Peter Lovesey - The Tick of Death

‘The Prince of Wales?’ said Devlin, half in horror.

‘Albert Edward, the heir to the throne of England,’ said Carse. ‘ “Bertie” to his friends, “Tum-Tum”, one is told, to his intimates. He is to be our victim.’

‘Magnificent!’ declared Millar.

‘A suitable sacrifice to the cause of republicanism,’ said Carse. ‘And justification for all our efforts. Perhaps you can now understand why there must be no possibility of failure. We must blow up the submarine and the pier with it.’

There was silence. Everyone was stunned by the enormity of what had been suggested.

After an interval, Rossanna said, ‘I should like to consult my father.’ She took McGee’s hands and engaged in what appeared to be an intensive bout of finger-talk. ‘Father praises the audacity of the plan,’ she presently told Carse, ‘but he still wishes to know how you propose to get the submarine boat into position.’

Carse nodded. ‘A reasonable inquiry. First, I shall put a question to Brother Devlin. I believe, sir, that you have piloted the boat on all its trials so far. Is that true?’

‘Yes,’ Devlin gloomily agreed.

‘And has anyone else accompanied you?’

‘The late Brother Malone, rest his soul,’ said Devlin. ‘And Miss McGee, and her father, on different occasions.’

‘Good. And is it a difficult manoeuvre to cause the submarine boat to dive and travel underwater to a stated destination?’

‘If you could see clearly under water, it would be child’s play,’ said Devlin. ‘The mechanics are perfectly simple. But the Thames is full of impurities, as you know, so we have to steer by coming to the surface at intervals. It’s a process known as “porpoising”.’

‘How appropriate! But the mechanics, you say, are simple. Once you had got within sight of the pier by means of porpoising, you could hand the wheel with confidence to any one of us for the last submersion-first leaving the boat yourself and swimming to a convenient launch-is that so?’

The persecuted look lifted miraculously from Devlin’s face. ‘Why, yes! Anyone could take the boat for the last few yards.’

‘Thank you,’ said Carse, with the air of a barrister who has elicited a vital piece of information from a witness. ‘And now I should like to put a point to all present. It is this: do you agree that the arrival of the Prince of Wales tomorrow morning on Gravesend pier presents Ireland with an opportunity unparalleled in its history?’

‘Jesus, yes!’ said Millar, leading the chorus of assent.

‘In that case, then,’ said Carse, allowing a little emotion to enter his voice, ‘is it too much to ask that one of you should volunteer to steer that submarine boat to its place below the pier, and so join the ranks of those who have laid down their lives for Ireland?’

‘The martyrs,’ said Millar with reverence. ‘Wolfe Tone, Thomas Russell, Robert Emmet-’

‘Stow it!’ said Carse, irritably. He looked hopefully round the table, but nobody was volunteering yet to swell the ranks of the martyrs. ‘It seems to me,’ he went on, ‘that this is an opportunity that might be seized by a patriot whose life in recent years has been wholly dedicated to the fulfilment of such a moment of history. I refer, Sister McGee, to your father.’

‘No!’ said Rossanna emphatically.

‘I should prefer to hear from Brother McGee himself,’ said Carse. ‘Nobody appreciates more than I the courage of our brother in carrying through his mission in spite of his appalling injuries. Would he see it fail at this stage for want of somebody to lay down his life for Ireland?’

‘He has suffered enough!’ protested Rosanna, on her feet.

‘With his injuries, Sister, he will have nothing to live for when this work is done.’

‘You can’t ask him!’ shouted Rossanna defiantly. ‘I shan’t tell you his answer! You can’t make me!’

Carse turned to Millar. ‘Take hold of this hysterical woman and eject her from the meeting. We shall obtain Brother McGee’s answer without her.’

‘No!’ screamed Rossanna. ‘Keep away from me!’ She gripped the edge of the table.

Millar moved quickly and with a notable lack of gallantry. Before Rossanna had a chance to turn from the table he was behind her. He gripped the open collar of her dress at each side of her neck and wrenched the bodice apart, pulling the sides down over her shoulders to pinion her arms. Then he fastened his left hand over her mouth to silence her screams. A second later, he screamed himself and jerked it away, dripping blood where her teeth had punctured his flesh. In fury, he raised his clenched right fist above his shoulder to strike her down, but found it grasped and held by the person he knew as Sargent. ‘What the bloody hell-?’ he shouted.

‘Steady now!’ said Cribb. ‘We want no violence, Brother.’

‘He’s right,’ said Carse. ‘Sit down, Millar. Leave it to him.’

Millar resumed his seat, clutching his wounded hand, leaving Cribb to face the wild-eyed Rossanna, her hands ready like claws to make their mark on anyone who came too close. The shreds of her bodice hung about her arms, leaving gaping areas of camisole and stays, which added to the general savagery of the spectacle.

‘Will you come outside, Rossanna?’ asked Cribb, as mildly as if they were both at a ball.

‘Not while Father remains here.’

‘In that case I must. .’ He dived boldly forward in mid-conversation, burying his right shoulder into the folds of her skirt and clasping both arms around her thighs below the bustle, in the approved fireman’s rescue position. She toppled forward with the impact and he lifted her clean off the ground on his shoulder. ‘. . remove you forcibly, Rossanna,’ he said.

‘Neatly done, Brother!’ said Carse. ‘Take her to her room and see that she gives us no more trouble.’

With Rossanna’s fists raining blows on the lower regions of his back, Cribb carried her from the room. He mounted the stairs with difficulty, thankful when she seemed to regard her struggle as hopeless and gave up pummelling. In her room, he stood by the bed and spoke to her before putting her down. ‘Now, Rossanna, I want you to believe that I shan’t let your father be killed. Carse and Millar are dangerous men and we must let them think they are having things their way. When the time is right, we’ll foil them, but you must help me.’ He put her gently down on the bed. She lay passively, breathing heavily. ‘I must tie you to the bed,’ said Cribb, ‘to make it seem convincing. Take off your stockings, please. I’ll use those.’

To his profound relief, she compliantly drew off two lengths of black silk and handed them to him.

‘Put your hands against the bars at the head of the bed.’ He tied them securely, one stocking for each hand. Then he picked up the shawl she had worn earlier and bound it round her ankles. As an afterthought, he straightened the tatters of her dress to cover her shoulders. She nodded her thanks. ‘Now I must get back to them,’ he told her. ‘Whatever happens, Rossanna, whatever they tell you, believe me I shall see that your father does not die in that submarine boat.’

‘I believe you.’

Downstairs, Carse greeted him as he entered the dining room. ‘Good work, Brother. You managed her in fine style. She’ll thank you for it later, when she’s had time to think it over. Women appreciate a firm hand. And now you may congratulate Brother McGee on his decision. We put my suggestion to him and he unmistakably nodded his head.’

‘No doubt about it,’ Millar confirmed.

‘He will pilot the submarine boat on its last stage tomorrow morning,’ continued Carse. ‘Oh, and he will not be alone. I believe Miss McGee told you about the policeman being held prisoner in the house, who was brought here after his suspicious attempts to befriend Malone. He will accompany Brother McGee, tied up, of course, and heavily drugged. It will be a convenient way of disposing of him.’