Duval and the Infernal Machine (Napoleon's Police Book 1) Read online

  “Are you saying that’s what he has done?”

  “I don’t know, but it’s what I would have done in his place. Since there’s no word of him anywhere, perhaps he has.”

  He grunted, as if he had expected nothing better from me. By this time I was annoyed enough to say straight out, “I’m wasting my time, looking for this man. I’ve tried and failed, as you predicted at the start. I’ve been chasing a phantom. Surely there is something more profitable for me to do?”

  Laurent stared at me for a long moment and I wondered what he was thinking. Eventually he said, “Your friend, Fournier’s an optimist. I expected you to come in before this and tell me that you’ve failed. I agree that between you, you’ve wasted enough time. Fournier is watching the lodgings of a certain Citizen von Braun. He says he’s from Alsace, but we think he’s Austrian. He’s supposed to be a clockmaker, but he has few customers, certainly too few for him to live in the style he does. He has his workshop in a house at the top of the Rue de la Loi. Take over from Fournier. He’ll be there now and can brief you. Tell him to report to me. I was going to send Petit, but he’s got other things on his mind at the moment.”

  “You must be pleased with his success.” I wondered if the man would have the grace to smile. After all the capture was a triumph for his team.

  “Oh, I am,” he said, but there was no hint of any smile. His words sounded as if they had been forced out of him against his will.

  I left him there and went to relieve Fournier, as ordered. I felt relieved to be doing something concrete and not chasing any more shadows. But, as it happened, before I ever reached Fournier, I had a small and far more pleasant adventure of my own.

  Through the previous weeks, I had been nerving myself to call on Françoise Gilbert at a time when her daughter was at home. I had held back because my instinct told me it was too soon to approach the family. I couldn’t think of a good excuse either. Then fate took a hand in my affairs and provided the opportunity I needed, with very little effort on my part.

  16

  I was walking to Rue de la Loi, past the Palais Royal. I wasn’t thinking about anything except my relief in being relieved of the hunt for the other bombers. Then I saw a woman ahead of me struggling to pass through the crowds with her heavy basket. No one made way for her and a few times she put her basket down to rub her back as if it hurt. That’s what drew my attention. She picked the basket up again and started to walk off, when a big burly man, going in the other direction, carelessly jostled into her. She stumbled and her basket was knocked out of her hand. She fell to the ground and several of her parcels scattered onto the dusty pavement. She yelped and scurried around on her knees, as she began to gather them up from beneath the careless feet of the passers-by. Nobody took any notice of the incident and her assailant was long since gone. She had an air of feverish anxiety about her movements. So I went over to help her and immediately received my reward. It was Eugénie Gilbert.

  Her face was once again streaked with tears. She looked quite distraught, even more so than the first time I saw her, immediately after her father’s death. Her eyes met mine and immediately dropped, as she scrambled forward and reached for yet another of her parcels. I picked it up for her, restored it to her basket, and helped her to collect the others. Then I assisted her to get to her feet.

  “Thank you, Citizen,” she said, hardly looking at me.

  “Don’t you remember me, Citizeness Gilbert?” I asked. At that she looked at me properly for the first time. “I called on you the day after your father died,” I continued.

  For a second she looked confused and then her face cleared. “Oh yes, I am so sorry. I remember you now. You brought my mother some money. We are grateful to you.”

  “You’re shaking,” I said with concern. “Are you hurt?” Indeed her whole figure convulsed with a series of dry racking sobs.

  She shook her head. “No, or, at least, only my dignity, but all my parcels have been ruined and I cannot deliver them in the state they are in now.”

  “Are they important?” I asked.

  “Very much so. You don’t understand.”

  “I’m sure I don’t. Let me buy you some coffee while you tell me all about it. You can compose yourself and afterwards we’ll do something about your parcels. Perhaps they aren’t as damaged as you think.”

  “Oh, Citizen, they are so soiled and crumpled now.” Her tears began again, although she kept sniffing, trying to hold them back.

  “This will never do,” I told her, “Come with me, please.” I picked up her basket, took her arm and steered her into the nearest coffee shop, of which there were several in the Palais Royal.

  “What has happened to her?” The wife of the proprietor came forward when she saw Eugénie’s tear-stained face. She looked at me accusingly and I made haste to answer her.

  “A clumsy oaf knocked her over. Have you anywhere she might wash her face and make herself tidy?”

  “Of course.” The woman led Eugénie away and I sat down at a table and ordered coffee for both of us. I lifted the battered packages out of the basket and spread them on the table. They were of several different sizes and wrapped in paper, some of which had been torn and showed the contents. They all contained pieces of cloth. Several were crumpled, but only one had become completely undone and soiled by the people who stepped on it.

  Eugénie came back looking much better, now that she had washed her face and hands and put up her hair. She had not been able to remove all the dust from her skirt and there was a small rip in the sleeve of her jacket.

  She gasped when she saw the parcels. I thought for a moment that she would cry again, but she controlled herself and sat down on the chair I held for her. I poured out her coffee and gave it to her.

  “Drink it, it will warm you and then we can decide what to do.”

  “Citizen, this is no concern of yours and I have given you enough trouble already. I am sure I am keeping you from other things. I’m grateful for the help you already gave me.”

  “Not at all,” I said and it was true. “There is nothing that I have to do at this moment. I’m happy to help you if I can. Your father was my friend and he assisted me when I needed him to. I’m only returning the favour. Tell me what to do.”

  “I seem to spend my time thanking you,” she said and her watery smile changed her whole face. I caught a glimpse then of her true loveliness; the way she would look when she was freed from all anxiety and care. I felt my heart jump inside my chest. I never felt like that about another human being, before or since, although the moment when I held my first daughter came close. I found myself stammering and absolutely convinced that I did not want her to leave me. I wanted to know her better. Stupidly, I also wanted to protect her from all the oafs who might blunder into her for the rest of our lives.

  “It’s my pleasure,” I told her simply and I never said truer words.

  So we opened her parcels one by one. They contained rich materials, heavily embroidered with gold or silver thread. Mostly muslins, but one or two were of the sort of silk that my mother used to wear on special occasions and holidays. Maman cherished her one silk dress, for it was unlikely that my father would have bought her another. Indeed I wondered that he had given her one at all but then, the other merchant’s wives always dressed well. I suppose it was a matter of his pride.

  Eugénie smiled when she saw me puzzling over the parcels and explained. “I work for Leroy, the dressmaker. I’m one of his embroiderers and am learning to become a tailoress. Leroy’s terribly busy now. He’s popular with the court ladies, so he gave me some extra work to do for him at home. I’ve just finished these pieces and I was taking them back. Now I don’t know what he’ll say. This one is certainly ruined, it’s so heavily stained.”

  “Perhaps I can go with you when you take it back and explain what happened. After all I witnessed the incident and it wasn’t your fault.”

  “It’s a kind thought, but you don’t know Leroy. He won’t
care whose fault it is, only that the piece is ruined and will have to be done again.”

  “What is the worst that can happen to you?”

  “He will refuse to pay me for what I have already done and let me go. I need the work now my father is dead. My mother has only a small pension to live on and my brother is still at the military school.”

  “There must be other dressmakers in Paris you could work for, if he lets you go.”

  A reluctant smile spread over her face. “Only a man would say such a thing as that. Certainly there are other dressmakers, but Leroy is the one everyone goes to if they are important and wealthy. Citizeness Bonaparte and all her friends buy their dresses from him. He isn’t a pleasant man to work for but he pays well, much more than any of the others. He can afford it.”

  “Then he must think highly of you to have offered you employment.”

  “My mother worked for him when he first started,” she said thoughtfully. “I think he offered me the job for her sake. She left the convent where she was at school before it was closed down. The nuns taught her how to sew and they were wonderful needlewomen. Maman taught me. I liked sewing, so it was natural that I would try to use that skill to earn my living. I was doing well at Leroy’s, that’s why he gave me the extra work. But now he will think I am too careless to trust.”

  “All may not be lost,” I said, fingering some of the material. “You have done a lot of work here and though I know little about such things, it looks complicated. Surely not every woman can sew like that? There is only the one piece that is badly stained and a couple more that are crumpled. If you press them out, we can wrap them up in clean paper and they will look well enough. Then you’ll need to replace only one piece. You could offer to do that for free, couldn’t you? It is not a large one after all.”

  “Yes I could do that. He’ll take the cost of the replacement material out of what he pays me, of course, but he might pay me for the rest if I repeat the lost work.”

  I went out and bought paper and string then I escorted Eugénie back to her home. No one was there when we arrived.

  “Maman must be shopping,” Eugénie explained. “She usually goes out about this time.” She stirred up the fire and set the smoothing irons to heat.

  While we waited, she tried unsuccessfully to wash out the stains from the soiled one. The dirt had, indeed, entered into the fabric and it was ruined. When the irons were hot enough, Eugénie pressed out the crumpled pieces carefully. No one could have told that they had been in an accident after she finished with them. Then we wrapped everything up in fresh paper, so they looked newly finished.

  I went with Eugénie to Leroy’s, carrying her basket to make sure no further mishap occurred. She would not let me go in with her, though. I wished her luck and I said I would wait outside, because I wanted to know what had happened after all our efforts.

  She was not there long and, when she came out, her basket was full again.

  “So it was not as bad as you thought it would be?” I said, taking the basket from her, despite her protests. “I am going to take you home again to make sure you get there safely. So tell me all about what happened.”

  “Leroy wasn’t there and old Tomas, one of the buyers, looked at my work. He has a soft spot for me, because I look like one of his daughters who died. He checked everything over and told me it was good, except for the soiled piece. He gave me some money and said that he’d tell Leroy what had happened if he asked, but he won’t ask. He’s too busy and the ruined fichu isn’t wanted in a hurry. I must do that work over again and he took the price of the material out of the money he owed me, but it is far better than I thought.”

  “There is something for us to celebrate then.”

  “Indeed there is. I’m so grateful to you for helping me. I am rarely in such a state as you have seen me in twice now.”

  “Both times you had a good reason to cry. Let us talk about this celebration — do you like the Comédie?”

  “Very much, but I have only gone with Maman and Papa once or twice. They could not afford to go often and it was a great treat when we did.”

  “Then if your mother will allow me to escort you there, I will buy tickets for tomorrow night.”

  “Oh, no, I have a little money now. I can pay...”

  I smiled and shook my head. “It was my suggestion. It is enough that you will go with me.”

  “Then I will ask her and thank you. It will be a treat to look forward to.”

  I saw Eugénie home and found that her mother had returned. She was still looking pale, but far more composed than when I had seen her before. Eugénie explained what had happened and about my invitation.

  “I will take good care of your daughter, Citizeness, I promise you, or perhaps you would like to accompany us yourself?” I asked, hoping she would say ‘no’. “You would do me a great honour.”

  “Thank you for inviting me,” she replied, “but it is too soon for me to go to such places yet. There is no reason, though, why Eugénie should not go with you. She needs a little merriment to make her smile again.” She looked at her daughter and I saw tears well into Eugénie’s eyes. She hugged her mother.

  “Thank you, Maman.”

  “Please bring her back directly after the performance.”

  “I will.”

  “And thank you for helping her today.”

  I went immediately to the Rue de la Loi, in a very different mood from the one I was in when I left the Ministry. I felt happy and excited and would not have changed places with Petit for all the gold his capture would bring him. I had forgotten my job, my prospects and everything else. The last couple of hours had been tinged with a sort of magic, but they had made me long overdue to relieve my friend.

  I found Fournier looking strained and tired. “Hello,” he said when he saw me. “I was expecting Petit and he’s late. What are you doing here?”

  “Laurent sent me. Petit’s got his mind on other matters. He’s just caught Maitre Chagrin.”

  “Has he indeed? Lucky dog,” Fournier murmured when I’d finished, “and I wasn’t even there to share the celebration.”

  “I’m sorry I’m late.” I did not explain what had kept me because I had a reluctance to discuss Eugénie with anyone, even a friend. Fournier immediately jumped to the wrong conclusion and thought I’d been celebrating too. He shrugged and turned as if to go when I stopped him.

  “Laurent said you would brief me about what you want me to do.”

  “Watch the house. Make a note of who goes in and out. If von Braun leaves, follow him and find out where he goes,” was all he told me before he hurried off.

  Watching a person’s house in the hope of something happening has to be the most boring part of police work. I think it’s worse than reading through piles of rubbish. After Fournier had gone, I spent hours gazing at a doorway which was rarely used. Only twice, in the time I was there, a visitor approached, the door opened and the person was admitted. Both of them looked like tradesmen and one was carrying a parcel, which he left behind him. It was all innocent and unexciting. Then, as I reminded myself, if this Citizen von Braun was indeed an Austrian spy, he would behave innocently most of the time. It was the times he did not which were important and which we wanted to discover. I couldn’t help thinking that von Braun was a lucky man not to be sent to Paris a few years earlier. Then no one would have bothered to watch him and collect evidence to prove his guilt. If he had fallen under the slightest suspicion, he would have been accused, condemned and beheaded within days, guilty or not.

  Times have changed since the fall of Robespierre. So here I was, making a note of von Braun’s visitors, with a description of each one. This kept me busy for all of ten minutes. I’d been warned not to approach any of them, so I didn’t even have the chance to speak to them and break the monotony of my vigil. Most of the time I spent peering into the gloom, stamping my feet and trying to keep warm. The hours dragged and it was with great relief I saw Manon coming towards
me. He was early, bless him.

  “I’ll take over,” he said. “Anything happening?”

  “Nothing much. He’s only had a couple of visitors since I’ve been here. I’m glad you’re here, but I didn’t expect you so early.”

  “Fournier wants you back at the Ministry.”

  “Oh? Why’s that?”

  “He didn’t tell me, but he looked pleased about something. I’d get back there quickly if I were you.”

  I had no intention of arguing with him, I was glad of any excuse to get away. I even treated myself to a hackney ride, wasting a little more of my money in the process. I didn’t think I could walk far. The cold had got into my bones and I had acquired the stiff-legged gait of an old man.

  Laurent and Fournier were both in the office when I arrived. They looked up at me with quizzical expressions. I was about to say something, when I saw Fournier shake his head. So I waited for one of them to speak. Laurent was opening his mouth to ask what I was doing back so early when we were interrupted. It was a messenger, telling Laurent that Réal wanted him.

  “Wait here. I’ll be back. I want a word with you,” Laurent said to me and went out of the room.

  As soon as he had gone through the door, I looked at Fournier properly. He still looked tired and drawn, but he had the satisfied air of a cat that had just found the cream jug.

  “What’s happened?” I asked him. “Something has, I can see it in your face.”

  “The men we arrested have cracked at last.”

  “Well done.”

  “Not me. Moreau, one of the guards at the prison. I don’t care for the methods he uses, but they’re more effective than mine. I’ll give him that. Once one had told us what he knew, the others did too. They confessed the lot — plot, collaborators and all.”

  “All Bretons?”

  Fournier nodded. “There were seven of them in it altogether, including five former nobles. I have a list of the names here.” Fournier fumbled on the table and unearthed a folded piece of paper. “The ones we’ve got in prison are Carbon, Saint-Régeant and Saint-Victor. We missed Joyaux d'Assas, de Villeneuve, La Haye-Saint-Hilaire and a man called Limoëlan, whose father was guillotined for treason a few years ago. Apparently he was an enemy of the Republic. Like father, like son, as they say.”