Chapter Eighteen
A Fatal Encounter
When Sybil caught sight of the young fox, it was, of course, already too late. When she saw him, the fox was sitting stock-still in a gap in the hedge, absolutely motionless, with unblinking eyes, apparently watching the hitherto empty ribbon of dry, dusty road which lay before him.
Then, up ahead of the motor, there was sudden, unexpected movement in the green veil of darkness beneath the trees overhanging the lane just before it traversed the narrow three arched stone bridge which they had crossed earlier on their outward journey over to Howth from Clontarf.
Almost at the very last moment, five armed men stepped silently out from the lengthening shadows, right in the path of the oncoming motor car, forcing Tom to swerve sharply, blaring on the horn as he did so, slamming his foot hard on the brake pedal, and slewing the heavy motor violently to the left so as to avoid ploughing straight into them.
The evening's jaunt out to Howth had only come about because earlier in the day Edmund Kelly, a colleague of Tom's at the Indy, on learning that Tom knew how to drive, had offered him the loan of his motor, a powerful, grey bull nosed Morris Oxford, to enable Tom to more easily cover a meeting of railway workers being held in Kilmainham which lay south of the Liffey and west of the city centre.
To continue functioning effectively, the British Administration based at Dublin Castle could not afford for the railway network in Ireland to be disrupted, and so as to help ensure this there was also a high military presence in the same district; as well as the ever present reminder of the failure of the Easter Rising in the shape of Kilmainham Gaol where the leaders of the abortive Rising had been summarily executed. All things being equal, it looked very likely that there well might be serious trouble.
Kelly had told Tom that he could return the motor the following morning. And when Tom had then asked if he might use it to go for a spin, take his fiancée out of Dublin that evening, young Edmund Kelly had readily assented.
"But mind you return it without a scratch!" Kelly had said.
As it was, things passed off relatively peacefully in Kilmainham, and, that evening, after supper was over, having surprised Sybil with the unexpected news that he had the loan of a motor car, it was Tom himself who had suggested they take a trip in it out to Howth, a beautiful spot on the coast, a favourite with day trippers, situated about eight miles from the city, on the north side of Dublin Bay.
And now look what had happened.
Indeed, what exactly was it that had happened wondered Sybil.
Behind them, alarmed by the sudden noise of the horn, the ear-splitting screech and squeal made by the hurriedly applied brakes, followed by the sound of guttural raised voices, naturally wary of men, the young fox faded furtively back into the surrounding trees. He would, he decided, be wise to find another way to cross the lane and reach the farm's isolated henhouse in search of his evening meal.
"Sweet Jaysus" yelled Tom.
The Morris now leaned at a drunken angle so much so, that Tom thought the impact must have snapped the front axle. How they had avoided being flung out of the motor, or else ending up in the adjacent ditch, he never knew.
"Are you all right love?" he asked, immediately solicitous for Sybil's welfare. Momentarily stunned, Sybil failed to respond.
"Yes, I think so" she said weakly. "Tom, those men ... What on earth do they ..."
"You feckin' idiots!" yelled Tom. "You near bloody killed the both of us! What the bloody hell do you think ..." His words died away as he soon as he saw the pistol trained at his head.
"Shut the feck up! You, put your hands up". The man nodded abruptly at Tom. "Now both of yous ... get out of the motor!" barked another, who from both his tone and his demeanour seemed to be the leader of the group which had just ambushed them.
This can't be thought Sybil. This can't be happening. Not to us. Why, we're getting married in three days' time. This isn't how it is supposed to be, can't be how it's supposed to end, not on a beautiful summer's evening, not here on a quiet country lane, just west of Howth, on the north side of Dublin Bay.
This is a nightmare she reasoned to herself. So, that being the case, if only I can wake myself up, then this will all be over. For both of us.
Wake up!
For God's sake wake up!
But she was already awake.
And the constant, steady pain in her left arm told her that this was no nightmare.
This was reality.
This was for real.
The pressure on her arm told her so in a most uncompromisingly way; the pain increased in intensity, as none too gently the man standing on her side of the motor car suddenly chose to tighten his grip. Sybil looked down at the dirty, bitten nails; the nicotine stained fingers encircling her wrist, and then slowly turned her head, looked blankly, unseeing, at the owner of those self same fingers. The middle aged man grinned lasciviously at her. Sybil winced, cried out.
"You're hurting me" she said evenly between gritted teeth.
"Play your cards right little lady and you and I could have a lot of fun together". The man smirked, nodded his grizzled head in the direction of the neighbouring house, the roof of which could just be glimpsed through the trees on the other side of the lane. The man's gap toothed smile grew broader still; his grip remained as tight as before.
"I shan't be telling yous again. Now get out!" growled the sandy haired young man standing on Tom's side of the motor. Not that there had ever really been any doubt about it; that he meant what he said. As if to emphasise that he was in deadly earnest, he pushed the muzzle of his pistol hard against Tom's right temple, while three of his four compatriots levelled their rifles and took careful aim at both Tom and Sybil; at this range they would not fail to miss.
Perhaps it was shock, but Sybil found herself feeling coolly detached from the reality of their present situation. Who was it said that one's fears are lighter when danger is at hand? No matter. But fear does strange things to people, for curious to relate, at this precise moment, unbidden, there came into Sybil's mind a clear image of Tom ... sitting quietly on the running board of the Renault in the garage back at Downton.
"They've shot the Tsar and all his family" he said.
"How terrible" she heard herself reply. Her mouth felt unaccountably dry.
This then must be how they felt thought Sybil ... those five poor helpless children of the late Tsar. She had read how their brutal executioners crowded into the doorway of that now infamous basement room in Ekaterinburg and. but moments, later opened fire on all of them, at point blank range, before finishing off the whole bloody business, stabbing with bayonets, and clubbing with rifle butts.
Sybil glanced nervously across at Tom still seated in the driver's seat. He was sitting motionless, staring straight ahead of him, as though carved in granite. Then she saw his knuckles whiten as he tensed, hearing her assailant's lewd suggestion, saw Tom tighten his grip on the steering wheel, saw him swallow hard; could see the beads of sweat glistening on his forehead, on his upper lip. Instinctively, by way of reassurance, she reached over, squeezed his left thigh tightly with her gloved right hand, at the same time willing him silently to do as he had been told. Don't Tom, please, don't my love, not for my sake, don't do anything foolish.
In no way would Sybil have described herself as a religious person, but now she sent up a heartfelt, unspoken prayer to whatever god or saint just might happen to lending an ear. But no-one seemed to be listening. Images, all of them of Tom, and from what seemed a lifetime ago, came crowding swiftly in upon her mind.
He was standing opposite her in the lamp lit garage at Downton.
"Sometimes a hard sacrifice must be made for a future that's worth having" she heard him say. Was this the sacrifice now demanded of them for Ireland's freedom?
"I'll wait forever" Tom said. Was forever really to be this short?
At the very last, reluctantly, and ever so slowly, Tom finally did as he had been told. Gently, he released his grip on the steering wheel and raised both his hands high in the air. So relieved was she, that Sybil could not prevent herself from exhaling an audible, heartfelt sigh of relief. Whatever happened now, they were both still alive, though for how much longer remained to be seen.
"Now, both of yous, do like I told yous and get out of the motor".
Having opened both the doors, Sybil and Tom, he now with his hands raised high in the air, did as they had been ordered, climbed out of the motor car, and stepped unwillingly down onto the dusty surface of the lane. Mockingly, Sybil's captor offered her his hand.
"Thank you. I can manage" she said disdainfully, with as much hauteur and sang-froid as she could muster; if she had simply been stepping out of the Renault drawn up at the front of Downton Abbey and without a care in the world.
On the other side of the motor car, two of the other men who had stopped them grabbed hold of Tom and roughly frisked him down. Once satisfied that he was carrying nothing of any importance, they let him drop his hands. While three of the men remained with the motor car, the other two ordered Tom and Sybil to walk ahead of them across the narrow lane towards a wooden gate that led through into a cobbled farmyard, the two men following close behind.
"Through there" said one of the men curtly with a wave of his pistol.
In front of them the rickety gate stood wide open; Tom and Sybil had no choice but to do as they were told. With his arm slung comfortingly around Sybil's shoulders, the two of them walked slowly through the gateway and into the farmyard. Save for the constant lowing of cattle coming from one of the adjacent barns, the place seemed utterly deserted, unaccountably bereft of life. Somewhere a dog barked and a door banged to, but no-one came out of the farmhouse to see what was going on.
To their left stood an empty, open, stone built cart shed.
"In there!" ordered the man prodding Tom in the back with his pistol.
"Now stand and face the wall! Both of yous" ordered the other harshly.
Up on the ridge overlooking the farm, the young fox now had his supper. He couldn't quite understand why this time it had all been so easy. After all, there was usually someone about, and several times in the recent past when he had ventured over this way in search of a meal he had come very close to receiving a peppering of buckshot. But this evening, the farm was eerily quiet; seemed to be deserted, although he reasoned that at this hour, this should not be the case; he could hear the cows lowing in the milking shed.
But, whatever the reason for the apparent, seeming lack of humanity, the carrot haired boy who looked after the chickens, and whom the young fox had had the misfortune to encounter on a previous occasion when he had paid a nocturnal visit to the farm, had this evening evidently taken leave of his senses and had forgotten to lock up the henhouse. So, easy pickings, and the fox now had what he had come for.
With the prospect of a satisfying supper ahead of him, the now lifeless body of a succulent, speckled hen clamped firmly between his jaws, nonchalantly, the young fox padded slowly away from the deserted farmhouse and outbuildings. A moment or two later, he stopped dead in his tracks, and sniffed the air about him. Something definitely wasn't right; exactly what eluded him.
However, instinctively, he recognised the scent he smelt now, borne to his keen nostrils on a sudden gust of wind. After all, he knew all about fear; what it meant to be afraid, He had smelt the same scent on his own fur often enough, usually when being chased by the hounds, and he smelt it again now. A moment or two later, as if to confirm the accuracy of his deduction, the young fox was startled beyond measure by a resonance of frightened voices, followed closely by a sudden deafening dissonance of staccato sounds, which drifted up to him on the still evening air from the farmyard below.
"No! God, no!" yelled Tom. "For the love of Christ ... please, if you're going to shoot us, then at least let us ..." Grabbing hold of Sybil, he pulled her close against him, enfolding her in his arms, hugging her to him, holding her tight, in one last, desperate embrace.
"I love you forever my darling!" he sobbed.
Out of the corner of her eye, Sybil saw the two men take aim with their pistols. Horrified, not believing what was happening, she screamed aloud.
"No, don't!" Please! No!"
At the very same moment, she threw her arms tightly around Tom, clasping her hands together around his neck, drawing his well-loved, tear-stained face down to meet her own; his soft lips closing hungrily upon hers in a deep and lingering final kiss.
"Tom, my love ..."
The rest of Sybil's words never came; cut short, lost in a ferocious, murderous hail of bullets.
If only for a few moments, the rapid burst of gunfire continued to echo noisily, then faded, died away, and silence descended once more upon the valley.
It was ended.