Will Thomas - To Kingdom Come

I began going through drawers, all the while keeping a sharp ear out for someone on the stairs. A chest contained only clothes. I looked through it swiftly. There was nothing concealed under her garments, save a lilac-scented sachet. In a small, white desk with Queen Anne legs, I found her correspondence, along with her own stationery and ink. She kept up with a few friends she had known in school. One had married and was living in Cork, and another was a servant to an English family in Londonderry. Just when I was sure that my suspicions were groundless and the most secret thing she owned were merely her undergarments, I found a small wooden box on a shelf, and it was locked.

There were hairpins on her nightstand, and almost without thinking, I bent the end of one over my thumbnail, then inserted it into the lock. After a few frantic twists, the lock sprung open. There were letters inside. I read over one feverishly, knowing I might be discovered.

Maire, it has been too many days since my eyes feasted upon your beauty. I count the hours …

My eyes flew to the next one.

Maire, having just come from walking with you, I wanted to set down the impressions I have …

Love letters. Unsigned and undated. Who could have written them? Well, of course, anyone could; she was a rare beauty. But who had? Was it Willie? A secret lover, perhaps, or an old flame? I scarce knew. I got to the bottom of the stack of letters and found jewelry; a coil of pearls, a diamond broach, and a pair of opal earrings. Who had given these to a poor Irish girl?

My mind gave a sudden leap. Was it Dunleavy? He was old, but such things had happened before. Was he out of pocket because he lavished jewelry on Maire?

I shouldn’t jump to conclusions, I told myself. The jewels could have been handed down from her mother, and the letters … well, any pretty girl over twenty must have a boxful. Then, I reached the final letter and saw the inscription at the bottom. I locked the box once more, pocketed the hairpin, and left the room.

I wanted to sprint down the stairs, to fly, to slide down the banister, anything to get me down as quickly as possible, but I couldn’t attract attention. It required all I possessed to come down the steps at a sedate pace. I wandered into the parlor, still holding my head.

“I say, Miss O’Casey, I wonder if I might trouble you for a cold cloth for my head?”

“I do hope you are not catching a fever, Mr. Penrith,” the girl said, coming up and placing the back of her hand against my forehead. If I was feverish, it was more to do with the news I had to impart to Barker than any feigned illness. “A slight one, perhaps. I’ll get that cloth for you.”

She left the room and I moved over to her desk, where Barker was seated. He sensed I had something to tell him.

“Letters,” I whispered. “Love letters. A stack of them, along with jewelry. Expensive jewelry, if I am any judge. And you can’t imagine who sent them.”

“Tell me,” Barker murmured.

“Seamus O’Muircheartaigh.”

Barker suggested that miss O’Casey brew a cup of tea for me, and while I sat and sipped, making small talk with the girl and feigning a headache, he flew up the stairs to the box and read her private correspondence. Normally, of course, doing so would be an unconscionable act, but then most girls did not receive declarations of love from dangerous criminals. Even then, talking with beautiful and wholesome Maire, I could not picture her with the hard, dry Mr. O’Muircheartaigh, who, for one thing, was almost twice her age.

I used Barker’s diversion, and asked her to show me the Gaelic book she was using, but what I really wanted to do was to talk to her about what had happened at the lighthouse. Though it had only been one kiss, I felt betrayed. Willie Yeats was one thing, but that chilling fellow I’d met at Ho’s was quite another.

“You are not paying attention, Mr. Penrith,” she admonished lightly.

“Call me Thomas, Miss O’Casey. You must forgive me. This headache has put me out of sorts. Tell me more about your lessons.”

Twenty minutes later, I found Barker standing in the window of our room, absently playing with one of his razor-edged coins, deep in thought. There was a smile on his lips. He had discovered an enemy’s weakness, and was considering how to turn it to his advantage.

“Who would have thought it?” my employer murmured. “I would stake my life these letters are genuine. You missed an envelope at the very bottom of the stack. The letters are half a year old, from when the O’Caseys were living in Dublin. Seamus makes mention of meeting her at the O’Connell Bridge. He must have been seeing her in Ireland.”

“How did they meet?”

“He doesn’t say. Presumably, there must be some meeting of the I.R.B. factions. As far as I know, that is their only link.”

“I cannot imagine she would encourage his suit,” I said a trifle bitterly.

“I did not see any indication from the letters that she had. Twice he accuses her of being cool, and he only hints at a possible proposal of marriage, as if testing the waters. To be truthful, I hardly thought O’Muircheartaigh had it in him to play the romantic swain. Miss O’Casey has nothing to offer in the way of money or influence, yet he speaks of her as his equal. I can assume she has her beauty to recommend her.”

“Oh, she has that,” I stated.

“You should know, you rascal,” he said. “But what does she possess that O’Muircheartaigh might want?”

“She possesses a presence and a keen mind,” I said. “She has the ability to put an entire group of men in their place and to have them do her bidding. Surely that is enough, even for someone like him. Do you think him involved in this? Is he the faction’s true leader?”

“One should never underestimate him. He is as silent and lethal as a poisonous spider. Think of this, lad: if a man speculates and is able to cause a war between two nearby countries, he could invest heavily in munitions and arms on both sides and make a fortune. Even if it never came to that, the mere rattling of sabers would be enough to drive the stock exchange prices through the roof.”

“Good heavens!” I said.

“Exactly. O’Muircheartaigh would be the next Rothschild. I believe the possibility of hundreds of deaths on both sides because of an Irish insurrection means little to him. We must watch Miss O’Casey a little more closely. She could be the conduit for messages from London.”

That gave me much to think upon, and none of it pleasant. I had been impressed by Maire’s purity, as well as her beauty, and to think that she might be receiving secret messages with plans and monies quite sullied my belief in her. Perhaps Barker was right, and she was not the girl I thought her to be.

Dunleavy came to dinner, annoyance and petulance on his face. The money from the Irish Americans was being delayed, as Barker and I already knew, and he could not be certain it would arrive in time. I thought he was working himself into another drinking bout, and I was correct. He was churlish when none of us seemed disposed to drink with him. Finally, Fergus McKeller arrived, and we spent the evening watching Dunleavy alternate between complaining about his past failures and crowing about his future successes. Between that and the news about Maire, I went to bed feeling very low indeed.

Barker was standing at the window of our room. Something had awakened him, if he had been asleep at all. It was past ten, and we’d been upstairs for about half an hour.

“What is it?” I asked my employer.

“Someone has just left the house. It appears to be your Miss O’Casey. Throw some clothes over your nightshirt, and hurry.”