Suzanne had a swift mental image of a vast spiderweb of spies and informants across the Continent, all sending information to England. So many threads held in Kirkland’s hands. He had quietly worked behind the scenes of great events, as had Simon.
She had merely spent those years as a captive in a luxurious prison. She had a sudden fierce desire to witness great events at firsthand, perhaps even participate in them. She wanted to go beyond personal survival to acting for the greater good.
Yes, they should go to Brussels.
* * *
After finalizing arrangements about the Brussels house with Kirkland, Simon and Suzanne returned home. As they drove, Simon said, “I’ll have several copies made of the sketch of Lucas when he was in the navy. I can show them to people in Brussels.”
Suzanne frowned thoughtfully. “The pictures you have are old. Could you also have a sketch made of what we think he looks like now? Thinner, older, tonsured, wearing a friar’s robe?”
“That’s a very good idea. I’ll have it done.”
When they reached their house, they found their new servants had arrived. Simon had met Jenny Dunne briefly at the wedding, and she looked neat and attractive as she bobbed a curtsy. “Madame Duval. Colonel Duval.”
“Jenny, it’s so lovely to have you back again!” Suzanne said warmly. “I hope your visit home was a happy one.”
“It was good to see my family and friends again, ma’am.” Jenny’s face brightened at Suzanne’s welcome. The women were already friendly, and they should work together well. Simon and his proposed new valet were strangers, however, and Edgar Jackson’s scarred face looked surly and defensive.
Jenny said with a note of anxiety in her voice, “Colonel Duval, this is my friend Edgar Jackson. As I said, he was a batman to an officer.”
Besides savage facial scarring that just missed his eye, Jackson’s left arm and hand had been damaged. He looked like a dog who had been kicked too often. This should be interesting. “I’m guessing it was Sergeant Jackson,” Simon observed.
“Yes, sir,” he said in a voice that gave nothing away.
“I’m sure the ladies have much to talk about. Why don’t you come to my study so we can get to know each other,” Simon said. “Were you on the Peninsula?”
“Yes, sir. And the Low Countries campaign before that.”
Simon led his potential valet to his small office at the back of the house. “Did you pick up any of the languages of the country where you were serving?”
“A bit of Flemish and French, a bit more Spanish.”
A clever man, and the languages could prove useful. When they entered the office, Simon gestured to a chair and sat down on another. “Time for a man-to-man talk to see if we’ll suit. First of all, what would you prefer to be called? Sergeant? Jackson? Some other name or nickname?”
The other man blinked. “Jackson, sir. What do you prefer?”
Simon considered. “Colonel Duval, I suppose. More important than names is the question of whether you actually want this position with me, or if you’re only here to please Miss Dunne. Be honest now. If you don’t really want to be a valet, now is the time to say so. If you prefer a different kind of work, perhaps I can help you find a position that will suit you better.”
Surprise, wariness, and doubt showed in Jackson’s expression. After a long moment, he said, “Permission to speak freely, sir?”
“Of course. Frankness is essential now.”
“Your question does not have a simple answer, sir.” Jackson frowned, the scar on his face twisting to make him look very dangerous. “Of course I want to please Jenny. She’s the best thing in my life. But I’m not sure if I want to be a valet, and I’m pretty sure I can’t do all the work.” He extended his left hand, which was gnarled with scars. The tips of two fingers were missing. “I haven’t the strength to do everything needed, and I haven’t the nimbleness in my fingers.” He clenched his hand, which couldn’t close fully. “Can’t shoot, either.”
“I would hope shooting will be unnecessary.” Simon considered. Jackson was well spoken and had lost the soft West Country accent that his Jenny still had. He was obviously intelligent, which was something Simon preferred in the people around him. He was also angry at the world, which could be a problem.
But he’d served his country and deserved a chance, and the fact that they were both soldiers should help them understand each other. “Most of the duties of a valet should be within your capabilities and another servant could be detailed to help you when necessary. But let’s go back to the question of whether you want be a valet. As a batman, did you resent taking orders from men less intelligent than you?”
A succession of expressions flickered over Jackson’s face, ending with a hint of amusement. “Yes, I did. But I don’t think you’d be one of those.”
“Since I worked mostly in military intelligence, I hope that’s true,” Simon said dryly. “I was never a Hyde Park soldier, nor do I wish to cut a fashionable swath through London society, so I don’t need a valet who has secret recipes for boot polish.”
“I can polish boots as needed,” Jackson said, his amusement fading. “And a man like me needs to work to survive.”
Simon studied the other man intently, looking to confirm his intuition about him. Jackson shifted in his chair. “You’ve got a stare that can flay a man alive.” He began clenching his left hand over his right rhythmically.
“I’ve been told that before. Very useful when commanding troops or when questioning the enemy. Or testing a man’s nerves.” He glanced at Jackson’s hand. “You’re practicing with your left hand to help it work better?”
