Free Unlikely Traitors by Clare Langley-Hawthorne Page A

and conflicted loyalties from his days at Balliol, Lord Wrotham apparently chose to ally himself with McTiernay. Lord Wrotham’s business ties and influence made him a valuable asset in securing contacts in Germany.”
    “I don’t really see Wrotham being the disillusioned diplomat turned German spy, do you?” Ursula said. “Even if, which I entirely doubt, he was involved in any kind of radicalism in his youth”—she leaned forward once more in her chair—“he would hardly need the money after becoming engaged to me.”
    “You forget,” Harrison reminded her. “The meeting was at the end of 1911. I believe at that time you had rejected his Lordship’s offer of marriage.”
    Ursula flushed.
    “But I admit,” Harrison conceded. “The picture that Admiral Smythe paints in his files is not one that entirely fits with the Lord Wrotham that I know.”
    “And what of McTiernay then—what has he got to say? Does he corroborate the Count’s story?”
    “McTiernay has disappeared,” Harrison said bitterly. “Special Branch no longer has the network of informers or friends within the Nationalists that we used to have, so he’s going to be hard to find. We suspect he’s gone to ground somewhere in Ireland.”
    “Is McTiernay married? Does he have family that you can contact?” Ursula asked.
    “McTiernay’s wife’s Fenian political views are well known—she is also a member of the Irish Women’s Franchise League.” Ursula was well aware of the Irish women’s group dedicated to securing votes for women and of Harrison’s animosity towards the suffrage issue.
    Ursula felt her hackles rise. “I suppose you think because of that I am somehow in league with her?”
    It was Harrison’s turn to flush. “We’re more concerned about finding Lord Wrotham’s chauffeur, Archibald James,” he said, changing the topic. “As I recall, his Lordship told you to ask James to drive you to Bromley Hall.”
    “I have been unable to contact Lord Wrotham’s chauffeur,” Ursula replied. “And I’m not sure what he’s got to do with any of this, anyway.” Her right foot tapped the upholstered skirt of her chair.
    “You haven’t seen or heard from him then?” Harrison asked.
    “No, of course I haven’t,” Ursula replied.
    Ursula’s cup of tea went untouched beside her.
    “Surely Lord Wrotham must have mentioned his meeting in Germany in December 1911…” Harrison probed. “Or perhaps he discussed McTiernay with you? He’s more likely to have been candid with you about his dealings with the Count and McTiernay given your well-known political support for Irish Home Rule.”
    “Lord Wrotham never saw fit to tell me anything about this meeting,” Ursula answered, stiffly. “Or about his friendships from Balliol.”
    “What about any of his other visits abroad? Perhaps he confided in you about these, but you never understood the implications—until now? Maybe if you think hard you’ll recall something—it may be trivial—but it might be enough to help Lord Wrotham…”
    By now Ursula was sure his presence here was a ruse and nothing more. It was clear Harrison had only given her information to make her believe that he thought Lord Wrotham was innocent—when, all along, he was only trying to draw her out and discover what information Wrotham may have shared with her.
    “I never realized,” Ursula said, leaning forward and pinning him with an icy stare. “How stupid you really thought I was.”
    After Chief Inspector Harrison left, Ursula tried desperately to sleep but she found herself tossing and turning in agitation. Harrison’s duplicity sickened her. Her thoughts awhirl she kept coming back to the names of the men: Smythe. McTiernay. Wrotham. Count von Bernstorff-Hollweg. All four of them Balliol men. All four of them now somehow involved in a plot to sell Britain’s military secrets. Sleep eventually gained a foothold and, as she slipped off the precipice into the dark, deep chasm, her final