Napoleon's Police

by Michele McGrath

  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 happening 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.

  Father Paul met us at the railing, no longer dressed in his dusty black jacket but in traditional green vestments. They still smelt musty from their long disuse. He was smiling and his eyes were moist as he held out his hands to us and spoke the first prayer,

  “Blessed is she who comes in the name of the Lord...”

  And so Eugénie became my wife. I remember the rest of the day in flashes. Eugénie’s smile as I put the ring on her finger. Fournier’s wife bundling him into a carriage because he couldn’t walk after all the wine. The laughing faces of Eugénie’s colleagues from Leroy’s as they joined us for our wedding supper at Gilbert’s apartment. I remembered seeing Eugénie crying by the fire the first time I saw her and thought how lovely she was. Eugénie was crying again now, but for a very different reason and I almost cried too from sheer happiness. And then it was all over and I took my darling away to our new home.

  Epilogue

  I never saw Limoëlan again or expected to hear about him either. Yet the affair of the Infernal Machine had one last surprise to give me. It was many years later, after Napoleon’s Empire ended in bloodshed and confusion. Another Bourbon king now sat uneasily on the throne of France.

  I left the Police after Waterloo and joined Eugénie and the children at my childhood home in Grenoble. I had received a better welcome there than I expected, when I returned after the Emperor was exiled to Elba. My father had grown old and he needed me now as never before. My cousin was dead, my sister married and he was alone. I had hardly picked up the threads of my new life, when the Emperor escaped and galloped through our city to a tumultuous welcome. I went with him on his last great gambol, which led to his crushing defeat and exile on the island of St Helena.

  I had to leave Paris in 1815. A former revolutionary soldier and police agent would never be trusted by the Bourbons. I knew that they would find something to accuse me of if I stayed. The lack of trust was completely mutual. I would not serve them and I did not realise how strongly I felt, until the moment came. Now I had peace to watch the evening sunlight turn the crown of the Belledonne Mountains into fire. I lived my childhood over again in their shadow.

  Limoëlan’s part in the plot of the Infernal Machine was known now. All the conspirators of this and the other plots had been identified. The Bourbons and their servants occasionally spoke of them with honour. Their memory dimmed as the years passed, though, in the immediacy of the present. To some people they are patriots and martyrs, to others like myself, they are the murderers of innocents. That thought will never change, no matter what the new regime ordains. Limoëlan and his friends are historical figures, rarely mentioned except by those who study such things and write the books that are beginning to appear. They no longer have any relevance to me and mine. All they do is bring back a bittersweet memory of the time Eugénie and I first met.

  One evening I sat down to read the newspapers. It had been a lo
ng and tiring day. Marie-Aimée and our grandchildren had been with us all afternoon and, really, I am beginning to get too old for some of their games. I needed to rest after they left. There was nothing much on the front page of the newspaper, only the usual stories about how the king and his ministers were saving the country. Buried deep on an inside sheet was an article that brought me abruptly to my feet.

  “Eugénie!”

  “What is it?” she cried and hurried in to me.

  “Look at this!” I handed the paper to her and pointed out the article. She read it quickly and then sighed.

  “So he did what he said he would do, that day in the church with Father Paul. I am glad.” The article said simply that Limoëlan had died far away in America.

  “I am happy that I let him go, but I don’t envy him the life that he must have led afterwards.”

  “Nor I. I couldn’t live with myself if I had done what he did. God grant rest to his soul at last.”

  I used to think of Limoëlan occasionally, as the years passed and wondered what his life had been like. He outlived his executed comrades and even the man he once tried to kill. The Emperor died on the island of Saint Helena, broken and embittered. Perhaps, Limoëlan found it in his heart to pray for his intended victim, who was also alone and in exile. It is possible, for the papers mentioned that Limoëlan had died a priest.

  Duval

  and the

  Empress’s Crown

  Michèle McGrath

  In memory of my uncle

  Louis Alexander McGrath

  Who would have loved this tale

  Duval and the Empress’s Crown

  Chapter 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 v
oice 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.