Chapter 21
We attempted to speak to Mrs. Harlow on the way back to our town house, but neither she nor her friend Mrs. Mitchum were home.
So we were forced to postpone the effort for at least a few days because the following afternoon we were obligated to attend the races with the Sturgises and several other members of the Castle administration, catching the Curragh Special train just before midday.
The excursion was mostly a cheerful one, particularly since everyone came out ahead on their wagers.
However, the number of hypocritical remarks made about the republicans became rather difficult to bear.
The cache of Mulcahy’s papers that had been discovered a week ago during a raid continued to be the main subject of conversation.
Apparently, the documents had revealed how the rebel organizations were keeping their money in British banks, albeit under various different names.
This outraged several of the men, yet they thought nothing of discussing what would be the least illegal way to go about confiscating it.
They worked themselves up into a righteous fury to decry the plots to destroy targets in England, yet denied that the burning of creameries, homes, and businesses throughout Ireland was in any way the same thing.
Never mind that seventeen bishops of the Church of England had written a letter to The Times, lamenting that “force breeds force and reprisals suggest reprisals” and requesting that the military terrorism be ended and a truce brokered.
Sturgis and the others seemed to firmly believe that once the full evidence of what was discovered during the Mulcahy raid was revealed to the public that nearly all English support for Sinn Féin would disintegrate.
That it was proof positive that the IRA was nothing more than an organized murder association, not a rebel army.
If Sturgis’s contacts were to be believed, there was already dissension in the republicans’ ranks and this would put them completely in a tailspin.
This was an opinion shared by intelligence agents Captain Bennett and Lieutenant Ames, who happened by our box during the course of the afternoon.
Whether they were deliberately there to monitor me on behalf of O, who could not attend, or at their own leisure, I couldn’t tell.
But they made certain to pull me aside for a word.
“Sounds like you won’t be needed much longer given how the rebels are almost finished,” Bennett quipped rather snidely, as ever shooting off at the mouth to demonstrate how well-informed he was.
Considering the fact that it was my clandestine assignment he was beating his gums about, I rather wished he would put a sock in it.
“But seeing as how you’re well enough to attend the races, Colonel Winter wishes us to remind you that he expects a report by the end of the month. ”
I would have liked nothing more than to put him and Ames, who stood leering at me beside him, in their places.
Especially considering the complaints I’d heard from Sturgis on the train about the ruffians O employed and the criticism some of the members of the administration had about the job he was doing.
Though Sturgis seemed a bit too ready to defend him, in my opinion, blaming his failures on an insufficient and inefficient staff, many of whom were the “ruffians” O himself hired. But I knew how to hold my tongue.
“As I’m sure you know, good intelligence work can’t be rushed,” I replied acerbically instead.
“And I’m not about to do something so foolish as to show my hand to the rebels.
” I turned to glare at Bennett and then Ames pointedly, wondering if they knew I’d become a target.
If so, their delivering this message in public was even more reckless.
“He’ll receive it when I have something worthwhile to share. ”
Rather than wait for their answer, I walked away, knowing they were probably glaring daggers at my back.
Lady Rachel confirmed it when her eyes widened at them beyond my shoulder as I made my way toward her and the group of women she was chatting with.
I pasted on a smile and did my best to ignore all of the ignorant prattle and focus on the races and the fine weather, but it was no easy feat.
In fact, the entire day began to feel like an utter waste of time when we could be focusing our efforts elsewhere.
Only a casual remark made by Mrs. Burke redeemed it.
She was sitting beside me, and I was only listening with half an ear as she prattled on to Helen Wyndham-Quin seated on her other side, when she mentioned Ardmore.
“Excuse me,” I interrupted her. “Did you say Ardmore?”
“Yes,” she gasped in delight. “Do you know him?”
“We’re acquainted,” I replied temperedly.
“Well, Darcy couldn’t believe his luck when His Lordship offered to buy the estate sight unseen. He figured he’d have to mortgage the thing to the hilt because who wants a drafty old manor house all the way out in County Mayo.”
“Especially in this political climate,” Helen concurred.
But all I could wonder was what Ardmore was up to. This was the second estate we’d learned that he’d purchased in a place he was unlikely to visit. He didn’t even maintain the estate he’d inherited along with his title.
I decided it would behoove us to know if he’d bought any other estates, and where.
Max might be able to look into it while he continued to research Ardmore’s past. I also thought it would be worthwhile to notify Wick.
If anyone could uncover the full extent of Ardmore’s acquisitions, it would be his contacts.
Sidney and I discussed the matter on our drive home from Kingsbridge station as the wind rustled through our hair. The evening air was still warm from what would undoubtedly prove to be the last warm day of autumn, and so we were determined to enjoy it to the fullest.
“What could he possibly want with those properties?” I posited when Sidney slowed the motorcar enough that I could be heard over the roar of the engine and the rush of the wind.
Having turned off the main roads so as not to have to divert around trams, he was now trying to navigate through a network of unfamiliar streets.
“Try that way,” I suggested, just as he was beginning to make the same left turn.
“Well, land is wealth,” he replied, raising his voice to be heard as he picked up speed. “If not now, then later. And it’s also opportunity.”
“You think he intends to build something? All the way out there?”
Sidney shrugged. “Once the revolution is over. Once things settle. There are any number of ways he could put those estates to use.”
The land could be farmed or used to raise livestock. Or mined, if there were any minerals. Or other businesses might be built—factories and the like.
“If the manor homes are in decent shape, maybe he intends to turn them into holiday resorts.”
I supposed it was possible, particularly if they were near the sea or a place with spectacular scenery.
Now that the war was over, trips to the Riviera and other seaside destinations had resumed.
Perhaps he hoped to draw some of them to Ireland instead.
The water might be icy when compared with the south of France but couldn’t be much different from the Channel coast or England’s northern seashores. And less crowded!
Whatever the case, there must be a good reason, and it could prove crucial to Ardmore’s motives for everything.
Ahead of us, the spire of St. Patrick’s Cathedral loomed overhead, telling us where we were, and Sidney began to maneuver through the streets more confidently.
It was some hours before curfew and the streets still bustled with pedestrians and cyclists, slowing our progress eastward.
As usual, Sidney’s carmine-red Pierce-Arrow roadster drew stares, but some seemed more pointed than others and directed at me.
The first came from a man standing outside the Moravian Church and the second near the temperance hotel on the south side of St. Stephen’s Green.
I’d been ready to dismiss the first fellow, but after the second, apprehension began to grip me as I recalled Kathleen’s warning.
Could these men be members of the IRA or even the Squad?
I didn’t recognize them, but I probably wouldn’t.
I’d only met a handful of republicans, and most of those would not be sent out to assassinate a troublesome Englishwoman.
When I spotted a third man loitering near the corner of Pembroke Street and Fitzwilliam Square—too close to our home for comfort—I could no longer ignore the alarm that had been building within me.
As Sidney slowed the roadster to turn into the mews leading to the carriage house at the back of our garden, I scanned the shadows clinging to the corners and crevices of the narrow alley.
“Did you ever manage to procure another pistol?”
He turned to me in surprise. A not unjustified response considering the fact I’d been urging him for months to turn over the Luger he often carried with him.
The police had confiscated it after it was revealed he had it when he’d been forced to shoot a jewel thief we’d been pursuing the month prior.
All because private citizens were barred from keeping weapons by the government because they feared the rebels would get their hands on them.
“If so, we might need it,” I warned him.
He didn’t need me to spell out what I meant, his back straightening and his hands tightening on the driving wheel.
As we approached the turn near the end of the mews, he slowed further, wary of an ambush coming from around the blind corner.
“Slump down,” he ordered, reaching out to push down on my shoulder closest to him.