On the walk home from the Shelbourne, once they were far enough away that there could be no danger of being overheard by the army officers, Gráinne told Emmett about her new job. ‘I don’t entirely know what I’ll be doing,’ she said, which was more or less the truth. ‘I’ll be helping out around the house but also doing jobs for the Countess, things she hasn’t time to do herself.’
Emmett stopped walking and pulled her round to face him. ‘Gráinne, that’s … that’s wonderful. I know how strongly you feel about the Republican movement, and it’s so good that you will be able to play an active role in it. More active, I mean, than you already were. But … is it safe? You said you thought a detective was watching the house. I would hate you to get in any kind of trouble. I feel … responsible for you, in a way.’
‘Responsible? Why?’
He put his hands on her shoulders. ‘You are only seventeen. Your brother was my best friend at school. Your father is a man I look up to and respect. I feel I should … look after you.’
She stepped away, scowling at him. ‘I don’t want to be looked after, Emmett. I want to play my part, and this is my chance to do that. And I’m almost eighteen.’ Her birthday was a few months away still, but even so.
‘Then let me support you while you play your part. Maybe as a team we can fight for Ireland together.’
‘Now that, I’d like.’
He held out his arms and she stepped forward and into them. He held her close and she wrapped her arms around him, enjoying the feel of his strong, tall body next to hers. She thought about what he had said. Yes, it might be dangerous. Her name and face would become known to the authorities – the Countess herself had warned of this. If there was trouble, she’d be caught up in it, one way or another. But she knew she could not just sit back and let others fight for Ireland’s future. She had to play her part, do what she could to help. If she was to hold her head up high for the rest of her life, she had to know she’d done everything in her power to help the Republican cause. She owed it to those past generations, her own ancestors who’d died during the Great Famine. To those who’d had their land taken by the English. To all those who’d had their culture, their language, their rights suppressed for centuries.
There were another three working days at Clerys and then, at last, it was the end of her notice period. Gráinne had already packed her belongings into her bag, so as soon as the shop closed on that Saturday afternoon she said goodbye to her colleagues, went up to the dormitory for the last time to collect her bag, and then made her way to Surrey House by tram and foot, as before.
The Countess was expecting her, and the house was a little quieter than it had been on Gráinne’s previous visit. There were no Fianna boys loitering around, and only a couple of Irish Citizen Army men in the dining room, their heads bent over a ledger filled with numbers. She was disappointed to see that Grace wasn’t there today, and wondered how often she would be a visitor. The Countess herself had opened the door to her, giving a cheery wave to the man who was sitting on a garden wall opposite, watching all comings and goings. He half lifted a hand in reply, then clearly thought better of it and turned the gesture into a scratch of his head. ‘Ah, the poor fellow,’ Countess Markiewicz said with a chuckle. ‘It must be a tedious job. There’s nothing he can report on, but he has to sit there and watch in any case. He’ll be gone in an hour when it gets dark. Now then, Gráinne, you remember where your room is? Take your things up there, freshen up, then come down for a bite to eat. It’s only bread and ham, but there’s plenty of it.’
Gráinne did as she’d been asked. Someone, presumably the Countess, had put a small vase of Michaelmas daisies in her room, and there was a fresh ewer of water, a bar of soap and a towel on the washstand. Poppet the dog was curled up on the bed. ‘Hello, boy. This is my room now, but I don’t mind sharing,’ she told the animal. Poppet wagged his tail and licked Gráinne’s hand in welcome. She smiled. She was going to like living here, she was sure of it.
Later that evening, after she’d eaten and after dark, a group of Fianna lads came to the back door of the house. Gráinne helped the Countess hand them bundles of fliers that urged people to join the Irish Citizen Army and fight for the rights of ordinary Irish workers. ‘James Connolly’s words,’ the Countess told her. ‘Each time we distribute a pile of these, we get a few more recruits. It’s about spreading the word and making people realise there’s another way. Ireland doesn’t have to be Britain’s lapdog any longer.’
A second batch of leaflets read: No conscription for Ireland. Let English men fight English wars, and Gráinne was once more reminded of Sean, fighting that very same English war. But he was fighting it because he believed that was the best way to achieve Irish Home Rule.
The boys were sent out to different parts of the city, to pin the fliers onto lampposts and park railings, or paste them onto gable ends of buildings. Anywhere they’d be seen. ‘Don’t get caught putting them up now, lads,’ the Countess warned.
‘Ah, we know what to do, Madame,’ an older boy said, and the Countess smiled and ruffled his hair.
‘Of course you do, Michael. You’ve done this many times. But I still have to warn you, you know I do.’
‘Worse than my mam,’ Michael muttered but he was grinning broadly.
The boys didn’t return that night. The Countess explained they normally went straight home after distributing the leaflets and only returned if they had any news to report.
Gráinne settled in quickly to life at Surrey House. She was kept busy from morning to night, partly as a maid of all work, partly as a cook and partly as the Countess’s personal assistant. She liked working directly with the Countess best – helping write and edit fliers, operating the printing press, organising the Fianna boys. She was also, on occasion, allowed to stay in the dining room when Connolly, Plunkett and others were there discussing strategy. Sometimes she’d be asked to leave, or the meeting would fall silent when she entered with refreshments, but on other occasions the Countess would nod to her to take a seat at the table, and perhaps write some notes of what was said. This was her favourite task. This was when she felt most involved. A couple of weeks after moving in, the doorbell rang while Gráinne was busy in the kitchen preparing a pot of stew. They had a full house that evening, with every bed taken. The Countess was sheltering a couple of women who’d been beaten by their husbands; one had brought young children with her. And there were some Volunteers up from Cork to discuss potential cooperation with Connolly’s Irish Citizen Army. Gráinne took off her apron and hurried to answer the door.
‘Emmett! What are you doing here?’ He was standing, cap in hand, on the doorstep.
‘Grá! Come to see how you’re getting on, so I have. Is this a bad time? Are you busy?’
She laughed as she ushered him inside and closed the door. ‘Sure aren’t I always busy? Come on through to the kitchen. I’m making a pot of stew. There’ll be enough for you, though the good Lord knows where you’ll sit. We’ve a full house tonight.’
‘I can see that!’ Emmett had glanced through open doors as he followed her to the kitchen at the back of the house. There were people everywhere. The Countess looked up from a paper she was reading to see who’d arrived.
‘Madame, this is Emmett O’Sheridan. He’s a family friend, and a patriot.’
‘Then he’s very welcome here.’ The Countess shook Emmett’s hand, and he looked pleased but flustered to meet her.
‘Thank you, Countess. I won’t stop Gráinne getting on with her work. In fact, I’ll help her in any way I can.’
‘How good are you at peeling potatoes?’ Gráinne asked him, arching her eyebrow.
The Countess laughed. ‘A man who can peel a potato is a man for the future, I’d say. Excuse me, we have a meeting that’s about to start. Tea for seven in fifteen minutes, Gráinne, if you would?’
‘Of course, Madame.’ Gráinne nodded, and went back to the kitchen with Emmett on her heels.
‘So hand me the potatoes and a knife and I’ll do that while you make the tea, eh? Wonder what their meeting’s about?’
‘Mr Connolly’s here, and Mr Plunkett, and some others.’ She stepped forward to whisper in Emmett’s ear. ‘I think they will soon be making a decision.’
‘About what? Whether to stage a rebellion?’ He picked up a potato and began peeling.
‘Not whether. When.’ She gazed at him meaningfully. ‘Surely the Brotherhood’s been talking along the same lines too?’
‘I’m sure the top tier has. But I’m too lowly to hear anything yet. Good to hear things are moving along. One spud done, about fifty to go, eh?’
She laughed. ‘Not quite, but all those in that sack please.’
A short while later, Gráinne had prepared a tray with cups, a tea pot, milk jug and sugar bowl. ‘I’ll take this through now, Emmett. You keep on peeling.’
‘Yes, ma’am.’ He gave a mock salute and she laughed again. It had been enjoyable working alongside him in the kitchen. She found herself hoping there would be many more such occasions.
In the dining room, the Countess, Connolly, Plunkett, and three other men were sitting at the table with various papers strewn across it. In a corner sat Joseph Plunkett’s fiancée, Grace, who was not involved in the discussions but was sitting quietly embroidering something on the corner of a handkerchief. Gráinne was delighted to see her again, and flashed her a broad smile as she entered with the tray.
Grace leapt up. ‘Let me clear a space for that,’ she said, pushing some papers together. One looked like a map, but not of Ireland. It was of Germany, Gráinne thought, but she said nothing.
‘So you’ll go then, Joseph?’ Connolly was saying. ‘See what help you can rustle up for us? Arms, men, supplies, anything. In return we provide a distraction and divert British troops over here.’
‘I’ll go. I’ll see what can be done.’
‘Arms are the priority,’ Connolly added.
‘Joseph, will you be safe?’ Grace was looking at her fiancé with concern.
‘I’ll endeavour to keep myself safe so I can return to you, my love,’ he replied, in a tone that warned her not to argue the point. ‘We must all take some risk and make sacrifices, if we’re to succeed.’ Grace nodded and passed round the cups of tea Gráinne had poured out. Gráinne managed to throw her a sympathetic smile. Whatever it was Plunkett was being asked to do, it was clear Grace wasn’t too happy about it. But Gráinne knew all too well that you could not stop a nationalist, whether man or woman, from following their beliefs and doing all that was in their power to help the cause. Wasn’t she doing that herself?
She returned to the kitchen with the tray and empty tea pot. Emmett had just finished peeling the potatoes. ‘Thank you for that. It’s been a big help. Now, what did you come here for today? Wasn’t just to peel some spuds, was it?’
‘Just to see you,’ he said, and there was a hint of a blush on his cheeks as he spoke. ‘To see how the job’s going, to check you’re well and happy. I was curious too, I suppose.’
She smiled. ‘Well now you’ve seen me, met the Countess and checked out the house where it all happens. You’ll have been noted down in a detective’s notebook too, you know. A fellow stands opposite and writes down all the comings and goings. Come after dark if you don’t want to be added to the list.’
‘I’ll … I’ll do that.’ Emmett frowned, then suddenly grabbed Gráinne’s hands and pulled her close. ‘Grá, it’s all very real, isn’t it?’
‘It is in this house, sure. They’re planning something now, in the dining room. I think someone’s being sent to Germany, to try to get hold of some guns.’
Emmett nodded. ‘I suppose the Germans think helping us will hinder the British war effort. I don’t care whether they’re right or not, but if we can get some arms out of it, that’s a good thing. It’ll be a step closer, Grá.’
She nodded, her expression serious. Step by step it seemed that Ireland was inching towards a rebellion.
By mid-December the atmosphere in Surrey House was warming up, as though the route to a rebellion was becoming ever clearer and closer. Grace was a frequent visitor to Surrey House even while Joseph Plunkett was away on his mission to Germany. She would come to the kitchen and spend a while with Gráinne, helping out with meal preparation. She seemed to want to confide her worries about her fiancé’s safety. ‘I think about him all the time,’ she said while they prepared a vast pan of soup for the many visitors one day. ‘I wonder where in Germany he is, who he is seeing, whether they will help or consider him some kind of threat.’ She stifled a small sob. ‘And Gráinne, I wonder if he’ll ever come back. What if it all goes wrong, somehow?’
Gráinne put down the wooden spoon she was holding and gave her friend a hug. ‘It won’t go wrong. Joseph’s a clever man – he’ll know the right things to say and do to ensure he gets what he’s been sent there for. Don’t worry.’
‘I try not to. It helps, you know, coming here and talking to you.’
‘Anything I can do, I will, Grace.’ Gráinne wondered how she would feel if someone she loved was putting himself at risk for Ireland. Sean was, of course, but he was her brother. That was a different kind of love to what Grace felt for Plunkett.
It crossed her mind that one day it might be Emmett putting himself at risk in the fight for independence. She was growing ever fonder of her brother’s friend, who visited Surrey House most weeks now. Occasionally, he’d take her out – a stroll around the city, a drink in a pub, or a lunch out. She enjoyed those occasions but was careful not to read too much into his attentions. She was still, she was sure, just his friend’s little sister as far as he was concerned.
One day later in December, there was a long meeting held at Liberty Hall. The Countess asked Gráinne to go along with her, and provide some refreshments from the hall’s kitchen. James Connolly was there, and Eóin MacNeill of the Irish Volunteers and Pádraig Pearse, and several other people Gráinne recognised as being important among the Republican movement. After serving tea to them, she was leaving the room when the Countess called her back. ‘Stay a moment, Gráinne. You should hear what is being said today. This affects you as much as anyone.’ She glanced at Connolly who nodded, as though giving her permission.
Gráinne perched on a chair in a corner, and listened to the rest of the discussion. It seemed they had come to a definite decision that there would be a rebellion in Dublin and throughout the country, at some point in the following year. ‘I have had word from Joseph Plunkett that Germany will help us with a supply of arms. 1916 will be our year,’ Connolly said, ‘when we will rise up and finally throw off the shackles of British rule.’
‘Autumn will be the best time,’ MacNeill put in, but Connolly shook his head.
‘No, sooner than that. Spring. We must do this, and do it decisively. No agency less powerful than the red tide of war on Irish soil will ever be able to enable the Irish race to recover its self-respect.’
These were stirring words and Gráinne felt a shiver run down her spine. The ‘red tide of war’ was coming, and within only a few months! This was good – for the future of Ireland, but what would it mean for her, Emmett, Grace? For the ordinary people caught up in it all, trying to live their lives around it?