Boris Akunin - Murder on the Leviathan

At first I simply could not understand what the scoundrel was getting at. Then I realized. Fie imagined that you, my precious Emily, were dead! That you were the pregnant lady who was thrown from a carriage and killed. If I had not been so outraged, I should have laughed in the crazy diplomat’s face. How dare he say such a thing, when I know that you are waiting therefor me beneath the azure skies of the islands of paradise! Every hour brings me closer to you, my darling Emily. And now there is nobody and nothing that can stop me.

Only - it is very strange - I cannot for the life of me remember how you came to be in Tahiti, alone without me. There certainly must have been some important reason for it. No matter. When we meet, my dear friend, you will explain everything to me.

But let me return to my story.

Mme Kleber straightened up, suddenly seeming taller (it is amazing how much the impression of height depends on posture and the set of the head), and began speaking, for the most part addressing Fandorin: ‘All these stories you have hatched up here are absolute nonsense.

There is not a single piece of proof or hard evidence. Nothing but assumptions and unfounded speculation. Yes, my real name is Mane Sanfon, but no court in the world has ever been able to charge me with any crime. Yes, my enemies have often slandered me and intrigued against me, but I am strong. Marie Sanfon’s nerve is not so easily broken. I am guilty of only one thing - that I loved a criminal and a madman to distraction. Charles and I were secretly married, and it is his child that I am carrying under my heart. It was Charles who insisted on keeping our marriage secret. If this misdemeanour is a crime, then I am willing to face a judge and jury, but you may be sure, mister home-grown detective, that an experienced lawyer will scatter your chimerical accusations like smoke. What charges can you actually bring against me? That in my youth I lived in a convent with the Grey Sisters and eased the suffering of the poor? Yes, I used to give myself injections, but what of that? The moral suffering caused by a life of secrecy and a difficult pregnancy led me to become addicted to morphine, but now I have found the strength to break free of that pernicious habit. My secret but entirely legitimate husband insisted that I should embark on this voyage under an assumed name. That was how the mythical Swiss banker Kleber came to be invented. The deception caused me suffering, but how could I refuse the man I loved?

I had absolutely no idea about his other life and his fatal passion, or his insane plans!

‘Charles told me that it was not appropriate for the captain’s first mate to take his wife with him on a cruise, but he was concerned for the health of our dear child and could not bear to be parted from me.

He said it would be best if I sailed under a false name. What kind of crime is that, I ask you?

I could see that Charles was not himself that he was in the grip of strange passions that I did not understand, but never in my worst nightmare could I have dreamed that he committed that terrible crime on the rue de Grenelle! And I had no idea that he was the son of an Indian rajah. It comes as a shock to me that my child will be one quarter Indian. The poor little mite, with a madman for a father. I have no doubt at all that Charles has been completely out of his mind for the last few days. How could anyone sane attempt to sink a ship? It is obviously the act of a sick mind. Of course I knew nothing at all about that insane plan.’

At this point Fandorin interrupted her and asked with a hideous little grin: ‘And what about your cloak that was packed so thoughtfully in the travelling bag?’

Mme Kleber - Miss Sanfon - that is, Mme Renier … Or Mme Bagdassar? I do not know what I ought to call her. Very well, let her remain Mme Kleber, since that is what I am used to. Mme Kleber replied to her inquisitor with great dignity: ‘My husband evidently packed everything ready for our escape and was intending to wake me at the last minute.’

But Fandorin was unrelenting. ‘But you were not asleep,’ he said, with a haughty expression on his face. ‘We saw you when we were walking along the corridor. You were fully clothed and even had a shawl on your shoulders.’

I could not sleep because I felt strangely alarmed,’ replied Mme Kleber. I must have felt in my heart that something was wrong …

I was shivering and I felt cold, so I put on my shawl. Is that a crime?’

I was glad to see that the amateur prosecutor was stumped. The accused continued with calm self-assurance: ‘The idea that I supposedly tortured that other madman, M. Gauche, is absolutely incredible.

I told you the truth. The old blockhead went insane with greed and he threatened to kill me. I have no idea how I managed to hit the target with all four bullets. But it is pure coincidence. Providence itself must have guided my hand. No, sir, you cannot make anything of that either!’

Fandorin’s smug self-assurance had been shattered. I beg your pardon!’ he cried excitedly. ‘But we found the shawl! You hid it under the carpet!’

‘Yet another unfounded assertion!’ retorted Mme Kleber. ‘Of course the shawl was hidden by Gauche, who had taken it from my poor husband. And despite all your vile insinuations, I am grateful to you, sir, for returning my property.’

And so saying, she calmly stood up, walked over to the table and took the shawl.

I am the legitimate wife of the legitimate heir of the Emerald Rajah,’ declared this astonishing woman. I have a marriage certificate.

I am carrying Bagdassar’s grandson in my womb. It is true that my deceased husband committed a number of serious crimes, but what has that to do with me and our inheritance?’

Miss Stamp jumped to her feet and tried to grab the shawl from Mme Kleber.

‘The lands and property of the rajah of Brahmapur were confiscated by the British government,’ my fellow countrywoman declared resolutely.

‘That means the treasure belongs to Her Majesty Queen Victoria!’

- and there was no denying that she was right.

‘Just a moment!’ our good Dr Truffo put in. ‘Although I am Italian by birth I am a citizen of France and I represent her interests here. The rajah’s treasure was the personal property of his family and did not belong to the principality of Brahmapur, which means its confiscation was illegal! Charles Renier became a French citizen of his own free will. He committed a most heinous crime on the territory of his adopted country. Under the laws of the French Republic the punishment for such crimes, especially when committed, out of purely venal motives, includes the expropriation of the criminal’s property by the state. Give back the shawl, madam! It belongs to France.’ And he also took a defiant grip on the edge of the shawl.

The situation was a stalemate, and the crafty Fandorin took advantage of it. With the Byzantine cunning typical of his nation, he said loudly: ‘This is a serious dispute that requires arbitration. Permit me, as the representative of a neutral power, to take temporary possession of the shawl, so that you do not tear it to pieces. I shall place it over here, a little distance away from the contending parties.’

And so saying, he took the shawl and carried it across to the side table on the leeward side of the salon, where the windows were closed.

You will see later, my beloved Emily, why I mention these details.

Thus the bone of contention, the shawl, was lying there on the side table, a bright triangle of shimmering colour sparkling with gold. Fandorin was standing with his back to the shawl in the pose of a guard of honour. The rest of us were bunched together at the dining table. Add to this the rustling of the curtains on the windward side of the room, the dim light of an overcast afternoon and the irregular swaying of the floor beneath our feet, and the stage was set for the final scene.