"Tommy's Secret" is an extract from my upcoming novel, A Life Before, a literary romance that tells the coming-of-age stories of the poet and mage, WB Yeats, and the English heiress turned Irish revolutionary, Maud Gonne, before they met. In this extract, Maud Gonne makes an unsettling discovery.
From her vantage point around the side of the barracks, Maud Gonne watched and waited until Tommy--ever the punctual military man--emerged at exactly the expected time, and made his way down the hill, towards the Liffey, with purpose. She watched him stride out, his boots making a gentle rhythm against the stones, and waited for the right moment to start trailing him.
She’d been planning this for a few week’s now, her nerve failing her each time. Soon, the shroud of darkness she needed for this mission would be denied to her, as the evenings grew more light. So it was tonight or never... or not until next winter anyhow.
Her attire was chosen to blend in, to move silently. Her softest leather ankle boots, worn from countless escapades, ensured her footsteps were a bare whisper against the stone streets. They had been with her through many an adventure but tonight was one like no other. She drew her hood around her head and with cat-like grace, followed her father, a shadow some steps behind.
The city was quiet now, the children in from their play, the vendors finished with selling for the night. Maud's focus remained unwavering as her father veered now away from the river, into the ancient, winding streets of the city. Here, the houses leaned in close, and to Maud Gonne’s ever-active imagination, they seemed to whisper secrets of ages past. They were watching her, maybe even guiding her.
To the average onlooker, she looked like just another Dublin lass out for an evening stroll, not a …
But what was she?
The gas lamps threw flickering light, pools of gold ahead and behind. The intervals of dark between the lamps became her refuge, and she used them well, merging with the shadows, becoming nothing but a night whisper. Past the new Isolation Hospital, built to ease pressure on the Royal Military Infirmary to the west, along the street called Montpelier Hill.
Tommy’s dark coat swayed gently with each step. His dress too was designed for him to blend into the evening but where she had to move with great caution, her father walked with an assured familiarity. Past the little line of shops, the tobacconist, the grocer, the ironmonger. He was no stranger to these dimly-lit streets.
He turned into Horace Hill, a narrower lane of smaller, terraced houses. Its compactness amplified each sound – her breathing, the soft shuffle of her cloak, the nearby bark of a dog. About half way along that street, he stopped, and Maud Gonne stopped too a distance away, pulling in to watch, breath held, as he approached one of those little gable-fronted houses. One single small front window, aglow with soft candlelight. This was it.
Dutch Billies they were called, these quaint, snug little homes with their sloping roofs and low, smoking chimneys. This one right in the middle of the terrace, two others, mirror reflections on either side, and shared chimneys between them. An odd place for Tommy to be visiting, far removed from his usual haunts and routines.
He glanced to his left, away from where she was concealed, and she instinctively shrank back further into the shadows, her heart pounding, waiting for what felt like an eternity as she imagined him turning his gaze to the right. Would he discover her?
The sound of a quiet knock punctured the evening stillness. Curiosity burning, Maud Gonne chanced a peep out from her hiding spot. As the door opened slightly, a sliver of warm light spilled onto the street, shining directly onto Tommy's face.
A broad, radiant smile — the kind of genuine, unguarded, joyous smile rarely seen from him, the kind she had thought was reserved for her and Kathleen, alone.
The door slowly swung shut behind him, plunging her into a world of questions. What secret lay behind that door? Who was inside a house like this, that so uplifted his heart? And why was her own heart racing like it had just run the Curragh Derby?
* * *
The next morning she retraced her steps. It all looked so different by day. The shadows of the night had retreated, revealing the honest, worn face of the city in a blowy, blustery morning. The breeze was playing its own game, one minute gentle, the next forceful, pushing a solitary newspaper across the street. The air smelled, as it always smells, bitter with the smell of roasted hops and barley from the Guinness brewery, an aroma not unlike roasted coffee beans. A seagull, standing in the middle of road like a sentry, stared into her eyes, intensifying her feeling of unease. She shooed him away as she passed but she could feel it, squeezing itself around her heart, throbbing against her skin: shame. She should not be doing this, she should turn around and go home.
Her thoughts said one thing, her feet another, and she soon found herself turning into Horace Hill and arriving at the little house that looked even smaller in daylight. One ground floor window, slightly dusty, the inevitable lace curtain. Was that the faint strains of a piano she could hear playing somewhere within?
She gave the door a firm knocking. It was opened by a young woman, almost her own age. Framed by the worn wood and the homely backdrop, she stood, a vision of beauty. Gown a mellow shade, pin tucked palettes, hand-embroidered lace with decent detail, jacket fitting perfectly.
How familiar she looked! She had eyes, wide and deep and dreamy, like her own, and the curve of her lips and the tilt of her head echoed Kathleen's gentle features. As did the way she held herself. It was uncanny. Eerie. Like staring into a twisted mirror. Was she a long lost member of the family?
“I’m so sorry to trouble you,” Maud Gonne said, in her best voice. "I'm looking for a Mrs. O'Flaherty. I have news for her of a most urgent nature and I’m told she lives in this house.”
“I'm sorry, I fear you are mistaken.”
“And you are…”
“Mrs Robbins. Eleanor Robbins.”
The weight of that “Mrs.” wasn't lost on either of them. “Perhaps she has moved. You have lived here some time?”
“A year or so.”
“I see.”
The cogs of Maud Gonne’s mind were whirring. A year or so? Right about when Tommy had landed Dublin.
“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 was by now itching to make her escape. As they said their goodbyes, she give her a final once over. She had a trim and tidy figure but as she turned to go back inside, in profile she looked rounded in the belly. Could she be with child?
Waves of jealousy, confusion, and curiosity flooded Maud Gonne's brain. Her imagination took over as she walked home. In her mind's theatre, there was 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. There he was, giving her presents--Tommy loved to buy presents--and enjoying his reward. There he was, approaching her on the street, stepping towards her and smiling, tipping his hat.“Good evening, Miss. What a beautiful evening, is it not?”
And there was Mrs Robbins, looking back at him, with a high head. “I’m sorry, Sir,” she said. “I believe you've made a mistake."
She walked on ahead, affording him the opportunity to admire her fine figure in some fashion statement that knew where to draw the line between modesty and allure.
“I mean no offence, my dear. Do you have a time to talk? I know of a lovely hotel nearby with a snug, where we can have some quiet conversation, if you would do me the honor of your company.”
“Thank you but I'm not interested.”
"I'm not asking for anything you're not interested in, my dear. I am just new in town and seeking the company of a beautiful woman for an hour or so.”
She stopped then and looked him over openly, sizing him up from his hat to his shiny shoes, from his gold ring to his watch chain.
"Maybe I’ll be more interested tomorrow."
"Today you’re just in the mood for saying 'No'? Is that it?"
"No," she said, and they both laughed.
That, or something along those lines would’ve been the way of it.
Maud Gonne shook her head to free herself of the vile thoughts. What was she doing, weaving such intricate tales about her father and his mistress and their clandestine affair. How was it that she could imagine it all so clearly? It was the most grotesque intrusion. She'd stumbled into a secret room, the wrong room, not the room she was looking for. And now she would be forever locked in.
* * *
To Be continued... Next extract in two weeks. This book will launch in autumn 2023.
