Redemption - Leon Uris [309]
“Having said all this,” Caroline said, “this brazen hussy here feels very shaky.”
“Will you be at the Officers’ Ball at Dublin Castle?” he asked.
“I never pass up the chance to dance with young men.”
“Grand,” he said, “lovely.”
As the curtain opened his troops doubled their alert.
79
Father Dary crossed the Gratton Bridge over the river Liffey onto Ormond Quay Upper, the recent locale of gun and cannon fire. Rubble-cleaning crews compelled him to take a zigzag path. He climbed the stairs to the law offices of McAloon and Fitzpatrick and wedged his way into Theo’s cluttered mash of a room.
“Father Dary,” Theo greeted him, “are you down in Dublin to offer condolences on the Rising? Rachael will be delighted.”
“Theo, you’re a bona fide ass. How did you all come through?”
“We’re reeling about. Look at the center of the city, would you. You might have thought we had ten divisions inside the GPO rather than a hundred misplaced clerks, bartenders, and bookies.”
“Have the executions really stopped?” Dary asked.
“For the moment, thanks to your prayers and those of others.”
“Your mother?”
“Somehow she slipped through the cracks. Countess Markievicz is under sentence of death. Maybe one lady per Rising is sufficient. Mom hasn’t been active since Lettershambo. She still represents a great figure in Irish eyes. A weird dust is settling all over this. The British reaction has been insane, just plain insane, against everything they say they stand for.”
“I think everyone knows what they’re saying to us,” Dary said.
“Yes, but…” Theo began, unfolding himself from his seat, standing, and trying to find pacing room but finding none.
“But what?”
“Have some priests in your diocese, who never breathed a republican breath in their lives, started to whistle a different tune? Are they a little pissed about shooting Irishmen against the wall with impunity?”
“Well, as a matter of fact, I’ve heard some damned hard remarks.”
Theo tickled the tip of his nose. “My nose itches. I can smell it. Not much, Father, but a drift of anger is on the wind. Know what I heard secondhand out of the Castle? The British Ambassador in Washington sent an urgent cable to the Foreign Ministry in London to stop the executions. Seems that the editorials straight across America are now asking hard questions about what really happened here. Tidbits, only tidbits, but Jesus, wouldn’t it be lovely to have it all boomerang on them? It’s about time something decent fell our way. Meanwhile, I’ve still got eighty people under death sentence, and a British prison ship carrying four hundred of our lads left Kingstown today. No one has been publicly charged with anything.”
“So, how’s it going to play out?”
“Maybe further executions will be suspended. Maybe some of them will be commuted to life in prison or something shorter. Maybe, maybe, can’t be sure. The one thing that is certain, Sir Roger Casement is in the Tower of London and they must get him in a show trial, to justify their behavior.”
“I’ve had an interesting visitor,” Dary said suddenly.
“Oh?”
“Rory Larkin. Conor’s nephew from New Zealand.” That engaged Theo’s attention.
“He enlisted about a year and a half ago under the name of Landers. He intended to make his way to Ireland and he didn’t want to carry the Larkin name in.”
“Bright fellow.”
“Very bright. He won a field commission, survived Gallipoli, and has won a Victoria Cross. He and Jeremy Hubble became very close. Through Jeremy he learned about Conor and your mother. He wants to meet her.”
“That would be lovely. Anything else he wants?”
“The Brotherhood,” Dary said bluntly. “He wonders if there’s still a Brotherhood?”
“Of course there is. Since the Rising more men about the country have wanted to join than we have room for. It’s a case of gaining our senses and forming a new leadership. The Brits have done a pretty fair job in rounding up our top people.”
“There is still a central authority, then?”
Theo nodded.
“And you and Atty are in