Chapter 7
As joint undersecretary, Anderson boasted a fairly large office.
One that was far better appointed than the one I’d been taken to when O, Ardmore, and later Bennett and Ames had spoken to me.
To one side of the room sat a large desk, while the other side contained a plush sofa and two armchairs.
Above the sofa hung a large painting of the Curragh Racecourse with horses jostling each other for first place.
A similar painting hung in the parlor of our Upper Fitzwilliam Street town house.
The gentlemen here in Ireland—both English and Irish—did seem to be quite horse mad.
Our friend Mark Sturgis—another member of the Castle administration—certainly was, often motoring off to a race at one of the courses that dotted the surrounds of Dublin.
And speak of the devil, Sturgis himself stood inside Anderson’s office, smiling sympathetically at me.
As near as I could tell, he acted as a joint assistant undersecretary, much of the time tasked with smoothing ruffled feathers and jostling people into better humors.
Witty and amiable, he was well suited to such tasks and accomplished in most aristocratic pursuits.
He reached for my hand, clasping it affectionately.
“Old girl, what a right kerfuffle.” He shook his head, but not a strand moved of his dark brown hair parted severely down the middle, being slicked back with brilliantine.
“Rachel returned to Dublin just this morning, and I know she will be relieved to hear that this little mess has been sorted out.”
He was speaking of his wife, with whom I was more of an acquaintance than a friend, though we called each other the latter.
While I didn’t say so, I suspected any relief she felt was at least partially feigned, because like many of our class, Rachel could be rather catty.
I could only imagine she’d derived at least a small amount of pleasure in seeing me taken down a peg.
And now she would enjoy the social currency her proximity to me would afford her.
But I said none of this to Sturgis, instead asking politely. “How is she?”
“Quite well. Though she hated leaving the children again so soon. But they’re in good hands at Wortley.” Wortley Hall being the estate owned by Rachel’s father, the Earl of Wharncliffe.
Throughout this exchange, I’d been aware of the true devil standing grim-faced several feet away.
O was plainly unhappy with this morning’s developments, and my reception by Sturgis and Anderson, who stepped forward to clasp my hand next.
I did my best to ignore the monocle-wearing fiend as Anderson spoke to me.
“Mrs. Kent, allow me to offer our sincere apologies regarding this mix-up. Had I been present, I assure you, I would have remedied the matter immediately.” Anderson’s dour personality and tempered Scottish brogue were well-matched to such a duty, seeming both sincere and consoling.
I found my feathers settling rather than ruffling, as they might have under less expert handling.
“Unfortunately, those here were not aware of the particulars of your service.” Or they claimed not to be.
“But as soon as I was made aware, I wired Sturgis to take measures to address the situation.”
I supposed that was why I’d been moved to the room here in the administrative block of the Castle. Though it had taken more than two days for them to do so.
Sidney was not so easily assuaged, voicing the questions I was suddenly unequal to. “Then why in God’s name was she tortured?!”
None of them appeared shocked by this revelation.
“I was deeply troubled when I heard she’d been handled so roughly,” Anderson began, but Sidney was not about to be placated.
“Not just handled roughly. Tortured. Or do you consider striking prisoners and holding a heated fireplace poker up to their faces to be acceptable?”
Sturgis blanched and Anderson’s brow lowered thunderously as he turned to O.
“Exaggeration surely,” he replied dismissively.
Sidney grasped hold of my shoulders and gestured to my eye. “Does that look like exaggeration? And that’s how it looks three days healed.”
“I’m sure Hardy merely threatened. He would never have actually followed through.”
I scowled, for we’d never said it was Hardy who had held the poker. So, O knew all about it then. He knew and he didn’t care.
“Colonel Winter, that is enough,” Anderson commanded in a voice that brooked no argument, before turning to us. “Mr. and Mrs. Kent, I must apologize again. I assure you that I will see that this matter is investigated fully.”
I had a sinking feeling that I knew exactly how any “investigation” would turn out.
It would be much like the investigations which occurred after reprisals and suspicious deaths caused by the Crown Forces, such as the shooting of that pregnant woman in County Galway.
The Military Court of Inquiry would find some reason to deem the officers’ or soldiers’ actions justifiable or claim that the proof to back up such allegations didn’t exist. However, reporters from across the globe, including men like Hugh Martin with the Daily News, had on a number of occasions proved these claims to be patently false.
It also painted a target on the backs of men like Martin for reporting the truth.
It was yet another contributor to the disillusionment with our government that continued to fester within me.
A disillusionment which had begun more than half a year ago following the events in the Netherlands and Belgium and the report we’d been asked to retrieve, but not read, which detailed Britain’s knowledge and dismissal of the peace overtures made by Germany via the United States in late 1916.
Overtures which could have saved millions of lives—both soldiers and civilians—stabilized many regions and prevented the catastrophe of two more years of global war.
Since learning this, I had learned to always question the government’s official version of events, and subsequent incidents in Ireland had only strengthened this resolve and deepened my cynicism and disenchantment.
“Please, have a seat,” Anderson urged us. “And we will finish clearing up this matter as swiftly as possible so that you can be on your way.”
I supposed if there had been any magical words to convince me to comply, those would be it.
I was almost desperate, at this point, to escape these walls.
To return to our town house and sink into my bathtub and scrub the grime of five days’ imprisonment from my body.
To down two or three gin rickeys, lie down in my own bed and pull the covers over my head, and try to forget.
I sat down on one end of the sofa with Sidney close beside me. Sturgis sat opposite him while Anderson, mercifully, took the chair to my left, leaving the one opposite to O. Had O come near to me, I wasn’t certain I could have held myself accountable for my actions.
Anderson reached into the inside pocket of his coat to remove a letter.
“Now, first of all, I understand there’s been a lack of trust and a reticence on your part—justifiably—to share what you know.
Mrs. Kent is to be commended for her discretion.
” This last statement was directed at O.
“She was rightly following the protocol of the OSA, even in the face of great duress.” He turned to me.
“I extol you for that and intend to communicate as much to your superiors back in London.”
Hearing Anderson praise me, O looked as if he was being forced to swallow ground-up glass. I wasn’t sure what it said about me that I took more pleasure in that than the compliment.
Anderson passed me the paper. “However, this absolves you of the necessity to remain silent and orders you to communicate with me, Winter, and Sturgis anything you may know. It temporary lifts the restriction of the OSA in this manner for the duration that you remain in Ireland.”
My stomach sank and all my previous enjoyment evaporated. Without the gag order of the Secrets Act to hide behind, I now faced the possibility of being forced to betray what I had learned about the republicans, as well as what I knew about Alec.
My mind began to frantically spin as I opened the paper to scrutinize it. Sidney leaned close to study it as well. He must have grasped the implications of this document for me. For us.
Sadly, everything seemed to be in order, and I had, indeed, been instructed to report what we had uncovered in the course of our investigations to the three men in the room.
The document even made certain to make allowances for the fact that I was no longer officially employed by British Intelligence, stating that, for the good of my country, I was still beholden to the duties and obligations of an agent, including following directives.
Out of the corner of my eye, I could see that O now looked smug.
This made it even more difficult to swallow this bitter pill.
At the end of the war, the men like him at the top of Intelligence had been more than eager to demobilize most of the women who had served, deeming us to be poor intelligence assets.
But now that they needed what I knew, they were happy to force me to cooperate.
“I also have a more personal letter to you from Smith-Cumming that you can read later at your convenience,” Anderson said, removing another letter from his pocket, this one inside an envelope.
I wondered if C had truly intended for me to read it later or if it contained covert instructions I needed now. It wouldn’t be the first time C had done such a thing. But Anderson gave me no time to open it.
“Once you have debriefed us, you will be free to go. Now …” He settled deeper into his chair, lacing his fingers over his abdomen and crossing his legs. But before he could continue, Sidney interrupted.