Judith Rock - The Eloquence of Blood

“I would guess, too, that there is another way out of here?”

“Of course.”

The fire blazed up, crackling and spitting, and Charles settled beside her on the floor, but where he could see Jean, who seemed to be sleeping now.

“I am so sorry about Marin,” he said. And sorry for thinking he was a killer, he added silently. “This Jean. He is really Tito? Martine Mynette’s servant?” He shook his head, still hardly able to believe it.

Reine nodded.

“You knew who he was all along.”

“Yes, but I didn’t know until I was in the passage and heard him speak that he’d killed Martine. May heaven forgive me, I thought Marin had killed her.” She bent and kissed the old man’s cooling cheek. “I would see Jean when I visited Renee. And I’d seen Martine’s little necklace once or twice-in summer, when she wore her bodices cut lower.” She sighed. “My poor Marin had seen it, too. Marin and I used to beg there often enough, winter and summer, and the girl would bring us out clothes and food. She was very properly brought up. Most of the others who stay with us don’t know whose the heart was. Beggars in Paris come and go, like birds. But Marin knew. At least, when he was himself, he knew.”

“I begin to see,” Charles said. “Jean gave Marin the heart. And this morning Marin remembered whose the heart was and accused him of killing Martine. Only Marin called her Claire and said Jean had taken her ‘Sacred Heart.’ Then Marin started beating Jean with his stick.. and Jean killed him.”

“Martine was so fair, so blond. Marin often confused blond girls with his Claire. Marin frightened Martine, though. Sometimes when we came begging and she brought out her alms, she shrank from him. Which made the poor man call her a demon and accuse her of having stolen his Claire’s beautiful hair.”

“Did Jean come to you in November?”

“Yes, when Martine’s mother turned him out. He said his name was Jean, and I let him be Jean. I thought he would leave when he found a place to work, but he grew attached to Marin and stayed. He was coughing even then, and I saw that he was sicker than he knew. I also saw that he kept Marin safe, safer than Marin was able to keep himself. I never told Renee where he was. Then Martine was killed, and I saw her little heart on its ribbon around Marin’s wrist, and I was terrified that Marin had killed her. I charged Jean to watch him every minute. God forgive me!”

“Did you know that he killed Henri Brion, too?”

Reine’s old face crumpled in dismay. “Jean? Ah, no! But why?”

“It seems Henri Brion was on his way home after an unpleasant encounter with two men he’d involved in a smuggling scheme. I imagine that Brion saw the side door of the Mynette house open and heard a cry and went to see what was wrong. And saw Martine just after Jean had stabbed her. Jean told me he didn’t mean to kill her and I believe him. He meant only to cut the ribbon and take the necklace, but he must have thrust too hard and opened the great vein in her neck. But he was afraid Brion would accuse him to the police, so he chased Brion and killed him and left him in the ditch. Where you found him.”

Reine closed her eyes, twisting her neck as though she were in pain. “Jean was always timid, always afraid of what might happen to him.” A sob rose in her throat and she covered her face. “If only I had asked Marin where the heart came from, if only I hadn’t believed my worst fear, oh, blessed saints, Marin would be alive!”

If only I hadn’t, if only I had… The universal litany of mourning, Charles thought, for which there was no comfort.

Charles got up and searched the cave floor where he and Reine had struggled with Jean. A gleam of red from the fire showed him what he sought, and he leaned down and picked up Martine’s necklace. He held it out to Reine.

Reine shook her head and turned away, her hands busy again stroking Marin’s face, resettling his hands on his breast.

Charles closed his fingers over the necklace, unsure what to do with it.

“Our poor hearts are so often stolen,” Reine said softly, looking at the dead face in her lap.

Behind them, Jean tossed and moaned.

Reine looked at Charles. “We must decide what to do about him before Nicolas comes.”

Running feet struck thunder from the walls of the cave, and a swinging lantern sent shadows spinning crazily off the ceiling.

“Reine! Reine, where are you? Answer me, for God’s sake!”

“I am here, Nicolas. I am well.”

Silhouetted against lantern light, the beggar Richard appeared briefly in the cave entrance before Lieutenant-General La Reynie shoved him aside.

“Here, Nicolas.” Reine held out a shaking hand. La Reynie covered the space between them in two strides and knelt beside her.

“Truly, ma chere, you are not hurt?”

“Truly. I owe what is left of my life to Maitre du Luc.”

La Reynie looked at Charles with gratitude so naked in his face that Charles looked away in confusion. But not before he’d seen La Reynie wrap his arms around Reine and hold her against his chest, rocking on his knees, his lips tightly closed against whatever he was trying not to say to her.

Wondering anew what lay so deep between these two otherwise so far apart, Charles wondered if La Reynie had even noticed Marin’s body. Slowly, the lieutenant-general released Reine and got to his feet. He took the little carving of Marin from his pocket and held it out to her.

“This is very like him, Reine.”

She put it carefully away inside her garments. “Nicolas-”

“At least we have his killer.” His face was hard with satisfaction. He went to where Jean lay tossing with fever and looked down at him.

“I have him, Nicolas. And I am keeping him. Maitre du Luc and I are keeping him.”

La Reynie stared at Reine. Instead of the anger Charles was waiting for, the lieutenant-general’s face creased with worry. He glanced at Charles and said gently, “Grief makes you rave, Reine. Of course I must take him, he is a murderer. At least I have found one whose guilt is certain,” he said, with an ironic look at Charles. “And I will see Marin decently buried.”

“Nicolas, you do not understand-”

La Reynie tried to talk over her, but Charles stopped him.

“Jean is Tito. He killed Martine Mynette and Henri Brion.”

La Reynie spun toward Jean, oblivious in his fever. “He is Tito? How do you know?”

Reine said, “I knew, Nicolas. I have known for a while that he killed Martine Mynette. But I did not know until this morning that he also killed Monsieur Brion.”

Before La Reynie could find words, Charles said, “The servant called Tito left the Mynette house in November, and Reine says that he joined her group of beggars then, calling himself Jean. He told me himself this morning, after he killed Marin, that he had killed Mademoiselle Mynette and Monsieur Brion, though he did not even know Brion’s name. He didn’t mean to kill the girl; he was trying to cut the ribbon of her necklace. He thinks the necklace is his; I don’t know why. As for Henri Brion, he was a victim of poor timing. He must have been on his way home that morning, after Madame Cantel let him out of his prison, when he saw a door open at the Mynette house and went to see if something was wrong. He saw Martine dying. Jean chased him down and stabbed him in fear that Brion would denounce him to the police. Remember that Monsieur Fiennes told us that Gilles Brion saw his father crossing the Place Maubert just at that time.”

La Reynie looked as though someone had given him a chest of gold.

“Thank God and all the saints! Your Jean, Tito, whoever he is, goes to the Chatelet as soon as I can summon men to take him there. If these stories stand up, I can release Gilles Brion.” He strode to Reine and stood looking down at her. “And from here on, I am going to see that you are cared for.” His eyes swept the cave. “No more of this. And this street crotte who tried to kill you will die as he deserves.”