Betrayal at Lisson Grove (Treason at Lisson Grove)

“Ah yes, McDaid—the Irish hero who wants to turn all Europe upside down in a revolution to change the social order, sweep away the old, and bring in the new. And do you imagine that will bring Ireland freedom? To him you are expendable, Talulla, just as I am, or your parents, or anyone else.”

It was at that point that she let go of the dog’s collar and shrieked at it to attack, just as the police threw open the door to the hall and Narraway raised the chair as the dog leapt and sent him flying to land hard on his back, half winding him.

One of the policemen grabbed the animal by its collar, all but choking it. The other seized hold of Talulla.

Narraway climbed to his feet, coughing and gasping to get his breath.

“Thank you,” he said hoarsely. “I hope you have been here rather longer than it would appear.”

“Long enough,” the elder of the two responded. “But there’ll still be one or two charges for you to answer, like assaulting a policeman while in custody, and escaping custody. If I were you, I’d run like hell and never come back to Ireland, Mr. Narraway.”

“Very good advice.” Narraway stood to attention, gave the man a smart salute, then turned and ran, exactly as he had been told.

————

IN THE MORNING THERE was no alternative for Charlotte but to have a hasty breakfast, pay Mrs. Hogan the last night for which she owed her. Then, with Mrs. Hogan’s assistance, she sent for a carriage to take her and all the baggage as far as the police station where Narraway was held.

It was a miserable ride. She had come up with no better solution than simply to tell the police that she had further information on the death of Cormac O’Neil, and hope that she could persuade someone with judgment and influence to listen to her.

As she drew closer and closer the idea seemed to grow even more hopeless.

The carriage was about a hundred yards away from the police station. She was dreading being put out on the footpath with more luggage than she could possibly carry, and a story she was already convinced no one would believe. Then abruptly the carriage pulled up short and the driver leaned down to speak to someone Charlotte could only partially see.

“We are not there yet!” she said desperately. “Please go farther. I cannot possibly carry these cases so far. In fact I can’t carry them at all.”

“Sorry, miss,” the driver said sadly, as if he felt a real pity for her. “That was the police. Seems there’s been an escape of a very dangerous prisoner in the night. They just discovered it, an’ the whole street’s blocked off.”

“A prisoner?”

“Yes, miss. A terrible, dangerous man, they say. Murdered a man yesterday, near shot his head off, an’ now he’s gone like magic. Just disappeared. Went to see him this morning, and his cell is empty. They’re not allowing any carriages through.”

Charlotte stared at him as if she could barely understand his words, but her mind was racing. Escape. Murdered a man yesterday. It had to be Narraway, didn’t it? He must have known even more certainly than she did just how much people hated him, how easy it would be for them to see all the evidence the way they wished to. Who would believe him—an Englishman with his past—rather than Talulla Lawless, who was Sean O’Neil’s daughter and, perhaps even more important, Kate’s daughter? Who would want to believe she shot Cormac?

The driver was still staring at Charlotte, waiting for her decision.

“Thank you,” she said, fumbling for words. She did not want to leave Narraway alone and hunted in Ireland, but there was no way in which she could help him. She had no idea which way he would go, north or south, inland, or even across the country to the west. She did not know if he had friends, old allies, anyone to turn to.

Then another thought came to her with a new coldness. When they arrested him, they would have taken his belongings, his money. He would be penniless. How would he survive, let alone travel? She must help him.

Please heaven he did not trust any of the people he knew in Dublin! Every one of them would betray him. They were tied to one another by blood and memory, old grief too deep to forget.

“Miss?” The driver interrupted her thoughts.

Charlotte had little money either. She was marked as Narraway’s sister. She would be a liability to him. There was nothing she could do to help here. Her only hope was to go back to London and somehow find Pitt or, at the very least, Aunt Vespasia.

“Please take me to the dock,” she said as steadily as she could. “I think it would be better if I caught the next steamer back to England. Whatever dock that is, if you please.”

“Yes, miss.” He climbed back over the box again and urged his horse forward and around. They made a wide turn in the street heading away from the police station.