Jean Grainger Box Set: So Much Owed, Shadow of a Century, Under Heaven's Shining Stars

by Jean Grainger

  ‘There is some good news though.’ Mrs Grant smiled. ‘Jimmy is going to take you in the car to a house in Westland Row. The doctor that came out the night Mrs Kearns clobbered the master with her rolling pin, I’m sure she told you about that? His is a safe house and you will spend the night there before going to the boat for six am.’

  Mary was perplexed. ‘Why?’

  ‘Well, if you don’t want to spend the night with your husband…’ Mrs Grant was mischievous.

  ‘Rory is going to be there?’ She couldn’t believe it.

  ‘Yes. You’re to meet him there at seven this evening so you’d better get your things together. Now. I want you to take these.’ She handed Mary several heavy velvet bags. ‘There’s a lot of jewellery there, most of it quite valuable. The few things I haven’t sold for the cause. Don’t worry, I have no attachment to them but they were either too difficult to replicate or pieces that would have caused a stir if seen on someone else. I also have asked Mrs Kearns to sew some cash into the lining of your suitcase, in case you are searched. It’s not illegal to carry money or jewels, but we don’t want anyone drawing attention to you for any reason. When you get to New York, I will arrange to have someone meet you off the boat.’

  ‘Now then,’ she handed Mary a piece of paper, ‘once you are settled in, go to this address. This man will give you cash for the jewellery and I’ve written to him so he is expecting you. I’ve never met him but he’s a friend of a friend so I know he can be trusted.’

  Mary tried to protest. ‘I can’t take all of this…’

  ‘Mary, the death of my husband left me a wealthy woman, as I explained. He bought me the finest jewels money could buy, not because he loved me, but because he wanted to show off to the world how rich he was. These things are meaningless to me, but if I thought that their sale could help you to set up a life in America, ah, what sweet revenge that would be. He hated the fact that he couldn’t make you cower, Mary. I saw the way he ogled you but you never showed fear. He hated that. The night you stood up to him and defended me, he was livid. A mere maid daring to defy him was something from which he never recovered. Your upbringing taught you to be quiet and subservient, to apologise for your existence. It is a testament to your own strength of character that you shook that off and became a brave, strong woman, a woman I am proud to know. That strength, or in his eyes that audacity, combined with Rory’s refusal to bow and scrape to him, meant he hated both of you. You can be sure that the venomous treatment you experienced at the hands of Johnson was at his behest. But the wonderful thing is, he’s dead and you are both alive, so use his money to build your life, Mary. I have no need of it. Mrs Kearns and I have more than enough to see us out, and it would mean we would worry a little bit less about you if we knew you at least had a roof over your head and enough to eat. Please take it.’

  Mary didn’t trust herself to speak. This woman, who had taken her on as a maid when she had nothing, no experience, no friends, had given her a life. She introduced her to the cause of Irish Republicanism, she taught her how to stand up for what was right, she supported her, rescued her, and loved her for eight years. Mrs Grant had given her opportunities a girl from an orphanage could never have dreamed of, and now she was saying goodbye. Mary threw her arms around Mrs Grant and hugged her while the older woman rubbed her back.

  I’m going to leave you now, and I won’t see you again before you go. I have some people to meet, so take care, my dear girl. Your country and I are forever in your debt. If you achieve nothing further in life, and I very much doubt that will be the case, never forget that you fought in the GPO, that you were there when Pearse read the Proclamation of Irish Independence, That you are a part of the history of this country. Future generations will know of us and our actions, and realise those were the first tentative steps of a new born nation. Be proud, dear Mary, and be happy.’ Tears glistened in her eyes.

  She then wheeled herself out the door without looking back.

  Mary took a deep breath and went downstairs. As promised, Mrs Kearns was sewing bundles of cash into the lining of a suitcase. She was moaning that the fabric was too stiff for the needle and that it was taking too long, but Mary knew the old housekeeper was dreading her departure as much as she was.

  ‘I’ll just go in and gather the rest of my things so,’ Mary said. She was meeting Rory at seven and it was already ten past six. She stood in the little bedroom that she had slept in since she arrived in Dublin in 1913. She remembered so many nights, tucked up in her cosy little bed, reading her books by a gas lamp the mistress had given her. The lovely white eiderdown, embroidered carefully with blue forget me nots that Mrs Kearns had made her one Christmas, still covered the bed. She opened the drawer of her little locker and took out the bundles of letters from Rory. There were so many, some long missives, others notes scribbled on the backs of envelopes, she had kept them all. There were some photos too, a lovely one that Mrs Grant took on the morning of Easter Monday when she was all dressed up in her uniform, one of her and Eileen on the carousel in the Phoenix Park, looking carefree in summer frocks. A picture of the O’Dwyer family and another of baby Rory taken by Teddy and sent to her in a card from himself and Eileen, one of Mrs Kearns and Mrs Grant in their Cumann na MBan uniforms,taken at a meeting one night, and one of her and Rory on their wedding day in February 1917.

  Their reception had been held at Rory’s old place of employment, and the place she had first met him, the Royal Marine Hotel in Dun Laoighre. Mrs Grant and Mrs Kearns were as proud as punch and the O’Dwyers all came up from Limerick for the day. Micheal Collins was there, and Kathleen Clarke gave her a beautiful table cloth as a gift. Several IRA and Cumann na mBan people were there as well. It was the happiest day of her life. She finally belonged somewhere. There had even been a mass card from Sister Margaret in the convent, to whom Mary wrote every Christmas. They spent their three night honeymoon in Connemara, and Mary hoped she would be pregnant afterwards, but alas no. She longed for a child, a baby of her own, but her time with Rory since they married had been so infrequent and often only for a few minutes. Their opportunities to be alone together were rare.

  She carefully put the letters and photos into a big envelope and sealed it. In the wardrobe was her Cumann na mBan uniform. Of course it was too bulky to carry and she would have no need of it where she was going, but she carefully removed the badge, the design of which she had always loved, the initials of the women’s movement CNmB looped around a rifle. She placed it in one of the velvet jewel bags the mistress had given her. It may be just brass, but it meant more to her than all the diamonds in the world. She wore her wedding ring and around her neck the medal of St Anne, given to her all those years ago by Mrs Kearns. There were some books. A poetry book of WB Yeats that Rory had sent her a few months ago, and finally the flag.

  She realised bringing a soiled dirty flour bag across the ocean would be seen as the height of foolishness in some people’s eyes, but she didn’t care. Tom Clarke made that flag for them and gave them his shoe laces to tie it to the broom handle. The bags came from Boland’s, a mill being held by Mr de Valera, and she and Eileen had made hundreds of bandages with them. She carried the mistress, with Mrs Kearns and Eileen, out of the GPO, and it was Mrs Grant’s blood on it. It represented everything about her life since she arrived in Dublin. It may not mean anything to anyone else, but to her it would always be precious. She carefully folded it and went to the linen cupboard. There she found a small sheet and wrapped the flag carefully. Then she went out to the kitchen to get the suitcase.

  It was on the big table, where she and Mrs Kearns had chopped, kneaded, mashed and rolled for hundreds of meals. The housekeeper was nowhere to be seen so Mary took the case to her room and filled it. She put in the few dresses she had, her spare shoes and her extra cardigan. She would wear her woollen dress and her winter coat and hat for the journey. The clock on the wall of the kitchen said half past six. It was time to go.

  ‘M
rs Kearns,’ she called. ‘Mrs Kearns, are you here? I’m going now.’

  She went out into the back garden. Jimmy would park the car at the back entrance to the house to avoid any confrontation with the soldiers. Mary spotted her, examining the contents of the potting greenhouse. She grew vegetables and herbs in there and it was her pride and joy, though very little was growing now, in the bitterly cold month of January. Mary stood there for a moment, just watching her and committing her to memory and eventually touching Mrs Kearns on the shoulder. She turned and Mary saw the tears flowing unchecked down her old face. In all they had endured together, she had never seen Mrs Kearns cry. She was usually so stoic and full of common sense.

  Mary put her arms around her and held her close.

  ‘How will I manage without you?’ she said through her own tears. ‘I’ve come to think of you as my mother. I never had one, you know, and now I’m supposed to leave the only one I’ve ever known. How am I supposed to do that?’ Mary asked her.

  ‘You’ll be grand, Mary, you’re strong and you’ve a good head on your shoulders.’ Mrs Kearns said. ‘But I’d be telling you a lie if I didn’t admit that my heart is broken. God bless you, my darling girl, and I wish you all the luck in the world. I’ll pray for you every night, and for Rory too that ye will be together again, and that this will all end and maybe ye can come home to us. But if you don’t, remember this, that you gave me more than I ever gave you and I’ll die a happy woman for having you in my life. Now be off with you, and see that rascal before you go. Write to us Mary and let us know you’re alright, won’t you? We’ll be worried sick.’

  Mary nodded and released her.

  Mrs Kearns put her hand on top of Mary’s head and said a prayer, ‘Our Lady of the Wayside, for the love of the child in your arms, take my Mary by the hand and lead her safely along the road. Amen’ Then she nodded and turned, and headed back to her kitchen.

  Chapter 39

  ‘This is Shanganagh Cemetery, Eileen.’ Fiachra parked the car. ‘It’s fairly big, so do you know where to go or will I try to find someone to help?’

  Eileen smiled. ‘I think I’ll find it. Come walk with me you two. This is the cemetery where Mrs Grant and Mrs Kearns are buried. My mother was devastated when she got the news, she always hoped she would see them one more time but then I suppose international travel wasn’t what it is today. I often offered to go back with her, but she always refused, saying she just couldn’t. I never pressed her on it but I think when Mrs Grant died, and she got the telegram, I suppose it was from Mrs Kearns, she was inconsolable. I grew up with these people, though I never met them, they were as alive to me as the neighbours down the street. Her health was never good, but she lived until nineteen sixty, which was a grand old age. When Mrs Kearns died a few months later, my mother was amazed to learn they were almost the same age. She always thought Mrs Kearns was older than the mistress, as she called her. They wrote all during their lives, and I would get presents on my birthday and Christmas from them.’

  Scarlett and Fiachra each linked one of her arms as they went into the graveyard. ‘I think it’s down here’ she said, and Scarlett knew her well enough by now to know she was probably right.

  ‘There it is.’ They stopped and read the headstone.

  Angeline Grant

  1875-1960

  Beloved friend of Beatrice Kearns and Mary O’Dwyer.

  The two women obviously were buried in the same grave, because underneath it on the same headstone was written.

  Beatrice Kearns

  1874 – 1960

  Eileen sighed, her voice cracking with emotion.

  ‘There should be something about my mother underneath hers as well, but no-one knew to do it, I suppose. Mrs Kearns really was like a mother to her, she loved her so much and she always felt terrible about not coming back but she just couldn’t. ’

  Fiachra put his arm around Eileen, ‘We can get it done, no problem. Look ,there’s loads of room, we can put it right.’

  Eileen looked up at him, eyes shining with emotion. ‘Do you think we could do that?’

  ‘Definitely’ he smiled and Scarlett marvelled at how Eileen instantly trusted him. He was just a genuinely good guy.

  As they stood at the grave she told them the story of the flag and what Mary Doyle, Eileen O’Dwyer, Mrs Grant, and Mrs Kearns endured during Easter week together in the GPO, and why it was of such importance to her mother. Finally Scarlett understood how crushed Eileen would have been if the thieves had taken it.

  Eileen laid two of her wreaths on the grave and Scarlett and Fiachra stood back to let her have a moment alone. Scarlett reached up and kissed him on the cheek. He turned and smiled, ‘What was that for? Not that you need a reason, of course.’

  ‘Just for being so great to Eileen, she really trusts you, and I’m glad.’

  ‘She’s a smart cookie that one. She might be getting on in years but she’s a sharp as a razor. I think it’s great that you got involved with her, imagine that without you she would never have got to come here and do all of this, you should be proud of yourself, Scarlett, I mean it.’

  As they walked back to the car, Eileen said, ‘There’s just one more place I have to go.’

  Chapter 40

  The house on Westmoreland Street was owned by a Doctor O’Reilly and his wife, and was often used as a safe house by Collins and his men. The doctor worked at the Arbour Hill barracks and was seen by the British as being loyal. Mary went in the front door the moment the maid opened it.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said to the young girl who took her coat and hat. She looked so innocent and trusting, Mary remembered a time when she looked like that too. The girl tried unsuccessfully to hide her shock at Mary’s battered face, but Mary saw the flash of horror in the younger girl’s eyes. How much she knew, Mary had no idea, though as a maid in a safe house she would have to have some inkling as to what went on there. As she led Mary down the hallway into a large drawing room, voices came from behind the door. The girl knocked gingerly and opened the door, indicating that Mary should enter.

  There were three men standing at the fireplace, while applewood logs crackled merrily in the hearth. They each held a glass of whiskey and as they turned to face her, Mary recognised two of them. Rory rushed over to her, taking her suitcase and leading her towards the fire.

  ‘Mary, this is Dr O’Reilly, this is his house, and you know Mick.’ Rory smiled.

  Mary had never met Michael Collins before, though she had seen him several times. He was tall and handsome and seemed to exude energy and good humour. He extended a huge hand to her, after crossing the room in two strides,

  ‘Well, ’tis lovely to finally meet you, Mary. Rory never stops talking about you, and he has us driven cracked if the truth be told.’ He chuckled and gave Rory a friendly punch on the shoulder. ‘I’m sorry you had to endure that Captain Johnson. He’s one of the worst of them. And he was involved in some way with your former employer who was dealt with, so he has a crow to pick with you and he won’t let it go. I know you’re not happy about going away, but honest to God, ’tis the safest thing for you, and for Rory. Your country has asked an awful lot of you, Mary, I know it has, and you’ve done your best every time, but ’tis time to leave it to others now. If I could get Kitty to go, believe me I would, but she’s a stubborn woman and she won’t do as I ask. There’s a bounty of ten thousand pounds on my head, and you may be sure there’s one for Rory as well. Johnson knows who you are now, and he’s like a bear that he was overruled. I was able to do it once, to get you away from him. That other fella was up to something he shouldn’t have been, with a certain young lady of my acquaintance, and I had to threaten to expose him to his wife. That’s the only way I got you out, and I wouldn’t be so lucky the next time, you are in real danger. So will you go, Mary?’

  Mary looked into his open, boyish face, and wondered how anyone ever refused him anything. He had all the charisma and enthusiasm people said he
had, but there was a soft kindness to him as well. He was capable of orchestrating a crippling war on the British, through analytical and decisive action. He sent young Irish men out on manoeuvres, in the knowledge that for some of them at least, they wouldn’t come home, but it had to be done. Rory often told Mary that Collins went very silent after the IRA suffered losses. He took each death personally and felt responsible for every one of them.

  ‘I’ll go, but can you get Rory to send for me as soon as you can?’ she asked. She knew she shouldn’t ask because he had important work to do here, but the thoughts of being thousands of miles away from him, broke her heart.

  ‘The minute this is over, I’ll buy the ticket myself. Wild horses won’t keep him from you, Mary. I’ll have no need to instruct him. He’ll be out of this the second he can, for like all of us, he’s had enough. We all share the same dream, a country of our own, where we rule ourselves and we can live in peace on our beautiful island, and we won’t fight one minute more than we need. But I need him now, and I’ll try to get us all through this and hopefully he’ll be safe. He’s a bit like a cat this fella. He has more than one life, you know.’ He winked at her, and drained his glass.

  ‘Now ’tis time I was gone. Thanks for the hospitality as usual, Maurice, and tell Jenny that fish pie was the best I ever had, high praise from a West Cork man I can tell you! Now so, good luck to ye.’ He shook their hands and was gone.

  ‘You’re very welcome here, Mary.’ The doctor was a quietly spoken man, the total opposite to Collins. ‘Now I’ll leave you two alone. I have to go out on a sick call anyway. My wife left some pie in the larder for you if you’re hungry. Rory, you know where everything is, so just help yourselves. And the very best of luck to you, Mary. I know you are probably worried about the bruising on your face by the way, but it will be gone in a week or two. It’s a sign of good healing.’ He gave them a kind smile and left the room.