Authors: Marjorie Bowen
Thomas Reynolds, conducted by one of Dr. Kennedy’s servants, entered the room of Lord Edward Fitzgerald, who was seated before a table covered with papers neatly filed and arranged. He was writing busily, but threw down his pen and rose instantly as Reynolds entered. There was no dismay in his looks; there was, indeed, a brightness in his appearance, an energy in his manner like those of a man on the brink of success. He held out his hand and grasped that of his friend warmly.
‘Reynolds, I’ve sent for you to be an intermediary between me and the Executive.’
‘You won’t leave Dublin, then?’ asked Mr. Reynolds curiously.
‘Why no, of course not. It is not even to be considered. The rising is to be for May — as early as possible in May.’
‘May — as early as possible in May,’ Reynolds repeated slowly.
‘Yes, don’t let any of them get disheartened by these arrests. See, I have already filled up the places in the Executive, and here is an address to the members.’ He put two papers into the hands of Thomas Reynolds. ‘And let’s leave for the counties. We must not mind what has passed, it signifies nothing! Tell them, all our members, with all the arts of which you are master, my dear Reynolds, that the time is at hand when they shall be called into action, that they may rely upon my being in my place on the day of need.’
Thomas Reynolds gave Lord Edward Fitzgerald a long, a searching look, as if he found it hard to credit both the words and the bearing of the man to whom he spoke. It was indeed difficult for a man of his character to realise that a human being could exist who was above all doubt of suspicion and subterfuge. Fitzgerald’s complete candour and absolute trust seemed to Reynolds unreal. He turned his eyes away, he glanced down at his well-polished boots, rubbed his hands together, and then said: ‘I think you’d best get out of Dublin, my Lord — out of Ireland. All your friends wish that, I know.’
‘Reynolds!’ cried Fitzgerald reproachfully, ‘that is impossible. Pray don’t waste time on that argument, pray don’t! See, I have another commission for you. I have in my trust thirteen pounds as treasury for the Barony of Offaly, thirty-two pounds as treasury of the County of Kildare — I’ll have these sums handed over to you, and you must return them to the proper persons.’
‘Yes, yes,’ replied Reynolds, looking up swiftly, ‘but that seems but a trifle compared with the other affairs your Lordship has in hand.’
‘One must be careful even of these trifles. Good organisation is all. Now don’t stay here, Reynolds, one never knows, the house may be watched.’
‘You’re not remaining here, my Lord?’
‘No.’
Where shall I find you then?’
‘Why, I don’t know what my friends intend for me,’ smiled Fitzgerald. ‘Surgeon Lawless is coming for me with a disguise; he is taking me to another place.’
‘But I must know where it is, sir, if I am to be your messenger to and fro to the Executive.’
‘Come here again to-morrow and they will tell you where I am.’
He again affectionately pressed his friend’s hand, and bid him and all his fellow United Irishmen ‘be of good heart, for he felt in his very blood omen of a perfect success.’
Thomas Reynolds folded the papers into his pocket, took leave of Fitzgerald with fewer words than his wont and thoughtfully left the house of Dr. Kennedy. He did not, however, leave Aungier Street, but remained hidden in the shadows of a doorway till he had seen a gentleman who, he supposed, must be Mr. Lawless enter Dr. Kennedy’s house, then come out soon afterwards with a companion wearing a broad-leaved, old-fashioned hat with a long mantle. Lord Edward, no doubt. But Reynolds did not follow them; he considered it unnecessary to give himself that amount of fatigue. He turned, instead, slowly towards his own house.
*
Mr. Reynolds had scarcely started on his way when a passer-by, coming in the opposite direction, suddenly stopped and stepped in front of him in a determined manner. He knew him at once for Thomas Neilson, one of the United Irishmen.
‘Ah, Mr. Reynolds,’ said Neilson, ‘I will accompany you a little farther. I have something of importance to say to you.’
‘The street is not the proper place for it.’
‘Then we may go to Bond’s house,’ replied Neilson, falling into step beside the other, and taking his arm with a firm grip. ‘We must consult as to what is to be done for those arrested — they must be saved.’
‘With all my heart,’ said Reynolds, and he added in a low voice, leaning forward so that his lips were on a level with the other’s ear, ‘I have just been to see Lord Edward. He is in the best of spirits and bids us all keep up heart.’
For reply Neilson gave him a grim, silent look. When they reached Oliver Bond’s house, Neilson, urging that the police were after him, and that he was not safe in the streets, took Reynolds into the handsome mansion he had so often frequented.
‘Mrs. Bond is very anxious to see you. Will you wait on her?’
‘With all my heart,’ replied Reynolds. ‘I will give her what comfort I can. I fear that her husband will be convicted. The most amiable, the most generous of men! But there is already a scheme on foot whereby the other prisoners will offer to disclose their plans without mentioning names, if his life is to be spared — that might cause at least a delay.’
‘Did you mention that to Lord Edward?’ asked Neilson roughly. ‘What is one man’s life against the success of the cause? But you may say that to Mrs. Bond; it is good enough to comfort a woman’s grief.’ And they went up the stairs, past the room where the meetings were usually held, and Neilson threw open a back door which led through the large warehouses which were connected with the house in Bridge Street. Reynolds followed Neilson without hesitation, but the latter’s appearance became every moment more and more menacing. Reynolds was unarmed, and it came into his mind that he was committing a folly, but his courage was beyond any shaking.
Neilson walked across the warehouse and opened two large doors which concealed the crane gate and a drop of several feet into a mews. Reynolds stood rigid while the other gazed down into the darkness below the open doors. Neilson turned round and demanded, while he clutched Reynolds by the arm: ‘What should I do to the villain who could insinuate himself into our confidence for the purpose of betraying us? My God, Reynolds, we have been betrayed, and I believe I know by whom!’ Without the least faltering the informer answered: ‘If you could find such a traitor you should shoot him through the heart.’
Neilson put his hand on the pistol at his belt. He was a powerful athletic man and could without much exertion have cast Reynolds backwards through the open crane doors. The informer knew himself very near violent death, but his colour did not change, nor his eyes sink. His breath did not hurry nor his hands tremble. With folded arms he stared scornfully and boldly at the man who suspected him.
‘I believe it is you, damn you,’ said Neilson; ‘you and Armstrong.’
‘If you think that, dispose of me — it is in your power.’
This boldness, which seemed to Neilson impossible in a guilty man, caused him to falter in his purpose. He took his hand from his pistol and turned away from the door. Reynolds instantly seized the advantage. ‘Is this a joke to try me, my dear fellow? What is the meaning of it? It is really absurd, you know, to bring me up here to this dismal place for this nonsense.’
‘You can take it as a joke to try you if you will,’ cried Neilson, frowning, ‘but some one has furnished the government with intelligence, and it must be one of the officers on the County Meetings Committee.’
‘Why should you suspect me?’
‘I’ll give my reasons at our next meeting,’ said Neilson. ‘You’ll be there, I suppose. You were not at the last.’
‘Neither was Lord Edward Fitzgerald, nor others,’ replied Reynolds instantly. ‘And I
shall
be at the next. I have some of Lord Edward Fitzgerald’s orders to communicate. The rising is for May.’
Further impressed by this, Neilson said nothing. Reynolds turned and with a firm, heavy step left the warehouse, entered the mansion, passed down the stairs, and paused to glance at an open door where Mrs. Bond was sitting by the fire in an attitude of profound dejection. She stared at the door as she heard his step, but her eyes were blank. Mr. Reynolds made a formal salutation and passed out into the street. He was incapable of fear and his heart did not beat one whit the faster for this unexpected adventure, but he turned over in his mind, with a certain dry surprise, the probable cause of this suspicion. He had thought himself so safe.
‘I must be careful. I must remember that every one isn’t so credulous as Fitzgerald.’
When Reynolds next met Mr. Hanlon above the glove shop he was disguised with more than his usual care and had made his way very circumspectly to Skinner’s Row. With some temper he informed the government man of his interview with Lord Edward, of the intentions of that leader of the revolt, and of his own unexpected and unpleasant encounter with Thomas Neilson.
‘Lord Clare and Lord Castlereagh both want Edward Fitzgerald got out of the country. Can you do this?’
‘I suggested it to him, but he won’t go. He is a bigoted fanatic. He thinks it his duty to remain at the post of peril,’ replied Reynolds with a sneer. ‘He was always a fool. I remember him as a child. Full of new-fangled notions even then!’
The Englishman glanced very oddly at the informer and seemed about to make some comment on this, but refrained. Mr. Reynolds, however, rightly read his look.
‘I don’t dislike Lord Edward,’ he remarked insolently. ‘I swear that I pity him — so misled by bad company — but such traitors can’t be endured.’ Mr. Hanlon glanced aside.
‘Well, if he likes to run on his fate you’ll keep us informed as to his whereabouts.’
‘I am to return to Kennedy’s house to-morrow. They will tell me then where he is. Lord Edward has not the least suspicion of me, but what about this damned man Neilson? Am I supposed to go to the meeting on the eighteenth at O’Riley’s?’
‘Certainly you are,’ replied Hanlon. ‘There will be the most valuable information to be extracted there.’
‘Well, I don’t care about it, as I say. I am suspected. They’d think nothing of shooting me.’
‘You’ve got a very bold front and a very plausible tongue, Mr. Reynolds. Can’t you persuade your friends of your honesty? Take an oath, if need be, of your fidelity and that you were not the person who betrayed the meeting at Bond’s.’
‘I might not be believed.’
‘You’ll have to risk that, Mr. Reynolds. If you go back on the government now you won’t have much in the way of reward to look for.’
‘I told you I didn’t do it for reward, but out of loyalty to His Majesty.’
‘Let rewards go, then,’ replied Mr. Hanlon brusquely. ‘Consider this — that if you do not continue to remain among these conspirators and detail their plans to the government, you may be considered as one of them. You may find yourself in Newgate, Mr. Reynolds, and, I can assure you for your private information, there’s no mercy intended. Government is going to extreme measures, the Hessians are already being quartered on the city. Castlereagh don’t intend to take a chance.’
Reynolds frowned and said sullenly: ‘Why don’t you strike at once; why not put an end to it?’
‘You know the government’s policy, they wish these men to go as far as possible that they may be crushed once and for all. But never mind that, Mr. Reynolds, Lord Castlereagh expects of you that you should attend the meeting on the eighteenth.’
As Reynolds did not reply, the Englishman added: ‘With whom did Lord Edward leave Dr. Kennedy’s house?’
‘With a Mr. Lawless, a surgeon.’
‘Ah, yes, we have his name. Make it your business, Mr. Reynolds, to keep in touch with Lord Edward and tell us of his whereabouts. I suppose you will give evidence against the fourteen men arrested at Bond’s?’
‘If it is taken secretly.’
‘It will be.’
‘Then I am ready. For the sake of His Majesty’s government.’
‘Very good, Mr. Reynolds. Lord Castlereagh will remember these services.’
Mr. Reynolds rose and carefully adjusted his scarf round his face.
‘If the government convicts these men —’
‘On your evidence they will convict —’
‘And the punishment?’
‘I don’t know in every case. But for Oliver Bond and William Byrne hanging is intended.’
The informer continued to twist the thick silk about his throat.
‘A pity for Mr. Byrne,’ he remarked coolly, ‘a fine young man. And but a year married.’
When Edward Fitzgerald left the house of Dr. Kennedy, Mr. Lawless, one of the most loyal and devoted of the United Irishmen, took him to the house of a widowed lady whose quiet life and insignificant personality rendered her a most unlikely object of suspicion. She was a warm patriot, and when Mr. Lawless had asked her if she would find shelter for Lord Edward Fitzgerald, whom she had never seen but whose name and fame were very dear to her, she had instantly agreed.
It was to this small house then on the banks of the canal, outside Dublin, that Mr. Lawless conveyed his friend, who was carefully disguised in a powdered wig worn in a queue, a coat cut very different to his usual fashion, a broad-leaved hat and a heavy travelling cloak. He passed under the name of Jameson, and the story was to be that he was a friend of Mrs. Grant’s son, who had perished abroad long since, and had lately come from the West Indies by way of England. But there was, indeed, little need for any tale at all, for the sole inhabitant of the house, besides the lady herself, was an old maidservant, faithful, taciturn and solitary and a manservant whose family had suffered horribly in the scourgings and burnings in Wexford.
‘You are as safe here, sir, as you can be anywhere in Ireland,’ said Mr. Surgeon Lawless.
‘I’ll not stay long for fear of implicating these good people. I suppose it is a legal offence now to shelter me! I must move from place to place, Lawless, so that no one may have the blame of hiding me. I am glad I have seen Reynolds,’ he added; ‘that’s off my mind. He has full instructions and a heartening message. There is a meeting at O’Riley’s on the eighteenth. Well, God bless you, Lawless. I don’t want to keep you any longer.’
‘Is there no more service I can do you, sir?’
‘Nothing more. There’s only one thing I want in the world, and that’s, of course, to see Pamela and the children.’
‘For God’s sake, don’t venture that, sir. No one is the least likely to look here, but Denzel Street, where her ladyship has gone, why, they’ll be searching that like they did Leinster House.’
*
The Negro servant, Tony, who could not long be quiet away from his mistress, but like a dog, must follow her and sit at her skirt’s hem if possible, only happy when he was able to perform some service for her or for the children, came timidly creeping into the little parlour of the house in Denzel Street long after he was supposed to be abed in his own quarters. He thought that his mistress had been looking very ill recently and he had it on his mind that he must watch her and at the first alarm call the doctor. He knew that she sat up very late, often dozing in the chair before the fire in the parlour, till long past midnight. As the Negro cautiously opened the door he saw that the two candles were still burning and the fire glowed on the hearth.
His mistress was there as he had expected to find her, half hidden in a hooded chair, but there was another figure, seated on a stool on the hearth and holding her hand. The slave closed the door with a delicate care: it was his master whom he had seen in the half light of candle and fire. Fitzgerald had got to his feet on the opening of the door. Pamela had risen and clasped his arm. ‘It is only Tony!’ they breathed together with relief. Fitzgerald laughed cautiously. ‘Why, Tony, how did you guess I was here?’
‘He looks after me like a watch-dog,’ said Pamela.
‘You didn’t tell him I was still in Dublin?’
‘I told no one.’
Tony approached. He was, in his master’s eyes, a tragic figure, with something about him of the beaten captive animal. His forlorn face twitched with pure joy as he stared at his master. Fitzgerald impulsively gave him his hand and the servant went on his knees and pressed it to his lips.
‘Poor Tony,’ said Lord Edward, his other arm round his wife. The slave looked up, and saw that they had both been weeping; the tears gushed down his own cheeks as he began to sob with the bewildered misery of a child.
Fitzgerald gently withdrew his hand.
‘Hush, Tony. I don’t want the other servants to know I’m here. It’s you and you only who must be aware I’m still in Dublin. You understand? Go back to your quarters, Tony, or something may be suspected. I shan’t come here again, not till all is over. Come, Tony, I trust you.’
The slave rose, gave a long look at his master, then at his mistress, then with reluctant but unquestioning obedience left the parlour.
‘Poor soul,’ said Lord Edward, ‘but for his appearance which marks him everywhere I would take him with me, Pamela. There is a man to be trusted. Sit down again, my love, and be at ease. I fear his coming has disturbed you.’
‘You should not be here, I feel it’s so dangerous. You were always imprudent, Edward. I fear you make a bad conspirator.’
‘I fear I do, Pamela,’ he replied ruefully. ‘Hear what happened yesterday,’ he added, trying to turn her from her grief and apprehension. ‘I am known, as I told you, as Jameson, and a pretty good tale has been made up to account for my presence with Mrs. Grant. But what should happen but that I must leave a pair of my boots outside the door to be cleaned, and the fellow who polished them, the manservant there, took a chance to say to his mistress in the morning that he knew who the gentleman upstairs was, but that he need not fear, for he would die to save him, and he then showed her my name written at full length in one of the boots.’
‘Oh, Edward!’ exclaimed Pamela, ‘that is the kind of thing — you see, you don’t think of such details!’
‘Indeed, I must confess I do not! But there was no harm in it, Pamela. He was a noble fellow. I told Mrs. Grant I should like to have some talk with him, for she related all to me, thinking I might consider it dangerous to remain. But it seemed the fellow’s family had suffered in Wexford and he was for our cause. He told Mrs. Grant that he would not look at me, for he said, if they should take me up I can then swear, you know, that I never saw him.’
‘But it’s dangerous! It’s all dangerous.’
‘Come, dear, you are not going to be one of those who try to persuade me to leave Dublin?’
‘I want you to,’ she said earnestly. ‘Lord Clare spoke again to your brother Leinster about it. He said, “For God’s sake get that young man out of the country. All the ports will be open to him.”’
‘I’m obliged to Lord Clare,’ smiled Fitzgerald, ‘yet I don’t thank him for thinking me a coward. Come, darling, let us sit by the fire a little as we did before Tony came in. I don’t want to leave you in any agitation.’
Pamela took her place again in the hooded chair, and her husband, after putting out the candles which were guttering down to the sockets, sat on the stool at her feet, before the firelight, and took her hand in his strong, steady clasp.
‘If only,’ she murmured, ‘I could be sure you are not betrayed.’
‘I am indeed sure of it,’ he said. ‘And now, Pamela, you must believe in me, trust me, be sure that all is going to end well. Mr. John Sheares and his brother are carrying on my work for me. I am very pleased the way things go. Pamela, you shall smile and say you are hopeful!’
‘Yes, yes, dear. I know that what any man can do, you will. I wrote to Major O’Kelly and thanked him for his kindness when he came to Leinster House — was that right?’
‘It was gracious, Pamela, but I don’t see how the fellow could have been less than civil —’
‘Lady Moira is so compassionate! I spoke to Lady Castlereagh about Mr. Bond and the other prisoners, but she said that she could not interfere in her lord’s affairs — but Lady Louise said that he seemed distressed.’
‘Castlereagh! He is cold-blooded enough! Why, I’ve heard that from his office in the Castle you can hear the cries of those they torture in the yard — nay, I should not have told you that, Pamela — think how soon it will be over — so soon.’
‘Will it, Edward? Mrs. Bond went to see her husband in Newgate. He was loaded with irons —’
‘Pamela, don’t look like that! I promise you that we shall be happy again — soon — by July — in Kildare Lodge again. Won’t you believe me?’
She smiled, though the tears were in her eyes, at his wistful urgency.
‘I promise you, Pamela — happiness again! Oh, my darling,’ he cried, with a sudden rush of feeling, ‘how I have failed you —’
‘No, Edward, no! Sooner you than any other man, were this to be the end of all.’
He bent his face on her hands in order to hide his tears.
‘Play your harp again, love, do your needlework, have the children much about you.’ He rose suddenly. ‘I must not stay, Pamela.’
‘It is lunacy indeed!’
She tried to command herself, and, rising too and holding him fast, begged from him some particulars as to his plans.
‘God help us, Pamela, it is to be soon. It has been postponed again and again, and now there are so many troops in the country it has been difficult to do all from a place of concealment. I have had to rely so much on Reynolds and the Sheares. I don’t know if I can do it, but at least one can try, come out into the open with a sword at one’s side again and a uniform on, and the Irish flag up — that will be something —’
‘But you don’t think there’s any chance of failure, Edward?’
‘I dare not think that, Pamela, I dare not. These brutal Hessians, one doesn’t like to dwell on what they do, and yet you know, Pamela’ — he smiled sadly — ‘the thought came to me to pity them too. They are press-ganged, sold into this slavery of foreign service to fill the pocket of their prince. Something’s wrong with the world, Pamela, isn’t it?’
‘I wish you hadn’t thought so, darling. I wish you’d been content to stay where you were happy, in Kildare.’