“That’s irrelevant to this discussion.”
“I don’t believe it is. I have not been in prison for a crime such as theft or assault. I worked for the freedom of our country and am proud to be in good company in that regard. As far as my radical opinions go, again, I’m not alone in wanting to see our country free and united.”
Mr. Mallon waved his hand as if to brush aside these arguments.
Emmet’s breath came fast and short. “May I ask why, given your feelings, you have allowed Bridie and me to walk out together? What did you think would happen after a time?”
The older man finished his drink and waved to the bartender to bring over two more drinks despite the half glass that Emmet still had in front of him. “Honestly, I hoped that you would just stay in America, or at least that you and Bridie would forget about each other while you were away. It seemed hopeful.”
Emmet drained his drink and then immediately felt queasy. “I love her, and she loves me.”
Mr. Mallon grimaced. “Grow up, son. That isn’t enough.”
“Are you forbidding me to continue to see her?”
“I wish I could, but Bridie is too much of her own person for that. We lost one daughter to the Spanish flu, I won’t lose another one by being heavy-handed.” He leaned forward and placed his hand on Emmet’s arm. “Don’t get me wrong. I don’t dislike you. Far from it. I just believe that Bridie deserves someone who will be better suited to her. Someone to take her to nice places. A man of whom she can be proud.”
“I believe she’s proud of me.”
“Show me that you are deserving of that pride.”
Emmet nodded. “All right. I will.”
Again Mr. Mallon finished his drink in one swallow and then he stood. Emmet had a full drink in front of him. “Stay and finish your drink. I’m getting these. I believe I’ve said everything I need to say.”
Emmet stood as well. “I invited you here. I am paying for the drinks.”
Bridie’s father nodded. “Very well. Thank you.”
Emmet held out his hand. “I appreciate you taking the time to meet me.”
They shook hands and Emmet sat down to finish his drink. Damn you. His jaw ached from clenching his teeth together. I’ll prove myself, Mr. High and Mighty. I’ll show you that I’m deserving of Bridie’s pride. You’ll eat your feckin’ words.
Chapter Sixteen
Dublin, January 1922
Emmet noted in his diary: January 16th will go down as one of the most important days ever known in Irish history. It was the day that Dublin Castle and the machinery of government was handed over from the British to the Provisional Government of Ireland. It was a cold Monday morning and the handover from the Viceroy of Ireland to Michael Collins was scheduled to take place at noon.
Crowds had begun to gather at daybreak and by noon, thousands of people had collected, stretching in both directions along Dame Street. While no one other than the people involved in the handover were permitted in the Privy Council Chamber itself, journalists, officials, soldiers and some invited members of the public were assembled in the courtyard. From here, they could witness the arrival of Collins and his party and then view the events taking place in the well-lit chamber through the windows, as though watching a silent theatre production. Emmet was one of the journalists lucky enough to be included in this momentous event. He selected a spot close to the northeast corner of the yard by the Chief Secretary’s Office. He knew it was through this door that Collins and his party would enter and leave the building.
At noon word went out amongst the waiting crowd in the courtyard that Collins was running late. Emmet used the time to describe in detail the feel of the waiting crowd. He filled page after page in his little notebook as he talked to men and women around him.
The wife of one government official was in tears as she spoke. “I never believed I would see this day. I was always happy that my Patrick..” she glanced at the man beside her sporting a large black moustache, “had such a good, steady job. Our children have never gone without shoes, thanks be to God, but now, it’s beyond wonderful. He’ll be working for the good of our own people, for our very own government.”
“But how do you feel, knowing that the Treaty doesn’t incorporate all of Ireland. Some people think we’ve sold out.”
She shook her head. “It’s a start. Of course, I want all of Ireland included. Who wouldn’t? But let’s get this going and then we can negotiate for the rest of Ireland to reunite with us.”
With conversations like this, the time passed quickly and then at 1:40 Emmet heard the cheering from outside the courtyard and knew that Collins must be arriving. With some luck he’d be able to ask him a question or two as Collins went in.
Three taxi cabs pulled in to great cheering and applause within the yard. Collins and the other seven members of his party quickly strode from the cabs to the door and were in and gone with no chance for questions. Emmet shifted so he could peer up to the three tall windows of the Privy Council Chamber, located above the archway. Within a moment he saw the men moving around. The King’s representative, the Viceroy of Ireland, Lord FitzAlan-Howard must have been informed of Collins arrival because several moments later he too arrived.
Emmet glanced around and saw the police lining the yard poised and ready, but the courtyard was subdued as he arrived and there were no problems. The last ever Viceroy of Ireland.
Having been to see the Privy Council on other occasions, Emmet knew that it was a grand-looking room with great brass chandeliers and in the centre of the room stood a great table, usually covered in a red cloth. He wondered if Collins and the others were impressed.
The window afforded a reasonable view of what was happening. Emmet saw that the Viceroy stood at the fireplace, while Michael Collins took a seat on the right-hand side of the Lord Lieutenant’s Chair. He looked at ease. The Viceroy took something that Collins handed him and Emmet knew it must be a copy of the Treaty which was the official document authorizing the handover. As the crowd outside watched the group in the chamber moving about, it seemed that Collins was introducing the members of his government and then it was obvious that the Viceroy made a short speech.
By 2:25, it was all over, and Emmet pressed back into his spot by the door when he saw that people were leaving the Council Chamber. The Chief Secretary’s Office door opened, and two members of the new Free State Government emerged, followed by Collins.
Emmet called out: “Mr. Collins. How do you feel, sir?”
Collins hesitated, grinned and responded quietly, yet loudly enough for Emmet, almost standing right beside Collins, to hear: “It was a hell of a different visit from the last time I was here, disguised as the driver of a coal-cart, with a price on my head.”
As Collins hustled forward to his waiting taxi, Emmet immediately transcribed what Collins had said. The triumph and joy ringing through those words, brought a lump to his throat.
Emmet stood rereading his notes as the crowd dispersed and then he retrieved his bicycle where it was chained near the Palace Street Gate. He navigated through the lingering groups of people as quickly as he could back to Westmoreland Street to his office at the Freeman’s Journal. He spent several hours writing and rewriting his piece about the handover, including the impromptu comment by Collins before showing it to Mr. Hooper.
Hooper sat with his elbows on his desk reading Emmet’s piece. He looked up where Emmet stood nervously waiting. “By God, you’ve done a great job on this, Ryan. You’ve captured the mood completely. That’s the sign of a top-class journalist. I’m putting your name to this as a byline.”
Emmet swallowed. “Thank you, sir. I want all the people of Ireland to feel the magnitude of the event. Even for those who don’t believe in the Treaty, it was a momentous occasion.”
Hooper nodded. “It is indeed. Well done.” He wrote Emmet’s name at the top of the article and then carried the papers to the door of his office. He shouted ‘copy’, whereby a young man dashed over
to take the pages away for printing. Hooper rested a hand on Emmet’s shoulder. “Go home. You’ve done good work today.”
• • •
The next morning Emmet stopped at the newsagent. His jaw dropped as he stood before the display of papers as he recognized his own article, with the promised byline announcing that he, Emmet Ryan, had written it. He bought a copy of both the Irish Examiner and the Irish Independent. The Independent had it as a small piece in the bottom corner and it continued on page three. Their own in-house political commentator had a large piece of his own, but with a different flavour, providing a glowing report of how the Viceroy wished the new government well, and would stay on to support the transition until the end of the year. Still, there was Emmet’s own piece with his name, right there on the front page of the two large dailies as well as his own Freeman’s Journal.
Emmet carried all three papers to the office under his arm. He walked in to a smattering of applause and congratulations from his co-workers. “Well done, Emmet. Grand job, Ryan.” He smiled and thanked them as he walked on. When he sat down alone in his office, he allowed the grin he’d been stifling to break out. He read each paper to see if they had taken the whole piece. The Examiner had, but the Independent had edited it down to cut out about a third of the word count, but they all had his quote from Collins. It’s what made the article.
Hooper walked in and grinned. “You’ve seen them, then.”
“I have indeed.”
“You’re a big man about town now, boyo.”
Hooper sat down across from Emmet and continued. “Seriously, Ryan. You did great work in America and our readership went up as people followed the campaign there. You have a way of putting a human face to the story. Now this. Your spot is secure here, young man.”
Emmet had a hard time focusing on his work after Hooper left. I have to see Bridie tonight. Maybe she’ll come out for a celebratory tea. He dashed off a short note to her with an invitation to go out and took it out to one of the many delivery boys who hung about waiting for a message to run.
“Take this and wait for the response if the lady is at home. If not, just come back and let me know she wasn’t there, right?” He gave the boy 5 pence and watched him jump on his bicycle.
The return message was delivered to Emmet in his office by a copy boy.
I’d love to go out with you. I’ll be ready at six o’clock. We’re all a-buzz with the excitement of your piece in the Independent!
Emmet took a deep breath. Better and better. Her Da must have seen it.
• • •
Emmet had made a reservation at Jammet’s. He knew it would be far more expensive than anywhere he’d ever eaten, but he threw caution to the wind. Emmet would manage it. He started with a brandy for himself and a sherry for Bridie.
He felt the warmth of the brandy coursing through him. “Bridie, I wish I could bring you to places like this all the time.”
She reached over and put her hand over his. “This is far too grand for the likes of us, Emmet. I’m perfectly content with John Kavanaugh’s.”
They both smiled, recalling the pub where they met.
“Are you saying you’d like to leave?”
“Not on your life. I’ll make the most of this.” She held up her glass of sherry to clink it against his crystal glass of brandy. “Congratulations, Emmet. I was that proud of you today when I saw your name as the byline in the Independent, I nearly cried.”
“Did your Da see it?”
“He did, of course.”
“Did he say anything?”
She tilted her head. “No. I know he read it through though, and then he showed Mammy.”
“Did he?”
“Why the interest in what Da thought?”
He heaved a sigh. “Well, I’ll tell you. I met your Da last week. I wanted to talk to him.”
She frowned. “He never said.”
“Here it is. Bridie, I love you.”
She blushed and glanced around to see if anyone had heard.
He continued. “You’ve been so patient waiting for me. I’m now able to ask for your hand in marriage and that’s why I met with your father. I asked him.”
Her mouth fell open, and she covered it with her hand. “I didn’t know.”
“He said no.”
Her eyes widened. “What?”
He nodded. “He wouldn’t allow me to ask you to marry me.”
Her eyebrows came together, and her lips formed a thin line. “How dare he?”
“I’m not being very noble by telling you this, but I’m not giving up. That’s why I’m curious about what his reaction was to my article.”
She bit her lip. “Emmet Ryan, I won’t be told by my father what I can and cannot do.”
“Ah, Bridie. You must. I won’t have us starting out in life being estranged from your family.” He smiled then. “I’ll woo him. I’m patient.”
She gave him a small smile. “You are.”
“It’s enough for me to know that you are willing even if your Da isn’t.”
She shook her head. “I don’t want to waste more time waiting. I’ve waited long enough.”
He reached across the table and took her hand. “A little bit longer. Meanwhile he hasn’t forbidden us to see each other, so we’ll continue as we are for now. I wish I could just ask you here and now, but let’s do it right. I would rather have the blessing from your parents.”
“And if they don’t give it?”
He stroked the back of her hand with his thumb. “Let’s face that if it happens.” Emmet smiled and lifted his glass of wine to hers. “To us.” His heart thumped at the smile she shone on him as she clinked his glass.
“To us.” She agreed.
Chapter Seventeen
Dublin, February 1922
It was billed as a celebration of the Irish Free State Agreement Act which had been brought to the British House of Commons. It was also a dinner dance where awards were handed out to those who were seen to have helped the Cause that led to the agreement, and so Emmet’s name had been put forward for his work in America and the piece that made his name a household word at the Government handover. It was a ball at the Mansion House. The official residence of the Lord Mayor of Dublin, and the current meeting place of the Dáil, or the Assembly was also the premier place for fancy events and Emmet never imagined he’d be invited to attend something there.
Emmet read the invitation and tossed it into the wastepaper can beside his desk.
When Hooper came in a few moments later, the editor stooped and retrieved the invitation. “What are you doing? I had a hand in getting you nominated for this. Are you thinking of not attending?”
“I don’t think this sell-out of an agreement is anything to celebrate.”
Hooper frowned. “Listen son, this is a big step forward for the country and whether you are for the treaty or against it, as a journalist you need to be at every historic event you can manage to get into.” He slapped the invitation on the desk. “Go and enjoy the free food and drink and I’ll look forward to your piece about the glamour of the new government afterwards.”
Emmet saluted. “Yes, sir.”
Emmet sent the official invitation over to Bridie. With its embossed paper and invitation to the supper and awards, to be followed by a ball in the Round Room of the Mansion, Emmet knew it was impressive and hoped her father would think so as well.
• • •
When Emmet walked into the Mansion the night of the ball, he was glad he came. Bridie was stunning in a long satin dress with full white skirt covered by a black cutaway overskirt and black strapless bodice. Her long white gloves made her arms and shoulders appear translucent. With her red hair brushed back from her face in an elaborate swept-up style pinned in place with a pearl comb, he thought she looked like a queen.
He kept stealing glances at her. “God, you’re gorgeous.”
She smiled at him and brushed a tiny piece of lint from his hired black dinner sui
t. “You’re not so bad yourself.”
A photographer roamed the room and took their photograph, after which Emmet gave him his card and asked for a copy to be sent to him.
The photographer glanced at the name and smiled. “I will, of course. Good luck with the awards tonight.”
Bridie whispered in Emmet’s ear. “He knew who you were.”
Emmet smiled at the pride in her voice.
Later, after a supper that involved too many forks, and an awards ceremony that saw a different reporter win, Emmet danced Bridie around the room. “I’m going back to your father, Bridie. I’m not waiting any longer for you and me to be married.”
He felt her gloved fingers on his neck and his heart clenched at the smile that she beamed on him.
• • •
This time Mr. Mallon sat across from Emmet in Emmet’s office. It had been a risk, asking Bridie’s father to come to him. Emmet knew he may take it as a summons, which would be seen as an impertinence of the highest order, but Emmet positioned it that Mr. Mallon could come at any time that suited him, which may have made it more palatable.
When the older man was shown into Emmet’s office, he seemed less sure of himself in the unfamiliar surroundings.
Emmet stood and came from behind his desk to shake Mr. Mallon’s hand. “Thank you so much for coming to meet with me, sir.”
Bridie’s father took the chair that Emmet guided him to and then Emmet took the other one in front of the desk rather than retreat back to his own seat.
“Can I have tea ordered?”
Mr. Mallon waved his hand. “Don’t trouble yourself. I know you have work to do.”
Emmet nodded. “The last time we met, you told me that I needed to prove myself.”
“Yes.”
Emmet licked his lips, feeling the dryness make them stick; stopping the words from coming. “Since that time, I have achieved great exposure with my own byline which was, as you may know, picked up by the Irish Examiner and other papers. That success in turn, has prompted my paper to reprint some of my American pieces.”
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