Page 31 of The Untamed Heart

“Well,” Eustacia said, trying hard to repress the urge to hug each of them tightly, for neither would appreciate it. “If the two of you are done with your mutual admiration society, might I get back to work?”

“I beg your pardon,” Marcus said, and hurriedly sat himself down again. He glanced at the manuscript, as if only then realising he still had a hold of it and offered it back to Sebastian with obvious regret. “I suppose I should return this to you.”

Sebastian smiled and shook his head. “No, read it. I’d be glad to know what you think of it.”

Marcus’s eyes twinkled. “Bloody marvellous so far,” he said, and settled himself down to read.

Sebastian glanced at Eustacia, who smiled at him as he shook his head and went out of the room.

Horse Guards, Whitehall, London, 23rd September 1816

Sheringham groaned and stretched. He felt like he’d been buried under an avalanche of paper and there was no way out.

Sherry had to give Mr Prufrock credit, for once he had smoothed his ruffled feathers and assured the man he would keep Lucius away from him, he’d been mighty helpful. He had found them a quiet place to work in the bowels of the buildings—which was stuffy and dark but discreet at least—and he’d brought them everything Lucius had demanded.

Despatch logs, order books, courier records, casualty reports. They covered every surface of every table and the task ahead made Sherry feel slightly ill. Surely it was an impossible and probably futile undertaking. War was chaos and there was no guarantee the order, if it existed at all, had ever been committed to paper.

Lucius, however, seemed quite unperturbed by the quantity of information and had settled down with every appearance of contentment. Indeed, he seemed to be enjoying himself.

“Oh, surely not!” Sherry exclaimed in dismay as Mr Prufrock ferried in another stack of papers.

“You did ask me to be thorough,” he said, somewhat stiffly.

“What have you there?” Lucius asked, looking up.

“Despatches sent back after the battle,” Prufrock said, regarding Lucius impatiently, for they had ignored each other up to now.

“I’ll take those,” Lucius said, giving an imperious gesture which made Prufrock glower with annoyance. He stalked over and dropped them on the table with a thud and Lucius dived into them.

Sherry sighed. “We’ll be here for months at this rate.”

Lucius lifted his head to glower at him. “You must be methodical. No stone unturned. There ought to be at least three traces of the order. We know Marcus was originally ordered to stand at all costs. Therefore, he could not retreat unless that order was countermanded. For that, there will be a paper trail. The first at its origin, the second will be a copy of the order, and the third where it was carried. We must find which of these traces is missing.”

Sherry nodded. “Yes, I understand that much. So, from Wellington to the Quartermaster-General, then to the division. Is that right?”

Prufrock nodded as Lucius’s attention had been taken again by the papers before him.

“Quite so. From there it would pass to the brigade staff, either the brigade major or an aide-de-camp, then to whichever messenger was sent to find Hamilton. A dangerous errand,” he said gravely.

“So, it’s conceivable the messenger died?”

“Certainly, it’s plausible,” Prufrock agreed. “But without knowing who the messenger was, we cannot say for sure. After Waterloo, all was chaos, and no one much cares for the details when there is a victory, no matter how bloody. If it had been a defeat, it might be different. But it’s the clerks who put it all back together for posterity,” he said with some little pride.

“Very well, so we find the original order, and then trace it to the messenger.”

“I have the original order,” Lucius said, not taking his eyes from the papers he was perusing. “And have traced it as far as Brigade Major Keller.”

Sherry stared at him with annoyance. “You never said a word!”

Prufrock seemed less impressed, but his eyes narrowed. “Keller?” he murmured.

“And after that?” Sherry asked eagerly.

Lucius looked up, his blue eyes alight with interest. “Keller assigns the message to a Captain Strangways.”

“Strangways,” Prufrock repeated, scratching his head. “Captain Strangways?”

Lucius fixed his attention upon Prufrock. “You know him?”