“I will, of course, if you want me to, but shouldn’t you be the one to do it? I’ve never written a report of this nature before.”
“I should, but I’m not thinking properly at the moment and I doubt if I could put two words together.” I looked at him and he was shaking. “I’ll need Petit to help me with the search. You’ll be doing me a favour, if you keep Réal from interfering for a few hours. He won’t come and get in my hair, if he knows what’s going on. We can get on with doing what has to be done before he arrives.”
I didn’t argue any further. I left him there and went back to the bureau as he had asked me to.
12
I spent an hour or so writing my report. I found it easy enough to describe the bare facts of what happened. My hand shook so badly, though, I wondered whether my writing would be readable. Fortunately I did not need to include how I felt, or the document would not have made any sense at all. Once I’d finished, I called for a messenger to take it up to Réal. The man told me he was not in. He had gone to one of the state receptions and he was not due back until the morning. The man said he would place my report on Réal’s desk, where he would be sure to see it when he returned.
The office was empty; Fournier had not returned either. I was too tired and dispirited to go back to the scene of the fight. I also had the strong impression Fournier did not want me to. It was almost as if he wanted to get rid of me and used the report as his excuse. I wondered why, but I knew that he didn’t wish me any evil. So I decided to wait and see what he had to tell me when he arrived.
By this time it was very late, although, being winter, the dawn was still hours away. The candles had burned down and their light was dimmed. My head kept nodding and eventually my eyelids drooped. The next thing I knew, someone was shaking me by the shoulder.
“Come with me,” the messenger said. “They’ve been waiting for you to come in.”
“I never went home,” I muttered, stretching myself to get rid of the fumes of sleep. “Who’s waiting for me?” I asked but he did not answer. We hurried down several corridors, until he left me at the door of Réal’s office. I heard raised voices inside. In some trepidation, I scratched upon the panel.
“Enter.”
Réal sat at the table with Fournier facing him. They both wore the arrested look of men who had been in the middle of a heated argument. Réal motioned me to sit beside Fournier. He picked up a paper.
“I’ve been reading your report,” he said. “Good enough for a first attempt, but you omitted part of the detail. For example, you do not name the man who stabbed Gilbert. A pity about his death, he was a good agent.”
“I didn’t mention it, because I’m not sure who killed him. Either one of the two men we arrested might be the killer. I didn’t see what happened. The place was dark and Gilbert was at the other end of the room. I was intent on holding onto the man I fought. I couldn’t help Gilbert or prevent his death.” Petit had made me feel guilty. Irrational. In a fight like that, it’s every man for himself and I might easily be lying there dead instead of Gilbert.
“You misunderstand me,” Réal said brusquely. “I’m not blaming you for his death. Gilbert had sufficient experience in such things to be aware of his danger and take precautions. He’d been injured in affairs before. On this occasion, he was unlucky and you did unexpectedly well for a new man in a difficult situation.”
“Thank you, Citizen, but I wish I could have aided him, nevertheless. What has happened to the three men we caught?”
“Fournier has just returned from questioning them.” He turned to him. “Tell Duval what you reported to me.”
“It will take a long time to find out what really happened, both at the Rue Saint-Nicaise and at the lodging house,” Fournier said. He sounded very weary, “At the moment none of them are admitting anything and there was nothing to incriminate them in their room. We’ll search the yard where you found the spillage of gunpowder, later this morning. I didn’t fancy going over the place last night with torches. I’ve posted guards to make sure nobody gets in. You saw these men hurry away from the scene and Gilbert’s murderer panicked or we would have little to accuse them of. We can hold them on suspicion, of course. Don’t worry, they’ll talk to us in the end and tell us everything they know.”
A sudden memory came back to me at his words. “I’m certain they carried away some bulky items from the yard under their cloaks two nights ago,” I told him. “They looked awkward and difficult to conceal. The men took them into the lodging house.”
“If they did, they haven’t been found. Perhaps the fourth man went to dispose of them. That might be why we did not find him with the others when we raided the place. Another thing to ask them. We’ll find the answer. We always do.”
Réal nodded. “Fournier rarely fails, do you not?”
“No, Citizen. They will talk; I guarantee it.”
“In any event, there is no need for you to remain any longer in the Faubourg du Temple,” Réal continued. “The other conspirator will not go back to the lodging house or the yard. He will either leave the city or lie low somewhere else.”
I breathed a sigh of relief. “What would you like me to do next, Citizen?”
“Return to the area around the Rue Saint-Nicaise and continue where Gilbert left off. He hadn’t finished his enquiries, or so Fournier tells me. Any more evidence against the men in custody will be useful, although we already have enough to keep them in gaol until we find out more.” He sounded satisfied.
Then I remembered something else. “Citizen?”
“Yes?”
“A woman was with the girl who died holding a horse when the bomb exploded. We showed her the sketches and she pointed out one of the men she had seen. She said she would be able to recognise him if she saw him again. Also the merchant, Lamballe, might be able to confirm the one who bought his horse and cart.”
“Fetch the woman. Take her to the prison and let her look at the prisoners. Fournier will arrange for you to be admitted and he can bring the merchant along. The more witnesses the better. Once these men know they have been positively identified, they will open their mouths. Perhaps we’ll be able to find the missing one and any others involved. Go now.”
I stood up, bowed and left them. Then I went back to the bureau where I had been working, to pick up my cloak and hat. There were several people in the room by now and I thought I heard the chink of coins as I entered — an odd sound. Everyone stopped talking and looked at me as I came in. Laurent held an upturned hat in his hand.
“We’re collecting for Gilbert’s widow. Care to contribute?” He pushed the hat at me. “Poor woman, her pension is so small it won’t feed a mouse.”
I dropped a few coins into the hat, thinking that the advance on my wages from Picot had almost run out. The outfit I’d bought cost a lot and so did the expensive wine. I realised I would need to collect the rest of my pay soon, or visit the money lenders again — an unpleasant thought.
“They’re pleased with you upstairs,” Laurent said with an edge to his voice. So I answered warily,
“I’m not pleased. Gilbert died.”
“Yes. Odd that it was him rather than you, the newcomer.” He sounded unpleasant, as ever.
“I was fortunate.” I shrugged, determined to say no more about it. I thought that, if I did, it would lead me into trouble and I certainly didn’t want to get into a dispute with him. I would always feel partly responsible for Gilbert’s death and some of the others would blame me too. I didn’t know yet how friendly people were, for I’d only met them fleetingly, if at all. At least two men in the room I had never met before. One of them seemed awkward, though, because he intervened quickly.
“Didn’t Gilbert’s widow send you a message, Laurent? Asking to meet the man who was there when he died?”
“She did.” He looked annoyed at the reminder. “Go round there, Duval. You can take her the money at the same time.” Laurent said, with a note in his voice I didn’t like
.
“I’ve never met the woman,” I protested. “Surely one of you should go? You all knew him better than I did. You worked with him longer.”
“It’s you she wants. You were there, we weren’t, but I’d be careful what you tell her. You know what women are in these circumstances. Their tongues wag like dogs’ tails. The less said to them, the better.” Laurent looked at me sharply. “As it happens, none of us has met her, except perhaps Fournier, although I even doubt that. Gilbert kept his home life separate from his work. Perhaps he had good reason to do so.” Laurent grinned but his smile was almost a leer. Then I wondered if I had read him correctly.
“You go. That’s an order.” He thrust the hat into my hands and I recoiled.
“I’ll take the money to her, but count it first,” I said. “I don’t want anyone to say afterwards I didn’t give her the full amount.” I took a piece of paper and made a note. I decided that, if she could write, I would ask her to sign the paper to prove she’d received the lot from me. Then I could protect myself from any accusations. Laurent’s frown deepened at my action, which confirmed my uneasiness.
They counted the coins and put them into a purse which I stuffed into my pocket. I reflected that the last thing I wanted to do was visit Gilbert’s grieving widow. I was still reacting to his death but I couldn’t back out. If I’d had my way, I would never have gone, never met Eugénie and my future life would have been very different indeed.
13
Gilbert lived in an apartment on the third floor of a building overlooking a small dusty square. I could hear the sound of someone crying as I paused outside his door. I grimaced, wishing I did not need to go in, and then I called myself three kinds of a coward and tapped on the panel. An oldish woman answered my knock.
“Citizeness Gilbert?”
“She’s inside, but this is not a good time to call on her, Citizen. There has been a tragedy in the family. Please come back another day.”
“I don’t wish to disturb her, but she asked to see me. My name is Duval and I have come from the Ministry. I used to work with her husband and I was with him when he died. Also I have something to give to her. Could you please tell her I am here?”
She nodded and closed the door, leaving me standing in the corridor. I waited, working out what I should say to Gilbert’s widow. I had never done such a task before. Few of our men had wives or sweethearts who followed the army and were near enough to be told bad news in person.
A few minutes later the old woman returned and asked me to come in. The door led immediately into the room and I realised why she had left me standing outside. When I entered, the place seemed to be full of women, most of them in tears. The widow, it had to be her, sat by the fire, with the others making a circle around her. At first glance I would have said there were a dozen of them. Strange what tricks the imagination can play. In reality, there were only six, the old woman who showed me in, the widow and four more.
The widow looked up at me enquiringly and I flinched as I saw her for the first time. Although no longer young and dishevelled with weeping, she was still lovely. Her light brown hair was touched with grey and her eyes red-rimmed, but the shape of her face was delicate and her skin flawless. Few people escape a few marks of the pox but, if she ever suffered from it, it did not leave any signs. No wonder Gilbert kept his home life private. If she had been mine, I would have kept her well away from people like Laurent too.
I wished fervently to be anywhere else but here. Yet I had to go through with my task, so I bowed to her and said, “I deeply regret your loss, Citizeness.”
She rose and gave me her hand. Her voice shook, but her words were clear. “Thank you for coming. I appreciate it.”
“I only worked with your husband for a short time but I respected him. He was kind and helpful to me.”
“Roland was a kind man.” Her voice choked and, to distract her, I pulled the purse from my pocket and handed it to her.
“His colleagues asked me to bring you this gift which we have collected, some twelve francs and seven sous. It can never compensate you for his loss, but it may be of immediate help to you at this sad time.” I wanted to mention the sum before witnesses and I took out the paper I prepared.
“Would it be possible for you to write your name here, so my chief will know that I have given it to you intact?”
“Of course.” I gave her a pencil. Her fingers were shaking, but she scribbled her name. I folded the paper and put it away. If Laurent had really given me the task to incriminate me, he’d failed.
“You are most thoughtful,” she murmured, “to bring the money to me. Please give my thanks to your colleagues. I didn’t expect anything. It’s good of you to be so concerned about my welfare, but tell me...” She sighed and looked away from me. Then she said, so softly I almost did not hear her, “You said that you were with him. Please tell me how he died.”
I gulped as I searched for the right words to answer her. I became aware of the circle of eyes on my face and I hoped that they would not be able to read my tumbling thoughts. “He cannot have suffered, Citizeness. He bled to death almost immediately.”
Her eyes searched mine. “Was he in pain?”
“I think not, or not for very long. Everything happened so quickly.”
“Did he speak to you?”
“Yes he did, but he only had time for a few words.”
She tensed and gripped my arm with trembling fingers. “What did he say? Tell me please.”
“He spoke your name, ‘Françoise.”
“He did?”
“He said ‘Françoise, my wife, tell her that I love her’.”
She sighed and more tears filled her eyes, making them shine. The end of the sentence was a lie, of course. Gilbert never finished what he wanted to say and I had no idea what he meant to add. Looking at her, though, I doubted that his message would have been any different. So I spoke the words I thought any woman would want to be on her husband’s dying lips. I hoped there had been nothing in their past to betray me. She burst at once into furious weeping, and two of the women were quick to come and put their arms around her. One of them looked at me with tearful eyes and I felt a tremendous shock. This girl was a younger version of the widow, but with Gilbert’s dark hair. I think I must have made some small sound at the sight of her. The same old woman, who had shown me in, came and touched my arm. She pointed silently to the door and we went outside. When we were in the corridor, she said,
“Thank you for coming, Citizen; that is what Françoise needed to hear. It will help her to accept her loss now. We are grateful to you.”
“The future will be hard for her, nevertheless. How many children does she have to provide for?”
“Only one now. Felix is away at the military school and still dependent on her.”
“And the girl in there?”
“Eugénie can support herself. She works for the dressmaker Leroy.”
“That is fortunate, but perhaps my colleagues and I may be able to do something more. At least I will try.”
“Thank you, Citizen. I will tell her you said so.”
I nodded and took my leave, glad to go, for grief is not pleasant in any circumstances. On the other hand, Eugénie Gilbert’s tearful face stirred something inside me, something I had never felt before. How I wished I had met her elsewhere and for another reason. My reaction to her seemed totally inappropriate to the occasion, but I knew I would not forget her. If fate was kind to me, I would to meet her again someday, when I could get to know her better.
I went straight from Gilbert’s house to the bread shop. This time, the shutters had been taken down and the door was open. As I entered, a young man came out and I stood aside to let him pass. He murmured his thanks and walked away down the street. I hesitated, feeling puzzled. I’d seen his face somewhere before, but I could not place it. The memory nagged at me. I stepped back into the street and watched him, until he turned into a narrow alleyway. I still couldn’t remember wh
ere I had seen him, only that I had. Then I shrugged off the thought. I had talked to so many people in Paris in the last few weeks that all the faces seemed to be blended together.
I went into the shop. The two women, Citizeness Pensol and Jeanne Simon, were peering down at something lying on the table in front them. The older woman, Jeanne Simon, dropped a cloth over whatever it was as they looked up at me inquiringly
“Can we help you, Citizen?”
“Good day,” I said to them. “Do you remember me?”
“But yes, Citizen, you were one of the police agents who came to see us after the bombing.”
“That’s right. Our search for the culprits is still continuing, but we have arrested some men who may have driven the cart that night. You saw them, Citizeness Simon, and you said that you would certainly recognise at least one of them again. I need you to come with me now to identify them, if you can.”
“Now? Oh...” Jeanne looked flustered, “but I still have my bread baking in the oven.”
“I’ll look after the bread for you, Jeanne. You go with this man and see if these scélérats are indeed the ones who murdered my poor Marianne.”
While Jeanne went to fetch her bonnet and cloak from the inner room, I waited with Citizeness Pensol. She had started to weep again and was trying to stifle her sobs with a large and none too clean rag. I reflected I’d seen more than enough weeping women for one day. They were all different and only Gilbert’s wife and daughter were worth looking at. To distract Citizeness Pensol’s thoughts, I asked her, “Who was the man who left as I came in? I think I have seen him before, but I cannot remember where or when.”
“He’s a kind soul,” she answered, mopping her eyes, “one of many who have come to offer me their condolences on the loss of my girl.”
“At least this one did more than just talk to you,” her friend said, coming back into the room, tying the strings of her bonnet. “Idle words cost nothing, but this man was different. He told you he could not bring Marianne back, but without her, you would need someone else to help you in the shop. He gave you some money, so you would have less work and worry. Very few people think like that. Look, Citizen, wasn’t that good of him?”
Duval and the Infernal Machine (Napoleon's Police Book 1) Page 10
