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“I was in tha same regiment as yee, I made no mention o’ Waterloo,” Harker answer him guardedly.
“But you were there?” It had suddenly occurred to Hunter during one of those long stretches of sleeplessness the previous night that if Harker had been at Waterloo, then he or one of his men might have seen something of the attack on Plymouth. The man’s wary expression now indicated that might well be the case. “Only you see, a friend of mine, the Duke of Plymouth, lost his life during that last battle.”
“Oh aye?”
Yes, there was now a definite wariness in the other man’s demeanor. “I wonder, did you see anything of it?”
“I knew the Duke of Plymouth by sight and was sorry to ’ear of ’is demise.”
“Yes, but… Did you or any of the men with you happen toseehim cut down?”
“Can’t speak for me men, but I didna see anything like that.”
Hunter narrowed his eyes, unconvinced by the older man’s evasive tone. “I am investigating his death, you see.” He had decided to tell this man the truth.
Harker looked puzzled. “I thought ’e wa cut down and died in tha woods. Tha’s wha’ I ’eard, at least.”
“Up to a point, that is exactly what happened.” Hunter rose restlessly to his feet to stand in front of the window. “But I and several of my friends now have reason to believe that might not be the whole story.”
The other man’s expression softened. “You an’ t’other Ruthless Dukes, tha mean?”
“Yes,” Hunter confirmed dryly, aware that the name and reputation had followed them into the army. “We have reason to believe Plymouth was cut down by an English officer’s sword and not a French one.”
Harker looked surprised. “What English officer would that be?”
“We are investigating the other five officers who were in the woods with us that day. Three of them have been cleared of all blame. I have been given the task of ascertaining the movements of the fourth, Lord Richard Hutchings, before he himself was struck down and killed— You know something?” he pounced as he saw a return of that wary expression to Paul Harker’s weathered and lined face.
“No.”
“Yes,” Hunter insisted.
The other man’s mouth tightened. “I know ’e were a bastard.”
Hunter had never really had a lot to do with Hutchings. The other man had been older than the Ruthless Dukes. Hutchings also had a deep-pocketed gambling habit and tended to drink too much before and after a battle.
“You know something else too,” Hunter murmured shrewdly.
“’E were a bully an’ a brute.”
“Something else,” Hunter stated firmly.
Harker still refused to meet his gaze. “I’ve told ye what I know.”
“Have you?” Hunter probed. “Or have you told me what you feel it’s safe to tell me?”
“I—” The other man shook his head. “I need to be about my business, as I’m sure ye need to be about yours.”
“Harker— Paul,” he added persuasively. “I and the other Ruthless Dukes are determined to know who killed our friend Plymouth.”
“An’ I wish ye luck with it, sir.” The older man nodded. “But I best be on me way now.”
Hunter studied him from between narrowed lids for several moments before releasing a heavy sigh. “Very well, we will forget the subject of Lord Hutchings for the moment. There is something else I wish to talk to you about.”
“Oh aye?”
He smiled at Harker’s continued wariness. “Nothing bad, I assure you. In fact, I hope you will think it the opposite.”
* * *
