When Shadows Fall (54 page)

James heard a scream ring out from around the corner.

At the sound of the shots, Tara rushed out to the corridor with a dreadful knowing in her heart. Adam was lying on the ground, fresh blood soaking through his shirt. She screamed, and a voice answered at once, a voice she knew only too well.

“Tara,” James called her, moving into view and lowering his pistol. “I had to do it, Tara. He shot at me first.”

Adam was trying desperately to breathe, but he couldn’t speak. She clasped a hand to her face and wept helplessly. “Adam. Oh dear God, Adam.”

James gave a confused grunt when he spotted Adam. “Tara, who the hell is—” He glanced back towards the man he had just killed. “That wasn’t Adam Bowen?”

James, he was their only hope now, she knew. She scrambled to her feet and went to grab his arm. “James, he’s shot Adam. Please, please, you have to help.”

James stumbled as she dragged him back to where Adam lay on the scuffed floorboards. His legs were kicking weakly and Tara knelt to grasp his face.

“Adam! Can you hear me? Adam, hold on. Just hold on.”

But Adam’s eyes were glazed and starting to close, his skin taking on a morbid, marble sheen. James shook his head.

“
That’s
Bowen? He’s a goner, I see. Nothing more I need to do.”

“James, please,” she turned to him, “you must get help. He’s dying!”

“It’s too late,” he said. “What a confusion. Who’s that other fellow over there? The chap whose brains I just spread all over the place?”

“That’s Larry Mulligan. He would have killed us.”

“Mulligan?” James stared towards the body in surprise. “
Larry
Mulligan? How did he get here?”

“I don’t know how he got here, I don’t how
you
got here, but who cares? Please, James, for the love of God. Adam’s dying!”

A smile of weariness spread across his face. “Larry Mulligan, eh? Well, by heavens. I always promised I’d get him for you, Tara. Didn’t I? And I got him. For you.”

“Yes! But Adam—”

“Adam what?” He peered down at the limp, half-conscious frame by his feet. “Do you love this man, Tara? Do you love him?”

“Yes, I do!”

“I could kill him, you know. Right now. If I wanted to. I did want to, all day long.” He replaced the gun inside its holster. “And I could have given you everything. Because I love you, Tara. Hear that? I love you, in spite of everything you’ve done to me.”

Adam moved and made a gurgling noise in his throat as he tried to find air. James spat in disgust.

“And you deny me for
him
? For this creature? Tara—”

She clasped her face in anguish. “James, I love him. I can’t help it.”

“But he’s one of them! He’s like Larry Mulligan. Do you not see it?”

“He is not like Larry Mulligan. He never has been. In my heart, I know that.”

James closed his eyes, and it seemed a monumental effort for him to reopen them. “I should have you jailed. I should shoot him and have you jailed. But I,” he sighed. “I haven’t the strength for it. I don’t want to be here anymore. I’m tired.”

“James,” she cried in panic, as he turned back towards the entrance. “James, where are you going?”

“I’m going home,” he replied softly. “I’m going home to England. Where I belong. Best of luck to you, Tara. You’ll probably need it.” With that he rounded the corner, walked outside, and disappeared into the black night.

“James,” she pleaded. “James, don’t leave us!” Sobbing, she looked down again to Adam. His face was drawn, his eyes now fully closed. His lungs were shuddering out desperate breaths.

“Don’t leave me,” she whispered. “Oh, please, Adam. Don’t leave me. I’ll marry you. I’ll do anything. Oh, don’t leave me!”

And she felt his hand squeeze hers.

I
RISH
T
IMES
12 JULY 1921

DUBLIN HAS undergone many ordeals in the past ten years, during which labour and political upheavals have been frequent, but it has seldom enjoyed a greater feeling of relief than that experienced yesterday, when a general political truce was observed. The long and painful strain under which every citizen was labouring was at last broken, and people breathed freely once more. The machines of war were laid aside, and peace reigned supreme. The effect on Dublin citizens was almost magical. During the weekend they had spent many happy hours by the sea and in rustic retreats, and when twelve o’clock struck yesterday they rejoiced in a manner that recalled the piping times of peace. The long hours of broken sleep were over, and on every hand one looked forward to the night
aequo animo
.

JULY 1921

The mid-morning Dublin traffic was brisk, and Charles Berthram Kelly of Kelly & Lapdunne Auctioneers was getting flustered. He didn’t normally get flustered, for he was a relaxed sort, but he was already late and he didn’t expect now to meet the client on time.

The unit sounded fairly decent from what the client had told him on the telephone, and hopefully it had some saleability. The market was a little shy at the moment, pending the talks in London, pending the island returning to peace and normality, but he reckoned that he could, with a bit of skill and panache, earn the client a good sale price. Firstly, of course, he had to view it for himself.

If only he could meet her on time.

He honked at the horse-drawn drays outside the yards of Jacob’s Biscuit Factory and coaxed his Daimler towards the quays. The Daimler had been acquired only the previous year, when the government had put up road tax per horsepower, suddenly making the Ford Model T an expensive drive. He preferred the Daimler anyway, and the manufacturers were boasting that they would soon install aerials on their vehicles so that the driver could listen to a radio as he travelled. Kelly chuckled at the thought. Listening to the radio whilst driving! Marvels of technology.

He almost missed the turn in his distraction and was roared at by a cab driver as he clumsily pulled south off the main quay. He passed the Guinness brewery on his left and soon after that the hospital. He slowed the Daimler when he saw the sign come into view.

Wilton Row.

He glanced at his watch and groaned.

She was waiting for him outside the house. He parked up, cut the engine, and quickly fixed his tie. When he got out he put on his trilby and beamed his most brilliant smile as he hurried across to her, hand extended.

“Miss Reilly. Do forgive me, I’m rather late. The traffic at this time of day . . . ah well, never mind. It’s a pleasure to meet you in person. I must say, that’s a lovely hat, my wife has one just like it.”

She acknowledged his compliment with some coolness. “Thank you, Mr. Kelly. Now if you’d like to see inside?”

“Of course, of course. Lead the way.”

He wondered about her as he followed her in. Unmarried, clearly. Independently wealthy, perhaps? She hadn’t mentioned the reasons for wanting to sell her home. He was becoming intrigued.

“You can see it’s pristinely kept,” she said. “Three bedrooms, like I said on the phone. A wood-burning stove . . . ”

“Smaller than what I imagined,” Kelly murmured.

“Deceptively spacious, actually,” she advised him, “and you’ll find it has a certain cosy charm here when the fire is lit, especially in the evenings. The floors and walls are well insulated. Linoleum downstairs, carpet upstairs. And such a lovely neighbourhood. Very quiet, very church-going.”

Kelly peered about, twitching his nose like a bloodhound. “The pipes and plumbing are sound?”

“Yes. You’re quite welcome to have them inspected.”

She gave him the tour—the tiny sitting room, the upstairs bedrooms, bathroom, and neatly kept rear garden. Pleased by what he saw, he said, “It certainly has appeal. Tell me, have you thought about a price? Or are you anxious for a quick sale?”

“Yes. Anxious for a quick sale, that is. The value of it, well, that’s your job, isn’t it?”

“I will draw up a recommendation for you this very day, Miss Reilly, just as soon as I get back to the office. That should do it for now, and let me say I’m very grateful for your time and business.”

She walked with him back outside to his car, and he added, “Such a beautiful house, Miss Reilly. You can tell it was a very happy home.”

She nodded but said nothing.

As he opened his car door, he couldn’t restrain his curiosity any more and risked a little familiarity. “Tell me, are you moving far from the area? If you don’t mind my asking.”

She paused a moment. “My family’s old farm in Wicklow has come on the market again. I’m going to buy it and move back there.”

That was certainly a surprise. “Oh. You’re, um, a farmer?”

For the first time she smiled and even laughed. Kelly smiled in return; he had never seen a face so happy. “No, I’m not. But Adam has decided he wants to be one now. You see, I’m getting married.”

HISTORICAL NOTE

In 1921, despite continuing engagements and successes being scored by both combatants, the British government finally realised that it could not defeat the IRA without ever-more spiralling financial and human cost. Domestic and international concern about the actions of the Crown forces in Ireland was intensifying, including the concerns of the English king, who keenly wanted peace to be restored upon his island neighbour. Secretly, IRA leaders like Michael Collins knew that they, too, could not fight forever given their depleting stock of arms and ammunition.

The British prime minister, David Lloyd George, who previously had insisted that the war could not end without total defeat and destruction of the IRA, eventually extended the offer of talks to the de facto Irish president, Eamon de Valera. The offer was accepted and negotiations in London between the warring sides led to a truce that became official on 11 July 1921.

Some months later Michael Collins was ordered to London by Eamon de Valera to join the Irish delegation that was to negotiate a lasting treaty with Britain. Collins, who saw himself as a warrior rather than a statesman, reluctantly agreed. De Valera himself did not attend.

In December 1921, the Anglo-Irish Treaty was signed, bringing into being a self-governing Irish Free State. British forces were to withdraw from most of the island. The recently created state of Northern Ireland would have the option of staying away from the Irish Free State, which it duly did. The border between north and south remains in place to the present day.

Despite the treaty being democratically ratified by the members of Dáil Eireann, anti-treaty members refused to accept it, rejecting such conditions as partition between north and south, dominion status within the British Empire instead of a republic, and an oath of allegiance to the king. Their forces, led by Eamon de Valera, chose to continue the fight, and the island was plunged into a bloody civil war that saw former comrades turn upon each other with familiar violence.

Michael Collins, who foresaw strident opposition to the treaty with his signature, said afterwards, “I have signed my own death warrant.” He was shot and killed in an ambush by anti-treaty forces in August 1922, at thirty-one years of age.

The civil war was ultimately won by the Irish Free State, and the treaty, which Collins had described as “the freedom to achieve freedom,” proved so. In time southern Ireland would remove its remaining oaths and obligations to Britain, would retake the ports that Britain had continued to occupy, and it became a full-fledged republic in 1949.

The number of Irish and British lives sacrificed in the centuries-long struggle between the two islands can never be known.