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

by Jean Grainger

  (Sir) Roger Casement – an Irish man who worked as an Anglo-Irish diplomat. He retired from the consular service in 1913 and became involved with the Irish Republican movement. He procured weapons from the Germans to be used against the British in 1916. The First World War was raging so the arrangement suited both Ireland and Germany. He was captured by the British and put ashore at Banna Strand Co. Kerry. He had his knighthood stripped. He was subsequently hanged for high treason.

  D.M.P. – Dublin Metropolitan Police

  R.I.C. – Royal Irish Constabulary, the pre-partition Irish police force.

  Dublin Castle – the centre of British administration in Ireland.

  Countess Constance Markievicz – nee Gore-Booth. One of the founders of Cumann na mBan, the wife of a Polish count. A friend of W.B. Yeats. First woman in the world to be elected to parliament.

  Liberty Hall – A building in Dublin which was the centre of the trade union movement and later one of the administration centres of the Republicans and headquarters of the Irish Citizen Army.

  ALSO BY THE AUTHOR

  Chapter 1

  20th January 1919

  Solange Allingham gazed out of the window of the black Morris Oxford at the sodden fields. The endless journey through England by train and the choppy crossing to Ireland had barely registered with her. She could feel nothing except a dragging despair, deep within her. Even the rhythmic slosh of the wipers of the car seemed to beat out the mantra, ‘Jeremy is dead, Jeremy is dead.’ They had been planning to buy a vineyard in the Dordogne, after the war; they had been going to have a huge family – three boys, three girls. ‘Jeremy is dead, Jeremy is dead.’

  Gradually, the green rolling hills of the south eastern counties of Wexford and Waterford gave way to rugged, stone-filled fields. She kept on catching distant glimpses of a grey, cold ocean. Beside her, Richard drove in silence, his vivid green eyes focused on the wet road ahead, his sandy hair neatly cut and combed. How he and Jeremy had been such good friends amazed her. Her Jeremy had been always so bright and funny and full of life. This quiet, shy Irish doctor entirely lacked that sort of charm. When he spoke, it was always slow and deliberate. He was painstakingly methodical in his work, irrespective of any chaos that surrounded him. Yet she had seen injured soldiers stop screaming in agony when Dr Buckley spoke to them or touched them. ‘The gentle giant,’ Jeremy had dubbed him, and he was indeed big – well over six feet tall, with a deep voice she knew his patients found reassuring.

  ‘Not long now. We’ll be in Skibbereen by six, I should think. I hope you aren’t too uncomfortable?’ His eyes never left the road.

  ‘No, thank you.’ She hesitated, seeking the English words. Her mind felt like it was wrapped in wet cotton wool, and all she really wanted to do was sleep. ‘I am fine.’ In the weeks since Jeremy had died, she had barely spoken, in either her native French or her husband’s English. Not that she had learnt much English from Jeremy – he had always said he was too romantic and passionate to be Anglo-Saxon and so spoke in French to her most of the time.

  All the nurses had been in love with the young doctor with his thick, wavy hair and warm, hazel eyes; he had flirted outrageously with all of them, but they knew there was nothing in it: he only had eyes for Solange Galliard. He had pursued her relentlessly from when he was first assigned to the hospital, ignoring her protests that she was engaged to Armand De La Croix, the son of a local banker. Jeremy saw this as no obstacle whatsoever; she simply had to break off the engagement and marry him instead. It was impossible to do anything else, he’d claimed – she had bewitched him with her deep azure eyes and her black corkscrew curls, forever threatening to liberate themselves from the starched white veil of her nurse’s uniform. He told her regularly that she occupied his every thought, waking and sleeping, and, despite herself, she had fallen in love with the incorrigible English doctor. When he talked, he made her laugh till tears flowed down her cheeks, and when he touched her she tingled with desire. She had married him and was the happiest girl on earth.

  Back in 1914, the war had been seen as something to be over by Christmas. The girls had giggled with delight at the vast numbers of handsome soldiers arriving daily. It had all seemed so romantic, the men so gallant – a bit of a lark really, as Jeremy termed it. How wrong they all were. The fun and high spirits of those early days had quickly given way to scenes of unprecedented human misery. Those scenes would haunt all those who witnessed them for the rest of their lives.

  Solange wondered if Jeremy would even recognise her if he were to see her now. Grief had taken its toll on the curvaceous body he had loved; her once round cheeks were hollow, and dark shadows circled her blue eyes. At twenty-six, her jet-black hair had become suddenly threaded with silver hairs. The person she had been before the war seemed a distant stranger to her now. She suspected the carefree girl of her youth had died along with that whole generation of young men. All gone now, and Jeremy gone with them.

  ‘There is a rug on the back seat if you’re cold,’ Richard’s voice interrupted her reverie.

  ‘No, thank you. I am fine.’ She realised her answer was a repetition of her response to his earlier enquiry so she added, with an attempt at enthusiasm, ‘Ireland is a very pretty country. Quite like Brittany in places, I think.’ She knew her voice sounded flat and colourless. She couldn’t help it.

  He nodded thoughtfully. ‘Yes, I’m glad you like it. Though of course, when the sun shines it’s much better. When we were students in England, Jeremy often came here on holidays. He complained that it never stopped raining. I tried to get him to consider moving here after the war, but he said he would rather get a suntan in France than rust in Ireland any day.’

  They both smiled at the memory of him; his presence was almost tangible between them in the car.

  ‘Thank you for doing this for me,’ Solange began again. ‘You have been so kind. I cannot imagine how it would have been if I would have stayed in France. I don’t know if I can survive now, but at least here has no memories. I will try to be of service to you and your family.’

  Richard drove and sighed deeply as if weighing up how best to phrase what he was going to say next.

  ‘Solange, I’m not bringing you to Dunderrig to be of service to us. I am bringing you to be a member of our family. Please understand that. It’s your home for as long as you want it to be. We, Edith and I, don’t expect anything from you but I, we, both hope that coming here will help you. I can’t imagine how hard it must be, considering all you have lost. Not just Jeremy but your parents, your brothers. It’s almost too much to bear. We just want to help, in any way that we can. Jeremy would have taken care of Edith had the situation been reversed. We talked about it, you know. What we would do if either one of us didn’t make it. I know if it had been me who was killed then you and Jeremy would have helped Edith. So please, you are family as far as we are concerned. You don’t owe us a thing.’

  In the four years she had known Richard Buckley, this was the longest speech she had ever heard him make. His voice was cracking with emotion, and it was clear his offer came from the heart. She hardly knew what to say – she sat in silent gratitude as he drove the narrow, twisty road.

  ‘Down there is Skibbereen, but this is where we turn off,’ he said, taking a slow right at a signpost marked ‘Dunderrig’. ‘I wrote to Edith to let her know we were arriving this evening, so she will be expecting us. Though naturally, she has been very tired of late.’

  ‘Of course. She had only a few more weeks to go?’ Solange enquired politely.

  ‘Two weeks, perhaps. No more than three. I would have given anything to have been here to help her. She has suffered badly with sickness throughout this pregnancy. And she had to cope with the loss of my mother and father too, within a few days of each other. Thank God, the influenza spared my wife, if not my poor parents. She has had so much to cope with.’

  ‘It will feel strange for you to be home and not to see them. Even as an adul
t, you are never ready to lose your parents.’ She was conscious that her voice had grown heavy with her own pain and made an effort to be stronger for him. ‘But you must be very excited to see your wife after all this time?’

  ‘Yes, I am.’ A brief smile but nothing more.

  She glanced at him, questioningly. Richard very rarely mentioned Edith. Solange had often speculated with Jeremy about what kind of marriage the Buckleys had – practical, passionate, romantic? When she wondered what Mrs Buckley was like, Jeremy told her that he had met Edith only briefly and explained how he had dragged his shy best friend to a dance while they were still at the medical college in England; to his surprise Richard had spent his evening talking about Ireland with a cool but beautiful blonde from Dublin. Only weeks later they had qualified, and Jeremy had signed up for France, and met Solange, while Richard had gone to work as a doctor in Ireland and had ended up marrying the Dublin girl. Solange’s only knowledge of Edith was based on the photo Richard had of her on his desk in the hospital; it showed a tall and elegant woman, beautifully dressed. She also knew that Richard had seen his wife very briefly, eight months before, when in Dublin on leave – a leave that had been cut short before he’d been able to travel home to Cork to visit his parents, then still alive and well. Poor Richard. ‘And are you also excited to become a Papa?’

  ‘Yes. I am.’ The same answer, but this time the smile was warmer.

  THE HOUSE WAS SET back from the road and was impressive in its size and architecture. While not a château by any standard, it still seemed to be a very large house for a couple to inhabit alone. It was built of a buttery stone with limestone edging, and, despite its grand size, appeared welcoming, with lights blazing in each window, promising a warm and inviting end to her long, tiring journey. The tree-lined avenue passed through gardens that were beautifully kept, even during their winter sleep. Large sections of the housefront were covered with crimson-and-gold creeping ivy, and as they drew level with the large, bottle-green front door – the car’s wheels crunching on the gravel – Solange admired the blood-red Poinsettia spilling from pots in wild profusion on either side of the door. Perhaps Edith was a keen gardener. She hoped so because she loved gardens too – it would give them something to talk about.

  Richard opened the car door and offered her his arm to assist her out. Standing, she found she was stiff and sore, and suddenly longed for a bath and a good night’s sleep. As he opened the front door, a plump, matronly woman with iron-grey hair and a currant-bun face came hurrying from the back section of the house.

  ‘Dr Richard, you’re home! You’re as welcome as the flowers of May. Let me have a look at you! God in heaven, you’re skin and bone! We’ll have to feed you up. Oh, ’tis wonderful to have you home, so it is. I can’t believe ’tis two years since you set foot in Dunderrig. Wouldn’t your mother and father be just delighted to see you, God rest them, home safe and sound. They never stopped worrying about you, God be good to them.’ Tears filled the woman’s eyes.

  Solange stood by as Richard put his arms around the grey-haired woman and held her tightly.

  ‘You were so good to them, Mrs Canty. My mother’s last letter told how much ye did to ease my poor father’s passing, and how skilful ye were at nursing her herself. I can’t believe she won’t be in the kitchen or he in his surgery ever again.’

  He spoke quietly. Their loss was shared. Mrs Canty was clearly much more than a housekeeper; more like one of the family. After a few minutes, he stepped back and indicated Solange.

  ‘Mrs Canty, this is Madame Solange Allingham, Jeremy’s wife.’

  The woman hurried towards Solange, dabbing her eyes with the corner of her apron.

  ‘I beg your pardon, I didn’t see you there. What must you think of us at all? You are very welcome to Dunderrig, pet, and I’m sorry it’s only me here to greet ye. We didn’t know exactly when to expect you, you see. My Eddie is out and about somewhere, and Mrs Buckley is upstairs having a lie down. She’s been very out of sorts all day.’

  She took Solange’s hand while sadly shaking her head.

  ‘I remember your husband well – a lovely lad and no mistake. He was like a ray of sunshine around the place when he used to visit. Dr Richard’s mother, God rest her soul, used to knock a great kick out of him altogether – the antics and trick acting out of him! I was so sorry to hear he had been killed, and ye only a young couple starting out in your lives. ’Twas a terrible thing that war. So many grand lads like Jeremy, gone forever.’

  The woman spoke so quickly that Solange struggled to understand her – but she could tell enough to be moved by the kind way this woman spoke about her dead husband and warmed to her at once.

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Canty. Yes, my husband spoke often about the happy times he enjoyed in Ireland.’ Solange hoped her English was clear enough.

  Whether Mrs Canty fully understood her or not, she seemed satisfied with Solange’s halting answer. ‘You’re very welcome here, especially now. God knows, with the new baby arriving any minute, we’ll be all up in the air soon. I’ll tell you Dr Richard, she’s not great at all today. I’ve been trying to get her to eat a bit all day long, but she’s not having a bar of it. You’d think she’d be all excitement over having you home after all this time! Normally women get a bit of a boost just before, you know, getting things ready for the baby and all that, but she just lies in bed, the only thing she’s interested in is writing letters…’

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Canty, that will be all.’

  Both Richard and Mrs Canty turned with a start, and Solange followed their eyes to the top of the stairs from where the cold sharp voice had come.

  ‘It is perhaps not so inconceivable that I would not wish to eat, given the standard of cuisine in this house. Please attend to your duties.’

  The haughty tone brooked no argument. A tall, blonde woman was descending the staircase, which curved elegantly around the walls into the large square entrance hall. She was dressed in an ivory silk gown, over which she wore a contrasting coffee-coloured robe, and she moved remarkably gracefully, given the advanced stage of her pregnancy; despite the large bump, she was slender, almost thin. She looked pale and tired, but also something else. She seemed to exude distain, not just for the verbose Mrs Canty but for her entire surroundings. She certainly seemed to show no delight at the safe return of her husband.

  ‘Edith, you look wonderful, blooming. Mrs Canty was telling us you haven’t been well? It’s so good to see you.’ Richard crossed to the bottom of the stairs, offering his hand to assist her down the last few steps. She allowed him to take it and turned a powdered cheek for him to kiss, but Solange could see her actions lacked enthusiasm. Richard must have noticed it too. Having pecked his wife lightly, he released her limp fingers and retreated a few steps, looking around him, clearly searching for something else to say. His eyes alighted on Solange. ‘Edith, this is Solange Allingham, Jeremy’s wife.’

  Edith Buckley heaved a huge sarcastic sigh as she approached Solange. ‘Yes, Richard, I did gather who this was. You wrote to me several times to tell me she was coming, and it is not as if Dunderrig is such a hive of social activity that I would confuse the guests. Mrs Allingham, what on earth possessed you to leave France for this godforsaken place?’

  Uncertain how to respond, Solange silently extended her own hand, but Edith ignored it.

  ‘Oh well, you’re here now, so you will have to make the best of it. Presumably you will either expire from boredom or food poisoning, but if you are determined to take your chances… Oh, Mrs Canty, are you still here?’

  Mrs Canty marched off furiously to the kitchen, saying loudly how someone had to prepare a ‘good, wholesome meal’ for the poor travellers. Richard seemed unsure what he should do next. He made to put his hand on his wife’s back, but the look she gave him was so frosty, he changed his mind.

  Solange hurried to lighten the mood. ‘Madame Buckley, I must thank you for inviting me into your home. Please b
elieve me, after the past few years in France, a quiet life is something I wholeheartedly desire, so do not be concerned I will be bored. Besides, when the new little one arrives it will be a very busy household. I hope to be of some service.’ She tried to infuse her voice with gratitude and friendliness, to bring some much-needed warmth into the situation.

  Edith shrugged. ‘I suppose so. But I warn you, it will all seem deathly dull. I am sorry about your husband. Still, if countries insist on colonising smaller nations then war must be an inevitable outcome.’

  Solange was nonplussed. Was Edith saying that Jeremy deserved to die because of the past decisions of English and French rulers? Surely she could not be so callous. She glanced at Richard, who had coloured with embarrassment.

  Nonchalantly changing the subject, Edith addressed her husband, ‘Richard, please contact Dr Bateman to come out. I’m not feeling well, and I need to consult him. I’m going back to bed. Welcome home. Please don’t disturb me until he arrives.’ She turned away.

  Richard followed his wife across the hall to the foot of the sweeping stairs. ‘Perhaps it’s something I can help you with? It is rather a long way for Bateman to come…’

  ‘Richard,’ Edith said wearily, without looking back at him. ‘While I accept you are a doctor, you are not my doctor. You have been conspicuous by your absence throughout my confinement, so it would be wholly inappropriate for you to involve yourself in my care at this late stage. Please contact Dr Bateman as soon as possible.’ Moving wearily but not slowly, she climbed the stairs.

  ‘Very well. If that’s what you want, then of course I’ll contact him – and then maybe we could have tea?’

  Richard was almost pleading. But Edith had already disappeared into a room on the second floor, and his request was met with the closing of the door behind her. He turned anxiously to Solange.