A Winter of Spies (4 page)

ON THE FOLLOWING SATURDAY AFTERNOON
Sarah sat out in the garden with Mrs Breen. Mrs Breen was over seventy now, but she was a great believer in the benefits of fresh air. She liked to sit outside on reasonably mild days, even in winter. Sarah often joined her in the garden seat.

Sarah liked Mrs Breen very much, and the old lady seemed to feel the same way about her. She'd told Ma once that she liked to think of Josie and Sarah as the granddaughters she'd never had. Sarah, though, was her special friend.

They sat now, side by side, on the metal seat. Mrs Breen was knitting. Sarah sat watching the thin fingers expertly working the long needles. She hadn't seen this piece before.

‘What's it going to be?' she asked.

Mrs Breen smiled without looking up from her work.

‘A scarf,' she said. ‘For Jimmy, for the winter.'

‘It's a lovely colour,' Sarah said.

‘Do you think so? I thought he might find it a bit gaudy.'

Sarah giggled. ‘Sure, what harm if he does,' she said. ‘I'll only rob it off him anyhow, and I think it's lovely.'

Mrs Breen gave her little laugh. She loved having
children
in the house. It brought a place alive, she always said. She knew Sarah could be a bit wild, and Lily
Conway
was forever giving out about her dangerous rebel talk. But Mrs Breen had never heard her say anything too extreme. Besides, as she always said, there was no harm in it so long as it was just talk.

‘I hope tomorrow won't be anything like last Sunday,' Sarah said. ‘That was a bad thing in the street, with all them soldiers.'

‘Yes,' Mrs Breen said, shaking her head in disapproval. ‘And those low curs of Black and Tans, too. Though some of the troops are not much better nowadays. It's
shocking
. Sometimes lately I think our boys are better out of it.'

The Breens were lifelong loyalists. They'd had two sons – ‘our boys' – both of whom had joined the British army. The elder son had been killed in the Boer war, twenty years ago now; the second had died in an
accident
in Egypt in 1908, the year before Sarah was born. Mrs Breen often talked about them. She couldn't
understand
how things had changed since their day.

‘Even the army's not what it was,' she'd say. ‘It's
because
of that awful war, of course. So many fine young men gone.'

Like most people the Breens loathed the ‘Auxies' and the Tans, but nowadays they'd lost their illusions about everything official, even the government. They weren't stupid, and had to know that some of the visitors who came to Conways' were suspicious characters. But they never mentioned anything.

Sarah never talked about politics with the Breens. She was sure she could tell Mrs Breen anything, but still she was careful. She didn't want to offend the old couple.

‘They stopped our Josie that day,' she said now. ‘And Mick, and their friend.'

‘My husband told me,' Mrs Breen said. ‘He stopped to see if he could help. The Black and Tans asked him to vouch for them.'

‘I suppose the Tans were nervous. Someone shot at them.' She tried to keep the gloating from her voice when she said it.

‘I heard the shooting,' Mrs Breen said. ‘I thought I'd taken a turn, that I was hearing the shooting from the
Rising
all over again. Nine o'clock on a Sunday morning, too – even the Lord's Day isn't safe from their wars.'

A horsedrawn cart was coming slowly down the road. Sarah looked at it curiously. ‘There's someone's luggage,' she said.

The cart was empty except for a pile of trunks and cases. The driver, a little man with a short pipe in his mouth, tipped his hat to them from his high box.

‘Am I right for Ryans'?' he asked them. The old horse pulling the cart stopped walking.

Sarah jumped up and ran to the hedge. She pointed to the house next door. ‘That's Ryans' there,' she said. ‘Is it someone for the rooms?'

The driver shrugged. ‘The divil a bit of me knows
anything
about that,' he said. ‘They tells me nothing. I'm to bring these bags here for a Mr Moore.'

The furnished rooms the Ryans kept on their top floor had been empty for a month. Sarah and Josie had been curious to see who might move in.

‘Is Mr Moore old?' she asked the driver. ‘Have he a family?'

The man took the pipe out of his mouth and spat down on the road. He gave a little cackle. He had a lazy eye, Sarah noticed. His right eye was looking at her, but the left one looked off to the side.

‘Boys a man,' he said, ‘but you're a curious class of a child. How would I know if he have a family? He might have a troop of elephants for all I know. Or a troop of dancing girls for that matter.'

Mrs Breen came down the garden. She heard the
reference
to dancing girls and frowned.

‘That house next door is Ryans', my good man,' she said in her best voice. ‘The young lady has told you so.'

The driver looked at the house next door. ‘I suppose,' he said, ‘the steps is not too bad. I done worse lifting
anyhow
.' He tipped his hat to them again. ‘Thanking you,
ladies
,' he said, and slapped the reins softly on the back of the big horse. ‘Get up there, Mags,' he said.

The horse moved slowly on. Mrs Breen whispered a warning to Sarah about being over-familiar with
strangers
. They might be drunk or anything. One never knew. She hadn't finished when a motor car came down the road at speed. It pulled up behind the cart at Ryans' gate.

‘A motor car outside Ryans',' Sarah said. ‘It must be Mr Moore.'

‘A motor car driving at a reckless speed,' Mrs Breen said. ‘He must have been travelling at twenty miles an hour! Where are our brave auxiliary policemen now?'

But Sarah was goggling with open curiosity at the car. Two men got out and talked to the cart driver. They were handsome enough, but a little old. The motor car was nice, though. Sarah had never been in a car: to take a long drive in one was an ambition of hers. That and helping to free Ireland.

The cart driver was standing in the bed of the cart now, holding up a black valise. The younger of the men from the car was gesturing to him. He was a pale man with
black hair. He wore a broadbrimmed black hat and
flourished
a cane.

‘That's the one. I'll take that,' Sarah heard him say. He had an Irish accent.

When Sarah looked at the other newcomer she saw that he was looking back at her. Mrs Breen was saying something to her about not being nosy. But the second man was walking towards them, a little smile on his face.

‘I say!' he said. ‘Hello there!'

Mrs Breen nodded to him. The man was in his thirties, Sarah guessed. He was tall and straight, and was dressed in a dark tweed suit. He had the accent of a well-off
Englishman
, much posher than Simon Hughes's. His face was deeply tanned, his hair combed flat and gleaming with oil. He wore a thin, waxed moustache. It was neater than Simon's, but Sarah didn't think it looked as nice. The man strolled up to the hedge.

‘Good afternoon, ladies,' he said, touching the brim of his hat. ‘Or should I say “neighbours”.'

‘Ah,' Mrs Breen said. ‘You're taking the Ryans' rooms, then?' She had no objections to talking to strangers in tweed suits with nice accents, Sarah noted.

‘Indeed,' said the man. ‘My name is Moore, Rory Moore.'

‘Honoria Breen,' Mrs Breen said. ‘How do you do. You're an army man?' Sarah saw an odd, dark look flash

across the stranger's face, but then the bland smile was back.

‘Ex-army,' he said. ‘You could tell?'

‘But of course!' Mrs Breen said. ‘It's in the bearing. One can always tell a real army man. I had two sons in the forces – before the war.'

‘Yes,' Moore said. ‘Well, it's all in the past for me, I fear. I've come down in the world – I'm in business now. My friend Fowles and I are investigating business
opportunities
in Dublin. He's another old soldier.'

‘Business opportunities?' Mrs Breen sounded
surprised
. ‘I'm afraid, Mr Moore, you'll have difficulty in these troubled times.'

Rory Moore's smile actually broadened a bit. ‘People have to eat, madam,' he said. ‘They must have clothes. And the government is keen to encourage investment. Where there's trouble, I fear, there's opportunity. It's sad, but it's the way of the world. And the army is here, of course: they have their needs too.'

Mrs Breen said that perhaps he was right. Moore turned his smile on Sarah.

‘And is this your youngest child?' he asked. It was a
ridiculous
question to ask of such an old woman, Sarah thought. Perhaps it was meant as flattery.

Mrs Breen almost simpered. ‘I can see you're
smooth-tongued
at any rate, Mr Moore,' she said. ‘It must stand
you in good stead in your dealings. This is Sarah, a young friend of mine.'

Moore laughed and said hello to Sarah. ‘Anyway,' he said then, ‘I felt I should introduce myself. We'll be here for the summer at least. I do hope we'll see more of all of you. It will be pleasant to live with a family next door.'

‘I know exactly what you mean,' Mrs Breen said. ‘And it's nice to have some genuine army men in the area.'

With a nod and a wave, Rory Moore left them. His friend by now was banging imperiously on the Ryans' door, while behind him the little cart-driver struggled up the path, laden down with luggage. There was still more in the cart, but Rory Moore walked by it without taking anything.

‘What a pleasant young man,' Mrs Breen said. ‘But I think it's getting colder, Sarah. We had better go inside. Come and have some cake.'

Sarah hadn't thought Rory Moore was so pleasant, never mind young. Something that he'd said had puzzled her, but she couldn't think what it was. It was only as she followed Mrs Breen through the door of the basement apartment that it struck her.

‘Mrs Breen?' she said.

‘Yes, child,' said Mrs Breen. She'd given up long ago on trying to get the Conways to call her Honoria. Ma thought it would be cheeky.

‘Mr Moore said it would be nice living next door to a family.'

‘Yes, dear, he did.'

‘But how did he know there was a family here? What did he mean, “all of you”? He's only seen the two of us, and you told him we weren't related.'

Mrs Breen looked puzzled for a moment, then made a face. ‘I'm sure I don't know, dear,' she said. ‘But come and have some cake. I just baked one today.'

Sarah looked out. From the basement doorway you could see Ryans' top step, but neither of the newcomers was there. All Sarah saw before she closed Breens' door was the sweating cart-driver clumping sadly down the steps to fetch the rest of their luggage. Cake beckoned.

LATER, WHEN SARAH WENT UPSTAIRS
, she found nobody home except Ma and Ella. They were sitting in the kitchen. Sarah knew that both Da and Mick were
working
, but she'd expected to find Josie or Jimmy there.

‘Where's the lads?' she asked Ma.

‘Gone for a walk by the sea,' Ma said.

It wasn't far to the sea from here. Often in summer the whole family would walk there to take the air or to visit the Doyles, who lived in Ringsend. The Doyles were old friends of the Conways. They'd lived in the same
tenement
in the bad old days. Mr Doyle had been in the union with Da, and had been in jail with Mick after the Rising. Tommy, their son, was an old pal of Jimmy's. Like the Conways, the Doyles had come a long way from the slums. In Ringsend, Mr Doyle claimed, the fish threw themselves out of the sea and into the frying pan. The fish-eating and the sea air, he said, was making them all grow gills.

‘They could have asked me if I wanted to go,' Sarah said, disappointed. ‘When did they go?'

‘Oh, they're gone this good hour and a half,' Ma said. ‘Anyway, you were down in Breens'. They can't always be running after you, you know.'

Ma was sitting at the kitchen table, sewing. Sarah sat beside her. She was suddenly bored. She would have liked to walk in Sandymount and watch the tide coming up the long strand.

Ella was reading that day's newspaper, tut-tutting at the reports of fighting that were taking up more of the news each day. Her sympathies lay – just – with the
Volunteers
, but she hated the whole business. She thought they were all mad, really – Tans, Tommies, Volunteers, police, the lot.

‘I hope your Da remembers that I told him to buy
bacon
,' Ma said. ‘There's no meat in the house for the
dinner
tomorrow.' She sighed. ‘Sometimes,' she said, ‘I wonder whether men are worth the trouble. Your Da have a head like a sieve when it comes to getting
messages
. But if there's no Sunday dinner on the table then we'll hear all about it.'

‘Ah, but men are nice, Ma, all the same,' Sarah teased.

Ma gave her a comic look, screwing up her face. ‘They are and they aren't,' she said. ‘And whether they are or not, you're too young to be bothering about them.'

‘I met our new neighbour,' Sarah said.

Even Ella looked up. ‘Is someone taking the rooms
in Ryans'?' she asked.

‘A Mr Moore and a Mr Fowles. Ex-army men. Mr Moore was talking to me and Mrs Breen.'

‘And? What's he like?'

‘Mrs Breen seemed very taken with him. He's a bit too smooth for my liking.'

Ma and Ella laughed when she said that. ‘Lord,' Ella said, ‘but they do grow up quicker and quicker, don't they, Lily? When we were your age,' she said to Sarah, ‘we'd have been called cheeky for talking like that about grown-ups.'

‘I heard Da say one time,' Sarah said, ‘that soldiers never grow up. He said the army was like a boys' club with guns.'

The front door opened and closed. ‘Talk of the devil,' Ma said. ‘That might be your Da now.'

But it was Josie. She came into the kitchen looking wild. The three of them stared at her.

Josie stalked over to the table and glared at her sister. ‘Sarah Conway,' she said, ‘your Da is going to kill you stone dead. You'll be lucky if you're let outside the front door for a year.'

Sarah goggled at her sister. She was too shocked even to be indignant. ‘I never done anything!' she said, as much out of habit as anything else. But she honestly didn't know what Josie was talking about. Then a terrible
suspicion formed in her mind. Josie promptly confirmed it.

‘Hah!' Josie said. ‘I suppose carrying guns past a crowd of Tans is nothing, then.'

‘Holy mother of God!' Ella said.

Ma said nothing. Her face had gone blank and white. She just stared from Josie to Sarah and back.

‘Sarah,' she said finally. ‘Tell me it's not true.'

Sarah was immediately defensive. ‘And what if it is? Haven't I as much right as anyone to help the boys?'

‘No,' Ma said. ‘No, you do not. Apart from anything else you're only eleven years old.'

‘There's lads hardly older than that throwing grenades in Camden Street.'

‘You,' Ma said, ‘are not a lad, and this is not Camden Street.'

‘I can do anything a boy can,' Sarah insisted. She glared at Josie. ‘Who told you about it anyhow, nosy?' she
demanded
. She caught a hint of colour in Josie's face and knew. ‘It was Simon Hughes,' she said. ‘You were seeing him tonight. That stuff about a walk was all a cod.'

‘It was not a cod,' Josie said. ‘We did meet Simon, as it happens. And yes, he did tell me about it. He'd never have got you involved in a thing like that. He knows
better
. And what Da will say to that gurrier Martin Ford I dread to think.'

‘Stop,' Ma said. ‘Will one of you tell me what
happened
, please? I'm not even sure who to curse.'

Josie sat down at the table opposite Sarah, who was looking daggers at her. ‘Simon Hughes,' Josie said, ‘was nearly caught in a raid last Sunday. Him and Martin and that fellow Byrne had spent the night in Phelans' after
being
caught out by the curfew. Except there was a raid early on Sunday. It was a botched raid. Byrne and Martin got out, but Simon was stuck in the lanes.'

‘But sure we know that,' Ma said. ‘More or less. What has it to do with Sarah?'

‘Martin wanted someone to take Simon's gun off him. But he'd no time to find anyone – until he met your dear daughter here out in the street.'

Ma looked in horror at Sarah. ‘No,' she said. ‘Sarah, no. You didn't.'

Sarah folded her arms and stared back, defiant. She said nothing. She'd never speak to Simon Hughes again. His moustache was rotten, anyhow. He should wax it.

‘Simon is after feeling bad about it all week,' Josie said. ‘He didn't want to get Sarah into trouble. But he knows too that Da can't afford to have any of us involved in
anything
.'

This was too much for Sarah. She stood up. ‘Can't
afford
?' she demanded. ‘How can we afford to sit by while all this is going on? I want to help the lads fighting. It's my
fight too. It should be everybody's!'

‘Sarah!' Ma didn't shout, but she spoke in what Jimmy always called her ‘policeman's voice'. She didn't have to shout when she used it.

‘Sit down,' Ma said. Sarah sat down. Ma put an elbow on the table. She rested her chin in her hand. She looked at Sarah in a peculiar way.

‘I wish,' she said, ‘that your Da was here this minute.'

Her wish was answered almost immediately. They heard the front door opening, then Da came in with Jimmy. Both of them had obviously rushed home. They were panting. Jimmy was carrying a parcel wrapped in butcher's paper. Sarah assumed it was the bacon.

Da walked over to the table and stood there without saying a word. Jimmy stayed by the door, looking tense. Da looked hard at Sarah for a long time. He was
breathing
heavily. Nobody spoke.

‘Jimmy came and got me,' Da said finally. ‘Is it true, what he says?'

‘Ask her, why don't you?' Sarah said, gesturing angrily at Josie. ‘She seems to know everything.'

‘I'm asking you.'

Sarah was getting a very bad feeling about all this. Everyone seemed very worried, but nobody was
actually
giving out to her. Even Da seemed frightened rather than anything else. She almost wished that somebody
would shout at her.

‘Youse are all always at me –' she began.

Da cut her short. ‘Is it true?' he asked again.

Sarah felt herself starting to go red. ‘Yes,' she said. ‘Yes, it is.' She looked around defiantly. ‘And I'm glad I did it,' she said. ‘I'm proud.'

Da leaned on the table with both hands and hung his head. He groaned. ‘Oh God,' he said. Sarah looked at him, frightened herself now. She'd never seen him like this. Da pulled out a chair and sat beside Josie. He looked at Ma.

‘Lil,' he said, ‘we have to tell her.'

Ma's hand was still over her mouth. She looked at Sarah, and then back at Da. ‘I know,' she said.

Sarah stared from one of them to the other. Tell her what? She looked at Ella and Josie, but she could read nothing from their faces.

Da looked into Sarah's eyes. ‘I want you to listen very carefully,' he said. ‘Ask what you like, and forget what I tell you. Do you understand?'

‘No.'

Da sighed. ‘What harm,' he said. ‘How could you? Listen anyhow.'