CHAPTER 24

T he following morning, I received a request from a surprising source. Miss Fairbanks wrote to ask me to meet her at the Pepper Cannister church just after one o'clock. I'd not held out much hope of convincing her to speak with me again, so for her to request a meeting seemed a great boon. I was due to meet Nancy at the Pillar Picture House at three, so I had just enough time to accommodate Miss Fairbanks.

I arrived to find her waiting for me in the same place where we'd sat the last time. It was quiet inside. The rain from the morning had since moved off and soft sunlight now streamed through the stained glass bathing the pews and floor in near-translucent color. The patch in which Miss Fairbanks sat tinted her copper hair magenta.

When I sat beside her, she acknowledged me with a tight smile, her hands clasped before her. "Thank you for coming."

"Of course."

When she didn't volunteer anything more, I found myself remarking on our setting. "This is a lovely building, isn't it? The sunlight through those windows . . ." I lifted my hand, tilting it left and right to watch the hues change. "It's almost tangible, isn't it?"

She eyed me quizzically, evidently not appreciating my whimsy. But then nothing I knew about her upbringing led me to believe she'd been encouraged to embrace such things.

"You said to contact you if I thought of something, even if it's small," she finally ventured to say.

"Yes." But still she hesitated, forcing me to prod her. "Have you thought of something?"

She nodded, biting her lip. Clearly, she was struggling with whether to tell me, and as our silence lengthened and stretched, I could almost feel it solidifying. Yet, I didn't know enough about whatever had occurred to her to prod her to tell me. So instead, I decided to approach it from a different angle.

"Were you acquainted with Miss Kavanagh's cousin, Daniel Keogh?"

She seemed to start, almost as if she'd forgotten I was there. "Mr. Keogh? Yes. Though . . . I'm not supposed to admit it." Another edict from her mother, no doubt. "He seemed to be a nice man. Kitty was awfully fond of him. Although Mr. Kavanagh said his politics were questionable."

"Sinn Féin?" I guessed.

She nodded. "Which was why Kitty never believed that he'd been killed by the Volunteers as a tout. She said it didn't make sense. That it was more likely he was a tout for them."

"What did Mr. Keogh do?"

"I don't know exactly, just that he worked for a railway."

A position which could prove useful to either side, particularly given the ongoing railway strike against transporting military material and personnel. Though, Mr. Keogh had died before that had even begun.

"Did he know Lieutenant Delagrange?"

"Oh, yes. Actually, they knew each other from somewhere before the lieutenant began seeing Kitty." She frowned. "Kitty said Mr. Keogh didn't approve of him, but I don't know why. Except . . ." Her brow furrowed. "Well, I think Mr. Keogh was a little sweet on Kitty himself."

That could explain it. Or the fact that Delagrange had filed a malicious-injuries claim involving an incident that Mr. Keogh was part of, and he knew Delagrange was lying about the extent of his injuries.

"Mrs. Kent?" Miss Fairbanks said solemnly, her amber eyes pleading with me. "Do . . . do you think the lieutenant was responsible for the attack on Kitty?"

I answered carefully. "He seems like a strong suspect."

She searched my face, seeking something, and then lowered her head almost as if praying. "Then there's something else you should know."

Hearing the hollow tone of her voice, the hairs along the back of my neck stood on end, for I knew whatever she had to say was important.

"The day that Kitty died, Lieutenant Delagrange asked me to help him see her." She directed her words to the floor, and it was all I could do to remain still and listen. "Kitty had closeted herself in her bedchamber and she wouldn't leave it, and neither her mother nor her nurse would let the lieutenant visit her there. It would have been highly improper, of course. But . . . but he said he was desperate to see her. That he feared she thought the worst of him since he hadn't reacted as well as he should to learning of the assault on her." Her hands tightened into fists, and she pounded them on her legs. "He claimed he'd been in shock, but he didn't care about any of that now. Just her. And I . . ." She closed her eyes, shaking her head. "I thought it all rather romantic."

I rested a consoling hand on her shoulder. "So you helped him."

"I distracted the nurse long enough for Lieutenant Delagrange to slip into the room, and then distracted her again when he left."

I frowned. "And the nurse noticed none of this?" For someone who was caring for a patient who was allegedly at risk for suicide, the nurse didn't seem to be terribly attentive or observant. "What did you—" I began, intending to ask her the nature of the distraction, but Miss Fairbanks interrupted me.

"What if she didn't intend to take that sleeping medicine on her own?" She pressed her hands to her face. "What . . . what if he's responsible?" She began to weep, murmuring in a broken voice. "And I helped him."

"If that's true, you couldn't have known," I said, rubbing her back between her shoulder blades. "You couldn't have known he had such horrible intentions. And . . . and we don't know for certain that he did."

She turned to me with angry eyes, obviously not wanting me to placate her, for she was right. It certainly looked damning. Especially knowing that Delagrange was likely Miss Kavanagh's chief assailant. But there were still facts to be gathered and proof to be found, or it was merely her word against his. If only I could find the footman and the nurse.

"Do you recall the nurse's name or where she came from?"

Miss Fairbanks hiccupped, straightening. "No, Kitty and Mrs. Kavanagh only ever called her ‘Nurse.' And she won't speak of her now."

Maybe not, but perhaps a member of her staff would. If I could ever gain access to the house again. But Mrs. Kavanagh was always home, and she always sent me away. I was almost to the point of resorting to asking Ginny for help.

"Thank you, Miss Fairbanks, for telling me this," I told her. "I know it wasn't easy."

She sniffed. "Kitty would have done the same for me." There was a wistful note in her voice, almost as if she wasn't sure she believed it.

* * *

I was given my second surprise of the day when I arrived at the Pillar Picture House on Upper Sackville Street. Nancy and I bought our tickets and found seats in the middle of the cinema. We chatted amicably, and as the Pathé reels that preceded every film began to play, she slipped a thin stack of papers from beneath her coat and passed them to me.

I looked at her in confusion, laughing at the almost giddy grin that had spread across her face. "What's this?"

"That file ye wanted," she leaned over to whisper.

My gaze dipped to the papers as she continued.

"The one on Miss Kavanagh. 'Tis a copy, of course, but it's all there."

I could hardly believe it. I'd hoped she might glance at it and slip me the name of the footman and perhaps the officer who had filed the report, not give me a copy of the entire file!

My astonishment must have been evident, for she giggled. "You're welcome."

"I . . . yes, thank you," I replied belatedly.

She nodded. "Now put it away."

I did as I was told, though no one around us was paying us the least attention. It was all I could do to leave it there; such was my eagerness to read it now that I had it in hand. I'm afraid I only gave the film half my attention, but what I did see was a rather sappy affair anyway, not at all to my taste. The rest of my thoughts were devoted to speculation over what the report might say. But these soon gave way to misgivings about Nancy.

Superficially, it would seem this was a triumph. To have successfully secured a friend and contact inside the walls of the Castle. One who could gain access to secure files and information. Nevertheless, I was wary.

It had simply been too easy. Nancy and I were barely acquainted. Yes, we'd seemed to have a natural affinity, but that didn't equate to trustworthiness. As an employee of the British government, she was bound by the Official Secrets Act, and yet she'd so quickly and seemingly guiltlessly stolen a confidential file for me. At least, she appeared untroubled by her actions, engrossed as she was in the film.

Maybe she felt justified in her decision to break protocol because I had once worked for the government myself, but she had no proof that this was true, only rumors and my veiled references. Even so, I might have been dismissed from my government position because of unscrupulous actions. She couldn't have been certain what type of person she was giving the file to or what my intentions were for it, no matter what I claimed.

Yet, Nancy was an intelligent girl. That much had been clear to me right from the start. So I had to believe she knew precisely what she was doing. Which meant one of two things. Either she was doing this at the behest of someone in the government, or she didn't feel bound by the Official Secrets Act, perhaps because she was already breaking it. Maybe because she'd already sworn her loyalty to a rival government—Dáil éireann.

The first option seemed doubtful if for no other reason than I couldn't think of anyone within Dublin Castle with the authority or desire to grant me access to the file. Not even Lord French, whose motivations for asking me to investigate Miss Kavanagh's assault would almost certainly end with my revelation that her assailants had not been members of the IRA. He was the sort of man to prefer the comfortable fiction that it had been the enemy.

That meant that Nancy was, like as not, an informant for Collins. And like as not, he'd instructed her to reciprocate our friendship and give me the file.

This troubled me, though I'd already suspected the Big Fellow was aware of my inquiry into Miss Kavanagh's assault. It troubled me because I didn't like suspecting I'd received help from the man. I was conflicted enough about him without this weighing into the matter. Of course, my feelings about Alec and fear of what had happened to him were also all mixed up in my opinion of Collins. It was difficult to separate the two.

As a former British Intelligence agent, one still working covertly at the behest of C, I knew how I was supposed to feel. Or at least how I was supposed to operate. I should turn over everything I knew and all the evidence I'd gathered to C, regardless of what that meant for Nancy or Collins or Alec, if he was alive. But I found I couldn't do that. Not when I didn't trust how it would be handled. I knew this meant that I was stepping into dangerous territory, but most of intelligence work lay in the shadows, rarely was it black and white.

So I decided I would remain quiet about Nancy for now. I would make peace with it. Because having a connection inside the Castle would prove useful, even if I could never be absolutely certain of her loyalties. I'd worked with other such contacts before. During the war, there had been no shortage of people operating with ulterior motives, be they inside the German-occupied territories or the relative safety of London.

I turned to look at Nancy as she laughed at the heroine's reaction, smiling as she swiveled her head to meet my eye. In that moment, she seemed so artless, so unguarded, and I felt a pulse of concern on her behalf. For if she was, in fact, an informant for Collins, and he'd directed her to get me the file, then he'd rather carelessly made her vulnerable to suspicion. And if there was one thing I knew about informants, especially ones in valuable positions, you protected them at all costs. It seemed Collins hadn't yet learned that lesson, and I hoped Nancy wouldn't pay for it.

* * *

Though we had no way of knowing whether the address listed in the Dublin Castle report for Earnán Doyle was correct, Sidney and I had decided it was at least a place to start. After all, Delagrange had, indeed, proved to be the intelligence officer who had allegedly interviewed him, and he might just as easily have fabricated his address as he had the rest of the report. However, I had a suspicion the lieutenant wouldn't have risked manufacturing such a simple fact to verify. Not when he needed the rest to be believable. In any case, Doyle was a common name, and so was Ernie/Earnán. There might have been hundreds of men in Dublin who answered to such a moniker. We hadn't the time or ability to track them all down.

The address was located off Dominick Street, not far from King's Inn, and proved not to be a home at all, but a tenement. One that housed not one family, but dozens, all packed cheek by jowl into tiny rooms, some separated by little but a sheet or curtain. The sanitation facilities—what there were—were rudimentary and akin to what I would have anticipated fifty years ago in Victorian London. Yet Dubliners had to contend with them today.

I'd heard that there was a severe housing shortage, but this was deplorable. And given the fact that Ireland was under the administration of the United Kingdom, there was no one to blame but ourselves. In the cramped, filth-ridden corridors, disease must run rampant. Few of the children running about in the street had shoes, and most were wearing clothes with patches upon patches. Yet they all had cheery smiles for us as they asked for pennies and bobs.

The adults were more suspicious, eying our fine garments with understandable misgiving even though we'd worn some of our dowdiest. I began to fear we'd miscalculated, and that I should have come alone in my disguise. But then an older woman looked me in the eye and seemed to deem me worthy, or at least not a threat, and pointed me toward a doorway. She had no teeth and a deep brogue, so I struggled to comprehend.

Fortunately for us, a young man appeared in the entrance, his clothing neater and newer than most. The jaded look in his eyes spoke of weariness and deep disappointment, and I took a gamble we'd found our man.

"Earnán Doyle?" I asked, taking the lead with Sidney at my back, hopefully trying to look nonthreatening.

The man's expression turned wary, but he didn't retreat, and he didn't deny that was his name.

"Mary suggested I speak to you. She said you were the one who found Miss Kavanagh after she was assaulted."

He began to turn away.

"Please, we mean you no harm," I begged. "We only want to discover the truth about what happened."

He scoffed and spat in the dust, startling me.

"We've seen Lieutenant Delagrange's report."

His shoulders stiffened.

"We know what he claims you said you saw."

This comment piqued his interest, and he turned his head to look at me more squarely.

I risked taking another step closer. "I know what I suspect actually happened, but I'd like to hear the truth from you."

He scowled. "The truth? No one wants to hear the truth." Anger and frustration fairly vibrated through him.

"You told the Kavanaghs, didn't you?" I guessed, remembering what Mary had told me. "And they told you to keep it to yourself."

His head dipped, his brow furrowing in silent confirmation.

"I'm asking you not to do that. For Miss Kavanagh's sake. Won't you please tell me?"

He glanced over his shoulder toward the doorway, clearly struggling with himself. "Alright, I'll tell ye. But I won't never repeat it ever again," he warned. "Understand?" He inhaled sharply through his nostrils. "'Twas Delagrange and his mates. I could tell that straightaway, even with their ridiculous masks. He came to the house often enough, 'twasn't difficult to recognize him, though he seemed to think he'd fooled me." He crossed his arms over his chest, scuffling the dirt with the toe of his boot. "But Mr. and Mrs. Kavanagh must've told him what I'd said, for he came to see me a few days later. Told me if I ever told anyone else, I wouldn't live to regret it. That he'd taken care of Mr. Keogh, and he'd take care of me, too."

I exchanged a speaking look with Sidney, unable to believe everything Earnán had just confirmed for us. He had been the witness and connection we'd been searching for all this time.

"And you didn't tell the detective inspector any of this?" I confirmed.

"Nay, he wasn't allowed to speak with us." His face tightened in disgust. "The Kavanaghs made certain of that."

"You have to come with us. You have to tell him now," I pleaded. "And tell the Castle that Delagrange forged your statement as well."

"Nay!" He shook his head. "I told ye I wouldn't. Do ye think I don't know how this works? 'Tis their word against mine, and no one will believe me."

I pressed my hands to my chest. "We do!"

Earnán's gaze flicked over my shoulder as if to verify that when I'd included Sidney in this statement, it was true.

"And we have some corroborating evidence, that Miss Kavanagh told a friend that Lieutenant Delagrange asked her to meet him in their garden after everyone else retired." I didn't add the part about Delagrange having convinced Miss Fairbanks to help him sneak up to see Miss Kavanagh just before she allegedly committed suicide. I didn't want to muddy the waters concerning the assault.

He considered this. "Maybe, but that won't change anythin'."

"But we have to try," I insisted, growing agitated. "For Miss Kavanagh. Doesn't she deserve justice?"

"Aye. But don't we all?" He gestured to the slum, the city, the country around him. To the people living in squalor, with little hope for a better future. To those denied equal justice or declined a promotion because of their religion or social status. To the people who had played the political game correctly and yet still lost.

"I heard what happened to Miss Kavanagh, and I'm sorry. I truly am. And I pray God has mercy on her soul. Sister Mary Aloysius said it was the best thing we could do for her, and I suppose that's as true in death as life. But I cannot bring her back. And I cannot win her justice. Not as Earnán Doyle, lowly first footman, and an Irish Catholic, at that."

When I would have argued further, even drawing breath to do so, Sidney clasped my upper arms from behind, halting me. We couldn't deny that what Earnán had said was true, and we had no right to expose him to danger. Nor any right to shame him for his silence when the outcome would not change.

However, if we could secure the promise of a fair hearing—perhaps even the agreement that Earnán could act as a confidential witness—then we could return to make our plea. Until then, we had to respect his decision. Though, I had one more question.

"Who is Sister Mary Aloysius?" I asked, having the vague stirrings of an idea that I might know.

"Miss Kavanagh's nurse," he replied as if I should have known this already.

Of course! Sisters often trained as nurses, offering succor to the sick and dying.

"One of the Kavanaghs' friends recommended her. Apparently, she'd nursed someone on his deathbed for months, and yet ‘kept her papish nonsense to herself,'" he added dryly.

I suspected this last was a direct quote from one of the Kavanaghs.

"Do you know where we can find her?"

"Mater Hospital, I suspect. 'Tis where she came from."

Sidney thanked him and we turned to go, but I remembered the look on his face when we arrived. It troubled me.

"When you left their employ, did the Kavanaghs give you a reference?" I asked Earnán.

The look on his face was answer enough.

I felt affronted on his behalf. "Perhaps we could—"

But he cut me off with a shake of his head. "I'm needed here." His answer was resolute, as was the look he shared with another man a short distance across the yard.

As Sidney led me away, I couldn't help but wonder what exactly that meant, and whether "here" included the local IRA brigade.