CHAPTER 27

T his time we didn't give the Kavanaghs the opportunity to turn us away.

"Good morning," Sidney declared cheerily as he strode into the entry hall past a somewhat stunned Mary. He handed her his hat and umbrella before threading my arm through his and escorting me toward the staircase. "We'll show ourselves up, shall we?"

"Oh, but sir," Mary called belatedly after us, hurrying to catch up. "Sir?"

"It's alright, Mary," I told her over my shoulder, affected by her obvious distress.

As we reached the next floor, I spied Mrs. Kavanagh staring at us round eyed from the rear parlor, but Sidney carried on through the door farther along the corridor into the drawing room. "How dare you," she spluttered in outrage as she came through the adjoining door. Her gaze swung toward where Mary hovered in the doorway. "You were given strict instructions . . ."

"Not to allow us entry?" Sidney finished for her. "It's no use blaming your maid when we quite clearly forced our way inside. How could she have been expected to stop us?"

"It shouldn't be her job to answer the door anyway," I added, my voice hardening. "That should fall to your first footman." Whom they'd allowed to be threatened into leaving their employ.

Mrs. Kavanagh stiffened in affront but given the fact she was a woman who prided herself on being such a stickler to decorum, even sacrificing her daughter to it, I couldn't withhold the barbed comment.

"What is the meaning of this?" Mr. Kavanagh demanded as he pushed past Mary into the room, his white mustache quivering in indignation.

"I think you know," Sidney replied icily. "Or else you wouldn't have turned my wife away nearly half a dozen times. But by all means, eject us from your home and we shall conduct this interrogation in a far more public place at a time not of your choosing."

The Kavanaghs exchanged a speaking glance, and then by unspoken agreement, both turned to close the doors they had each entered through. They perched stiffly on the edge of the settee where they had sat when we first interviewed them, both of them gathering their wounded dignity around them like a cloak. But I had no patience for placating them.

"We know that Lieutenant Delagrange and his cohorts are the ones who assaulted your daughter and cut her hair," I stated without preamble, sitting in the chair adjacent to theirs. Sidney stood just behind me. "And we know you know it."

Mrs. Kavanagh pressed a hand to her chest. "Why of all the preposterous things to suggest? He is an esteemed member of the British military. How can you suggest—"

I cut her off before she could finish. "We spoke with Earnán Doyle, your former first footman." I would not call him Ernie, no matter what she preferred. That was not his name.

This silenced her, but only for a moment. "He's not to be trusted—"

"We also have it on good authority that your daughter agreed to meet with Lieutenant Delagrange in the garden that night after everyone retired," I continued. "That he'd asked her to do so, and she'd agreed, intending to discourage him from courting her further."

Mr. Kavanagh blinked slowly while his wife stammered. "Why of all the outrageous—"

"She knew about his malicious-injury claim," I told him. "She knew he and his mates had perjured themselves."

Mrs. Kavanagh turned to look at her husband in a way that made me think she was at least ignorant of this part.

"The question is, did you?" Sidney pressed Mr. Kavanagh.

His face had gone pale though he glared at my husband. "How dare you insinuate—"

"Did he bribe you? Threaten you? Which was it, Mr. Kavanagh?" Sidney persisted. "What made you decide not to recuse yourself from the matter, despite the fact your daughter was stepping out with the claimant and your nephew was named in the claim?"

But Mr. Kavanagh stared back at him stonily, refusing to answer. We couldn't gain access to his financial accounts without government assistance, which it was doubtful we would receive. Our only way of discovering what really happened was if he told us.

"Our nephew?" Mrs. Kavanagh retorted. "You mean that rapscallion Daniel Keogh. He's naught but a troublemaker."

"Yes, one who informed for the IRA, we understand," I supplied. "Which makes it doubtful he was killed by them. It seems far more likely that Delagrange did it to keep him silent as well. Particularly as he'd already caused trouble for him by informing your daughter of what he knew about his malicious-injury claim."

"But they found a note," Mr. Kavanagh protested, though this must have sounded feeble even to his wife's ears; she scowled at him.

"Forged," Sidney stated.

Mrs. Kavanagh scoffed. "You have no proof of that. These murderous rebels are a villainous lot who would turn on their own mother if it served them to. Maybe Daniel crossed them. Maybe that's why they assaulted Katherine."

"Except we know she met Delagrange that night, and we know your footman identified one of the assailants as him," I said, my voice tight with condemnation. "That he told you, and you instructed him to keep quiet about it. Delagrange certainly took the accusation seriously, for he threatened him. Scared him badly enough to make him resign his position."

"It couldn't have been Delagrange," she insisted.

"Why?"

"It just couldn't," she snapped, her hands shaking with rage and distress.

I could tell now that her obstinance was more about denying a truth she couldn't face than actually believing the opposite.

"He's a British officer from a good family. He doted on her." She shook her head over and over. "He couldn't have hurt her. He wouldn't have!"

"But he did," I stated implacably.

She opened her mouth to further protest, but I spoke first . . .

"And your daughter told you so, didn't she?"

She coughed, appearing to choke on her own denial, and her husband reached out to rub her back, offering his assistance.

But I pressed on, able to see now what had happened. "Yet you still wouldn't let her break with him. You even forced her to see him, to pretend that all was well."

The Kavanaghs looked up at me with wide eyes. Because they were being forced to relive their greatest failure, or because their secret was out? I couldn't tell which was uppermost in their minds.

"That's why she insisted on closeting herself in her room. She thought there, at least, she would be safe." For no self-respecting matron would allow a man unrelated to them in her unwed daughter's room. But then I recalled what Miss Fairbanks had said. "Except she wasn't."

This, at least, seemed to startle them.

"From herself, you mean?" Mr. Kavanagh asked.

I met his gaze evenly. "Did you know that Delagrange snuck into your daughter's room shortly before she died?"

Mrs. Kavanagh looked as if she'd been struck. "Impossible," she gasped.

"We have it on good authority, and not from a member of your staff."

"The nurse?"

"No." I decided not to tell her the source of this information. Not yet. Let her sit with the fact for a while rather than dwelling on the trustworthiness of the witness.

"Are you saying . . . ?" She didn't finish the sentence, and neither Sidney nor I completed it for her.

Maybe Delagrange forced a lethal dose of the sleeping draught into her or maybe he poisoned her water or tea. Or maybe his invasion into her most secure and sacred place when she was already in such a fragile state, proving she would never be truly safe from him or anyone else, had pushed her to take her own life. I wasn't sure we would ever know the truth. But that didn't remove fault from Delagrange or the Kavanaghs for not protecting their daughter as they should.

"You placed your reputation above your daughter's well-being, and it cost her her life," Sidney declared harshly. I heard him inhale a steadying breath, cooling his temper. "But you can still make it right."

"How?" Mrs. Kavanagh wailed tearfully. "It won't bring her back."

"No, but you can at least get her justice."

"And you can prevent it from happening again to some other susceptible young lady," I pleaded.

"Tell the authorities what you know," Sidney charged. "Force Dublin Castle to conduct an inquiry into the matter. You have the clout and friends to do so."

"You have a far more optimistic view of government than the rest of us do," Mr. Kavanagh derided. "But then again, you're English and an aristocrat at that." He shook his white head. "They won't open an inquiry into the matter. They won't do it because they don't want to."

He spoke with such certainty, even as a Protestant, a loyalist, and a King's Counsel, that it gave me pause. If anyone in Ireland should believe they could attain justice, it would be someone like him. Yet he still held no faith in it.

"You could at least try," Sidney replied.

"And lose everything I have left? No." He eyed us both with disfavor because we'd made him face his and his wife's failings. Because we were English. Perhaps both. "I can't stop you from pursuing this further, but I don't have to help you."

Mrs. Kavanagh nodded in agreement even as she continued to silently weep.

Recognizing there was nothing more we could say, I allowed Sidney to draw me to my feet and escort me from the room. Mary was waiting for us fretfully in the entry hall. I hated the idea that we might have gotten her into trouble, so I slipped her a calling card from my reticule. "Should they give you any trouble."

She dipped her head in understanding, palming the card and then slipping it into her apron pocket.

Then Sidney and I swept from the house and out into a deluge of rain. It suited our moods perfectly.

* * *

It was raining again two days later when we arrived at the Viceregal Lodge. Despite the sumptuous meal we were no doubt about to enjoy, I found myself feeling pessimistic about the evening. Or perhaps it was merely that I was feeling pessimistic about the entire situation in Ireland and our endeavors there.

Collins persisted in eluding me, though I'd tracked him back to north Dublin the day before. However, the rain this day was coming down too hard, and the hour I would intersect with Collins on his daily route had grown too late for me to return looking like a drowned rat and still change in time for the lord lieutenant's dinner party. I didn't want to make a repeat of our fashionable, but late, arrival in June.

Meanwhile, unrest continued all over Ireland with more raids, ambushes, burnings, reprisals, and killings perpetrated by both sides. Though not all of it was intentional. In Dublin just the day before, a fellow riding his vehicle along Victoria Quay had been accidentally struck and killed by two army officers in a motorcar. Alternatively, there could be no doubt of the intention behind the killing of RIC Detective Sergeant Mulherin, who shockingly had been shot and killed by the IRA while leaving mass in Bandon, County Cork.

Much of the discussion at dinner centered around this and the other outrages of the IRA, but I noticed few wished to dwell on the actions of the Protestants in the north or the burning of houses and businesses and creameries by the Crown Forces. In some areas, it seemed our forces had almost adopted a policy of commercial vandalism focusing on key industries—the creameries in particular. Once again, I couldn't help but be reminded of the parallels with Belgium and northern France, where crucial industries had been systematically dismantled and looted or outright burned by the Germans. It had made their recovery after the war all the harder.

By the time dinner had concluded and Lord French had asked me and Sidney to confer with him privately, I was afraid I'd fallen into a rather sullen silence. I noted we were led into a proper study this time, just as I'd noted that Sidney had been invited with me. I didn't know if this was because the lord lieutenant's mistress hadn't appreciated the speculation made about him attempting to woo me, or because he'd heard the rumors that I was allegedly expecting. Whatever the case, I was just glad not to have to make the request myself.

Lord French seated himself in a chair that was a trifle too large for his short stature, diminishing rather than enhancing his authority. The tall windows at his back offered an expansive view of the grounds, though the rainy weather had brought on an early twilight, casting much of it in shadow. He appeared to listen carefully to our report, ruffling his finger back and forth over his impressive mustache, but with each passing statement his expression grew more displeased.

Periodically, he would mutter something under his breath, and for a short time I thought we might have found an ally. However, this hope died when he glanced once at the long-case clock ticking away by the door, and then later at his pocket watch. It was increasingly evident that what we were telling him was not what he'd expected or wanted to hear, and now he wished to be finished with the matter.

"Yes, very good," he told us once we'd finished. He stood. "I shall refer the matter to Macready and Boyd. It will be up to them, and I suppose Winter, if they wish to pursue the matter."

"But, sir," I protested, rising to my feet as well even as he moved toward the door. "Aren't you concerned to hear that an intelligence officer is behaving in such a manner?"

"Our men are under a great deal of stress these days, Mrs. Kent. Particularly our officers." He nodded at Sidney. "Your husband knows what it's like. This Lieutenant Delagrange is, no doubt, in need of some guidance on how to better handle himself, but I should be greatly surprised to discover it is as serious as you fear. Regardless, the matter no longer belongs in my hands. Or yours ." He paused in the doorway to glare at us each in turn. "Am I clear?"

Then without waiting for our responses, which I supposed were a foregone conclusion—he was the lord lieutenant, after all, and expected our obedience—he strode from the room.

It took me several moments to compose myself before I could speak, such was the haze of red that had fallen over my eyes. I had no doubt my complexion was flushed for I could feel the heat in my cheeks and across the top of my chest.

"I have been condescended to many times in my life," I finally uttered, modulating my voice. "I am a woman, after all," I quipped. "But to be treated in such a manner by the man who asked us "—I had to break off, inhaling a calming breath before I continued—"to investigate the matter in the first place, is beyond insulting."

I turned to find Sidney still staring at the doorway through which Lord French had exited, his brow furrowed in consideration.

"Don't tell me you agree with him?"

His gaze collided with mine. "Not in the least. But I do begin to wonder why he asked us in the first place. Kavanagh isn't a big enough fish to toady to, even if he is on the lord lieutenant's privy council. And we already know the Kavanaghs didn't request us. So why did His Excellency divert the matter our way? Why involve us at all?"

I didn't have an answer to this question, but he was right. It didn't make sense.

"You think there's someone else?" I asked.

"Maybe." He searched my features. "But either way, we're not letting this go. Not yet." His mouth firmed. "Not while I have some sway to be exerted. Or else what good is that Victoria Cross?"

I smiled faintly at this weak jest.

"Come on, darling. Let's play nice and rejoin the others."

At this remark, I glowered, wanting to do just about anything but that.

He pulled me close, murmuring into the skin at the nape of my neck before trailing his lips over it. "If you do, perhaps there's a reward in it for you."

"Is that a promise?" I countered bitingly.

His response was for my ears only.

* * *

But by the following evening I was the one promising him rewards in order to cajole him out of his distemper.

Upon his return home I went to greet him, arriving in time to see Sidney hurl his hat, his driving gloves, and lastly his battered cigarette case down on the petticoat table. The silver case clattered over the side, spilling its contents all over the granite stone floor.

"Feel better?" I asked upon observing this display.

He shot me a glare before bending down to pick up the fags.

"Best tell Mrs. Boyle to delay dinner ten minutes," I told Nimble, who had come clomping up the stairs at a trot. Then I retreated to our bedchamber, waiting for Sidney to join me there.

"I take it matters did not go well at the Castle," I deduced as he closed the door.

"No. The whole lot of them don't see the point in opening an investigation based purely on the word of a . . . oh, how did they put? A disgraced servant, a starry-eyed girl, and a vague presumption."

"All of them?"

"All." He removed his coat, tossing it down on the bed. "That it's a girl's and a servant's word against Delagrange's, and considering Delagrange is an intelligence officer, and men like him are giving their lives for their country every day, they would sooner trust their own, thank you very much." His sarcasm made it clear he was repeating someone else's words.

"They were referring to that officer in Bandon, weren't they?"

The evening papers had reported that an intelligence officer had been killed while trying to apprehend a suspect in DS Mulherin's murder. Though only a few of those papers had also mentioned that soldiers from the officer's regiment had begun a series of dreadful reprisals.

He plopped down on the bench at the end of the bed. "Undoubtedly."

"Then perhaps part of their refusal comes down to poor timing. Maybe if we asked—" I broke off at the sight of his face when he looked up at me. Obviously, there was more.

"One of them suggested that my suspicion of Delagrange was more motivated by his inappropriate behavior toward you."

"You can't be serious?" I demanded incredulously.

But he was.

Fury rushed hot through my veins. "After everything you've done for your country." I paced away, before pivoting to return. "Oh, I can just guess who made such an asinine suggestion."

"It wasn't Winter," Sidney said, taking the wind out of my sails. "And I won't tell you who," he added just as I was about to ask. "It doesn't matter. Because unless we can find concrete evidence of Delagrange's guilt, Dublin Castle isn't going to do anything about it."

I sank down next to Sidney. "And how are we supposed to do that when Miss Kavanagh is dead, and her parents refuse to share what they know?"

I thought of Miss Kavanagh cowering alone in her room and how desperate and terrified she must have been. The people who were supposed to love and protect her most in the world had instead been more concerned with preserving their status and concealing any perceived flaws than shielding her from a repugnant officer.

No, not alone. She'd had Miss Fairbanks and her nurse. And while I'd believed her friend when she'd said Miss Kavanagh hadn't told her anything more, I wondered if Sister Mary Aloysius might have proven a safer confidante. Though it would still be another week before she returned to Dublin, and it was doubtful Dublin Castle would find the nun a more acceptable witness than any of the others.

"So much for justice," I muttered.

"I saw Delagrange from a distance as I was departing."

I turned to see that Sidney was staring fixedly at the floor, his hands tightened into fists.

"He knows he's going to get away with it."

The statement made me feel sick to my stomach and brought a lump to my throat. "Then it's a good thing I wasn't there," I managed to choke out. "Because I very well might have taken the pistol from the nearest officer's holster and shot him."

"Don't think I wasn't tempted," Sidney jested morbidly. I knew he'd left his own Luger at home lest they confiscate it at the guardhouse.

I leaned over, bumping his shoulder with my own. "What a pair we make. Talking of justice and then joking about taking it into our own hands."

He draped his arm around me, tipping his head so it rested against mine. "Sometimes it's the only thing that makes the injustice easier to swallow," he said, and I knew he was speaking from experience. For in the trenches, there had rarely been justice dispensed. Or if there had been, one might never have known it.

I closed my eyes and prayed I could find some way to reconcile with this, at least for Sidney's sake if not mine.