The Phantom of the Rue Royale: Nicolas Le Floch Investigation #3. Jean-Francois Parot

for a moment that he might be jumping the gun. After all, there was nothing to indicate that he was dealing with a domestic crime, with one of the Galaine family as the culprit. And yet his intuition told him that this was the right way to go, and the mystery of a hidden or aborted child strengthened that belief. Unless he was attempting to conceal his niece’s dishonour, the uncle showed no sign of being aware of the situation.

      Was it a question of honour? Nicolas Le Floch had often had to deal with matters of family honour during his career in the police force. Among the nobility, an arrogant obsession with the purity of the blood could lead the finest souls astray. Was he not himself the bastard child of this outdated concept? In bourgeois houses, too, honour was invoked whenever there was any offence against the rules of civility, any transgression of the established order, any possibility of censure from prying neigh bours that could lead to a whole family being tarnished for the sins of one of its members. Was that what had happened here? Some magi strates issued warrants for arbitrary arrests in broad daylight. From this point of view, the lettre de cachet was an advance, for it was only issued once every precaution had been taken to avoid scandal. Whereas a judicial arrest inevitably caused a fuss, a lettre de cachet preserved a family’s honour, as the wrongdoer was removed from the world, and his or her ignominy disappeared into some secret dungeon or convent cell. The family whose honour had been offended allowed the Lieutenant General of Police to pry into its secrets, and in return the King buried the sin forever. Had Élodie Galaine died because of an exaggerated conception of honour? Had someone been so perverse as to prefer her death to her salvation?

      Bourdeau roused him from his reflections. The carriage had stopped outside the Deux Castors, where a crowd was milling about before the window. A police officer known to Nicolas was barring the door to an angry group of women who had been joined by a throng of onlookers. Nicolas jumped out and elbowed his way through the crowd to ask the officer what was going on.

      ‘What’s happened, Commissioner, is that a maid from this house, a skinny young girl, ran out half-naked, in fact naked as the day she was born. And there she was, jumping, shaking, falling to the floor, foaming at the mouth and screaming! People gathered to look, some laughing, some concerned. I got here just in time to stop these women stoning her as if she were a mad dog. That was a whole other story. She was as stiff as a piece of wood and tried to bite me. God be praised, her mistress brought out a blanket, and we rolled her in it, took her inside and put her to bed, where she fell asleep.’

      The crowd was yelling more loudly than ever. A stout woman shoved Nicolas out of the way with her stomach. Hands on hips, she harangued the crowd.

      ‘Is it any surprise they want to stop us drowning the witch? Are you planning to stand in our way? Don’t think we haven’t recognised you – you’re Sartine’s henchman!’

      ‘That’s enough!’ cried Nicolas. ‘Be quiet, woman, or you’ll end up in the Hôpital.5 As for the rest of you, I order you in the name of the King and the Lieutenant General of Police to disperse immediately, or else …’

      Impressed by Nicolas’s authority, backed up as it was by Bourdeau’s robust presence, the crowd withdrew, although not before greeting this mention of Monsieur de Sartine with jeers, which gave Nicolas pause for thought. The two policemen escorted Charles and Jean Galaine from the carriage and into the shop. They were met by Madame Galaine, looking very pale in the candlelight. There ensued a silent scene during which Bourdeau pushed the men into the office, while Nicolas turned to the woman.

      ‘Madame …’

      ‘Monsieur, I must see my husband immediately.’

      ‘Later, Madame. He has identified the body of your niece by marriage. She was murdered.’

      Émilie Galaine showed no reaction. In the flickering light of the candles, her face remained impassive. What did this absence of feeling mean? Nicolas had occasionally encountered such self-possession before, and knew that it often concealed great emotion.

      ‘Madame, can you account for how you spent yesterday?’

      ‘There’s no point in questioning me, Commissioner, I have nothing to say. I went out, I came back.’

      ‘Madame, that doesn’t tell me much. Do you expect me to be satisfied with that?’

      ‘I don’t care – that’s all you’re going to get from me.’ The colour was returning to her face, as if the blood had begun circulating more quickly beneath her skin. ‘You’ve come into this family to bring us bad luck. I’ve answered your question: I went out; I came back. There’s no point insisting.’

      ‘Madame, it is my duty to warn you that as soon as a case of homicide has been referred to the Criminal Lieutenant in charge of criminal investigations, the King’s justice will be able to use various means to make you talk, whether you like it or not.’