Authors: Marjorie Bowen
Mr. Thomas Reynolds sauntered into a fashionable glover’s shop in Skinner’s Row, and asked to look at some riding gauntlets.
The man behind the counter, instead of bringing out any of his merchandise, replied:
‘You’ll find Mr. Hanlon upstairs.’
Mr. Reynolds pushed open the door of the back of the shop and mounted to an upper chamber, where a plain, robust gentleman, very quietly dressed, with steel-rimmed glasses and a woollen scarf, was seated at a table. Under his hand was a portfolio bulging with newspapers and manuscripts. Beside this lay a brace of pistols. A small fire burnt on the hearth, but had not yet heated the bleak room. The day was wintry, nor had the gales ceased.
Round the walls were boxes and cases of gloves and skins. The only furniture, beside the table, was a few chairs, on one side of which Mr. Thomas Reynolds seated himself with his cool assurance that so far had remained unshaken before any event.
‘Good day, Mr. Hanlon,’ he said, lounging back with his hands in his pockets; and the other, whose aspect and accent both showed him to be an Englishman, replied dryly:
‘Good day, Mr. Reynolds. What have you got for me to-day? Remember we are expecting something important.’
‘I trust, sir,’ said the other coolly, ‘that you consider that what you have already had from me is of a good deal of importance.’
‘If you could look over reports of the secret committee of the House of Lords, nay of both Houses of Parliament from the year ’93, Mr. Reynolds, you would know that the Government has had a very early knowledge of the conspiracy carried on by the United Irishmen, that they have spent a very great deal of money on a regular system of espionage, and that there are very few secrets of the society that are not in their hands.’
‘Or so you think, sir,’ grinned Mr. Reynolds, with great effrontery. He drew back his heavy coat, showing his handsome dress. ‘I know, of course, that there are spies and informers amongst us, yet they are mostly fellows in subordinate positions who are not able to come at any very great matters.’
‘Wolfe Tone was betrayed by M’Nalley, you remember that, I suppose,’ observed the Englishman, adjusting his spectacles.
‘I have heard it, and that he had a pension of three hundred a year for his pains,’ returned Reynolds impudently. ‘I hope all were as well paid.’
‘We get our information,’ continued the Englishman unmoved, ‘also from Mr. Frederick Ditton, and some of your solicitors too — M’Gutchen, these two have now gone to Maidstone, where they may help to secure the conviction of O’Connor. M’Gutchen, as you know, since he is a friend of yours, is still in the confidence of the United Irishmen; then we employ Captain Armstrong, who has proved invaluable. I speak of the informers you know, Mr. Reynolds,’ added Mr. Hanlon, with considerable emphasis. ‘Believe me, we have yet other sources of information and are by no means dependent on you.’
‘Yet you seem to give yourself a certain concern with me, sir, or why this private interview?’
‘You said that you had something particular to communicate. What you have told us hitherto has not been of much use to us.’
‘I don’t want to compromise my friends, sir,’ said Reynolds. ‘I won’t give names, you understand. I’ll disclose enough of the conspiracy to enable the Government to put it down, but I don’t want any one hurt, and I won’t appear as a witness.’
‘I dare say that could be arranged, Mr. Reynolds. Let’s hear first what you’ve got to say. As for not mentioning names, I don’t see that anything you could tell would be the least use without them,’ and Mr. Hanlon rapped his fingers on the hard cover of his red portfolio. This seemed to be a signal, for an inner door which Reynolds, for all his sharpness, had not perceived, opened, and a tall, fair gentleman who must have been standing close behind it, entered the apartment. He wore a fur-lined coat buttoned up to his chin and did not remove his hat, which was pulled over his eyes, but he made no attempt at disguise. Without a salutation he gave a keen look at the informer, then stood in a languid attitude by the poor fire. Even Thomas Reynolds was a little disturbed, for he immediately recognised Lord Castlereagh. But quickly recovering his impudence, he exclaimed:
‘I perceive your lordship
does
put some value on my poor testimony!’
Castlereagh replied mildly:
‘I have to make use of some detestable instruments, Mr. Reynolds. The Government is in such a position that it cannot afford to overlook any possible form of assistance. I have listened to your conversation with Mr. Hanlon and it seems to me you use evasion and are prepared to waste our time. That I cannot permit. Let us come very plainly to the facts.’
‘It’s facts I mean to offer your lordship.’
‘And it’s facts I’ll offer you, Mr. Reynolds. You are, I believe, in considerable difficulties, pressed for debt, have been living extravagantly, taken up with women who spend your estate. You have even had to borrow from an old servant of your family. You owe a great deal to one Mr. Cope, who suggested you should raise funds by selling your friends.’
‘I didn’t know your lordship was aware of my poor history.’
‘We have our sources of information, Mr. Reynolds. In brief, you are in immediate need of a large sum of money.’
‘I don’t want to be paid for my information. I don’t want honours or rewards, I assure you.’
‘None has been offered you, Mr. Reynolds. Pray leave aside these fine sentiments, sir. The Government is prepared to pay handsomely.’
Doggedly, with increasing ill-temper, but losing nothing of his effrontery, the young man declared:
‘I won’t show up in the witness-box.’
‘We’ll get others who can do that, Mr. Reynolds; we want information.’
‘What information, sir?’
‘Whatever you can give us, particularly the plans of this conspiracy and the means whereby we may seize the heads of it. I know the disaffection is widespread. I have taken means to put it down, but it is now essential that the chiefs should be seized and their plans disclosed. Can you, or can you not, do this for us? I believe,’ he added, with sharp contempt, ‘that we have no other informer in our pay who is so high in the confidence of these unhappy gentlemen as yourself. They are poor judges of character, sir, to trust you so completely.’
‘I don’t like the word informer, my Lord, indeed I don’t. I’m a man of honour and respectability. What I’m doing is out of loyalty to His Majesty and to avoid bloodshed.’
‘I said it before, Mr. Reynolds, that we should leave aside all sentiment. Your motives may be what they will, that is nothing to me. If you don’t require any recompense for your service, all the better for the pocket of His Majesty’s secret service department.’
‘I don’t say I shan’t want to be recompensed for my out-of-pocket expenses,’ admitted Reynolds sullenly. Beneath the gaze of Castlereagh’s eyes which looked at him so steadily from behind the light lashes, his own did at last shift a little and finally turn aside. ‘I dare say that would be no more than a matter of five hundred pounds — though Cope said the Government would go to a thousand a year —’
‘Five hundred pounds,’ repeated Castlereagh, with a faint ironical smile. ‘And how much do we get for that, Mr. Reynolds? You know your fellow spy, Captain Armstrong, has just been here.’
Reynolds interrupted jealously: ‘Armstrong don’t know what I do! He may have worked himself into the confidence of Mr. Henry Sheares and his brother, but he don’t know anything of Lord Edward Fitzgerald.’
‘But you do, Mr. Reynolds,’ interrupted the Secretary for Ireland. He turned to his subordinate. ‘Make a note of that, Hanlon. Mr. Reynolds has mentioned the name of Lord Edward Fitzgerald, the Duke of Leinster’s brother. I tried to save him — you may remember? It’s no use now, we can’t have any further consideration. He, without doubt, is their military leader.’
‘Armstrong,’ continued Reynolds, sullen, jealous and uneasy, ‘don’t know, I tell you, my lord, what I do. Fitzgerald has offered me a Colonelcy. I’m secretary and treasurer for the provincial branch of the Union in Kildare.’ He paused, biting his lips, wondering how best he could make the bargain, wondering how much Armstrong had already given away. It was humiliating to be but one of a large number of informers. He would have liked to have had all the credit and rewards for himself. He did not dare, under Castlereagh’s gaze, attempt much subterfuge.
‘I suppose you know that the United Irishmen have sent emissaries to the camps of Laughlinstown; they’ve done very well in getting the men over, I believe. Lord Carhampton ain’t popular. Luttrel’s a bad name in Irish history.’
‘I know,’ interrupted Castlereagh, ‘that disaffection is spreading among the troops. Captain Armstrong lets me know everything. We have that in hand now that Abercrombie has arrived back in Dublin, but what’s planned here? When did you last see Lord Edward Fitzgerald?’
‘Last night,’ admitted Reynolds abruptly. ‘I met him at the Black Rock Tavern, him and Oliver Bond. There is to be a meeting of the Executive at Bond’s on the twelfth — something to be planned for St. Patrick’s Day, I think.’
‘Will all the leaders be there?’ interrupted Castlereagh, who, during the whole of this interview, had neither moved nor changed his expression save for the faintest shadow of contempt which now and then passed over his features.
‘Cummings and M’Cann of Grafton Street were there,’ said Reynolds, ‘and Hugh Williams. Lord Edward tried to persuade me to become a Colonel for the Boroughs of Kilkea and Moon. He gave me the resolution, and returns of the National Committee.’
‘You have them on you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Please take those papers from Mr. Reynolds, Mr. Hanlon.’ The Englishman put out his hand. For a second the informer hesitated. It was not apparent whether his reluctance to give up the documents was due to stupidity or remorse, whether he was wondering if he had disclosed too much without having secured the promised substantial reward, or whether he felt squeamish at the thought of thus betraying the lives of men who trusted him absolutely.
The hesitation, whatever it was, did not last long. He put his hand in his pocket and brought out the papers in Lord Edward’s own handwriting which he had shown to Pamela in Leinster House a few days before. Mr. Hanlon took them without comment and passed them on to Castlereagh, who glanced over them immediately and then, without a word, placed them in his inner breast pocket.
‘I have lately,’ continued Reynolds, looking narrowly at the Minister, ‘become very intimate with Lord Edward for the sole purpose of helping the Government quench this horrible conspiracy which is intended to convulse the country and sever it for ever from England.’
‘I don’t need to be told that, Mr. Reynolds. Please keep to the facts.’
‘Your Lordship deals rather harshly with me,’ exclaimed Reynolds, rising to his feet. ‘By God, I won’t go any further without an assurance that I’m going to be well treated.’
‘What do you consider “well treated,” Mr. Reynolds? You’ve already been offered rewards, but you said you have no pecuniary advantages in your mind.’
‘I want your promise that my name’s not to be revealed. I can’t face those men. Besides, if there was the least suspicion I should be killed like a rat.’
‘One understands that, Mr. Reynolds. Your name shall be kept secret — you shall not be called upon as witness. You’ve already asked for five hundred pounds, it shall be given to you.’
‘I want something else too, and that’s justice. When I went last to Kilkea Castle, that’s my property, you know —’
‘Yes,’ interrupted Castlereagh, ‘leased from Leinster, through his brother’s influence. I know all about it, Mr. Reynolds.’
Angry at this, Reynolds continued spitefully: ‘Well, sir, I want that looked to. When I went last to Kilkea the military had been over it, laying the place waste, and at least twelve thousand pounds worth of damage done.’
‘The damage shall be assessed and the Government will meet it,’ replied the Secretary for Ireland. ‘Pray tell me what more you know of Lord Edward Fitzgerald and his plans.’
‘I called on him at Leinster House this morning. He is there with his wife. I told him that I’d heard that the Lawyer’s Corps were to be called up in case of rioters or alarms, that they had orders to attend Smithfield, and such as had not ball cartridges were to get them at the house of Councillor Saurin, and such as were going out of town did not think their arms safe, but would deposit them with him, and this was to be kept secret. Lord Edward, upon my telling him this news, was agitated, and said: “It looks as if the Government had got wind of the conspiracy.”’
‘Did he seem to fear arrest?’ interrupted Castlereagh.
‘Indeed he did, sir. He said that he wished he could get to France to hasten the invasion, that he knew Talleyrand Perigord very well. He told me that he had not approved at first of general invasion, but that now it had come to it, and the French had some very fine, fast sailing frigates and that he would like to get hold of them and put on board as many English and Irish officers as he could procure, and as many men as he had drilling, with stores and ammunition of different kinds, and run them into some port in this country. He became very enthusiastic over the idea, and said he had heard Wexford might do, and that it would be unsuspected and if they succeeded they could establish a rallying point until other help should come. But he added that it was too late now for this scheme, that he must remain in Dublin and do what he could without French help. I tried to assure him that nobody could be informing the Government as to the doings of the United Irishmen. He walked up and down the room in a very agitated fashion, then agreed with me. “No, it is impossible. The Government cannot have been informed of it. They have never known where we meet.”’