Dublin's Girl

by Eimear Lawlor

  Her heart raced. She looked straight ahead so as not to make eye contact. Veronica didn’t know why she didn’t slow or pretend to look in a shop window. She walked in his direction, her breath quickening as she neared him. Her scarf partially hid her face. She pulled at it, but it fell away, exposing her face just as he was about to pass her. His eyes caught hers, and his mouth moved to a smile of acknowledgement.

  ‘Hello again.’

  Veronica stopped and gripped her bag. She waited for him to question her, to demand to empty the contents of her bag. He was alone now as the rest of the soldiers had gone ahead.

  ‘It’s awfully cold, out for a stroll?’

  Her mouth dried and any reply stuck in her throat. This was it, she would be arrested and shot. ‘Yes, eh, I am on my way to visit my aunt on Pembroke Road.’ She silently cursed; she had said too much. Her bones trembled, and she tried to steady not only her voice but her body as well.

  ‘I am waiting for my car. My men have gone back to the barracks. I can drive you to your aunt’s.’

  With petrol scarcity due to the war, only the army and the dreaded patrols could now drive freely around Dublin.

  Veronica shook her head. ‘No. It’s fine. I love the fresh air.’ It was time to leave.

  He offered her his hand. ‘I’m Harry. Major Fairfax.’

  Veronica automatically took it. His grip was firm, and his hand was soft. ‘Veronica. Veronica McDermott.’ Her head spun, and a small bead of sweat dripped down her forehead.

  She snatched her hand away. Was he laughing at her? She clenched her fist, careful not to drop the papers. ‘I’ve to go.’

  He nodded and walked to his waiting car, but then stopped, and shook his left leg which slightly tailed as he walked back to her.

  Christ. She inhaled, and broke into a cold sweat, getting ready to run.

  He took off his cap, his brown hair glistening with oil. ‘Would you like to come for tea next week? Shelbourne Hotel on Saturday at four?’

  Veronica stepped back, her hat falling to the ground. The thought disgusted her. Not only had she never met a man for tea, but he was an Englishman.

  He picked it up and handed it to her. ‘Sorry, did I startle you?’

  She grabbed her hat from him. ‘No.’ Eddie’s beaten face flashed in her mind.

  A car tooted. The major lifted his hand to the driver of the car and took off his hat in a salute to Veronica. ‘4 p.m. on Saturday at the Shelbourne.’

  She opened her mouth to reply to him, but he was already walking to the waiting car. He stopped to talk to a group of dirty children with torn clothes. They laughed. He put his hand in his pocket and gave them something. It could have been sweets or money. Grabbing the contents out of his hand like wild hungry cats, they laughed again and ran away.

  Mrs O’Reilly’s words, we want our freedom from the English; they have suppressed us long enough; there has been nothing but poverty and death; we have to get our own parliament, reverberated inside Veronica’s head as she rushed to Pembroke Road. Thoughts whirred through her head as she ran, and her hair came loose. When she entered Fr O’Flanagan’s, Mrs Brown said, ‘God, dear, you look a mess. What happened now? Did the soldiers bother you again?’

  ‘No, it was freezing, and I ran.’ She didn’t know why she didn’t tell Mrs Brown the truth.

  ‘Come in, you poor thing. Wait in the drawing-room.’

  As Veronica sat and investigated the dancing flames, a plan began to form.

  Mrs Brown returned, and she followed her into the study. Fr O’Flanagan sat in front of the roaring fire, the small desk beside him covered in papers. He sat back, rubbing his eyes.

  ‘Good, I was hoping you would get here soon. It’s getting late. Did you have any problems on the way?’

  ‘No.’ She didn’t want to talk about the encounter with the soldier. ‘Sorry, Father, what did you say?’

  ‘I said you had better go. It looks like rain is on the way. Are you sure you’re all right? You do look a bit flushed. I’ll take you back.’

  ‘No, it’s fine, Father. I’ll walk.’

  Her walk would give her time to think. The soldier was undoubtedly handsome, and he did possess politeness that seemed contradictory to his reason for being in Ireland. Even though the encounter was brief, it angered her that he would assume that he had the authority to ask her for tea as if she would obey him.

  At home later, as Betty cooked dinner, she put vegetable skins in the bin. Veronica knew Betty would have scraped the vegetable peel, so nothing edible was left to waste. Food was a precious commodity, and even more so now as a lot of food farmed in Ireland was sent to England. The farms in England had lost many of their working men due to conscription.

  ‘Well, dear, how was your day?’

  ‘It was fine, Aunt Betty.’ She couldn’t talk to her aunt about the English soldiers she saw every day for fear it would only stir the painful memory of what she had lost. Veronica found it confusing that her uncle had not stopped Padraig from joining the British army. It was clear from the people she had met when delivering the parcels that Tom was involved in trying to get Ireland independence.

  A rare parcel of food from the farm had arrived. The smell of soup with fresh vegetables from the farm in Cavan brought her back to the present. Sometimes she missed home.

  19

  On Friday Mrs O’Reilly stopped typing with a big sigh. ‘All done and dusted. Are you doing anything nice for the weekend, Veronica?’ She looked at her over the rim of her glasses, but didn’t wait for a reply. ‘We can all go home now and have a well-deserved sleep.’

  Veronica stopped tidying up her desk. She remembered the soldier’s words – 4 p.m. at the Shelbourne – and shrugged the memory away with a shudder. ‘No, I’ve got a few letters to write, and I might try to get my aunt out for a walk. She’s so stiff, but I think it would do her good.’

  Mrs O’Reilly nodded and pinned down her hat. ‘It’s still a bit blustery outside,’ she said, and pulled on her coat. ‘I’ve to rush as I’ve to bake a few tarts as my sister is coming up from the country tomorrow.’

  Michael Collins entered as Mrs O’Reilly was leaving, and tilted his hat. ‘Have a good weekend, Mrs O’Reilly. I want a word with Veronica.’

  ‘You just caught us, she’s just about to leave as well.’

  He nodded to her. ‘Veronica, will you come into my office for a minute before you go?’

  Michael Collins rarely spoke to her; he gave the typing to Mrs O’Reilly, and he spent a lot of time in his office next door writing speeches, or having a meeting with other Sinn Féin members.

  In his office, he stood looking out the long window behind his oak desk, dark with age. His paperwork was neater than her desk.

  ‘Tell me about the soldier, the major you met the other day.’

  Veronica’s breath quickened. The room suddenly felt hot even though the window was open. She had told no one about talking to the major. And now she was going to be fired for talking to an English soldier and sent home to Cavan in disgrace.

  ‘I’m told he wanted to meet you?’

  ‘Eh, yes.’ How did he know that? ‘I said no.’

  ‘We have people in The Castle willing to get us information, but we need to know how they know about our rallies. We do get some information from Dublin Castle, their headquarters, but soldiers turn up disrupting the meetings too often, stopping us getting our message across to the people that Home Rule is just an empty promise. The major you bumped into is not long in the country, and we need to find out what he is doing here.’ Michael sat behind his desk, the window behind him blowing a gust of fresh air into the room. Veronica opened the top button of her blouse, wishing she could fan herself. Had talking to the soldier been a treacherous act?

  ‘I was caught off guard and… I’m not going to meet him.’ The words were tumbling out.

  ‘Why would you not meet him?’

  Indignant, she said, ‘Because he is English, and…’ she hesitated, �
�… Eddie, my brother, is in prison. I have seen the squalor people live in, and their landlords went back to England. They don’t care about anyone here. And the work we are doing here, trying so hard to get independence, all your meetings and the anti-conscription campaign—’

  He raised his hand to stop her. ‘Go and meet him in the Shelbourne as he asked.’

  ‘But how did you know?’

  ‘We are watching him. He is not long here. He will be at the hotel. He goes there for tea every Saturday. The major works in Dublin Castle and we need to get information, like what their plans are for conscription. Our spies there are being watched.’

  Her face paled. Did he want her to spy?

  ‘Your uncle told me about the parcel deliveries,’ he said, tapping his foot on the wooden floor. ‘He said you were brave and could hold your nerve.’

  This was not something she had ever considered doing. Would she do it? Could she do it?

  ‘Veronica, we need all the help we can get. We need to know what the English know about the volunteers and if they have any names of our lads. We are recruiting more volunteers, and we are trying to get more guns and keep the ones we have. Ambushes are happening all over the country. Eddie was one of the best volunteers we had in Cavan. Now he is gone it’s a bit of a mess, and we can’t let that happen anywhere else. We also need to know what they know about our anti-conscription rallies.’

  ‘Any news of Eddie?’

  ‘Veronica, don’t worry, we are doing our best. We are looking after him. There’s talk of being able to get him out.’

  She didn’t know, but could she refuse? It was something she wouldn’t have considered a few months ago, but things were different now. She was different.

  ‘Yes,’ she said quickly, in case she changed her mind.

  ‘Go home, don’t tell anyone. Tell your aunt you’re meeting a friend tomorrow, or going for a walk. And Veronica don’t say where you work, it would only arouse his suspicions.’

  *

  It was a bright, crisp day, the fresh air diluting the smell of the Liffey. She walked briskly, her thoughts on the soldier. Not only had she never met an Englishman before, he was a different class. How would she sit, what would she talk about? Would she sit and listen? The loud bell of an oncoming tram brought her back to the present. She was not far from the hotel, and soon she stood outside it.

  SHELBOURNE HOTEL was engraved ominously over the door, inviting to a few, but like a warning to others saying, ‘this is our place, and only a select few can enter’. The building was impressive; the bronze ladies on either side of the entrance told a person this was for the privileged. The bay windows were surrounded by black railings with flower boxes and the sun shone directly inside. She was glad her mother had packed her good skirt and blouses now. Even still she was underdressed compared to the women here. They looked like the women from the Taylor Estate in Virginia.

  In the foyer, the reality of what she was doing engulfed Veronica. She had never seen such grandeur before. The shiny white marble floors sparkled, and the stairs shone like gold. She had been in Wynn’s Hotel, and she had thought it magnificent with its red soft carpets and doorman, but the Shelbourne magnificence was something she had only imagined in books. Veronica held her head high as she walked through the foyer with false confidence, trying not to look like she shouldn’t be there.

  At the front desk stood a poker-faced man with deep-set eyes. He was the strangest looking man Veronica had ever seen. Trying to slow her breathing, she stood in front of him. His head lowered to scan over his books.

  After a few seconds, he looked up and sighed. ‘Yes, can I help you, madam?’

  ‘Excuse me, where are the tearooms?’ Veronica asked, her words running into one another.

  Lifting his finger high, he snootily pointed to the left; a sign with tearooms on it directed her to a bright and colourful room. The afternoon sun mixed with the gold curtains and the blue wallpaper made a kaleidoscope of colours that bounced around the room. Under her feet, the soft carpet was like walking on the moist moss in the forest.

  A man in his mid-fifties wearing a black-and-white striped waistcoat approached her. ‘Can I help you, madam?’

  She opened her mouth, but no words came. A voice from behind her said, ‘She is with me. We’ve got a table over there by the bay window.’

  Her stomach somersaulted when she turned and saw the major standing beside her. Was it fear or excitement that she was a spy? Still speechless, she tried to stop her legs from shaking and followed Harry to the table set for two. He pulled out a chair for her.

  ‘Her coat. Murphy, will you take it please?’

  A man appeared behind her to take her coat. His face was motionless with a neat black moustache.

  Veronica stood still but shook on the inside. She opened her coat slowly and carefully concentrated on each button. What was she doing?

  Major Fairfax’s limp didn’t detract from his erect posture or his broad shoulders. As he sat down smiling, he moved to block the sun from shining into her eyes.

  ‘Murphy will bring the tea and scones over to us. Would you like some jam and cream with your scone?’

  Veronica nodded. She wasn’t hungry, but the cream was a real treat that she couldn’t refuse. She had entered a different world. At home on the farm, cream and milk were plentiful, but here in Dublin, everything was in short supply due to rationing.

  ‘I know some of the kitchen staff, and they always keep me some cream. They’re kind.’

  Kind was not a word she would have expected an English soldier to use to describe an Irish person, and a kitchen porter at that.

  ‘It is a beautiful day, isn’t it?’ said the major. ‘I love springtime, don’t you?’

  She had heard no one speak like him before, so smooth and quiet. The soldiers that came into the office spoke loud, harsh gruff words. She thought he spoke a little too fast… or did he always speak like that? His leg jerked up and down, and the quicker his leg moved, the faster the words flowed out of his mouth.

  Veronica nodded and glanced around the room. To her left, there was a family with two boys dressed neatly in perfectly ironed shirts under their coats. She felt everyone was staring at her, judging her.

  Two grey-haired ladies, who Veronica assumed were sisters, whispered conspiratorially to each other under large hats nestled sideways on their hair. They stared at her. Their eyes met, and they gave her a slight nod which Veronica could either take as an acknowledgement, or we know who you are and everything you stand for. Her face reddened. Michael hadn’t told her what to say if he asked her about her work. She couldn’t disclose she worked for Sinn Féin.

  She looked at the women again, but they were lost in conversation, their heads moving in unison. Their silver hair caught by the sun at the edge of their hats glistened in the sunlight, and Veronica relaxed when she saw the women’s shoulders relax.

  Veronica gripped her handbag on her lap, thinking what to say. With a rattle of cups, the waiter placed a shiny silver tray on the white linen cloth. He put pink flowery cups with matching saucers on the table. Steam rose from the scones, but Veronica had no appetite.

  ‘Thank you, Murphy, that’s fine. I’ll pour the lady her tea.’

  ‘My pleasure, sir.’ Murphy smiled at Harry, who nodded and smiled back. Harry poured her tea first, offering her milk and sugar. Veronica’s throat was dry, but when she lifted her cup, her palms were moist, and she put it back as she feared it would slip from her hand. Her stomach somersaulted, twisting and turning. The sun shone in through the large bay window, lighting up the room. Veronica could see his face. He was handsome. His skin was unmarked from childhood diseases, unlike a lot of the people in the city or even the soldiers. He had no scars of war or lines of worry or despair. His relaxed posture had a calmness about it, not the aggression of the soldiers she saw marching through the streets or the soldiers who were always coming into the office.

  ‘Veronica, you’re not from Dublin, are you
?’

  She swallowed her nervousness. ‘No, I’m from Cavan. My aunt is from Dublin.’

  ‘Cavan, is that near Cork? I was in Cork briefly, but I came back up to Dublin.’

  Clouds now covered the sun, and she could not hide behind the rays anymore. She took the pink teacup to her lips. Veronica’s mind raced, willing him to talk.

  ‘Veronica… it’s a lovely name,’ Harry said.

  Veronica replied with more confidence than she felt. ‘My father named us. I know it is unusual for a man, as mothers usually choose names, but my father named my siblings, too.’ The words all ran into each other, but she didn’t know what else to say.

  ‘So, there are more of you?’

  ‘Eh, yes, I have a brother.’ She froze; she didn’t want to encourage him to ask about Eddie. She added quickly, ‘And a sister, Susan. We live in the country.’

  Veronica put her cup down and rubbed her hands together. Seeing her teacup empty, Harry poured her more tea.

  ‘That must be exciting. I am an only child.’

  ‘How long have you been in Ireland?’ Veronica asked.

  ‘Three months now. I was in France but got wounded. So, the army sent me over here. I was lucky. A lot of the wounded never made it home…’ He trailed off, a faraway look in his eyes. Veronica had heard horrible stories about the conditions in which some men died, and she assumed that these memories were better forgotten.