The word altered the room. Thomas set down his cup.
His mother’s eyes sharpened at once. “Urgent? From whom?”
Owen rose and took the letter. The hand was not Aurelia’s. He knew that before he had fully looked at it, and the recognition brought an unexpected mixture of relief and disappointment. He disliked himself for both.
“It is a private matter,” he told her.
His mother extended one gloved hand slightly. “Surely, if it has come to the house in such a manner—”
“It is private,” Owen repeated, turning to Thomas. “Harrow, do join me in my study.”
Thomas was on his feet at once.
“This is insupportable,” his mother cried. “Captain Harrow, I hope you will not encourage him in this secrecy.”
“I should never encourage secrecy, my lady,” Thomas bowed. “I merely follow it when invited.”
Owen was already at the door when his mother called out his name. He looked back.
“If this concerns that woman—”
“It concerns me,” he interrupted her. “That is sufficient.”
He left before she could reply. The passage outside the drawing room leading to his study seemed colder than the room itself. Once in the study, Owen took up the letter and broke the seal. Then, he unfolded the page fully and began to read.
Lord Westbridge,
In answer to your recent enquiry regarding Sergeant William Carter, formerly attached to the campaign in question, I regret that I cannot provide a precise direction. I can, however, state with some confidence that the man is believed to be alive. Information has reached me suggesting that he has been seen within reach of London. Greenwich has been named, though I cannot vouch for a particular street or lodging.
Carter was once considered a soldier of uncommon steadiness and promise. His conduct in the field was well regarded, and there were many who believed he might have advanced considerably had he remained in service. His sudden departure from the army after the affair has therefore always appeared irregular. Men of such prospects do not commonly abandon them without inducement, pressure, or fear.
It is my duty to add that further inquiry into this matter may prove unwise. The events surrounding that operation have long been guarded by men of considerable influence, and I have known reputations damaged, careers obstructed, and private households made to suffer when old questions were too persistently revived. Those in power are rarely forgiving when their own honor is threatened.
If your lordship’s interest is merely historical, I would advise you to let the subject rest. If, however, you intend to pursue it further, you should do so with the utmost discretion. Carter, if indeed he is near Greenwich, may possess knowledge dangerous not only to himself, but to any person seeking him.
I remain your obedient servant,
Colonel Edward Ellison
“Well?” Thomas asked at last.
Owen passed it to him. Thomas took it, his face changing as he read. His brows rose, then drew together. Owen leaned back in his chair and pressed two fingers to the bridge of his nose. Thomas lowered the page.
“That is as near a confirmation as we have had that Carter knows something worth hiding.”
“Yes.”
Greenwich.
If Carter lived there, he had chosen either folly or genius. A military town, full of sailors, pensioners, officers, hospitals, uniforms, and old stories. A man who had wished to disappear among civilians might have gone north or west, to some village where no one remembered the shape of a campaign medal. But among soldiers and seamen, among men altered by service, one more silent veteran might pass unremarked.
“This also means that we are in greater danger,” Thomas pointed out.
Owen met his gaze. “Yes.”
There was no use denying it. They had always known, in theory, that powerful men would not welcome resurrection of old misconduct. But theory was a clean thing: it had no smell, no sound, no consequence. Ellison’s letter brought consequence with it. It named methods, if not men. It showed the shape of the trap.
Thomas moved toward the desk and set the letter down.
