CHAPTER 4

I t didn't require great powers of deduction to realize that Lord French was unaccustomed to having his requests denied by anyone less than royalty or a prime minister. So while my first inclination was to shrink from such a commitment even before hearing the details, I realized I had no choice but to at least consider the matter.

I set aside my glass of sherry and sank down on one of the wing chairs nearby, offering him my undivided attention. "I'm listening."

"It involves the eighteen-year-old daughter of an acquaintance of mine," he began, perching on the chair adjacent. "Miss Kavanagh was assaulted, and her hair forcibly cut by what was undoubtedly a company of rebels. I can see I've shocked you, but it's not the first time it's happened."

"That's terrible!" I was aghast at this new development. "But why?" I couldn't fathom why the IRA would commit such an act. What would be the purpose? Unless it was merely another example of the senseless violence so often perpetrated against women during wartime.

"Apparently, they took exception to the fact she'd recently begun stepping out with a soldier. A fine, upstanding fellow, I'm told."

That went some way to explaining it, though it certainly didn't justify it. I found myself outraged on the girl's behalf and concerned about precisely what actions were encompassed in that single word "assaulted." A world of meaning could be contained within it, and each connotation that flickered through my mind was more dreadful than the last.

" And . . ."

The heaviness of this pronouncement forced my attention back to Lord French. It was clear he didn't wish to share whatever else had contributed to Miss Kavanagh's selection.

"Her father is involved in some rather touchy matters for the government. Matters these shinners don't take kindly to."

As worded, this could mean any number of things, compelling me to pry further. "What does Mr. Kavanagh do?"

"He's a barrister, a King's Counsel," he clarified. "And he serves on the commission that oversees malicious injury and damage claims."

I frowned, uncertain why this in particular should draw the ire of the IRA. Unless they felt Mr. Kavanagh was unfair in the way he awarded damages. I could see how such a commission might be seen as corrupt, especially if it was packed with loyalists and officers of the Crown. Perhaps wounded soldiers or unionists seeking compensation for damaged property were viewed as being more often awarded compensation than their republican-sympathizing counterparts who had suffered injury or harm during an altercation or raid by the Crown Forces.

"Then you think they might have been trying to intimidate Mr. Kavanagh by assaulting his daughter?" I asked.

"It's possible. They may have taken out their frustration on his daughter, thinking to send a message."

The notion was cowardly, but not unheard of.

I shook my head in anger and disapproval. "Was Miss Kavanagh able to name her attackers or at least describe them?"

"They wore masks. But as I said, this isn't the first incidence of a young woman being assaulted and her hair cut. They seem to prefer such tactics for warning girls to stay away from soldiers and the Tans. I suppose they fear they'll turn informant."

A fear that was not unjustified. I understood how strong the appeal of a handsome young man in uniform could be to susceptible young women. And wittingly or not, those women might allow something to slip which could compromise the republican effort. However, that did not excuse the use of such brutal methods of intimidation.

Lord French's mustache bristled. "I'm sure the miscreants involved in such acts are known by someone, if only they could be convinced to talk."

"If they can be found, does Miss Kavanagh think she might recognize them?" I queried, trying to apprehend what it was he hoped I could do.

His expression turned grave, and I realized he hadn't yet come to the crux of the problem. "She's dead."

My stomach dipped and I must have gasped, for Lord French nodded sadly.

"After the assault, she never fully recovered. Her mother said she was despondent, cowering in her room, afraid to leave the house. Kavanagh blames himself, of course. Believes he should have sent his family to the country. Not that they would have been any safer there. The Volunteers have managed to gain footholds in practically every corner of Ireland, burning the RIC out of their barracks, and taking matters of policing into their own hands. And now with the establishment of these benighted shinner courts, the matter is only getting worse." Lord French pushed to his feet, his posture rigid as he clasped his hands behind his back to stare out the window once more.

His agitation was understandable. I'd read the recent Irish Times article approving of the courts and their efficient administration. With each passing week, more and more local governments were pledging their allegiance to Dáil éireann, Sinn Féin's republican parliament, and refusing to cooperate with the British government. They were turning to the Sinn Féin's courts to adjudicate legal matters rather than the established British ones. Slowly, but surely, the Sinn Féin's shadow government was usurping control. The exception, of course, being in the unionist north, centered around Belfast.

"No, Kavanagh is not to blame, but these bloody shinners are," French pronounced. "The traitorous lot."

While I empathized with the Kavanaghs and even Lord French's frustration, I still didn't comprehend what he intended me to do, and I told him so. "Are the police not investigating the matter? Surely, they have a better grasp of the players involved."

"They claim they're doing what they can."

"But you don't believe them."

"I want to," he replied when I joined him at the window. His broad forehead was scored with creases. "I do believe they've done what they can," he added after a pause, further revealing how conflicted his feelings were. "But they're stretched thin as it is, and they're only as good as the information they're given from witnesses."

This echoed what the men had mentioned at dinner. That the populace in general, as well as many of the members of the DMP, were either too frightened of the murder gangs or quietly sympathetic to their cause, and so kept their mouths shut. Though I hoped the assault of an innocent young woman—an assault so horrific it had driven her to commit suicide—would draw enough ire that they might forget their fear and sympathies long enough to bring those responsible to justice. But if the police weren't to be trusted, then who were they to give their information to?

I supposed that's where I came in.

"You think they might tell me what they won't tell the police."

Lord French turned to look at me, the shrewd glint in his eyes making him appear more like the field-marshal he'd once been. "As I understand it, you have sharp instincts and a knack for convincing people to confide in you."

"Who told you that?" I countered, wondering who he'd been talking to about me, though I wasn't surprised when he ignored the question, resuming his examination of the dusky lawn.

"I'd like to see the perpetrators punished for Kavanagh. For him and his wife. They deserve that."

A sense of wariness filled me. For all that I was sympathetic to the Kavanaghs and their grief, Sidney and I were merely there to find Alec, and to locate the deadly phosgene cylinders Ardmore had contrived to have smuggled into Ireland, if we could. We weren't there to investigate assault or murder or any of the other jobs which were the responsibility of the police, and usurping such a role seemed like a sure-fire way of drawing unwanted attention to ourselves, both from the republicans and the British authorities. Although, our doing so at the behest of the lord lieutenant should be a sufficient reason to the latter. Still, it was scrutiny we didn't want, particularly from the republicans.

But the lord lieutenant being who he was, I couldn't turn him down flat. Not without a very good reason. One I didn't have.

And then he played the card certain to obliterate any of my objections, followed by one calculated to compel my agreement.

"Miss Kavanagh may have killed herself in despair, but doesn't she still deserve justice? In fact, how can we deny it to her?" he implored, reaching for my hand, which he clasped between his own. "I would consider it a personal favor, in fact, if you would at least speak to the family, the neighbors. Uncover what you can."

Internally I groaned, knowing I had no choice but to agree, yet little chance of succeeding. "I will try," I said before warning him. "But I don't know that there's much I can do. This isn't London. The things that might endear me to people there won't necessarily do so here."

"My dear, Verity, I think you underestimate your charms," he cajoled. "But I understand there are limits. And I certainly don't want you to place yourself or Mr. Kent in any danger."

Except that was exactly what he was doing. As such, I felt it only right I press to the fullest the advantages afforded to me by his request.

"It would be helpful if we could speak to the detective inspector who was in charge of the investigation. Where would he be located?"

"At Great Brunswick Street Police Station, no doubt. That's where all of G Division is housed. But I'll make arrangements for you to meet with him," Lord French supplied, seeming almost cheerful now that he'd gotten his way. "Anything else?"

"It might prove useful to speak with someone at the Castle to discover what they know of the matter."

His disposition dimmed slightly, perhaps at the reminder that he was no longer in the thick of things where the administration was concerned.

"You can't tell me the wheels of bureaucracy always run smoothly here," I placated, lowering my voice as if in confidence. "Word is that there is a great deal of redundancy, and numerous instances of the left hand not knowing what the right is doing and vice versa. That everything would all work more efficiently if they simply allowed themselves to be led by a single head."

Lord French straightened to his full height. "Quite right. When I took this post, I was led to believe I would be providing that leadership, but I've been undermined at practically every turn."

That wasn't precisely what I'd heard, but if playing to his vanity got me the access I needed, I wasn't opposed to it.

"I'll see that it's done," he assured me. "Though I recommend taking your husband with you. The men you'll be speaking with are experienced officers and seasoned civil servants. Kent's clout is certain to open more doors and loosen more tongues than my word and your pretty face."

My smile tightened a fraction. That might be so. But I didn't wish to speak with just the experienced officers and seasoned civil servants, but rather their underlings. The men and women who saw and heard as much as their superiors but went largely unnoticed.

"Give me a day or two to settle matters," Lord French said. "I'll send you word."

When we returned to the drawing room with the others, Sidney didn't attempt to question me about what our host and I had discussed, though I knew he must be as curious as everyone else what the lord lieutenant had wished to say to me in private. I could tell by the glint in their eyes that some of them were wondering if Mrs. Bennett was about to be given her congé, but I'd learned the best way to squash such sordid speculation was to ignore it. Of course, it also helped when Sidney drew attentively to my side. For it made it perfectly plain how ridiculous the notion was that I would even consider becoming the mistress of a man like Lord French when I had a husband like Sidney Kent.

We departed shortly before eleven despite the lord lieutenant's offer to send an escort with us to smooth our way past any military pickets should we be stopped after the city's midnight curfew. However, we did accept his overture to procure permits allowing us to be out after curfew—items which might prove handy in the future. Especially if my daylight forays proved fruitless. We also departed with a handful of invitations to dinner and the theater from various other guests.

Overall, the evening had been a successful initial foray into Dublin society. At least, those who mingled with the British. Though we'd not uncovered anything concrete about Alec or the phosgene cylinders, and I'd been roped into conducting an investigation that could very well draw the wrong sort of attention from the IRA.

A fact Sidney was none too happy about when I informed him of Lord French's request as he motored us through the deepening twilight through Phoenix Park. As we neared thebarracks outside its central gate, we could already see the lights of military lorries preparing to deploy either to enforce curfew or conduct a raid on some targeted block or building. One by one, they tested their Aldis searchlights, before switching them off again.

"Verity, we're not here to do favors for the viceroy," Sidney grumbled. The tires of the Pierce-Arrow squealed as he took the next turn with too much speed.

"I know that," I retorted crossly. "But I could hardly say no, now could I? Not when he said he'd consider it a personal favor." I crossed my arms over my chest and turned to glare through the windscreen. "After all, we do need to remain in his good graces while we're here."

Sidney heaved a sigh, but when he next spoke his voice was more measured. "I suspect your compassion for this girl, for her family, has something to do with it as well."

"Is that wrong?" I charged.

"Not at all." He turned to look at me as he shifted gears. "Just as long as your compassionate heart doesn't lead you into taking foolish risks."

I wanted to take offense at this remark, but I couldn't. Not when it was justified. After all, I'd taken foolish risks in the past out of compassion. Hadn't I entertained the same reticent thoughts earlier?

"We'll have to tread carefully. In all of this," I reminded him as well as myself. "But doing a favor for the lord lieutenant does have its perks."

This piqued Sidney's interest. "Such as?"

"He's arranging for me to speak with the detective inspector in charge of the investigation into Miss Kavanagh's assault. Which may give us a contact at Great Brunswick Street Police Station."

"Where the G-Men are stationed?"

Within the structure of the DMP, while divisions A through F were manned by uniformed officers assigned to a particular area of the city or county, the officers in G Division acted as a plainclothes investigative body. These detectives were assigned to one of three sections: routine crime, political crime, and carriage supervision. Those tasked with investigating political crime were the G-Men we were most concerned with, for they gathered intelligence for the British. As such, one of them may have crossed paths with Alec or at least obtained information on him from one of their touts, without realizing he was working undercover for the same side.

"I know it's unlikely the detective inspector for Miss Kavanagh's case has any knowledge of Alec or his whereabouts, but he must have contact with his colleagues on political duty. Perhaps through him we might be able to glean what the police know."

"Regardless, he could certainly prove to be a useful contact," Sidney said.

I pulled my shawl tighter around me against the chill of the night air. Even with the windows shut and the roof closed, the cool air found its way inside the motorcar. "Lord French has also agreed to arrange access to the Castle."

Sidney turned to look at me.

"So we can speak with anyone who might hold pertinent information to Miss Kavanagh's case."

"We?" he questioned pointedly.

"He recommended that you accompany me. Something I was already planning on. He suggested your reputation would unseal more lips."

He scowled. "I thought our aim was to stay away from that place. Away from the intelligence officers based there."

"Yes, but after giving it greater thought, I wonder if our avoidance would actually seem more suspicious."

I knew better than to take Sidney's silence as agreement.

"In any case, we're not going to be seen by the top brass as actually investigating, but rather . . . humoring His Excellency. Lord French is on the outs, and word is that much of the Castle administration is annoyed with him. So, if we're seen as keeping him happy . . ."

"And out of their hair," he deduced.

"Then perhaps, in gratitude, they'll be more forthcoming."

We drove on in silence as I allowed Sidney to process this reasoning. Of course, there was always the chance that any overt maneuvering could make its way back to Lord French, which was why it had to be handled with the utmost delicacy. However, I should have known that Sidney would grasp the implication immediately and instead narrow in on the part I least wanted him to notice.

"Who are we going to be seen by as investigating?"

"No one directly, of course," I replied, rearranging my skirts. "But I often find it's the underlings who have the most interesting morsels to share." Before he could object, I diverted the subject. "What of you? What happened in the drawing room while I was being propositioned in the parlor?"

From the manner in which Sidney's eyebrows drew together in the glare of the headlamps of an approaching vehicle, I could tell he didn't appreciate my joke. But it did serve to distract him.

"Do they still think you're here to assist General Tudor in some capacity?" I asked.

"Some of them might. I certainly didn't disabuse them of the notion."

I grinned. "A man of mystery. Some of them seem keen on uncovering the reason why you're here."

"Brooke was fairly chomping at the bit to know." He frowned. "He's painting a rather large target on his back with his insistence on crushing these railwaymen and their munitions strike."

I turned to him in surprise. "You think we should concede?"

"No. This is still part of the United Kingdom, and to not be able to transport troops and supplies on the railways here is untenable. However, I can empathize with these railwaymen and their situation. The British government has been dragging its heels long enough on implementing the Home Rule the Irish were promised as soon as the war had ended." He braked, shifting gears as we came upon a slower moving vehicle, then accelerated around it. "And on the whole, I can approve of their munitions strike a lot more than I can murder gangs killing policemen in the streets."

"Except from what I've overheard, many of the British seem to think it's exclusively these murder gangs who are keeping the country in rebellion," I pointed out. "That if they could be dealt with, then the rest of the country would accept whatever terms the British are willing to offer."

In the light of the headlamps from another passing vehicle I could see that the scores in Sidney's forehead had grown deeper. "I served with Irishmen during the war. And while not all of them are republicans, not by a long shot, I know enough about them to deduce we've sorely underestimated those that are. Their intelligence and resourcefulness, the extent of their reach, and their bloody-minded stubbornness." He turned to look at me. "We have to tread with care, Ver."

Considering Alec had warned me of much the same thing in his last direct communication, I could only consider myself dually warned.