Women of Courage (94 page)

She woke, sweating and unrefreshed. More from habit than anything else, she washed, dressed and went down to breakfast. To her dismay her father was there, eating a plate of mushrooms and kidneys. He looked depressingly cheerful, and unusually pleased to see her. Before she could escape, he stood up and pulled out a chair for her. She sat, meek, dutiful, depressed.

‘Now, my dear, what can I pass you? Same as me, perhaps? Kidneys? Eggs are pretty fresh, I had one of those.’

‘Just tea, please.’

He poured her some. She cupped her hands around it and sipped. It was hot at least. Stewed as well but she didn’t care.

‘You came in late last night. More of the Gaelic, eh?’

She nodded. Once the Irish classes had been a focus of conflict between them; now they were a welcome excuse.

To her surprise he made no disparaging comment. She couldn’t help noticing that he ate with unusual gusto; his whole manner radiated energy and what passed with him for good humour. In a way it was a tiny comfort; a distraction from the bleak wasteland of her own thoughts. She gazed at him balefully over the tea. This is my own father, she thought: he betrayed Mother and sent her mad; his mistress is dying of cancer; both his sons have been killed in the war; he’s threatened to disinherit me unless I marry - and he’s happy. Maybe men are a different species.

He finished the kidneys, wiped his moustache with a napkin, and sat back to look at her. His good humour faded a little.

‘You look like death, girl. What’s the matter with you?’

She felt the tears prick in the corner of her eyes and thought: If I start to cry now I’ll never stop for hours and that would be too, too messy and humiliating altogether. So she tried to smile, failed, and said: ‘Just a bad night, that’s all. Too much study, I suppose.’

He considered her answer. ‘You work too hard, girl. You should get out and enjoy yourself more - ride, go to balls, the races, something like that.’

‘How? We haven’t got any horses here, Father.’

‘Could have. Still got the mews - could clean that out.’

She sighed. ‘I don’t want to ride, Father - not in midwinter in the middle of Dublin. Anyway, I’m too busy: I’ve got my studies, and this house to run.’

‘Yes, all right, all right. Just thought it would put some more colour in your cheeks, that’s all.’ He pulled a bell rope to call Keneally and order a fresh pot of tea.

When the butler had gone, Sir Jonathan leaned forward confidentially. ‘Now there’s a thing I’ve meant to say to you, Cathy. This house - your side of the bargain. You’ve done a damn good job, I reckon. Decorations good, servants respect you - pretty fine achievement for a girl your age. Struck me last week when I came back from London. Place is a real home, in its way.’

The servants respect me? Heavens, she thought, do they really?
Certainly she had been sharp as a whiplash when she came in the first night she had made love with Sean. She had issued two orders to Keneally on the doorstep when he had met her, before the man had had a chance to voice any concern. It was the only way, she thought - always be ahead so there is no chance for questions. But she had been living on a tightrope. Has it really worked, she wondered, or is Father just blind, as he is to so much else?

She sipped her tea, and said: ‘Well, thank you.’

Keneally brought in the fresh pot, and poured. Sir Jonathan said: ‘I just wanted to say it. Give credit where it’s due. But there are other parts to our deal, as you know.’

Here it comes, she thought.

‘You need to be brought out into society more, meet the right sort of young men. So now that we’ve got the place into good order, I think we should start entertaining.’

She put down her cup with a clatter, slopping tea into the saucer. ‘Oh no, Father - I can’t do that.’

‘Why not? Just a few guests for dinner once in a while – I’m not thinking of throwing the place open to a grand ball, of course not. Never manage that these days, more’s the pity. But you could order a meal, couldn’t you - tell cook what to make, that sort of thing? I’ll take care of the guests. Nothing to it.’

‘Father, please. Not just now.’

‘But it’ll take you out of yourself, you silly girl, bring you to life, away from your miserable books and student politics. Launch you, too, the best way we can. Bring a few young fellows here, see how you like ‘em. Remember the other part of our deal.’

She shut her eyes. He thinks I’m a mare in season, she thought; he’ll open the door and all the young officers will come sniffing round like stallions. The thought was too absurd for words.

‘Anyway, I thought we’d start next Saturday. I’m going to the races with Colonel Roberts and his wife – he’s got a part share in two runners, he says. So I asked them back here afterwards for dinner. MacQuarry might come too, with his lady, so that’ll make six; and then I can hunt up a couple of young officers for you, to make up the younger party. We should manage it, wouldn’t you say?’

‘You mean you’ve already arranged this?’

‘Partly.’ He sipped his tea and smoothed his moustache with his finger. ‘Got to try to keep things going, even in the midst of these blasted outrages, after all. Look.’ He leaned forward again and, to Catherine’s great surprise, took her hand in his. ‘We’ve been through some pretty bad times in the past few years, Cathy my girl, and I’ve no doubt you’ve thought pretty harshly of me once or twice. Wouldn’t be normal if you hadn’t. But we’ve made a deal and so far as I can see you’re sticking to your side of it, and I want to stick to mine. Then we’ll make a new start in the family, if we can. Play our part in bringing the country back to its senses. What do you say?’

You’re mad as a hatter,
she thought. You’re completely out of touch. I’ve been making love to a revolutionary in the slums, and now you want me to arrange a dinner party for British officers.

Her lower lip trembled, and she felt a horrible urge to burst into hysterical laughter. To subdue it, she passed her cup for some more tea, and concentrated grimly on the way the tea flowed out of the spout into the cup, as though her life depended on it.

Then she said: ‘All right, Father. I’ll arrange the dinner for you.’

Kee said: ‘I don’t believe it!’

‘It’s true, sir. I’m quite sure it was her.’

The young detective flushed. He had only recently been promoted from the uniformed branch, and he was anxious to do well. But he was not immune to the resentment felt by many of his colleagues for the two blunt Ulstermen who had been brought in over the heads of southern Irish officers to run G Division. The detective, Allan Foster, was a tall, well-built young man, and now he had to stand to attention and look down at Kee, who was apparently calling him a liar.

‘Listen, Foster. You know who this young woman is? Her father’s on the General Staff in Dublin Castle. He owns a house in Merrion Square, and half of west Galway as well. The man’s a bosom friend of Lord French himself. You know that, don’t you?’

‘I knew most of it, sir, yes.’

‘And you mean to tell me that his one and only daughter spent part of last night somewhere in a godforsaken rat-infested tenement in one of the worst slums in this city? With someone who might have been a Sinn Feiner?’

‘Yes, sir.’ Foster stood rigidly to attention, staring into the air somewhere over Kee’s head. Kee looked at him, sensing his hostility. Then he sat down behind his desk and waved his arm at a chair. ‘Sit down, for God’s sake, and relax. Let’s go through it again, shall we? You followed her from Merrion Square, you say. And you’re quite sure it was Miss Catherine? Not a maid, for instance, taking money to her relatives?’

Foster looked pained. ‘I’ve been watching her for a week now, sir. I know what she looks like.’

So do I, Kee thought. It’s a memorable face, too. Those clear, innocent-looking eyes; a general air of fragile delicacy as though butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth. ‘Go on.’

‘Well, she’s been out three times alone in the past couple of weeks. I’ve already reported that, sir.’

‘Yes. To the Gaelic League in Parnell Square. To learn bog Irish, as far as we can make out.’

‘Sir. And I’ve seen her with the same young man there. I think he fits the photo you gave me, but it’s hard to be sure.’

Kee nodded. Sean Brennan. It made sense. ‘So. Tell me about last night. She came out of the house on her own, did she?’

‘She did that, sir. At first I thought she was off to Parnell Square again but when she got over the river she turned right, up Amiens Street towards the North Circular.’

‘I know it.’ Kee nodded. It was not so far from North Strand, where the dead boy Savage had had his rooms.

‘Well, I kept her in sight, sir, all the way, and she met the young fellow at the junction with Portland Row. They had a brief discussion, then they went to a pub for a drink. I thought I’d lost them there, because it wasn’t the sort of place I could be in myself alone for long without exciting comment. So I hung about outside, going up and down the street every five minutes and hoping for the best. But I was lucky. They were only in there for about twenty minutes. Then I followed them to the tenement.’

‘Stop there a second, now. You’re sure it was the same couple who came out?’

‘No doubt at all, sir. For one thing, she had a blue coat with a fur collar, like a stole - you don’t see many of those around that area. And anyway, they were walking towards me. I had to go straight past them, near as I am to you now. I saw her as they came past - she looked right at me.’

‘If you were that close, you must have seen the boy’s face, too. Was it Brennan or was it not?’

Foster looked embarrassed. ‘Well, like I say, I think it was, sir. But it was the girl I was following, not him; and with her looking me in the face like that, I was petrified she’d recognize me, too. I hadn’t time to think of him.’

Kee sighed. ‘It may have escaped your notice, Detective Foster, but the reason you were following this young woman is not because I’m interested in her behaviour, scandalous though it is; it’s because I hope she’s going to lead us to Brennan.’

‘Yes, sir. Well, if it is him, I’ve found out where he lives. They were in that tenement for over two hours, sir, and I hung about in the shadows for all that time without being seen, I think. When they came out they seemed to be having some sort of quarrel. I followed them back to Merrion Square, and then I followed him for a short while, but he kept looking round, so I fell back, and then I lost him, sir.’

‘It doesn’t matter. You’ve done well, lad, very well indeed.’ Kee drummed his fingers on the table. ‘We’ll raid this place tonight, when we can be sure he’s at home. Now hop off and write your report, there’s a good lad. I’ve got some thinking to do.’

About what the devil I tell Radford about this girl. If anything, Kee thought. He had set up this surveillance without Radford’s permission, and now it had borne fruit. In fact it was a hot political potato. Her daddy’s not going to be pleased about this. Not one little bit.

As Foster stood up to go, Kee said: ‘Oh, about your report. This is a hush-hush one. Don’t give it to the girls to type. Davis will do it for you, if you can’t manage the machine yourself.’

‘I’ll have a go myself, sir,’ said Foster conscientiously. ‘I’ve always thought I’d master it, if I kept up the practice.’

17. Arms Dealer

A
NDREW SAT in the lounge of the Lambert Hotel, smoking and reading the
Irish Independent
. There was a tale of atrocities in Bolshevik Russia: two Irish nurses had spent four days in a cellar crammed with counts and countesses waiting to be shot in the courtyard behind. The Red Army had started to invade Poland. In the United States 2,700 suspected communists had been arrested, and there was discussion of amending the constitution to ban the sale of alcohol. Bernard Shaw’s
Heartbreak House
was still running in London.
Salome
was the hot favourite for the 500 Guineas in Phoenix Park.

He sat by the window with a clear view of the street and the entrance hall. Outside, part of the road was blocked by a lorry delivering vegetables. Cyclists swirled past, ringing their bells derisively, and swerving to avoid the dung left by a horse-drawn cab. The proprietor of the hotel was persuading the doorman to cast aside his dignity and sweep it up. A group of boys in shabby, outsize clothes hung around the back of the vegetable lorry, just out of reach of the delivery men, hoping to pick up dropped fruit.

One of the oldest couples in the Lambert Hotel came down the main staircase in their pre-war finery: the man in top hat, frock coat, and trousers caught with elastic under his boots; his wife in a mauve silk dress that came down to the ground, and a feathered hat the size of a cartwheel. Some special occasion, no doubt, but the clothes looked quite absurd today. The street urchins stared, began to nudge each other, and wolf-whistle; the hotel proprietor scurried about, trying to bow, smile, chastise the boys, and order a cab all at once; and Patrick Daly strode into the lounge.

Andrew stood up to greet him. He bowed, clicked his heels, and indicated a chair opposite him. ‘Will you take coffee?’

‘No thanks.’ Daly frowned at him, then grinned. ‘Come on. You’re in luck. He wants to see you.’

‘Mr Collins?’

‘Hush.’

Andrew picked up his brown leather bag and followed Daly past the pantomime in the hall. Daly took his arm briefly to show which way to go. ‘It’s in Donnybrook. We’ll take the tram.’

They caught the tram at the end of the street and sat side by side on the top deck. Andrew sat slightly stiffly. He hoped Daly would think that was the way German officers always sat; but in fact it was because he had his hunting knife strapped to his belt, in the small of his back. He probably wouldn’t need it, with two loaded automatic pistols to take out of his bag and show Collins; but he had put it on as a last resort anyway.

Daly seemed in sunny mood, pointing out the city sights.

‘That’s the GPO on your right, where they hoisted the flag in ‘16. Patrick Pearse stood on those very steps here and read out the proclamation. Have you been to Dublin before, Mr Hessel?’