The Forgotten Secret

by Kathleen McGurl

And so it was that she jumped out of her skin when a figure emerged from the hedge and caught hold of her arm as she passed.

  ‘What are you doing here? It’s not safe.’ He pulled her through the gap in the hedge from which he’d emerged.

  ‘Get off me!’ she tried to shout, but he’d clamped a hand over her mouth.

  ‘Be quiet. The Tans are around the corner. They’re on the move,’ he whispered urgently.

  So he must be a Volunteer, she guessed, as he was hiding from the Black and Tans. She twisted her head to look at his face, and gasped in recognition.

  ‘Captain Cunningham!’ It was the Volunteer she’d helped nurse back to health, who she’d last seen hiding out in Gatesend Farm with Jimmy.

  ‘Aye. And I remember you, Ellen O’Brien. But hush now, till the danger has passed.’ He tugged her down, into the ditch behind the hedge, and bade her lie flat. They were well hidden from the lane, here. No one would spot them unless they came through the gap and then turned back around.

  A moment later Ellen heard the sound of ragged marching, men talking and laughing as they walked up the lane. She made her breath as shallow and quiet as possible. Surely they couldn’t hear the thumping of her heart? Beside her, Cunningham lay just as still, but beneath his greatcoat he moved his arm slightly, caught hold of her hand and squeezed it. His hand was warm and strong, and she drew strength from the gesture.

  They stayed in the ditch for minutes after the band of Tans had passed by, until eventually Captain Cunningham rolled away from her and crawled back to the gap in the hedge. She watched him cautiously peer through, and then at last, with a grunt, he stood up and beckoned to her. ‘It’s safe. They’ve gone.’

  She got to her feet and went to join him. ‘Thank you. I’d have walked straight into them, so I would.’

  ‘They’d not have harmed you. But better not to take any chances.’ He regarded her curiously. ‘Where were you going, anyway?’

  ‘To Carlton House. I’ve … been away. I was wondering whether Madame was back there.’ She clapped a hand over her mouth. Did he even know Madame had been arrested? He could be trusted, she was sure of that, but Madame had always taught her not to tell anyone anything they didn’t need to know.

  He shook his head. ‘Madame Carlton is in Mountjoy Prison. She won’t be released while this conflict goes on, sadly.’

  ‘Oh. Poor Madame. I’ll try to visit her, will I? Or write to her?’

  ‘They won’t let you see her. She’s a political prisoner so can receive no visitors. You may be able to write but her mail will be read and censored, so be careful.’

  Madame in prison, and all Ellen’s fault. It was too much. She needed to confide her guilt to someone. ‘That Siobhan. Sir, I have a confession. I knew Siobhan’s brother was in the RIC. But, honest to God, I never thought she’d betray Madame. I was going to tell Madame, but I was too late. Sir, I’ve been eaten up with guilt, that it was all my fault. I should have warned her …’

  Captain Cunningham twisted his mouth and stared into the distance for a moment before answering.

  ‘You weren’t to know what she’d do. It’s unfortunate, but Ellen, you must not blame yourself.’

  Ellen nodded and bit her lip. ‘Sir, may I ask you something else?’

  He smiled. ‘Certainly. And no need to call me sir. My name is Jack.’

  ‘Jack, do you know anything of Jimmy? Where he is, what he’s doing, or even …’ she could barely say the words ‘… if he’s still alive?’

  He regarded her solemnly for a moment and she thought he was about to say that Jimmy had died, been shot in some incident. She steeled herself to hear whatever he was going to say.

  But it was not bad news. It was no news. ‘I’m sorry, Ellen. I wouldn’t be knowing what’s become of him. A few days after you visited us in Gatesend Farm we moved on, and split up. Jimmy went north with another company on a big mission. The mission was successful, I know that much, but I don’t know what became of him. There were … some Volunteer casualties. I think I would have heard if it had been him, so I’m hoping it wasn’t, but I don’t know for certain either way.’

  ‘Who would know? How can I find out?’

  ‘I’ll ask around for you. There are some local companies. They might know.’

  She nodded her thanks. ‘Jack, I’m after having been to Clonamurty Farm. Tis Jimmy’s parents’ farm. They’re not there. Someone’s been in and … turned it over. There’s … blood …’

  He sighed heavily and lowered his head. When he raised his eyes to hers again she saw a deep sadness within. ‘It’ll be the Black and Tans. A reprisal action. They must have heard that Jimmy’s a Volunteer and went there to put pressure on his parents. I’ll find out what’s happened to them. With luck, they might be …’ He tailed off, and looked away, gazing across the fields.

  Ellen frowned, pondering what he might have been about to say. With luck, what? With luck they were still alive? ‘I’ll be grateful for whatever you can find out.’

  ‘I’ll do what I can. Where are you staying?’

  An image of little James came into her head, and she realised she missed him more than anything. ‘I have to go … back to Dublin. Today. There’s … something I left there, that I must fetch. I’ll be back in Blackstown in a couple of days. I can stay at my father’s cottage.’ She explained how he could find the house.

  ‘Very well. I’ll see what I can find out, and then I’ll come to find you.’ Jack took a step away as if to go, but then turned back to her. ‘How will you get to Dublin?’

  ‘I’ll walk, or perhaps some farmer will give me a lift in his cart,’ she replied.

  ‘Would a bicycle help?’ he asked. ‘I know where there’s one you can use.’

  ‘It would.’ She smiled at him.

  ‘Aye well then, you may as well take it.’ He explained where it was – in a barn in a farm that was now uninhabited. Ellen did not dare ask what had happened to its owners.

  ‘I’ll leave it back when I’m done with it,’ she said, but Cunningham just shrugged.

  ‘Keep it as long as you need it. And you’ll be needing some money. Here. I haven’t much, but this’ll buy you a meal at least.’ He handed her a few coins.

  She shook her head, even as he pushed the coins into her hand. ‘I can’t take your money!’

  ‘Ah, you can and you will. Well, I must be off myself, into town. I’ll see what I can find out about Jimmy. I’ll look for you at your father’s cottage at noon in two days’ time.’ He reached out to her and touched her arm. ‘Be careful, Ellen. I’ll see you soon.’

  ‘Thank you. For everything.’

  She set off towards the abandoned farm where the bicycle was stowed. After a few steps she turned to look back, and Cunningham was still standing there, gazing after her. She raised a hand to wave, and he waved back.

  The bicycle was exactly where he said it would be. Ellen felt almost as though she was stealing it, but Jack had said the farm was empty. And she’d only keep it for a day or two. Perhaps she could even get back today now that she had a bicycle. She could use a shawl to tie little James tightly to her back, and she’d be able to cycle like that. It was a plan. She was excited now – she would be back at the Merciful Sisters by mid-afternoon and reunited with little James. One way or another she’d leave the laundry with him. Her breasts ached at the thought of her baby – it had been well over a day since she’d fed him.

  She cycled first back to Clonamurty Farm. On the off-chance that Jimmy might return there, she wanted to leave some sign, something to show she’d been there. She leaned the bike against the wall by the back door and went inside. It was just as she’d left it earlier. She averted her eyes from the bloodstains, not daring to think whose it was or what had become of the family. She walked through to the sitting room, wondering where she could leave a note, or a token of some sort. Anything to tell him she was safe, to give him a message, to inform him that he had a son – oh, there was so much she needed to tell him! />
  The chair, the one where Jimmy had once shown her his childhood hiding place for things he wanted to keep secret from his brother, was still in the sitting room, more or less untouched by the devastation. It had been kicked over but not slashed and torn like the sofa was. She hauled it upright, and slipped her hand into the gap in the upholstery. Yes, this was a good place. If Jimmy came back, maybe he’d remember he’d shown her this, and would put his hand in here too …

  She took his communion medallion out of the pocket where she’d kept it safe. Yes, that would tell him she’d been here. But how to tell him about his son? There was only one way. She pulled out little James’s birth certificate, kissed it, folded it around the medallion and slipped them both into the chair’s depths. Then she placed the chair in front of the fireplace, facing the door. Not in its usual spot. That, she hoped, would alert Jimmy, if he came here, that the chair was significant and there was something hidden in it.

  ‘Aye, tis all I can do,’ she told herself, ‘though I hope we’ll be returning here together, with little James in his father’s arms while I retrieve the certificate.’ One day. One day soon, if Jack Cunningham could only find out where Jimmy was, and what had become of his family. She had to keep believing they’d be reunited. Hope was all she had.

  She left the farm, got back on the bicycle heading to Blackstown and out onto the Dublin road, all the while her mind whirling with plans of how to get little James out of the laundry. Could she sneak in by the same way she’d come out, if the Sisters had not noticed the gate was closed? Or should she simply ring the doorbell, walk in at the front door and demand her son? She could say she was taking him to stay with her father, the child’s grandfather, the person who’d sent her into the institution in the first place. They surely wouldn’t check. If she was assertive enough, it’d work. She had to be brave, and insist on her rights. For her son.

  The miles passed quickly, although her legs were soon tired. Realising she was starving hungry and there were still twenty miles or so to go, she stopped at an inn for something to eat, silently thanking the Lord for Jack Cunningham’s generosity. She ordered a mutton pie and a mug of tea and sat in a corner of the pub relishing the feel of a good meal filling her belly. She’d almost finished when it happened.

  A half-dozen Black and Tans came crashing through the door of the pub, brandishing guns. As soon as they came in, a young man who’d been sitting on a bar stool chatting to the publican ran out of the back door, which led to the outside toilets. Two other men tried to follow but were caught by the patrol and wrestled to the ground at gunpoint. One of the Black and Tans closed and locked the door, then stood guard, while two others went out the back after the young man. Ellen heard gunshots fired, and sent up a silent prayer that the man had got away, as she cowered in her corner.

  ‘Youse all is under arrest,’ shouted the man guarding the door. ‘No one goes anywhere.’

  ‘Excuse me, I’m a doctor and have patients awaiting calls this afternoon,’ said one man who’d been sitting at a table near Ellen.

  He was pushed roughly back to his seat by the guard. ‘You don’t go anywhere, not till we’ve questioned youse all.’

  The two men who’d been wrestled to the floor were hauled upright and taken to a back room of the pub. Ellen presumed they were first to be questioned. She heard raised voices and sounds of a scuffle, and eventually the two men were let back into the main part of the pub, their faces bloodied. The doctor was taken through next, but released unharmed, and allowed to go on his way.

  All Ellen could do was wait until it was her turn, and pray she’d then be allowed to leave. Two hours of waiting in silence while the Black and Tans questioned other customers, beating up some of them, all the while keeping their guns at the ready and the pub doors locked. The barman was badly beaten, and when he emerged from the back room he was shoved into a seat next to Ellen. He was clutching a bloody handkerchief to his nose. Ellen took the chance to whisper a question to him.

  ‘The man who ran, did he get away?’

  The barman shook his head. ‘They shot him, God rest his soul. He was a Volunteer. Someone must have informed on us.’

  ‘Can I do anything to help you?’ she asked.

  ‘No, lass. Keep your distance or they’ll suspect you. I’m all right, so I am. Managed to convince them I know nothing.’

  The guard on the door turned to face them as if he’d heard something, and Ellen shuffled a little bit away from the barman. Her instincts were to tend to his wounds but he was right, it’d land her in trouble, and that might mean she’d be unable to get back to little James. She was a mother now, and needed to think of her son first.

  At last they called her through, pushing her roughly into the back room where one of their gang, a rough-looking man with a scar across his cheek and untidy black hair, bade her sit down at a table opposite him.

  ‘Name?’ he demanded.

  A thought crossed her mind that maybe she should give a false name, in case somehow her name was linked to Jimmy’s. But she knew she wouldn’t be able to lie convincingly. Better to say as little as possible, but stay near to the truth. ‘Mary O’Brien,’ she replied.

  ‘Your business here?’

  ‘I’m after eating some lunch. I was hungry.’

  ‘Why not eat at home?’

  ‘I’m on my way to Dublin.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘To fetch my baby son.’

  ‘Where’s the child now?’

  ‘Being looked after by a friend.’

  ‘Do you know Éamonn Rafferty?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘The publican?’

  ‘I never saw him before today. I’ve never been here before today.’

  ‘You’re after speaking to him, in the bar.’

  ‘I asked if he needed help with … his injuries.’

  She felt a trickle of sweat run down her chest, and clasped her hands together in her lap in an attempt to stop them trembling. She forced herself to look her interrogator in the eye. She had done nothing wrong, and had nothing to hide, but knew that did not mean she was safe.

  ‘Know any members of the Republican Army?’ he asked suddenly.

  ‘No, sir, I do not,’ she replied.

  ‘No one you suspect?’

  She shook her head.

  The man was quiet for a moment and Ellen began to relax, thinking the questioning was over and she’d soon be released. But then he spoke again. ‘Why did you leave your baby in Dublin? You’re a long way from there.’

  ‘I went to visit my father.’

  ‘Why not take the child with you?’

  ‘He … he was a little unwell. I did not want him to travel.’

  ‘You left a sick baby with a friend? Why not wait till he was better before going to your father?’

  ‘My father was ill. I wanted to see him before …’ She let the words trail away, and allowed a tear to run down her cheek. ‘He’s gone now.’ To Liverpool, but why not let them think he’d gone to his grave.

  The man stared at her for what seemed like hours before finally nodding slowly. ‘All right. But you will stay here until we are done.’

  Ellen opened her mouth to plead with him to let her go, but stopped herself. Better to go along with what they said. Besides, the afternoon was well advanced now, and she would not be able to reach Dublin while it was still light. If they let her go, it’d be better to set off in the morning. One more night away from little James. It would make no difference, in the long run.

  Chapter 27

  Clare

  My head was pounding. There was a crick in my neck. I straightened up in my seat, groaning, remembering. Paul had given me whiskey. How had it had such an effect? I forced my eyes open. I was still in the car. We were – where were we?

  ‘Wha – what’s going on?’ I tried to say, though my mouth didn’t seem to want to form words. What had been in that whiskey?

  ‘Ssh, it’s OK, go back to sleep,’ Paul murm
ured.

  But I was awake, trying to focus on what I could see through the windscreen. A white van, close in front. We were parked, no, not parked, the engine was running. The van moved forward and Paul inched after it. A traffic jam? No. A queue. As the van moved I saw a booth in front. The van driver leaned out of the window to pass over a document. I looked out of the side window – another queue of vehicles approaching another booth. With a start I realised where we were.

  ‘Paul, what the fuck? Why are we here? We’re not getting a ferry!’

  ‘Ssh. It’s all right.’

  ‘No it’s not! I’m not getting on the ferry!’

  The van had moved on, and Paul pulled up by the booth and wound his window down. He handed over a printed sheet and two passports. He must have rummaged through my drawers and stolen mine, I realised.

  ‘Mr and Mrs Farrell?’ confirmed the man in the check-in booth, with a smile.

  ‘Not me!’ I yelled. ‘Just him. I’m not travelling!’ I tugged at the door handle but the door would not open. I recalled he’d said something about the passenger door being stiff.

  The check-in clerk was looking concerned, but handed back the two passports, and as he did, Paul closed the window. ‘Stop shouting. You’re drawing attention to us,’ he snarled at me.

  Draw attention – that’s exactly what I needed to do. ‘Help!’ I yelled. ‘I can’t get out of the car!’ I unclipped my seatbelt and tried to climb over into the back seat. ‘Help!’

  Paul pulled me back down, but I could see the check-in clerk looked even more worried. He’d lifted a phone and was talking to someone. Security, I hoped.

  ‘Let me go!’ I screamed. ‘Paul, you can’t do this!’

  ‘I’m taking you home with me,’ he said. ‘I’ve done my part, coming over to this godforsaken country. Now you’re coming back with me.’

  ‘No! No I’m not! Let me go!’

  He was gripping my upper arms tightly, but I was struggling, trying to free myself. A man in uniform was outside – a security officer. He was trying to open the passenger door but Paul must have activated the central locking.