CHAPTER 25

"W ell, that was more than we hoped for," Sidney remarked once we'd returned to Dominick Street. Soon after leaving Earnán behind, he'd removed a cigarette from his case and lit it, the smell of Turkish tobacco doing at least something to dispel the stench of this tumbledown corner of Dublin.

I tipped my face up toward the sun, feeling a jumble of elation and frustration. "If only we could convince him to testify."

"You can hardly blame the man for his reticence. Not knowing what we do." He grimaced. "Not after picking up the paper and reading what's happening elsewhere in this country."

Just in the last three days, several areas of the country had erupted in violence, and much of it was not at the hands of the IRA. In Cork City, where RIC Divisional Commander Smyth had been shot dead, and the men responsible had managed to slip away in the crowd leaving a neighboring cinema where a film had just let out, Crown Forces in the area had been ordered to patrol the streets. However, tempers boiled over, resulting in a number of attacks on civilians, including several former British Army soldiers. It didn't help when railway workers refused to transport Smyth's body north to County Down for his funeral.

In County Limerick, the IRA killed a constable during an ambush, and the RIC retaliated by burning several buildings, including the library and creamery. Then in Tuam, County Galway, after two more RIC men were killed in an ambush, the RIC and British Army Dragoons stationed nearby embarked on a reprisal of looting, burning, and shooting, causing a great deal of destruction. In many of these cases, it was difficult to get entirely accurate information. In some instances, the newspapers obeyed the government's censorship orders while wild rumors seemed to pass about by word of mouth, such as accusations that the blood from one of the former soldiers killed in Cork was used to write the killers' regimental name on a wall close by. However, when an English reporter writing of the incidents in Tuam actually compared it to the villages devastated by the Germans in Belgium and France, I got a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach.

"It certainly doesn't encourage people to step forward and do the right thing when just walking down the street can get them killed, let alone angering either side of this conflict," I said softly.

Sidney helped me pick my way around a pile of refuse. "What's our next step, Ver?"

I knew what he was asking. As matters currently stood, it was unlikely that challenging the established narrative would change anything. But much like with Alec, I couldn't leave it at that. Not if there was anything else we could try. Miss Kavanagh deserved that much. Any future men or women who might find themselves in Delagrange's crosshairs deserved our every effort to prevent it. Anything less would be a dereliction on our part.

"I need to speak with Sister Mary Aloysius," I declared firmly. "Maybe Miss Kavanagh confided in her." My eyes narrowed. "And we need to speak to the Kavanaghs again. Though we may have to force the issue." My last three attempts to call on them had been rebuffed, but we knew enough now to threaten our way inside if necessary.

Sidney halted us just in time to avoid colliding with a bicyclist who came hurtling out of a side street.

"Apologies," the chap called over his shoulder.

Sidney dropped his cigarette butt on the pavement, grinding it out with this heel as he continued to eye the cyclist's retreating form with disapproval. "I'll pay another visit to O'Shaughnessy." The city recorder. "Perhaps he can tell me some more information about Delagrange's malicious-injury claim."

I nodded. If nothing else, perhaps we could prove the lieutenant and his mates had perjured themselves. It might be enough to throw some discredit on him.

I considered approaching DI Burrows about Daniel Keogh's murder, but it was doubtful he would be able or willing to help us. Not when the probable killer was an intelligence officer at the Castle. That would fall under the jurisdiction of O, and I had zero faith in his impartiality.

"I also think we should speak with Bennett and Ames."

I turned to Sidney with a scowl, but he held up his hand to halt my protest.

"I know you'd prefer to keep your distance, but they're not only acquainted with Delagrange, but they also don't favor him. They might hold some useful information about him."

I heaved an aggrieved sigh. "You have a point. Just because their intelligence on the location of the phosgene cylinders has proven faulty . . ."

He eyed me askance at this barbed comment.

". . . doesn't mean they won't have some valuable insights into Delagrange."

Sidney might think my criticism unfair, but I couldn't help but continue to harbor suspicions about Bennett and Ames continuing to involve my husband in their efforts. Yesterday's raid had proved just as fruitless as the one the week before.

"We also need to debrief Lord French," I said. "But I think that can wait until Sunday's dinner party."

He agreed as we hurried to catch the next passing tram. "I take it you intend to spend the afternoon on your other quest," he said as we began to move forward.

Sidney had taken to calling my search for Collins a quest, and it was beginning to feel like one. Though the day before I'd at least secured my own steed, or rather bicycle. And a good thing, too, for it seemed Collins rode half a dozen or more miles each day across the breadth of the city to various offices and other locations. I'd managed to tail him from Wellington Quay to the Wicklow Hotel—wondering to myself how I'd missed him all the times I'd sat at Peter's bar—and then southward, only to lose him near St. Stephen's Green.

I was, by parts, amazed and horrified at his fearlessness. He wore no disguise, standing tall and straight as he rode or marched bold as brass past the various Crown Forces, and even through police cordons. I supposed that was his dazzle-painting, his camouflage. For no one would believe that, as the most wanted man in Ireland, he would pedal carelessly through the streets, even engaging soldiers and officers in conversation. I couldn't decide if he was mad or a genius. He was certainly charming.

"Yes," I told Sidney. "Maybe today will be the day."

It wasn't.

I followed Collins as far south as Mespil Road, but then lost him again as he was headed into town. The trouble arose in maintaining enough of a distance so as not to alert him or anyone around him that he was being followed, particularly as I had to find a place to pause and loiter while he went about his business. Thus far, most of his stops had been at offices or shops or a hotel, not a pub or restaurant where I might have more naturally approached him. He might have entered the bar or restaurant of a hotel, but I couldn't be certain. I also hadn't spotted Alec, and with each passing day, my hopes began to sink lower.

It wasn't the day I spoke to Miss Kavanagh's nurse either. When I stopped at the Mater Hospital to ask after Sister Mary Aloysius, I was told she'd gone to Rathfarnham and wouldn't return for almost a fortnight. While the distance to Rathfarnham was only about twenty miles, I received the impression that the sister would not welcome visitors. So I resolved to be patient.

But my patience was wearing thin.

* * *

"Couldn't we have met them someplace less lousy with intelligence officers?" I groused as Sidney led me into Rab-biatti's Saloon in Marlborough Street the following evening.

"Not if you want to catch them not minding their tongues," Sidney murmured into my ear as he removed my coat. The temperature had taken a dip that day, but per my husband's instructions, I'd done my own dazzle-painting, wearing something swank with one of the straight drop-waists that were so popular, so as to pretend to conceal any possible rounding of the abdomen. I had to remember that Bennett and the others believed I was expecting.

Apparently, I'd done well on my assignment, for at least half of the eyes in the room swung my way, and the other half soon followed. I knew I'd brought my jade-green gown with a beaded bodice and fringe skirt with me from London for a reason.

Sidney's hand pressed proprietarily against the bare skin of my back. "Cheer up. I'll take you dancing later."

I wouldn't say no to that. Not in this getup.

We weaved our way among the tables littered with glasses of liquor and wreathed in cigarette smoke toward where Bennett stood gesturing to us. The ceiling here, at least, was taller, so that the heat and smoke could rise. "Verity," he declared before bussing my cheek. "So glad you're feeling up to joining us."

I didn't miss the slight arch to his eyebrows or the curious glance he passed over me from head to toe as he offered me the chair he'd just vacated. However, I wasn't about to comment on my health or the status of my presumed expectant state. A fact that irritated Bennett as he turned to fetch a chair from a neighboring table, but it would have been impolite for him to ask about it outright.

Sidney introduced me to the other man seated at the table, Lieutenant Ames. Ames had a curious accent, which I soon learned was because he'd been born in the United States, though at some point he'd become a British subject and served in the Grenadier Guards during the war. He was slightly older than Bennett and possessed a broad forehead, dark receding hair, and a mustache.

Meanwhile, Bennett had signaled the publican and ordered us drinks. He seemed to be well enough acquainted with Sidney to know that he appreciated a good stout. "A gin fizz, right?" he asked me as our drinks were delivered, I presumed having taken notice of what I'd been drinking at Kidd's Back the last time I'd seen him. I smiled politely and thanked him, though Iwished I could have been sipping a gin rickey from that littlerestaurant in Dawson Street where Wick had asked me to meet him.

"I suppose Sidney has kept you abreast of our extracurricular activities," Bennett remarked, leaning back in his chair with a second tall glass of ale in one hand and a cigarette in the other.

By this, I deduced he meant their search for the phosgene cylinders.

"It's only too bad they've thus far proved unsuccessful," I observed wistfully as I risked a sip of the gin fizz. It wasn't precisely enjoyable, but at least it was palatable in comparison to those I'd sipped elsewhere.

Bennett's eyes narrowed slightly, perhaps wondering if that was a dig at him, but I maintained an artless expression. Sidney, however, was not fooled, pressing his leg against mine underneath the table in warning. Much as I would have liked to persist in issuing veiled barbs, I recognized he was correct. You didn't poke the bear you hoped would share his catch of fish.

"Yes, but we are getting closer," Ames declared after draining his third glass of whiskey mixed with water. I noted the softening of his pronunciation and gauged he was but another glass away from being corked. I wondered how long it would take Bennett to get there.

"These shinners are craftier than they look," Bennett concurred, though he looked disgruntled to admit it. "But don't you worry."

I offered him a smile of gratitude, running my finger around the rim of my glass as I pretended to lapse into thought. "It does make one wonder though, doesn't it? How they got their hands on the stuff in the first place?"

I was curious to hear whether they'd formed any theories, and whether Ardmore featured in any of them or if he'd escaped the suspicion of everyone but us.

"Who knows?" Bennett replied. "Probably a corrupt RE." Royal Engineer. "Someone from the Irish Guards." He gestured broadly with his hands, letting me know he wasn't far off pace from Ames. He was just better at hiding his inebriation.

In any case, his assumption wasn't entirely false, considering the phosgene would have originated with the Corps of Royal Engineers. The barrels and crates smuggled off of the Isle of Wight containing the phosgene had been stamped with their mark. I supposed it was also only natural to assume an Irishman was responsible. And in a way, he was correct, for Ardmore himself was Irish. Just not the type of Irish Bennett was thinking of.

"But as I said, you needn't worry your pretty head about this one, Ver." He toasted to Ames and my husband. "We've got it covered."

Sidney's leg pressed against mine again, perhaps alerting me to the fact my answering smile was more predatory than placating. It took a great deal of self-control not to put the fellow in his place and take him to task for the presumption of using my nickname as well. But Ames was also watching me, so I swallowed the urge and adjusted my mask to one of complacency.

I supposed it was my own fault for broaching the question, so I lapsed into silence, listening as the men bantered and bellyached. The latter largely came from Bennett and Ames, who were evidently not as pleased by their assignment here in Dublin as they'd hoped to be. It was plainly not as simple or cushy a commission as they'd been led to believe. I wanted to feel sorry for them, but some of their and the other men's remarks about the Irish were abhorrent.

Having spent enough time with intelligence officers, it was easy for me to pick out who they were among the crowd, and almost to a man they were all drinking too much. I couldn't believe that during their training no one had pointed out how risky this behavior was. Maybe they thought they were safe here, given it was largely populated with fellow intelligence officers, members of the Crown Forces, and touts offering up information. But it was both reckless and foolish. Especially when at least some of their names must have been on Collins's list for potential assassination. After all, I'd already seen his right-hand man walking into Kidd's Back. Who knew which of his men might have been sitting amongst us even then.

"You know, I was a bit concerned that bounder Delagrange would turn up here tonight," Sidney suddenly declared, evidently having decided that Bennett and Ames were corked enough. "But I haven't seen his face all evening."

This, indeed, had been a concern, for we'd figured it would be far more difficult to get information about Delagrange out of Bennett and Ames if he was there.

"Oh, he isn't all bad," Bennett said, slurring some of his words. "I don't know what got into 'im to accost Ver." He began to snicker. "'Cept maybe he fancied 'er."

I knew for certain that wasn't it, but I played dumb. "I did hear he was recently injured, so perhaps some lingering pain made him cross and out of temper," I suggested, feigning pity.

But this comment only drew more snickers from Bennett, and even Ames cracked a smile. "'Cept whatever his injury was—"

"If he actually had one," Ames muttered under his breath.

Bennett nodded. "Wasn't all that terrible. But he stuck it to the Irish anyway." He clinked glasses with Ames.

"What do you mean?" Sidney asked with a false smile.

"He filed one of those . . . those . . ." Ames swirled his hand before him as if this might help him recall.

"Malicious-injury claims," Bennett supplied.

Ames pointed at him. "That! Applied to the Recorder's Court for compensation. Pretended to be more wounded than he was, and the committee fell for it. Paid him one thousand pounds."

Bennett laughed.

It infuriated me how they both seemed to find it all so amusing, but I merely smiled. "How on earth did he convince them?"

Ames rocked back in his chair, and I worried he might tip it over, for he was none too steady. "A bit of actin'. A bit of lyin' by his friends."

"He's lucky he didn't get caught," Sidney replied, and I could hear the beginnings of a bite in his voice. I lifted my leg, rubbing my calf along his underneath the table in silent warning.

Bennett scoffed. "Command doesn't care. Not when the money's comin' out of Irish pockets, not ours." He took a long swallow from his nearly empty third glass. "So long as we're not caught."

"Then Delagrange isn't the only one who's gotten away with it?" I asked when Sidney seemed unable to.

"Oh, no." Bennett chuckled. "Not by a long shot."

I supposed this all but confirmed that Delagrange and his mates had perjured themselves, but we still didn't know what the incident was where he'd claimed to have been injured or how Miss Kavanagh's cousin was connected to it. I looked to Sidney, needing his help to draw it out of them.

"The incident where he was allegedly injured must have occurred soon after he arrived in Dublin," Sidney began in a flat voice, gaining more self-awareness as he spoke and modulating his tone to one of more amused interest. "He's fortunate that didn't rouse suspicion. Though, I suppose it was always the raw recruits who were most likely to click it."

This statement caused me a mixed reaction. I was proud of Sidney for overcoming his evident distaste and coaxing Ames and Bennett to react in amused agreement to this statement. But I was also slightly appalled to hear him speak of the men who had died under his command in such a callous way, even though I knew it was all an act.

"Isn't that the truth," Bennett replied, and I wanted to snarl, "as if you would know," for he'd served almost exclusively as an intelligence officer in Holland.

"But Delagrange served in the army here before he transferred to intelligence," Bennett continued, not even bothering to couch matters in euphemism. "He got knocked around a bit in a skirmish with the shinner crowd outside Mountjoy demanding the release of their hunger strikers but got no more than a scrape and a few bruises."

In mid-April, the government had capitulated and, in a monumental error, released not only the political prisoners who had been on hunger strikes, but a whole host of others incarcerated at Mountjoy Prison on charges related to the rebellion. It had contributed in further demoralizing a police force that was already crumbling under the weight of the populace's boycott. So the incident referred to in Delagrange's claim must have occurred shortly before that, and Daniel Keogh had been there.

Sidney made some follow-up remarks but the look he cast my way communicated he was ready to leave. We'd gotten the information we needed, and now he was counting on me to extricate us.

"Darling," I murmured, draping myself along Sidney's side. "You promised to take me dancing."

"That I did," he agreed, though the smirk he shared with the men suggested he was indulging me. "If you'll excuse us, gentlemen."

"Of course," Bennett replied with a leer, though Ames appeared more wistful. I wondered if perhaps he might have a girl of his own somewhere. Or one he'd like to call his own.

Sidney helped me into my coat and tossed some money on the table for all of our drinks before shaking the men's hands. Then we strolled out of the saloon without a backward glance.