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CHAPTER 10

T here was nothing for it but to smile and feign delight while inside I was cursing. "Bennett? Why, how marvelous!" I turned to clasp the hand Lieutenant George Bennett held out to me and proffered my cheek for him to buss. His mustache bristled against my skin. "How are you?"

"Very well. Very well, indeed," Bennett replied, gazing down at me in open curiosity. He had a long face and a narrow nose, and the propensity to stand about with his mouth hanging open—sometimes by a half an inch, sometimes by two. But for all that, he was a relatively good-looking fellow who had inherited his coloring from his Dutch mother.

"My husband," I said, gesturing to Sidney. "I believe you told me once you were acquainted."

Sidney shook his hand. "At Oxford together, weren't we? At least for a time," he queried, evidently recognizing him. "Magdalen?" he asked, inquiring of his college.

Bennett nodded. "Good memory. Particularly as I wouldn't have described myself as notable." He chuckled. "Not like you." He sank down, uninvited, in the chair DI Burrows had vacated, crossing one leg over the other as if settling in for a chat. "But what on earth brings you to Dublin?" His eyes were avid with interest, though I didn't miss the tinge of mockery beneath his veneer of appeal.

What I wanted to do was tell him to go jump in the Liffey, or something far less polite, but I understood that I had to play the game. Sidney might have gotten us into this bloody mess, but I had to be the one to get us out of it.

"Oh, just seeing the sights," I declared casually, lifting my gin-fizz to take another bitter swig.

"Like you did in Rotterdam," he retorted dryly.

I arched a single eyebrow at this reference to my clandestine war work.

"Dry up, Verity," he declared with a chuckle, though I wasn't the one who'd been talking. I could tell I'd annoyed him. His eyes narrowed at the corners. "I know your husband's been read in."

"Read in to what?" Sidney asked with such perfect artlessness that I nearly forgave him for his dimwittedness in bringing me here. As it was, I was hard-pressed to withhold my amusement, especially when Bennett's face flushed with irritation.

"Alright, I'll play along. And I suppose the two of us are just old associates from London. That I coordinated with . . . what was it? That firm of importers and exporters you worked for during the war." This had been one of the fronts the Secret Service had used to conceal its activities.

Now, I was the one growing annoyed with his need to demonstrate how well informed he was. But of course, he'd always been that way. Even when he was stationed in Holland during the war. I'd actually warned Captain Henry Landau, my superior inside Holland, of it, fearful Bennett would unwittingly give intelligence to the German agents also crawling all over the neutral Netherlands. Fortunately, my interactions with Bennett there proved to be minimal, moving in and out of Holland as quickly as I had, eschewing the main office as I prepared to either slip through the heavily guarded border into occupied Belgium to liaise with our agents there, or sail across the English Channel dodging U-boats and their deadly torpedoes to report back to London. However, Bennett was fully cognizant of the role I'd played. One of the few people who was.

And what rotten luck he was here now.

There was no telling what he might report back to the Castle and ultimately to Sir Basil Thomson in London. This was not a complication I needed. I would have to walk a very thin line. Redirect his attention toward something of greater intelligence value.

Or perhaps, "misdirect" was the appropriate word, I decided, as an idea occurred to me. One spurred by my most recent interaction with Peter. For Bennett wasn't a bad sort, just pedantic and prone to bragging. He was an engineer like his father, and while detailed and methodical, lacked imagination. Which would hopefully play into my hand.

I glanced at Sidney out of the corner of my eye, hoping he was quick to catch on. For this would all go much smoother if he helped the fiction along.

"Or maybe you first introduced yourself at the canteen," I replied offhandedly to his baiting, as I'd volunteered at one outside Victoria Station during the early months of the war. I lifted my glass to take another drink and then grimaced, setting it aside.

"Not to your taste?" Bennett inquired.

I turned away, shaking my head wearily. "Nothing seems to agree with me lately."

His chin perked upward, and I could tell he believed he'd caught the scent of something. And when his gaze dipped to where I'd seemingly unconsciously pressed a light hand against my lower abdomen, I knew that smell was exactly the one I wanted him to catch a whiff of.

I lifted my face to my husband. "Perhaps you were right about this meeting," I murmured wanly.

Any fear that Sidney would not grasp my intention was swept aside as he leaned close, draping his arm protectively around the back of my chair. "I warned you it might be too much," he gently reproved. "Especially this early in the day."

"I know."

"It seems it was a fool's errand anyway," he groused.

Meanwhile, Bennett was absorbing all of this like an old harpy listening to her neighbors bicker. Periodically, he cast a look over his shoulder toward a man with a broad forehead and a dark mustache who watched us all avidly. He had the look of the typical intelligence agents Thomson preferred, and I suspected Bennett would be reporting everything we'd said to him as soon as we departed.

"Sent to keep ole Frenchie in line, eh?" he quipped to Sidney, but my husband merely glared at him in mild irritation.

"Sorry to cut this reunion short," he told Bennett. "But I'm afraid you'll have to excuse us."

"All this smoke." I waved my hand in front of me. "I'm afraid it's turning my stomach."

"Of course," Bennett replied, rising politely to his feet as we stood to depart.

Sidney tossed some money down on the table before taking my arm.

"Another time," I said, offering Bennett a taut smile.

He bobbed his head almost cheerily. "When you're feeling better."

A tall, gaunt man was entering when we reached the door, and he paused to hold it open for us. I peered up at him almost absently, so intent was I in playing my current part, but there was something in his bearing that made me take a second look. He returned my regard stonily, and then carried on into the pub as Sidney and I exited into the damp alley. While Sidney opened his umbrella, I pondered why the man had seemed so familiar. There had been something almost tragic in his expression, something cynical as well, which I had seen often in the faces of our Tommies returning from the front. Perhaps it was that which had so arrested me, but I filed his face away in my memory to contemplate later regardless.

Sidney took my arm again, guiding me down the alley back toward Grafton Street. "What was that all about?" he asked once we'd put some distance between us and Kidd's Back.

" That ," I bit out sharply, no longer concealing my fury, "was me extricating us from a delicate situation."

"By pretending to be in a delicate condition?"

I scowled up at him, nearly turning my ankle on an uneven stretch of pavement. "I realize you aren't well acquainted with Lieutenant Bennett," I explained, keeping my gaze trained on the ground. "But I assure you, he is well acquainted with my history, specifically with the SIS. And he is precisely the type of man we needed to avoid drawing the notice of. And Kidd's Back is precisely the type of establishment he frequents. So why on earth did you drag me and DI Burrows in there?"

Sidney didn't respond immediately, and it took all of my self-control not to continue raging at him as we turned the corner onto Grafton Street. I knew from experience that the more I berated him the deeper he would retreat into stubborn silence until we were both stomping about the house, slamming doors and drawers, and muttering uncomplimentary things under our breaths. So I bit my tongue and forced myself to turn my attention to my surroundings. Saturday was market day, when most Dubliners ventured out to do their shopping. As such, the streets were bustling with people despite the rain.

Eventually I was rewarded for my forbearance when Sidney conceded. "I wasn't thinking. Not about that anyway. Just—" He broke off and I risked looking up at him now that we were on smoother pavement. His mouth was tight and his brow troubled, but whatever words he was searching for, seemed to be slow in coming.

We passed a man loitering under the awning of a shop, smoking a cigarette, and I turned away, tilting my head ever so slightly so that he couldn't get a clear look at my face beyond the brim of my hat should he happen to pay us any notice. Sidney, on the other hand, plowed on ahead, heedless of who might be watching. Concern welled up inside me, for this wasn't the first time I'd noticed how indifferent Sidney was to his surroundings.

To be sure, there were some advantages to the concept of hiding in plain sight, but only if it was played to our advantage. We had to make concessions. Be seen when we wanted to be seen, and conceal ourselves when we didn't, albeit not overtly. Go about our business, but be mindful of who might take an interest, and circumvent their expectations.

The only thing Sidney seemed to be doing was meeting and exceeding those expectations. But then, he'd been leading a very different daytime existence than I was. One filled with race meetings and canters through Phoenix Park, long lunches and visits to the Kildare Street Club, games of tennis and football matches. Most of the time he said very little about what he'd done or what his companions had said, unless it was pertinent to our search for Alec and the phosgene cylinders, but I could see that at times something lay heavy in his thoughts. Just as now.

"Does it have something to do with Lawrence and Glengarry?" I questioned when words continued to elude him. "With the others?"

He pulled me close as we hurried across the intersection toward the station where even now a tram idled that was bound in the direction we wanted, letting off and taking on passengers. We hastened our steps to catch it. Given the rain, the lower level was even more crowded than usual, but we managed to find a spot standing near the stairs which led to the upper deck. Sidney gripped the railing to steady himself while I held on to him.

The damp of everyone's garments and the heat from so many bodies packed tightly together made the air muggy, but for all that, it wasn't entirely unpleasant. At least, not while I could press close to Sidney's solid form and smell the musk of his cologne rather than the onion the fellow a few steps away was eating like an apple.

Much of the general discussion I could hear was about the results of the county and rural council elections which had occurred earlier in the month. The outcomes had been posted that morning in the newspapers, and though I'd not had time to read the articles in full, it was obvious they had been a rousing victory for Sinn Féin and the republicans. The loyalist and unionist papers could try all they might to put a more palatable tint on the story, but the fact of the matter was that all but four county councils in the north were now under Sinn Féin and nationalist control, and eighty-five percent of rural districts. When asked to speak at the ballot box, the Irish had responded with resounding support for the rebels.

I couldn't say this was entirely a surprise as it merely confirmed and expanded the control Sinn Féin had gained in the parliamentary elections of late 1918. What interested me wasthe government's response. After all, they'd postponed and then promised the Irish at least a measure of Home Rule once the war was over, but we were closing in on two years since the armistice and the matter was still unresolved. Of course, the demands of the Irish populace had now gone beyond a desire for just Home Rule, but surely the more moderate factions would be amenable if the government came to the table with a reasonable offer.

Given this atmosphere and our crowded confines, I didn't continue to push Sidney for answers, but that didn't mean I'd stopped thinking about it. As we trundled past the green campus of Trinity College and the railway offices lining Westland Row with its terminus, and on around Merrion Square, I ruminated on his remark about giving the detective inspector a display of loyalty. I'd not had the chance to ask him what he'd meant, but now I wondered.

By the time we exited the tram near the corner of Baggot Street and Upper Fitzwilliam Street, the rain had lightened to little more than a drizzle. Still, I used it as an excuse to stroll close to my husband's side as he held the umbrella aloft. The better to hear him when I returned to the matter of his reckless behavior and whether it had anything to do with the umbrage he'd taken at Burrows asking us to meet him on a public street corner. "As a show of loyalty," I said, repeating his words.

"Partly." He frowned. "Or maybe mostly."

I waited for him to elaborate, but either he believed this was answer enough or, more likely, he was being evasive. But why?

"Did someone say something? Or perhaps they just implied something?" After all, he was spending much of his time with a great deal of privileged, linear thinkers. I'd heard enough talk from Lawrence, Glengarry, Wyndham-Quin and their like to grasp that they were of the mindset that Ireland was part of Great Britain and would forever remain so, and as such these rabble-rousing rebels needed to be put in their place by whatever means necessary. There wasn't much subtlety in their or their commanding officers' approach.

"Not directly," he hedged. "There has been some amount of poking and prodding as to what I'm doing here." He turned to peer across the street at the man whose steps seemed to almost shadow ours. However, he was carrying a briefcase and an umbrella, so I'd already ruled him out as a concern. It would be difficult for him to quickly draw a gun with both hands occupied. "And it's been suggested a number of times that perhaps I should take up a commission here in a more official capacity."

I realized with a jolt that he was speaking of enlisting. "Do you want to rejoin the army?"

"No." He scoffed. "Heavens no!"

After the war, after everything he'd been through, I could hardly fault him his vehement reaction.

"Truth be told, I pity the poor devils who answered the call to come here. I don't see an easy way out of this. For anyone." He lowered his gaze to the pavement before us. "But I do admit to some feelings of uncertainty. I am"—his lips clamped together as he appeared to search for the right word—"unsettled."

"I know what you mean," I admitted. I was unsettled as well. By the things I was observing. By the things I was learning from sources who were not rigidly controlled by the British. By the attitudes and behaviors of those who should know better. And it was all compounded by the seeds of mistrust that had been planted by everything we'd learned during our previous investigation. Yet, I didn't know what to do except press on and focus on our immediate tasks—finding Alec and the phosgene.

"What have you told them? When they poke and prod and suggest you take up a commission, that is," I clarified.

"Nothing." His expression seemed to convey some surprise that I'd even asked. "I figured that was the best tack. To allow them to believe whatever they want to believe." He diverted us closer to the terrace of Georgian houses on my right as a motorcar sped past, spraying water from the puddles in the gutters. "They all think I'm here on special assignment anyway, and it's doubtful anything I say will change that. So why not let them go on believing it?" His eyes met mine. "At least it diverts the suspicion away from you."

"And when you go waltzing into a place like Kidd's Back with me on your arm, it all but confirms it. For the murder gangs as well as the Brits," I added wryly.

He shrugged a shoulder in indifference.

"You're supposed to be more careful, Sidney," I protested. "I know you've an image to maintain, but not at the risk of your life."

"I take as much care as I need to. Though, I am sorry I exposed you to Bennett's notice." His gaze dipped to my abdomen. "But was it really wise to give him the implication that you're expecting? Won't that make him take more of an interest?"

"On the contrary, Lieutenant Bennett is nothing if not a stodgy traditionalist, like most of the men in the Secret Service. At least, when it comes to the roles and capabilities of women. He'll believe that my being in the family way precludes me from being involved in any clandestine work. Both because you would never allow it and because it would render me incapable." My mouth twisted in scorn. "Either he'll choose to keep this juicy piece of gossip to himself or, more likely, he'll report it to his superiors. It's only a matter of time before we'll know."

"You aren't, are you?"

I peered up at Sidney's earnest face.

"Expecting?"

I scowled.

"It's a legitimate question."

"No, it's not. I would think you would know me better than to believe I would inform you in such a ragtag manner."

"Of course, I do. But . . ." He left this remark hanging, and I supposed I could concede him his point. Though that didn't stop me from being annoyed. "I remind you, this pretense wouldn't have been necessary if you hadn't dragged me into Kidd's Back. We were fortunate Bennett appeared to have overheard something of our conversation about Lord French. Let's hope he continues to believe that's why we're here."

"Speaking of French," Sidney remarked as we reached our rented townhouse and he released me to extract the key from his pocket. "What are you going to tell him?"

"Are you asking me what I'd like to tell him or what I'm actually going to say?"

Alerted to the menace in my voice, Sidney turned to smile at me in commiseration as he fitted the key in the lock.

"The truth," I answered simply. "The Kavanaghs don't want us investigating, and without more information, there's little we can do."

He held the door open for me. "Do you think he'll listen?"

"I don't see that he has a choice."

"We'll lose our ruse."

"True." I hadn't thought of that. "But maybe we won't need one much longer."

I could tell from Sidney's expression that he was less optimistic of that than I was.

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