Chapter Thirty Seven
A Reunion
It had never been the intention of those who had sanctioned the planting of the bomb which had exploded with such devastating effect beneath the road in front of the Shelbourne Hotel to cause so much carnage and mayhem; those within the hotel had not, in fact, ever been its intended target. It had been aimed and even then merely as a diversion, at members of the Dublin Metropolitan Police, who patrolled and policed the city.
Before the war, its officers and constables had contrived to make themselves very unpopular with Dubliners as a result of their heavy handed tactics in the Dublin Lock-Out, while its plainclothes political "G" Division was responsible for trying to gain information, by whatever means they deemed necessary, on those seeking independence for Ireland, including infiltrating the Irish Volunteer Force now the Irish Republican Army.
But whoever it was who had been the intended target of the bombing was immaterial and of small consolation to those caught up in the full force of the blast and its horrific aftermath. Of course, it went without saying that if Jerry Donnelly had never planted the bomb in the first place then none of what ensued would ever have happened. Had Donnelly even exercised but a slighter degree of care than he had, then many more lives would have been spared, including possibly even his own.
Having set Tommy down gently on his feet, with the young boy still tightly clasping her firmly by the hand, continuing to hold his little dog close in his arms, Mary, with her heart pounding, slowly they all set off, both she and Tommy now escorted protectively and solicitously by Captain Miles Stathum, picking their way cautiously across the debris strewn street, over towards the bomb damaged façade of the Shelborne Hotel. Reaching the army cordon, thanks to the presence of Captain Stathum, Mary and young Tommy were let through without any further hindrance.
At long last, the smoke from the explosion was now slowly beginning to dissipate, but given the stark horror of what was now revealed, Mary grimly wondered if that was in fact a blessing or a curse. Matthew had told her but little of the horrors he had seen over in France, in fact, he flatly refused to discuss it, but the scene before her, must thought Mary, resemble the aftermath of a battle. The smell was indescribable; there was blood … and worse … everywhere. Good God, how could Matthew, indeed how could any of them, have endured seeing sights like this, day in, day out, for four, long years?
Glancing down at the young boy, Miles observed wryly that Tommy continued to grasp Mary tightly by the hand. He smiled.
"If I may say so, Lady Mary, he seems quite taken with you". Miles had offered to hold Tommy's hand when they set off, but the young boy would have none of it, clung instead to Mary, determinedly resolute.
Mary permitted herself a thin smile.
"It's not that at all Captain Stathum. As it so happens, you see young Tommy here and I … well, when we met, we struck a bargain. I promised that I would help him find his mother, while he in turn promised me that he would help me find my sisters and … Mr. Branson; so I suspect he's not likely to let go of me until we do". Mary glanced about her, and then sadly shook her head. Miles looked at her quizzically. Normally Mary would not have bothered to have vouchsafed any further explanation, but now she relented, in fact, felt compelled to do so.
"When we were children, my father, Lord Grantham, always cautioned against my sisters and I making any rash promises, those which we were unlikely to be able to keep. Now seeing all of this …" Mary waved her free hand demonstratively, "well perhaps I shouldn't have promised Tommy that …"
The traffic was still at a stand, while a torrent of water from the shattered water main continued to cascade unchecked down the surface of the road. On top of the wrecked tram, soldiers were engaged in making preparations to cover over what remained of the open upper deck with a large tarpaulin; while below them in the street bloodied, mutilated bodies still lay on the ground. Here and there doctors and nurses were moving slowly and methodically among the scene of devastation, while lying on the opposite pavement, close to the entrance of the Shelbourne Hotel, and awaiting loading into another ambulance were yet further laden, blanket covered stretchers.
They had just reached the far pavement when a scream, then a woman's voice rent the air.
"Tommy! Darlin'!"
"Ma!"
At the same moment, Mary felt Tommy let go of her hand, saw him run at speed, still clasping his little dog, straight into the outstretched embrace of a woman kneeling on the pavement with open arms. Heedless of her appearance, hatless, her hair awry, her clothes covered in dust, her radiant face a picture of both joy and relief, the woman smothered the young boy with kisses. Then Tommy whispered something in his mother's ear. At whatever it was he had said, the woman glanced over towards where Mary accompanied by Miles stood impassively, watching, neither of them wishing to intrude on the happy reunion of a mother and her son.
Seeing Mary's eyes still upon them, slowly the woman rose to her feet and with Tommy by her side, still clutching his dog, she walked quickly and purposefully over to where Mary stood; then heedless of all propriety, reached forward, and embraced the younger woman warmly as if they were old friends of equal status and of long standing.
"May God bless you and keep you in the palm of his hand, miss".
Mary was truly disconcerted, and for a moment, Miles saw her obvious consternation clearly etched in her face. A faint smile flickered about the corners of his mouth. Never for one moment had he ever expected to see the imperious Lady Mary Crawley so disconcerted, so thoroughly flustered. Still the social proprieties must be observed. Miles was about to intervene, when instinctively the older woman released her hold of Mary. Thereafter, formality reasserted itself, as Mary reached forward and grasped the woman's hand, thus responding to her greeting, but at the same time keeping her at arm's length.
"Lady Mary Crawley. I'm so very pleased to make your acquaintance" said Mary politely, and without the slightest trace of emotion.
The woman seemed to sense that she had overstepped the bounds of propriety.
"And there's me forgetting, my manners ma'am. Brigid McCarthy, ma'am. My Tommy here, he's my eldest he's been telling me how you looked out for him. Thank you ma'am, thank you so much. Young Tommy and I will never forget what you did for him. Never!"
Mary coloured, momentarily somewhat embarrassed by the woman's open effusiveness.
"Oh, please, think nothing of it, Mrs. McCarthy. I'm just glad that the both of you all right, that you've found each other again". After all, what else could she say? A lifetime spent making polite conversation in drawing rooms and at dinner tables did not really prepare one for situations such as this.
"Do you live here, in Dublin?" asked Mary airily and for want of something else to say.
"No ma'am. We're up here for a few days. We come from the south, from down near Cork, We're staying with my sister in Rathmines".
"Then perhaps Captain Stathum could …" Mary looked questioningly at Miles.
"Oh, no ma'am. Thank you all the same, but there's no need, really. We can find our own way there, can't we son?" asked Mrs. McCarthy.
"To be sure" replied young Tommy happily.
"And you come from near Cork?" asked Mary disinterestedly. Mrs. McCarthy nodded vigorously.
"That's right ma'am. My husband's a tenant farmer down there … on the Skerries estate. Perhaps you know of it ma'am?"
Mary shook her head.
"No, I don't think I do" she replied. Mary was beginning to rather lose interest in this particular conversation. After all, glad as she was to see young Tommy reunited with his mother, Mary had no interest in this woman or in the Skerries estate. It was far more important to her that she now found out what had become of Edith, of Sybil, and of Tom.
Almost sensing Mary's own thoughts Mrs. McCarthy nodded her head slowly.
"I do hope you find both your sisters safe and well ma'am".
Mary nodded her head in agreement.
"Thank you so much for your concern, Mrs. McCarthy. I hope so too". Mary then turned abruptly back to Miles.
"Captain Stathum, I wonder, would you be so good as to please escort Mrs. McCarthy and Tommy back through the army cordon and see them on their way? From here, I can, I assure you manage perfectly well on my own".
"Well, if you're absolutely certain Lady Mary…"
"Yes, I am; quite certain, although I trust we will have the pleasure of meeting again, Captain Stathum, and, I hope, in more propitious circumstances than these. And thank you".
At that, Miles came smartly to attention and saluted.
"Well, goodbye Tommy" said Mary. She was on the very point of holding out her hand to the young boy, but then instead, to both her and Mrs. McCarthy's infinite surprise, Mary suddenly found herself kneeling down once more on the filthy pavement, hugging Tommy to her in one final, tight embrace.
Slowly, Lady Mary Crawley, eldest daughter to the earl and countess of Grantham, rose to her feet, turned away from them all. Then, without so much as a backward glance, and, given the circumstances, with as much hauteur as she could possibly muster, walked through the shattered entrance doors, and into the wrecked lobby of the Shelbourne Hotel.