The Beast Within - Emile Zola [81]
‘Here I am at last, my dear judge. Do forgive me for being late. The roads are impassable! The three leagues from Doinville to Rouen seemed like six today.’
Monsieur Denizet courteously rose to his feet.
‘I trust you have been keeping well since I saw you last Sunday, madame.’
‘Yes, very well indeed ... Tell me, my dear judge, have you recovered from the shock my coachman gave you? He said that he nearly overturned the carriage as he was driving you back, about two kilometres from the chateau.’
‘A mere bump in the road, madame! I had forgotten all about it... Please, do take a seat. As I said to Madame de Lachesnaye a moment ago, I must apologize for distressing you yet again over this appalling business.’
‘Heavens above! It has to be done ... Good afternoon, Berthe. Good afternoon, Lachesnaye!’
The new arrival was Madame Bonnehon, the murdered man’s sister. She kissed her niece and shook hands with the husband. She had been a widow since she was thirty. Her husband had owned a factory and had left her a large fortune, although she was already very wealthy in her own right, having inherited the Doinville estate when the family property had been divided between her and her brother. She had led a very happy life there and had had numerous love affairs, so it was said, but she had always been so open and forthright in her dealings with other people that she continued to be regarded with great respect in the higher circles of Rouen society. Her lovers had all been men in the legal profession, to whom she was drawn by a mixture of chance encounter and natural inclination. For twenty-five years she had held receptions at the château for members of the judiciary. Important people from the law courts were driven out to Doinville and back again to Rouen in what seemed a never-ending round of parties and celebrations. Even now she had not lost her taste for such things, and it was said that she had a maternal attachment to a young barrister who was the son of a judge at the Court of Appeal, Monsieur Chaumettes; she was seeking to obtain promotion for the son and showered invitations and attention upon the father. She was also still very close to an old friend from earlier days who was likewise a judge at the Court of Appeal, a certain Monsieur Desbazeilles, a bachelor and something of a celebrity in literary circles; his finely wrought sonnets were frequently quoted. For years she had kept a room at Doinville at his permanent disposal. He was now over sixty and was still regularly invited to dine, as a friend of long standing, although latterly his rheumatism allowed him to indulge in little more than nostalgia. So Madame Bonnehon continued to reign like a queen, as gracious as ever despite the threat of advancing years, and no one dreamed of trying to usurp her position. The first time she sensed she might have a rival had been during the previous winter, when she was invited to a reception by Madame Leboucq, the wife of yet another Appeal Court judge, a tall dark-haired woman of thirty-four and very good-looking, whose house had become a centre of attraction for people at Court. This lent a certain wistfulness to her usually cheery disposition.
‘If I may, madame,’ continued Monsieur Denizet, ‘I would like to ask you a few questions.’
He had finished questioning the Lachesnayes but had not yet asked them to leave. His office, usually so cold and uninviting, was beginning to feel more like a cosy drawing room. The clerk, with an air of resignation, once again prepared himself to take down the notes.
‘One of our witnesses has mentioned a telegram which your brother allegedly received, asking him to come to Doinville urgently. We have found no trace of this telegram. Had you by any chance written to him yourself, madame?