When she got out of the car, her mother was waiting at the front door.
‘Veronica. Look at you, so thin and your hair in… I don’t know what sort of a style that is.’ Her mother was flapping around her. ‘You look well, though. Richard, bring in her case.’
The smell of freshly baked bread made her mouth water. As much as Betty tried, she couldn’t make bread like Mrs Slaney.
They had a light lunch of eggs and lettuce, most of which Veronica pushed around her plate, lost in thought of the letter she would write to Harry. Why was she upset he was engaged? It shouldn’t bother her he had another life, or that he had feelings for someone else. Their entire relationship was a lie, after all. Susan convinced Veronica that they should get out of the house for a while, so they packed a small picnic and went to the lakeshore.
‘Veronica eat some of these buns, you are so thin. They are delicious.’ Susan was lying on her back, twisting the bun above her, trying not to let the glistening cream drop on her face.
‘No, I’m not hungry.’ Veronica’s throat was dry and tight; her head spun.
‘What’s wrong?’ Susan mumbled as she brushed crumbs resting on her chin.
‘Nothing, I’m fine. I feel a bit hot.’ Veronica didn’t like hiding anything from her family, but she could not tell Susan about Harry.
‘Veronica, are you listening?’ Susan sat up. ‘I was telling you about the rooster chasing the chickens, and Daddy had to go in and stop him because he wanted to catch a chicken to kill but…’ She looked at Veronica, a frown crossing her forehead. ‘Something is wrong.’
‘No, I said I’m fine.’
Susan leaned in whispering, ‘Eddie…’
‘What about Eddie? Has he been home?’ She didn’t know if he had been back to Virginia or was still in Cork.
Susan started crying. ‘No, you know he is in prison. I hate this country. Why couldn’t we have stayed the same? Everybody is going away.’
Veronica moved to sit beside Susan and took her hand. Her father had shielded Susan from Eddie’s escape. ‘Susan, you know Father is passionate about the cause. We need our freedom. It’s our right.’
Still whimpering, Susan replied, ‘I know.’
Veronica pulled her cardigan tight around her, as the clouds crossed over the sun.
‘Veronica, tell me what’s wrong. Mother is worried. I’m worried. You’re thin. You haven’t touched the scones. Mrs Slaney baked them, especially for you.’
‘Susan, I’m just tired. I probably need a tonic; that’s all.’ She took a scone to prove she was feeling fine but spilt the cream and jam on her dress. She watched the spilt red jam seeping down the white cotton.
‘Father is away all the time, and poor Eddie is never coming home, and Mother cries all the time alone in her bedroom.’
‘Well, these are the times we live in,’ Veronica snapped, ‘nothing is constant.’
‘V, where are you going?’
Her mother shouted something to her as she ran past the drawing-room and into her bedroom, but she couldn’t hear her. She lay down on the bed, thinking, trying to rationalise everything. She pulled out the pins in her hair, letting it escape over her pillow to fall asleep. Mrs Slaney fed her, and her mother fussed over her, and after a few days, she was rested and well-fed, and ready to return to Dublin.
In Thomas St, she sat beside Betty at the fire, the dancing flames soothing her. As usual, Betty had the rosary beads in her hand and was at the last bead, her mouth moving to finish the prayer before she spoke to Veronica.
‘I’m glad you’re home, if this can be called home for you.’
‘Of course, it is, even the cat is happy to see me.’ That was when she realised the cat had no name.
The sound of boots neared the front door, it opened, and Tom entered.
‘Veronica, it’s so good to have you back.’
The chair scraped on the wooden floor as he pulled it towards the fire. Once he would have had the strength to lift the table, now he couldn’t lift the chair. ‘I don’t have long left at lifting barrels. Ah, Veronica, don’t look so worried, I’m not beaten just yet, I can still flick the reins in the dray, and I’ll just get one of the boys to help me lift the barrels of Guinness. Are you going back to the offices tomorrow?’
‘Yes, I’m looking forward to it,’ she said, thinking about the letter she’d written to Harry. She did as Michael said, and wrote reiterating that it didn’t matter he was engaged and hoped they would meet again soon.
The next morning, on her walk to Harcourt St, she saw children waiting outside shops along the quays, to see if the shopkeepers might throw them some sweets or food. As she passed O’Connell Bridge, the women in Sackville St sat at the base of Nelson’s Pillar, setting up their baskets of flowers to sell.
At the office, she checked her hair in the window reflection, because the wind had blown her hat off three times.
Mrs O’Reilly sat at her desk, looking flustered. ‘Oh, Veronica, thank God you’re here. Things have been so busy. We don’t know what to do with all the money. I never thought I’d make it here this morning, it’s so blustery.’
‘Sorry, Mrs O’Reilly, what money?’
‘The money. He was right, everybody stopped sending taxes to England, and they sent it here. We are overwhelmed with the amount of money we’ve got. I know we got some before you left, but a few days later it just kept coming in. And the film Michael made for the Loan worked!’
Veronica cast her eyes over the coins and piles of paper money that lay scattered on the two desks. Veronica had been wrong thinking the soldiers tearing down the posters would destroy the chances of Sinn Féin raising money. The film had been a success and the patriotic farmers bought bonds.
‘We have hidden so much of it already in safe houses and shops. The soldiers and DMP keep raiding us hoping to take some of it. Because of the frequency of the raids, we move it out as soon as we get it,’ Mrs O’Reilly said. ‘Veronica take a pile and start counting it. Put it in a bag and record how much is in each one. Here, take some money bags.’ She gave Veronica two bulging brown bags. She looked inside one of them – it was full of copper coins and pound notes, and she counted at least twenty bags on the floor beside Mrs O’Reilly’s desk. ‘Start counting, and don’t forget to write down how much is in each bag.’
At lunchtime, as they ate their sandwiches, Veronica stuck her head out of the window, hoping to catch a breeze. Mothers walked by on the street below, bringing their children to the park to feed the ducks. Michael walked towards her building with the usual confidence, but there was an urgency in his steps. Within minutes he was in the office.
‘Veronica, good you’re back, there is so much to do. I’ve records for ye to type for all the money we received. Where’s Frank?’ Michael asked Mrs O’Reilly. He paced up and down the office. ‘Well, where is he? He was supposed to come to meet me and take money to a safe house.’
‘He’s gone. His wife is in labour, poor woman. It’s her seventh child.’
‘Or Timmy? Where is he?’
‘He’s delivering papers but going to see his sick aunt in the hospital after. I think she is dying. His mother died when he was young, and she brought him up and—’
‘Christ,’ he said, as he opened his jacket letting two packets fall to the ground. He picked them up and put them on the table.
‘Is everything all right? Me and Veronica have all the donations in bags.’
‘I’ve just had word the DMP are planning a raid again tomorrow, and I need to get the money delivered to Donnybrook. We have been given a house to hide the money – in fact, a few houses. Is there nobody here?’
‘No, all the men are gone out for the afternoon.’
‘Jesus.’ He paced the room, rubbing his hand through his hair.
He opened his mouth to say something, and Veronica murmured, ‘I’ll do it.’
Michael slowly turned to Veronica, a surprised look on his face. Nobody, however, felt more astounded than Vero
nica.
‘What did you say?’
‘I’ll do it. Don’t look so worried. It’s no problem. I won’t get caught, and by now I really have built up nerves of steel. Can it be any more dangerous than walking to work? Just tell me the address.’
Michael scribbled the address down. ‘Take two bags and keep them hidden in a coat or something. This is a start. Go when it’s dark and be careful, say your sister is having a baby, and you’re on the way to help her. And, Veronica, take a bike. It’ll be safer.’
At Thomas St, Betty put a plate of eggs and bacon in front of her. ‘Your favourite, Veronica. Your father sent it. Tom put down that newspaper and come for your tea.’
Tom threw the paper on the table beside Veronica, the headline: Alan Bell Dragged from Tram and Shot in Cork.
She told Betty she was going for a walk after tea.
‘I’ll walk with you for a bit,’ Tom said, giving Veronica a wink.
Outside and with Tom’s help, they put the money bags inside Veronica’s coat, trying not to make it too bulky.
‘Don’t look so worried. I’ll be all right. I’ll take the bike, Tom?’
‘Veronica, the bike is gone, someone stole it. You can’t leave anything on the streets here before someone goes off with it.’
‘I’ll have to walk.’
‘Be careful, don’t talk to anyone and avoid the army,’ Tom said.
A wave of emotion came over her; she was so lucky to have so many people in her life who cared for her.
‘I’ll be fine and thank you so much for everything.’
Tom held Veronica’s hand tight. ‘Veronica, you’re helping us with the cause.’ He paused. ‘Your arrival into my life – our lives – has been a gift from God. I would despair if anything happened to you now.’
Veronica hugged Tom, ‘I’ll be fine. I’d better go. Don’t be worried, who’ll stop me? I’m a woman.’
Night had fallen. The lack of light from the moonless and starless night offered some protection. Thankful of the clouds, she hoped it wouldn’t rain. The money wrapped tight around her dug into her waist. The dim lights in the streets got sparse as she covered the distance from the city centre towards Donnybrook. A cat screeched in the distance. Calming herself with the rhythm of her breathing, she counted her footsteps to keep her mind busy. She listened out for the rumble of a patrolling army vehicle. Luckily the night was silent. She didn’t notice the group of men in front of her, their dark uniforms concealed in the shadows.
‘Well, love, where are you going? All alone?’ said a soldier as he moved closer, his face rough and hair unkempt.
She stopped. ‘I am on my way to visit my sister; she’s having a baby. I know there’s a curfew, but it’s urgent.’
‘Really?’
She couldn’t see their faces. Their silhouettes shifted, and there was a rattle, which she assumed was a gun against a belt. Another soldier moved towards her. His baby face hadn’t even been graced with a shaving blade yet. He couldn’t have been more than sixteen.
‘Come on, let’s go,’ said a nervous voice. This offered her some comfort. He was inexperienced. Veronica knew they would be worried as no protection was provided in the surrounding dark road. There was no light from the lamps, either because they were new or had not been refuelled. If they searched her and found the money, she would be interrogated and maybe even beaten. There must have been a power cut. Sometimes that meant an impending ambush. She hoped not as she didn’t want to be caught in the crossfire.
The rumble of a vehicle in the distance approached them. The soldiers turned. This was her opportunity. Veronica quickly opened her coat, ripped out the packets and threw them into the river.
A gruff Cockney accent said, ‘Here, what are ye doing?’
He grabbed her, but the money parcels were soon gone with the fast, angry flow of the river.
‘Ya’ bitch, trying to outsmart us? Here, Derek, hold her.’ Another soldier pulled her roughly. ‘What the hell was in the parcels?’
‘Baby clothes.’
He tightened his grip while sticking a rifle into her side.
‘You took me last parcel. It was butter. I wasn’t going to let you take them.’
‘Lying bitch.’
The vehicle headlights neared and slowed. One soldier stood in the middle of the road and waved it down – it was a patrol truck.
‘You’re coming with us,’ he said, hoisting her up and throwing her into the back of the vehicle.
She fell onto the rough wooden surface, grazing herself, and blood oozed from her knee. Her head hit the side of the truck, and a searing pain went through her body before everything went silent and black.
She woke up groggy. Veronica tried to sit, but her head hurt. She commanded her stiff limbs to give in to her demands and put her hands on the cold dirt floor before heaving herself up. She breathed in deeply, every muscle, every cell screaming in agony. Her eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness. She shivered in the damp air and sat listening. She wasn’t in the vehicle anymore, and it was a room that smelled of dust and damp. Faint talking came through the wall.
Now she remembered being pushed into the room and thrown across a dirt floor. Somebody had screamed, ‘Where were ya’ going?’ before a boot had thudded into her side.
She had to get out of the room. Trying to stop herself from fainting again, she crawled across the dirt floor, stopping at a wall. With all her efforts, she stood, ignoring the pain. Veronica ran her hands along the slimy wall, hoping they would guide her to the door. A small rectangular darkness on one side of the wall near the ceiling was a shade lighter indicating it probably was a street window. From that, she guessed the door was on the opposite side across the room. The light was getting brighter, meaning she had been in the basement all night.
The voices started talking again, ‘What time ye finish at?’
‘The missus is having a baby, so I’ll stay awhile.’
Boots moved quickly across the dirt. ‘Major.’
‘Who is in there?’
It was Harry.
‘Some b… It’s a woman. I recognised her from our raids on Sinn Féin offices.’
That’s why they had captured her. There was silence for a minute.
‘Give me the keys.’
Veronica shrank away, fearing how Harry might treat her. Her heart was beating in her ears. Her body shook.
The key scratched in the lock; every scrape of the key against the metal sent shocks through her body.
The door opened, and Harry said, ‘It’s fine. I’ll go in on my own.’
The door slammed shut.
‘Veronica, are you all right?’ Without saying anything, he took hold of her arm and pulled her to him. ‘I heard they had captured a woman – a woman who works for Sinn Féin.’ Harry banged on the door. ‘Finnegan, open the door.’
A pale soldier stood in front of them. His stance was not confident.
‘I’m taking this woman to Kilmainham Jail to interrogate her there.’
‘Yes, sir,’ he said as he stood aside.
One of the other soldiers slept on the chair in the corner with his feet up on the table.
Harry gripped her arm. She wanted to run. Kilmainham Jail, that was where the leaders of the 1916 Rising had been executed.
They walked in silence along the corridor, Harry bending his head so as not to hit the ceiling. Weak lights hung every few feet along the walls of the stone corridor. They emerged into a yard, the regular yard of Dublin Castle. It was dawn. The cobblestones glistened from rain during the night. Harry guided her to the entrance of the Castle to a waiting car with a soldier in the driver’s seat.
‘Take this lady home to Thomas St,’ he said to the driver of the car.
He knew where she lived. God, he must have had her followed. She shuddered.
He looked at her shocked face. ‘Don’t you think I had you checked out when I first met you?’
Before she could say anything, even a thank you, he wa
s gone.
Veronica sat in the back of the car. They drove in silence, and soon the car stopped outside Thomas St. She didn’t know whether or not to thank the man. She did.
Veronica watched the car pull away, her emotions in turmoil. She ran up the stairs to Betty and Tom.
Tom met her in the hallway. Hugging her, he said, ‘You are so lucky, why did they let you go? Did they hurt you? James Sheridan was here – Michael sent him. His cousin works in Dublin Castle, God you are shaking. Betty take Veronica’s coat and make some tea.’
Betty’s face was white, but sagged slightly with relief as she hugged Veronica.
‘Thank God,’ Betty whispered. ‘Veronica, are you all right? When James Sheridan called, he told us what happened. We were so worried; we didn’t know what we would tell your father if anything happened to you.’
‘I’m fine, just tired.’
‘Have some tea and go and lie down in your bed for the day.’
‘No, I’ll go into the office and tell them what happened.’ She sat up and stretched the pain away.
‘James will have told them, go to bed and rest.’
She shook her head. ‘No, I’ll go in. It’s nine o’clock. I wouldn’t be able to sleep.’ And she wouldn’t. Harry had known all along who she was, but never said. She felt unnerved.
Tom took his coat from the back of the chair. ‘If you insist, I’ll get the dray ready.’
When she entered the office, Mrs O’Reilly rushed to her, ‘Veronica, love. Did the bastards hurt you? Sit by the fire, and I’ll get Michael.’
‘You’re not hurt, are you?’ Michael asked after hurrying to her side. ‘How did you escape?’
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