The Saint-Florentin Murders: Nicolas Le Floch Investigation #5. Jean-Francois Parot

4. See The Phantom of Rue Royale.

5. Saint Greluchon was prayed to in cases of infertility.

6. Boileau, Art Poétique, chant III.

7. The hospice of the Grand-Cour des Quinze-Vingts was founded by Saint Louis in aid of a brotherhood of crusaders blinded by the Saracens. It stretched from the present-day Place du Théâtre-Français to a third of the way down the Cour du Carrousel. In 1779 it was transferred to Rue de Charenton.

       II

       THE SAINT-FLORENTIN MANSION

      It was neither tumult nor calm, but a silence like that

      of a great fear and a great anger.

      TACITUS

Like a rider facing a hurdle, Nicolas liked to give himself a lull before launching into the thick of the action. He considered this pause necessary to keep a clear head. He asked to be dropped at Place Louis XV and, anxious to contemplate the Saint-Florentin mansion, where he might well have a date with destiny, he sat down on a bollard. Having kept him waiting for three months, they could certainly wait a few more minutes. He admired the classical trappings of the building, which extended the splendour of the Garde-Meuble. For a moment, the past paraded before him: images of that terrible night in 1770, the cries, the smoke, the crushed bodies, and the statue of the King looking down on the disaster of that failed firework display.1 The facade overlooked a small square with a fountain from which it was possible to reach the Tuileries gardens. It had two large noble floors and a roof crowned by a balustrade and decorated with carved panoplies and two monumental urns. On Rue Saint-Florentin was a splendid gate adorned with a stone coat of arms held aloft by two deities. The coat of arms was divided into four quarters, combining the blue of the Phélypeaux family, strewn with gold cinquefoils and ermines, and the three red mallets of the Mailly family.

      Nicolas had known Monsieur de Saint-Florentin, who was now the Duc de La Vrillière, since he had joined the police force. He pondered that remarkable career which had begun fifty years earlier in the King’s councils and which had been built on a stubborn loyalty to the person of Louis XV. The man was not exactly popular, either at Court or in the city. Many envied his influence while condemning his weakness and timidity. He was also responsible for many arbitrary decisions and lettres de cachet. Madame Victoire thought him stupid, whereas others emphasised his gift for conciliation, his ability to appease dissenting parties without compromising the authority of the throne. On many occasions, he had demonstrated his trust in Nicolas, but a recent case in which his cousin the Duc d’Aiguillon had been involved seemed to have contributed to his current low opinion of the commissioner.

      Nicolas again looked at the house, which had all the grandeur and nobility of a small palace and gave anything but a small idea of the fortune of the man who had built it. He recalled certain pieces of gossip concerning the minister’s dubious morals. He lived a dissolute life in Paris, surrounded by women of ill repute, and neglected his wife in favour of a mistress, Marie-Madeleine de Cusacque, the Marquise de Langeac, whom he called ‘the Beautiful Aglaé’. It was claimed at Court that this woman made use of her lover’s influence and traded lettres de cachet, and there was good reason to believe that this was true. The duc had set up all the lady’s children, despite their dubious lineage, but since the King’s death he had had to conform to the new, stricter morality and give up seeing her. She had continued to appear, however, even provoking a gentleman to a duel and insulting a tribunal. Eventually, she had been ordered to remain fifty leagues from the Court and had withdrawn to an estate near Caen. As for her lover, his health had declined since this forced separation.

      Nicolas finally decided to enter the mansion. A monumentally tall Swiss Guard, covered in silver braid, received him haughtily, softening only when he gave his name and occupation. He was led across the main courtyard and then up some steps into a vestibule where a valet greeted him. He was surprised by the lack of hustle and bustle in the house at this hour of the day. Several servants passed him without looking at him, with inscrutable expressions on their faces. On the great staircase, he noted a fine painting, an allegory of Prudence and Strength. On the first floor, a succession of antechambers led him to the minister’s study. The valet tapped at the door. A familiar voice responded. The valet stood aside to let him in. The Duc de La Vrillière sat slumped beside the big marble fireplace, wearing a grey coat and no wig. He glanced at Nicolas expressionlessly. The man had certainly changed since their last encounter. Thin, stooped, hollow-jowled, he looked quite unlike the chubby little man Nicolas had known.

      ‘Hmm, here’s young Ranreuil,’ he grunted. ‘Quite cold, isn’t it?’

      He sighed, as if the name alone could summon up the ghost of the late King, his other passion in life. Things could have got off to a worse start, thought Nicolas.

      ‘Monsieur,’ said the minister, ‘I have always held you in great esteem. I understand that you may have thought that you – how shall I put it? – did not have my trust. But that was a complete misunderstanding on your part.’

      ‘I did indeed think so, Monseigneur,’ replied Nicolas. ‘In fact, I was quite convinced of it, even though I found it hard to explain. Others took it upon themselves to reinforce the impression.’

      ‘Now who could that have been? Lenoir? Yes, that may well be what he thought. A word from me will disabuse him. It is no longer possible to do without your services. Monsieur de Sartine long ago convinced me of that. Today, I need you again.’

      Nicolas had been right: he was indeed back in business. ‘Monseigneur,’ he said, ‘I am at your service.’

      The minister raised a hand clad in a grey silk glove and brought it down hard on the armrest of his chair. He sat up, and for a moment the image of the man he had been reappeared, an image of easy-going but real authority.

      ‘Let’s get straight to the point. Yesterday I was at Versailles. I came back early this morning to find my house turned upside down. The fact is, Monsieur, my major-domo has been killed.’ He shook his head irritably. ‘No, I’m wrong! One of my wife’s maids has been killed, and my major-domo was found wounded and unconscious with a knife beside him. It would seem that, having killed the girl, he tried to punish himself by committing suicide.’

      ‘What measures have so far been taken?’ Nicolas enquired coldly, once again the professional who did not like other people to draw hasty conclusions for him.

      ‘What? What? … Measures? Oh, yes, measures … I forbade anyone to touch the maid’s body. The major-domo was taken to his room on the mezzanine, still unconscious. He is being watched by a doctor. As for the kitchens where the crime took place, I have forbidden access to them and the doors have been bolted while waiting for you to inspect the place.’

      ‘Did you know the victim?’

      The duc gave a kind of start. ‘A chambermaid! One of the last to have entered my house. How could I? I don’t even know her name.’

      Nicolas thought to himself that servants were often regarded as furniture. Most of the time, their names were changed and their master was unaware of their real name, knowing nothing of them but the particular function for which they were paid.

      ‘Monseigneur,’ he said, ‘may I be so bold as to demand full authority in this affair, which is all the more serious for having taken place in your house? No meddling, no interference, the possibility of questioning all the occupants of the house, and I mean all, and permanent permission to move around