What had Simon said? “The Dutch-Belgian Sixth Infantry.”
“They fought well,” the lieutenant said with grudging respect. “The great Wellington made a mistake, and if not for the Dutch-Belgians, we’d be in Brussels now!”
“And a lot drier!” one of his men muttered to general laughter.
“She might know something useful. Gerard, take her up with you and we’ll bring her along to headquarters.”
“But I want to find my husband!” she wailed, backing away.
Gerard, a burly sergeant, said not unkindly, “The battle was fought yesterday. He’s either recovering or dead. Now behave yourself and you won’t get hurt.”
He extended his hand. She took it reluctantly, put one foot on his foot in the stirrup, and with his tug, managed to scramble up behind him. Her seat wasn’t very comfortable, but at least the sergeant was warm to hold on to.
The men rode for a couple of miles, chatting idly as they studied their surroundings. They all seemed to be experienced soldiers, loyal to the emperor and ready to fight. They also complained about the weather and the food and the usual things soldiers complained about. They weren’t monsters like the guards she and Simon had met on their way out of Paris.
The group halted in front of a handsome stone tavern with a sign proclaiming it as La Belle Alliance. French soldiers milled around, and there were several artillery pieces in front. Gerard told Suzanne, “Off with you. You’re about to become a very lucky woman.”
She scowled at him, unable to think of any good interpretation of his comment other than getting out of the rain. He just grinned at her.
The lieutenant dismounted and escorted her inside. The tavern was warm and blessedly dry, and good food smells scented the air. Her captor explained to a captain sitting at a desk how they had found her and thought she might be worth interrogating.
The captain nodded and got to his feet. “I’ll see if he wants to do it himself. If not, I’ll question her.”
While she waited, Suzanne took off her cloak, which had given up any attempt at water resistance, and wrung it out, creating a small stream of water. One of the officers in the room snapped for her to stop making a mess. She bowed her head meekly and donned her wet cloak again.
The captain returned. “He wants to talk to you himself.”
Suzanne wondered who “he” was. An intelligence officer? Perhaps a general?
She was led into a dining room. Sitting at the table was Napoleon Bonaparte, the emperor of France.
Chapter 41
Suzanne gasped and sank to one knee. “Sire! Your Majesty!” A simple country girl wouldn’t know the proper way to address an emperor, but as long as she looked overcome with awe, she should be safe. That wasn’t difficult to do, either.
Though the vigorous young general who had led France to victory after victory was gone and he’d become a fat, pasty-faced man who didn’t look very healthy, Napoleon was still a compelling figure. He radiated power and confidence. No wonder people followed him, even when he led them to their deaths.
Not displeased by her reaction, the emperor waved a hand. “Get up now,” he said good-naturedly. “Look at me, girl.”
Suzanne stood, trying to look modest and dazzled. Again, it wasn’t difficult. “She has a look of my Josephine about her, doesn’t she?” the emperor mused.
Though he’d set his empress aside because Josephine gave him no heirs, it was said that the emperor had never stopped loving her. As several aides murmured agreement about her appearance, Suzanne said, “If so, I am honored, Your Majesty.”
The emperor asked her the same questions the lieutenant had. Her name. Her reason for being on the road. Her husband’s name and outfit. Then he asked, “You are French?”
“Yes, sire, I was born not far from here. My husband also is French.”
“Then why is he in the Dutch-Belgian army?” Bonaparte asked with a frown.
“He wasn’t given a choice, sire.” She thought of Simon and tears began welling up in her eyes. “All he wants to do is survive and come home to me, and it may already be too late. I fear he was taken captive by the enemy. I may never see him again!” Thinking of Simon made it too easy to cry.
“Someone give her a handkerchief,” the emperor ordered, as uncomfortable with a woman’s tears as most men were. “You were following the Anglo-Dutch army, hoping to find your husband, oui?”
“Yes, sire.”
“What are they doing now?” he asked, his gaze suddenly sharp.
What to say? With sudden ferocity, she thought, Confusion to the enemy! “After the defeat of the Prussians at Ligny and the sad showing of the Allies at Quatre Bras, the Anglo-Dutch are retreating north. Fleeing, really. It’s a mad scramble. Many of the camp followers weren’t able to keep up. It’s said that the Prussians are fleeing to the east, perhaps to the River Meuse. I do not speak of my own knowledge,” she added conscientiously. “But I heard it said by reliable men.”
“Good, good,” the emperor praised, looking vastly pleased. “Now we divide the British and Prussians and destroy them both!”
Suzanne kept her face blank, as if ignorant of military strategy. Well, she was fairly ignorant, but the false information she’d given the emperor should benefit the Allies.
The emperor barked, “Bring me maps!”
The captain who had escorted Suzanne into the imperial presence asked, “What should I do with the girl?”
Bonaparte waved an impatient hand. “Take her to the kitchen to be fed, then lock her up until this is all over.”
He’d already forgotten her before she even left the room. The captain took a firm grip on her arm and marched her to the kitchen, where half a dozen cooks were toiling to feed all the important people who had taken over the tavern. “Feed her some soup or something,” the captain ordered. “Then call a guard and have her locked up in the cellar.”
A frazzled female scullion said, “Over there in that corner out of the way, girl. Don’t drip any mud near the food! I’ll bring you some soup.”
Suzanne obeyed, scanning the room as she did. There was a back door. A male kitchen servant stepped through the entry and returned a couple of minutes later carrying a large sack of potatoes. So it wasn’t locked.
She perched on the stool in the corner. The soup arrived in a large mug along with a chunk of bread. Leek and potato soup, very tasty and warming. Suzanne sipped from the mug, her cloak gently steaming in the warmth of the kitchen.
The head cook bellowed a command that sent a flurry of movement among his assistants. And while all attention was on the chef, Suzanne quietly stood, edged along the back wall, and slipped out the back door. She finished the soup and set the mug on the ground by the wall, since stealing it seemed more a crime than lying to an emperor.
Now what? The steady rain hadn’t abated, and on this side of the tavern, no one was in sight. But surely that building across the yard was the stables. Acting as if she was a servant at the inn, Suzanne crossed the open space and entered the stables. There were a dozen stalls, all of them occupied.
Time for that horse magic Simon said she had. She walked along the row, sizing up the potential mounts, and stopped dead at the sight of a lovely gray mare. Good God, this was surely the emperor’s famous mare Desiree! Despite the horse’s friendly whuffle, Suzanne swiftly moved on.
At the far left end of the aisle was a young red roan who pricked his ears forward in interest as she approached.
Since she still had some of the bread she’d been given, she offered it to the gelding. He ate it with interest, then nuzzled her affectionately. She smiled with delight. “We’re going on an adventure, my handsome red friend!”
The tack room was on the other side of his stall, so she collected what she needed and entered the stall, speaking soothing words. She was about to saddle the roan when two men entered the stables, talking heatedly about military tactics.
Suzanne dropped to her knees in the straw, her heart hammering, but they
didn’t come down to her end of the stables. She heard them saddle two mounts and ride out, still arguing. Thank heaven she hadn’t chosen one of those two horses!
She waited until she was sure she was alone again, then stood and saddled the roan and led him from his stall. He was lively but willing to accept her. She used a mounting block to scramble onto his back. Since she wasn’t wearing a riding habit, her lower legs were uncovered. She tried to arrange her wet cloak, to cover them a little better, with limited success.
No matter. She rode out with confidence, as if there was nothing odd about her appearance. There were surely stranger sights in a war zone.
She passed by the men and artillery pieces in front of the inn without attracting much notice. But once she reached the road and turned north, a man said loudly, “Eh, that’s a woman!”
Another man barked, “Stop her! That’s an officer’s horse!”
“Come on, Red,” Suzanne said as she kicked the horse into a gallop that sent mud splattering behind them. “We are going to fly back to Brussels!”
If there was a pursuit, it wasn’t a serious one. She guessed that she wasn’t important enough to bother with when a battle was being planned.
When she felt they were safe, she slowed to a fast trot and considered who, if anyone, she should tell about her encounter with the emperor. From what she’d observed on the trip south in the cart, the Allied troops were digging in just south of a village called Waterloo. She might be able to find someone there who would be interested in what she’d seen.
It was full dark by the time she reached the hive of activity that was the Anglo-Dutch army. A few inquiries brought her to an inn called the King of Spain, which was said to be Wellington’s headquarters.
She attracted great interest as she drew her filthy horse to a halt in front of the inn and swung her equally filthy self to the ground. “I have dispatches for the duke!” she announced in her most commanding tone. “Someone look after my horse.”
A bemused soldier stepped forward to take the reins as Suzanne marched into the inn, dripping mud and water. “I have just seen the emperor, and I have information for the duke,” she announced. “Tell him that the wife of Colonel Simon Duval is here.”
More confusion, and one kind man handed her a towel to mop the rain off her face. Lord Fitzroy Somerset, Wellington’s military secretary, entered the common room. She’d met him several times.
He stared at her. “Mrs. Duval, is that really you?”
“Yes, though rather the worse for wear.” She smiled at him. “I’ve just seen the emperor and have some information that might be interesting.”
Somerset gave a soft whistle and ushered her from the common room. When they were in private, she gave him a brief summary of what had happened to her. “The duke will want to hear this,” he agreed.
After a few minutes waiting, she was escorted into Wellington’s presence. His brows arched. “Mrs. Duval? You look like you’ve had a difficult day.”
She smiled tiredly. “Hasn’t everyone? But I didn’t expect to meet Napoleon Bonaparte along the way.”
The duke indicated a chair. “Tell me.”
“Thinking I was a camp follower, a patrol took me in for questioning,” she said as she started the tale of how she’d come to be personally interviewed by the emperor.
She ended by saying, “When asked what I had observed of the Allies, I said the British-Dutch forces were fleeing north toward Brussels and the Prussians were heading east toward the Meuse rather than retreating north in good order. I hope I added to the confusion among the French.”
“Excellent work!” Wellington exclaimed. “Did the emperor believe you?”
“He seemed to,” she said slowly. “I think he wants the Allies to be in disarray so he can move in and make a decisive strike.”
“That sounds likely,” the duke said soberly. “Knowing what the enemy is doing is vital and unbelievably difficult, even when the armies are only a few miles apart. If what you told the emperor contributes to his making errors of judgment, you’ve served your country well today.”
“I hope so,” she said with a sigh. “I want this to be over. With your permission, I’ll head back to Brussels now. My household will be very worried at my absence.”
“God willing, this matter will be over in a few days, but it will be a near run thing,” the duke said. “A very near run thing. Thank you for what you’ve done, Mrs. Duval.”
She inclined her head and withdrew. She went outside, still dripping, and found that her horse had been properly fed and watered and was ready to travel the ten miles or so back to Brussels. Telling herself that she was equally ready, Suzanne asked one of the soldiers in front of the inn to help her onto her mount. Once her aching body was secure in the saddle, she started on the last leg home.
It was well past midnight when she finally reached the house on the rue de Louvain, but lights were still visible inside. She tethered the weary roan and knocked on the door. Maurice threw it wide open when he saw who was on the doorstep. “Thank heavens you’re home safely, ma’am!”
“I couldn’t agree more,” she said with a tired smile. “Could you have someone look after my horse, please? He deserves oats and a really good grooming.”
Maurice peered over her head at the muddy roan. “I don’t recognize your mount.”
She peeled off her saturated cloak and let it collapse in a muddy heap on the tile floor. “I have taken up a career as a horse thief. How did the rescue mission turn out?”
Maurice smiled. “We brought Corporal Allen here along with three other wounded soldiers that we found on the way home. All have been treated and are doing well. Janet Allen is staying with her husband and keeping an eye on all the patients.”
Suzanne closed her eyes and uttered a fervent prayer of thanks. “I need food, a hot drink, and a hot bath, not necessarily in that order.”
“And you shall have them!” Jenny came flying into the reception hall and gave Suzanne an enthusiastic hug despite her soggy state. “Now tell us of your adventures!”
Moving at a more moderate pace, Lucas appeared and handed her a glass of brandy. “I also want to hear what has happened. Sit and tell us all.”
Madame Maurice appeared and wrapped a warm blanket around her. “This way, ma’am,” she said as she guided Suzanne into the drawing room.
Suzanne subsided into a chair as Lucas knelt to start a fire to ward off the cool, wet night. She felt a deep sense of peace to be here with these people who all meant so much to her. All she lacked was Simon.
Dear Lord, look after him, she prayed silently. Let this all be over, and bring him home to me!
Chapter 42
The rain had stopped. That was the first thing Suzanne noticed when her eyes reluctantly opened. What time was it? Midmorning, it appeared. After her exhausting day and late night return, her household was letting her sleep late.
And Leo was sleeping on her head, his little body a warm band across her skull. She smiled as she reached up to pet him. “Could you see your way clear to pulling the bell cord? No, I suppose not.” She rolled across the mattress and pulled at the cord while Leo rolled down her pillow with an indignant squeak. Luckily, he was of a forgiving nature.
Suzanne had barely had time to pile pillows against the headboard and prop herself up when Jenny arrived with a tray. “How are you feeling today, ma’am?”
“As if a herd of horses galloped over me,” Suzanne reported. “But it would have been worse if you hadn’t drawn that hot bath for me last night. And woken me up when I fell asleep there!”
Jenny smiled and arranged the bed tray over Suzanne’s lap. “You deserved every bit of pampering we could give you! When Maurice and Janet and the others came back and reported how you’d given yourself up to the French soldiers to save them . . .” She shuddered.
“I knew I had the best chance of coming through unscathed.” Suzanne swallowed a delicious mouthful of hot chocolate. “Luckily I didn’t have ti
me to think about it or I would have been too afraid. Now tell me what has happened in the world while I was away.”
“It was reported that Wellington was retreating and French troops were about to enter the city. Many people panicked and they were fighting to get away to Antwerp.” Jenny smiled. “You’re lucky to have missed that.”
“Cowards and good riddance,” Suzanne said callously. “But what about the armies? Is there any word from them? I hate not knowing!”
“We all do! Which is why early this morning Maurice rode down to that village, Waterloo, to find out. The two armies are lined up across a wide valley, about a mile apart. He says Wellington has a good defensive position. All was quiet when Maurice left. He thinks the emperor is waiting for the ground to dry enough to maneuver his artillery pieces.”
Suzanne swallowed hard and set down her half-eaten crescent roll. “I wonder how long until the ground dries.”
“Maurice thought maybe around noon.”
Suzanne looked at the clock on the mantel. It was after 11:00. Suddenly grim, she finished her chocolate and set the tray aside so she could get out of bed. “Time to find myself something to do so I don’t go mad with waiting.”
“Mr. Mandeville has set up his street infirmary again. I’m going down there when you don’t need me.”
“I’ll go with you.” Suzanne swung from the bed, wincing at muscles aching from all the riding the day before. “I’ve never done much nursing, but I do like helping and the soldiers are so grateful.”
She and Jenny shared a glance, and Suzanne felt they were thinking the same thing: that if they helped strangers, perhaps strangers would help their men if necessary. It was only superstition, but still it felt good to help others.
She began to dress and tried not to think of the huge battle involving tens of thousands of men that would soon begin just a few miles away. Be safe, mon chéri, be safe!
* * *
As Simon had told Suzanne, commanding this Dutch-Belgian regiment would mostly be a matter of strolling around looking confident and telling the men to hold their ground. So far, his words had been prophetic. The Sixth Infantry was a militia regiment that had done nothing but weekly drills and beer drinking before Napoleon had returned from exile, but they had stood their ground at Quatre Bras.
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