Rebel Sisters (31 page)

One day when she arrived, Mick Collins got up from his pile of bills and ledgers and offered her some tea from the pot in the kitchen. Sturdily built and handsome, Grace suspected that many young women would lose their hearts to him.

‘You are proving a great help to Joe,' she said gratefully.

‘I'm glad to be useful to Joe and the family,' he replied, his blue eyes sincere as he passed her the milk jug before discreetly disappearing off to another room with his ledgers to let them have time on their own.

Joe's health rallied and they went to a concert. Another night they went to dinner in Jammet's restaurant, where they were given a warm welcome by the head waiter, who led them to one of the romantic corner tables in the restaurant.

Over the meal they discussed their wedding plans and the future. Joe was keen for them to get married around Easter time, as they hated being apart from each other and longed to be together. He felt a wedding during Lent would be best.

‘We cannot marry then,' Grace protested. ‘Lent is not the proper time to hold a church ceremony. Why don't we marry at Easter instead? I've always liked Easter.'

‘We may be running a revolution then,' he answered cryptically, his dark eyes serious as he watched for her reaction. ‘But if we are married, we can go into it together.'

Grace did not know what to say … A revolution. She thought immediately of the maps and diagrams scattered about his room and all over the dining table at Larkfield.

Joe refused to be drawn any further and Grace tried to push her fears aside, for she had no idea of military matters. Besides, it might never happen.

‘Joe, all I want is for us to be married,' she said quietly, meeting his gaze.

‘Then as you say, my love, we will arrange to marry at Easter,' he agreed. ‘It will be a double family wedding with my sister and Tommy Dillon.'

‘That sounds absolutely wonderful,' she sighed, relieved, folding her fingers in his.

‘That way if your family do not attend at least there will be plenty of us Plunketts,' he teased.

Although Joe and his sister were very close, Grace felt Geraldine would certainly not be pleased with the idea of such a wedding. She looked down on Grace because she was not academic and considered talk of science and political matters tedious. Grace's passion was reserved for the colourful world of art and theatre and writing.

She knew that people often considered her aloof and rather arrogant – too independent and carefree – but with Joe it was different …
she
was different. For Joe Plunkett knew her heart and soul with no pretences. Neither of them was perfect, but they loved each other dearly and were committed to one another … and in only a few short weeks she would be his wife.

THE TALL MAN
was standing across the road from their house; Muriel could see him clearly. He was wearing a long coat and smoking a cigarette, pretending to lean against the wall waiting for someone to arrive.

‘I can see him again,' she informed MacDonagh. ‘He's watching us and he has a notebook. I saw him writing down when Mary called to bring Barbara for a walk and when Grace dropped over to see me this morning. Why is he watching and spying on us? Why is he allowed to stand gawping at us and our home? He is some kind of spy. Surely that must be unlawful?'

‘He's a DMP man and is just following orders and doing what he is told.' Her husband shrugged nonchalantly. ‘Sometimes he has another policeman with him.'

‘Do you mean that bald man with the glasses?'

‘The very same. They are a right pair of detectives.'

‘I don't like it,' she whispered. ‘It's making me nervous having them spying on us. What are they looking for? Someday I am going to walk up to one of them and ask him.'

‘Muriel, don't get upset. They won't do anything, I promise. They are just trying to discover who I see and where I go. Tom Clarke warned us that the Castle is watching us all and to be careful.'

Over the past two months MacDonagh had changed. He was distracted and clearly involved in something, but would say little to her. When he campaigned for Home Rule he had been full of it, full of rhetoric and plans, and the same when he had spoken out for women's suffrage and even when he had tried to help negotiate between employers and the union during the Lockout. He had made speech after speech railing against the Volunteers' involvement in the war. But now he was quiet and secretive – something she was not used to.

A large quantity of rifles had been delivered to their house one night, stashed away in cupboards and wardrobes and hidden under floorboards. Over a number of days the guns had been collected by members of the Volunteers. Muriel was terrified that the DMP men might stop and search the visitors to their home.

‘It will be all right,' MacDonagh said soothingly. ‘Nobody knows about them.'

MacDonagh constantly met with Padraig, Joe, Eamonn Ceannt, Sean Mac Diarmada, Tom Clarke and James Connolly. Sometimes they came to Oakley Road.

‘Is it Volunteer business again?' Muriel probed, but he said little.

They had always shared things, so now when he said nothing to her she could not help but worry.

That spring, Volunteer marches, parades and drills were held in the city and a massive rally took place on St Patrick's Day at which Eoin MacNeill, their leader, took the salute. MacDonagh was proud of such a large demonstration of well-trained men.

They'd celebrated Barbara's first birthday a few days later, Muriel making a special cake and inviting some family and friends to join them.

It didn't matter what her husband said, Muriel couldn't help but be anxious about whatever he was now embroiled in. He and Tom Clarke, Sean, Joe and Padraig were always in a huddle talking together. He had confided to her that he was now a member of the Irish Republican Brotherhood and there seemed to be endless meetings. From snatches of overheard conversation, she guessed that they were organizing something and she suspected that it might be not only risky but dangerous.

Poor Desmond FitzGerald, who had come to meet MacDonagh during the summer, had been arrested under Dublin Castle's Defence of the Realm Act and was imprisoned in Mountjoy. Muriel worried about what would happen if MacDonagh were arrested too. She couldn't bear it.

NELLIE HAD JUST
finished interviewing John Hennessy, an insurance agent who had crossed over from Liverpool, and she was walking him out to the door to Dawson Street when Michael Mallin, chief of staff of the Irish Citizen Army, arrived.

‘More recruits?' he gestured.

‘Yes, I'm afraid that I'm going to have to ask Mr Connolly again for some help placing the men.'

‘I'll be heading back down to Liberty Hall later. I'll bring a message to him,' he offered.

‘Will you have a cup of tea?' she invited him. ‘I'm just going to make one.'

‘Yes,' he smiled, perusing the
Volunteer
and the
Workers' Republic
newspapers, which lay on her desk, as she boiled the water and filled the teapot.

She liked and respected Michael Mallin, for he was the one who trained and drilled Nellie and the other women in the Citizen Army, teaching them how to load and unload a gun and how to use their weapons. He insisted on target practice for everyone, male and female. The first few times Nellie had used a heavy rifle her shoulder had ached and her shots had gone wildly off target. She was hopeless, but Commandant Mallin, with great patience, had insisted she keep on trying until she had a good aim and could hit the target area.

‘Have you read the article about training?' he asked with a heavy sigh.

‘I did,' she said, pouring him some tea. ‘It annoyed me, that part all about the Volunteers parading and parading till all their glory faded.'

‘Well, the time for only parading is almost gone,' he confided. ‘It is all fixed now.'

‘Fixed?'

‘The rebellion is fixed for a few weeks' time, for Easter Sunday,' he said slowly as he took a sip of his tea. ‘And it will be far more than a parade when the Volunteers and the Citizen Army all go out together …'

Nellie caught his eyes. She could see he was serious and also that he trusted her with this information, valued her as a member of the Citizen Army. She felt strangely nervous and excited, aware that finally the talk of rebellion was over and in only a month their long hours of marches, training and target practice would be put into action.

She kept silent about the rebellion. When Grace chatted about her plans for an Easter wedding, she held her tongue. When Muriel worried why MacDonagh was so frequently away at so many meetings and rarely at home, she said nothing. Even when Mother asked her about treating herself to a new Easter hat, Nellie encouraged her to arrange an appointment with her favourite milliner.

A few days later she called into Tom Clarke's tobacconist shop to get a newspaper and met Michael Mallin again. He and Tom, James Connolly, William Partridge of the Citizen Army and Sean Mac Diarmada were deep in conversation at the counter with a pretty young lady.

The group greeted her as Mr Clarke got her paper and enquired pleasantly about the Bureau.

‘Miss Nellie Gifford, let me introduce you to Miss Margaret Skinnider,' said William, smiling and stepping forward politely. ‘She's over visiting from Scotland.'

Nellie shook the other woman's hand.

‘Margaret is an old friend of mine,' continued James Connolly. ‘She's been staying at Surrey House with the countess for a few days but returns home tomorrow.'

‘But I'll be back in Dublin in a few weeks,' she reminded them. ‘Back for Easter.'

The word hung in the air. Michael caught her gaze, Nellie aware suddenly that this conversation was serious, a meeting between the Citizen Army leaders and Tom Clarke and Sean Mac Diarmada of the Volunteers.

‘Nellie, Miss Skinnider will be back in Dublin before Easter. Would you be able to meet with her and show her around certain parts of the city?' Michael asked.

‘Of course,' she agreed.

‘Then I look forward very much to us meeting again,' smiled the young Scottish woman as Nellie took her leave of them.

Walking back up Sackville Street, Nellie's heart pounded as she realized that plans and strategy for a rebellion were moving forward and that soon she would be part of it all.

GRACE WAS TORN
between nervousness and excitement as she set off for town, for today she would be baptized into the Catholic Church.

Father Sherwin welcomed her to the church on St Stephen's Green. Joe's younger sister, Fiona Plunkett, was her sponsor, standing smiling near her side as Father Sherwin took her gently through the ceremony and baptism rite. As the priest anointed her with holy oils and washed her forehead with water, Grace felt a strange sense of elation, as if she had finally come home. She dearly wished that Joe could be there with her, but he was too ill. He had written the most beautiful poem to mark the occasion of her baptism and her eyes had filled with tears as she read and re-read it. Their love was not just a physical one but also one of the spirit.

She wanted to shout about her new faith, her love of Joe and their planned marriage on Easter Sunday, but she knew that she must keep it secret a bit longer. She would tell Father, for he was the only one who could fully understand and approve of her decision.

To Grace's dismay, Joe's old health troubles had come back; it was clear that he was very ill with a severe infection. He was admitted to Mrs Quinn's Nursing Home on Mountjoy Square to have surgery to remove the enlarged gland in his neck. It was a big operation and Grace was beside herself with worry.

When she came to see him after his operation she could not disguise her shock at his appearance, for Joe looked ghastly, lying in the bed battered, bruised and exhausted with a huge dressing on his neck. The nurses came in regularly to check on him.

Dr MacAuley, his surgeon, came into the room and Grace sat listening as he told Joe in no uncertain terms that there was no question of him getting up or discharging himself; he was far too ill for that. Joe looked down at the bedclothes as the doctor tried to lay down the law to him.

‘Miss Gifford, I hope you can use some of your powers of persuasion on your fiancé as he is proving a hopeless patient and refuses to rest.'

‘I'll try,' she promised.

But it was useless. Every time she came to see Joe over the next few days there were groups of people around the bed – Mick Collins, MacDonagh and Sean Mac Diarmada – and they seemed to be discussing some big plan for the Volunteers for Easter.

‘But we are to be married at Easter,' she reminded him gently when the others had left.

One day a document was delivered to the nursing home. Joe became agitated, poring over it and scribbling notes, then, despite his doctor's orders, he insisted on dressing and returning to Larkfield. Alarmed, Grace rushed to visit him there.

‘I'll make you a hot drink, some tea or cocoa?' she offered, wishing that he would sit down quietly and rest like his doctor had ordered.

‘No, thank you,' he replied. ‘I need help with this document, Grace.'

His bed was covered with sheets of paper with letters crossed out.

‘This all has to be deciphered,' he said in a sombre voice.

‘Do you want me to go and find someone – Mick or George?'

‘No, Grace, I need you to help me. Get a pen and some paper and write down exactly the letters I tell you in the precise order,' he explained, getting out his notebook. ‘If I make a mistake, cross it out and then put in the one I say, or if you are unsure, ask me to repeat it.'

‘Yes,' she agreed, worried because he needed to rest. But, grabbing a fountain pen and slipping off her jacket, she sat down at his bedside.