CHAPTER 26

M arlborough Street bustled with traffic, most of it pedestrians and bicycles, but Sidney still managed to flag us down a taxi. Otherwise, he was quiet, brooding on what Bennett and Ames had said. He was keeping himself very contained, and that as much as anything told me how bothered he was by it all.

So when he asked where I'd like to go dancing, I told him I was tired and suggested we go home instead. I could tell he didn't believe me, but he didn't argue, directing the driver to Upper Fitzwilliam Street. Nimble was surprised to see us when we returned so early, however he was too well trained to say anything.

"Everything alright, here?" Sidney asked him. They exchanged a few words as I made my way up to our bedchamber, intent on removing my shoes, which pinched.

Sidney found me there a few minutes later perched on the tall four poster bed, rubbing my foot. It was admittedly not the most alluring or ladylike of poses, with my skirt rucked up over my knees and my hair matted from removing my jeweled headband, but he had seen me looking much worse. Including covered in blood from a gunshot wound. So when he paused in the doorway to stare at me, I arched my eyebrows in query.

"I suppose it's a good thing we didn't go dancing after all," he said.

I scowled, taking offense, and hurled the shoe I still held in my hand at him.

He knocked it aside. "What?" he asked in confusion, before realizing his error. "No, I meant that your feet evidently weren't up to it. And I'm afraid I'm not the best company at the moment either." He sighed, gesturing at the shoe now lying next to the tallboy where he'd batted it. "Obviously." He closed the door with his foot and reached up to pull his bow tie loose. "But you deduced that already, didn't you?"

I descended the steps of the bed to stand on the bottom one so that I was nearly even with his height. "What troubled you the most?" I asked as I unfastened the top two buttons of his still crisp white shirt.

He turned his head to the side, struggling with something. "The way they treated it all as if it's a lark," he finally said, his dark blue eyes meeting mine, stark with shadows. "The lying and perjury and fraud. That statute is supposed to fairly compensate those who are wounded and the loved ones of those who have been killed, but they spoke about it almost as if it were some sort of slush fund." The longer he talked, the angrier he got. "And the implication that Dublin Castle is aware of it but content to look the other way since it only hurts the Irish—" He broke off, turning away again as his jaw flexed. "That's not what we're supposed to be doing here."

"Do you think the advisors and judges are content to look the other way as well?"

Men like O'Shaughnessy and Kavanagh.

"I don't know," he said. "I suppose that depends on whether they've been bribed or threatened. Maybe that's something I should ask Mr. O'Shaughnessy when I speak with him tomorrow."

His expression was bleak and jaded, and I suddenly realized how hard all of this had been on him. Having to sit there and pretend he was of the same mind. I might have donned a physical disguise to venture out into the city searching for information in order to locate Alec, but Sidney was forced to wear an invisible one day after day, masking how he truly felt about matters pertaining to this Irish situation. I was interacting with strangers who would hopefully never know who I really was, and who I would probably never see again once we left the isle. Meanwhile, Sidney mingled as himself, with men he very well might meet across dinner tables or boardrooms in the future. They were men he had perhaps respected and might even have admired. Now he was questioning those bonds of amicable feeling.

For a man who had already seen so much of the worst of humankind, who had been forced to question lifelong friendships—even having his best man shoot him and leave him for dead—it tore away a piece of my heart to watch him face such things again. And at my careless behest. He would never have been here had I not asked him to help me search for Alec. He would never have heard these disillusioning things.

I pressed my hand to his chest. "I'm sorry, darling."

"What do you need to feel sorry for?" he retorted. "You're not the one behaving like a bloody jackass."

"Maybe not. But if I hadn't—"

He grabbed hold of my hand, firmly shushing me. "No, Verity. I know what you're thinking. I can see it in your eyes. You did not force me to come to Dublin." His eyes glinted in challenge. "You couldn't have even if you'd wanted to. Nor could you have made me sit at home while you did all the inquiring. I took this on myself. And I'm better off for the knowing."

I opened my mouth to attempt another feeble argument, but he squeezed my hand, cutting me off before I could utter a syllable. "Stop, Ver. I won't hear it. We're supposed to share our lives, every bit of them. Including, in this case, the disillusionment and danger. Isn't that what you once told me?"

"Yes," I said, comforted more than I would have thought to hear him say it.

"Well, then."

I smiled shakily.

Sidney released me to shrug out of his evening coat, draping it over the end of the bed. "So, how exactly did Delagrange's malicious-injury claim lead to Miss Kavanagh's death?"

"Well, we know from Mr. O'Shaughnessy that Miss Kavanagh's cousin played some role in that malicious-injury claim, and from Bennett that it occurred during the general strike protests that occurred before the hunger strikers were released from Mountjoy in mid-April." I reached up to remove my emerald chandelier earrings, dropping them in the jewelry box on the clothes press beside the bed. "Mr. Keogh must have known Delagrange perjured himself, and he must have told his cousin, Miss Kavanagh."

"Then Miss Kavanagh tells Delagrange she knows the truth," Sidney extrapolated as he removed his cuff links. "Maybe even demands he return the money and recant his statement."

"Which Delagrange won't do."

"It would tarnish his name forever, and that of his mates who lied for him."

"And the British Army."

Sidney nodded. "Just so."

I laid my jade bracelets and emerald necklace in the box and closed it with a snap. "Perhaps she threatens to tell the truth if he doesn't." I stared down at the gilded surface, running my fingers over the pearl inlay. "So he assaults her to keep her quiet, but is careful to do so in a way that can be blamed on the IRA."

"What of Mr. Keogh's murder? Was that to silence him as well?"

"Probably." I turned to look at Sidney. "The IRA aren't claiming responsibility for his death, and according to Miss Fairbanks, Miss Kavanagh suspected her cousin was actually working for the IRA, not against it."

He raked his hand back through his hair, ruffling it. "That would explain Mrs. Kavanagh's disapproval of him."

"I imagine she disapproved of the manner of his death just as much," I remarked dryly. "But yes, it would." I paused to consider. "Though that also suggests Delagrange is capable of premeditated murder." The note on Dáil stationery left with the body implied definite forethought.

"If the man is despicable enough to assault and forcibly cut the hair of the woman he professes to hold affection for, and ask a few of his chums to help him do it, I can believe he's capable of just about anything," Sidney stated, his mouth curled in disgust.

"Valid point," I admitted, even as my thoughts slid to one even darker. If Delagrange was capable of all that, what would he do if she still refused to remain silent? Or perhaps the real question was, what wouldn't he do?

Seeing the look on my face, Sidney sidled closer, his voice gentling. "You're thinking of Miss Fairbanks's confession. That she helped Delagrange sneak into Miss Kavanagh's chamber shortly before she died."

"How can I not?"

His gaze shimmered with empathy, but also wariness of something else. Something he was keeping from me.

"What is it?" I asked.

"Bennett told me Colonel Winter has big plans. That he's already recruited a number of his former comrades who he knows have the stomach for the work."

That didn't sound good, considering Winter's amoral reputation.

"And he has plans to get his hands on the Dáil Loan."

While I understood the British government's desire to seize the money the Dáil had raised in the form of a national loan to fund their shadow government, for it might very well bring the rebels to their knees, I didn't trust whatever O's intentions were for it, or that it would be returned to the proper people.

Yet, none of O's actions were our purview. We were supposed to find Alec and locate the phosgene cylinders, if possible, and get out. However, I could see in Sidney's eyes the same reticence I felt at walking away and leaving O to wreak whatever havoc he chose. And O was supposed to be one of the good guys!

He grasped hold of my waist. "But that is not our concern at the moment." His eyes searched mine. "I assume you want to confront the Kavanaghs."

His hands were warm through the silk of my gown, infusing me with courage. "After you speak with O'Shaughnessy," I confirmed. "We need to understand just how much they know." My voice tightened in anger. "Just how much they're involved."

After all, Mr. Kavanagh had nearly recused himself from the hearing over Delagrange's malicious-injury claim. And if Earnán had been telling the truth—and I believed he had, for he had nothing to gain from such a lie—then the Kavanaghs had known it was Delagrange he'd seen assaulting their daughter in the garden. They'd known and told him to stay silent about it.

Sidney squeezed my waist, bringing me out of my dark contemplations. "Tomorrow."

I nodded, but he must have still been able to tell how much all of it distressed me for he pulled me into his arms, cradling my head against his shoulder just above his heart.

* * *

Sidney set out early the next morning to speak to Mr. O'Shaughnessy before he left his home in Fitzwilliam Square with his DMP escort for the Four Courts. I'd intended to have a lie-in, but my thoughts wouldn't be silenced. Too much had happened, and there was still too much to be done. So I rose and dressed, lingering over breakfast.

I knew Sidney intended to return before mid-morning, and in any case the timing was all wrong to set off in pursuit of Collins. The day before, I'd trailed him from Mespil Road to Westland Row before losing him in the late afternoon commuter traffic. The man did get about.

I settled in the back parlor with a plate of toast, a cup of tea, and the latest stack of newspapers delivered that morning. Though I soon wished I'd allowed the latter to molder in a corner. For while the south continued to have its pockets of unrest, the north had exploded with sectarian violence. For all that the British government wanted to pretend they were being fair-handed, it was quite obvious who had the freer hand.

Lieutenant-Colonel Smyth's funeral had been held in Banbridge, County Down, with a large turnout of unionists, including General Tudor, and seemed to have gone off without a hitch. However, Protestant workers soon unleashed their discontent, demanding the removal of all Catholic workers from a number of industries and marching through the streets to provoke other businesses into doing the same. Soon loyalist mobs in Banbridge and neighboring Dromore began looting and burning Catholic-owned houses and shops, resulting in numerous deaths and injuries, while allegedly the RIC did not attempt to intervene. When assistance from the British Army was finally requested, they arrested some of theCatholics being attacked, but none of the loyalist mob.

But matters were even worse in Belfast, where riots broke out. Once again, Protestant workers demanded the expulsion of their Catholic coworkers and those who tried to defend them, attacking them and driving them from their places of work, in particular the Harland and Wolff shipyards and other industrial sites throughout the city. Nearly ten thousand were ousted from their jobs. Unrest ensued, with clashes between Protestants and Catholics resulting in dozens of deaths and hundreds of mostly Catholics being driven from their homes. What aid the Crown Forces provided seemed to have only made matters worse.

Though the violence in the south was no less concerning. A British Army lorry carrying a load of rations was attacked in County Cork, resulting in the death of one officer as well as several wounded. A joint meeting of the Leitrim and Roscommon County Councils had been raided by the army and had nearly resulted in the unauthorized hanging of two of the councilmen. At Corracunna Cross, British soldiers fired into a group of young men and women, killing two, though there were differing accounts as to who the youths were and whether the shots being fired had been provoked. And in Dublin, tensions over the railway workers' strike had flared when sixty Black and Tans had attempted to board trains at Kingsbridge station, only to have the railwaymen refuse to transport them. Five or more officials had been suspended because they wouldn't let the trains leave the station with the Tans on board. Which had delayed a number of trains, including special ones bound for the Curragh races, and caused a cascade through the system.

Word was that the British cabinet's Committee on the Irish Situation was meeting in London over the next few days, and I hoped to God they finally adopted a consistent policy, preferably offering Dominion Home Rule, as anyone with sense saw it must come to. However, Max's continued silence, despite the numerous letters I'd sent through Etta Lorraine and one coded cable, made me nervous. Perhaps they'd been intercepted by the IRA. Or maybe our work-around had been discovered by British Intelligence and they'd been withheld for the same reason Max's earlier letter had been censored. Either way, I intended to risk it and telephone Max if I didn't hear from him before the week's end.

When Sidney returned, he found me staring out the window at the bright flowers bobbing their heads in our tiny garden beneath the dreary sky. The homeowners must have had a standing agreement with a pair of gardeners who appeared at intervals to tidy up the exterior, for I'd not clipped even a blade of grass since our arrival.

I could tell almost at once that Sidney's visit to O'Shaughnessy had proved unsatisfactory.

"Uncooperative?" I queried as he joined me.

He pressed one hand to the window frame and the other to the hip of his navy-blue worsted trousers. "Rather more ignorant. Or so he claimed. But I believed him," he admitted. "If bribes were offered or threats made, O'Shaughnessy didn't receive or hear of them. And he hadn't suspected their perjury until I suggested it."

"Suggested it?"

He pushed away from the window. "Yes. Recall, we have no proof. Not when Keogh is dead, and Bennett and Ames and all the others are unlikely to repeat their stories to a commanding officer, let alone a magistrate."

"Wick . . ."

"Isn't going to reveal his sources. If they would even step forward."

My hands tightened into fists in my lap. "Then the only person who might be able to do something about it is Mr. Kavanagh, and that means his admitting he either accepted a bribe or acted out of fear."

Sidney's expression revealed the same doubt I felt—that he could be convinced to speak out against Lieutenant Delagrange, though the man should be at the forefront of the charge demanding justice for his daughter and his nephew.

"We have to try," I insisted.

He stepped toward me, holding out his hand. "Then let's go do it."