Chapter 11 #3
“Lieutenant Harlow served as quartermaster for a battalion of the North Staffordshire Regiment during the war and after. Here in Ireland, they’ve mostly been stationed at the Curragh with, at times, a small contingent at the Castle.
” Anderson’s eyebrows arched. “Did I say something humorous, Mr. Kent?”
A grin had, indeed, broken out across Sidney’s face. He held up his hand. “Apologies. I was just recalling an incident with a North Staffordshire battalion at the Somme. Let’s just say, they had a reputation for rather … colorful language. It was easy to identify them.”
Sturgis chuckled, smoothing his dark mustache. “Even I’ve heard this tale, I think. Or another one very like it.”
Sturgis had spent the war serving in a civil service position in London, far from the dangers of the front, and I knew how much Sidney loathed it when such men tried to act chummy and familiar with the experiences of those who had served. However, this time, he chose to ignore the remark.
“I see,” Anderson replied. “Well, I can’t speak to Lieutenant Harlow’s choice in vocabulary, but he was recently promoted to a courts-martial officer.”
The last remnants of Sidney’s amusement faded. “Not a very popular post here in Ireland.”
“Not among the Irish, no.”
For the Restoration of Order in Ireland Act had also disbanded the British civil courts, which had all but fallen out of disuse as the people turned to the local courts established by the Irish Republic’s shadow government to arbitrate their disputes.
The Act instead allowed the British to try Irish citizens suspected of political crimes or violence by military court-martial rather than trial by jury.
“What was his role?” I asked, understanding there were different aspects to the post.
“Mostly investigative,” Anderson replied. “As I understand it, Lieutenant Harlow had something of a knack for research and logistics.”
Given his previous post as quartermaster, this wasn’t surprising.
“Then he didn’t have any legal training?” Sidney clarified.
“No.” Anderson’s watchful expression seemed to indicate he wondered like I did whether my husband had been quietly making a point.
After all, one of the chief complaints about the number of newly promoted courts-martial officers was that they lacked legal training—knowledge and skills one would think would be essential in such a position.
“How did Lieutenant Harlow die?” I asked impatiently, for it wasn’t yet clear what he or his death had to do with Ardmore.
“He was knifed.”
My brow furrowed, having expected to hear he’d been shot. At least, that was the preferred method of killing by both Collins’s Squad and the IRA in general.
“On the Forty Steps.”
My gaze collided with Sidney’s.
“I can see this holds significance for you,” Anderson remarked.
“Yes,” I answered, wrangling with the implications. “The investigation we were asked to undertake for Lord French earlier this year …”
“The one involving Miss Kavanagh?”
I turned to meet Anderson’s inquisitive stare. “Some weeks before her death, her cousin was found stabbed at the base of the Forty Steps, and the man we believed who’d done it—”
“Miss Kavanagh’s suitor?”
“Yes.”
“An intelligence officer named Delagrange,” Sidney supplied.
I nodded. “He was also found knifed.”
Though not on the Forty Steps, which was essentially an alley that ran along Dublin Castle’s eastern flank from Castle Street down to Ship Street that had been constructed for security as a break between the castle walls and the properties surrounding it.
No, Captain Bennett had told Sidney that Lieutenant Delagrange had been murdered in a street frequented by prostitutes.
But still the method of murder and the fact that they’d both been factors in our investigation into Miss Kavanagh’s death connected them.
“General Macready and Colonel Winter are satisfied that Lieutenant Harlow was killed by the rebels. But I see you share my reticence about this explanation,” Anderson told Sidney, who leaned forward in his French provincial chair—the match to my own—bracing his elbows on his knees.
“From everything we’ve learned about the rebels, knives are not their preferred weapon of choice.
I suspect because they not only require close contact with the victim, but the wounds are messy and difficult to ensure they’re fatal.
” Sidney looked up from the rug to make his point to the two men across from him.
“Given that, the rebels would never execute a British army officer in such a manner practically on the doorstep of Dublin Castle. It would be suicide!” His words were almost a direct quote of what Wick had explained to us months ago, and their echo sent an eerie chill down my spine.
Anderson nodded as if this confirmed his own thinking on the matter while Sturgis looked unconvinced.
The undersecretary uncrossed his legs and leaned forward toward Sidney. “Then you might find it interesting to know that Mrs. Harlow is rumored to be Lord Ardmore’s mistress.”
I jolted in my seat, the similarities to the past too startling to ignore.