Allegiance: A Dublin Novella (4 page)

There was a pause, and then William remembered to put out his hand. “William Young,” he said. “Good to meet you, Adam.”

Adam’s gray eyes widened in surprise.

“He’s a Prod,” Andy offered helpfully.

Adam glanced at him, one eyebrow raised. “Well then he’ll not be taking up your time in the confessional tomorrow, will he?” He turned back to William and shook the offered hand. “It’s a pleasure, William.”

Down the bar someone shouted, “Oi, Glasgow! Can we get a refill down here?”

“Right there,” William called, and nodded at Adam before turning away.

From the corner came the squeak of the fiddle, and a voice yelled, “Right, let’s have another!”

“What’ll you have, then?” called the fiddler, tucking his chin with bow poised. Various requests were shouted one over the other for a moment or two, until a high female voice rose above the rest.

“‘
The Limerick Rake’!”

The call was met with instant approval; there was a commotion at the end of the bar, and William turned to see a dozen hands tugging at Adam’s shoulders and arms, trying to drag him from his stool.

Adam clutched his glass to his chest. “I’ve not even had my first pint yet! Can a man not drink in peace anymore?”

“Then your pipes are still fresh and untainted,” someone yelled. “Now get your arse over there and sing!”

“Sing! Sing!” chanted a score of voices, until Adam drained the rest of his pint in a single swallow and set the glass down in mock defeat. Catcalls followed him as he made his way over to the corner; passing the source of the request, he leaned down to the girl and said with a threatening gleam, “I’ll have my vengeance for this, Sarah Reilly.”

The girl’s dark eyes were sharp and snapping. “I’m counting on it, Adam Elliot.”

He was smiling ear to ear as he found a spot beside the fiddler. . William leaned on the bar to watch, his curiosity piqued by this dramatic display. There was a sharp
tap-tap-tap
from the bodhrán, the fiddler struck his bow, and Adam cleared his throat and began to sing.

I am a young fellow that’s easy and bold,

In Castletown Conners I’m very well known,

In Newcastle West I spent many a note

With Kitty and Judy and Mary.

Me parents rebuked me for being a rake

And spending me time in such frolicsome ways,

But I ne’er can forget the good nature of Jane,

Agus fagaimid siud mar ata se.

The crowd clapped along, offering the occasional shouted suggestion of names to add to the list. Adam soaked up their attention along with his breath for the second verse.

If I chance for to go to the town of Rathkeal,

All the girls all around me do flock on the square,

Some give me a bottle and others sweet cake

To treat me unknown to their parents.

There’s one from Askeaton and one from the pike,

Another from Arda, me heart has beguiled,

Tho’ being from the mountains her stockings are white,

Agus fagaimid siud mar ata se.

William watched in silent amazement. If he had any doubts after that show at the bar, they disappeared when Adam seized the bodhrán and leapt up onto the nearest table to beat out the bridge. There could no mistake about it – this was the same Adam Elliot from the list in the folder. This was his money-runner. He had found him on the very first night.

Adam hammered the bodhrán in perfect time as his neck began to grow damp with sweat, his face flushed and smile wicked, and William forgot his inner congratulations and could only watch him with everyone else.

Now there’s some say I’m foolish and more say I’m wise,

To be fond of the women I think is no crime,

For the son of King David had ten thousand wives,

And his wisdom was highly regarded.

I’ll take a good garden and live at my ease,

And each woman and child can partake of the same,

If there’s war in the cabin, themselves they can blame,

Agus fagaimid siud mar ata se.

And now for the future I mean to be wise,

And I’ll marry the women who acted so kind,

I’ll marry them all in the morrow by and by,

If the clergy agree to the bargain.

And when I’m on me back and me soul is at peace,

Those women will crowd for to cry at me wake,

And their sons and their daughters William offer a prayer,

To the Lord for the soul of their father.

The pub burst into cheers. Adam beamed, his eyes shining as he wiped his brow with the back of one hand; he grinned down at the crowd and gave them a grandiose bow. Someone took the bodhrán from his hands and replaced it with a fresh pint. Adam’s eyes fell on William, still watching from behind the bar; Adam smiled and raised the glass before tilting his head back to drain it dry.

“Oi, Glasgow,” said someone at the bar. “Can I have my whisky or what?”

William watched Adam grab the girl Sarah for a breathless kiss. He finished filling the customer’s tumbler to the brim, and then picked it up and drank it in one swallow.

“I do believe this is the last of the lot,” said Mary. She set her basket of dirty towels on the bar and wiped her arm across her forehead. “I think these lads spill more beer than they drink.”

William looked up from his broom. The last of the chairs had been upended on the freshly-wiped tables, and Mary was gathering stray glasses to take to the kitchen. The pub was quiet and dim, William having blown out the lamps after the final customers tottered through the door. Now the light from the dying fire and the glow of the electrics from the kitchen cast long shadows across the wood floor; Ruan lay curled up by the hearth, snoozing contentedly. Gerald sat on a stool at the end of the bar, counting notes into tidy stacks and jotting down the numbers in his books. Mary scooped up her last load and slipped into the kitchen as William finished sweeping and emptied his dustpan into the bin.

“You did well tonight, lad,” said Gerald. “I was thankful of your help. The lads took to you straight off, as I knew they would.”

“I was glad of it, Gerald,” William said. “I don’t want to cause you any trouble.”

“Nonsense, you’re a natural. It’s glad I am I found you before you ended up in some dirty warehouse, or worse – in another pub.” He grinned and pointed to a small stack of coins. “There you are, my boy, your share of the night.”

William’s eyes widened. “I don’t need that much, Gerald, honestly.”

“No, but you deserve it.” Gerald waited until William stepped forward and picked up the coins before continuing. “Now Mary and I will be in church tomorrow morn, so you’ll need that to find yourself some breakfast. There’s a fine place three blocks down run by some Jews
– they’ll be open for you. Good bread, they have.” He winked and added, “Unless you wanted to come to Mass with us, that is.”

William laughed and dropped the money into his pocket. Mary’s voice called from the kitchen: “William?”

“Aye?”

“Could you be a love and get me some more soap? I’m up to my elbows in here. It’s in the storeroom, second shelf on the right.”

William propped his broom against the counter. “Be right there.” He left Gerald to his bookkeeping and headed down the stairs to the cellar.

He felt his way along the damp corridor wall until he reached the storeroom on the right. He groped for the chain on the single bulb hanging from the ceiling, and the room lit just enough to see; he gathered up a handful of soap packets and pulled the chain again, hurrying back through the darkness to get out of the chill.

He was at the bottom of the staircase when he heard something thump in the liquor cellar at the opposite end of the corridor. The noise came again – a thump and a rustle, followed by a small, high sound. The inspector in William was walking down the shadowy corridor before he realized it, clutching his armful of soap packets, and he peered silently around the doorway into the shadows of the cellar.

Rows and rows of bottles lined the cellar walls, one end stacked with a mountain of beer barrels and the other corners dotted with crates and boxes. The girl perched atop one of these crates, her back against the shelves, one leg dangling toward the floor and the other wrapped tight around the figure rocking steadily between her thighs. He held her round the waist with one arm, the other braced against the wall, taking up the weight of his thrusts to cause as little jostling as possible. His braces hung in loops at his sides, his open trousers hidden by the wrinkled folds of her skirt. Her shirt spread open enough to show her small pale breasts, and her head tipped back as she pressed herself into him, her dark hair spilling down his arm, and when his lips moved across her throat she clutched at his back and gave another high-pitched sigh.

“Adam
…”

William’s breath stuck in his throat. His instincts pushed him back through the arch and up the staircase, but not a single muscle responded. He stood motionless, eyes wide and round and dilated in the gloom. The paper packets of soap crinkled warm and soft in his palms.

Adam was kissing Sarah now, hard and fast, his fingers gripping the shelf as he pushed up sharply and she moaned against his mouth. His cap hung from a cork on the next row, and her hands mussed his hair in sweaty spikes along his brow. He pushed faster, his thighs straining with tension, his arm jerking Sarah closer as she clawed silent trails down the back of his shirt. They rocked together against the crate until the wood began to creak, and now her breathy whimpers were matched by his low grunts. Adam broke the kiss to catch his breath, and his eyes opened in the dim light to fix directly onto William’s face.

William blinked. His mouth opened, then closed again. He wet his lips and swallowed; his fingers twitched on the paper in his hands.

Sarah dropped her forehead to Adam’s shoulder and quickened her tempo with another soft cry of his name. Adam stared at William for a long moment, eyes glittering in the dark as a single bead of sweat rolled down his face. Then his upper lip twitched into a grin, and he turned his head to bury his face in the soft skin below Sarah’s upturned ear. She bucked and he swore, their pace increasing until the bottles behind her back began to rattle against each other with small tinkling sounds.

William backed up a step, then another, and then turned and fled through the arch and up the stairs as silently as he had come.

The bright electric lights in the kitchen made him blink and squint. Mary took the wrinkled soap packets from his hands and peered into his face.

“Are you alright, love?”

“Aye, I’m fine.”

“I was afraid you were getting lost down there.”

William wiped his sweating palms on the front of his shirt. He pulled off his apron and hung it on its peg before he turned to take the back stairs to his room.

“I was,” he said.

5.

January 23, 1922

The lunchtime customers seemed more subdued than the evening crowd, but William enjoyed this time of day the most. True, the number of men who greeted him by name at the bar increased with each passing shift, but the nights were so beer-soaked and hectic that it was sometimes difficult to take proper mental notes. The days, however, were not spent tied to the bar but rather roaming among the tables, listening to the old men at their dominoes and the young women bouncing babies on their knees, conversations quieter and often much more useful. The notebook under his floorboard grew steadily fatter with his penciled observations.