Chapter 30 #2
In moments like this, I could see the statesman and the politician in him, though I also didn’t doubt his sincerity or the fact that he seemed to be highly aware of his own mortality.
It couldn’t be easy to live as he did, knowing the slightest slipup could spell his capture or death.
That he persisted even while believing he would likely die before the republicans’ aims were met was not only remarkable but courageous.
Though Alec tried to remain awake, I could see that he was fading quickly, and he needed his rest. It would take some time for his body to replenish the blood he’d lost, and he would be weak and at risk until then, even after his bullet wound healed.
I pressed one last kiss to his forehead, murmuring a benediction, before following Collins and Sidney from the ward.
“Is he safe here?” I asked Collins, anxious to know he would be given time to properly recover.
“Is anywhere safe?” he replied almost prosaically, before adding, “He’s safer here than anywhere else in Dublin. The sisters will see to it.”
I exhaled a long breath and nodded, for there was nothing else I could do. We certainly couldn’t transport Alec back to our town house unnoticed. We would simply have to trust Collins. It wasn’t the first time we’d been forced to do so. Our faith thus far hadn’t been misplaced.
Sidney and I were silent as we made our way by tram back across Dublin.
We’d not wanted to risk drawing attention to ourselves with the Pierce-Arrow.
Presumably, our thoughts ran along the same lines, though neither of us voiced them for fear of eavesdroppers.
The wind was too cold and the rain more like sleet, making it foolish to brave the top deck.
All of the enforced silence only made my emotions bottle up tighter, and I grew angrier and angrier until I could feel the heat of my rage rising in my cheeks.
“When do we meet with Willoughby again?” I growled as we strode away from the tram stop on Lower Baggot Street.
Sidney eyed me guardedly, correctly sensing my mood. “Friday.”
“Christmas Eve, then? Perfect,” I bit out, meaning it. I would already be cross that day at having to miss my family’s traditions. Though attending church services in my home parish admittedly had a different feel since I’d been shot in one of the chapels the previous year.
“We’ll need to proceed with care,” Sidney cautioned. “If Willoughby is working with Ardmore, he may try to ambush us again.”
“Let him,” I snarled.
“Verity …”
“No, I mean it,” I asserted. “Let him. I’ll gut him. I’ll gouge his eyes out. I’ll … I’ll choke the life from him—”
“You’ll die from his bullet before you can get within ten feet of him,” Sidney snapped. “He’s not playing games anymore, Ver. He’s out for your blood. Our blood.”
“I know!” I rounded on him to snarl. I crossed my arms rather than allow him to take mine again as we continued down the pavement. “But you could allow me my dramatics for five minutes. The man deserves to be beheaded, drawn, and quartered.”
“I won’t dispute that,” he replied, hurrying to catch up with me. “But … dramatic allowances aside … we can’t lose our heads, Ver.”
It was only the torment in his voice that kept me from biting off another angry retort. Besides, he had a point. I’d lost my head outside City Hall. I owned that. As such, I needed to listen to cooler counsel.
“I won’t do anything stupid,” I promised him, threading my arm with his again.
He turned to look at me for a brief, intense moment before turning away, surveying the street in front of us.
“When you took off down that lane after Ardmore—” He broke off as if having trouble finding words.
“And when I saw him pull his gun and realized I’d never be able to make it to you in time …
” His throat seemed to close around this last statement.
I pressed nearer to him, able to recognize what he was trying to say, regretting causing him such distress.
“Don’t do that to me again,” he finally ground out in a tone that was part anger, part agony.
I tipped my head to the side to rest it on his shoulder, grateful the door to our house was now in sight.
Two days later, on Christmas Eve, Sidney and I decided to turn the tables on Willoughby by being the first to arrive at St. Stephen’s Green.
This was by no means a pleasant task given the chill in the air and the cool mist dampening everything.
Umbrellas were useless, as was the broad brim of my hat, for the rain didn’t so much fall as float.
I understood now why the Irish called this a soft day, for it softened everything around you, even the very air and light.
We huddled beneath the branches of an evergreen oak tree near the junction with several paths leading to the place where we usually met Willoughby, watching to see who might show up before him.
If he was working with Ardmore, and if they intended to ambush us today, there would undoubtedly be a number of men who would spread out to surround us.
In this position, we at least had a line of trees and the pond at our backs.
Fortunately, the weather had kept many indoors, so there were fewer people to monitor as they passed by, and only one who lingered for a short while on a bench nearby after fastidiously drying the wood where he intended to sit.
He departed with a young woman and child after they’d exchanged greetings, even swinging the girl up onto his shoulders.
I thought of Mrs. Boyle back at the town house, cooking up a feast for us.
We hadn’t replaced Ginny, so I knew it was extra work for her, but she had insisted.
I only hoped the gifts I’d purchased for her would convey my gratitude for all she’d done to care for us over the past seven months.
And of course, we had gifts tucked away for Nimble, as well, our steadfast manservant.
We’d also agreed he deserved a hefty raise in his wages for the coming year.
Life went on despite raids and assassinations and reprisals, despite failed peace initiatives and government declarations.
The Government of Ireland Act had received royal assent the previous day, finalizing the partition of the country into north and south, and granting the long-awaited Home Rule to the north-east that the Irish had won for themselves before the war and then been forced to postpone for the duration of the conflict and longer.
The great irony was that while the rest of Ireland had so desired it, the northeast had fought vehemently against Home Rule—threatening armed revolt against the British government, illegally smuggling in weapons, and even inspiring a mutiny by British army officers refusing to enforce it—and yet they were the only part of Ireland to be granted it.
I stamped my feet, trying to keep them warm, and then stilled as I caught sight of Willoughby ambling along the path.
If he knew that he was drawing us into an ambush, he gave no indication of it.
But then, he was also a very good intelligence agent.
As such, he was scanning his surroundings as we had and saw of us long before he reached us.
Once again, if he was surprised by our alteration in routine, he didn’t show it.
“Happy Christmas,” he declared reservedly, and Sidney responded in kind.
I, on the other hand, couldn’t find the words.
Not when I wanted to fly at him and shove him into the tree trunk, demanding answers.
He obviously sensed something was off when I didn’t speak, so I decided it was foolish not to have it out.
“Did you send us into an ambush?”
Willoughby’s shoulders straightened and his brow furrowed as if in confusion. “What ambush?” he asked, before glancing about him as if one was about to occur.
“Three nights ago, outside City Hall,” Sidney specified.
He shook his head. “I never said anything about City Hall.”
“It stands directly adjacent to the Castle and there was an informant who alleged that the IRA intended to blow it up.”
If Willoughby had set us up, he already knew all this, but he continued to stare at us in wary bewilderment. “And you thought it might be Ardmore’s doing,” he deduced hesitantly. “So you went to stop him?”