A Winter of Spies (6 page)

LATER THAT DAY JIMMY AND SARAH WALKED IN SACKVILLE STREET
, Dublin's grand main street. It was a mild evening, and there were lots of people out. Even the presence of so many Tans and soldiers didn't discourage the crowds. It had been eerie at first, when the sudden increase of armed men in the streets had come. After a while, though, your mind sort of got used to it. It was a case of having to: you couldn't stay locked up in your house all the time.

Jimmy talked to Sarah about the times when they'd lived nearby. She suspected he was trying to take her mind off things, but it was interesting anyway. Jimmy told her how he'd seen the mobs looting here during the Rising, and the Lancers charging the Post Office. He talked about finding the street in flames as he tried to get home with food he'd found in Ella's house, where they all lived now.

Much of Sackville Street had been rebuilt since that time, though the Post Office itself was still only a shell.
Sarah tried to imagine what it had been like to live here then, but she couldn't. She remembered being dressed in clothes that were always ragged no matter how often Ma patched them. She recalled days when all she'd thought about was hunger, and other days when all she'd thought about was cold. She remembered the smell of the
tenements
. It was only a few years ago, but mostly her
memories
of that time were dim. It was as though her mind didn't want to remember.

Tonight Da had sent them out of the house with orders to be home before eight. News of Moore's visit had upset him. Earlier, in the basement flat, Mrs Breen had filled Moore and Sarah with cake and talked about Ireland in the old days, before all this unpleasantness. Sarah had watched Moore keenly, but she'd seen nothing openly suspicious. Sometimes she caught him looking strangely at her. It was odd, but not proof of anything.

Still Da fretted. It would be foolish to panic, he said, but more foolish not to be concerned. He could take no chances. Martin and Simon were due back this evening to discuss things. Da didn't want the children around while they were talking.

Sarah had really wanted to stay. She wanted to know all that was going on. But Jimmy had urged her to come out with him. ‘The less we know,' Jimmy said, ‘the safer for everyone.'

Another time Sarah might have argued, but now she didn't feel like giving Da more trouble. And it was nice to go walking with Jimmy. She was fond of her brother, even if he was a bit dry sometimes. When he was in a mood like tonight's he was good company, full of
interesting
stories. Even if he was just trying to distract her, she didn't mind. In a way, she wanted to be distracted.

‘Look,' she said to Jimmy now. ‘There's Hugh Byrne.'

Byrne was walking across Sackville Street towards them. He was looking beyond them, and he was smiling a big smile. Sarah had never seen him look like that before.

‘If we meet him,' Jimmy warned her, ‘don't say hello unless he does. He might be working.'

Sarah was annoyed that he felt the need to remind her. But you couldn't take any chances with these things, she supposed. In any case Byrne went by without even
seeing
them, and was immediately lost to sight in the
strolling
crowd.

‘I never seen him smile like that before,' Sarah said.

They walked on.

‘Did you ever hear Da talk about the police charges here during the Lockout?' Jimmy asked.

‘He don't talk much about them times,' she said. ‘Sometimes I wonder if he forgets them.'

‘He remembers them too well,' Jimmy told her. ‘He's just afraid sometimes that they'll come back. He looks on 
this as the same fight, you know.'

‘But this is against the British.'

‘There's plenty of British people just like us, Sal. They read about the Tans in their newspapers and they're
disgusted
. Their government thinks as little of ordinary
British
people as it does of us.'

Somewhere close ahead of them there was a sudden disturbance in the crowd. There were two flat cracks that they recognised as pistol shots. A woman's voice screamed. Jimmy clutched at Sarah's arm, but she was
already
pushing through the crowd.

‘Sarah!' Jimmy said. ‘Come back!'

But Sarah paid no heed, and he lost sight of her. He pushed after her. As he did he had a sudden, unwanted memory of a younger, smaller version of himself pushing through a crowd in Mount Street. He'd reached the front of that long-ago crowd only to find himself watching a bloodbath: the army charge on Mount Street Bridge. He hadn't realised till then that bullets could actually blow lumps out of people, or that blood really could flow like water – if enough of it was spilled. It was a scene Jimmy tried never to think about, and part of the reason he looked for distraction in books. Da wasn't the only one with things to forget.

He saw Sarah's straw hat in front of him, and grabbed hold of her arm. She'd stopped moving. They were both
part of a circle now that surrounded a man lying in the street. He was a middle-aged, respectable-looking man with grey whiskers. His hat had fallen off his balding head and was lying upside down in the gutter. His feet were beating a pattern on the cobblestones, and at first it looked as though he'd had some kind of fit.

A spray of liquid was coming from the man's neck. Sarah frowned in puzzlement. The spray reached several feet into the air, and came in pulsing bursts. She'd never seen anything like it. The liquid looked black in the light of the streetlights; but then a drop fell on her hand, and when she held her hand up to look she saw that it was red. Suddenly Sarah realised that the liquid was blood. Looking again at the man, she felt her gorge rise. Now she could see a dark wet stain spreading on his
cream-coloured
waistcoat too. The spray of blood hit a woman's skirt and she shrieked and pulled back.

‘The poor devil,' Jimmy said quietly behind Sarah. ‘He's shot in an artery. He's a dead man.'

The dying man was making weak movements to pull something from under his overcoat. When the hand came out it was holding a long-barrelled revolver, but it flopped uselessly down on the street. A little murmur ran through the crowd at the sight of the gun.

The man groaned. A pool of blood was spreading round him where he lay. Nobody went near him; nobody
wanted to get bloody. Then several Tans came bursting through the crowd, pushing people roughly out of the way with loud curses in their foreign accents. One man objected to the way a Tan pushed his wife, and the Tan turned around and punched him in the face. The man's wife led him away, staggering.

Two huge constables from the Dublin Metropolitan Police arrived. One of them bent to the dying man, but he was pulled off by another man in a topcoat and wide hat who'd followed the Tans. The other DMP man pulled off his helmet and ran his hand back through his grey hair.

‘Ah, lads,' he said in a thick country accent. ‘It's
Detective
Reed.'

The man in the wide hat stood up and said something to one of the Tans. He pointed at the shot man with the cane he was carrying. When Sarah saw his face she shrank back against Jimmy. Jimmy held her protectively; he thought she'd just been shocked by the scene. When Sarah turned and walked away he was at her heels. But once they were outside the circle of silent watchers Sarah turned and grabbed his coat.

‘Jimmy,' she said, ‘did you see that man? The one with the stick?'

‘A detective or something,' Jimmy said.

‘It's Moore's friend,' Sarah said. ‘It's Fowles!'

Jimmy looked at her, his mouth pursed tight. He took
her arm again. ‘Are you sure?'

‘Of course I am!' Sarah said.

‘Right,' Jimmy said. His voice had a decisiveness that
reminded
her of Da's. ‘Home,' he said. ‘We have to tell Da. We'll take a tram. Walk as fast as you can, but don't run.'

Then he set off at a pace Sarah could hardly keep up with. She was in a daze. She kept thinking of that
pumping
spray of blood. It was like water in a fountain. This was violent death. This was the reality behind the
newspaper
reports of Volunteer attacks which she'd always cheered. Her own body felt suddenly frail. Was that all humans were – were they so easily damaged? She thought of the cold face of Fowles. Then the memory of another cold face came into her mind, a face she'd seen lately looking happy. She stopped walking. Jimmy turned to her impatiently.

‘What's wrong now?' he demanded.

‘Hugh Byrne!' she said.

‘What about him?'

‘Don't you see? That big smile he had when we saw him! It was him shot that detective. It must have been!'

But it seemed the same thought had struck Jimmy
already
. ‘And?' he asked.

‘And I never seen Byrne look so happy …' Sarah wasn't even sure what she was trying to say. ‘Do you think … maybe he likes killing people?'

‘It wouldn't surprise me.'

‘But don't you think that's a bit … a bit queer?'

Jimmy grabbed her arm again. ‘Yeah,' he said. ‘I do. Now come on, quick.'

There were Tans watching the passengers getting on the tram, but they paid little attention to the boy and the little girl. Jimmy led Sarah upstairs to the open top floor. From there they could see over to the scene of the
shooting
. There were more Tans there now, and Auxies and soldiers, and an ambulance was coming down Henry Street; but there was no sign of Fowles.

‘Are you certain it was him?' Jimmy asked. ‘That man Fowles?'

‘Certain.'

‘Right. That's that, then.'

‘That's what?'

Jimmy shook his head. ‘That's the cat among the
pigeons
,' he said.

‘So he's a policeman or something,' Sarah said. ‘It still might be only a coincidence that he moved in beside us. Mightn't it?'

Her own words sounded foolish in her ears. Jimmy said nothing. Sarah realised that it didn't matter one way or another: Da would have to assume that Moore and Fowles were watching him. He'd be mad to think
anything
else.

The bell rang and the tram set off. Both of them sat in silence. Sarah could feel Jimmy stiff with tension beside her. She didn't know what to think herself. As the tram crossed the Liffey her eyes fell on the people walking across Carlisle Bridge. They walked along, alone, in
couples
or in groups. You wouldn't think a man had just had his life snuffed out casually, like a candle, only a few dozen yards away. One figure caught her eye, a slim man wearing a cap and walking along as though he hadn't a care, his hands deep in the pockets of his long overcoat. She was sure it was Hugh Byrne. Then the tram was in Westmoreland Street, and when Sarah looked back the figure was lost in the crowd, just one more young man walking.

JOSIE SAT KNITTING IN THE CORNER
, looking up now and then at her sister. Sarah was lying on the bed trying to read, but it wasn't working. The low murmur of voices from downstairs worked its way up through the house, distracting her. Finally she threw down the magazine and jumped up.

‘They've no right to keep us up here,' she said. ‘This is our business too.'

Josie looked levelly at her, but said nothing. Trying to talk sense to Sarah when she was in this mood only made her worse. She had trouble sitting calmly at the best of times, unless she was with Mrs Breen. Perhaps they should have gone with Ma and Ella down to Breens'
instead
of waiting here.

Sarah went to the window and looked out. A soft rain fell in the dark street outside. It was still hours till curfew. Josie watched her sister with a carefully hidden half-smile – she didn't want her thinking she was laughing at her. Jimmy had told her about what Sarah had seen, and how upset he suspected she'd been. It was always a shock to
see what you'd dreamed of. Still, there was something very funny about Sarah when she was like this, the way she seemed almost to vibrate with impatience. She was, indeed, as Ma and Da often said, an impossible child.

‘You know why they sent us away,' Josie said finally. ‘They need to talk freely now.'

‘Hmmph,' Sarah said, tossing her head. It was the same as ever – one side of her understood perfectly, but
another
side was just too excited. People were watching her family, maybe plotting to arrest her father. Downstairs Da and Mick and Simon Hughes and Martin Ford were
discussing
what to do about it, and meanwhile she was
being
kept out of the whole thing – she, Sarah, who'd discovered the entire plot!

‘Why do men think they're the only ones can talk about important things?' she demanded. ‘They wouldn't even let Ma stay on.'

‘Ma didn't want to stay,' Josie said. ‘As well you know. She doesn't want to know anything about this. And Ella would get the vapours just listening.'

‘Still,' Sarah said, as she always did when she had no answer to an argument. She went back and threw herself on the bed and sighed. She kept picturing the dying
detective
in her mind, but each time she'd force herself to think of something else. Her impatience was as good a distraction as any.

Jimmy was in his own room – reading, Sarah didn't doubt. Lately he'd started to quote lines of poetry at her. He had a lot of time for that old fellow, Yeats, whom she'd seen around town a few times. The poet was a long, stooped man with a vague and distant look in his eyes. He wrote poems about fairies, of all things. Sarah couldn't imagine that a man like that would have any
sensib
le
comments to make on life.

It baffled Sarah that even Jimmy could be patient. They'd come home with the news about Fowles barely an hour before. All of the family had been in the kitchen, Martin Ford and Simon Hughes too.

‘Are you certain it was Fowles?' Simon had asked them.

Sarah didn't like being doubted. ‘Haven't I eyes in me head?' she'd said tartly.

‘Aye,' Martin Ford said. ‘And a mouth too.'

Sarah didn't like that. He was always dismissing her – they all were. They'd only let her help with the gun that time because they'd had no choice.

‘I'm surprised you noticed,' she said.

Martin Ford scowled at her. ‘Your mouth? Sure how could I miss it,' he said, ‘and it swinging between your two ears like a skipping rope?'

Sarah had felt her fury rising. Jimmy saw it, and grabbed her arm: Martin Ford might be a brave man, but he'd never seen Sarah in a fury. She was quite capable of
throwing something at him, and her aim was good.

‘It was him, Simon,' he said.

Simon Hughes had just nodded. Martin Ford,
forgetting
himself, had sworn a single terrible swearword that had never been spoken in their kitchen before. Sarah reddened and waited for Da to say something to him, but Da said nothing. Ford caught himself and apologised, then looked across the table at Simon Hughes.

‘This couldn't happen at a worse time,' he said.

‘There's no good time for a thing like this,' Da said. ‘But we knew it was always a risk. We're not playing cowboys here.' He looked around. ‘Right. I want everyone out of here, barring Mick and the two lads,' he said. He stared at Sarah as he spoke, and she knew from his face there was no use arguing. So here she was now, after what felt like hours, trying to pick out some sense from the muffled sounds coming from downstairs.

‘If they don't stop soon,' she said to Josie, ‘then I'm
going
down.'

‘You are in your hat,' Josie said.

Sarah was torn. She really did understand what Da was doing. In a situation like this, simply knowing things could be dangerous, for yourself and for others. But just as she'd persuade herself of how reasonable this was, a great unthinking wave of impatience would rise in her and bury the sensible thoughts. She suspected she'd end
up stamping her foot in sheer annoyance before the night was out. It was a habit that she'd always had, and she was ashamed of it because the whole family laughed when she did it. Worse, she could understand why they laughed: it was a childish habit. But the way things were going, she was sure it would be a footstamping night
tonight
.

She went cold all over whenever she thought of Hugh Byrne. From the way his friends spoke it was obvious he'd acted without orders. She hadn't actually seen him shoot the detective, of course, but she was sure he'd done it. Tonight in Sackville Street Sarah felt she'd seen something that really was an introduction to another world. It wasn't just the bleeding man; it was the smile on Hugh Byrne's face. It had been wide and happy – and it had taken the prospect of killing somebody to put it there.

The memory of that smile haunted her. Did Simon smile like that, she wondered, when he was on a job? Had her Da smiled like that when he was in the army?

There were footsteps and voices in the hall downstairs, and the front door opened and closed. Then they heard Da's tread on the stairs, coming up. Sarah ran to the
bedroom
door and pulled it open. Da stopped on the
landing
, facing her. He didn't look happy.

‘Come on,' he said. ‘We're going for a walk.'

Sarah just looked at him. ‘A walk?' she said. ‘At a time like this? Where?'

Da stood for a few moments and said nothing. Then he clicked his tongue. ‘We're going to Keane's shop,' he said. ‘Do you know it?'

‘Keane's near Westland Row?'

‘That's the one.'

Sarah was flummoxed. ‘All this happens,' she said, ‘and we're just going to the shop?'

‘Aye. Come down and get your coat.' He turned and started back down the stairs. Sarah followed, wondering. In the hall Da stopped and turned to her.

‘Remember you told me what the lads said that time about girls being good disguises?' he asked. ‘Well, you're my disguise tonight. I'm a man going for a walk with his daughter. Do you understand?'

The change in Sarah was instant. This was it! She was getting involved!

‘Of course,' she said. ‘We're just going for a walk. Why wouldn't we?'

She positively grabbed her coat from the hallstand and bustled into it. Da put his overcoat on more slowly,
almost
reluctantly. He took his hat and put it on his head.

‘But Da,' Sarah said, ‘where are we really going?'

Her father shook his head in wonderment.

‘My God, girl,' he said, ‘but your curiosity knows no
bounds. Didn't I tell you we're going to Keane's?'

‘But why? Sure Keane's is only a grocer's – if you'd even call it that.'

Da stood looking at her. Then he gave a little shrug, as though deciding something.

‘We're going to see the Big Fellow,' he said almost casually.

Sarah stood rooted to the spot. She spluttered a little, and could feel her face going red.

‘The …' she began, but her breath seemed to run out and she stood there with her mouth hanging open.

‘I'll bring an umbrella,' Da said. ‘The rain is stopping, but there's heavy weather due later.'

But Sarah still stood there, struck dumb. Her eyes felt like they were going to pop out of her head.

Da looked at her and, in spite of himself, had to laugh.

‘Oh Janey, girl,' he said, ‘you're a gas character, so you are.'

‘The Big Fellow!' Sarah managed finally.

‘The Director of Intelligence,' Da said. ‘The Minister for General Mayhem, as he called himself one time. Michael Collins.'

When he opened the front door Sarah found herself walking out after him as though in a dream. She looked with new eyes at this man who could casually drop out on a winter night to call on Michael Collins. The whole
British army was tearing the place asunder looking for the man, but her own Da could just go and visit him. She wondered whether she really knew Da at all.

They stood on the top step. The street seemed
deserted
. The night was dark, but the rain had almost stopped. Da didn't bother opening the umbrella. He stood looking up at the black clouds above. Not a star was visible.

‘Aye,' he said, almost to himself. ‘The heavy weather is coming.'

Sarah knew he was talking about more than just rain.