Chapter 16
After leaving the Mitchums’ residence, we’d hoped to track down the guard who’d found Lieutenant Harlow as he lay dying, but even such a brief outing had exhausted me.
Having been shot in the shoulder the previous December, I knew what it was like to recover from a wound.
How slow and frustrating the process could be, progress being made in small increments rather than leaps.
But I’d not anticipated that my incarceration and the injuries I’d sustained in the Castle were to the extent that I would require so much recuperation.
Even when I attempted to resist, my mind and body insisted, my muscles grew weak and my mind sluggish until I gave in.
Yet, the nightmares I feared had not yet visited me.
Or if they had, I didn’t remember them, because my sleep was so deep and absolute.
It was like dropping into an abyss. I’d never experienced anything like it before, and certainly not repeatedly every time my head hit the pillow.
Even during my recovery from my bullet wound, I’d slept fitfully, unable to get comfortable.
I would have suspected someone of drugging me if not for the fact that I trusted everyone who had access to my food and drink.
Truth be told, I didn’t know whether to be concerned or grateful my rest was so undisturbed.
I might have paid good money for just one such night during the long years of the war.
But now I couldn’t help but dread it would all catch up with me eventually.
Not to mention the annoyance of being unable to press on through my fatigue as I always had.
Fortunately, George and Max had remained intent on their own tasks, relieving us of that burden.
And Sidney had taken up my slack, finding out the guard’s schedule and locating the pub where Harlow’s friends most liked to gather.
We made plans to seek out one of them the next day, not wanting to unduly tire me.
For Sturgis’s most recent letter had invited us to join a large party attending the Abbey Theatre that evening.
It was not something either of us was looking forward to, but given our tenuous situation, we felt we should accept.
However, a missive that was delivered to our town house shortly after breakfast forced us to alter our plans again. It was brief and to the point, as most of Wick’s communication was. I was simply glad he’d finally responded.
He’d asked me to meet him at the little restaurant on Dawson Street where we’d rendezvoused in the past, and as usual I found him seated at the table tucked into the corner near the kitchen, his papers spread across its surface and a pint at his elbow.
The restaurant didn’t open for another hour, but Wick was familiar with the owner.
He must have told the staff to watch for me, for I was let in with a smile and a gesture toward the back table.
Wick had discarded his coat, and his shirtsleeves were rolled up to the elbow, exposing his forearms as he bent over his work.
There was a smudge on his cheekbone, and his hair was in disarray from running his ink-stained fingers through it.
I might have smiled at the disheveled picture he presented if not for the nerves fluttering in my stomach.
He didn’t look up until I was almost upon him, and when he did, I couldn’t hide my gasp of dismay.
The smudge on his cheekbone I’d thought was ink was actually the edges of a black eye, and I could see the discoloration of another bruise shading the line of his jaw.
Add to that the swollen appearance of his nose, and I could easily guess what sort of treatment he’d received at the hands of the Crown Forces.
“I’m so sorry,” I told him as I hurried forward before he could rise.
I reached for his face, but hesitated to touch it, lest the pressure of my fingers make anything worse.
“I was rushing. Otherwise, I would never have been so foolish as to write your name on the envelope.” I hiccupped. “They did this to you because of me.”
He grasped my hands gently. “Naw, Verity. They did this because of the stories I wrote, not you. They’ve been lookin’ for some pretext to pick me up for months.”
“Yes, but I gave them that pretext,” I refuted fretfully.
He shrugged one shoulder. “Better that pretext than another. At least the outrage from your arrest spurred my release. Next time, I doubt I’ll be so lucky.”
The very fact that he expected there to be a next time chilled me.
“Besides …” He brushed his finger against the side of my face. “It doesn’t look like they went much easier on you.”
I turned aside, pacing around the table to the chair opposite, though I didn’t sit. I’d thought I’d done a credible job of concealing the redness that lingered, but there was little I could do to replace the eyelashes and brows that had been singed by the fireplace poker.
“I’m guessing that’s not your only injury since the Castle was moved to make a public apology.”
My gaze returned to his seeking one, knowing exactly what he was asking, and I made the split-second decision to trust him.
After all, he’d already been incarcerated and taken a beating because of me.
However, I also had to bear in mind that he was a member of Sinn Féin and in favor of an Irish Republic.
He might also be a member of the IRA, albeit a tempered one.
As such, his loyalty to me would have its limits.
“My release had conditions,” I replied, sinking into my chair. “And while Colonel Winter is in charge of British Intelligence here in Ireland, I prefer not to give them reason to believe I’ve broken them.”
“Aye, Winter definitely doesn’t like you,” he agreed, leaning back in his chair.
I arched one of my eyebrows sardonically as I unbuttoned my fur-trimmed merlot-colored wool coat. “That mouse suggests he doesn’t like you either.”
A smile flickered across his lips. “Fair enough.” His mirth faded to a look of speculation. “Though that does make me wonder. Why are ye and Kent still here?”
“Another condition.” I grimaced unhappily.
“One we’ve discovered is not so easy to circumvent.
” I explained what Sidney had told me about the ports being watched for us.
In the meantime, one of the restaurant staff set a gin rickey in front of me.
During a previous visit, I’d discovered they served the best glass of my preferred libation in all of Dublin and smiled at the waiter in appreciation that they’d remembered.
Wick waited for me to take a drink before exhibiting his annoying astuteness. “There must be a reason they don’t want ye and Kent to leave.”
I worried my thumb up and down over the condensation on the outside of my glass before admitting, “They want us to spy for them.” This, of course, required further explanation, which ended with Wick scowling worriedly at me.
“Collins …” he cautioned.
“Has been warned,” I told him.
This was met with a furrowed brow. “You’re playing a dangerous game, Ver.”
“You don’t have to tell me that,” I replied somewhat testily.
“The British government seems determined to kill any number of people and see half of Ireland burned and destroyed, if necessary, to bring Sinn Féin and the IRA to heel.” Wick gestured at his papers spread out before him.
“At least, if we’re to judge by the prime minister’s speech.
If they have ‘murder by the throat,’” he said, quoting Lloyd George, “it’s every Irishman’s, for he all but openly sanctioned the Black and Tan’s policy of reprisal and hanging.
” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table.
“But Collins and the rest of ’em aren’t goin’ to go down without a fight.
” His voice was intense. “And between ye and me, I think Collins has got somethin’ up his sleeve. ”
If so, Alec hadn’t said anything about it. But then, maybe he wouldn’t. Not if he didn’t want us to know. That was an unsettling thought.
“Do you know what it is?” I pressed Wick.
He shook his head. “But I suspect it’s big.”
I frowned, a sinking suspicion filling me that there was more to Alec’s eagerness to see us far from Dublin than simply the ramifications of my arrest.
Wick couldn’t read my thoughts, but he seemed to be contemplating something along the same lines. “Ye wouldn’t know this, but IRA General Headquarters issued a new series of general orders regarding women spies yesterday.”
Alarm shot down my spine, for I couldn’t deny the timing was suspicious. “Regarding?”
“That if convicted of spying, women were to be informed it was only because of their sex that they were being spared the statutory punishment of death, and they’d be given seven days to leave the country.”
I exhaled the breath I’d been holding, only to seize up again as Wick continued.
“But that in dangerous and insistent cases, brigade commanders should request guidance from GHQ.”
He could sense my agitation, so I stopped trying to conceal it from him, downing half of my gin rickey in one swallow.
“I’m in a pickle, Wick.” I gritted my teeth. “And I wouldn’t be if our sorry officials weren’t being bamboozled by Ardmore.”
“I saw that he somehow waltzed through the debacle outside Mountjoy without being blamed.” Wick straightened, crossing his arms. “Instead, they’re looking for some former naval officer named Willoughby.”
“Ardmore’s right-hand man.” I explained what we knew. “But there’s some hope.”
Wick grew intensely interested when I told him that Anderson and Sturgis had asked us to investigate the murder of Lieutenant Harlow and that they believed Ardmore might be involved. “Wasn’t Harlow a courts-martial officer?” he asked.
“Recently appointed, yes.”
“Knifed on the Forty-Steps? Like in your previous investigation.”
I nodded.
He picked up his pen to jot down a note. “I didn’t cover that story, but I’ll see what my colleague might’ve uncovered. Especially what wasn’t printed in the paper.”