Chapter 29
Christmas was fast approaching, but there seemed little to feel happy or festive about.
Not when the newspapers were reporting that the door to peace had closed and the conflict dragged on, continuing to escalate.
And not when Ardmore and the location of his gelignite remained elusive.
The latest development in the struggle between the British government and the Irish republicans was that the Auxiliaries and Tans had begun to lash captured Sinn Féin Teachtaí Dála—the equivalent of members of Parliament—to posts erected in their lorries as they careened around Dublin in order to deter the IRA from throwing bombs at their vehicles.
The sight of the terrified hostages and the leering faces of the Auxies, taunting the crowds to “bomb us now,” was not easily forgotten.
As for Ardmore, it seemed we were spending every waking hour—and even many while we should have been sleeping—trying to figure out his plans or where he might be hiding.
Hopefully, Sturgis had passed on our tips to the Castle and the appropriate authorities were following through with the searches in western Ireland.
Thus far, we’d heard nothing more from any of the administration, either about the intelligence I’d provided or on Ardmore.
In light of the lies I’d told, I’d not wanted to press my luck by asking.
Meanwhile, Alec and IRA intelligence were also coming up empty, and Willoughby continued to report no progress with the contacts he’d dared to approach.
While I appreciated the delicate situation he was in, I also found myself wondering if we’d made a mistake in trusting him.
For all we knew, he could be misleading us and stringing us along the wrong path.
It seemed unlikely given the risk he was taking in trusting us, but not impossible.
Sidney and I attempted to visit the nursemaid who had worked for Ardmore’s grandparents, the one Wick had told us about, but she’d not been home.
Or if she had, her granddaughter was not willing to grant access to her.
At least, not to two English upper-crust individuals in a fancy motorcar.
Given the current state of her country, I comprehended her distrust.
I was beginning to sink into despair that everything we’d gone through, everything we’d toiled and sacrificed for, would come to naught, and I could tell Sidney was in similarly low spirits.
Then, Willoughby sent us a missive, telling us that he’d cornered one of his contacts and had been able to drag a little information out of him.
The fellow had been more petrified of what Ardmore might do to him than Willoughby, but he’d admitted that whatever Ardmore’s plans were, they would happen in Dublin, near a place of British power.
That could be any number of locations, most of which would be heavily fortified, and thus unlikely targets unless he’d convinced a contingent of soldiers or policemen to work against their own side.
So when Sturgis made a passing remark at the theater one evening while a soprano was warbling her aria, its content struck me rather more forcefully than perhaps it would have otherwise.
“Yes, I heard about O’s informer,” he said, having turned in his seat to speak to a man who’d entered the box and stood behind us.
“Claims the Shinns intend to destroy City Hall tonight so the military can’t take it over.
Sounds preposterous to me. What with the might of Dublin Castle and all its guards next door. ”
Sturgis had mentioned to us weeks ago, following Bloody Sunday, that the government had decided City Hall was too close to the Castle for comfort, and they wished to confiscate it for the duration of the conflict.
Consequently, it had been raided earlier in December, and two city councilors had been arrested.
The next day a notice had been issued to formalize the government’s intention to requisition the building, citing the Defense of the Realm Act as the authority by which they did so.
Thus far, the Dublin Corporation seemed as if it had been playing for time, hoping to stave off the seizure as long as possible, but everyone knew it was only a matter of time before they were forced out.
Given this background information and what we knew from Willoughby, an unsettling suspicion began to form in my mind.
Sturgis might call the notion of the rebels destroying City Hall preposterous because of the number of guards stationed around the Castle, but the government had admitted that City Hall was a weak point in their defenses.
What was more, Ardmore had already probed the Castle’s deficiencies when he’d killed Harlow and managed to escape undetected but for the happenstance witness of a single shopkeeper.
It was possible that the gelignite and other materials had been smuggled into City Hall little by little.
Just as it was possible that Ardmore had convinced the Dublin Corporation to grant him access.
But most relevantly, Dublin Castle was the seat of British power in Ireland.
More than anywhere else on the island, it was associated with the tyranny and oppression of the British government over the Irish people.
If Willoughby’s contact had been telling us the truth, then there could be no better target, and the easiest way to attack it was through City Hall.
I excused myself as I rose from my seat, casting Sidney a look which I hoped he interpreted correctly. When a short time later he joined me in the corridor outside the box, I explained my suspicions, hoping he would contradict me. However, his grim expression only deepened my fears.
“Tonight? That’s what the alleged informer said?” Sidney repeated, glancing up and down the corridor to ensure we weren’t overheard.
“Yes.” I gripped his arm. “For all we know, it could have already happened.”
He shook his head. “Surely, they’d wait until after curfew. The Empire Palace picture house is just across the street. Too many bystanders could be hurt if they blew the place earlier.”
“But this isn’t the republicans doing the blowing up. This is Ardmore! And he doesn’t care how many innocent people are injured.”
He gritted his teeth. “Right.” His troubled eyes searched mine. “I presume you want to go there.”
“We have to stop him, Sidney. We might be the only ones who can.”
He heaved a resigned sigh, turning to urge me toward the staircase. “But first we have to change clothes.”
“There may not be time,” I argued.
He flicked a glance up and down my russet-red velvet gown, landing on the gold and diamond chain-link necklace at my throat. “It won’t matter how much time there is if his men spot you coming from a mile away.”
I had to concede he had point. “All right. But let’s hurry,” I urged unnecessarily, for we were already descending the stairs at a faster speed than would ever be deemed proper.
When we burst through the door to our town house twenty minutes later, it having taken far too long to hail a taxicab to take us to Upper Fitzwilliam Street, Nimble could tell something was wrong. He followed us up the stairs toward our bedchamber, waiting for instructions.
Though I’d not discussed it with Sidney, I trusted he’d see the wisdom in what I was about to do.
After all, we couldn’t do this alone, and I wasn’t about to make the mistake of relying on British Intelligence again.
Not after the debacle with the phosgene cylinders when we’d first found them.
Captain Maxwell with the Auxiliaries might take us seriously, but there was no telling if he was on duty tonight or if we’d be dealing with another commanding officer entirely.
No, better to go about this differently.
“Remove the drawer to the writing desk,” I instructed Nimble as I unclasped my necklace. “Written on the underneath side you’ll find a telephone extension written in pencil.”
Sidney, who had been keeping pace with me, turned in surprise as he pocketed his cufflinks and reached for his bow tie. But I refused to feel guilty for concealing this from him. Not when his ignorance protected him.
“Call it and ask to speak to MacAlister,” I instructed Nimble, referring to the name Alec used among the rebels.
For all I knew, it was his real one. “If he’s not available”—and he very well might not be—“I leave it to your judgment whether to ask them to pass along the message.” I yanked the feathered headband from my head.
“Tell him we believe Ardmore is planning to blow up City Hall. Tonight.”
Nimble stumbled to a stop as we turned the corner into our bedchamber. I poked my head back out, finding him still standing there wide-eyed. “Go!”
He complied and I joined Sidney in disrobing, grateful my gown had no buttons.
“What was that?” he demanded as he lowered his braces.
“Something Alec gave me months ago, swearing me to secrecy, and ordering me to never use unless the situation was dire.” My hands clenched briefly around the serge fabric of my split skirt. “I decided this was dire.”
Sidney was silent for several moments as we both focused on redressing. “I want to be angry about this,” he said as he stepped into his dark brown leather shoes. “But I realize that would be foolish.”
I looked up at him, not having expected to get off so lightly. He was dressed nearly all in dark brown save the paler brown shade of his shirt while I was attired head to toe in navy blue. I wouldn’t normally have chosen such a monochromatic outfit, but needs must.
“Thank you,” was all I said in response. That he held such trust in me was no small thing, and I would not take it for granted.