Unlikely Traitors

by Clare Langley-Hawthorne

  “Was it Dobbs?” Wrotham asked.

  “How else do you think I could get the information to Germany,” Lady Winterton replied scornfully. “And who better to use than Dobbs? His contacts were more than willing to pay.”

  “And I suppose you thought you could use the money to help restore your husband’s estate?” Ursula said, remembering what Miss Cadogan had told her about Lady Winterton’s ‘grand plans’.

  “If you think that is all I want,” Lady Winterton said, “then you are as much of a fool as them.”

  “Oh, I know your pain runs much deeper than that,” Ursula answered quietly. “Doesn’t it Catherine? There’s the child you lost. The husband who committed suicide rather than face financial ruin…and all because of what? A failed investment in Guyana? No, it was much more than that—it was the betrayal of friends. It was the fact that two of them, the Count and McTiernay, placed their own greed above friendship. They swindled everyone involved in the Imperial Gold and Diamond Mining Company—and then, Lord Wrotham made sure justice would never be served when he defended them in the law case brought by the investors. You must hate them all so very much…” Ursula voice was almost gentle but it incensed Lady Winterton. Her face white, her hands shaking, Ursula recoiled for fear of what Lady Winterton might do.

  “I knew Nigel invested and lost heavily,” McTiernay said, running his fingers through his black curls. His face was etched with guilt.. “But suicide? No…That cannot be. We were never told that.”

  “No,” Lady Winterton replied, struggling to keep her voice calm. “My family ensured that there would be no such taint upon my good name. An impecunious husband was bad enough but one who lost everything on a speculative venture in Guyana/ One who then drank himself into oblivion and eventually hanged himself? No, they made sure no one in London society would ever learn the truth.”

  “In the end you knew how each man would behave,” Ursula said. “You knew the Count would buckle under blackmail, you knew McTiernay would avenge himself for any betrayal and you knew Lord Wrotham would play the honorable part you had planned for him. All you had to do was set your plan in motion and let them die at each others’ hands.”

  “I should have killed you long ago…” Ursula was startled by Lady Winterton’s malevolence.

  “You certainly tried at least once…” Ursula said.

  “The cyanide was for Lady Wrotham, not you,” Lady Winterton spat. “Though I was worried when you started asking questions about Admiral Smythe’s possible affairs that you might discover the truth. I thought Lady Wrotham’s death would divert your attention and bring new pain to her son. But in Germany…When James appeared, I knew, I should have never let you live. Why else do you think I dragged you from Dublin? I was just waiting for the right time to administer the poison…”

  Lord Wrotham stepped forward, placing himself between Lady Winterton and Ursula.

  “Your grudge,” he said. “Is against me, not her.”

  “Without her you would be dead by now!” Lady Winterton spun round to confront McTiernay. “What kind of fool are you—to believe this man to be a patriot. To have risked all to get him out of England when he is nothing but a traitor to you. Admiral Smythe all but admitted the truth to me. How else would I have been able to access his files and leave the evidence for the police to find? Think, Fergus…Think! This man is not an Irish patriot. He has used you all along.”

  Ursula saw the doubt in McTiernay’s eyes. Saw the pieces fall into place. Saw his confusion turn to rage.

  Ursula felt James’ hand on her arm. He gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head.

  McTiernay drew his revolver from its holster and pointed it at Lord Wrotham. On his signal, each of the men with rifles trained their guns on Lady Winterton, Ursula as well as James.

  “Did you?” McTiernay asked. “Did you betray me?”

  His face bore an expression Ursula had not expected—Anguish. Gone was the cold impassivity she had seen. Gone was the cavalier disregard for life she had witnessed in Germany. No, this wound cut more deeply that she could ever have imagined. McTiernay’s face revealed the young man he had once been—the friendship that he had held onto despite the years—and the loyalty that, should it have been broken, threatened to undermine everything he knew about himself.

  Lord Wrotham regarded McTiernay with steady blue-grey eyes.

  Lie. Ursula silently prayed. Think of me. Think of your unborn child. Lie to him.

  “Yes,” Lord Wrotham said.

  Ursula squeezed her eyes closed and waited for the inevitable sound of gunfire and death.

  The world remained silent.

  McTiernay’s hand shook as he held the revolver.

  “The old loyalties died long ago,” Lord Wrotham said and though his voice was calm, his face mirrored McTiernay’s anguish. “In Guyana.”

  “I did not murder her,” McTiernay whispered hoarsely. “No matter how much you believe that I did. I am innocent of Bernice Baldeo’s death. I tried for years to repent for my part in the whole sorry business…but murder of an innocent woman…How could you think that of me?”

  Ursula thought of St. Dismas. The Penitent Thief. It must have been McTiernay’s way of atoning for the fraud he and the Count committed.

  “No,” Ursula said suddenly, for it was now so very clear. “It was Admiral Smythe who killed that woman. She knew what was happening with Imperial Gold and Diamond Company—knew the British were buying up the small mine holdings and protecting colonial interests. She threatened to divulge the fraud as well as the hidden objectives of the company and Smythe had to kill her. That’s why he covered the case up—that’s why he insisted on Lord Wrotham ensuring no further investigations were made.”

  “Your false loyalties blinded you even then,” Lady Winterton said to Lord Wrotham. “Admiral Smythe has been running from the shadow of that woman’s death ever since. He would cry out at night—haunted by her in his dreams. He was so lonely, so dedicated to his country that you never even thought to consider his guilt. It made him all the more malleable and when the time came, I thought cyanide poisoning would be the most appropriate death.”

  “Don’t you think there’s been enough blood spilled to avenge the past?” Lord Wrotham said quietly. McTiernay’s gun was still trained on him.

  “Whatever I did, whatever fraud I committed, I did it to secure Irish freedom. We needed the money. Everything I did, I did for my country,” McTiernay whispered.

  “As,” Lord Wrotham said, raising his hand to grasp McTiernay’s gun. “Did I. Don’t you think by now we should both bow out gracefully and admit defeat? My mission was clear and yet I was prepared to let you carry out yours. Smythe and I were willing to pay that price if it meant we discovered the identity of the German spy within our ranks.”

  “So that was why…” James murmured to himself.

  McTiernay’s face continued to betray the conflict of loyalties he felt.

  Finally, he lowered his gun.

  “No!” Lady Winterton screamed. “No!” she repeated. “You have to kill him.” In a frenzy she pulled something from the inside of her blouse, something that must have been concealed in the bodice of her corset. She lunged at Ursula, taking even James by surprise as she yanked Ursula’s head back, holding a thin silver blade of a knife against her throat.

  “Shoot him!” she instructed McTiernay, “or Ursula will die.”

  “You don’t want to do this,” McTiernay said softly. “This is not the way you want to end this.”

  A shot rang out in the distance, echoing across the green fields. Ursula felt Lady Winterton’s body stiffen against hers and the blade nicked her skin, drawing blood.

  McTiernay stepped forward. “It’s a warning shot from one of my men. It can only mean one thing. The Garda are here.” He shielded his eyes and Ursula followed his line of sight. A man on the hill behind the farmhouse was signaling frantically. “They’re coming from the Drogheda road,” he looked at Lady Winterton. �
�You and I might have to accept the inevitable.”

  “Pick up the gun and shoot him,” Lady Winterton said. “Or I will draw the knife across her throat.”

  Lord Wrotham raised his hands. “If it’s me you want,” he said. “Then I would willingly exchange my life for hers. Let her go and I will gladly take her place.”

  “You must think me a weak-minded woman indeed,” Lady Winterton said. “I know I am physically no match for either of you—but Ursula? Ursula I can kill and in so doing I will leave you with the same legacy I have endured these past four years. You will lose the one you love as well as your unborn child. That may even be revenge enough for me. Why should she not suffer? Why should you not suffer, as I have suffered?!”

  One shot was all it took. It happened so fast Ursula was not sure she herself had not been hit, there was blood splatters and fragments of bone and the very air around her seemed to go red. But then she felt Lady Winterton’s body slump behind her, the knife against her throat fell away. Ursula reached up and gasped. But the blood now covering her was not her own. James had managed to reach for a gun and had killed Lady Winterton with a single rifle shot to the head.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  “There’s no time for tears,” Lord Wrotham’s voice was gentle but insistent. He lifted her by her arms. Ursula was still dazed and disorientated. So much blood. The back of her dress felt wet and sticky and Ursula could not bear to think of it. Lady Winterton’s body lay crumpled on the ground. One side of her skull was shattered. So much blood. Ursula could not get the words from repeating in her mind.

  “It was what I was trained to do, remember,” James said before turning to McTiernay. “Our motorcar is on the other side of those fields,” he told him. “We might make it—unless you want to prepare yourself for a siege. Do your men have any other means of transport?”

  “There’s an old lorry in the barn.” McTiernay signaled to his men.

  Ursula stared at James in confusion.

  “You’ll never survive,” Lord Wrotham said to McTiernay. “You have to go.”

  “And you?”

  “Get your men to bind Ursula and me and leave us as if we had been your prisoners. It should be sufficient. It may at least buy you a little more time.”

  “What about her?” McTiernay pointed to Lady Winterton’s body.

  “An unfortunate accident. I will not lay her death at your door. As it is, Harrison may hunt you down just for thwarting his ambitions.”

  McTiernay looked intently at Lord Wrotham. There was a silent exchange of looks, that seemed to Ursula to have a deeper significance. Perhaps it was an unspoken truce or pact—whatever it was, it seemed to satisfy.

  James acknowledged Wrotham with a tip of his head and again Ursula was confused. “What?! You can’t tell me you’re actually going with that madman?” She struggled against him as the rope was tied tightly against her wrists.

  “It’s what I was trained to do,” James replied.

  McTiernay handed him another rifle. “Are you ready? I can’t spare any more ammunition I’m afraid. We’ll just have to make do with what we have.”

  “Ah James,” Lord Wrotham said bleakly, as one of McTiernay’s men bound his ankles and feet with thick rope. “Smythe always suspected you were McTiernay’s man all along.”

  “You know how it goes, my Lord,” James replied with an enigmatic smile. Ursula thought she caught a glimmer of understanding in James’ face as McTiernay turned to leave.

  Once James, McTiernay and his men had fled, Ursula and Lord Wrotham remained propped up against the farmhouse wall. Lady Winterton’s body lay a few feet away.

  “Ursula,” Lord Wrotham finally spoke. They could see Chief Inspector Harrison and his men approaching in a line above the ridge.

  “Yes,” she answered wearily.

  “Did James find my field book?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you manage to decode it?”

  “Yes.”

  A ghost of a smile.

  “I thought you might.”

  “Professor Prendergast sends his regards.” Ursula’s face was deadpan. “But next time he asks that you remember the old Hobbesian adage: Vengeance thy name is woman.”

  “Hobbes never wrote that.”

  “No,” Ursula replied looking at Lady Winterton’s body. “But maybe he should have.”

  The headline in The Times the following Monday read:

  DARING IRISH RESCUE. ENGLISH LORD SURVIVES MALICIOUS PLOT TO BESMIRCH HIS NAME. ALL CHARGES OF TREASON DROPPED.

  EPILOGUE

  THE TIMES’ OBITUARY, LONDON, MARCH 27th 1913

  Lady Catherine Natasha Winterton died of injuries sustained from a fall from her horse in Co. Louth, Ireland. Daughter of Lord and Lady Perceval Winterton of Kensington, London and Winterton Lodge, Sussex. Lady Winterton was vacationing with friends when the accident occurred. A memorial will be held this Saturday at St. Stephen’s Church Gloucester Road at 1:00pm. Mr. Christopher Dobbs, the well known industrial magnate and philanthropist has established a charity in her honor. The family asks that all donations be addressed to the Lady Catherine’s Charitable Trust.

  LONDON SOCIETY COLUMN of THE DAILY TATTLER

  APRIL 15th 1913

  News of the elopement of Lord and Lady Oliver Wrotham has taken London society by surprise. Rumors surfaced just last week after Lord Wrotham was released from a Swiss sanitarium after a dose of pleurisy, no doubt compounded by his Irish ordeal. It is believed that the couple are honeymooning abroad, though exactly where no one is telling—though witnesses report to the Daily Tattler that the couple were seen last week boarding a private yacht owned by Hugh Carmichael in Trieste.

  Ursula joined Lord Wrotham on deck to watch the sun set over the Mediterranean. Although pale and thin from his illness, Lord Wrotham had lost none of his urbane Englishness. He wore his cream suit, striped necktie and fob watch with all the formality of an evening top hat and tails. Her days of even relative sophistication were, however, long gone, Ursula reflected ruefully, as she gazed down at her long cotton day dress ballooning out over her ever increasing frame.

  “James sent word that he and McTiernay are now in America,” Lord Wrotham said, putting his arm around her.

  “Pity Freddie is back in London,” Ursula replied. “They would have all got on famously.” Ursula’s tone may have appeared blithe, but she had not failed to notice the shadow that passed over Lord Wrotham’s face as he reflected on the past few months.

  “Tell me,” Ursula asked after a pause. “Was James really working for McTiernay all along?”

  Lord Wrotham smiled. “James’ loyalties have never been in question. Besides, he provided a useful insider into McTiernay’s operation.”

  Ursula frowned, that was by no means a definitive answer.

  “Why was McTiernay convinced that James was still loyal to him—even after Lady Winterton told him you were an English spy?”

  “Because of James’ past,” Lord Wrotham replied. “It’s the reason why James and Harrison both feel they owe me a debt—a debt I keep telling them that has been well and truly paid. It arises from a case they handled involving Irish bombers in London. They were called to a warehouse on the East End docks and discovered a cache of Irish arms and explosives. Both James and Harrison were young and inexperienced policemen at the time. They had no idea what they were getting into and were unarmed. As luck would have it, I was in the area, visiting your father’s warehouse as it turned out. I stumbled into the situation. Things got unpleasant but Harrison and James always credited me with saving their lives—Nonsense really, but it did provide us with an ideal opportunity to gain a foothold in the Irish Republican Brotherhood. One of the men arrested that day eventually turned informer. We used him to introduce James and McTiernay—and our plans fell into place. James has continued to walk the fine line between British and Irish spy ever since—his orders were to stay with McTiernay and that’s what he has done.”

  Ursula
suspected Lord Wrotham was down-playing the role he had in saving Harrison and James but she was willing, this time, to wait until he was ready to tell her everything.

  “Did Harrison ever let you read Admiral Smythe’s notebook?” Ursula asked.

  “Yes,” Lord Wrotham said. “It confirmed all that Lady Winterton said—Although Smythe never suspected that it was she who was his so called German spy. There’s no hard evidence that she actually sold any information to Christopher Dobbs so I’m afraid the man still walks free. With the threat of war, men like him will only grow even more powerful.”

  “Enough!” Ursula protested, laying her head on his shoulder. “I don’t want to hear that name for a very, very long time—besides,” she said. “I have some news of my own.”

  Lord Wrotham looked down. He raised one eyebrow inquiringly.

  “I saw a doctor just before we left Switzerland,” Ursula said as Lord Wrotham absent-mindedly stroked her hair. “He’s pretty sure—”

  “That you are expecting a boy,” Lord Wrotham interrupted.

  “How very aristocratic of you to presume as much,” Ursula answered “It’s not that at all.”

  Lord Wrotham looked down at her with sudden concern. “Then what?” he asked.

  “Well, he’s pretty sure…” Ursula dragged it out with a secret smile.

  “What?!” Lord Wrotham demanded impatiently.

  “That we’re expecting twins.”

  All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2014 by Clare Langley-Hawthorne