‘Let’s get you home, Ma’am, to your own bed, and you’ll feel much better. The master knows better than to try anything. They haven’t got all of us, and he knows that too. Dr O’Leary, do you think there’s a way of getting us a way back to Glenageary? A motor car or even a carriage?’
‘That will not be necessary, Mary. Jimmy is outside with the car.’ They turned in shock to see Mr Grant standing in the doorway. He crossed the small room and sat beside his wife, taking her hand tenderly, ‘I’m so relieved to see you looking better, my dear. I was so worried. I understand that my wife is to be discharged, doctor? Marvellous, it will be so lovely to have you home.’ He smiled lovingly and patted Mrs Grant’s hand as he spoke.
Turning to Mary and Mrs Kearns he raised his hairy eyebrows. ‘Well then, shall we set about getting the mistress home? Mary, gather her things. Mrs Kearns, help me get her into that wheelchair there.’
As the women busied themselves, he spoke to the doctor again. ‘Please don’t trouble yourself with us any longer. My wife is not the only innocent bystander to be injured in recent days. Please, continue your valuable work and thank you for all you have done for her. I don’t know what I should have done if anything more serious had happened to her.’
Mary caught the mistress’ eye and Mrs Grant just nodded.
The doctor seemed concerned and reluctant to leave. Despite the syrupy gratitude, he was being dismissed.
‘Well, Mrs Grant, be sure to take it very easy and keep that leg elevated. You know where I am if you need me.’ And he left.
The journey back to Strand Road was slow. So much of the city was in ruins and flames still billowed out of some buildings. Mr Grant kept up a pleasant chatter, bemoaning the state of the city and enquiring after his wife’s levels of comfort. Mary felt terrified; this was so out of character for him that she feared it was the calm before the storm.
Later that night, once the mistress was settled in her room – thankfully, the Grants had not shared a bedroom for years – Mary and Mrs Kearns sat in the warm kitchen. Mr Grant had gone to see a friend, he explained, another unprecedented action. He normally never informed anyone in the house, even his wife, of his movements. He expected the entire household to be available and ready for him at any time of the day or night he chose to appear. This new, considerate master was even more petrifying than the man she knew and feared before. Mary tried to dispel fears that he knew everything and was on his way to report them for theft.
She longed to hear word of Rory. She speculated about the fate of the leaders and those close to them. The absence of any contact with anyone from within the movement was so frustrating, but Mrs Kearns was right. The best thing to do for now was to keep their heads down and pretend everything was normal.
Chapter 29
Mary served breakfast to Mr and Mrs Grant as the sun streamed through the dining room window. The mistress was improving steadily day by day and was now able to manage the distance between her bedroom and the dining room with the use of two canes. Mary doubted the mistress would ever be able to walk straight again, though. Her leg was permanently twisted at an awkward angle due to the way the bone had broken and the fact she endured it in that position for so long before it could be reset. Despite the pain of her injury, she made valiant efforts to never leave Mary alone with her husband. His considerate and almost loving demeanour hadn’t slipped once in the week they had been back in the house.
‘Mary, would you mind passing me the newspaper?’ he asked in unctuous tones. Mary went to the side table where each morning Jimmy placed the newspaper, freshly ironed to dry the ink. The headline caused her heart to thump in her chest so loudly, she was sure the Grants must have heard it. The headline screamed:
SEVEN LEADERS OF DUBLIN REVOLUTION TO BE EXECUTED.
Before she could turn around he spoke again, ‘That little alabaster and ivory statuette of the pony, the one I got at Sotheby’s last summer. Have you moved it?’
Mary tried to keep her breathing normal. He was probably watching her for a reaction if he suspected anything untoward. She wasn’t sure if he was addressing her or the mistress, so she waited. The statue was in the kitchen, being wrapped by Mrs Kearns for delivery to Mrs Grant’s contact in the antique world. The mistress had been sure he wouldn’t miss it, as it was kept on a shelf in the downstairs cloakroom, normally only used by guests.
‘Oh let me think.’ Mary marvelled at her employer’s calm, steady voice. ‘Perhaps I did. I think I asked Mrs Kearns to clean it. I don’t know where the dust comes from, but it is such an intricate little piece I thought it would be best washed in warm soapy water. Mary, could you ask Mrs Kearns if it has been cleaned please?’ The mistress smiled pleasantly at her as she approached the table.
Mary couldn’t read anymore as she handed the paper to Mr Grant with shaking hands.
‘I want to show it to a friend of mine in Dublin castle, bit of an expert in these matters. He thinks that I may have a more valuable piece on my hands than I first imagined.’ He read the headline. ‘Ah yes. Well, what did they expect? Treason has to carry the death sentence. If people could just run around claiming independence and throwing the goodwill of their betters back in their faces, there would be chaos. They must be punished. Don’t you think so, Mary?’ Mr Grant’s smile was broad.
Mary caught Mrs Grant’s eye, who gave her an almost imperceptible nod.
‘Yes sir. I’m sure you are right.’ She murmured quietly.
‘Oh I’m right, Mary, yes. I forewarned of this happening but people will carry on with foolishness, even in the face of the best advice. Foolish people, hoodwinked by communists and troublemakers. I think there must be a lot of people in this city feeling very stupid these days, as they ponder on how easily they were led. Playing dress up and acting like real soldiers when in fact they were being laughed at by the authorities, and rightly so. Utter nonsense from start to finish and they deserve everything they get. Leaders of an empire must show strength and a hard line when it comes to this kind of rubbish.’ He went on to read the paper, happily munching toast.
Mary retreated to the kitchen at the earliest opportunity and heaved a sigh of relief to be out from under the master’s questioning. He was goading them, and he knew they were entirely at his mercy. Mrs Kearns had heard the news from the grocer’s delivery boy moments earlier. Pearse, Connolly, Clarke, Plunkett from the GPO, and Ceannt, MacDonagh, and Mac Diarmuida, the other signatories of the proclamation, all to face the firing squad. Even though they knew there was virtually no chance of them being allowed to live, to see it confirmed in black and white shook them to the core.
‘Quick, where’s the small statue of the pony?’ Mary whispered urgently
Mrs Kearns replied, ‘Tis wrapped up out in the scullery, ready for you. But you can’t go now, he’s still above. What if he sees you leaving?’
‘He’s looking for it.’ Mary hurried to get it.
‘Oh Holy Mother of God and all the saints, I’m too old for this. Quick, Mary, get all that wrapping off it. What did ye tell him?’ Mrs Kearns panicked.
‘The mistress was calm out, said it was after getting dirty upstairs and needed a good wash in warm soapy water. so she gave it to us to do down here. She never turned a hair.’
Just then the door of the kitchen opened to reveal the master standing there. Mary could never recall a time when he had entered that area of the house before. She walked calmly into the kitchen, the little statue in her hands.
‘Ah there it is, Mrs Kearns, splendid. Have you cleaned it yet?’ he examined the newly unwrapped statue.
‘No sir, I was afraid to use the carbolic on it sir, for fear ’t would damage it, so I was going to send Mary out for something milder this morning.’ Mrs Kearns was magnificent. Calm and courteous, as if she and the master chatted about the care of antiques every day of their lives.
‘Very well, but I’ll take it now anyway. I wonder, would you have something to wrap it in?’
Again his tone was mild and genial. It was impossible to tell if he knew anything. Quick as a flash, Mrs Kearns went to the scullery and picked up the soft cloth the statue had been wrapped in only moments before.
‘Would this be alright, sir?’ she asked. ‘Mary, go into the drawer there and get some string and some of that hemp wrapping the silversmith sent the cutlery back in last week. That will do nicely to protect it.’
Mr Grant looked around the kitchen, lifting up various tools and examining them while Mrs Kearns expertly wrapped the little statue for the second time that day.
Mary tried to go about her duties all day as normal but her heart was heavy. The mistress knew the leaders personally. She was particularly fond of Tom Clarke with whom she had a special bond. She had often had tea with him and his wife in the months leading up to the Rising, and she would feel his loss in particular, deeply. Mary wished she could be of some comfort to her.
The mood in the city was changing. Over the following days she overheard the conversations in the shops and on the trams as she went about her errands for Mrs Kearns and the mistress. The near miss with the little pony statue did nothing to dampen the mistress’ enthusiasm for what she called her fundraising efforts. As well as delivering and collecting valuable items, many of the messages Mary was sent on were spurious as she was the only link to the outside world, and the mistress and Mrs Kearns wanted to know what was going on in the city, but she always made sure to come back with a package or a purchase of some sort in case Mr Grant questioned her.
People were outraged at the treatment of the rebels, and their execution had a uniting effect on the city, even on those who originally opposed the Rising. Once the leaders had been executed, the British realised they had made a terrible mistake. They had made martyrs of them and in so doing had turned public opinion from resentment to support for the rebels. Tales of James Connolly, shot while tied to a chair because he couldn’t stand, and rumours that Joseph Plunkett was allowed to marry his fiancé Grace Gifford the night before his execution in the presence only of soldiers and not allowed even a moment with his wife before being led to his death, captured the imaginations of the public.
The tide was turning against the British in a way unforeseen by even the most optimistic of the revolutionaries, and they were being proved right. Nothing would ever again be the same. Mary thought of Rory, cheerily shouting at her from the ranks as they were marched away that this was only the beginning. The next round would begin and the next time they would win. The despondency she had felt two weeks before was dissipating, and a slow optimism and determination was replacing it. She longed to see Eileen but was afraid to make contact because of Mr Grant’s surveillance. She didn’t want to draw her friend into anything that could prove awkward later. Eileen had managed to send a few notes with the lad who delivered eggs to both houses, to the effect that she had heard nothing of Rory, but that no news was probably good news and to keep positive.
One evening, about a week after the executions there was a knock on the window. Mrs Kearns and Mary both jumped in fright, as it was after ten o clock and they were just getting everything ready for the morning before going to bed. Lifting the curtain, Mary recognised with delight the dark hair of her friend.
‘Eileen!’ she exclaimed quietly, for fear of disturbing the Grants upstairs. She rushed to the back door and unbolted it as silently as possible. Instead of Eileen’s usual cheery smile, her friend’s face was ashen, her eyes red. Mary felt her stomach muscles contract. Something was wrong.
‘What is it?’ Mary could barely get the words out. ‘Is it Rory?’
Eileen just nodded as Mrs Kearns drew her towards the range, on her way making sure the door into the passageway connecting the kitchen to the main part of the house was tightly closed.
Eileen’s voice was barely a whisper, ‘They sent someone round, to the Carmodys. They want me to go to Kilmainham with them at eleven tonight. To see Rory.’ Her words were stilted. They both knew what that meant. If she was being brought into the prison at night, then it could only be for one thing, to say goodbye.
‘But why? They don’t know anything about him. As far as they’re concerned he’s just a regular Volunteer.’ Mary was struggling to keep the panic from her voice. This couldn’t be happening.
‘Will you come? I told them I was going to get you and to come back for us.’ Eileen grasped Mary’s hand.
Mary just nodded. She went to get her coat, all the while telling herself there must be another reason. They would never execute her Rory.
They left in silence, clinging to each other as they went out the door. As soon as they were outside on the street, Mary looked up instinctively to ensure she wasn’t being watched. A cold realisation struck her. She caught Mr Grant’s eye when he moved the curtain to look directly down on them, a horrible sneer on his lips. Instantly, Mary knew: this was his revenge. His revenge on her for defending the mistress and his revenge on Rory for standing up to him. She thought back to the night, so long ago when Rory refused to be intimidated by the master. The plan to get them back into the house after the Rising was all for this. He had been biding his time to inflict maximum pain on them, and now his day had come. For a moment she feared he would try to stop them going, but then she realised he was relishing the prospect of her having to say a final goodbye to Rory. He was enjoying this, and he would no doubt enjoy goading her about it in the future. Eileen never noticed him, such was her grief, and Mary said nothing. When they reached the back entrance of Carmody’s house, the army truck was waiting, its engine idling. The soldiers helped them into the back and they set off.
The journey to the gaol in the back of the truck was cold and bumpy. They were driven into the yard of the prison and helped out. An officer came to meet them and asked them to follow him inside to a room where three women already waited. Mary recognised them as the wife and two daughters of Seán Dempsey, a friend and comrade of Rory’s. Molly, Sean’s wife, smiled bravely and nodded as Eileen and Mary came in. The officer left and the women were alone.
‘Now girls,’ Molly began, addressing her own daughters as well as Eileen and Mary, ‘We know why we’re here and what we have to do. We’re no good to them crying and weeping. We’ve known from the start what the risks were, so we are going to go into our men and be strong and smile and love them and give them strength. We’ll have all our lives for crying after they’re gone. This is what we must do for them now. It’s all we can do.’
Mary fought the urge to scream, beg, plead with the soldiers to release Rory. Instead she nodded at Molly Dempsey and the older woman squeezed her hand.
The officer came back and called Molly and her daughters to follow him. Mary marvelled as they walked out, stoically dry-eyed.
Once they were alone, she and Eileen turned to each other.
‘Will you come down to Limerick to tell my parents with me?’ Eileen asked. ‘They’ll want to meet you. They know Rory wanted to marry you.’
Mary didn’t trust herself to speak so she simply nodded. She remembered the conversation in the woods when she promised Rory that she would live her life, if the worst happened. Molly Dempsey was right, she had to be strong now. Rory would hate to see her upset and she couldn’t give the British the satisfaction. She hated them with such venom it frightened her.
Lit only by a gas lamp, they sat in the freezing cold room, despite the fact that it was mid-May, holding hands but saying nothing.
What seemed like hours later, the officer came back again.
‘Ladies, if you’ll follow me please.’ The politeness of the officer seemed ridiculous, given the savagery of what they were about to do, Mary resisted the urge to laugh. She remembered Rory telling her that he often got the urge to laugh in the most serious of situations and how it had got him into endless trouble in school. She must have caught it from him.
As he led them up stone stairs in the centre of the prison, Irene and Nora Dempsey, Seán’s daughters, were comi
ng down. The look that passed between the four girls spoke volumes though not a sound was made. Stay strong, don’t let them see how they have broken your heart.
The officer opened a door on the landing and indicated that they should enter. Rory was sitting on a mattress on the floor of the tiny dark cell. The officer stood outside and closed the door, leaving the three of them alone. He had lost a lot of weight, and his hair seemed to have gone grey in the weeks since they had last seen him. His face was bruised and he moved gingerly, as if he was hurt. He stood up and the girls moved into the circle of his outstretched arms. They laid their heads on his chest as he held them tightly.
‘’Tis alright. ’Tis alright,’ he said soothingly.
‘How Rory? We thought you were alright...’ Eileen asked
‘Edward Grant. He couldn’t wait to go up to the Castle to his friend Johnson, and squeal like the little piggy that he is, about me. Sure, half the things they’re pinning on me are total lies, but it doesn’t matter. He was going to get his revenge on me, for having the cheek to stand up to him and all his connections. He has a lot of axes to grind, not just with me but with his poor wife and you girls as well. They told me ‘twas him, so I know for sure. He wanted me to know who was behind my arrest. That Captain Johnson questioned me and he was careful to point out the error of my ways when it came to Grant. Don’t worry though, he’ll be dealt with too. Now, I don’t want to waste one minute more on him.’
Releasing them from his hug, he put his hands on his sister’s shoulders and looked deeply into her eyes. ‘Eileen, my darling girl, you followed me around since you could walk and I’ve led you astray right and proper, now haven’t I? When you tell Mammy and Daddy, tell them I was happy to die, and that I’d do it all again if I had to. And that I love them, and all the small ones at home, and I always will. Will you do that for me?’
Jean Grainger Box Set: So Much Owed, Shadow of a Century, Under Heaven's Shining Stars Page 60