The Tick of Death

Sargent. You will oblige us now by taking Brother McGee upstairs, with the servant’s assistance. He is waiting in the hall, I believe.’

With a nod, Cribb took the handle of the wheel-chair and steered McGee out of the room. In the hall, the manservant came to meet him. Together, they carried the chair upstairs. McGee was pathetically light in weight. At the bedroom door, the servant indicated that he could put McGee to bed without help. Cribb passed along the corridor and quietly let himself into Rossanna’s room.

It would not have been wise to light the gas. He glided through the darkness until his knees came into contact with the bed. He whispered, ‘Rossanna. It’s me-Sargent. I’m going to untie you.’

She stirred, and he realised how close they were to each other. She murmured, ‘Michael.’

It was the name he had invented for his oath-taking. He had practically forgotten.

He sat on the edge of the bed and felt for her left arm. The knot that bound her wrist had tightened, but a few seconds’ work with his fingers succeeded in loosening it. He massaged her hand gently to restore the circulation, and then applied himself to the other knot, which held her right arm against the bars of the bedstead. This was more difficult, for it involved leaning across her body, but by hooking his right foot around the leg of the bed he contrived to maintain his balance while he worked at the knot. If he did come into contact with her person, it was the merest accidental touch of shirt and bodice and should not have prompted what happened next. The instant her right hand was released it snaked around his neck and pulled him firmly down towards the pillow. His right leg, still lodged behind the leg of the bed, contracted agonizingly. ‘It is a year since these lips touched another’s,’ Rossanna whispered passionately. She guided his face towards hers just as his foot regained its liberty. With a small groan of relief, he let his weight bear downwards and felt his mouth meet hers, partly open and returning the pressure he involuntarily exerted.

In cataloguing the various holds that can immobilise a man, manuals of self-defence without exception neglect to state that pressure on the nape of the neck by a determined woman in a horizontal embrace is almost impossible to withstand. Several seconds passed before Cribb was able to draw back from Rossanna. Then she said, ‘I shall not wait another year. That was exquisite, Michael Sargent, you impulsive man.’

Cribb, meanwhile, had retreated out of arm’s range.

‘Are you going to untie my ankles now?’ inquired Rossanna.

‘In a few minutes,’ said Cribb warily. ‘Keep your voice down. The servant is next door, attending to your father.’

‘What has been going on downstairs?’

‘They made me activate the bomb.’

She sat up in bed. ‘The second bomb you made? Did you-’

‘I had no choice,’ said Cribb. ‘They stood over me like prison warders. The clock is set for five past ten tomorrow morning. They’ve sealed the box and put it in the submarine boat. Devlin is packing the hull with all the dynamite left in the house.’

‘Then nothing can be done,’ said Rossanna. ‘And you promised me that Father would not die.’

‘I meant it. But first you must tell me the truth about him. Otherwise I can’t help him.’

‘What do you mean-the truth?’

‘The real extent of his injuries,’ said Cribb. ‘All this deaf and dumb talk between you is play-acting, isn’t it? He can’t communicate a word to you.’

‘What makes you say that?’

‘Listen, my dear, I’m sure of it. That night when somebody broke in downstairs, I came into your bedroom here, but found it empty. I got out through your father’s room, because I thought you might scream if you returned here and found me unexpectedly. And as I passed through, he watched me. His eyes followed me across the room. Next morning, over breakfast, you told us about the agitated state he was in for three-quarters of an hour after the disturbance, but you didn’t say why. You had your suspicions, but you couldn’t be sure, because he hadn’t told you. Even when we were alone, taking our walk through the woods, it took a tumble in the bracken to convince you it was me. I remember the words you used: “Then you did come to my room last night.” You mentioned hearing the floorboards upstairs creak as I returned to my room. If your father had been able to make you understand, Rossanna, you wouldn’t have needed creaking floorboards to tell you who your visitor had been.’

Rossanna released a long breath. ‘Very well, Michael. You’re a perspicacious man. I shall speak the truth. His injuries are far more serious than anyone but me has realised. His brain was irretrievably damaged in the accident. He cannot talk or communicate except nod and shake his head. He is like a child, capable of performing simple instructions, but he has lost the power of independent thought.’

‘And have you kept this from the others?’

‘I believe so. Certainly no one in America knew the helplessness of his condition. When I was summoned here after the accident, I was not only shocked beyond words by his injuries, I was frightened, Michael, terrified. You don’t know the Clan as I do. If they knew his brain was damaged, they would kill him. He has too many of their secrets. What use would it be to plead that he was helpless? And even if by some miracle they spared him, what future could there be? He was my provider, all that I had in the world. We should both be in the poor-house in a matter of weeks.’

‘So you decided to create the impression that he was still able to lead the dynamite party?’

‘What else could I do?’ said Rossanna. ‘I went through his papers and learned about the submarine boat that was to be constructed here. I found letters informing him that Tom Malone and Pat Devlin were sailing from New York with the Gaelic American Athletic Club, and would report here on arrival. They were bringing money, English sterling, enough to finance us for a year. I sent a trans-Atlantic cable in my father’s name, informing the Revolutionary Directory of his accident and stating that he had lost the use of his legs and the power of speech, but was otherwise unimpaired. With my help-and I knew that I was listed by the Clan as a patriot and a member of the Ladies’ Land League-he would carry on the work. It was confirmed by return that the arrangement was acceptable to New York. When Tom and Pat arrived I showed the cablegram to them, and they accepted me without question.’

‘Did you intend to carry out the plot exactly as your father had projected it?’

‘I did-until this evening. The only departure from his plan was that you replaced Tom Malone. How was Father to know New York would send us a man who panicked at the first whiff of danger? You can’t have a dynamiter with a nervous disposition-it’s a contradiction in terms. He would have killed us all sooner or later. I did the only thing I could. It’s still our secret, isn’t it?’ She stretched her hand forward and gripped his arm.

‘I didn’t see what happened,’ said Cribb. ‘Merely heard a shot, didn’t I?’

‘You’re a trump, Michael Sargent, a veritable trump, as I live and breathe!’ She tugged him determinedly towards her.

‘I’m sure you do, Rossanna,’ said Cribb, arresting the movement just as a strand of her hair feathered the tip of his nose. ‘But there are things I have to be clear about if I’m to help your father tomorrow. Is he capable of controlling the submarine boat?’

‘I believe he is,’ said Rossanna. ‘Patrick has always maintained that it is the simplest boat in the world to pilot, and of course they don’t expect Father to take the wheel until Gravesend pier is in sight. As I told you, he will carry out any simple instruction you give him. He is pleased to do things, like a small child. That’s why all this is so unfair. He doesn’t understand that they have persuaded him to commit suicide. What can you do to stop it, Michael?’

‘Leave it to me. Be on your guard tomorrow. They’re likely to take you with them, to interpret anything he might wish to say. But don’t imagine you can defeat them. Trust me-however black things seem.’

‘Very well, Michael. One thing baffles me, though. You are a professional adventurer, yet here you are siding with those who are in no position to reward you. Carse and Millar are the paymasters. By interfering with their plans, you sacrifice the fee they would have paid you.’

It was the sort of devastatingly practical remark women were liable to slip into a conversation when you least expected it.

‘Perhaps money isn’t my only consideration,’ suggested Cribb, lost for a convincing explanation.

To his immense surprise, Rossanna seized his shoulders and planted another emphatic kiss on his lips. Her hour or so strapped to the bed seemed to have left her in a demonstrative frame of mind. ‘That was beautiful to