“It is difficult to investigate one’s own family. Perhaps you should wait for an official inquiry. If there isn’t one, you can take it up again if you think you should.”
He watched her profile and the way the low light limned it. The tangle of her hair spread out over the pillow, its silken strands feathering his face. He had not told her, or anyone, that his inquirywasthe official one. It had crossed his mind to tell Peel to find someone else to do it, though. Only then he would have no control over it. No ability to turn that blind eye, or avoid ferreting out information on people he did not think required investigation. Like Kevin. Or Minerva.
He had wondered when she would go to this topic. Right now had been a good choice. Their intimacy allowed more honest talk than daylight ever required.
“If it is someone in the family, I would want to know first,” he said.
“So you could tell that person to purchase packet tickets?”
“Something like that.”
She turned her head to look at him. “Have you ever done that?”
“There was one time when I might have. I was too trusting of the person’s innocence, however, until it was too late.”
“I hope you did not blame yourself for trusting, no matter what it meant to the direction of events.”
“It was a mistake that I paid for dearly, that is all.”
She peered at him, as if trying to see his thoughts. When he said no more, she looked away. There was no hurt in her, from what he could tell. She merely accepted that he chose not to share the story with her.
He looked away too, at the ceiling. She turned into his arm and rested her head on his chest.
Did you kill him?Only twice had he answered that question, and even then not told everything. He did not speak of it. He did not explain.
“I was in the army and at times conducted investigations. That was where I started and learned. After Waterloo, I was with my regiment in France, part of the army that remained there while matters were sorted out. A Frenchman was found dead in the town. Knife wounds. Someone said one of our men had been seen nearby. I was told to look into it.”
She did not move or react. She only listened.
“I learned this man had a lover. A woman of renowned beauty. And he had a rival. One of our officers. A friend of mine. A good friend.”
Only briefly did he consider not finishing. Yet it felt good to speak of it, finally. With her.
“I knew it could not possibly have been him. Iknewhim. I had for years. I would have sworn to his character. So I kept searching for another, and yet—there was no one else. I did not accept the truth until they arrested him. One of her servants came forward and admitted she had seen it all. An argument over the woman. A crime of passion, the French called it. The British army claimed jurisdiction, however, and we have no provisions for such an excuse. He was sure to hang.”
“How terrible for him. And for you if he was a friend.”
“It meant an ignoble death, and the loss of his good name. An embarrassment to his family and all who claimed him as a friend.” He was there again, hearing the damning evidence, and knowing all that it meant, even beyond death. He could see the fear in his friend’s eyes, worse than any seen in battle.Did you do it? Did you kill him?
“On the second morning of the trial he was found dead in his cell. A single pistol wound, well placed. A suicide wound, it appeared, but no pistol was found.”
She turned her body so she looked up at him.
“Did you kill him?”
Brave woman. Braver than he was. He had never asked her that question, after all.
“He admitted his guilt to me, then asked me to. Begged me to. I refused. I gave him my pistol, however, and stood aside, outside the cell while he used it. Then I took the pistol, so he would not in fact be a suicide.” He only got it out by speaking without pause, by forcing down the emotions of that dank donjon of a gaol and the friendship that led him to such a choice. “No one could prove a thing, but they guessed. Few thought the less of me for it. ‘I would have done the same,’ one senior officer confided, even though I had admitted nothing. When asked if I killed him, I said I had not.”
“You hadn’t.”
“Not officially. But in a way I had.”
“Is that why you left the army?”
He smiled into the dark, ruefully. “Youaregood at inquiries, aren’t you? It was recommended that I sell out my commission. It was the kind of story that follows a man throughout his career. As for now, and the rumors even in my own family—there is no good way to explain it, is there?”
She kissed his chest, gently. “There is no blame for you in this sad story. I hope you don’t tell yourself there is.”
