Chapter 22
True to Alec’s assertion, an invitation arrived from the Harringtons the following morning.
And true to our promise, Sidney, Max, and I accepted, traveling the short distance to their home in Rathmines the following day.
The Harringtons were everything that was kind and solicitous, endeavoring to entertain us and a small party of other guests, but it couldn’t be denied that an atmosphere of nervous anticipation hung over the gathering all weekend.
Neither Sinn Féin nor the IRA were ever mentioned, but I had a strong suspicion that everyone present was at the least a republican sympathizer, and we’d been invited here for a specific reason, though perhaps not the same one.
Saturday passed without incident except for the notice one guest, a city councilman, received about the Dublin Corporation’s records being stolen.
He seemed less concerned by this than I would have thought, and it was only later that I learned this was because the theft had almost certainly been arranged.
The British government had been threatening legal action against the city council because of their declared allegiance to the Dáil éireann and refusal to allow the English Local Government Board auditor to examine their financial records.
An order was in the process of being served to the Corporation to seize all of their books.
However, an audit could not be conducted if the records conveniently went missing.
As such, the armed robbers had likely been members of the IRA coming to the Dublin Corporation’s rescue.
Sunday, on the other hand, was a different story.
We woke late, joining the others for breakfast in the sun-soaked morning room around half past ten.
When the telephone rang and Mr. Harrington was summoned to answer it, we were all still oblivious to what had occurred.
But the moment our host stumbled back into the room, his face as white as a sheet, everything changed.
“Harold, whatever is the matter?” his wife demanded as he fell back into his chair.
“They’ve done them all in?”
The clatter of utensils came to a stop as everyone turned to look at him.
“Done all of who in?” Mrs. Harrington asked in concern.
“About fifty officers are shot in all parts of the city.” He blinked. “Collins has done in most of the Secret Service people.”
This pronouncement was met with a moment of shocked silence and then at least half the room exploded onto their feet, demanding answers that Mr. Harrington could not give.
But a ringing had begun in my ears, drowning out much of what was said.
All I could do was sit there rigidly as the implications of what he’d said washed over me in horrified waves.
Fifty?! Fifty intelligence officers had been shot?
! Some of them undoubtedly men I knew. Men I had worked with.
Men who were simply doing their duty. Yes, there were some nasty ones among the mix—King and Hardy, for instance—and I hadn’t always seen eye to eye with some of the others.
But shot? Dead? My stomach swirled. Or merely injured?
I didn’t know and I could scarcely believe it.
I straightened, my gaze lifting to meet Sidney’s across the table for the first time. The same horror was stamped across his features. The same realization.
Alec had known. He’d known what was about to happen. He’d likely taken part. That’s why he’d insisted we accept the Harringtons’ invitation. He wanted us out of Dublin.
From our hosts’ stupefied reactions, I deduced they hadn’t known why they were being urged to host a house party for the people assembled or why they’d been told to invite us.
They were probably just honoring a request. But even as republican sympathizers they weren’t taking pleasure in this news. No one was.
Then the blood drained from my face as another realization struck me.
Had I been a target? Was that why Alec sent us away?
Was I supposed to be the fifty-first agent shot?
I feared I would be physically ill and was forced to focus on the rippled surface of my beveled drinking glass, silently ordering the contents of my stomach to stay down, lest I be sick all over the Harringtons’ lovely Axminster carpet.
It was during the midst of this that the butler appeared at my shoulder. “Telephone, Mrs. Kent.”
My expression must have conveyed my immediate distress, for Sidney set his serviette on the table and began to rise. “I’ll take it,” he said.
I flashed him a look of gratitude, but a moment later, dread gripped me. If gunmen had come for me, what would they have done upon discovering I wasn’t there? Would they have taken it out on our staff—on Mrs. Boyle and Ginny and Nimble? I prayed not.
It seemed only a few seconds passed before Sidney reappeared in the doorway, beckoning me to join him in the corridor. Everyone else was still talking at once and so didn’t notice as I slowly rose from my chair.
There was a solemn set to his jaw as he drew me away from the door. “It was the Castle. We’ve been ordered to report immediately.”
Alarm shot through me. “Surely they don’t think we knew about this?”
“I very much doubt anyone is thinking clearly right now,” he replied. “They’re in shock and merely reacting.”
That certainly didn’t bode well for us.
“What do we do?” I asked him, terror strangling my voice.
“We could attempt to run for it.”
It took me only a moment to consider and discard this idea, not least of all because he hadn’t sounded very confident of our success. “No, that will make us look more guilty.” I closed my eyes, screwing up my courage. “I suppose we shall just have to do what we’re told.”
“For now,” Sidney concurred. His expression hardened. “But they’re not separating us.”
I squeezed his hand where he gripped mine like it was a lifeline, worried we might not be given a choice.
We made our excuses to the Harringtons for dashing away. They seemed concerned but also distracted. In any case, we weren’t the only ones departing early. Everyone seemed anxious to check on their homes and loved ones.
Max was harder to shake. He wanted to come to the Castle with us, but we managed to convince him of the wisdom of returning to Upper Fitzwilliam Street instead. If Sidney and I were detained, we would need someone on the outside working to get us released.
Sidney and I motored back into Dublin and through the streets of a city that suddenly seemed on edge.
Word of the assassinations had obviously spread like wildfire, and no one wanted to be out and about, making easy pickings for the patrols of Crown Forces who would have been riled by the news.
I feared the day had not seen the last of the violence.
If history was any indication, reprisal would soon follow, and it would not be a single shooting.
Neither of us spoke at first, being too stunned and appalled to voice our thoughts. And when Sidney did attempt to phrase a question, he fumbled his words. “Do you think …? Could Ardmore …?”
I hunched deeper into my seat, understanding what he was trying to ask. Could Ardmore be involved? Could Collins and Alec be working with him after all?
“I don’t know,” I said in a small voice, the doubt and guilt over our potential culpability in trusting them nearly crippling me.
“No one mentioned explosives,” Sidney pointed out.
“That’s true.”
Because of Lieutenant Harlow and what we’d learned from his friends, we’d been assuming Ardmore was planning something involving large munitions. But what if the fulminate of mercury had merely been intended for gun cartridges?
I didn’t voice these worries aloud. There was no need to. Sidney’s fraught silence told me he was nursing them himself. But all the same, my gut was telling me that Ardmore hadn’t played any part. It simply wasn’t his style.
However, it was typical of the Squad’s operations, if on a far larger and thus more horrifying scale.
We knew Collins had informers within the Castle and other agencies.
His own intelligence agents interacted directly with their British counterparts, seemingly without them even realizing it.
We’d seen them ourselves in Kidd’s Back and Rabbiatti’s saloons—favorite haunts of British intelligence officers.
So it was entirely feasible that Collins had been able to discover where they lived and plan synchronized assassinations.
Considering all this, there didn’t seem any reason why they would have worked with Ardmore.
Not when he posed such a risk. Not when he would have wanted to be in control.
I couldn’t see Collins or the IRA ceding that to him.
And I didn’t want to believe that my trust in Alec had been so disastrously misplaced.
Not after everything we’d been through together.
As we drew nearer to Dame Street, the lanes became choked by traffic.
Be it cab, sidecar, cart, or bicycle, every conveyance seemed to be aiming for the same destination we were.
My eyes widened in shock as I realized they were all filled with agents, the military, and their wives, all seeking protection inside Dublin Castle.
In spite of my own shock and revulsion, I couldn’t help but feel a reluctant sense of awe at what Collins had done.
With a small rebel force who were allegedly on their last leg, he had managed to surprise arguably the best-equipped empire in the world—one that had just come out on top in a globe-spanning war—with an attack so well-coordinated, so startling, and so brutally implemented that we were all running scared.
Having met the man, I felt I shouldn’t have been so astounded, but I was. I was astounded, and shaken, and questioning again where my allegiance lay. Especially witnessing the aftermath of the shootings.