The Saint-Florentin Murders: Nicolas Le Floch Investigation #5. Jean-Francois Parot
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make his thoughts serve his loyalties. His counsel could be summed up in the Italian phrase Volto sciolto e pensieri stretti: Open face and secret thoughts. Dissimulation and secrecy were to be cultivated: the commissioner should stand aside for a while in favour of the Marquis de Ranreuil. He should use the disadvantages of an apparent fall from favour, don them like a suit of armour in a society where the slightest weakness was noticed and provided ammunition to those who wished to mock or crush you. He should be seen in all the right places and make sure that the King, who already knew him, noted his regular attendance and expertise on hunts and at shooting parties, to which he had free access thanks to the favour of Louis XV. That would give others nothing to seize on as evidence that Monsieur Lenoir was keeping him on the sidelines. Nothing would be gained by arguing. La Borde noted sadly that times had indeed changed: a witty remark by Monsieur de Maurepas was considered of greater import in royal circles than protecting a good servant.
Nicolas was inspired by his friends’ good counsel. He judged that salvation lay in the deliberate ambiguity of his conduct, which would lead commentary in different directions and, in the long run, drain it of all meaning. Despite the rumours, the cold hearts and false minds of the city and the Court would struggle in vain to spread gossip about him. Everyone might well have his own opinion about the case of ‘young Ranneuil’, but it wouldn’t matter. All that remained to complete the picture were a few touches intended for the chroniclers, who were always on the lookout for things that might convince the less credulous: a gratifying flirtation with an indiscreet lady, a touch of condescension in his courtesy, and, most important of all, being noticed by the King. He had the opportunity to note, with some amusement, how he excelled in the career of courtier. In August, when the Court was at Compiègne, he had several times found himself in at the kill just after the King, and had benefited from his master’s simple good humour. Subsequently, they had conversed merrily about the qualities of the animal or the episodes of the hunt. At shooting, he deliberately missed, much to the satisfaction of Louis XVI, who, as a mark of his esteem, resolved to present him with the rifles which the late King had lent to Nicolas on one of his last excursions, just before his illness.
All this caused much comment at Court, his supposedly fallen star suddenly shone again as brightly as ever, and the very people who, a few days earlier, had looked at him without seeing him now came running to compliment him. He had no doubt that news of his renewed success would reach the ears of Monsieur Lenoir, who was informed by his spies of the smallest details of life at Court. When all was said and done, he realised, the last few months had passed quickly, with a great deal of agitation and a flood of impressions and feelings. A great cry drew him from his reflections.
‘Gigot farci à la royale accompanied by mushroom rissoles!’ roared La Borde, who was carrying a silver tray from which fragrant wreaths of steam were rising.
‘Doesn’t he look like the herald of arms?’ exclaimed Noblecourt, his eyes already gleaming greedily. ‘All he needs is the tabard.’3
‘What do you think this is, then?’ asked La Borde, indicating the white apron with which he was draped.
Now it was Louis’s turn to appear, his face red from the heat of the ovens, carrying a porcelain dish filled with a pyramid of rissoles arranged on a cloth.
Nicolas decided to join in the mounting gaiety. ‘And what are we going to drink with all that?’
Bourdeau produced two bottles from under the table. ‘A plum-coloured Saint Nicolas de Bourgueil!’
‘Gentlemen, gentlemen,’ said Noblecourt, ‘while Poitevin carves, I propose that Monsieur de La Borde gives us the usual descriptive and appetite-whetting speech.’
‘May I enquire, Monsieur,’ said Louis, ‘as to the reason for this custom?’
‘Young man, ever since your father brought joy back to this house, a joy made all the greater today by your presence among us, it has been a tradition which I would not dream of not respecting on this feast day. The delicious dishes concocted under this roof should be tasted not only by the palate but also by the ear.’
And the eyes!’ exclaimed Semacgus. ‘In any case, that is the one sense I allow myself to indulge.’
‘Well,’ retorted Noblecourt, ‘I’m going to disobey my doctor this evening. I shall satisfy those three senses to the full!’
‘Gentlemen,’ said La Borde, ‘may I first point out to you that I had the honour to make this dish for the late King, and that Madame de Pompadour was very fond of it in spite of a weak stomach?’
‘The good lady was quite lenient,’ said Semacgus.
‘On the contrary, she asked for more.’
‘Gentlemen, stop this foolery,’ begged Noblecourt. ‘It’s going to get cold.’
‘Imagine a fine leg of lamb,’ continued La Borde emphatically, ‘kept cool for several days until it’s nicely tender. First you must break the knuckle to get inside and take out the meat while keeping the outside intact. To do this, I called on the skills of a master!’
‘A meat roaster from Rue Saint-Honoré?’ Nicolas asked.
‘Not at all. A naval surgeon, adept at cutting and digging.’
‘It’s true,’ said Semacgus, closing his eyes with a show of solemnity. ‘My knives proved very useful.’
‘Good heavens!’ cried Nicolas. ‘Do you mean to say you used the instruments that are normally for—’
‘I’d like to have you believe it, just to take away your appetite!’
‘I’ll never finish if you keep interrupting me,’ moaned La Borde. ‘The meat that’s been taken out has to be chopped up very small with a little bacon, marrow, fine calf’s-kidney fat, mushrooms, eggs, salt, pepper and spices. Keep kneading it all, making sure that each part absorbs the taste and seasoning of the others. Then fill the skin with it so that the leg reappears in its natural form and tie it all the way round with string, in order to maintain its consistency. Let it get nicely golden, then cook it in a pot with a good thick stock and a thin piece of beef, half roasted, which will fill it with its juices and give it more taste. Add onions stuck with cloves and herbs. A good hour later, turn it in the pot until it’s baked. Check it with your fingertips, to make sure the flesh is soft. As the sauce is now reduced, add some sweetbread, and, once you’ve carved the leg, pour this succulence over it.’
Cheers punctuated Monsieur de La Borde’s recitation. Everyone proceeded to savour a dish that required a spoon rather than a knife and fork. Nicolas watched his son out of the corner of his eye, happy to see that he was eating with that nimble elegance which, once again, recalled not only the bearing of the Marquis de Ranreuil, but also his mother’s innate grace.
‘Now there’s a dish,’ said Noblecourt, ‘that’s well suited to my old teeth.’
‘The crustiness of the wrapping and the softness of the filling go together perfectly,’ said Semacgus. ‘And how well this purple beverage matches the lamb!’
‘Doesn’t it?’ said Bourdeau, delighted. ‘I find that the mushrooms in this fine mixture retain their softness and all the flavours of the forest.’
Noblecourt turned to Louis. ‘This is a dinner you’ll remember when you’re at school, one with which you’ll be able to enliven your dreams.’
‘I shall think of it with gratitude, Monsieur,’ the boy replied, ‘when I’m eating hard-boiled meat and worm-eaten herring. It will strengthen my resolve.’
They all laughed. Catherine placed a dish of crystallised quince fritters sprinkled with sugar on the table. Noblecourt smiled and made a sign to Poitevin, who went out and immediately returned with two small packages.
‘Young man,’ said the former procurator, opening the more voluminous of the two, ‘I was a schoolboy once, and had