Chapter Twenty-Four
It was a beautiful night, warm and only slightly cloudy, with the moon riding high among a sprinkling of stars and the scent
of roses all around. Light from the ballroom threw long shapes across the stone. They weren’t alone, but the terrace ran the
length of the house and the couples who were already outside seemed to have no wish to be in company. As Rynn steered Maguire
deep into the shadows next to the balustrade before swinging around to face him, the sheer romance of the setting was not
lost on her.
But neither she nor Maguire had any inclination toward romance.
“Tell me what happened.” Her voice was low.
“What you knew would happen when you came to me. I got the idiots safe away.”
“Where to?”
“Passed them off to some associates. Warned them that if I ever had to rescue them again, I wouldn’t.”
“Did they tell you . . . ?” Her voice dropped even lower. “The warehouse where Seamus was shot, where he and Donal had been working—de Valera had been
there. And had been gotten away by a crew headed by Michael Collins. I’m afraid I may have gotten you involved in the aftermath
of de Valera’s escape. I didn’t realize until afterward.”
“If you had, would it have made a difference?”
Honesty compelled her. “No.”
“I didn’t think so.” His voice was dry. “Don’t worry, I figured it out pretty fast. Hopefully with Dev off to America the
Brits will give up on trying to arrest him, or anyone who helped with his escape.”
“I don’t think they will.” Rynn hesitated. She’d overheard her father-in-law talking to a group of men in his study, and passing
on information she’d obtained in such a way still made her uncomfortable. But this was Maguire, who she trusted not to misuse
the knowledge, and whose safety might be at stake along with that of who knew how many other people. “Crime Special Branch
is recruiting local agents to infiltrate the Dail and the IRB as we speak. They’re looking to gain access to the identities
of everyone involved in the network that helped de Valera escape, and are then planning to arrest them all in a single swoop.”
“Are they?” He gave her a thoughtful look. “I’m sure there are safeguards in place. Or will be. Nothing for you to concern yourself
about.”
He was telling her to stay out of it, she knew. Her lips pursed.
“What did you do about . . . ?” Rynn hesitated. Even outside in the dark, with no one nearby to overhear she was almost certain, she was uncomfortable saying Bingle’s name, or referring to him as something like the corpse. “Disposing of everything else?”
He knew what she was talking about. “Took care of it.”
“Everything?”
“Yes.”
“Did you run into any trouble?”
“Quite a bit, actually.” His tone turned grim.
“And just so you know, the search is still on for the government’s missing man.
But there’s nothing to tie you to it, and as long as you’re careful you don’t need to worry.
That particular matter is handled, and in such a way that it shouldn’t come up again.
If you have any sense of self-preservation at all, you’ll stay out of such things in future and keep away from idiots and set yourself to enjoying your life here, in safety, as the wife of a good man. ”
Thomas liked him, too.
“I can’t just forget what’s happening at home,” she said quietly. “I’m Irish, after all. Just like them. Just like you.”
“You can do no one any good if you get yourself thrown in jail or killed. For now, the best choice for all of us is to take
a step back and let cooler heads prevail. War is a terrible price to pay for peace. I’m hoping we can find our way to moving
forward without it.”
A number of people emerged, laughing and talking, onto the terrace. Rynn realized that the music had stopped, which meant
the orchestra must be taking a break.
“We should go in,” she said, conscious of the curious glances being sent her and Maguire’s way.
“Yes,” he agreed, and followed her back inside.
Thomas was looking for her. He was with his brother, and Alice, and Maud and Lord North, and they all spotted her almost as
soon as she stepped back inside the ballroom. He was up on his sticks and as she walked toward him, his hands tightened on
the grips, and he lost his smile. His eyes slid from her to Maguire, who was behind her. There was something in them—a flicker,
a glint, a look she’d never seen in them before. Then she and Maguire reached the group, and greetings were exchanged, along
with the normal pleasantries. Thomas was very much his affable self, and Rynn decided she must have misread the look she’d
thought she’d seen in his eyes.
That is, until later, when they were back in their apartment at Hartford House, after she’d bathed and changed into her nightdress
and braided her hair and, finally, dismissed Parry for what was left of the night, and Thomas came into her bedroom.
He, too, was dressed for bed. He was in his chair, and she was just turning off the light on the dressing table when he entered, which left only the light beside her bed to bathe the room in a dim, pale glow.
As she was on her way to bed she hadn’t bothered with her robe, and her lawn nightdress left her arms and most of her shoulders bare.
“Is something wrong?” she asked as he closed the adjoining door behind him, which he never did, so she was already alerted
that this wee-hours-of-the-morning visit was something out of the ordinary before he spoke.
“I want to talk to you.” There was a note in his voice that she’d never heard before.
“What is it?” Alarm, consternation, uncertainty—actually, the thought of Bingle was what jumped to the forefront of her mind—combined
to make her pulse leap.
“Sit down. Please.”
She sank down on the chair at her dressing table as he rolled toward her. Watching his approach, it struck her that he’d changed
significantly in appearance during the time they’d been together. Besides his mustache, which had grown in full and lush,
and his hair, also full and surprisingly wavy now that it was no longer cut in a military style, he’d put on weight and muscle
and his coloring was healthy, with the ruddiness that came with time spent outdoors having driven out the pallor that had
once so concerned her. In fact, he very much resembled the strapping youth he’d been before the war, the one she’d seen in
the family portrait he’d kept beside his bed at Ballyshannon Court. Only now, that youth was a man.
“You’re scaring me,” she said.
“I hope not.” He reached for her hand. His was warm and strong, and she curled her fingers around it.
“I never want you to be afraid of me or anything else. I’m going to ask you something, and I want you to tell me the truth, and whatever that truth is I promise you that I can accept it, and nothing will happen that you don’t want to happen. But I need to know.”
“What on earth, Thomas?”
“Are you—involved—with Maguire?”
“What?”
He held up a hand. “Before you answer, I think you should know that I know that what you said about rescuing the dog that
night you were so late getting home isn’t true.” His mouth twisted, a little wry, a little tender. “You really think I can’t
tell when you’re lying? It was written all over your face. And . . .” A shadow of what looked like pain crossed his eyes.
His hand tightened on hers. “I saw you leaving Maguire’s hotel with him that night. I’d stopped by on the way to White’s to
have Meadows drop off a guest voucher for him at the front desk, and as I waited in the car for Meadows to return, I saw you
and Maguire come out of the hotel, walk down the stairs to the street and then he put you in a taxi. I was . . . surprised,
to say the least. You seemed very . . . taken with one another. And then tonight you went out with him onto the terrace. And
when you came back in . . . well, it was easy to tell that something had passed between you that you didn’t want the rest
of us to know about.”
“And you thought that he and I—”
“Wait,” he interrupted, speaking rapidly as if afraid to let her finish. “I know I said that I would let you out of the marriage
if you wanted out. And I will, if that’s truly what you want. But—”
“Stop, no, you can’t think that I’m having a romantic relationship with Owen Maguire! I’m not. I would never do that. I’m
your wife. I would never play you false, I give you my word. You have my loyalty. You have my loyalty one hundred percent.”
He simply looked at her. Hope was there in his eyes, and doubt, and questions she knew he wanted answers to.
His hand held hers tightly, and then he reached for her other hand and held that tightly, too.
She knew she could almost certainly get away with saying trust me, and he would.
He would let the matter drop on her word.
But the doubt would remain. And it would eat away at him, and their relationship, a slow poison that would destroy it over
time.
Could she tell him the truth? Should she?
“You’re right, I was lying about the dog,” she said. He winced, just slightly but she saw it, and that small gesture told
her how much pain he’d been in since he’d seen her with Maguire at the hotel, and how much pain the thought of her with Maguire
was causing him now.
He didn’t say anything, but his eyes spoke volumes. They were vulnerable in a way that squeezed her heart.