CHAPTER 30

B elgarde Castle was located west of Dublin in a lovely glade of trees surrounded by fields. It being the height of summer, the countryside was lush with greenery and growing crops and the garden was bursting with bright blooms and ripe fruit bushes. If any place could refresh my spirit and ease my soul, it was this.

Or it might have if it had been absent of people.

We arrived in the early afternoon, seemingly the last of about a dozen guests including Lord and Lady Powerscourt and a newly arrived civil servant from Dublin Castle, Mark Sturgis. Though I'd never met Mr. Sturgis, I was acquainted with his wife, Lady Rachel, the daughter of Lord Wharncliffe. Sturgis himself proved to be witty and charming with a genuine talent for moderating those who might have otherwise dominated the conversation. This latter quality soon proved invaluable, as our host, Anthony Maude, was a determined Tory. One who was prone to ranting about the rebels and the current state of Ireland in general. I'd developed a headache just from listening to him for the short time he'd held forth on the subject over tea.

And unfortunately, there was much to rage about given the fact that Frank Brooke, the railway director and privy councilor we'd dined with at the Viceregal Lodge the evening after the King's Inn raid, had been assassinated in his Westland Row office the day before. It had been shocking to hear considering the nature of his attack—in broad daylight in front of witnesses at his place of work—but also because we'd been acquainted with the man. I couldn't help but recall how O'Shaughnessy had warned Brooke that his determination to fire Irish railway workers and hire English ones because of the ongoing strike would paint a target on his back.

There was also the fact that I'd spoken with Collins the night before the attack. That I'd seen his intelligence team gathered in that snug at Devlin's. It troubled me to think that might have been where they'd planned the last-minute details of the attack. The notion made me feel a little queasy.

I understood the cost and method of war. I'd lived it for four years. But that didn't make any of it easier to stomach.

I didn't know whether Mrs. Maude had noticed my reaction to her husband's vociferous speech, or I simply appeared paler than I realized, but she suggested I might enjoy a walk in the garden before dressing for dinner. I readily accepted—anything to escape the house—and followed her directions out to the courtyard and past a thick iron gate. A set of wide terraced steps led me up a path through the trees and into the garden proper.

It was positively charming. Dahlias and marigolds nodded in the late afternoon sun while bees flitted between them and the trees heavy with ripening fruit. From this distance, I could see that the walls of the castle, and indeed every stone surface in sight, were covered in ivy and clematis. Only the windows and the top of the medieval tower could be seen peeking through.

I wandered for a time, breathing the scents of the earth and flowers and green things deep into my lungs. It was quiet and soothing, with nothing but the drone of the bees and the soft sigh of the wind through the leaves to disturb me. I rounded a corner to find a sundial, approaching it to see if it was accurate. Then spotting a bench nearby, I decided to sit.

I'd only been perched there for a few minutes with my face tipped up toward the warmth of the sun when something alerted me to the fact I was no longer alone. Whether it was a sound or a flickering shadow, or simply a disturbance in my equilibrium, I didn't know, but I opened my eyes to find Lord Ardmore watching me, a smile creasing his unctuous lips.

I should have been startled. I don't know why I wasn't. Except after seeing Captain Willoughby in Dublin, I supposed I'd been waiting for his employer to appear, and as always, where I least wanted him. It had been over six months since we'd met face to face, though he was always lurking on the periphery, casting his shadow over my peace of mind. Exactly where he wanted to be.

He crossed toward me, swinging his walking stick. He looked healthy and relaxed, and clearly unruffled by whatever his intentions were for those phosgene cylinders. I didn't know his exact age, but I'd pegged it at somewhere between forty-five and fifty, for his pale blond hair was streaked with gray and his figure, while still trim, was perhaps a stone heavier than it had likely been in his youth. As always, he appeared distinguished and respectable. Had I not known exactly what he was capable of, I never would have guessed what a Machiavellian mastermind I was facing.

"Careful, Mrs. Kent," he drawled before sitting beside me uninvited. "You'll give yourself freckles."

"Unlikely," I replied, apparently to his amusement, for he chuckled.

"That is one of the things I like most about you. You are undoubtedly beautiful, and you know how to dress and groom yourself to appear at your best, but you're not beholden to it and the more ridiculous practices and misconceptions aboutit."

I turned to pin him with a sardonic stare. Though a confirmed bachelor, Ardmore was known to have taken lovers, including a former friend of mine. But surely, he wasn't attempting to flatter me .

"Though I must say, you are looking rather wan today, my dear," he declared in mock concern, reverting to form. "Has something happened to remove the bloom from your cheeks?" His gaze dipped to my abdomen. "Maybe it's merely a symptom of your present condition."

I turned back toward the sundial, not about to dignify that with a response. Though I supposed it answered the question of how far Bennett's report that I was expecting had traveled among the intelligence circles in London.

But Ardmore wasn't finished. "Or perhaps it's the fault of Dublin Castle." He shook his head. "I knew they were unimaginative, but not to this degree. Which is why I suggested to Lord French that he enlist your assistance in looking into the matter of Miss Kavanagh's assault."

My hands involuntarily clenched where they rested in my lap, such was my shock. " You asked Lord French to enlist us to investigate?"

"Of course, my dear." His mossy-green eyes glittered in satisfaction at my surprise. "I knew that you and your husband would be utterly fair and impartial."

I stared at him, feeling frustration and impotence and absolute wrath building up inside me. It was all I could do to turn away before I did or said something I would regret. I'dalready given Ardmore exactly what he wanted—my shock and upset. I was not going to delight him further by raging at him.

Sidney and I had wondered what the real motivation had been behind Lord French asking us to investigate Miss Kavanagh's attack. Now we knew. It had been at Ardmore's behest. Ardmore!

As if summoned by my thoughts or my distress, my husband suddenly appeared around the corner, moving at a fast clip. But he checked his steps once he caught sight of us.

"Ah, Mr. Kent, there you are," Ardmore declared, rising to his feet. "And right on time. Don't worry, I've been looking after your wife for you." He paused as he was moving past him. "Though she does appear to be a trifle discomposed. Might want to see to that, will you." With that he disappeared around the bend in the foliage.

Sidney turned to stare after the man, but then abandoned any idea of going after him, advancing toward me instead. "When Maude mentioned that Ardmore was to be a guest, that he'd already arrived, I knew immediately he would seek you out."

Perhaps our hosts had even arranged it.

He dropped down on the bench in the place Ardmore had vacated. "What did he say?"

"It was Ardmore," I ground out. "Ardmore who asked French to enlist our assistance. He's been toying with us!"

Sidney reared back as if he'd been struck, though I knew it was in response to the content of the words and not my delivery of them. "Bloody hell," he cursed, adding something even harsher than that.

"It's like Belgium all over again," I added bitterly.

For it was Ardmore's machinations that had forced us into a hunt for that report that had proved our government's complicity in prolonging the war. And it was now Ardmore who had drawn us into an investigation that had exposed some of the flaws in our government's response to the Irish situation. Not all of it, of course, could be laid at his feet. That had come from living among and interacting with those who lived here. From experiencing it firsthand. But our discoveries in the course of inquiring into Miss Kavanagh's assault and the Castle's response to our findings had certainly driven the wedge deeper.

"You see, this is what he does," I berated. "He doesn't just seek to outwit, but to demoralize, and manipulate, and . . . and corrupt. To do so in a way that we don't even know it's happening."

"That doesn't make the things we've uncovered any less true," Sidney pointed out.

I turned to grip his hand in mine, speaking in a low voice. "No. But it's precisely because they're true that his maneuverings are so effective and dangerous."

Sidney knew that Ardmore had been attempting to burrow his way into my mind, to make me doubt myself and those around me, particularly C and British Intelligence. To make me disillusioned and distrustful, possibly even desperate. Since the moment we'd stumbled upon the truth of his treachery, he'd utilized every fact he'd learned about me, every instance we'd interfered with one of his agents to systematically pick away at me. And every step we thought we'd been taking away from him and toward thwarting his plans had really been drawing us deeper into his web.

Sidney's jaw firmed. "But Ardmore doesn't control everything, Ver. Even if he wants you to think he does. And whatever he's been planning"—he shook his head—"we know it can't be good. Don't lose sight of that."

I inhaled a shaky breath. "You're right." I reached for Sidney's other hand, drawing further strength from it and the confidence of his gaze, the faith he held in me, in us. "You're right," I repeated, stronger this time.

I couldn't let Ardmore distract me from that truth. Whatever his intentions were for that poisonous gas, whoever his intended target was, they were not to be borne. The very act of releasing such a deadly substance was horrifying enough without considering all of the ramifications and consequences, not only for those who succumbed to it, but for all of Ireland and Britain. And at the moment, all that he seemed to need in order to succeed was for us to take our eye off the ball.

No one else was suspicious of him, not with all of his government and intelligence contacts, and his own shadowy role with Naval Intelligence. No one but us and Alec, who was now a rebel, and C, whose suspicions were almost solely based on our reports. If Sidney and I failed to stop Ardmore, the world might be forever changed, and it was unlikely he would ever be held responsible.

I couldn't lose sight of that. Not for one instant.

Sidney squeezed my fingers in return. "Though we still have three days to endure in his company. Unless you want to leave. I'm sure we could make our excuses."

And let him win?

"No," I stated. "No, I can handle it. I can handle him ."

"If you're sure?"

I turned to glare at him, and he smiled. I realized then he'd been testing me.

I leaned over to impulsively kiss him, hitting the corner of his mouth. When I drew back, he gripped the nape of my neck and pulled me toward him for a more substantial embrace.

We held hands as we made our way back toward the castle, and with each step, I regained more of my poise. I began to analyze Ardmore's confession from a different perspective.

"So Ardmore claims he convinced Lord French to ask us to look into Miss Kavanagh's assault. But how did he know about it?"

Sidney turned to look at me, perhaps struck as much by the quandary as I was.

"And how did he know that her assailants weren't members of the IRA as was suspected?" If they had been, the investigation and its findings would have been rather more straightforward and less fraught.

"I don't know," Sidney admitted. "But it would be worth finding out."

* * *

The remainder of the house party passed largely without incident. The weather was glorious, and we spent a great deal of time outdoors riding, picnicking, and playing lawn tennis. The men also went shooting, while the ladies toured some of the local churches and architectural sites.

Ardmore, for his part, mostly ignored me except when we were in mixed company at dinner or tea. I didn't know if this was because he thought the little seeds of doubt he'd planted in my head would grow more rapidly without him overshadowing them, or because he was more concerned I would ferret out something about him he didn't want me to. If the latter was his motivation, then he'd failed, and I had our host to thank for it.

During the midst of one of Maude's ranting soliloquys, he'd mentioned the fact that he'd heard that the Dublin Corporation—which encompassed the city government and all its administrative organizations—was facing bankruptcy and severely overdrawn on all its loans. Since Dublin Castle, as the seat of the British government in Ireland, had just withdrawn all aid to local authorities who had recognized and sworn allegiance to the Dáil—including the Dublin Corporation—the Corporation was forced to look for further funding elsewhere. For a time, like many councils, Dublin had attempted to have it both ways, taking the British government's money without giving them their loyalty. But the Castle had put a stop to that. And now none of the banks would advance the Corporation loans or buy corporation stock.

While Maude seemed to find this to be their just deserts, I had a different epiphany. One that stemmed from the dossier Alec had compiled on Ardmore while recuperating after being shot the previous summer. Alec had discovered that Ardmore was owner, or part-owner of a number of businesses throughout Ireland, albeit not in his own name. More pertinently, Alec had learned that Ardmore had his hands in a number of their banks. We'd speculated that he might be biding his time, seeking to take advantage, and wagering that an independent Ireland might mean greater profits for him in the long run. Assuming he possessed the capital, what better way was there to benefit from the country's upheaval—politically, professionally, and in the long term financially—than to bankroll it, both in Dublin and elsewhere.

If that was part of his plan, then this was a critical moment. The fact that the crisis also coincided with Ardmore's arrival in Ireland only heightened my suspicion. Though it still didn't tell us what his intentions were for the phosgene or where it was hidden.

* * *

Upon our return to Dublin, Sidney and I were met at the door by Nimble. The bruises on his face continued to heal and had now faded to a sickly yellow and green. Nevertheless, I could still smell the liniment Mrs. Boyle continued to apply to it daily. Though I couldn't deny that it appeared to be helping.

"Letter arrived for you, ma'am," he told me as I removed my gloves.

"From our mutual friend?" I asked.

"It appears so," he said, watching as I opened it.

It wasn't very lengthy. Mostly a reminder from Max that he would be away from London at his estate on the Isle of Wight for Cowes Week, a regatta held every year in August on the Solent. Presumably he'd not wanted me to worry like the last time he was away. Though there was also a notation at the bottom that might have proved useful had we received his letter before we'd departed for Belgarde Castle.

Ardmore is bound for Ireland. Uncertain of his plans.

To accost me, first and foremost, apparently.

Sidney looked at me in question as I refolded the letter, and I shook my head, letting him know there was nothing of import.

However, Nimble had yet to depart and I suddenly realized how anxious he appeared. I'd thought his impatience was about the letter, but perhaps I was wrong.

"Was there something else?" Sidney asked him.

"A Lieutenant Bennett called for you," he informed him.

A fact which, in and of itself, was not alarming, but for Nimble's demeanor.

"He said that Lieutenant Delagrange was murdered."

I stifled a gasp, gripping Sidney's arm.

"When?" he asked.

"Yesterday." Nimble's wide eyes flicked back and forth between us. "I told him ye were at Belgarde Castle. That he should look for ye there if it was urgent."

Since Bennett hadn't contacted Sidney, I could only presume he'd wished to ascertain our whereabouts. The fact that we'd been attending a house party with more than a dozen other guests afforded us rather solid alibis.

"Thank you, Nimble," Sidney stated calmly, though I could feel the tension in his frame. "I'll follow up with Bennett myself."

Nimble nodded and turned to go, though I could tell he was still conscious of the undercurrent flowing between me and Sidney.

Once he'd clumped out of sight, Sidney turned to look at me. "You don't think . . . ?"

"Who else?" I murmured faintly.

"Someone he'd wronged?" he suggested. "It's doubtful that Miss Kavanagh and her cousin were the only ones."

"Maybe," I allowed. But I also knew that I'd complained about Delagrange to Alec and Collins. I'd told them I was certain he was behind Miss Kavanagh's assault and Mr. Keogh's murder. That he might have even arranged Miss Kavanagh's death. And three days later, he was dead.

"It was certainly fortunate it occurred while we were away," Sidney dared to voice aloud.

"Yes."

Based on that remark alone, I knew we were both nursing the same unsettling suspicion, and it did not sit well with either of us. We'd wanted justice for Miss Kavanagh and the others, but not like this.