His dark hunger, p.15
The Woman on the Bridge, page 15
‘Come on.’ Joseph held out his hand to her. ‘We’ll have to hide you.’
‘But they’ll find me here!’ she gasped as they hurried towards the room where the Countess had been concealed.
‘Not at all.’ He winked at her. ‘We’ve a much better place than that.’
He led her to the boiler room, and she felt beads of perspiration break out on her forehead as they raced past the big furnaces that supplied the heat to the convent. The perspiration wasn’t only because of the intense heat. The soldiers had searched the boiler room when they’d imprisoned Joseph. They’d be sure to search it again. But he carried on and stopped at a rusting iron gate set into the wall. It was partly obscured by various pieces of equipment, but not completely out of sight.
‘Where are we going?’
‘You’ll see.’ He took a large key from a hook on the wall and opened the gate. Stepping through, she realised they were in a small cellar.
‘My God,’ she gasped. ‘Do you store ammunition here? Or hide people? Or—’
‘Stop chattering,’ he said. ‘We don’t use it at all because it’s not ours to use. Look.’ He pointed at another iron gate, also locked. As her eyes grew accustomed to the gloom, which was broken by faint light coming through slats high in the wall, Winifred gave a muffled cry. She was standing in a crypt, where engraved stone tombs and statues of angels took up most of the space.
‘We’re under the convent here,’ explained Joseph. ‘When we were children, we used to play here, until the nuns found out and locked the gate.’
‘You played here?’ She shuddered. ‘Weren’t you terrified?’
‘Not really.’ He shook his head. ‘May used to tell stories about the angels and we didn’t actually realise at first there were bodies in the tombs.’
‘Oh my God.’ She shuddered again.
‘Anyhow, they locked the gate, but my father kept the key. He checks on it from time to time.’
‘Checks on it? Or hides people here?’
‘Only once,’ admitted Joseph. ‘That was when Cathal Brugha was on the run. It wasn’t safe to keep him in the house itself.’
‘And you want me to stay here? On my own? In the dark?’ Her voice shook. She didn’t want to admit that she was afraid of the dark. Given everything else that was going on, it sounded childish and pathetic.
‘The dead won’t hurt you,’ said Joseph. ‘It’s the living you should worry about.’
She nodded mutely.
‘Behind that one there,’ he said, nodding towards a stone sarcophagus adorned by carvings of the Angel Gabriel. ‘You’ll be well hidden.’
‘I hope so.’ She swallowed hard and then walked gingerly towards the tomb, trying to keep her steps steady.
‘I’ll be back as soon as they’ve gone,’ said Joseph.
‘All right.’ She sank down behind the stone and rested her head on her knees. If she kept her eyes closed, she told herself, she wouldn’t know it was dark at all.
She heard the gate lock behind Joseph.
The sudden thought that the entire family might be arrested almost made her cry out. Because if they were, who would know she was here? Alone. With only the bodies of the dead nuns for company.
She’d been scared at first, but now, crouching behind the tomb, she realised that the main emotion she was feeling was fury. She shouldn’t have to be hiding here from soldiers from another country. Joseph’s family shouldn’t have had to hide the Minister for Labour and the Minister for Defence in their home. She realised with a sense of shock that if she’d kept one of the many guns she’d moved around the city over the past few weeks, she wouldn’t have thought twice about using it now. She didn’t know if that was a good or a bad thing.
For a woman who’d wanted a quiet life, she’d certainly changed her tune, she thought. Yet maybe that was what war did to you. It revealed a depth of feeling you never knew you had. It turned you into someone you never thought you could be.
She couldn’t be sure how much later it was when she heard the voices of the soldiers.
‘Look everywhere,’ the officer in charge said. ‘We’ve found incriminating material here before.’
There wasn’t a lot of space in the boiler room for the soldiers to search. Winifred heard them moving Mr Burke’s tools and then one of the soldiers remarking on the heat from the furnaces. His footsteps drew closer to the gate, and he gave a cry before rattling it. Winifred shrank further behind the stone sarcophagus.
‘What’s this?’ he asked.
‘Nothing.’ It was the officer who spoke again. ‘It leads to a burial chamber for the convent. It’s locked on their side. We checked it out the last time we were here; the mother superior brought us down. Damn creepy if you ask me, keeping their dead so close.’
The soldier moved away.
‘Copies of The Freeman’s Journal. Nothing else,’ a third voice said.
‘Pity. I wouldn’t have minded taking Burke in again. He’s an arrogant sod. As for his mother, I wouldn’t trust her as far as I could throw her.’
‘The tip-off was for Mountjoy Square and the surrounding area,’ the soldier reminded him. ‘I’m sure we’ll pick up enough Fenians without Burke.’
‘That won’t stop him. Or any of them,’ said the officer. ‘Though I’d love to get that mother of his. Wasn’t Private Fairfax shot by a woman only last week? There he was, walking along Harcourt Street minding his own business, when she takes a gun from the perambulator she’s pushing and shoots him there and then. Just as well she was a terrible shot, or he’d be dead. As it is, he was lucky they were able to get him to hospital and get the bullet out of his shoulder.’
‘The women are the worst,’ agreed the soldier.
‘The female of the species is deadlier than the male,’ the officer chuckled. ‘And in this case it’s probably true. But even though the Burke women are definitely rebels, there’s nothing in the house we can usefully use to arrest them.’
‘Why are we still doing this?’ The soldier suddenly sounded bored. ‘They don’t want us here and we don’t want to be here. What’s the ruddy point of it all?’
‘That’s enough from you, Morton,’ said the officer, his voice crisp. ‘We do as we’re commanded to do. And we’ve found all we’re going to find here. Which is sweet Fanny Adams. So we may go.’
Winifred heard them march out of the boiler house and allowed herself to breathe again.
Whatever tip-off the soldiers had received, it hadn’t been about her.
Now all she had to do was wait until Joseph came and let her out.
It was only a few minutes before curfew when she arrived back at East Essex Street. The streets had been swarming with soldiers, and she’d been afraid that she’d be caught up in another of their checkpoints or barricades. But she was empty-handed and walking quickly, and it was only a couple of men who’d had too much to drink who took any notice of her, calling to her that she could do worse than warm herself with them.
She ignored their calls and jeers as she strode on. She wouldn’t tell Joseph about them when next she saw him. He’d been unhappy at letting her walk the streets on her own at night, even though she’d lied to him and said she felt perfectly safe.
‘Safer than hiding behind the body of Sister Alphonsus anyway,’ she’d added. ‘Certainly safer than waiting for you to come and get me. You took so long, I was afraid I’d be left there forever.’
‘Sorry,’ Joseph said as he wiped a cobweb from her shoulder. ‘We wanted to make sure they were gone.’
‘Did they take anything from your house?’
‘Nothing to take,’ he told her. ‘We’ve been very careful ever since the last time. We burn everything in the furnace and May doesn’t leave any of her propaganda lying around.’
Winifred had nodded, and then he’d kissed her before watching her leave.
Now, as she let herself into the house, she felt the strength leave her body and she couldn’t wait to sit down.
But there was someone already hunched on the worn chair beneath the window. And she gasped as she saw that it was her sister Katy. Her hair was shorn, showing a large gash on the side of her head. Her face was pale and her expression blank. She seemed to be folded in on herself, a shadow of the woman she’d once been. Annie was sitting on a stool beside her, holding her hand.
‘What happened?’ asked Winifred.
‘That bastard Reid.’ Annie spat the words out. ‘He beat her again and this time he nearly killed her. I knew she shouldn’t have gone back to him. I knew I shouldn’t have let her.’
‘Mother of God,’ said Winifred. ‘How did you . . .’
‘Mona Mulvanney told us,’ said Annie. ‘She heard your sister screaming last night. She sent word up this morning, and your father hired a horse and trap to get her. She’ll not be going back, that’s the God’s honest truth. The lying bastard told Mona’s husband that Katy’d been with an English soldier. Said she deserved it.’
‘Are you all right, Katy?’ asked Winnie.
Katy said nothing.
‘It’s the bang to the head,’ Annie told her. ‘She’s . . . well, I don’t know how she is really.’
‘She should be in hospital,’ said Winifred.
‘I know. But what can we do? Sure the hospitals are overflowing with casualties from the shootings as well as people who are sick. She’s my daughter. I’ll take care of her.’
‘How about Dr Desmond?’ asked Winifred. ‘Perhaps he could help.’
‘After the way Marianne left him?’
‘He’s still a doctor,’ said Winifred.
‘It’s too late to get him now,’ said Annie. ‘The curfew is in place.’
‘Damn the curfew. I’m going to ask him anyhow.’
‘It’s late. He won’t come.’
‘I’ll make him come,’ said Winifred. ‘What about the baby?’ she asked suddenly.
At her words, a tear trickled down Katy’s face.
‘No baby,’ she said, her words slurred. ‘I’ve lost my baby.’
‘I shouldn’t have let her go back to him.’ Annie choked back a sob. ‘It was always a mistake to think he’d be different, even if he thought she was carrying a son this time.’
‘I’m getting the doctor. If Katy’s lost her baby, she needs medical attention right now.’
‘I’ll kill that cowardly bastard.’
Winifred hadn’t seen her father standing in a darkened corner of the room. But now he stepped into the flickering light.
‘I’ll go back there tomorrow and I’ll tear him limb from limb and I don’t care what happens to me.’
Annie said nothing.
‘I’m getting the doctor now,’ said Winifred.
She walked out of the room and pulled the door behind her.
Although soldiers patrolled the streets, they were otherwise deserted. Winifred hurried towards St Stephen’s Green, keeping in the shelter of the buildings and ducking into doorways, trying to stay as inconspicuous as possible. She avoided three different patrols, the last close to Dr Desmond’s home. When she reached it, she ran up the steps that led to the grey-painted Georgian door and pressed on the large white button to ring the bell.
It was almost a minute later before the door opened and a housemaid looked at her. For a moment, Winifred’s tiredness overwhelmed her, and she thought the young girl in front of her was Marianne. But then she realised that this girl’s hair was fairer, her face longer and her eyes a penetrating blue.
‘I need to see Dr Desmond,’ she said. ‘It’s urgent.’
‘The doctor’s not at home,’ said the girl, in a soft Cork accent. ‘And it’s late.’
‘Not at home to visitors, I’m sure,’ said Winifred. ‘But he’s needed urgently for a patient.’
‘Urgent cases go to hospital,’ said the girl. ‘And you can’t be urgent if you managed to get here yourself. How did you get here anyway?’ Her tone was accusing. ‘How did you get past the soldiers during curfew? Are you a spy?’
‘Don’t be silly,’ said Winifred. ‘I’m nothing of the sort. I’m . . . My sister used to work here.’
‘What’s that to do with anything?’
Winifred was getting annoyed. Young girls these days were a lot cheekier than she’d been, that was for sure. She’d never have spoken to anyone the way this one was speaking to her.
‘Just get him,’ she said. ‘I can’t stay on your doorstep forever.’
‘I told you—’
‘Dolly, what’s going on?’ A tall woman walked into the hallway. She was wearing a mid-length skirt and a white blouse, with a woollen cardigan wrapped around her shoulders.
‘Mrs Desmond?’ asked Winifred. ‘I’m Marianne’s sister. My other sister has been badly beaten and she needs—’
‘Marianne?’ The woman stepped closer. ‘Marianne O’Leary?’
‘Yes,’ said Winifred.
‘That girl caused me nothing but trouble,’ said Mrs Desmond. ‘Upped and went with only a week’s notice. And she had far too many notions about herself. Clearly it’s a family trait. Do you realise what time it is? Nobody is out now. And my husband certainly isn’t going to wherever it is you come from to treat another O’Leary.’
‘She was beaten by her husband,’ said Winifred. ‘She’s lost her baby. He hit her on the head. She’s . . . she’s very poorly.’
‘Then you should take her to hospital.’
‘How?’ demanded Winifred.
The woman looked at her.
‘Please.’
‘I’ll speak to my husband, but he’ll tell you the same as me.’
She turned away from the door, but the housemaid stayed where she was. Winifred looked past her to the elegantly decorated hallway of the doctor’s home. The black and white tiles were the same as the Burkes’, but a much larger chandelier hung from the ceiling of the doctor’s house, and there was enough room for a long table, on which was placed an enormous vase of fresh flowers as well as carved bronze figures. Further along were a couple of chairs upholstered in rose-pink satin. Being a doctor was a profitable profession, thought Winifred. And her heart suddenly sank, because even if Dr Desmond had helped her father four years earlier, there was no reason for him to put himself in danger to help her sister now.
What had she been thinking?
She was such a fool.
But at that moment, the doctor himself appeared and gave her an enquiring look.
‘Miss O’Leary,’ he said. ‘It’s a while since we’ve met.’
‘Indeed it is.’ She nodded. ‘And I’m sorry for coming to you at this time and in this way, but I’m so worried about my sister and I—’
‘William, there’s a curfew. You shouldn’t be going out,’ said Mrs Desmond.
‘I know,’ said the doctor. ‘But there’s also a woman in trouble, Hetty. And you know how I feel about violence against women.’
‘I . . .’ Hetty Desmond looked at her husband and then at Winifred, who was clasping and unclasping her hands. ‘This damn country,’ she muttered.
Dr Desmond moved towards her and kissed her lightly on the cheek.
‘Don’t worry. I’ll be back soon.’
‘One day you’ll go out and you won’t come back.’ Mrs Desmond rubbed the back of her neck. ‘Be careful.’
‘As always,’ said the doctor, then turned towards Winifred. ‘Let’s go, Miss O’Leary. I have a car.’
Winifred had never been in a car before. Like the majority of the people in the city, she walked everywhere, although if she was going a long way, she sometimes took the tram. But a car was a complete luxury – she’d heard someone once say that there were about 3,000 of them in Dublin, but she found it hard to believe that many people could afford one.
She followed Dr Desmond to where it was parked, and climbed into the front while he started it.
‘If we’re stopped at a checkpoint, you’re my nurse,’ he said as the vehicle moved off. Winifred gripped the door and nodded, but she was too overcome by actually being in a car to say anything at all.
They were almost at East Essex Street before they were stopped, but Dr Desmond spoke firmly to the soldiers and told them that a pregnant woman needed his attention. Winifred could hardly believe that they allowed the car to pass by, but they did.
‘Not all the soldiers are like the Black and Tans or the Auxiliaries,’ said Dr Desmond when she said this to him. ‘Most are decent people. But war does terrible things even to decent people.’
He pulled up outside their building and she got out of the car, wondering if anyone could see her. They’d think she’d come up in the world. At least until they knew why Dr Desmond was here.
Annie sighed with relief to see him and thanked him over and over again as he examined Katy.
‘You say her husband did this?’ he asked when he’d finished and Katy was resting.
‘Yes,’ said Annie.
‘He should be in gaol.’
‘But nobody will put him there,’ said Annie. ‘They’ll blame Katy. They never blame the man. They’ll say it’s the drink. It’s not the drink. It’s his nature.’
‘I need to get her to a hospital,’ said the doctor. ‘She’s been badly beaten and lost a lot of blood. I really can’t say . . .’ His voice trailed off.
‘He tried to pretend she’d been with someone else,’ said Winifred. ‘I know my sister. She wouldn’t have done anything like that. And even if she had,’ she added, ‘how dare he beat her? What gives him the right?’
‘She’s his wife,’ said Dr Desmond. ‘That gives him the right.’
‘It’ll be different in the new Ireland.’ Winifred clenched her fists. ‘Everything will be different.’
‘If only I believed that,’ said Dr Desmond.
Chapter 13
Dublin, spring/summer 1921
Dr Desmond had arranged for Katy to be brought to hospital, where they diagnosed concussion, a cracked rib, severe bruising and soft tissue damage, as well as the loss of her baby.
‘My beautiful daughter,’ wailed Annie after they’d told her they were keeping Katy in for a while. ‘That man has destroyed her.’
