Read Online The Blood of Lorraine by Barbara Pope - Free Book Online Page B

Antoinette came and took the boy. She was the one who opened him up, gutted him and left the body by the river for Geneviève and the men from the village to discover the next morning.
    “It was an accident,” the wet nurse whimpered and repeated over and over again.
    An accident . Martin had seen enough of Geneviève Philipon to be predisposed to believe her. An accident , not a crime. But one that had caused a child’s death and incited an incendiary lie. A lie that could set off a lot of mischief in the wake of all the panic about Dreyfus’s treachery, dangerous mischief; a lie that could be humiliating to Israelites like David Singer and his family. Martin had to squelch the story before it got out. He had to get all three of them to confess.
    When she stopped sniveling, Martin asked, “Whose idea was it to make up the story about the Jewish tinker?”
    Geneviève Philipon shrugged. “I can’t remember.”
    “But surely you can,” he insisted. “You remember everything else. You probably spread the story to the whole village. Whose idea was it to blame a Jew ?” he asked again, giving emphasis to each word.
    He watched as her mouth opened and closed a number of times before she finally told him, “Antoinette. The Jew was her idea.”
    The wet nurse’s hesitations, more than her words, indicated that she was telling the truth. “Why would Antoinette Thomas invent such an elaborate lie?”
    Geneviève Philipon shook her head, not daring to look at him. “I don’t know,” she whispered.
    “Surely you must know. You said you were friends. Where would she get these ideas?” Martin leaned forward and glared at her, waiting.
    “Maybe from a priest?” she finally offered.
    “When? How?”
    “A sermon, maybe, a sermon, about them, you know, the Jews.”
    Her replies were barely audible. But their impact was explosive. Martin didn’t want to tangle with the bishop over the behavior of one of his priests. “Which priest?” he asked.
    Geneviève Philipon shrugged her shoulders. “Her priest? I don’t know. I’m not saying nothing more. I can’t. I told you everything!” She wrapped her arms around her chest in a final gesture of defiance. She was biting down on her lips and breathing hard. Tears were trailing down her sallow cheeks. She had just betrayed her friend. She was through talking.
    “Very well.” Martin suddenly rose from his chair. She had to get a taste of the consequences of her lies and her stubbornness, at least until he corroborated her testimony. “Charpentier, go get a policeman to accompany Mme Philipon to the jail. We’ll hold her until somebody decides to tell us the entire truth.”
    “No, no, please.” The woman fell on her knees.
    Without a word, Charpentier brushed past her on his way to the door. He could barely conceal the smirk on his face.
    “Let me go home,” she pleaded. “My children. Someone has to be with them.”
    “I will send Inspector Jacquette to see how your children are doing. I will also order him to question them about what happened.”
    “No, sir, please. I didn’t do nothing wrong. It wasn’t my fault. It wasn’t their fault either.”
    Martin turned his back on her. He could mete out mercy later, after he found out how a mother could tear open her own child and start a slanderous rumor, and who had put such a dangerous idea in her head in the first place. If it was a parish priest, Martin would have to move quickly to quash the slander before it spread.

6
    “I T WAS THE J EW THAT did it,” Antoinette Thomas shouted as soon as she spotted Martin as she entered his office.
    Martin watched with wary fascination as the uniformed officer pushed her forward. Her feet stuttered, just as Geneviève Philipon’s had. But not because she was timid or scared. Her scowls and expletives indicated that her resistance stemmed from defiance rather than fear. The veteran policeman sighed with relief when he finally shoved her into the witness chair in front