Arch Cutter’s father was a baron, and although Arch had been born on the wrong side of the blanket and used his mother’s surname, he’d been brought up a gentleman on his father’s estate. Before I left for the first assignment my former commander had given me, I caught a train to Cornwall, then hired a horse to ride to the estate where Arch had grown up.
While I intended to speak with Baron Goddard, I had no intention of telling him what Arch had meant to me—that was between my RSM and me. However, I thought he’d appreciate receiving the Victoria Cross Arch had been awarded posthumously.
A butler answered the door and took the rectangular piece of cardboard I handed him.
“I’d like to see Baron Goddard, if he could spare me the time. It’s about his son.”
His butler stared at me for a mom
