Chapter 11
After my late lunch, I lay down for a nap, expecting to toss and turn, only to discover when next I woke that I’d slept nearly eighteen hours.
Even then, I felt bleary-eyed and groggy.
I might have accused Sidney of mixing a sedative into my meal, but I knew better.
He would never have given me something without my knowledge, not even for my own good.
When I stirred, I found him there, seated near the window reading the morning papers. He rose at once and came to me, passing me a glass of water.
“I never expected to sleep so long,” I murmured, still reconciling myself to the discovery.
“Neither did I,” he admitted, worry tinting his voice. “Or at least I thought you would move about like you normally do, but you barely shifted.”
“I suppose I needed it,” I conceded as he returned the glass to the side table.
“Shall I have breakfast sent up?”
I wasn’t one to laze in bed, but the thought of rising seemed a monumental task. “Yes.” I stretched my arms overhead. “I’m becoming quite the slug-a-bed.”
“Never,” Sidney said with a gentle smile, leaning in to kiss me. It was chaste by his standards, but I felt my blood stir anyway. Only the dull ache that continued deep in my abdomen kept me from reaching for him.
I reclined back against my pillows, dozing in and out until Ginny rapped on the door. I was glad to see her, for I’d not yet had time to speak to her or Mrs. Boyle.
“Here ye are,” she declared, setting the tray filled with eggs, sausage, stirabout, toast, tea, and juice across my lap. It was again too much food, but at least this time I was genuinely hungry. So I did my best to tuck in.
“Ginny, how are you?” I asked as I spread orange marmalade over a piece of toast. “Nimble said you and Mrs. Boyle weren’t terribly mistreated during the raid, but tell me true. Are you all right?”
“Aye, sure. Don’t worry none about us, ma’am. Not when you were the one takin’ to the Castle.” Her eyes were wide and almost admiring.
“Yes, well,” I muttered self-consciously. “All in all, it’s an experience I would rather not have had.”
She nodded. “To be sure.”
“Will you fetch my white voile blouse with pale green collar and cuffs and my navy-blue botany serge skirt,” I instructed, to give her something to do rather than watch me eat.
“And my navy leather derby shoes.” While she turned to comply, I continued to question her.
“How is your mother? I hope the matter didn’t give her too great a fright.
” That is, if Ginny had even told her about it.
“Wasn’t very happy to hear about it,” she replied with her head buried inside the wardrobe. “Even suggested I should be after lookin’ for a different post.”
I paused in the midst of stirring the honey and cooked apples with cinnamon Mrs. Boyle had drizzled over the top of the stirabout porridge.
“I suppose I don’t blame her.” If our situations were reversed, wouldn’t I urge my daughter to do the same thing?
Though I would be sorry to lose Ginny. And so would Nimble, who had become rather sweet on the petite, fair, young Irishwoman.
“And of course, we’ll provide you with an excellent reference. ”
“Naw need for that,” she said, emerging with my blouse. “We talked it through, and agreed I’ll be stayin’.” She hung it on the hook on the outside of the wardrobe, pausing for a moment as if to examine the fabric. “Gerry woulda wanted it.”
The hairs along my arms stood on end as I sensed she was revealing something important. “Who’s Gerry?” I prompted softly.
She turned to look at me. “My brother.” Her narrow shoulders lifted and fell as she inhaled and then exhaled. “He was killed durin’ a roadside ambush earlier this year. He was a Volunteer.” A member of the IRA.
I wondered again if she’d been reporting on our activities to the rebels.
Truth be told, we’d long suspected it. It was why we’d had to take such care not to let her know what we were about when we first arrived.
Until we were more certain of her and Mrs. Boyle’s loyalty.
But perhaps we’d relaxed our guard too much.
Her gaze dipped to what I thought was the tray. “I heard Mr. Kent talkin’ to the others.”
I arched one eyebrow, letting her know I knew this meant she’d been eavesdropping.
“And I collected yer clothes from the bath yesterday.”
I frowned, uncertain where this was going until her gaze once again dipped. This time, I realized she was looking at my abdomen.
“’Twasn’t time for your courses.”
Of course, our maid would keep track of such things.
She was responsible for the laundry—collecting it, tending to any stains, sending it out, and returning it to its rightful place once it came back again.
Normally, I would be grateful, because it meant she was making sure things were stocked and prepared for me, but at the moment it felt a bit intrusive.
“No, it wasn’t,” I finally said.
She crossed her arms, uncertainty tightening her features. “Did … did you have to talk to make ’em stop?”
“No.” I forced a breath into my lungs, having not been prepared to discuss this. “Actually, they hit me because I wouldn’t talk. They didn’t like that very much,” I added wryly.
She nodded. “They usually don’t.”
I tilted my head in surprise. “Have you …?”
“Naw.” She frowned. “But I’ve heard.”
We stared at each other, neither of us seeming to know what to do next. This new information certainly changed the dynamic of our relationship, but I didn’t know if it was for better or for worse.
“Do we need to worry that you’re reporting about us?” I asked, deciding it was better to speak plainly.
She shook her head. “Not now that I know yer on the side of right.”
And by that, I suspected she meant the side of Irish independence.
Except I wasn’t even certain myself what side I was on, only that the violence, assassinations, reprisals, and general frightfulness needed to stop.
And that Lord Ardmore could not be allowed to walk away from all of this without consequences.
But what if Ginny heard something she didn’t like? What if she misunderstood or suspected we were keeping something from her? This was a complication we didn’t need.
I had only managed to make it down to the parlor five minutes earlier when there was a knock on the front door.
I’d not taken the time the previous day to appreciate the fact that it had already been repaired after being damaged and forced in during the raid when I was arrested.
Even so, the sound of the firm rap against the wood made my heart rate accelerate.
I wondered how long it would be before I stopped jumping at the otherwise innocuous sound.
I found myself bracing, hoping it was merely a delivery lad from the telegram office.
They had certainly been earning a pretty penny from us, wearing a path to our door with all the messages from friends and family and hangers-on.
Or worst-case scenario, it was another brash reporter, seeking our response to the statement Dublin Castle had issued about my arrest. It was plastered all over the morning papers.
They’d been even more circumspect than Anderson had proposed the previous day.
They confirmed my release from custody, apologized for the error, and thanked me and Sidney for our service and circumspection.
There was no mention of either of our records or of a highly sensitive assignment.
I supposed this was for the best given the target I’d feared they’d be painting on our backs with the rebels if they spelled things out in more blatant terms, but it left a great deal unstated, and the newspapermen could smell a salacious story.
However, I could tell almost right away that this knock heralded different visitors. Though it wasn’t even ten in the morning.
A few moments later, Nimble paused in the doorway.
“Who is it?” Sidney asked, exhaling a stream of smoke from his Turkish cigarette.
“A Mr. Anderson and Mr. Sturgis to see you and Mrs. Kent.”
My and Sidney’s gazes met in disbelief, neither of us having expected a visit from either fellow so soon. And not at our house. So much for their promise to allow me time to heal and recover.
“Show them into the drawing room,” I instructed Nimble.
Sidney took one last drag before stubbing out his cigarette, muttering to himself. “What the devil!”
Max and George clearly didn’t know what to make of the matter.
“Should we make ourselves scarce?” George asked.
“No,” I replied. “If they didn’t want you to overhear, they shouldn’t have come here.”
We waited until Nimble passed by with the gentlemen, showing them into the drawing room next door at the front of the house. Then Sidney and I rose to our feet, intercepting Nimble in the corridor between the two rooms and the staircase as he exited.
“Make sure Mrs. Boyle and Ginny stay belowstairs or out of the way,” I murmured, darting my eyes toward the stairs.
Nimble’s pupils dilated in surprise and then apprehension.
This wasn’t the first time he’d been asked to make sure the rest of the staff didn’t listen in on our conversation.
But when he darted a wary glance back toward the open drawing room door, I began to wonder if I’d given him the wrong impression this time.
I considered correcting him but then decided perhaps it wouldn’t be such a bad thing for him to believe it was for their own protection.
Then if they pressed him for a reason at least he wouldn’t have to lie—something he was terrible at.
If Sidney found my directive curious, he didn’t say so, instead following me through the drawing room door.
Anderson and Sturgis both rose politely from the Sheraton sofa where they sat before the Delft-tiled fireplace.
The shards of the Waterford crystal chandelier hanging overhead caught the light shining through the tall windows overlooking the street, throwing prismatic glints of light across the wall above it.