Allegiance: A Dublin Novella (2 page)

William gave him a cheers and dug in; the stew was as good as it smelled, and he looked up with a smile puffed out around his mouthful. “Best I’ve had since I’ve been here,” he said.

“Flattery will get you everywhere, my boy. Name’s Sullivan. Gerald Sullivan.”

“William Young.” William gave him a nod without letting go of his spoon.

“And what brings you to our fair isle then, Mr. Young? Besides a fondness for our leftovers?”

William dropped his eyes and swallowed his bite. He waited the requisite few beats, then looked back up and spoke quietly. “I’m just the wandering type.”

Gerald understood immediately, and nodded. “Ah.” As he watched William eat, he grabbed a bar towel and began to wipe down the taps. “Have you been here long?”

“Aye, awhile. I stayed on a farm in Antrim for a time, after
…
but I wanted to be in the city. Thought I might make a home here.”

Gerald’s brow rose. “In Dublin?”

Before William could answer, the door opened with a jangle of bells and a whistle of wind, and Gerald’s look of surprise broke into a wide smile. He came around the bar and moved for the door as he cried, “There you are, lass, there you are. Get in here out of the wet and get yourself warm.”

William turned just in time to see a tangle of blond hair spill from beneath its cloth. Its owner whipped her head back, shaking drops of sleet onto the floor, and set her packages on the table as she pulled off the wet kerchief and coat. Seeing him staring at her, his spoon frozen in mid-air, she smiled and said, “Hello there.”

“Give me these, lass,” spluttered Gerald, gathering the bags, “and get yourself dried off.” He bustled into the kitchen, while the girl hung her coat on the peg next to William’s and walked around behind the bar. She grabbed a clean towel and began wiping off her face and arms.

“It’s a bit wet out,” she smiled.

“Aye,” William said.

Her eyebrows rose just as Gerald returned and announced, “We’ve got ourselves a wandering Scotsman here, love. He’s come all the way from Glasgow to sample your beef stew.”

William smiled and wiped a hand on his thigh before putting it out to her. “William Young, miss.”

“Mary Sullivan.” She gave his hand a firm shake and returned to her toweling. “And what brings you from Glasgow to Dublin besides my fabulous cooking, Mr. Young?”

“He’s keeping himself to himself, daughter, so don’t be asking him your thousand questions,” said Gerald. “Let the man eat in peace, I’ve pestered him enough. Let’s make some tea, shall we?”

“I’ve left Glasgow for good, Miss Mary,” William said. “I’m making my home in Dublin now. Your da’s made me feel right at home already, I might add. And please, call me William.”

He saw her eyes go suddenly round, and he knew she was looking at his scar. Leaning over as he was with his collar unbuttoned, nearly the entire line would be visible, stretching red and raised from his right earlobe down beneath his jaw to disappear against his collarbone. He watched her hide her reaction exactly as Gerald had done; it was a process he had seen many times. Her eyes hastily cleared and she gave him a bright smile.

“And do you have a place to stay yet, William?”

“Mary.” Gerald put a hand on her arm, but she made no move to turn away.

“Er, not permanent, as of yet,” he said. “I planned to find some employment first and then get myself a place after.”

“So you’re needing a job, then?” she said. “Perhaps we can help you with looking.”

William glanced at Gerald. “That’s alright, miss, though you’re kind to offer. Likely your da doesn’t have time to look after foreigners off the street.”

“My father likes you fine, that much I can see,” she answered. “And I myself happen to be an excellent judge of character.”

“Mary, do you go and get the tea before you give yourself in marriage to the man?” Gerald cried. Mary smiled, unperturbed, and disappeared into the kitchen. Gerald shook his head as she went.

“Forgive my daughter – she’s got a runaway tongue on her, and she loves to meddle in the affairs of others. I blame the lack of a proper maternal figure.” He grinned, but William saw him cross himself as he turned back to the sink.

“It’s no bother,” William said. “She’s kind to think of a stranger so. But I don’t want to cause you any trouble.”

“Nonsense, lad, ‘tis no trouble at all. I know most families around this neighborhood; I can put out the word for you among the boarders. And take your hand out of your pocket, I won’t have your money. Far be it from me to withhold a drink and a sup from any soul who needs one. Finish your glass, I’ll be right back.”

When he had gone, William rubbed his neck and drank the last of his Guinness. He was definitely at the right place – this was without a doubt the same Gerald Sullivan as in the advert photo, but something uneasy nagged at William’s mind. His instincts told him this man was no terrorist, and he always trusted his instincts. A supporter, then. He was a shelterer to be sure, and William had no interest in reporting shelterers. Sullivan was only the way in, he told himself. Only a means to an end.

He could hear Mary’s voice over the running water in the kitchen. “
—
a few days, Da. The man needs a good start.”

“I know that, daughter, but you can’t just up and offer a job to any stranger off the street.”

William froze in mid-swallow.

“You would have done if he were Irish, and you know it. Doesn’t he need your help the same as the others? Likely more than we know. You feel it, same as I do.”

“I’ll not have my words thrown back at me by my own daughter. I’ll have you know I was planning on offering the lad Tommy’s place for a good ten minutes now. I just needed to get a feel for him, is all. Could be unsafe.”

“And is it?”

Gerald’s voice went soft. “You talk so like your mother, girl. Go and get the tea.”

The door swung open and brought in the comforting fragrance of fresh tea. Mary set the tray down and clucked her tongue at the setter, who had risen from his nap and was nuzzling at her legs while she poured. “Off with you, Ruan, go on,” she cooed, but she dropped him a piece of scone and smiled as his tail thumped with delight.

“Well as the walls are thin and my daughter’s lungs are not, no doubt you heard our proposal,” said Gerald. “I’ve been meaning to hire a hand myself, so I have. My last lad had to…go, last month, and I’ve had no one since. It’s nothing exciting, just someone to do the cleaning and the fetch-and-carry during the busy hours. You’re welcome to it until you find something better.”

William blinked at him.

“Only an offer, of course,” added Gerald. “And not a very appealing one, I know.”

“Tea, William?” Mary passed him a cup before he could answer. His empty pint glass was removed and a second slice of bread placed atop his plate. The dog was sniffing amiably at his ankles, tail swishing against the floor in greeting. William brought the teacup to his lips and returned Mary’s smile.

“Thank you,” he said.

3.

January 16, 1922

T
he front door bells barely had time to jingle before they were answered with a loud bark, and William found himself struggling against not only an armful of packages but an enthusiastic stumbling block running circles between his legs. The dog yelped out his greeting, tail wagging madly until William surrendered and set his load on the nearest table, squatting to return the welcome with two ruffling hands. From the kitchen he heard Gerald’s voice and looked up just as he entered with a crate of glasses, scowling at the setter.

“Oi, Ruan, shut your gob, we
—
oh it’s you, William. I’m sorry for that cursed creature pawing
a
t you.”

“He’s just doing his job, isn’t that right Ruan? Who’s a good watchdog then?” William scritched the dog’s ears and smiled as the tail-wagging increased.

Did you find what you needed at the market?” Gerald asked.

William patted Ruan’s belly and recalled his afternoon: mapping out the neighborhood in his mind; noting the relevant buildings and marking the police station and post boxes; eating an apple under an awning and scanning the passing crowds at the market; standing at the notice boards and bending an ear to every raised voice or gossipy whisper.

“Aye,” he said, “I’ve got all I need here, I think.”

He stood and collected his shopping. “Thank you again for the day’s wages, Gerald. I took a look at the boards today and I’m sure I’ll find something soon. I’ll be out of your hair before you know it.”

Gerald looked down at his crate. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that, lad.”

“Oh?”

“Have you spoken to anyone about a job or lodgings yet?”

“Not yet, no.”

Gerald nodded. “I don’t mean to be insulting you, William, but it’s
—
you must know that it might be a hard time for you to…well, to find someone who…”

“Who would hire a Scot?”

“Aye. You may not have picked the best time or place to start over, lad.”

William nodded. He looked out the window at the people hurrying by on the street outside. So many people, so many faces, and not one of them familiar – not one of them knowing why he was here, or what it was he was trying to do, or that he was doing it for their own good.

“I’m right where I want to be,” he lied.

Gerald chuckled. “You’re a scrappy young knacker, I’ll give you that. And I won’t be lying, I’ve got a bit of a soft spot for scrappy young knackers.” He set his crate on the counter and then crossed his arms.

“See, it’s like this. You’ve done such a wondrous job of cleaning up the place, and
—
well, if you can’t find anything better…that is to say… I’ve got the spare room upstairs. It’s not the grandest sight on earth, but it’s no tenement hole, that’s for sure. I can’t pay you enough for a fancy flat but you’re welcome to the room as part of your wages.”

William was dumbfounded. It couldn’t possibly be this easy.

“You’re offering me a place to live? You’ve known me three days!”

Gerald’s cheeks grew even redder and he made a gruff noise. “Bollocks, what difference does that make? You need a room, I’ve got one wanting, it’s simple as that. All I ask is that you help with the chores, and also that you not murder myself and my daughter in our beds.” He looked down at the loud thumping at William’s feet. “Besides, my dog fancies you, and Ruan’s the best judge of character I know, so he is.”

They both laughed, and then the room grew quiet. William could see Gerald trying not to stare at his scar. Lord Christopher’s assessment was proving more and more accurate, and William realized he did not like that very much. His grin faded.

“I don’t know what to say.”

Gerald clapped him on the back. “Say you’ll start tomorrow night.”

William hoisted his armful of packages and smiled.

The quilt on the bed was red gingham, something William had not seen in a very long time. The sheets beneath were plain strong homespun, warm and familiar and smelling of the rosehip sachet that had met his fingers when he checked beneath the mattress. He now sat cross-legged with his back against the wrought-iron bedstead, chewing his pencil and wiggling his toes inside his socks. His shoes peeked from beneath the bed, side by side and pointing out, the only remaining habit from his dormitory days – that, and the ability to spot a loose floorboard and know exactly how much would fit into the space beneath it.

The board in question stood propped beside the nightstand, with his briefcase lying open on the floor in front of it. His initials were embossed into the leather: WY, a gift from his sister when he graduated Cambridge. She would be wanting a telegram soon to know he had arrived safely. He would send her one with the next wire of money.