“You’re very generous.”
“As you said, they are kin, and in dire need.” Simon smiled dryly. “Isn’t that what families are for?”
Suzanne bit into a flaky pastry. “Yes, but you hate sitting around here doing nothing when you might be searching for Lucas, yes?”
She was learning to understand him very well. “We’ve already established that we can’t just walk away,” he responded.
“Not permanently, but perhaps we can ride away for a few days,” she said. “We should be able to hire a couple of decent horses here in the village and travel to some of the other places on the list Frère Pascal gave us. Maurice and Jackson can return to Brussels and come back with a vehicle better suited to carrying Philippe to Brussels, and visit with their ladies as well.”
Simon’s mood brightened. “That’s an excellent idea. Waiting around here for several days would drive me mad.” He swallowed the last of his coffee and stood. “I’ll speak with Maurice and Jackson.”
Suzanne washed down the last bite of her pastry with the rest of her coffee. “And I’ll talk to Madame Moreau and Marie. I’m sure that madam will know who might have horses to hire. With luck, we’ll be on our way by midday!”
* * *
Suzanne found the landlady in the kitchen eating her own breakfast. Suzanne explained what they’d like to do, adding that they’d leave enough money to cover costs for the young Duvals for a week’s worth of bed, board, and nursing treatment.
Madame Moreau nodded. “It will be better if you go off rather than having that military-looking husband of yours prowling about restlessly and alarming my other guests. Horses are easy—my husband and I own a farm and he has riding horses that should do.” She frowned at Suzanne. “Or at least they’ll do if you’re a good rider. They aren’t mounts trained for fashionable ladies.”
Suzanne smiled. “I am not a fashionable lady rider, so I should be able to manage. If I can’t buy or borrow a riding habit, I’ll ride astride.”
Madame Moreau clucked disapprovingly. “That wouldn’t be proper for a lady, which you are even if you don’t admit it. We have a sidesaddle and my oldest daughter has a habit that would fit you, though she made it herself and it’s very plain.”
“Plain is preferred in these unsettled times. If she’s willing to let me borrow the habit, I’ll be very grateful.”
She and the landlady exchanged a rueful glance about the unsettled times before Madame Moreau finished her coffee and got to her feet. “I’ll find a boy to guide you and your husband to the farm. It’s not far.”
“And I’ll talk to Marie to tell her what we have in mind. I hope she won’t feel abandoned if we go off.” Suzanne resignedly recognized that if Marie was very upset, Suzanne would have to stay at the inn when she’d much rather ride with Simon.
Hoping for the best, Suzanne quietly entered the sickroom to find Marie. Philippe slept sitting up against a pile of pillows to help his breathing, though it was still labored. But his color had improved from the day before.
Marie sat on a chair by the bed, her worried gaze trained on her husband. Suzanne beckoned her out to the corridor so their talk wouldn’t wake Philippe. “You look better today,” she said approvingly.
“Warmth and good food make a great difference,” Marie said with a smile. “I don’t know how to thank you.”
Suzanne squeezed her hand. “No need for thanks. You are family. Are you comfortable here at the inn?”
“Oh, yes! Madame Moreau reminds me of my grandmother,” Marie replied. “She is so kind and did so much for Philippe. She is as good as any physician.”
“Would you be comfortable staying here while my husband and I leave for two or three days to continue the journey that brought us to Château Chambron? He is seeking a man who is very dear to him,” Suzanne explained. “Our servants will go to Brussels and return with a carriage that can carry Philippe in more comfort. But truly, we will return. We are not abandoning you!”
Looking worried, Marie said, “Have we become too great a burden for you?”
“Not at all.” Suzanne paused a moment, struck by a new thought. “Heavens, Philippe is my stepson! That makes you my daughter-in-law.” She eyed Marie’s expanding middle. “And this is my first grandchild on the way. I must think of myself in a new way. Perhaps I should begin to wear a cap like the elder ladies do.”
Marie laughed, as Suzanne had hoped she would. “You, a grandmother! I cannot imagine that.” Her voice softened. “But you have been as a mother to us.”
“Then I shall give you a bit of motherly advice. Ask Madame Moreau if she needs any mending done. Having busy hands will give you less time to worry.”
“I’ll do that,” Marie said meekly. “I want to be useful, not a burden. But I don’t know how we’ll ever be able to repay you and your husband.”
“No need to worry about that now. You are family, after all.” She was happy to be related to Marie, and no doubt she’d become fond of Philippe when he wasn’t waving a rifle around. “Now I’ll find my husband and we’ll look into hiring horses, but I’ll come to say good-bye before we leave. We won’t be gone long.”
Marie gave Suzanne a swift hug. “I hope you and monsieur find the man you are seeking.”
So did Suzanne.
Chapter 23
The boy assigned to guide Simon and Suzanne turned out to be a Moreau grandson about ten years old. He chattered cheerfully as he led the way down a lane to the family farm. Apparently most of the meat and vegetables and dairy served at the inn were grown there, and his mother was the best cook in the world.
As the grandson skipped ahead of them, Simon took Suzanne’s hand and they strolled along the lane enjoying the birdsongs and vigorous spring greenery. Suzanne remarked, “There seem to be more and more people in our lives, so riding across country with only you sounds very appealing.” She glanced up at him through her dark lashes. “Positively romantic.”
He loved that she felt that way, but he was having second thoughts. “With France so unsettled and disturbing all her neighbors, it might be dangerous for the two of us traveling alone.”
“But you were an army exploring officer, yes? You must have spent much time in Spain riding alone through hostile territory, and here you are, alive and well,” she pointed out.
“I relied on my uniform and a fast horse to keep me out of trouble, but I’m wondering if it’s wise to take you.”
“You’d rather sleep alone with your horse?” she teased. “Travel always brings some risks, but this country is quiet and we will have good horses and weapons. Shouldn’t that be enough?”
“Probably,” he admitted. “But being a husband makes me feel very protective.”
“Protectiveness is a fine trait in a husband.” Her smile was angelic. “I have complete faith in your ability to keep me safe.”
He laughed. “How can I argue with that?”
“You can’t. We’ll be fine.” She shivered. “If Napoleon’s armies start to march, that will be quite another matter.”
“They will march,” Simon said grimly. “But not just yet. It will take him time to organize his forces again.” But damnably, it probably wouldn’t be much time.
The lane ended in the Moreau farmyard. Monsieur Moreau came out to greet them, having heard already about the inn’s unusual guests. He was a vigorous man in late middle age, and his shrewd gaze seemed to assess them for honesty and horsemanship.
“My grandson says that you’re interested in hiring a pair of saddle horses for a few days,” he said. “All my horses are over there in the paddock. Take a look, and I’ll join you in a few minutes, after I give this scamp a sweet cake as a reward for his efforts.” He ruffled his grandson’s hair affectionately.
The grandson happily followed his grandfather into the farmhouse for his treat while Simon and Suzanne crossed to the paddock. It contained the full range of horses from great, strong draft beasts all the way down to a grandchild-sized pony. Suzanne sighed h
appily. “So beautiful. All horses are beautiful.”
“Some are more beautiful than others,” Simon said. “There appear to be several mounts that will meet our needs for a few days.”
After a brief study, Suzanne said, “I like the looks of that golden chestnut gelding with the blaze down his nose.”
She moved to the gate and opened it far enough to slip inside the paddock. After closing the gate behind her, she drifted toward the horses. Simon’s nerves twitched at the sight of her entering a paddock full of unknown beasts, but he controlled the impulse to call her back.
Monsieur Moreau joined him and frowned to see Suzanne inside the paddock. “What the devil?”
He made for the gate, but Simon gestured him to stay where he was. “My wife is very good with horses.”
Suzanne reached out a hand to the chestnut and murmured soft words that Simon couldn’t make out. But equine ears pricked up in interest and three full-grown horses and the pony ambled over to greet her. Laughing, she stroked velvety noses and murmured more words, probably telling them what very fine horses they were.
“You spoke true, Duval,” the farmer said with some amazement. “All of ’em would love to have her throw a saddle over their backs.”
“She was always a horse charmer, even when she was a slip of a girl.” Simon glanced at Monsieur Moreau. “Are you willing to let us hire two horses for three days? If so, we need to discuss the fees.”
It took only a few minutes to work out the details. By the time Suzanne came over leading the chestnut, the transaction was settled.
A larger dark bay followed her hopefully. He looked a likely mount, so Simon entered the paddock and made the beast’s acquaintance. After checking him out, Simon said, “You have fine horses, Monsieur Moreau. May we hire these two?”
“I think I’ll have to let you have ‘em,” the farmer said with a grin. “They obviously don’t want to leave your lady.”
Simon chuckled. He knew exactly how the horses felt.
* * *
Amazingly, Simon and Suzanne managed to ride out not long after noon. Maurice and Jackson had already left for Brussels with the carriage. Suzanne’s borrowed riding habit was plain dark blue and a little large, but she wore it with dash. Simon decided that she would look good in a potato sack. She waved at Marie and the servants who’d come out to bid them farewell.
As they rode through the village on the road east, Suzanne said, “It may be a little late to ask if you know where we’re going.”
He chuckled. “I was an exploring and intelligence officer. I always do my research before setting out. Our first destination is the Church of St. Agnes in a village about three hours’ ride from here. Frère Pascal said that church is one of the places where Frère Jude stays sometimes.”
It was a fine day for a ride. The road they traveled carried little traffic, but farmers were cultivating the fields, and cattle that had grown thin during the winter were grazing contentedly on the lush spring grass.
After a couple of hours, they stopped to enjoy Moreau cheese and bread and a good red wine. “This is very romantic,” Suzanne said as she shook crumbs out of the linen napkins the inn had provided. “Though probably I shouldn’t mention that my backside is a little sore.”
“I think that rubbing your lovely backside to make it feel better would be very romantic,” Simon said earnestly.
She laughed, and he felt the pleasure in their being able to have such a teasing conversation. When they rose to resume their trip, he patted her very lovely backside as he prepared to help her up into the saddle.
She grinned and did the same to him.
* * *
Their leisurely enjoyment of the journey ended when they reached the Church of St. Agnes. After they tethered their horses, they entered the small church. It wasn’t grand, but sunshine poured through the stained glass windows and the old stone walls radiated peace.
A cassocked priest knelt before the altar deep in prayer. By mutual consent, Simon and Suzanne sat in the last pew. When he saw her close her eyes, he realized this was a fine time to attempt prayer, though he’d never been very good at it.
He closed his eyes and concentrated on the peace that was an essential part of this small church. When his mind was as still as it was likely to get, he thought about what he should pray for.
Peace for the nations of Europe so that no more men would die on the battlefields? He sent a fervent prayer heavenward, though peace seemed far too vast and unattainable for a sinner like him to pray for, not with Napoleon igniting flames in Paris.
But he could certainly send up a prayer of gratitude for Suzanne, who had brought joy undreamed of with her warmth and trust and honesty. So gratitude for her, and also a prayer that she would fully heal from the terrible scars of the spirit she had endured. She deserved peace and happiness.
Was it too arrogant to ask God to bring Lucas back to him? The best of his friends, the brother of his heart. But for all he knew, Lucas had been dead for years and Simon was chasing a phantom of hope. Better to pray for peace for Lucas’s soul, whether he was living or dead.
Peace . . . He realized he was holding Suzanne’s hand. He released it when he heard movements from the kneeling priest, but not before squeezing her fingers. She opened her eyes and smiled at him. Peacefully.
The elderly priest used the railing to help himself rise, but he turned with a welcoming smile. “Good day. I’m Père Martin. May I help you?”
“I hope so,” Simon said as he pulled out the sketches of Lucas. “I’m looking for a long-lost cousin of mine who may now be a Franciscan friar and bonesetter. I was told he sometimes stays here when he does his work in this area. Do you know him?”
Père Martin gave a pleased smile as his gaze settled on the picture of Lucas as a friar. “Frère Jude! Of course, he is always most welcome here. He has been here for several days and left no more than two hours ago.”
The shock was like touching a red-hot poker. Simon swallowed hard. “Did he say where he was going next?”
The priest thought a moment. “He said he’d be heading east on the Liege road, I believe.”
“How was he traveling?” Suzanne asked. “Is he on foot?”
“No, he rides a mule.” Père Martin smiled tolerantly. “He worries that he is not honoring his vow of poverty by owning a mule, but I always assure him that riding allows him to travel farther and do more of God’s work.”
Could this friar be Lucas, who’d loved horses as much as Simon did? He’d know soon enough. “Thank you, Pére. We’ll take that road and hope to catch up with him.”
Simon spun and headed for the door at a swift pace, almost unbearably excited. He was almost at the door when Suzanne caught his arm and whispered, “Put something in the collection box!”
“Oh. Right. Of course.” He always donated to a church’s poor box, and today he’d almost forgotten when he had the most reason to be grateful. He dropped in a large handful of coins before going outside.
He did remember to stride to Suzanne’s horse first so he could help her mount. While she settled on the chestnut’s back and adjusted the fall of her skirts, he said in a constricted voice, “I don’t actually believe this will be him. I’ve been letting myself hope too much.”
“At least you will have certainty,” she said softly as her gloved left hand gently brushed his cheek. “If Frère Jude isn’t Lucas, there will be no other places to search.”
Her words gave him a measure of calm. Certainty would be welcome. He swung onto his horse. “Thank you for your sanity.”
“You’ve often been sane for me. Come, let us finish our journey.” She set her horse off at a swift trot, which was saner than the gallop he wanted to use. But they covered ground swiftly. The road was almost empty except for a couple of farm wagons and one annoying flock of geese that reduced them to a slow walk to avoid damage to the squawking birds.
After a brisk hour of riding, he saw the figure of a man on a mule in the dista
nce. Abandoning sanity, he kicked his mount into a gallop. As he closed in on the healthy, well-groomed white mule, he identified the brown Franciscan robe. The friar had fair, tonsured hair, tanned skin, familiar shoulders, but he seemed to have little curiosity, because he didn’t turn to see who was thundering up behind him.
“Frère Jude!” Simon called as he slowed his gallop. “Frère Jude?”
He guided his horse to the mule’s right side and leaned over to grab the other beast’s bridle. As he forced both mounts to a stop, he asked urgently, “Lucas?”
The friar turned his head, and Simon found himself looking into the startled blue eyes of his cousin Lucas.
Chapter 24
Shocked, Lucas whispered, “Simon?” He instinctively reached out and for an instant his hand clasped Simon’s with fierce recognition.
An instant later his expression shuttered and he yanked his hand back. Clutching his reins with knotted fingers, he said, “You shouldn’t be here.”
Still barely believing, Simon retorted, “Why not? I only wish I’d found you sooner, Lucas!”
His cousin was shaking his head. He was too thin, and in his brown friar’s robes and sandals, he looked like a stranger. And yet at the same time, he was achingly familiar—Simon’s companion of countless races and wrestling matches and late-night conversations. “Lucas Mandeville is dead. I am Frère Jude now.”
Suzanne galloped up and pulled her horse to a halt. A little breathlessly, she said, “Good day. I’m Suzanne Duval, and pleased to meet the cousin my husband loves so much.”
Lucas stared, appearing jolted by her arrival and on the verge of flight.
Voice soothing, Suzanne said, “A family reunion after so many years calls for food, drink, and discussion. The logs under that flowering apple tree will be a good place.” She rode to the logs, which looked as if they were destined for future fires, but in the meantime could act as an informal picnic area.
Dismounting, she dug into her saddlebags. “And you thought I’d brought too much food, Simon!”
Simon was amused and grateful for her intercession, since he found that he didn’t quite know what to say to his long-lost cousin. He also dismounted and tethered both horses before he collected the jug of wine and a pair of pewter drinking vessels from his saddlebags. “That’s a fine-looking mule, Lucas.”
Once a Spy Page 17