I wondered if she knew the entire truth, or only the fabrication that Carlotta had never married before Auberge.
“Indeed,” I said, warming as I did whenever I spoke about my offspring. “Anne, the youngest, is already out-screeching Peter, who can yell like a banshee when he’s provoked.”
Madame Paillard chuckled. “I have two sons myself. Quite a handful they were. Grown men now, in trade in Paris.”
“My felicitations,” I said as she beamed with maternal satisfaction. “Forgive me, but you seem to know much about my family. Information I have not imparted to the colonel.”
“My dear captain, if I waited for Nico to report to me, I’d know nothing. Lyon is excellent for gossip, as you must have realized by now. I learned everything about you via my servants and my neighbors before the colonel even told me of your past connection. The English viscountess on the hill engendered quite a lot of excitement.”
“Donata will be flattered to learn this.” I set down my half-finished torte, not wanting to stuff myself gluttonously. “We did come here to give you some other news.” I exchanged a glance with Moreau, and he nodded. “We found a ledger of names in the house Signora Ruggeri inhabited for a time.”
“Yours was in it,” Moreau said gently. “Though I saw no sign of the letter.”
Madame Paillard set down her coffee cup so fiercely that droplets splashed out. “Damn her,” she said, switching to French in her agitation. “And damn that paramour of hers. Murder is evil, says the Bible, but sometimes it is justified, is it not?”
Chapter 21
Madame Paillard’s declaration rang into sudden silence.
Here was a woman would could be aggressive when need be, I decided, taking in her rapid breathing, her brown eyes flashing fire.
A placid matron, she was not.
I hoped she did not mean she’d murdered Gallo herself—in a fit of rage, perhaps encountering him on the bridge early on the morning of his death. This would fit my theory of a person killing him in fury, then fleeing in shock at what they’d done.
I saw the same idea occur to Moreau, or it might have already done so when he’d stumbled across Gallo’s body.
Madame Paillard removed a thin handkerchief from her pocket and dabbed her cheeks with it. “Forgive me, gentlemen. I am a bit distressed over all this, as you can imagine.”
“We will find your letter,” I assured her. “We are leaving no stone unturned. I have the best thief in Christendom to help me.”
Madame Paillard started, lowering the handkerchief. “Good heavens. Do you mean that large man Nico has told me about? Is my silver safe?”
“He long ago gave up that way of life.” More or less, I added silently.
“He is welcome to all my plate if he can find my letter,” she proclaimed. “Except for the largest platter in the dining room. That was given to my great grand-mère by Louis the Fifteenth.”
When I raised my brows, uncertain whether she was serious, Madame Paillard laughed.
“She was not his official mistress, by any means. Great grand-mère struck the king’s fancy when she visited Versailles, and she was wise enough to gain what she could from his brief infatuation. She bought this house from the proceeds of what he gave her and left it to my mother, who left it to me.”
I lifted my coffee cup. “To the sagacity of your great grand-mère.”
“Thank you.” Madame Paillard said. “I do not come from a long line of courtesans, Captain, in spite of my unfortunate affaire when I was younger. Just resourceful women who knew their own minds.”
“Enchanting ones, as well,” I said.
“He is kind,” Madame Paillard said to Moreau. “Kind and charming. What a remarkable gentleman.”
I could well understand why Moreau highly regarded her.
He’d told me that Madame Paillard’s father had been killed by Potier and that she and her mother and others of her family had fled the city for a time. This house had obviously been spared the threatened destruction—perhaps because of Comtesse Lejeune’s intervention.
“I am sorry for your earlier troubles,” I said. “The colonel explained the heinous things Potier did.”
Madame Paillard gave me a nod. “I asked him to tell you, so you would understand. No one in Lyon speaks of him, because the memories are too fresh. Twenty-five years is not so long a time.
I agreed. I had realized, as I grew older, that decades could pass in the blink of an eye.
