Chapter 23 #3
If Ardmore gained the favor of the president of the Dáil éireann, who was still in the United States, there was no telling what he might be able to do.
“Why is he doing this?” Max wanted to know. “What does he hope to achieve?”
“Ultimately?” Willoughby’s voice deepened. “I think he means to seize control of the country under the auspices of the British government. Though he means for it not to seem like seizure, but rather benevolent design.”
“Then the gas and the explosives …?”
“Is merely to set the stage for him to make a very public appeal for peace that all sides will look favorably upon, particularly if he’ll take the helm.”
The wind rustled through the golden leaves still clinging to the branches overhead, an ominous accompaniment to this pronouncement. And quite at odds with the laughter that rang out from a cluster of young people gathered about fifty feet away.
Max shifted a step closer, prompting me. “Journal.”
I turned to nod at him, letting him know I hadn’t forgotten or failed to realize this was an opportunity to ask the questions we’d thought to never have the chance to.
“In September 1918, you were dispatched to Dublin,” I told Willoughby, making certain he understood we knew this, not that we were asking.
“And tasked with tailing the late Earl of Ryde.”
A wide, cheeky grin stretched across his face, taking me aback. “You did take Smith’s journal, then. And you managed to decode it.”
“He offered it to us,” I answered almost defensively, though I didn’t know what I had to feel apologetic about. Smith had lay dying from a gunshot wound Willoughby had given him.
“I knew about it,” Willoughby explained. “But Ardmore didn’t. So when he didn’t instruct me to collect it, I decided to let you have it.”
My lips pursed in displeasure. “Throwing us a bone?”
“You needed one.”
I ignored this. “Did you know what the journal said?”
“No, but knowing Smith, I wouldn’t be surprised if it was mostly chronicles of his exploits with prostitutes.” He wasn’t far off. “But apparently, he recorded something more edifying.”
Willoughby turned to Max, sobering. Clearly, he realized he was addressing Lord Ryde’s son.
“Yes, I followed the earl. But he only seemed to wish to visit the usual tourist stops. Trinity College. The old parliament house.” Which now held the Bank of Ireland.
“Dublin Castle. The Custom House.” He frowned in perplexity.
“Which is odd, because he visited the same places when Smith followed him during his visits earlier that year.”
“Was he carrying anything with him?” Max pressed anxiously.
“A leather satchel. But he carried it into all the buildings.”
Max turned to me, and I could sense his desperation.
“Did he remain at any of the places for a longer or shorter duration than the others?” I asked, hoping for some sort of inspiration.
Willoughby shrugged. “Not noticeably.” He glanced between us. “I gather you were hoping for more, but I’m afraid that’s all I can tell you.”
I nodded, wishing I could offer Max some sort of comfort or reassurance, but barring some miraculous inspiration, our search for the proof his father had hid was at a dead end.
“Where are you staying?” Sidney asked Willoughby as his eyes trailed over the other occupants in the park.
We had been loitering a long time and seemed to be garnering some glances from others strolling through the grounds.
At the opposite end of the green, I spied a trio of soldiers on patrol.
It would behoove us to move on before they either took notice of us or we were pointed out to them.
“With a friend from the navy. I’ll not share exactly where, if you don’t mind.”
Sidney seemed to decide his wariness was justifiable. “I assume you know where we live?”
Willoughby’s only response was a single arched brow.
“Right. See what else you can uncover about these explosives and where they might be stored. We’ll meet in St. Stephen’s Green near the bridge in a week’s time.”
“Make it a week Saturday.”
Sidney agreed. “You know where to reach us if needed before then.” He took a single step toward the man, using every bit of the inch greater height he possessed to loom over him.
“And don’t even think of double-crossing us.
There’s a reason I didn’t kill you in Belgium.
And she’s standing over there.” It was clear he was referring to me.
“If I’ve misread you and she were to come to harm because of you, there is no force on God’s green earth that would stop me from eviscerating you and feeding you to my cat. ”
I flinched. We didn’t have a cat, but the point still stood.
“Do we understand each other?”
I thought for certain that Willoughby would make some sort of wry quip, but he meekly conceded, perhaps comprehending the risks we were taking by not calling out to those soldiers and having him arrested on the spot.
I could only hope, like Sidney, that we didn’t later regret this.
But for the moment, Ardmore seemed to hold all the cards, and we needed as many allies as we could get.