A frazzled female scullion said, “Over there in that corner out of the way, girl. Don’t drip any mud near the food! I’ll bring you some soup.”
Suzanne obeyed, scanning the room as she did. There was a back door. A male kitchen servant stepped through the entry and returned a couple of minutes later carrying a large sack of potatoes. So it wasn’t locked.
She perched on the stool in the corner. The soup arrived in a large mug along with a chunk of bread. Leek and potato soup, very tasty and warming. Suzanne sipped from the mug, her cloak gently steaming in the warmth of the kitchen.
The head cook bellowed a command that sent a flurry of movement among his assistants. And while all attention was on the chef, Suzanne quietly stood, edged along the back wall, and slipped out the back door. She finished the soup and set the mug on the ground by the wall, since stealing it seemed more a crime than lying to an emperor.
Now what? The steady rain hadn’t abated, and on this side of the tavern, no one was in sight. But surely that building across the yard was the stables. Acting as if she was a servant at the inn, Suzanne crossed the open space and entered the stables. There were a dozen stalls, all of them occupied.
Time for that horse magic Simon said she had. She walked along the row, sizing up the potential mounts, and stopped dead at the sight of a lovely gray mare. Good God, this was surely the emperor’s famous mare Desiree! Despite the horse’s friendly whuffle, Suzanne swiftly moved on.
At the far left end of the aisle was a young red roan who pricked his ears forward in interest as she approached.
Since she still had some of the bread she’d been given, she offered it to the gelding. He ate it with interest, then nuzzled her affectionately. She smiled with delight. “We’re going on an adventure, my handsome red friend!”
The tack room was on the other side of his stall, so she collected what she needed and entered the stall, speaking soothing words. She was about to saddle the roan when two men entered the stables, talking heatedly about military tactics.
Suzanne dropped to her knees in the straw, her heart hammering, but they didn’t come down to her end of the stables. She heard them saddle two mounts and ride out, still arguing. Thank heaven she hadn’t chosen one of those two horses!
She waited until she was sure she was alone again, then stood and saddled the roan and led him from his stall. He was lively but willing to accept her. She used a mounting block to scramble onto his back. Since she wasn’t wearing a riding habit, her lower legs were uncovered. She tried to arrange her wet cloak, to cover them a little better, with limited success.
No matter. She rode out with confidence, as if there was nothing odd about her appearance. There were surely stranger sights in a war zone.
She passed by the men and artillery pieces in front of the inn without attracting much notice. But once she reached the road and turned north, a man said loudly, “Eh, that’s a woman!”
Another man barked, “Stop her! That’s an officer’s horse!”
“Come on, Red,” Suzanne said as she kicked the horse into a gallop that sent mud splattering behind them. “We are going toflyback to Brussels!”
If there was a pursuit, it wasn’t a serious one. She guessed that she wasn’t important enough to bother with when a battle was being planned.
When she felt they were safe, she slowed to a fast trot and considered who, if anyone, she should tell about her encounter with the emperor. From what she’d observed on the trip south in the cart, the Allied troops were digging in just south of a village called Waterloo. She might be able to find someone there who would be interested in what she’d seen.
It was full dark by the time she reached the hive of activity that was the Anglo-Dutch army. A few inquiries brought her to an inn called the King of Spain, which was said to be Wellington’s headquarters.
She attracted great interest as she drew her filthy horse to a halt in front of the inn and swung her equally filthy self to the ground. “I have dispatches for the duke!” she announced in her most commanding tone. “Someone look after my horse.”
A bemused soldier stepped forward to take the reins as Suzanne marched into the inn, dripping mud and water. “I have just seen the emperor, and I have information for the duke,” she announced. “Tell him that the wife of Colonel Simon Duval is here.”
More confusion, and one kind man handed her a towel to mop the rain off her face. Lord Fitzroy Somerset, Wellington’s military secretary, entered the common room. She’d met him several times.
He stared at her. “Mrs. Duval, is that really you?”
“Yes, though rather the worse for wear.” She smiled at him. “I’ve just seen the emperor and have some information that might be interesting.”
Somerset gave a soft whistle and ushered her from the common room. When they were in private, she gave him a brief summary of what had happened to her. “The duke will want to hear this,” he agreed.
After a few minutes waiting, she was escorted into Wellington’s presence. His brows arched. “Mrs. Duval? You look like you’ve had a difficult day.”
She smiled tiredly. “Hasn’t everyone? But I didn’t expect to meet Napoleon Bonaparte along the way.”
The duke indicated a chair. “Tell me.”
“Thinking I was a camp follower, a patrol took me in for questioning,” she said as she started the tale of how she’d come to be personally interviewed by the emperor.
She ended by saying, “When asked what I had observed of the Allies, I said the British-Dutch forces were fleeing north toward Brussels and the Prussians were heading east toward the Meuse rather than retreating north in good order. I hope I added to the confusion among the French.”
“Excellent work!” Wellington exclaimed. “Did the emperor believe you?”
