see,’ said Nicolas. ‘I suppose that kind of acrimony is perfectly common in large houses. What about the victim? What was your opinion of her? Like you, she worked for Madame, you knew her well. She must have been a friend of yours, with similar interests.’
This time, Eugénie made a contemptuous grimace. ‘You can think that if you like! How could I have anything in common with that creature from the gutter, whose work consisted of emptying the buckets and cleaning the floors? She was introduced here by poor Missery. God knows where he’d met her! Everything about her suggested a dissolute origin. She led him by the nose, believe me. Her engagement here was a trap, and our major-domo fell into it. He lost his head and took advantage of Monseigneur’s trust to impose a girl like that on Madame. If she’d at least been honest with him! But just think, Commissioner, she used to receive a suitor – a young one this time – here, in this very house. She would go out at night, even though Madame demands that we lead a good, regular life. She didn’t suspect a thing! Just think, she’d got her claws into a widower, such a fine man, a major-domo to boot! She didn’t respect him, even though he was so good, and so trusting.’
‘In a word, you’re saying that Marguerite Pindron was Jean Missery’s mistress?’
‘That’s very definitely what I’m saying. Ask anyone. He’d become the laughing stock of the household. He didn’t deserve it, he could have …’
She had been on the point of blurting something out.
‘Could have what?’
‘I know what I mean.’
‘Do you think him capable of punishing himself?’
‘He has a fiery temper. He gets angry quickly, and sometimes can’t control himself. Everything about him is excessive.’
‘One last thing,’ said Nicolas. ‘What did you mean when you told your mistress that it was bound to happen?’
She looked up, and there was a hint of provocation in her expression. ‘That loose morals have fatal consequences. God teaches us that.’
‘I see that we are in a very religious house,’ said Nicolas with a smile. ‘Thank you.’
She withdrew, bumping into Bourdeau as she did so, without a word of excuse. The two police officers looked at each other, each one sifting through his impressions for himself.
‘She certainly has character!’ said Nicolas. ‘A somewhat enigmatic charm and a superb complexion. A bit thin, though.’
‘You’re not exactly sticking your neck out in saying that,’ replied Bourdeau. ‘As for myself, I’m less compassionate. She’s trying to make us believe that butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth, but I’d sum her up in this way: self-control, hatred and admiration. Self-control in the skilful way she makes innuendos, hatred towards the victim, even now, and admiration for Missery. But watch out! From admiration to love is but a step … And that step may have been taken.’
‘I noticed that, too, as well as other contradictions,’ Nicolas agreed. ‘Here is a man whose authority is resented, but whose kindness, trust and good nature are praised. All these remarks are important, and I would wager that others will enlighten us on the relationship between the chambermaid and the major-domo. I don’t exclude the possibility that there’s something there. Bring in Jeannette. I assume she’s in the antechamber. I hope Eugénie hasn’t instructed her in what to say.’
As soon as the girl came in, he realised that someone had upset her. Her careworn expression, her tear-stained face, the way she was twisting a handkerchief in her hands: all these things revealed a terror that was in no way justified by the prospect of an interrogation. He felt sorry for her: she was little more than a child.
‘My dear,’ he began, in a fatherly tone, ‘we need your help. What’s your name and how old are you?’
‘Jeannette,’ she murmured in a faint voice, ‘Jeannette Le Bas. I was born in Yvetot, in Normandy, and I’m seventeen.’
‘How long have you been in service?’
‘Two years, Monsieur. Since Saint Jean’s day.’
‘Sit down. Don’t be afraid. Tell me what happened.’
She looked about her like an animal caught in a trap. ‘I have nothing to say … Have pity, Monsieur … They can hear us.’
‘Come now,’ said Bourdeau, ‘enough of this childishness!’ He strode in turn to each of the doors and opened them. ‘As you see,’ he resumed, ‘there’s no one eavesdropping. What are you afraid of?’
She looked up and, as if taking a plunge into deep water, began speaking. ‘Nobody. It’s just that I’m not used to it. This morning, I heard a noise in Madame’s bedroom, and so—’
‘Wait, slow down. Where do you sleep?’
‘On a bunk in the garderobe.’
‘Does the room have an opening?’
‘Yes, Monsieur, a window looking out on the main courtyard.’
‘And you say it was your mistress who woke you?’
She blushed with embarrassment. ‘Because she was using her commode.’
‘Roughly what time was that?’
‘I don’t know, it was still dark. Then Eugénie arrived, yelling so much it was hard to understand what she was saying.’
‘But you understood some of it?’
‘Just that something terrible had happened. She mentioned blood, and a knife. I was so scared I put my fingers in my ears.’
‘What happened then?’
‘Madame went back to bed. I stayed where I was, waiting for her to call me. Which she did at midday.’
‘I’d like to be clear about one thing,’ said Nicolas, gravely. ‘Was your mistress awake when Eugénie arrived?’
‘Wide awake, I’d just seen her in the garderobe. What have I said? Is there something wrong? Oh God, protect me! I don’t want to lose my job.’
‘You won’t lose anything at all if you tell us the truth. I promise you that. Did you know Marguerite?’
‘Of course,’ she replied, sniffling. ‘She was very sweet and kind to me. She even wanted to teach me to read and write. I really liked her, though I shouldn’t say it.’
‘Why not?’
‘Madame and Eugénie thought she was a bad girl.’
‘And what was your opinion?’
‘I think she’d had a lot of bad things happen to her, but despite all that, she had a good heart. For the rest, I don’t judge.’
‘Did she confide in you?’
‘She
