Chapter 31 #2
His head sunk down for a moment as he was clearly still reeling from this new information. “You understand that all of this sounds deranged? Gelignite? Dublin Castle? Lord Ardmore?” He sighed. “Not that I’m doubting you. I know you must have good reason to believe this is true, but … it’s mad!”
He sat back again, clasping his lower jaw in both hands as he struggled to focus. Then, he blinked and his head perked up.
“What?” I asked. “What have you thought of?”
“The men in F Company are proposing to throw a ball on New Year’s Eve.”
“A ball?” Sidney retorted in disbelief.
Maxwell nodded. “In St. Patrick’s Hall. They intend to take advantage of the fact that many of the senior officials are absent. They were selling tickets today.”
It was my and Sidney’s turn to share bewildered glances. “I thought those who live and work in the Castle have to undergo security checks and follow rigorous procedures?” I queried.
“They do.”
“Yet, I dare say the Auxiliaries intend to invite women to this ball,” Sidney pressed. “Women that only they—presumably—know anything about.”
“You see the problem,” Maxwell responded dryly.
“All it takes is for some members of the IRA to get wind of it and decide to don dresses and the entire building could be compromised. Especially with the company of Auxies guarding the place utterly foxed.”
Maxwell gestured with his hand. “Nevertheless, the brass is letting them go through with it. Or rather, they’re not stopping it. Which amounts to the same thing.”
“This is exactly the thing Ardmore must have been waiting for,” I exclaimed, nearly rising from my chair.
“After all, you’re almost expecting the republicans to try something.
What better way to pull off his plan and cast the blame on someone the government is already inclined to believe responsible.
Since the munitions raid some weeks back, they’ve known that the IRA has gotten their hands on gelignite and other materials.
The arrow is practically pointing to their door. ”
I turned to Maxwell, finding him nodding along with my reasoning, and I offered him a melting smile. “Captain, are you in need of a date?”
He blinked, seeming uncertain how to answer.
“Now, just wait a minute …” Sidney protested.
“It’s the best way to get one of us into the Castle to blend in with the other attendees,” I argued. “One of them may be responsible for lighting the fuse.”
He scowled. “You promised not to do anything foolish.”
“I’m not.” His words had roused my temper, but I kept it under control. “This is merely the best solution to our quandary. Maxwell will be with me.” I scrutinized my husband, most notably his height. “But you could never masquerade as a woman.”
His eyebrows arched in surprise.
“We’ll have to figure out another way to get you inside.” I didn’t mention Willoughby, but we would have to figure out a way to get him inside, too, because I doubted he’d willingly sit this one out.
This seemed to silence him, and I realized why.
“You thought I was leaving you behind?” I drawled sardonically.
“Well …”
I ignored him, imploring Maxwell, “We can’t just let Ardmore get away with this. Think of the lives lost.”
He opened his mouth, but I cut him off, already knowing what he was going to say. “You said it yourself. The entire thing sounds deranged. Do you honestly think anyone in charge will listen to us?”
He heaved a sigh. “No.”
“Then this is our only option.”
He turned to Sidney resignedly. “She may be right.”
“I know,” my husband grumbled. “But that doesn’t mean I’m happy about it.”
The next few days were busy with preparations, not only for New Year’s Eve, but the aftermath.
We’d learned our lesson from foiling the phosgene plot.
So our bags were packed and the Pierce-Arrow ready to go.
After ensuring she had a place to go, I’d also issued strict instructions to Mrs. Boyle to be ready to vacate the house at our signal.
However, the majority of my time was spent studying schematics of the Castle—that Finnegan had somehow obtained for us and which we promptly burned—and acquiring my attire for the ball.
I was conscious of the fact that my face had been plastered across numerous newspapers over the past six years.
This was a problem because we couldn’t have anyone recognizing me and gumming up the game before it had begun.
As such, I’d purchased a new gown, one that would conceal the sheath of my knife strapped to my thigh, and a wig, turning me into a brunette for the evening.
I’d applied cosmetics to try to alter the shape of my eyes and contours of my face, but I couldn’t be too heavy-handed.
This was Dublin, after all. But I’d also created one extra accessory.
Stepping out of the cab in front of Dublin Castle on Captain Maxwell’s arm, I adjusted the half mask I’d worn over my face, realizing my ploy was about to be tested sooner than I’d anticipated.
A trio of men and their ladies were also approaching the Palace Street gate, and one of them hailed Maxwell.
“Didn’t think you’d come, old man,” he declared with relish, though he was at least ten years older than Maxwell.
He was also already steeped in brine and on his way to being thoroughly pickled.
“And ye brought a girl.” His gaze landed intently on my face, discomfiting me, but before he could voice the question I could see forming on his lips, one of the ladies stepped up.
“Ooh! I love your mask,” she cooed.
“Thank ye,” I said adopting the accent I’d used as my alter ego, Dearbhla Bell, when earlier that year I’d portrayed an Irish lass searching for her cousin.
I swiveled my head left and then right as I peered through the holes of the bejeweled half mask.
“I know it’s not a masquerade, but it makes me feel rather mysterious. ” I lowered my voice. “And naughty.”
The young women tittered, and their escorts were now riveted as well. Sensing I had them intrigued, I reached into my handbag. “I brought extras, in case …”
“Aye, grand,” one of the women clucked, and they all hurried to take one.
Now I wouldn’t be so conspicuous since I wouldn’t be the only woman wearing one.
Maxwell had feared they would make me remove it, but I’d pointed out that the Auxies were already breaking so many protocols by bringing women into the Castle that I had a hard time believing they would balk at a simple mask.
It seemed I was correct, for no one said a word against it as we approached the gate. But there, my footsteps faltered.
During all my preparations, I’d forbidden myself to think about the fact that I was going to have to willingly walk back into the place where I’d been interrogated and tortured.
My body might have healed—even my eyelashes and eyebrow had mostly grown back—but the scars still remained in my mind.
When I’d returned on Bloody Sunday, the Lower Castle Yard had been overflowing with people in a panic and Sidney had been by my side.
But now it was dark and I was uncertain exactly what I was about to face.
Fortunately, Maxwell seemed to understand this, draping his arm around my shoulder and propelling me through the entrance when I was incapable of compelling my feet to take the steps themselves.
With each footfall it grew easier, with each breath my racing heart and thoughts slowed, until in short order, we were halfway across the Lower Castle Yard.
Even so, I stuck close to Maxwell’s side as we made our way across the gravel toward the gateway leading into the upper yard, mixing with another group of people to blend in.
A number of other ladies asked me about my mask, and I divvied out the remainder I’d brought with me.
The wig on my head began to itch, and I glanced around me, curious if O was about.
He would undoubtedly appreciate my disguise, much as he liked to don them himself.
Then again, it might not be outlandish enough for him.
Maxwell looked at me in question.
“Just wondering if Winter is here,” I murmured.
“He’s likely sorting through the cache of Collins’s own documents he confiscated during a raid earlier. Apparently, the woman who owned the flat they found them in was in the bath when they burst through the door, poor lass.”