Chapter 16 #3
Once again, Sturgis seemed to think differently. “Buyer beware.”
I ignored this quip, finding the notion ridiculous, instead taking a sip of champagne to prevent me from sneering. My abdomen had begun to ache again, and I was aware I wasn’t being the most congenial of guests. I considered asking Sidney to take me home as Sturgis began to natter on.
“I’m beginning to understand why you enjoy these intrigues, Mrs. Kent.
Since arriving in Dublin, I’ve been up to my neck in plot and counterplot, all with the added spice of danger, conducted in an atmosphere akin to the large country house parties of old.
I don’t know how I’ll ever be able settle happily in a staid London office again. ”
I could sense how strained my smile had become under this litany and sought to cover it with another drink.
He might be enjoying himself, but there were many who were not, and his admitting as much in such a manner was, at the least, in poor taste, and at the most, callous and cruel.
Not when so many had died—on both sides—and so many more were suffering.
Dublin might be relatively peaceful at the moment, but there was still plenty of violence elsewhere in Ireland.
Rebels executed. Innocent civilians strafed with bullets for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
RIC constables taken from trains and shot.
My glass now empty, I opened my mouth to make my excuses to depart when I caught sight of O. The self-satisfied expression plastered across his face as he strode into the box like a conquering hero raised my hackles and alerted me to the fact that something major had just happened.
Sturgis seemed to realize this as well, for he hailed him, beckoning him closer. “Glad you could join us. But forgive me, you look rather like the cat that got the cream.”
“Because I have,” O confirmed.
I glanced at Sidney, who had joined us.
“Collins?” Sturgis asked eagerly.
O’s lip twitched momentarily in irritation. “No. Better.”
I was under the impression that nothing could be better than catching Michael Collins, but I kept the thought to myself.
“I’ve just come from a raid at the home of Professor Michael Hayes at Longwood Avenue, just off South Circular Road.
” This last was addressed to me, as if I might recognize it.
I did, but I wasn’t about to admit as much.
“We found a cache of documents belonging to Mulcahy, and almost netted the man himself, though he managed to escape through a skylight.” O adopted a supercilious air.
“We believe Mulcahy to be rather high up in the IRA hierarchy.”
I had reason to believe Mulcahy was actually the chief of staff of the IRA, but once again I kept this to myself.
“Do you know yet what’s in the documents?” Sturgis wanted to know.
“A few names and addresses, but more importantly, we’ve got their plans to carry out reprisals in England. Including attacks on Liverpool’s docks and a power station in Manchester. They intended to blow them up.”
Several others who had drawn closer gasped in outrage.
“And after they’ve made such a fuss over these so-called ‘reprisals’ here,” someone muttered, entirely missing the point, I felt.
Since the British government was doing nothing to halt or genuinely discourage those reprisals, evidently the IRA felt their next recourse was to respond in kind.
Not that I didn’t find the notion of them blowing up the Liverpool docks—one of the largest shipping complexes in the world—to be horrifying.
Imagine the loss of life, not to mention the damages!
But that didn’t mean I overlooked the logic of it, at least from the republicans’ point of view.
“By Jove! What a score!” Sturgis declared in enthusiasm. “We’ve got them now.”
It was certainly a propaganda coup, and the IRA would undoubtedly have to scrap their plans now that they were exposed. A fact I was rather relieved about. But I wasn’t certain anything in the larger picture had changed.
Though as events continued to unfold over the next week, I couldn’t help but notice that the British seemed to be gaining the upper hand.
Slowly but surely, British Intelligence and the Crown Forces were beginning to expose and overpower Collins’s intelligence network and the IRA.
They’d been sluggish in catching up, given the crippling blows the rebels had dealt to their existing spy networks early on, but they were gaining ground.
For the first time, it began to feel like it might only be a matter of time before the republicans were overcome.
Having served with British Intelligence for so long, I was conflicted.
I wanted to root for our men, some of whom I’d worked alongside during the war.
But on the other side there was Alec, and Nancy, and Peter at the Wicklow, and Devlin the publican, and cheeky Tom Cullen, and Ginny and Mrs. Boyle, and so many of the people I’d become fond of, who were fighting for a cause I believed was worthy.
It left me with an ache in my heart.