My nose caught the scent of lilac water, and a small, pale hand settled a teacup in front of me. Something-instinct, if I had it-told me not to say a word to O’Casey’s pretty sister but to concentrate on the meeting. I knew not how she was mixed up in all this. Women and their intuition are a deep subject, and if it were possible that anyone might penetrate my disguise, it could be she. After all, hadn’t I read in the Carleton book that women could be as deeply involved in factions as men?
“Maire,” Eamon O’Casey said, and raised his chin in a dismissive gesture. She finished pouring the tea, and as she passed by Yeats, said something low in his ear. He trotted after her. Lucky beggar, I thought. I would have liked to follow her myself.
Colonel Dunleavy turned easily in his chair and regarded the young men about him like a benevolent father. His dove-gray suit, with its buttons of brass, gave him a military appearance, and with his white teeth and chin beard, he cut a commanding and persuasive figure. I could see how he was able to gather loyal men about him.
“Good afternoon, boys,” he said. “Did we emerge triumphant on the field of battle today?”
“We did,” McKeller piped up.
“Good. I told you these English lads didn’t stand a chance against you. You gentlemen are the tip of the spear that four million people in our homeland are holding. You are the best of the factions. But this shall be as nothing compared to the defeat we will deal the English government three weeks from now.
“London will be knocked off her pins. We will alert the other factions of the I.R.B. afterward, but by the time they arrive, we shall be in charge; if they wish to participate in the New Ireland, they shall have to line up behind us. I need hardly mention that the pacifistic, Queen-courting Mr. Parnell will not be receiving any post higher in our newly formed government than rat catcher.”
That elicited a few chuckles from the young men in the room. Parnell had little to recommend himself among this radical element of the Irish Republican Brotherhood. All the young men were leaning forward in their chairs, listening eagerly to the American colonel’s words.
They looked like soldiers, I thought, or worse, zealots ready to die if their plans did not work. Dunleavy’s impassioned remarks made the quest for Irish freedom seem like a search for the Holy Grail.
“I know you gentlemen have voiced concerns regarding the dynamite we’ve been using,” Dunleavy went on. “That is with good reason. It has failed to go off on several occasions, and Mr. van Rhyn, who is an explosives expert, has warned me that it is most dangerous. He has agreed to rid us of it safely and to provide new infernal devices. He assures us that he has made more nitroglycerin than Mr. Nobel himself. Normally he does not respond to requests to demonstrate his extraordinary abilities, but for once, for our eyes alone, he is willing to bend his rules. He and his assistant, Mr. Penrith, have promised to give us a show of their skills within the week.”
A show within the week? I couldn’t help but shoot a glance at my employer, but he was sitting coolly in his chair, fingers laced across his ample stomach, as immobile and aloof as a statue, save for the smoke rising from his pipe. I wasn’t sure I was proficient enough for some sort of demonstration, and I had no idea what kind of skills Barker possessed. Feverishly, I began going over the various formulas in my mind and what materials were required for each and just how we were going to obtain them. Dunleavy introduced my employer, who addressed the group.
“I am not a public speaker, gentlemen,” Barker said. “I am a simple bomb maker, with a knack for tinkering and a fascination with destructive force as a means of progress. Your country stands on the threshold of the modern world. Great changes will occur before the new century begins, and I have decided to stake my life and future upon Ireland. The age of swords and cavalry charges shall soon be over, and we shall be the ones to usher in a new era. I look forward to meeting each one of you and to working with you for the worthy cause of your country’s freedom. Thank you.”
“Mr. Penrith,” Dunleavy said. “Would you care to say a few words?”
“Me?” I asked. I hadn’t expected to give a speech. “No, sir. I merely wish everyone to know that Mr. van Rhyn’s goals are my goals. If he has thrown in his lot with you, I’ll give all that I have to help you.”
“Thank you, sir,” Dunleavy said, flashing a munificent smile upon me. “There you have it, boys. If Her Majesty’s government sees fit to ignore our little warning, as they appear to have done, then we have no choice but to teach them a lesson. Go on with your private lives and continue to train yourselves, but be ready within the week for a demonstration that would make the Prime Minister weak at the knees if he could see it.”
That was our introduction to the desperate men who had bombed London. They all stood and shook our hands, full of confidence in their leader and his plans. The two men O’Casey and McKeller had brought with them, Padraig and Colin Bannon, shook my hand before leaving. They were thin, tough-looking fellows in tweed caps, twins who smoked short clay pipes and spoke little.
“Glad you happened along when you did,” Fergus McKeller said, grasping my hand. His hand was like a vise, clamping down and beginning to crush mine. It was the sort of trick one saw in the school yard, but effective for all that. If I didn’t put an end to it, he would attempt it every time I met him. Luckily, Barker had shown me a trick or two. I reached across and casually pulled back on his little finger. It is the weakest part of the hand, with the tensile strength of a carrot. Evidently, McKeller agreed. He let go, gave me an evil grin and a wink, and went over to confer with his friend O’Casey.
“I’ll show you to your room, gentlemen,” Miss O’Casey murmured behind us, and my employer and I gathered our belongings and followed her up the stairs. She seemed a demure, proper young woman, but having led a bachelor’s existence in Barker’s household, I couldn’t help but notice the rustle of her dress and the gentle sway of her form as she climbed the staircase. I heard the Guv clear his throat behind me. It was a none-too-subtle reminder to keep my thoughts on the case.
Our room wasn’t Claridge’s, or even the Midland Hotel, but it was serviceable. It was a long room with two narrow beds, two chairs, a wardrobe, and a large bureau. There were feminine touches in the room, such as an embroidered coverlet. I hazarded a guess that the girl had made them all.
“You have no objection to my leaving the window open a little, Miss O’Casey?” Barker asked. “I prefer fresh air in the evenings.”
“Of course,” she said. It was my first chance to get a proper look at her. She was a beauty, with fair skin, lightly freckled across the nose, fine blue eyes, and a head of thick auburn curls. She wore a plain black dress with an apron tied around her waist, but even in severe clothing, she was still quite charming. In this somewhat shabby house, she had the kind of beauty society girls in London struggled hard for and paid fortunes to attain, and very rarely succeeded.
“And tobacco?” Barker continued. “May I smoke in this room?”
“Provided you’re not in the habit of falling asleep while doing so. I shall leave you to settle in.”
After she left, the Guv looked after her, and favored me with a cold smile. “I would say she is not the sort of woman to be trifled with,” he pronounced. “In her own way, she is part of the faction. There is a desk downstairs which is too dainty to belong to anyone else. On it is a Gaelic grammar book. She is part of the movement to return Ireland to its native language.”
“Why have we moved here, sir, if I may ask? I would have thought that you’d wish to stay close to the faction’s leader.”