For Blood and Wine are Red

Book 238: Murder Room

by Richard Grindal

Genres: Mystery; Traditional Mysteries

Synopsis

A colourful banquet at the Château Perdrix is noisily interrupted by Bishop Arkwright, an American trying to spread the cause of temperance in Europe. Inspector Gautier intervenes and has the bishop expelled. Later that night Michael O'Flynn, the Grand Officier of the Chevaliers, is murdered in the hotel where both Gautier and the bishop are spending the night. Returning to Paris, Gautier immediately finds himself in the company of Lady Jane Shelford and embroiled in another murder. Although seeming initially unrelated, the murders draw Gautier into the feuds of the temperance movement and the politics of the Burgundy wine business, where the stakes are higher than he imagined.

Release date: January 14, 2016

Publisher: Orion

Print pages: 190

Sample

Along each side of the great hall of the Château Perdrix banners hung down from the raftered roof, some bearing the coats of arms of the oldest families of Burgundy,
others painted with the heraldic devices adopted by the wine-growing châteaux. Below on the long oak refectory tables which had been set out in rows over the full length of the hall, stood
silver goblets, jugs and platters, each with some historical significance in the viticulture of the region. On a stage that had been erected at one end of the hall six empty velvet thrones had been
placed in a semicircle, waiting for those who were that evening to be invested with the order of La Confrérie des Chevaliers du Tastevin de Bourgogne. Behind the thrones hung more
banners, each representing the principal châteaux of the region which had joined forces to create the new order.

The three hundred guests invited to this, the inaugural meeting of the Confrérie, had just finished a banquet of eleven courses. With each course one of the best known wines of
the region had been served. As the guests tasted the wines, the Grand Sommelier of the new order, speaking from the stage, had explained the merits and particular attributes of them. Now the dinner
and the dégustation were over and presently the intronisation of the new Chevaliers was to begin.

The chair to Gautier’s left was vacant. He had been invited to attend the banquet and induction ceremony that evening by Duthrey, whom he had known for many years. A journalist on the
staff of Le Figaro in Paris, Duthrey had been selected as one of the six men who were to be admitted to the Confrérie that evening. It was a great honour, he had assured
Gautier, for the other initiates were well-known figures in the wine trade, all proprietors of vineyards producing internationally recognized grand cru wines. Duthrey had been chosen on
account of a book which he had recently written on the wines of Burgundy and which was selling well all over France.

In spite of his often testy manner and dogmatic opinions, Duthrey was by nature shy and he had felt he would need the support of a friend at the ordeal he would have to endure that evening at a
ceremony to be held before more than three hundred people. So he had persuaded Gautier to accompany him. They had travelled down from Paris that morning and would spend the night at a hotel in
Dijon before returning home the following day. Now he had left his seat at the banquet to join the other initiates at the back of the hall, from where they would be led in procession up on to the
stage.

Gautier knew little about the new Confrérie, which he was inclined to see as no more than another example of the French passion for decorations. Best known of the honours which
could be bestowed on French men and women was of course the Légion d’honneur, which had been created by Napoleon a little more than a century previously. Since that time more than
fifty thousand people in all had been invested with one or other of the Légion’s ranks: chevaliers, officiers, commandeurs, grand officiers – and more were being accorded the
honour every year for their services to the country. There were several other similar though lesser awards, reserved for people in different occupations: agriculture, schoolteaching, municipal
police, customs and excise and the postal services. Even porters in Les Halles, the markets of Paris, had their own decoration.

The Confrérie was a new and relatively minor order, but even so that evening Gautier was impressed with the trouble that its sponsors had taken to invest its inaugural meeting
with dignity and style. The man sitting on his right, with whom he had exchanged a few words during the banquet and whose name was Pascal, obviously agreed for he suddenly remarked, ‘You are
fortunate to be here, my friend. This evening may well mark the beginning of a new age for the wines of Burgundy.’

‘In what way?’

‘Time will show that the founding of the Confrérie was a great step forward.’

‘What is the purpose behind it, may I ask?’

‘It will have two main objectives,’ Pascal replied. ‘One will be to maintain and improve the quality of the wines produced in the region.’

‘How will this be done?’

‘By controlling the yield from every hectare of grapes in a vineyard and laying down the minimum and maximum limits of alcoholic strength for the wine. The details are being worked out and
in due course they will be embodied in a charter.’

‘And the second objective?’

‘To enhance and spread the reputation of wines from Burgundy until they carry the same prestige as Bordeaux wines.’

Gautier was aware that for centuries wines from Bordeaux had possessed a special cachet outside France, not only the grands crus classés wines from Paulliac and Margaux, the
‘clarets’ as the English called them, but also Graves, Sauternes and other sweet wines. Shippers of Bordeaux wines had a thriving export business with England which dated back to the
middle ages, when the south-west of France belonged to the English crown.

‘And you believe that these objectives can be achieved?’ Gautier asked Pascal.

‘I am convinced of it, although there are some in the wine business who believe that the sponsors of the Confrérie have acted too hastily. They say we are trying to run
before we can walk and that in ten, maybe twenty years, we will be ready for a Confrérie.’

Pascal, who was a talkative fellow, was clearly ready to expand on his reasons for supporting the creation of the Confrérie. He was prevented from doing so, for at that moment
they heard the sound of horns coming from the back of the hall, a signal that the ritual of the intronisation was about to begin.

They looked round and saw that two trumpeters were leading a procession up the centre of the hall. Behind them came three men dressed in scarlet robes not unlike those worn a century or two ago
by doctors of law, with gold sashes over their shoulders. The scarlet hats they were wearing also had a vaguely academic look. Gautier supposed that they must be officers of the new
Confrérie, the Grand Officier perhaps and his two deputies. They were followed by the six men who were to be made Chevaliers that evening, walking in couples, also wearing similar
robes, but without sashes and bareheaded. As the procession passed Gautier, Duthrey, who was one of the six, did not look round at him, but stared straight ahead to conceal his
self-consciousness.

The procession filed up the stairs leading to the stage, where the trumpeters separated to take up their positions, one on each side. The six neophytes were then led in turn to one of the
thrones where they were left standing, facing the spectators, waiting for their initiation into the Confrérie. Returning to the front of the stage, the Grand Officier of the
Confrérie then gave an address in Latin, reading from a vellum scroll which was handed to him by one of his aides.

Gautier had only a rudimentary knowledge of Latin, but he gathered that the theme of the address was to remind all those present of the traditions of winemaking in Burgundy and of the
determination of the Confrérie that these should be maintained. When the Grand Officier had finished his address, he and the other two officers began going round in turn to all the
six neophytes standing in front of their thrones. Each of them was asked three questions, also in Latin, to which they responded. Gautier guessed they were being asked to confirm their loyalty to
the Confrérie and its code of conduct. Then each of them was tapped by the Grand Officier on both shoulders with a wooden staff made from the stalk of a vine. Finally each man sat
down in his throne and the Grand Officier placed around his shoulders a golden ribbon at the end of which hung a silver medal. As this was being done the trumpeters played a clarion call.

Only three of the six neophytes had been admitted as Chevaliers of the Confrérie, when the ceremony was interrupted by a commotion and shouting from the far end of the hall.
Looking round Gautier saw a man in a grey suit wearing a clerical collar, shrugging off two attendants who were trying to stop him entering. He came striding up the aisle between the tables,
heading for the stage.

‘Stop this!’ he was shouting in English. ‘In the name of the Lord and of Christianity I order you to stop this!’

Everyone in the hall stared at the man, astonished by his behaviour and by the aggression in his language. No one attempted to stop him as he strode towards the stage and climbed the steps
leading up to it. Gautier saw that he was carrying what looked like a stick, but as soon as he was on the stage, he released the thong, showing that it was a whip. He turned to face the
spectators.

‘You who sell drink sell sin,’ he shouted. ‘Alcohol is the fount of sin, of fornication and adultery, of impiety and deceit and every abomination. Just as Christ cleared the
temple, I shall clear this house and drive out the peddlers of sin.’

He began cracking his whip, aiming not at anyone in particular but in the general direction of the hall and the spectators. The two attendants who had followed him were standing at the foot of
the steps leading up to the stage, listening to the man and not knowing what they should do. The Grand Officier went to the edge of the stage and beckoned to them.

‘Take this gentleman away,’ he told them. ‘Use as much force as you need.’

The attendants climbed up on to the stage, nervously it seemed to Gautier, afraid that the man might lash out at them with his whip. Instead he stopped his whipping and dropped his arms to his
sides, as though ready to be taken prisoner. The attendants seized him, hustled him down the steps and began marching him towards the exit of the hall. As they went the man continued shouting,
calling on God to destroy all who sold drink, then urging the makers of wine to repent, to stop their evil trade and seek salvation.

‘Who is that man?’ Gautier asked Pascal. ‘Have you ever seen him before?’

‘As it happens I have. He is a Methodist bishop, the leader of a political movement in America. He was speaking at a public meeting in Dijon only this morning.’

‘What have American politics to do with France?’

Pascal shrugged. ‘If you ask me he is a little mad.’

‘Is he violent?’

‘He could easily be.’

Gautier decided that he must act. Although as an Inspector of the Sûreté in Paris he had no standing in local matters of law and order, he felt that the two attendants might welcome
the assistance of authority and as far as he knew there were no policemen present at the Château Perdrix that evening. He also felt he had a duty to make sure that his friend Duthrey’s
intronisation should not suffer any further disruptions. Leaving the table he walked down towards the end of the hall. There by the entrance to the building he found the bishop still held
prisoner by the attendants. He was no longer shouting, but still protesting.

‘You have no right to do this!’ he told the two men, speaking French now, although badly and with an atrocious accent.

‘Monsieur le Curé,’ one of the men said persuasively. ‘You have had your fun. Why don’t you go away now, there’s a good fellow?’

Learning that he had been mistaken for a mere parish priest did not displease the bishop as much as one might have expected. Gautier had formed the impression that he would not be deflected from
his purpose that evening by any trifling discourtesies.

‘I insist that you release me and allow me to go back and address the people in the hall,’ he told the two men. ‘I have a right to be heard.’

‘Monsieur,’ Gautier asked him firmly, ‘do you have an invitation to this meeting? If so, show it to us.’

‘I need no invitation. I am speaking in the name of the Lord.’

‘If you persist in this behaviour, you will be arrested, taken to Dijon and thrown into jail.’

‘And who are you, Monsieur? What authority do you have, may I ask?’

‘I am an inspector with the Sûreté in Paris.’

One could sense a change in the bishop’s attitude. He had been ready to bully the two attendants, but was not prepared to challenge the police.

‘I have broken no law,’ he said.

‘How did you come to this hall?’ Gautier asked him.

‘I was driven here from Dijon by automobile.’ The bishop pointed towards where a small number of automobiles were parked among the carriages, which had brought most of the guests to
the château that evening. Automobiles were commonplace in Paris now and there were increasing complaints in the city that they were disrupting the traffic in the streets, as well as
threatening the lives of pedestrians. One might have supposed, though, that few would be found in Dijon.

‘In that case I will escort you to your auto,’ Gautier said firmly ‘and you will return to Dijon.’

The bishop did not protest or argue. It may have been that he believed he had achieved his purpose in coming to the meeting that evening and was ready to leave. He led Gautier to the parked
automobiles, in one of which a young man was sitting at the steering wheel.

The bishop pointed towards the man. ‘This is Monsieur Fallière, who was kind enough to drive me out here from Dijon.’

Fallière was not dressed in any uniform, which suggested he was not a professional chauffeur, nor was he wearing the leather jacket, helmet or other accoutrements popular with amateur
drivers. He had a notebook on his lap in which he had been writing.

Gautier introduced himself and then added, ‘I understand, Monsieur, that you brought this gentleman here from Dijon.’

Fallière grinned insolently. ‘Bishop Arkwright put on quite a show in there, did he not?’ He inclined his head in the direction of the hall.

‘How do you know?’

‘I was watching from the back.’

‘What is your interest in the proceedings?’

‘I work on the staff of Le Bien Public in Dijon. I am a newspaper reporter.’

‘Well, Monsieur, now perhaps you would be good enough to drive the bishop back to Dijon. He is not welcome here.’

‘The evening – my evening – was ruined!’ Duthrey said angrily.

‘Let us not exaggerate, old friend. Apart from that childish display by the American bishop, the evening was a great success; an impressive ceremony conducted with style and
taste.’

‘It was a disaster!’ Duthrey replied morosely.

‘In no way. Most of the people in the hall would not have even heard what the man was saying. Others would have treated his intervention with scorn.’

Duthrey would not be consoled. ‘The man should be arrested. Thrown in jail!’

The two of them were being driven back in a carriage provided by the Confrérie to the hotel where they were to spend the night. Gautier could understand Duthrey’s
indignation, but what he had said was true. The behaviour of Bishop Arkwright at the intronisation ceremony had been no more than an irritating diversion, a piece of comic relief in the
evening which would soon be forgotten.

‘What was the man trying to achieve?’ Gautier asked. ‘What were his motives for that extraordinary outburst?’

‘Bishop Arkwright is one of the leaders of the Anti-Saloon League, a temperance movement in America. His arrival in France a few days ago was reported in my paper. The objective of the
League is to promote total abstinence, to stop people drinking.’

‘Stop drinking? How?’

‘The temperance movement has a great deal of influence in the United States. Its leaders are confident that within a short time Congress will pass a law prohibiting the sale of all
alcoholic drinks. Now they hope to spread their pernicious creed in our country.’

Gautier laughed. ‘Stop Frenchmen drinking? They cannot be serious! Are they not aware that wine is a part of life for us? Essential for the enjoyment of food, for appetite, for
health?’

‘They are fanatics, religious fanatics. The temperance movement was spawned in the Middle West of America, the so-called bible belt. It is dominated by the Nonconformist sects; Baptists,
Methodists, Quakers.’

‘You seem very well informed on the subject.’

‘Some weeks ago Figaro asked me to write a series of articles on present-day comparative religions.’

They started talking about the religions of the world and their various sects. Thinking it would distract Duthrey and lessen his sense of grievance, Gautier led him on with questions. They were
spending the night in Dijon at a small, elegant hotel called L’Hostellerie du Chapeau Rouge, which could trace its origins back to the fourteenth century and took its name from a
cardinal’s red hat. When they arrived there they went into a salon adjoining the vestibule and found a waiter who brought them a bottle of cognac.

While they were enjoying their digestif Duthrey showed Gautier what had been hung round his neck at the ceremony that evening to confirm his election as a Chevalier of the
Confrérie. It was not, as Gautier had believed, a medal but a tastevin, the traditional cup of the wine-taster or sommelier. Beautifully fashioned in silver, its
shape was not unlike that of a scallop-shell, flared to allow anyone examining a wine to nose it before tasting. Now Duthrey’s lay in a small red presentation box which he had been given
after the ceremony. The top of the box was engraved with a crest, featuring a knight’s casque and a harp.

As he closed the box Duthrey pointed to the crest. ‘That is the family coat of arms of Michael O’Flynn, the Grand Officier of the Confrérie.’

‘O’Flynn? That is not a French name, surely?’

‘No, Irish. Michael is descended from an Irish officer who fought for Napoleon.’

Gautier remembered reading somewhere that a large number of Irishmen had fought in the French army during the eighteenth century. This had been at a time when English laws against Catholics made
it impossible for young Irishmen to enter a profession or to have any other worthwhile career in their own country. With no prospects many of those who did n. . .