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“Of course. I hope I may be of assistance in locating him soon. I understand Pickering had never met him before, and heard nothing from him after their appointment, which took place at the agreed time.” He gave a rueful little smile—disarming. “That’s all I know as of yet, unfortunately. As I’ve no acquaintance with your father, it would be most helpful if you could describe him, sketch his character for me, to give me an idea where to begin.”

Cressida bristled, although she tried to hide it. How was this man going to find Papa when he didn't know the first thing about him? "He's my height," she began in a flat voice. "Dark, like my sister, and very fit. If there’s a gathering in the pub sharing ale, my father will be at the center of it, laughing and talking with everyone. He's very amiable, the sort of fellow everyone likes."

“He’s very clever,” put in Callie. “With a prodigious memory. He never forgets anyone he’s met.”

“Does he have friends, perhaps from the army, he might have called on in London?”

Cressida didn’t look at Callie. She didn’t want to say that Papa didn’t have friends, not of long standing. Callie was correct that he never forgot anyone, but somehow Tom was the only person from the army Papa had kept contact with. “None we know of, sir,” she finally answered. “But he might not have told us of them.”

The major listened attentively. “Is there anyone else I might speak to, who would know Sergeant Turner and his habits?”

Cressida hesitated. “Our mother died many years ago,” said Callie. "Our grandmother lives with us, but she’s not well."

“I’m sorry to hear it. Perhaps when she is recovered⁠—”

“She’s not physically ill,” said Cressida quickly. “She’s just. . . not herself. I don’t think she’ll be able to tell you anything useful about Papa.”

"Ah." He nodded. "Then I shan't disturb you any longer."

She glanced at him in alarm. That was all? “What do you plan to do?"

He smiled briefly at her sharp question. "Ask questions. It's been a while since Sergeant Turner was in Marston, so it may take some time."

Cressida bridled. “Don’t you think we’ve done that already?” All she’d found were creditors, who’d been barely polite. What would they tell the major?

Callie shot to her feet. "Thank you, sir," she said in a rush. "It was very kind of Colonel Pickering to send you. Please convey our thanks to him.”

“Of course," he replied, still looking at Cressida as he rose. "Good day, Mrs. Phillips. Miss Turner." He bowed and left.

Callie followed him into the hall, but marched back into the sitting room when the door had closed behind him. “So.” She folded her arms and gave Cressida a stern look. “You threatened to shoot him.”

She occupied herself with running the dust cloth along the already-clean table. “Obviously I was wrong. But what else was I to do? He certainly didn’t tell me . . . ” She waved one hand. “All that!”

There was a long pause. “You also didn’t mention he was so handsome.”

Cressida shrugged. “Do you really think so? He’s awfully. . . tall.”

“I’ve never seen eyes so blue. And yes, he looks very handsome indeed for a man who was, as you said, dead and buried five years ago.”

“I thought he’d come to take our horses.” Guilt pinched her again; had she really threatened a man on such a quick assumption? Let alone that man?

“If he did, at least it would save us the expense of keeping them. And now someone will be looking for Papa. Perhaps we shall pull through after all."

Cressida heard the fearful hope in her sister's voice and closed her eyes. "It seems very odd for Colonel Pickering to send him."

"Well, perhaps," Callie slowly agreed. "But surely the colonel wouldn't send someone unsuitable. . . "

Cressida snorted. "No, he sent a man thought dead these last few years—dead, and a traitor as well. What would be odd about that?"

Callie was quiet for a moment. “You don’t want his help? Cressida, what choice do we have?"

She didn't answer, just shrugged again. Perhaps there was no choice, but something about the major set her on edge. Cressida didn't like feeling flustered or slow-witted, and he made her feel both.

After a moment, Callie tilted her head and looked thoughtfully into space. “Too tall? I should think you liked being able to look a man in the eye for once.”

“If you fancy him so much,” she retorted, “by all means, try to attach his interest.”

“I am done with men,” Callie said with quiet dignity. “But you⁠—”