Duval and the Italian Opera Singer

by Michele McGrath

  “I did not know him but he said his name was Didier.”

  I pulled out the sketch of the unknown man and gave it to him. He looked at it closely, screwing up his eyes as if he did not see clearly through them. Eventually he took out a pair of glasses, much bent and scratched but they obviously helped him because he said,

  “That is him, Monsieur.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Without a doubt, although his eyebrows were a little closer together and bushier. Whoever did this knows Didier well.” I did not tell him that Rougier had never seen Didier at all. I was pleased he confirmed that the picture was accurate and my money had not been spent in vain.

  “You accepted this commission from someone you did not know? He might have been trying to steal the carriage.”

  “He had the proper authorisation, Monsieur, a signed letter giving the exact instructions.”

  “Who signed it?”

  “Jamet, the head groom from Malmaison, by order of Monsieur le Comte de Lavalette. The count has sent us instructions about these things before, but never such unusual ones. He is married to the Empress’s niece as you will know.”

  “Is he, by God? Did you keep a copy of the authorisation, Monsieur Mercier?”

  “But certainly. I did not want to be blamed for acting without proper authorisation, especially with such odd instructions.”

  “May I see it please?”

  Mercier led me into his office. He opened a drawer, rummaged through it and produced a sheet of paper, which looked rather crumpled, as if it had been stuffed into someone’s pocket. I looked at the signature. It said A-R Jamet acting on behalf of Monseigneur Chamans de Lavalette.

  “Chamans?”

  “His name, Monsieur. Lavalette is his title, I believe.”

  “A ci-devant count?”

  “Yes, but he is also high up in the Emperor’s circles.”

  “Do you recognise Jamet’s hand?”

  “I do. If it is not his then it belongs to an excellent forger. Look here.” He rummaged again and produced another sheet.

  “I had this from him about two months ago. Compare them.”

  I did. The man was right. I thought that they had been written by the same person although I am no expert. If it became necessary, I would have to give the papers to Manet. He spends his life pouring over dirty bits of paper because his specialty within the Ministry is forgery.

  “Thank you for your time, Monsieur Mercier. Can I take this letter with me?”

  “I’m sorry but it is my only proof that I was asked to carry out this unusual task.”

  “Of course. May I copy it then and take the other letter instead?”

  Mercier nodded. “Yes, do so. That job is finished and it was routine. They even paid me for the work. I have no need to keep it now.”

  I copied the words of the authorisation into my notebook, made my farewells and left. My first instinct was to visit this man Lavalette and question him. Then I stopped. I could almost hear Fournier’s voice in my ear speaking during our last adventure. Get permission before you question members of the imperial family, Duval. Lavalette qualified if he was married to Joséphine’s niece. I felt a little cold. Could he have been acting on the Empress’s behalf? After all, the discovery that her husband had a child of his own would put Joséphine’s position in jeopardy. Would she be ruthless enough to order Carla and her son to disappear before Napoléon found out? I stood there picturing her as she had been on her coronation day last December. She had a sweet smile and it was rumoured that she was a kindly woman. Yet even the nicest person will fight for those things they hold most dear. What should I do next?

  In the end, I decided Fournier was right. I could not proceed to question Monsieur de Lavalette without permission. I would be very foolish to try. Consequently I went back to the Ministry to speak with Réal.

  “If I can’t find Carla and her son before this evening, the Emperor must be informed that they have disappeared,” I told him.

  “What do you intend to do?” he asked.

  “This man, who calls himself Didier, had access to one of the imperial carriages. So I can ask the grooms in the stables about him and show them his picture. Mercier had no difficulty recognising him from it, so it must be accurate enough. I may be lucky again. Before I go there, though, I need permission from the Minister or yourself. The trail seems at this moment to lead to the Comte de Lavalette and possibly his wife, the Empress’s niece.”

  Réal cocked an eyebrow at me. “Even further than that perhaps?”

  “The Empress has the best motive for the child to disappear, although I am not sure I would believe it of her,” I replied.

  “You certainly seem to possess an instinct for finding suspects within the imperial family, Duval. In any case, I can’t give you such permission but the Patron might. Wait here.” He knocked on Fouché’s door and disappeared inside. In a very short time he reappeared and beckoned to me. “Come in.”

  I went up to Fouché’s desk and bowed to him. He sighed. “Why is nothing ever simple with you, Duval? Couldn’t your suspects be a baker or a butcher for a change?” I grinned. He was referring to my last case, of course, where the possible thieves of the Empress’s crown had included the Emperor’s three sisters.

  “I wish they were, Monseigneur, believe me. As it is, this clue may not lead to the top. No one knows who this man, Didier, really is. Nor can they tell me what position he holds. He must be in contact with the imperial household but he is not notable. Probably a minor official or someone who comes in from outside to perform a particular task.”

  “Lavalette is part of that household and so is his wife, Émilie de Beauharnais. The orders were supposed to be given by the Comte but did he originate them?”

  “That I cannot tell you, Monseigneur.”

  “You will have to find out discreetly, Duval. If this mess unravels and others are found to be responsible, the Emperor won’t thank you for pointing the finger at the Empress or her relations. Especially if it becomes generally known.”

  “I realise that, Monseigneur.”

  Fouché picked up a piece of paper and wrote swiftly upon it. He sanded it, folded it and handed it to me. “This authorises you to conduct enquiries among the Emperor’s servants and members of the imperial household, which includes the Lavalettes. It does not, I repeat, not, Duval, authorise you to question the Empress herself. Go too far in this and I won’t support you. Do you understand?”

  “I understand, Monseigneur.”

  “Report here at dusk. If you have not found the girl and her son by then, I will have a message sent to the Emperor cancelling their appointment.”

  I left him and went hurriedly out to the imperial stables in the Tuileries. Although Jamet had signed the letter to Mercier, I did not want to journey to Malmaison when I might find answers to my questions nearer at hand. I would go to Malmaison next if I found nothing to help me in Paris.

  Fouché’s warrant opened all doors to me, as I had expected it would. Everyone realises he is an ill person to cross and has a long memory. So they are careful not to annoy him or his agents. This is useful but can also cause problems at times. I was grateful in this instance. The head coachman, a man called Cassot, saw me at once but when I asked him about the carriage, he scratched his head in bewilderment.

  “One of our carriages had the insignia removed and repainted in the last two days? I know nothing about that, Monsieur. Certainly I gave no such orders.”

  I unrolled my picture and showed it to him, not expecting much but he said,

  “I have seen him in passing but I do not know his name.”

  “He said his name is Didier.”

  “That is not a name I recognise.”

  “Does he work in the Tuileries?”

  “No, I see him only rarely.”

  “When was the last time?”

  Cassot screwed his eyes up as he thought. “It must have been about a week ago. I can’t remember exactly.
Does it matter?”

  “Probably not. If he doesn’t work here but visits occasionally where would you think he may work?”

  “Who knows?” He shrugged. “One of the other palaces maybe. Saint-Cloud, Malmaison, Fontainbleu, take your pick. He might not even work in a palace but in a government office. We get a lot of people coming and going as you may imagine.”

  I thought hard.

  “Tell me Monsieur Cassot, can you confirm that this man had no access to any of the carriages in your charge during this last week?” He nodded. I tried again. “No such work as I described has been carried out on any of them?”

  “No.”

  “Are there any that are out of service which might have been borrowed and repainted without your knowledge?”

  “I’d have the skin off anyone who tried a trick like that.”

  “How many carriages are unusable at the moment?”

  “I’ll have to check.” He went over to a shelf and took down a large ledger, turning the pages until he found what he was looking for.

  “Three. One came back this morning. Another has a broken axle which will take time to fix and a third was overturned two days ago and is damaged.”

  “The one that is damaged, could it have been used and returned?”

  “Not likely. The side and back hit a rock and were stove in. The one with the broken axel will take time to repair. The one that returned today is possible. I looked it over when it was returned but I did not check for repainting. You can see it for yourself if you like.”

  “Please.”

  I followed him out into the courtyard and across to the large coach house. As might be expected with money and a large staff, it was in impeccable order. Coaches of all types were drawn up in straight lines, gleaming in the light streaming in from skylights in the roof. Cassot lead me to a carriage in the second row. We bent to examine the Emperor’s crest on its panels. I even pulled out my loupe that makes things appear bigger. It only confirmed what my eyes had already told me. The painting on this vehicle was not recent. The gold was slightly tarnished and greyed by the weather. It also had small chips at the edges.

  “Is it possible to make paint appear older than it is?” I asked Cassot.

  He stared at me. “I don’t think so, Monsieur, who would want to?” Perhaps Rougier would be able to tell me. Then I thought of one more test. I compared the paint on the doors with the paint on the other parts of the carriage. They were an exact match. Then I looked at the other coaches. Although most of them were dark green the shades varied slightly, which is inevitable unless the paint is all mixed at the same time. I sighed. This was not the one I was looking for. I would have to search elsewhere.

  I asked Cassot for the names of the head coachmen at the other palaces and to send a message to me if he saw Didier again. He promised to do so.

  Realising I would not be able to find Carla and Marco before their appointment with the Emperor, I returned to the Ministry. I reported to Réal who dispatched a messenger to the palace with a note stating that Carla was unable to come at the moment because the child had fallen sick. Time enough to tell Napoléon the truth when we had more to tell him.

  “What do you intend to do next, Duval?” Réal asked.

  “Visit the other palaces and find the carriage if I can. I’ll ask if anyone knows Didier there.”

  “He need not be employed at a palace,” Réal warned.

  “I realise that, but Sofia described the coach, the horses and the servants in glowing terms. Most of the ministries do not possess such elegant vehicles. I can’t search everywhere at once. I’m afraid that, if I don’t find Carla and Marco soon, they may simply disappear and we will never discover what happened to them. If I had help, I might be able to find them sooner.”

  Réal sighed and then smiled. “I was expecting you to ask—Lefebvre and Fournier?”

  “If you please.”

  “I’ll arrange it.”

  “We usually work separately, so they need copies of the Minister’s authorisation too.”

  “I will have copies sent to them. Where are you going now?”

  “To the Rose des Neiges.” He cocked an inquiring eyebrow at me. “It’s a useful place, more discreet than the bureau with fewer ears to overhear our conversation.”

  Chapter 6

  “We will need to divide visits to the other palace coach houses between us,” I said to Lefebvre and Fournier after I had told them the full story. The messenger from Réal had just left after delivering their authorisations.

  “Most of those are a long way from Paris,” Fournier murmured, looking at my list. “Why should the carriage be there?”

  “Jamet is the head groom at Malmaison, according to Cassot. He may be implicated in the plot because his name is on the letter at Mercier’s. Also, it is probably easier to hide a coach outside the city, where the activity is less. The Tuileries are well run and Cassot does not miss much. He’d notice the unauthorised absence of any of his vehicles. This Didier seems to appear and disappear regularly, which suggests he is an employee of the Emperor but does not work in Paris itself, to my mind.”

  “Possibly.” Fournier did not sound convinced. “The man could be a spy attached to one of the ministries. I would not put it past Tallyrand to give such orders if he thought he had good reason. The existence of this child could turn the whole regime upside down.”

  “Except for the ministers themselves, all the coaches agents use are shabby, deliberately so in our case. Can you imagine Fouché allowing his personal carriage to be removed and repainted for example? The other ministers would be the same. It’s possible, but Sofia is no fool. She remembers what she saw.”

  “Where do you think the coach came from, Soldier?” Lefebvre asked, using the old nickname he bestowed on me after he had saved my life when some thugs tried to rob me.

  “Since it is not in the Tuileries, Malmaison is the most likely.”

  “Joséphine?”

  “Or someone operating on her behalf. Who has a better reason to keep Marco’s existence a secret from her husband?”

  “Well, she hasn’t succeeded in that,” Lefebvre said.

  “Without Carla and the boy, it would be much harder to prove. The Emperor could easily forget the whole affair after a little while. He’s sceptical as it is. If he sees Marco and believes he is indeed his son, he would act a lot differently in future.”

  “Why are you so interested in the girl, Soldier?”

  “She is a pleasant woman who has lost her voice and her income.”

  “No more than that?” Fournier queried. “Nothing for Eugénie to be worried about?”

  I glared at him. “There will never be anything for Eugénie to be worried about. You ought to know me by now.”

  “There’d better not be,” Fournier hissed under his breath. Fournier is an old friend of my wife’s father and treats her like a daughter. Fortunately for our friendship, I love her even more than he does and I couldn’t imagine my life without her.

  “I’m sorry for Carla and Marco is a nice little lad. If the Emperor is his father, he has a duty to support him.”

  I had a sneaking hope that the baby Eugénie was carrying would prove to be a boy. I had already decided on his name, Jean-Pierre Duval. Jean for Lefebvre, Pierre for my friend who had died in battle so long ago. It had a nice ring to it and I hoped my wife would agree with my choice. I thought it was too soon to discuss names with her or perhaps I was apprehensive about her reaction. My daughter, Aimée, is very dear to me, but most men hope for at least one son and I was no exception. Therefore I had a dim perception of the Emperor’s problem. I had no son as yet, but I had proved that I was capable of fathering a child, as he had not. Aimée is definitely mine because I trust Eugénie completely and my daughter is the image of my mother. We are also young enough to have more children if the next baby was another girl. The Emperor was older than me and did not know his capabilities, poor man.

  “What do you want us to
do then?” Fournier asked, bringing me out of my thoughts.

  “Fontainbleu is the most unlikely of the three palaces, I think. It’s hours away from Paris even with a good team of horses,” I said slowly. “The imperial couple don’t use it as much as the others. Saint-Cloud is about half an hour’s journey and Malmaison a little more than that. Stagecoaches go to both of them regularly. The Emperor is often at Saint-Cloud, but more rarely at Malmaison these days. If you had the boy which of those two would you take him to?”

  “Whoever has taken Carla and Marco is unlikely to keep them in any palace at all.”

  “I realise that, but the carriage had the arms erased and the imperial arms repainted, so it must belong to the imperial family. Such vehicles will be kept at a palace coach house. If we can find the coach, we may find Didier or at least enough information to identify him properly. Once we arrest him we can question him to find out what he did with Carla and Marco.”

  “I doubt Didier is his real name,” Fournier said.

  “I do too. You go to Saint-Cloud, Fournier. Lefebvre and I will drive to Malmaison and talk with this Jamet amongst others. I have a hunch that it is the more likely of the two palaces because it is the Empress’s country home. If she has stolen the Emperor’s son, she’d take him there, rather than Saint-Cloud where the Emperor often stays. I’ll talk to the officials; Lefebvre can pretend to be my servant and chat with the grooms and the other servants. D’accord, Jean?” Lefebvre nodded.

  “What about Fontainbleu?”

  “We’ll leave it for the moment. If we do go there, better we should all be together and make sure we cover it thoroughly. In any case, it’s too late to start now. No one will want to talk to us at this hour and the light is bad. I’m for home and travelling early tomorrow. The grooms and coachmen should be awake when we arrive and we’ll be able to spot anything that looks suspicious.”

  Eugénie was cooking when I returned to our apartment. She was walking around awkwardly, for she has only another week or so to go before the baby is born. She looked hot and tired.