In Dublin's Fair City

by Rhys Bowen

  “So you are prepared to risk everything.” “If need be.”

  “I wish I had your kind of zeal burning inside me,” I said. “I have a strong sense of justice, but I don’t think I’d risk my life to change the government in my country.”

  “We all have our own paths to follow,” Grania said. “I wouldn’t force anyone into following mine.” She got up. “Come. Let us go up to your room and make sure that you have everything that you need. I’m afraid it's no use trying to communicate with Francoise unless you speak French.”

  We had reached the dining room door when an elderly man appeared. “Are you done with your breakfast, my lady?” he asked. “Quite finished, thank you, Bertie.”

  She whisked me past him. My heart was beating rather fast. “My lady?” I stammered. “I didn’t realize. I apologize for my rudeness.”

  “What rudeness?”

  “Calling you by your first name.”

  She laughed merrily. “My dear, within the Sisterhood and the Brotherhood we are all first names, and you are now a sister. Hence you are Molly and I am Grania.”

  “I thought everyone had to have a nickname.”

  “My sweet, it's impossible for me to disguise who I am. Everyone in Dublin knows Grania. They think I am a social butterfly, light, flippant, and therefore harmless. It is working wonderfully so far.”

  With that she took my hand and swept me up to my room. My clothes had been put away and the window was open, letting in good, fresh air with just a tang of salt in it. It was the sort of place where Icould have been blissfully happy in other circumstances. At this moment there seemed no way to unclench the tight knot in my stomach.

  “Go down to the library and choose reading materials for yourself,” she said, “because I do get a lot of visitors and I rather think that you should stay out of sight, just in case.”

  As we came down the stairs again, the elderly retainer was returning from the front door, bearing a salver. “The post has arrived, m’lady,” he said. “Should I take it through to the morning room? There's a letter from Lord Ashburton.”

  “Oh dear, is there?” A frown crossed her lovely face. “Well, I suppose I had better read it immediately.” She took the letters from the salver. I hesitated in the hallway, not sure what was required of me, but she turned as she reached a door and said, “Come, Molly.”

  I followed her into a bright, uncluttered room with chinz-covered chairs. She went over to a ladies secretary, took out a letter opener, and slit open the envelope. I remained standing near the doorway, not because she had not instructed me to sit down, but because I was trying to recall why the name had been so familiar to me. Someone had used that name recently.

  “Who is Lord Ashburton?” I couldn’t resist asking.

  She looked up, amused. “My husband, of course.”

  Almost as she said the words, I heard the echo in my head. Sir Toby Conroy at Ormond Hall saying, “She's quite the society lady these days—Lady Ashburton.”

  I stared at her, trying to piece things together. “You’re Toby Con-roy's sister,” I blurted out.

  She looked surprised. “Yes I am. Do you know Toby?”

  “I went to your family seat, looking for Mary Ann Burke,” I said. “Why didn’t you tell me that you knew her?”

  There was a long pause and then she said, “That is the Mary Ann you are looking for?”

  I nodded. “She was your nursemaid, I believe. She ran off with a groom.”

  “My Mary Ann? How extraordinary,” she said. “You know, it never crossed my mind that we were talking about the same person. I don’t think I ever knew her surname—well, servants don’t have surnames, dothey? And I think I always called her nursie, although I did know her name was Mary Ann. And as to running off with a groom—I had no idea what happened to her. One day she was there and the next day she wasn’t, and nanny said I was never to mention her again. I pined for her for quite a while. Are you absolutely sure she was the one who came to Dublin with Terrence Moynihan? I really can’t picture my Mary Ann running off with a revolutionary poet.” “Yes, I’m sure,” I said.

  “Well, now I have a double incentive for sending out my spies to look for her,” Grania said. “Rest assured I’ll leave no stone unturned. If she's still in Dublin, I’ll find her for you. I’d certainly love to see her again myself. I was very fond of her. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to read my husband's letter.”

  I wandered over to the window and found that it overlooked an elegant square of tall, Georgian townhouses. Nannies were pushing prams, tradesmen were making deliveries and ladies were out for a morning stroll. It all looked very jolly and very normal. I wondered what would happen if I just went to the front door of the house and then walked away. Would they come after me? Would I be allowed to leave the country?

  Then, of course, I reminded myself that I wasn’t about to leave Liam and Joseph in the lurch. I perched on an upright cane chair and picked up a magazine. I had scarcely opened it before I heard a gasp from Grania.

  “Oh, dear God,” she said.

  “What's wrong?”

  “Just about everything,” she said. “Gerald is coming home this weekend. He's bought a filly and he wants to see her race. He's sending the servants ahead, and he’ll be arriving on Friday, damnation.”

  I looked at her with interest. She was the only woman I had heard swear, apart from those in the gutter who knew no better.

  She looked up at me, frowning. “That's certainly put a spoke in our wheel, hasn’t it? I won’t be able to hold any more meetings at the house, and you and Cullen certainly won’t be able to stay here any longer. I suppose I could spirit you away to our place in the country, but you’d be no use to the cause stuck miles from the nearest railway. I’ll have towork fast to find a new place to hide you—and I have a luncheon engagement today too. And the Daughters of Erin are supposed to be meeting here tomorrow evening. Let us just pray that Gerald's servants don’t make it back here too quickly, or we’ll be in a real soup.” She got up. “I’d better go and wake Cullen. He's a notoriously late sleeper. He’ll have to help me decide what to do next.”

  A few minutes later Cullen came stomping downstairs, unshaven and rather disheveled. I must say his current appearance truly made him look the part of the revolutionary and all the more glamorous in my eyes.

  “I thought you said he was in London for the winter season,” he complained. “You were sure of it.”

  “He usually is. How was I to know he’d take it into his head to buy a racehorse and then want to see it perform in Ireland before he had it shipped across to England?”

  “Well, there's nothing we can do about it, I suppose,” Cullen said, “but it's the most infernal nuisance. I must be gone right away. I can’t risk anyone seeing me here.”

  “We have a couple of days before the first of the servants arrive, I’m sure,” Grania said. “I have a luncheon appointment, but after it I’ll put my thinking cap on and decide where you could hole up.”

  “Can’t you cancel the luncheon?” Cullen growled. “It is rather important, Grania. Not only my life, but the fate of the Brotherhood does hang in the balance.”

  Grania laughed. “My darling, always so dramatic,” she said. “You did write the most lovely plays. I wish you hadn’t stopped.” She went over to him and stroked his cheek. “I can’t do anything that would set people talking, you know that. If Grania doesn’t go to lunch with her friends, they’ll be dropping by at the house to find out why. I promise you’ll be hidden away by the time Gerald gets here. Now do go and shave—you look like a South American bandit.”

  Twenty-six

  I wasn’t privy to the undercover maneuverings that were going on, but I had my bags packed and ready to leave should I be required to do so at a moment's notice. I reported this to Cullen when I encountered him in the drawing room.

  “It's not quite as desperate for you, Molly,” Cullen said. “If necessary you could stay on for a few days. Grania is a
lways showing hospitality to friends of friends, and I’m sure she’ll come up with a perfect story for you.”

  “But it would be wiser if I weren’t seen,” I said, “since I closely resemble my brothers.”

  He looked at me long and hard. “As you say, it would be wiser, although the resemblance is only superficial, mainly in the hair. Your face is ten times more handsome.”

  I didn’t quite know how to handle that and felt myself blushing. I hadn’t been aware that he had noticed me as anything more than a nuisance and potential spy. He came across the room and stood close to me. Then he put a hand on my shoulder and bent his head toward me. For a moment I thought he was going to kiss me, but then he said in a low voice, “Oh, and one more thing, Molly, while we’re alone. Grania will be holding a meeting of her Daughters of Erin here tomorrow night. Obviously she’ll want you to attend. Not all those women can be trusted, so don’t say anything you might regret later. Not a word aboutyour brothers. You’re a friend of the family, visiting from New York. That should suffice. Got it?”

  “Yes,” I said, “but I thought—”

  “Grania is sometimes too trusting,” he muttered. “It may be our downfall.”

  He glanced up as Grania came into the room.

  “I hope you’re not trying to seduce our little Molly, Cullen,” she said.

  “I was merely giving her some fatherly advice, if you must know, Grania,” he said.

  “I know you too well, my sweet.” She flashed him a challenging smile.

  “One must have some pleasures in life,” Cullen said. “God knows I’ve given up just about everything else.”

  “You keep an eye on him, Molly,” she said to me. “He's not to be trusted.”

  “On the contrary,” Cullen replied. “I am to be trusted in all things that matter, and Molly is quite safe with me.”

  He withdrew his hand from my shoulder, gave me a friendly pat, and left the room. I watched him go with just a pang of regret.

  Cullen disappeared later that day. When I asked about him, Grania merely shrugged. “He decided he should be gone before our Daughters of Erin meet tomorrow. I don’t think he quite trusts us. And he certainly underestimates us. He thinks us to be a gaggle of well-intentioned women whose only function should be charitable acts, but with no place in Irish politics or republican struggles.”

  “But obviously your group is involved in such struggles,” I said. “It was your Queen Mab who received word of the shipment of rifles.”

  “The Brotherhood is closely watched,” Grania said. “Of course, the English aren’t quite sure that the Brotherhood, per se, has resurrected itself, but they watch all those with ties to the republican movement. Hence it makes sense to give a greater role to us women.”

  “But aren’t the Daughters of Erin watched too? They are not in anyway a secret organization, are they? I met a young woman the other day who talked openly about your group and invited me to a meeting.”

  “Ah, but that's the beauty of it.” Grania smiled. “Our lovely foundress, Maude Gonne, whom you saw in the play the other night, had visions of an organization of women who could better social conditions in Ireland and further the spread of Irish culture. An exemplary ideal. We all support it. But within the group there are those of us who work more militantly for the republican cause. Only we know who we are. Our very existence depends upon utter secrecy. We use our noms de guerre—”

  I nodded. “Your leader, Queen Mab.”

  “Most of our members have no idea who Queen Mab is. It is essential that she remain in the background and secret or she would be no use at all.”

  The way she smiled made a sudden thought cross my mind. Grania herself was Queen Mab! I remembered Cullen teasing her about wanting to take the place of Queen Victoria. Supplanting one queen with another. I decided to be a keen observer at the upcoming meeting. At that moment it seemed all like a rather exciting game. Then, of course, I remembered that it wasn’t a game at all: my brother was under a death sentence and so was Cullen if he was caught. Maybe so were we all.

  The following evening the drawing room was filled with chairs and women started to arrive. Among the early arrivals was Maud Gonne, looking even more beautiful without her stage makeup. She embraced Grania and went around the room, shaking hands. I was introduced as a visitor from America and passed over without a flicker of interest. The room began to fill. I recognized the two bluestockings from the Gaelic League. Then Alice Wester came in. Alice's face lit up when she saw me.

  “Miss Delaney—Mary. How delighted I am to see you here. We lost each other in the crowd at the theater the other night, and I was afraid you would have no way of hearing about our meeting. And now here you are. Let me introduce you to some of our sisters.” She slipped her arm through mine and led me around the room. It was all on a firstname basis and I had no way of knowing whether those were true first names or nicknames—noms de guerre, as Grania had put it. The two bluestockings were Maeve and Tara, both important names in Irish history. Then I was presented to a bevy of older ladies and recognized my protector from the Gaelic League—the severe-looking matron in black who had made room for me beside her and worried about my going home alone. Wouldn’t she be interested to hear that her fears had been justified, and I had been kidnapped?

  “So you made it to our meeting,” she said. “Splendid. What was your name again?”

  “This is Mary,” Alice Wester said. “She's visiting us from America. Maybe she can go home and start a chapter of our organization over there.”

  “I believe we already have women working for the cause in America,” one of the other matrons said. “Don’t we, Mrs. Boone?”

  “I believe we do,” my matron agreed. “I’m sure we could put Mary in touch with similarly minded women when she goes home, if she finds that she is attracted to the promotion of Irish culture and the improvement of women.”

  “I’d certainly be interested,” I said, not at all sure that I was telling the truth, but wanting to be accepted at this point.

  Grania clapped her hands for attention and introduced Maud Gonne. Maud gave a long, impassioned speech about heroines of Irish history and how we were all called upon to be heroines and to keep our history alive. One of the bluestockings followed with a speech on the shocking infant mortality rate in the slums and how we could help improve sanitary conditions there. Tea and biscuits were handed around. It was a very civilized evening, probably similar to evenings repeated in women's institutes all over the country. I half expected to be instructed on how to make pickles next. I looked from one earnest, innocent face to the next and found it hard to believe that some of these women hid guns, ran messages, and were on the front lines of the fight for freedom.

  We were still in the middle of tea, biscuits, and gossip when Gra-nia's elderly retainer came in. “I’m sorry to disturb you, m’lady,” he said, “but you have visitors.”

  “Visitors? Not my husband already?”

  “No, m’lady. Your brother and his fiancee and Captain Hartley. I’ve put them in the library.”

  I thought my heart might leap right out of my mouth. So my fears were justified. Sir Toby Conroy's fiancee was indeed one of the Hartleys and her brother was really my archenemy. I looked around the room, trying to see if there was anywhere for me to hide. There were heavy drapes at the windows. There was a piano in the corner, but I had thirty or so women who would notice one of their members crawling under a piano. My one hope was that I’d be overlooked amid a sea of female faces.

  “Didn’t you tell my brother that I was otherwise occupied at the moment?” Grania said.

  “I did tell him that you already had visitors, your ladyship, but Sir Toby asked me to tell you that they had just arrived in town and Miss Henrietta had set her heart on greeting you immediately and introducing you to her brother.”

  “I see.” Grania looked around at us and raised her eyes in frustration. “This is so inconvenient. Please excuse me, ladies. My brother can be most
tiresome. I sincerely hope they are not expecting to stay here.”

  She swept out of the room. My heart was still pounding violently. If Sir Toby and the Hartleys were really going to stay in the house, then I was doomed. Grania would have no reason not to introduce me as a friend from America. My one chance would be to leave with the rest of the women. Maybe Alice Wester could put me up for the night, if I could give her a reasonable explanation for my desire to escape. I tried to think of one but my brain wouldn’t work.

  “We should probably leave, ladies,” Maud Gonne said. “The meeting was almost over, wasn’t it, and I don’t want to deprive Grania of the chance of seeing her brother.”

  She started to put on her cape. Others followed suit. I stood there, not knowing what to do. If I followed them out into the night, wearing no outer clothing, someone was sure to notice. But I couldn’t stay where I was either. My knees were weak at the thought that Grania, being of a social nature, might well bring in her brother and the Hartleys and introduce them to the group.

  If they were in the library, I might be able to slip up the stairs without being noticed. But that would just be a temporary respite. I’d then have to make it down the stairs again, with my bags. I could hear Gra-nia's voice floating across the marble entrance hall.

  “But of course, darlings. On any other occasion...”

  “I’ll go and tell Grania we are leaving,” Maud said. “Until next time then, ladies. Keep up the good work. On with the fight.”

  “Miss Delaney,” Mrs. Boone tapped my arm, “could I ask you to take my arm and help me down the front steps? I’m afraid my eyesight is not what it was and I am in perpetual fear of falling.”

  “Of course,” I said.

  She slipped her arm through mine. “I’m most grateful to you, Miss Delaney,” she said in a louder voice and patted my hand.

  Then we were crossing the front hall with the rest of the women. Down the front steps. Out onto the pavement of the square. Maud Gonne was climbing into a waiting carriage. Hansom cabs were cruising past, hoping for fares. Mrs. Boone waved a brolly, and one came to a halt beside us.