She said the words lightly, but Simon saw anxiety in her eyes. He asked, “How do you feel about the estate?”
She bit her lip. “It was very grand, but I wasn’t particularly happy there. I want to revisit the place so I can put my life at Chambron behind me.”
Simon didn’t reply, but he took her hand and squeezed it gently. She had come so far already. He hoped that viewing the home of her marriage would allow her to make peace with that part of her past. He wanted her with him in the present.
Argenté Abbey had originally been in the country, but the expanding city had caught up with it. Weathered stone walls enclosed a sizable estate that included gardens and a farm as well as the buildings of the religious community. The gatekeeper looked dubiously at Suzanne but he rang for a porter when Simon assured him that they were both expected.
The porter led them to a small office near the entrance to the main building. The chapel and cloisters would be private to the monks, but even monasteries must have some dealings with the outside world, and that was Abbot Antoine’s role at Argenté Abbey. Black robed and with tonsured silver hair, he rose from his desk with a welcoming smile when Simon and Suzanne entered.
“Colonel Duval, Madame Duval, it’s a pleasure to meet you. Is my friend Kirkland prospering?”
That explained the warm welcome. “Yes, and he sends his regards,” Simon said. “Do you know him well?”
“We’ve only met once in person, but he has been a good friend to my order.” Abbot Antoine gestured to a pair of majestically carved wooden chairs. “Please take a seat. Would you like some of our Benedictine beer? Our house is rather famous for it.”
Simon chuckled. “I’d be happy to partake. I’ve always been fond of Belgian beers. Suzanne?”
She smiled as she sat and adjusted her skirts. “I’d like to sample some also.”
Their host opened a cabinet to reveal bottles and drinking vessels. Abbot Antoine poured full-sized mugs for Simon and himself and a smaller one for Suzanne. It was a deliciously tangy drink, and serving it made for a relaxed atmosphere.
“Now, how can I help you?” the abbot asked. “Lord Kirkland said that you are looking for a relative?”
“Yes, my cousin Lucas Mandeville,” Simon replied. “He was in the Royal Navy, missing and presumed dead after his ship was sunk some years ago. But recently a friend of the family saw a religious brother here in Brussels who seemed the image of Lucas. I have this picture from his youth, plus a sketch that shows how he might look now. If it was indeed Lucas who was seen.”
The abbot studied the pictures. Setting aside the image of the aristocratic younger Lucas, he tapped the other. “This man looks familiar. The brown robe suggests a Franciscan. They are a mendicant order, sworn to poverty. They travel throughout their provinces to do their work, often staying at different religious communities.”
“Did this friar ever stay at Argenté Abbey?” Suzanne asked.
“I believe so. I’m trying to remember.” The abbot frowned in concentration. “Yes, a brother who looked much like this one stayed here for several nights around the time of the emperor’s abdication last year. The city was crowded because of the celebrations and we had many visitors.”
“That was the time when our family friend saw him in Brussels,” Simon said, his pulse quickening.
“But surely your cousin is English if he served in the Royal Navy? The brother I speak of was French.”
“Lucas lived with my family and spent a great deal of time in France, so he speaks French as well as I do,” Simon said, trying to control his rising excitement. “Do you remember anything else about him?”
After long thought, the abbot said slowly, “I believe he was called Frère Jude.”
Simon’s throat tightened. Jude. Judas, the betrayer. If their theory of what had happened to Lucas was true, that might well be the religious name his cousin would choose. “Do you have any idea where Frère Jude might be now?”
The abbot shook his head. “Friars go where they are needed, so he could be anywhere in Belgium or northern France. There were many disruptions of traditional religious communities under the emperor, so I don’t know what places are the most likely. I can list some possibilities for you. The closest is a priory outside Namur where some Franciscans stay, I believe. Our Lady of Mercy.”
A youthful monk, perhaps a novice, entered the room with a sheaf of papers and an apologetic expression. “Excuse me for interrupting, Father Abbot.”
Simon rose. “My apologies for taking so much of your time, Abbot Antoine. You’ve been most helpful.”
The monk smiled warmly as he stood. “It has been my pleasure. Let me know if your search is successful.”
“I will,” Simon promised as he took Suzanne’s arm.
On the short walk back to their carriage, Suzanne said, “Do you think this Frère Jude could be your Lucas?”
“It’s certainly promising.”
“Namur is in the same direction as Château Chambron,” she said. “We can visit the priory there on our way.”
He gave her a quick glance. “You’re ready for that?”
