Jasper nodded. “He came to see me. He showed me a letter that had come into his hands.”
“What sort of letter?”
“It detailed the march of the 28th Regiment of Foot from Quebec to Fort Edward, including the route we would take and the exact time we’d be at Spinner’s Falls.”
“What?” Horn’s eyes had narrowed, and suddenly Jasper could see that this man was no longer a boy. Had not been a boy for some time.
Jasper leaned forward. “We were betrayed, our position given to the French and their Indian allies. The regiment walked into a trap and was slaughtered at Spinner’s Falls.”
The door to Horn’s study opened, and the butler entered, a tall, thin fellow. “Sir?”
Horn blinked. “Ah . . . yes. Have Cook send up some tea.”
The butler bowed and retreated.
Horn waited until the door closed before speaking. “But who could’ve done this? The only ones who knew of our route were the guides and the officers.” He tapped his fingers on his desk. “You’re sure? Did you see this letter Hartley had? Perhaps he mistook it.”
But Jasper was already shaking his head. “I saw the letter; there is no mistake. We were betrayed. Hartley and I thought it was Dick Thornton.”
“You said that you’d talked to him before he was hung.”
“Yes.”
“And?”
Jasper inhaled deeply. “Thornton swore he wasn’t the traitor. He insinuated it was one of the men captured by the Indians.”
For a moment, Horn stared at him, his eyes widening; then abruptly he shook his head and laughed. “Why would you believe a murderer like Thornton?”
Jasper glanced at his hands, clasped together between his spread knees. He’d asked himself the same question many times. “Thornton knew he was going to die. He had no reason to lie to me.”
“Except the reason of a madman.”
Jasper nodded. “Even so . . . Thornton was a prisoner in chains when we marched. He was at the back of the line. I think he may’ve seen things, heard things the rest of us missed because we were busy leading the regiment.”
“And if you accept Thornton’s accusations as truth, where does that take you?”
Jasper watched him, not moving.
Horn spread his hands. “What? Do you think I betrayed us, Vale? Do you think I asked to be tortured until my voice was hoarse from screaming? You know the nightmares I suffered from. You know—”
“Hush,” Jasper said. “Stop. Of course I don’t think you—”
“Then who?” Horn looked at him, his eyes blazing through his tears. “Who among us would betray the entire regiment? Nate Growe? They cut off half his fingers. Munroe? They cut out only his eye; that’s little enough for what must’ve been a grand payment.”
“Matthew—”
“Then St. Aubyn? Oh, but he’s dead. Perhaps he miscalculated and got himself burned at the stake for his troubles. Or—”
“Shut it, damn you!” Jasper’s voice was low, but it was harsh enough to cut through Horn’s awful recitation. “I know. I know all that, damn it.”
Horn closed his eyes and said quietly, “Then you know none of us could have done it.”
“Someone did. Someone set a trap and walked four hundred men into an abattoir.”
Horn grimaced. “Shit.”
A maid entered then, bearing a laden tea tray. Both men were silent while she set it up on a corner of the desk. The door closed gently behind her when she left.