Mrs. O’Grady rose from the ashes in the fender one morning, and
balancing herself so that she threw her minimum weight on her bad leg,
said:
“They do be saying that poor Mike Collins is dead.”
“Michael Collins!”
“Himself. I was after hearing it from my priest, who knows the priest
who attended him.” She sniffed.
“But, if he is dead, why should they hide it?”
“And why should they tell? Mike’s given the Government a long run for
him sure enough, and faith they’re running still. But he’s dead and
buried for all that under another name.” She sniffed and lowered her
voice. “People do be saying as how all those officers were shot for
him, and there’ll be worse to come.”
“I don’t believe he’s dead. It would surely slip out.”
“Nothing slips out in Ireland if it’s not wanted to. If it’s never
to come out that Mike’s dead it never will. And why should the Irish
people be after giving the Government the satisfaction of knowing they
killed him? But it’s a wonderful little island, Ireland is! You never
saw the like.”
“No, I never really did,” I said with all earnestness.
“And you never will.”
I watched the door close behind her. Of course, Michael Collins was not
dead. Then what did Sinn Fein mean by throwing dust in the eyes of the
public through the mouths of the priests?
The door opened and Mrs. O’Grady returned with a duster.
“There’s another thing,” she began. “We don’t know all that is going
on, nor half. Things will be worse before they’re better. God help us,
they’re bad enough now. And the mistress is mad, too, she wants the
house noticed. Sure, she’ll get all the notice she wants, and more.”
She became gloomy.
“What do you mean?”
“What I can’t say. And there’s men always after watching this house.
There’s Black-and-Tans in civies in the road this very minute.”
“How do you know they’re Black-and-Tans?”
“Polly Pluck knows them all. She lives just behind Beggars Bush
Barracks. There are spies everywhere, and you never know who you’re
talking to.”
“That’s quite true. You be very careful, Mrs. O’Grady.”
“Me? The Irish are born careful. They need to be. The best known
saying round these parts is never trust the heels of a horse, the
horns of a bull, or the smile of an Englishman. And it’s true.” She
came near, flourishing her duster and peering at me. “It’s been on
me mind to tell you, for I sez to Polly Pluck, the lady what has the
drawing-room flat has more brains than the lot of us put together, and
it’s she will know what to do.”
“Well,” I said, “go on, Mrs. O’Grady.”
She shuffled. “Bedad, I may keep me thoughts to meself, as O’Grady was
after saying only last night. The fewest knows, the least harm, sez he,
and it’s himself is mostly always right.”
“Something Mrs. Slaney has been doing, I suppose?”
She tiptoed to the door, looked out, shut it carefully and then came
back to me, looking as mysterious as an ostrich which is about to bury
its head in the sand.
“No, I don’t trust the mistress that far,” she declared, waving
her arm. “But it’s meself that I keep me thoughts to. She’s up to
something, and if you’d seen what I’ve seen in this very house, you’d
know it too. And it’s Polly Pluck who knows it. She’s a smart little
girl, is Polly; but I don’t trust her. Blowing hot first and then
cold, and first this way and then that, walking out one week with a
Black-and-Tan and the next with a Shinner. If you can’t be for one
side, I sez, for land’s sake be for the other, and don’t go chopping
and changing like a cock with no head. But do you think she’ll listen.
Not she.”
“Why do you stay here, Mrs. O’Grady, if it’s so dangerous?”
“It suits me,” she declared. “I could leave to-morrow and get a place
where you’d be proud to eat your dinner off the floors, and a kitchen,
mind you, that I wouldn’t mind living me life in; but this suits me.”
“I think you are very stupid to stay.”
“I do be, mum, I do be. But it suits me. I’ve had me fortunes too.”
“Really?”
“Yes, mum. Real fortunes. The first I spent going to Killarney. I
stayed at the best hotel. Och, and a grand evening dress and all to
me back. I had peaches, not sixpenny peaches, but peaches worth four
or five shillings, and my sister, who hasn’t spent a penny of hers
yet, called me a fool. I may be a fool, and she may feel a lady with
her money in the bank; but she’ll never feel as I did in that evening
dress.”
“What happened to the other fortune?”
“I bought a burying ground with it. My father had a burying ground,
but there was only room for one more in it, so me brother having the
name, we thought he should have it. I was afraid O’Grady would put me
anywhere, and I wouldn’t like that. I’m come from Brian Boru, though
you wouldn’t think it to look at me now, but there was a time when I
was as particular as yourself about me boots and gloves.” She sighed.
“Well, I can rest easy, and I have my grave, and room in it for
O’Grady, too, though I’ve seen as much of him as I want in life, and
that’s the truth.”
Himself came into the room brisk for a walk.
“Well, Mrs. O’Grady,” he said cheerfully, “so O’Grady was ambushed last
night?”
“Indeed, and he was, sir.” Mrs. O’Grady stopped as she spoke, and
tweeked a chair cover straight. “It shook him.”
“Terrible times, Mrs. O’Grady.”
“They do be terrible times. Sure, but we’re used to terrible times in
Ireland. It was the same when I was a girl, and before I was a girl.
Why, my grandfather was murdered out there on the Wicklow Hills. There
was terrible times then. It’s me mother I’ve heard tell of them over
and over again. Never trust the English, she said, and I never have,
no, not the length of me arm, nor my children either. Ah, well you
don’t have to go streeling the streets for news in Ireland.” There was
a tap at the door, which made us all jump, and the next minute Mrs.
Slaney bustled into the room.
“Mrs. O’Grady, I’ve called you three times, what are you doing?”
“I’m after taking the orders for dinner.”
“You won’t mind if I take Mrs. O’Grady away, I’m sure,” she said.
“You’re going out, I see. Are you going near the Electric Light
Company’s offices? It would save me a trip. No? Grafton Street? Now,
I wonder if you would buy me a sixpenny saucepan at Woolworth’s. Mrs.
O’Grady burnt my little cocoa saucepan last night.”
She hurried from the room, Mrs. O’Grady going before her.
“Well,” said Himself, “I thought you were going to refuse any more
errands?”
“She didn’t give me time to answer.”
Mrs. Slaney bustled into the room again.
“Excuse me coming in again. Father Murphy is coming to-night. He has
just come back from Cork, and has met a priest who came from the place
where Father Griffin was murdered. I have asked him to meet a woman who
is interested in the Peace with Ireland League. I’d like you to come
to-night, too, you might find it interesting. The Peace with Ireland
League is going to do wonderful work. Lady Bange brought out a splendid
pamphlet. Just plain facts; but the Government suppressed it. That’s
freedom and justice. That’s England’s way of protecting small nations.
Monstrous! Now, I’ll not keep you any longer. You won’t forget the
saucepan?”
She trotted out of the room.