‘Sam O’Mahony. Eamonn, he’s having a terrible attack of asthma. I think he’s in a terrible way.’ She hesitated for a moment and then said, ‘Eamonn, his lips are a bit blue. What does that mean?’
‘I’m afraid—’
‘Shut up, shut up all of you. I don’t want to hear another word about this. Sam O’Mahony, indeed. A man who has done his best to turn the people of Cork against our organisation. How dare you go and let him out of prison without any authorization? The sooner he is recaptured the better. And if he dies on the hillside,’ finished Tom Hurley, ‘well, so much the better. It will save the state the cost of the trial and of the rope to hang him.’
‘And, of course, it would clear everyone else of suspicion,’ shouted Eileen. It was a random shot but it went home. So he was there, she thought just before he grabbed her by the arm and pushed her in front of him. She felt the hard round circle of the pistol muzzle press into her back and for a second she prayed to herself: Dear God, don’t let him shoot me in the spine. Then Tom seized her by the arm and began to pull her towards the stairs. She shrugged herself free and marched ahead of him, her head held high, but she knew that she was trembling violently and when she heard the key turn in the door, she felt nothing but relief.
‘I’m taking this key with me and you don’t get out of there until I say so,’ he shouted, adding with a sneer in his voice, ‘hope you’ve got a pot in there. You girls can’t do it out of the window like fellows, I suppose.’ And then she heard his footsteps going back down the stairs and the sound of his voice shouting orders.
A few moments later, the front door was closed with a quiet click and then she heard the chug-chug of the motorbike. She went to the window and looked out, standing in the shelter of the curtain. He didn’t take the road to Cork, but turned in the direction of Ballinhassig. She wondered for a minute why he was going to the village, but then her thoughts went back to Sam and she clutched the curtain hard, in an effort not to cry. She had made such a mess of everything! Eamonn’s face when she had mentioned ‘blue lips’ had been enough for her. She just had to get back to him. Swiftly she left the window, changed into her breeches and tweed jacket. She went over to the bed, stripping the sheets from it and knotting them together. Then she added the sheets from Aoife’s bed. She soon had a serviceable rope, studded with knots, which she laid on the floor.
She knew that her actions earlier that day might mean the end of her time with the Republicans. She faced that near-certainty and knew, with a cold feeling in her spine, that it might mean, also, that she would be shot for insubordination.
And at that moment the lock of the door clicked open and Eamonn came in quietly.
‘Let’s go,’ he said. ‘I’ve got some ephedrine. It’s great stuff. Lucky that I grabbed a bottle when we raided the chemist shop that time.’
Eileen was looking at the key in the door. ‘Did he give that to you?’ she asked.
Eamonn shook his head. ‘It’s the same lock on all of the bedroom doors,’ he said casually. ‘Fred and I discovered that on the first day we came here. We didn’t like to tell you girls in case you might freak out or something.’
Eileen ignored this. Her mind was working fast. She wasn’t going to turn down Eamonn’s offer. It might mean the difference between life and death for Sam, but she knew how much the Republican movement meant to him. Quickly she tied one end of her knotted sheets’ rope to the leg of Aoife’s bed and threw the other end out through the open window.
‘Lock the door again when I go out,’ she said. ‘Act dumb in the morning. No one can take responsibility, then. No one heard or saw anything. You were all in the kitchen at the back of the house and Aoife slept in Carrie’s bed. No one came near me – his highness had the key, after all.’
And then she hesitated again as they reached the front door. The glorious cause meant everything to Eamonn. He was the most visionary and idealistic of them all.
‘Give me the ephedrine, Eamonn. I’ll give it to him. You stay here. And remember, you know nothing.’
He shook his head. ‘No,’ he said. ‘If he has gone too far, I might just have to do a tracheotomy. I’ve watched one being performed and I think I’d be able to do it. I’ve brought a tube with me.’
She had no idea what he was talking about. She stared at him uncertainly, but then he said firmly, ‘I know I’m not a qualified doctor, but I swore the Hippocratic oath to myself when I started my medical course. A sick man comes before anything else. Come on, Eileen, let’s go.’
The fog seemed worse when they went out, but they both knew the way so well that they had no problems. All of those days becoming familiar with the countryside around the farmhouse – a radius of at least two miles, Tom Hurley had ordered – all of that time had been very well spent. Eileen led the way, feeling much happier, despite everything. After all Sam was a young man. Young men didn’t die of something as ordinary and simple as asthma. And she had enormous faith in Eamonn. She concentrated on walking fast and leading the way as directly as possible.
But when they reached the exit of the tunnel, there was no sign of Sam.
NINETEEN
Alan Ellis
Reporter on Cork Examiner:
‘I had been given a special pass that afternoon showing that, as a journalist, I could travel during the curfew hours. Major General Edward Strickland himself signed it. He was commanding the British 6th Division covering the city. So I felt comparatively safe from any unwelcome attention. Looking back, I was living in a fool’s paradise because, a few days later, the Auxiliaries shot an old man named Guest – he was a night watchman at the Cork Distillery. He had a pass, too. But they claimed that he had failed to answer a challenge!’
‘Message for you from the gaol, inspector,’ said Joe. ‘The escaped prisoner, Sam O’Mahony, the one that the Republicans sprung, he’s been recaptured, he’s back behind bars.’
‘What happened?’ Patrick was surprised. There had been quite a few gaol breaks masterminded by the Republicans and they had always been very efficient affairs. Usually the prisoner was moved to another part of the country and nothing was heard of him again. As far as he could remember, there had never been a recapture.
‘Well, someone turned him in yesterday evening. A man in a raincoat, hat pulled down, hard to see his face …’ Joe was consulting his notes. ‘He walked into the police barracks in Ballinhassig, just said, “There’s an escaped prisoner lying out in the fields beside the exit from the tunnel. He’s having a bad asthma attack so you’d better get there before he pegs out.” And then he just cleared off before they could ask him anything. Very slow those country police, sir. Still, they managed to find Sam O’Mahony. He was in a bad way, but when he was back behind bars, the governor of the prison got hold of Dr Scher and he pulled him around. Oh, and –’ once again Joe consulted his notes – ‘Dr Scher phoned, looking for you.’ I told him that you were due in shortly and he said he’d pop around and take you out to lunch. How did the interview with Captain Newenham go, sir?’
‘He produced his pistol very readily, just as soon as I asked whether he owned a gun. Almost as though he expected the question. Had it there in the drawer of his desk, funny place to keep it, I thought, but perhaps, since he knew that I was coming, he had put it there to be handy. But, of course,’ he added, ‘the fact that he still has a pistol didn’t mean that he couldn’t have owned another one. Some of these country gents have a roomful of guns, so I’ve been told. And, apparently, pistols are often sold in pairs.’
‘What did you make of him?’ Joe, thought Patrick, was making progress. Six months ago he would have blurted out: ‘Do you think he done it, sir?’
‘A cool customer. He went through his war service in a couple of sentences. I challenged him about Captain Schulze and he said that he hardly knew him and that they had nothing whatsoever in common so that they never met.’
‘So he didn’t admit anything.’ Joe sounded disappointed.
‘Of course,�
� said Patrick, ‘this idea that Captain Newenham supplied the list for the targeted buildings on the night of the burning down of the city, well, we’ll never get the evidence for that, I’d say. The city engineer may or may not have been blackmailing him, but how can we prove it? Both men would have kept that as a secret. Thanks, Joe,’ he added and waited for the constable to take the hint and leave him to think.
‘There’s something else, sir,’ said Joe standing his ground. His face flushed and he spoke rapidly as though embarrassed by what he had to say. ‘I have another piece of information for you, sir. When I was on the way back here, this boy came up to me. He’d have been about twelve years old, I’d say, no more. Very badly dressed, poor as anything. The type that would do anything for a penny. Well, anyway, sir, he told me some sort of story. It was about the bishop’s chaplain, sir. It’s not very nice.’ Joe stopped, his face even redder than a moment before.
‘Go on,’ said Patrick impatiently. Joe would have to grow a thicker skin. As a policeman he had to face all types of crime.
‘Well, he said, sir … he alleged, I should say, he told me that Father de Courcy had picked up his sister, only a bit older than himself, that’s what he said, one night, in the dark, she was standing on the quays, and he picked her up in his car. He said that his sister drowned herself when she knew that she was pregnant, but before she threw herself in the river she told her brother that Father de Courcy was the one that gave her the baby.’
‘What did you say then?’
‘Well, I think that I made a mess of it. I tried to get him to come back to the barracks with me, I knew that you would want to question him, but he just held out his hand and asked for half a crown.’
‘You didn’t give it to him, I hope.’
‘No, sir,’ said Joe, ‘but perhaps I should have given him something, because he just shouted, “The other fellow, that fellow that’s been murdered, he gave me half a crown. If it was worth half a crown to him, it’s worth it to you.” I tried to grab him, but he got away from me,’ said Joe shamefacedly, ‘the sleeve of his jacket came off in my hand and there wasn’t a sign of him. He just ducked through the crowds and disappeared.’
‘Never mind,’ said Patrick. ‘It could have happened to any of us. Just keep an eye out for him, Joe, when you are out in the streets.’
Had there been anything in that story, he wondered, after Joe had gone out? He would, he thought, have a word with the Reverend Mother. She would know all about Father de Courcy.
Of course, what the bishop’s secretary did was no business of his, if the girl had been of age, but what had taken his attention immediately was the story of the man who had given half a crown for the boy’s tale. Had James Doyle made use of the information in order to blackmail the priest? And if he had, did it have anything to do with the murder? The bishop’s secretary, after all, had been present on that morning in the English Market.
TWENTY
St Thomas Aquinas:
Principiis essendi et gubernationis sunt parentes et patria, quae dedi nati et nutriti
(The most important factors in our existence are our parents and our country, which have given us birth and nourishment)
Patsy Mullane came back to the convent the following morning a good half hour before morning school started. Sister Bernadette was rather sulky when she escorted her in and she did not press any offers of tea on her. The Reverend Mother looked at her visitor with concern. It had been less than a week since she had seen Patsy pushing her broom around at the English Market, but in those few days it almost seemed as if the woman had lost weight. And had not slept much. Her eyes were heavy and rimmed with black circles and her hands were shaking with fear or with tiredness. Perhaps she was ill. The market would have opened at eight in the morning and it was surprising that Patsy was not there.
‘Are you well, Patsy?’ she asked her former pupil.
‘Yes, thank you, Reverend Mother.’ Patsy’s voice shook and for a moment she opened and then closed her mouth, as though she had forgotten what to say.
‘You wanted to see me,’ prompted the Reverend Mother.
‘That’s right. I wanted to ask you something, to tell you …’
‘Yes?’ The Reverend Mother sat back in her chair, tucked her hands into her wide sleeves and prepared to listen. Why had the woman gone out of her way to inform on Tom Hurley when most people of the city would have kept that knowledge to themselves? It was a dangerous thing to pass on information about the rebels. Could she have had any romantic interest in the young son of Mrs O’Mahony? But that was surely most unlikely. Patsy, thought the Reverend Mother looking back through the years, must be forty and she looked every day of her age. A young man with a good opinion of himself, such as Sam O’Mahony was reputed to be, would be most unlikely to be interested in her.
So why had she given information about Tom Hurley – a deed that might have her shot as a spy if the so-called Republican Army ever found out?
Patsy was finding it hard to get to the point, going over her memories of school, of how proud she was when she passed her certificate, how this had enabled her to get a position at the library and how happy she had been working there. The Reverend Mother listened patiently, her eyelids lowered, not allowing herself even one glance at the clock. The playground outside had begun to fill up with children and the shrill voices penetrated through the badly fitting window. Soon it would be time for school, but she didn’t have a class to teach until the afternoon. Patsy, she thought, for everyone’s sake, would have to be given the confidence to work her courage to the sticking point.
But Patsy seemed to have run out of steam. The Reverend Mother raised her eyes and said an encouraging, ‘Yes’, but this was answered only by an uncomfortable silence.
Then the bell for the beginning of school rang, and the sudden clang seemed to alarm Patsy and force her into action. She started, half stood up as though she were once again a pupil in the school, and then sat down again. Soon the clamour ceased and was replaced by an unnatural quiet as the children, headed by their teachers, lined up in the playground waiting to be marched inside.
Patsy turned to the Reverend Mother and said hurriedly, ‘I want to enter.’
‘To enter.’ The Reverend Mother was startled, but did her best to keep her voice neutral. The quiet repetition of her own last two words seemed to prod Patsy into an explanation.
‘I mean I want to enter the convent, to become one of the sisters, not a teacher or anything, I wouldn’t have a dowry and I don’t have the right sort of education, not enough of it, I mean.’ Patsy stopped and looked embarrassed.
‘Why do you want to enter, Patsy?’
This question, when asked of potential candidates, was usually followed by a string of protestations and frequent mention of God, but Patsy just stared at her in a frightened fashion as though she had been asked to solve a very difficult problem. The Reverend Mother decided to rephrase her question.
‘What would you hope to get from joining the sisterhood, Patsy?’ Here again was a great opportunity for God to come into the conversation, but Patsy did not avail herself of this.
She gulped once or twice and then said breathlessly, ‘I’d be safe here.’
The Reverend Mother had been mother superior of the convent for a very long time and had received many different answers from eager postulants to this question, but she had never before heard an answer such as this.
Though the Reverend Mother did not reply, Patsy seemed to sense her surprise and she went on hurriedly, ‘I mean it would be nice and peaceful. There wouldn’t be any worries. That sort of thing.’ Her face was flushed, red and purple and then fading back to its original pale mauve, a colour that she had acquired from working in the draughty chill of the market. Worries was an odd word to use, but perhaps no surprise. The woman did look worried. The Reverend Mother leaned towards her.
‘I suppose everyone has some worries,’ she said. ‘Tell me what is worrying you, Patsy.’ Patsy shot a fr
ightened glance at the door so Reverend Mother got to her feet, went across and turned the key in it. ‘There,’ she said reassuringly, ‘no one can come in and interrupt us.’
She was half sorry not to have told Sister Bernadette to fetch some tea. It might have bridged this awkward moment. Patsy was staring at her and there was indecision as well as fear in her eyes.
‘You’ll have to be open and honest with me, Patsy.’ She spoke briskly and decisively and Patsy responded immediately to the note of authority.
‘I’m frightened about that shooting last Friday in the market, Reverend Mother,’ she said almost in a whisper. ‘I don’t want to work there any longer.’
‘Frightened that it might happen to you?’
Patsy shook her head wordlessly. She looked appealingly at the Reverend Mother.
‘I’d be a very good sister,’ she said. ‘I’m a good worker. I’m great at sweeping and scrubbing now. I’d do anything you wanted. No job is too hard for me.’
‘Tell me why you are frightened, Patsy.’ The Reverend Mother reached across and patted the rough hands that twisted each other. ‘I can’t help if I don’t know the truth,’ she went on.
‘I’m scared that the guards will think I did it.’
‘Did what?’
‘The shooting.’
The Reverend Mother stared at her with perplexity. The idea of Patsy Mullane, with her heavy glasses and her shaky hands, firing a gun, seemed a very strange one. ‘Why would you think that anyone will accuse you of that, Patsy?’ she said soothingly.
This simple question seemed to alarm Patsy, but after a minute she answered in a shaking voice, ‘I told a lie.’
‘Well, that’s not the end of the world,’ said the Reverend Mother in bracing tones. Mrs O’Mahony’s words came to her and she repeated them aloud, ‘I suppose that there are times when we all tell a lie. I’ve told them myself.’ And she smiled reassuringly.
A Shocking Assassination Page 23
