The Saint-Fiacre Affair Read Free

Bouchardon was a peasant, and the son
     of peasants. He wore a brown hunting suit and high rubber boots.
    â€˜I was going duck-hunting in the
     ponds …’
    â€˜You don’t go to
     mass?’
    The doctor glanced at him.
    â€˜It didn’t stop me being
     friends with the old priest … But this one …’
    They entered the grounds. The details of
     the chateau could be seen now: the ground-floor windows obscured by shutters, the
     two corner towers, the only old parts of the building.
    When the car parked near the steps,
     Maigret peered
through the barred basement
     windows and saw kitchens full of steam, and a fat woman busy plucking
     partridges.
    The driver didn’t know what to do
     and didn’t dare open the doors of the car.
    â€˜Monsieur Jean isn’t up yet
      …’
    â€˜Call anyone … Are there any other
     servants in the house? …’
    Maigret was sniffling. It was really
     cold. He stood in the courtyard with the doctor, who started stuffing a pipe.
    â€˜Who is Monsieur Jean?’
    Bouchardon shrugged and gave a strange
     smile.
    â€˜You’ll see.’
    â€˜No, tell me, who is
     he?’
    â€˜A young man … A charming young
     man …’
    â€˜A relative?’
    â€˜If you like! … In his own way! …
     Well, why don’t I get it out of the way … He’s the countess’s
     lover … officially, he’s her secretary …’
    And Maigret looked the doctor in the
     eye, remembering that they had been to school together. Only, no one recognized him.
     He was forty-two! He had put on some weight.
    He knew the chateau better than anyone.
     Especially the servants’ quarters. He had to take only a few steps to see the
     estate manager’s house, his birthplace.
    And perhaps it was the memories that
     troubled him so much! Especially the memory of the Countess of Saint-Fiacre as he
     had known her: a young woman who had personified, to the working-class little boy
     that he was, femininity, grace, nobility …
    And she was dead! She had been pushed,
     like an inert
object, into the car, and
     they had had to fold her legs. They hadn’t even buttoned up her blouse, and
     white underwear contrasted with the black of her mourning dress!
    â€¦Â 
a crime will be committed
      …
    But the doctor claimed that she had died
     of an embolism. What supernatural creature had predicted such a thing? And why alert
     the police?
    In the chateau people were running
     about. Doors were opening and closing. A butler, not yet in full livery, half-opened
     the main door and hesitated to come any further. A man appeared behind him, in
     pyjamas, his hair tousled and his eyes weary.
    â€˜What is it?’ he
     shouted.
    â€˜The gigolo!’ the doctor
     murmured cynically into Maigret’s ear.
    The cook had been alerted as well. She
     watched in silence from the basement window. Skylights opened in the roofs leading
     into the servants’ bedrooms.
    â€˜Well! What are we waiting for?
     Let’s carry the countess to her bed,’ Maigret thundered indignantly.
    It all struck him as sacrilegious,
     clashing as it did with his childhood memories. It made him uncomfortable, not just
     emotionally, but physically as well!
    â€¦Â 
a crime will be committed
      …
    The second peal of bells rang for mass.
     People would be in a great hurry. There were farmers who came from far away, on
     carts. And they had brought flowers to put on the graves in the cemetery.
    Jean didn’t dare approach. The
     butler, who had opened the door, was shocked and stood there frozen.
    â€˜Your ladyship … Your lady …’
     he stammered.
    â€˜So? Are you going to leave her
     there? Well?’
    Why on earth was the doctor wearing an
     ironic smile on his face?
    Maigret took charge of the
     situation.
    â€˜Right! Two