The Châtelet Apprentice

by Jean-FranCois Parot

  Nicolas quickly assessed all the possible consequences of this bold suggestion.

  ‘There’s more to be said for than against it,’ he concluded. ‘I’ll spice it up a bit by improvising according to the good lady’s mood.’

  Silently they went back the way they had come. The rats reappeared but wisely moved aside as soon as the two came near. Bourdeau remained in the cellar and Nicolas climbed the stairs to the kitchen. Closely watched by the officer, Louise Lardin was still leaning against the sideboard. She did not see him straight away. Nicolas thought she looked pale and much older.

  ‘Madame,’ he began, ‘I don’t think there’s any need for me to describe what we found in the secret passage of your house. But what you don’t know is that we have arrested the person who escaped from your bedroom when we arrived, just as he was attempting to leave the Blancs-Manteaux monastery. He has confessed to the crime.’

  Shock, terror and then calculation could be read in succession on Louise’s face. She lunged at him, ready to scratch his eyes out. Nicolas had to grasp her by the wrists to protect his face while the officer gripped her around the waist. Eventually they managed to force her into a chair.

  ‘What have you done to him?’ she yelled. ‘You’re wrong, you lunatics. It wasn’t him. He’s got nothing to do with it.’

  She was wild with fury and her whole body arched.

  ‘Who was it, then?’

  ‘The other one, the coward, the pig, the man who wanted me, then didn’t. The one with scruples, qualms as he called them. Who didn’t want to deceive his friend. Oh! The man of honour who slept with the wife of someone he owed so much to. The one who came to our rendezvous. He was in the brothel with Lardin and Descart, at La Paulet’s, an old friend, as you know. He turned up late and shamefaced, to get under my skirts. He needed it. He couldn’t do without me. He thought Lardin was out on the town, so he stayed. But Lardin came back earlier than expected. They had a fight and Semacgus strangled him. Afterwards, what could you expect me to do? The wife, the husband, the lover … I was an accomplice. The sentence would be death, for sure. We undressed the body and dragged it into the underground passage. All we had to do was wait for the rats to clean it all up. Then we would dispose of what remained, a little bag of bones to throw into the Seine at night. We had to get that shrew of a cook out of the way because she poked her nose in everywhere. I threw her out of the house as soon as possible before things in the cellar … We put the wild boar there, for one smell to cover up the other. I’m innocent. I haven’t done anything. I did not kill anybody.’

  ‘So according to you Dr Semacgus was caught in the act by your husband and killed him in a brawl.’

  ‘Yes.’

  Nicolas decided to play what he thought was his trump card.

  ‘If Mauval is innocent, why did he confess?’

  ‘I don’t know. To save me. He loves me. I want to see him. Let me go!’

  She fainted. They laid her out on the table and Nicolas rubbed her temples with vinegar. When she remained unconscious he ordered her to be taken immediately to the Conciergerie, where she could be given medical attention.

  Bourdeau, who had been listening to everything from the staircase to the cellar, reappeared. Nicolas sensed that he was impatient to comment on Louise Lardin’s revelations.

  ‘It worked,’ he said, ‘but it’s raised as many questions as it’s answered.’

  ‘You’ll have noted, Bourdeau, that she claims Lardin was strangled. Only when the body has been taken for post-mortem and carefully examined will we know the truth. Besides, our reasons for suspecting the use of poison are perhaps not incompatible with what she’s told us. Remember Sanson’s conclusions about Descart’s death, poisoned then suffocated. There’s a similarity here that the facts may or may not confirm. If that were to be the case, Semacgus would be in a very difficult position. He could have killed here as well as in Vaugirard. We cannot rule him out of either case as he had motives to murder both Descart and Lardin. Even though for Descart the medical rivalry and controversy about the use of bleeding seem rather flimsy grounds …’

  ‘Are you forgetting that Descart accused him of having killed Saint-Louis?’

  ‘No, but in the version of events I was considering, Saint-Louis wasn’t dead but had acted as his master’s accomplice.’

  ‘And where does Mauval fit into all this?’

  ‘His presence can be felt everywhere. He’s meddling in a business that I’m not at liberty to reveal, but which has some bearing on this case.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Bourdeau wryly, ‘I know that you have friends in high places and that your investigation doesn’t stop at solving Lardin’s murder. Our police force has its black sheep and Monsieur de Sartine doesn’t want rumours to spread. That’s why you suddenly broke with the normal rules.’

  Nicolas did not answer. He preferred the inspector to be content with a hypothesis that was not too far from the truth but did not give much away about an affair of State that he was under strict instructions not to divulge. Bourdeau for his part, even if he felt slightly bitter about his chief’s discretion, had sufficient experience and self-discipline not to hold it against him. Nicolas was sorry not to be able to call on the inspector for this vital part of the investigation where his talents would have been extremely useful, but he fully understood the Lieutenant General’s concern to avoid unnecessary discussion of matters to do with the King. The young man did not enjoy the constant self-control this necessary discretion imposed on him and which, as he understood, would be part of his life from now on. This never-ending effort was a trial; it made him feel somewhat melancholy, but it also gave him new strength. He had long since realised that this was the force that would shape his destiny; what is more, he knew that secrecy was deep down one of the essential features of his make-up. He felt the need for other people, but was also concerned not to let them intrude on his life. Like certain shy animals, his first instinct was to retreat when others tried to come close too suddenly. He had not chosen his job but, if his qualities were developing, that was presumably because it suited his inherent skills.

  The body was placed in a coffin and transported to the Basse-Geôle to be examined. A messenger was dispatched to Sanson.

  Nicolas, who wanted to prove to Bourdeau that he had learnt his lesson after Bricart’s suicide, decided that they would both go to question Semacgus at the Bastille. After he had ordered an officer to keep Louise Lardin in solitary confinement they got back into their carriage to go to the royal fortress. On the way Nicolas thought about the best tactics for questioning Semacgus. There were two pitfalls to avoid: being taken in by a man who had an advantage over him in terms of age and experience, and his feelings of friendship for a suspect in two murder cases.

  Nicolas was only dimly aware of the bustle in the streets where house-fronts were being decorated in preparation for the procession of the Fatted Ox. However, although a newcomer to the city, he knew perfectly well that this procession of the animal bedecked with flowers, ribbons and all sorts of adornments often caused problems for the police because of the excesses and debauchery it encouraged in the crowd. The procession set off from the Apport-Paris near the Grande Boucherie opposite the Châtelet, then paid its respects to the Parlement on Île de la Cité. After that it returned to its starting-point, where the animal was then slaughtered and cut up. But sometimes the butchers’ boys, the organisers of the festivity who were anxious to make it last longer, did not wait until the last Thursday before Lent to parade but began their celebrations on the Tuesday or Wednesday, taking a different route from the official one, around other parts of the city.

  Soon they came within sight of the Bastille. To their left, the square of Porte Saint-Antoine led into the faubourg. They turned off to the right and went alongside the ditches. Nicolas shuddered when he saw the four enormous towers overlooking the city. They had to go through several gates at the end of the bridge leading to the main entrance of the state prison. Bourdeau, who
knew the place well, reported to the guards on duty and to the head gaoler. The man held out a cold, clammy hand to Nicolas, who only just managed to stop himself recoiling from this cross-eyed and freakish-looking individual who walked with a waddle. He picked up a lantern and led them towards one of the towers.

  They went inside the stone monster. The enormous bulk of the fortress became more and more oppressive as its thick walls closed in around them. They might have belonged to some sick being whose symptoms were the discoloration and flaking of the skin. There was no interplay of light and shade; the two elements never mixed. Only a few shafts of daylight managed to pierce the darkness of the vaults, but they spread no further. The narrowness of the openings to the outside was such that these fleeting apparitions faded as swiftly as they had come. However, where for centuries they had struck the stone in the same place, its surface had taken on a whitish-blue tinge contrasting with the dull grey of other blocks nearby. But one’s eye could not rest for long on these paler tints. Everywhere, in the corners, nooks and crannies and the dead-ends of this immense maze, strange damp mosses covered the main body of the prison like leprous sores. Coils of fungi hanging in the air like heavy spiders’ webs used up the little oxygen there was in this confined atmosphere. Strange mineral concretions, grey verging on green, their sharp points glinting in the light of the lantern, betrayed the presence of saltpetre and salts that oozed from the limestone walls as a result of the constant humidity. It was slippery underfoot in the gloomy passageways, where the rotting, spongy ground, reminiscent of an underwater cave carpeted with seaweed, turned into mud. Everywhere was a dank, pervasive smell that was almost palpable, so oppressive that it was difficult to breathe. It reminded Nicolas of the collegiate church in Guérande when on very rainy days it became a steaming crypt with water trickling down its granite stone walls, and it reeked of cold incense, damp and the clinging smell of decomposition that rose up from the ancient vaults.

  To that was added the smell of dirt and grease from the head gaoler’s grey twill coat. His gasping breaths and the sound of their footsteps were the only signs of humanity in this deserted place. After slowly turning the key several times, he eventually opened a heavy oak door reinforced with iron bands. Nicolas was surprised by the enormous size of the cell. The room was hexagonal with three steps that led down into it, adding to the impression of height. Three more steps at the opposite end led up to a narrow opening with thick bars. To the right was a bed on which Nicolas saw, to his surprise, white sheets and a drugget2 blanket. They did not immediately notice Semacgus, who was hidden by the open door. As they entered they found him sitting at a small table practically inside the fireplace. He was writing, and the noise of the lock had apparently not disturbed his work. He called out in a bad-tempered voice:

  ‘Not before time! It’s devilish cold in here and I was running out of wood.’

  As there was no reply he turned round stiffly to discover a pensive Nicolas, a calm and collected Bourdeau and a deeply anxious gaoler.

  He got up and went over to meet them.

  ‘Seeing you, my friends, makes me think I’m going to be taken out to be hanged!’ he exclaimed.

  ‘It’s a bit early to hang you,’ said Nicolas, ‘but the purpose of our visit is to question you about some serious developments.’

  ‘For heaven’s sake! It looks as if we’re going to go over old ground again. Nicolas, you veer from one extreme to the other. Please make up your mind about me and spare me His Majesty’s hospitality. I’ve been doing my sums and it’s already cost me a fortune even though I haven’t been locked up here for long. Four pounds and four sols for food, one pound for wine, forty sols for the wood that still hasn’t come and, pardon me for the sordid details, one pound and two sols for the sheets and a chamber pot. The filthy piece of rag I had for a blanket when I arrived in this palace gave me a delightful rash that makes me scratch until I bleed. However, I mustn’t complain. I’m lucky not to be sleeping on straw, but you must admit that it’s hard on an innocent man to be deprived of his freedom and as I understand that I’ve been imprisoned by a lettre de cachet I fear that my case may never come to court and that I will rot here until the end of time.’

  ‘Our conversation will probably determine whether you are freed or not,’ Nicolas replied curtly.

  ‘I prefer that word to interrogation. You always try a bit too hard, Nicolas. It’s just lack of experience, because you’re basically a good sort.’

  ‘That’s probably because the clarity of your answers is not always what it should be.’

  ‘I’m not very fond of people speaking in riddles. There’s always someone who gets eaten up in the end. Your tone is not very friendly, my dear Nicolas.’

  ‘Please remember, Monsieur, that at this moment you are dealing with a policeman.’

  ‘Very well,’ sighed the surgeon.

  Semacgus walked over to his straw-bottomed chair and sat astride it as was his habit, with his arms on the back and his chin in his hands.

  ‘I would like to return with you to the events of that evening in the Dauphin Couronné,’ Nicolas began.

  ‘But I’ve told you everything.’

  ‘It took two attempts. And what interests me now is the second part of the evening. One of the girls has said that you left her almost as soon as you went into her room. What time was it, as a matter of fact? Last time you wriggled your way out of the question.’

  ‘How should I know? Between midnight and one o’clock. I don’t keep an eye on my watch all the time.’

  ‘At what time did you arrive at Rue des Blancs-Manteaux to meet Louise Lardin?’

  ‘When I didn’t find my carriage or Saint-Louis, who was supposed to be waiting for me in Rue du Faubourg-Saint-Honoré, I went to look for a cab, which took me a good quarter of an hour. I must have reached Rue des Blancs-Manteaux at around two o’clock.’

  ‘Could you describe your arrival in detail?’

  ‘As I already told you, when Louise put a lighted candle in the window in her bedroom overlooking the street it meant that the coast was clear. However, that morning there was no candle and this time she was standing at the door wearing a mask and waiting to let me in herself. She had only just come back from a Carnival ball.’

  ‘So the whole family was having a good time!’

  Bourdeau coughed and motioned to Nicolas that he would like to speak.

  ‘You said “this time”. What do you mean by that?’

  ‘That usually I went straight to her bedroom.’

  ‘So you have a key to the front door?’

  ‘That’s not what I said.’

  Bourdeau took a step forward and leant over towards the surgeon.

  ‘So what did you say? It’s high time you stopped misleading justice, Monsieur. It can be good-natured, but it is fearsome when angry and it is pointing its finger at you.’

  Semacgus looked at Nicolas, but the young man clearly nodded his approval of his deputy’s words.

  ‘To tell you the truth, I came in through the monastery of the Blancs-Manteaux, through a garden gate. I hadn’t mentioned it before because the detail didn’t seem important. Louise had asked me to be discreet about this matter.’

  ‘The Blancs-Manteaux monastery?’ roared Bourdeau. ‘What’s that got to do with the Lardins?’

  ‘The cellars of the monastery link up with those of the house. During the day you can go in through the church, which is open. At night through the garden gate, which I have a key to. Then you go through a disused chapel, down into the cellar, under the street and back up into the vault of the pantry.’

  ‘And that particular morning?’

  ‘Louise explained to me that, because of the recent snowfall, it was wiser not to go the usual way. That was why she was waiting for me.’

  ‘Did that not surprise you? It was a rash thing to do.’

  ‘I should remind you that I had on a cape and mask and that I could have been mistaken for Lardin. Besides, it was a serious
point because the commissioner could also come back via the monastery and notice the footprints in the snow.’

  ‘So Lardin knew about this passageway. Who else?’

  ‘In the household? No one. Neither Catherine, nor Marie nor Nicolas, even though he lived there, knew this secret. None of them had noticed it, I’m convinced of that.’

  Nicolas did not reply. He let Bourdeau continue the interrogation. He owed him that, and he was not unhappy to be able to sit back and think without having to intervene.

  ‘Why did you repeatedly conceal this fact from us?’

  ‘It was the Lardins’ secret and I’d given my word.’

  ‘Do you know, Monsieur, whether Commissioner Lardin realised that you were aware of this secret passage?’

  ‘He certainly did not.’

  ‘At what time did you leave, and by which route?’

  ‘At around six o’clock, as I already told Nicolas, and through the front door.’

  ‘By staying so long in the house, were you not taking the risk of being caught by her husband? Did you tell Madame Lardin about the commissioner’s argument with Descart in the Dauphin Couronné?’

  ‘She had assured me that he would not come home that night, and that as a precaution she had bolted both the cellar and front doors from the inside. So even if Lardin turned up unexpectedly he would have had to use the knocker to be let in. She had even planned to justify this unusual precaution by saying she was frightened that wild groups of masked revellers might suddenly turn up. Occasionally some of them burst into people’s houses and carry on with their silly pranks.’

  ‘But why block the passageway in the cellar? It was improbable if not almost inconceivable that revellers would come in that way if it was supposed to be secret. Her husband would have commented on that.’

  ‘The fact that you have asked that question shows you know very little about women. Her aim was not to think about how odd it would be for revellers to come up through the cellar. Having the doors locked – as they most certainly were – made her feel quite secure. I don’t see the use of picking up on contradictions she wasn’t aware of herself. Besides, at the risk of being discourteous to the lady, at that particular moment her mind was on other things … You must excuse me for interrupting this civilised conversation but Phoebus is here to visit me.’