The Orphan's Tale

by Anne Shaughnessy

  For a moment Dracquet had an odd notion that Malet was about to strike him, though he had not changed his position. But then Malet smiled and said, "Really, M. Dracquet. My housekeeper may be of impeccable birth, but she could almost be my mother, and I have done nothing to compromise her virtue or that of any other woman, well‑bred or not!"

  Dracquet frowned thoughtfully at him, but he did not speak for a moment. He finally collected himself with an effort and said, "You have said that I am engaged in 'deviltry' - what a term! I say that I am not! Listen: I am leaving Paris tonight and I will be away for several weeks. I have made several valid points. Think over what I have said. I will speak with you again when I return. And accept this as a token of my regard - " he held out a small box, opened it, and showed a gold charm in the shape of the medal of the Legion of Honor, enameled, with the center circle formed of diamonds. "It would look very good on your watch chain, M. le Colonel," he said.

  Malet shook his head and would not touch the jewel. "No," he said. "I have the real decoration at home, and it would be pointless to wear this one."

  "I insist!"

  "And I refuse. Good day. We will speak again when you return."

  Dracquet pocketed the box, paused as though he wished to say something else, and then, when Malet lifted his copy of the Globe and opened ostentatiously to the agony columns, turned and left without another word.

  Malet closed the paper and set it aside after he was gone. "Several weeks, my hat!" he said through his teeth. "You'll be moving in one week at the most, or I am greatly mistaken!"

  So saying, he stood, folded the paper, tucked it into the pocket of his overcoat, set his hat on his head - and swore as the hat was promptly knocked to the ground by a stone. Damnation! The stone‑thrower was very persistent!

  He bent and retrieved the hat, and frowned at it. The stones weren't doing it any good. He turned in the direction from which the stone had come and said clearly, but quietly, "Why don't you go and knock his hat off?" and, motioned in the direction that Dracquet had gone.

  Larouche, hidden behind a tree, heard him and chuckled silently. "I think I will!" he said.

  XXXIV

  IT IS POINTLESS TO WASTE TIME IN MOURNING

  WHEN THE DEPARTED IS NOT DEAD

  Malet walked slowly along the paths of the park, his eyes lowered, his mind busy with thoughts of strategy. For Dracquet to approach him as he had indicated that the matter was close to fruition and he was certain of the outcome. He would not have taken such a risk otherwise. Malet would confer with his people and pull in several more shadows and send another messenger to Michaud. He thought, as well, that he would be wise to pay some attention to his own safety now that battle had been openly joined.

  He was approaching the walkway that led to the Rue d'Assas, where a line of cabs waited. He raised his head and looked quickly around. It was a habit he had developed when he had first joined the Police in Marseilles: size up the people around you and the area. Obtain an overall picture of the situation and assess the threat. If there is none, relax. It was reflexive after thirty years: he was no longer aware that he did it.

  But now he stiffened. Something about a man to the left, walking along with a lady, was at once familiar and out of place. He started to turn just as the man made a convulsive motion. He faced the man fully - and came to a complete halt with the odd feeling that the breath had just been knocked out of him and he had been whirled back eight years, to a time when he had been Commissioner of Police in the city of Vautreuil, in Picardy.

  Jacques Lambert, the chief magistrate of the town, had been remarkable for his charity and kindness. He had personally endowed a hospital in the city, and his voice had often been raised in defense of all those suffering from the hardships that had followed the fall of Napoleon. He had even succeeded in enlisting Malet's support, despite the fact that Malet was more concerned with keeping people on the right side of the Law than assuaging their sorrows.

  And then, some years later, Malet had received an anonymous tip concerning the man. The tipper had hinted very strongly that the man was a convict by the name of Jacques Vaux, who had broken his parole almost twenty years before and was still being sought by the Police.

  Virtue, however considerable it might be, holds no weight against official suspicion. Lambert had been Malet's dearest friend, but affection had to take second place to duty. Malet had conducted an investigation, hoping to clear Lambert's name. He had failed, and on the basis of his findings, Sieur Lambert had been arrested and taken to Amiens to stand trial.

  Malet had testified at the trial, which caused a sensation. His friend was sentenced to death, the sentence was commuted to imprisonment at hard labor for life, and Malet was ordered to escort him to prison.

  It had been a strange journey. Lambert, who had reverted to the name Vaux, was pale with exhaustion and Malet, equally pale, silent and thoughtful, looked out the carriage window into the darkness of the clouded night.

  Vaux had finally spoken. "You conducted that investigation personally, didn't you?"

  "Yes," Malet answered. "I did."

  "On your own initiative?" Vaux asked.

  Malet thought of all the excuses he could offer, and silently despaired.

  Vaux looked down at his manacled hands. He finally sighed. "Do you know, M. le Commissaire, some day one of those little ones that you pursue without pity may have you in his power. He will show you none of the mercy that you might have shown him."

  Malet closed his eyes. "I know," he said, almost to himself, "I wish it would be soon."

  The sky had split with a crash of thunder as the carriage drew up before the prison. Sheets of rain, driven by a screaming wind, poured down the sides of the carriage, and the wind tore Malet's hat from his head and sent it spinning away into the darkness as he stepped down to the cobbled courtyard. He had not tried to go after it; the rain streaked his cheeks like tears as he handed Vaux over to the prison authorities.

  Within the month, Malet, heartbroken over the tragedy, had declined promotion to Prefect of Police for his departement and had requested a transfer to Paris, in the Seine et Oise departement, to assume command the Police of the 12th arrondissement of Paris, which had recently been annexed to the city. He had learned some months later that Vaux had escaped, been recaptured, and then, reportedly, been killed when a portion of the prison walls suddenly collapsed. They had been unable to locate his corpse, so he was presumed dead.

  ** ** **

  Now, looking at the man before him, Malet knew that they had presumed wrong. This man was Jacques Vaux! There could be no mistake! Those broad shoulders, that barrel of a chest! Those bright blue eyes! He hadn't even bothered to shave off the beard that had made him singular in a clean‑shaven society all those years ago! Malet's eyes narrowed as they met the other man's. So he was alive after all! Alive and in Paris, of all places!

  He felt a confused moment of joy: this man had been his dearest friend, and his arrest and supposed death had almost broken his heart all those years ago. After a moment the happiness faded, to be replaced by a faint, weary vexation. Vaux was alive and in Paris. A convict! Malet's affection toward the man had no bearing on anything. He would have to be returned to the Law.

  Vaux turned to the lady beside him, spoke quietly to her and watched as she hurried away, and then turned without looking again at Malet and cut across the grass toward the small pine wood that surrounded the classical fountain.

  Malet hesitated as he took a good grip on his walking stick. He considered summoning a squad of the Guard to back him up, but he decided that it would not be necessary. He carried a pistol, if worse came to worst, though he hated the thought of pulling a gun on this man. But Vaux was older than him and appeared to have put on weight in the eight years since Malet had seen him, while Malet knew himself to be as fit at forty‑five as he had been at twenty‑five. It shouldn't be difficult to take him into custody. If only it weren't necessary!

  He passed through t
he woods and into a small clearing. Vaux was waiting there, standing quietly. He even was smiling as Malet approached him.

  The warmth of the smile made Malet halt. The man did not seem at all nervous. Malet wasn't used to being discounted. All the old, deep affection that he had felt for this man was welling up within him again. He was struggling to set it aside, and the effort made him speak more harshly than he wanted.

  "You!" he said.

  "Me," Vaux agreed.

  "You were reported to be dead."

  "The report was wrong," Vaux said, folding his arms. "I knew nothing of it. I only knew that I was free." The warmth of his smile had increased and he was surveying Malet with an almost fatherly air. "The years have been kind to you," he said.

  Malet pushed the comment aside. "You were supposed to turn yourself in - "

  "That would have been disastrous," Vaux said reasonably. "Would you do the same if our circumstances were reversed?"

  Malet frowned. "Don't fence with me," he said. "I have seen you and as an officer of the law I must turn you in. You are under arrest."

  "No," said Vaux.

  "What?"

  "I said no. I won't be arrested."

  "Must I haul you in bodily?" Malet demanded, feeling vaguely foolish. "You are under arrest!"

  Vaux took a step back toward the trees. "You can tell me I am under arrest as often as you wish," he said with the gentle insistence of one reasoning with a stubborn child. "I don't recognize your authority to arrest me. I am not a criminal."

  The calm way in which he pronounced this took Malet's breath away. He stepped forward, following Vaux back among the trees. "You're older than me," he said. "I don't want to hurt you, but you will come with me!"

  Vaux had his back against a sapling. His eyes were wide and fixed on Malet. "I won't," he said calmly. He smiled again. "My very dear Malet, why must we go on like this? We were the best of friends once! Don't you remember? You're a fine man, a good man! I don't deny it: I have always liked you even when you erred on the side of harshness, for you were always harshest toward yourself.

  "Can't you admit that I am not a bad man? How have I ever knowingly harmed anyone after that one time I committed robbery as a boy of fifteen? I repented it! I served my prison term! Haven't I paid for it? Must I go on paying all my life? You are the Law: can't you relent?"

  Malet felt oddly breathless. It was as though the years had rolled away and he had the chance to change his mind and undo what he had so unwillingly done all those years ago, and heal the lingering ache in his own heart.

  This flashed through his mind in the time it took for him to lower his walking stick and take a step forward. A comparison between Vaux and Dracquet sprang unbidden to his mind, but Vaux had said it: Malet was the Law, and under the Law Vaux, as a convicted criminal, was forfeit.

  His conclusion showed clearly in his expression. Vaux, watching him attentively, reached slowly into his pocket and took out his handkerchief. He shook it open and held it loosely in his hand as Malet approached.

  "I am sorry," said Malet. "My hands are tied. You must come with me." He repeated quietly, "If only it were someone else - I am very sorry..."

  Vaux smiled at him and shook his head. "My poor Malet," he sighed. "I do believe you truly are," He paused and looked down. "I guess it's no use pleading with you," he said.

  "No," said Malet. "Come along with me." He added awkwardly. "I‑I will beg for leniency for you. I think they'll listen to me now..."

  Vaux shook his head and tucked the handkerchief, still loosely bunched, back in his pocket. "No," he said. "I won't ask that of you."

  No further word was said. Malet lifted his walking stick and advanced, moving toward the trees as Vaux stepped backward and pivoted slightly. Malet followed the motion, circling, until Vaux' back was toward the clearing.

  Vaux' eyes had remained fixed on Malet's. Now they lowered and his shoulders slumped as he sighed and turned half away. He seemed to have abandoned all thought of resistance.

  Malet took a step forward, intending to set his hand on Vaux' shoulder and lead him back to the clearing. He decided that a plea for clemency might be successful. Vaux had done no harm to anyone and much good since leaving the prison, after all -

  That line of thought was brought to a violent halt as Vaux whipped back toward him, his hand coming round in a back‑handed swing that had all the force of his chest and shoulder behind it. The blow connected with the side of Malet's head and knocked him off balance, sending his hat rolling away.

  Vaux sprang forward, his fists swinging.

  Malet recovered himself with an effort and leapt back. He blocked another blow and thrust with the stick, holding the cane like a sword. His head was buzzing a little from Vaux' first blow. He realized that the trees were hampering his movements; he tried to go sideways into the clearing, but Vaux blocked him and countered with a charge that Malet tried to sidestep.

  He partially succeeded, but he dropped his walking stick. Vaux saw this and closed in as Malet tried to stoop and retrieve it.

  The stick was abandoned; Malet drew back, circled, and joined battle, both fists clenched and ready.

  The trees hampered movements on both sides. Vaux, who was shorter and heavier, kept trying to close with Malet and grapple, but Malet avoided him, knowing that the other's more compact mass would be difficult to wrestle. He got in several telling blows and received one or two, himself, though he could not escape the feeling that Vaux was not hitting as hard as he could - but in all he was winning until, sidestepping Vaux' charge and ducking a roundhouse swing that would have felled him like an oak, he caught his foot on his lost cane and went down against a tree. His head struck hard against the trunk.

  The next moment his right arm was twisted painfully behind his back as a hand holding a handkerchief clamped tightly over his nose and mouth, stopping both breath and sound. It stayed there even though he tried to wrench sideways and clawed at the hand over his face. His chest was on fire and the world was full of roaring and darkness, when the handkerchief was suddenly withdrawn and he was pushed face‑first against the ground, sobbing for breath.

  He felt a hand at his throat, ripping loose the knot in his cravat and pulling it away, then he was half‑raised and set against something solid. His arms were pulled behind him and pinned there. He tried to struggle, but the movement made his head spin as the blackness engulfed him...

  ** ** **

  "Malet…" Something was steadying his head and lightly patting his cheek. "My dear Malet…"

  He struggled toward light and air, his vision slowly clearing, until he could look up and see Sieur Lambert kneeling before him and frowning worriedly down at him.

  What on earth was Lambert doing on his knees before him? Had the world turned upside down? Malet tried to sit up and found that he could not move. He shook his head, puzzled and yet warmed by the affection in M. Lambert's sudden smile. He returned the smile in spite of the ache in his head -

  He stiffened and swore as memory returned. He was in Paris, in a clearing in the Jardin du Luxembourg with his hands lashed behind him around a sapling with his cravat, and his feet tied with a handkerchief. And now the man had the effrontery to be steadying his, Malet's, head, patting his cheek, calling him 'my dear lad' and telling him to wake up!

  Malet tried to pull away. "You!" he said through his teeth.

  "Yes," said Vaux, keeping his hold. "Look straight at me and stop squirming."

  "Squirming!" Malet spat. He drew a deep breath, intending to shout for help.

  Vaux clapped an ungentle hand over his mouth. "None of that!" he said. "I mean you no harm. I want to make certain you don't have a concussion." He removed his hand. "You came up against that tree pretty hard, and you have been out for a while. Now do open your eyes wide. Do you feel at all nauseated?"

  "Putain de bordel!" Malet hissed through his teeth, trying to twist out of Vaux' grip, "Espèce de sale, bitte-suçant--!!"

  "Behave yourself!" sai
d Vaux. "Now hold still and look at me - good God, you're strong! Fighting you is like trying to wrestle Cerberus!" He looked down into Malet's glare and suddenly grinned and released him, pausing only to swat him on the shoulder and ruffle his hair.

  Malet cursed and tried to free himself. He subsided, panting.

  Vaux nodded and got to his feet. "Good," he said. "You aren't hurt. You had me worried for a moment. I might have saved my concern: skulls like yours aren't easily dented, though I think you'll have a bruise tomorrow... Since it's apparent that you're unhurt and as full of fight as ever," he said, "I will be taking my leave now." He reached into his fob pocket, took out his billfold, and withdrew several banknotes.

  "I am afraid your cravat is ruined," he said. "I apologize for the necessity. It's a very fine one: this should cover the purchase of another." He folded the notes and carefully tucked them in the pocket of Malet's waistcoat. "There," he said. "Take care of yourself, my lad."

  Malet stared up at him with a mixture of fury and bafflement. "Wait a minute!" he cried. "You were under arres - " He didn't even finish the word. He was the one who was arrested, at least for the moment. He tried to wrench out of the knots with a muffled exclamation of pure temper, and only succeeded in bringing down a shower of yellow leaves.

  Vaux smiled and bent to pick the leaves out of Malet's hair and then check the firmness of the knots about his ankles. "Precisely," he said. "You will pardon me if I don't linger. A lady is waiting for me."

  He retrieved the walking stick, laid it beside Malet, and put the hat there, as well. He cast a considering look at Malet, and then knelt beside him again. "I hate to do a thing like this to a man like you," he said as he checked Malet's pockets. "Be fair and concede the necessity." He found the pistol, took it out and looked it over.

  Malet's eyes dilated. He made a sudden, convulsive motion, suppressed it, and lifted his chin with an attempt at a smile.

  Vaux turned the pistol over in his hand, saw that it was loaded and primed, and then looked up at Malet. "You had this on you and you didn't use it?" he said. "I don't understand: why not?"