‘You will not be able to hide it on your person. You can see every curve of your body in that dress,’ he said. ‘I will carry it in my coat.’
Frederica handed Samuel the weapon and they walked out of the rear entrance of the inn. They followed the noise and the lights to a row of busy taverns. Women of ill repute lingered outside in the shadows and beckoned to Samuel. He held her hand tighter. Still her heart palpitated and her hands shook. This was the moment she had been waiting for her entire life. She could do something that truly mattered. She would be a spy that brought back important intelligence that would make a difference in the upcoming battle. Her life would have meaning.
‘Blast,’ he whispered in her ear. ‘I will be the only man without a uniform.’
‘Then we must find you one,’ Frederica said, in a higher tone than usual. ‘Will you hand me my pistol?’
Samuel placed his hand inside his jacket pocket and pulled out her pistol. ‘Try not to make too much of a mess. I will have to wear the fellow’s jacket after.’
‘And you think the French will notice a large bullet hole surrounded by blood?’
His lips twitched. ‘Possibly.’
They hid together in the alley and watched several soldiers pass by, but none that were the same body type as Samuel. They were all slim like Captain Wallace. Or short.
‘You are too broad-shouldered,’ Frederica complained, kissing his ear.
‘Look at the fellow who just got out of the coach.’ Samuel pointed out. ‘I daresay I could fit into his uniform.’
The man descending from the coach was even broader than her husband. ‘You and our elephant.’
Frederica did not hesitate. Stepping out of the shadows, she walked stiffly towards the soldier. Her knees kept locking. She pressed her fist against her thigh, trying not to show her fear.
‘Pardon me, sir.’ She spoke in French, giggling longer than she should. ‘My sandal has become untied. Could you tie it for me?’
The beefy French soldier looked her up and down, smiling his rotten teeth at her.‘Oui.’
Frederica lifted her skirt to reveal her shapely ankle and put her sandal forward. Her shoulders felt tight and her stomach was rock-hard. A cold sweat covered her skin and she tried not to flinch.
The man got to his knees and took one of his thick fingers and caressed her ankle. The hairs on the back of her neck and arms stood up. Nausea rose in her throat, but she forced herself to swallow it back down. Wellington had trusted her. Samuel needed her. She would not fail either duke.
Frederica brought down the butt of her pistol hard on his head, knocking him out. Taking a deep breath, she took one arm and Samuel the other, and they dragged him into the alley.
‘Couldn’t we have picked a lighter fellow?’ her husband complained.
The Frenchman began to stir and her heart raced. Samuel punched him below the chin and knocked him out cold. Frederica pinched her own skin between the thumb and forefinger. Over and over again. She watched as he took off the man’s trousers and uniform jacket. Tugging the trousers up over his own, he tightened the belt to its last rung. He pulled on the jacket and Frederica helped him button the row of gold buttons. Lastly, he put on the man’s hat. Samuel looked very handsome in a uniform, even in an ill-fitting one.
‘Not perfect,’ Frederica said, eyeing the baggy uniform as she rocked back and forth, ‘but I think you will pass.’
Samuel offered her his arm and she placed her shaking hand in the crook of it. They walked out of the alley and down the middle of the street. The air was a curious mixture of open sewage and sweet patisserie. Her stomach roiled and she fought to control her body. They entered the closest tavern.
The taproom was loud and full of people—some drinking, some talking, and some gambling. The roulette table was swamped with people eager to lose their money, or win their fortune. Several tables hosted male card players. The only women in the room appeared to be prostitutes. They were scantily dressed like Frederica and most appeared to have dyed their hair to stick out from the crowd. One woman’s locks were a harsh yellow and another’s a brashly bright red. Their faces were heavily painted almost like masks and Frederica wished that she had been more generous with her own cosmetics.
She waved Samuel away and she sauntered through the room, circling. The higher the rank of the soldier, the better the information. She felt a hand on her shoulder and resisted the urge to pull away or punch him in the nose. Turning around, she smiled. The man behind her was old enough that he could have been her father—lines mapped his eyes and mouth. His hair and sideburns were tinged with grey. He licked his thin, colourless lips in what might have been attraction. Frederica only felt revulsion, but she forced her mouth to form a smile.
‘You appear to be lost, mademoiselle,’ he said in an oily voice.
Frederica looked at his uniform and saw his rank—colonel. The same as Samuel. He would know the highest levels of intelligence.
She smiled coyly. ‘Only looking for some company, Colonel.’
He offered his arm, and she placed her quivering hand on it, ignoring the pit in her stomach that was ever growing.
The older man covered her hand with his callused one. ‘Shall I get us a room?’
Frederica swallowed down the bile rising in her throat. ‘Later perhaps. I should like first to have a drink and perhaps watch you play a little.’
The colonel led her to a table. A waiter immediately came and bowed before them.