23
The duke returned with a lean young man following a pace behind him. Aristide recognized him immediately by his resemblance to Moreau, though he was clad not in an army officer's uniform, as in his portrait, but in an informal, English-style redingote and top boots.
"Beaupr?au," said Orl?ans, seating himself comfortably in his armchair once more, "you must have guessed by now that this is the inquisitive fellow who's been hanging about your household lately. Ravel-my friend Ferdinand-Alexis de La Roche, Marquis de Beaupr?au and Chevalier d'Andrez?, who has been my guest for the past week.
"So," he continued, to Beaupr?au, "you heard everything, I presume? What have you to say for yourself? Is he speaking the truth?"
The young man's lips curved into a slight smile. "Yes, monseigneur." He glanced over at Aristide, appraisingly, but with a measure of respect. "Yes, he is."
"It all happened just as he described?"
"Castagnac's horse threw him," Beaupr?au said evenly. "Or rather, he slid out of the saddle. He was hopelessly drunk; it had happened before."
Orl?ans sighed. "Now, you see, I find that just a trifle too coincidental. Tell me the truth, Alexis."
"The truth, monseigneur?" The young man paused and then seemed to come to a decision. "The truth is that he did blunder into the stableyard, just at the wrong moment, when the back gate was still open, and nearly rode down one of my companions. Then his horse shied and threw him, right there in the courtyard, in front of us. And I, like everybody else in my family for years, devoutly hoped that this time, perhaps, he'd broken his neck. But God preserves drunkards and idiots, they say, and he managed to sit up without anything worse than a knock on the head and a sprained shoulder."
"And then?"
"Then he saw us-"
"Who?"
"Myself and two other brothers from my lodge, monseigneur. Forgive me if I refuse to divulge their names; they volunteered to help me, but it was I who gave the orders."
"Go on."
"He saw us, and he saw Saint-Landry's body, which we hadn't yet carried up to the hayloft, and I knew we couldn't risk his making a commotion and waking the stablehands, or blurting it out later to anyone who would listen to his drunken babbling. So I?I finished what Nature had failed to do."
"You broke his neck?"
"Yes, monseigneur."
"Go on," Orl?ans said, expressionless.
"Then I realized what an opportunity it was to conceal Saint-Landry's body and eradicate any links to Freemasonry, and the rest happened just as Monsieur Ravel said." He glanced at Aristide again, without rancor. "I salute your ingenuity, monsieur."
"What about Saint-Landry?" Orl?ans inquired.
"He's safely inside a coffin, monseigneur, decently buried with all the appropriate rites-"
"You misapprehend me. What did you have to do with his death?"
Beaupr?au stared. "Nothing, monseigneur. Nothing at all."
"Quite sure?"
"I swear by God and all the saints, I have no idea who murdered him, or why. I was horrified when Derville brought me the news."
"Monseigneur," Aristide said, "even if Saint-Landry had been an enemy rather than an ally, it scarcely seems likely that Monsieur de Beaupr?au would have murdered him, slashed Masonic symbols into his flesh, left his body in a churchyard for anyone to find, and then gone to such extreme lengths to conceal the body well after it had been found. I believe he's completely innocent of Saint-Landry's murder."
Orl?ans nodded and relaxed back into his armchair. Beaupr?au turned to Aristide with a cautious smile. "You're a fair man, Monsieur Ravel. I appreciate-"
"Do you think I ought to ignore everything else, now," Aristide said, "because you're guilty only of murdering your cousin and not Saint-Landry?"
"Castagnac?" Beaupr?au said, taken aback, but promptly recovered his poise. "Small loss, I assure you."
"I see?you believe one matters more than the other; or perhaps you believe that your cause is more important than one man's life."
"Yes," Beaupr?au said, "I do." He turned back to the duke. "Monseigneur, you know why I devised this plot around the cardinal and the diamond necklace. For the country I love, and for our sacred trinity: liberty, equality, brotherhood. The reform and justice our land is crying out for, and which you can provide. Everything I've done in this affair has been with the goal of making my country greater and my countrymen happier, by smashing the barriers to progress that greedy, corrupt men and institutions throw up before us. And the only way I could think to do that was to disgrace those who are now in power, and show them for the fools and scoundrels they are. How will we ever get anywhere with a weakling like Louis on the throne?"
"Be careful, Beaupr?au," Orl?ans said, without moving, "such reckless talk could take you to the Bastille."
"You prove my point for me, monsieur le duc. In a truly free nation ruled by justice, there would be no Bastille, and no one could be prosecuted for speaking his mind, no matter how disagreeable and unwelcome his opinions. That is what I want, a nation ruled by justice and fairness and not by inherited privilege; and that's what I've actively worked for, every step of the way. You, monseigneur, you are this kingdom's best hope; and to put you on the throne I would do anything, anything at all, to throw Louis down from it." He paused, with a scornful smile. "You know him, monseigneur."
Orl?ans sighed. "Alas, yes, all too well?"
"He's well-meaning, intelligent, and enlightened, to be sure, but he's abysmally ill-suited for kingship, and because of that, he's a weak and passive ruler, and such a man will never accomplish anything more than trifles. Name me one reform he's enacted, one great measure he's taken, that will forever benefit our people, and that isn't just, in the end, for the greater power and profit of the aristocracy and the Church."
"Well, he did abolish torture-"
"Trivial, monseigneur, a mere sop to placate reformers, in the face of all the daily inequities that shackle every ordinary Frenchman. What about inherited privilege? Do you imagine he'd ever abolish that?"
"He sent our forces to help the American colonists?" Aristide could not help murmuring.
"The American war?" Beaupr?au echoed him scornfully. "You forget, monsieur; I was there. It was a grand gesture in the name of liberty, to be sure, but not our liberty." He turned back to Orl?ans. "You and I both know, monseigneur, that his ministers decided to fight the British because they wanted revenge for losing Canada in 'sixty-three. You don't honestly think, do you, that they cared one particle about American independence? And what earthly good has it done France? The war may have benefited the Americans and humbled the British, but it's bankrupted our treasury and, as usual, the burden of paying for it falls on the common people, who are already overtaxed, while the nobility and the clergy pay not a single denier. I see no progress or reform in that."
Orl?ans coughed. "Alexis, calm yourself. You say nothing I've not heard before. And haven't I said myself, before now, that I have no desire to be king, to take on the responsibilities of ruling?"
"Yes, monseigneur, you have; but it's your duty. Take Louis from the throne in favor of his son, and install one of his brothers as regent for the boy, and we'll be worse off than when we began. Imagine Provence or Artois ruling-my God! They're far worse than Louis; they'd have us back in the Middle Ages. No, the only way is to make a clean sweep-throw them all out, the whole pack of them, and start afresh with a new, enlightened royal line that's far more in step with the times. Because change is coming-I saw it begin in America and it's not going to end there-it's in the air, it's as inevitable and unstoppable as a flood."
Watching him, suddenly Aristide remembered Fragonard's skeletal rider. War, Famine, Pestilence, Death: all of them just as inexorable. And he knew that thousands of people with hopes just as bright and intense and fierce as Beaupr?au's-perhaps hundreds of thousands across France-aristocrats and bourgeois, philosophers and businessmen, clerics and scribblers, also dreamed about reform and a new era, demanded them in a torrent of illega
l writings, whispered their hopes and schemes and dreams incessantly back and forth in countless caf?s and salons and street corners, despite the most energetic efforts of the absolutist regime to suppress them. Were the men like Beaupr?au who were waiting for their opportunity to effect change, all convinced of the rightness of their cause, equally as unstoppable as the flood or the Four Horsemen?
The handsome young man, flushed with visionary zeal, who stood beside him, Aristide thought, could be a sign of what might come-an impassioned cavalier whipping his mount at full speed toward an approaching apocalypse?
"You, monseigneur," Beaupr?au continued to the duke, shaking Aristide out of his hectic flight of imagination, "you are the best hope we have for the future, and for a new order. You must take the throne. For the sake of our country."
"What do you think, Monsieur Ravel?" Orl?ans said suddenly, turning to Aristide.
"I, monseigneur?"
"Do you think I ought to be king? You've written more than a few uncomplimentary words about my cousin and his queen. No fear-you can be frank here. Nothing we say goes beyond this room."
"Monseigneur," Aristide said, choosing his words carefully, "I believe, as does Monsieur de Beaupr?au, that affairs can't go on as they are for much longer. And His Majesty, though he wishes the best for France, is far too weak, indecisive, and easily led to be the right man to guide us through the changes which eventually are going to come. I see you as someone of a more independent and liberal character, who would be more open to reforms, and more willing to force the privileged orders to stomach them. But whatever the case, I fear that the means Monsieur de Beaupr?au took, to further him in disgracing the monarchy to your benefit, is a step down the wrong path."
"The wrong path?" Beaupr?au said, nettled. "Everything I do is for the sake of my country, not for any personal gain-"
"I appreciate that, monsieur. But you've just admitted you murdered your own cousin for the sake of your great cause. Is that how you want to begin your new reign of reform and justice-with snapping an innocent man's neck?"
"If you had ever known Castagnac," Beaupr?au declared, "you would agree with me that his death was no loss to the world. How can you compare the death of one worthless, drunken sot to the advance of progress? Surely it's a small price to pay!"
"I understand your reasoning. But what disturbs me is your apparent willingness to let the admirable ends for which you're striving justify less than honorable means. Today, Castagnac, who may very well have been no loss to the world; but once you've set foot on that path, how many other people will you decide are disposable as well? How many murders do you think are worth committing for the sake of your ideals? If one, then why not ten; if ten, then why not a hundred, or a thousand? I can't believe that reform and justice can be achieved by means that are contrary to reform and justice." With a sigh, he turned again to Orl?ans. "You asked me for my honest opinion, monseigneur."
"So," Orl?ans mused aloud, "what am I to do with the two of you?"
He was silent for a moment, glancing back and forth between Aristide and Beaupr?au. "Go home, Alexis," he said at last. "No-not home, I think; I want you out of Paris for a while. Go to the country, to Andrez?, and stay there; do you understand me?"
"Completely, monseigneur."
"Go hunting; ride your acres; chase some village girls; mend the roof on the ch?teau. Yes," he added, as Beaupr?au seemed about to protest, "I know that being banished to one's country estate in the middle of January is a harsh punishment, but I think you'll survive it. I don't want to see you in Paris again until autumn. Is that clear?"
Beaupr?au gave the duke a deep, formal bow. "Monseigneur."
"And what about you?" Orl?ans said, when Beaupr?au had left them. "You're a devilish inquisitive fellow, Ravel. You too, Inspector. If I let the two of you walk out of here, what are you going to do?"
"Keep on looking for the murderer of Monsieur Saint-Landry, monseigneur," Brasseur said. "We hoped Monsieur de Beaupr?au knew who'd done it-"
"He says not."
"No, monseigneur. I expect he's telling the truth. As for this other matter-"
"The police won't be looking into the death of Monsieur de Castagnac," Orl?ans interrupted him, "because it was a mere accident that might have happened to anyone, especially a notorious drunkard, and there was nothing suspicious about it. Don't you agree?"
"If you say so, monseigneur," said Brasseur, unsmiling.
"I see no need to raise any concerns," the duke said composedly.
"Now that we know Monsieur de Beaupr?au's part in all this is a dead end," Aristide said, "Inspector Brasseur and I will have to start at the beginning again, this time without even a corpse. Because I imagine that Saint-Landry's body will remain where it is, and any attempts to question the Beaupr?au family, or to have the vault opened, would be met with opposition from some highly placed but anonymous personage."
"You imagine correctly. Always keep in mind, messieurs, as you pursue your investigations, that Monsieur de Beaupr?au is under my protection and is not to be harassed by the police. Is that clear?"
Aristide nodded curtly and the duke smiled.
"You don't approve of this one bit, do you? You believe justice ought to take its course, no matter what. But I tend to share my friend's opinion, that many errors may be forgiven for the sake of a noble purpose. So do not attempt to impose your bourgeois sanctimony upon me, monsieur."
"As you wish, monseigneur," Aristide said. He shifted his hands behind his back and found that his fists were clenched. "Though I'd ask one favor of you: Use your influence to have Monsieur Saint-Landry's death officially confirmed, for the sake of his family and their affairs, so they aren't mired in a sort of legal limbo."
Funny, he thought, how the rush and scramble, and the bizarre revelations, of the past days had completely eclipsed his bitterness and disappointment over losing Sophie to Derville. The ache was still there, to be sure, but it seemed a little less painful now.
"I see no difficulty with that," said Orl?ans, nodding. "So you intend to keep on as a police spy, do you, Ravel?"
"I'm not an informer, monseigneur."
"A subinspector, then, or a free agent? Clearly you have an aptitude for this sort of thing. More, perhaps," he said dryly, "than you have as an author. Oh yes, I've read one or two of your more venomous compositions. They show talent, I grant you that; but perhaps not exceptional talent, and it takes exceptional talent to succeed in the literary life, which, as you undoubtedly know, is merciless to the mediocre. Or are you committed to literature?"
"I?I'm not sure."
Orl?ans reached for a dainty enamel and gold snuffbox, helped himself to a pinch of snuff, and produced a pair of satisfying sneezes before continuing. "I'll offer you another option, Ravel. In truth, I'd rather have a clever fellow like you working for me than against me."
"You want me to be one of your agents, like the man who brought me here?"
"Oh, no, no; oh dear no. Nothing as unsubtle as that. That would be a waste of your gifts. What I need are people who can provide me with useful information from all walks of life, and who can carry out discreet?errands, shall we say, to influence others, also in all walks of life."
"In other words, an informer and an agitator, and, if I'm not mistaken, an agent provocateur," Aristide said. "What makes that any different from spying for the police, monseigneur?"
Orl?ans smiled. "Well, for one thing, the police are generally devoted to maintaining, not only public order, but also the status quo-don't you agree, Inspector?-while you, like my friend Beaupr?au, are, in the end, devoted to stirring up the status quo for the sake of bringing forth something better. You heard Beaupr?au; the times are changing. Unlike my cousin Louis, and nine-tenths of his court, I understand that they're changing, and I intend to remain at the forefront of that change. Work for me, and you may yet achieve the reforms you've advocated in your gutter-press scribbling, perhaps with more immediate and tangible success. What do you say?"
"Monseigneur," Aristide said after a moment's hard thought, "I prefer to remain my own man, and wear no labels, neither 'police agent' nor 'Orl?ans' agent.' "
Behind him, he heard Brasseur stir. "I'd hoped to keep him, monseigneur; he's got a talent for this, all right."
He shot Brasseur a brief grateful glance before continuing. "I expect I'll be working with Inspector Brasseur again. But that's not to say, if your lordship were to invite me to perform one of those errands of which you spoke, that I would refuse the job, if I found it to my taste. I hope that's an acceptable answer?"
"I suppose I shouldn't have expected more," the duke said. "That independent streak may make you enemies, Ravel. Nevertheless," he added, "I am not your enemy, so long as you behave prudently and keep your mouth shut when necessary. And this matter of Alexis de Beaupr?au is one of those times when it's necessary; I repeat, he is under my protection, and he's not to be harassed or threatened in any way, by anyone, do I make myself clear? To both of you?"
"Yes, monseigneur."
"Yes, monseigneur, perfectly."
"Very well." He rang a bell and a footman appeared. "Show these gentlemen out. And you might make a point of remembering Monsieur Ravel's name and face; I suspect you'll see more of him."
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~