CHAPTER 20

I returned home, both surprised and relieved to find Sidney there. Until I saw that he was about to leave again. However, he took one look at my face and set his hat back on its hook.

"Won't you be missed?" I asked as he reached for my hand.

"Lawrence will understand."

I didn't argue, wanting nothing so much as to pour out everything I'd just learned to him. Which was exactly what I did once we were closeted in our private sitting room. I was too agitated to sit, instead pacing before the pair of windows that overlooked the garden. It had grown stuffy in the house after the rain, and so Sidney opened them both to the cool afternoon breeze before pivoting to sit on one of their ledges as he listened. I could hear that I was rambling as I expounded on my thoughts, but he didn't interrupt me, perhaps knowing I needed to purge it all from my head where it had begun to cycle back on itself.

When I finally did stop, making one last pivot toward him, it was to find him watching me intently. "What are you thinking?" I asked, unable to read his expression with my own worries clouding my judgment.

He pulled me toward him, draping his arms around my waist. "I'm thinking, you've given this a lot of deliberation. I'm thinking, this isn't the first time you've considered the possibility."

"It's not the first time you've considered it either," I retorted accusingly.

"It isn't," he answered steadily. "But I don't know Xavier like you do."

When I didn't respond, but simply stood there staring at the flash of my wedding ring in the sunlight and the paleness of my hands resting against the shoulders of his deep gray coat, he prompted me. "What do you want to do, Ver?"

I scrutinized his features. His sun-bronzed skin from all his outdoor pursuits and his square jaw that could lock in stubbornness. His full lips that could feather so lightly over my skin and his midnight-blue eyes that deepened almost to black when he made love to me. I knew he would do whatever I asked, and that was why I hesitated. Because my decision didn't affect just me, but also him. And it could place us both in unspeakable danger.

I grasped his face in my hands, feeling the beginnings of stubble abrading my fingertips.

Yet, I couldn't turn my back on this. I couldn't turn my eyes away from the truth. The truth about Alec. The truth about what our government, of what the rebels, of what humanity was capable of. I thought I'd already seen the worst of it in Belgium and France, but I was learning there were degrees to everything. And I couldn't help but feel somehow I had a part to play here, even if it was just as a witness.

Sidney smiled sadly and nodded, having read my thoughts.

"I have to know," I finally said as a tear slid down my cheek. "Beyond a shadow of a doubt."

He brushed the tear aside with his thumb. "I know, Ver."

I sniffed. "Which means I have to find Collins. That's where I'll find the truth about Alec. Dead or alive."

His brow furrowed and his hands flexed where they rested against my hips, and I knew he was fighting the urge to forbid it. For finding Collins could spell my death sentence.

There was no doubt in my or his mind that I could do it. I knew what Collins looked like. I knew some of the places Alec had reported that he frequented, and while some of those places could now be suspect, the information contained in his earliest reports had more than likely been accurate.

If I were completely honest with myself, I had to concede that the main reason I hadn't found Collins yet was because I was afraid to. Which had undoubtedly hampered my search for Alec. I'd known I needed to adjust the hours of my searching and the locations I frequented. I'd known I needed to follow the trails left by Collins's associates, but I hadn't. Out of fear.

No more could I let that impede me. I had to commit now to this wholeheartedly, to embrace the uncertainty, or I might as well return to London. If our life here had been like walking a tightrope before, now it would be like doing so without a net.

"Are you certain that's the best approach?" Sidney resisted.

"It's the only one."

He continued to frown but didn't argue.

"We also still have those phosgene cylinders to locate." Though I supposed it was some relief to know we weren't the only ones searching for poisonous gas that might have fallen into the hands of the republicans. At least, Bennett and Ames and the rest of British Intelligence appeared to be aware of it, thanks to that letter they'd intercepted during a raid. But they didn't know of Lord Ardmore's involvement.

"We also have some new information pertaining to Miss Kavanagh's attacker." I relayed what Miss Fairbanks had told me about Lieutenant Delagrange asking her to meet him in the garden.

"That certainly explains some things. Then I take it you suspect Delagrange and his companions were the ones who assaulted Miss Kavanagh and cut her hair. That blaming the local IRA brigade was merely a convenient excuse."

"It looks that way. And yet Delagrange continued to show up at their home, paying her court. Remember her mother said she hadn't wanted to see him."

Sidney scowled in disapproval. "She made it sound as if it was because her daughter was ashamed of her hair having been cut, but what if she'd not wanted to see him for a different reason entirely."

I tried to imagine what that must have been like. Had she known the man courting her had been one of her attackers? Had she told anyone? Or had she kept silent, suffering alone. I hoped that if she had told someone, it hadn't been her parents. Otherwise, their actions that followed were unspeakably cruel.

"It was no wonder she hadn't been in her right mind and had chosen to drink that sleeping draught when it was left where she could get to it."

"Is that how she died?" Sidney asked, and I realized I'd never told him what the neighbor had said. I could tell from his expression that he found it as unsatisfactory as I did the first time I'd heard it.

"I've been meaning to track down the nurse and speak to her about it, as well as the footman. Speaking of which . . ." I pulled the two letters I'd meant to post from my pocket. "If you're going out again, will you post these?"

"Of course." He glanced at them absently, pausing on Wick's.

"He found no mention of a bog body, and he discovered that Miss Kavanagh's cousin who was allegedly killed by the IRA was named Daniel Keogh, though he noted there was something irregular about his death. What?" I asked, having noted the paroxysm that had spread across his face. "What is it?"

"Daniel Keogh was the name of Miss Kavanagh's cousin?"

"Yes." I knew I'd spoken clearly enough before, so his reaction to his name must be for another reason.

"The malicious-injury claim Delagrange filed was against a Daniel Keogh."

"That's what Mr. O'Shaughnessy told you." In all the tumult, I'd forgotten about Sidney's meeting with him.

He nodded. "A case Mr. Kavanagh considered recusing himself from, but then changed his mind about at the last minute."

I frowned. "Definitely suspicious. But what was the timing of all of this?"

"Mid-April."

My gaze hardened. Just a couple of weeks before Miss Kavanagh's assault. "It would be good to know when Daniel Keogh's death occurred. And why Wick deemed it irregular."

Sidney tapped Wick's letter, correctly deducing its contents. "I'll also see what else I can find out. Meanwhile"—he squeezed my hip—"we're going to dinner and the theater with the Wyndham-Quins tonight."

"Oh yes," I groaned. "I forgot."

"I thought you liked Helen."

"I do, but . . ." I exhaled, unequal to the task of putting it all into words.

He seemed to understand anyway, pulling me closer. "We can never really tell who our friends are here, can we?"

I could see that this also weighed on him. "No."

A taut smile curled the corners of his mouth. "I suppose this was what it was like in Belgium."

"Yes and no. There I was never static, never in one place for long," I explained. "So it was harder to fall susceptible to the natural human desire for connection. As an intelligence agent, you can only allow the illusion of intimacy, never the actual thing."

"Except with a partner." His voice had lowered coyly, but I could see the shadow of Alec in his eyes, the knowledge of our past connection.

I draped my arm around his neck. "One you trust? To a certain degree." I stared into his eyes, letting him see my vulnerability. "But you're more than a partner, aren't you?"

"Yes. Ever. Always."

When his mouth met mine, I allowed myself to fall into the kiss, wanting to forget everything else except Sidney and my love for him.

Sometime later, while Sidney went out to run a few errands and post my letters, I removed from my handbag the missive Mr. Finnegan had given me, before I began dressing for dinner. I'd recognized it as being from one of the telegraph offices, and opened it to read the wire Kathleen had sent me in our code. It was brief, by necessity, but she was warning me that O was asking questions about me, and C was requesting my report on the encounter.

Truth be told, I'd expected as much, and I'd already encoded my version of events in the letter I'd given Finnegan earlier. O had undoubtedly painted my actions in the worst possible light, but there was nothing I could do to stop him from doing so. I just hoped those who knew better weren't swayed by whatever snake oil he'd tried to sell them.

Had I but known what was to come, I would have tried harder to enjoy that evening with Dicky and Helen, laughing over drinks at Jammet's and the players on stage at the Gaiety Theatre. I might have entered into our plans to see Pauline Frederick in Paid in Full at the Palace Cinema with a bit more gusto instead of wishing I was combing the hot spots Michael Collins—and hopefully Alec—frequented. I certainly would have tried to enjoy all of those flush summer days in early July just a little bit more, or at least prepared myself. For there was a storm brewing over Ireland, and if we'd thought all the things that had come before were bad, things were only going to get worse.

It began the next day over breakfast.

Since our arrival in late May, we'd begun receiving a variety of newspapers espousing all sorts of different views to keep abreast on what was occurring, including the Dáil éireann's official daily news sheet, the Irish Bulletin . While it might have been written off as mere propaganda by some, most of the people Sidney and I had delicately prodded—even staunch unionists—had agreed it was largely accurate and fair-handed in its reporting. Of course, the government had outlawed its printing, but somehow it continued to evade detection, and new editions appeared on our doorstep and others across Ireland, as well as being mailed to America and other countries in Europe and perhaps even farther.

That morning, the Irish Bulletin and The Freeman's Journal published reports of the mutinies of members of the RIC at Listowel and Killarney. But it wasn't the mutinies themselves—which seemed to have been for the most part peaceful—that caused alarm, but the accounts made by the constables. It had begun in mid-June when they'd been ordered to turn over their RIC barracks to the British military, and informed they were to be transferred to other postings. An order they'd refused. But the real trouble had started when they were paid a visit by not only General Tudor but also the newly appointed district commissioner of Munster, Lieutenant Colonel Gerard Bryce Ferguson Smyth, and a detachment of British troops. Smyth had appeared in full dress uniforms, including Distinguished Service Order and Bar, and campaign medals. Whether he thought this would overawe the mutineers or make them cower, I didn't know, but I could imagine the scene at this remote RIC barracks as Constable Jeremiah Mee described it.

Smyth had then proceeded to address the constables. He'd allegedly told them that if a civilian didn't follow an order immediately or appeared suspicious in any way, for example with their hands in their pockets, that they should shoot them down. "You may make mistakes occasionally and innocent persons may be shot, but this cannot be helped and you are bound to get the right persons sometimes. The more you shoot, the better I will like you, and I assure you that not one policeman will get into trouble for shooting any man." He claimed, "Sinn Féin has had all the sport up to the present and we are going to have it now." Other purported remarks were equally disturbing,

If true, it was shocking.

"Do you know Lieutenant Colonel Smyth?" I asked Sidney.

His brow was scored with deep furrows, telling me he was equally concerned. "Not personally. But he was decorated multiple times for bravery during the war. Even lost an arm."

I lifted the paper. "I don't know anything about this Constable Mee, of course, but I can't spot any obvious deceptions in his claims. He states quite frankly at the beginning of the article that he and his fellow constables were on the side of the British, and fully anticipated us winning the war. That their objection to handing over the barracks to the military and being transferred was the fact that, after the conflict, the British would leave, while win or lose, they would have to return to live in Listowel with a potentially hostile populace. If they were going to be held accountable for the actions of the Crown Forces, they wanted to at least have some control over the way those actions were carried out, and some ability to protect their own friends and family." I paused to scan the article. "Though, I have to wonder what their political opinions are now that they're no longer members of the RIC."

Sidney continued to frown at the page in front of him, but he didn't appear to be reading it. The very notion of any commander of our Crown Forces issuing such an order was disturbing enough. It must be outrageous to Sidney, who had once served.

"Could the reports be false?" I asked, trying to maintain a healthy skepticism until I possessed all the details. When this made no dent in Sidney's expression, I probed the matter from a different angle. "Could Smyth have been speaking out of frustration?"

This succeeded in drawing Sidney's gaze. "No, I cannot believe a man of Smyth's reputation would have issued such orders without being explicitly given them himself." A muscle in his cheek jumped as his gaze dipped to the table again. "And one does not question one's orders once they're given. At least, not openly."

Seeing the bitter twist to his lips, I spoke delicately. "Does that mean you believe Mee's account?"

He scrubbed a hand down his face and then through his hair. "I don't know what I believe." He cradled his chin in his hand, partially covering his mouth as if to stop himself from continuing. "And that's what troubles me. That these orders might be real."

I understood he was thinking of more than Listowel, but the papers we'd uncovered in Belgium and the things we'd witnessed or experienced since our arrival. The letter from Max that had been redacted.

It had been some time now since Max's last correspondence. I'd known he would be busy with the Henley Royal Regatta and the social season events which surrounded it. As an earl and a highly sought-after bachelor, he couldn't shirk them all. But the lack of communication made me suspicious. Not of Max, but of the postal delivery chain we'd thought would remain undetected. Now, I wasn't so sure.

"They're recruiting former officers now," Sidney said gravely. "To supplement the dwindling police numbers."

I wondered if this was another area in which Tudor or others had tried to recruit him. Perhaps O wasn't the only one who had approached him.

"I suppose they need someone to keep the Black and Tans in line," I remarked, taking a sip of my now cold tea.

"Not for that."

I turned to him in confusion.

"They're going to form their own elite units."

"For what?"

Sidney didn't answer this, but I could tell it bothered him. And I supposed it bothered me, too. If you were going to go to the trouble of recruiting a group of experienced demobilized officers, why wouldn't you give them men to command? Why form them into their own corps? What did they intend to do with them?

"We have army battalions stationed here," Sidney ruminated. "If they're so desperate they need former army officers to maintain the peace, why not just use the existing forces they already have trained?"

"Because then it's all but an admission that it's war, not just some . . . campaign of terror perpetuated by a few extremists with guns in conflict with the police. Those paid assassins and murder gangs, as they so carefully refer to them, become a brigade, an army." I arched my eyebrows. "A rival republic." I threw down my napkin and pushed to my feet. "And while I understood their initial resistance in escalating the conflict to such, now they're doing so with a subpar force while still pretending not to."

I could only hope cooler heads would soon prevail, and an acceptable truce and plan for finally implementing Dominion Home Rule was offered. It seemed inevitable that would be what it would all come to. So why not avoid the months or years or decades of casualties and festering animosities that would occur from not doing so now?

Fortunately, cooler heads did prevail at Bellewstown that day. We drove up for the race meeting with Dicky and Helen, expecting it to be an unexceptional outing except for the winning or losing of a few pounds. However, a relatively large contingent of the British Army overran the racecourse, supposedly with the intent of deterring the Irish Republican Police force that the shadow government was encouraging to operate in the absence of the RIC, who had abandoned many of the rural barracks. Matters could have turned ugly quickly, but everyone maintained control of their tempers, and little happened but the confiscation of a few armbands and caps.

But while the crowds of Irish complied with the army's orders, I could sense the anger and resentment and mistrust fermenting behind their eyes. They weren't foolish enough to confront a superior force bristling with weapons, but that didn't mean they were cowed or pacified by the Crown Forces strutting and flexing its muscle. No, it only ground their bitterness deeper, and drove those who otherwise might have remained neutral straight into the arms of the republicans.