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

  “My son?”

  “It is true, Father, what he says. My name is really Limoëlan.”

  “Was there a need for you to conceal your identity?”

  “A great need. My name is known to the police for the crime of which you are aware.”

  The priest nodded and looked at me. “What is your part in this, my son?”

  “I am a police agent, Father, and, for a while, I was tasked with finding this man and his companions. They killed many innocent people and, I am truly sorry, Eugénie, but one of them also stabbed Roland Gilbert to death.”

  Eugénie shuddered and her eyes glistened but she made no other sound.

  “I did not kill him,” Limoëlan said, looking at her. “I left my companions in our rooms earlier that evening for I had an errand to do. I heard about what happened later and the agent who was killed. I am truly sorry for your loss.”

  “You have the blood of men, women and children on your hands, whether you killed Gilbert or not.”

  The man slumped down in his seat and put his head in his hands. “I know,” he said, so low that I could hardly hear him.

  “We are all sinners, my son. Only God himself and his Holy Mother were without sin in this world,” the old man murmured. “You will spend the rest of your life regretting and repenting of your actions.” He looked directly at me. “What will happen to this man now?”

  “Now? Nothing except to answer a few questions.”

  “You have not come here to arrest him?”

  “I cannot. His crime has been attributed to others and he is no longer wanted.”

  “What?” Limoëlan leapt to his feet. “Others have been taken for the bomb plot?”

  “ Surely you knew?”

  “I knew some of my colleagues had died, yes, but no one else.”

  “The bomb plot was the work of the Jacobins,” I said watching him closely.

  “You and I both know that is not true,” he replied. “Are there others threatened with death over this?”

  “Not now. Those taken are either dead or transported. The case is closed.”

  “Then why did you follow me?”

  “Because I had searched for you for such a long time.”

  “Did one of my colleagues betray me?”

  “They put a name to your face, but we already knew what you looked like.”

  “How?”

  “I was in the crowd when you planted the bomb. I saw you and your colleagues hurrying away from the place. It looked suspicious and an artist made a drawing of your faces from my description.”

  “So simple.” Limoëlan slumped back down on his chair. “I did not notice you or indeed anyone. Pure chance betrayed us.”

  “Chance and the fact that the horse you used had been shoed by a blacksmith who marked his work to know it again. He recognised your pictures.”

  “Dear God.” Limoëlan turned away and his shoulders shook.

  “Hush, my son,” the old priest said and patted his arm with shaking hands.

  “The girl who held the horse, Father, she was so young...”

  “So you have told me, but you have done what you have done, you cannot change her fate. You must pray for her soul and no doubt she is with the angels in Heaven now.” He turned to me. “You said that you had questions to ask?” I nodded. “Ask then, but before you ask, remember that this is the house of God, a place of sanctuary from ancient times. I bind both of you to that, as you honour the faith of our fathers,” the priest said sharply. “I would have your word, both of you.” He waited.

  “You have mine, of course, Father. You already know everything about me.”

  “Monsieur Duval?”

  I hesitated, wondering, as I had since I first saw Limoëlan this afternoon, what I hoped to achieve by finding out more about his motives. Yet, in that instant, I knew that I had spoken the exact truth right at the beginning. All I could possibly hope to gain from this encounter was answers to the questions that had continued to plague me. The investigation would never be reopened and Limoëlan could not be arrested, whatever he said. I nodded.

  “From you, my dear, I must also ask for silence,” the priest said to Eugénie.

  “Of course, but isn’t your talk private? Shouldn’t I leave you?” Her eyes were frightened.

  “You must do as you wish, but I would like you to stay. It’s possible that what is said here may answer some questions for you too and lay some ghosts to rest.”

  “Very well. Whatever is said, I will not speak about it afterwards.” She folded her hands in her lap and waited.

  “Monsieur?” the old man asked me courteously.

  I turned to Limoëlan and told him, “I have seen you twice before today. As well as that night in the Rue Saint-Nicaise, I also saw you coming out of the bread shop. You had given Citizeness Pensol a gold coin. Was that enough to pay for her daughter’s life?”

  He sat up straight at that and I saw sudden anger flame into his face. “Of course not!”

  “Nothing can buy a life, my son. Monsieur Limoëlan has never had any doubt about that.” The priest was quick to interject, defusing the tension between us.

  Limoëlan’s face changed again. His anger left him as quickly as it had flared up and in its place was something much grimmer. “You cannot know how deeply I regret that night, Monsieur. Knowing how much suffering my actions caused to others, if I had my time over again, I would make sure that it never happened.”

  “I’m sure that you would,” I said dryly, “and your companions who lost their heads on the guillotine, would certainly agree with you!”

  “God give their souls rest,” murmured the old man, crossing himself.

  “Why did you do it?”

  “Why? You ask me why?” He looked distraught. “Once I would have answered that question in great detail. I would have told you we did it to remove the First Consul. Then the King would be able to return, as he is divinely ordained to do. None of the other consuls is capable of taking over; they are all effete rogues. Bonaparte is the key. There is no one else strong enough to oppose us. The nations of Europe would support our cause. We would bring the king back and have a stable government in France again, not this sham of a republic that kills innocents at its whim.”

  I suddenly remembered the one fact I had been told about this man’s background. “Like your father, you mean?”

  He looked at me sharply, then he nodded. “Yes, like my father. He was no plotter, only a man who was born into the nobility. They cut off his head for an accident of birth.”

  “How old were you then?” Eugénie asked softly, speaking for the first time.

  “Ten. Does it matter?”

  “It does to me,” she said. “It explains why you took part in such an affair.”

  “It does not excuse me for all that.”

  “I have told you before not to judge yourself, my son, only God can do that.”

  “God will find me guilty of wanton murder, because I am. How many deaths did we cause? A dozen? More? And so many wounded.”

  “Our Blessed Lord died for our sins, my son, even yours — provided that you repent of them as you told me you have. Don’t give yourself over to despair.”

  “Why did you leave the lodgings that night, when the others were taken?” I asked.

  “Another man and I went to dump the barrels that had contained the gunpowder and the iron nails. They had marks on them that could have led you to us. We couldn’t burn them, of course, and we didn’t want them to be found in the warehouse. It was too near where we were staying and we might have been recognised.”

  “Do you know which of your friends killed this lady’s father?” I asked him. Eugénie’s eyes were huge as she looked into his face.

  “No. I heard about it, but none of the details.” Suddenly he slipped off his seat and was kneeling in front of Eugénie. “Madamoiselle, I did not kill him but I helped to set up the circumstances which led to his death. Can you find it in your heart to forgive me?�
�� He held out his hand to her. She shot an agonised glance in my direction and then she took it and he raised it to his lips.

  “I forgive you,” she said softly.

  “God bless you, my child.” The old priest sketched a blessing over her.

  Limoëlan resumed his seat.

  “Why did you remain in Paris after we caught the others?” I asked him.

  “I have a sister here. She was taken ill shortly after the bombing and I could not leave her. She is all the family I have left. She has recovered now, but she was ill for a long time. Very soon now, we intend to leave France together and go to America, where we have kin.”

  Such a simple explanation and I had been weaving so many devious plots. The old priest nodded as if this was no news to him.

  “What will you do when you get there? Their politics are very different from ours, but no country welcomes assassins.”

  “I am done with politics for my lifetime!” Limoëlan said vehemently. “I only wish I had made that decision months ago. Politics has made me a murderer and, despite what Father Paul says, that guilt will never be lifted from me while I live. Once I have delivered Marie to my uncle’s house, I intend to enter a seminary. If they judge me worthy, I will become a priest. I want to spend the rest of my life helping others in some atonement for the evil thing I have done. Then, if God is good, I might be able to sleep again at night.” He smiled and a deep silence fell.

  The priest eventually broke it. “Do you have any more questions, my son?”

  “No, Father.”

  “Then I ask you again, what happens now?”

  “My answer is still the same. The investigation is closed and cannot be reopened. In my opinion it was ended in a way that wasn’t justice to some of the men condemned, but that can’t be changed. I could not arrest Citizen Limoëlan, even if I wanted to, unless I accused him of some other crime. But no penalty the state could impose would be worse than living with the regret he clearly feels. It must be purgatory on earth.”

  “Indeed. So you are saying that he need not remain in the sanctuary of this church? He is free to go where he wills and with your blessing?”

  “He is free to go, but I cannot say that I give him my blessing.”

  “Our blessed Lord forgave his murderers on the cross.”

  “My life was not taken, nor that of anyone I loved. Citizen Limoëlan did not injure me personally, so I am not the one to forgive him.”

  “But I am and I do,” Eugénie said, standing up, “Go in peace, Monsieur Limoëlan. May you find hope and learn to forgive yourself in America.”

  We all rose at her words. For a moment we stood, looking at each other, silently for there was no more to say. The old priest blessed us and we waited while Limoëlan and the priest walked away. I made no attempt to discover where they went.

  Eugénie knelt down on the dusty floor, facing the altar. “Say a Paternoster with me,” she asked, so I knelt beside her.

  “Pater noster qui es in caelis...”

  As we walked out of the church, Eugénie said, “I used to wonder about Monsieur Limoëlan. I have seen him several times before in this church. He never said anything to the rest of us. He used to go to confession before attending mass. Sometimes, when he left the confessional, his eyes were red as if he had been crying. I thought something had made him very unhappy.”

  “And you were right,” I said, thinking of the dead girl and her mother. Then, unexpectedly, I remembered some of the men I had killed in battle. I had no personal quarrel with any of them, but they died all the same and what for? I did not know and perhaps even the generals had not been sure. I was really no better than the people who placed bombs where they would maim and kill. I wondered what Maman would have said to me, if she had known some of the things I have done since I left home. One day, I would have to ask God for forgiveness too. Perhaps it would be given to me more generously than I had given mine to Limoëlan. A strange thought to carry away from our meeting.

  23

  I walked home with Eugénie, through the grey twilight, both of us thinking about what had happened. We had almost reached her house, when she turned to me and said, “Will you walk a little further with me? I am still troubled and I do not want Maman to see it on my face.”

  “I’m not surprised,” I said. “It must have been difficult for you to forgive a friend of the man who killed your father.”

  “Not as difficult as all that. Father Paul said it — no one can bring back the past and I have known for a long time how unhappy Limoëlan was. Poor man. At least he did not use the knife.”

  “Would you have been able to forgive him if he had?”

  She smiled sadly. “I hope so, but I do not know. Perhaps there is a reason why Papa died and this man lived to go to America.”

  We had circled the square by now and walked around it again. A mist came down, swirling into abstract patterns. I watched it absently, thinking only of the warmth of Eugénie’s hand lying on my arm. Her philosophy and fatalism were too deep for me. I have never been a person to accept the decrees of fate. Then she stopped and turned to face me. I was immediately conscious of the fact that she had something important to say. Her eyes were aflame in the torchlight and she hesitated.

  “Yes?” I prompted her gently.

  “We are betrothed...” she said. For an awful moment I thought she would tell me that she did not want to marry me after all.

  “You said you wanted to stay with your mother for a while,” I whispered.

  “It was too soon to leave her.”

  “And now?” I asked softly and my stomach churned as I waited for her answer.

  “Perhaps now is time to speak to Maman,” she said and I breathed again. “One condition though.”

  “What condition?”

  “I want Father Paul to marry us. Then I will feel really married.”

  I laughed, took off my hat and threw it into the air.

  “Eugénie, I love you. I don’t care if we marry in a cowshed, as long as you marry me.” She giggled. “We’ll have to marry officially in the registry, of course, then we’ll ask Father Paul to do it properly, provided...”

  “Provided?”

  “Provided the church is swept first. It’s time for Father Paul to come out of hiding and hold services in a clean church filled with flowers and candles, as it used to be when we were young.”

  I never felt so happy as I did on the day Eugénie married me. It was a quiet sunny afternoon in November, almost a year since I first arrived in Paris. The air was cold but crisp. Eugénie looked lovely. She wore a costume of cherry red wool and a bonnet trimmed with feathers. I brought her a bouquet of hothouse violets and their scent will always bring that moment back to me. Her eyes sparkled and her smile made you happy just to look at it. We met at the registry office with our witnesses. Eugénie had asked her brother and Citizen Tomas, who had been so kind to her that day at Leroy’s to be her two witnesses. I asked Fournier and the registrar to be mine.

  We weren’t long in the registry office for the ceremony, itself, was short. We signed our names in the ledger and then the registrar gave the certificate to Eugénie.

  “You are a lucky man,” Fournier said to me, afterwards. “She is even lovelier today.”

  “I know.”

  Then he said something that made me turn and look at him closely. “Gilbert would have been happy for you both.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He liked you. That is why he started to train you for the work. He could have left you to find out things on your own and make mistakes. You might not have stayed. This work is not for everyone, as you know.”

  “I liked him too, but I couldn’t help him when he needed it most.”

  “No one could. I knew him better than you and he would be pleased for you to marry Eugénie and provide for her. It would have worried him dreadfully if she was left alone in Paris. She’s too pretty not to attract unwelcome attention. He often worried about something ha
ppening to him and leaving his family alone.”

  “Eugénie misses her father very much today.”

  “They were close, more so than usual with a father and daughter. He loved her very much. Make sure you look after her properly.”

  “I’ll try.”

  Fournier laughed. “See you do. I might not be her father, but I’ll be keeping my eye on you.”

  Fournier’s wife, Berthe, joined us as we walked away from the church and showered flower petals over Eugénie and me. Where she collected them from in the dead of winter I did not know and never found out. A charming touch.

  We squeezed into the waiting carriage, all the witnesses, Berthe Fournier, Eugénie and myself. Not that I minded being that close to Eugénie, although I could have done without all of them watching me when I kissed her.

  We drove through the streets of Paris, with the coachman tooting on his horn, so people stopped to watch us passing and waved. As the vehicle was too large to pass through the narrow alleyway, we left it at the entrance and walked down to the church. Eugénie and I led the way.

  Everything looked different now. The church had been swept, as I had asked. The windows sparkled, casting bright colours over the flagstones as we walked in, for the sun still shone brightly. There were not many people in the church. We shared this part of the ceremony with only a few trusted friends. They stood up when they saw us. Françoise was standing at the front, tears running down her cheeks as she watched her daughter walk up the nave on my arm. Her son, Félix, came over and put his arm around her.

  There were no flowers on the altar; of course. At this time of year flowers of any sort cost a fortune. I wondered again how Berthe had found any at all. Someone must have been out in the woods, though. Big copper vases were filled with bright autumn leaves and even some late berries. Autumn leaves always remind me of the happiest day of my life.