Chapter 20
The information sank in as my nerves stretched taut.
I’d wanted to assume Potier had returned to Paris to whatever duties he was assigned for the rest of the war, hopefully kept in a quiet office so he might commit no more acts of savagery.
Anything might have happened to the man in the last twenty-five years, including his death, but his last days would have been comfortably far from Lyon.
The fact that there was no evidence of him leaving this city chilled me.
“Not what I wished to learn,” I said.
“This could very well be why Gallo was murdered, could it not?” Grenville asked. “He’d discovered that someone in Lyon killed Potier, or at the very least that Potier’s death had been covered up, and threatened to reveal all.”
I thought of the anger and reticence of Beaumont and the men in his wine shop, the warning Moreau had given me, and the intense reaction of the Deveres.
“Damnation,” I said with feeling.
“I believe we ought to keep this to ourselves, for now,” Grenville said.
Which was why he’d closed the door, shutting out even Matthias and Bartholomew.
“I agree,” I said. “Though you might have stirred the pot writing to your friend about him.”
“I realize that,” Grenville replied glumly. “However, no one in Paris might care very much. The restored Louis isn’t likely to worry about the odd disappearance of a man who caused the death of so many loyalists, twenty-five years ago.”
“We can hope not.”
No one had been happy with me for even mentioning the name. They’d be less happy if they knew Grenville and I had made inquiries to a government official about Potier.
If my suspicions were correct, my daughter might be marrying into a family who’d had a part in bringing about Potier’s end.
On the one hand, Potier had more than deserved it, from what I understood. On the other, if inquiries from Paris were made, Emile could be caught in the retribution, and Gabriella’s peaceful life would be ruined.
“Damn and blast,” I said softly.
“Quite,” Grenville replied.
Before Brewster and I set off for the house in the Presqu’?le, I sent a note to Colonel Moreau, asking if he’d like to meet us there. He’d expressed a wish to assist in any continued search, and I would honor that.
Brewster wasn’t certain I was wise, but he ceased berating me halfway down the hill, falling silent entirely as we crossed the bridge onto the island between the rivers.
The townhouse Grenville directed me to lay north of the large plaza, on a fairly quiet lane of well-appointed homes. The abode was small, with stucco peeling from its brick walls, though the shutters and door were an attractive green that complemented the snug tile roof.
As I stepped to the door and took out the key Grenville had sent me, Colonel Moreau rounded the corner of the lane and caught up to us on the step.
Before I had time to insert the key into the lock, the door was pulled open by a prim-looking woman in a plain gray gown.
She seemed vaguely familiar, and I realized I must have seen her during my jaunts with Gabriella and Brewster to the markets in the square and surrounding streets.
By her deepening frown, she recognized me as well.
With my walking stick, uneven gait, and Brewster, I’d be difficult to forget.
“Messieurs,” she said, and continued in French. “The comte told me to expect you.” She swung the door wide and stepped back to admit us. Her stance might be deferential, but her gaze was in no way docile.
“Merci,” I said. “Madame … ?”
“Martin,” she replied stiffly. “Please, look through the house and give me word when you depart.”
She swung the door shut once we were inside and marched toward the back of the house, disappearing through a door under the stairs.
“Warm welcome,” Brewster said.
“Indeed,” Moreau agreed. “Where do you suggest we begin?” He asked Brewster, not me.
Brewster gazed up the staircase that wound through the house’s four floors. “At the top,” he said. “Work our way down.”
“We could each take a floor,” I suggested.
Brewster shook his head. “I’d have to search through what you already did. You’d miss what I wouldn’t.”
I couldn’t argue with him. “You are our commander for the day.”
Brewster sent me a sour glance but mounted the staircase. Moreau followed him, and I brought up the rear.
The top story held an attic that had been divided for servants’ quarters, but no servants were obviously living there. The housekeeper might have a chamber lower in the house, or perhaps she went to her own home every night. When no one rented the place, the comte might not pay for her to live in.
The three of us quickly looked through these rooms. No mattresses rested on the bedsteads, as the straw would only grow moldy and have to be replaced when more staff moved in. The furnishings were sparse, the few armoires empty.
Brewster checked floorboards and loose bricks, as he had in Gallo’s rooms, but no hidden cavities were revealed.
The next floor down held more bedchambers, again with bare bedsteads. I could only be glad Brewster wouldn’t be cutting into mattresses and pillows, whose ruin I’d have to explain to the housekeeper and the comte.
Brewster did find, in a back bedroom, a large hollow behind a section of paneling. Moreau and I peered into it, but it held nothing but a few spiderwebs.
“Something was here,” Moreau said. Indeed, a clean square in the dust was likely the imprint of a sturdy box, now gone.
“Signora Ruggeri told me that everything had vanished,” I said as Brewster replaced the panel and moved into the next bedchamber. “It appears she was correct.”
“Do not despair yet,” Moreau advised me. “There is more of the house to search.”
True, but I knew in my bones we’d find nothing here.
The front bedchamber, with wide windows overlooking the street, was probably where Signora Ruggeri had slept.
While the bed’s rails were bare, the hangings were intact—light blue silk brocade embroidered with yellow flowers.
They matched the draperies at the windows, which also held soft hangings of lace.
The paneling in the room had been painted a light yellow, giving the place a sunny note. An ornately plastered fireplace adorned one wall, with deeply cushioned chairs pulled close to it.
A comfortable chamber as well as a beautiful one.
Brewster found another hiding place in here, under floorboards he pried up beneath the bed. Colonel Moreau and I shoved the heavy bedstead aside so Brewster could better access it, but the hollow below proved to be empty.
“Cleverly done,” Brewster said as he dropped the boards back into place. “There’s not even scratch marks on these to show they come up.”
“Were the niches here before Signora Ruggeri moved in?” I wondered. “Or did she or Gallo make them?”
Brewster shrugged. “Who knows? The one in the other room’s been there a long time, it looks like, probably put in when the house was built.
You never know when you need to hide your valuable gear, do you?
This one, though, could have been fixed by anyone since then.
The boards are a bit warped from time, so are easier to lift now. ”
Moreau and I heaved the bedstead back into place while Brewster moved into the staircase hall and began a search there.
“Why did you send for me?” Moreau asked quietly as we put the room to rights. “Yes, I asked to assist when you searched the houses, but you did not have to do me this favor.”
“Oh, the favor is not for you,” I said, trying to put some humor into my voice. “But for your lady. If we find her letter, you can take it directly to her.”
Moreau nodded, accepting my statement. “It is kind of you. I would like you to meet her.”
I stilled in surprise. “You would?”
“That is, she expressed a wish to meet the captain I continually encounter. I told her I would try to arrange it.”
I did not have to ponder the request long. “I would be honored.”
“Then perhaps when we finish here, we can adjourn to her home. It is not far.”
I raised my brows. “Her neighbors will not be shocked when she has two gentlemen callers?”
Moreau relaxed into a small smile. “The neighbors are all friends. I have been visiting Madame Paillard for many years.”
“You’ve never thought to marry?” I asked in curiosity.
Moreau shrugged. “We might, one day. But our arrangement, it suits us.”
I nodded, as though I understood, but I was even more curious about his lady now.
Brewster returned from the hall. “This floor is empty.”
We moved to the one below, which held a sitting room, a writing room, and a small dining room for intimate suppers or breakfasts.
I found the house cozy, and I would be tempted to lease it myself if we planned to stay longer in Lyon, but I understood why Signora Ruggeri grew impatient with it. It was a pleasant house but nothing grand, and Madame Martin had likely not been a sympathetic retainer.
Comte Lejeune could visit his dove in this nest, but it must not have been the glamour Signora Ruggeri had hoped for when she’d ensnared an aristocrat.
Brewster searched these rooms with our assistance, but we found nothing. We descended to the ground floor, the public rooms.
“She’d hardly stow the things here, would she?” I asked as Brewster began checking walls in the large drawing room. “She’d receive guests in these chambers, not to mention the comte.”
“You’d be surprised, guv. I once found an entire silver service tucked behind the wainscoting in a foyer. Only one spindly footman to guard the way into the house, and that only during the day. Some people beg to be robbed.”
Shaking his head, he continued tapping on walls in the dining room, while Moreau and I went through drawers in the matching sideboards.
Not until we were in the drawing room that ran the depth of the house did Brewster find a hollow behind paneling under a window.
“Here’s summat,” he announced.