Erin’s Child

by Erin's Child (retail) (epub)

  The door opened – too suddenly for her to do anything about the gun. Reflex brought her swiftly to her feet. The gun fell from her lap and clattered to the floor. They both stared at it, Rosanna and her grandfather, seemingly hypnotised.

  ‘I’m sorry, I forgot to knock,’ said Patrick, sounding to his own ears idiotic. He took a slow step forward, bent down and carefully wrapped his hand around the gun. He said nothing, just stared from the weapon to his granddaughter, bewilderment on his face.

  ‘One of us is going to have to speak eventually, Rosanna.’ His voice cracked the unbearable silence. ‘I’ve no answer to this but you’d better have.’

  She turned her back on him. ‘What would you like me to say?’

  ‘God dammit!’ He realised he was waving a dangerous weapon and stilled his hand if not his voice. ‘I expect you to tell me what my grand-daughter is doing with a gun in her room.’

  ‘I’m sorry, I can’t.’

  Throwing the weapon on the bed he strode up to her and spun her round. ‘You’re damn-well going to!’

  ‘I promised!’ She tried to wrest herself from his grip.

  ‘Promised who? Who, Rosanna, who?’ He shook her.

  ‘I won’t tell you!’

  The realisation sent a shadow across his face like the sun passing over a hillside. ‘Mother o’Mercy, you’re still mixed up in that Fenian rubbish, aren’t ye? You’re seeing that bloody Rabb again!’

  ‘Yes, I am!’ she hurled back at him. ‘And it’s not rubbish. How can any Irishman call it that when we’re fighting for you?’

  He recoiled. ‘Good Christ, they’ve really indoctrinated ye with their filth, haven’t they!’ Then duty overcame shock. ‘Where is he hiding, Rosanna?’

  ‘You expect me to tell you?’

  ‘I’ll find out.’

  ‘Then do so. Why don’t you ask Joseph? He’s your spy, isn’t he?’

  ‘Joseph’s no spy.’

  ‘No, he’s just stupid and ignorant!’

  ‘We’re not talkin’ about Joseph. For God’s sake, ye don’t think I’m going to stand by while my grandchild consorts with a man o’ violence, d’ye?’

  ‘Why, you hypocrite, Grandfather! All those stories you told us about the old days. The fights you won.’

  ‘That was just sport, lass.’ He seemed amazed.

  ‘Sport? Then which of you is the more violent, Grandfather? You, who fights for the pleasure of it or Timothy, who fights for a cause?’

  ‘D’ye not think I want to see Ireland freed?’

  ‘Then what are you doing about it?’ she demanded. ‘There are other ways to attain Home Rule besides violence, Rosie.’

  ‘The ballot box,’ she sneered.

  ‘Aye, the bloody ballot box!’

  ‘Bits of paper that might as well be ripped to shreds for what they’re worth.’

  ‘An’ that’s how your glorious cause will end up, Rosanna,’ he said softly. ‘In tatters. The British Government will crush ye an’ rip ye to pieces an’ scatter ye to the wind. What impression can a handful o’ men, however dedicated they may think they are, make on the Government?’

  ‘At least we’ll have tried! Not given in like you did when the vote didn’t go the way you wanted it. Anyway, there are more of us than you think.’

  Us. God damn them, they had really got to her. ‘As many as in the British Army?’

  ‘Numbers don’t matter when you have…’

  ‘Right on your side!’ he finished for her. ‘Oh Christ, Rosie, that’s the oldest entry in the rebel’s manual.’ There followed a bitter silence and Patrick’s eyes once again fell on the gun. When he spoke his voice was less harsh. ‘Don’t ye understand, Rosie, they’re using ye? However much you praise their cause, learn all the words o’ their rebel songs, you’ll never truly belong. These Fenians…’

  ‘Not Fenians!’ she corrected. ‘The IRB.’

  ‘IRB, FB, they still spell the same word – murder! An’ there’s one thing ye seem to have overlooked in all this patriotism, my girl. There’s English blood running through your veins.’

  She stared at him for agonising seconds, then collapsed into his arms. ‘Oh, Gramps, I’m so afraid!’ She sobbed into his chest, seeking comfort in his familiar feel and smell.

  ‘Rosie, oh my Rosie, what have the devils done to ye?’ He crushed her to him and stroked her hair.

  ‘It was all so simple until Sunday,’ she wept. ‘And now I’m in such a mess.’

  ‘You can tell me,’ he said gruffly.

  ‘I can’t! I wish I could but I gave my word.’

  ‘Rosanna,’ he said firmly, holding her at arms’ length, ‘there’s a gun lying on that bed. Guns are for shooting people. Now I must know how you are implicated in this. Are you the one who’s supposed to use it?’ She sniffed and shook her head. ‘Is it Rabb?’ She didn’t answer. ‘So it is. When is it going to happen?’

  Still silence from her. Patrick’s mind tried to fathom it out. It took a little time but he got there. ‘Tis tomorrow, isn’t it, at the Mansion House? Something’s going to happen there? All those important people…’ Still she didn’t betray them. His temper soared again. ‘For God’s sake, Rosanna, your grandmother’s going to be there! Don’t you care about her? Tell me! Tell me!’ He shook her again.

  In a fit of weeping she gave in. ‘I’m going to carry the gun in my bag. Once inside I pass it over to Tim. He’s going to shoot Sir Frederick Milner…’

  ‘Jesus!’ The number of times he had wished the man dead and now…

  ‘And that’s not all… they’re going to blow up the Minster, too. Oh Gramps, I’m so frightened. I don’t want to do it. I only wanted to free Ireland. I didn’t want to kill anyone.’

  The bastards! Patrick cursed them as he tried to console his weeping grandchild. They weren’t bothered who they used in their evil fight. ‘Oh, Rosie, ye do get yourself mixed up in some things. Listen, ye realise we must put a stop to this?’

  She nodded and sniffed, then stiffened. ‘You’re not going to the police?’

  ‘Oh, I’d like to, believe me there’s nothing I’d like more than to see that villain Rabb behind bars. But those varmints are clever. They’ve made sure that if anything should go wrong tomorrow night you’re the one who’s in possession of the gun. What am I going to say to the police when they ask me how I know about the plot? My granddaughter has the gun but don’t worry, officer, she’s only holding it for a friend? You’re implicated as much as they are – more so, in fact. I’ll not see my grand-daughter go to jail for a bunch o’ murderin’ villains.’ He gripped his chin in concentration. ‘The first thing is to get rid o’ this blasted thing, then we can make some story up about how I overheard the men talking in a pub. Aye,’ he seemed satisfied. ‘That’s it – but ye’ll have to give me more details.’

  ‘Listen, Grandfather, I’ve had an idea. We don’t have to go to the police at all. I could simply pretend to be ill tomorrow evening and not turn up. Without the gun the plan wouldn’t be able to go ahead.’

  ‘’Twould stop Milner’s death, colleen, but the bombing’d probably still go ahead an’ there’ll be people worshipping there. I couldn’t have that on my conscience. No, we have to put them away for good.’

  ‘But Tim… I can’t do that to him, Grandfather.’

  ‘We’re talking about murder, Rosie – an’ surely ’tis better they catch him before he’s carried out his dirty deed?’

  ‘But they’ll hang him whether he’s done it or not!’

  ‘Maybe not.’

  ‘You know they will! Don’t pretend that you’re doing this to save his neck. All you’re concerned about is getting him out of the way.’

  ‘An’ why not?’ He was livid. ‘D’ye think I like the idea of my grand-daughter going around with a potential killer? Holy Mother, he could have a string o’ murders under his belt for all we know.’

  ‘He hasn’t. This will be his first time.’

  ‘No it won’t, because I’m goin
g to see he never gets there.’

  ‘Please, I beg you to at least let me go and warn him so he has a head start!’

  ‘An’ give him the opportunity to come back an’ kill again when the fuss has died down? I don’t think. Besides that, I don’t want ye seeing the fella ever again – an’ I mean it this time! I understand how strongly ye feel about the lad. Ye’d not’ve disobeyed me an’ taken up with him again if ye didn’t… how long has it been going on this time?’ She confessed quietly that it had never ended. ‘I hated lying to you… but I just couldn’t bear to be parted from him.’

  ‘I really ought to be congratulating ye,’ said Patrick tersely. ‘Ye made a brilliant job of keeping it quiet. Can I ask how ye did it?’ She dropped her eyes. ‘Ah,’ he gave a knowing nod, ‘now I see why ye were so keen to visit your parents… what a silly old fool I must be.’

  ‘I wasn’t just using them as an excuse! I love seeing Father and Mother.’

  ‘I’m pleased to hear that, Rosie. It might make it a little easier for your father to take this.’ He stifled her objection. ‘He’s going to have to know this time. It’s far too serious… God knows the love affair was bad enough – but this…’ He became coaxing. ‘Look, ye must see that he’s only using ye, Rosie my pet. He cares nothing for ye.’

  ‘He does care for me! You don’t know him like I do. He’s not really a killer, he’s as frightened as I am. When he’s with me he’s kind and gentle. He truly loves me. Please, Grandfather, I’ll never ask you for another thing as long as I live, just give me ten minutes before you send for the police.’

  ‘I can’t do it, Rosie. I’d be guilty of causing someone’s death. Ye don’t imagine they’ll stop here, d’ye?’

  ‘But he’ll think I’ve betrayed him!’

  ‘An’ what about me? Haven’t ye been betraying me, having us all thinking you were interested in them young fellas when all the time ye were laughing behind our backs!’

  ‘Oh no, Gramps, I hated doing it!’

  He flapped a hand. ‘No matter! ’Tis done with. Now, I want something positive to tell the police – where do these people meet?’

  ‘I’ll tell you nothing,’ she replied stubbornly.

  ‘Then I’ll just have to send them to Rabb’s address. I still have it written down somewhere.’ He started to the door. ‘An’ don’t think ye can sneak out the minute I’ve gone for I’m locking you in. Ye’ve shown me how much ye can be trusted.’

  She ran after him. ‘You’ve no right!’

  He spun on her. ‘An’ your lover has no right to snuff out a human life! Forget him, Rosanna, ’tis all over now. I’ll make sure o’ that, even if I have to chain you up for the rest o’ your days.’

  ‘I can’t forget him,’ Rosanna said, more calmly than at any point in the exchange. ‘You see, Tim’s not just my lover, Grandfather, he’s my husband. We were married last week.’

  She thought for one moment he was going to fall, and put a hand out to steady him. ‘I wanted to tell you before, but Tim said…’

  ‘Get your hands off me,’ he warned and glared at her. ‘You’ve connived, cheated and lied to me, an’ ye were quite ready to commit murder if I hadn’t stepped in… I doubt I’ll ever be able to trust you again. God forgive you for your wickedness, Rosanna, for I never will.’ Despite her screams and the thumping on the door Patrick twisted the key, put it in his pocket with the gun, then went outside to toss the latter in the cesspit before informing the police. After the noisy display of protest Rosanna tucked her skirts around her waist and took the exit she had used many times before – the window.

  * * *

  Dorgan answered the frantic banging on his door and stepped aside as the breathless Rosanna pushed past him. ‘Ye’ve got the wrong day, Rosie,’ he said mildly and, relocking the door, followed her into the back room.

  There were others there: Tim, a man she knew as Rory and another she hadn’t met. She forestalled Tim’s greeting. ‘Listen… the police are coming!’ She was panting heavily. ‘I haven’t time to explain. I’ve run all the way. I thought they might be here already.’

  The meeting split up rapidly, Rory and the other man slipping through the back door while Tim hopped about and Dorgan pressed Rosie for an explanation.

  ‘My grandfather knows all about tomorrow. Oh, Tim, Tim!’ She clung to him. ‘I’m sorry! I didn’t betray you, he just walked in and saw the gun – and then I got so angry with him… I had to tell him we were married. I’m so sorry if I’ve ruined everything.’

  ‘Calm down now, Rosie.’ Dorgan patted her shoulder kindly. ‘’Tis nothing to get worked up about. If we all keep calm we’ll do much better. Tell me now,’ he pressed gentle hands to her face, ‘does he know this address?’ She shook her head and gulped for breath. ‘He knows yours though, Tim.’

  Her eyes begged forgiveness. ‘I didn’t tell him. He had it in his files.’

  ‘Er, was my name mentioned at all?’ enquired Dorgan casually.

  She foundered. ‘I don’t think so. Oh, God, I’m so sorry, I’m so confused, I can’t really remember what I told him.’

  The kind old face reassured her. ‘Now, just sit you there an’ get your breath back while I do a little thinking.’ He turned to Tim. ‘Go to the railway station, buy a ticket for Scarborough.’ Tim questioned this and Dorgan elucidated. ‘They’ll alert the ports on the west coast, won’t be expecting us to go this way. Just do it, boyo.’ He saw Tim’s frantic look at Rosanna. ‘Don’t worry, ye’ll see her shortly. Well – ye didn’t think I’d leave your pretty wife behind, did ye? ’Tis just that we’ll be better going separately. The two o’ yese together an’ ye’d be spotted right away.’

  Tim gave her as long a kiss as Dorgan would permit, then dashed towards the front passage.

  ‘Back door!’ said Dorgan sharply.

  The young man swivelled in his step and went out the back way. When he had gone Dorgan seemed to lose all urgency, filling the kettle and going on to make a pot of tea. ‘Sure we can’t have ye leaving the house in such a state,’ he explained. ‘We’ll have to get ye straight first. There’s no panic if ye say ye didn’t give them this address.’

  ‘Oh, Mr Dorgan.’ She began to cry again. ‘I’m so, so sorry. Whatever must you think of me? I’ve betrayed you and you’re being so kind about it.’

  ‘Ah, you’re young. ’Twas foolish of me to expect ye to bear such a burden. An’ don’t worry about Tim. We’ll soon have the two o’ yese together again.’ He pottered collectedly about the room, lifting two cups and saucers down from the cupboard at the side of the fireplace and setting them near to the teapot. Rosanna, still anxious, perched on the edge of her chair while he stirred the pot. Did nothing excite the old man? Her thoughts went to Tim. Would he be apprehended at the station? Would she ever see him again?

  Her hand reached up to her neck and tugged at the chain which held her wedding ring, pulling it out from under her bodice. The golden band was warm from her breasts. She did not transfer it to her finger immediately, but sat there gripping it, deep in thought.

  ‘There we are, that’s fine.’ Dorgan tapped the spoon on the rim of the pot and replaced the lid. He looked around for the milk jug, tutted, and travelled through to the scullery to fetch it.

  ‘Where will we go from Scarborough, Mr Dorgan?’ she asked, watching the milk go into the cups.

  ‘Why, to Ireland, colleen – though the long way round. That was the plan, was it not?’

  ‘The plan that I messed up.’

  ‘Ah, sure there’ll be other opportunities,’ he comforted. ‘Don’t go blaming yourself. Ye were afraid. I quite understand.’ The tea poured, he handed her a cup. ‘Settle back. We’ve got bags of time. I’ll just collect a few things.’

  While Rosanna drank her tea he took a revolver from a drawer, levelled it and shot her once through the temple.

  * * *

  He had been there before. It was a long time ago but a mortuary was a place you did not forget. He had sat in this
corridor, in virtually the same seat, staring at the old man reflected in the tiled wall, attempting to shield his nostrils from the smell of death by breathing through his mouth. One tiny glimmer of optimism forced itself through the swathes of black despair: the last time he had sat here it had all been a terrible mistake; the body had not been that of his son. This was the thought that had kept him from breaking down completely these past hours since the police had informed him – it was all a terrible mistake.

  He glanced at the reflection seated next to the old man. The face beneath the auburn hair was haggard. The grey eyes met briefly with Patrick’s, then both pairs fell to watch their respective owner’s hands gripping out their anxiety on each other. He had informed Sonny the moment he had realised she had gone. His son had arrived just in time to be told that the police had found a young woman’s body in a known Republican house. He hadn’t wanted Patrick to accompany him here, but the old man had insisted. He had to see for himself, otherwise he would never believe…

  ‘This is my fault.’ His voice came as a croak, forcing him to clear his throat. ‘If I’d told you about the relationship at the beginning…’ Sonny didn’t want to hear it – didn’t want to talk. He gave a dismissive gesture and his father fell silent. – Yes, if you’d told me, thought Sonny. But I wasn’t important enough, was I? I was only a figurehead. You saw yourself as her father… Then guilt overcame selfishness – how his father must be suffering. He reached sideways and clamped a hand over one of Patrick’s.

  They were being called in. Patrick knew – he knew before ever that sheet was turned back that it was Rosanna. A moan escaped his lips as his eyes were magnetised to the neat hole in her temple. The attendant thought it a blessing that the bullet had lodged deep in her brain; there was no messy exit point to scalp her shiny brown hair. This tiny consideration mattered not to Patrick – all he saw was a little girl cuddled on his lap, rubbing her hand over his bristly face, a vital young woman with a gleam of defiance in her blue eye. His own eyes told him that his darling Rosie was dead, but his mind could not fathom it.