Through the grimy glass of an upstairs window Michael Kiernan scanned the surrounding rooftops. He was in the back bedroom of a small house on a narrow street. One particular roof caught his eye and Michael’s lips curled into a sly smile. It was the one that belonged to the bridewell on Argyle Street, and his men had not been amused when they learned how close the police would be to their lodgings. When Michael convinced them that the safest place to be was right under the constables’ noses, they eventually saw the funny side of it.
Listening to the various noises coming from the backstreet below, Michael reflected on how much his life had changed since the last time he had been in Liverpool. Although it seemed a lifetime ago, he could remember every detail clearly, as if it had been only a week before. A few sharp knocks on wood jolted him out of his memories and Michael unlocked the paint-chipped door. In the hallway stood his old friend, James McGrother. The men stared at each other for all of five seconds, before Michael took hold of the lapels of his visitor’s jacket and dragged him into the room. They clasped hands and shook them vigorously.
“Did you like the password I sent you, James?”
“It was an easy one to remember. What made you think of Seashells? Our fishing days?”
Michael took a string of small shells from his pocket and asked, “Do you recognize these? You gave them to me before I left for America. I carry them everywhere, they’re my lucky charms.”
“Michael, you haven’t changed a bit,” said James as he warmly embraced his friend.
“I can’t say the same for you. Are you wearing every stitch you possess, or have you put on some weight at last.”
“I’ve managed to improve my diet, work has been good these past few years. What about yourself and Brigid, and Francis and all your wee ones. How many do ye have now?”
Michael smiled and replied that Francis was almost a man and as tall as himself. Then he listed the names of five more children. “One died not long after his birth. I nearly lost Brigid, too. What about your own brood? And Mary, how is she? Well, I hope.”
James told his friend about the loss of his twin sons and the healthy arrival of the latest one. He spoke of how well Catherine and Thomas were doing in their jobs, and the way his youngest daughter, Brigid, could melt a heart of stone, but his voice changed when he mentioned Mary-Anne.
“I need a favour from you, Michael, but first you must answer a question as honestly as you can,” James paused as a knock sounded on the door.
Michael opened it and stepped briefly into the hallway, then returned carrying a tray of tea, sandwiches, a decanter of whiskey and two glasses.
“This, my friend, is none other than Malcolm Brown’s whiskey, all the way from his distillery in Dundalk. It brings to mind the time we robbed a half a jug from Paddy Mac’s father. What were we? Eight, nine?” laughed Michael.
“I think we were only seven, it was on one of my visits to Blackrock. Do you recall how my brothers would leave me with Pat and Annie for the summer months? As I got older and left school I stayed at home in Monaghan working the bogs and fields, so I don’t think we were much past the age of seven.”
“Even worse,” laughed Michael, “Drunken seven year olds found lying in their own vomit in Peter Matthew’s boat, tangled in his nets. Do you remember the beating we got from my father when we were carried home and dumped on his doorstep? And the sore heads next day?”
“I do. You got off lightly, I got another thrashing from Annie when I was fit enough to stand. I’m not sure which end of me hurt the most,” James recalled.
“I sent one of the men out to find me some Malcolm Brown for this evening, in your honour James. I knew it was sold in Liverpool, sure the half of county Louth is over here working and that’s the truth, isn’t it?” Michael raised his glass to examine the golden liquid.
“I’m not sure I want to be reminded of a thrashing I received when I was seven, but I’m much obliged for the thought,” James took a mouthful from his own glass and saluted Michael. “And for the drink, of course.”
When the two men had finished reminiscing, their conversation took on a more serious nature and Michael asked his friend about the favour he had mentioned earlier.
“Is my sister Maggie O’Neill a member of the Irish Republican Brotherhood?” asked James.
“Why must you be so formal? You sound like a barrister. Call her a Fenian. Is that not what everyone else says?”
“So you admit that she is?”
Michael took another sip of his whiskey before answering the question.
“No, James. I admit to nothing and that’s the way it has to be in the Brotherhood. She might be involved in some way, but only those belonging to the circle operating in her area would know that for sure. Maggie is more than likely a sympathizer but not a member. Are you afraid for her safety, James?”
“One of our daughters, Mary-Anne, is a sickly child and Mary left her in Blackrock with Maggie to build up her strength. I’ve been having problems with the head constable in Dundalk these past few years. But something tells me you are already aware of that, Michael. Anyway, he would only love to find a reason to interfere with my family. I’m afraid Maggie might give him one, not intentionally of course, but Armstrong is a sly man and misses nothing.”
“What do you think I can do about it, James, short of kidnapping your sister and dragging her back with me?” asked Michael.
“All I ask it that you convince her of the need to support the cause here in England, in Sunderland, that is if you think she is involved in the first place. If Maggie has had anything to do with the Fenians, then she will feel duty bound to act on what you have to say. On no account mention the fact that I’m worried about Armstrong arresting her, she has no fear and would defy him to the last if she thought it would irritate him. Will you do it, Michael? For the sake of my sister and my daughter.”
Michael held out a hand to James and as they shook on it he said, “Don’t worry, I’ll find a way of convincing Maggie that she is needed in Sunderland and I will pay her passage over and that of your daughter’s.”
“No need to pay, I have the fare here,” James pulled a small bag from his pocket.
“I’ll bring the money with me, if it makes you feel better. You’re as stubborn as your sister so I’ll not waste my breath arguing with you. Can you stay here with me tonight, James? We can have supper together and finish this decanter of whiskey.”
“I’m sorry Michael, I’ve already lost a day’s wage. Isn’t it a grand thing to be able to travel across the country in a railway carriage and be back home in my own bed by midnight?”
“Aye, it is indeed. Not like when we first came here and had to work our way across on a barge. I’ll never forget the fright you gave me when you took sick,” said Michael.
“There’s no fear of that this time. Well, I’ll be saying goodbye to you so,” James held his arms open wide and smiled sadly at his friend.
The two men embraced, wishing each other safe journeys and good lives, then Michael unlocked the door. Listening to the sound of his friend’s footsteps echo down the hallway, he was relieved that he had chosen to sleep in the room at the back of the house. If he had been standing at that moment in the front bedroom, he may have been tempted to watch as James left the street. It would have been too painful for him to see another person he loved walk out of his life. Michael was thankful that he had kept his true circumstances to himself. Glad that he had not told James how Brigid had thrown him out of the house, when she found out he was involved with the Brotherhood, and that he had not laid eyes on his children in over six months.