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

serve me were chosen for reasons which have nothing to do with me and which I prefer not to know. Oh, Monsieur, the misfortune of having to be served …’

      On this point, Nicolas observed, the duchesse’s sentiment hardly differed from her husband’s.

      ‘Servants, Monsieur,’ she continued, ‘are detestable. Even their zeal is offensive and they’re always so clumsy. They complain, but have no idea of the trouble they cause you. After all, they are only in such a position because God has seen fit to reduce them to a situation of servitude in this world in order to aid our infirmity while we remedy their poverty. To be honest, we earn a place in heaven for them by heaping humiliation on their heads, just as we earn it for ourselves by the care we take of them.’

      ‘In a way, Madame,’ said Bourdeau, ‘they are privileged people who owe their salvation to you.’

      She looked at him as if seeing him for the first time. ‘This gentleman is right, it is one of the most favoured states. Here are wretches who find themselves living in opulent houses, where they benefit greatly from all that is essential to life. They get good meat and good wine every day, wear nice clothes, are well washed, well bedded, well heated, are given easy jobs to perform, and have too much leisure time. Why should they not be satisfied? I ask you. And when they fail us or make mistakes, should we speak to them with a gracious air, neither too quickly nor too loudly, as my father confessor suggests?’

      She collapsed onto a bergère – her dress made a great sighing noise as it was squeezed into the chair – and again began beating the air irritably with her fan.

      Nicolas took advantage of the pause to get a word in. ‘May I ask, Madame, how the events of last night in your house were brought to your notice?’

      ‘Why, by all the noise and commotion my people were making below my windows just before six o’clock. I should point out that I am a light sleeper. Alas, who, in my situation, would be able to rest peacefully?’ She raised her eyes to heaven and her hands shook around the ebony handle of her fan. ‘On the advice of my doctor, I’m accustomed to taking some drops of Hoffman’s solution with syrup of marshmallow and orange flower. If they prove to be ineffective, I use something more efficient, a mixture of ether and alcohol. I often fall into a deep sleep in the early hours of the morning. So there would have to be a lot of noise to wake me, as was the case this morning.’

      ‘Are you quite sure of the time, Madame?’

      ‘Monsieur, I am able to tell the time by the clock in my room.’

      ‘Was it dark?’

      ‘Completely.’

      ‘What happened then?’

      ‘My head chambermaid came into the room in great agitation and told me that something terrible had happened in the servants’ pantry.’

      ‘Do you remember the exact words she used?’

      ‘Monsieur, my memory is as good as my sight. When I questioned her about the noise, she said breathlessly that it was bound to happen, and that the Pindron girl had been found murdered in the roasting room.’

      ‘Was that all she said?’

      ‘Monsieur!’

      ‘Forgive my insistence, Madame. I need to know exactly what happened. Did she mention the major-domo?’

      ‘What do you mean? Why would she have done that?’

      ‘Because, Madame, the major-domo was found lying, wounded and unconscious, beside Marguerite Pindron’s body, and he is suspected of having murdered her then turned his weapon on himself.’

      The Duchesse de La Vrillière seemed so astonished by this that, unless she was an exceptional actress, it was impossible to doubt her good faith.

      Nicolas looked at the clock on the mantelpiece. ‘Have you seen your chambermaid again since then?’

      ‘She’s been no good for anything all day,’ replied the duchesse, ‘and I told her to go and rest. These people have no self-control! Another of my maids has the little room next to my bedroom. I went back to bed and heard the duc coming back from Versailles. His coach and horses are so noisy! I woke up at midday and this other girl dressed me.’

      ‘What’s her name?’

      ‘Jeannette.’

      ‘And her surname?’

      ‘Are you mocking me, Monsieur? Do you imagine I clutter my mind with the surnames of servants?’

      ‘It seems to me, Madame, that you knew Marguerite Pindron’s surname.’

      ‘That’s possible, Monsieur. My chief maid called her by that name.’

      ‘And what is the name of your chief maid?’

      ‘Eugénie.’

      ‘Did Jeannette talk to you about what happened last night?’

      ‘How could she, she didn’t know anything! She hadn’t left my apartments and hadn’t seen anybody.’

      ‘Madame, may I ask what you meant when you said, at the beginning of our interview, that “it was bound to happen”?’

      The duchesse rose and with an abrupt gesture snapped her fan shut. Her face seemed suddenly to have hardened. ‘Of course, Monsieur. I was simply repeating what Eugénie said. I didn’t mean any harm by it.’

      ‘I’m sorry, Madame,’ insisted Nicolas, ‘but you added that you’d been dreading the news for a long time.’

      ‘Monsieur, please do not persist. The hand of God always strikes houses where his commandments are ignored.’

      ‘That is a very general statement, and may apply in many cases. Do you think, Madame, that such an assertion would be enough to convince a magistrate, by which I mean a judge or procurator dealing with a murder case?’

      ‘Are you threatening me? Under my own roof? Do you know to whom you are talking, Monsieur?’

      ‘I was merely advising caution.’

      ‘That’s enough. I know what I still have to do.’ With both hands, she gathered her pannier and strode out of the room in a great silky shiver of fabric.

      Nicolas sighed. The higher one climbed the ladder of society, the less natural respect was shown for law and order.

      ‘What a tough nut to crack!’ muttered Bourdeau.

      ‘Let’s be lenient,’ countered Nicolas. ‘Think of the life she has to lead. The duc is no paragon and she has had a lot to bear. But by her very reticence, the good lady implies many things. Is she suggesting, for example, that the underlying cause of this tragedy lies in the state of her household?’

      ‘We still have to establish,’ said Bourdeau, ‘if it has something to do with her husband’s dissolute life or some kind of intrigue or rivalry among the many servants. I’m not convinced that this grand lady takes too much notice of what her people do. At most, she lends a distracted ear to her maids’ gossip when they’re dressing her in the morning.’

      ‘We shall see. Go and fetch the two chambermaids. Provence will help you to find them. He can’t be far away, he’s always roaming the antechambers. At my disposal, admittedly!’

      Nicolas walked to the hearth, which was blazing away. He felt cold. These big fires made your throat dry without warming you, except to roast your thighs when you got close to them. What a strange business! Despite the horror of what had happened, it appeared at first sight mundane and unremarkable. Everything seemed to point to an affair of the heart between a man of a certain age and a young girl. Yet there were many details that did not tally with the generally convergent observations and testimonies so far gathered. The picture which presented itself to Nicolas, the one everybody seemed to be trying to make him accept, made him rather suspect