Chapter Fifty Seven
A Different World
Somewhere, just above his left eye, Miles was conscious of a blinding, throbbing pain. In what turned out to be a completely futile attempt to dispel it, he inhaled deeply, briefly closed his eyes, and shook his head. Undiminished, the dull ache remained. He could make no sense, none whatsoever, of his inexplicable and sudden remembrance of an unpleasant incident from his childhood; long forgotten and best left in the darkest recesses of his mind.
The nervous silence here in the barn persisted. Save for the occasional shuffle of feet, the cry of a child, a nervous cough, the clearing of a throat, it remained all but unbroken, while those present waited apprehensively to see exactly what it was that the army intended to do next.
The apprehension was just as tangible; clear and palpable, and Miles sensed something else too; the inherent dangerousness of the present situation, both for himself and for those under his command. For, even by the flickering pallid light from the handful of lanterns which still remained lit, fear showed all too plainly in the frightened, watchful eyes of the sullen, white faces of the shadowy figures, both young and old, of men, of women and of children, clustered and ranged around the walls of the barn, standing, or seated at the trestle tables.
Terror, tinder dry like straw, but for all that, needful of but a spark for it to flare instantly into light, into a blazing panic that, whatever the eventual cost in human lives, would undoubtedly engulf both Miles and those with him; the hatred of Stathum and the soldiers under his orders, of what they both represented, was equally obvious. Miles's mouth felt unaccountably dry. He ran the probing tip of his tongue over his lips and found them equally dry and parched. Then he remembered. Someone, he forgot exactly who it had been, had once told him that fear did that to you.
But a moment or two later, and the stillness, which had descended so unexpectedly in the barn in the aftermath of the arrival of both the lorries and the soldiers, was broken. Re-asserting his command of the situation, again Stathum snapped his fingers.
Several of the NCOs present screamed for all the men attending the céilí to stand up and raise their hands in the air, while at the double, several groups of soldiers now elbowed and shoved their way forcefully past both Tom and Sybil, he with his hands held stiffly in the air, and moved quickly to stand en garde throughout the building, while those still kneeling in the rear of the first two lorries kept their rifles trained on those below them in the barn.
Miles watched dispassionately as some of the soldiers who had pushed their way forcibly past the Bransons now surrounded their intended target. Then, drawing his revolver, Miles walked slowly forward to where Peadar, white-faced, stood, with his hands raised, next to Emer who was still seated, but likewise ashen.
"Are you Peadar Moore?"
Peadar said nothing by way of reply, stood silent and stony faced, kept his eyes on the ground.
"I asked you a question".
Slowly, Peadar raised his head, looked at Miles, but remained as silent as before.
"Don't try my patience!" snapped Miles. "I ask you once again, and think very carefully before you reply. Are you Peadar Moore?" demanded Stathum now pointing his revolver directly at the young man's forehead.
In the lamp light, Peadar's forehead and upper lip glistened with beads of perspiration. Slowly, he nodded his assent.
"Very sensible" said Stathum softly. "As of this moment, you are under arrest and will come with us. I suggest that you make no trouble … unless you want any of these here present to pay for your own mistakes".
Peadar opened his mouth seemingly to protest, then realising the hopelessness of the situation shut it again just as quickly, his mouth set in a thin, stubborn line. With awareness now dawning upon her, that this was for real, it was Emer who spoke up forcefully for her husband.
"Jaysus, why? You can't!" she screamed. "Holy Mary, Mother of God! Please! He hasn't done anything!" She burst into tears.
"Really?" said Miles, softly sardonic, ignoring Emer's hysterical, tearful outburst.
Miles nodded curtly to his sergeant.
The burly, grizzled, moustached man did likewise to the three fresh faced young army privates standing directly beside him, who now seized hold of Peadar, pulling him roughly forward, in the process knocking Peadar's cap off his head. One of the soldiers grabbed his arms, jerked them forcibly behind his back, before helping his two mates drag Peadar in front of the sergeant.
"You searched him?"
"Well, er … No sarge".
"Christ all fucking mighty! What the 'ell did they bloody teach you at the fuckin' training camp? Well don't just stand there you useless bastards! Search him!" Seemingly stunned into inaction, the two soldiers made no movement.
"Not yesterday! Now!" screamed the sergeant almost apoplectic with rage.
Embarrassed, red faced, the soldiers now hurried to do as they had been ordered, and in their haste to comply, did so none too gently. While one of them kept Peadar's arms forced behind his back, the other two made a swift and fruitless search of all of the young man's pockets. A few moments later with their search of him completed, they stood back empty handed; shook their heads.
It was just as well, reflected Peadar ruefully, that on one of his frequent trips outside the barn earlier this same evening that he had very wisely taken the precaution of hiding his revolver and the rounds of ammunition that went with it, along with his notebook. Wrapped in sacking, all lay hidden from the sight, and as yet undisturbed, beneath the midden in the middle of the farm yard.
Not of course that it did Peadar any good, for a few moments later, despite yet more screams from Emer and voluble protests from the rest of the Branson family, notwithstanding his own struggles, Peadar was dragged forcibly out of the barn and into the darkness beyond.
Meanwhile, other soldiers had begun moving slowly and methodically round the barn demanding with shouts and at rifle point the names, addresses, and occupations of all the men folk present. Any protests were quickly silenced, met with shouted obscenities and threats of physical violence to the women and children.
It was now that Mary rose to her feet, appalled by the brutality she was witnessing, only too reminiscent of that she had seen meted out to Tom by officers of the Dublin Metropolitan Police in the entrance hall of the Shelbourne Hotel.
"Captain Stathum, surely there must be some mistake. These people … they've done nothing wrong. They're guests of both my sister and her husband, and here by invitation".
"With respect Lady Mary, I can assure you, I have very good cause. May I suggest that you do not seek to involve yourself in matters that I would remind you, are none of your concern. For my part, I am a serving officer in the British army. My rank gives me the right…"
"Your rank may well give you the power, it does not give you the right" said Mary coldly. "As to all this", she spread her hands expansively at what was now taking place about them, "being none of my concern? Would you mind telling me just what possible reason you have for such an unwarranted intrusion as this? You cannot simply barge your way in here, arrest someone, and demand the names of everyone else, at least not without very good cause. My father ..."
"As I said, that does not concern you". When Mary made to continue her protest, Stathum impatiently waved her into silence. "And before you mention your father's connection with the Viceroy, let me tell you that whatever association you may seek to claim between Lord Grantham and Lord French, it will avail you nothing, so I would suggest you keep silent" said Miles curtly.
Although she did not see it, Mary's spirited defence of those present earned her a look of admiration from Tom. Instead, she stood impassive, as if carved in ice, her face white with fury.
"But surely …" began Edith.
Miles swung around abruptly on his heel.
"Lady Edith, I would equally remind you as well as your sister, both of you in fact, this is not Downton Abbey. Over here in Ireland, this is a different world and I do not need to account to you or to anyone else here present, for my actions or those of my men tonight" said Miles tersely.
From the far end of the barn, close to the makeshift stage erected for the use of the musicians, several men's voices could be heard, raised in protest against what was now happening. Edith gasped in horror as she saw a young man clubbed viciously to the ground with the butt of a rifle; saw those who would have gone to his aid, pushed back brutally at rifle point.
"Now, shut the fuck up! Let's be havin' your fuckin' name. And none of your Irish gibberish neither. In English like I told you!" screamed the soldier standing over the fallen young man lying prostrate before him on the earthen floor.
"If either I or any of my men have to take time out to teach you, any of you, what we can do, I can assure you that it will not be a lesson much to your liking" snapped Stathum, his eyes glittering, ranging round the assembled throng.
Miles swung back to Emer. "As to your husband, he should have thought of the consequences of his actions before he began misusing his position with the railway company. A spell in a cell in Kilmainham Gaol will give him ample time to reflect on his stupidity".
Next Miles turned his attention briefly to Ciaran.
"You are the tenant farmer here?"
Ciaran nodded his head.
Miles motioned at Ciaran with his drawn pistol
"Then you too will also now come with us".
Aislin looked horrified and young Padraig sensing his mother's distress promptly burst into tears. Impulsively, Donal made to start forward, to go to his brother's aid, but Tom was quicker and forestalled him.
"Easy Donal. Don't do anything stupid" said Tom insistently but quietly. With no-one seemingly taking the slightest interest in either him or any of those nearest to him, Tom, along with Donal had both dropped their hands. Tom laid a restraining arm on Donal's wrist. He did so gently yet at the same time making doubly sure that Donal remained standing exactly where he was.
When Ciaran made no attempt to move, Miles snapped his fingers, pointed towards Ciaran with his drawn pistol. At that, several soldiers pushed their way forwards and, moving round the trestle table surrounded Ciaran, grabbing hold of him and jerking his arms up and behind his back. When young Ruari tried to intervene, notwithstanding the fact that his arm was in a sling one of the soldiers grabbed hold of the boy and flung him roughly to the ground while his compatriots manhandled Ciaran from his place, dragging him across the barn and outside into the blackness of the farmyard.
While Ma and Niamh helped a sobbing Ruari slowly to his feet, seemingly oblivious to the needless brutality of his soldiers, Miles turned on his heel, began issuing further orders. Tom, his arm held comfortingly around Sybil's shoulders, with her face pressed against him, heard Stathum say something about making a thorough search of the farm and the outbuildings. A moment or two later and the soldiers in the last of the three lorries were swiftly clambering down, lining up in rows three deep before, under the command of a sergeant and two corporals, setting off at the double into the darkness outside.
Miles turned back to where Mary still remained standing impassively next to Aislin, her arm held tightly round young Mairead who had slid off the bench and was now standing next to her, her tear stained face buried in the folds of Mary's skirt.
"Lady Mary, Lady Edith. Do permit me to wish you both a safe crossing and please convey my respects to your parents the earl and countess of Grantham upon your arrival at Downton Abbey" said Miles audibly; his seeming good wishes uttered in the most prosaic of tones as if he had been standing before them in the hall of their aunt's town house up in London.
Neither Mary nor Edith said a word by way of reply, and, as he saluted them both, Miles heard plainly his crisply spoken words echoing up to the rafters of the barn, and travelling round the assembled, frightened throng like wildfire: Lady Mary? Downton Abbey? Earl and countess? Well satisfied, Miles relished the obvious consternation which he had clearly caused. But he had not yet done with his revelations. Not by a long way.
"Mr. and Mrs. Branson, my congratulations upon your wedding. Once again, my sincere apology for interrupting this evening's … entertainment." Miles paused, nodded briefly at both Tom and Sybil. He turned as if about to depart, and then just as quickly swung back to them.
"Oh, I nearly forgot. One thing more. Mr. Branson, thank you for the kind assistance you rendered to both me and my men the other night down on Henry Street. As you can see, by this evening's proceedings, the information you gave me then has proved most useful".
Tom did not answer him immediately; instead he stood silent, biting his lip, saw Sybil look questioningly at him, heard the only too audible gasps of amazement from friends and neighbours present in the barn within hearing of what had just been said.
"I don't know what you are talking about" said Tom finally at length. "I gave you no information; none whatsoever".
"Oh come now Mr. Branson. You know that you did. I take it that you don't deny we met a couple of nights ago, on Henry Street?"
Tom said nothing.
"No, of course you don't. You can't. Because it's true, as well you know. You know that to be so, and so too does your … wife. As to the information you gave me? Well, surely you remember you told me … where you would be tonight, so …"
At that, Miles shrugged.
"So why don't you have your men ask me for my name, my occupation, my address" demanded Tom defiantly.
"It can be arranged" said Miles coolly.
"Please Tom, don't …" implored Sybil.
"Don't distress yourself Lady Sybil".
"It's Mrs. Branson to you" said Sybil enunciating her words carefully and with a defiance to match that of Tom.
"As you wish, Mrs. Branson, but I assure you that there's no need to ask your husband for his details; none at all". Miles gave them both a composed and satisfied look. "After all, we know who your husband is, what he does, and where he lives. And we also … know all about you". Miles smiled his thin smile, turned on his heel, and made to leave.
As he did so, from outside in the darkness, midst the rasp of the harsh voices of the soldiers and the pounding of heavy booted feet, there came the frightened squawk of chickens, the terrified whinnying of horses, and the plaintive lowing of cattle, followed swiftly thereafter by the sound of splintering wood, the breaking of glass, and the sickening crash and thud of furniture being carelessly overturned as the soldiers began ransacking the farmhouse in their so far fruitless search for rifles and ammunition stolen from the police barracks.
Amidst guttural shouts, there came then a sudden and ragged burst of gunfire, followed by a scream, then silence. Moments later, the burly sergeant pounded at the double into the barn. Drawing to an abrupt halt directly in front of Miles, he saluted.
"Sergeant? You have something to report?"
"Yes, sir. One of the prisoners, he tried to make a run for it …"