Chapter 26
“I prefer the restaurant,” I told Wick flatly as Sidney and I approached where he stood in front of one of the Custom House’s tall pillars.
Though I’d viewed the massive neoclassical building built in Portland stone with a dome at its center from across the river—it was difficult to miss—this was the first time I’d seen it up close.
It stood along the quay near the mouth of the Liffey between the old dock and the elevated railway bridge.
I imagined the racket that ensued every time a train bound for or departing from the Tara Street Station clattered past.
“Aye, well, I do, too,” Wick admitted gruffly as he turned up the collar of his coat against the chill. “But my preference for it hasn’t gone unnoticed, and I’d rather not bring trouble to the owner’s doorstep.”
There was no need for him to spell it out further, not given the Crown Force’s hostile treatment of the press. The newspaper Wick worked for was one of a few still daring to openly defy the government, and I suspected it was only a matter of time before their offices received an unpleasant visit.
“Step under this arcade,” Wick urged, moving away from the central columns. “It blocks some of the wind comin’ off the river.”
“Where are the guards?” Sidney asked, gazing up and down the expanse of the quay and the long portico lined with arches under which we stood.
“Aye, ye think they’d have at least a few posted here.
” The building did house government offices.
“And I reckon they do, but they’re few and far between.
Nothin’ like at the Castle or now even in London.
Word is that barricades have been erected at the entrance to Downing Street, and the House of Commons and all government offices are now bein’ staffed with patrols.
” He glanced behind him and upward at the main facade of the building.
“I suppose they don’t believe this’ll be targeted. ”
“You sent for us?” I prompted when he fell into a silent reverie.
He blinked twice, his expression sobering.
“Aye. I told ye I’d be after lookin’ into Ardmore’s past to see if I could find anything interestin’.
Well, I didn’t have much time look myself, but”—he reached into his pocket, extracting a piece of paper—“I did manage to locate a former nursemaid of his. She was hired by his grandparents and is seemingly the last living member of that household. She lives in Finglas, so I don’t know if it’ll be much use to ye, but here’s her name and address. ”
I accepted the paper with my thanks, uncertain myself if speaking to her would prove beneficial or even necessary, but I was grateful to have her name, nonetheless.
He peered down the arcade toward the sound of voices, but they didn’t appear to be paying any attention to us.
“I also told ye I had a colleague who covered the Harlow murder. Neither of us is much in the office, but I managed to bump shoulders with him yesterday.” Wick rocked back on his heels.
“He says there was a witness, one the military police dismissed.”
“Who?” Sidney asked eagerly.
“A shopkeeper whose business abuts the Forty Steps. Apparently, he’s complained more than once about the disreputable behavior in the alley.
He told my colleague he’s perfectly aware that the Castle finds him to be a pest and so is dismissive of anythin’ he has to say because they don’t want to reprimand their own troops.
But he’s certain of what he saw from his shop window while closing up for the night.
” He leaned in. “He claims that two men halted beneath the streetlamp at the entrance to the Forty Steps, and that they were bickerin’, albeit in a civilized manner.
Says he mighta turned away and not paid them another mind, but that one of the men’s hats blew off and while the other man bent to retrieve it, a look entered the first man’s eyes that he could only describe as predatory. ”
Wick arched his eyebrows doubtfully. “Now, my colleague discounted this, as it sounds like the sort of claptrap we hear people make up all the time after the fact when they know a crime was committed. What is pertinent is that he got a look at the fellow. He says he had dead eyes …” This drew another scathing look to his face.
“But otherwise, a distinguished appearance. With pale gray hair and about a pound sterling-sized mole above his left ear near the hairline.”
I flinched as if someone had slapped me, almost unable to believe my ears, and then swiveled toward Sidney. “That’s Ardmore!” I lifted my hand toward my left temple beneath my hat. “He has that exact mole. It’s quite distinctive.”
“Then perhaps the chap’s description of dead eyes was accurate,” Wick quipped.
“Don’t forget predatory,” Sidney added, his gaze never leaving mine. “He’s gotten sloppy.”
I could hardly believe we had an eyewitness to Ardmore’s being there.
Though I worried that Harlow’s bribery of the second guard might muddy the waters.
Would Ardmore try to claim he’d killed him in self-defense?
If we could prove it was for Ardmore that Harlow had procured the gelignite and fulminate of mercury, and that he had nefarious intent for it, things would go smoother.
Still, this was a major step forward. One that would hopefully drive the final nail into Ardmore’s coffin.
Literally, if he was found guilty and hung.
“Can you give us the shopkeeper’s name?” Sidney asked Wick as he was already extracting a second slip of paper from his pocket.
“Don’t let Ardmore know about him,” he warned.
Otherwise, he would turn up dead before he could ever testify.
“We won’t,” I assured him.
He surveyed our surroundings again. “Now, I need to be off. I received notice from a source that there’s a peace initiative underway.
I know there’s been plenty of rumors about those, and plenty of inept attempts by figures without the clout or contacts to pull it off.
But word is, this one’s to be taken seriously.
” He gave me a wry smile. “We shall see.”
In the coming days, we would learn he was right.
Though most of the papers would be distracted by the Labour Party delegation to Ireland and the talks of a truce by the MP Arthur Henderson as well as a peace resolution published by the Galway County Council, it was another peace balloon that seemed to actually have a chance, for it had the ear of both the prime minister and the republican leadership.
The go-between was Archbishop Clune of Perth, Australia, the uncle of Conor Clune, the innocent man who had been arrested the night before Bloody Sunday and interrogated and killed alongside the IRA officers McKee and Clancy at the Castle.
Archbishop Clune managed to arrange a meeting with Prime Minister Lloyd George, and while expressing that many leaders within the Roman Catholic Church did not trust his sincerity in regard to Ireland had riled the prime minister, who claimed that no one wanted an honorable peace more than he did, he then asked Clune to go to Ireland and negotiate with the republican leadership.
Since de Valera was still in the United States, this meant Griffith, because he was acting president in de Valera’s absence.
Of course Griffith had been arrested, making the entire affair exceedingly awkward and questionable as to British sincerity from the start, but as with everything nowadays, we would simply have to wait and see.
The bruises on Wick’s face from his own interrogation had faded to a sickly yellow, but I was concerned by the fact he kept scanning our surroundings as if worried we were being watched. “Are you about to do something questionable?”
“It’s best if ye don’t know.”
I frowned in concern.
“I can’t just stop doin’ my job, Ver,” Wick retorted, his jaw hardening in defiance. “I won’t.”
I supposed I could hardly criticize, but I worried all the same. “Be careful. They might not be as … considerate next time.”
He didn’t miss my sarcasm, or my point. “I’ll be as careful as I can.”
By which, I realized, he was admitting he wouldn’t be careful enough for my liking.
Experience had shown that it was never good to be summoned to Dublin Castle, but at least this time that dread was tempered by the knowledge that C possessed documents that incriminated Lord Ardmore and consequently exonerated me of some of the things I’d been accused of.
The fact that we’d still not heard from London troubled me.
It had been nearly a week since Max had boarded the ferry, and Kathleen had warned me it could take almost as long to collate all the information in the documents.
I knew that the wheels of justice often turned slowly, especially when it was something like this, but I still felt uneasy.
We were ushered into Undersecretary Anderson’s office this time, which I viewed as a positive sign even when we were joined by O. Sturgis was still in England.
“Mrs. Kent,” Anderson said, rising to shake my and Sidney’s hands. “I understand I have the privilege of being the first to congratulate and to thank you properly in person.”
“For what?” I asked in confusion.
He gestured for us to have a seat on the sofa behind us.
“Cumming informed me of the cache of documents you recovered from the late Lord Ryde, along with his son.” He’d been in contact with C, then.
“They are apparently quite damning for Lord Ardmore and confirm he is of the character to attempt to have phosgene released on the unsuspecting Irish public, if not proof of it.”
O scowled. “I knew there was something off about him.”
It took everything within me not to counter this claim, considering how chummy the pair of them had seemed to be not long before.
His lips twisted in displeasure. “Though I don’t know why you felt the need to transport the documents to London when you could have turned them over to me.”