She laughed. ‘I wonder what you say about the Irish.’
‘Nothing like that, I promise you,’ said Cribb. ‘You don’t look deprived of sleep, Rossanna.’
She coloured slightly at the compliment and pulled at the curl that lay against her right cheek. ‘I think my father must agree with you. After we were all disturbed, he detained me for at least three-quarters of an hour. Conversation with the hands is quite fatiguing at half past two in the morning, particularly with an agitated parent.’
So McGee had lectured her already, asked her to account for the man in her room!
‘Did you manage to reassure him?’
She paused. ‘Eventually. He really had no need to be agitated.’
‘I appreciate that, miss. It was all cry and no wool, as the devil said when he sheared the pigs.’
She put her hand to her mouth and giggled briefly. ‘Mr Sargent, you do say some droll things!’
At least she was showing no hostility. Far from regarding the night manoeuvres as evidence of treachery, she seemed encouraged by them. Whatever her father had said, it must have convinced her that the visitor to her room was there by choice. ‘It’s a very old expression, Rossanna. I was referring to the fact that the intruder, whoever he was, didn’t get what he came for.’
This provoked another fit of giggling. Cribb, who had not intended to be facetious, looked Devlin’s way and shrugged his shoulders. He was pleased to see that the Irishman appeared uncomprehending. If Rossanna had told him what her father had seen, he might have divined the truth.
‘Enough of last night, gentlemen,’ said Rossanna with a decisive change of tone. ‘I have an announcement of unusual importance to make. You will know that when my father arrived in London last year, it was to set in motion a plan so brilliant in conception that the Revolutionary Directory of Clan-na-Gael agreed to make available enough of the Skirmishing Fund to cover all our expenses for an indefinite period. A party was selected from the most experienced agents in America, each chosen for the special contribution he could make to the project. The most ingenious arrangements were devised to introduce these men into Britain without arousing the suspicions of the Secret Service. For reasons of security, only one member of the party, my father, was entrusted with the full knowledge of the plan, and he was its architect. The rest of us have had to be content to wait until our contribution was required. And stage by stage it has taken shape before our eyes. Of course, there have been setbacks, as there are in the execution of any project so beset with dangers. My father’s dreadful accident was the first, but we overcame it, and the rest-the loss of Tom Malone and the harassments from the Special Irish Branch of Scotland Yard-were of little consequence by comparison, particularly as you arrived at so timely a moment, Mr Sargent.’
Cribb accepted this small bouquet with a nod.
‘Well, gentlemen,’ Rossanna went on, ‘let us be forthright with one another. We have all been waiting with impatience for the orders that will initiate us into the final mystery-the ultimate object of all our work. The preliminaries are over. We have collected enough dynamite to destroy any building in London. Your many months of labour in the workshops are complete, Patrick, and your team of assistants has been paid and dismissed. Father has told me that his hours of consultations of maps and charts have yielded the information he requires. Yesterday morning, gentlemen, two emissaries of the Revolutionary Directory arrived at Liverpool in the steamship Alaska. They are senior officers-not merely black-baggers. Their decision will give the final authority to the plan.’
‘The darling gentlemen!’ said Devlin with feeling.
‘When shall we see them?’ asked Cribb, with all the enthusiasm at his command.
‘Tomorrow evening. They have convened a formal meeting of the Clan. It will give us the opportunity of admitting you to our ranks, Mr Sargent. That is essential if you are to join us in the climax of our work. I assume that you have no objection to taking a solemn oath to devote yourself to the cause of a free Ireland?’
‘I’ll swear to anything, miss, if I’m paid for it.’
‘That isn’t what our visitors will want to hear, Mr Sargent, but Patrick and I understand the conditions of our arrangement with you, and as my father is proposing you, there should be no difficulties. However, he is most desirous that you should make a good impression on them. Coming as they do, fresh from America, they will not have heard of Tom Malone’s passing, rest his soul.’
‘Amen,’ murmured Devlin, nodding his assent like a man at a prayer-meeting.
‘It will undoubtedly come as a shock to them. Their first inclination might be to cancel the project.’
‘The buggers!’ said Devlin.
‘But we shall then tell them of the more than adequate substitute we have found.’ She indicated Cribb with a wave of the hand. He returned a modest smile.
‘And that is the juncture,’ she continued, ‘at which Father has decided you will do something that will leave no doubt in their minds as to your eligibility for the Clan.’
Cribb’s smile faded. ‘What’s that?’
‘You will provide a demonstration of your bomb-making skills. You are to use the time between now and tomorrow evening in constructing two infernal machines. We shall detonate one of them in full view of our guests in the most dramatic circumstances. It will reinforce all the fine things Father will have to say about your usefulness to the Clan. Isn’t it a splendid plan?’
Cribb took a fortifying sip of tea.
Before he could respond, Rossanna went on, ‘The second machine, which must be identical to the first, will be required later on. You shall have all the materials you need. Tell me, how much dynamite would you say is necessary to destroy a building of moderate size-say the size of Patrick’s workshop in the garden?’
Devlin was on his feet. ‘What the blazes-’
‘Don’t get so agitated, Patrick. I am merely providing Mr Sargent with an example. Well?’ She raised her eyebrows and looked in Cribb’s direction.
He tapped his nose knowledgeably. ‘Hm. It’s a brick building if I remember. Solidly constructed. Fifteen pounds of the stuff would certainly do it, though, and you might manage with less. It depends very much on where you place your charge.’
‘We shall come to that in a few minutes. Finish your breakfast, Mr Sargent, and you may then escort me into the garden. There is something I must show you. This is just the morning to be outside, don’t you agree?’
In five minutes, she was steering him determinedly into an area of the garden they had avoided in their previous walk, a wilder, more wooded part, where she had to lift her skirt to avoid entangling it in briars. Cribb picked up a stick, trimmed it and used it to beat away obstructions. When they had been going some hundred yards and the house behind them was out of sight, Rossanna gave a small cry of distress. ‘My skirt! It is all caught up on a beastly bramble, Mr Sargent.’
He turned from his beating and went to her aid. It was difficult to account for the accident. He had been most conscientious in clearing every hazard from the footpath, even to the point of slashing the stems of those liable to spring back. For all his efforts, she was undeniably held captive at the side of the path. ‘You should have kept to the centre, Rossanna,’ he told her. ‘Now keep still. It’s not the skirt that’s caught, it’s the petticoat. My word, lace as delicate as this wasn’t made for promenading in the woods, you know. If you’ll just move your foot a fraction to the right, then-oh, my stars!’
How it happened, he was not clear, because he was too occupied stooping to disentangle the lace from the bramble without damage. He was briefly aware of a quivering movement from Rossanna. She wobbled, changed her footing, reached out with her arms and then lost balance altogether, gently subsiding into the fronds of young bracken behind her. It would have been passably discreet if one of her hands had not caught Cribb’s shoulder and toppled him over in the same direction. His fall, too, was gentle. He found himself immersed in a sea of lace and white linen, his right hand in contact with a stockinged knee and the side of his face pressed against an area it did not take a C.I.D. training to identify as her bosom. In trying to extricate himself, he inadvertently brushed his left hand across a surface of smooth, warm flesh terminated by what could only be a garter.