Part 8 (2/2)

She must remind herself that he had lost all he valued not in material goods; she agreed with Vespasia that that to him was trivial it was the loss of purpose, the fire and energy that drove him and defined who he was that most wounded him.

'Were they from an old family?' she pursued. 'Where did they live, and how?'

He looked out of the window again. 'Cormac had land to the south of Dublin Slane. Interesting place. Old family? Aren't we all supposed to go back to Adam?'

It was a mild evasion, and she was aware of it.

'He doesn't seem to have bequeathed the heritage to us equally,' she answered.

'I'm sorry. Am I being evasive?'

'Yes.'

'Cormac had enough means not to have to work more than in an occasional overseeing capacity. He and Sean between them owned a brewery as well. I dare say you know the waters of the Liffey River are famous for their softness. You can make ale anywhere, but nothing else has quite the flavour of that made with Liffey water. But you want to know what they were like.' He made that a statement.

'Yes,' Charlotte replied. 'Don't you need me to seek him out? Because if he hates you as deeply as you think, he will tell you nothing that could help.'

The light vanished from his face. 'If it's Cormac, he's thought this out very carefully. He must have known all about Mulhare and the whole operation: the money, the reason for paying it as I did, and probably that taking it instead of paying it as it was supposed to be paid, would cost Mulhare his life.'

She was not going to keep on saying she was sorry for the pain, the loss, the dishonesty of it. There was nothing to add.

'And he must also have been able to persuade someone in Lisson Grove to help him,' she pointed out.

Narraway winced. 'Yes. I've thought about that a lot.' Now his face was very sombre indeed. 'I've been piecing together all I know: Mulhare's connections; what I did with the money to try and make certain it would never be traced back to Special Branch, or to me personally, which in the knowledge of some would be the same thing; all the past friends and enemies I've made; where it happened. It always comes back to O'Neil.'

'Why would anyone at Lisson Grove be willing to help O'Neil?' Charlotte asked. It was like trying to take gravel out of a wound, only far deeper than a sc.r.a.ped knee or elbow. She thought of Daniel's face as he sat on one of the hard-backed kitchen chairs, dirt and blood on his legs, while she tried to clean where he had torn the skin off, and pick out the tiny stones. There had been tears in his eyes and he had stared resolutely at the ceiling, trying to stop them from spilling over and giving him away.

'Many reasons,' Narraway replied. 'You cannot do a job like mine without making enemies. You hear things about people you might very much prefer not to know, but that is a luxury you sacrifice when you accept the responsibility.'

'I know that.'

His eyes wandered a little. 'Really? How do you know that, Charlotte?'

She saw the trap and slipped around it. 'Not from Thomas. He doesn't discuss his cases since he joined Special Branch. And anyway, I don't think you can explain to someone else such a complicated thing.'

He was watching her intently now. His eyes were so dark it was hard to read the expression in them. The lines in his face showed all the emotions that had pa.s.sed over them through the years: the anxiety, the laughter and the grief.

'My eldest sister was murdered, many years ago now,' she explained. 'But perhaps you know that already. Several young women were at that time. We had no idea who was responsible. We were all mistaken as to the entire nature of it. But in the course of the investigation we learned a great deal about each other that it would have been far more comfortable not to have known. But we cannot unlearn such things.' She remembered it with pain now, even though it was fourteen years ago. She had absolutely no intention whatever of telling him what those discoveries were, most especially the things she had realised about herself.

She looked up at him and saw his surprise, and a gentleness that made her acutely self-conscious. The only way to cover the discomfort was to continue talking.

'After that, when Thomas and I were married, I am afraid I meddled a good deal in many of his cases, particularly those where society people were involved. I had an advantage in being able to meet them socially, and observe things he never could. One listens to gossip as a matter of course. It is largely what society is about. But when you do it intelligently, actually trying to learn things, comparing what one person says with what another does, asking questions obliquely, weighing answers, you cannot help but learn much that is private to other people, painful, vulnerable, and absolutely none of your affair. Both pity and disillusionment can be much more painful than one has any idea, until you taste them.'

He moved his head very slightly in a.s.sent; he knew it was not necessary to speak.

For a little while they rode in silence. The rhythmic clatter of the wheels over the railway ties was comfortable, almost somnolent. It had been a difficult and tiring few days and Charlotte found herself drifting into a daze, and woke with a start. Please heaven she had not been lolling there with her mouth open!

She did not yet know anything like enough about what she could do to help.

'Do you know who it was at Lisson Grove who betrayed you?' she said aloud.

He answered immediately, as if he had been waiting for her to speak. Had he been sitting there watching her? It was an extraordinarily uncomfortable thought.

'No, I don't,' he admitted. 'I have considered several possibilities. In fact, the only people I am certain it is not are Thomas, and a man called Stoker. It makes me realise how incompetent I have been that I suspected nothing. I was always looking outward, at the enemies I knew. In this profession I should have looked behind me as well.'

She did not argue. It would have been a transparent and perhaps rather patronising attempt at giving comfort.

'So we can trust no one in Special Branch, apart from Stoker,' she concluded. 'Then I suppose we need to concentrate on Ireland. Why does Cormac O'Neil hate you so much? If I am to learn anything, I need to know what to build upon.'

This time Narraway did not look away from her, but she could hear the reluctance in his voice. He told her only because he had to. 'When he was planning an uprising I was the one who learned about it, and prevented it. I did it by turning his sister-in-law, Sean's wife, and using the information she gave me to have his men arrested and imprisoned.'

'I see.'

'No, you don't,' he said quickly, his voice tight. 'And I have no intention of telling you any further. But because of it Sean killed her, and was hanged for her murder. It is that which Cormac cannot forgive. If it had simply been a battle he would have considered it the fortunes of war. He might have hated me at the time, but it would have been forgotten, as old battles are. But Sean and Kate are still dead, still tarred as a betrayer and a wife murderer. I don't know why he waited so long. That is the one piece of it I don't understand.'

'Perhaps it doesn't matter,' she said sombrely. It was a tragic story, even ugly, and she was certain he had edited it very heavily in the telling. It might be to hide a Special Branch secret, but she was sure that he was also ashamed of his part in it.

'What do you want me to do?' she asked.

'I still have friends in Dublin, I think,' he answered. 'I cannot approach Cormac myself. I need someone I can trust, who looks totally innocent and unconnected with me. I . . . I can't even go anywhere with you, or he would suspect you immediately. Bring me the facts. I can put them together.' He seemed about to add something more, then changed his mind.

'Are you worried that I won't know what is important?' she asked. 'Or that I won't remember and tell you accurately?'

'No. I know perfectly well that you can do both.'

'Do you?' She was surprised.

He smiled, briefly. 'You tell me about helping Pitt, when he was in the police, as if you imagined I didn't know.'

'You said you didn't know about my sister Sarah,' she pointed out. 'Or was that discretion rather than truth?'

There was a look of hurt in his face, instantly covered. 'It was the truth. But perhaps I deserved the remark. I learned about you mostly from Vespasia. She did not mention Sarah, perhaps out of delicacy. And I had no need to know.'

'You had some need to know the rest?' she said with disbelief.

'Of course. You are part of Pitt's life. I had to know exactly how far I could trust you. Although given my present situation, you cannot be blamed for doubting my ability in that.'

'That sounds like self-pity,' she said tartly. 'I have not criticised you, and that is not out of either good manners or sympathy neither of which we can afford just at the moment, if they disguise the truth. We can't live without trusting someone. It is an offence to betray, not to be betrayed.'

'It is a good thing you did not marry into society,' he retorted. 'You would not have survived. Or, on the other hand, perhaps society would not have, and that might not have been so bad. A little shake-up now and then is good for the const.i.tution.'

Now she was not sure if he were laughing at her, or defending himself. Or possibly it was both.

'So you accepted my a.s.sistance because you believe I can do what you require?' she concluded.

'Not at all. I accepted it because you gave me no alternative. Also, since Stoker is the only other person I trust, and he did not offer, nor has he the ability, I had no alternative anyway.'

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