Betrayal at Lisson Grove tp-26 Read online

  ‘I remember that name,’ Charlotte agreed.

  ‘Naturally, but this was long before the scandal that ruined him.’

  ‘Did he have anything to do with what happened with the O’Neil family?’

  ‘Nothing at all, at least not directly. But the fire and hope of a new leader was in the air, and Irish independence at last, and everything was different because of it.’ He looked out of the window at the passing countryside, and she knew he was seeing another time and place.

  ‘But we had to prevent it?’ she assumed.

  ‘I suppose it came to that, yes. We saw it as the necessity to keep the peace. Things change all the time; it is how they do it that must be controlled. There is no point in leaving a trail of death behind you in order merely to exchange one form of tyranny for another.’

  ‘You don’t have to justify it to me,’ she told him. ‘I am aware enough of the feeling. I only wish to understand something of the O’Neil family, and why one of them should hate you personally so much that twenty years later you believe he would stoop to manufacturing evidence that you are guilty of a crime you did not commit. What sort of a man was he then? Why has he waited so long to do this?’

  Narraway turned his head away from the sunlight coming through the carriage window. He spoke reluctantly. ‘Cormac? He was a good-looking man, very strong, quick to laugh, and quick to anger — but it was usually only on the surface, and gone before he would dwell on it. But he was intensely loyal, first to Ireland above all, then to his family. He and his brother, Sean, were very close.’ He smiled. ‘Quarrelled like Kilkenny cats, as they say, but let anyone else step in and they’d turn on them like furies.’

  ‘How old was he then?’ she asked, picturing them in her imagination.

  ‘Close to forty,’ he replied without hesitation.

  She wondered if he knew that from records, or if he had been close enough to Cormac O’Neil that such things were open between them. She had the increasing feeling that this was far more than a Special Branch operation. There was deep, many-layered personal emotion as well, but Narraway would only ever tell her what he had to.

  She must remind herself that he had lost all he valued — not in material goods; she agreed with Vespasia that that to him was trivial — it was the loss of purpose, the fire and energy that drove him and defined who he was that most wounded him.

  ‘Were they from an old family?’ she pursued. ‘Where did they live, and how?’

  He looked out of the window again. ‘Cormac had land to the south of Dublin — Slane. Interesting place. Old family? Aren’t we all supposed to go back to Adam?’

  It was a mild evasion, and she was aware of it.

  ‘He doesn’t seem to have bequeathed the heritage to us equally,’ she answered.

  ‘I’m sorry. Am I being evasive?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Cormac had enough means not to have to work more than in an occasional overseeing capacity. He and Sean between them owned a brewery as well. I dare say you know the waters of the Liffey River are famous for their softness. You can make ale anywhere, but nothing else has quite the flavour of that made with Liffey water. But you want to know what they were like.’ He made that a statement.

  ‘Yes,’ Charlotte replied. ‘Don’t you need me to seek him out? Because if he hates you as deeply as you think, he will tell you nothing that could help.’

  The light vanished from his face. ‘If it’s Cormac, he’s thought this out very carefully. He must have known all about Mulhare and the whole operation: the money, the reason for paying it as I did, and probably that taking it instead of paying it as it was supposed to be paid, would cost Mulhare his life.’

  She was not going to keep on saying she was sorry for the pain, the loss, the dishonesty of it. There was nothing to add.

  ‘And he must also have been able to persuade someone in Lisson Grove to help him,’ she pointed out.

  Narraway winced. ‘Yes. I’ve thought about that a lot.’ Now his face was very sombre indeed. ‘I’ve been piecing together all I know: Mulhare’s connections; what I did with the money to try and make certain it would never be traced back to Special Branch, or to me personally, which in the knowledge of some would be the same thing; all the past friends and enemies I’ve made; where it happened. It always comes back to O’Neil.’

  ‘Why would anyone at Lisson Grove be willing to help O’Neil?’ Charlotte asked. It was like trying to take gravel out of a wound, only far deeper than a scraped knee or elbow. She thought of Daniel’s face as he sat on one of the hard-backed kitchen chairs, dirt and blood on his legs, while she tried to clean where he had torn the skin off, and pick out the tiny stones. There had been tears in his eyes and he had stared resolutely at the ceiling, trying to stop them from spilling over and giving him away.

  ‘Many reasons,’ Narraway replied. ‘You cannot do a job like mine without making enemies. You hear things about people you might very much prefer not to know, but that is a luxury you sacrifice when you accept the responsibility.’

  ‘I know that.’

  His eyes wandered a little. ‘Really? How do you know that, Charlotte?’

  She saw the trap and slipped around it. ‘Not from Thomas. He doesn’t discuss his cases since he joined Special Branch. And anyway, I don’t think you can explain to someone else such a complicated thing.’

  He was watching her intently now. His eyes were so dark it was hard to read the expression in them. The lines in his face showed all the emotions that had passed over them through the years: the anxiety, the laughter and the grief.

  ‘My eldest sister was murdered, many years ago now,’ she explained. ‘But perhaps you know that already. Several young women were at that time. We had no idea who was responsible. We were all mistaken as to the entire nature of it. But in the course of the investigation we learned a great deal about each other that it would have been far more comfortable not to have known. But we cannot unlearn such things.’ She remembered it with pain now, even though it was fourteen years ago. She had absolutely no intention whatever of telling him what those discoveries were, most especially the things she had realised about herself.

  She looked up at him and saw his surprise, and a gentleness that made her acutely self-conscious. The only way to cover the discomfort was to continue talking.

  ‘After that, when Thomas and I were married, I am afraid I meddled a good deal in many of his cases, particularly those where society people were involved. I had an advantage in being able to meet them socially, and observe things he never could. One listens to gossip as a matter of course. It is largely what society is about. But when you do it intelligently, actually trying to learn things, comparing what one person says with what another does, asking questions obliquely, weighing answers, you cannot help but learn much that is private to other people, painful, vulnerable, and absolutely none of your affair. Both pity and disillusionment can be much more painful than one has any idea, until you taste them.’

  He moved his head very slightly in assent; he knew it was not necessary to speak.

  For a little while they rode in silence. The rhythmic clatter of the wheels over the railway ties was comfortable, almost somnolent. It had been a difficult and tiring few days and Charlotte found herself drifting into a daze, and woke with a start. Please heaven she had not been lolling there with her mouth open!

  She did not yet know anything like enough about what she could do to help.

  ‘Do you know who it was at Lisson Grove who betrayed you?’ she said aloud.

  He answered immediately, as if he had been waiting for her to speak. Had he been sitting there watching her? It was an extraordinarily uncomfortable thought.

  ‘No, I don’t,’ he admitted. ‘I have considered several possibilities. In fact, the only people I am certain it is not are Thomas, and a man called Stoker. It makes me realise how incompetent I have been that I suspected nothing. I was always looking outward, at the enemies I knew. In this profession I should h
ave looked behind me as well.’

  She did not argue. It would have been a transparent and perhaps rather patronising attempt at giving comfort.

  ‘So we can trust no one in Special Branch, apart from Stoker,’ she concluded. ‘Then I suppose we need to concentrate on Ireland. Why does Cormac O’Neil hate you so much? If I am to learn anything, I need to know what to build upon.’

  This time Narraway did not look away from her, but she could hear the reluctance in his voice. He told her only because he had to. ‘When he was planning an uprising I was the one who learned about it, and prevented it. I did it by turning his sister-in-law, Sean’s wife, and using the information she gave me to have his men arrested and imprisoned.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘No, you don’t,’ he said quickly, his voice tight. ‘And I have no intention of telling you any further. But because of it Sean killed her, and was hanged for her murder. It is that which Cormac cannot forgive. If it had simply been a battle he would have considered it the fortunes of war. He might have hated me at the time, but it would have been forgotten, as old battles are. But Sean and Kate are still dead, still tarred as a betrayer and a wife murderer. I don’t know why he waited so long. That is the one piece of it I don’t understand.’

  ‘Perhaps it doesn’t matter,’ she said sombrely. It was a tragic story, even ugly, and she was certain he had edited it very heavily in the telling. It might be to hide a Special Branch secret, but she was sure that he was also ashamed of his part in it.

  ‘What do you want me to do?’ she asked.

  ‘I still have friends in Dublin, I think,’ he answered. ‘I cannot approach Cormac myself. I need someone I can trust, who looks totally innocent and unconnected with me. I. . I can’t even go anywhere with you, or he would suspect you immediately. Bring me the facts. I can put them together.’ He seemed about to add something more, then changed his mind.

  ‘Are you worried that I won’t know what is important?’ she asked. ‘Or that I won’t remember and tell you accurately?’

  ‘No. I know perfectly well that you can do both.’

  ‘Do you?’ She was surprised.

  He smiled, briefly. ‘You tell me about helping Pitt, when he was in the police, as if you imagined I didn’t know.’

  ‘You said you didn’t know about my sister Sarah,’ she pointed out. ‘Or was that discretion rather than truth?’

  There was a look of hurt in his face, instantly covered. ‘It was the truth. But perhaps I deserved the remark. I learned about you mostly from Vespasia. She did not mention Sarah, perhaps out of delicacy. And I had no need to know.’

  ‘You had some need to know the rest?’ she said with disbelief.

  ‘Of course. You are part of Pitt’s life. I had to know exactly how far I could trust you. Although given my present situation, you cannot be blamed for doubting my ability in that.’

  ‘That sounds like self-pity,’ she said tartly. ‘I have not criticised you, and that is not out of either good manners or sympathy — neither of which we can afford just at the moment, if they disguise the truth. We can’t live without trusting someone. It is an offence to betray, not to be betrayed.’

  ‘It is a good thing you did not marry into society,’ he retorted. ‘You would not have survived. Or, on the other hand, perhaps society would not have, and that might not have been so bad. A little shake-up now and then is good for the constitution.’

  Now she was not sure if he were laughing at her, or defending himself. Or possibly it was both.

  ‘So you accepted my assistance because you believe I can do what you require?’ she concluded.

  ‘Not at all. I accepted it because you gave me no alternative. Also, since Stoker is the only other person I trust, and he did not offer, nor has he the ability, I had no alternative anyway.’

  ‘Touche,’ she said quietly.

  They did not speak again for quite some time, and when they did it was about the difference between society in London and in Dublin. Narraway described quite a lot of the city itself and some of the surrounding countryside with such vividness she began to look forward to seeing it herself. He even spoke of the festivals, saints’ days, and other occasions that people celebrated.

  When the train drew into Holyhead they went straight to the boat. After a brief meal, they returned to their cabins for the crossing. They would arrive in Dublin before morning, but were not required to disembark until well after daylight.

  Dublin was utterly different from London, but at least to begin with Charlotte was too occupied with getting ashore at Dun Laoghaire, and seeing that she did not lose sight of the porter with her luggage, or of Narraway, to have time to stare about her. Then there was the ride into the city itself, which was just waking up to the new day, the rain-washed streets clean and filling with people about their business. She saw plenty of horse traffic — mostly trade at this hour; the carriages and broughams would come later. The few women were laundresses, maids going shopping, or factory workers wearing thick skirts and with heavy shawls wrapped around them, much as they would have been at home.

  Narraway hailed a cab and they set out to look for accommodation. He seemed to know exactly where he was going and gave very precise directions to the driver, but he did not explain them to her. They rode in silence. He stared out of the window and she watched his face, the harsh early morning light showing even the smallest lines around his eyes and mouth. It made him seem older, far less sure of himself.

  She wondered what he was remembering as he watched streets that must be familiar to him. How much of the passion or the grief of his life had been here? She was glad she did not know, and it seemed intrusive even to think about it. She hoped that she never had to learn.

  She thought of Daniel and Jemima, and hoped Minnie Maude was settling in. They had seemed to like her, and surely anyone Gracie vouched for would be good. She could not resent Gracie’s happiness, but she missed her painfully at times like this.

  That was absurd: there had never been another time like this. All the past cases and adventures had been in London, or very near it. Here she was in a foreign country, with Victor Narraway, riding around the streets looking for lodgings. Little wonder Mrs Waterman was scandalised. Perhaps she was right to be. Charlotte had no idea where she was, and not much more as to what possible use she could be, to Narraway or to Pitt.

  And Pitt was in France, pursuing someone who thought nothing of slitting a man’s throat in the street and leaving him to die as if he were no more than a sack of rubbish. Pitt didn’t even have a clean shirt, socks or personal linen. Narraway had sent him money, but he would need more. He would need help, information, probably the assistance of the French police. Would Narraway’s replacement provide all this? Was he loyal? Was he even competent?

  And worse than any of that, if he was Narraway’s enemy, then he was almost certainly Pitt’s enemy as well, only Pitt would not know that. He would go on communicating as if it were Narraway at the other end.

  She turned away and looked out of the window on her own side. They were passing handsome Georgian houses and, every now and then, public buildings and churches of classical elegance. There were glimpses of the river, which she thought did not seem to curve and wind as much as the Thames.

  She saw several horse-drawn trams, not unlike those in London, and — in the quieter streets — children playing with spinning tops or jumping ropes.

  Twice she drew in breath to ask Narraway where they were going, but each time she looked at the tense concentration on his face, she changed her mind.

  Finally they stopped outside a house in Molesworth Street in the south-eastern part of the city.

  ‘Stay here.’ Narraway came suddenly to attention. ‘I shall be back in a few moments.’ Without waiting for her acknowledgement he got out, strode across the footpath and rapped sharply on the door of the nearest house. After less than a minute it was opened by a middle-aged woman in a white apron, her hair tied in a knot on top of her head. N
arraway spoke to her and she invited him in, closing the door again behind him.

  Charlotte sat and waited, suddenly cold now and aware of how tired she was. She had slept poorly last night, aware of the rather cramped cabin and the constant movement of the boat. But far more than anything physical, it was the rashness of what she was doing that kept her awake. Now, alone, waiting, she wished she were anywhere but here. Pitt would be furious. What if he had returned home to find the children alone with a maid he had never seen before? They would tell him Charlotte had gone off to Ireland with Narraway, and of course they would not even be able to tell him why!

  She was shivering when Narraway came out again and spoke to the driver, then at last to her.

  ‘There are rooms here. It is clean and quiet and we shall not be noticed, but it is perfectly respectable. As soon as we are settled I shall go to make contact with the people I can still trust.’ He looked at her face carefully. She was aware that she must look rumpled and tired, and probably ill-tempered into the bargain. She had not a very flattering picture of herself in her mind. A smile would help: it normally did. But in the circumstances it would also be idiotic.

  ‘Please wait for me,’ he went on. ‘Rest, if you like. We may be busy this evening. Unfortunately we have no time to waste.’

  He held out his arm to assist her down, meeting her eyes earnestly, questioning, before letting go. He was clearly concerned for her, but she was glad that he did not say anything more. It had all been discussed. It was inevitable there would be times of terrible doubt, perhaps even times when she was quite sure they would fail, and the whole undertaking was completely irresponsible. They must be endured with as much fortitude and as little complaint as possible. She should not forget that it was his career that was ruined, not hers, and it was he who would in the end have to bear it alone. He was the one accused of theft and betrayal. No one would blame her for any of this.