The Phantom of Rue Royale (17 page)

‘No. But Monsieur Galaine gave me permission to leave the shop earlier than usual so that I could see the display.’

‘And then?’

 ‘Then I left the shop and joined the crowd.’

‘What happened?’

‘Nothing. There was such a crush that I decided to leave the square. I reached the boulevards by way of the Feuillants.’

‘Before the disaster, then?’

‘I suppose so.’ The assistant seemed suddenly hesitant.

‘Of course,’ Nicolas went on, ‘you could have reached the Tuileries by way of the turning bridge, which was open.’

It was a crude trick, but the stakes were high enough for it to be worth the risk.

‘Yes, in fact I think that’s what I did: I took the turning bridge and came out on the Feuillants.’

‘What then?’ Nicolas continued smoothly. ‘Did you take advantage of the food being distributed, thanks to our good provost?’

‘Of course, though it was difficult to get to it.’

‘I’ve been told the wine was very tasty, as lively as anyone could wish. Monsieur Bignon certainly didn’t thumb his nose at the people of Paris!’

These material details and the meandering conversation were leading the assistant to lower his guard. Nicolas decided to press on.

‘Then you went to your rendezvous, I suppose?’

The young man’s face turned red. ‘I won’t say any more.’ He hesitated. ‘A lady’s honour is at stake.’

‘Ah, yes, of course,’ said Nicolas. ‘A man always invokes a woman’s honour when he wants to hide something.’ He decided to provoke him. ‘A position all the easier to maintain because there wasn’t in fact anyone there.’

Dorsacq gave him a distraught look, then turned on his heel and slammed the door as he left the shop. Nicolas decided not to run after him. The interview had given him the opportunity to throw an adversary who in any case was not very good at defending himself. But he knew that this appearance might be only a trap. Of the two young men in the house, this one told barefaced lies, while Jean Galaine continued to be vague about what he had been doing on the night of the tragedy. As for Naganda … Nicolas went back to the dining room, where the cook was clearing the table. Mechanically, he made a pile of the dirty plates and followed her into the kitchen. There was a basket of bread which tempted him, and he took a hunk and swallowed it down. The old woman was looking at him.

‘What an appetite! I’m not saying you should finish the pigeons, mind you. I feel ashamed having to cook those birds. We’d never have treated a guest like that in the days of Monsieur’s father, I can tell you!’

Rubbing the small of her back, she walked out into the corridor, listened for sounds in the house, then came back inside, closed the door and drew the bolt.

‘There. We’ll be quieter. I’ll make you an omelette, but first I’m going to have my beer. The heat from the ovens makes you feel dry and thirsty. This bitter drink cut with water is perfect for that.’

She filled a stoneware pot from a small cask on the draining board. Nicolas sat down and watched. Lard was sizzling in the frying pan. Into it she threw some pieces of bacon and small pieces of bread. She beat the eggs with two forks, making the straw-coloured mixture ever lighter and fluffier. She poured it
onto the fat, then swirled the frying pan around while lifting the edges with a wooden spoon. A few seconds later, she placed a sweet-smelling omelette in front of Nicolas. He threw himself on it and gobbled it down.

‘It’s really good!’ he said, with his mouth full.

The thick face creased in a smile of satisfaction. ‘It does my heart good to see you eat like that!’

‘I imagine you’ve been cooking for the Galaines for a long time.’

‘Oh, my good sir, more than forty years! I almost brought up the children. Well, Monsieur Claude and Monsieur Charles. Charlotte and Camille lost their mother, you know; it wasn’t always easy.’

‘Different characters, I imagine?’

‘Oh, yes! The elder of the boys, Claude, was really lively, too much maybe. His father adored him. His preference for him was obvious. I warned him about that. When you want your sons to get along, you treat them the same, otherwise …’

‘Otherwise?’

‘Otherwise, if you give too much to one, the other one resents it, and things turn sour!’

‘Wise words.’

She sipped her beer and stared into space. Nicolas had his doubts that the drink was as adulterated as she had said.

‘Is that why he left for New France?’

She shuddered. ‘That was the day a curse fell on this house. Our Claude wanted to stand on his own two feet. When he did that, he killed his father. With his elder son gone, he started to waste away, lost interest in his shop, stopped caring about
anything. Charles, the younger son, took over. But what can you expect? He’s always been dominated by his wives. It’s just not right! The first wife was thoughtless and extravagant. She died giving birth to Jean. The second …’

She slammed her earthenware pot down so hard on the table that it broke, and a stream of amber liquid escaped.

‘This one …Well, it comes to the same thing. She despises the shop. She always wants more. She thinks her husband’s a puppet she can manipulate as she likes. She’s the one who ruined the business by encouraging him to do business with the savages of the North. That’s how he lost his savings.’

‘The savages of the North?’

‘Yes, the Muscovites. We don’t get hides from New France any more, so he had to look for other suppliers. But he was cheated by a smooth-talking swindler who took all his money and left him with nothing but a single sample, a piece of sable you couldn’t even make a handkerchief out of!’

‘And the sisters?’

‘They lack common sense. Especially Camille, the younger one.’

That made Nicolas sit up: his initial impressions would rather have led him to doubt the elder sister’s reason.

‘She idolises her brother and bullies her sister. No one finds favour with her. It goes without saying that she hates her
sister-in
-law, just as much as the first wife, in fact. As for the elder sister, the poor woman finds refuge in dreams to escape her constant obsession.’

Decidedly, thought Nicolas, he had been right to save the cook until last. Things were starting to fall into place. But he
remembered that witnesses can often be biased, and that what they say does not always correspond to the truth.

‘What about Jean Galaine? He seems quite a melancholy young man.’

‘He takes after his uncle. He loves his father, but he’ll rebel against him one of these days. Alas, his melancholy is easily explained: he was mad about his cousin! She played with men like a cat with a ball. Hard not to get scratched!’

‘So that’s what she was like, is it?’

It occurred to him that this was the first time anyone had talked about the victim.

She seemed to retreat into a grumpy silence. ‘No,’ she muttered. ‘It’s wrong to speak ill of the dead. Especially now.’

‘Why especially now?’

She pushed her stool close to him. ‘Because there are strange things happening in this house. And you’re making me talk like an old fool. Of course, I know that’s what you’re here for. Police commissioners don’t usually come and stay in private houses, even when there’s been a crime. There’d have to be something more serious. It’s really true, there’s a curse on this house: it makes my flesh creep. It was quite something to see Miette like that. She has the devil in her body. It gives me the shivers to sleep in the room next to hers.’ She crossed herself.

‘What do you think’s happening to the poor girl, in your opinion?’

‘Oh, she’s been brooding for a while now. I don’t know what’s going on with her. I was the one who taught her the job, and it’s such a shame to see her in that state. I tell you, she’s not a bad girl, but there’s something in all this I can’t get to the bottom of. She’s
a brave young thing, even though Madame drives her to despair. She’s her whipping boy; she takes out her moods on her. Miette just hasn’t been herself since Mademoiselle Élodie died. Well, they did use to be thick as thieves, the two of them, always giggling, always playing tricks. They were the same age, after all … It makes me feel sick at heart to think about it.’ She put her right hand to her cheek, as if life had just given her a slap in the face. ‘I can feel terrible things coming, Commissioner! It gives me the creeps. You should have seen Miette on the ceiling, surrounded by the fire of heaven!’

Her chin collapsed into the folds of her neck, a grey lock escaped from her mobcap, and she began to moan softly, then to snore. Nicolas coughed and she woke, wild-eyed.

‘Please forgive me,’ he said. ‘I just wanted to ask you where the assistant fits in to all this?’

‘Dorsacq? A rascal, with his tongue out at the first petticoat he sees.’

‘That innocent-looking young man?’

‘Innocent? That one? He’s involved in all sorts of shady business and thinks only of chasing skirts. If you ask me, Commissioner, he spent far too much time sniffing round Mademoiselle Élodie.’

‘And what about Madame?’

‘Pah! That’s all talk. He’s just showing off. He’s only interested in young girls.’

‘Before we go to sleep, could you tell me your whereabouts on the evening of the firework display?’

‘That’s easy. In the afternoon I’d made dinner for those who were staying at home.’

‘Who was that?’

‘Charlotte and Camille, little Geneviève, who was poorly and had to stay and be looked after by her aunts, and the … savage.’

‘Naganda?’

‘Yes. Oh, he’s not a bad person, but his face scares me. Monsieur has kept him locked in his room since he returned. He’s fed twice a day.’

‘On what?’

‘A little boiled meat with vegetables and bread in sugared milk.’

‘What did you do after that?’

‘I went out about six to spend the evening with my friends a few doors away. We’re too old for crowds. I must have had a hunch something would happen. We played
bouillotte
, drank coffee with cold milk and ate
oublies
.
1
I got back here about ten and went straight to bed. I’m not as strong as I used to be, and the days are long.’

‘Did you notice anything unusual?’

‘No … Or rather, yes, one small thing. I’d made some soup and left it in plates. Only one of them had been touched. I thought that was a bit odd.’

‘Is that all?’

‘It’s quite enough. The next day, everyone was in a panic.’

‘Did you see Naganda when you got back that night?’

‘No, but I heard him walking up and down in his room.’

‘Were you listening at his door?’

‘No!’ the cook replied, looking shocked. ‘His room is just above mine, and the floorboards were creaking.’

‘Are you sure it wasn’t an owl?’ Nicolas was thinking of the
eagle owl which had haunted his summer nights at Guérande with its solemn footsteps and sinister calls.

‘Commissioner,’ said Marie Chaffoureau indignantly, ‘I can still tell the difference between a man’s footsteps and a bird’s.’

‘Anyway, you didn’t see Élodie that day?’

‘Not that day, not the days before that. They said she was poorly. The two sisters were looking after her.’

‘Thank you very much for all you’ve told me,’ said Nicolas. ‘It’s been extremely interesting. Now, would you be so very kind as to show me to my room?’

‘It’s next to our poor Élodie’s. Miette sometimes slept there too.’

She lit a candle and handed it to him. Nicolas noted that it was so small he would not be able to read for very long. He would have to get in his own supply of candles. He followed her as she climbed the stairs one step at a time, puffing, then opened a door to a narrow room, crossed herself again and bade him goodnight.

The room was not as grim as he had imagined, although it was no wider than a passageway and the window was a mere loophole. The bed was on the right. It had a palliasse, a woollen mattress with a check linen cover, a bolster and a brown blanket. The whole thing took up half of the space. The other furnishings consisted of a small table on which stood two brass candelabra, a stool, a toilet mirror in a brass frame, a jug of water and an earthenware washbowl. A commode covered with a red cloth occupied the remaining space by the window. Two thick linen sheets lay on the blanket. As he placed his candlestick on the table, he noticed that there was a door concealed in the woodwork, only its knob visible.

After undressing, he wrapped himself in a sheet like an ancient Roman or an Egyptian mummy. He knew from bitter experience all about the vermin which took up residence in the majority of bedsteads: as soon as it was dark, the bugs would come out of their lairs and attack their recumbent prey. Nicolas’s only defence against these hordes was to leave not an inch of his skin uncovered. He blew out the candle, and its foul odour pervaded the room.

Unable to fall asleep, he reflected on the curious situation in the Galaine household. Charles Galaine was a weak man, dominated by women and trapped in an unhappy marriage. His sisters had all the foibles of old maids, and everything about them was vaguely suspicious. Everyone was lying shamelessly: the wife, the son, the shop assistant and Naganda. It struck him that he ought to speak to the little girl. Children often unwittingly revealed hidden truths. What a pity that Miette was not in a state to be questioned! As the closest person to Élodie, she might well know things that others didn’t, things that could be very useful to his investigation.

With this thought, he fell asleep.

… The condemned man had struggled for a long time before the blue-coated hangman, with the help of his assistants, managed to tie him to the wheel. Why the devil, thought Nicolas, was he wearing that blue coat? It went against the customs of his profession: a blood-red coat was the accepted dress at executions. Sanson seemed different. His mouth was twisted in a terrible grin. He raised his rod, and Nicolas closed his eyes and waited for the
horrible noise of bones cracking beneath the skin. There was a kind of dull roll, and then someone knocked loudly, three times, as if in the theatre … He opened his eyes, but instead of a crowded Place de Grève, he recognised the dark little room in the Galaine house. He was bathed in sweat, wrapped in his makeshift protective sheet. It took him a few minutes to come to his senses. The dream had been so real, so vivid, he was not sure that this awakening was not still part of it. The insect bites on his ankle convinced him that he had indeed come back to reality. He dreaded to move or light the candle, fearing to see vermin swarming in the palliasse. Again, three distinct knocks were heard, and this time it was clear that someone had struck the concealed door.