Searchers in Winter, page 32
Maxime shook his head. “Senator, while I don’t fully understand what you are talking about, I can see you have been busy.”
Jean-Luc nodded in reluctant agreement. “Though it is all likely to land me in deep waters. By now, Fouché is certain to have learned that I’ve met with Colonel Valiere, and that we were old acquaintances during the Revolution. I was his defense counsel against the tribunal.”
“With respect, senator, what does that matter?”
“Have you not heard what, more precisely who, is set on stopping Carnassier and, therefore, Fouché?”
Maxime smiled dolefully. “Lieutenant-Colonel Valiere.”
“Precisely so,” Jean-Luc said through a cough. “The police minister can scarcely hide his disdain for me now, when he hears about this.” Jean-Luc sighed. “Anyhow, as I’ve already gotten you into one mess that we were lucky to escape, I would understand if you wish to stay as far away from this as possible.”
Maxime tilted his head. “To be truthful, monsieur, while just the name Fouché gives me pause, I nevertheless find this whole game more exciting than the drudgery they’ve given me at the Tuileries.” He grinned eagerly. “Where do we begin?”
“Very good, Maxime!” Jean-Luc spoke with a vigor he had not shown in quite some time, and he started pacing the room. “We will begin by doing everything we can to help my friend Valiere mislead Carnassier and foil Fouché’s scheme for finding this fortune. What I’ve intercepted is merely the tip of the iceberg; he is bound to be playing at other games.” He took a moment to gather himself.
“Now, tell me. What news of home? Is my family well?”
His subordinate lowered his eyes to the floor. “Senator St. Clair,” he said quietly, “it was not my wish to spoil your return, but I regret to inform you that I don’t believe all is well.” Maxime went on to explain how he’d passed along Jean-Luc’s letters to Isabella, but it had now been several weeks since she permitted anyone into the house. The servants had received all subsequent letters without admitting him. “I stopped by the house on my way here,” he explained. “The servants informed me that Isabella was gone and had not been seen for days. She had left them with no instruction and had taken many of her possessions with her to wherever it was she had gone.”
Jean-Luc forced a smile. “Thank you, Maxime. We’ll just have to sort it out when I return home. I suppose I should be grateful that I have at least one partner I can trust.”
With that he bade farewell to his young assistant and soon after fell into a deep, fitful sleep.
Chapter 43
Paris
January 1807
Five days after his brief stay in Strasbourg, Jean-Luc was back in Paris. He returned from a five-hundred-mile trip to an empty house, despite having left instructions for Mariette to be brought home from school. Isabella, too, was nowhere to be found. Profoundly agitated, he would not be able to rest until he knew Mariette was on her way home.
The following morning he set off in plain clothes to visit Monsieur Gagnon in Saint-Antoine. The wine merchant received him with a gruff “Good morning” and a handshake before ushering him into his home. The interior was considerably cleaner than the last time Jean-Luc had visited, with documents and ledgers scattered throughout the sitting room, but little evidence of excessive drink and debauchery.
“Could it be,” Jean-Luc asked as he took a seat across from his host, “that in my absence you have managed to turn yourself back into a professional and organized man?”
“Hardly, senator,” Gagnon grumbled. “I’ve only refocused my depravity from drink toward more engaging pursuits.”
“I don’t care to know the details of all you’ve been doing, so I will come directly to the point. Please tell me the latest news you’ve had of Minister Fouché and his agents in the east. There are developments of which I’ve learned during my travels that I must begin to make out more clearly.”
Gagnon launched into an account of his doings: bribing government officials, supporting local families struggling to pay rent, meeting with the police minister’s network of informants, seizing Colonel Pettit and racking him for information. At this last revelation, Jean-Luc sat up in his chair.
“Well? Have you any updates from him?”
“That colonel might look a fine, dashing soldier on parade,” Gagnon replied with scorn. “But the fellow fairly shit himself when he saw us in masks, brandishing pikes. We brought him out to a copse in Montmartre and threatened to remove his balls if he failed to cooperate.”
“Jesus—” Jean-Luc’s eyes dropped to the floor.
“Oh, don’t fret your lawyer’s head about it. The big dandy weren’t in no real trouble. We were just having a bit of fun with the chap who shagged your woman mons—er, senator.”
Jean-Luc passed a hand over his face. “Gagnon, I don’t know whether I want to punch you or embrace you. Though I suppose the colonel deserved it. It doesn’t matter. I’m not here to sort that. Just tell me what information he offered concerning Fouché and his agents in Poland.”
Gagnon divulged his latest intelligence, most of which Jean-Luc already knew, but then the merchant mentioned something new.
“According to our good colonel,” Gagnon explained, “this hussar major should come upon this treasure horde that everyone seems to be seeking within a fortnight at most. And, from one who’s done a bit of smuggling in his time, I’ll confess that the plan for him to intercept it from the Prussians as it is transferred to a Russian ship is a peach. The major is to pose as an émigré aristocrat or some such, no friend to the emperor at any rate, and safeguard it as it is passed through our lines at Danzig.”
Jean-Luc stared at Gagnon, doubt written plain on his features. “Let me understand you. Major Carnassier plans to masquerade as an aristocrat émigré and steal the horde from under their noses? How would that fool the Prussians or English?”
“Oh, senator, you’re missing the best part.” Gagnon was practically trembling with excitement. “The very man who’s arranged all of this from his own web of diplomatic channels? Minister Fouché! Isn’t he a rascal to admire?” Jean-Luc, though not sharing Gagnon’s enthusiasm, nevertheless admitted that the idea was plausible. Gagnon licked his lips. “This Carnassier fellow may be the dog hounding out the riches, but it’s Fouché managing the affair from the shadows. He’s convinced his contacts in the enemy camp that there’s a big-wig émigré living in East Prussia who wishes to thwart Napoleon, and he can help them sneak the wagons through our siege lines at Danzig. They’re supposed to rendezvous somewhere outside the city; where was it? Ordensburg. That’s the place they’ll be fetching it to be put in the possession of this aristo.”
“And you heard this from Colonel Pettit directly?”
Gagnon nodded. “Pettit, his lips well-loose as he shook from fright, started jabbering about the two rats keeping the riches for themselves. He said something about leaving a little gold behind for the English, so it ain’t so obvious. Fouché and that hussar bastard have their own designs for its use.”
“Ordensburg.” Jean-Luc slapped a thigh. “Well, Gagnon, I asked you to be my eyes while I was away, and you’ve given me an extra pair—as well as ears, nose, and your own big mouth. I can hardly believe I’m saying this, but thank you, my friend.”
Gagnon chafed at the gratitude. “It weren’t no real trouble. Seeing that idiot colonel squirm reminded me of the good old days before Bonaparte mucked everything up with his law and order.”
Jean-Luc didn’t know whether he felt revulsion or relief. Nevertheless, he tapped the wine merchant on the back and took up his coat. “Monsieur Gagnon, your help thus far has proved invaluable,” he said as he opened the door. “Now I have a conspiracy to thwart.”
When he returned to his house, he found an envelope lying just inside the front door.
He picked it up and tore it open:
My Dear Jean-Luc,
Your absence has compelled me to take the management of your senatory estate into my own hands. I shall be in Sainte-Maure for the foreseeable future. I do not have any expectations of you joining me, as I understand that you have your duties to attend to.
Since you did not approve of my decision to initiate Mariette in catechism studies, I have taken her with me. If you wish to speak with her, I will gladly pass along any message you might have, provided it serves to aid in her current development of manners and erudition. Mathieu has taken his education and development boldly in hand. I would see your daughter begin to do the same.
—Isabella
Jean-Luc took the news like a punch to his stomach. He folded the note and pressed it to his lips with a kiss. A fit of coughing forced him to sit. His inhalations came in short gasps, and several minutes passed before his breath calmed. He thought perhaps it was time to see a doctor, but too many other pressing matters occupied his mind, and he dismissed the thought. He then wrote a brief response to Isabella, declaring in no uncertain terms that Mariette was to come home at once. Mariette is coming home, or I will go retrieve her.
Early that evening, Jean-Luc summoned Maxime to his house and shared all that he had learned from Gagnon.
“Now I must ask something of you, Maxime,” Jean-Luc said. He examined his assistant, observing how much he had changed since Naples. He had been a lad then; now he looked every bit a poised and capable young man. “If you refuse, I will not think any less of you, for this is no small undertaking.”
“How can I be of service, senator?”
“I have just today come to learn of information that I do not trust to pass safely along the semaphores, not with Fouché’s agents spread along the route. It must be delivered posthaste by someone I can trust. You must bring it to the Grand Armée headquarters directly in Berlin. If you deliver it there, I trust it will find Major André Valiere of the Seventeenth Dragoons.”
Maxime reached for his wine glass and proceeded to pour the contents down his throat. With a hearty exhale, he wiped his lips with his sleeve.
“Very well, senator. When do I depart?”
Though his thoughts were preoccupied with his family, Jean-Luc still managed to attend a banquet hosted by several of his senate colleagues at a restaurant in the châtelet. As he walked into the gathering in a private room and saw the men who had made the journey with him to Poland, he felt a genuine outpouring of camaraderie. After so many days traveling and boarding in close proximity, they had come to learn much of each other, and the experience served to form a bond that could not easily be broken, or so he believed. As he made his way around the table to greet the senators, he noticed something strange. The salutations of the senators who had stayed behind had never before seemed so universally friendly.
The meal progressed from hors d’oeuvres to the main course of roast beef, mutton, lentils, white beans, and an abundance of Bordeaux and Burgundy wines. Jean-Luc was enjoying the company of the man seated next to him, Senator Louis-Nicholas Lemercier, one who had traveled with him to Berlin and then on to Poland. As the laughter and conversation rose in pitch, Senator Lemercier rose to his feet, raising a hand for silence. After a good deal of shouting and whistling, the tumult died down and the senator began speaking.
“Esteemed gentlemen and senators of the French Empire,” Lemercier said in a loud, somewhat slurred voice. “And especially to our truant friends who avoided the journey to the east, passing a leisurely autumn in the salons and gaming houses of Paris, warm in bed with their mistresses.”
A fit of laughter and knee-slapping ensued.
“Allow me to be the first to extend a happy and grateful greeting from our leader, our general, our very own genius—Napoleon Bonaparte the first, emperor of the French.”
At this the entire room roared with approval. Jean-Luc, whether from the wine or the mood of his compatriots, joined heartily in the exclamations.
“It has hardly been a week since we intrepid members have returned; alas, we must return to a life of ease in the company of our wives and children, sleeping in our own beds and not passing our days in an endless march across frozen dirt and snow-covered fields.”
Jean-Luc glanced around the room; the smiles on some of his colleagues’ faces had faded at this description of their time in the hinterlands. He envisioned this overfed new breed of aristocrats marching with André and his soldiers. Educated men talk while strong men bleed and die, he thought.
“Now, gentlemen,” Senator Lemercier said, “you’ll be delighted to hear that two more of our esteemed and powerful friends have come home. Senators Talleyrand and Fouché have today returned from absences, and they have called for an impromptu meeting of our body tomorrow.” A grumble rolled over the room, with some of the senators throwing their napkins at Monsieur Lemercier in mock protest. “So,” Lemercier continued, raising his arms to shield himself from the barrage of cloth. “We must resume our work tomorrow; do not drink yourselves blind.” With that Lemercier raised his glass, and the assembled senators took long gulps of wine. Jean-Luc sipped from his own, but the mention of Fouché had brought him back to sobriety.
My Dear Friend André,
It is my sincerest wish that this letter finds you and your brave compatriots safe and well. Surely you and your men endure daily privations and miseries to a degree that we civilians can hardly imagine. If it is any small consolation, know that you march on behalf of a proud and grateful nation, who hold their army and their emperor in such high esteem that it’s hardly an exaggeration to compare you to the heroes of antiquity.
But let me come to the point; you should know that I’ve learned of two important developments in the case of your man Carnassier and his designs. First, a source in the army—whose name and rank I will not risk being revealed—informs me that Major Carnassier has learned of the location of the hidden fortune of Hesse-Cassel. It is no longer in Frankfurt. We believe it is currently being transported in a carriage train traveling north. We do not know by whom, only that they must be allied to the Prussians. We suspect our enemies wish to convey it to one of the cities in northern Prussia that has not yet fallen to us, perhaps Danzig, so that it may be shipped across the North Sea. If that happens, it will then be in the hands of the Russians or the English, which will be disastrous for our Empire. However, if it should fall into the hands of this Carnassier fellow, that may be worse in the long term as by now I have every reason to believe that Carnassier and the police minister are working with common purpose.
This brings me to the second bit of news. From this same source I have learned that there is no Silesian agent called Conrad in service to the minister or the emperor, not in your sector of the war, at least. I’ve been considering what this could mean; the first possibility, this being rather unlikely, is that your man Carnassier has taken it upon himself to hire the services of this Conrad for his own purposes, and none of Fouché’s agents or informants have heard of him.
The second possibility is that Conrad is not who he says he is. Perhaps Carnassier is hiding his identity to cover his tracks and remain autonomous, or it’s even possible that the man has kept his own identity secret and is working with his own designs. Without knowing his real name and place of origin, who knows what game he might be playing at?
I earnestly regret that in disclosing all of this information I have burdened you beyond your current troubles, but, my friend, you are the only man I know who possesses both the means and the honor to be trusted to act on this information with no designs above patriotic duty and regard for your fellow countrymen. If I may be of service in the coming weeks, please do not hesitate to contact me. I will reply with all possible haste. Godspeed.
Vive l’Empereur.
Senator St. Clair
Chapter 44
Luxembourg Palace, Paris
January 1806
Jean-Luc walked alone into the palais and mounted the grand staircase, keeping a watchful eye out for Minister Fouché. Upon entering the great chamber, he noticed several of his colleagues from the evening prior, who, despite looking the worse for wear, still managed to carry themselves with the dignity of Napoleon’s senators. And yet, Jean-Luc noticed that most of them barely looked at him—and the ones who did offered only passing glances and cold expressions.
The session began with the customary roll call and formalities of State, followed by the reading of a lengthy bulletin from Napoleon. The dispatch, though couched in confident language and heroic imagery, conveyed that the latest campaign was far from decided. After the reading, President Gaspard Monge called on several of the senators who had traveled east to mount the podium and offer their conclusions on the diplomatic work conducted with the Poles and Prussians. The speakers’ conclusions came across as noncommittal, but they asserted that the emperor’s overwhelming victories at Jena and Auerstedt had changed the paradigm of power in Eastern Europe and expressed confidence that their diplomatic efforts would ultimately bear fruit.
