Emily was still shaking and crying, but she had stopped hitting him. Her hair was coming undone and she looked ashen pale.
“Where’s Jack?” she said hoarsely. “What have you done with Jack? You were supposed to look after him! Where is he?” She jerked back as if to strike at him again.
There was a clatter of feet, and loud voices.
“What is it?” O’Day demanded. “Oh, my God! What happened? Is anyone hurt?” He swung around. “Radley?”
“I’m here.” Jack pushed his way past Doyle and Justine. Other people were coming down the stairs, and more from the baize door at the far end of the hall.
Emily did not even hear Jack. She was still furious with Pitt, and he had to hold her hard to prevent her from hurling herself at him again.
One of the footmen was cradling Hennessey in his arms, and he appeared to be slowly regaining his senses.
Jack strode forward, glancing at the wreckage of the study, and his face paled.
“McGinley,” Pitt said, meeting his eyes. “There was an explosion—dynamite, I should think.”
“Is he … dead?”
“Yes.”
Jack put his arm around Emily and held her, and she began to cry, but softly, as of relief, the terror slipping out of her.
O’Day came forward to stand almost between them, his face grim. They must all be able to smell the smoke now.
“Where the devil is the footman with the water?” Pitt shouted. “Do you want the whole house on fire?”
“Here, sir!” The man materialized almost at his elbow, staggering a little under the weight and awkwardness of two buckets of water. He moved past Pitt to where the curtain was now rising slightly and gusting out towards them on the draft from the broken windows, and they heard the furious hiss of steam as he threw the water, then the smoke belched and lessened. He came out covered in smut and with his face scalded bright pink.
“More water!” he gasped, and two other footmen ran to obey.
Pitt stood in the doorway, shielding the sight behind him. Everyone seemed to be present, white-faced, shocked and frightened. Tellman came forward.
“McGinley,” Pitt said again.
“Dynamite?” Tellman asked.
“I think so.” Pitt looked to see Iona. She was standing between Fergal and Padraig Doyle. Perhaps she had already guessed the truth from Pitt’s face, and the fact that Lorcan was not in the hall while everyone else was.
Eudora moved towards her.
Iona stood still, shaking her head from side to side. Padraig put his arm around her.
“What happened?” Fergal asked, frowning, trying to see beyond Pitt. “Is it a fire? Is anyone hurt?”
“For God’s sake, man, didn’t you hear the noise?” O’Day demanded angrily. “It was an explosion! Dynamite, by the sound of it.”
Fergal looked startled. For the first time he noticed Iona’s fear. He swung around to glare at Pitt, the question in his face.
“I am afraid Mr. McGinley is dead,” Pitt said grimly. “I don’t know what happened beyond the fact that the explosion seemed to center behind Mr. Radley’s desk. The fire is incidental. The blast blew the coals out of the grate and they fell onto the carpet.”
As he spoke a footman came struggling back with more water, and he stood aside for him to pass.
“Are you sure there is nothing I can do for McGinley?” Piers asked anxiously.
“Quite sure,” Pitt assured him. “Perhaps you could help Mrs. McGinley.”
“Yes. Yes, of course.” He moved back and approached Iona gently, talking to her as if there were no one else there, his voice quivering only very slightly.
Padraig Doyle walked over to Pitt, his face creased with concern.
“A bomb in Radley’s study,” he said with his back to the others so they could not hear. “And it exploded and caught poor Lorcan. It is a very bad business, Pitt. In the name of the devil, who put it there?”
“In the same name, Doyle, what was McGinley doing in there?” O’Day said grimly, looking around each in turn as if he thought someone might answer him.
Iona was silently clenching and unclenching her hands. Fergal had moved closer to her and surreptitiously slid his arm around her shoulders.
“Looking for Radley?” Padraig suggested, his eyes sharp and dark. “Borrowing paper, ink, wax, who knows?” He turned to Finn Hennessey, who was struggling to his feet with the assistance of the same footman who had held him before. “Do you know why Mr. McGinley was in Mr. Radley’s study?” Padraig asked.
Finn was still dizzy, blinking; his face was dark, smudged with dust, and his clothes were covered in it. He seemed barely able to focus.
“Yes sir,” he said huskily. “The dynamite …” He swiveled to stare at the shattered study door and the clouds of dust and smoke.
“He knew the dynamite was there?” Padraig said incredulously.
“Is he … dead?” Finn stammered.
“Yes,” Pitt answered him. “I’m sorry. Are you saying McGinley knew the dynamite was there?”
Finn turned towards him, blinking. It was obvious he was still dazed and probably suffering physical as well as emotional shock. He nodded slowly, licking dry lips.
“Then why in God’s name didn’t he send for help?” O’Day said reasonably. “Anyway, how did he know?”
Finn stared at him. “I don’t know how he knew, sir. He just told me … to stand guard, not to let anyone go into the study. He said he knew more about dynamite than anyone else here. He’d be the best person to deal with it.” He looked at O’Day, then at Pitt.
“Then who put it there?” Kezia asked, her voice rising towards panic. She swung around, staring at each of them.
“The same person who murdered Mr. Greville,” Justine answered her, her face pale and tight. “It was obviously intended for Mr. Radley because he has had the courage to take his place. Someone is determined that this conference shall not succeed and is prepared to commit murder after murder to see that it doesn’t.”
The fire in the study was out now. There was no more smoke, but the wind blowing through carried the rank smell of wet, charred wool and the still-settling dust.
“Of course it was intended for Mr. Radley,” Eudora said with a gulp. “Poor Lorcan saw someone put it there, or realized someone had, we shall never know now, and he went in there to try and disarm it before it could explode … only he failed.”
Iona looked up sharply, her eyes wide and suddenly filled with tears.
“He was betrayed, like all of us! He was one of the immortal Irishmen who died fighting for peace and trying to bring it to reality.” She faced Emily and Jack, standing close to each other. “You have a terrible responsibility, Mr. Radley, a debt of honor, incurred in blood and sacrifice. You cannot let us down.”
“I will do anything in my power not to, Mrs. McGinley,” Jack replied, meeting her gaze steadily. “But no sacrifice buys my conscience. I wish Lorcan McGinley were the only man who had died for Irish peace, but tragically he is only one of thousands. Now, there is much to do. Superintendent Pitt has another crime to investigate—”
“He hasn’t achieved much with the last one,” O’Day said with sudden bitterness, uncharacteristic of him until now. “Perhaps we should call in more help? This is lurching from bad to worse. McGinley’s is the second death in three days—”
“The third in a week,” Pitt cut across him. “There was a good man murdered in London because he had penetrated the Fenians and learned something of their plans—”
O’Day swung around, his face coloring, his eyes sharp. “You never mentioned that before! You never said you had information that the Fenians were planning all this. You knew that … and still you didn’t prevent it?”
“That’s unfair!” Charlotte intervened for the first time, coming forward from the shadows, where she had been standing near Emily and Jack. “This house wasn’t broken into by Fenians. Whoever did this”—she gestured towards the open study door and the wreckage within—“is one of us here. You brought murder with you!”