Harry spoke with the driver, they climbed in, and she sank back into the soft seat as the figure in black walked past. Sitting side by side in the cab, she was intensely aware of Harry. She had never sat this close to a man who wasn’t a relative. His arm touched her arm. She fought the urge to pull it away – what he stood for repulsed her.
‘Are you all right? I’ll ask the driver to bring you home.’
She could see the trees of St Stephen’s Green to her left. The threatening rain had not arrived, but the sun was low. She looked out the window of the stopped cab and saw the doorman of the Shelbourne holding the door open for a group of ladies and gentlemen entering the hotel.
‘No, I’m feeling much better,’ she said truthfully.
‘Shall I take you home? It’s getting dark.’
‘No, it’s fine. I’ll walk. It’s not far from here to my uncle’s house, and it isn’t raining.’
He leaned over and brushed something from her shoulder, and she flinched.
‘Sorry,’ he said, moving back. ‘It was a small feather. Would you like to go to Kingstown someday? Spring is here, and I hear it’s a lovely place to spend a day in the sun.’
He stared at her face as if memorising every feature. Gazing back, she unwillingly noticed his chiselled chin, his clear skin slightly darker than most Irishmen. What does he want? I don’t know if I can do this.
‘I’m not sure…’ she said, trying to buy time.
He took her hand before she got out of the cab and said, ‘Veronica, I’ve had a wonderful day.’
Veronica’s chest was tight. How could you have had a wonderful day when you’ve only just met me? she wanted to shout at him. What about her brother in prison, was he having a wonderful day?
‘Kingstown. Will you come to Kingstown with me? I’ve heard it is beautiful, and the seaside has so many pleasant memories for me. My mother and I went to Dorset every summer for the month of August.’ She was taken aback by his gentle expression. Usually, the soldiers she saw were aggressive and angry. This would make her job easier.
‘Yes,’ she said with a lot more composure than she felt. She was suddenly not as angry as she should have been, and this unsettled her.
22
The following morning Veronica was refreshed and ready for her week’s work. Glad of the warmer days, the dull, damp winter was soon forgotten. Mrs O’Reilly told Veronica how the freshness of spring would be short-lived if it were a hot summer. The smells of the city would circulate the houses, like the tentacles of a trapped monster, until the fresh autumn breeze carried them away.
Tom had just finished his cup of tea when Veronica sat at the table for breakfast. He threw his cap on and said, ‘Suppose I’d better go. Start the day as you mean to go on.’
Veronica smiled. That was her father’s favourite saying. He was an early riser and got up when the fingers of dawn spread across the morning sky.
Tom kissed Betty goodbye on her cheek. ‘Veronica, I’ll drop you to work. I’ve to go and get the dray from the yard so come down when you are ready.’
After combing and pinning her hair, she put a little of the lipstick Bridget had given her on her lips. She looked at herself in the mirror. The girl who had come to Dublin only months ago seemed to have been replaced by a young woman.
She shouted to Betty in the kitchen, ‘I’m going now. I’ll see you this evening.’ Downstairs her uncle puffed on his cigarette as he put the halter on the horse, the plume of cigarette smoke gently spiralling upwards to meet the smoke from the house fires that were lit for the day. He stretched and rubbed the small of his back as she approached. ‘Com’ on, love. You don’t want to be late.’
‘I’m sorry.’ Her easy-going uncle just nodded, but the impatient horse snorted as she climbed in beside her uncle, stamping his feet in anticipation.
Tom gave a slight wave to a man on the opposite side of the street who was entering the gates of the brewery.
‘You’re looking much better than the other day. Me and Betty thought ye might be getting the flu or something. Poor Hubert there,’ he said, nodding in the direction of the man he had waved to, ‘his wife died from the flu just a few days ago. Nine children and no mother. His only saving grace is he has a job. The eldest is thirteen, so at least she can help.’
As they pulled away Veronica looked back at Hubert. Her heart broke as she watched him almost drag himself into the brewery, carrying a sadness similar to Betty’s. They sat in comfortable silence for a few streets with the morning sunshine on their backs.
‘This nonsense of Redmond trying to get Irish lads to fight in the English war… I’m glad he is dead, though I know you shouldn’t speak ill of the dead.’
It was the first time Tom had mentioned the war since Veronica’s arrival seven months ago.
‘Padraig joined the Fusiliers out of his own free will. It is a tragedy me and Betty must bear although we’ll never get over it. We thought God would never bless us with a child, and when Padraig came, it filled a gap in our lives. But now that gap is bigger than before.’ Tom’s knuckles whitened as he held the reins tight.
His hunched shoulders dragged him lower towards the horse. ‘I didn’t want Padraig to go, you know, didn’t support his decision. I told him he would get a job in the brewery. But he was stubborn, so bloody stubborn. I hope nobody must go through what me and Betty have. The pain of the loss of a child… I know people say, “Time is a great healer” but,’ he turned to look at Veronica, his eyes wet, ‘but it’s not really.’
‘Daddy told me how hard it was, I’m really sorry, it must be so awful for ye both.’ It was the longest she had heard him speak about Padraig.
Tom nodded, sighed, ‘Life can be cruel, but Betty and I have each other…’ he paused and looked at Veronica, ‘and now we have you.’
Tom and Veronica passed the corner of Grafton St. A group of men walked to the Shelbourne wearing shirts of pure white, their suits pressed stiff. More soldiers than usual were on the streets. The men stopped outside, meeting another group coming from the opposite direction. Paperwork in hand, their heads were stuck together, their hands moving quickly as they talked. Seven or eight men she recognised from the office came from Harcourt St chanting, ‘No conscription!’
‘Who are those men?’ Tom nodded towards the group in suits.
‘It’s General Maxwell. I heard Michael tell Mrs O’Reilly yesterday. I think he told her the general commanded the British Expeditionary Force in France, and that he’s staying at the Shelbourne. The trade unions have organised a rally in front of the hotel. That’s them now.’
Memories of her meeting with the major surfaced. It made her uncomfortable to think she had been in the same building as General Maxwell.
‘As if he’d bloody well listen,’ Tom said, giving the reins a slight flick to move forward. ‘Look, you’ve visitors.’
Tom stopped the dray as the soldiers filed one by one into the Harcourt St office.
‘God, I’d wish they would leave us alone to get on with our work,’ she said and laughed. ‘Ah, well, all in a day’s work. I’ll walk from here.’
As Veronica climbed to get off the dray, the horse jumped, startled by a shout from a group of men behind them, and she fell. She winced at the sharp pain in her knee, and a red stain grew through her stockings. She watched the swelling crowd filling the streets around the green, the chants of ‘no conscription’ getting louder.
Tom jumped off the dray beside her. ‘’Ere, love, get back up beside me, I’ll drop you the few yards. God, they’re making an awful racket.’
‘I’m fine, really, it’s only a graze and isn’t painful at all,’ she lied. ‘I’m late. I’ll get a bandage from Mrs Moore upstairs.’
Veronica limped up the steps to her office. She passed the soldiers to her left in the Sinn Féin Bank. Fear rose in her gut. What if the major was with them? She pushed the thought to the back of her mind. When she reached the office, she made her way slowly to her desk.
�
��Veronica, are you all right? What happened?’
‘I’m fine, Mrs O’Reilly, just a small graze.’ Heavy boots thundered up the stairs and she sat at her desk, quickly taking off her coat. She put a piece of paper in the typewriter.
Mrs O’Reilly hissed, ‘Veronica, keep your head down and keep typing, just ignore them. They’ll be here in a minute. They are only trying to intimidate us.’
The footsteps stopped outside in the corridor on the landing. ‘Whose office is that?’
Veronica’s fingers stopped cold. She recognised the voice. It was the major. She held her breath and kept her head low, her eyes fixed on the keys of the typewriter. She pictured Harry standing at the doorway, his frame filling the door, staring at her, shouting ‘Arrest that Fenian’.
Mrs O’Reilly replied haughtily, ‘It’s Frank Smith’s office. Excuse me, but I have these to type, so if you don’t mind, I’d like to get on with my work.’
But before he could enter a soldier shouted from the ground floor, ‘Sir, we’ve to go now. General Maxwell is leaving the Shelbourne, and there is a mob of Fenians outside.’
Harry called the soldiers that were upstairs in Arthur Griffith’s office to come down and the uniform thud of boots down the stairs faded as they left the offices for the Shelbourne. Mrs O’Reilly sighed as she sat back in her chair. Loud shouts on the street below and an engine roared to life, the soldiers now gone. Only when they left did Veronica breathe easy.
Mrs O’Reilly stubbed out her cigarette. ‘It’s never-ending. These raids are so pointless. At least it’s positive they see us as a threat to them.’ She sat forward, squinted at Veronica, ‘Dear, you poor thing. You look so flushed. Open a window.’
Veronica pulled up the sash allowing the flow of cold air to sweep across her face. She inhaled deeply.
‘When is Michael back?’
‘Not for a couple of weeks, I think he has gone to England,’ Mrs O’Reilly replied. ‘Why?’
‘Nothing.’ Veronica said with slight relief that she wouldn’t have to meet the major again, as it had been more unnerving than she thought it would be.
‘He left you a note,’ said Mrs O’Reilly.
‘Who?’
‘God, Veronica, what’s got into you? Michael, who else? He left this for you this morning.’
Mrs O’Reilly handed Veronica a neatly folded note. She opened it feeling slight trepidation.
Veronica,
I am gone to England.
We need you to develop your relationship with the major and find out if the British know where we are holding our rallies. We must be one step ahead of them, and we need as much information as we can get. You know how important it is that they don’t take our men, we need them here for our own fight. We need to get our FREEDOM.
Michael.
‘Veronica, are you all right? You’re very quiet.’
‘Fine, I’m fine, Mrs O’Reilly. I just have to do something for Michael,’ said Veronica grimly. She needed to think. Would she be able to do it?
23
April arrived with the usual promise of sun in the morning, and by the afternoon the winds rose with torrential rain showers that retreated as quickly as they started.
After Veronica’s morning ritual of opening her curtains, she often wondered why she closed them. The flimsy material offered little opposition to the morning light, and the brightness often woke her before her aunt rose to make breakfast. Now she would sleep through the noisy night patrols. She splashed cold water on her face, and made her bed before looking out the window again to see what the day offered. The sun shone, and she looked forward to her walk to work now the winter chill had left the air. Even though Veronica had been in Dublin for seven months, she couldn’t bring herself to like the taste of the watery porridge, no matter how hungry she was. As usual, Betty sat at the table beside the empty setting for her cousin, her eyes downcast and eating little, but Tom always scraped his bowl clean.
‘I’ll take you to work, Veronica,’ Tom said as he gulped his last mouthful of tea and Betty handed over both bread and butter wrapped in brown paper.
On the dray, Tom didn’t speak until they turned onto Merchant’s Quay along the river. The quays were filling with men who walked or cycled to work.
‘I met Michael last night. Have you arranged when to meet this soldier again?’
‘He said he wants to go to Kingstown.’
‘We need to find out if he knows anything about General Maxwell. He’s the biggest threat to us and the anti-conscription rallies.’ He flicked the reins of the dray. ‘Our support for the opposition of conscription is building every day. But we need to know what they know about the rallies we are trying to organise. How do you contact the soldier?’
‘Bridget’s aunt’s shop in Abbey St, he left a note there for me once. He asked if I would go to Kingstown with him but didn’t say when. I don’t know how to contact him.’
‘Go on, ya English scum.’ A hunched woman with a tightly wrapped black shawl waved her walking stick at passing soldiers. She was like the haggard, gaunt women Veronica saw in Henrietta St when she delivered the parcel. She pulled something from the inside of her shawl and threw it at the soldiers; it was a stone, but it hit Tom’s dray. Neighing loudly in fright, the horse jolted, but the heavy wooden harness prevented him from jumping as he shook his head in anger.
‘Whoa, boy, it’s all right. Will you watch it?’ Tom shouted to the woman, but she was dragged screaming down the street by the two soldiers.
‘Look, Veronica, meet this soldier and get as much information as you can. We can’t have our boys and men going to fight, we have lost enough men already. We need to keep them here to fight for us.’
She nodded, but her uncle didn’t see her. Instead, his eyes bore into the soldiers’ backs.
‘Now, Veronica, you see how important it is you try to meet the soldier. What did you say his name was?’
‘Harry. Major Harry Fairfax.’
‘We need all the help we can get. Write to the Royal Barracks. I’m sure there can’t be that many Major Fairfax’s around.’
Veronica nodded her head, moving with the flutters in her stomach.
When she was at home that evening, she wrote to Harry and posted the letter the following day.
Veronica called to Mrs Sullivan’s shop most evenings.
Mrs Sullivan looked up when she heard the bell and smiled. ‘I was hoping you’d call. I’ve something for your uncle and aunt.’ She tied a knot on a brown paper bag and handed it to Veronica. ‘Give these hard-boiled sweets to your uncle, and there are a few chocolates in there as well. Just a little treat for you and your aunt.’ She didn’t raise her eyes as she tied the bag.
‘He came in, you know, the soldier, and asked if you were working? I was just about to close. He left you this.’ She gave Veronica a note. ‘He didn’t say too much, and I said you’d gone home. He is handsome, isn’t he?’
Veronica tore open the note.
11 Feb 1918
Veronica,
I am sorry to have missed you. It would give me great pleasure if you came to Kingstown. 23 March, Saturday at 11 a.m. I’ll wait for you at O’Connell Bridge.
Yours,
Harry
‘Are you all right, dear?’
‘Eh, I’m fine, Mrs Sullivan.’
The bell chimed behind her.
‘Mrs Ryan, I’ve kept some bread for you.’
Mrs Ryan nodded at Veronica.
‘This is Veronica, my niece’s friend. They went to secretarial school together.’
‘Well, that’s something, isn’t it?’ Nodding in agreement with herself and clutching the bread tight, her eyes swept Veronica up and down.
‘Isn’t it great women work now? What is it you said you do?’
‘I didn’t say.’ Veronica had no interest in talking to the woman. She had met her type many times before in her father’s shop in Virginia and knew that gossip was their currency.
‘I’d be
tter be off. Frank will be home from work soon, so I’d better have his dinner ready.’
When she left, Mrs Sullivan closed the till. ‘Work my eye, her husband has never worked a day in his life. Work, she means when he comes home from the pub. And another thing, her youngest Hughie is in the English army, sending money home every week. Some people talk from the side of their mouths.’
A fit of coughing came from upstairs.
‘He – Sammy – never fully recovered from the flu. I’d better go up to him.’ Mrs Sullivan gave one more squeeze of Veronica’s hand. ‘Be careful, dear.’ The coughing intensified. ‘I’d better see if Sammy is all right.’
She turned to leave.
‘Veronica, I know girls meet the soldiers, but it’s more than religion that divides you – it’s his allegiance to the Crown. I know I let that not bother me when I met Sammy. He was the most handsome man in Belfast, and taller then.’ She laughed, her eyes sparkling with the memory. ‘I saw him at my aunt’s funeral. He called to her house to pay his respects. Even though he worked on the docks, he always smelled of soap. I knew he was the man for me. Belfast was different then, but these are different times, so be careful.’ She looked at Veronica steadfastly. ‘I mean, careful.’
Veronica wanted to tell Mrs Sullivan it was all right, that she was doing it for her country, but she understood that the fewer people who knew, the better. She didn’t want to involve Mrs Sullivan more than she already had.
Upstairs there was a fit of uncontrollable coughing and Sammy banged on the ceiling.
‘Oh dear, I’ve really got to go. Before you go, dear, would you turn the sign around to Closed on the door?’
*
‘Uncle, he left a note,’ Veronica whispered to Tom over the dinner table as Betty went to the kitchen to get more potatoes.
He nodded as he took the note from her and said nothing.
When dinner was over Tom said, ‘Betty, I’m going to a meeting. Veronica, I’ll take you to work tomorrow.’
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