A Winter of Spies (5 page)

‘
THERE'S A WAR GOING ON IN THIS COUNTRY
,' Da said. ‘In fact there's a couple of wars.'

‘A couple?' Sarah looked confused.

‘There's a war with guns and ambushes and raids. You know that. But there's another war, a more important one.'

Sarah couldn't imagine anything more important. ‘What –?' she began.

‘Look,' Da said. ‘Wars have to be organised. The parts of an army have to stay in touch with one another.
Somebody
have to collect information. Somebody have to make sense of it all, and give orders.'

‘I know,' Sarah said. ‘And that somebody is Michael Collins – everyone knows that.'

Even saying the name of Collins excited her. He was a hero to the people – the young general who directed their war against the whole force of the empire. The British agent who caught him, or the Irishman who
betrayed
him, would be rich and famous for life; but still Collins travelled around the city without any disguise, simply refusing to be afraid.

‘Very well,' Da said. ‘So how can Michael Collins know what's going on around the country? The British check the post, they run the telephone system. Men living rough with their guns out in the bogs don't have
telephones
or postal addresses anyway.'

Sarah had never thought about it.

‘The Volunteers needs other ways to pass messages and reports and orders,' Da said. ‘Understand?'

Now that Sarah did think about it, this made sense. She nodded.

‘The British know this intelligence system is there,' Da said. ‘They know if they smash it they'll have the war half won, because we'll have no organisation. Do you follow me?'

He was looking at her with cold, serious eyes that Sarah hardly recognised. She thought hard. She could hear what he was saying but she had trouble making sense of it all. Da saw this on her face.

‘Look,' he said. ‘Say a Volunteer officer in Cork
captures
British Army mail. And say there's a letter in it
mentioning
raids planned in Dublin. Don't the officer need to warn someone some way?'

Sarah nodded.

‘Michael Collins,' Da said, ‘needs all the information he can get. He needs a quick and reliable way to get
information
and reports from all over the country. He have
people in the post office and telephone system, but it's not secure. So tell me, Sal, what else covers all of Ireland?'

The question surprised her. Da was looking at her very anxiously. Then the answer came to her like a blinding light.

‘The railway!' she said. ‘The railway covers the
country
!' And Kingsbridge station, where Da and Mick worked, covered all of the south, where the heaviest fighting went on.

‘Michael Collins have people on the railway,' Da said. ‘There and other places. Lots of other places. It's their job to carry messages and other things back and forth. Sarah, I'm one of them people. Mick is another. Our work is very, very important. We can't get mixed up with the
police
, or the soldiers, or the Tans. There's other people to do that business. The Tans would take us in and torture us for information, and we know too much. We can't
afford
to have people paying attention to us.'

Sarah wasn't sure at all of what she felt. Everyone was looking at her. They'd all known already, of course. They'd all known, and had had to listen to her mad,
dangerous
talk. She thought of the pained looks she'd caused with her ranting about ‘the struggle'. And all the time Da had been up to his eyes in it!

‘It must be very dangerous,' she said to Da. ‘The stuff you do.'

‘It can be,' Da said. ‘And if we're caught you'll all be in trouble.'

‘But not like you and Mick.'

‘Sarah,' Da said, almost mildly, ‘if we're caught then me and Mick will probably be found in a ditch somewhere – shot while trying to escape, with our hands and our feet tied.'

For all Da's mildness in saying them, his words made Sarah go cold. She looked around at the others again. They were all still looking at her. Nobody said anything.

‘How long has this been going on?' she asked.

‘A year or so,' Da said.

Almost from the time he started working on the
railways
, Sarah thought. From the time he'd suddenly turned against politics. ‘No-one ever told me,' she said.

‘We thought you were too young. We were trying to protect you.'

‘And I might have ruined us all!'

‘We were wrong not to tell you. I blame myself. You're a sensible girl.'

Sarah was starting to understand things that had
puzzled
her. ‘That's why you were so annoyed at Martin Ford for coming here last Sunday,' she said.

‘And well I might. I had messages for Mick Collins
upstairs
. It's not just the danger to us, remember – there's names and addresses, all sorts of information that the
British would give their eyes for.'

‘But why did you let Simon in so?'

‘Sure what was I to do – throw him to the Tans?
Besides
, Simon's different. Simon and his friend Byrne work for Collins. They were supposed to collect them
messages
. That's why they were in Phelans' the night before.'

‘Oh!' Sarah said, suddenly excited. ‘That's what you meant when you told him on Sunday to take nothing with him! He was going to ask for the messages, and you stopped him!'

Da's face was still pale, but he smiled at her. ‘You're no fool, young one,' he said. Then he looked grim again. He tapped the table sternly. ‘Now,' he said. ‘You know what the story is. I don't want you to ask any questions – the less you know, the safer you are. And we have to be very careful. The raid on Phelans' worried me. I only thank God it was done so bad.'

He turned to look around the room at the others. ‘I've been meaning to say this to all of you,' he said. ‘I'm
starting
to think we're being watched. It's only a feeling, mind. I've seen nothing. But I learned to trust feelings like that when I was in the trenches. It's like an extra sense that a lot of men got – them that lived long enough. A sense for danger. It kept me alive more than once out in France.'

The five of them were looking at him now. Da never
talked about his time in the trenches. He'd seen things there, he said one time, that he didn't even want to think of, never mind talk about.

‘I want all of you to keep your eyes and ears open,' he said. ‘And your mouths shut. Watch out for anyone
asking
questions about us, even innocent ones. And I don't mean just strangers. I mean anyone.'

‘You don't include the Breens in that, I hope,' Ma said.

Da shook his head. ‘I'm sure,' he said, ‘that them
people
could hang me if they wanted to. These days one word in the wrong place could do exactly that. The Breens must know there's something odd going on around here, but they don't want to know what it is. I mean strangers especially – people who want to know too much about us, or even people who know more about us than they should.'

Sarah gasped. Da looked at her.

‘Mr Moore!' Sarah said. ‘You're after reminding me!'

Quickly she told Da about the newcomers next door. ‘It was only a small thing,' she said, ‘but I don't
understand
why he talked about a family when he'd never met us.'

Da looked very worried. ‘It might be nothing,' he said. ‘It just might be nothing.'

Jimmy spoke for the first time in a long while. ‘And it might,' he said, ‘be a slip.'

Da nodded. ‘It might be that too,' he said. ‘Either way, I don't like it. We have to get word to Simon about this.'

He looked at the clock on the mantelpiece. It was the only thing they'd kept from their former home, Ma's
heirloom
that had looked so out of place back in their dingy slum room. It had been stopped for years then. Here,
repaired
and lovingly cleaned, the clock seemed at home.

‘It's happy here,' Jimmy had told Sarah once. She'd laughed at the idea of a clock being happy. It was the sort of mad thing Jimmy said sometimes. It came, she thought, from reading too many books.

‘It's still hours till curfew,' Da said. ‘I'd best go look for Simon.'

‘James …' Ma said, reaching out a hand. Da turned and looked at her, but didn't move closer. Ma's hand hung in the air, looking somehow both frightened and lonely.

Sarah saw that her news had changed everything. Da might say the man could be harmless, but he didn't
believe
it. Neither did anyone else.

‘We'll be grand, Lily,' Da said to Ma. ‘We'll be very careful, and we'll be grand.'

‘And if we're not?' Ma said. She looked almost angry. Sarah sensed that this was an old, private discussion between Ma and Da. It was as though the rest of them weren't even there.

Da didn't answer the question.

‘If we're not grand?' Ma asked again. ‘What then?'

Da stood up. ‘If we're not grand,' he said stiffly, ‘then we'll have done the right thing. We'll have kept our
honour
.'

It was exactly the sort of thing that Sarah had been thinking before. Now though, with her mother's
frightened
face in front of her, honour seemed less important. For the first time Sarah actually began to think about some of the things that could happen if Da were caught.

Da looked around the room. ‘I'm going to Ringsend to look for Simon Hughes,' he said. ‘The sooner he hears this the better. If Mick comes, tell him to wait for me. I'll be back before curfew.'

After the front door closed behind him nobody said anything for a while. No-one even moved. Then Ma brought her hand crashing down on the table.

‘Damn men,' she said. ‘And damn honour. I'm sick of it.'

‘
THAT'S THE YOUNGER ONE
,' Sarah said. ‘His name is Fowles.'

‘Maybe it is,' Simon Hughes said mildly.

It was Sunday morning, and Simon was crouching by the window of Josie and Sarah's bedroom, overlooking Northumberland Road. The lace curtain hid him from the street. He'd been there for two hours, and this was his first sighting of either of the new neighbours.

Fowles walked jauntily down Ryans' path. He carried his cane, and was dressed in a well-cut suit. His
wide-brimmed
hat was perched at a jaunty angle on his sleek hair.

‘Quite the little dandy,' Simon Hughes muttered under his breath.

It was odd to have a man in your room. Jimmy came in there, of course, and even Da, but that was different.
Josie
, flustered, had raced upstairs when she heard that
Simon
wanted to use their room. She'd frantically tidied up the nightdresses and stuff that usually lay around the place. When Ma had brought Simon up the stairs, and
seen how neat and tidy the room was, she'd looked like she was going to say something. But instead she'd just given Josie a wicked smile. Josie had blushed scarlet.

‘There's no need for you to stay with me, you know,' Simon said to Sarah after Ma and Josie left.

‘I want to,' Sarah said. She was feeling guilty for last night's nasty thoughts about him. Really, his moustache was quite dashing. It must feel funny to have a thing like that growing on your face, though. Sarah tried to imagine it, but couldn't.

Fowles turned out the gate and walked towards
Ballsbridge
.

‘The other one's older, you say,' Simon said.

‘Older, and English.'

Really, you could tell nothing from the way people spoke. The Irishman next door might be a British agent, and here was Simon, the gunman, who spoke with a Cockney accent. He'd grown up in London – his father, who was Irish, ran a pub there.

‘Simon?'

‘Mmm?' Simon said. He was still looking after Fowles.

‘Do you actually know Michael Collins? To talk to, I mean.'

‘I do.'

‘What do you call him?'

Simon looked at her. ‘What?' he said.

‘Do you call him Minister, or General, or what? Or just Mr Collins?'

Simon laughed. ‘Mostly,' he said, ‘we call him Mick. Or when we're talking about him we call him the Big
Fellow
.'

‘Is he nice?'

‘He can be. He's a laugh sometimes. And sometimes he's not funny at all. But why ask me? Your dad knows him as well as I do. Better, maybe.'

‘Da? Da knows Michael Collins?'

‘Yes. And now stop asking me questions. In fact you can go down and ask your mother to make me a cup of tea.'

‘But what if Mr Moore comes out? How will you know him?'

Simon smiled at her. ‘Sal,' he said gently, ‘you tell me the Ryans are two old ladies. They have two ex-military men living with them now. One is gone out. If your Mr Moore comes out, I think I'll be able to recognise him. Unless, of course, he's dressed up as an old lady.'

The Ryan sisters had been absolutely mortified when the Conways – ‘low slum people,' as Sarah had overheard one of them say – had moved in. In fact, they'd never liked living next door to a house that was partly let out; they felt it lowered the tone of the neighbourhood. Then the Ryans' own fortunes had taken a turn for the worse,
and a well-bred, respectable young man had swindled them out of their savings. They'd been forced to let out part of their own house. Sarah had been quite pleased at this turn of events, knowing how shamed the snooty
sisters
would be. Now she tried to imagine Moore, with his neat moustache, dressed in the antique clothes of the sour old Ryan sisters.

Sarah giggled. Really, Simon was fun. Josie could do a lot worse than encourage him.

True to his word, Da had got back before curfew last night. Simon, he said, would be up first thing after curfew tomorrow. Da and Mick would be in work. The Conway women must give Simon whatever he needed. Sarah had no idea of what that might be, but felt thrilled anyway: maybe she couldn't carry guns, but she could still take some part in things.

She was glad that she'd taken Simon's gun that time. It had been dangerous and foolhardy, but it had made her feel very good. She'd done her bit. Now that she knew how things stood, of course, everything was different. Now she'd do her bit by being careful. And if girls were best for moving weapons, surely they were good for moving messages too? Sarah had images of herself
bringing
important documents to Michael Collins himself.

Sarah found Ma in the kitchen, already making tea. Ella and Josie had gone for a walk in Herbert Park.

‘Simon wants some tea,' Sarah said.

‘I guessed he would,' Ma said. She'd recovered quickly from her outburst last night, but Sarah hadn't forgotten it. She'd seen the mask of calm taken away from her mother's face, and seen what lay beneath.

She thought of the troubles Ma had been through – the Great Strike, the years of poverty, the war, the Rising. Through it all Ma had kept the family together, even when her husband was off being shot at in a war where millions died. And now things had turned out well, and she might have expected a little happiness. But instead her husband and her brother were both up to their eyes in even more dangerous business, and the comfort she'd finally found for her children might be snatched away again.

Sarah understood Ma's worries, but she didn't feel the same way. She had only to think of Da now for her heart to swell with pride. But that glimpse of Ma's feelings last night – not just what she said, but the pain in her voice when she said it – had confused Sarah. Ma and Da both wanted the best for their children, but in this matter it seemed there was a gulf between them.

She stood by the table and watched Ma go through the simple movements of making the tea. She felt a stab of love for this woman who had done so much for her. But then she heard feet coming quickly down the stairs, and
Simon Hughes came in.

‘Here, Sal,' he said. ‘I've seen your Mr Moore.'

‘Oh?'

‘Yes. And you'll see him too, I think. He's coming up your path.'

As he turned to go back up the stairs, Sarah saw him reach inside his coat for his gun. She was already in the hall when the knock came to the front door. When Sarah opened it Moore was standing on the step.

‘Ah,' he said. ‘Good morning. Sarah, isn't it?'

‘It is, Mr Moore.'

Ma came to the door, and Sarah introduced her to their visitor.

‘Actually,' Moore said, ‘I hoped to see Mrs Breen again.'

‘The Breens live in the basement,' Ma said. ‘Sarah, why don't you bring Mr Moore downstairs?'

Sarah didn't want to go anywhere with this man who might be a British agent. Then she thought she might find out more about him if she did go.

‘Come on, Mr Moore,' she said. ‘Only I hope you haven't had your breakfast. Mrs Breen will stuff you with tea and cake.'

She was surprised to hear her own voice sounding so cheery. Maybe she was getting better at lying. That would be useful.

She tripped down the steps with Moore on her heels. She could feel his presence loom behind her all the way down to Breens'.