didn’t now.
Hal frowned, tapping the folded letter on the table in thought. He darted a glance at John, and sighed, then set the letter down, reached into his coat, and withdrew two further documents, one clearly official, from its seal.
‘Your new commission,’ he said, handing it over. ‘For Crefeld,’ he said, raising an eyebrow at his brother’s look of blank incomprehension. ‘You were brevetted lieutenant-colonel. You didn’t remember?’
‘I— well . . . not exactly.’ He had a vague feeling that someone – probably Hal – had told him about it, soon after Crefeld, but he’d been badly wounded then, and in no frame of mind to think about the army, let alone to care about battlefield promotion. Later—
‘Wasn’t there some confusion over it?’ Grey took the commission and opened it, frowning. ‘I thought they’d changed their minds.’
‘Oh, you do remember, then,’ Hal said, eyebrow still cocked. ‘General Wiedman gave it you after the battle. The confirmation was held up, though, because of the enquiry into the cannon explosion, and then the . . . ah . . . kerfuffle over Adams.’
‘Oh.’ Grey was still shaken by the news of Nicholls’s death, but mention of Adams started his brain functioning again. ‘Adams. Oh. You mean Twelvetrees held up the commission?’ Colonel Reginald Twelvetrees, of the Royal Artillery – brother to Nathaniel, and cousin to Bernard Adams, the traitor awaiting trial in the Tower, as a result of Grey’s efforts the preceding autumn.
‘Yes. Bastard,’ Hal added dispassionately. ‘I’ll have him for breakfast, one of these days.’
‘Not on my account, I hope,’ Grey said dryly.
‘Oh, no,’ Hal assured him, jiggling his daughter gently to prevent her fussing. ‘It will be a purely personal pleasure.’
Grey smiled at that, despite his disquiet, and put down the commission. ‘Right,’ he said, with a glance at the fourth document, which still lay folded on the table. It was an official-looking letter, and had been opened; the seal was broken. ‘A proposal of marriage, a denunciation for murder, and a new commission – what the devil’s that one? A bill from my tailor?’
‘Ah, that. I didn’t mean to show it to you,’ Hal said, leaning carefully to hand it over without dropping Dottie. ‘But under the circumstances . . .’
He waited, noncommittal, as Grey opened the letter and read it. It was a request – or an order, depending how you looked at it – for the attendance of Major Lord John Grey at the court-martial of one Captain Charles Carruthers, to serve as witness of character for the same. In . . .
‘In Canada?’ John’s exclamation startled Dottie, who crumpled up her face and threatened to cry.
‘Hush, sweetheart.’ Hal jiggled faster, hastily patting her back. ‘It’s all right; only Uncle John being an ass.’
Grey ignored this, waving the letter at his brother.
‘What the devil is Charlie Carruthers being court-martialled for? And why on earth am I being summoned as a character witness?’
‘Failure to suppress a mutiny,’ Hal said. ‘As to why you – he asked for you, apparently. An officer under charges is allowed to call his own witnesses, for whatever purpose. Didn’t you know that?’
Grey supposed that he had, in an academic sort of way. But he had never attended a court-martial himself; it wasn’t a common proceeding, and he had no real idea of the shape of the proceedings. He glanced sideways at Hal.
‘You say you didn’t mean to show it to me?’
Hal shrugged, and blew softly over the top of his daughter’s head, making the short blonde hairs furrow and rise like wheat in the wind.
‘No point. I meant to write back and say that as your commanding officer, I required you here; why should you be dragged off to the wilds of Canada? But given your talent for awkward situations . . . what did it feel like?’ he inquired curiously.
‘What did— oh, the eel.’ Grey was accustomed to his
Hal frowned, tapping the folded letter on the table in thought. He darted a glance at John, and sighed, then set the letter down, reached into his coat, and withdrew two further documents, one clearly official, from its seal.
‘Your new commission,’ he said, handing it over. ‘For Crefeld,’ he said, raising an eyebrow at his brother’s look of blank incomprehension. ‘You were brevetted lieutenant-colonel. You didn’t remember?’
‘I— well . . . not exactly.’ He had a vague feeling that someone – probably Hal – had told him about it, soon after Crefeld, but he’d been badly wounded then, and in no frame of mind to think about the army, let alone to care about battlefield promotion. Later—
‘Wasn’t there some confusion over it?’ Grey took the commission and opened it, frowning. ‘I thought they’d changed their minds.’
‘Oh, you do remember, then,’ Hal said, eyebrow still cocked. ‘General Wiedman gave it you after the battle. The confirmation was held up, though, because of the enquiry into the cannon explosion, and then the . . . ah . . . kerfuffle over Adams.’
‘Oh.’ Grey was still shaken by the news of Nicholls’s death, but mention of Adams started his brain functioning again. ‘Adams. Oh. You mean Twelvetrees held up the commission?’ Colonel Reginald Twelvetrees, of the Royal Artillery – brother to Nathaniel, and cousin to Bernard Adams, the traitor awaiting trial in the Tower, as a result of Grey’s efforts the preceding autumn.
‘Yes. Bastard,’ Hal added dispassionately. ‘I’ll have him for breakfast, one of these days.’
‘Not on my account, I hope,’ Grey said dryly.
‘Oh, no,’ Hal assured him, jiggling his daughter gently to prevent her fussing. ‘It will be a purely personal pleasure.’
Grey smiled at that, despite his disquiet, and put down the commission. ‘Right,’ he said, with a glance at the fourth document, which still lay folded on the table. It was an official-looking letter, and had been opened; the seal was broken. ‘A proposal of marriage, a denunciation for murder, and a new commission – what the devil’s that one? A bill from my tailor?’
‘Ah, that. I didn’t mean to show it to you,’ Hal said, leaning carefully to hand it over without dropping Dottie. ‘But under the circumstances . . .’
He waited, noncommittal, as Grey opened the letter and read it. It was a request – or an order, depending how you looked at it – for the attendance of Major Lord John Grey at the court-martial of one Captain Charles Carruthers, to serve as witness of character for the same. In . . .
‘In Canada?’ John’s exclamation startled Dottie, who crumpled up her face and threatened to cry.
‘Hush, sweetheart.’ Hal jiggled faster, hastily patting her back. ‘It’s all right; only Uncle John being an ass.’
Grey ignored this, waving the letter at his brother.
‘What the devil is Charlie Carruthers being court-martialled for? And why on earth am I being summoned as a character witness?’
‘Failure to suppress a mutiny,’ Hal said. ‘As to why you – he asked for you, apparently. An officer under charges is allowed to call his own witnesses, for whatever purpose. Didn’t you know that?’
Grey supposed that he had, in an academic sort of way. But he had never attended a court-martial himself; it wasn’t a common proceeding, and he had no real idea of the shape of the proceedings. He glanced sideways at Hal.
‘You say you didn’t mean to show it to me?’
Hal shrugged, and blew softly over the top of his daughter’s head, making the short blonde hairs furrow and rise like wheat in the wind.
‘No point. I meant to write back and say that as your commanding officer, I required you here; why should you be dragged off to the wilds of Canada? But given your talent for awkward situations . . . what did it feel like?’ he inquired curiously.
‘What did— oh, the eel.’ Grey was accustomed to his
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