Will Thomas - To Kingdom Come

“The watch schedule has already been set.”

“Excellent. Good night, then.”

Once in our bedroom, Barker was chuckling to himself. “What an amateur Dunleavy is. He is trying to orchestrate a major attack on London on mere pocket change.”

“So you agree that Miss O’Casey and I should pose as newlyweds in order to get our supplies in Paris?” I asked.

“I do, as long as you stick to your purpose and aren’t influenced by a pretty face. Keep your mind on the case and away from Miss O’Casey as much as possible. If you don’t, Eamon O’Casey will come after you. And if he doesn’t, I will.”

“Yes, sir,” I said. “Actually, it wasn’t O’Casey I was thinking of. It was Willie Yeats.”

Barker refilled his pipe and lit it. “Ah, yes. Yeats. I had almost forgotten about Miss O’Casey’s lapdog. Someone will have to explain to him that it is not a real honeymoon.”

“‘Stop!’” I said, throwing my hands up in mock horror. “‘It is too grandiose! I am just an old soldier.’”

Barker’s eyebrows disappeared behind his spectacles. “Cheeky beggar.”

We left Liverpool two days later, Maire and I. Everyone came to see us off, everyone except for Willie Yeats. The O’Casey house had been a beehive of activity with hours of planning and debates over lashings of tea, but that was nothing new. The odd thing was that amid the flurry of last-minute actions and discussions, Maire and I hardly spoke a word to each other. We had shared one kiss at the ruins of the lighthouse and now we were leaving on a counterfeit honeymoon without even discussing how we would act. I knew she had consented to go, but I reasoned that it may have been out of duty. As far as I knew, she had regretted the impulsiveness of that kiss and wanted nothing more to do with me.

Aboard ship, Dunleavy was shaking my hand vigorously for once, but he was giving me instructions as well. “Don’t forget to purchase new satchels, as many as we will need. And obtain a receipt for them. For everything, in fact.”

“I shall.” I paused, waiting. “You have not given me the money yet, sir.”

With a sigh, Dunleavy reached into his pocket and reluctantly gave up a packet into my care. I stepped back to where Barker stood on the deck, surrounded by the factionists as if it were a football scrimmage. He had insisted upon seeing me off despite the police, who were patrolling the docks.

“You know what to do?” he asked.

“Keep my wits about me and concentrate on my work,” I stated. “Oh, and be a gentleman.”

“Exactly.”

Barker and I had visited the slop shops, purchasing my evening kit, since I was supposed to be on honeymoon, and there was no way to tell who might be scrutinizing us. My employer insisted I go to a tailor with him, and have the suit fitted, mended, and pressed; he also provided new collars and cuffs, all within just two days-at a cost higher than the price of the suit. After a haircut and shave, I really did look like the new groom, off on a Continental honeymoon, a bowler on my head and my new bride’s hand in the crook of my elbow for ornament.

O’Casey kissed his sister, then pumped my hand, giving me a glare to say he still found objections to this whole affair and that I better make sure they remained unfounded. In contrast, after kissing the bride, McKeller tipped me a wink, as if to say take every advantage in life you are given. Whatever remarks he’d made among the lads were enough to make them all give a knowing chuckle.

When the porter gave the call for visitors to depart, the group of men walked down the gangplank as the steamship Hibernia sounded its bass note and slowly pulled away from the dock. Still lost in my private thoughts, I watched the coast slip away until there was nothing left to do but to finally turn and look at Maire. To tell the truth, I was as nervous as a groom on his honeymoon, and a glance told me she was nervous as well.

“Would you like to walk about the ship or perhaps have a cup of tea?” I suggested.

“A cup of tea would be nice,” she murmured.

I escorted her to the lounge. The Hibernia was a trim little steamer running from Liverpool to Calais. The lounge was sumptuous, with gold-rimmed china, starched table linens, and attentive waiters. Maire didn’t speak until our tea and biscuits arrived.

“I feel like a complete imposter, Thomas,” she confessed. “I’m not used to this. I feel as if I should be in the galley, up to my elbows in soap suds.”

“You have as much right to be here as anyone, Maire,” I told her. “Or should I call you Brigid?”

Our passports and papers listed us as Charles and Brigid Beaton. I carried business cards listing me as a chemical engineer for a Liverpool mining firm. Beaton, a very serious young man, would take the opportunity to combine work with pleasure, purchasing supplies for his company while on the Continent.

“No, not Brigid,” she said. “I’m not accustomed to deception. I’m not a bomber or an anarchist, like you, working with the famous Mr. van Rhyn. I just keep house for my brother.”

Despite the words, she looked like anything but an ordinary Irish girl. She wore a beautiful traveling suit of violet linen. Pearl earrings dangled from her ears, and her hair was swept up in an elaborate style with red curls framing her face. The French would have called her ravissante.

“Who’s going to cook for Eamon and the boys, and Mr. van Rhyn, while I am gone?” she wondered.

“They’ll just have to fend for themselves, I suppose. Scavenge off the land.”

“I hope you don’t think-” she said, then stopped.

“Think what?”

A blush grew on her cheeks. “It was very forward of me to kiss you last week. I wish you to know it was unlike me. I don’t really know why I did it.”

“I understand,” I told her. “And in case you didn’t notice, I was kissing you back.”

She smiled behind her teacup. We sat in an awkward silence for a moment. I was fidgeting with my silverware, and she was playing with one of her curls. Finally, she spoke again.

“I suppose you shall be going back to London when this is all over or off with Mr. van Rhyn.”

“I believe Mr. van Rhyn intends to settle in Dublin now. He hopes to open a factory. As for me, I haven’t made any plans.”

“Do you have anyone waiting for you in London? Parents or brothers and sisters, or a sweetheart?”

“A sister, living in Cheapside,” I invented.

“The cause could use a man like you.”

“Just the cause?”

In answer, she cleared her throat daintily, took some more tea, and changed the subject. “I shan’t know what to do with myself in Paris,” she said.

“Oh, there are worlds of things to do: museums, opera, ballet, and cathedrals. There are gardens and cafes, shops of all descriptions, art galleries, and palaces. It is more than one can do in the four days allotted.”

“I’ve never been on holiday before,” she told me. “My life has been all work.” She spread her hands on the table. Though small, they were rough and red from hours of daily toil. I reached over and took them both in my own.

“In Paris, they have creams that will make your hands so soft, one would think you had never lifted anything but a hand mirror in your life. And there are silk gloves to cover them, while it works its magic.”

“How you do talk, sir,” she said.

I squeezed her hands. “Relax, Maire. Really. We have no idea what the future may hold. Enjoy the present, these few days. Forget about the cause. Forget about me, if you wish. Think about yourself. What do you want?”

“I hardly know,” she answered ingenuously.

“I know exactly what I want,” I said, lowering my voice.