Rebel Sisters (42 page)

‘Please – you must have more,' she begged, trying to keep the hysteria out of her voice. ‘I need to buy a wedding ring today that fits me. I have to find one.'

The jeweller stopped and considered for a few seconds before putting the tray aside. She was clearly a lady of quality, so he went down to the far end of the shop and returned about a minute later with another cloth-covered tray which he set in front of her.

‘Have a look at these, miss. This one here is very popular with our brides. It is eighteen-carat gold and what we call a classic design.'

Grace went to slip it on her finger but it stopped at her knuckle. Disappointment threatened to overwhelm her.

‘Never mind, miss, I'm sure I have another that will fit,' he offered, leaning over and studying the tray. ‘Try this.' He pulled out a slim gold band.

Grace held out her hand and he slid the wedding ring smoothly on to her finger. He tried to move it back and forward. It wasn't too tight and sat perfectly on her long, narrow finger.

Grace studied her hand with the gold band – her wedding band. It was just what she needed. As she looked at her finger she could feel tears welling up in her eyes and was filled with such a deep sadness at the absolute unfairness of it all and what might befall Joe. She began to shudder and cry.

‘I'll take this ring,' she sobbed, her voice breaking, aware of the man's concern as he stared at her.

‘Weddings are a beautiful time but emotional for everyone. Why don't I put this ring aside for your young man to come in and pay for it later in the week?' he suggested. ‘Wrap it up all nice for him.'

‘Please, I have to buy the ring now,' she insisted tearfully, slipping the band off her finger and giving it back to him. ‘He cannot come in, so I will pay for it.'

‘Very well, I will wrap it for you,' he agreed slowly.

‘Please, I don't need a fancy box – just something simple to carry it in,' she said, shaking.

‘Are you all right, miss?' he asked, worried, reaching under the counter for a small wine-coloured box. ‘Are you in trouble?'

She guessed that brides in such a state of upset and tears in his shop were a very rare occurrence.

‘Please do not cry, miss. I'm sure your wedding will be a fine, happy occasion. When is it to take place?'

‘I am to be wed tonight,' she whispered.

‘Tonight?' he repeated, puzzled.

‘My fiancé is Mr Plunkett. He is one of the rebels being held in Kilmainham,' she explained slowly, awaiting his hostile reaction as she reached into her purse. ‘We are to be married there tonight, for I fear that he is to be executed.'

She gripped at the counter to steady herself as dizziness swamped her.

‘Oh my dear – I am so very sorry. The whole city is full of what happened to some of the leaders there this morning …' He trailed off. His sheer kindness threatened to undo Grace as she found the notes and passed them to him.

As he wrote her a receipt in his book, Grace dabbed at her nose with her handkerchief, fighting to compose herself. He held the door open for her as she left.

‘Good luck, miss,' he said gently as she turned her attention to getting to the prison to see Joe.

GRACE STEELED HERSELF
as she approached Kilmainham Jail, notorious in the past as the place where thieves and murderers met their end, many hanging from a high noose swinging outside the prison entrance. She shivered as she thought of Joe and his friends now held captive there. It was after six o'clock when she walked across the cobblestones and knocked on the door for admittance.

A soldier questioned her roughly and for a moment she felt like running away, but she stated her name and address and her reason for being there, and showed him the official piece of paper that the priest had given her. He went off to check something, then came back a few minutes later and led her to the office of Major Lennon, the governor of Kilmainham. Grace tried to control her fear and trepidation as she was ushered inside.

‘Marriage in prison is an unusual request,' Major Lennon said gruffly, barely looking at her.

‘I have all the necessary church documents and permission here,' she said, pushing them on to his desk.

‘It would be one of the prison chaplains from St James's parish that would perform such a ceremony if it is authorized,' he said, reading them.

‘I have spoken with Father MacCarthy already,' she explained.

Grace said nothing more. It was clear this decision now rested in his hands; Major Lennon would be the one who would decide her fate.

‘You do know Mr Joseph Plunkett has been tried and found guilty of all charges, and by order of General Maxwell is due to be executed with the rest of the leaders of the Sinn Fein rebellion?'

Grace swallowed hard, shaking her head. She did not want to believe the dreadful words he had spoken.

‘Mr Plunkett and I had planned our marriage before this,' she said firmly, trying to control the desperation in her voice. ‘It was our intention to have been married at Easter, but events delayed it. We both love each other very much and it is Joe's last wish that we are wed.'

He nodded understandingly.

‘I have to wed,' she continued, unable to hide the panic she felt. ‘Joe and I have to be wed. Do not deny us this, Major Lennon, for it is all both of us want.'

Silence hung between them.

She considered telling him that her brother Claude was away fighting in France, that Liebert was in the navy and that her twin brother, Cecil, was about to enlist, and begging him to help her, but perhaps he would consider that she had shamed her family enough.

She watched as he studied the documents in front of him.

‘Miss Gifford, everything seems to be in order,' Major Lennon agreed. ‘You and Mr Plunkett have permission to marry today.'

Relief washed over her as she was escorted outside by a soldier to a small waiting area. She and Joe were going to be wed.

‘When will I see Mr Plunkett?' she asked.

‘Relatives are to wait here,' the soldier explained curtly, disappearing as she sat on a small wooden chair in the damp, chilly room. Hopefully it would not be too long till she and Joe were reunited and would have their wedding, be officially married as they had planned, and that something good would come out of this terrible situation. Of course she had never imagined being wed in a place like this with a prison priest, but then she had never imagined that she and Joe would be caught up in such a tragedy.

Grace waited and waited. Eventually she called out, asking to be allowed to see Joe, but there was no response. Precious time was ticking by and she was filled with a desperate anxiety that perhaps they were playing some kind of trick on her.

She could hear distant footsteps, men shouting, men calling out.

Did Joe even know that she was here? Rumour had it that her sister Nellie was also being held in Kilmainham. How she longed to see her and talk to her.

She thought of MacDonagh, shot by a firing squad only a few hours ago. She would always remember his kindness, his generosity and good humour, and his deep, abiding love for her sister. His death was unbearable. He and Joe were always the best of friends, and now the two friends would meet the same fate.

It felt as if the room was closing in on her, so she slipped out to a small enclosed yard with towering stone walls. It was hard to believe that she was in the city, as all she could see from here was the sky and a few birds flying high above her. She could hear cabs and horses and the hooting horn of a distant car, but otherwise this place entombed her as she walked and walked around the yard, trying to calm herself so that mounting panic didn't overwhelm her.

She had decided to wear her pretty new pink and white gingham-edged dress and a simple headpiece with a slight veil. She wanted to look well for Joe, but as night began to fall she could not help but feel the coldness wrap around her and she wished that she had chosen something more practical and warmer. She shivered and moved inside. It was getting late, the hour mocking her.

Grace sat for a while again, hoping that perhaps fate would intervene and that Joe would not be shot but sent away to prison like his brothers. In time they could have a life together, living abroad. He would write and she would draw and they would have a small family of their own and be happy. The thought of it warmed her. Joe was always full of plans for the future and for their life together.

The night sky darkened and the prison fell silent. It was about eleven thirty when a soldier from the Royal Irish Regiment finally came and led her to the prison chapel, where the priest waited.

Grace could barely see, as there was no gaslight, just two soldiers holding flickering candles to provide light. She swallowed hard, saying a silent prayer as she walked towards the altar. She had sworn to herself that she would do her very best to remain composed: Joe did not need to see her distraught and hysterical.

A few seconds later Joe was led in. He looked desperate, hardly able to walk or stand, a ragged, bloody bandage around his neck. His gaunt face was pale, already like a ghost in the flickering light. He tried to smile at her and she longed to hug him, touch him, kiss him, but the soldier kept them apart. Father MacCarthy gestured to the soldier and he undid Joe's handcuffs. Joe, holding his scrawny, bruised wrists, rubbed at them as they gazed at each other.

‘We will celebrate the holy sacrament of marriage in this chapel,' began the priest. ‘It is agreed that these two soldiers here will be your witnesses.'

Grace was tempted to beg them to search the prison and bring her sister or any of the Plunkett family to the chapel, but it was made clear that this ceremony would be as brief as possible and that they were not permitted even to speak.

She and Joe stood beside each other and she could hear each of their breaths as the priest began to lead them through the words of their marriage vows. She passed the ring to Joe and he took her shaking hand as he slid the bright gold band on to her ring finger and they repeated their vows ‘To love each other until death do us part'.

Grace's voice caught and she felt emotion would make her break down, but Joe squeezed her hand tight, his dark eyes locking on hers, giving her a strange strength and courage as the ceremony ended. With the priest's guidance, they and the soldiers signed the marriage register and Joe was immediately re-cuffed.

She prayed for a little kindness, compassion for them to be given a few minutes alone with each other as a newly married couple, husband and wife, but instead Joe was taken immediately from the chapel and led back to his cell, Grace left standing like a marble statue in front of the holy altar, unable to move or even to say a word.

HER HEART WAS
heavy as she left the prison. It was dark, and instead of a bride's happiness and joy, here she was alone, afraid, and overcome with an immense sadness that she could not dispel.

Father MacCarthy joined her. ‘Mrs Plunkett, I fear that you will not be able to get back across the city with the curfew,' he said, worried. ‘I will see if I can find you a safe place to stay for the night.'

She nodded dumbly, trying not to give in to the tears that threatened.

They walked along James Street to a nearby convent, but the nuns were all asleep in their beds and offered no assistance.

‘The bellringer, Mr Byrne, lives nearby,' the priest sighed. ‘Perhaps he can help us.'

The bellringer was surprised to be disturbed at such a late hour, but the priest explained Grace's situation, that she was the wife of one of the rebels due to be executed. Mr Byrne, nodding in sympathy, kindly welcomed her inside his small, simple home. She had a cup of tea and a slice of soda bread that he insisted she eat before he led her up the narrow stairs to a small, dingy room overlooking the back yard.

Exhausted, she lay on the brass bed with its musty horsehair mattress and pulled the rough blanket over her. She prayed silently for Joe, that God would somehow intervene and that miraculously he would be pardoned, his death sentence commuted, even if he were deported to some far-off prison in the British colonies. Rolling on her side, she longed for sleep as she cried and struggled to contain her grief.

Suddenly she was woken by Mr Byrne standing at the end of the bed, telling her she must get up immediately as a motor vehicle had been sent from the prison to collect her and bring her to see Mr Plunkett. In a moment she was dressed and slipping her shoes back on, then quickly using the outside lavatory, brushing her hair and dabbing some cologne on her wrists and neck as she thanked Mr Byrne for his hospitality to her.

The driver, a policeman, refused to be drawn about the reason for her visit as they passed through the empty streets and once again Grace found herself inside Kilmainham's high walls.

It was the middle of the night, two o'clock, and it was hushed and quiet, the prisoners sleeping in their cells. She wondered if her sister slept too, unaware of her presence and her marriage to Joe.

She was brought again to the governor's office, where one of the guards informed her that, as Mr Plunkett's next-of-kin, his wife, she was permitted to visit him in his cell prior to his execution. Major Lennon had given permission for her to say goodbye to her husband.

She stood there not trusting herself to speak, her eyes drawn to a letter left lying on the governor's desk addressed to Mrs Pearse from Padraig. Grace was briefly tempted to steal it to give to his poor mother.

‘This way,' said the soldier, leading her through the cold, damp prison corridors.

Nervous, she shivered and touched her new wedding band as she followed him. The light was poor and she had to concentrate so that she did not trip or stumble.

Eventually they stopped and the door to a small, narrow, dark cell was opened. In the gloom she could see Joe, sitting with a blanket around him on a plank of wood which served as a bed on the floor, with only a bench, a bowl and a cup. He looked up, surprised, and in that instant she could see the love for her in his eyes. She longed to fling herself into his arms and caress and hold him, but the cell was crowded as soldiers crammed in behind her. Some carried bayonets and one pointedly held a watch.