‘Now you’ll see,’ he said as he fell to his knees and rolled the rug back.

  Rosie joined him and could plainly see the place where the floor had been cut away in a square and she kneeled beside her brother as he ran his fingers along the edge of the sizeable square and lifted the sod of earth out. Rosie leaned closer, bringing the lamp nearer, and saw that the earth below had been dug away to produce a roomy hole and she gave a sudden shiver of apprehension.

  ‘Look,’ Dermot said triumphantly and he pulled two canvas rolls from the hole and began to unwrap them. There were six rifles in each roll and Rosie sat back on her heels and let out a gasp of shock.

  She was used to guns, having been brought up on a farm. Her own father as well as Matt and Danny would often shoot rabbits, both to save their crops from being eaten and to supplement the pot, and foxes were also killed. That was normal and natural, but those guns weren’t hidden away in what had once been a derelict place.

  Dermot, still ferreting about in the hole, brought out tin boxes full of bullets and then some more pistols, again wrapped in cloth. She sat back and surveyed the cache of weapons before them. What on earth should she do?

  Suddenly the room darkened and she looked up in alarm. Phelan was standing in the doorway. ‘So,’ he said. ‘Now you know. What d’you intend to do about it?’

  Rosie looked at Phelan aghast, her mouth open in shock, her eyes troubled. ‘Phelan, I…’

  ‘If you’ve sense, and you value your life and that of our families, you will put those things back where they came from, go home and say nothing, forget all about it,’ Phelan said coldly.

  ‘Are you threatening me?’

  ‘Let’s say I’m warning you.’ Phelan said. ‘These are desperate times and anyone that is not for Ireland is against her and becomes her enemy. What cannot be borne is a spy in the camp.’

  ‘Phelan, I’m not a spy, I’m your sister-in-law,’ Rosie said hotly. ‘And Dermot is a child.’

  ‘I thought no-one knew of this place,’ Phelan said angrily. ‘It seemed a perfect place to store ammunition.’

  ‘Danny knew of it.’

  ‘God, aye, but he’d never come up here, not now. He used to meet Shay and the other lads here when they were boys. It was Shay who took me here first. Mind you,’ he added, ‘he couldn’t have used it as it was. The roof leaked like a tap, the mortar was crumbling in the stone walls and the door had rotted away. Left to itself it would be just a pile of rubble by now. We spent ages patching it up. How did you find it?’ he suddenly demanded of Dermot.

  Dermot loved and admired Phelan, but he was unused to him shouting and being cross – he was unused to anyone being cross with him, come to that – and so he replied angrily. ‘I just did, and so what, Phelan? It doesn’t belong to you.’

  The blow to the side of Dermot’s head knocked him sideways. No-one had ever struck him before and he cried out with the pain and shock of it. With an angry look at Phelan, Rosie put her arms around Dermot. ‘There was no need for that.’

  Phelan ran his fingers through his hair. His eyes looked wild and filled with fear. ‘There was every need,’ he cried. ‘For the love of God will you understand the danger you’re both in? Tell me, Dermot, how you found the place and the arms, or I’ll beat it out of you and even Rosie won’t be able to save you.’

  ‘Phelan, what’s got into you?’

  ‘Shut up, Rosie,’ Phelan yelled, and he looked at the boy. ‘Well, Dermot?’

  Dermot was scared of Phelan for the first time in his life. He saw the suppressed fury in him, his fists balled at his sides. He licked his lips nervously and told Phelan the same story he’d told Rosie about the tangled sheep. ‘I didn’t have time to explore the cottage then, I had to wait till the holidays, and I came up early this morning.’

  ‘Alone?’ Phelan demanded.

  ‘Aye, alone.’

  ‘Then what? How did you find the weapons?’

  ‘Well,’ Dermot said. ‘The place was dark because I shut the door. I knew there were paraffin lamps on the mantelshelf – I’d seen that much when I’d first opened the door – and so I made for there. But the mat must have been ruched up or something because I tripped over it and went flying. Then, when I lit the lamp and lifted the mat to straighten it, I saw the square cut in the mud and I pulled it out to look.’

  ‘Did you tell anyone?’

  Dermot shook his head. ‘There was no-one to tell. I went for Rosie. I didn’t even tell her, I brought her here.’

  ‘You told no-one else?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You’re sure?’ Phelan demanded. ‘Swear it, Dermot, on your mother’s life.’

  ‘Aye, I swear.’

  ‘What about the day you saw a glimpse of the place? Did you mention it to your father?’

  ‘No fear,’ Dermot said. ‘I didn’t know what it was. I meant to explore it on my own. My mother never wants me out of her sight and I wouldn’t have told either of them.’

  ‘Where do they think you are now, then?’

  ‘They don’t know, I snuck away when they were busy. They’ll know I’ll make for your place. Mammy will give out to me when I go back.’

  ‘What if your Daddy comes looking for you?’ Phelan said. ‘What if he goes to the farm and Mammy tells him of you and Rosie going off and making for the hills? He could come looking for you.’

  Rosie worriedly saw Phelan had a point. ‘So what do we do?’

  ‘We put all that ammunition back just the way it was and get as far from here as possible. You never come near this place again, Dermot. Do you hear what I say?’

  The boy nodded, but Phelan was not satisfied. ‘I mean it, Dermot, and you say nothing, not to anyone. This is not a game.’

  ‘Phelan, stop it,’ Rosie said angrily, seeing the fear on Dermot’s face and feeling the way his whole body shook. ‘You’re frightening him.’

  ‘He needs frightening,’ Phelan said, dropping to his knees and wrapping the pistols up in the canvas cover the way they had been. ‘There are desperate men in the IRB and while me and Shay, Sam and Niall would try to protect you, I don’t know how much influence we’d have if they found out either you or Dermot had been here.’

  ‘Sweet Jesus, Phelan! What in God’s name have you got mixed up in? A fine organisation it must be all right, if it threatens women and weans.’

  ‘I’m fighting for Irish Freedom and the right to rule our own country,’ Phelan snapped angrily. ‘We’ve planned and trained for months. Surprise is the key and if that was jeopardised in some way and the British Army were waiting for us, what d’you think they’d do? Shake us by the hand? All I’m saying is neither of you come here again, or mention it to anyone at all, or you might be very sorry.’

  ‘Just two more casualties of war, Phelan?’ Rosie asked bitterly, putting the rifles back into the hole gently.

  ‘Aye, if you want to see it that way,’ Phelan said menacingly. ‘Come on, we’re finished here.’

  He roughly pulled Rosie to her feet and kicked the mat into place. ‘Let’s go.’

  He blew out the lamp and replaced it on the mantelshelf and then strode across the room, suddenly plunged into semidarkness, and opened the door. ‘Come on,’ he urged Rosie and Dermot in a hissing whisper. ‘Every minute we stay is more dangerous. I’ll lead the way through the undergrowth, just in case. Not a word now, and go as quietly as possible.’

  Easier said than done. Rosie thought a little later as she was pulled to a stop yet again by a thorn snagging her shawl. With the fronds slapping at them and the leaves and mud under their feet, hiding the twigs that broke with a loud snap, it was impossible to move as quietly as Phelan would have liked and he’d keep turning at a particularly loud noise and hiss at Rosie who was directly behind him, ‘Quiet, for God’s sake.’

  Rosie was glad to reach the end of that green tunnel, glad to straighten her back and stand up once more on the path, pulling at the leaves and small twigs caught in her hair and dusting down her clothes as she waited for Dermot. A worry was nagging at her. ‘Phelan,’ she said. ‘Dermot was right in what he said. He told no-one but me what he’d found. Well, he didn’t tell me, he showed me. But he was in a state when he came to the farm. Mammy will wonder what it was about. What shall we say?’

  Phelan said nothing at first. He led them down the path a little way, where there was a broken tree, and stopped. He knew this was a problem. Connie would undoubtedly wonder at the behaviour of Dermot. He’d wondered himself, hadn’t he?

  What else would generate the same excitement for a child? What story could they dream up that would satisfy Connie? ‘You could say I found a badgers’ sett,’ Dermot said suddenly. ‘I did once, when I was out with Daddy. It was nearly dark and we saw the mother badger and two babies come out. They hadn’t heard us and we stopped and watched them. Would that do it?’ he asked Phelan. ‘Would your mother believe that?’

  ‘She might,’ Phelan said. ‘Aye, indeed she might. Say you called for me too on the way,’ he told Rosie.

  ‘Why can’t you say that yourself?’

  ‘Because I’m going to lead young Dermot home.’

  ‘You needn’t,’ Dermot said. ‘I can go home on my own.’

  ‘I know that fine well,’ Phelan said. ‘But today I’m coming with you. We need to talk.’

  Dermot gave a sigh. Phelan would go on about not telling anyone again. He didn’t need to keep on, Dermot wasn’t stupid and he was scared enough already to keep his mouth closed.

  But he said none of this to Phelan. Phelan, the boy he liked and admired, seemed to have disappeared overnight and had turned into a stern man with a gruff voice and cold eyes, and he was wary of upsetting him.

  And so, when, just a few minutes after leaving Rosie, Phelan began to stress again the need for secrecy, he didn’t even show the slightest impatience. And then Phelan said, ‘I want you to do something for me.’

  Dermot was now all ears. He’d do anything to get back in Phelan’s good books. ‘Aye,’ he said.

  ‘I want you to take a letter home to my parents.’

  ‘A letter?’

  ‘Aye,’ Phelan said. ‘I might have to go away from this place in a wee while and I won’t be able to tell my parents till I’m gone.’

  ‘Another secret?’

  ‘Aye, and I won’t have them worried more than they will be anyway. If I leave you a letter, will you take it to them?’

  ‘Aye, but how will I know the time to take it?’

  ‘I’ll get word to you,’ Phelan said. ‘After dark. Which room do you sleep in?’

  ‘The end one,’ Dermot said. ‘You go through Geraldine and Chrissie’s room to get to mine. Mammy and Daddy sleep in a corner of the kitchen in a curtained-off bed.’

  ‘Good,’ Phelan said. ‘So if I throw gravel at your window to wake you up, it shouldn’t rouse the house?’

  ‘No,’ Dermot said doubtfully. ‘But I’m sometimes hard to wake up. I’ll leave my window a little bit open from now on.’

  ‘I don’t know the exact date,’ Phelan said. ‘None of us have been told that yet, but it will be soon. I’ll come as soon as I know. I’ll have the letter written and ready. And you’ll take it to Mammy on the farm, the day I ask you to.’

  ‘Aye.’

  ‘And you’ll not say a word of this conversation,’ Phelan said. ‘If they ask, say you had your window slightly open and you found the letter on your bedroom floor later that day. All right?’

  ‘Aye.’

  ‘Good man, Dermot,’ Phelan said, and Dermot’s heart lightened, for it was obvious Phelan had forgiven him for discovering the cottage and finding the stash of arms. He was trusting him now to take an important letter to his parents when he was about business to free Ireland. This Brotherhood thing he was in sounded exciting. Dermot wished he was old enough to join. Maybe Phelan could put a word in for him later, if he delivered the letter and told it exactly as Phelan said.

  He waved goodbye at the head of the lane to his farm and went in to face the music. He knew his mother would go for him. She hated the way he was always trailing up to see Rosie and wee Bernadette.

  SEVEN

  Rosie was very troubled after the discovery of the arms in the disused cottage and Phelan’s reaction to it. She didn’t know how to treat Phelan after it either, but she was anxious for him and for how his activities would affect the family.

  The constant worry gnawing at her made her jumpy and it was noticed by both Connie and Danny. ‘What is it, pet?’ Danny would ask. ‘What are you fretting over?’

  How Rosie longed to tell her young husband, who was looking at her in such a concerned way, two deep furrows in his brow. She wanted to tell him everything, but mindful of Phelan’s warnings of secrecy, she knew everyone would be safer if she said nothing. She wouldn’t be able to bear it if she brought danger to the family that had welcomed her so warmly, and especially to Danny and wee Bernadette. And so she’d try to smile at Danny and say reassuringly, ‘Nothing’s the matter with me, Danny. I’m grand, so I am.’

  But Danny knew she wasn’t. ‘Has she spoken to you at all?’ he demanded of his mother one day as Rosie disappeared with a basket of damp washing to hang in the orchard.

  ‘Not at all,’ Connie told him. ‘She’s not been the same since the day wee Dermot came flying up to the place in a state of great excitement, to show them a badgers’ sett of all things. ‘Maybe,’ she went on, ‘she’s worried for the child, for he’s not been near the place since. Geraldine told her he’s nearly a prisoner on the farm and he’s been forbidden to come here as a punishment, because that day he set off without telling anyone where he was going, or asking if he might. Maybe that bothers Rosie, because for all Dermot is a spoiled wee scut, she’s powerfully fond of him.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Danny said, running his hands through his hair. ‘She’s different somehow, though.’

  Connie knew she was but she’d not been able to get to the bottom of it either. ‘Could be just the weather, son. Dear God it could put years on you, the constant rain and the leaden skies. I know it’s stopped for now, but not for long by the look of it. Those clothes Rosie is putting out will gain nothing, for the very air is damp and she’ll be fetching them in again shortly.’

  Danny grimaced and shook his head. He knew it was more than that. Rosie never laughed any more, and the rare smiles she gave never touched her eyes. Then there was the way she behaved with Phelan. She never seemed to have anything to say to him now, yet once the pair of them had been as thick as thieves. It bothered him that she’d tell him nothing and claim everything was fine, when it so obviously wasn’t. He was her friend, surely, as well as her husband? There shouldn’t be secrets between them.

  ‘Bless me, Father, for I have sinned, it is a fortnight since my last confession,’ Rosie mumbled in the small box in the dimly lit, cold church. It was the evening of Good Friday and all the family, indeed most of the church, would, after attending the ‘Stations of the Cross’, make a good confession that day.

  And Rosie had more to confess than most, for she’d decided to unburden herself to the priest about the weapons, safe in the knowledge he could repeat none of it.

  So, after the litany of usual sins, Father McNally enquired, ‘Is there anything else, my child?’

  He knew there was. Years of hearing confessions had sharpened his awareness in listening to people and he knew there was more Rosie Walsh, whose voice he so clearly recognised, wanted to tell him. Rosie, although aware of the rows of people waiting outside the confessional box, knew that if she didn’t tell another person about this whole business she’d burst, and so she replied, ‘Yes, Father. It’s not something I’ve done wrong, you understand.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘I found something, Father. In fact it was my young brother who found it and brought me to see it. It was a cottage, an old disused place. Only it had been done up, made watertight. I wondered at that, for no-one owns it. It’s been derelict for years.’ Rosie stopped and the priest urged her on.

  Rosie swallowed. ‘The floor is covered with a rush mat. There is a hidey-hole under it, cut into the floor and covered with a sod of turf that can be lifted out.’

  The priest’s blood ran suddenly as cold as ice. He knew what kind of thing might be hidden in such a way in an empty, disused house. Hadn’t he had mothers weeping in the confessional before today about the menfolk in their lives, who they feared had got mixed up in subversive activities? Indeed, he’d had young men too, who asked for his blessing in their quest to free Ireland from British tyranny. He’d not been able to do that, of course, but he wasn’t surprised when Rosie went on in a whisper to tell him what she had found that day and Phelan’s reaction to it.

  ‘I think my brother-in-law is mixed up in this Irish Republican Brotherhood, Father,’ Rosie told the priest, ‘and he said these are desperate times and the organization is run by desperate men and I wasn’t to tell a soul what I’d seen.’

  Father McNally didn’t know how to advise the girl. ‘Are you worried about your brother-in-law? What he might do?’

  ‘Aye, Father.’

  ‘Can you not discuss it with your husband?’

  ‘God, no, Father,’ Rosie cried. ‘The minute I mention a word of this to him, we’d all be in danger.’

  ‘What would you have me do, child?’

  ‘There’s nothing you can do, I don’t think,’ Rosie said. ‘I just had to tell someone.’

  ‘All I can do then is pray for you all.’

  ‘Aye, Father,’ Rosie said. ‘That never comes amiss, at any rate.’

  The priest sighed. Ireland seemed poised on the brink of something and in Europe soldiers were being massacred in their thousands, and all the prayers in the world seemed unable to stop any of it. But this was no way for a priest to think, he chided himself. Didn’t he preach that prayers could move mountains?

  ‘Try not to worry too much,’ the priest told Rosie. ‘I know you might think that’s easy for me to say but really there is nothing you can do, unless you can talk to your brother-in-law and make him see sense.’