Once a Spy

by Putney, Mary Jo

  “Physicians are at the top. They study in universities and are gentlemen. Surgeons are lower. They work with their hands and are really just tradesmen whose tools are blades and saws. Midwives are necessary but ignored as much as possible. Bonesetters are peasants,” he explained with a glint of amusement in his eyes.

  “Given that you’re a peer of the realm, you might change that. Your nickname will be Lord Foxton, the Bonesetter Baron!”

  “I sincerely hope not!”

  She laughed. “We’ll see. Let me show you to your room. You must want some rest. Or perhaps a hot bath?”

  “Bliss unbounded.” He smiled and rose to his feet. “Thank you, Suzanne.”

  “You are always welcome with Simon and me,” she said sincerely. “I’m off to find a midwife, but I shall see you later.”

  She guided him up to his room, then left the house on her midwife hunt. As she walked through the busy streets, she wondered what Lucas would do with his future. In some ways he was like a newly hatched chick. But he was intelligent and he’d find his way. And with luck, he’d move back to England and live close enough to Simon for them to be great friends again.

  * * *

  Suzanne had had no success in locating an available midwife, so after she returned home that evening, she visited Marie’s room and urged her not to have her baby for at least a week. Marie laughed, but said she could make no promises.

  Tired by the long day, Suzanne retired to her room and settled at her desk to begin writing her nightly message to Simon. It was her favorite time of the day because the house was silent and she could focus on Simon.

  Mad, Mad Brussels, 15 June 1815

  I am addressing you early tonight because I want to feel you close, my Simon. The days are dragging like years and rumors are sweeping through Brussels like wildfire. “The French are coming, the French are coming, flee for your lives!!!” I’m told the roads and canal to Antwerp are as full as they can hold. Your advice to sit tight here in our safe, comfortable house is very wise.

  The French might be coming—indeed, I’m sure they will, eventually—but I’ve not heard any reliable information that says they’ve entered Belgium. The Duke of Wellington is very visible and very social, making quips and attending balls and throwing dinner parties to calm people’s fears.

  He intended to go this evening to what should be a dazzling ball given by the Duchess of Richmond. He is probably there now, being calm and charming. If you were here to take me, I’d like to attend, but you aren’t, alas. I’m sorry I never saw you in your uniform. I have no doubt that you were a magnificent sight.

  Sometimes at midnight I feel that our minds do briefly touch and I can sense your warmth and wit and kindness. No doubt that is merely fancy on my part, but I enjoy the illusion.

  Marie has given up our daily walks because she is too tired. Not surprising considering all the extra weight she’s carrying. She’s also rather restless and Madame Maurice confided to me that the baby could come at any time. I find this a terrifying thought! Particularly since I’ve just learned that the midwife who has attended her has left the city. I must find another one. Soon!

  Should she tell him about Lucas’s arrival? No, she was tired and that was too important a story to rush.

  That is enough for this evening’s musings, mon coeur. Take care, and now I will sleep and imagine you beside me. Leo tries to comfort me but he is so very small!

  Your Suzanne

  Though Suzanne was tired, she felt too restless to go to bed. Something was about to happen but she didn’t know what.

  Her intuition was confirmed when the metallic blare of bugles shattered the night. The call to war.

  She jumped to her feet, heart pounding, then opened the window and listened as menacing sounds filled the night sky. Drums, harsh and insistent. The piercing wail of bagpipes with their wild, primitive summons to battle. The sounds of marching feet, then the rattle of wagons and gun carriages. A cacophony of war. The front door opened and she heard the voices of Maurice and Jenny and Jackson as they left to learn what was happening, and observe the mustering of the troops.

  She couldn’t bear to join them, but she listened for a long time until she heard the front door open again. She frowned, wondering who had returned. A little warily, she went down the stairs—and there was Simon, turning from locking the door. He was crumpled and filthy and weaving with exhaustion, and the most beautiful sight she’d ever seen.

  “Simon,” she whispered. “Simon!” And she raced down the last of the steps and straight into his arms.

  * * *

  Simon wasn’t expecting to be tackled by an armful of warm, wonderful, clean woman, but he didn’t mind even though the momentum of her embrace slammed him back against the front door. “Suzanne,” he breathed as he buried his face in her hair. “Suzanne, mon ange. I’m filthy, you know.”

  “I know, but I do not care.” She pulled her head back enough so that their mouths could meet in a long, heartfelt, all-consuming kiss.

  Stress fell away, dissolved in her wonderful, warm Suzanne-ness. Finally he broke the kiss. “Much as I’m inclined to stay like this for the rest of the night, I think I should wash off the travel grime and eat a meal before I ravish you. Or is it your turn to ravish me? I forget.”

  She laughed and stepped back. “My turn, I think.”

  “That’s good. I’m not sure I have the strength to be the ravisher.”

  “Come down to the kitchen. There should be hot water there and you can wash up while I find you food.” She wrapped a supportive arm around his waist and steered him toward the steps that ran down to the kitchen and servants’ quarters. “You can tell me what is going on out in the world.”

  “The French are invading through Charleroi,” he said succinctly. “There will be a battle soon, maybe several. Wellington has been waiting to see which way the emperor will jump. As of tonight he’s moving out and preparing to engage. I could tell you far more if you wish, but let’s save that for later.”

  “We have better things to talk about,” she agreed.

  They’d reached the long kitchen. At one end there was a decent-sized hip bath and a screen that could be placed in front of it for privacy. A heavy bucket of water was always warmed by the kitchen fire. Simon had just about enough energy left to dump the hot water in the hip bath, along with some cooler water so he wouldn’t poach.

  He moved behind the screen and started stripping off his travel-stained garments. “Is the screen necessary? I’m quite sure you’ve seen everything.”

  She laughed and handed a glass of red wine over the screen. “I don’t want another woman to come in and see how lucky I am!”

  “I’m a fairly sorry specimen just now.” He subsided into the water and closed his eyes as he sipped the wine, feeling delightfully pampered. “Speaking of which, where is everyone? I’d have thought that the drums and bugles would have woken up the household.”

  “I think most of the household has gone out to see what is happening. Except Marie, of course, and Madame Maurice, who is sitting with her.”

  From what he could hear, Suzanne was slicing food, meat or bread or cheese. At the moment, he wasn’t particular. She continued, “Where will the troops assemble before they march out?”

  “The Place Royale in the lower town.” He sipped more wine. “It will be a madhouse there.”

  “Many good-byes,” she said softly. “I’m lucky that I’m saying hello tonight.”

  He thought about not saying more, but better she was warned. “Wellington might want me for something else, but he did tell me to come home and get some rest tonight.”

  “Oh.” Suzanne’s voice was distinctly unenthusiastic. “While you’re splashing, I’ll go upstairs to get your robe. I don’t suppose you want to put those clothes on again.”

  “Definitely not.” He applied himself to scrubbing thoroughly, from the top of his head to his toes. He was reluctant to emerge from the warm water, but falling asleep in the hip
bath wasn’t appealing. He’d climbed from the tub and had toweled himself reasonably dry by the time Suzanne returned with his robe and a pair of heavy socks.

  Since he was properly decent and clean, he gave her a long, warm embrace after he emerged from behind the screen. Lord, he’d missed her!

  The feeling was mutual. She moved away reluctantly. “The sooner you’re fed, the sooner to bed.”

  He smiled. “Don’t expect much when we get there.”

  “We’ll see.” She gestured toward the table. Ham, cheese, bread, a slice of meat pie, and more wine. It was the best meal he’d seen since he’d left the Cordiers’ house.

  As he dug into the food, she poured wine for herself before saying, “I have really good news—Lucas has shown up on our doorstep and he’s sleeping upstairs. He was almost as tired as you are.”

  Simon looked up from his food, delighted. “Lucas is here? Or rather, Frère Jude?”

  “He is now Lucas again, having decided it was time to leave Frère Jude and his self-imposed exile behind.” Suzanne sipped her wine. “He said he felt he would be needed here.”

  “He always had an uncanny ability to do that,” Simon said as he applied himself to the meat pie again. “I once was tossed by my pony and broke my arm. Lucas felt something was wrong and came and found me.” He swallowed a bit of pie. “Similar things happened more than once.”

  “That’s a useful ability! I suppose he’s now being drawn by the knowledge of the upcoming battle and its victims.”

  “Very likely. He was always a better man than I.” Simon took a thoughtful swallow of wine. “His ability to find me was a result of how close we were, I think. I might have a touch of the same thing, because I could never quite believe he was dead. It seemed that somewhere out there, he must be alive. And he was.”

  “I’m so glad for both of you.” Suzanne set her half-empty wineglass down and asked the question whose answer she didn’t want to hear. “How long do you think it will be before you find out what Wellington wants of you?”

  “I don’t know.” Simon pushed his plate away, no longer hungry, his gaze on Suzanne. “Perhaps twenty-four hours.”

  She stood and extended her hand. “Then let’s not waste any of that time, mon chéri.”

  Chapter 39

  Suzanne fell asleep with a smile, safe in Simon’s arms. And was wakened by a woman’s wrenching cry of agony.

  Beside her Simon also blazed into wakefulness. “What?”

  “Marie!” Suzanne was already out of the bed. She grabbed her robe and barely had it on before she threw the door open and raced down the corridor.

  Behind her, footsteps and male voices sounded. Simon called, “Lucas!”

  “I’m glad to see you home, Simon!” Lucas said. “We’ll talk later.”

  Both men moved fast, but it was Lucas who was first in the door after Suzanne. Marie was writhing on a bed covered with drenched sheets. Madame Maurice was holding her hand and trying to soothe her. The older woman looked up in relief when Suzanne and the men entered. She looked as if she’d just realized that having children was not the same as delivering them.

  “Suzanne!” Marie cried out as she thrashed across the bed. “Suzanne, mon amie!”

  Suzanne immediately caught the younger woman’s sweaty hand. Speaking in French, she said, “It’s all right, Marie, it’s all right! Remember, only yesterday Madame Maurice said that having babies is perfectly normal—it just hurts a lot. This will be over soon, though it will feel much too long. And won’t you and Philippe be so pleased with yourselves when you can hold that child in your arms!”

  “Philippe, mon coeur,” Marie said raggedly. “I so wish you were here!”

  “He would be if he could, but he can’t. He’s creating a home for you at the château. But there is someone who can help. Simon’s cousin Lucas, the medical man, is right here, and between him and Madame Maurice, you’ll be well taken care of.” She brushed a towel over Marie’s sweating face with her free hand. “We’ll all take care of you.”

  “Don’t leave me, Suzanne,” Marie begged, her face contorted as another contraction wracked her. “Please don’t leave me!”

  “I won’t. I’ll be right here until I can hold my new grandchild.” Suzanne used her most soothing tone. “It’s going to be a boy, I’m sure. Remember Madame Maurice said that because you’re carrying low? She says she’s always right about such things. Philippe will be so proud! Men seem to be extra pleased with themselves when they have a son, as if that’s even more of a miracle than a daughter. So foolish!”

  Marie began to relax as the contraction passed, but she held tight to Suzanne’s hand. Suzanne glanced up and saw that Lucas and Madame Maurice were talking in low voices. The older woman looked very worried and Lucas was nodding gravely.

  Then Lucas moved to the side of the bed and spoke to Marie, his voice deep and wonderfully calming. “This is your first, isn’t it? Of course it’s alarming, but don’t worry, when you have your second it will all be easier. Now I’m going to examine you because that’s what we medical men do.” He shot an ironic glance at Suzanne. Continuing, he said, “Simon, help Madame Maurice collect supplies. She knows what is needed.”

  “Of course.” Simon had managed to hastily drag on a shirt and a pair of trousers. Lucas wore a similar but shabbier outfit that Suzanne recognized from when he’d appeared at her door. She made a mental note to find him more suitable clothing than a Franciscan habit or the regrettable garments he was wearing.

  But though he looked like a rag picker, his wonderful deep voice was calm and his intelligent presence spread confidence throughout the room. “The baby is turned opposite the usual way, Marie,” he said. “It’s called a breech birth. That means he’s an independent little fellow! I’ll see if I can turn him around so he can arrive more quickly.”

  As Lucas worked to manipulate the baby to a better position, Simon and Madame Maurice arrived with hot water and towels and fresh bedding. Jenny also entered to gently sponge Marie’s perspiring face and help with the bedding.

  But Lucas’s expression was grim as he tried and failed to reposition the baby. His voice was always soft and his hands gentle, but damnably, nothing he did helped. Suzanne guessed that Marie’s small-boned body was making this delivery more difficult and dangerous than normal.

  Throughout an endless day, Suzanne continued to hold the girl’s hand. Once she had to get up to stretch her legs and relieve herself. Jenny moved in to take Suzanne’s place, but Marie was fretful and asked Suzanne to come back as soon as she could. “I will, ma petite,” Suzanne promised.

  Lucas stood and followed Suzanne from the bedroom. To her pleasure, Simon was heading toward her. When he arrived, she leaned into his embrace, drawing his warm strength into her as she worked the fingers of her right hand to drive the numbness away. “My poor exhausted darling!” he murmured. “Her condition is grave?”

  “Very,” Lucas said wearily. “I’ve been unable to turn the baby and they’re both growing weaker.”

  Simon made a pained sound and his arms tightened around Suzanne. “You haven’t found an experienced midwife?”

  Lucas shook his head. “Not with Brussels in chaos. I wish I could hand this over to someone with more experience! There is so much I don’t know about birthing.”

  “I don’t know if a midwife could do more than you have, Lucas,” Suzanne said. “If I was having a baby, I’d trust you. But after this, I’m rather glad I don’t seem inclined to having babies!”

  Suzanne had spoken as she had to lighten the mood a bit, but in a small, selfish part of her mind she resented losing these hours with Simon when he might soon be gone, never to return. But how could she abandon Marie? Impossible.

  “Do you think Marie and the baby will survive?” Simon asked.

  “I hope so, but I don’t know,” Lucas said in a barely audible voice.

  “I’ll get some proper clothing on and come back to Marie in a few minutes,” she said, looking down a
t her rumpled dressing gown.

  “I’ll have tea and sandwiches sent up,” Simon said. “I don’t suppose that my presence in the sickroom is desirable.”

  Suzanne would like having him close, but this crisis wasn’t about her. “It’s not a terribly large room.”

  Simon lifted her chin with one finger and kissed her. Not a deeply passionate night kiss, but a pledge of unity and mutual support. “I’m going out to find what news there is. From the sound of guns, there is a battle in progress south of Brussels. Close enough for us to hear, but not so close that we need to expect French soldiers in our streets.”

  At least Simon was here, not in the middle of that battle. She would like to stay in his arms forever, but that wasn’t possible. She patted his backside so he’d know that she wasn’t completely exhausted and he reciprocated with a chuckle.

  Marie’s labor stretched from before dawn into the day as she grew steadily weaker, hardly moving except when wracked by contractions. Suzanne had heard that labor could sometimes take two days and couldn’t imagine how anyone endured it.

  A raging thunderstorm struck, darkening the sky. As lightning flashed garishly outside, Lucas took Marie’s hand and said, “Marie, look at me. I’ve heard of a method that might aid you in giving birth, though I’ve never done it or seen it done. Suzanne and I would support you in a kneeling position and let gravity help the process along. Are you willing to try that?”

  Despite her pain and exhaustion, Marie’s reply was a clearly whispered, “Yes, if you think that best.”

  “Good girl.” Lucas gestured to Suzanne and between them they managed to raise Marie and move her onto her knees with her legs spread. Lucas took most of her weight while Suzanne kept her balanced.

  Once she was stable, Suzanne held one hand and massaged Marie’s back until another contraction began. Lucas said firmly, “It’s time now, Marie. You’re tired and he’s ready. Now push, push!”

  Marie whimpered, head drooping and sweat-drenched blond hair falling tangled over her face. Her whole body strained for an agony of time. Until she cried out and her son was born in a rush of blood and fluids, feet first. He was a frightening bluish color.