Sebastian complied. Wellington might be already at an age that, in others, would be regarded as their dotage, but there were few in England with a clearer grasp of all matters political and military, and Sebastian had enormous respect for the duke’s unique combination of experience and acuity.
As if demonstrating that he hadn’t lost any of his famed mental sharpness, Wellington posed several pertinent questions, pushing Sebastian to elaborate on his suspicions alongside his facts.
He concluded his recitation of events with his and Antonia’s recent meeting with Inspector Crawford and Sir Humphrey. “The most urgent issue on my plate as of this moment is to get a letter to Whitehall detailing Ennis’s warning, such as it is.”
Wellington nodded. “Yes—that must go and with all speed. Winchelsea is unlikely to be back from Ireland, but regardless, the Home Secretary needs to know of this, early days though it is. One never knows with matters such as this what snippet of information will connect with another and give warning of something major. Have you written this missive yet?”
“Yes.” From his pocket, Sebastian drew the letter he’d prepared during the restless watches of the night.
“Good man.” Wellington pointed to the bellpull. “Ring for Moreton.”
His secretary answered the summons, and after scrawling his name across one corner of the envelope, Wellington consigned the letter into Moreton’s care with explicit instructions it be sent off by courier immediately.
When the door closed behind Moreton, Wellington returned his attention to Sebastian. “Now as to this plot.” Wellington paused, then he sat back, once more folding his hands in his lap. “What are your thoughts on it?”
Understanding that his grasp of the situation was about to be tested, Sebastian marshaled his wits. “The two words Ennis uttered…the way he said them was distinct. The first word was gunpowder, and that, itself, was the point. It stood alone. To me, it seemed that Ennis saw the fact that gunpowder was involved was the most critical point he needed to convey.”
Wellington nodded. “Indeed. Impending death, I have often observed, sharpens the mind wonderfully. I believe you’re correct in thinking that the involvement of gunpowder is of paramount significance.”
“So what does that tell us?” Sebastian answered his own question. “That whatever is planned, it’s deadly serious and likely to end in deaths. If gunpowder is involved in a secretive way, there really is no likelihood that the proposed use will be either innocent or minor.”
“Precisely.” His gaze locked on Sebastian’s face, Wellington continued, “Ennis said gunpowder because he knew he hadn’t time to say much more, and that single word establishes not just the substance but also the seriousness of the threat he sought to expose.”
Sebastian nodded. “So to the second word, which, as I said, was separate. Here. Although distinct, I believe it was secondary to the first—that Ennis meant that the gunpowder was here, not that he intended to tell me something else about ‘here’ but ran out of time.”
“But where is here?” Antonia asked. “There are so many possible interpretations.”
Wellington inclined his head. “I take your point. However, given this is gunpowder we’re talking about, I believe your best option is to assume Ennis meant the specific—namely that he meant Pressingstoke Hall itself—and then, if there is no sign of it there, or of it ever having been there, extend your search outward to the immediate area.” He paused, then went on, “Given Ennis was dying and knew it, we have to assume that his ‘here’ means somewhere close. Anywhere farther than the immediate neighborhood, and I think he would have tried for another word.”
After a moment, Sebastian said, “That brings us to the next question arising from Ennis’s warning—who is behind this?”
“Certainly, the evidence points to the Young Irelanders, or at least their more militant fringe. However…” Wellington paused as if consulting his capacious memory. Eventually, his expression faintly puzzled, he continued, “I have to say it’s not something I would have expected. The government came down hard on those involved in organizing the rebellion, and that was only two years ago. It takes time to regroup after a defeat like that. I wouldn’t have anticipated any violent attack—much less one involving gunpowder—from that quarter so soon.”
Wellington grimaced. “However, with Winchelsea hearing rumors of a Young Irelander plot, and Ennis being Anglo-Irish and possibly a sympathizer, as well as having other Anglo-Irish in the house, it’s difficult not to make the obvious connection.” Wellington stared at the floor in front of his chair, then raised his head and frowned at Sebastian. “I don’t like wagering the nation’s security on what might, in the end, be mere coincidence. We have precious few facts to draw on in terms of who might be behind this—for all we know, it could be the Chartists, although, in their case, even more than the Young Irelanders, we’re dealing with a group who have been reduced to a vestige of their former strength.”