In Dublin’s City

by Rhys Bowen

  “You stupid old woman!” Fitzpatrick shouted. “What do you think you’re going to do now, eh? Do you think I’m afraid of you?”

  “Oh, and use one of those pudding cloths for his mouth, please,” she continued.

  I did a thorough job on this, and we raised the rack off him.

  “Well done, Molly,” she said. “You performed admirably. I can see now why Cullen thought you were a good choice. A cool head indeed.”

  “But what are we going to do with him now?” I asked.

  “This is most inconvenient,” she said. “It comes at a bad time. Go up and see if Cullen—”

  As she said the words, the kitchen door opened and Cullen himself entered. “I thought I heard a shot,” he said, looking around suspiciously. “Holy Mother, what's going on here?”

  “A rather annoying complication,” Mrs. Boone said. “This young man followed Molly from New York with the idea of dispatching the both of us. He's my nephew, you see, and he didn’t want to share his uncle's fortune.”

  “We have to get rid of him right away,” Cullen said. “I’ll send for some of the lads and have him taken out of town.”

  I looked down at Mr. Fitzpatrick, now lying trussed like a chicken, his eyes staring at us in terror.

  “You’re not going to kill him?” I blurted out.

  “I don’t see what option we’ve got,” Cullen said. “He was planning to kill the two of you, wasn’t he?” “Yes, but that's no excuse,” I said.

  “I can’t risk keeping him alive,” Cullen said. “What do you think, Mab? My inclination is to have him taken out to sea and then thrown overboard. We’ve got the boat standing by.”

  “Yes, but it's not without risk.”

  “Can’t you just put him on a liner and send him home?” I said. “If he knows your men will kill him if he sets foot in Ireland again, that should be deterrent enough.”

  “Who knows what connections he has?” Cullen said. “He might be in Whitehall's pocket.”

  “His family fled in the famine,” I said. “Mary Ann was the only one left behind. What connections could he possibly have?”

  “We can’t risk his contacting the authorities under any circumstances,” Cullen said firmly. “I’m sorry, but he has to go.”

  Fitzpatrick whimpered.

  Mrs. Boone looked down at him. “I don’t like killing unnecessarily,” she said, “but we can’t just let him walk away. We can’t even trust him to make his own way home.”

  Fitzpatrick made more pathetic noises through the cloth.

  “So what's the answer?” Cullen demanded in surly fashion. “Invite him to stay to tea?”

  “Tea?” Mrs. Boone put her hand to her mouth. “Lord have mercy, we’ll have the Parish Council arriving any minute, wanting their teas. You, Cullen, put the kettle on and Molly, take those scones off the rack and put them on that plate over there. I’d best take the first tray into the dining room right away so they don’t come looking for me. The gun's on the table if you need it.”

  She picked up a tray of cutlery, leaving me and Cullen looking at each other over Fitzpatrick's trussed body.

  “It seems the two of you handled yourselves rather well,” Cullen said. “I take it he was the one who started out with the gun?”

  “Jabbed into my side,” I said. “Mrs. Boone certainly knows a thing or two.”

  “Yes, well she would, wouldn’t she, after what she's been through,” he said, and I realized that I had got it right after all. He had slipped and called her Mab. Mary Ann Burke. Her own initials all the time: Queen Mab.

  She came back in, wiping off her apron. “I’d better change out of this before I take the teapot in,” she said. “I’m all covered in flour. That will never do.”

  Cullen prodded Fitzpatrick with his toe. “You’ll be all right for a while if I go to get the lads and set up the transportation?” he asked.

  “Oh, we’ll manage just fine,” Mary Ann said easily. “And I had a grand thought while I was putting out those teacups—Molly will send a cable to my brother in America. She’ll tell him what this boy tried to do, and urge him to take appropriate action when the boy gets home.”

  “What? You’re thinking of letting him go home?” Cullen demanded. “Are you out of your senses?”

  More noises came from Fitzpatrick's gagged mouth.

  “I thought if you were going to France anyway, you could drop him off there. Then it would be up to him where he took his useless hide.”

  Cullen prodded him with his foot. “You hear that, you pathetic specimen? Your life's being saved for now by these two kind women you tried to kill. But I swear this to you—put one toe out of line and it will give me great pleasure to finish you off.”

  He slipped out of the back door, which opened quite easily. He had only been gone a minute or two before there were voices in the front hall. Then a tap on the kitchen door. My heart leaped to my mouth, and I tried to stand in front of the trussed Mr. Fitzpatrick. An elderly priest poked his head around the door.

  “They’ve arrived, Mrs. Boone. If you’d be good enough to serve tea in a few minutes?”

  “Coming, Father,” she said serenely.

  As the door closed behind him she caught my eye and smiled. “Deaf as a post and blind as a bat,” she said.

  Thirty

  It seemed only a few minutes before some lads arrived and hauled away Fitzpatrick under a tarpaulin on a cart. After he had gone, the tension didn’t leave the house with him. It was as if this little detour had reminded us of what lay ahead and thrust all our plans into high gear. At least, not my plans. I knew a lot of planning was going on, both in the house and out of it, but I wasn’t included in the details. I knew that Cullen was slipping in and out at odd hours. I heard creaks on the stairs at night, but I was left in the dark. I’ve never been the most patient person, and I felt that I was about to explode. Finally I waited until I heard the stairboards creaking, and I leaped out to accost Cullen. “I need you to tell me what's happening,” I said. Cullen shrugged. “Oh, this and that, you know.” At that I did explode. “Look here,” I said. “You want me to be part of your absurd scheme. You want me to put my life at risk and yet you tell me nothing? That's just not good enough for me. I’m not a pawn or a puppet, you know. If I’m to put my life at risk, then I need to know what I’m committing to.”

  Cullen put an arm around me, which, if it was intended to calm me down, had the reverse effect. “Come inside,” he said, and led me into his room, closing the door behind us.

  “Look, Molly, it's better if you don’t know too much,” he said gently. “Nobody knows more than he has to. That way, if any of us is captured, we can’t be forced to give away information we don’t have.”

  I shuddered. “You don’t make it sound very encouraging. What exactly are our chances of success?”

  Cullen sighed. “To tell you the truth, I couldn’t say, Molly. I’ve been out of Ireland for ten years and the Brotherhood fell apart during that time. These new lads are untried and pretty much untrained. We have no real explosives expert. Whether they’ll hold up under pressure, I couldn’t tell you. But we have to go ahead, whatever the chances of success. The only way to achieve independence is to make the English behave badly enough that they stir our countrymen out of apathy and onto our side. And we have to start small.”

  “So we don’t really know whether we can actually rescue my brother?”

  “I’d be lying to you if I said I was confident we would succeed, Molly, but I tell you this: we’ll give it a damned good try. And if you’re having second thoughts about your part in it, then I don’t blame you, and I’ll think none the less of you if you decided to catch the next boat back to America.”

  “You’d let me go back to America?” I asked. “I thought I was your prisoner.”

  “I wouldn’t keep you here against your will. I know you can be trusted now, and I know that you’re that one element we need to get us into that jail, but I wouldn’t force you to d
o it, Molly. You can go home now if you want to.”

  “I don’t think I’d be allowed to do that, not until Rose McCreedy's murder is officially solved,” I said. “But I can’t tell Inspector Harris the truth, not while you’re holding Mr. Fitzpatrick prisoner anyway.”

  “It might make things rather inconvenient for us.” Cullen gave a wry smile.

  That smile didn’t make me feel any easier. “You have got Mr. Fitz-patrick safe and sound, haven’t you?”

  “Oh yes,” he said. “As safe as houses.”

  I didn’t know whether to believe him, but there was nothing I could do about it either way. I had done my best for someone who had wished only the worst for me and would have had no compunction about killing me. If he was now feeding the fishes, then it was better I didn’t know about it.

  “I tell you what,” Cullen said. “You can write your inspector a letter telling him what really happened when you’re safely home in New York.”

  “If I’m safely home in New York,” I said. “From what you’re saying, that fact isn’t at all guaranteed.”

  “I’ve just told you that you don’t have to have any part in this.”

  “Do you really think I’d be happy sailing home to New York, knowing that I could have helped rescue my brother and chose not to?” I demanded. “I swore I was ready to help you, and I won’t go back on my word, however afraid I am.”

  He reached out and took my hands in his. “You’re a grand girl, Molly. I knew that the moment I set eyes on you when you came out fighting from under that horse blanket.”

  I pulled my hands away because the close contact was making me uneasy.

  “Can’t you at least tell me what my part in this marvelous scheme of yours will be? I’ll not be required to shoot anyone, will I, because I don’t think I have it in me to kill another human being.”

  “Your part is simplicity itself,” Cullen said. “You are required to be Joseph Murphy's sister, wanting to see her brother one last time before she sails back to America. They will let you in and that way we’ll have someone inside the jail. You’re our Trojan horse, Molly.”

  “How do we know they’ll let me in?” I asked.

  “Because you’ll have a letter from the Home Secretary in London giving his permission.”

  “The Home Secretary—what makes you think he’ll give his permission?”

  He smiled. “Because the letter is already written and in our possession. We happen to have an excellent forger at our disposal.”

  I stared at him. I think until now I suppose I had looked upon this as some kind of lark. Oh, I knew sure enough it was a dangerous lark, but a lark nonetheless. Now there were forged letters from the Home Secretary, and I was the one who was to get them into the jail. I was only just beginning to realize the ramifications of what it might mean if I was caught. Suddenly I was so afraid that I felt physically sick.

  “And after I’m in there, what then?” I made myself ask in a calm and level tone.

  “We haven’t quite agreed on that,” Cullen said. “The idea is to overpower the guard and get hold of his keys.”

  “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” I muttered. “What is it that you think I am? Queen Maeve and the Blessed Virgin all rolled into one? Now how do you expect me to overpower a guard?”

  “You’ll have your smelling salts with you, like all delicate young ladies.”

  “I’ve never touched smelling salts in my life.”

  “I’m sure of it,” he said, chuckling. “However, this time you’ll be carrying smelling salts. Only the bottle will contain chloroform. You’ll sprinkle a few drops on your hankie, hold it over the guard's face, and there you are.”

  “There I am?”

  He was still smiling. “You’ll be ready to hand over his keys when our lads break in.” “I will, will I?”

  “You will. This is what's going to happen. We assume that your brother will be brought to meet you in the interview room near the front entrance. You’ll claim to feel faint, use your smelling salts, and overpower the guard. Take off the guard's jacket and put it on your brother. After you’ve been in there ten minutes, there will be an explosion at the main entrance,” he said. “Lots of smoke, confusion. You’ll run out shouting for your brother to stop, letting everyone know that he's getting away.”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “Because at that very moment your other brother, Liam, will appear outside the front door, dressed in prison garb. He’ll be spotted through the confusion. Everyone will set off to chase him. Some of us will slip in, overpower any other guards we find, and release what prisoners we can.”

  “And what about Joseph? How will he get out?”

  “He’ll be wearing a guard's jacket. What would be more natural than for him to run out and give chase with the other guards?”

  “And me? How do I get out?” I tried not to let the fear show in my voice.

  “You’ll make your way to the front entrance and slip out any way you can during the confusion.”

  “It sounds too simple for words,” I said. “Make my way to the front door? Isn’t it likely the guards are going to stop me?”

  “Then you will play your trump card, my dear. The helpless and ter-rifled female, innocently visiting her brother when this terrible thing happened. You’ll cling to their strong arms and beg them to save you.”

  “I see,” I said.

  “We’ll have transport waiting and a ship ready at the mouth of the Liffy to take us to France.” “To France?”

  “Where else do you think we’d go? To London, and book ourselves into the Tower?”

  “So Liam and Joseph will be going to France?”

  “Hopefully to train and come back home to run future missions for the Brotherhood.”

  “I see,” I said again. I didn’t know what else to say. In truth I was numb with shock about the whole thing. I wanted to do this less than anything else in my life so far, and that included fleeing to America after I thought I had killed Justin Hartley. But I didn’t want my brother to be hanged either. There was no way out except through Kilmainham Goal.

  In the meantime there were several days of waiting ahead of me. Several long days with nothing to do except replay that jail scene over and over in my mind. It was all too fantastic to be real. I felt like an overwound watch spring about to snap. Being cooped up in that attic bedroom was more than I could bear. It rained, washing out all color from the scene outside my window, and adding to the gloom that now hovered over me. My nights were full of disturbed dreams in which a noose figured prominently and that executioner from the ship kept appearing.

  I had begun to understand what Daniel had been going through. Now, for the first time I truly appreciated what it was like to fear for one's life, to be cooped up with one's whole future in jeopardy. Of course he had been short tempered and tense. Of course he had tried toprevent me from doing anything dangerous. I should have been more understanding. I had worried about making a future commitment to Daniel, thinking that the fault was his, when in fact it had been my own. Spouses support each other in their hour of need. I pictured his smile, his dark unruly hair, the way he looked at me and wished fervently that he would somehow know I was in danger and come to take me away.

  After a couple of days like this, I could stand it no longer. I came down the stairs and let myself into the kitchen. Mary Ann looked up from the table where she was rolling dough.

  “Molly, what is it?”

  “I can’t stand it up there,” I said. “I’m going mad. Put me to work. Give me something to do with my hands. If Father asks, I’m a new kitchen maid you’re training.”

  She smiled. “Very well. There's an apron hanging on the hook over there. You can get started cutting out these tarts.”

  We worked side by side.

  “Lady Ashburton inquired about you this morning,” she said. “She hoped all was well with you and sent you her best wishes.” “Lady Ashburton? You saw her?”

  “At a me
eting of a ladies’ charity group of which we are both members. Lord Ashburton is now in residence. So are her brother and retinue.”

  She looked at my face. I tried to keep my expression that of calm disinterest, but her eyes narrowed. “I meant to ask you about that,” she said. “You were awfully anxious to leave that house. I could tell at the time. You were looking around the room, checking for escape routes. Why was that?”

  “This is entirely between ourselves, and not to get back to Grania or anyone else,” I began.

  “Naturally. I am not one to gossip, as I’m sure you know by now.”

  “I didn’t wish to encounter Grania's brother. I was educated with his fiancee, Henrietta Hartley, and her brother, Justin Hartley, is my archenemy.”

  “How so?”

  I looked away from her. “He tried to force himself on me when I was a peasant on his estate. I fought him off. He slipped and hit his head on our stove. I thought I had killed him, which was why I fled to America. It turns out I had just gravely injured him—an injury from which he will never fully recover or ever forgive me.” There was silence. “There. Now you know.”

  “Don’t worry, my dear,” she said. “There is no reason you should ever have to encounter him again. Cullen said you had courage. I—I hope it will all turn out well for you.”

  “This prison break they are planning,” I said softly, “will you be part of it?”

  “Oh, good Lord, no.” She laughed. “Can you see this bulk climbing in and out of prison cells? I’d be more liability than asset. Besides, I’m more use to everyone alive than dead.”

  I must have gasped because she corrected herself quickly. “I didn’t mean it like that. Cullen has everything well planned. You’ve a good chance of getting away. He's grown fond of you, you know.”

  “Yes, I know,” I said.

  “Then perhaps I should warn you not to become fond of him. I don’t want a broken heart to be added to your list of problems.”