by A. O'Connor
“Either they didn’t know exactly where I was or they got the address wrong – they barged in next door first, waking us up – otherwise they would have caught me for sure.”
“How did they know? Sally’s was the safest of safe houses.”
“It’s obvious, isn’t it? An informer – somebody is giving us away. I want that person found, Gearóid, and I want him taken out.”
Gearóid nodded. “And what about Sally?”
Michael’s eyes filled with tears. “I don’t know … I heard her screams …”
Gearóid grabbed his arm. “There was nothing you could do, Mick. You had to escape – the country has to come first.”
“I know. I want a report first thing tomorrow on what has happened to Sally. If she’s in prison, I want her sprung – if we can spring De Valera from an English gaol then we can spring an Irishwoman from a Dublin one.”
“I’ll find out first thing,” said Gearóid.
“And – she has a mother – a widow who has no other children. I want her looked after. She lives down the country in Tipperary. Make sure she has enough money to get by if Sally has been taken away.”
“Right. Mick, you need to get out of the city for a while. With three of their men killed, they’re hunting everywhere for you.”
“Will you be quiet, man! I’m not leaving Dublin!”
“What good will you be to anyone if they capture you or shoot you? Will you see sense and lie low for a few days? Just until we find out if there is a spy in our camp and get on top of the situation? If there’s an informer, as you say, then nowhere you go in the city will be safe for you until we find out who it is and take him out.”
Michael looked at Gearóid who was his second cousin but often felt more like a brother, they were so close. Gearóid was very youthful-looking and his eyes had an innocence about them which belied the role he had played in the 1916 rising. Michael knew he could trust Gearóid with his life and he often did.
Michael nodded, accepting the sense of what was being said. “Where can I go?” he asked.
“I’m going down to Longford to visit Maud – come down with me. Nobody in the organisation needs to know where you have gone.”
Michael digested the suggestion. Maud Kiernan was Gearóid’s girlfriend, one of the daughters of a wealthy merchant family in the town of Granard in Longford. She was also the sister of the woman Michael was in love with.
“Granard?”
“Yes – come on down with me to Longford. It will be like the old days. We can relax and enjoy ourselves with the girls.”
The girls … even after a night like the one he had just had, Michael could smile at the reference. That was how they always referred the Kiernan sisters – as the girls.
An oasis of glamour, fun, charm and beauty in the midst of these dreadful times. Michael closed his eyes for a few seconds and allowed himself the luxury of floating back to all the happy times he’d had with the girls, and one girl in particular.
“Well?” said Gearóid.
Michael nodded. “Fine, we’ll leave tomorrow.”
CHAPTER 4
Inside the Laverys’ beautiful home, down the long wide hallway, up the magnificent staircase to the landing above and to the left were the double doors that led into John’s art studio. This gigantic room, with three windows at the front overlooking Cromwell Place and a glass dome above which allowed in the most wonderful light, was the jewel in the crown of the house. A spectacular studio, it was considered the best in London. Stunning artwork decorated the walls while unfinished paintings rested against walls, surrounded by ornate furniture.
As she had done on so many occasions, too many to remember, Hazel was posing – for this painting she was stretched out on a chaise longue. It was a happy co-operation. Hazel enjoyed modelling for John every bit as much as he enjoyed painting her. He had used her as a model so many times that she had become known as the most-painted woman in London. As John brought her face to life on canvas, he was as fascinated by her as he was on the first day he had met her, many years ago in France. He had been there painting – she had been on vacation with her recently widowed mother and her sister Dorothy. It had been love at first sight for both of them, to the horror of everyone. Hazel, from one of the most respected families in Chicago, a stunning debutante with intelligence to match, was expected to marry a dashing young East Coast, Yale-educated WASP, not an Irish widower twenty-four years her senior. He frowned as he thought of the obstacles that were put in their way, the battles they had to fight. At the time, he would never have thought it possible that she would ever be here living with him as his wife.
“I wish Shane would let us know when he plans to visit, instead of constantly dropping in unannounced – and uninvited,” said John as he worked away on the canvas.
“Oh, Shane would not be Shane if he stuck to protocol, John – he is a spontaneous creature. Besides, we are so near Harrods and he just drops in when he is out shopping.”
“Well, I can’t imagine many women who would tolerate his constant intrusions as you do – he can make quite a nuisance of himself.”
“I wouldn’t describe Shane as a nuisance, John. He’s a dear friend and he is on our side when it comes to Ireland – in fact, I wouldn’t know what to do without him. As you know, he is my chief informant on what is happening over there – my eyes and ears.”
“Hmmm,” said John, his face stiffening with irritation.
Seeing his expression, she stifled a giggle. “And he can be quite charming and amusing … I imagine many a woman would find him very attractive company and enjoy his dropping by when he felt like it.”
John tightened his hold on his paintbrush as he tried not to let his emotions show.
“I don’t know what his poor wife must think – writing another woman love poems all the time,” he said.
“Oh, I’m sure Marjorie Leslie knew what she was getting when she married Shane and, if she didn’t, then she was a fool who must live with the consequences.”
“He can’t even write good poetry,” muttered John under his breath.
“I do believe you are jealous, John Lavery!”
“I am not! Although if I didn’t keep finding love notes from him to you around the house it might make his visits less … uncomfortable.”
“I couldn’t agree more!” said a young female voice.
John turned around to see his fifteen-year-old stepdaughter Alice enter the room. She was pretty girl with brown ringlets and intelligent eyes. John often thought they were eyes that belonged to an older woman they seemed so knowing and wise.
“It’s far more than just uncomfortable watching Shane Leslie’s antics around Mama – it’s downright embarrassing!” said Alice as she leaned forward and kissed John on the cheek, then inspected the painting he was working on.
“You are far too young to understand these things, Alice, and nobody has asked for your opinion in any case,” said Hazel, her face turning sour.
“I think John is far too tolerant! Shane Leslie should be banned from the house and his ridiculous love poetry along with him!” said Alice.
“I don’t know how everyone has suddenly become a reader, nay an expert, on Shane’s personal poetry to me,” said Hazel. “Has it been published in The Times without my knowledge, perchance?”
“It is left all over the house, Mama,” stated Alice. “One can’t go into a room without finding one of his outpourings of love to you on a shelf or mantelpiece … goodness knows what the servants think!”
“Don’t you have French lessons to attend to, Alice dear?” asked Hazel, irritated by her daughter’s company.
“No, that was this morning.”
Gordon entered the studio carrying a letter on a silver tray.
“This has arrived for you, my lady.”
“Thank you, Gordon,” said Hazel, sitting up from her reclining position and opening the envelope. “It’s from Sir Philip Sassoon.”
Sir Philip was a we
ll-respected art collector who was also an MP. Hazel had become friends with him through the art world and he had recently been appointed Prime Minister Lloyd George’s private secretary.
“Wonderful news!” said Hazel, jumping to her feet. “Philip has arranged for me to meet the Prime Minister at his home on Thursday! I have been trying to meet Lloyd George since we got back from Tangier, to no avail … I knew Philip would not let me down!”
“Bravo!” said John.
“What shall I wear?” Hazel was thinking out loud.
“Is this part of your Irish crusade?” asked Alice.
“Of course – what else?” Hazel clasped the letter close to her heart. “This is a real opportunity for me to make a difference – if I can just get Lloyd George on side, make him change his policy on Ireland!”
“What are the chances?” whispered Alice to herself sarcastically.
“When are you meeting him?” asked John.
“Thursday afternoon,” answered Hazel.
“Thursday? But we are due to be in Windsor on Thursday, looking at the horse for sale!” said Alice.
“Well, we will just have to postpone that appointment, Alice,” said Hazel.
“But we can’t!” cried Alice. “We’ve been trying to arrange this appointment for days. They won’t wait any longer. If we don’t go this week, they will sell the horse to somebody else.”
“For goodness sake, child, I can’t imagine there is that much demand for a nag in Windsor!” said Hazel.
“There is, I tell you!” Tears were coming to Alice’s eyes. “I’ll lose the horse for sure if we don’t go.”
“John, can you go with her in my place to see this damned horse?” said Hazel.
“It’s impossible, I’m afraid.” He looked sympathetically at Alice. “I’ve a commission that day, painting the French Ambassador.”
“Well, there you go, we will just have to reschedule Windsor. I will speak to them myself,” said Hazel.
“But –” began Alice, in her eyes a mixture of anger and upset.
“For goodness’ sake, Alice!” said Hazel, brimming with frustration. “This is a meeting with the Prime Minister to try and stop the war in Ireland – can’t you see it has to take precedence over the purchase of a horse? I am trying to stop innocent men, women and children being slaughtered and all you can think about is a horse! I’ve had enough modelling for today, John, I need a lie-down!”
John and Alice watched as Hazel swept past them out of the room.
John reached out and put an arm around Alice’s shoulders. “I’m sorry, Alice. There is really nothing I can do about the French Ambassador, otherwise I’d go to Windsor with you.”
“Oh, it’s not your fault, John. I just don’t understand this obsession she has with Irish affairs. I know you are Irish, and she sees herself as Irish by descent, but what does she hope to achieve with all this? She’s not a politician, she’s a wife and mother – has she forgotten that?”
“But she’s happy doing this, Alice, and that really is the main thing. Don’t you remember how bad she was a few short years ago – when she became depressed and couldn’t get out of bed?”
Alice nodded. “I remember – she was just sad all the time.”
“This gives her something to fight for, to live for – we can’t take that away from her.”
“I know,” Alice sighed. “But what about you, John? What about Shane Leslie and the others – how can you bear watching her flirt with them so openly in front of you?”
“Well, as long as it is only flirting, what harm is there in that? He amuses her and it reminds me how lucky I am to be married to her.”
“Hmmm – I think she is the one who is reminding you how lucky you are to be married to her!” said Alice cynically as she looked at the painting of Hazel’s beautiful face on his canvas.
CHAPTER 5
Kitty Kiernan sat in the parlour, engrossed in a romantic novel, an open box of chocolates beside her. She loved romantic novels, liked nothing more than getting lost in a good love story. She had taken the afternoon off work and was enjoying the peace and solitude. The Kiernan house was usually a busy house with much coming and going. The only time to get some peace there was during the day when everyone was out at work, except for the two house servants they employed. The house was annexed to the Greville Arms Hotel which the family owned.
She put down her novel, stood up and walked across the large finely furnished parlour to one of the windows that looked out onto the main street of the town of Granard. It was a busy day with much activity. As the Kiernan family owned half the businesses in the town, her brother Larry would be very happy to hear the tills ringing with profit. Her father had been a very enterprising man who had come to Granard and expanded the business until he owned half the town.
Kitty often thought back to the happiness of her childhood with her close-knit family. That was before a series of tragedies struck them. There had originally been one brother and six sisters, two of them twins, but in 1907 the youngest twin died. The following year both her parents died within a couple of months of each other and then the elder twin sister the following year. The remaining family had been devastated. Kitty had been only fifteen at the time. What they went through could have destroyed them and would have destroyed many families. But Larry and the surviving sisters, Maud, Helen, Chrys and Kitty, refused to be defeated. Even though they were still very young they all went to work in the family businesses, taking responsibility for different parts. They had worked hard, and the businesses had not only survived but had become stronger and more profitable.
As Kitty looked down at the cream chiffon dress from Paris she was wearing and looked around at the expensive furniture in the parlour, she reflected that the family had enjoyed the fruits of their labour – and these would soon include the upcoming lavish wedding they would be giving their sister Helen at Vaughan’s Hotel in Dublin. Some of the townspeople resented their success, but Kitty didn’t care. She worked hard and was determined to enjoy the money they earned. She loved fashion and could spend hours looking through the fashion magazines sent to her from Paris and London. She had even taken control of the clothes department of the store they owned, which was also on the main street of the town, overseeing the ordering.
She sauntered back to the couch, picked up her novel and smiled to herself as she glanced at the cover before marking the page she was at and placing the book on the mantelpiece. Yes, it wouldn’t be long until her sister Helen was married to a local solicitor named Paul McGovern. Chrys was engaged to Tom Magee from Belfast and everyone expected Maud to announce her engagement to Gearóid O’Sullivan soon. But what about her? When would Kitty be getting married and, more importantly, to whom? She was now twenty-seven years old – in Longford that was considered quite old for a bride. Kitty had never worried too much about the prospect before. She had always been extremely popular, with a number of suitors pursuing her. She had allowed quite a few to court her, but that was before the war of independence now raging. She smiled to herself as she remembered life before the war – an endless cycle of hunt balls, parties, tennis and days at the races. All the Kiernan girls were well known on the social circuit and all had been very popular. But the war had changed everything and brought an end to most social activity. And now here she was at a crossroads, left stranded by the conflict in Ireland. There were two men in her life, and she didn’t know which one to choose.
She remembered the first day she had met Harry Boland. It was in 1918, a year before the war had broken out. He was campaigning for an election and had come to Longford with Michael Collins to campaign. Both of them had been introduced to the Kiernan family by Gearóid who had started courting Maud. They had all come to stay at the hotel during the election campaign and they had all become great friends very quickly, forming a tight group. Gearóid, Harry and Michael became regular visitors. It wasn’t long until Kitty was courting Harry and they soon had become serious. But then the war had brok
en out and Harry had been sent to America to do fundraising for the war effort.
When Harry was first sent to New York, it was supposed to be temporary, but now it appeared to have become permanent. There was no sign of his being posted back to Ireland and she had become frustrated with the situation. Part of her was grateful he was in America and not in Ireland where he would be under constant threat of arrest or being killed like the other republican leaders. But she was twenty-seven years of age and needed to make a decision soon about who she was going to marry. She couldn’t live in this limbo for evermore.
Gearóid was due down for a few days and Maud had been beside herself with excitement with the thought of seeing him again. Kitty shook her head in bewilderment as she thought about Gearóid, Harry and Michael Collins. Why couldn’t they all have just had normal jobs! Helen was the clever one, Kitty thought – she had got engaged to the nice country solicitor and wasn’t embroiled in this war that she and Maud had allowed their hearts to lead them into.
“Miss Kitty, yeer guest is here,” said the maid.
Kitty turned around to see Gearóid standing in the doorway of the parlour.
“Gearóid!” Kitty exclaimed, hurrying excitedly over to him. “We weren’t expecting you until later this evening.”
“We decided to get out of the city early in case we met roadblocks and had to divert,” said Gearóid, enveloping her in a big hug.
“Hello, Kitty!” said a voice in the corridor and Kitty looked over Gearóid’s shoulder to see Michael Collins standing there.
“Mick!” She let go of Gearóid and embraced Michael. “What are you doing here? We didn’t expect you at all!”
“I decided I needed a bit of a holiday!” he said, laughing.
“Ah, it’s good to see you – both of you!” she said, hugging each of them again.
That evening there was lively conversation around the table in the cosy dining-room as the maid served a dinner of bacon, cabbage and potatoes. As Michael looked around, he felt glad to be back there. It was one of the few places he felt he could relax and unwind and forget about the war and everything else.
