Swearing Allegiance (The Carmody Saga Book 1) Page 8

  “Of course I did. Danny’s my brother too. He drives me to distraction at times, but I shouldn’t want to see him shot at dawn. You don’t think they’ll shoot him, do you?”

  Shaking his head profusely, Patrick felt his gut twist at the thought of a firing squad taking his brother out into the stone breakers yard and riddling him with bullets. Through Kevin, he had heard about Pearse’s, Clarke’s, and MacDonagh’s executions and of those still to follow. Danny was not going to suffer that fate, Kevin had assured him on the telephone. Those being shot were the rising’s prominent leaders, not the foot soldiers and volunteers.

  Patrick, although deeply relieved that his brother had been captured but not killed at the tannery when caught, was quietly seething with anger. When he’d explained to his mam, sister, and Minnie about what Danny could expect, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of betrayal. Danny’s irresponsible and selfish behaviour was unforgivable, not because of what he’d been caught doing, Patrick admitted, but because he had disrespected his mother on the day after they’d buried her husband. “He’ll be punished. They’ll probably let him stew in prison for a few days, but no physical harm will come to him,” Patrick recalled saying to his family, thinking at the same time that he wanted to give Danny a clip around the ears.

  “I see Kevin coming,” Jenny said, nudging Patrick from his thoughts.

  After escorting Patrick and Jenny through the gates and into the prison’s sickbay, Kevin asked Jenny to sit outside his office in the small waiting area.

  Patrick watched Kevin hover in front of Jenny looking like a lovesick schoolboy, reluctant to leave her. He might have found this scene quite poignant if it weren’t so obvious that Jenny had absolutely no interest in Kevin’s advances.

  “I hear you’re going to London, Jenny,” Kevin said, blushing slightly, as he always did when talking to her.

  “Yes, for good, I think, although I think it’s a silly idea,” Jenny told him, sitting on a hard bench.

  “Perhaps we could meet. It would be my pleasure to take you to dinner.”

  “Perhaps,” Jenny answered dismissively.

  Kevin ushered Patrick into his office, closed the door behind him, and invited Patrick to sit.

  “You told me the other day that you were going to give up on that lost cause,” Patrick teased.

  “I lied. I’m not one to back away from a challenge. I have an inkling that she’ll be more open to me now that she’s going to London and John is out of the picture. I saw this day coming. He’s been on a slippery slope for a while. His dad was well known to the army for his anti-British articles. Did you know that?”

  Patrick chuckled and shook his head in dismay. “No, I didn’t,” he said, wanting to waste no more time on pleasantries. “Is Danny’s situation bad?”

  After offering a cigarette to Patrick, Kevin nodded, sat back in his chair, and then struck a match. “It’s all bad,” he said, after drawing deeply on his cigarette and blowing out the smoke. “What I’m about to tell you must stay between us. Do I have your word?”

  “Of course you have it. You can trust me. You should know that by now.”

  “I do, and that’s why I’m going to be completely honest with you.”

  Not missing Kevin’s worried frown, Patrick steeled himself for bad news.

  “There are a lot of discussions going on about Sir John Maxwell’s policies,” Kevin began.

  “Is he the major general everyone is talking about?”

  “Yes, and as commander-in-chief of our troops, he’s responsible for all penal sentences, executions, and deportations. He seems to be taking this situation to heart. In my opinion, he’s deploying unnecessary severity, and I’m not the only person to think that.”

  “We’ve seen it for ourselves,” Patrick said, not hiding his disgust.

  “No, you haven’t – not really. But I have. I was the chief medical officer attending Pearse’s, MacDonagh’s, and Clarke’s executions. The rifles of the firing party were waving like a field of bloody corn. The men in the squad were visibly distressed at having to cut Irishmen to ribbons at a range of about ten yards. And to make matters worse, their bodies weren’t returned to their families. They were covered in quicklime.”

  “No funerals?” Patrick asked, aghast at what he’d just heard.

  “No. Maxwell doesn’t want any public gatherings. He feels they may trigger a re-emergence of violence.”

  “He obviously didn’t count on hundreds of people attending Pearse’s and Clarke’s memorial masses, then. Dublin was at a standstill yesterday.”

  “True.”

  “I did hear that sympathy for the rebels was growing,” Patrick continued. “On our way here, we saw a couple of republican flags flying and a few people wearing badges.”

  “That’s why the top brass is not taking any chances of this reigniting. In the past week, they’ve seen recruitment levels to the British Army diminish to a trickle, and there has also been an increase in arms thefts. I suppose this is the reason behind Maxwell’s incarceration warrants – Danny has one; I’ve seen it. I suspect he’ll be on a boat before day’s end, and once the army locks him and the other rebels up in England, they’ll more than likely throw away the keys and forget about them.”

  Patrick felt his heartbeat quicken. He shook his head and creased his brow in disapproval. He had hoped for a short prison sentence in Ireland for his brother, not this.

  “Damn it! Damn it, Danny,” he said, more to himself than to Kevin.

  “Maxwell is wrong, Patrick. The top brass might convince themselves that strangling Irish resolve by issuing harsh penalties is the surest way to put out a flame that’s been burning for decades, but not even the threat of further dissention merits the imprisonment of so many. I’ll bet you ten shillings that less than half of those arrested were involved in the rising.”

  Patrick finally admitted his feelings aloud. “I tend to agree. His penalties are having a profound effect on the Irish people. I’m enraged. I feel as if I’m watching a stream of Irish blood dripping from under a closed door.”

  “I understand how you feel, but …”

  “How can you? It’s not your brother that’s getting locked up,” Patrick retorted, and then apologised. “Sorry. I’m furious about this. What were you saying?”

  “I said that I understand because I’m as Irish as you are. I not only took the Hippocratic Oath of a doctor, but I also swore allegiance to the British Army and to defend the country against not only foreign foes but all enemies of the empire. I’ve just lost a cousin. He was killed last August in the Somme. And I’m not the only person in Dublin to suffer the death of a loved one in this war. The rising was an affront to all those who have spilled their blood in the trenches …”

  “I know that Danny’s not innocent.”

  “You’re damn right he’s not! He’s in the Sinn Féin and was caught red-handed with weapons that were going to be used against government forces. He was fortunate not to have been jailed the first time round.”

  Patrick’s face paled. “What first time?”

  “You didn’t know?” Kevin asked shamefacedly.

  “Know what?”

  “Shite. I’m sorry, Patrick. Danny was arrested on the twenty-eighth. He was taken to the Richmond Barracks, but the army let him go because he hadn’t yet turned eighteen.”

  Staring at Kevin, who was squirming uncomfortably in his chair, Patrick felt his anger growing. “The rotten liar. He told me that he left the city centre before the surrender – I’ll kill him with my bare hands. Why did you not tell me?”

  “I didn’t think it appropriate,” Kevin said. “Your family were grieving, and to be honest, it wasn’t my place to inform on him. Danny should have come clean.”

  Patrick agreed. Rising from the chair, he looked out of the window that overlooked the yard and again thought about how lucky Danny was to have survived in one piece.

  “Thanks for your time, Kevin. You know, maybe locking Danny up in a
n English prison is not such a bad idea. At least he’ll be relatively safe, and incarceration might teach him a lesson.”

  “I’ll let you know as soon as I find out when and where they are taking him. Nothing has been confirmed yet, but there’s talk of an old whiskey distillery in North Wales being used as a prison camp. Chances are he’ll eventually go there.”

  “That’ll please him. At least he doesn’t hate the Welsh,” Patrick said, shaking Kevin’s hand.

  Chapter Eleven

  London, 20 May 1916

  “What’s all this nonsense I hear about a daylight saving time going into law today?” Minnie asked Patrick.

  “It’s not nonsense. It’s a good bill, Minnie,” Patrick assured her. “All over the British Isles, we will advance our clocks by one hour. It will cut down the usage of coal, electricity, and gas as well as save the government a lot of money.”

  “The practice has already been implemented in Germany, France, and Holland,” Kevin added.

  “And why should we follow Germany when we’re at war with them?”

  Jenny rolled her eyes. “I presume that’s precisely the reason.”

  “Well, I don’t know why governments can’t just leave nature alone. Time is what it is. It’s unnatural to play with the hours in a day. Next they’ll try to control the weather,” Minnie insisted.

  “Mother, let’s talk about something else, for goodness’ sake.” Grumbling, Susan slammed her cup down on the saucer. “Kevin and Patrick have been kind enough to come to see us, and quite frankly, they do not have the time to listen to you prattle on about changing the hour on the clock.”

  Glancing at Kevin, Patrick signalled with his eyes that he wanted to leave. Taking tea in his granny’s parlour was not what he had originally planned to do today, and his patience with his mam was wearing thin. She had made the decision to move the family to Greenwich against his advice, and now she was making no bones about regretting the decision.

  Looking around the gloomy room, he couldn’t blame her for missing Ireland. Minnie’s house was like a shoebox in comparison to the sprawling seven-bedroom home that his mam was used to in Dublin. Three bedrooms were ample for the three ladies, he thought, but it had no family room, dining room, or inside lavatory. The brownstone-terraced house had a small patch of green to the rear and a three-feet-square area of shingle just inside the front wooden gate, and on the other side of that was a noisy main road leading to Tower Bridge.

  Patrick had always liked Greenwich. Something regal and beautifully historic about the borough always enticed him to walk for miles instead of taking the tram. Looking out the window, he gathered memories. He’d always loved his childhood holidays with Minnie and his granddad, who’d died in 1902. Walking for miles in Greenwich Park with his dad, he’d learned about the history connected to it. Laid out for King Charles II from a design by Louis XIV’s landscape gardener, it was the oldest of London’s eight royal parks and could trace its roots back to 1427. As a boy, his imagination had run riot. Who had walked on that grass hundreds of years before him or ridden steeds with sword and shield in hand? He’d often wondered.

  Then there was the beautiful Painted Hall and Chapel of the Old Royal Naval College, which stood on ground once occupied by a palace belonging to Edward I and later Henry VII. What colourful stories Minnie used to tell – in particular, about it being the place where Henry VIII was born. He’d married Catherine of Aragon and Anne of Cleves there, but it had also been a less romantic spot when he’d signed Anne Boleyn’s death warrant.

  He was well aware that his mother was in no mood to see any positive aspects in her new surroundings, but in Greenwich she was bordered by magnificence and not the filthy rat-infested tenement buildings of Dublin, where she might have ended up.

  “And of course, Kevin, what makes life even more difficult is that we don’t own our own transport,” Susan said.

  “Apart from all the mishaps, how are you settling in?” Patrick asked Susan for the second time.

  “As well as can be expected, I suppose,” she answered. “I’m annoyed that I didn’t manage to sell the furniture or china dinner services. We should have delayed the crossing.”

  “Had we waited, dear, you would have been sleeping in the streets, with me and your daughter along with you,” Minnie reminded her. “You should be grateful for what you have, not sitting there like Lady Muck, complaining about what you’ve lost.”

  “And what exactly do I have? You’re so insensitive, Mother. You always have been.”

  “Mam, you have the money from the sale of the Daimler, and you did manage to auction off your dining room table and chairs. You are not a pauper,” Patrick said calmly.

  Jenny said, “That money won’t last us long, Patrick. Everything is more expensive here. Very soon we’ll be living on fresh air, and if that’s the case, we may as well return to Ireland.”

  “You will have to find employment, Jenny. That’s all there is to it,” said Minnie.

  “Work? Over my dead body!” Jenny said, looking shocked.

  “Susan, talk to your daughter. You know I’m right. I can’t feed and clothe all three of us, not for the long term. Jenny, I’ll take you to the munitions factory in Woolwich – or to one of the other factories. They’re employing just about anyone, so I hear. If that doesn’t suit, we’ll try to get you into service for a while – although I’ve heard that there’s not much call for that profession at the moment. Apparently, even the wealthiest have to do without their servants in these grave times.”

  “Oh, boohoo. Poor them,” Jenny said sarcastically.

  “Don’t pucker your face, Jenny dear,” Susan said. “One must do what one must to get through this wretched war. And what with your brother locked up and Patrick finding out that his father didn’t pay this year’s tutorial fees, I don’t see any other solution. You will have to go out to work.”

  Jenny started to sob. No tears came, but nonetheless, she wiped her eyes with a pathetic brush of her hand.

  Patrick stood up, unable to sit still any longer.

  Kevin followed his lead. Sidling towards the door and appearing to be uncomfortable with witnessing such a heated family debate, he said, “It was so nice seeing you all again, but I really must get back to the hospital.” Then looking pointedly at Jenny, he added, “I wonder, Jenny, if I might alleviate your mood by taking you to dinner. Central London is not what it used to be. The restaurants are under rationing, of course, but I can still treat you to a decent meal, if you’ll let me.”

  “That would be nice,” she replied absently, and then immediately dismissed him.

  “Patrick, you promised you would look into John’s circumstances. Have you found out anything yet?” she asked him.

  “Not yet. I don’t have many contacts in the penal department,” he said mockingly. “I’ll keep trying.”

  “Does no one know how long he and Danny will be in prison?”

  “I said I don’t know anything.”

  Susan said, “We are all desperate for news of Danny and John. In the meantime, I think you should take Kevin up on his offer as soon as it’s convenient for him. A dinner in London and good company will do you a world of good.”

  “Oh, I’m living in a nightmare,” Jenny cried, brushing rudely past Kevin on her way out of the room.

  Still fidgeting, Kevin cleared his throat and attempted to offer a solution. “They need nurses at my hospital and other women willing to tend to the wounded – or just to keep the place clean. Perhaps working in a munitions factory is not suitable for a delicate young woman such as your Jenny. If you like, I can have a word with the nursing staff …”

  Patrick, standing passively at the door, heard the chuckle leave his mouth, yet he couldn’t seem to stop the full-blown laughter that followed. Imagining Jenny working in a hospital and her acquiescence when asked to empty bedpans, clean up vomit, and scrub blood off the floor was a ridiculous notion. She would scoff at the idea and put Kevin in his place just for
mentioning it.

  “Excuse me for laughing. I find nothing humorous about your suggestion, Kevin,” he said turning serious. “I have the greatest respect for the women of this country. They are working under some dire circumstances both here and in France, but unfortunately our Jenny can’t see past her own troubles.”

  Minnie said, “That’s true. She’s never had to wash a dish or clean a floor in her whole life. She needs to be educated.”

  Reminded of a woman he’d met the previous day, Patrick thought that mentioning her might be useful. “Yesterday I was walking from the college to my digs when I saw an injured woman, who I might add looked just as delicate as Jenny. She was sitting on the pavement against some railings on the Strand, cradling her arm, which was bandaged from her underarm all the way down to her wrist. Apparently, she worked at one of those munitions factories and had her arm broken by a torpedo shell that happened to fall on her. She was in a great deal of pain, and I offered to take her to a doctor. Do you know what she said?”

  “No, what?” Minnie and Susan asked at the same time.

  “She said it was nothing to worry about. She was just feeling anxious that she was not healing quickly enough. She told me that her father and cousin had died in France and the family needed her wages. I mean no offence to your suggestion, Kevin, but my sister needs to need, not to be needed.”

  “Patrick, don’t be unkind,” Kevin said. “She has just lost her father.”

  “As have thousands of other girls, such as the one I spoke to yesterday. We all have to make sacrifices,” he said to no one in particular. Patrick sat back down. He thought this an appropriate time to tell his mother about the documents he had signed earlier that day. Kevin already knew.

  “Mam, I came here today to tell you that I’ve enlisted.”