there was no need this time. Six of those seven blocks were as still as this side of dawn should be, but when Edward reached the last, he slipped into the shadows again, as far into the darkness as an arcade shop alcove would allow.
There they were again . . . soldiers crawling along the line of shops like ants on honey, with the main dollop none other than the news shop Edward frequented, one that secretly doubled as a main supplier of La Libre Belgique.
His eyes burned again, this time from tears he wouldn’t let fall. He made not a sound, not even when bolder rays of sun pushed away the shadows surrounding him. He crouched to the ground, knowing he should leave, get as far away as he could. But his limbs refused to move.
He knew where he mustn’t go: Rosalie’s. It was one of the dangers in having an address; one could be raided. Undoubtedly it was too late to warn her anyway, this being another example of simultaneous German raids. It was lucky they’d delivered the most recent issue, because even if her home was raided, they would find nothing.
He should go to the church as he’d planned. It was safe there. Maybe.
But instead, making sure he wasn’t followed, Edward eventually found his way to the back of the Lassone mansion, a place he’d once convinced himself he’d never see again, at least not from any closer than the street.
He would visit one last time and never come again.
Edward let himself in. A rack for hats and hooks for shawls were just inside the door, hidden from view of the rest of the kitchen by a wall with an arched entryway. For a moment he stood quietly, looking back outside through the glass embedded in the center of the door. He’d taken pains to be sure he was safe but didn’t want to take further chances.
Despite the early hour, low voices and the gentle clattering of dishes drew him the rest of the way into the kitchen. It was an ample room with vast work spaces, a sink with indoor plumbing beneath a window overlooking the garden, and many shelves—a room topped with open beams where he remembered copper pots had once hung. Those hooks were empty now.
And there, at the smallest of the tables, sat his mother and Isa. He saw they weren’t dressed like peasants anymore. They fit this house . . . perhaps not the kitchen, but the rest of the mansion.
Seeing them, safe and together, brought him the calm he craved. “Let me see. Something is wrong. Two mistresses of a grand home, quite at home in the servants’ quarters?”
“Edward!” Isa sprang to her feet, but when he put a finger over his lips, she stopped both sound and movement.
“You have Germans in this house,” he said. “How many?”
“Just one. Upstairs. He isn’t likely to hear us.”
“And why is that? Has he no ears?”
She laughed. “No, silly. I was going to say he cannot be lurking nearby. He doesn’t often manage the stairs because he has a foot missing from the war. He hasn’t left his room for the two days we’ve been here.”
“And servants? Has he any of his own?”
“Only Clara and Henri are here, and they were with my family before. Belgians as true as any other.”
Edward let his gaze travel the length of her then, unable to help himself. She was all Lassone again. “Well, you’re looking quite your old self, aren’t you?”
He didn’t expect her frown, especially not when he had to fight to keep himself from staring at her.
“My old self? You mean, the way I looked before I left Brussels, before the war? I haven’t . . . changed?”
He shook his head, wondering why she looked with distress toward his mother. He tried to salvage his remark. “You know, quite the Upper Town attire and all. You too, Mother.”
“Sit down, Edward,” his mother said, and he had the distinct feeling he was missing something between the two of them. “Clara has managed to maintain a connection with one of the farmers from the country. She has a rather steady supply of eggs, thanks to the funds Mr. Lassone left for her. She’s made an egg pie that’ll bring you right back to the days before the war. Sit and eat.”
“I cannot stay, Mother. I came only to urge you one last time to take advantage of what Isa has done and leave Brussels. I can make