Once a Spy

by Putney, Mary Jo

  “Of course. Don’t want to endanger you.”

  Philippe helped him into the hidden closet. The floor was cluttered with rubble but Simon didn’t care. He folded himself down against the wall by the corner that had the listening hole. “If they drag me out and shoot me in front of the house, thank you for trying to help, Philippe.”

  “A wise man once told me family is family. Now I need to find my old cane so I look convincingly crippled.” With a last swift smile, Philippe shut the closet door.

  Simon closed his eyes and prayed that he would survive to see Suzanne again. The hoofbeats neared, then stopped, all too close.

  A moment later, the heavy old door knocker was bashed into the door half a dozen times. Then the distinctive tap of the cane as Philippe hobbled to the door and opened it.

  A soldierly voice said, “We’ve been chasing a damned English spy. Did you see a man on a horse gallop by?”

  “No, I’ve neither seen nor heard anyone.”

  Another, older voice said with surprise, “Captain Duval! I haven’t seen you since our forces were disbanded and we were sent home. Is this ruined palace your home?”

  Philippe chuckled. “How good to see you alive and well, Captain Weiss! I live nearby in an honest, comfortable farmhouse. This château was once owned by an aristo.” He spat. “Now long gone, God be thanked! I am trying to recover from old wounds, so I decided to practice my walking by coming over here. A very grand place it was once, though peasants like me were never welcome inside. I was curious to see if anything interesting remained in the ruins, but if so, someone else got here first.”

  “May all aristos burn in hell!” one of the soldiers said harshly. “Like the one who lived here is probably doing!”

  Amid laughter, Captain Weiss said, “We must be off now after that damned spy. There was a lane that split off the road to the château. He must have gone that way. He can’t last much longer.” After a moment’s pause, he asked, “Will you be fit enough to rejoin the army, Duval? We need experienced officers like you if we’re going to take down Wellington.”

  Philippe sighed wearily. “It depends on how soon the next battle is. I fear I may always need this devil’s crutch.” He thumped the floor a couple of times with his cane. “But good luck, mes amis! Fight well and know when to duck.”

  Laughter and farewells were heard and the soldiers’ horses rode off. Simon gave an exhausted sigh. It looked as if he would live to run another day.

  Chapter 37

  Simon had managed to struggle to his feet by the time Philippe returned. “I wish I knew more words beyond ‘thank you’! May I stay in the ruins tonight? I’ll be off early in the morning.”

  “Nonsense, you’re coming back to the Cordiers’,” Philippe said briskly. “You need a proper meal and a bed and a good night’s sleep.”

  “And maybe a bath?” Simon asked hopefully. “A basin of warm water and a towel would be wonderful. A basin of cold water!”

  Philippe laughed and lifted the saddlebags. “We can do better than that. Come along now and hold tight to that railing. I don’t want you to waste my lies by breaking your neck. I’ll collect your horse.”

  “He deserves pampering far more than I do,” Simon said as he started carefully down the stairs. “I’ve never met a horse with a more gallant heart. I don’t think I can ask him to go on again tomorrow, though. He needs rest.”

  “So do you, but I’m sure you’re more careful of your horse than yourself,” Philippe said dryly. He left the saddlebags at the bottom of the staircase and disappeared into the back of the house, returning with Achille about the same time Simon reached the bottom of the steps. “If you want to leave him here to rest, I can lend you a decent hack that will be fresh and ready to go.”

  Simon patted Achille’s neck. The horse managed a friendly whuffle, but he looked close to breaking down, which would be a terrible thing to do to such a good mount. “Thank you. I’ll take you up on that.”

  Philippe tossed the saddlebags over the horse and fastened them, then led the way outdoors. Achille picked his way down the steps very carefully. “It’s about a mile to the Cordiers’ house along a path through the woods. Do you want to ride or walk?”

  Neither, actually, but the lure of food and a bed were too powerful to resist. “I’ll walk,” Simon said. “That will spare Achille and give me a chance to stretch my legs out.”

  Philippe nodded and led the way around the ruined château to the path through the woods. Simon said, “Aren’t you going to ask if the soldiers pursuing me were justified in their belief that I am a spy?”

  Philippe glanced over Achille’s back. “I think it’s better I don’t know. That way I can’t tell any lies if they come back.”

  Wise man. As they made their way through the growing darkness, Simon said quietly, “I love France and mean it no harm. It is my father’s country. But I hate war and want to see an end to it.”

  “I was so proud and excited when I joined the army,” Philippe reminisced. “Willing, even eager, to lay down my life for France. I was very young, only seventeen. Seven years ago. Long enough for me to have now seen too much of war.” After a dozen more steps, he said, “Now I want to live for Marie, for my family. My true family, the Cordiers, not the father I worshipped but who barely remembered my existence.”

  Glad that Philippe had become more clear-sighted about Jean-Louis, Simon said carefully, “He could have done better by you. But he chose wisely when he gave you to the Cordiers to raise and in the end, he left you all he owned.”

  “He did, but . . . he was an aristo,” Philippe said in a matter-of-fact voice. “The Cordiers gave me things beyond price. I can’t wait to bring Marie to them. They will love her and she will love them.”

  “Who could not?” Simon said. His tight muscles were beginning to loosen, which made him even more aware of his exhaustion.

  After another few minutes of walking in silence, Philippe said, “In these last weeks, I have come to realize I would lay down my life for France if necessary. But I will not do it for the emperor.”

  “He is a great and terrible man,” Simon said. “He has done some fine things for France, but he seems unable to exist without war. Even if he manages to pull off a victory over Wellington and the Prussians, in the long run he cannot defeat all his enemies. Trying to do so will just cause the deaths of too many men. Too many of them our French brothers.”

  Philippe sighed. “I want an end to this. I hope whatever information you are carrying will bring that end closer.”

  “So do I!” Simon said fervently. “Is that why you were willing to help me?”

  “Not really.” Philippe laughed. “I did it because family is family!”

  The Cordier Home

  I owe Philippe eternal gratitude for helping me elude my pursuers, and even more for bringing me to the home of his grandparents, the Cordiers. They have clucked over me, fed me, given me a hot bath, and now a bed, sadly empty without you. I slept for hours and so missed my midnight moments with you, mon ange, but I have a candle so I’ll finish my account by thinking of you. I shall tell you the whole story when I am home again.

  Imagine kisses and much, much more. MUCH, much more . . . !

  Simon

  Philippe’s horse was good, though not as good as Achille. Fortified by food and a good night’s rest, Simon continued north, hoping to God he would be able to deliver his information in time. As Wellington had said, if an army heads the wrong way, reversing direction is difficult and potentially catastrophic.

  Simon had spent days in France studying military movements, troop concentrations, and everything else that might help determine Napoleon’s plan of attack. Now he knew where the invasion would come, but his knowledge would be useless if he couldn’t get it into Wellington’s hands, and time was running out.

  Crossing the border was difficult because the French were doing their best to block all traffic and information from getting through. Luckily Simon was an expert a
t avoiding pickets and sliding through enemy lines.

  He had almost reached Mons, a town west of Charleroi, when he saw an Anglo-Dutch cavalry encampment. Giving thanks, he rode into the camp and waved down the first officer he saw, a captain. “I’m Colonel Duval, one of Wellington’s exploring officers. Please take me to your commanding officer.”

  The captain looked doubtful. “You don’t look like no colonel. General Dornberg won’t want to waste his time talking to just anyone.”

  “He’ll listen to me.” Simon sharpened his voice to command. “Take me to him now!”

  Not entirely convinced but intimidated, the captain led Simon through the camp to the largest tent. After a short discussion with the soldier guarding the entrance, the captain waved Simon inside with a “you asked for it” expression on his face.

  Simon entered and saw General Dornberg in full, dazzling cavalry uniform, sitting at his breakfast table with several junior officers. Even though he wasn’t in uniform, Simon snapped his best salute. “Sir, I’m Colonel Duval of Wellington’s intelligence staff. I have vital dispatches that must be sent to his headquarters in Brussels immediately.”

  Dornberg frowned. “Where’s your uniform?”

  “Under special orders from the Duke of Wellington, I’ve been gathering intelligence in civilian clothing, thereby risking summary execution if I was caught by the French,” Simon said flatly. “Luckily I wasn’t, quite.” He held up his dispatch case. “Send this to Wellington now. He’s waiting for this report.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that.” Dornberg held his hand out for the dispatch case.

  Simon was reluctant to hand it over, but Dornberg was a senior officer and his troops would be affected by the information, so he gave the case to the general.

  Dornberg opened the case and scanned Simon’s concise, carefully written report. “Napoleon is going to come through Charleroi? Absurd! All indications are that he will come through Mons, and my men are ready for him.”

  “The emperor has done his best to confuse us, and he has been successful. But I have the latest information and it is vital that it be sent to Wellington immediately.”

  “I won’t waste his time on this,” Dornberg growled. “Now get out of my sight, whoever you are!”

  Simon wanted to do murder, but killing a general surrounded by armed officers was not a good idea. Teeth clenched, he spun on his heel and marched from the tent, leaving the dispatch case behind.

  Outside, he swung onto his tired horse and thought about where he could get a fresh mount for the ride to Brussels.

  * * *

  It was late evening when Simon reached Wellington’s headquarters, and by then he never wanted to see a horse again. Here, at least, he was recognized and let through immediately.

  The duke was conferring with several aides when Simon entered his office, but he got to his feet, his expression intent. “You have information?”

  “I do. The French army is going to be coming up through Charleroi, not Mons.” Simon followed that statement with a brief summary of what he’d observed to reach his conclusion.

  Wellington swore. “By God, Napoleon’s humbugged me!” He waved at a chair. “Sit, Duval, before you fall over.”

  Simon gratefully obeyed as the duke snapped orders at his aides to reroute the army south toward Quatre Bras, which meant “crossroad.” This particular crossroads was where the Brussels-Charleroi road intersected the Nivelles-Namur road, and all four routes were paved, swift thoroughfares.

  After the aides had bolted off to carry out the duke’s orders, he said to Simon, “I have still to attend the Duchess of Richmond’s ball to allay fears and rumors, but you should go home and get some rest, Colonel. I may well have need of you again.”

  Simon levered himself out of the chair. “Does your calling me colonel mean that I’m drafted back into the army?”

  “Yes, but for now, go home.”

  This was one order Simon was more than willing to follow. Home and Suzanne.

  Chapter 38

  Suzanne woke that morning with Leo curled up on the pillow next to her face. It was mid-June and it seemed as if Simon had been gone forever. At least she had Leo, but it was not at all the same.

  As she ate breakfast, she mentally listed what she needed to do this day. Not much, really; the household ran very smoothly and would even if she wasn’t here. But it felt like a secure base for watching what might come.

  The day was pleasant, so Suzanne had decided to walk through the park, then call on Madeline to see if her friend or one of the women’s group knew a good midwife who was still in the city. She’d donned her hat and was about to step outside when the door knocker sounded. Since she was right there, she swung open the door and blinked at the tall, shabby man on her doorstep.

  “Madame Duval?” was the hesitant question. “Suzanne?”

  The rich voice was familiar. Suzanne looked more closely and gave a sudden gasp of shock. “Frère Jude!” She stepped back from the doorway. “Please come in! I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you at first.”

  He entered with an apologetic smile. “That’s because I’m not Frère Jude anymore. I never really was, I think, so I must be Lucas Mandeville again.”

  He took off his hat and she saw that the top of his head didn’t shine anymore because the tonsure was filling in with his tawny hair. “What should I call you? Monsieur Mandeville? Lord Foxton?” She smiled tentatively. “Foxy?”

  He laughed at that. “Lucas will do. Is Simon home?”

  “He’s . . . been away for several weeks,” Suzanne said. “But I’m sure he’d be over the moon to know you’re here. Will you stay? Please? Until he comes home?” Assuming Simon did come home, which was the kind of horrid thought it was impossible to suppress.

  “I’d like to stay here for a while, at least. Is there stabling nearby for the Magdalene?”

  “Of course there is.” Suzanne laughed as she peered out the window and saw the white mule tethered patiently to the iron fence in front of the house. “There’s a stable behind the house and Maurice is probably there. He’ll be happy to settle the Magdalene. I’ll have a room prepared and order tea and sandwiches for you.”

  “I’d like that.” He gave her a gentle, beneficent smile that made her wonder how much of a friar he still was. She guessed that even he didn’t know.

  She gave orders for the room to be made up and for food to be brought to the drawing room. Lucas joined her soon and attacked the sandwiches as ferociously as a well-mannered man could.

  When he’d cleared two platefuls of food, she topped off his tea for the third time. “Perhaps it’s presumptuous of me to ask when you barely know me, but Simon talks of you and thinks of you as a brother, which means you’re my brother-in-law.”

  He smiled at her. “You are desperate to ask questions. Feel free to do so.”

  “You say you are no longer Frère Jude, but he was your life for many years. Was it meeting Simon that made you decide to become Lucas Mandeville again?”

  He nodded. “It was . . . shockingly wonderful to see Simon again. The shock was first, but it got me to remembering all that was good in my early life. I realized that if I felt a true vocation for the religious life, I would have taken vows by now. I craved solitude and needed to serve others, but I can have those things outside the religious life.”

  “Did you convert to Catholicism?”

  He smiled. “I consider myself a fellow traveler. A mule-riding fellow traveler.” He paused to consume a small tea cake in one bite and swallowed it with obvious pleasure. “Your lecture on not wallowing was very potent. I have wallowed long enough. Since I exiled myself from the life I was born to, only I could free myself from that exile.

  “I also realized how much I want to see my great-aunt and uncle again. Apart from Simon, they are my closest family. How selfish it was of me to think only of myself and not of them!”

  “Pain does that,” she said quietly.

  “Pain, and shame. I
felt too dishonored to associate with honorable people,” he said quietly.

  “Honor matters, but rigid definitions of it are not to be worshipped as gods!” she said with exasperation. “Being a mere female, I think one’s obligations to friends and family matter more than self-crucifixion over abstract definitions of honor.”

  Lucas gave her a slow smile. “How very wise Simon was to marry you. Having decided not to wallow, I fulfilled my obligations to the communities I visited by sending another friar whom I’d trained. He is a truly good man, a good bonesetter, and will get better. I travel a different road now.”

  “Is that why you came to Brussels? To see Simon as a first step to returning home?”

  “That is a large part of it. But . . .” He smiled a little bashfully. “You’ll think this is absurd. But I often have a sense of where I am needed. I have a strong feeling that I’m going to be needed here. I’m no surgeon, but I’m good at splints and resetting bones into joints and such things.”

  “War is coming, so your instincts are correct,” Suzanne said. “I fear there will be much to occupy you very soon!”

  She thought a moment, then asked, “Incidentally, have you learned anything about midwifery? You may soon be the only person around with any medical skills.”

  Lucas looked startled. “I’ve delivered several babies in dire straits, but I’m no expert. Why do you ask?”

  “Our cousin Marie is very near her time and the midwife we’d engaged has fled the city,” Suzanne explained. “I’m going to try to find another, but if I’m unsuccessful, it will be good if someone in the house knows how to deliver a baby!”

  “Bonesetters are at the very bottom of the medical hierarchy, so I shall pray that you find a proper midwife,” he said gravely. “But if you don’t, well, I shall do what I can.”

  “What is the medical hierarchy?” she asked.