Ah, at last! he said to himself. One is missing. There is a space next to the sailor doll on the floor beside where she has forgotten to pick up her scissors.
‘What is it?’ she asked, and the shrillness of her voice seemed to startle the dolls.
He found himself reflected in the mirrors and this was also disturbing. ‘May I?’ he asked, indicating the chaise-longue.
‘No. There is a chair. You are to sit before us.’
The large hazel eyes of the stepmother peered through the bars at him. Forehead, nose and chin, the ears and the throat, the long almost dark black hair with its coppery hues and the fine brush of the eyebrows, all were of Hélène Charbonneau. The Dollmaker had spared no effort. She was perfect.
‘This is Adèle, my mother,’ said the child, watching him closely.
‘Which one?’ he was forced to ask.
‘There, I told you so. All of you. He calls himself a detective, a Chief Inspector!’
The gown was of sky-blue satin. The deep blue sapphire pendant was very real.
‘Hélène should be with her dearest friend,’ he said uncomfortably.
He was making her so angry. ‘She’s going to the guillotine,’ she hissed. ‘I won’t even put her head with the others.’
The detective longed for his pipe and tobacco but these had unfortunately been soaked through at the clay pits, though he felt the pockets of the robe for them. Rain thrashed the roof above. The wind cried out.
‘There are so many of them,’ he said. ‘They are so very beautiful.’
‘She and my mother used to collect them for me when they were with my father on his concert tours.’
‘Ah!’ He tossed his head in acknowledgement. ‘Vienna, Berlin, Thuringia perhaps and Waltershausen or Erfurt — a side trip, a little holiday. The Parian heads. The Captain didn’t make all of those. They were picked up in secondhand shops. Shops of fine antiques and beautiful little curios.’
A Bru, a Steiner or a Jumeau, Kaestner had said of the fragments of bisque, but of these only the Steiner was German.
‘What makes of doll have you?’ he asked, again wishing for his pipe. He would now be very difficult for her to deal with. Even the flames of antiquity would not disturb him any more.
‘Steiner,’ she said hollowly. ‘Jumeau — there are several with the Jumeau Médaille d’or de Paris incised on the body and only sometimes on the back of the head and hidden by the hair. The Bru dolls have the letters BRU in a vertical row on the left shoulder. The Captain has told me this. He has identified the makers of all of my dolls and has even done so first with his eyes closed. He made a bet with me and he won it. He knows each one simply by touching the bisque, by touching their cheeks, their skin like this.’
She shut her eyes and felt the softness of her cheek and chin and then her throat.
‘There are some Armand Marseilles — he was a German but had a French name. It’s curious, is it not? The A.M. is incised on the back of the neck. Simon and Halbig made others. H.H. stands for Heinrich Handewerck. I’ve three of those and like them very much but then, I like all of my dolls. Well, almost all of them.’
The child was holding something back. She didn’t like him asking about the makers of the dolls, nor did she like him looking at her scissors on the floor and that empty space. ‘The Royal Kaestners?’ he asked.
‘They are the finest, can’t you tell?’
‘Please, I am more interested in their trademarks at the moment.’
She fidgeted. She looked away. ‘A king’s crown, of course, with two streaming ribbons. The left ribbon has the initials J.D.K.; the right ribbon, Germany.’
‘Good. Any others?’ he asked suddenly and got up to reach out to take a doll down from its perch.
‘You’re not to touch them!’ she hissed, alarmed.
‘I will if I must,’ he countered.
‘It’s a Bru, so there! Can’t you tell by its face? Don’t you know anything? The face is always heavier. It’s more highly coloured than the jumeau that is nearby. Jumeaus have the largest, most beautiful, soulful eyes and the best clothes, though the Captain says this is not so. The clothes, that is.’
The Royal Kaestners were better.
‘You have lost a doll, Angélique. Please tell me what happened when you and your father went into the shop of Monsieur le Trocquer. It was the day before his murder. You purchased a pair of green-glass candlesticks for your stepmother.’
They had turned on her in the mirrors. Now all the dolls were watching her and it was as if she herself was on trial and it wasn’t fair.
‘Well?’ he asked. He would not leave it now. He even picked up one of the lamps and held it out before him so as to see her better.
‘Then, yes,’ she spat. ‘I purchased candlesticks for her.’
‘What did you pay for them?’ The stonework of the lamp was so very beautiful, the design so very simple, the shape, the long half of a small butternut squash. ‘Well?’ he said.
Why must he ask? ‘Twenty-five francs each. It … it was a lot. Candles can’t be bought except on the black market and that’s illegal. He knew this, yet he insisted on the price.’
‘But you made the sacrifice anyway.’
‘Yes,’ she muttered spitefully and wished he would put the lamp down.
‘Did your stepmother like the candlesticks?’
Anger flared. ‘Of course not. That is why I bought them!’
He set the lamp down carefully on the floor. ‘What happened to the doll that is missing?’
She could not tell him. She mustn’t. ‘I … I don’t know. Someone stole it, I suppose.’
‘Was there anyone else in the shop besides your father and Monsieur le Trocquer?’
‘Paulette … Paulette was there. Of course! It was she who stole my doll. It was, Inspector. It must have been.’
‘Paulette?’
‘Yes!’
‘But … but Paulette has told me she went up to see to her mother? Please don’t lie, Angélique. Not now. Lives are at risk. A murderer hides and though you say it was your stepmother, this may not be so.’
‘Paulette le Trocquer stole my doll. I … I set it on something. I can’t remember. I had thought to sell it to Monsieur le Trocquer or at least to exchange it for the candlesticks but… but he didn’t want to. He said the doll did not interest him.’
‘Yet he must have taken it in his briefcase when he went to find the Captain Kaestner on the following day. The Préfet had come to the shop. They had had an argument. Things were broken. Paulette and her mother each swear they heard them cry out a name. I think you know whose name that was and I think you should tell me what really happened to that doll and why you took it to the shop in the first place.’
‘I can’t. I mustn’t! She killed him and she’ll kill me too if you’re not careful!’
He could not leave it. He got up again from his chair and, seizing the scissors, threatened to strip all the dolls if necessary to examine the marks of their makers.
In tears, the girl blurted, ‘It was a K and R, so there. Kämmer and Reinhardt, does that make you feel better? A dark green velvet gown with a décolletage and appliqués of frilly white lace at its cuffs and down its front and real jade buttons. They were really real.’
‘K and R …?’
The letters meant nothing to the Chief Inspector, and when she saw this, Angélique wiped her tears away and shuddered involuntarily. Paulette would know all about it. Paulette would tell him.
*
Kohler listened intently as Préfet Kerjean told him of his search for the pianist, and only occasionally did he catch a glimpse of the shopkeeper’s daughter. The girl was dancing with one of the junior officers from Kernével. She was having the time of her life and getting lots of hungry looks from the boys.