got it into his head that I’m in trouble.”

  “He would. Are you?”

  “No!”

  “Want me to come with you?” Fournier offered. He is one of my friends and he’s been in the Ministry much longer than I have, so he is privy to many of its darker secrets.

  “Better not, but you can carry the news to Eugénie if he locks me up.”

  “I’ll do more than that; I’ll visit you in prison and bring you a file!”

  “Thanks a lot!”

  Réal, Fouché’s deputy, was sitting in his office which is also the anteroom to the minister’s lair. He looked up when he saw me but instead of telling me to sit down and wait, he waved me straight through. That only ever happens if there really is trouble. Fournier was right; something had happened. My heart was thudding as I tapped on the Minister’s door.

  “Come in.” The words were clipped.

  I went inside to find Fouché standing beside one of the long windows looking out into the street. Fouché is a former Jacobin, regicide and terrorist, who has been restored to his former position as Minister of Police. It was said that the newly elected Emperor Napoléon Bonaparte could not afford to dispense with his services at this critical time. Fouché knew too much about the former general and the people in his new government.

  Fouché himself did not appear formidable. Dressed in his usual black and modest in stature, he looked what he once was, a teacher of mathematics. Looks in his case are deceptive. Fouché has one of the sharpest brains in the country and does not forgive his enemies lightly. His name is infamous throughout France for a very good reason. No one will ever forget that he ordered the Noyades of Nantes, the mass executions by drowning during the Reign of Terror. I found myself meeting his eyes with difficulty.

  “Close the door, Duval,” he said, “and perhaps you had better be seated.”

  Obediently, I shut the door and stumbled over to one of the gilt chairs that stood before his desk, looted from an old ducal mansion or so the story went. The office was freezing, but it wasn’t the cold weather that caused my teeth to chatter. I had to clench my jaws tight to stop them making a noise. God in heaven whatever had upset him? His eyes looked odd, as if his thoughts were far away, and most unpleasant.

  Fouché sat down at his desk, facing me.

  “I have work for you to do. Perhaps the most important task you will ever attempt.”

  I let out my breath and my heart beat began to slow down. No fault of mine, then, but only another case. Thank all the gods in the firmament.

  “Monseigneur?”

  “As you are aware, the preparations for the Emperor’s coronation are now almost complete, despite the delays caused by the Pope’s late arrival.” I nodded. The poor old man had been travelling for weeks over icy roads all the way from Rome, just to crown Napoléon.

  “We have come up against another unexpected difficulty.” He looked at me keenly as if he was waiting for my reaction. “The Empress’s crown is missing.”

  “Good God! Does the Emperor know?” I blurted out the first words that came into my head, forgetting for a moment who I was talking to. Fouché is a man who should always be treated with caution. I had seen him in a rage several times and had no wish to see him in one again. Fortunately for me, this time his reaction was merely ironic.

  “Not yet,” he said softly, “and I don’t propose to tell him until you have found the crown and restored it to him.”

  “Me?” Shock made my voice unsteady.

  Fouché stared hard at me for several seconds until my eyes fell before his. “You have a reputation for finding things, do you not?” His voice was bland, making me curse inwardly.

  “It’s true I have been lucky in one or two investigations...” I murmured. I had discovered stolen goods several times before in the course of my career, but nothing like this. Those items had been paltry in comparison to a crown about to be used in the most important event in my lifetime.

  “No doubt you will strive to be lucky
again this time,” Fouché said, with his cold smile.

  “What can you tell me about the case, Monseigneur?” I asked, pressing my hands together to stop them shaking.

  “The news only reached me an hour ago. The crown vanished from Margueritte’s workshop where it was being manufactured. A preliminary search has been made of the premises and the persons who work there and it has not been found. I have ordered further investigation to cease until you arrive. As you can understand, I want to restrict the knowledge of this theft to as few people as possible. If the rumour leaks out, the damage would be considerable.”

  “Monseigneur, I will need help. Time is very short. If I work alone, the search will take much longer. I might not be able to find the crown before it is needed…”

  Napoléon’s coronation was less than three days away and every eye in Paris would be watching. The plans had been debated for months. Bets had been laid in the taverns about the ceremony in general and the Empress’s role in particular. Excitement and anticipation were in the very air. Now, if the Empress could not be crowned, there would be a dreadful scandal. Incidentally, the consequences for me did not bear thinking about.

  “You may have two men whom you can trust to help you.”

  “Fournier and Lefebvre,” I said instantly, naming the only people I totally trusted in the Ministry, ever since my father-in-law and first mentor, Gilbert, had been killed.

  “Fournier, certainly, but Lefebvre? I realise you usually work together, but are you sure you trust him in an investigation like this?”

  He did not say any more but I knew exactly what he meant. At one time, Lefebvre had been the most famous jewel thief in Paris, nicknamed Mȃitre Chagrin or ‘Master of Grief’ because he had caused so much trouble. I met him when he saved my life, the first evening I arrived in the city, after I had been invalided out of the army. I repaid him by helping him to escape from prison a few weeks later. He became my mouchard or informer and eventually my assistant, following one of our cases. Our success unfortunately brought him to the attention of the minister and his identity had to be revealed. Fouché was a realist and instantly recognised Lefebvre’s value to his organisation. So Fouché employed him and kept his secret. He was one of the few people in the Police who knew about his past. Réal and Fournier were the others. Fouché made use of Lefebvre, respected his skills, but had never been really sure about him. Fouché did not trust anyone too much, but he called on some of us for delicate work, Lefebvre and I included.

  “Lefebvre won’t let me down,” I maintained stoutly, “even in a case like this.”

  “You are leading him into temptation,” the minister pointed out, “with his background and proclivities.”

  “If Lefebvre wanted to go back to his old ways, he wouldn’t start by stealing the Empress’s crown. Who on earth would buy it off him? He’s not a fool. What better man to catch a robber than a former thief? He can go into places and talk to people who would never speak to me. If the crown has been offered for sale anywhere in Paris, he will be sure to hear about it.”

  “Very well. Take him with you then, but I hold you responsible for his conduct. Start at once.”

  Fouché handed me a piece of paper and a packet that had been lying on his desk in solitary splendour. The paper was a warrant that ordered all Police, soldiers and citizens to assist me in the execution of my duties. Fouché had signed it and affixed the wax seal of his office. It was the sort of document which was likely to freeze people’s blood as soon as they saw it, but no one with any sense would disobey his instructions.

  “The packet contains all the information we have to date. I will ensure that anything further is passed on to you immediately.”

  “Thank you, Monseigneur.” I bowed to him and went out of the door. I nodded to Réal and would have walked past him, but he stopped me and said,

  “What can I do to assist you, Duval?”

  This in itself was unusual. Réal was more likely to give me orders than to offer me his help. I wondered if Fouché had informed him of what was going on. Perhaps he was simply reacting to the feeling of urgency and fear which seemed to hang like a fog around the office. He was waiting for an answer so I thought quickly. What did I need?

  “If you would reassign Fournier and Lefebvre to me, please,” I said. “Fournier is already in the building; I saw him just before the minister received me. Lefebvre, as far as I know, is still watching Bonnet, the man we suspect of murdering the moneylender in the Rue du Bac. Would you have Lefebvre sent for and his duties reassigned?”

  “I will.” Réal stood and offered me his hand. I took it with a feeling of complete unreality.

  “You know about this assignment, don’t you?” I guessed and saw the confirmation in his eyes.

  He nodded. “It was necessary, in case something happens to the minister. In an investigation as important as this one, we cannot leave anything to chance. If the minister is not here, you will report your progress to me instead.”

  “Does Laurent know?”

  “No. Keep it that way.”

  “I’ll have to give him some excuse to drop what I’ve been doing and also to take Fournier and Lefebvre away with me.” I could use the minister’s warrant, of course, but that would just rouse suspicions. Laurent would move heaven and earth until he found out what was going on and why I was involved.

  “Then I had better come with you and have a few words with him. I’m aware there is no love lost between you.”

  “That will make my life easier. Laurent has caused me problems before by interfering with investigations.”

  “I remember,” Réal smiled; a rare sight. “Send to me, not him, if you need anything else. I will tell Laurent that you are not to be given any further duties until this matter is cleared up. Bonne chance, Duval.”

  “Thank you. I will need all the luck I can find.”

  We went into my office and Réal called Laurent outside. I never found out what passed between them, but, when Laurent came back, he looked remarkably sour. He glared at me and said,

  “Get going. What are you lounging around here for? You, too, Fournier. You’re to work with Duval for the next few days.”

  Fournier looked startled but did not argue. He shuffled his papers into a pile, stood up and looked at me enquiringly. Petit was in the room, so I didn’t have a chance to tell him what was about to happen. I shrugged and led the way out of the door.

  “What’s up?” Fournier asked when we were in the corridor. “Laurent looks as mad as fire.”

  “Another case. I’ll tell you about it outside. Come on. We need to hurry.”

  We went to a tavern which we often used, called ‘La Rose des Neiges’, Rose of the Snows. A poetic name for an ordinary place, which certainly did not smell of roses. Its merit was that it had private booths where conversations could not be easily overheard. I had told the concierge at the Ministry to send Lefebvre to join us there as soon as he arrived back. I started to explain our task to Fournier before he came.

  “Try not to make a fuss,” I warned Fournier before telling him the story. My warning was wasted.

  “WHAT!” he roared and then clapped his hand over his mouth. “That dirty thieving whore!” he said quickly when he realised everyone in the room had turned to look at him.

  “Forgive my friend,” I cried out to them. “He has just had a bad shock.”

  “It happens,” muttered someone, “damn all women to hell.”

  “You idiot!” I muttered to Fournier when they had all turned away. “I told you not to react.”

  “Couldn’t help it. What a case to drag me into. They’ll murder us if we don’t find the bloody thing in time.”

  “Courage, mon brave. Don’t give up before we’ve even started.”

  I’d brought a lantern over to the table and spread out the contents of Fouché’s package in front of me. There was information on the Empress’s regalia, a few bits and pieces about the jeweller, Margueritte, culled from Police files. The
timetable for the coronation itself made me break out in a sweat. Fournier picked this up and gave a low whistle. He swore softly under his breath and the variety of his epithets was impressive. At that moment, I looked up and saw Lefebvre coming towards us.

  “What’s this, drinking in working hours?” He slid onto the bench beside me and reached out for the bottle. “What’s so important that you haul me off the moneylender case? I almost had the culprit nailed,” he complained. “Now Lebrun will get all the credit.”

  “Let him have it. It’ll make a nice change for him to do something right. Wait till I tell you what this is all about,” I said.

  “God Almighty!” Lefebvre choked when I told him. “I heard you were in deep trouble, Soldier, but nothing like this.”

  “Who told you that and what did they say?”

  Lefebvre scratched his head. “It’s odd. Several people really.”

  “Petit one of them by any chance?”

  Lefebvre nodded.

  “What did he tell you?”

  “The word is that you’re onto something big and if you don’t get it right, you’ll be deep in merde.”

  “No more details?”

  “None and that’s what’s so odd. The office usually leaks like a sieve as you know. Petit or Laurent or Garnier should have known more than that and they don’t.”

  “Let’s hope they won’t find out,” I said, with a sigh of relief, “at least until everything is over when they can do no damage. This has to be kept quiet for as long as possible.”

  I told him the full story. Fortunately his reaction was quieter than Fournier’s had been but he looked equally shocked.

  “What do you want me to do?” he asked when I had finished.

  “Go back to your old haunts and the folk you won’t tell any of us about. Find out if anyone is talking about what we’re looking for. If they are, come and find me at once.”

  “Where will you be?”

  “Fournier and I will go to Margueritte’s first. Then I’m going to tell my wife not to expect me for a few days and to fetch some warmer clothes. I didn’t think I would be out on a case. It’s going to be hard work and long hours for all of us. I can’t see anyone going home until the coronation unless we are extremely lucky and the damn thing is found quickly.”