Chapter 19 #2
Sturgis continued. “I was telling Pollard”—who was in charge of the government’s publicity in Ireland—“that he must stop pulling his punches. The Shinners have been beating us at the propaganda game for too long. What with this account allegedly written by a former British Army officer about drunken soldiers terrorizing villages and these reports of burned creameries. But what of the fact that those creameries were fortified?” He scoffed.
“I’m heartily sick of reading about the wails of poor innocent farmers!
Hullo, Kent. Verity.” He broke off briefly to greet us.
“Pollard needs to be making more noise about these abductions,” Sturgis’s companion said. “Like those three army officers that were taken from a train in Cork yesterday.”
“There’s still some talk of the IRA fighting to the finish, but I think they’re beat. We’re on top and I’m sure they know it,” Sturgis declared.
“Must be, if they’ve resorted to bank robbery to fund themselves,” the second companion interjected.
They chuckled as if this was a great joke. It was true that a small number of banks around Dublin had been robbed in recent days, but considering the small takes, I suspected those might be criminals taking advantage of the general chaos.
“De Valera’s fundraising in America must not be going very well. Word is he’s set up his own Irish-American organization because he couldn’t get along with the leaders of the Friends of Irish Freedom,” the first man said.
I didn’t know as much about the president of Dáil éireann as perhaps I should have, but de Valera had been touring the United States since before my and Sidney’s arrival in Ireland, and so largely relegated to the role of drumming up support for the Irish Republic from the large Irish-American population there.
However, there had been enough barbed exchanges between de Valera and the Irish-American leaders printed in the newspapers to make it clear that the Dáil’s president expected for things to be done his way.
“He may end up staying there if things keep deteriorating for the rebels,” Sturgis said, wrapping up his conversation with the other men before turning fully toward us. “Last I saw, Harlow’s mate was this way.” He beckoned us to follow him. “I’ll introduce you.”
We navigated around the perimeter of the ballroom flush with the flowers from every hothouse in the city it seemed.
True to my expectations, the orchestra was playing Strauss rather than Joplin, as dancers waltzed at one end of the floor.
I didn’t expect to do much dancing that night, though I felt I was healed enough for more than one spin beneath the glow of the chandeliers.
I sensed more than one pair of eyes cut to me in interest as we passed, but we didn’t spare them a moment to converse. Not even when a chap called out to Sturgis. “Heard you had a bit of excitement at the Viceregal Lodge last night?”
“Complete with searchlights and salvos of rifle fire,” Sturgis hollered back before turning to us to explain.
“Some disturbance in the gardens. It turned out to be nothing, but those of us staying with the Quins presented quite the pajama parade,” he quipped.
“Rachel called me a complete fool for peering out the window during the thick of it with a lit cigarette in my mouth. And I was.” He announced this almost cheerfully, and I could only empathize with his wife.
“Captain Calloway,” he cried, and a bluff, red-cheeked fellow turned from the pair of women he had been conversing with.
“Allow me to introduce you to Mr. and Mrs. Kent.” He leaned closer, lowering his voice.
“They’ve some questions about Harlow. You can speak freely.
” With that, Sturgis carried on, hailing someone else a few feet away.
The three of us stood blinking at each other for a moment in his wake.
“Do you have time to confer with us?” Sidney asked politely, being the first to find his voice.
Rather than rush to agree or comply, the captain took a moment to scrutinize us and our request. “Yes. But”—he glanced at the two women, who stood at a short distance—“could this wait until tomorrow? I’m sure you’ll want to speak with Kelly and Faulkner, as well. I can arrange to have them join us.”
Sidney looked at me and I nodded, for this would be far more efficient.
“Come to my home,” he said, supplying the address before rejoining the ladies.
I turned to survey the ballroom, feeling suddenly deflated. “Now what?”
“Do you feel well enough to dance?”
I looked up at Sidney, allowing myself to take pleasure in his dark good looks and the warmth in his eyes. “With you? Always.”
He took my arm and swept me out into the flow of dancers. And for a moment, despite the spins of the waltz, I felt the world stop turning. To think, I’d once feared this excitement of simply being clasped in Sidney’s arms wouldn’t be enough after the tumult of the war. Now, it was all I wanted.
Once Ardmore was exposed for who he truly was, once he was unmasked once and for all and forced to face justice, I intended to resign from even my unofficial role working for the SIS.
C would simply have to turn to his other agents.
I just wanted to retire to London or our Sussex cottage and think of innocuous things, like roses and village fetes and babies. Perhaps it was time for that as well.