London, England
Tristan entered the white brick building in front of Graham. The cramped interior had low ceilings, dingy beige walls, and gray floor tiles that showed an abundance of black scuff marks. Benches abutted one wall and three desks another. A uniformed officer sat at one desk with a line of men waiting in front of it. Graham and Tristan passed through the foyer and down the hallway.
After Ursula requested they find information on Nate yesterday, Graham spent the evening at Wesley’s—a club he and Nate both belonged to. No one he spoke to had been in touch with his friend. Today, they decided to visit Winthrop in hopes their old commander might have some news.
Tristan opened the door with General Winthrop written on it, to a tiny room with two filing cabinets, a small desk with a chair, and a little window. A man swiftly turned from a filing cabinet, almost like a boy being caught doing something naughty. Slender, tall, and bald, Coleman served in their regiment during the war. They’d seen him last week at a pub and congratulated him on his promotion to lieutenant colonel.
He smiled. “What can I do for you?”
Tristan pointed to the door leading to the general’s office. “Is he in?”
“He left two days ago and will be gone for the next month.” A slight overbite to his smile, Coleman asked, “What do you men need?”
“Cheswick’s whereabouts.” Graham stuffed his hands in his trouser pockets.
“Cheswick no longer reports to Winthrop.”
Tristan cleared his throat. “Lady Cheswick said you told her Nate was on a special assignment. She never mentioned he is reporting to someone else.”
“It is something we tell family members when they ask questions.” He collected the sheets of paper on his desk and piled them into one neat stack. “I don’t know who he reports to now. Intelligence officers are treated differently since the war. Everything surrounding them is secretive—their superiors, their missions. Even if you were to ask the actual person he is reporting to, they would more than likely deny Nate works for them. I explained to Lady Cheswick that Nate is on an assignment, but since she went to you two, I guess she’s still concerned.”
“She wants to make certain nothing has happened to him,” Tristan explained.
“Women often fret for nothing. My wife is constantly upset about my obligations and projects. I cannot fathom why they worry so much.”
“Because their lives are different from ours. They have no control over their own destinies. They are not allowed to make decisions of their own.” Tristan spoke in a compassionate tone. For a man who’d spent most of his life concerned only about himself, Tristan changed when he was captured and put aboard a convict ship. He now understood what it was like to be vulnerable, to be treated like a criminal, and he sympathized with all people and their plights in life.
Plus, he was correct. Most women were considered no more than a possession or property by their husbands and fathers.
Coleman raised his brows. “You’ve changed, mate.”
“Everything about me altered the day I was captured.”
“It’s an incredible story. The novelist A. Bel couldn’t conjure up something so horrible.” Coleman sat behind the tiny desk, looking like a giant. “I’ll leave a message for General Winthrop that you called on him and why. It’ll be the first thing he sees when he arrives back. In the meanwhile, we should ask around town about Nate.”
“I did so at Wesley’s last night, and had no luck,” Graham explained.
“Send word if I can help,” Coleman said. “Considering what we survived during the war, we must do whatever possible to aid our brothers-in-arms.