Once a Spy

by Putney, Mary Jo

  “Well done, Marie! Now you can relax,” Lucas said, but his expression was grave. He and Suzanne helped Marie lie back on her mangled pillows. Then he held the tiny baby in his large hands, his eyes closed and his lips moving as he—prayed, perhaps?

  Suzanne couldn’t breathe, couldn’t bear the thought that after all this pain and struggle, the child wouldn’t survive. She didn’t know if Marie could endure such a loss.

  But as she stared at Lucas, she sensed a kind of heat radiating from his hands, invisible but powerful. The power flowed through his palms and into the infant.

  Abruptly the baby started thrashing and howling indignantly and his skin began turning pink. It was the most beautiful sound Suzanne had ever heard.

  Marie had looked unconscious but now her eyes opened and she reached for her child. “Please!”

  Lucas tenderly gave the infant into his mother’s keeping. “Here he is, Marie, and a fine strong boy, just as Madame Maurice predicted.”

  Suzanne could have sworn that she saw that mysterious power move through Lucas and the baby into Marie like a wave of healing love. Marie’s eyes closed and she wept as she whispered prayers of gratitude and cuddled her son skin to skin.

  Looking ready to collapse, Lucas went to work cleaning Marie and preparing to cut the cord. “Suzanne, thanks so much for your help. You did a splendid job.”

  Suzanne whispered, “Lucas, what just happened? What did I see?”

  He smiled at her, exhausted but at peace. “Sometimes God smiles.”

  * * *

  Dripping from the rain, Simon returned after full darkness fell, his expression grim. As he entered the house, he saw his cousin in the drawing room, his lean body stretched out in a chair. He held a brandy glass in one hand and looked as if he never wanted to move again.

  Hearing Simon, he glanced up and smiled. “Marie and her son are resting and well. She’s going to name him Simon Lucas.”

  Simon’s throat tightened. “I am honored.”

  “As am I.” Lucas raised his brandy glass in a toast. “May he have a long and happy life with fewer wars than our times have known.”

  “Amen to that.” Simon desperately needed to see Suzanne, but he also needed to talk to Lucas. To be with Lucas. He sank into the chair opposite. “I was very worried. It looked like a difficult birth.”

  “It was, very. But when Suzanne’s time comes, she won’t have the same problems.”

  “Why do you say that?” Simon asked quizzically.

  Lucas grinned, looking like the brother Simon had missed so much. “If I tell you, you’ll hit me.”

  “Why?”

  “She has the most magnificent hips.”

  Simon grinned back. “She does, and if you’re noticing, it’s fortunate that you’ve given up the celibate life.” His face sobered. “Suzanne fears that she is barren.”

  “The past doesn’t always predict the future. Wait and see.” Lucas finished the brandy in his glass with one long swallow. “Sometimes God sends miracles. This brandy comes close to one, by the way. You have a most excellent cellar.”

  “Credit goes to the gentleman who owns the house and to his people who care for it and for us while we are guests here.” Simon stood. “Where is Suzanne?”

  “Your beautiful and intrepid lady is sleeping the sleep of the just and exhausted in your bedroom.”

  Simon nodded and reached to grasp his cousin’s hand in both of his. “I am so very glad to have you back, Lucas!”

  “And I’m glad to be back.” Lucas added his other hand to the fervent four-hand clasp. “Thank you for accepting me in all my sins, Simon.”

  “Of course.” Simon gave a ghost of a smile. “Family is family.” His smile vanished. “I’m going off to join Wellington. If I don’t come back, know that our friendship has been one of the best things in my life.”

  Lucas muttered a very unspiritual word under his breath, then rose to his feet and gave Simon a powerful hug. “Go with God, my almost brother.”

  Simon hugged Lucas back, telling himself he mustn’t break down. Then he pivoted and headed up the stairs to find his wife.

  As Lucas had said, Suzanne lay collapsed on their bed, fully clothed but resting peacefully with Leo on the far side of her pillow, his little whiskers twitching. Simon stripped off his coat and lay behind her, drawing her against him. His brave and gracious lady, too precious for words.

  Eyes not opening, Suzanne whispered, “How soon until you must leave?”

  “Within the hour,” he said quietly. “I have just enough time to find my old uniform and say farewell to you.”

  Wordlessly she rolled over and wept silently as they clung to each other. But she didn’t ask him not to go.

  Chapter 40

  A single kiss led to swift lovemaking, neither of them speaking since words would hurt too much. After, as they lay together in a tangle of limbs and clothing, Suzanne asked quietly, “What is the military situation, and what part will you play in it?”

  “Napoleon simultaneously attacked the Prussians at Ligny and the Allied forces at Quatre Bras,” Simon said succinctly as he rose from their bed and began to change his clothing. “The Prussians were defeated and Marshal Blücher is withdrawing to the north in good order. The Quatre Bras battle was more of a draw, but it prevented the French from taking control of the crossroads there.”

  “And those roads are critical to moving armies.” Suzanne frowned. “With the Prussians retreating north, will Wellington have to do the same to maintain contact between the two armies?”

  “You’re getting very clever at military tactics!” Simon said approvingly as he dug into his clothespress to find his folded uniform. “Exactly. It’s likely that there will be another larger, more decisive battle in the next day or two and it will be fairly close to Brussels.” He found his scarlet uniform coat and shook it out. Like him, it was showing signs of wear. “I thought I’d not wear this again.”

  Suzanne swung from the bed and began to change into her nightclothes. “Why did you bring it here? Intuition?”

  “I suppose that’s why.” He began to put on the uniform. “The emperor’s exile to Elba seemed inconclusive. Not like peace had really arrived. And I thought if the wars returned . . .” With a sigh, he shrugged into his coat. “Soldiers are needed.”

  “Once a soldier, always a soldier,” she said, her voice not quite steady.

  “And once a spy, always a spy.” He sighed as he buttoned his coat. “I’m sorry, milady. I wanted to give you a peaceful, pampered life. Not this.” His gesture encompassed the military chaos of the city.

  “We may get there yet.” She unpinned her hair and let it fall in a hypnotic cascade. Her gaze on him, Suzanne began brushing out the shining length so that it could be braided for the night. “What does Wellington need you for?”

  “To command a Dutch-Belgian regiment. Their Sixth Infantry fought at Quatre Bras and the commander and many of the officers were killed or wounded. Since I speak good French and adequate Dutch, the duke thought I was the best available replacement.”

  She frowned. “Have you much battlefield experience? I thought you spent most of your time as an exploring officer.”

  “Most of the time. Not always.” He gave her a reassuring smile as he dusted off his tall shako hat. It had two bullet holes in it, a fact he would not point out to Suzanne. “I’ve had enough battlefield experience to manage this command. All I have to do is order the regiment to form a square, then amble around inside the square looking confident and saying ‘Hold, lads!’ in two languages.”

  She managed a twisted smile. “Don’t forget the part about ducking!”

  “I won’t, ma chérie.” He embraced Suzanne one last time, never wanting to let her go. How many soldiers and their loved ones were embracing this same way, weeping inside at the circumstances that were tearing them apart? Too many.

  Throat tight, he gave her one last kiss, full of tenderness, not fire. She was trembling in his arms. When he pul
led away, she kissed her fingertips and touched them to his lips as she regarded him with her great, grave, green eyes. So lovely. So very, very dear . . .

  On the verge of breaking, he turned and left the room.

  Always in my heart . . .

  * * *

  He buried thoughts of Suzanne when he stepped out into the corridor and found Jackson waiting in his infantry uniform. Patches of brighter fabric on the left arm marked the crippling wounds he’d suffered. “What the devil are you doing?”

  “Going with you, Colonel.” Jackson saluted, his gaze steady.

  “Good God, man, you’ve been married even less time than I have!”

  A glint of humor showed in Jackson’s eyes. “A fact Jenny and I are both aware of, sir. But some things must be done.”

  Simon thought back to the tired, broken man Jackson had been when they’d met. With time, the confidence of doing a job well, and the love of a good woman, he was now a man ready to face whatever might come. To deny him the chance to meet this challenge would be to deny his manhood.

  “I’ll be grateful to have you with me,” Simon said honestly. “But as my wife said to me, be sure to duck when you have to!”

  Jackson grinned. “I’ll do my best, sir.”

  Side by side, they descended the stairs and set out to war.

  * * *

  Worn out by the long day and night, Suzanne came awake groggily the next morning, her arms around the pillow that Leo slept on. A steady, saturating rain still fell. She’d been roused by Jenny’s knock before her maid quietly entered the room with a cup of hot chocolate and a fresh crescent roll. “Miss Suzanne?”

  Trying not to think of the parting with Simon, Suzanne sat up so Jenny could set the tray on her lap. “How are Marie and the baby?”

  Jenny smiled. “Happy and healthy. She is very pleased with herself and can’t wait to show her husband their son. Do you have any idea when that might be?”

  Suzanne glanced out the window at the rain, knowing that the roads would have turned to mud by now, and sighed. “Not really. Soon, I hope. What other news is there?”

  Jenny’s gaze dropped as she smoothed the covers around Suzanne. “Edgar has gone off with the colonel.”

  “What?” Suzanne exclaimed. “He shouldn’t have done that!”

  “Yes, and no,” Jenny said with a sigh. “He thought it was his duty.”

  “How admirable and maddening.” Suzanne bit into her flaky crescent roll rather savagely. “But I’ll admit that I’m glad he’ll be there with Simon.”

  Jenny nodded. “The injured from yesterday’s battle are coming into the city. The more badly wounded are in wagons, but the ones who can walk are staggering along the streets, needing water and food and care. Mr. Mandeville asked that you come down and help when you’re ready.”

  Suzanne swore in a most unladylike fashion, swallowed most of her hot chocolate in one scalding gulp, and set the tray aside. “And I thought yesterday was tiring! Find me a gown that bloodstains will wash out of. And join me? It sounds like many hands will be needed.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Jenny smiled wryly. “Keeping busy will be good for us!”

  And so it was. When Suzanne was dressed in sturdy, practical clothing with a wide hat to ward off the rain, she found that Lucas had set up a street infirmary. An overhead canvas awning protected the work area from the rain and it looked like most of the members of the household were already helping the wounded. There were several wooden chairs and two long tables of different heights, buckets of water with ladles, and boxes of bandages and ointments and other supplies.

  Suzanne said, “Lucas, what do you want me to do?”

  He helped a wounded Belgian soldier onto the table. “A lot of this is common sense. Take off the old bandages, clean the wounds, removing any bits of grit or material that shouldn’t be there. If you find a musket ball deeply lodged, best to call me.

  “Then pour gin over the wound to reduce the chances of inflammation”—he grinned—“don’t let the patients drink it. We don’t have unlimited supplies. Bandage the wound as lightly as is feasible, and send them on their way. Many were billeted here in the city and if they can make it back to their billet, they should be taken care of.”

  Suzanne drew a deep breath and pitched in. Jenny was at her side, Maurice helped lift men who couldn’t move easily, and Madame Maurice was almost as good at cleaning and bandaging wounds as Lucas.

  It was approaching midday when Suzanne heard a voice call, “Madame Duval!” She looked up and saw Janet Allen, one of the camp followers she’d met at the informal shelter that had been set up to aid the women and children who followed the army. Janet was young and vigorous and had pitched in to help the volunteer ladies.

  Suzanne liked her and they’d become friendly. Usually Janet was imperturbable, but today she looked frantic, her saturated red hair falling in dripping corkscrews around her face. Suzanne exclaimed, “Janet, what’s wrong?”

  “I’ve learned that my Jack was wounded in the battle yesterday! He and several of his mates who’d also been injured were heading back to the city, but his leg was badly torn and finally he couldn’t walk anymore. He may die out there in the rain, or a French soldier might come along and kill him because he’s an easy target! Please, ma’am, can you do anything to help him?” Her voice was desperate and tears mingled with falling rain on her face.

  Wondering if it was possible to help, Suzanne asked, “How far away is he, and can you find the exact place?”

  “It’s several miles south on the road toward Quatre Bras. One of his mates drew me a map. I’ve walked that road and I know I can find him, but I’ll need help getting him home.”

  “Is the territory where he was left under French control now?”

  “It might be,” Janet admitted, “but soldiers don’t usually bother camp followers. We’re no danger to them.”

  The reverse wasn’t always true, but Suzanne felt a powerful impulse to help. To do something active. Maurice was a few steps away and temporarily unoccupied, so Suzanne said, “Mrs. Allen needs help to bring her wounded husband back to Brussels. Can you find us a cart with wheels wide enough to manage the mud, plus canvas to cover the cart to protect Corporal Allen?”

  Maurice snapped a couple of questions at Janet, then nodded. “Aye, I can find a cart and a pair of strong mules to pull it. I’ll come with you to help push the cart out of the mud.”

  “Thank you!” Suzanne said gratefully, knowing his strength and knowledge of the area would greatly increase their chances of success. She crossed the infirmary to where Lucas was treating the wounded arm of a member of the King’s German Legion.

  Briefly she explained what she was going to do. She half expected him to object, but he nodded understandingly. “Risking yourself as a sacrifice toward Simon’s safe return home?”

  She winced. “You are altogether too perceptive, Lucas. My mind knows that ritual magic isn’t going to help him, but this is worth doing for its own sake.”

  He laid a quiet hand on her shoulder. “Just be careful, Suzanne. Simon needs you.”

  “And I need him.” She gave Lucas a crooked smile. “Pray for us, almost brother. I’m sure you’re better at it than either Simon or I.”

  He smiled, then turned away to help a man being carried between two friends. She hoped Lucas could pray and bandage at the same time.

  * * *

  The journey down to Jack’s location was wet, muddy, and utterly miserable, though they made decent time under the circumstances. The corporal was just where his friends had described, in a copse of dense trees a little way off the main road. They seemed to be in a kind of no man’s land and hadn’t seen any soldiers from either side in the last half hour.

  Suzanne looked around uneasily, feeling that danger could come from any direction, but Janet leaped from the cart. “Jack. Jack!”

  Her young husband had been half unconscious, saturated by rain and looking frighteningly pale, but he jerked awake and made
an instinctive reach for a weapon before he recognized his wife. “Janet, is that really you? You’re mad, my girl!” But he crushed her into his arms when she knelt beside him.

  Maurice allowed them a minute for their reunion before saying, “Time we got a move on. There are safer places for hugging.”

  That was undeniable, so working together, they managed to get Jack into the back of the cart, under the canvas and wrapped in a blanket. They were about to head back to the road when a deep voice shouted in French, “Who is back there!” The shout was followed by several shots.

  The rescue party froze in panic. After an instant of frantic thought, Suzanne said, “I’ll go out and talk to them. I’m the only one here who is French and I should be able to convince them that I’m just a camp follower looking for my husband.”

  Maurice frowned. “That’s not safe.”

  “We’re in the middle of a bloody war zone!” she swore. “Nothing here is safe! But I have the best chance of keeping us all in one piece. If they want to take me off for questioning or something, head for Brussels as soon as we’re out of sight. One way or another, I’ll get away from them and manage to make my way home.”

  More shots were fired. Not waiting to argue further, Suzanne called out in French in a frightened feminine voice, “Please, sirs, I’m a camp follower looking for my husband! I’m unarmed. I’ll come out but, please, don’t shoot me!”

  “Show yourself!” the deep voice barked.

  Suzanne emerged from the woods, hands held high and stumbling in the mud. It was easy to look harmless and terrified. Though she had her knife and one of her pistols, she doubted they’d be any good against the half dozen mounted men of the patrol.

  The leader with the deep voice was a lieutenant. He said sharply, “Your name!”

  “Suzanne Duval, sir,” she said, her voice quavering. The name was common enough to be harmless.

  “What outfit was your husband in?”