about the mouth and nose. Harry's heart began to beat a little faster.
The older man smiled and inclined his head towards his guests. 'Thank you for coming so promptly, my lord.' He gestured towards his companion. 'May I present my nephew, Xavier?'
Gladness and grief mingled in Harry's breast and, for a moment, made it difficult to speak. He conquered it.
'It has long been my most ardent wish to speak with you, senor. Believe me when I say you have my gratitude for agreeing to this meeting.'
'My uncle outlined the reason for your visit,' replied Xavier. 'I could do no less.'
The older man interjected. 'I hope that you will forgive my earlier reticence, my lord, but I could not commit my nephew to a meeting like this without first consulting him.'
'Understandable,' said Harry, 'given the circumstances.'
'The matter is delicate and no doubt you will wish to be private. I will therefore leave you to talk.'
With that he excused himself. Jack, receiving a look from his master, followed in his wake, closing the door behind them. For a moment or two, neither Harry nor Xavier spoke. Then, the latter gestured to a chair.
'Please, won't you sit down, my lord?'
Harry accepted the offered seat and watched as his companion took the one opposite. Xavier surveyed him steadily.
'Ask me what you will and I will answer as truthfully as I can.'
'I know that you and my late brother were colleagues, and that the work you undertook was concerned with intelligence.'
'That is so.'
'What I need to know are the details concerning his death. Until those are established the rightful heir cannot succeed to his inheritance. It is a matter of supreme importance for my family.' Harry paused. 'But, quite apart from the legal reasons pertaining to this, there are more personal ones.'
'I understand.'
Harry nodded. 'If you will, then, tell me what occurred that day.'
'It was during the British push for Toulouse. We - your brother and I - had been on a mission to gather intelligence about French troop numbers and movements. The situation was chaotic as it always is in times of war, and reliable information hard to come by. We were sent ahead to reconnoitre and then report back.'
'To whom?'
'To Sir George Scovell.'
Harry lifted an eyebrow. He knew the name well. Originally part of the Fourth Queen's Own Dragoons, Scovell had proved to be an expert at deciphering codes, in particular the Grand Chiffre which had provided the allies with information crucial to Wellington's victory at Vittoria. Scovell had also been in charge of the motley crew known as the Army Guides, men of differing nationalities, chosen for their linguistic abilities and other individual skills, who had gathered information vital to the war effort.
'I see,' he said. It was quite true. The bigger picture was now beginning to emerge with startling clarity. Yet it should have come as no surprise to discover that Jamie had worked for Scovell. The man had only ever employed the best.
'The river was running higher and faster than was usual,' Xavier went on. 'However, the nearest bridge was ten miles away, and we had reason to believe it was being held by the French in any case, so we decided to risk the crossing.' He sighed. 'Jamie went first. It was ever his way.'
'Yes, it was.'
'He was about halfway across when his horse stumbled and lost its footing. It went down and took Jamie with it. I saw him come to the surface but he couldn't find his feet because of the current or the uneven river bottom - or both.'
Harry felt a chill prickle along his neck as he experienced a moment of deja vu - he saw Elena's horse stumble and fall, saw her pitched into the water, felt its cold shock on his own flesh as he went in after her... With an effort he controlled his voice.
'Go on.'
'Jamie surfaced and struck out for the shore.'
'My brother was a strong swimmer. The distance would have been easy for him.'
'Yes, but he was wearing a heavy greatcoat and boots as well as his other clothing. And he was armed. The weight must have dragged him down and then the cold and the current did the rest.' Xavier paused. 'I rode in after him but it was as though the river had swallowed him up. I rode downstream for some way, hoping he might be washed ashore, but there was no trace of him.'
Harry drew a deep breath, seeing it all in his mind's eye. In the