CHAPTER 32

"M rs. Kent, what are you doing here?" Miss Fairbanks demanded as she sank down on the settee beside me in her drawing room, glancing anxiously toward the door through which she'd entered and the one slightly ajar which led into the adjoining parlor.

A short time ago, I'd watched as her parents departed, waiting until they'd turned the corner before approaching the house. I'd encountered little trouble in convincing the butler to allow me to pay a call on the daughter of the house. After all, I was a respectable member of society dressed in the latest Paris fashions, and Miss Fairbanks was just a few years younger than me.

"I have a few more questions for you," I replied calmly.

"Yes, but why did you come here?" she implored softly. "Why didn't you arrange for us to meet as we did before? I told you my parents wouldn't approve."

"And you don't wish to have to explain the association, though I begin to wonder why."

She blinked at me before gesturing to my bobbed hair and the liberal amount of ankle revealed by my deep rose skirt. "Be-because you're rather too scandalous for my mother's taste." She arched her chin. "I'm sorry to be so blunt, but that's the truth." She pushed to her feet, her hands clasped primly before her. "If you go now, I can tell her you'd mistaken me for someone else."

What a brash little thing she was. I couldn't decide if she didn't realize how rude she was being, or if she simply didn't care. When I didn't budge, but continued to gaze up at her with a slight lift to my brows, I almost expected her to stamp her foot.

"I know what really happened, Miss Fairbanks."

A scowl rippled across her features. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You heard about Lieutenant Delagrange, I'm sure."

"Yes, the poor man," she replied, sitting beside me once again. Her brow puckered in an approximation of distress. "To die in such a way."

"But you told me you helped him sneak into Miss Kavanagh's bedchamber shortly before she died. You implied he might have done something to aid her death along."

"I never meant to imply any such thing," she protested, now on the defensive. "You must have misunderstood me. Why, I just can't believe it of him. He adored Kitty."

"Then you lied? You didn't help him sneak into Miss Kavanagh's bedchamber?"

Her mouth clamped into an angry line as she appeared to struggle to formulate a response. "You're twisting all my words!"

"I'm not trying to twist anything, Miss Fairbanks. Merely to understand. Either you helped him sneak into Miss Kavanagh's bedchamber or you didn't."

She glared at me. "I think you should leave."

"Do you want to know what I think happened?" I continued evenly, ignoring her request.

Her glare only sharpened.

"I think Miss Kavanagh told you that she was refusing to marry the lieutenant. That she'd been fighting with her mother about it, but that she had a plan. And that afternoon when you called upon her, she told you she'd put it into action."

Thus far, nothing in her demeanor suggested I was wrong. In fact, the twitch at the corner of her lip, as if she was desperate to speak but restraining herself, told me I was very, very right.

"She was anxious, hopeful, but wary of her next steps, and she wanted the reassurance of her dearest friend. Naturally, you tried to talk her out of it. After all, Delagrange was quite the catch. Handsome, distinguished, an officer on special assignment. She should have been grateful he'd taken an interest in her. So he'd behaved a bit . . . inappropriately," I settled on, nearly gagging on the word, but Miss Fairbanks's eyes only grew wider and her freckled cheeks more flushed. "But what was done was done. It couldn't be taken back. To refuse to marry him now was ludicrous. It would make her no better than—"

"A tart," Miss Fairbanks snapped, finishing the sentence for me. "She met him in her garden in the dark after everyone else had retired. I know she claimed she was going to tell him she no longer wished for him to court her, but it was perfectly obvious what she was doing. Forcing him into a compromising position so that he had to declare himself. My cousin tells me it's a trick as old as time."

For a moment I couldn't speak, such was my astonishment that she actually believed this.

"But even if it wasn't," she continued, appearing to give it a second thought, "it was too late. He touched her," she leaned forward to exclaim. "To not accept his proposal after that, to allow anyone else to woo her would have just been shameful. Sinful ." She spat the word as if its very utterance tainted her.

So horrified was I by her warped sense of propriety, of morality, that I struggled to press on. "So when the maid brought you tea . . ."

She straightened, smoothing out the wrinkles in her skirt. "I poured some of Mother's sleeping draught in her cup."

I thought I would have to prod her further, but she spoke matter-of-factly, without any further provocation.

She clasped her hands together primly in her lap. "I was saving her really. From her own sinful nature."

My lips snapped shut, for there really wasn't anything else to say. My silence clearly conveyed my shock and horror.

When Miss Fairbanks looked up, she narrowed her eyes spitefully. "You can't prove it, of course. It would be your word against mine, and I'll simply deny it." She arched her chin. "And we both know who they'll believe. Why, you couldn't even convince the Castle of Delagrange's guilt. They'll believe you've gone completely round the bend if you accuse a sweet, biddable girl like me of such a terrible thing." She sniffed, dabbing at the corners of her eyes in illustration. "Taking advantage of me in my grief."

Her words curdled in my gut, for she wasn't wrong. Had we only my word to rely on, she would have undoubtedly gotten away with it. But fortunately, we didn't.

Behind me, the parlor door slid open and Sidney, the Kavanaghs, and Mr. and Mrs. Fairbanks stepped through. Miss Fairbanks's face blanched, but then she straightened her back as if determined to brazen her way out of the situation despite the obvious distress stamped across both sets of parents' features.

I retreated to the parlor with Sidney, leaving the others to confront what Miss Fairbanks had done and decide how to proceed. It had been the deal we made in their allowing me to confront her in the first place while they listened in. When they'd made it, they'd clearly believed in her innocence and staunchly disapproved of me, and I'd admittedly exploited that and our closeness to Detective Inspector Burrows. However, I felt no remorse for it. Not given the truth we'd exposed.

"You did well," Sidney told me as we stood side by side, gazing out the parlor window at the Fairbankses' garden.

I felt too numb from Miss Fairbanks's revelations to discuss them. Particularly not her barb about Dublin Castle. The fact was, she had correctly read the situation. There was no denying it. Though she'd miscalculated in attempting to point the finger of blame for Miss Kavanagh's death at Delagrange. I could only assume that by doing so she'd hoped to divert any potential suspicion from herself. After all, she already knew we were looking at him for the other crimes. But clearly, she'd not counted on my speaking to the nurse or giving her words any credence. Otherwise, Miss Fairbanks wouldn't have overplayed her hand in trying to cover her tracks.

"Did you ask Mr. Kavanagh if he knows Lord Ardmore?" I asked Sidney after taking a long, shaky breath.

"He says not."

I turned to look at his profile. "Do you believe him?"

"Yes," he admitted reluctantly. He realized as well as I did that would be the simplest solution to how Ardmore had known about Miss Kavanagh's assault and its likely perpetrator. But if it hadn't been through Kavanagh, then that meant Ardmore had learned of it another way. Or perhaps he'd merely guessed the truth, though that wasn't his usual way of doing things.

Sometime later, the Kavanaghs and Mr. Fairbanks returned. Mrs. Fairbanks had presumably escorted Miss Fairbanks upstairs to prepare for whatever came next. I suspected a stay in a private institution. The men moved off to one corner to discuss it while Mrs. Kavanagh joined me at the window. It was evident she'd been weeping.

"You must think me a terrible mother," she whispered, clutching her handkerchief tightly in her fist just below her chin. "And you are probably right." Her face crumpled. "But I did love my daughter." She sobbed softly into her handkerchief for a moment before regaining her composure. "I only wanted what was best for her, wrongheaded as that might have turned out to be." She sniffed. "But I want you to know that in the end I intended to reconcile. I'd accepted her decision, and even come around to seeing that she was right. Only I was stubborn , and I didn't want to admit it yet. So I . . . I never got to tell her."

I held her free hand, offering her what comfort I could while she wept, contemplating my own need for reconciliation with someone. I'd been angry with Alec when I walked away from him in that alley behind Devlin's pub. Furious, really. But since then, I'd had time to think. To realize that I was as angry at C and British Intelligence and Dublin Castle and the entire British government and the Irish rebels and myself , as I was at him.

It wasn't fair to blame Alec for the things that weren't his fault. And if Sidney and I ultimately decided to leave Dublin and return to London, I didn't want that parting behind Devlin's to be my and Alec's last goodbye. There was too much between us to end it that way.

* * *

"I see you got my message," I said without looking up from my contemplation of the late afternoon sunlight reflected off the River Liffey. I'd noticed Alec approaching out of the corner of my eye. Actually, I'd seen him crossing Grattan Bridge, for he was easier to spot now that I knew what guise I was searching for. Though, I noticed he was dressed in a respectable three-piece suit today, perhaps to better blend with my own attire.

Alec joined me at the cement embankment of Wellington Quay, peering west over the bridge toward the twin towers of the Ormond Quay Presbyterian Church and farther in the distance the distinctive dome of the Four Courts. "Finnegan said you didn't give him any choice."

This was true. I'd told the banker, in no uncertain terms, that he would deliver my message to Alec, or I would inform C of his deception. After all, I hadn't promised Collins that I wouldn't inform on his associates, just matters pertaining to him .

"You didn't give me any other way to contact you," I told him lightly.

"I wasn't sure you would."

I turned to look at him then, sensing his reticence, his hesitancy. It made me feel more on even ground. "Alec . . ." I began and then reconsidered. "Or should I be calling you MacAlister?"

His gaze met mine, warmer than the afternoon sun. "I'll always be Alec with you."

I inhaled through the tightness that had lodged in my chest. "Is either your real name?"

I knew before I asked it that he wouldn't answer, but it had to be said anyway.

"Alec," I tried again. "Are you certain about this?"

He knew what I meant.

"Yes, Ver," he answered solemnly, reverting to the more upper-crust British accent I had always known. At least, when he was speaking English. "I know at times it can seem I'm rash and reckless, but believe me, this wasn't a decision I made hastily. I've been here for nearly nine months now. I know the lay of the land, and I've seen enough to know my own mind." He began to grow irritated. "I expected you of all people to understand."

"No, you didn't," I countered. "Or else you would have approached me and told me yourself the moment you realized I was in Dublin."

He scowled. "I was trying to save you the necessity of lying for me. Credible deniability."

"Stop making excuses, Alec. You were windy."

His eyes narrowed dangerously at my calling him cowardly, but I wasn't finished.

"You didn't want me to know, so that you wouldn't have to face the possibility that I didn't approve. That I believed you were betraying your country and me ." I tapped my chest. "Credible deniability, indeed."

He turned toward the river, his jaw hard and his breathing rapid, and I thought for a moment I'd pushed him too far. That he would simply walk away. But then he reached out to grip the cement bulwark. The knuckles of his right hand were busted, suggesting he'd recently been in a fight.

"Is that how you feel?"

Hearing the note of brittleness in his voice, I exhaled a long breath, pulling my gaze from his hand to stare out across the river. "I don't know how I feel," I told him honestly. "But . . . I do understand. Part of it. Though isn't there still some hope the government will offer better terms? At least for Dominion Home Rule."

Alec turned to glare at me. "They're republicans, Ver. They don't want Home Rule, Dominion or otherwise. They want their own republic. Like they had before the English took it from them." He adjusted his hat, glancing left and right, a disgusted grimace curdling his mouth. "As for hope, I would say our faith in the British government doing the right thing has just been effectively crushed by the coercion bill they rammed through Parliament."

The Restoration of Order in Ireland Act, or "coercion bill" as some were referring to it, had been conceived from the cabinet meetings Max had most recently reported to us. Though talk of peace and settlement had seemed to be on everyone's lips for weeks, including notoriously loyalist sources, the cabinet had instead sided with the war camp. The act confirmed Ireland's separateness in terms of policy and British law, empowering authorities to enforce curfews, limit movement of traffic, imprison suspects merely on suspicion, and replace coroners' inquests with military courts of inquiry which could try civilians by court-martial.

While most bills usually took a long time to become law—case in point the disputed Home Rule Bill passed in 1914, but suspended until the end of the war, and still mired in committees and controversy—the Restoration of Order in Ireland Act had been guillotined through. Proving that the British government could act quickly. When it wanted to. The final step was Royal assent, which was expected to happen the following day.

"Don't try to tell me you're any more hopeful," Alec charged.

I had to admit, it was difficult to maintain any optimism in the face of it. I'd heard enough rumors concerning those within Dublin Castle to know that many of the civil servants possessed equally bleak outlooks. And there was no denying the government was perfectly aware of the effect this act would cause, because they'd ordered all their seconded civil service employees to move out of their current lodgings at the Royal Marine Hotel in Kingstown and inside the Castle walls for their own protection.

"No." I sighed. "Though I don't like to admit it." Then I scowled, growing angry with myself. "But I promised I wouldn't give in to despair, no matter what the circumstances. Or Ardmore's manipulation," I practically growled.

Alec looked to me in question and I explained what we'd recently learned about Ardmore convincing Lord French to solicit our services in investigating Miss Kavanagh's assault. When I finished, he was silent, seemingly absorbed in the flow of the river and the cigarette he'd lit.

"He's here, you know," I added, curious what his reaction would be.

"I know." His words and his resigned tone caught me off guard.

"You know?"

I could tell he was debating what to tell me, weighing the pros and cons of filling me in on whatever he knew. He took one last drag of his cigarette and pitched it in the river before turning to me in resignation.

"Mick has been in contact with him."