A Pretty Deceit

by Anna Lee Huber

  “You think we’re being watched. Even now,” he murmured in a low voice that nevertheless carried to the other men as he came to help me.

  “I don’t know,” I replied, matching his solemn tone. “But I think from this point forward, it would be best to assume we’re always being watched.”

  Though I hadn’t meant to flatten the mood, the truth had to be acknowledged. In truth, my comment didn’t seem to faze Alec or even Sidney all that much. I knew both men had already been vigilant, to varying degrees. But Max’s brow furrowed in a way that made me suspect he was struggling to acclimate to this fact.

  Once the formalities had been completed, and everyone was settled before the fire with their chosen libations, a tray of crudités and sandwiches ordered from the kitchen for me and Sidney, who had not eaten dinner, I decided it was best to leap to the heart of the matter.

  “Tell us about the train,” I leaned forward to tell Max. It was a rather broad request for information, but as yet I didn’t know how much Max knew about Alec, or how much Alec was comfortable telling him. “Oh, and many happy returns, by the way,” I added more gently, having recalled that today was his birthday at some point during our drive down from Littlemote.

  Max’s regard softened, and he dipped his head once in thanks. Then he sank deeper into his cream upholstered bergère chair, a match to the one Alec occupied while Sidney and I perched side by side on the floral print sofa. “From my point of view, it was a rather uneventful journey. There were one or two men who caught my eye as suspicious, but neither of them boarded the ferry at Portsmouth.” Max regarded Alec. “However, Xavier here may have a different tale to tell.”

  Alec’s lips quirked in good humor at the wry tone of his host’s voice. I’d warned him Max was not unobservant. “There were three men on board the train who were following Ryde. Two boarded the ferry to Wight.”

  These definitive pronouncements startled Max, for his shoulders twitched upward and his eyes flared wide.

  Seeing this, Alec elaborated, “They’re well trained. I’d wager all of them worked for some branch of military or naval intelligence at some point.”

  “So Ardmore is recruiting from within the ranks, so to speak,” Sidney remarked, draping his arm across the back of the sofa behind me and propping one bent leg over the other knee.

  “It would appear so. And as such, we have no idea what precisely he’s telling them.”

  “He may be painting us the villains of this piece,” I expounded.

  Alec’s mouth flattened into a grim line. “Yes, in fact, I think it very likely.”

  If so, who knew how far these men would go to stop us. After all, I’d discovered love and pride—be it of people or country—and avenging those ideals were far greater motivators than money or power. And it was far easier to compromise one’s morals when the motives seemed to justify them.

  “Have you ventured to the site your father mentioned?” I asked Max.

  He shook his head. “No, I thought it better to wait for reinforcements, so to speak.”

  I nodded, relieved to hear this. For once we tipped our hand in that direction, we couldn’t afford to leave without the evidence the late Earl of Ryde had declared he’d hidden.

  “But I did speak with the men who helped load the Zebrina. Xavier and I tracked them down at a pub in Ventnor. It seemed less suspicious that way.”

  I’d almost forgotten Max’s father had mentioned them in his letter. Several weeks earlier, the two men had been the ones to confirm that the late earl had employed them to load casks of wrecked goods onto the ill-fated flat-bottomed schooner, and that the illicit goods were supposedly bound for the Irish rebels. Or so they claimed the earl had told them.

  “Did they have anything more to tell you?” I prodded when Max didn’t elaborate, but instead reached inside his coat for his cigarette holder.

  “They confirmed again that they loaded the opium,” he replied while lighting his fag. Then he took a long drag before exhaling a stream of smoke. “But that’s not all they loaded. They said there was a crate that was not part of the wrecked goods. That it was stamped with the words PROPERTY OF THE CORPS OF ROYAL ENGINEERS.

  Sidney and I shared a look of mutual astonishment.

  “Could they tell you anything more about it?” Sidney asked.

  Max’s face was pale and rather grim. “Nothing except the fact that it was heavy.”

  I stared down at the ice circling in my drink, trying to fight back a rising sense of alarm. “That must have been what your father was referring to when he said he’d been deceived,” I said calmly, though I felt anything but. I lifted my gaze to meet Max’s. “Do you have any guesses as to what the crate contained?”

  “Well, if the contents were truly from the Royal Engineers, it could be any number of things.”

  Any number of horrible things. After all, the Corps of Royal Engineers didn’t just include the sappers who had dug tunnels under the German trenches to plant explosive mines. They weren’t just in charge of fortifications, artillery maintenance, transportation, logistics, and communication. They were also responsible for the British forces’ experimental technology and weapons development.

  “Perhaps,” Alec weighed in. “But somehow I doubt with it being smuggled out of Britain under the cover of night that it was full of wrenches or telephone wire.”

  “A weapon, then,” Sidney stated, for all the world as if we were discussing blends of tea and not a deadly armament. But his brooding gaze made it clear he understood the stakes. “Something that could be used against the Irish rebels.”

  “That, or by them.”

  We all turned to Alec in query.

  “I’ve been thinking about that opium.” He squinted, staring into the hearth. “It’s pure speculation at this point. We can’t know precisely what happened to it after it was intercepted from the Zebrina crew. Whether it was taken to Ireland, or sold elsewhere, or dumped in the sea. But the testimony of the sole surviving crewman leads us to believe that whoever stole the cargo and killed the remainder of the crew was Irish, based on their vocabulary.” His gaze shifted to meet mine. “We also know that the Irish rebels are desperate for weapons after the bulk of theirs were confiscated following the Easter Rebellion. So what if that opium was traded for weapons?” He turned to Max as his mouth opened in protest. “I’m not suggesting the late earl knew about it, or even Rockham for that matter. But what if Ardmore tricked them?”

  We all fell silent, considering his suggestion, and the unsettling ramifications.

  Max was the first to speak. “Given the amount of opium we know the Zebrina took on board, they could have traded it for a large amount of guns.”

  “And it might also explain its relation to the box from the Royal Engineers,” I added hesitantly. If they were arming themselves for a future revolt, a revolt which was already under way, then weapons of any kind would be greatly desired.

  But all of this hinged on one critical point, which Sidney voiced.

  “Is Ardmore sympathetic to the Irish?”

  “Ostensibly, no. He seems, like most of the Anglo-Irish aristocracy, to abhor the idea of home rule or concessions to the Irish of any kind. But privately, I’m not so certain.” Alec’s gaze cut to mine again before returning to my husband. “As I understand it, his mother was Irish, the daughter of an Irish banker. And he spent more of his childhood in his maternal grandparents’ home than at his father’s estate near Cork.”

  “Then he might be more sympathetic to the Irish than he first seems,” I surmised, recognizing he was sharing information from the CX report I’d requested on Ardmore, if the barest outline of it. “Or he might not.” I frowned. “There’s a big difference between feeling empathy toward someone and committing treason by supplying weapons to them for their rebellion.”

  Alec acknowledged this by tipping his head to the side.

  Max pushed to his feet to refill his glass from the sideboard. “Whatever the truth, hopefully my father
lays it all out succinctly in whatever we find he’s hidden for me tomorrow.”

  That would be wonderful, but somehow I didn’t think it would be so easy. And from Max’s strained expression, neither did he.

  “We need to be prepared for opposition tomorrow.” Alec’s voice was serious, but the glint in his eyes told me he might actually be looking forward to such a thing. “I don’t know about the rest of you, but I intend to be armed.”

  “Do you think these men will resort to that?” Max questioned as he returned to his chair.

  “They’re under Ardmore’s direction.” Alec narrowed his eyes at the rug before him. “I don’t put anything past them.”

  Which was a sobering reminder of all we were potentially up against. It left all of us a little lost for words.

  On that somber note, a footman appeared in the doorway bearing the tray of food, and soon any plans for the next day were set aside for more pleasant conversation while we ate. But in the back of my mind I couldn’t help but ruminate on the fact that this wasn’t the first time I’d been left with the impression that there was some history between Alec and Lord Ardmore of which I was unaware. Twice before he’d made comments that seemed to imply he had personal knowledge of Ardmore’s duplicity and the menace he posed. In working with Alec in the past, I’d found him to be almost too sang-froid in the face of danger, and at times downright reckless, despite the fact that he’d waltzed among the enemy daily in his role as a German officer. And yet, Ardmore seemed to unnerve him more.

  I was still contemplating this when I excused myself a short time later. The past two days had been long ones, and I suspected I would need my full wits about me to tackle whatever the next day brought. The sympathetic gaze Max turned my way also made me suspect I looked in need of rest, and one look at myself in the mirror in the bedchamber Sidney and I would share confirmed it. Dark circles ringed my eyes, and my complexion was paler than normal.

  I removed my jewelry and set it on the vanity table before turning to gaze longingly at the bed and the pair of silk pajamas one of the maids had laid out for me. But there was one more task to be completed before I could slide beneath the sheets. I buttoned the coat of my navy-blue traveling ensemble to my neck against the chill of the evening. Then I pulled the heavy drapes closed over the doors behind me before I slipped out onto the balcony, which ran across the length of the back of the manor.

  Leaning against the railing, I gazed out over the rambling gardens. Clouds had rolled in from the west, blocking much of the light from the moon and the stars, and rendering everything a flat gray. I wondered if Ardmore’s men were still out there, watching us. In the inky blackness under the balcony, I trusted they couldn’t see me.

  But the flare of the cigarette tip in the darkness to my left was another matter.

  CHAPTER 17

  “Are you trying to give them something to shoot at,” I drawled in annoyance as Alec moved toward me.

  “Oh, I doubt assassination is on their agenda. At least, not until they’ve recovered precisely what we’re after. And they can’t do that until tomorrow.” He paused to lean against the railing beside me, flashing me his blinding smile. “It’s good to see you, Ver.”

  Fortunately, Alec’s suave charm had never had the same effect on me as it seemed to have on other women. The sole time I had allowed him to tumble me into bed had not been because of his allure or even his attractive features, but because I had recognized in him, deep down, the same war-weary, disconsolate soul I possessed. That, and we’d just escaped the Germans and near death by the skin of our teeth.

  “Your report on Ardmore. I know it must have contained more information than that little bit you shared in the parlor. Does he have strong connections to Ireland?”

  “Straight to business, is it? No kiss for my cheek like you gave Ryde.”

  “He and I don’t have the same history we do.”

  “True.”

  I crossed my arms over my chest. “And you’d likely turn your head at the last moment just to cause trouble.”

  The corner of his lips quirked and a curious light lit his eyes. “I probably would, at that,” he muttered in a low voice. When I didn’t respond, he took one last drag from his fag before pitching it into the gravel below.

  “Yes, Ardmore has connections in Ireland. Stronger than it appears at even a second or third glance.” He turned his head to stare out into the darkness. “He owns businesses in a number of industries throughout Ireland. Oh, not in his name. But we’ve discovered he’s owner, or part-owner all the same. Has his hands in a number of their banks, as well.”

  “I knew there must be further reason for you to suspect him of supplying the Irish rebels with weapons,” I replied.

  He drummed the railing with his fingers, as if his anger or agitation couldn’t be contained. “To the casual outsider, it might seem that a downturn in fortunes for the British would be detrimental to his interests. But I can’t also help but wonder whether he’s biding his time, wagering that an independent Ireland will mean greater profits for his businesses in the long run. Especially if the men at the top, de Valera and Griffith and Collins and such, knew of his private support during the rebellion.”

  “But wouldn’t they wish for his public support? Wouldn’t that be more beneficial?”

  “No, they’re shrewd. Shrewder than most in our government give them credit for.” His lips curled derisively. “Sir Basil Thomson and his cronies are playing a bumbling game with the Irish, and it’s going to come back to haunt them,” he remarked, referring to the newly created Director of Intelligence at the Home Office, overseeing all the intelligence agencies, including C at the Secret Service. I was no fan of Thomson or his maneuverings, and neither was he a fan of me. And the fact that he was friends with Ardmore and Major Davis—the man who was second in command to C and my greatest adversary within the Secret Service—did not help matters.

  “If Ardmore is working for the Irish rebels,” Alec continued. “Then they understand he’s far more beneficial to them as a man on the inside, so to speak. He’s part of the Director of Intelligence’s inner circle, for Pete’s sake,” he cursed, using far stronger language. He drew a deep breath into his lungs, so that the next words he spoke were calmer. “In truth, I wonder if he’s not playing both sides, intending to benefit from the conflict whichever direction it swings.” Hunching over, he rested his elbows on the railing and clasped his hands before him. “The Irish may be aware of this, and willing to accept such terms because they have no other choice.” He shook his head. “But the British haven’t got a clue.”

  “Except us,” I interjected, surprised to realize Ardmore’s guile bothered him as much as me.

  “And the late Earl of Ryde. And look where that got him.”

  It was a sobering thought.

  I lowered my hands to rest them on the railing as I turned to stand beside him, our shoulders several inches apart. The salty scent of the sea carried on the chill breeze, along with the smoke from one of the chimneys. “Was there anything else in the report I should be aware of?”

  “If you want greater detail, you’ll have to wait until we return to London. It was too risky to bring it here.”

  I recognized that now.

  “We can meet in a secure location, and I’ll let you read it in entirety.”

  I studied his profile, the tension in his jaw. Alec might have been the best agent I knew, capable of shifting personas with ease and concealing his thoughts from even the most astute individual, but he wasn’t inhuman. He might affect a relaxed pose, but frustration and anxiety were difficult to obscure completely. My shoulders were my telling spot, and for Alec, I knew it was his jaw that more often than not gave him away.

  “What happened between you and Ardmore?” When he didn’t reply, I pressed my point. “It’s obvious there’s some history between you. I’ve never heard you speak of anyone like you do him. Not even that horrid oberst who nearly had you arrested.”

 
Because of me. Because the German oberst—the equivalent of a British colonel—had taken a fancy to me during an assignment where I was posing as Alec’s mistress in order to help him copy and smuggle out a German codebook, which led the oberst to take a critical interest in Alec. A month later I was secreting Alec out of Belgium before he could be detained and tortured, and ultimately executed.

  He seemed to wrestle with himself, making me wonder whether the information was classified, but my last sentiment provoked him to speak. “When I was stationed in Brussels with the Germans, I saw Ardmore’s name mentioned in a report.”

  I stiffened, not having expected this answer.

  He straightened from his slouch. “It was not something I was supposed to have access to, so my glimpse of it was brief, but I knew the title was a British one, and so I knew it was important that I get a closer look. Given the type of report it was, if the Germans were mentioning a British lord—one that, at the time, I was unaware of—then it meant one of two things. Either he was being watched, or he was providing information.”

  “What did you discover?” I asked as a sick feeling of dread filled me, eclipsing my shock.

  He shook his head, his jaw clenching. “I tried to get a better look. Risked my neck to do so. But I stole the wrong dossier.” His gaze shifted to meet mine. “That was why I was outed. I didn’t flee to that safe house because of the oberst—though I suppose he might have been closing in on me, as well—but because the dossier I took was missed, and I was under suspicion. Given the hostile atmosphere in the German Army during the collapse in the late summer of 1918, I knew I would soon be arrested.”

  I stared at him in disbelief, almost more surprised by this than I was that Ardmore had been mentioned in a German report.

  Alec reached out to grip my hand where it rested on the railing. “I told you that you weren’t to blame.” His mouth compressed into a tight line. “I suppose I should have tried harder when you guided me out of Belgium into Holland to make you understand.”

  My breath tightened and my cheeks flushed as the bitterness in his gaze and the hollowness of his tone communicated what he was referring to. “Alec, I . . . I didn’t sleep with you out of guilt.” I scowled, irritation overriding some of my discomfiture as I pulled my hand from his. “Honestly, I’m insulted you would think so.”