by Rhys Bowen
“And me,” I said. “I’ve brought you some of your favorite foods, Joseph.”
“Really?” He peered into the basket and a frown crossed his face. I thought for one awful moment that he was going to say he didn’t like soda bread, but instead he said, “I never knew you could bake plum cake, Molly.”
“When could we ever afford the ingredients?” I demanded. “It was soda bread or nothing, wasn’t it? And lucky if there was a mutton bone to stew.”
“What did you bring me, the leftovers?” Joseph asked. He attempted to grasp a jagged piece of soda bread with his handcuffed hands.
“Those guards at the gate went through everything,” I said. “They thought I might be smuggling you a file or a knife.”
Joseph laughed. “A lot of good they would do in this hellhole. What would I do, cut my way out through the brick walls?”
The warder shifted from one foot to the other, making the keys jangle. A thought struck me. “There's plenty for all,” I said, holding up the basket to him. “If you’d like a bite for yourself, Officer. I’m known for my light hand at baking.”
“I won’t say no,” the warder said, and took a big piece of plum cake, stuffing it into his mouth.
I wondered how much of the ten minutes had gone by now. Surely it must have taken all of ten minutes to examine my letter, then the basket, and then to have Joseph fetched. If I was going to act, it had to be now. I put my hand into my purse and drew out my handkerchief. “My, but it's clammy in here, isn’t it?” I said. “Oppressive. I feel as if I might faint.”
“Out of the way, Murphy. Let the young lady sit down,” the guard said, his mouth still full of plum cake.
Joseph stood aside, and the officer assisted me to sit on the nearest chair.
“You’d better sit down too, Murphy.” Joseph sat.
“I don’t know what came over me,” I twittered in best feminine fashion. “It must be the shock of seeing my little brother like this. I never was of strong constitution. Always did have a weak heart, didn’t I, Joe.”
Again I glanced at him to make sure he didn’t contradict me. But instead he nodded. “Yes, she was always the delicate one of the family,” he agreed. “It's good of you to come and put yourself through this, Molly.”
I had taken out the bottle. “I’ll be right as rain in a minute,” I said. “Just a whiff of my smelling salts.” I opened it, shook out drops onto the handkerchief as I had been instructed, and then, without warning, jumped up and thrust it into Shaw's face. His mouth was still full of cake. He spluttered. I caught an elbow in the side that almost winded me. Joe was on his feet instantly, butting his head into the man's stomach to knock him back against the wall, while I tried valiantly to keep that handkerchief over his face. He fought for a moment or two then he collapsed onto the floor.
“Quick” I hissed to Joseph, who was standing like a statue, staring down at the warder in horror. “I don’t know how long we’ve got. Quick.”
I was down on my knees wrestling with the clip that held the guards keys to his belt. “We need his keys.”
“What's the point?” Joe said. “I’ll never get out. There's only the one door.”
“Which will be blown out, if all goes according to plan,” I said. “Which of the keys opens those handcuffs?”
“I’ve no idea,” he said, looking at the great bunch. “A small one, obviously.”
“Obviously,” I snapped, my nerves stretched to breaking point. I tried one, then another, then another.
“We’ll never get you into his jacket in time. When you hear the blast, I’m going to yell, ‘Run, Joe, run,’ but you stay hidden. Then we’ll try to sneak out in the confusion. As soon as you get out, run like hell. Go through the Liberties and make for the river. At the docks by theGrand Canal, look for a fishing boat flying a green flag. It will take you to France.”
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.” He crossed himself. “I can’t believe it's my own sister telling me this.”
“I wish I could get these dratted handcuffs off you. You’ll be so obvious running with handcuffs on,” I said. “Maybe I should take the guard's jacket off and put it over your shoulders.”
“I don’t know, Molly,” he said.
“Here, take the basket. You can hide your hands in it as you run.”
“I’d look stupid with a woman's basket,” he commented.
“Better stupid than dead,” I snapped, remembering suddenly how very annoying my brothers used to be. “At least I’ve got the keys to hand over to our boys. Where are the political prisoners kept?”
“Second level, like me. There's a whole string of us.”
“That's good. Then we’ve the right keys.”
I glanced down nervously at the guard, who was still lying there. Shouldn’t we tie him up or something? Then another chilling thought came to me—the attempt outside the door had failed, and Joe and I were sitting ducks. I had just chloroformed a guard. The penalty for that would be tremendous. I couldn’t stand being shut in that little room a moment longer. Surely ten minutes must have passed long ago.
“I’m going to take a peek outside,” I said. “If all's clear we can sneak toward the front door, and be ready when they blast it out.”
I opened the door a few inches and peered out cautiously. I found myself staring into another face—a face I recognized but failed to put a name to right away.
“Well done, Miss Murphy. I have to congratulate you,” a voice said, and I realized who he was. It was the detective inspector from the ship—the one in the tweed jacket who had followed me around. And behind him stood another familiar figure—Detective Inspector Harris.
Thirty-two
The door of the cell was flung open and a uniformed constable grabbed Joseph, while the first detective took me by the arm. “How did you know I’d be here?” I demanded. “How did
you find out?”
“It was elementary, my dear Watson, as the fictional Mr. Holmes would say,” the detective said, holding me with my arm twisted behind my back. “We have been tailing you since the ship. We’d had Oona Sheehan in our sights for quite a while, you know. And when we found out that she was leaving the ship in a hurry at the last moment, and leaving all her luggage behind, we thought it expedient to examine that luggage. Very interesting personal belongings, wouldn’t you say?”
“You knew about the guns in the trunks?” I stared, openmouthed.
“Oh, indeed we did.”
“Then why did you do nothing?”
“Because, my dear, we were anxious to know for whom they were intended. So all we had to do was wait and watch. I must say we were concerned when you vanished for a while. But we received a telephone call at headquarters a few minutes ago to say that you’d shown up here, so here we all are. Now, I presume you are not a major player in this little farce, in fact likely as not you’ve been suckered into it, so we’ll just wait for your little pals to show up, shall we?”
“You’ve got it all wrong,” I said defiantly. “When I heard that my brother was in jail here, I just wanted to see him one last time. And itwas only at the last second that I decided to have a go at that guard and see if there was any way I could help Joseph escape.”
“Pull the other one,- it's got bells on,” Inspector Harris said with a chuckle. “So the maid got wind of what was being shipped in those trunks, did she? What was it, blackmail? You decided she was a danger to your little scheme, and you had to finish her off? Did you do it alone, or did you have an accomplice on board?”
“Look, Inspector.” I could hear my voice rising. “Everything I told you before is true. I had no idea I was being tricked on that boat. I had no idea those trunks contained guns until I tried to move them in my hotel room and they clanked. I had no idea for whom those guns were destined. And what's more I’m fed up with being used and manipulated for other people's purposes. I know who killed Rose McCreedy although I’ll never be able to prove it now, but I can assure you it wasn’t me.”
The inspector let go of his bleeding head and tried to make a grab for me. I darted away, looking around frantically for our lads, so that I could hand over the keys. But nobody appeared. I could feel cold air blowing in through what had been the door, sending the smoke and dust swirling.
“Run, Joe. Get away while you can,” I shouted, then plunged myself in the direction of the doorway. Ahead of me was chaos. Police whistles blowing, shouts, screams, and then shots fired. Running feet caught up with me. I decided to take a terrible chance as a warder reached me.
“Oh, Officer, I’m so glad to see you,” I gasped, grabbing at his arm.“I was here on a visit and then there was this terrible explosion. What is it? A gas main?”
“No, miss. I think that some idiots are trying to blow up the building. Here, take my arm. I’ll get you safely out, don’t you worry.”
He led me toward the door with infuriating slowness. The smoke and dust were so thick, it was impossible to see what lay ahead. We stepped over some chunks of rubble, and I saw something on the floor in front of me. For a moment I couldn’t think what it was until I realized it was an arm. I swallowed back bile that rose in my throat. The stench of burning was overpowering. It stung my nostrils and made my eyes water. I tried to breathe and started coughing. All around there was coughing and retching and groaning too. Men staggered past us, not seeming to notice me. I recoiled in horror as I came to what used to be the doorway. Jagged shards of wood hung suspended in space. Rubble was piled high, and among that rubble were bodies. I could see that some of them were wearing uniforms but not all. I wanted to look at faces, but couldn’t. If Liam was lying at the bottom of that pile, or Cullen, then I didn’t want to know.
“Thank you, Officer,” I managed to gasp. “I can get out now. Just let me get away from here. Most grateful to you.”
He must have been as much in shock as I was. I slid my arm from his and grabbed the jagged edge of what used to be the door frame, stepped cautiously over bodies and rubble, and was outside. The sun was setting, glowing red through the dusty haze, and a mist had come up from the river, curling low along the street. A crowd was already gathering. I looked around. There was no sign of the cart and horses, no sign of Liam or Joseph or Cullen or anyone I could recognize. But there were plenty of blue uniforms milling around in confusion.
Then someone yelled and I saw a figure running across the street. A shot rang out. The figure went sprawling, staggered to his feet and kept on running. Men in blue uniforms gave chase. More shots were fired. There were screams of alarm from the crowd. I took the opportunity to merge with a group of women, pulling my hood up over my head. Gradually I eased my way to the edge of the crowd.
Then there was a barked command, the tramp of marching feet and a platoon of the Iniskilling Dragoons, stationed just across the road,came out of their barracks at a trot, bayonets at the ready. I darted across the street ahead of them. When they were between me and the jail, I turned and fled into the mist.
I was running down a wide street, tree lined, elegant, but it wasn’t the street that led into the Liberties. In fact, I had no idea where it led. In contrast to the other streets, it was deserted. The shape of a big building loomed ahead of me. From what I could see in the growing darkness it had that same elegant Georgian design as the Four Courts, and I had a moment's panic that it might be some kind of government headquarters into which I was now blundering. I thought I heard running feet and shouts behind me, and I steeled myself for a shot in the back. I glanced to either side of me. On the riverside mist hovered over a stretch of open ground. Not a good place to seek cover. The other side of the street was bordered by a high wall. The running feet were definitely gaining on me, and I was finding it hard to breathe. When I found an opening in the wall I ran through it, not even stopping to think what I might find.
It was now almost dark and getting mistier by the moment. I ran past a line of yew trees, then gasped as a white figure, brandishing a sword, rose up in front of me. It took a moment for my heart to calm down enough to recognize that it was a marble statue of an angel, probably St. Michael by the look of him, and that I had stumbled into a cemetery. I dodged between grave stones, past Celtic crosses, around more angels. I could hear those running feet clearly approaching now. I came to a mausoleum, elaborately decorated with urns and cherubs, climbed the low iron fence, and cowered beside one of its corner pillars. I’d be fine here unless they had lanterns or dogs with them.
The sound of footsteps had stopped. I crouched low without moving, trying to regulate the great gasps of breath. I heard nothing more and was about to straighten up when there came the distinct crunch of a foot on gravel, on the other side of the mausoleum. Farther away, on the other side of the wall, there were shouts. It sounded as if they were coming this way.
I looked around, deciding whether I should stay where I was or attempt to run. I could see no safer hiding place, pulled the black cape around me, and decided to bluff it out. Then suddenly shouts eruptedagain, and I was almost knocked over as someone stumbled into me. I waited to feel hands grab me or a bayonet spear me, but instead the person dropped to the ground beside me and I heard ragged breathing. I pulled my hood aside to look and saw Cullen, pressing himself against the marble, clutching his side, panting in rasping breaths. His eyes suddenly spotted me, registering recognition and warning at the same time. I took the cape and flung it over the two of us.
Feet crunched on gravel. More shouts. Then someone called “This way!” and the footsteps receded. Cullen and I huddled together without moving. I straightened up, looked around, and whispered, “I think they’ve gone.”
He didn’t move and I was afraid for a moment that he was dead. Then he stood up, in obvious pain, still clutching at his side. “Are you all right?” I asked.
“They shot at me,” he said. “I seem to be bleeding pretty badly.”
“We need something stop the bleeding.” I tried to think clearly then lifted my skirt, untied my petticoat and stepped out of it.
“I must be pretty bad,” Cullen muttered with a grimace. “The sight of a pretty woman undressing, and it doesn’t rouse me.”
“Show me where it is.”
He lifted his jacket and I saw the right side of his white shirt was sodden with a big dark stain. I folded the petticoat into a pad. “Keep that pressed to it. There's nothing more I can do here and now. We should get you to a doctor.”
“Are you mad? We can’t wait around to see a doctor. The boat will leave without us. They won’t wait forever.”
“A lot of good the boat will be if you die on the way to France,” I said.
“Someone on board will know what to do,” he said. “I don’t think the bullet struck any vital organ or I’d be dead by now. It's just a question of stopping the blood.”
“All right.” I took a deep breath and tried to sound calm and in control, even though I was trembling. “Can you walk, do you think?”
“I have to,” he said.
“Lean on me,” I whispered.
“I’ll manage. You’ll need all of your own strength. And Molly—if they come after us, don’t stick around to wait for me. Run like hell.”
“Such heroics,” I said, and heard him chuckle.
We made our way throug
h the cemetery and came out to the still-deserted street. After we’d gone a few hundred yards I could see the river ahead of us. Cullen was staggering rather than walking.
“How far is it to the docks where we’re meeting the boat?”
“Maybe three miles,” he said.
“You’ll never make it. Look, we’re close to the river. Why don’t I drop you off at St. Francis. Mrs. Boone can look after you.”
“We agreed we wouldn’t go back there,” Cullen said. “She's too important to put at risk.”
“But you can’t walk three miles.”
“That's true.”
“And we can’t risk taking a cab. You’d bleed all over the seat.”
“That's true as well.”
“So what are we going to do?”
He was breathing heavily now. “You leave me and go on alone. The boat won’t wait forever.”
“I’m not leaving you.” I tried to think.
“We could go down to the river and see if we can find ourselves a little boat,” Cullen said at last. “Do you know how to row?” “Of course, but that's stealing.”
“Molly—we’re about to be hanged for murder. I don’t think stealing a boat will make much difference at this stage,” he snapped.
I saw his point. “Come on, then. Let's take this alleyway.”
We came out to the river, now shrouded in a blanket of sea mist. Perfect for our intentions, in fact. We crossed the road and kept walking until we found steps down to the water. I went down, but no boats were in sight. We continued and tried again. Still nothing. Cullen was coughing—a rasping rattle that shook his whole body. “He won’t make it out of here alive,” I thought. Another set of steps led down opposite a public house, from which came raucous singing. It occurred to me to go in there and ask for help, but then fortune finally smiled on us. I heard the creak of oars and a boat came into view. What's more it was heading for the steps. I watched as a wiry little man stepped out, tied it up, then headed up the steps and into the pub.