An Irish Hostage

A Novel

Charles Todd

• Publisher: William Morrow
• Year: 2021
• Print ISBN:
  9780062859877
• eBook ISBN:
  9780062859884
• Topic: Literature
• Subtopic: Crime & Mystery Literature
• Index: Literature

“[Readers] are bound to be caught up in the adventures of Bess Crawford . . . While her sensibility is as crisp as her narrative voice, Bess is a compassionate nurse who responds with feeling.”— The New York Times Book Review

In the uneasy peace following World War I, nurse Bess Crawford runs into trouble and treachery in Ireland—in this twelfth book in the New York Times bestselling mystery series.

The Great War is over—but in Ireland, in the wake of the bloody 1916 Easter Rising, anyone who served in France is now considered a traitor, including nurse Eileen Flynn and former soldier Michael Sullivan, who only want to be married in the small, isolated village where she grew up. Even her grandmother is against it, and Eileen’s only protection is her cousin Terrence who was a hero of the Rising and is still being hunted by the British. 

Bess Crawford had promised to be there for the wedding. And in spite of the danger to her, she keeps that promise—only to be met with the shocking news that the groom has vanished. Eileen begs for her help, but how can Bess hope to find him when she doesn’t know the country, the people, or where to put her trust? Time is running out, for Michael and for Bess herself, and soon her own life is on the line. With only an Irish outlaw and a man being hunted for murder on her side, how can she possibly save herself, much less stop a killer?  

Chapter One

Somerset, June 1919

We had finished our supper and were taking our tea in my mother’s morning room.

It’s quite a lovely room, the long windows open to a surprisingly mild spring evening, and a bit of a breeze pleasantly lifting the lilac curtains just a little, so that we could hear the nightingale singing in the tree by the garden gate.

The very picture of a happy family enjoying a companionable silence as we listened.

The only thing that spoiled this charming scene were the expressions on our faces.

Simon Brandon, home from whatever it was that had taken him to Scotland while I was in Paris, was trying his best not to look grim.

I had come home from Paris to discover that I was on extended leave while the Queen Alexandra’s Imperial Military Nursing Service decided what to do with me. It was especially disappointing to me, because I’d expected to return to one of the clinics for the wounded who were still in our care. But for my parents’ sake, I was trying to put a brave face on waiting for news.

My mother, as always sensitive to the feelings of those around her, was doing her best not to look worried.

And my father, on a brief leave from the Peace Talks in Paris, was attempting to hide his frustration with the direction the talks were taking, because he was privy to much of the behind-the-scenes maneuverings—maneuverings he couldn’t discuss, bottling them up inside instead. He hadn’t even complimented Cook on dinner, a measure of his preoccupation.

Adding to this merry evening was my own mention of the wedding in Ireland that I was to attend in a fortnight’s time.

One of the Irish nurses who had been aboard Britannic with me when it sank off the Greek coast had nearly died from severe injuries to her legs when we abandoned ship. I had barely managed to pull her into one of the lifeboats and stop the bleeding. Then as we waited for rescue, several of the doctors and I had done our best to save her left leg, and miracle of miracles, we had succeeded. Eileen had been able to walk again after several months of intensive rehabilitation, and she was so grateful that she asked me to be her attendant at her wedding in Ireland when the war ended and both she and her fiancé were free to marry.

My parents and Simon were against my going there.

The problem was the Easter Rising in Ireland in 1916, an attempt to break away from England and set up home rule. It had been put down ruthlessly, and that had only aggravated the situation, hardening the Irish determination to be independent. The English position was that whatever their goals, to openly rebel while Britain was engaged in the Great War was little short of treason, and several of the ringleaders were shot. In 1916, we weren’t certain of victory in France, and then on the heels of the Easter Rising, the Somme Offensive in July had dragged on for months, killing thousands of men. The Government wasn’t in a mood of clemency.

The Irish, on the other hand, had felt they had waited long enough for independence, and many were tired of promises. There were only about four hundred people involved in the revolt, but it had set a spark alight across the countryside. Those at home, bearing the brunt of Britain’s displeasure, turned on their own and considered the Irishmen who were fighting in the trenches as traitors to the Cause, and there had been incidents that kept the anger on both sides of the issue very close to the boiling point. Some of the worse attacks had been reported in the British press, and of course my parents had read about them.

I could understand my parents’ position. On the other hand, Eileen had told me that I would be safe, and her family’s protection would be more than enough for the short time I would be in Ireland. Indeed, her cousin had been one of the defenders at the Post Office in Dublin during the worst of the fighting, and he was looked upon as a hero. What’s more, he had written to my father—as if they were equals! Unheard of! After all, the Colonel Sahib, as we called him, was a high-ranking British Army officer and Eileen’s cousin had a price on his head—to assure him I would be taken care of. Another English officer would also be present—he was to be the groom’s best man—and he would certainly see that I traveled safely to and from Ireland.

We had left the discussion at the supper table and were drinking our tea in a far-from-comfortable silence. But I couldn’t leave the matter there. I owed it to Eileen to let her know if I wasn’t able to come. Still, considering what I had done in France, on my own, while I was serving there, I was better prepared than most young women to take care of myself in hostile situations.

Our nearest neighbor’s daughter, Sara, had never been out of Somerset. I could understand if her parents had told her she oughtn’t go. I’d have agreed.

And so I said now, offering a compromise, “I won’t go as a nursing Sister, in uniform. I’ll dress very simply, so as not to attract attention.”

“You must cross Ireland, my dear,” my father said. “By train. And it isn’t a direct connection. You’ll change twice. The last ten miles you must travel by motorcar. Or dogcart for all I know. And come back in reverse.”

I glanced at Simon, hoping he might suggest that he accompany me. Then I looked away. He would be less safe than I was, with his English accent and his soldier’s stride.

“Surely Eileen could have someone meet me in Dublin?” But she hadn’t suggested it . . .

I sighed.

Accustomed to making my own decisions for four years, I was finding it hard to be the dutiful daughter I’d been in 1914. Much as I adored my parents, I’d changed.

My mother seemed to grasp that. She said, finding a smile, “There have been several murders lately, darling. Of English travelers. In France, you had the Army’s protection—well, umbrella. You were a Sister, an officer. It gave you a standing that everyone understood. That won’t exist in Ireland. You will be seen as a target, if someone wishes to make a name for himself by shooting at you. You must see that.”

It was a different argument from my father’s or Simon’s. They had been worried about travel, about finding my way in an unfriendly country, about the difficulties of being a bridesmaid when the English were anathema in most quarters. Everyone at the wedding would know who I was, and while I might not be in trouble there, it was possible that between the wedding and the ferry to England, someone might decide to do something rash.

My mother did have a point. I finished my tea and set the cup on the table as I considered what she’d said.

And then I remembered something.

I glanced at Simon, then looked away again. He hadn’t been himself since Scotland. The easy friendship that had always been between us had been replaced by a stiffness that had left me to wonder what I’d done to deserve it. And so I hesitated to mention what had just occurred to me.

There had been a flyer in France, while I was in Paris, an American. As I was leaving the country, boarding my ship in Calais, Captain Jackson had asked me to tell Simon hello for him. I’d suspected at the time that the Captain might have been keeping an eye on me at Simon’s request. It would have been typical of Simon—then. And much as that annoyed me in hindsight, I’d found the pilot very helpful indeed and couldn’t very well complain.

The question now was, how did I bring Captain Jackson into the conversation without letting Simon know what I’d guessed?

I took a deep breath. In for a penny, in for a pound . . .

“I think there’s a way we could avoid all the problems of traveling in Ireland. What if I could fly from England to Eileen’s village? And back again. I’d be there just for the wedding, and with her family the entire time.”

There was a smile on my mother’s face as she turned to the Colonel Sahib. But my father’s frown had deepened. “I could probably find someone to fly you. But I’m not sure I could do that in time.”

“You don’t need to find anyone. Simon? Captain Jackson is eager for any opportunity to fly. Do you think he might come to England and take me to Ireland?”

The surprise on Simon’s face was quickly covered.

I could see that Captain Jackson hadn’t told him that I knew about his friendship with Simon.

“I can ask him,” he said. “Certainly.”

“Do you think he’ll agree? I’ll make it worth his while,” my father said.

And that’s how I got to attend a wedding in Ireland.

Table of contents

• Dedication
• Contents
• Chapter One
• Chapter Two
• Chapter Three
• Chapter Four
• Chapter Five
• Chapter Six
• Chapter Seven
• Chapter Eight
• Chapter Nine
• Chapter Ten
• Chapter Eleven
• Chapter Twelve
• Chapter Thirteen
• Chapter Fourteen
• Chapter Fifteen
• Chapter Sixteen
• Chapter Seventeen
• Chapter Eighteen
• Chapter Nineteen
• Chapter Twenty
• Chapter Twenty-One
• Chapter Twenty-Two
• Chapter Twenty-Three
• Acknowledgments
• About the Author
• Also by Charles Todd
• Copyright
• About the Publisher