Redemption - Leon Uris [310]
Theo was about to hedge, but that was nonsense. He was talking to Conor Larkin’s brother, the man who engineered a most illegal prison break. He also sensed that Dary had his own sense of outrage over the executions.
“Yes,” Theo said. “What is this…”
“Rory Landers.”
“What’s his story, Dary?”
“He’s very young, early twenties. A lot of things remind me of Conor. He feels overwhelmed, obsessed with a need to do something in Ireland, especially now.”
“Why?”
“It’s the Larkin fate.”
“He’s in uniform?”
“More than that. General Brodhead wants him on his staff in Dublin Castle.”
“Ah Father, it’s far too early in the day for you to be drinking.”
“As Christ is my savior,” Dary said.
* * *
Rory, Father Dary, and Theo were at their buoyant best, as were two of the most delightful ladies in Dublin. Dinner was a lark, the first without awful tension since the Rising and killings. Long misplaced laughter covered the coming serious intent of the meeting.
Theo, a man who saw everything, saw Dary and Rachael eagerly volunteer to do the dishes for the lack of wanting further conversation with anyone besides themselves.
As Atty and Theo took Rory up to the library on the top floor she remembered the first time she had taken Conor there. They gathered close to the turf fire.
Theo also saw the unmistakable shock of electricity that blew off the instant his mother and Rory Larkin shook hands. Atty was more than twice the young man’s age but had suffered little loss in her regal manner, her great presence, and still had more than her share of beauty. Theo hoped that Mom was merely startled for the moment. Lord Almighty, those Larkin men have a thing about wanting to get into the Fitzpatrick women’s knickers. It was hell being the head of this family.
Theo repeated his feeling that sands were shifting in Ireland. “If it keeps running this way,” he said, “we’re going to vote Sinn Fein in in two years and Sinn Fein will pull out of the British Parliament and declare recognition of the Declaration of Independence.”
“And?”
“Ah, the real fun starts when the Irish try to rule themselves. Well, Mom,” Theo said with a sigh, “it’s time to drop the bomb.”
“Rory’s a Larkin and he’s looking for the Brotherhood,” Atty said.
“I am,” Rory said.
“What about this British uniform…and your arm?”
“I’ve been invited, not commanded but invited, to go on General Brodhead’s staff in the Castle.”
Silence. Atty was looking at a young Conor, was she not? Daring like Conor, who dared to go inside Weed Ship & Iron and doctor Sir Frederick’s private train to run guns. Conor at Lettershambo…himself over there with a Victoria Cross for gallantry. She began to shake. Theo held her.
“Now, Mom,” he said strongly.
“Are you his ghost, or what? This isn’t true.”
“I’m not Conor. I never will be Conor. But there is something I can do. I know that. Ireland’s really bleeding now. I’ve got to make my mark.”
“Playing the Landers game inside Dublin Castle,” she murmured, “is going to get you into the cell next to Roger Casement in the Tower of London. If they don’t get you soon, they’ll get you, maybe by a slip of the tongue or just being in the wrong place for a moment. No, I’ll not have it.”
“Here’s my thinking,” Rory said, ignoring her entreaty. “I can pull out cleanly any time I want. All I have to do is say my eyes are worse and I’m off to England the next day. The minute I go into Dublin Castle, I’m looking to plan something that can be accomplished. Soon as that is in order, I’m out of Ireland.”
Atty was unable to make a decision. She groused with herself. It was all the tension, all the nightmares coming back again in this lad’s form. Why the hell did he come to Ireland! All that was left of the high council were threads. Any action now would have to be approved by one of the survivors like herself.
She and Rory locked eyes, as they were prone to do for semi-instants, half-seconds. Theo, still not missing a thing, finally spoke up.
“Rory is in a position too important for us to pass over. I agree that he can’t stay too long. No matter