you,’ said Sartine, handing him a letter. ‘You have the Lieutenant General’s trust and his certainty of your innocence. May it please heaven that everyone is as convinced as I am! An impression, however strong, is not proof, especially to some of our magistrates.’
Nicolas opened the letter. What he read filled him with anger and dread.
7 January 1774
Monsieur
I owe it to myself and to my sense of moral rectitude as well as to the kindness you have always shown me to inform you of the following facts. I have just learnt of the death of Madame Julie de Lastérieux, a close friend and a distinguished harpsichordist, in conditions I cannot find words to describe.
However, rumours are circulating that she may have been poisoned. It so happens that last night I was invited to her house to dine with friends. Your clerk Monsieur Le Floch arrived late in the afternoon and had a violent argument with our hostess. He pushed me aside and ran out like a madman, much to the surprise of everyone present. Two or three hours later, as we were dining, I was told that he had come back and had crept secretly into the servants’ pantry. Far be it from me to make accusations, but it seems that he was surprised tampering in some mysterious way with the dishes.
Whatever the affection I have for him, and all too aware at my age of how human passions may lead us astray, I was determined, Monsieur, to do my duty. I remain at your disposal and assure you that I am, more than ever, your very humble and obedient servant
Balbastre
‘I’ve seldom read anything more ignominious and more hypocritical!’ cried Nicolas. ‘I have always known that the man has borne me a grudge since the very first time we met, without being sure why. Your clerk! He’s always called me that, and in his mouth it’s a genuine insult. As for this “secretly” and “mysterious” …’ Nicolas was waving the letter. ‘The nerve of the man!’
‘Calm down,’ said Sartine. ‘I agree the letter is somewhat sickening. But make no mistake, it contains enough elements to condemn a suspect in a court of law. Imagine for a moment that you had concealed from me the fact that you had gone into the servants’ pantry. What conclusions would I have had to draw from such an omission? We will of course have to look into the reasons for such rank hatred. It’s too well founded not to conceal something else. The organist of Notre Dame truly hates you.’
‘What are we going to do?’ asked Bourdeau.
‘There is no time to lose. We must question the servants. I’ve had them brought here from the police station in Rue du Bac. They’re in my office, under guard. Nicolas, keep your disguise on for a moment. Rabouine, who never went any further than the Jardin de l’Infante, has left your clothes in Old Marie’s box room, so you’ll be able to change later and at last abandon this ridiculous get-up. I intend to carry out the interrogation myself.’
‘Monsieur, one thing more,’ said Nicolas. ‘I don’t quite understand why you are so personally interested in this affair. I don’t dare think that my involvement is the only explanation for your concern.’
Sartine nodded his head with satisfaction. ‘It seems that reason is gradually returning to that mad head of yours. I’m therefore going to answer you as frankly as possible and tell you something which I fear may come as a shock to you. What did you know about Julie de Lastérieux?’
Nicolas opened his mouth, but Sartine did not give him time to reply.
‘Nothing, Monsieur! You knew nothing about her. You merely accepted blindly what she told you. For example, her husband did not die of fever in the West Indies. Pursued for trafficking in accounts and embezzling the King’s money, he took his own life to escape justice. His fortune was confiscated and his property sold. However, a large proportion of this was ceded to his widow for reasons that will soon become clear. You saw her three or four times a week, sometimes less. What do you know of her activities outside those evenings? Very little.’
‘But—’
‘No buts! I know everything about her and you know nothing. Commissioner, imagine a woman who is received in the best houses in Paris, and who receives in her own house, several times a week, courtiers, men of letters, men of the world, and those idlers who are seen everywhere and put their noses into everything. She gave dinners, and the police – my police – paid for them. Her house in Rue de Verneuil – a meeting place for men of all conditions, both good and poor company – was not quite an open house; there were few women and no gambling, and it was a place where everyone spoke freely. I was the only person to know Madame de Lastérieux in her private role. She was very skilful at keeping all this from you. I was informed of what I wanted to know, and in a much more subtle fashion than I would have been by ordinary spies.’
Nicolas was stunned. ‘And she never told me!’
‘She was under strict orders not to, and she knew it was in her own best interests to obey them. I have to admit in your defence, Nicolas, that even in bed, where so many men pour out their secrets, you never divulged any, even though you were privy to so many. And the lady …’ – he laughed – ‘… had been given instructions – forgive me, my dear Nicolas – to ask you many questions. You never yielded. It’s very satisfying for the head of the police force to be so sure of the loyalty of his closest officer.’
‘But, Monsieur,’ said Bourdeau, ‘if she had ever been suspected or denounced, this role would have exposed her to terrible reprisals.’
‘That’s a very sensible remark, Bourdeau. It was a risk we ran, certainly. But there’s nothing for the moment to either invalidate or confirm the theory you’re putting forward.’
Was it conceivable, thought Nicolas, that this woman he had loved so passionately had been deceiving him all that time, that he had been a mere plaything to her?
Sartine was looking at him sympathetically, guessing where his train of thought was leading him.
‘You weren’t part of the game, Nicolas. She was very fond of you and hoped one day to escape the constraints within which we kept her. That explains why she was so obsessed with the idea of your marrying her. She hoped that appearing at Court would free her. But rules are rules. To maintain order and serve the King, the ends justify the means, even when those means may be morally reprehensible.’
‘Or may cost a human life?’
‘Sometimes, yes, although there’s nothing so far to indicate that this was the reason for her death. All the same, we need to throw some light on it. The very salvation of the State is at stake.’
The Lieutenant General led them to his office. Huge logs, specially brought from Vincennes, were blazing merrily away, with much crackling and throwing out of sparks: as usual, when Sartine was at the Châtelet, Old Marie had lit a fire in the great Gothic fireplace. In the centre of the room, Julia and Casimir stood waiting. They were in shackles, and two officers were guarding them. Sartine took up position in front of the fireplace, raised his slender figure to its full height, ordered Julia to be taken outside, and began interrogating Casimir.
In a somewhat singsong voice, the man stated his identity. He was a native of the island of Guadeloupe, about twenty-five years of age, Roman Catholic by religion, and served in Madame de Lastérieux’s household as a slave. He described Thursday evening, when his mistress had held a dinner.
