Chapter 6: Revelations

“You see.” The priest continued, drawing a small box from his pocket. “This diamond was to be divided up between Lance’s friends, family, and his fiancée. It was given to him by a rich Englishman who was granted liberty, as a token of friendship.”

Bruno’s eyes swam as he gazed at the sparkling blue diamond.

“One of the friends was named Bruno, yourself.” The priest said. “Another was named Zackie, even though he was one of my rivals. We didn’t hate each other though, for we sailed together on the Dragonite, he said.” The man stopped for a second. “I am telling this as Lance said, you must understand…”

“The third, I believe his name was Giovanni DiRocketti.”
This time, Bruno laughed out loud. The priest continued on. “Well, the fourth is my father, old Drake, and the last part will be divided to the fair Delia… my fiancée.”
“This stone, worth 50,000 francs, was to be sold, the money divided in five parts, and each part given to a friend.” The priest rose. “Now then, if you would be so kind to furnish me with Giovanni DiRocketti’s and Zackie Danglars’ addresses, I can be on my way.”
“Oh no, sir.” Bruno said. “I cannot let you repay the wicked.”
“Whatever do you mean?” The priest said. “Oh, I have forgotten. I heard in Marseilles that old Mr. Drake was dead, and that Delia had vanished – perhaps died in her grief as well. But I see I am mistaken… Perhaps you could enlighten me?”

“Oh, Drake is dead without a doubt, you heard true.” Bruno said. “He died, all right. The doctors said an inflammation of the insides, the closer friends of grief, but I, who say him die, say he died…of hunger.”
“Of hunger!” The priest said, leaping to his feet. “The dogs that prowl the streets do not die of hunger! He starved to death!?”

“Oh, but its true.” Bruno continued. “He died scarce a year had passed. Myself, Monsieur Andrews, and Lance’s fiancée, Delia, all endeavored to console him, but to no avail.”

“And Delia, what of her?”

“She vanished, like the sun vanishes only to rise with greater splendor the next day.” Bruno said with a wry smile. “She is now one of the greatest ladies in Paris.”
“But how?”

“Simple. A year after Lance’s arrest, Giovanni, who had been in the service, returned as a captain, and reminded her that he loved her, and so, with nowhere else to turn, and old Drake being dead, she married him. Not safe for a young woman to live alone, after all… And now she is Madame de Morcerf, Giovanni’s wife.”

“Very well.” The priest said, rising. “Then please provide the address of the residence, for I have a commission to fulfill. Your compliance is much appreciated.”

Bruno seemed to be fighting an inward struggle. Finally, he sighed. “I have not told you the whole story. It was Danglars and Oak who betrayed Lance.”
“Really.”

“Yes. It was like this. We are at the tavern, La Reserve. Danglars wrote a letter and then Gary posted it. The denunciation.”

“So what crime did they accuse him of?”

“They denounced Lance as a Bonapartist agent.”
“So it is true.” The priest murmured. “Ah, Charlotte, you were right after all. My mentor, how I wish…”

Bruno looked surprised, but the abbé cleared his throat. “What then?”

“Well, then, my friend, Danglars, or Zackie, made his fortune speculating, when he entered the banking world with a recommendation from Monsieur Andrews, and he is now a Baron and extremely wealthy. He has a magnificent house, eight footmen, and who knows how many millions in his strong-box.”

“But this Giovanni DiRocketti, you told him he was a simple fisherman, one of the small fishing communities, a son... How could he have made a fortune?”

“I do not know, but it had to do with war and betrayal.” Bruno said simply. “Still, he is now the Lieutenant-General Count de Morcerf.”

“And what of Delia? I suppose she is happy.”

“Perhaps.” Bruno said. “I saw her once, in Spain, as she was attending to the education of her son.”

The abbé started. “Her son?”
“Yes, little Ashura...”

“Ah, so she spent a year bewailing her lover, and then she married.’ The priest mused. “And so, it is true. ‘Frailty, thy name is woman.’” * and I trusted her, like the foolish child I was once… *

“And yet, I am not sure she is happy.”

“Not happy? How? She has fame, riches, a high position, and a child! By heaven, what more could she desire?”

“I am not sure.” Bruno said. “But once, when I was feeling very wretched, I went to Paris, hoping my old friends would help me out. Well, Zackie did not even receive me, but Gary sent me a hundred francs by his valet. And as I was leaving, a purse containing five-and-twenty Louis fell at my feet, and I saw Delia closing a window.”

“I only have one more inquiry.”

“Name it, sir,” Bruno said, now feeling more self-possession. He had nothing left to lose, after all…

“You have mentioned a Monsieur Andrews several times. Which part did he play in this tragedy?”

“That of a noble man,” Bruno said. “Twenty times he went to plead for Lance, and twenty times he was rejected. And when old Drake was dying, he left a purse full of money for him, and with that sum the old man’s debts were paid off and given decent burial. And now Andrews is ruined. He has lost eight ships in half as many years, suffered three bankruptcies, and his only hope now lies in the Dragonite, the very ship that Lance commanded. If it flounders like the others, he is lost.”

The abbé stood. “Very well, you have made your point clear.”

“Sir?”
“Here.” The abbé handed Bruno the case containing the diamond. “Sell it, friend, it is yours, and from now on, you should be relieved of your wretchedness.”

“Oh sir!” Bruno said, overwhelmed.

“You are indeed a true friend.” A strange smile crossed the priest’s visage for a flickering moment. “But in exchange… give me the purse that was left on Giovanni’s mantelpiece by Monsieur Andrews. You have it, do you not?”

Bruno, feeling stranger and stranger, did as he was told. The priest smiled at the purse of red silk, pocketed it, bade farewell, and then summoned his Rapidash and was gone in an instant.

Bruno was left to rejoice in his good fortune.

Two days later, a man dressed in a bright blue coat over nankeen trousers and a white waistcoat, with the appearance and accent of an Englishman, light flaxen hair and steel-grey eyes, presented himself at the office of M. de Blanche, inspector of the prisons.

“Sir,” The man said. ‘I am the chief inspector of the house of Thomson and French, of Rome, and as of late we have received alarming reports that the house of Andrews, whom we have done business with for ten years, is on the edge of ruin. As we hold bills of approximately one hundred thousand francs of his, we are worried that he might become bankrupt.”

“Oh, alas, sir, your fears are too well founded.” Monsieur Blanche said. “It does, indeed, resemble a bankruptcy. Monsieur Andrews has just informed me that if the Dragonite, his last resort, does not arrive, he will be unable to make his payment on the fifteenth of this month.”

“I see,” The Englishman said. “Well sir, I have a proposition to make. Our house will buy your bills,” He continued on, “In ready money.”

Monsieur Blanche gasped.

“Of course, I do ask for a brokerage.”

“That is perfectly just!” de Blanche said. “Five percent, six percent of the sum?”

“Oh no.” The Englishman said, laughing at the end of his teeth, as the English do. “It is a different matter altogether.”

“Name it.”

“You are the inspector of the prisons, are you not?”

“Why yes, sir.”

“So you keep the notes of each prisoner.”

“I do.”

“Well, sir, I was educated in Rome by a poor devil of an abbé, named Charles Faria. I have heard that he has died and would like to know the particulars.”

“Very well, very well.” M. de Blanche said. “That was not long ago, indeed, I only remember because of a very singular event.”

“Oh?”
“Yes, you see, there was a young man with the surname Dragyn whose cell was located not far from the abbé’s. Well, a passageway was found between these two prisons, so we assumed that Dragyn had made or procured tools to dig this communication channel.”

The Englishman smiled imperceptibly.

“Well, they meant to escape, but then the abbé had an attack of catalepsy and died. But Dragyn, he was quite mad, as well as being dangerous, endeavored to escape by route of death. So he sewed himself up in the old man’s burial shroud and took his place.”

“Then what happened?”

“Well, the Chateau d’If has no cemetery. To dispose of bodies, they simply tie a thirty-pound weight to the prisoner’s ankles and throw them into the sea.”

“So…” The Englishman said, as if he could not comprehend.

“So they threw the prisoner into the sea, and got rid of both the mad and dangerous prisoners in one blow.” Blanche laughed heartily.

“I suppose some official document was drawn up?”

“Oh yes.” Blanche said. “Would you like to see?”

“If it is not too much trouble.” The Englishman said. The worthy inspector opened the registers and found the folder, which he handed to the Englishman, before retreating.

The Englishman found all within, the denunciation, the letter of arrest, the official death certificate, and Villefort’s letter, which, had become a powerful weapon with the changes of time.

He smiled and placed the denunciation in his pocket, and when Monsieur de Blanche next saw him, was counting out banknotes on the desk.

End Chapter 6

Completed 6/20/03