The Châtelet Apprentice (37 page)

‘Or letters,' Monsieur de Sartine continued, suddenly calm.

‘Or letters. So I had a name and an object, even if the
craftsman had refused to reveal the mechanism to me. That might have been enough, but I wanted to solve the mystery of Lardin's notes. Let us look at them again, if you don't mind. “Do two make three?” I translate somewhat freely as “for the pair of crucifixes there are three messages”. “Enfolded in these arms” is a reference to Christ with his arms closed. The rest is obvious. “Carefully you open them, after so much searching, restoring to their owner the secrets of the King.” This Christ will return the King's papers.'

A long silence followed Nicolas's demonstration, disturbed only by the guttering of candles and the roar of the wind in the fireplace. Monsieur de Sartine and Bourdeau looked on in fascination as Nicolas got up like a sleepwalker, took hold of a candelabrum and went towards the fireplace. He stopped, raised his arm and the light illuminated a great ebony crucifix. On it was an ivory Christ with arms closed, Commissioner Lardin's last gift to his wife's cousin. Bourdeau hurried over, grabbing a chair, and with one foot on the mantelpiece took down the object, creating a cloud of dust as he did so, and placed it respectfully on the table. The young man invited Monsieur de Sartine to examine the object. The Lieutenant General's fingers were trembling and all he could feel was the smooth surface of the wood. He looked at Nicolas in desperation.

‘Are you certain of what you have suggested?'

‘It cannot be otherwise, Monsieur.'

Now it was Nicolas's turn to examine the crucifix. The mysterious words rang in his head: ‘Carefully you open them.' He leant over the ivory Christ and noticed that the Saviour's hands were not nailed to the wood of the cross. He took hold of them and tried to press them down. The arms yielded with a
clicking sound and the whole object rose slightly. He turned the crucifix over. A small wooden panel had opened up, revealing a small space filled with tightly packed papers. He stepped aside.

‘If you please, Monsieur.'

Sartine took the bundle of letters from their hiding place. He beckoned to Bourdeau to bring some light and began to leaf through them, reading them out.

‘Draft orders to be sent by His Majesty to the Comte de Broglie and to the Baron de Breteuil, twenty-third of February 1760. Letter from the Duc de Choiseul to the Marquis d'Ossun, the King's ambassador in Madrid, tenth of March 1760. Minute of a letter from Madame de Pompadour to Her Royal and Imperial Majesty in Vienna. Copy of an intercepted letter from Frederick II, King of Prussia, to his sister the Margravine of Bayreuth dated seventh of July 1757 … “Since, my dear sister, you have just taken upon yourself the noble task of working for peace, I beg you to agree to send Monsieur de Mirabeau to France. I shall willingly defray his expenses. He may offer up to five hundred thousand crowns to the King's favourite …”'
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He looked up thoughtfully.

‘Still the same old story of Prussia attempting to bribe the lady. No proof … But if it were divulged at the present time …'

He collected himself, thrust the bundle of papers into his coat and looked the two policemen up and down sternly.

‘You've seen and heard nothing. On pain of death.'

Nicolas and Bourdeau bowed and made no reply.

‘Monsieur Le Floch,' Sartine continued, ‘for the second time this evening I express my thanks to you, but this time I do so in the name of the King. I must leave you. I have to go to Choisy without delay. In this time of misery and war you have given me
the great privilege of being a bearer of good news. The King will not forget this.'

He went up the stairs four at a time and disappeared into the night. Then they heard the sound of the carriage leaving at a fast trot. They looked at each other and burst out laughing.

‘We deserved that,' Bourdeau said, ‘and it's only fair. You were extremely impertinent towards the Lieutenant General; you really had to be sure of yourself there. Monsieur, thank you for allowing me to be present at all this. I shall never forget it.'

‘My dear Bourdeau, we're about to go back to ordinary duties. Events thrust us into prominence. After the success of our investigation we are returning to obscurity. The King has been saved. Long live us! Since everyone has given up on us I have a wicked suggestion to make. We are a stone's throw away from Semacgus's house. He can't refuse us anything. We're going to invite ourselves to supper. I can already smell the aroma of Catherine's cooking from here. And, if nothing's ready, she'll kill the fatted calf for us.'

Then the two friends disappeared into the cold February night.

Two months went by. Normality reasserted itself. Nicolas continued to be employed as a supernumerary in various police tasks. Usually he teamed up with Inspector Bourdeau, but they never referred to the events they had taken part in; these were now cloaked in silence. As all guilty parties were dead, no legal measures had been taken.

Nicolas carried out his day-to-day tasks conscientiously. The Lieutenant General of Police had withdrawn the special commission that for a time had given him unlimited powers. There were fewer audiences with the Lieutenant General, and even then they were only for administrative purposes. The young man felt no resentment about this. The thrill of the investigation over the previous weeks had given way to a period of contented calm. The life he was leading suited him. He enjoyed living at Monsieur de Noblecourt's where he was surrounded by affection and had numerous opportunities to meet the friends of the former procurator of the Parlement, and so extend his circle of useful connections.

He had resumed contact with Pigneau and listened
indulgently to his missionary plans. He regularly visited Père Grégoire, who was always pleased to see his former boarder. Lastly, Semacgus's house was another haven where he often went on Sundays. Catherine strove to lavish her culinary care and attention upon him. The surgeon, whose conversation and knowledge had always fascinated him, engaged Nicolas in interminable discussions from which he learnt a great deal. As for Guérande, he tried not to think about it. After a lengthy inner debate he had decided not to reply to Isabelle's letter. His life in Paris, his recent but gradually increasing experience of social relations and his realisation of the gulf between the daughter of a marquis and an orphan without name or fortune, was at once a source of pride and a reason to give up all thought of her.

Nicolas still visited Antoinette, though he would have liked her to change her way of life. But she was becoming increasingly self-assured and for her the attraction of easy money was too hard to resist. This friendship therefore took the form of the normal dealings between a policeman and a prostitute, even though they were still fond of one another. Nicolas had twice come across Commissioner Camusot, who still held his post but was no longer head of the Gaming Division. Rumour had it that this demotion was the result of the case in which Nicolas had played an important role. He felt that people had become envious of him, or deferential towards him. Bourdeau, always on the alert for rumours in an establishment he knew so well, told him the gossip and added ironic comments of his own. Nicolas listened, laughed and took no further notice. He had none of the ambitions people ascribed to him.

At the beginning of April Monsieur de Sartine informed him rather bluntly of the death of the Marquis de Ranreuil. The news
caused him bitter grief. So he had not been able to make peace with his godfather to whom he owed so much, and without whom he would still be mouldering away in a dusty office in Rennes, doing a job without a future. The Lieutenant General hardly gave him time to come to terms with his feelings. He studied him briefly, then announced that the following day the two of them would be going to Versailles as the King had expressed the wish that Monsieur Le Floch be presented to him. There followed a long series of recommendations about court manners, appropriate dress, the wearing of a sword and the punctuality required. Nicolas had never seen his superior look so nervous. Monsieur de Sartine eventually ended their conversation with an abrupt ‘Your good looks will make up for everything. Breeding always shows.'

That evening Nicolas asked Marion to brush the green coat which he had never had the opportunity to wear. Monsieur de Noblecourt lent him his court sword and the cravat of Bruges lace he had worn at his wedding. Nicolas declined supper and went up to his room. His grief, which he had held back because of the announcement of his audience with the King, now came pouring out. So many images from the past flooded back to him: returning from the hunt, playing chess, the lessons the marquis had taught him and all those insignificant moments of ordinary happiness. All these memories had helped to make him the person he was. He could still hear the authoritarian voice of his godfather. The elderly aristocrat had always shown him unrestrained affection. Nicolas felt sorry that unfortunate circumstances had come between them, leading to an irreconcilable rift. A dim image of Isabelle came to him and then disappeared, leaving in its place blank despair.

The next day brought a host of things to do. The house in Rue Montmartre was turned upside down in the frenzy of preparation. Nicolas attempted to dull the pain of his grief by concentrating on the details of his attire. A barber was sent for to shave him, and then for the first time the young man had to conceal his own hair beneath a powdered wig. When he had put on his coat and tied the precious cravat, he looked at himself in the mirror and failed to recognise the sombre-looking man he saw there. A cab took him to the Hôtel de Gramont, where he was due to meet Monsieur de Sartine. He waited for some considerable time in the main drawing room. The Lieutenant General at first took him to be a stranger. Then, hands on hips, he walked round the young man nodding approval. He was delighted and complimented him on his outfit.

In the carriage taking them to Versailles Monsieur de Sartine respected Nicolas's silence. He took it to be a sign of the understandable emotion the young man felt at the prospect of such an important event. In fact, though Nicolas was familiar neither with Versailles nor the Court, that feeling was far from his mind. He gazed upon the busy streets with total detachment. One day all these anonymous passers-by would disappear, all these people moving about without so much as a glance at their carriage whose movements he himself observed without making out their faces. They, Sartine and himself, were like living ghosts. The future was nothing more than the gradual approach of a mysterious end that would come in due course. What was the purpose, then, of an existence that regretted the past and feared endless sorrows and grief?

They were nearing Versailles. Nicolas summoned up all the resources of his childhood faith and sighed as if to relieve the
weight of things unsaid that was crushing him.

Monsieur de Sartine misinterpreted Nicolas's reaction. He had been waiting for a signal to break the silence that he obviously found so oppressive. Good-naturedly he sought to reassure Nicolas. He held forth about the Court as only an insider could. During the present reign Versailles, he said, had lost the splendour it had enjoyed under Louis XIV. The King was frequently absent and then it was truly deserted, with nobody there except those who were obliged to remain. On the other hand, when the King was in residence, the courtiers flocked there and hunted with him, but as soon as they could they hurried back to Paris and its pleasures. Most of the ministers now resided in the capital.

Nicolas admired the immense avenue that crossed a town with buildings scattered amidst parks and gardens. The crush of carriages grew. He leant out of the door and in the dazzling brightness of that spring day glimpsed a massive, impressive building thinly veiled in mist. The blue of the slate, the flashes of gold, the light-yellow stone and the red mass of brick heralded the royal palace. Soon the carriage reached Place d'Armes, filled with a host of other carriages, sedan chairs and pedestrians. It went through the first monumental gates decorated with the coat of arms of France and entered the first courtyard. It stopped in front of the second gate that restricted entry to the royal courtyard. Sartine informed Nicolas that this protected part was called the ‘Louvre' and that only carriages or sedan chairs with red caparisons, showing that the occupants enjoyed the ‘honours' of the palace, could enter it. They got out of the carriage, which the coachman stationed to the side. Two guards in blue jackets with long gold and silver braided stripes and red
lapels saluted them before they headed off towards the buildings to their right.

Nicolas, feeling lost, followed Monsieur de Sartine who was hurriedly making his way through a crowd of onlookers and courtiers. He had the feeling he was entering a gigantic maze of galleries, corridors and staircases of all sizes. The Lieutenant General was a frequent visitor and found his way around with ease. The young man's state of confusion was comparable only to that he had experienced two years earlier on his arrival in Paris. His discomfort was further increased by the thought of all those stares directed at him, a stranger accompanying such a daunting figure. He felt constricted in the coat he was wearing for the first time. The foolish idea suddenly occurred to him that someone might suspect it had been ordered for someone else. He was not at all aware of the route they took, and he found himself in an enormous room amidst a dozen or so people who were gathered round a tall man being helped by a manservant to remove a blue coat with gold braid.
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The man then removed his shirt and was dried. A little old man, powdered and bejewelled, was handing him a change of clothes. The man recited some names in a monotonous voice to an usher. Sartine nudged Nicolas sharply, telling him to doff his hat. It was then that he realised he was in the presence of the King. He was surprised that the few people present continued to talk amongst
themselves
in low voices. A man whom he did not immediately recognise approached him and whispered in his ear:

‘I am delighted to see you again, Monsieur. You are present at the removal of the King's boots. My compliments. His Majesty is in the process of choosing who will have the honour of dining with him.'

He also greeted Sartine, who made no attempt to conceal his surprise at seeing Nicolas on friendly terms with Monsieur de La Borde, First Groom of the King's Bedchamber. The expression on his superior's face reassured the young man. He was not the only person to be experiencing surprise. The King's voice rang out.

‘Richelieu,' he said, speaking to the little old man, ‘I hope you have made your peace with d'Ayen about which of you is in charge of placing the guests at the riding school ball. Consult Durfort.'
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‘I shall comply with Your Majesty's instructions. However, Sire, may I observe –'

‘That the hunt was not successful,' the King interrupted. ‘Two stags missed at Fausse Repose. A third took refuge in the doe pond. It took us three attempts to shoot it. We are not pleased at present.'

The old marshal nodded and forced a smile. As the King had finished changing he headed towards a small staircase and those present watched him disappear from view, bowing as he left. Before Nicolas had had time to think, La Borde was already leading them away.

‘We are going to the private apartments,' he explained to him. ‘The King wants to hear in the privacy of his own rooms your personal account of a certain investigation. His mood is not good today. The hunt did not succeed in making him forget his worries. But have no fear, all will be well. Speak confidently and don't be shy, because if you hesitate the King will withdraw into himself. Be agreeable without being long-winded, but say enough to keep up his interest. Deep down the King is kindly, especially towards the young.'

They found themselves in an anteroom with a fairly low ceiling, then went through a gallery decorated with large paintings. La Borde explained that the King had wanted exotic hunting scenes. There were representations of animals and people from far-off lands that Nicolas had never had the opportunity to see.
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A manservant showed them into a drawing room with white wood panelling set off with gold. The room gave an impression of balance and harmony. Seated in a red damask armchair, the King was drinking a glass of wine that a lady had just poured him. They all bowed, holding their hats in their hands. The King gave them a faint wave. The lady held out her hand to Sartine, sat down in turn and gave a noble bow in response to the greetings of other guests entering the room.

‘So, Sartine,' asked the King, ‘how fares your city of Paris?'

The Lieutenant General of Police duly responded to the monarch's question and the conversation began. Nicolas felt strangely composed. He was unable to believe that he was in the presence of his sovereign. He saw before him a
distinguished-looking
man, with well-defined features and a gentle expression accentuated by large eyes. Instead of surveying those around him the King was staring into space. The face, with its high forehead, gave an impression of great dignity. Signs of age and tiredness were, however, evident in the bloated, sagging cheeks. His pallid complexion was marked in places by sallow patches. He spoke in a low voice, looking listless, almost dejected. Occasionally Nicolas was aware of the King glancing at him quizzically then immediately looking away.

Sitting next to the King the lady, whom Nicolas assumed to be the Marquise de Pompadour, seemed quite unlike the image he had in his mind of the King's favourite. He was surprised by
what she was wearing: a sort of tight-fitting jacket, buttoned up to the neck. The sleeves hung down to her wrists and hid her hands. He remembered all the nasty comments he had heard about how appropriate this attire was for a lady not renowned for the beauty of her hands or the attractiveness of her bosom. Her ash-blonde hair was half covered by a hood attached to the cape of her dress. Its greyish, iridescent colour matched that of the King's coat, contrasting with the blue of the Order of the Holy Spirit. Her face, with its perfect oval shape and large,
wide-open
blue eyes, had nevertheless been too rouged for Nicolas's liking. Yet the overall effect was almost austere. He recalled the rumours that the marquise wanted to model herself on Madame de Maintenon. She was smiling but her expression remained fixed. He concluded that her appearance concealed worry and suffering. Occasionally the marquise cast a look that was both adoring and anxious towards the King, who for his part showed his fondness for her with numerous small gestures of affection. Nicolas was breathing more easily; he felt as if he were at a family gathering.