“Never said much, the signora’s coachman,” the groom who guided us up the stairs told us. “A ruffian, he is. He’s gentle with the beasts, though. Likes them more than people, I think.”
I experienced a sudden dart of sympathy for the coachman. I sometimes felt the same.
The groom shrugged when we said we’d look over the coachman’s chamber and left us to it.
The room was tiny and sparse, and we found nothing hidden in it. The man’s change of clothing and a brushed coachman’s hat remained, as though he meant to return.
“He could have taken the papers with him when he went out,” Moreau suggested as we descended.
I thought it unlikely, but did ask the groom if the coachman had packed a box or valise into the coach before he went.
“None that I saw,” the groom said. “I hitched up for him in the yard when he called down for the coach to be made ready. He came barreling down the stairs, climbed straight up to the seat, and off he went. I didn’t notice him carrying nothing.”
We thanked the groom and departed.
“I think the coachman is genuinely concerned for Signora Ruggeri’s safety,” I said as we settled into Denis’s carriage. “As am I. I hope the others have found her, by now.”
“They were heading to the Croix-Rousse when I left them,” Moreau said. “Captain Vernet wished to speak to the actors she’d met through your friend Mr. Grenville. She might have gone to them for help, he said.”
“And you came here to search for the papers.”
“I thought I’d better,” Moreau said uncomfortably. “Vernet is being thorough.”
I nodded my understanding and bade Denis’s coachman to take us back into Lyon.
“Where do you suggest we go now?” Moreau asked as we bumped along the road.
“I am returning to my reflection on housekeepers. They do know everything, as this one did. She was certain the coachman and Signora Ruggeri were not having a romantic liaison, and I believe her. Housekeepers know much,” I concluded softly. “And they keep the secrets of their employers well.”
“Not always,” Moreau said. “Servants spread the word faster through this city than the local post.”
“The housekeeper here does not hide that she despises Signora Ruggeri,” I mused. “Madame Martin, the woman who tends the house in the Presqu’île, was carefully neutral—she must see plenty of tenants come and go. Gallo’s landlady—what was her name?”
“Jourdain,” Moreau supplied. “She was quite belligerent.”
“You bypassed her and picked the lock on Gallo’s rooms, did you not?”
Moreau nodded, only slightly ashamed. “She refused to let me in the first time I called. So I lingered until her attention was elsewhere.”
“If there had been something in Gallo’s rooms, I wager Madame Jourdain would have known about it.”
“That is possible. However, she did not find the Italian letter or Potier’s name.”
“Those were very well hidden, but even if she had found them, they’d likely mean nothing to her. She wouldn’t have been able to read the letter in its archaic Italian, and if she was not born in Lyon, Potier’s name might not have alarmed her either.”
“Reasonable,” Moreau grunted.
“But suppose Madame Jourdain can read in French, or at least she realized that the papers Gallo had collected were valuable. The police would not have searched her chambers, if she even lives in.”
“Signora Ruggeri told you she had the letters at her townhouse,” Moreau pointed out. “And that they vanished from there.”
“I am keeping in mind that Signora Ruggeri lies to make her living. She might have told me the truth, yes. But perhaps she invented the tale to put me off, and the papers never left Gallo’s lodgings.”
Moreau’s brows rose. “Then we return to La Guillotière?”
“I think we should, though it is only one possibility.” I tried to make myself think through the problem rationally, but my thoughts continued to tangle up in themselves. “Signora Ruggeri still might have taken them to the townhouse, as she claimed. Madame Martin, another housekeeper who likely knows everything that happens in her abode, might have found them there.”
“Signora Ruggeri would not have easily relinquished the papers even if Madame Martin had come upon them,” Moreau said with growing impatience. “Besides, we searched that house. Your man, the former thief, searched. We found only the ledger with the names, which had been very well hidden.”
