So what to do next? It would probably take you some minutes more to figure it out, but you are offered some assistance in the matter when the door to your room flies open, and a small crowd appears in the corridor without. You are confused by this; but then you remember that you screamed, and that you have no doubt alerted others in the building to your predicament. The men in the corridor only ask you, over and over again, “Are you all right, miss?” But they cannot see anyone, save you, in the room; because, at that moment, even you can’t see anyone save you in the room. There is only the dog, made frightened by your screams, who is whining very discontentedly at the end of the bed. So no one comes in to you, until Tyler comes bursting through the crowd, with Abbaline just in his wake. “Kate!” he is shouting, knocking all manner of men out of his way to reach you. He barrels into the room like a prizefighter, looking all around for the cause of your screaming. He sees nothing; so he comes to sit beside you on the bed, while Abbaline stands just in the doorway, with eyebrows knitted and a frown upon her face. You can tell she is wondering, whether all of your noise was for nothing? You look at her with something like shame, though it is tinged with a lingering fear which is both insensible and illogical.
And so the men in the corridor begin walking away, shaking their heads and muttering to one another about that strange girl, on the first bed in the last room on the right, who holds the dead match still aloft in the air, as if to ward away something that is no longer there.
You look apologetically towards the two people who remain, afterwards lowering your face into your hands for lack of something to say. Tyler tries to take the smoked match from you – but you will not let him have it.
March 29, 1916
I am plagued almost nightly by my waking dream of that man in his chair by the window. I do not scream anymore, but I light a match each time; and afterwards I blow it out, and place it on the nightstand. The little stack of matches there stands as proof of these occurrences. If I were to throw the matches away, then I might begin to think that all of it had been only a product of my imagination – for Tyler has said nothing of it since that first night, and now that my screams have died away, he is hardly ever even aware of the visits of that man in his chair by the window. I would take the blanket down from the window, but I fear that this might anger that man in his chair, and persuade him to kill me – as he has thus far avoided doing.
I took a finger, and used it to smudge out the last few words of the passage. They struck me, somehow, as being just a little too ominous.
I laid myself down on the bed, and shoved the book under my pillow. If the thing really was the cause of all my troubles – well, then I deserved to have it close to me, and for it to taint my life evermore with its strange darkness.
***
I woke on the sixth of April to find, rather unusually, Tyler gone from his bed. After we had been at Brazier Street for a few days, he had fallen back into his habit of sleeping till noon, and was nearly never seen out of bed before that time. But gone he was now, and as I looked towards the nightstand where it seemed that he had forgotten his watch, I saw that it was only eight o’clock.
Feeling curious, I went out into the hall, and then to the staircase, and then down into the lobby, from which I proceeded down the left archway. Coming up the hall, I saw those fellows named Blackie and Tom. They stopped for a moment when they had got alongside of me, said “Hello, miss” in unison, and then went on again. I turned to watch them go; saw them exit the arch, take a left, and then walk straight out of the hotel.
I went on down the hall to the double-doors, which still stood open as a small group of people moved about inside the room, talking with one another as they got themselves situated.
I wondered, for a moment, if I should turn and leave – when Tyler looked up and saw me, and beckoned me into the room. “Come, come!” he said, waving at me.
“Do come in, Kate,” said Abbaline, who was just taking her place behind the great desk. “You’re welcome to sit in.”
There was a little semi-circle of chairs placed before the desk. Tyler set one more on the end of the loop, where the circle rounded towards the desk on the right side. Besides Tyler and myself, there were three people in the circle: two men and a woman. The first man, nearest the desk on the left side, was a fiftyish-looking gentleman. He wore a pair of spectacles, which made him look even more proud than he might have otherwise looked; and a full beard and moustache worked towards the same end. I noticed that he peered quite strangely (as I could not very well blame him) at me, clad still in my night attire. To be fair, it consisted only of what I had worn the day before, minus the jacket; but I daresay my hair was rather mussed, and my overall appearance rather rumpled.
The second gentleman was a good number of years younger than the first. He was very lively-looking, with dark eyes that gleamed of action. He seemed very eager for something, the like of which I of course had no idea, but began quickly to wish to learn.
The woman was of a stern countenance, middle-aged and much, much more proud-looking than even the first gentleman (which was quite a marvel, I thought). She sat still and straight, looking ahead at Abbaline as she waited for the meeting to begin. Tyler sat beside her, and peered several times over at her; but she did not favour him with a glance.
When Abbaline began to speak, Tyler scooted his chair a little closer to mine, so that he could whisper to me the names of the visitors. I recognised only one; and that was the name of Constance Markiewicz, whom I had learnt of first from Joseph Craton; and more of afterwards from his brother. I could not help but glance over at her, when I heard who she was – but she was so engaged in the conversation that had already begun, that she did not notice.
The gentleman in the spectacles, said Tyler, was Eoin MacNeill, a founder of the Irish Volunteers (of which, of course, I had also learnt from Joseph – but with which I had become more familiar, mostly in qualitative terms of course, during my stay on Brazier Street – and knew to be a paramilitary organisation, constructed three years prior as a safeguard for the protection of the Irish people, and as a body destined towards Home Rule). MacNeill did not, said Tyler, favour the plan which was being discussed at that very moment; a plan which was favoured by all others (excepting me, of course) in the room.
The second gentleman was Patrick Pearse, a strong advocate of this mysterious plan, and member of both the Volunteers and the Irish Republican Brotherhood (the two of which seemed, at that time, to be interwoven so fully as to be nearly one and the same). He spoke out fervently each time MacNeill did, and was nearly always supported, it seemed, by Markiewicz. Eventually I waved Tyler away, for I really did want to hear.
“There is to be no rising!” said MacNeill. “Not unless those at Dublin Castle try to arrest you, or disarm you; and that’s not yet been done. And neither has conscription been introduced!”
“What reason is that?” returned Pearse. “If someone does not stand up, we shall all be trampled down. Do you not see, my friend?”
MacNeill sat moodily back in his chair. “I will not give my support.”
Pearse sighed heavily, and looked to Markiewicz. “Won’t you say something to him, Countess?”
“There seems nothing I can say,” said she. “I cannot turn the mind of a man, when it is fixed.”
“Lord knows you’ve tried!” said Pearse disbelievingly, having apparently expected more.
“MacNeill,” said Abbaline finally, folding her hands upon the desk. “Let me ask you one question, and one question only. What more will it take?”
He looked up at her; and though he may not have wanted to show it, was listening intently.
“What more?” repeated Abbaline. “More death? More tyranny? More injustice?” She paused, and pointed out of the window, into the street. “Only look out there, and you will see it! Go out into the street, my man, and tell me what you see!”
His face hardened; and it seemed that Abbaline’s efforts had missed the mark. “And
what are you?” he asked, leaning forward so that his hot whisper might not be missed. “What are you, to me? You sit behind that desk, and think that you are someone? You are nothing but an over-zealous errand-girl!”
I could see that she was struck (and, of course, if you will only recollect the conversation she and I shared on the night of our return from Daniel McIntosh’s place – and compare Eoin MacNeill’s last words to her own – you will surely understand why). She was speechless for a moment; and in that moment, Tyler came to her rescue.
“And who are you to say as such?” he demanded. “You know nothing of her. You would be nothing without her! You are not the only one in this fight.”
Markiewicz and Pearse gave short, satisfied nods. Perhaps to change the subject (or perhaps to applaud Tyler’s show), Pearse said:
“And you know what I always say! The Orangeman with a gun is not half as laughable as the nationalist without one.”
“Irrelevant as that may be to words just passed,” said Markiewicz, “it is quite a valid point.”
With that, the relatively short meeting was adjourned – and I (who had missed more than half of it due to Tyler’s whisperings) was left feeling very lost.
***
It was some days after the meeting, when Abbaline announced that we would be returning to the house of Daniel McIntosh. For the same reasons as before, I was not left behind; and rode beside Tyler just as I had on the previous occasion; though this time there was no third body there in the seat.
Which is not to say, however, that I heard no more of Herbert Hewitt. Just after we had gotten to the house, it was told to us by Mr McIntosh that Herbert Hewitt and Shannon McIntosh had been wed! I grinned; and Tyler laughed out loud; but Abbaline only shook her head, and sighed.
Mr McIntosh seemed most amused at these reactions. He was a very genial man, quick to laugh and often to smile. In appearance, he was very tall, with hair of flax and eyes of coal. As soon as we had all sat down in the parlour, he called Mrs Benjamin to us, and requested a round of drinks. I took the first, but asked for no more; for I did not want to lose that lovely smile with which Mrs Benjamin had again supplied me, that was kind, respectful and admiring all at once.
The conversation which took place rebounded mostly between McIntosh and Abbaline, though Tyler did manage to put in his own points from time to time.
I listened to all of the talk going on around me, some of which I had heard already, but most of which I understood hardly at all. I began to feel, quite honestly, rather insignificant. I watched, and I listened, and I learnt – but it always seemed (whether in that room or at Brazier Street) as though there was something that I was not grasping. I heard talk of who was to be trusted, and who was not; of what was to be done, and what was not; of what places were considered safe, and which were not.
I heard much talk of a “little outing,” which was spoken of very secretly and reverently; and which I could not help but think had something to do with the meeting of Markiewicz, Pearse and MacNeill at Brazier Street. I wondered for a while what this outing would consist of, and when it would take place; figuring that what Abbaline had called it, was not really what it would be.
I thought of how my attention had been called first to these matters – months ago, with little detail and with even less effect – by my dear Joseph Craton. Explained to me by the mind of a child, superior as that mind may have been, the connotations of such things had been much less dark. I was not used to all of this secrecy and importunity. So quite naturally, as I listened to that conversation in the house of Daniel McIntosh, I could not help but think that my own understanding of it was not so very superior to what Joseph’s would have been. That was, perhaps, the first time I realised that such large and impressive things were not in my nature to partake in. (Not too long afterwards, however, I was faced with the fact that this realisation – grand as it may have seemed at the time – was not to be understood by anyone but me; and that my life would become so tinged with those things from which I shied away, that it would be hardly recognisable in comparison to what it had been before.)
Aside from the weight of all that, however, I had to admit that I was growing rather bored of the talk. I excused myself to “stretch my legs,” and went from the parlour, with no real destination or action in mind.
Somehow, though, I found myself in the kitchen; and was faced with the sight of Mrs Benjamin, there by the counter, dicing onions under a pair of eyes that watered terribly from the smell. I thought that she had not seen me, and was just about to creep back out of the doorway, when her voice came to me from across the kitchen.
“Hello, dear!” she said, turning away from the counter to look at me. She took careful note of my face, then smiled and said, “All of that serious talk grows to be rather wearisome, after a while. Why, I hardly even listen anymore! But come in, dear, do.”
So I went into the kitchen, and took a seat at the little table. I watched Mrs Benjamin slice, and dice and cut and chop, and do all manner of destructive things to those horrible little onions. Even from where I sat, the noxious fumes wafted towards me, and took hold of my eyes like a set of stringy clamps.
Finally, Mrs Benjamin said: “I’m afraid I don’t know your name, dear. I was rather surprised, I think, when I saw you here with Miss Elson last month. I’ve gathered that she’s somewhat reluctant, when it comes to taking to new folks, you know.”
“You’ve gathered rightly,” I said.
“Ah, I see. But that dear Mr Ashley, you know, has been coming round here every so often for years now. I think, actually, that he knew Mr McIntosh before even Miss Elson did.”
“Is that so?”
“Aye! And it’s the funniest thing, you know, but I do think that Miss Shannon fell half in love with him, the first time she met him! It gave me all the more to frown about, you see, when she met that Herbert Hewitt – which is not to say, of course, that he’s not a perfectly lovely young man!” She shook her head, and wiped at her eyes with her sleeve; though this time, whether the onions were the only culprits in the starting of her tears, I was not entirely sure. “I only worry for her, you know,” she went on. “All of those fancies of hers! It’s a new one every month, I’ll swear to it. Her father always served to straighten them out, you know, and to keep her from doing oh-the-silliest things! She’s gone off now to the Western coast, I think, where Mr Hewitt’s family owns a little farm.” She laughed. “Just to think, of Miss Shannon on a farm! She’s a city-girl, through and through, right down to the bare bone beneath. I hope it won’t turn out to be the case – but I do fear that poor Mr Hewitt is in for a great helping of heartache.”
I said nothing to this; for what could I think to say? I only watched as Mrs Benjamin scraped all of the onion-pieces into a bowl, and wiped down the counter in their wake. She went on shaking her head, as if repeating all that she had just said, quite to herself, in her head where I could not hear her. She hummed a little, and then murmured something; and then went on humming again, only to go on shaking her head when she had begun peeling a heap of potatoes.
“Would you like any help?” I asked, pointing to the potatoes.
She smiled. “Oh, of course, dear! If you’d really like to, that is.”
I went to the counter, took the skinner that Mrs Benjamin offered me, and then began to shave the hides off of the potatoes. It’s almost fun, you know, peeling potatoes – something about separating the one part from the other, so that they might never be joined together again, no matter how you try.
That was where Tyler and Abbaline found me, when they had finished their meeting. Abbaline favoured me with her classic frown, and asked, “What in the world are you doing?”
“We’re peeling potatoes,” I said seriously.
“Well, if you want to peel any more, you’re going to have to do them in the car.” She shook her head and vanished from the doorway, leaving Tyler standing there with a smirk upon his face.
“What are you looking at?
” I asked, brandishing my skinner at him. His face fell, and he hurried away.
“Goodbye, Mrs Benjamin,” I said, setting down the skinner and standing on tiptoe to offer her a kiss on the cheek. There was something especially grandmotherly about her – and I was almost sad to leave.
“Thank you for your help, dear,” she said. “And do come round again soon! Lord knows I don’t have many other people to talk to.”
After she had said this, I made a resolution to return within the month. Little did I know, of course – as people seldom do about such things – that I would never see her again.
***
It was on the twenty-third day of the month that I learnt when my tides, referred to for the first time at the coming of Joseph Craton to Lennox Lane the previous November, would change again.
Abbaline had been referring more and more to the “little outing,” and had been conducting more and more private meetings with Tyler (the subjects of which he claimed, of course, were only that aforementioned thing; though I suspected that that may not have been all; and for that reason, I did not follow him unless I was expressly invited).
On that twenty-third day of April, however, it was all three of us who sat in Abbaline’s study together. The date was set for the very next day (though, at that time before the time, I was not entirely aware of what the date represented). The details of it, it seemed, were rather up-in-the-air for even Tyler and Abbaline, who had spent the entire week in a mad frenzy, sending and receiving numerous telegraphs (which were fetched and delivered, several times a day, from and to some location several streets over), and poring over them for long hours under the electric bulb.
On that twenty-third day of April, however, we all sat quite peacefully, with an entire lack of frenzy visible in anyone. As evidence of her good mood (for it was most unusual for her to do so), Abbaline laughed frequently, at every one of Tyler’s jokes, and at nearly everything, it seemed, that was said. Tyler was finding great joy in being the cause of her laughter, and was trying perhaps even harder than usual, to cause that smile on her face to linger.
An Irish Heart Page 25
