Unlikely Traitors (23 page)

It was James’ behavior that both surprised and irked her—his chivalric need to look out for her on Lord Wrotham’s behalf seemed unduly paternalistic and she was not entirely sure how to respond as a result.

Having endured enough hardship for one trip, Lady Winterton left them soon after they disembarked from the channel ferry in Dover. She had decided to make her way to her family’s summer home in Sussex to recuperate for a few days before returning to her Kensington home. She left Ursula with a vow to continue to help as best she could, promising to contact her late husband’s family in Dublin to see what inquiries could be made as to McTiernay’s current whereabouts. Ursula was only too grateful for her help—though James remained as taciturn as ever in Lady Winterton’s presence.

“You could at least be polite to Lady Winterton,” Ursula admonished James after Lady Winterton had left them at the station.

“Giving advice on etiquette and decorum are we now, Miss Marlow?” James responded. Ursula felt her indignation rise. James never failed to make her feel as though she was standing on shifting sand—unsure what to believe, unsure whom to trust, and unsure why he continued to treat her with such a strange combination of affection and resentment.

“The last thing I need is to alienate one of the few allies I have,” Ursula replied. “Lady Winterton’s connections in Ireland may prove very useful in our search for McTiernay.”

“I know,” James admitted reluctantly before lapsing into a pensive silence that continued even as they walked along the train platform.

As the train for London was not due for another twenty minutes, Ursula excused herself. She caught sight of her reflection in the mirror of the railway station’s Ladies room and, even she had to admit, no one was likely to recognize her the way she looked at the moment. Ursula returned to the platform just as the train drew into the station. She hugged her coat in tight as she hurried to join James who stood on the platform, head bent, stomping a cigarette butt out beneath his boots. His blond hair dusty with coal and his coat worn thin at the elbow, he looked like a disgruntled laborer on his way home from work. But as he raised his head, she could see the military bearing—the rifleman he once was—and James seemed now, to her, to be a much sadder man than she had noticed before. He looked like a man tired of carrying the burdens of the past.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

“You still haven’t told me why Lord Wrotham got with McTiernay and the Count in December 1911,” Ursula said, once she and James had seated themselves in the second class train carriage. The morning train was almost deserted and they had the carriage to themselves. It was, Ursula reflected, the first time since that day at the Hotel Pariz in Prague that they had been alone.

“No,” James answered. “I haven’t.”

“Now Lady Winterton is no longer traveling with us, are you going to?” Ursula asked. She felt sure James had been holding back from answering her questions in Lady Winterton’s presence. He had certainly insisted that she say nothing about the discovery of Lord Wrotham’s field book or the nature of his missions to Germany and, until now, Ursula had complied with all his demands for secrecy and silence. Now she wanted answers.

James seemed to consider the question. The minutes passed before he stood up abruptly, locked the carriage door, and returned to sit beside Ursula. Only then did he begin to talk.

“My role,” he said, “has always been to assist Lord Wrotham with whatever inquiries he needed to undertake abroad. We were charged with finding out as much as we could about German military capabilities using Lord Wrotham’s business clients, particularly those in the shipping industry. I would also help undertake any necessary observations—on ship building, naval exercises and the like. All very gentlemanly on his account I must say, with me as the eyes and ears of ‘downstairs’ as well as his chauffeur. You’d be amazed at the things I was able to see and hear in other people’s homes, all because I was considered well nigh invisible as a servant.” James paused.

“Go on,” Ursula said.

“Two years ago Admiral Smythe asked Lord Wrotham about re-establishing ties with Fergus McTiernay. I knew a bit about his past at Balliol and in Guyana from the Admiral’s files but Smythe insisted he needed Lord Wrotham to put all that aside. He’d heard rumors that the Ulster Unionists had established a secret committee to buy arms and to plan a campaign of armed resistance should the Home Rule bill pass. They even had a man, Major Frederick Hugh Crawford, who was charged with importing arms and drilling volunteers.”

Ursula blinked rapidly.

“I see his name is not unknown to you,” James observed.

It was the name McTiernay had supplied to use against Christopher Dobbs.

Ursula nodded, her face tightening. “I have heard of him,” was all she would admit.

“Admiral Smythe’s concern was how the nationalists in Ireland were likely to react and what they were likely to do in response to this,” James continued. “So he asked Lord Wrotham to use his old college ties. Naval Intelligence wanted to know about any possible armament shipments and the like. But as you can imagine it took a great deal of effort for Lord Wrotham to convince McTiernay that he was the same man he knew at Balliol—they needed to work together to get to the point where both of them trusted one another once more. In December 1911, McTiernay asked Wrotham to help secure arms for the Irish Republican Brotherhood. He wanted to try to broker a deal with Germany to support an Irish Free State in the event of war with Britain.”

“By then McTiernay was convinced of Lord Wrotham’s loyalty?”

“Yes, though, you know, I never suspected that was in question—I think what happened in Guyana tested Lord Wrotham’s trust in McTiernay and the Count—not the other way round. At least that was my observation after having spent time with them all.”

“Tell me more about the meeting,” Ursula prompted further.

“The meeting at the Count’s castle was served multiple purposes—to try and assess whether such a deal was likely to occur, to identify who the major parties were, and to secure Lord Wrotham’s bona fides with McTiernay.”

“So what went wrong?’ Ursula asked.

“There was always a risk that someone would find out about Lord Wrotham’s ties with Naval Intelligence and that he and I would be exposed as spies. The British Government had made it quite clear that they would disavow all knowledge of our mission if Lord Wrotham was compromised. No one wants to admit that British agents are sullying their hands in the sordid world of espionage or that there is a risk of German agitation in Ireland—the Home Rule issue is fraught enough without the public fearing German involvement in a possible civil war.”

“Was there any indication at the meeting that the Count was going to betray them? Is that how Scotland Yard and the War Office found out? Clearly they believe Lord Wrotham was actually selling British military secrets and trying to stir up German involvement in Ireland—not to mention planning to assassinate members of the royal family.”

“That was just the Serbians’ idea of a joke,” James said.

“The Serbians?” Ursula queried.

“Don’t ask…” James replied. “Their presence was somewhat of a mystery—but it was certainly unrelated to anything McTiernay was hoping to plan with the Count.”

“But I still don’t understand why members of Naval Intelligence won’t explain Lord Wrotham’s real mission to Scotland Yard—”

“As I said they warned Admiral Smythe and Lord Wrotham that they would wash their hands of the whole affair…”

Ursula bit her lip—surely there must be more to it than that? Would the British government really disavow all knowledge of such a mission?

“You still haven’t said how you think they found out about the meeting,” she reminded him.

“I don’t know how anyone found out—the other main witness in the case, Padraig O’Shaunessy, was with McTiernay at the meeting, but I don’t know why he turned informer—he was little more than a paid minion.”

“Do you think Lord Wrotham suspected the Count or this man O’Shaunessy even then—is that why he buried his field book?”

“Whatever the reason, he didn’t want anyone to find it. That’s why I retrieved it—I was worried there was the always the possibility of scavengers finding it after the fire and turning it over to the highest bidder.”

Ursula bit her lip. “I assume McTiernay’s next target will be this man O’Shaunessy.”

“Probably,” James conceded. “At the meeting McTiernay had no qualms about killing two of his own men suspected of Unionist involvements—he’s certainly not going to hesitate now.”

Ursula opened her mouth to speak—tempted to tell James about McTiernay’s man and the information he had given her to use against Dobbs’, but something held her back. She suspected that if she was to have any chance of speaking to McTiernay, of getting to the real truth behind all that had happened, she would have to maintain her silence.

“When I heard of Lord Wrotham’s arrest,” James said. “I initially thought that it was just someone at the meeting who had betrayed him—someone who had no idea what his real mission was. But with all that has happened since and Admiral Smythe’s disappearance and murder…none of it makes any sense to me. I fear, as Lord Wrotham suspects, that there’s another ‘game’ in play at the moment. One of which we know very little.”

“Do you think it was McTiernay who discovered the truth about Lord Wrotham’s association with Naval Intelligence?”

“That doesn’t make sense to me. If he suspected Lord Wrotham he would have killed him immediately—he would have no interest in an arrest or a trial.”

Ursula fell silent. She was trying to make sense of all the pieces of evidence she had uncovered thus far but none of created a complete picture, certainly not one consistent with what she knew of the men involved.

James tapped his fingers on the leather train seat. “Tell me,” he asked slowly, as if considering things further. “Where does Chief Inspector Harrison stand on the investigation into Lord Wrotham?”

Ursula licked her lips before replying. “I’m not entirely sure. I think he’s torn. He clearly has a deep regard for Lord Wrotham—and a sense of obligation to him—but at the same time he’s rattled by the evidence. I think he might believe Lord Wrotham capable—”

“Of treason?” James interjected.

“Of almost anything,” Ursula responded bleakly.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHESTER SQUARE, BELGRAVIA

The pounding on the front door woke Ursula in the early hours of the following morning. She rolled over in bed and looked at the clock beside her bed. It was not yet six o’clock and the house was still dark.

The hammering below continued and Ursula slipped on her silk dressing gown groggily. She encountered Biggs on the stairs.

“What on earth is happening?” she asked.

“I believe it is Chief Inspector Harrison,” Biggs replied calmly. “Shall I open the door?”

Ursula tied the tasseled silk belt around her tightly. “I think you’d better, before he forces his way in,” she said. “Oh, and go tell James after you’ve let them in—he’d better know that Harrison’s here.”

“Yes, Miss,” Biggs replied as he turned to make his way down the stairs.

Ursula was halfway down when Biggs opened the door to admit Chief Inspector Harrison and three other police constables.

“Really sir,” Biggs admonished Harrison, pulling his own tartan wool dressing gown in close around his elderly frame. “Ladies should never be disturbed before ten o’clock.”

“Where is she?” Harrison demanded, before he caught sight of Ursula on the stairs.

Harrison thrust a piece of paper at Biggs, his eyes never leaving hers. “I have a warrant to search the premises,” he said.

“A warrant?” Ursula said with surprising calm. “How very dramatic of you. I suggest we at least pretend to be civilized human beings and discuss this in the front parlor.” She walked down to the foot of the stairs. “Could one of your constables kindly close the front door before
all
the neighbors are disturbed.”

Ursula turned to Biggs. “Perhaps you should warn everyone,” she said with deliberate emphasis, “that police constables may soon be searching their rooms.”

“Of course, Miss. Should I offer our guests any refreshment?”

“No,” Ursula replied. “After I’ve spoken with my solicitor, I doubt they’ll be staying long.” She reached the foot of the stairs and drifted past Harrison, her silk dressing gown floating behind her as she walked.

“I do have a warrant,” Harrison said as he accompanied her into the front parlor. His expression was one of barely restrained fury. Ursula had never seen him so discomposed before.

“So you say—but to what purpose?” Ursula asked. She was surprised by her own self-control. She and James had arrived home the previous afternoon and she still felt groggy and irritable from lack of sleep.

“Late last night Lord Wrotham was supposed to be transferred from Brixton to Strangeways prison in Manchester. He never arrived.” Harrison’s eyes drilled into hers as he spoke.

“What do you mean?” Ursula asked slowly.

“I mean we were moving him because of fears for his safety—and now he has disappeared.”

Ursula was still confused. “I don’t understand…” she said

“The two policemen escorting him are dead and the police motorcar was dumped about three miles down the road. Witnesses reported seeing armed men in the area but as it all occurred under the cover of darkness no one can be sure what happened.” Harrison’s eyes flashed angrily as he spoke—he was having difficulty restraining himself.

Ursula felt the blood drain from her head and her face as a cold, numbness spread throughout her body.

“Do they know if he’s alive?” Ursula asked hoarsely. She could think of nothing but McTiernay’s mocking smile in the foyer of the Hotel Pariz, and the deep, dark pool of blood she saw in the doorway to Count von Bernstorff-Hollweg’s room.

She raised her hand to her throat.

“Damn it woman, what did you do?!” Harrison demanded.

Ursula took a step back, recoiling from his anger. “You don’t seriously think?—”

“I want to know where the bloody hell he is!”