Philippe’s horse was good, though not as good as Achille. Fortified by food and a good night’s rest, Simon continued north, hoping to God he would be able to deliver his information in time. As Wellington had said, if an army heads the wrong way, reversing direction is difficult and potentially catastrophic.
Simon had spent days in France studying military movements, troop concentrations, and everything else that might help determine Napoleon’s plan of attack. Now he knew where the invasion would come, but his knowledge would be useless if he couldn’t get it into Wellington’s hands, and time was running out.
Crossing the border was difficult because the French were doing their best to block all traffic and information from getting through. Luckily Simon was an expert at avoiding pickets and sliding through enemy lines.
He had almost reached Mons, a town west of Charleroi, when he saw an Anglo-Dutch cavalry encampment. Giving thanks, he rode into the camp and waved down the first officer he saw, a captain. “I’m Colonel Duval, one of Wellington’s exploring officers. Please take me to your commanding officer.”
The captain looked doubtful. “You don’t look like no colonel. General Dornberg won’t want to waste his time talking to just anyone.”
“He’ll listen to me.” Simon sharpened his voice to command. “Take me to himnow!”
Not entirely convinced but intimidated, the captain led Simon through the camp to the largest tent. After a short discussion with the soldier guarding the entrance, the captain waved Simon inside with a “you asked for it” expression on his face.
Simon entered and saw General Dornberg in full, dazzling cavalry uniform, sitting at his breakfast table with several junior officers. Even though he wasn’t in uniform, Simon snapped his best salute. “Sir, I’m Colonel Duval of Wellington’s intelligence staff. I have vital dispatches that must be sent to his headquarters in Brussels immediately.”
Dornberg frowned. “Where’s your uniform?”
“Under special orders from the Duke of Wellington, I’ve been gathering intelligence in civilian clothing, thereby risking summary execution if I was caught by the French,” Simon said flatly. “Luckily I wasn’t, quite.” He held up his dispatch case. “Send this to Wellingtonnow. He’s waiting for this report.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.” Dornberg held his hand out for the dispatch case.
Simon was reluctant to hand it over, but Dornberg was a senior officer and his troops would be affected by the information, so he gave the case to the general.
Dornberg opened the case and scanned Simon’s concise, carefully written report. “Napoleon is going to come through Charleroi? Absurd! All indications are that he will come through Mons, and my men are ready for him.”
“The emperor has done his best to confuse us, and he has been successful. But I have the latest information and it is vital that it be sent to Wellington immediately.”
“I won’t waste his time on this,” Dornberg growled. “Now get out of my sight, whoever you are!”
Simon wanted to do murder, but killing a general surrounded by armed officers was not a good idea. Teeth clenched, he spun on his heel and marched from the tent, leaving the dispatch case behind.
Outside, he swung onto his tired horse and thought about where he could get a fresh mount for the ride to Brussels.
* * *
It was late evening when Simon reached Wellington’s headquarters, and by then he never wanted to see a horse again. Here, at least, he was recognized and let through immediately.
The duke was conferring with several aides when Simon entered his office, but he got to his feet, his expression intent. “You have information?”
“I do. The French army is going to be coming up through Charleroi, not Mons.” Simon followed that statement with a brief summary of what he’d observed to reach his conclusion.
Wellington swore. “By God, Napoleon’s humbugged me!” He waved at a chair. “Sit, Duval, before you fall over.”
Simon gratefully obeyed as the duke snapped orders at his aides to reroute the army south toward Quatre Bras, which meant “crossroad.” This particular crossroads was where the Brussels-Charleroi road intersected the Nivelles-Namur road, and all four routes were paved, swift thoroughfares.
After the aides had bolted off to carry out the duke’s orders, he said to Simon, “I have still to attend the Duchess of Richmond’s ball to allay fears and rumors, but you should go home and get some rest, Colonel. I may well have need of you again.”
Simon levered himself out of the chair. “Does your calling me colonel mean that I’m drafted back into the army?”
“Yes, but for now, go home.”
This was one order Simon was more than willing to follow. Home and Suzanne.
Chapter 38
Suzanne woke that morning with Leo curled up on the pillow next to her face. It was mid-June and it seemed as if Simon had been gone forever. At least she had Leo, but it was not at all the same.
As she ate breakfast, she mentally listed what she needed to do this day. Not much, really; the household ran very smoothly and would even if she wasn’t here. But it felt like a secure base for watching what might come.
