Chapter 19
George and I returned to the town house to discover that Sidney and Max were out.
We had all been grateful that the reporters had stopped camping outside our door in the days following my address on the front steps.
The telephone had also gradually stopped ringing as the newspapers moved on to more immediate stories and my friends and family had been assured of my well-being.
However, the amount of correspondence I’d received had only increased, as every person in the British Isles and beyond seemed to believe they needed to share their opinions—both good or bad—about my presence here and my incarceration at Dublin Castle.
I’d stopped opening most of the letters, as the people I needed and wanted to hear from would contact me in a different way.
Nimble normally sorted and set those pieces of mail I would wish to see aside in a separate place or gave them to me himself.
So when I entered the parlor after George carried on up the stairs to his room to finish packing, I didn’t even glance at the letter tray on the table near the door at first. It was only after I’d poured myself a drink that I wandered over to see what had arrived.
When I pulled the sheet of paper from the envelope from the telegram office, my pulse jumped.
It was written in code, and only one person did that.
Setting aside my drink, I hurried over to the writing desk to swiftly decipher it, trying to refrain from speculating as to why Kathleen needed to speak with me.
Kathleen Silvernickel had been C’s secretary since before the war began, and over the years, working in such a strenuous environment surrounded by mostly condescending men, we’d become good friends.
Even when I’d moved into the field, we’d remained close.
Because of that, I’d been careful not to presume too much or ask anything of her that might compromise her loyalty to C and the Secret Service.
So if she was taking the risk of contacting me now, it must have either been on behalf of C or because she’d decided her allegiance to me was greater than to the Secrets Act.
The thought of it being the latter made my chest tight and my fingers tingle where they gripped the pen.
I had to pause several times while decrypting Kathleen’s message to take deep breaths, reminding myself I shouldn’t jump to conclusions.
There could be any number of reasons she was contacting me this way using the special code we’d worked out between us many years ago.
But the specter of my incarceration and subsequent treatment at the Castle still loomed over me and I was struggling not to entertain the worst.
Once I’d finished, I picked up the earpiece of the telephone and tapped the switch hook, telling the operator where to direct my call based on the deciphered telegram. Half a minute later, I heard Kathleen’s voice over the crackling wires.
“Verity, is that you?”
“Yes,” I replied. “I take it you’re alone in the office.”
“For the moment,” she declared hurriedly. “First, how are you? Truly.”
The question and the obvious concern in her voice caused a lump to form in my throat. One I hadn’t been prepared for. I had to forcibly swallow before I could speak. “I’m all right,” I assured her softly. “But it’s an experience I’d rather not repeat.”
In my mind’s eye, I could see her nodding. It was something I’d often teased her about, saying, “The other caller can’t see you, Kath.”
“Does C know you’re telephoning?” I asked, wanting clarity on how secretive this communication was.
“Yes. Though … I had to convince him of its necessity.”
Some of the tension had eased from my frame at her affirmative response, only to return upon hearing this addendum.
“We’ve intercepted some chatter from members of the IRA.”
My mind immediately began to sift through the connotations, wondering what members and how exactly this chatter had been obtained. Telephone? Telegram? Letter? I knew British Intelligence was intercepting communication via all of those methods.
“You were listed as a target, Ver.”
The world around me seemed to fade as the full implication of what she’d just said struck me.
I didn’t even need her to spell it out for me, for I was well acquainted by now with the workings of Collins and his Squad of assassins, as well as the activities of the Dublin brigades of the IRA.
Evidently, they’d either decided my word couldn’t be trusted or that I knew too much to risk it.
Whichever it was, Sidney and Max’s absence suddenly took on new urgency.
“Verity, are you there?”
Kathleen’s voice penetrated my thoughts, and I shook myself. “Yes. They mentioned only me?”
She understood immediately. “They didn’t mention Sidney.” That was at least some relief. “Or Xavier.”
For a moment, I was confused as to why she’d mentioned him, until I recalled that I’d told Anderson and O that Alec was still working for us, that he hadn’t turned traitor. As such, they would naturally be concerned that he’d been exposed by his connection to me.
“Thank you for telling me,” I told Kathleen.
Her voice became muffled, and I realized she was speaking to someone who’d entered the room with her. A moment later, she murmured. “Watch your back.” Then she added, “Doubly.” This was obviously a reference to O, whom she’d never trusted. She’d been the person to first warn me what a snake he was.
“I will,” I promised her before she rang off.
I hung up the earpiece but continued to stare blindly at the wall beyond it for some time.
Was Alec aware that someone within the IRA was targeting me?
I had to think not, or else, doubtless, he would have alerted me.
Did that mean Collins was keeping it from him?
Or had someone else in the IRA issued the order?
I remembered my conversation with Wick, and how IRA General Headquarters had distributed those new orders about how to deal with female spies.
Would a warning be forthcoming, ordering me to leave Ireland?
Or was I considered a “dangerous and insistent” case?
Had GHQ decided I was too great a threat not to be eliminated?
A cold lump of fear lodged in my stomach, making it difficult to think. Especially when I realized that the men who had been tailing George and me during our walk might not have been O’s minions after all. They might have been rebels, and their orders might not have been so innocuous.
It was only when I heard the door open below and Sidney and Max’s voices that I was able to rouse myself from my terrified stupor.
Even then, I had just enough time to shred Kathleen’s telegram and feed it into the flames in the hearth, push in the chair at the writing desk, and down the rest of my drink for composure before the men joined me.
Sidney cast me a lingering look as he bussed my cheek in greeting, but otherwise I must have done a decent job of concealing my panic, for he was soon diverted by my questions about their outing.
Max explained how they’d merely run a few errands, and I smiled, listening with half an ear to his recounting of the colorful argument between two elderly men on the tram.
The other part of my mind was still focused on Kathleen’s warning and my decision not to inform the others.
I felt slightly sick knowing I was keeping something of this magnitude from Sidney, but I told myself it was for good reason.
He felt guilty enough about what had happened to me in the Castle.
If he learned the rebels were targeting me now, I wasn’t certain how he would react.
Especially since the ferries and ports were already being watched and there was little chance of us escaping Ireland undeterred.
I could only hope the republicans would take that into consideration as well.
Two evenings later, Sidney, Max, and I found ourselves being ushered into the ballroom of the Shelbourne Hotel on St. Stephen’s Green.
It wasn’t the first time we’d attended an event at the venue.
Nor was it the first time I found myself wishing to be elsewhere.
However, Sturgis had directed us to honor the invitation, dashing off a note to say that one of Lieutenant Harlow’s chums would be there.
So we’d put on our glad rags and ventured forth, knowing the music would likely be staid and the company even stiffer.
For my part, I was satisfied that, given the assemblage, at least the security would be adequate. It was unlikely Collins’s Squad or the IRA would risk assassinating me with so many Crown Forces stationed about the premises.
I did derive some enjoyment from wearing my new verdigris-colored gown in silk crepe with fringed hem.
If nothing else, it would detract from the singed lashes and eyebrows I’d tried to mask.
Much of the redness had finally faded and could be covered with powder, but the stubby hairs were not so easy to hide.
I also wasn’t entirely certain I wanted to conceal it.
Let society see what had been done to me, so long as it didn’t look like I was deliberately displaying it.
Mark Sturgis was among the first of our acquaintances we spotted, and so we approached to greet him.
He was waxing on again about what a triumph their capture of the cache of Mulcahy’s papers had been.
“There’s some amazingly good stuff in there.
Not only plans to blow up the Liverpool docks and several sites in Manchester, but also proposals to poison soldiers and their horses, and a list of individuals to be targeted.
It will all look very good for us in print. ”
I stiffened, not only at the enjoyment he was taking in such a propaganda coup, but at his mention of a list of assassination targets.