Chapter 5
I supposed this answered my question as to whether Lord Ardmore had been able to once again dodge culpability. Though not suspicion entirely, it seemed. Not if the look O gave Ardmore as he passed behind him to depart was any indication.
So O wasn’t as dense as I’d feared. At the least, some sort of wedge had been driven between them.
Perhaps O recognized he’d been handily manipulated by His Lordship into promoting and taking credit for the changes to the RIC’s crowd control procedures.
Perhaps that was enough to convince him to begin questioning Ardmore’s character and intent.
This was a chink in his armor I might be able to exploit. If I could further convince O of Ardmore’s duplicity, then maybe I could put him on his scent. I didn’t care who received the credit for bringing Ardmore down as long as it was done.
As the door shut behind O, I straightened my spine, ignoring the twinges in my sore abdomen. I knew better than to display weakness before this man. But apparently, I’d not been entirely successful in masking my pain. Ardmore had always been good at reading me, which kept me on my toes.
His brow furrowed, almost as if he actually felt concerned for me. “Apologies, Mrs. Kent. That was not supposed to happen.”
I felt off guard, surprised both by the apology and that he’d openly conceded I’d been mistreated. He rounded the desk, and I stiffened as he drew nearer, but I didn’t back away, not wanting to show fear.
Ardmore tsked as he examined my left eye.
The skin around it and on the lid had not blistered, but it was red and irritated, and several of my eyelashes and parts of my eyebrow had been singed and shriveled from the heat of the poker Hardy had held before my face.
“Fortunately, that will heal, and the hairs will grow back. No lasting damage.”
The manner in which his mossy-green eyes met mine suggested he knew that statement had been disingenuous.
No lasting physical damage maybe, but psychologically …
it would not be so easy to forget. I scowled in the face of his continued examination, not wanting his pity or his compassion.
Not when he was to blame for everything that had occurred.
If not for him, I would be in London, far from all this madness.
“It wasn’t I who wished to see you detained,” Ardmore remarked as if he’d read my mind. He turned to pace toward the sofa. “That was Winter’s peccadillo. You seem to have made an enemy of him. Mrs. Kent, won’t you have a seat?” he rounded to say suddenly.
Perhaps I would have been more comfortable doing so, but I was wary of his solicitude. “I prefer to stand.”
“Suit yourself,” he declared with a shrug before sinking down on the coarse brown cushions, crossing one long leg over the other.
He presented a distinguished figure in his evening clothes with his gray-streaked pale-blond hair slicked with brilliantine, which revealed the large mole on the left side of his head near his hairline.
Just shy of fifty years of age, he was no longer as trim as the pictures I’d seen of him in his youth, but he was by no means portly, simply soft around the middle.
Many women found the confirmed bachelor to be handsome, which explained his string of mistresses, most of whom had been married.
He seemed to have a type. And inevitably he left them worse off than before he trifled with them.
“No, I suggested they would be better served in arresting your husband,” he professed remorselessly as he plucked a piece of lint from his trousers.
My blood ran cold at the thought, knowing that as ruthless as King and Hardy had been with me, they would have been much crueler to Sidney.
“Yes, the fact that he was a war hero would cause a bit of a brangle, but no more than their detaining his wife and society’s darling.
The press … well, it’s as bad as I’m sure you can imagine.
And the Shinners are exploiting it for all it’s worth.
” He tilted his head, studying me. “Yes, arresting Sidney Kent would have been far more productive.”
And by productive, I knew that he meant that he would have been able to put the thumbscrews to me while they put them to Sidney.
For my husband had always been my weak spot.
Ardmore had realized this long ago, and he’d been seeking to use it against me ever since.
For him, it wasn’t enough to outwit his opponent.
He wanted to corrupt and demoralize them.
Twist them to do his bidding. I had witnessed this firsthand in both my friend Ada and in the consequences of the actions of my friend Max’s father.
What might I be willing to do in exchange for Sidney’s life? It was a question I never wanted to answer.
It was odd to think that O’s interference might have saved me from a worse fate than this detainment, but the truth was staring me in the face.
If O had not elected to pursue his own agenda by targeting me instead, I might have already compromised myself to save Sidney, falling directly into Ardmore’s clutches.
It made me almost glad of the wounds to my body.
Almost.
“And here I thought you’d corrupted everyone here into doing your bidding,” I replied, curious if O was listening from the next room, just as I wondered if Ardmore had eavesdropped on my conversation with O. “It’s good to see at least some of them still have minds of their own.”
“You give me too much credit,” Ardmore demurred with false humility, I supposed answering my question.
Unless he didn’t care whether he burned his bridges with O. Or perhaps he’d gained significant leverage over him since my arrest. The notion was not comforting.
“Contrary to what some people seem to believe, I am not a god.” He chuckled to himself, setting my teeth on edge. “People are capable of defying and occasionally surprising me. You, for instance.”
His amusement abruptly shifted to cold rage. It glittered in his gaze, sharp and bitter. I felt its blast like a glacial breeze.
“Your stubborn persistence is most vexing. Though at times it has its uses. I’ve noted you have a marked tendency toward impetuosity in moments of crisis. Yet”—his voice cracked like a whip—“there are other times when your clear-sightedness causes great difficulties.”
If I were to attempt to read between the lines of this speech, I would guess that our actions the evening prior to and the morning of Kevin Barry’s execution at Mountjoy Jail had not been what he’d expected, resulting in a number of complications for him.
This was something I could almost take pleasure in, except for the fact that I was incarcerated while he still walked free.
“I hear your right-hand man, Captain Willoughby, is to bear the brunt of the blame for the near catastrophe at Mountjoy,” I responded pointedly, wondering if Ardmore’s roundabout phrasing indicated that O could overhear.
The answering curl of Ardmore’s thin lips suggested he’d guessed my ploy.
“I’m afraid you exaggerate, Mrs. Kent. Though it is true I had high hopes, along with many others, for the naval intelligence officer.
” He shook his head. “Such a promising young man. Rather poorly done of him to exploit our good faith.”
I had many questions. Questions about Ardmore’s allegiances and actions.
Questions about the weapons manufacturer Wick had uncovered that was owned by Ardmore under an alias.
The same company that had secured the contract to deliver those disguised phosgene cylinders.
If Wick had been able to ferret out that truth, why hadn’t the government?
But I knew I would never get straight answers, and I was tired of giving Ardmore a stage on which to spout his lies, either purely for my benefit or for O, if he was listening next door.
I was suddenly very tired, and all I wanted was a place to lie down, even if it was my cold cell back in the barracks.
“Not feeling sorry for him, are you, Mrs. Kent?” Ardmore needled, for once misinterpreting my silence.
“No. He knew what you were and what you were capable of. It’s his own fault that he didn’t have the spine to stand up to you. Are we finished?”
Ardmore scowled. “For now.”
I nodded, perfectly aware this wasn’t over—not by a long shot—but unwilling to cower. I pivoted to face the door through which I’d entered, though I was careful not to turn my back to Ardmore completely.
“Until next time, Mrs. Kent,” he pronounced as he crossed the room toward the other door.
I nodded again, able at least to derive some pleasure in his aggravation over my indifference to the threats implied by his farewells.
His door closed and then seconds later the one leading to the corridor opened.
I’d anticipated seeing the same Auxiliary who had brought me here, but instead it was Captain Maxwell’s welcome face that appeared.
I must have gasped aloud in relief, for he offered me an empathetic smile.
One that made unexpected tears swim to the surface of my eyes.
“There, there, Mrs. Kent,” he comforted as I struggled to rein in my emotions. “Allow me to escort you to your new quarters.”
“New quarters?” I repeated as I stepped forward to accept the crooked arm Sidney’s friend offered me.
“Yes. Ones much more suited to your status and the gratitude our country owes you for preventing such a disaster.” His voice was hard, as if daring anyone who might overhear to contradict him.
“Thank you,” I murmured, my voice emerging barely louder than a whisper, such was my gratitude to him for speaking up for me.
“All my men have had something to say,” he reported as we strode out into the corridor. “As well as Major Kipling, the officer whose ass you saved outside Mountjoy Jail.” He tilted his head down toward me. “His words, not mine.”
My lips quirked into a tentative smile.
But the moment of levity quickly faded.