Betrayal at Lisson Grove

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 have 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