“I never served under him, but we had some transfers from his regiment, and I was occasionally swapped around between the artillery and the quartermasters. Tremont’s commanding officer was a devil. Liked to watch as a man was flogged within an inch of life. A fellow did what he could to get free of such a monster.”

Something in Sparky’s tone caught Harry’s ear. “If you say he was a monster, he must have been a bad lot indeed.”

“He were the son of a lord, but even the other officers eventually got wise to him. Dunacre couldn’t touch Tremont because Tremont were a peer, but Dunacre could make his young lordship’s life ’ell.”

“Tremont’s life isn’t hell now. His cloak alone would keep me in fine lodgings for the rest of the winter.” And he had Matilda trundling along beside him, probably hoping to become his countess, poor thing.

Tilly was fated to harbor doomed ambitions. The dear woman thought life was about fairy tales and moonbeams. Men like Tremont could look much higher than a vinegarish widow when they sought a mother for their heirs.

“Tremont’s life were ’ell in Spain,” Sparky said. “The stories made the rounds. Dunacre would demand the use of Tremont’s horse and then ride the beast to death. Every officer set store by his cattle, and Tremont were no different.”

“Nasty,” Harry said, “and proof that my decision to stay the hell out of the war was the sensible choice.”

“Dunacre was like ye, ’Arry,” Sparky said mildly. “He had a talent for knowing how to get to people. Yer missus, for example, did not care a fig for her own good name, but to preserve her baby from scandal, she’d throw in with the likes of ye. Dunacre was like that. If he couldn’t catch Tremont up in insubordination or dereliction of duty, he’d go after Tremont’s men.”

The fire had caught properly and finally begun to throw out some heat. Harry’s feet were warm for the first time that day, but his belly plagued him. Chophouse fare washed down with blue ruin sat ill with a man of refined tastes.

“Why are you haranguing me with this ancient history?” Harry said. “Shouldn’t you be off composing poetry to your Mary?”

“Ye will underestimate Tremont,” Sparky said, “and I don’t want to be around to see that happen. Everybody underestimated him, but he was nobody’s fool. Amos Tucker tried to desert—half of us did—but stupider’n that, he tried to steal Tremont’s horse in hopes of getting to the coast.”

“Was he planning to ride it to death in the grand tradition?”

“He was planning to get to the seaside, sell the horse for passage home, and join the family that ’ad up and decided to emigrate without him.”