Page 115 of A Modest Independence

Tom nodded. “Anstruther told us himself. He said he was removed to Simla to recover.”

“And your point, sir?”

Jenny huffed. “Well, isn’t it obvious? If the colonel was addled from the heat, how are we to know that his report of Lord Castleton’s death wasn’t addled as well? For all we know, the colonel might have imagined the whole thing in a heat fever.”

“I hardly think—”

“But it does make one wonder,” she went on. “What happened to Lord Castleton’s body? It isn’t like the army to lose track of a member of the peerage, no matter how bloody the battle.”

Tremaine shot a glare at Tom. “This can scarcely be productive, sir.”

Tom looked steadily back it him. “I don’t find Miss Holloway’s questions unreasonable. Certainly not in light of her grief over the loss of her cousin.” He paused. “Are any of the soldiers from Lord Castleton’s old regiment stationed here now? Any who served with him during the siege?”

“Possibly, but I can’t imagine what they could tell you. Had any of them seen anything to call Colonel Anstruther’s account into question, they’d have reported it at the time.” Tremaine turned back to Jenny. “I appreciate the reality of your grief, ma’am, but there is nothing more I can do for you. Lord Castleton died during the siege. The fact of his death is indisputable. I regret you’ve wasted your time.”

Jenny’s expression turned mulish. “I’d like to speak to those soldiers.”

“Really, ma’am—”

“I would ask that you oblige us, sir,” Tom said. “We have come a very long way.”

Tremaine exhaled in a grunt of frustration. “Very well.” He stood from his desk. “But I warn you, you’re in for a very long wait.”

Jenny folded her arms at her waist, half resting them on the swell of her muslin skirts, as they trudged down the dusty street that led back to the guest house. It was nearly dinnertime. Her stomach was growling, her head was aching, and her spirits were at their lowest ebb.

They’d spent the entire day at the fort, first waiting for and then questioning three young soldiers who had known Giles—all of whom had been there that night at the storming of the city. Not a single one of them had offered a scrap of new information.

It had been too dark, they’d said. Too smoky. Too chaotic to know where everyone was.

“When the smoke from the cannon fire cleared, I was taken to hospital,” one soldier had confessed. “I didn’t learn of Captain Lord Castleton’s death until I was released two weeks later. I’m sorry for your loss, ma’am.”

Interviewing the medical officer, the chaplain, several of the camp’s servants, and even one of the field surgeons who had served in the depot hospital during the siege had proved equally disappointing.

“Everyone is very sorry,” Jenny said, “but no one can tell us anything about anything.”

Tom walked at her side, his hands clasped behind his back. “We expected as much.”

“Yes, but I thought there might be something. Some inconsequential detail that would illuminate everything else.”

“Perhaps we’re merely asking the wrong people?”

“The soldiers, do you mean? Perhaps you’re right. We still have the hospital to visit in the morning. And I don’t think it would be amiss to stop at the church.”

“We’ll set out first thing,” Tom promised. “In the meanwhile, Ahmad may have had better luck with the native residents.”

Unfortunately, when they arrived back at the guest house, it was to find that Ahmad’s luck had been no better than their own.

“The villagers didn’t have much to say,” he told them. “Whenever I mentioned the siege, they became suspicious of me.” He flicked an ironic glance at his impeccably tailored trousers and waistcoat. “Not that they weren’t already.”

Dinner that evening was a subdued affair. They were all tired and overheated and disappointed in the day’s endeavors. Even the food served seemed oddly flavorless and lackluster.

Mr. Bhat addressed Ahmad as he directed a servant to clear away their half-eaten dishes.

“He apologizes for the meal,” Ahmad translated after Mr. Bhat withdrew. “And says there will be better fare tomorrow. It’s market day. Cook promises a special dinner for us.”

“Market day?” Jenny’s spirits perked.

Tom gave her a questioning look.