The Irishman hesitated, then looked pointedly at Melissa and Felix.
Julian waved. “My wife and my brother. You can speak freely before them.”
The man weighed that, then straightened and said, “My name’s Dally Watkins. The Ribbonmen leadership sent me to tell you that Davy O’Donnell’s been thrown in Ulster nick on the say-so of the Orangemen.”
Julian shut his eyes and groaned. “Why on earth…?”
Melissa suspected he’d intended the question to be rhetorical, but Watkins answered, “No real reason, but that new bloke, Goulburn, is one of theirs, so he decided to stick Davy inside to shut him up.”
Julian opened his eyes. “Surely someone’s told Gregory by now?”
Watkins shrugged. “They might have tried, but we don’t know because Gregory’s been over here. But he needs to get himself back over there and sort things out, or they’re saying there’ll be hell to pay.”
Julian muttered, “I can imagine.” His gaze on Watkins, Julian tapped his finger on his blotter, then stopped. “You and your leaders do know that I’m no longer with the Home Office?”
Watkins nodded. “Aye. We knew you’d left.” His gaze slid to Melissa, then returned to Julian. “But the bods on the Irish desk will listen to you, as will those in Dublin Castle. You were their top negotiator, and even Goulburn will listen to what you have to say—and the Lord Lieutenant certainly will. He’s one as likes to keep things calm, so he’ll back Gregory in sorting this out.”
In Julian’s view, that assessment was accurate in all respects. He thought, then sighed. “All right.” On leaving the service, he’d vowed to himself that he wouldn’t get sucked back into Home Office affairs, but he couldn’t just leave this to slide and land God knew where. He hadn’t spent ten years of his life working to keep things calm in Ireland to have some idiot act belligerently and pitch the whole applecart into turmoil for no reason. Lips thinning, he nodded. “I’ll write to Gregory as well as to a few others in Dublin Castle, pointing out the inadvisability of jailing one of the few men able to and likely to help them keep a lid on things.”
Watkins looked pleased. He grinned as if a weight had sloughed from his shoulders. “Thank you. That’s all we ask.”
Julian eyed him. “Were you followed?”
“They had people tracking me in London, but when I reported back that I was having trouble getting you alone, those at home suggested I head up here and wait for you to come north, so I left and made for Liverpool as if I’d given up and was going home, but instead, I came across here. I think they lost me—I don’t think they followed me when I left London.”
Julian nodded. “Regardless, I suggest we put you up for the night. I’ll dispatch letters tomorrow, and you can take the one for your masters and start on your way back to Ireland then.”
Watkins bobbed his head. “If I could just nip back and fetch my things from the inn?”
“You were at the Pig and Whistle, I believe?”
When Watkins nodded, Julian said, “I’ll send a groom to fetch your belongings and drop a word in the owner’s ear that you’re a guest at the castle, and we’d be obliged if he would keep that to himself, and if anyone inquires after you, he should steer them to Chesterfield, farther north.”
Watkins looked impressed. “Aye, that’ll help.”
Julian nodded to Felix, who rose and rang for Phelps.
Watkins got to his feet and rather awkwardly bowed. “Thank you, my lord. I—we—know you don’t have to help, and we’re grateful.”
Julian inclined his head. “Please tell your masters that they need to establish a connection with someone in Dublin Castle—Hillworth comes to mind. I’ll write as much in my letter and that, as you’ve discovered, hunting me down over here won’t necessarily be straightforward.”
Watkins nodded. “Aye. I’ll make sure they understand that.”
Phelps arrived, and Julian gave his orders, then handed Watkins into Phelps’s care. Plainly rather curious, presumably about how things were done in an earl’s house, Watkins went off with Phelps quite happily.
As the door shut behind the pair, Felix returned to the armchair angled before the desk and fixed his gaze on Julian. “Well, that’s one mystery solved, but it leaves us with the question of who’s behind the lethal accidents that keep happening to you.” Felix looked at Melissa. “Both of you.”
Julian glanced at Melissa as well. “Indeed. And sadly, whoever is behind those incidents has followed us here.”
“Well,” Melissa said, “on the bright side, as all the London staff have returned to Carsely House and, according to Edgerton, the mantrap must have been laid in the past day, the person responsible isn’t one of our London people.”
Julian nodded. “And equally, none of the staff here were in London when the bookcase fell—I don’t think anyone here has been down there in living memory.”
“True.” Felix looked happier. “So if it’s none of the staff, then presumably, in London, someone broke in and set up the bookcase, but was careful to leave no trace. And here”—he shrugged—“while there might be staff around during the main part of the day, either very early in the morning or even more so after six in the evening, when everyone’s inside, anyone slipping into the grounds would have had ample time to set that trap.”
Julian grimaced. “The trap was well camouflaged—they spent time doing that—but even from the castle roof, you can’t see into that part of the shrubbery. They would have had plenty of time yesterday evening or even the evening before, and as you say, at this time of year, the light lasts for hours, long after the staff down tools and come in or go home.”
Felix nodded. “Easy enough to keep watch and seize their opportunity.”
