When Shadows Fall (32 page)

“I want you to travel to County Cork, my own county,” Collins said. He had retrieved a sheet from the jumble and he tapped it. “The brigade commandants need help to train the volunteers down there. The Brits are shooting up a new village every night and the local lads are a pitiful match to ’em. We need men with experience to drill the gobshites and teach them how to fire straight.”

“You mean you want me to show them how to shoot?”

“More. I want you to make them into soldiers. Can you do that?”

“I’d rather it than ambushes in train stations,” Adam said truthfully. “I could.”

“God, but I miss the hills of West Cork.” Collins jabbed his boot at a strip of loose plaster on the wall. “It would mean a fair bit of time away from Dublin, mind. Could you manage that? With work and stuff.

“Of course.”

“And . . . sweethearts?”

Adam nodded gruffly. “I, em—that’s not a problem.”

“A monk, are you?”

“No. I’m not.”

Tara. There was no one else in the world that Adam would rather be with right now. He met Collin’s appraising gaze. “I’m sure she’ll understand.”

“So there
is
someone!” Collins slapped his knee and guffawed. “Well, I hope she’s one of us. I’ll let you to do the explaining to her. But anyway, young Bowen, the lads will drop you home for now. I’ll have to get word to Cork that you’re on your way, and they’ll find you a bed and so forth. You’re lucky, you know.”

“I am?”

“Aye.” Collins rose again, dusting himself off for his next round of meetings throughout the city. “I don’t normally give fellows second chances.”

Larry Mulligan stayed in Dublin.

Collins had dismissed him back to Wicklow, but still he stayed. He hadn’t finished his work in Dublin yet. Not by a long stretch.

He ordered one of the boys at Vaughan’s to drive him out to Dublin Castle, where they parked up across the street and Mulligan waited.

“How long, Larry?” the driver asked. “And who are you looking for?”

“Shut your trap, Coogan, and just stay put,” Mulligan ordered. He stared out to the gates of the Castle where a soft drizzle glimmered in the lamplight.

She’d made a fool of him. The only person who ever had—and a woman, to boot. He swore silently and touched the revolver inside his coat.

When she finally appeared, he thumped Coogan’s shoulder. “I’m getting out. You move on. Don’t lay about, or they’ll notice you.”

“But where are you going, Larry? Don’t you want a lift back to Vaughan’s?”

“No, you idiot. I’m on my own from here.”

“Aye, Larry.”

Coogan drove away as Larry moved back from the roadside and concealed himself behind a huckster’s stall. The traitoress smiled at the guards at the gate. Mulligan twitched with simmering fury. She stepped out to the road, and he waited for her to begin her walk home. He’d move quicker this time. A hundred yards down the street, that’s all, make it quiet and run. Job done once and for all.

But it wasn’t so simple.

A man emerged from the street and approached Tara. She gave a shiver of delight as he stooped to kiss her cheek.

Who the fuck?

Mulligan stared. They didn’t move in the direction of Kilmainham but instead began walking southeast in the direction of St. Stephen’s Green. He cursed and groaned, cursed again.

And followed them.

It had taken Tara three days to transcribe and correlate the London notes into an orderly record, which James would then rewrite into a comprehensive report in order to brief his subordinate district inspectors and head constables at their next meeting in Dublin. The RIC were bearing the brunt of IRA antagonism throughout the island, but that tide would be turned once the auxiliary forces arrived.

James appeared briefly each morning on the week of their return, giving her some additional notes, inquiring stiffly after her health, before shuffling off again. The mood between them remained sour.

On Friday she finished a little before six, turned off the lamps, and closed the door to the tiny office that James had commandeered for her while she served out her term as his secretary. His own, more elaborate quarters, had an adjoining door to hers, but it remained closed unless he wished to use it, and a separate door served as her access to and from the outer corridor.

The cold Dublin sky was sprinkled with starlight as she crossed the cobbled courtyard of the Castle and exited the gates. The sentries touched their caps and winked at her. On Dame Street, before looking for a hackney, she did a cautious sweep of the area, something she’d had to do ever since the night Mulligan had followed her.

“Well, you’re the prettier side of government, that’s for sure.” A figure emerged from the street and fixed his eyes on her. Hands in pockets, looking debonair in his suit and hat, Adam smiled.

“Adam!” She could have cried with relief and wild joy. “Adam!”

He strolled across. “I thought that was you.”

“Why? I mean, where did you come from? You said you were away.”

“On business? Yeah, but back now. God, it’s good to be home.”

Her worries lifted miraculously. “Adam, oh, I’m so glad!

He removed his hat, bent down, and kissed her cheek. “Would you believe me if I said I just happened to be in the area?”

“I would not.” Then she hesitated. “Were you?”

“No, silly. I’ve been waiting here since five. I didn’t want to miss you.”

Oh, but I’ve missed you,
she thought. “Adam, I’ll admit you’ve caught me by surprise. Let me take you for a cup of tea?”
My hair is not brushed. I should have brushed it before I left the office.

He stared ahead at the Castle gates. “Tell you what, I’d rather as anything to be away from this place. I’ll skip the tea, but fancy a glass of wine?”

“That sounds lovely.”

“Good. I have something I must tell you about.” He glanced round, and she detected a nervous air in his manner.

“Well, we can find somewhere quiet, but are you all right?”

“Yes.” He squeezed her hand reassuringly. “I just need to have a little talk with you. Okay?”

“Sounds intriguing now.” She smiled and linked her arm to his. “Let’s go, and you can tell me all about it.”

Adam took her to O’Neill’s on Suffolk Street, which he knew to be a clean, cosy establishment with a well-stocked fire always blazing at the back. They sat on stools in a narrow little alcove off the bar, panels of oak and stained glass on each side. The landlord delivered a glass of white wine and a pint of stout through a sliding hatch, and Tara nudged Adam’s shoulder.

“So tell me, what’s this exciting news you have?”

God, but she’s stunning!

In the soft firelight her hair shone like spun gold, her eyes glittering sapphires in their flawless setting. She must have become aware of his appraisal, for she lowered her gaze modestly after a moment and said, “You seem distracted.”

“I am.” He grinned and reached for her hand. “I really missed you.”

“Me too. But you’re avoiding the question. What is it you wanted to tell me?”

“Ah. That.” Adam looked at his pint. He felt no thirst for alcohol. “The troubles in this country. Don’t they affect you?”

She also looked warily at her glass. “Yes. They have done.”

“I’m trying to—trying to do something about it.” This wasn’t going to be easy. But she’d have to understand. She’d have to.

“
For de lady, surr.
” A little voice abruptly intruded, and they both turned to find a four-foot girl in bare feet holding a bundle of rather sorry-looking weeds.

“For the lady, sir,” the child repeated, sniffling through red nostrils. The hatch opened again, and the landlord stuck his head through.

“Out,” he growled. “I warned ye before, now get out!”

“Easy,” Adam told him. He rummaged in his pocket and thrust a few shillings into the child’s hand. She gazed at them in awe.

“Now run along,” Adam told her, “and don’t give that money to your da either. Buy yourself some food from the stalls.”

Without a word she scampered through the door, clutching the coins in her hand.

“Hmm. Now where was I?” Adam looked again at Tara. “Oh, yes . . . ”

She smiled and squeezed his hand. “You’re a good man, Adam Bowen. I can sense it. I sense it every time.”

Adam stiffened at her words. “Am I?”

He saw Timmy Hannigan pleading under his blindfold. He saw the poor dumb sergeant flying from his car, bouncing on the hard road, and rolling into the bushes. He saw Liam Clancy rippling under the bullets and collapsing on the platform of Victoria Station.

“Yes, I’m a good man,” he said sadly.

Tara’s face dropped. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“I’m being sent to Cork soon. For a special job. I won’t be gone long. You don’t mind?”

“Of course I don’t mind you going to Cork. But there’s something else, isn’t there?”

“No. Nothing.” He’d lost it now, lost the nerve, lost the moment. “We’ll talk about it some other time. But for tonight, let’s just enjoy ourselves.”

When they finished their drinks, she asked, “Did you have anything to eat today?”

“I did have a decent breakfast,” he said.

“Well, I’m starving. Let me return the compliment of the drinks and make you a nice meal back at my house.”

“I wouldn’t like to intrude.”

“You wouldn’t be.” She laughed. “I’m asking you to come home with me, Adam. Will you do me the honour?”

The question was heady with unspoken implication. He took a moment to reply, his voice husky. “I’d like that very much.”

When the child with the flowers ran through the pub door, she inadvertently stepped on the foot of a big brawny shadow outside. He snapped at her. “Get out of it, you brat. Before I knuckle you.”

Edging closer to the window, he watched the couple inside, heads lowered over their drinks, whispering conspiratorially.

The man, the stranger—Mulligan shifted uncomfortably as he watched him. His head was turned at an angle so that Mulligan couldn’t see him properly, but still . . .

And then the glow of light caught him just right.

Mulligan’s eyes opened.

Jesus, that’s what’s-his-name. One of Mick’s boys. The lad who went to London.