The Baker's Blood Read online

  ‘Requested? Are we in a situation where we can but request? Whatever happened to orders? This is all beyond me.’

  ‘– by Monsieur de Maurepas, who in any case had merely suggested it. Biron feared that such a measure would have alarmed the people and sparked further unrest. Black musketeers have, it’s true, taken up position at the central market.’

  ‘Let us hope their fortitude and determination impress the crowd!’

  ‘Apart from that, there are no orders. We are the only ones running from one place to another with all our spies to get an idea of the advancing tide. Everywhere the same passivity encourages the boldness of the demonstrators. When Turgot returns from Versailles, he’ll find a band of hotheads waiting for him outside the comptroller general’s office brandishing mouldy bread and claiming that it’s an attempt to poison the people. One of our men grabbed a piece. The bread turned out to be stale, but not mouldy. It had been smeared with a kind of green dye. Last but not least, the house of the commissioner of the Maubert district, Monsieur Convers-Désormeaux, was overrun and ransacked. Where are we going?’

  ‘To police headquarters, my dear fellow, trying to avoid the comptroller general’s office!’

  In Rue Plâtrière, they had to do an about-turn because of a gathering outside a bakery. A small group of men and women were yelling and trying to force open the shop, striking the front with sticks, rods and iron bars. In the end, the only thing that saved the baker was the batch of loaves which he threw to the crowd from the first-floor window. Nicolas noted that some of the participants were wearing aprons made of hide and caps that hid their faces, and carrying sacks and hooks. One of them approached the carriage, his eyes bloodshot.

  ‘To the Bastille!’ he screamed. ‘We must march on the Bastille and then Bicêtre. We’ll force open the dungeons and release the prisoners into the streets.’

  ‘The Bastille!’ muttered Bourdeau. ‘Let them try. The place is impregnable!’

  Some men of the watch were standing by, powerless to act. Insulted and threatened with stoning, they pretended to load their rifles, but their officers ordered them to retreat. Passing the carriage, one of them said through clenched teeth, ‘Let them give the order, and we’ll open fire on these bastards!’

  The carriage set off down Rue Jussienne, where, by way of contrast, everything was perfectly calm. The unrest seemed to be spreading in patches, like a slow flood, leaving most of the city untouched. Nicolas gave orders to the coachman to get them to police headquarters by the shortest route possible. When Bourdeau asked him why they were going there, Nicolas answered with a summary of his conversation with La Paulet.

  ‘Anyway,’ he said by way of conclusion, ‘we can’t do much to help right now, given the lack of orders. But of all the things our old friend told me, the most important one, I’m sure you’ll agree, is these clandestine meetings concerning the trade in flour. We must find out–’ he hammered the threadbare velvet of the seat with his clenched fists – ‘what Master Mourut was doing at La Gourdan’s house. Was he there for wenching or was he a participant in these meetings, as suggested by all the grain and flour in his cellars? I’m convinced we’re dealing with people who are speculating and controlling the market.’

  ‘So in your opinion this wasn’t a domestic crime?’

  ‘One thing doesn’t rule out the other.’

  ‘Why, then, are we going to police headquarters?’

  ‘Because that’s where we’ll find Inspector Marais’s office.’

  Bourdeau struck his own forehead. ‘Why didn’t I think of that? He’s the man we need. The head of the vice department, who keeps the register of the girls and checks the daily reports from the brothel-keepers. He’s a slippery customer, always playing a double game, even a triple one, not easy to find, extremely cautious, involved in all kinds of intrigues, and in possession of a thousand secrets regarding men in high places. He’s ripe for a fall.’

  ‘Do we have anything we could use against him? Is he a new Lardin?’1

  Bourdeau gave a thin smile. ‘I just remembered that one of his clerks is in cahoots with La Gourdan.’

  ‘That’s normal enough. We can’t do without such accommodations. It’s a world in which the clerks extort money from the brothel-keepers and the unfortunate girls, exercising an almost tyrannical hold over them. As if the business wasn’t already debauched enough! The girls come to the conclusion that the law’s not on their side.’

  ‘That does go on, yes, but only within certain limits. This particular man, whose name is Minaud, goes further. He warns La Gourdan of complaints against her that the Lieutenant General isn’t in a position to dismiss.’

  ‘You seem well informed, Pierre. How do you know all this?’

  ‘While you’re at the top of the heap, I’m still at the bottom. In one leap, at the age of twenty, you bypassed all the stages. That was lucky for you, and for me. It does mean that, even though I may be an old horse, fit only for the knacker’s yard, I still have contacts at every level. In this profession, it’s the only way to survive. When the name La Gourdan cropped up in our investigation, I looked up some of these old contacts …’

  Bourdeau was incomparable: he always anticipated Nicolas’s as yet unexpressed wishes.

  ‘Mere gossip won’t get us far. But through one of her girls, who’s infatuated with Rabouine, we’re in possession of a letter from Minaud to La Gourdan.’

  He took out a small piece of paper and began reading.

  ‘You are in a great deal of trouble, Madame. The police have just received a new complaint against you. I immediately stole it, with the help of you know who. If you come to see me at four o’clock, I’ll hand it over to you. That should avoid your having any further difficulties.

  ‘I should point out, Madame, that you are not alone in having problems. I’ve just lost the sum of twenty-five louis, which puts me in a difficult position, as I have an IOU to pay tomorrow. Nobody, Madame, is fonder of you than I. I’ll expect you at four o’clock. Please be punctual. A paper that has been withheld may just as easily be released …’

  ‘The villain! With this, we have Marais, Minaud and La Gourdan! It’s priceless!’

  ‘The punishment certainly ought to fit the crime.’

  ‘We should be able to use some persuasive arguments, in case Marais is uncooperative.’

  ‘What’s more, it’s a double-edged sword, the lady will feel the blade, too.’

  Holding the balance of power as they did, their confrontation with Marais proved unpleasant but far from difficult. The man kept rubbing his hands, but had no defence against Nicolas’s arguments. After a few pitiful attempts at resistance or distraction, which were soon blocked, he finally consented to tell them what he knew about La Gourdan.

  The lady, whose real name was Marguerite Stock, had married a man named Gourdan, a tax collector in Champagne, then director of taxes in Brest. Soon separated from her husband, she had kept a tobacconist’s shop. Under the name Darigny, she took up the trade of brothel-keeper, first in Rue Sainte-Anne, then in Rue de la Comtesse-d’Artois, which was why she was known as the little comtesse. There she received the finest people: the Prince de Conti, the Duc de Chartres and the Duc de Lauzun, the Marquis de la Tremoille and the Marquis de Duras. All this confirmed what Nicolas already knew. Marais looked distinctly uncomfortable negotiating this dangerous area, not at all happy that the nature of his relations with the best-known brothel-keeper in Paris had become the subject of close scrutiny.

  Nicolas did not use his heavy artillery immediately. Instead, he launched a series of skirmishes, catching Marais so unawares that the man finally came to the point. The situation must be serious, thought Nicolas, and he must be feeling genuinely threatened by it. Why else would such an old hand lower his guard and surrender so totally?

  La Gourdan, he revealed, was facing legal proceedings in which her reputation and her future were at stake. A first complaint had been lodged against her by a haberdasher whose wife she had
corrupted. When she threatened to appeal to her friends in high places and have the husband locked up if he tried to get his wife back, the complaint had been withdrawn. But more serious, in Marais’s opinion, was the prospect of a ruling by the Parlement that could lead to La Gourdan’s arrest for corrupting Madame d’Oppy, the wife of the great bailiff of Douai, who had been temporarily incarcerated at Sainte-Pélagie for adultery. Making concessions, La Gourdan had agreed to testify to the police. Despite that, she was still in grave danger of forfeiting her position and fame. The services she had rendered and her association with Marais no longer guaranteed her immunity. She seemed ripe for yielding to Commissioner Le Floch’s demands. As for the mysterious meetings held at the house in Rue des Deux-Ponts-Saint-Sauveur, which seemed to have no connection with the trade in lust, Marais had kept regular note of them, again confirming what Nicolas knew. But he had not been curious enough to record the names of the participants, a surprising oversight for such a well-organised man.

  On the way back, Bourdeau remarked that Marais must have felt under great pressure to have been so conciliatory. His reasoning could be reconstructed. Clearly the man had judged it useful and timely to cooperate with a commissioner like no other, a marquis to boot, whose renewed influence with Monsieur Lenoir and position at Court – of which he must have heard frequent reports – made him a powerful ally in case he was implicated. Nicolas agreed, impatient now to tackle La Gourdan without delay. They had to move forward, and he was also thinking of the two baker’s boys whose confinement he had no wish to prolong.

  At the entrance to Rue Montorgueil, which they had reached after a long detour via the banks of the river and Rue Saint-Honoré, a surge of people around them forced them to stop. Nicolas debated the matter with the coachman. Should they turn off into Rue Tiquetonne and venture into a maze of narrow streets to get to Rue Saint-Denis? That might be to risk an incident, and he could not make up his mind to do so. It was therefore decided that they would walk to the Gourdan house. A light rain started to fall. On the corner of Rue Tiquetonne and Rue Saint-Denis, a broad stream covered the crossroads. A boot cleaner had just dragged a bridge on castors from out of a dark alley. Bourdeau and Nicolas watched in amusement as a brave fellow ventured across this unsteady gangplank. He stumbled, fell in the water and got back on his feet, soaked. He ran off quickly, pursued by the boot cleaner yelling that he wanted his three sols for the crossing.

  ‘Now there’s a lucrative trade for a rainy day!’ Bourdeau remarked. ‘Provided the customer doesn’t run away!’

  ‘Woe to those who slip. You could make it if you jumped, but then you might have your eye out with your umbrella, or someone else’s eye!’

  ‘And what happens,’ said Bourdeau, amused, ‘when two big men come face to face on that rickety bridge?’

  ‘It’s a dangerous spot. Even a little shower turns it into a lake! Let’s be careful!’

  In this narrow street, where most of the houses were new, La Gourdan’s looked respectable enough. It was a tall, thin house, bounded on its right by the courtyard of a building set back from the street and on its left by an almost identical construction. A maid in an apron opened the door to them and asked them in a friendly manner if they were the provincials who had reserved two rooms along with their ‘favourites’. They disabused her of that notion and asked to see the mistress of the house without further ado. As the maid withdrew to inform La Gourdan, Nicolas remarked to Bourdeau that she would not have looked out of place in an honest house. She returned immediately and asked them to follow her to the first floor. They were requested to wait in a richly furnished drawing room. The walls were entirely covered in purple damask with gilded beading. The furniture consisted of bergères, a three-seat ottoman and six cabriolet armchairs covered in crimson velvet. Everywhere there were pier glasses and painted overdoors. There were also two paintings on the walls, one of a reclining Venus and the other a portrait of the late King. The only indication of the nature of this house was the abundance of risqué engravings and prints which drew the attention with their provocative subject matter.

  A middle-aged woman entered. She could easily have passed for a pious lady on her way to compline. She wore a monochrome grey dress that reminded Nicolas of the good lady of Choisy.2 She was slim, with a long face and a pale complexion that owed little to the artifice of ointments. A kind of mantilla covered a blond wig with a bun, slightly out of place so that her natural hair, light brown in colour, peeped through. A Roman nose and a mouth with teeth that were too regular to be true did not detract from the general impression. What did spoil it slightly was the small eyes and lips so thin that only a line of carmine revealed their position. On seeing her, it was easy to understand how, out strolling solemnly, accompanied by one of her girls in modest attire, she had been able to deceive so many gullible souls from across the Channel eager to sow their wild oats with a charming young Parisienne.

  ‘Gentlemen, I’ve been told you wish to speak to me. I assume you are in search of some refined distraction such as only this vast city can provide. You’ve made an excellent choice. My house is the finest, most fashionable you could find. The upper crust of the Court and the city frequent it and I assure you I can provide you with—’

  It was time to put a stop to this patter.

  ‘I fear,’ said Nicolas, ‘that you are mistaken about the object of our visit. It is of a somewhat particular nature …’

  The lady’s smile was halfway between that of a shrewd merchant and the knowing grin of someone who has been close to every possible immoral deed.

  ‘That’s perfectly all right, gentlemen. I shan’t ask any more questions, I can easily foresee the kind of indulgence you expect of my house. I am determined to satisfy all your desires in terms of imagination and variety. In particular, I have some newly arrived young morsels fit for a king. I was reserving the first taste of them for connoisseurs such as yourselves.’

  ‘You seem still to be labouring under a misunderstanding, Madame,’ said Nicolas, eager now to get to the point. ‘I am a police commissioner at the Châtelet, and I’m here to question you on the orders of the Lieutenant General of Police. This gentleman is an inspector and is assisting me in this duty. I must inform you that your statement will be taken down.’

  He saw La Gourdan’s fingers turn white as she gripped the back of the armchair on which she was leaning. Nicolas had not revealed their names. Either she already knew them, even though she had never had dealings with them, or she would do all she could to find out who they were, something she certainly had the means to do.

  ‘Gentlemen, gentlemen,’ she resumed in a soft, almost repentant voice, ‘forgive me for having mistaken you for provincials in search of the pleasures only available in Paris. My house is highly regarded. My girls are all registered. I inform the police when foreigners pass through and when anything untoward has happened during the night. You may find it more helpful to consult Inspector Marais and others who know what a good person and what a loyal subject of His Majesty I am …’

  ‘The police clerk Minaud, for example?’

  ‘Why deny it? He among others …’

  ‘Whom you supply with money.’

  ‘I see no harm in what your words imply. There are services exchanged between friends, to which, indeed, others may lay claim if they wish.’

  ‘You certainly don’t lack nerve! So the recipe is to have friends, debtors even, in the police. And how does one do that? With money, Madame Gourdan.’

  A look of commiseration came over her face. ‘These are normal practices, Monsieur, and I am surprised that they shock you, unless I am to understand that you wish to benefit from them. But, you see, I have my arrangements with your colleagues and I don’t see why I should have to do the same with you.’

  What she was saying was all too true: the police could not do without these dubious go-betweens recruited from the world of prostitution.

  ‘I could easily tolerate such arrangements, except when they
interfere with the execution of the law and hinder the course of justice, which, may I remind you, is blind to this kind of compromise.’

  He was asserting this, but was he so convinced of it himself?’

  ‘I am your humble servant, Monsieur, but it seems that you don’t know me. I could tell you things …. Besides, it is wrong to attack an honest woman who has for so long contributed to the well-being of a great many people.’

  ‘That’s exactly what I was saying to the inspector before you came in. I was telling him how useful your trade is. Yours is without doubt the most highly regarded, best-known and most frequented house.’

  She looked up with a strained smile, thinking she had won the day.

  ‘Nevertheless,’ Nicolas went on, spinning his words like a spider its web, ‘it is precisely these qualities which commit you to being honest with the Lieutenant General of Police, force you even to remain an example of what is lawful and tolerated.’

  ‘But what have I to fear? These are empty words, idle threats! Take care, what you are attempting is unwise and you will end up sorry that you even conceived the idea, let alone that you failed in it. This is all stuff and nonsense!’

  ‘Madame,’ declared Bourdeau, ‘vice is a dangerous thing when it is without scruples. Your conduct leaves much to be desired. One does not speak in that tone to a commissioner. What use to you are your relations in high places? You count too much on them. They may, if need be, help you to get out of prison one day, but they certainly won’t stop you going in!’

  ‘For heaven’s sake,’ she cried, suddenly losing her arrogant manner, ‘what am I being accused of?’

  ‘Don’t worry, we have an embarrassment of choice where that’s concerned. I advise you not to pretend ignorance.’

  ‘Monsieur, you are speaking to a lady!’

  ‘Yes,’ said Nicolas, ‘to La Gourdan, keeper of a tolerated brothel. You have overstepped the mark, Madame, and now you are beginning to try my patience. I will satisfy your curiosity eventually. In the meantime, come down off your high horse and control yourself.’