Chapter 20
Max was the first to find me. A fact I was rather glad about considering my mind had become fixated on a remark Ardmore had made earlier in our conversation.
It was repeating over and over inside my head.
I must have appeared unsteady, because Max took one look at my face as I entered the ballroom and drew me aside, swiping a glass of champagne from a passing waiter’s tray.
Pressing it into my hand, he positioned himself so that the crowd of guests couldn’t see me and waited until I’d taken a sip and then another before asking what had happened.
“Ardmore,” I answered simply.
He cursed under his breath, peering over his shoulder. “Is he still here?”
“Somewhere, I’m sure,” I replied, feeling a bit more like myself. The champagne seemed to have revived me. Or perhaps it was Max’s company.
“What did he want?”
“To unnerve me.”
Though it was clear Ardmore had succeeded, Max didn’t say so.
He did, however, look thoughtful. I guessed he was thinking of the recent revelations about his father and his trips to Dublin.
We’d already discussed why confronting Ardmore about how he’d had the late Lord Ryde followed would yield nothing except to tip our hand about how much we knew.
This was the first time I’d been alone with Max since George’s confession on our walk, so I decided to take advantage of it.
Given Ardmore’s jibe, George’s words seemed to take on a new, alarming possibility.
“George told me that while I was still locked up at the Castle, Sidney disappeared for a few hours one afternoon.” I shifted my gaze from where I’d been watching the dancers behind him to meet his suddenly reticent one.
“That it was long enough for you both to grow concerned.”
“Yes, well, given the heightened atmosphere, we couldn’t help but fear the worst,” he replied. “But Kent apologized that he hadn’t at least left us a note to explain that he’d gone to speak to a few of his former colleagues.”
“That’s what he told you?”
Max had begun to turn his head, but it snapped back around at the sound of my tone. “Yes.”
“And you believed him?”
A furrow formed between his brows.
“Because George told me he felt fairly certain he was lying.”
Max frowned. “Why would Bentnick tell you such a thing?”
“Because he was worried about departing and wanted to be sure I knew everything he knew before he left.” I tilted my head, not having failed to notice that he’d not answered the question. “You would do the same thing.”
He didn’t refute this, staring back at me in a sort of fond exasperation. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Verity.”
I took this as an indication he wasn’t going to give me a firm response. Not when it would place him in an awkward position between me and Sidney. So, I let the matter drop.
But his refusal to answer was all but confirmation that he agreed with George. That Sidney was hiding something. And I had a sinking suspicion I knew what it was.
By the time we departed the Shelbourne, I was too tired to confront Sidney.
And by morning, it had begun to feel easier to remain silent.
It didn’t help that I was also keeping secrets of my own.
Secrets that were liable to come out once I broached the topic of Ardmore, and I wasn’t certain I was ready to share them.
I’d done my best to pretend that all was well, but it was obvious that Sidney could tell something was bothering me. I hoped he would attribute it to my injuries or our being forced to remain in Dublin. Nonetheless, I caught him sneaking glances at me when he thought I wasn’t looking.
During our drive to Captain Calloway’s home in Ballsbridge I lost count of the number of times his gaze diverted from the windscreen to look at me questioningly.
However, I kept my eyes trained resolutely ahead, refusing to meet his eye and determined to pretend I was preoccupied by my own thoughts.
It was only once we’d arrived and Sidney had rounded the Pierce-Arrow to open the door for me that he spoke.
“Is something amiss?” he asked, preventing me from moving past him until I answered.
But I refused to be cornered, smiling and deploying the time-honored deflection. “Why would something be amiss?”
Sidney obviously knew this was a feint, but since this was hardly the time to discuss it, he allowed me to slip around him without further comment.
Captain Calloway lived in a red brick Edwardian home near Herbert Park, suggesting he was a man of private means.
That, or his wife had brought a significant dowry to their marriage.
Like Mrs. Harlow, Mrs. Calloway was young, but she welcomed us to their home with a thinly veiled disdain better suited to an older matron.
Whatever she’d heard about us, she obviously disapproved.
As such, while I was polite, I made no effort to engage or charm her.
She showed us into a study where Calloway and two other men were already gathered, presumably Lieutenants Kelly and Faulkner.
“I told the captain that you would undoubtedly prefer the drawing room to this smoke-filled masculine enclave, Mrs. Kent, but he insisted.” This was stated with a daggered glare at her husband, and I realized that perhaps I’d misjudged her.
It was possible her venom was meant for the captain rather than us.
If so, he also failed to react. “As you will,” she finished before flouncing from the room.
Calloway didn’t make excuses for his wife, and I decided I liked him better for it.
Nothing was more annoying than the condescension of a man apologizing for a woman when it was his behavior which had provoked her in the first place.
And she wasn’t wrong. I would have preferred the drawing room to this dark, tobacco-scented study with oversized furniture I was forced to perch at the edge of or else reveal more of my legs than I wished.
Introductions were performed, allowing me little time to observe the other men before Calloway decided it was time to get down to business. “You wanted to know about Harlow?”
“Yes,” Sidney replied, taking the lead since he was well-acquainted with men of this stripe. “We’re looking into his murder.”
“I knew they were too quick to blame it on the Shinners!” Faulkner declared, pounding his fist on his thigh. His dark, well-groomed mustache quivered with vindication.
But Lieutenant Kelly, who appeared to be of a nervous disposition, his hands always moving, seemed to disagree. “It was a logical assumption considering the evidence Harlow gathered against them.”
“Yes, but to murder him in such a manner when a pistol has always been their preferred method of assassination, as it’s quicker, cleaner …” Faulkner shook his head. “It didn’t make sense.”
“It’s no surprise why the republicans were suspected, given Harlow’s role as a courts-martial officer,” Sidney interjected, agreeing with Kelly. “But we understand there may be others we should be looking into.”
“You’re speaking of Lord Ardmore,” Calloway said, cutting through all the subterfuge.
Sidney met his gaze squarely. “Yes, as well as anyone else you think might have played a part.” When none of them rushed to speak, he prompted, “Was Lieutenant Harlow aware his wife was having an affair?”
Faulkner and Kelly both looked toward Calloway, seeming to defer to him.
“Aye,” he answered regrettably. “Though initially he didn’t know that it was with Ardmore.”
“What did he do?” I ventured.
“Nothing at first.” Calloway frowned. “Said he recognized he’d not been the most attentive of husbands. He intended to say something to her when the moment was right.”
“Actually,” Kelly volunteered, “I think he intended to say something to her lover. At least, th-that’s what he indicated to me,” he stammered.
“How long ago was this?” Sidney asked.
The men all glanced at each other, and this time it was Faulkner who answered. “A month before he was killed. Certainly, less than six weeks.”
“And when did he discover it was Ardmore?”
“I can’t tell you that precisely,” Calloway said. “But he confronted him about a week before he was killed.”
“Harlow confronted Ardmore?” Sidney repeated, seeking confirmation he’d heard correctly.
“Aye. Ardmore was supposed to be his friend. He’d even been working with him on a project.” He scoffed in disgust. “And this is how he repaid him?”
My ears had perked up. “What type of project?”
Calloway shrugged. “He never shared the details.” The others shook their heads. “But it was no small matter. He missed a number of our bi-weekly dinners because of it.”
Faulkner sniffed. “Always seemed highly suspicious to me.”
His friends seemed ready to overlook this remark, but not Sidney. “What makes you say that?”
“To start with, what project could a lord like Ardmore be involved in that would require such secrecy?”
“I can think of plenty,” Calloway countered. “After all, Ardmore isn’t just any baron.”
“No,” Faulkner admitted. “But then why did he require Harlow’s skills at locating supplies when there were plenty of other men currently tasked with the role of quartermaster he could have asked for assistance?”
“How do you know he was locating supplies for him?” Sidney queried, sharing my curiosity about this detail, for it aligned with one of our suspicions.
“I heard Harlow speaking to a lieutenant with the 137th about their supply of fulminate of mercury. Where he could get some, and whether any was missing.”
This could mean any number of things, but what put me on alert was that fulminate of mercury was used in all sorts of munitions, from gun cartridges to shells to blasting caps for explosives.
“That doesn’t mean he was acquiring it for Lord Ardmore,” Calloway pointed out.
“No. But why else would he be asking?”
“As part of a courts-martial case.”
Faulkner grumbled, sinking back in his seat and reaching up to stroke his mustache.
“What happened after Harlow confronted Ardmore?” Sidney asked, redirecting them before their quarrel could continue.