Authors: Clare Langley-Hawthorne
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
ISBN: 978-1-4976-5953-7
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