A Winter of Spies (7 page)

KEANE'S SHOP WAS SHUT
, but Da knocked on the hall door beside the shop entrance. The door was opened by a sad-eyed boy a few years older than Sarah. Sarah knew who he was – Tommy Harte. His father had been in jail with Mick after the Rising. The Hartes lived here with their grandfather, Jeremiah Keane, who owned the shop.

‘I'm looking for Mr Ellis,' Da said to Tommy Harte.

Tommy Harte just nodded. ‘He's above in the back room, Mr Conway,' he said. He seemed to know Da quite well, though Sarah had never heard Da mention Keane's before tonight. But then, she thought, why should that surprise her? Da had a whole other life she'd never guessed at.

Tommy Harte led the way up the steep, narrow stairs. Sarah found the climb hard going. On the third landing Martin Ford sat reading a magazine. He grinned when he saw them, but the grin didn't look very genuine. Da
nodded
to him without saying anything.

‘Here,' Martin said, jerking his thumb at a doorway. Da opened the door without knocking and led the way in.
Tommy Harte stayed out on the landing.

Simon Hughes was in the room with another man.
Simon
stood in front of a table at which the other man sat. The second man was broad and well-built. He was younger than Da, with a head of thick brown hair. He had a handsome, boyish face. He didn't look like the pictures she'd seen of him, but she knew that this was the Big
Fellow
, Michael Collins.

Neither Collins nor Simon looked up as Da and Sarah entered. The big man was sitting with his chair pushed back. He was looking down at the table, frowning. A thick lock of hair fell over his forehead. Then he looked up at Simon.

‘I've a bit of a job,' he said, ‘that would take the boy's mind off things. It's down the country – down his own way. If he can keep his head, it would be right up his street.'

Sarah was surprised at his voice. Though she knew he was a Corkman, it was still a surprise to hear the broad
accent
. It was almost disappointing. In some obscure way it seemed that such a great man should speak more nicely. She was probably just prejudiced against country people, she thought, even though she had country relations
herself
. Besides, that man Moore spoke nicely, and he was almost certainly a spy.

She thought of Collins's words. Somehow she knew
that ‘the boy' was Hugh Byrne. So Collins had a job for him that would be ‘right up his street'. It must be a killing, she thought, and she noticed a strange reaction in herself. Just knowing what Collins must mean by ‘a bit of a job' made her feel dirty, as though she were somehow defiled even by the understanding of it. She kept thinking of the dying detective, of his stained waistcoat and that
gruesome
spray of blood. It was strange to hear such things spoken of so casually. Strange and nasty. She was no longer so bloodthirsty since seeing that man in the street tonight. The sight of real blood had quenched that thirst.

Collins reached up and brushed the hanging lock of hair off his forehead. He was wearing a dark blue suit, and a white hat lay on the table. He didn't look like a guerrilla general. He looked like nothing so much as a successful young businessman. Sarah was a bit
disappointed
by this too, though she felt she could hardly
expect
Collins to parade around in a uniform for her benefit. There was a price on his head, after all.

Then Collins looked for the first time at herself and Da. His face, so serious, broke into a momentary smile. It was like a light going on in a dark room. It was gone in an
instant
, but in that instant Sarah was certain she'd seen him wink at her. Michael Collins had winked at her! She felt she could die of pride right there and then, however his accent and dress might have disappointed her.

‘Good evening, James,' Collins said. ‘And I presume this is your daughter.'

‘This is Sarah,' Da said. Sarah felt her face flush. Collins nodded to her.

‘Was it you, Sarah,' he asked, ‘who saw Hugh Byrne in town tonight?'

She'd been right, then; it was Byrne they were talking about. Sarah found it hard to answer Collins. An unusual shyness came over her. She'd never met a famous person before. Her mouth was dry. Collins smiled at her. Da prodded her in the back. ‘Speak up, girl,' he said.

‘Myself and Jimmy,' she said, ‘that's my brother. We saw him.'

‘And he shot someone?'

‘We didn't see the actual shooting, but we were sure it was him.'

‘Sure?' Collins was still smiling, but his eyes were
staring
narrowly. Sarah felt he was looking right through her. She knew that look: Da had it too.

‘We were certain,' she said. ‘He was smiling. I never seen him look so happy. It was an ugly smile.'

‘Right,' Collins said. He looked up at Simon. ‘Si,' he said, ‘find Hughie. Tell him I want to see him after in Vaughan's.'

Simon nodded. He smiled at Da and Sarah and left without saying a word.

‘You didn't ask why I wanted to see you, Mick,' Da said. It gave Sarah a thrill to hear him address Collins in such a familiar way.

Collins leaned back and sat on the table. He smiled at them.

‘You're here,' he said to Da, ‘because you're afraid for your family.'

‘Aye,' Da said. ‘Not for myself. I want to make that very clear.'

Collins held up a hand.

‘James, please,' he said. ‘I'm not an eejit.' He looked at Sarah now. ‘Do you know,' he asked her, ‘the first man who ever mentioned your Da's name to me?'

‘No,' Sarah said. She couldn't imagine.

‘It was James Connolly,' Collins said.

Sarah was so shocked she forgot to be shy. ‘James
Connolly
the 1916 leader?' she blurted out.

‘The very same. Only he was James Connolly the trade-union man too. Don't forget that. I was talking to him in the GPO during the Rising, and he was worried about how the Citizen Army men were getting on in
Stephen's
Green.'

‘My uncle Mick was in the Green,' Sarah said. However much she might have jeered him since, that was one thing about Mick she'd always be proud of.

Collins nodded. ‘I know,' he said.

‘What did James Connolly say about Da?' Just thinking about the scene made Sarah starry-eyed. James Connolly had talked to Michael Collins about her Da. And after the Rising the British had taken the wounded Connolly out, tied to a chair so he wouldn't fall over, and put him in front of a firing squad. They'd shot him and buried him in quicklime up in Kilmainham Gaol. People said the bosses and capitalists had made sure he'd be shot,
remembering
his trade-union work.

‘Connolly was talking about the men who'd missed the fight,' Collins said. ‘About the ones that poverty had forced into a foreign army, to go and fight a foreign war, to keep their families from starving in front of their eyes. Some of the bravest of men had gone, he said – the ones who'd be most missed in the Rising. And your Da's was the first name he named. The first of the brave.'

Sarah could feel her chest swelling with pride. Collins looked back up at Da.

‘Oddly enough,' he said, ‘this very night I heard
someone
else talking about your bravery. Only it was no trade-union man. Far from it. You won a medal in the war, didn't you?'

‘A lot of men won medals,' Da said. ‘I came home with me arms and me legs and me eyes. That's worth more nor any bit of tin. They were giving them out fairly easy by the end, anyway. All you had to do was stay alive long
enough and you were nearly bound to get something.'

Collins shrugged. ‘I don't know about that,' he said. ‘From what I hear, you did a bit more than that.'

‘Mick …' Da began. There was a knock on the door. Collins held up a hand.

‘Whisht,' he said. ‘I think this is someone who wants to meet you, James.'

‘To meet me?' Da said, but Collins ignored him.

‘Come in,' he called out instead. The door opened. Harry Harte, Tommy's Da, looked in. Sarah had seen him sometimes with Tommy in the street. Harry Harte was a clerk. Sarah had had no idea that he was still involved in the fight.

‘All right to bring him in, Mick?' Harry Harte asked.
Collins
nodded. Harte withdrew and a man walked in. Sarah felt as though the ground had opened under her feet. She heard Da gasp beside her. She herself nearly fainted with shock. It was Mr Rory Moore.

Moore smiled almost shyly at Da. ‘How are you,
Private
Conway?' he said. ‘Long time no see.'

‘CAPTAIN GRACE!' DA SAID
.

The man Sarah knew as Moore held up a warning hand. ‘Please,' he said. ‘My name these days is Moore.'

‘Moore? But not …'

‘Your new neighbour. I'm afraid so.'

Da was silent. He looked from Moore to Collins and back again. Collins gave a delighted little laugh. It was such an unexpected sound that Sarah stared at him.

‘The look on your face, James, is priceless,' Collins said. Catching Sarah's look, he winked at her again. ‘Close your mouth, girl,' he grinned. ‘You're too pretty to look so foolish.'

Sarah hadn't even noticed that her mouth was hanging open. She closed it with a snap. She was feeling giddy. What was going on?

Collins stood up and rubbed his hands, obviously
relishing
a joke that Sarah simply didn't get.

Da seemed as confused as Sarah. She'd never seen him look so mixed-up.

‘But why …?' he said. ‘What?' He gestured feebly
to-words
 
Moore or Grace or whatever the man's name was.

‘James,' Collins said, ‘this is Mr Rory Moore of British Intelligence. He's in Dublin to elicit information which will lead – among other things – to my capture.'

‘Or death,' Moore said in a conversational tone.

‘It's much of a muchness,' Collins said blithely.

Death, death, death, Sarah thought. Was that what this always came down to?

‘Mr Moore,' Collins said, ‘is spying on people
suspected
of having contacts with my intelligence network. To be specific, James, he and his partner are spying on your household.'

‘Well!' Da said. He sounded suddenly almost relieved. Moore was looking at him in a peculiar way. There was something like amusement in his eyes. Sarah didn't
understand
any of this.

‘Mr Moore,' Collins said, ‘young Sarah here looks
flabbergasted
. Could you explain?'

Moore nodded at Sarah. ‘Hello again, Sarah,' he said. ‘Have you recovered yet from Mrs Breen's hospitality?'

‘I … I'm nearly used to it by now,' Sarah said. She could think of nothing more sensible to say.

‘Sarah,' Moore said, ‘you know your father won a medal in the war, don't you?'

‘For conspicuous gallantry,' said Sarah, who'd often read the citation in the box. Da kept his old medal safe,
though he never wore it. ‘He saved his comrades and his commanding officer by destroying a German
machine-gun
which had them pinned down …' She stammered. ‘Or something like that,' she said. ‘I can't remember it all. The language is very fancy.'

‘Yes,' Moore said. ‘It does tend to be fancy in those things. But there was nothing fancy about the situation. The Germans had the squad cornered, all right. They were on the spot and no mistake. If it hadn't been for your father not a man would have come out of there alive.'

‘Not many came out anyway,' Da said.

‘No,' Moore said. ‘They didn't. But there's a big
difference
between not many and none.'

‘Not if you're one of the dead ones,' Da said.

‘No, but the fact that any lived at all was due to you, James. And you know, Sarah, after your father finished off that machine-gun, things turned to hand-to-hand fighting – the ugliest fighting of all. Your father's captain was being carved up by two German bayonets at the
bottom
of a trench – six bayonet wounds he had. And then along came your father, wounded twice himself, and rescued him.'

‘Them were no-good times,' Da said.

‘I don't understand any of this,' said Sarah. ‘What are you telling me?'

Moore tapped his own chest. ‘That was me, Sarah,' he said. ‘The captain. I still have the bayonet scars. Your
father
saved my life. I'm the one put him in for that medal.'

There was silence in the room, and then Collins laughed again.

‘Oh it's rich!' he said. ‘Rich!'

‘I've stayed too long,' Moore said. ‘I've had an
interesting
chat with Mr Collins, but I really wanted to say hello to you, James. To let you know personally how things stand.'

‘And how exactly is that?' Da demanded. His voice was a mixture of pleasure and suspicion.

‘Basically,' Moore said, ‘my masters have done a very stupid thing. Do you really think I'm likely to find any
evidence
that will implicate you in anything?'

‘That depends,' Da said. ‘They don't need much by way of evidence these days to kill a man. And it's easy enough to produce any evidence you like when you have a man in custody. Most men will confess to
anything
, faced with a hot poker.'

‘Indeed they will. And it's unspeakable that such things should be going on in my own country.'

‘It's not your country,' Collins snapped. ‘And it's
unspeakable
that such things should be going on
anywhere
.'

Moore looked at him and shrugged. ‘Maybe so, Mr
Collins,' he said. ‘At any rate it isn't me that James needs to worry about. It's Fowles.'

‘You keep faith with me, Mr Moore, and James will have no worries on that score either,' Collins replied.

The two men looked at each other in silence. It was as though they'd forgotten that Da and Sarah were in the room.

‘I'll keep my word,' Moore said then. ‘I always do once I've given it.'

‘An unusual man, so,' Collins said.

‘An unusual Englishman, do you mean?'

‘I meant no slur on Englishmen. I lived in England for a long time, you know. Every country has its dirt, and you'll find as much of it at the top as in the sewer. I only meant that men who keep their word are a rarity.'

Da said nothing. Moore and Collins looked in silence at each other for another while. Then Moore nodded and turned to Da.

‘I'll look out for you as best I can, James,' he said. ‘They trust me, you know. I've done good work for them
before
, in other places. But be careful. That man Fowles is very dangerous.'

Sarah thought about the cold face she'd seen standing over the dying policeman tonight. Her family seemed to have lost one enemy now, and found, in however strange a way, a friend. But their troubles weren't over.

Moore held a hand out to Da. ‘It's good to see you again, James,' he said. ‘Will you shake hands with me?'

Da didn't hesitate. ‘I will, and gladly,' he said, taking Moore's hand.

‘Do you know,' he said to his old captain, ‘there are times I think we had it better in the trenches. It was a more honest class of a war.'

‘It was someone else's war,' Collins said. ‘This one is ours.'

Da gave a rueful little laugh. ‘Oh aye,' he said. ‘Just what I always wanted – a war of our very own.'

Rory Moore left. Collins saw him partway down the stairs. When he came back he said to Da: ‘Well?'

Da looked closely at him. ‘Is Grace – I mean Moore … is he one of your men?' he asked.

‘No. He said he came here to warn me.'

‘About what?'

‘About the danger to you from this man Fowles.'

‘How did he find you?'

‘He asked around. I heard he was asking, and I was
curious
.'

‘Curiosity will be the death of you, Mick. What does he say about Fowles?'

‘According to Moore, Fowles was doing intelligence work in Egypt for years, but he was sent from there for excessive behaviour – which is saying a lot. Moore says
he's a madman. Literally. He's been on at Moore to raid your house and arrest you and Mick and your boy.'

‘Jimmy? Sure Jimmy have nothing to do with this!'

Collins said nothing, just looked at him. Da sighed. ‘Aye,' he said. ‘I should know better nor to think that
matters
. But he's only seventeen.'

‘Kevin Barry was only eighteen when they hanged him, James. Hugh Byrne is only twenty. Would you trust Moore?'

‘I don't know. I done him some good in my time.'

‘Well, he says Fowles is fed up waiting. He wants to
arrest
you, and then he wants to force you to talk. And then he wants to kill you.'

Sarah felt her blood grow cold.

‘Moore claims that so far he's been able to hold Fowles off,' Collins said. ‘But there's them at the very top who
believe
in assassination. We all know that. And now Moore thinks Fowles is just out of control. That detective who was killed tonight – his name was Reed. He was from Mullingar. According to Moore he was Fowles's uncle.'

‘Fowles is Irish?'

‘He is. They're the worst, you know – they have more to prove. Anyway Fowles was very close to his uncle, Moore says. He thinks the killing will drive Fowles over the edge – he's afraid he'll be after you, orders or no
orders
.'

Da looked at the floor. He thought for a while. Sarah saw beads of sweat form on his forehead. What he said then almost made her burst out crying.

‘In that case,' Da said to Michael Collins, ‘I suppose you'd better find me a gun.'