Chapter 29 #3
I unwound the scarf I’d draped around my neck and pressed it to the wound, attempting to stanch the bleeding. He groaned again in response, seeming to regain some of his wits. “Bloody hell, Verity! Do you have to press so hard?”
“Yes!” I searched his face, terrified by the sheen of his skin. How much blood had he lost? Was he bleeding from his back as well as the front?
“This is the second time I’ve taken a bullet for you,” he quipped weakly.
I could have argued that the first time had not been for me, that he’d been a victim of circumstance, but now was not the time. Sidney and the three men who’d followed Alec, presumably members of the IRA or perhaps Collins’s Squad, gathered around us.
“The Auxies are comin’,” one of the men warned. And indeed, I could hear shouts and whistles, as the Crown Forces began to move outward from the Castle toward the sound of the gunshot. No wonder people were running now, fleeing their approach. “You need to go,” he urged.
“They can’t find him!” I pleaded in panic, perfectly aware of what would be done to him if they realized who he was. They would show no mercy to a traitor.
“Aye, we’ve got him,” the man assured me.
“They can’t take him!” I stated again, just in case he hadn’t understood.
“Go, Verity,” Alec told me. “They can’t find you either.”
I resisted a moment longer, even as the three men began to hoist Alec to his feet. It took Sidney to pull me away. “Come on!”
By that point, the Crown Forces were already beginning to advance down the lane.
He grasped my hand, tugging me toward the alley from which the motorcar had emerged.
“Run!” he ordered. We sprinted down the short expanse to the next street over and then veered toward Essex Street and the river.
Fortunately, our bicycles were where we’d left them.
We slung our legs over them, pedaling as fast as we could east along the river until we neared the O’Connell Bridge and turned southeast.
Once we were far enough away that we could no longer hear the sounds of pursuit and the Castle was far behind us, my legs and resolve started to give way to grief and fear.
Several times, Sidney had to berate or cajole me into continuing, telling me I could collapse as soon as we were safely home.
I stumbled through the garden door of our house with his aid and did promptly that, weeping unconsolably on the staircase landing between the servants’ quarters and the street level.
It took the combined efforts of both Sidney and Nimble to move me upstairs to the parlor.
“How could I have been so stupid?” I gasped on a hiccupped sob. My foolish decision to follow Ardmore had nearly cost me my life and could very well have cost Alec his.
Sidney draped a blanket around my shoulders.
“And I ruined our chances of foiling his plans for City Hall,” I blubbered. Though we’d not heard any explosions. Perhaps the mobilization of the Castle forces had hindered the plot.
“If there ever were plans,” Sidney said.
I looked up at him in confusion as Nimble approached hesitantly with a cup of tea. “What do you mean?”
Sidney took the cup from his valet and pressed it into my hands. “I mean that may not have been his true objective this evening.”
I blinked at him in shock, my stomach swirling at the sickening possibility that the rumor about an attack on City Hall had all been a ruse to draw us out. “You don’t think Sturgis …?”
He shook his head. “Remember, he heard of the alleged plot from O. Ardmore obviously knows you have an ear to the ground within the Castle. He presumed you’d hear of the plan from someone within the administration and recognize the possible implication.”
“Because of Willoughby.” He had been the other critical part of the equation. Had his telling us that Ardmore’s target would be at a place of British power in Dublin all been part of the scheme? Was he still working with Ardmore?
My hands squeezed around the mug, welcoming the burn of the hot porcelain against my fingers as I considered the possibility. “If Alec dies …?” I couldn’t finish the sentence. Sorrow spiked through me, cold and piercing.
Sidney wrapped his arm around me. “Don’t think about it.”
I turned to him in desperate bewilderment. “But he might die. Because of me.”
He opened his mouth as if to argue, but I wouldn’t let him.
“Because of me!”
A furrow formed between his brows. “Because of Ardmore. He fired the bullet.”
“Because he was aiming at me.”
He jostled me, sloshing hot tea over the sides of the cup onto my fingers. “Stop! You’re doing the exact thing you ordered me not to do. Taking responsibility for the actions of others.” He scowled. “So you made a mistake in chasing after him. You didn’t pull the gun. You didn’t shoot Xavier.”
Nimble handed me a handkerchief to sop up the tea. “He’s right, ma’am,” he told me gently. “If war taught me anything, ’tis that life gives ye enough regrets. Ye needn’t borrow more.”
I supposed I couldn’t argue with that. Not without being a shrew. But I couldn’t stop the tears from falling or fear from turning my heart to lead.