That was a sentiment he understood. At least he had driving the carriage to help occupy his mind.
They passed through two more road barricades that day, and the farther north they traveled, the surlier the guards became. Their Belgian credentials weren’t challenged specifically, but the level of suspicion was rising.
As darkness fell, they reached a posting inn where they’d stayed on their way south. “Let’s stop here for the night,” Simon suggested. “It’s reasonably comfortable, and after dinner, I’ll talk to the landlord about different routes north, and what he’s heard from other travelers. A slower, less traveled road might have fewer guard posts.”
“You can work on that while I hide the documents.” Suzanne made a face. “I’ll be glad to get back into Belgium!”
After an adequate dinner, Simon sought out the landlord while Suzanne ascended to their room and pulled out her travel sewing kit. Besides concealing the legal documents, she had a couple of ideas that were so foolish she wouldn’t even tell Simon. But in an uncertain situation, they might be useful.
When Simon joined her later, he said, “I hope you’ve been more successful than I. There is a turnpike that will go part of the way, but we’ll have to get back on this road eventually. The landlord thinks that civilians like us are getting through to Belgium, but he isn’t sure.”
“Then we must continue to look dull and harmless. The sewing project has gone well, though.” Suzanne displayed what she had done. Her cloak was a double layer of felted material and she’d been able to tuck one set of the documents between the layers of the upper back. The fabric was heavy enough that the addition of the documents was barely noticeable.
“Very nice,” Simon said as he inspected the cloak. “What will you do with my travel case?”
“I’ve already done it,” Suzanne replied. “The case had a hand-stitched oilcloth lining already. I was able to unpick one seam, insert the documents, and sew it up again.”
Simon looked more closely. “It’s impossible to see where you resewed it! You really are a first-rate seamstress.”
“It’s more challenging than being a countess,” she said with amusement. “Being a seamstress requires intelligence and skill. All a countess needs is an expensive wardrobe and a feeling of superiority.”
“Now you are a double countess,” Simon said as he began to undress for bed. “Isn’t that more work? Twice the wardrobe, twice the sense of superiority?”
“Not really. All I have to do is ignore my rank twice as hard!” Suzanne yawned. “Shall we see if the bed is any more comfortable than it was on the journey south?”
“Even if it isn’t, I have you and you’re soft,” he said with mock smugness.
She laughed and threw a pillow at him. When they settled into the bed, she was indeed wonderfully soft and warm, yet even with Suzanne in his arms, Simon had trouble falling to sleep. Danger was gathering, was in the very air.
And he didn’t know if they would be able to avoid it.
Chapter 31
The next day they took the toll road that paralleled the main Brussels road for a distance. Since it was a toll road, it was in better condition, but less traveled because it cost money. It had barricades at several of the tollgates, though. The bored guards were very thorough and suspicious. They growled over Simon and Suzanne’s identity papers and searched their carriage, finding nothing of interest.
After that happened twice, Simon said, “I’m leaving the turnpike at the next tollgate. The main road is at least busier so the guards have less time to harass us.”
Suzanne said, “I wonder how many French troops are doing this sort of work?”
“If there are this many on all roads out of Paris in every direction, it could be quite a few men,” Simon observed. “If they are concentrated on the roads leading north to Belgium, that says something interesting about what Bonaparte’s intentions might be.”
“But we don’t know if there are barricades in all directions.”
“Such are the joys of intelligence work,” Simon said wryly. “One’s ignorance is so much greater than one’s knowledge.” They rounded a bend and saw the next tollhouse. It had been turned into a guardhouse and the swinging gate was now manned by three French soldiers.
Simon’s senses snapped with an instant warning of danger. The soldiers looked like the kind of swaggering bullies who enjoyed throwing their authority around, and Simon caught the smell of sour wine. They’d been drinking heavily by the look of it, and their gazes all went to Suzanne.
The sergeant in charge, a great hulking brute, barked, “Show me your papers!”
Simon produced their identification from an inside coat pocket. Maurice had artistically aged the papers before handing them over, and the wear had become more authentic in the last several days of use.
The sergeant frowned at Simon’s identification. “This looks fake to me.”
“It’s genuine!” Simon protested. “My papers have been accepted at every other guard post on our journey.”
“Maybe the soldiers manning those posts aren’t as smart as we are.” The sergeant elbowed the man next to him and they both laughed as if there had been a joke. “You look like a bloody English spy to me!”
“I’m as much a Frenchman as you are!” Simon replied indignantly. “Now I live in Brussels, as true a French city as Paris. Twenty years Belgium has been part of France, and it’s waiting for the emperor to make it French again.”
