In Dublin’s City

by Rhys Bowen

  “I’ll try to resist his charm,” I said, with a smile.

  “Cullen has sacrificed any hope of a normal life for our cause,” she said, not smiling in return.

  “Just as you have, apparently.”

  “Oh no, my dear,” she said. “My hopes for a normal life died with my Terrence. I found true happiness, you see. Not everyone is lucky enough to meet their soul mate. I made a horrible mistake when I married Kelly. I was bored, stuck out in the country, and he was handsome enough to turn any young girl's head. But he turned out to be a drunken, mindless brute. Then Terrence appeared, and he was everything I’d ever dreamed of in a man—bright, witty, kind, passionate. And I watched him waste away and die of consumption before my eyes after he’d been held in that English goal.”

  She went back to her work and I to mine. She had found true love, I thought. Would I feel that my life was over if Daniel died? Would hefeel that way about me? And what about Cullen? I wondered whether Mary Ann had seen something I had missed, and that I was already just a little bit in love with him.

  On October Twenty-first, the day before Kilmainham Goal, Cullen came to my room.

  “I came to see how you were holding up,” he said.

  “Oh, never felt better in my life,” I retorted. “Stuck up here, watching the rain, thinking about what it would feel like to be hanged.”

  “So you’re scared?”

  “Of course I’m scared,” I snapped at him. “I’m terrified, if you want to know. I’m not like you. I haven’t done this kind of thing before.” “We’re all scared, Molly,” he said. “Even you?”

  “Especially me. I’ve already faced the prospect of life in jail once before, and now I might be facing it again. That would be worse for me than the hangman's noose. Forty years of never seeing the sun, or the green fields, or cows and horses, or watching children play or women dancing.... It's a lot to give up.”

  “A terrible lot.”

  He put a hand on my shoulder and caressed it gently.

  “It's not too late to back out, Molly,” he said. “I wouldn’t want that kind of future for you. You should marry and have children and live out your days happily.”

  I was sorely tempted. “And if I backed out,” I said hesitantly, “how would you get yourselves into that jail?”

  “I expect we’d manage,” he said. “We’d send your brother in to visit Joseph instead of you.”

  That did it, of course. Liam's life for mine. As things stood now, it was Liam in this whole venture who had the best chance for escape. He was a fast runner, and I had seen how quickly he could lose himself in the maze of backstreets. I knew I’d never forgive myself if he was condemned to death or spent the rest of his life in jail because I had taken the easy way out.

  “I’m not backing out now, Cullen,” I said. “You can count on me.”

  “Molly,” he said, and unexpectedly his arms came around me. He held me so fiercely I could hardly breathe.

  We stood there, wrapped in each other's arms, my head on his shoulder. Then he bent to brush my cheek with the lightest of kisses and released me, still feeling breathless.

  “So—is there anything you’d like to do today?” he asked.

  “The condemned's last meal?” I asked.

  “Any letters you’d like posted?”

  This brought me rapidly to harsh reality. Did I want to write a farewell letter to Daniel? To Sid and Gus?

  “I’ll write them,” I said, “but I’ll give them to Mrs. Boone. I only want them posted if I”—I stopped. I couldn’t say the words.

  I went through to my room and sat staring at the writing paper on the table.

  “My dearest Daniel,” I wrote. “If you read this, I am no longer alive or I’m a captive. I had to do what I could to save my brother. It was probably foolish of me, but you know I’ve never been the most sensible of women. I love—” I picked up the sheet of paper, crumpled it and threw it into the waste bin. How could I put down feelings on paper when I wasn’t even sure of them myself?

  Thirty-one

  October Twenty-second dawned bright and crystal clear. The sky was like spun blue glass and every bare tree branch, every building and lamppost etched in fine detail against that blue

  arc. Just when mist and cloud and rain would have been useful to hide what was about to happen, we would be spotlighted like players on a stage. It was as if the elements were mocking us.

  Mary Ann, or Mrs. Boone as I still thought of her, brought up a breakfast tray as the sun streamed in through my casement window. “You’ll be needing your strength, I’ve no doubt,” she said, and placed it on the marble-topped table. It contained a dish of porridge, a smoked haddock with a fried egg on top and several slices of toast. I tried to eat, but somehow I didn’t feel hungry.

  “You should get all your belongings packed up right away,” she said when she came to collect the tray and tut-tutted over the amount I had left. “Someone will be coming for them.”

  “My belongings?” It had a horrible finality to it. Did they now take for granted that I wouldn’t be needing any of my worldly goods again?

  “It wouldn’t do for them to find any trace of you here, just in case the place is searched,” she said.

  “Where will they be taken?” I asked.

  “To the ship,” she said. “More than that I can’t tell you.”

  When she returned to collect the tray I remembered something that had been bothering me. “Mrs. Boone, I mean Mary Ann—you willwrite to your brother, won’t you? He sent me to find you and I’d hate him to think that I’d failed or hadn’t bothered to do the job.”

  “I don’t know that I have any wish to contact my brother,” she said. “But I’ll do what you wish, just to let him know I’m alive and well and you did your job just fine.”

  She picked up the tray. “And it may prove useful at some stage to have a powerful ally in America.”

  I packed up everything and again thought about writing letters home. But I couldn’t bring myself to do so. Around noon Mrs. Boone offered lunch but neither Cullen nor I were in any mood to eat. The waiting seemed endless. At last Cullen tapped on my door.

  “Time to go. Are you ready?”

  I nodded. He led me down the stairs. There was no sign of Mrs. Boone, and I realized she probably didn’t want to say good-bye. I walked beside Cullen into the back streets of the Liberties, and at last we were admitted to a ramshackle house over a stable. Inside the room was dark, with tattered curtains drawn across the window, and it didn’t smell too wholesome either, with the odor of unwashed bodies competing with the horse manure rising from the stable below. As far as I could make out in the gloom, there were several boys present, a couple of whom I had seen before at Grania's, and one of whom was my brother. The tension in the atmosphere was palpable, although the boys attempted bravado, with insults and jokes as their instructions were given. I was handed the bottle of smelling salts, which now contained chloroform and shown how many drops to use and how to administer it. Then I was handed a basket of baked goods.

  “Isn’t this a little obvious?” I asked. “They are bound to search a basket like this.”

  “Of course they are,” Cullen said. “They’ll immediately think of files baked into the soda bread; knives in the plum cake. And of course they’ll find nothing and feel rather stupid. Then we hope they’ll let down their guard a trifle.”

  “I feel like Little Red Riding Hood, going to see her grandma,” I said, and Cullen laughed.

  “So you are,” he agreed.

  “But the grandma was a wolf in disguise with big teeth and he ate her up,” I reminded him.

  I came back into the main room to find the boys pouring over a street plan of the city. We were shown a plan of the best escape routes to cut across the Liberties and emerge on the riverbank close to where the boat would be waiting for us. It would be tied up by the Grand Canal docks, seaward of the last bridge at the mouth of the Liffy and the open sea. The craft was to be a
fishing smack, complete with nets and busy fishermen making ready on deck, but we’d know it from other fishing boats by the small green flag of Ireland that would be flying somewhere visible.

  After that we waited some more. The boys passed around a flask of something, helping to bolster their courage, but they didn’t offer it to me, for which I was glad. I couldn’t have swallowed if I’d tried. At last Cullen consulted his watch.

  “Right, boys. Four o’clock. I think this is it,” Cullen said. “Ready to

  go?”

  They nodded, eyes unnaturally bright.

  “Let's show the English bastards a thing or two, shall we then?” Cullen roared. “Let's strike a blow for freedom, for independence, for Ireland.”

  A loud cheer went up and the boys scrambled for the door as if they couldn’t wait for the battle to be enjoined.

  Liam slipped into place beside me. “Good luck then, Molly. Look, if something happens to Joseph and me, and we aren’t around any more— you’ll get in touch with young Malachy, won’t you? Mr. O’Brien in Westport knows where he's staying.”

  “You’ll be fine, Liam,” I said. “We’ll all be fine.”

  He grinned at me. “This is a queer business and that's a fact, isn’t it? Who’d have thought when we played follow the leader over the rocks on the beach and you fell into that tide pool that we’d someday be doing something like this?”

  “Never in a million years,” I agreed.

  “We had some good times, didn’t we, Molly?” he said. “I know life was hard, and it was especially hard work for you after Mam died, but we had some grand old times.”

  I nodded, for once my heart too full to speak. I reached out to take his hand, then thought better of it.

  “Right, advance troops move out,” Cullen said. “First wave is me, Molly, Billy, and Tinker with the cart. Next wave, Liam and Paddy, you’re to count to two hundred and then follow. Once we’re out of this house you don’t speak to each other, you don’t acknowledge each other in any way, got it?” The boys nodded. “And whatever happens, don’t panic.” He looked around the group. “God go with you, boys. See you at the boat, then.”

  He opened the door. As I went to pass him, he took my hand and held it fast. “Take care of yourself, Molly, won’t you? No stupid heroics. If they catch you, play the helpless female card—that Cullen Quinlan, he seduced me, so I didn’t really know what I was doing. Bat your eyelids, cry, faint. Whatever it takes. They’ll never hang a woman.”

  I hardly found that encouraging, but I knew what he was trying to

  do.

  “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be just fine,” I said.

  “I know you will. You’re a grand girl.” He brought my hand up to his lips and kissed it. Then he released me and we both stepped outside into the fierce sunlight. Cullen led me at a great pace through the maze of backstreets. We attracted interested stares from the occasional housewife gossiping on her doorstep, or a cluster of men lolling against a corner with nothing better to do, but no more than any stranger to the neighborhood would have done. At last we stepped out of the maze of backstreets and there, across the road was Kilmainham Goal.

  It loomed over us, bigger and more formidable than I remembered—a towering mountain of solid brick, surrounded by an iron fence, its massive studded oak door firmly shut.

  “This is it,” Cullen whispered. “Off you go. You’ve got ten minutes to do your stuff.” He pulled out a pocket watch, then sauntered on, as if he hadn’t a care in the world.

  I took a deep breath and then crossed the street to the jail. There was a bell to the right of the great studded front door. I tugged on it and heard a jangle echoing inside. After what seemed an eternity, a small door within the massive one was opened and a uniformed guard looked out. I gave him my most winning smile.

  “Hello,” I said. “Am I in the right place? This is the jail, isn’t it?” “Well, it's not Buckingham Palace, you can count on that,” he said, scowling at me.

  “I’m here on a sad mission, to see my little brother,” I said. “I’ve come down from our home in Connemara to say good-bye to him.” “Your brother?”

  “Joseph Murphy. He's—he's set to be executed, you know. I’ve come to say good-bye. I’ve a letter here, from His Majesty's home office in London, giving me permission for the visit.” I fished in the basket I was carrying and produced the letter.

  This caused the old man to pay attention. He scratched his head and looked entirely uncomfortable.

  “Wait here,” he said.

  He disappeared in through the small door, closing it behind him and leaving me waiting outside. After what seemed like another long wait, the door was opened again and this time two more senior officers came out and examined my letter.

  “We weren’t informed of this, Miss Murphy,” one of them said.

  “I’m sorry you weren’t informed,” I said, “but it's the Home Secretary himself who signed the letter for me, and my own member of parliament who asked him to do so.”

  One of them started to mutter about calling Dublin Castle for confirmation, but I cut in, “Look, Officer, have you no heart? The Home Secretary was apparently most touched by my plight. My little brother—all I had left in the world, you know. I came all the way here on my own. I’m just asking for a few minutes with him, to say good-bye. What can be so hard about that?”

  The two men exchanged glances. Finally one of them said, “Very well. Let her in. But that basket will need to be searched.”

  He attempted to take it from me.

  I resisted. “You’re not going to deny the boy a slice of his sister's soda bread, are you? Nor his favorite plum cake?”

  “There's many a weapon been smuggled in a cake before now,” one of the men said. “Let's take a look, shall we?”

  With that he broke open the soda bread, then the cake, then a couple of the rock cakes. When all that was left were some biscuits toosmall to hide anything larger than a darning needle, he handed the basket back to me. “All in order, miss. Sorry I had to mess them about a bit, but we can’t be too careful, can we?”

  “Of course not, Officer,” I said, smiling sweetly at him. “You can never be too careful.”

  “Now your purse,” the other said and took it roughly from me. It was only a fabric dolly bag, not big enough to conceal a gun, for example. He opened it wide.

  “There's just the things a lady always needs—my handkerchief, my smelling salts, a comb, and a few coins,” I said. “See for yourself.”

  He nodded and handed it back to me.

  “All right then. This way. Watch your step.” He stood aside to let me through the little pass door. I stepped into the main foyer of the jail. The area was lit by a large central skylight and tier after tier of iron balconies rose up around that central well. It provided a gloomy sort of light, like being inside an aquarium. “Wait here, please,” one of the officers said. “Johnson!” He barked at the original warder. “Go and fetch the officer from level two.”

  “Very good, sir.”

  Johnson set off, up the first flight of iron stairs, the loud clanking sounds of his feet reverberating through the building. Two more officers marched across the stone floor of the foyer. From above came an exchange of angry male voices and then something like an animal snarl. I found myself shivering in the damp cold. More from fear than from cold, probably. It would never work. The whole thing was impossible. The place was a steel-and-stone fortress. I was risking my life for nothing.

  “This way then, Miss Murphy,” the senior man said, and indicated I should follow him. I did so with leaden feet. He pushed open a door in the wall to my right, just behind the entrance. “Wait in here.”

  It was a small dark room, and reminded me painfully of the room in The Tombs where I had been brought to see Daniel. Same damp musty smell, same feel of hopelessness. There were two wooden chairs and I was offered one of these. I sat, hardly daring to breathe. Wasn’t all this taking too long? What if the explosion a
t the front door happened even before Joseph had been let out of his cell?

  More boots on the stone floor and another guard arrived. He was a beefy man with big lambchop whiskers, and instantly I tried to picture myself clamping a chloroformed handkerchief over his face.

  “This is Miss Murphy. She's got a letter from the Home Secretary to let her visit her brother—isn’t that nice?” the first officer said with clear sarcasm.

  “Murphy? Right. So I should take her in then, should I?”

  They were both looking at me with steel-hard eyes. At least they were making my task easier. If I had to knock somebody out, I’d rather it was an unsympathetic type.

  “No, bring him down here.”

  “Do I need to manacle him?”

  “Just the cuffs will do.”

  “Very good, sir.”

  Both officers went out, closing the door behind me. I was left alone to wait. I was so tempted to check the chloroform bottle, but I suspected I might be observed through a peephole, so I sat like a demure little miss, fighting back the urge to flee.

  At last I heard more feet and a voice saying, “In you go, then. And only a few minutes, mind.” He opened the door. “Visitor for you, Murphy.” He shoved Joseph into the room, almost making him fall over me. As he fought to recover his balance, Joseph's startled face looked at me, then recognition dawned.

  “Molly! What in heaven's name? I thought you were dead. I can’t believe it.”

  I hugged him. He was all skin and bone. I could feel his backbone through the coarse shirt with arrows on it. His skin was as gray and pasty as uncooked dough, and there were great sunken circles around his eyes. It almost broke my heart to look at him.

  “That's enough of that.” The guard roughly pushed us apart. “Sit down, Murphy. You too, miss.”

  “What are you doing here?” Joseph was looking at me with excited anticipation. “Have you come to get me out? Did they hear my appeal?”

  “I don’t know anything about your appeal, Joseph,” I said. “I only know that I had to visit you while I was in Ireland, to give you my love and Liam's love... “