Maud Gonne Follows Her Father: A New Extract for Patrons

From her vantage point, sly around the side of the barracks, Maud Gonne waited, watching the gate like a hawk on the hunt. She'd had this plan for weeks, and had once before made a start on it, but her nerve slipped each time. Now, with the month of March unfolding, and the evenings stretching longer, the veil of night which she needed for her sneaky venture would soon be gone. It was now or never, or not till the dark days rolled around again.

Right on cue as she watched, Tommy–ever the punctual –marched out, and strode off down the hill toward the Liffey, in his military way. Maud couldn’t help but marvel, as she so often did, at the strength and purpose woven into her father’s being. He was not the tallest of soldiers—her great height, and Kathleen’s, came from her mother’s family. Not the tallest, but he had a carriage full of discipline, a bearing of understated power, and a walk on him that proclaimed him to be more than a man. He was “The Colonel”. Assistant Adjutant of the Imperial British forces in Ireland. Even in his casual moments, strolling or pottering about, he had a precision to his stride, a certainty in each step, and a bearing that spoke of command.

Tonight, she wasn't just the dutiful daughter observing in silent respect. She was a shadow on a mission, admiration streaked with defiance. She stayed tucked away in the dark, biding her time, as he set off with purpose down the street, then slipped from her hiding spot, and started to tail him, step for measured step.

The city was quiet now, the hawkers done with their day's bartering, the little ones long called in from their games. Her attire was chosen for stealth and her soft ankle boots, well-worn from many a night's mischief, kept her steps a quiet secret on the cobblestones. The gas lamps threw their flickering light in pools ahead and behind and she used the intervals of dark between the lamps as her sanctuary, merging with the shadows.

She was all eyes and wits, following keenly as her father veered away from the river, making his way up the hill and into the oldest, twistiest lanes of the city. Here, houses huddled together and to her over-active imagination, always dancing with thoughts and fancies and even more stirred up by tonight’s escapade, they appeared to be whispering to one another about her. Conferring in silent tones, their windows watchful and their doors tight-lipped.She drew her hood more tightly round her head. Was she really trailing Tommy? She was. She was trailing Tommy.

They skirted past the new Isolation Hospital, that grand edifice erected to take the load off the Royal Military Infirmary, and followed its walls all along Montpelier Hill. The rhythm of Tommy’s boots up ahead was steady and reliable as a metronome. Did she look like just another Dublin lass out for an evening stroll, not a …

But what was she? What was she doing?

They passed a little line of shops, a tobacconist, a grocer, an ironmonger, Tommy still walking like a man on his own turf, as if dark and light were all one to him. He was no stranger to these dimly-lit streets. He turned into Horace Hill, a snug little street lined with more tight-packed houses. Her nurse, Bowie, had pointed out houses like these to her before. Dutch Billies they were called. Cozy little dwellings, full of character, with slanting roofs and and low, smoking chimneys.

In the smallness of this street, every sound seemed to shout. Maud Gonne’s breathing, rising sharp from the brisk walk. The whisper of her cloak. A distant dog barking sharp. Halfway down, Tommy halted at one of the snug houses, one right in the middle of the terrace, with two others, mirror reflections on either side, and shared chimneys between them.

Maud Gonne, stepped back a piece into a doorway and pressed herself flat against the door. What a queer place for Tommy to be visiting, so far removed from his usual haunts. This was it. Whatever “it” was. This was where he met the mysterious Mr M.

From where she lurked, she saw him dart a look to his left, away from her, and she shrank back further into the embrace of the dark, her breath caught tight in her chest, so he might not see her when he looked right. She waited, time stretching out like a long, thin thread. What would happen if he caught her there, hiding? Would he shout, or would the shock freeze him into one of his cold, silent furies?

Tommy wasn’t much given to scolding. Shared moments being a sparse blessing in their lives, he always aimed to keep their times together light and gay. But when his temper was riled, it was fearsome. Like the row he’d made when she’d accepted the Italian’s marriage proposal. If he were to catch her now, sneaking about, following him, fury was sure to ensue. Would she stand her ground, or would her nerve fail her? What would she say? What possible explanation could she give that would not offend him deeply, and dim her light in his eyes?

The sound of a door knocker puncturing the stillness broke her thoughts. She chanced taking a peep out from her shadowed nook. The door he’d stood at, on which he’d knocked, opened to Tommy, and a beam of cozy light spilled out, bathing his face in its glow. He was smiling, a smile wide and bright with a joy pure and unmasked. The kind of smile she’d thought he reserved for her and Kathleen, alone.

The door eased closed behind him, casting Maud Gonne out into a sea of bewilderment. She’d thought she’d learn the truth about Mr M and arrive in safe harbour, satisfied. Instead she was dragged further from the shore of understanding. What was the hidden tale behind the quiet and unassuming walls of that house? Who could be nesting in such a humble abode that could lift his spirits so? And why was her own heart racing like she’d just swum though a storm?

* * *

When morning's light crept through the curtains, the first weak rays of dawn found Maud awake, her mind tangled in half-remembered dreams about travelling through shrouded, streets, and the little gable-fronted house, its door opening and closing, opening and closing, in the mist, revealing light and shadow, shadow and light falling from it.

With a sigh, she pushed herself upright. Though her limbs felt heavy, as if she’d been pulling oars against the tide all night, she knew what she must do. Dressing was a quiet affair, without the maid. Her hands moved with mechanical precision, each item of her clothing a silent witness to the morning’s agenda, each braid in her hair woven with threads from the night before.

Downstairs, breakfast was a hurried dance of clinking cutlery and brief exchanges, as Tommy charted his course through his day’s papers and plans. Correspondence with London regarding troop strength and resources. A report on recent uprisings and disturbances in key regions, with maps outlining strategic locations and potential areas of conflict around Ireland, needing review. And tonight an invitation to a dinner engagement from Lady Petrie, wife of Sir Charles Petrie. Tommy expected Maud to accompany him, and suggested she should wear her green poplin dress.

“I suppose I must come along so you won’t be bored!” Maud Gonne complained.

“Yes, Lamb. We will allow you to plead an occasional headache but fostering relations between the military and the colonial administration needs a united family front.”

He departed on a gust of morning air, leaving the breakfast-room feeling suddenly vast and empty. Maud Gonne felt a strange sense of exposure, as if she were a sapling standing alone on a vast, open plain, awaiting the weather that would break it.

As she sat over her tea, her shoulders squared almost imperceptibly, a subtle realignment of her posture, and the unease in her eyes was veiled by a spark of defiance. After a time, she went to the hallway and lifted her best winter coat from its hanger. Slipping her arms into the sleeves, she felt the coat envelop her. She fastened the buttons from the hem to the high, firm collar that brushed against her chin, then turning to the mirror, placed her highest hat on her head, its feathers, ribbons and netting adding another six inches to her six feet.Kid leather gloves. Her best boots. Her lightest parasol. And, dangling from her wrist, her daintiest handbag. There, she was transformed. She was now the composed figure of a young lady with someplace to be.

She set out on her walk, each footfall an echo of a note played the night before. The honest, worn face of the city looked so different under the watchful eye of day. The air smelled bitter, as it always did in that part of Dublin, the smell of roasted hops and barley from the Guinness brewery. The wind was was full of mischief, playing a game of tag with a crumpled newspaper, and shoving it across her path.

As she turned into Horace Hill she was met by a seagull, standing in the middle of road like a sentry, staring into her eyes. She shooed him away but she could feel a tangle of shame, twisting her insides, as if he’d been judging her.

No indeed, she should not be doing this. Yes, she should turn around and go home. Her mind said one thing, but her feet played traitor to her thoughts, and soon she was upon the little house. It looked even smaller by daylight, and shy somehow. One ground floor window, slightly dusty, the inevitable lace curtain. Was that the faint strains of a piano she could hear playing within?

Her blazing curiosity, crackling with its insatiable hunger to know, nudged her forward. She rapped sharply on the door. A shuffle of movement inside, a cautious peek behind the curtain, and then the door creaked open, revealing a young woman just a breath older than Maud Gonne herself. There she stood, encased in the frame of timeworn timber against the backdrop of a simple, homely interior, striking in her loveliness.

“Can I help you?”

Maud Gonne took her appearance in, in an instant, a gift she had. Pin tucked palettes, hand-embroidered lace with decent detail, the mellow shade of the gown that utterly suited her creamy complexion. All that was naught compared to her unfolding surprise. How familiar she looked! She had hair colour and eyes, wide and deep like her own, and the tilt of her head the way she held herself was a gentle echo of Kathleen. It was uncanny, like staring into a twisted mirror. Might she be a long lost member of their family? But why would Tommy keep her from them.

The surprise in the young woman’s expression was mirroring Maud's own. Did she see the resemblance too, or was she just surprised to have a stranger arrive on her doorstep before ten in the morning?

“I’m so sorry to trouble you,” Maud Gonne said, in her best grown-up voice. “I'm looking for a Mrs. O'Flaherty. I have news for her of an urgent nature and I’m told she lives in this house.”

“I'm sorry, I fear you are mistaken.”

“And you are…?”

“Mrs Eleanor Robbins.”

“Perhaps she has moved. You have lived here some time?”

“A year or so.”

“I see.”

“But,” said Mrs Robbins, wanting to be helpful. “The lady who lived here before me owned the house and had lived here all her life. Her name was Kinsella.”

“Ah, it seems I have the wrong house.” Maud Gonne said, her voice steadied by practiced grace. Inside, she was reeling.

“She is a lovely lady. I have a forwarding address. I’m sure she could…”

“Ah no, no. Please don’t go to any trouble. I shall pursue another line of enquiry. My apologies for the disturbance, Mrs. Robbins.”

Maud Gonne, by this point, was fairly twitching to make her getaway. A whole whirl of emotions was stirring up inside her like a pot left too long on the boil. As they exchanged their farewells, she gave the woman a final once-over. She was neat and trim, all tidy-like, but as she turned back into the house, her silhouette cast a telling shadow. Her belly was rounded as a small hill. Was she with child?

With that sight, a torrent of feelings rushed through Maud Gonne. Her huge affection for her father was clashing with another mighty wave of emotion within. The thought of another sister, unknown yet intimately connected to her father, sharing in a part of his life that was veiled from her, protected with his secret protection, cast her adrift in a sea of envy.

Her imagination took over as she walked home. In her mind's theatre, she saw Tommy in the little parlour of that house, all brasses and antimacassars, having tea. Discreetly tucking a neat little allowance envelope under an overly-ornate clock. Giving her presents–Tommy loved to buy presents. Oh what had she done to herself? She'd stumbled into the wrong room, not the room she was looking for. And now she would be forever locked in.