“I mean the one with her rooms.”
“That one,” he said, pointing. “On the corner.”
“Right. I’ll get on with my meal. Be back at two.”
On his way down Castle Hill, a woman in a carriage passed him at speed.
Thirty minutes later, the officer in charge listened to Marcus York and liked what he heard.
“You’re a crack shot, the sergeant major here tells me. One of the best he’s seen.”
“And I’m a handy fellow with this, as well,” McGrath pulled a pistol from under his jacket. “Bought it from a Liverpool gunsmith.”
“You won’t need it. No one will get close enough for you to use it.”
“Right, then. I’ll put it away.” McGrath holstered the gun in his belt.
“I’ll pair you with our best man. The two of you atop theQueen’s Tower will give us a vantage over the entire grounds. Sergeant Major?”
“Sir.”
“Find Private Sylvester. Then, locate the Scotsman, Brown. Have him show York and Sylvester the way to the Queen’s Tower roof.”
They found Brown at the twin-tower entrance with his trunk-like legs planted wide, glowering as he listened to the sergeant major explain his orders.
Brown pointed to Private Sylvester. “Yon uniform tells me who he be. But that man … I’ve never set eyes on him afore now.”
“This is …” The sergeant major turned to McGrath. “What’s your name again?”
“Marcus York, groom to Major FitzGerald, and sent from London to help protect the queen. He’s still at his wife’s bedside, poor lady.”
“Aye, I know Major FitzGerald. Follow me.” Brown turned and headed through the gate. “Rifles on the roof … ’tis a good plan.” And the three of them, Brown, Padraig McGrath, and Private Sylvester, headed up a stone staircase. The Scotsman led them down the ornate hallway past the private apartments in the Queen’s Tower. At the turn, they heard laughter from behind a door.
“Eating the woman out of house and home.” Brown jerked his head to the right. “The queen’s rooms are over there. We’ll not be letting anyone close.”
McGrath patted the butt of his rifle. “You can count on this.”
Tennant left a constable guarding the Pale Assassin’s corpse and drove to the Pall Mall telegraph office with Sergeant O’Malley. The inspector sent this message to the Windsor police:YARD ORDERED ARREST OF MAJOR PETER FITZGERALD. SUSPECTED SNIPER WITH RIFLE AT WINDSOR. Then he directed thecabbie to Marlborough House and informed the captain in charge of the guard. Sir Lionel drove on to the Home Office to inform the home secretary.
“We’ll brief the commissioner, Paddy. Explain the steps we’ve taken. Then I’m catching the next train to Windsor.”
But Sir Richard had other plans for Tennant. “I want you on the train for Dover. The boat to Calais doesn’t leave until six. Plenty of time to bag our bird.”
“With respect, sir—”
“Windsor Castle and its grounds are crawling with soldiers. You’re not needed there. Go to Dover and be sure the local coppers don’t cock up the arrest. I want FitzGerald in Newgate Prison tonight.”
“Yes, sir.”
O’Malley was waiting outside. “What are our orders?”
“It’s Dover for us, damn it.”
“This arrived thirty minutes ago.” The sergeant handed the inspector Julia’s telegram:LEARNED MAJOR FITZGERALD IS RELATED TO LADYMIDDLEBURY.
“Well, now we know why Lady Middlebury had to die,” Tennant said.
“And a sweeper lad dropped this with the duty sergeant at one o’clock. ’Tis the note from McGrath, sending us to FitzGerald’s house.”
