"Try not to make it too long. It doesn't have to be a weekend, either."
"Caroline..."
"Let's do it," she said.
As the conference broke up, Brodhead's armored car was taken out of the shed where it had been under guard. The Dublin mail train had been diverted into the yard to pick it up.
Rory Landers had been one of the hits of the conference. He roughed out ideas of extremely thin metal covering to fit over light civilian vehicles to make them semi-armored.
Llewelyn Brodhead saluted and said cheerio to the gathering and boarded.
"It's on," Caroline said, bussing Lieutenant Landers as he boarded.
The general took off his Sam Browne belt and unbuttoned his jacket and invited Rory to do likewise. Watching the scenery flit by outside the train window cooled his high state of emotion.
"I'd say the big meeting went extremely well, sir," Rory said.
"We have to button up in our fortresses in the countryside, and when we do come out, we're not going to be suckered into ambushes. A lot of good ideas passed back and forth today. I'd say a drink is in order. Help yourself.... Got a lot of compliments on you today, Landers."
"Cheers."
"Cheers, sir."
As Brodhead seemed to have a permanent cat-that-swallowed-the-mouse grin, Rory lay back and waited for him to either open up or shut up. He feared it was too much for Llewelyn Brodhead to conceal a conquest like Caroline Hubble. That would end the hunting lodge and maybe her participation entirely. Brodhead must not reveal a planned tryst.
The grin remained on Brodhead's face as they talked about this and that.
"Oh, Lady Caroline requested that I give you a little furlough. She's anxious for a visit," Brodhead said.
"I'd like to visit with her, soonest," Rory said.
"Caroline confided in me," Brodhead said. "You bring her a great deal of comfort, Landers. I think she feels that you are a surrogate son, in a manner of speaking."
"In a manner of speaking, I love her dearly," Rory said. "I've met one woman like her but also unlike her-my Georgia...if I ever find her. You know what Caroline does, sir? She fills me with a kind of confidence in myself that makes me feel like a king. After seeing her great loss, first hand, she has taught me how one should behave in the face of ultimate tragedy."
"Too bad you didn't know sir Frederick in his day."
"I enjoy his company, too, as a matter of fact. You can feel his power and joy without his even moving. He must have been a wild fellow in his time."
"You don't know the half of Freddie Weed," Brodhead said, laughing to himself. "Better not cross that one."
"I haven't met this Galloway chap, but I've seen photographs and heard quite a bit about him. I wonder why someone like Lady Caroline would be taken by him."
Brodhead grumbled, shrugged, and belted his whiskey. "Caroline has an artsy side to her. She is right at home in the bohemian crowd. Odd bunch, that. Actually, that's part of her allure. But, I must tell you she was also the most perfect aristocratic wife a man could have."
"Sir, may I be so bold as to ask about...uh..."
"Caroline and myself?"
"You have asked me to put in the good word," Rory said.
"Frankly, Landers, it's a no-go situation. I've decided not to press the issue. It's simply the wrong thing to do."
"Sorry to hear about that, sir. What I mean is, well, Lady Caroline is rather...not to be believed...and I was secretly hoping for you...if I could be of service...maybe put in another good word next week."
"No, it's a dead issue. Duty before pleasure, you know."
Rory felt fairly comfortable that Brodhead was going to remain silent on this matter. Too much at risk, otherwise. Now, Rory told himself, was time to spring the news.
"Sir, I've an unpleasant matter. I particularly waited until our return to Dublin so we could be alone. General, it's my eyes. They've gotten worse."
"Oh, my dear chap."
"I tried to carry on before bringing this up, but I'm afraid the way it's going, I won't be able to carry out my duties much longer."
"This is a bloody blow, Landers!"
"When the old vision started getting more blurry, I conferred with Wandsworth Hospital in London. My doctor there tells me there are two medical facilities the Army has, as well as a very fine civilian surgeon in Scotland, who specializes in concussive optic nerve damage. It appears that medical advances are coming forth by leaps and bounds, as they are apt to do in a war. I'm afraid I'm going to ask to be released from your command as soon as it is convenient."
"Hell, it never will be convenient, but we can't have you walking around with a cane."
"Thankyou, sir."
"Sign off with Colonel Hunt and get to England as soon as you can."
"God bless you, General. I thought I'd travel to England via Belfast after I visit Lady Caroline."
"Does she know?"
"No, sir. I couldn't tell her this time. She's had so much grief. I hope she finds some real happiness soon."
"Yes," the General said, "so do I."
85.
The sliding section of the roof opened.
"Are you down there?" Atty called.
"Aye, I'll send the ladder up," Rory said.
He set it into position, then he realized he had a clear look up her skirt. He satisfied himself with a quick glimpse, then turned his head away and steadied the ladder with his good hand. Atty caught the by-play and she smiled to herself.
How many times had she come down the ladder to Conor that he ran his hand clear up her leg or she leapt into his arms and pushed him over on the bed.
"Been waiting long?" she asked.
"Not to bother," Rory said.
"The trouble with safe-house life is the waiting. I thought I spotted a couple of detectives canvassing the Tara Street Station. It took a while before I could get into the tunnel."
They sized one another up with an unspoken overlay from the previous meeting. They knew that personal animus had to be set aside.
"We're in," Atty said.
Rory shook his head and let the built-up anxiety ebb. "Let me catch my breath."
"Aye."
"We're not moving any too soon on this. Brodhead and staff are starting to draw up a master plan for the pacification of Ireland by the numbers...and it's ugly."
Atty automatically made tea. Making tea in hideaways was a way of life returned. Once she could follow Long Dan Sweeney by his trail of dirty teacups.
"I have to know, Atty, if this decision comes from you and Theo alone or if it has the approval of the Brotherhood."
"I have been able to contact eight people, the highest-ranking survivors of the Rising, and the ones who will most likely make up at least part of the Supreme Council. It is as official as I can get."
"How did you put the proposition to them?"
"I didn't name Brodhead. I said we've a fair whack at an important British official. Yea or nay. The vote was ten to nothing, including Theo and myself."
"Caroline came to the Merrion Square townhouse last night, saw me for a few hours, and returned to Belfast after midnight. We went over it hard to make certain she was making the right decision. She's a contained woman, much like yourself, but, as the reality of Brodhead gets closer, the rage is unlike anything I've ever known before."
Rory paced, so much like Conor, clarifying his thoughts.
"From the moment of the Gallipoli Commission of Inquiry when she knew Brodhead was lying, she began to set out her snares. When he came to call on her after Gallipoli, she held him blameless, which took a bit of doing. Bit by bit she's been putting...shall I say delicious moves on him. The stars are lined up right. She's been a long-standing fantasy of his. His own marriage is a shipwreck."
"I can't believe that Brodhead isn't suspicious."
"Why? His past experience with women shows him using Asian girls as concubines, mistresses, or whores, sort of par for the course out in the colonies. I don't think he has any respect for women, thinks of them as inferiors, the same way he looks down on the Irish. Caroline would be the ultimate score of his life, his Holy Grail."
"You're talking from both sides of your mouth, Rory."
"Women have been trained objects. He is vain beyond vain. Enough for him to believe he is some kind of magnificent dashing figure. Caroline, on the other hand, is the unattainable woman. He's now vain enough to think he can win her. What I'm trying to say is that, in actual fact, he's navve about women, but he's never been in the ring with anyone even close to Caroline."
"And you think he'll rendezvous with her, unguarded?"
"He has to. If they're seen together by so much as a grocery store clerk or a maid or any of his own guards...his career goes up in smoke. So, if he is suspicious he simply won't show up. If he does show up, it will be by himself. Moreover, we can watch to see if he has been followed."
"Aye, aye, aye," Atty said. "Where do they meet?"
"An abandoned hunting lodge in the hills, deep in the Earldom. Years ago she changed it from a hunting lodge to her personal hideaway and studio."
Atty stiffened, realizing that Caroline had lured Conor there years before. Her cheeks reddened. Caroline had turned it into an exotic little playground...only for her husband and herself, Atty hoped.
"What about the gamekeeper?" she asked.
"She retired him a month ago. He and his wife are on an extended trip to America. I think she retired them the minute Brodhead lied to the Commission of Inquiry. Caroline has been planning this for a long time."
"Go on."
"Time is yet to be arranged. She gets there first and gets the fire going, carries an envelope of happy powder, lots of booze. Brodhead doesn't hold whiskey too well, he'd never make an Aussie."
"Or an Irishman."
"She's opting for a three-night party."
"If she plays around, he's going to get suspicious in a hurry."
"Atty, Caroline is going to romance him, take him to bed and make love to him and gain his confidence. Having completely relaxed him, she'll pick the right time."
"She will be the shooter?" Atty asked.
Rory nodded. "She's going to be the shooter."
Atty was struck by Caroline's daring and her sacrifice. "I'm deeply moved, Rory. The fact that she's willing to go to bed with that bastard."
"So am I," Rory said. "She's going to have him so tired, he won't have enough strength to spit."
"Well now, that's quite a woman," Atty said. "What about the weapon?"
"She's going to use a little double-barreled Italian Lenetti. Three inches long, fits long, fits in the palm of the hand. It holds two 44-caliber slugs with soft lead noses. We tested the pistol in her basement. At close range it could blow a hole in a cruiser."
"Backup weapon?" Atty asked.
"Kitchen knife."
"What about tire tracks?"
"Too much rain."
Atty became a little queasy but used her acting skills to display a professional manner. "We've a dead general," she went on, "in a remote hunting lodge and I hope no one in Ireland on his side has a clue where he went. Now what?"
"Caroline leaves the lodge, ties a ribbon on the gate to signal that the deed has been done. She returns to Hubble Manor in her car. Two of our lads, who have been waiting in a duck blind about five hundred yards from the house, see the ribbon, come in, remove the body and clean the place up, then put him in the trunk of his car and drive fifty, a hundred miles south and give him a cement suit, either at the bottom of a dry well or a lake. Car goes in the lake."
"Charming," Atty said. "What can go wrong?"
"Just about anything," Rory answered.
"And you'll be long out of Ireland, in England or Scotland."
"That's the idea," he said. "The plan is rough now, but you start hanging out at the Abbey Theatre. She attends every new play. Good contact point. The two of you are going to have to keep refining things."