Chapter 28
Several days later, we met Mark Sturgis at Jammet’s Restaurant in Nassau Street, which was a particular haunt of the Castle administration as well as the Auxiliaries when off duty.
He’d just returned the previous day from an extended trip to London and was still catching up on all the latest developments, such as the peace negotiations between Archbishop Clune and the republicans.
Andy Cope, the assistant undersecretary, was handling some of Clune’s arrangements while he was in Dublin, shepherding him to Mountjoy to see Griffith and MacNeill.
As such, Sturgis was more knowledgeable than most, as he had direct contact with several of the players.
“Do you think it will stick?” Sidney asked.
Sturgis hedged his bets, as I knew he would, given his frequent role as go-between and mediator.
“I don’t know. On the one side, the archbishop has managed to get a written statement from Griffith of Sinn Féin’s terms, and that’s farther than anyone else has gotten.
Clune was practically buoyant with confidence, is how Cope described it, and he’s in London with Anderson and Greenwood”—the chief secretary for Ireland—“now, taking it to the prime minister.”
Sidney took a drink of his wine. “Then their terms are reasonable?”
“Reasonable enough.”
“But not everyone is as confident of the results as Archbishop Clune,” I deduced.
Sturgis grimaced regretfully. “I’m afraid not.
There are some who feel the time simply isn’t ripe yet, and others who regard the notion of giving up now as a tragedy.
” He sighed, glancing in the direction of a table across the room, though I wasn’t familiar with its occupants.
“And there are egos at play. I get the sense that the chief secretary is irked by Lloyd George sending Clune over as a direct envoy instead of asking the archbishop to go through him.” His voice turned sardonic.
“I’m also not the only one who finds it curious that Clune is apparently able to meet with Collins within days of his arrival in Dublin, yet our intelligence officers can’t seem to locate him even after weeks of intensive searching and higher security. ”
I was careful to control my reaction to this remark lest I give myself away. I, too, had wondered about this, and the conclusion I came to was that there were others who were concealing what they knew about Collins. I’d long suspected it of some of the soldiers and policemen.
After all, Collins wasn’t a ghost. Yes, he was clever.
He understood that hiding in plain sight was the best option for a fugitive like him.
But he was also made of the same flesh and blood and bone as all humans, and he was known by a great number of people.
There had to be members of the Crown Forces who simply opted to feign ignorance.
He shrugged. “But Dublin is a dreadful tangle of streets and alleys, so who am I to say?”
“Cut the bull, Sturgis.” Sidney leaned across the table, offering him one of his confiding smiles to soften the blow of his remark. “What do you really think?”
Sturgis smiled in acknowledgment of his own equivocating.
“I think …” His lips pressed together as he seemed to give the matter some consideration.
“I think we should offer generous terms of peace versus holding out a few more months just to continue to thrash a few more Shinners. I think the vast majority of Irish are ready to finish this fight. The reprisals have done their job. But to continue …” He tapped the table agitatedly with his finger.
“It could transform the people’s desire for peace into a deep bitterness and a determination to fight us for eternity.
Better to end friends and allies than enemies. ”
We fell silent as he finished, each reflecting on the profoundness of these remarks.
In many ways, it felt like the peace negotiations with Germany that had never happened in late 1916.
If the republicans offered reasonable terms, as the Germans had, and the British government instead elected to extend the war, then it seemed even more similar.
I clenched my hands in my lap, fighting anger, frustration, and disaffection all over again.
Sturgis reached for the cigarette case sitting at his elbow, the furrow between his brows perhaps indicating he wasn’t quite comfortable with the admission he’d just made.
“But as for this peace balloon …” He lit the fag and took a long drag.
“I fear it’ll pop like all the others.” He shrugged. “Though maybe not.”
I could understand his pessimism, but I wasn’t quite ready to give up hope. There was still a chance.
He exhaled toward the ceiling. “Now, Ardmore.” His eyes glinted at me. “Well done on that.” His smile dimmed. “Only, too bad Winter didn’t manage to catch him. But what do you have for me?”
“An address.”
We’d not been surprised that Collins had met with Clune.
Much of Dublin already knew, since the Irish Independent had published two letters from Collins about the matter in Monday’s and yesterday’s papers, despite their offices having been threatened by the Auxies.
I hoped Wick hadn’t been present. We’d also heard about Collins and Clune from Alec when he’d sent us a message through Mr. Finnegan at the Bank of Ireland.
The contents of the missive had prompted this meeting.
“In Abbey Street.” I gave Sturgis the address Alec had passed on to me.
“Some known figures have been seen going in and out of it. It’s possible it’s an intelligence office.
” One that Alec had assured me they had been intending to vacate anyway due to fear of its detection, but that they would leave behind some old documents to give O and his raid bureau something to confiscate.
However, I needed to lay my next breadcrumbs carefully.
“I’ll pass this along to Winter,” Sturgis proposed.
I nodded. “But tell him to be mindful that Collins has agents in the Castle. I know it’s been long suspected, but Captain Xavier confirmed that there are more than a few.”
This intrigued him, as I’d known it would, considering he lived and worked at the Castle and might very well have interacted with them. “Does he know who?”
“He says Collins handles them himself and keeps their identities close to the vest. That when he does refer to them, it’s by their code names.”
“Smart,” Sturgis replied begrudgingly as he tipped some ash into the pewter tray near the center of the table.
“He’s working on it,” I assured him, “but in the meantime, while I know Colonel Winter has said he suspected there are rebel spies at the Castle, I thought I should confirm it.” This way, when O and his men failed to apprehend anyone at Abbey Street, Collins’s agents would be blamed for tipping them off, and not me.
Sturgis hummed to himself. “Yes, well, there have been some ongoing discussions about whether any changes in personnel need to be made.” Seeing our waiter approaching, he adopted a more congenial expression, and the topic was dropped, but I took it as an indication of just how low the approval of O had ebbed among the Castle set, perhaps aided along by his past associations with Ardmore.
Perhaps this would spur O into putting in a bit more effort to locate him.
As Sturgis cut into his steak, Sidney mentioned the other reason we’d asked to meet with him. “It’s come to our attention that Lord Ardmore has purchased several estates in western Ireland. We wondered if perhaps he might have fled to one of them.”
Sturgis chewed, considering this. “And you wish me to pass this along, to have them searched?”
“We believe it’s certainly worth the small amount of effort.” Visiting them ourselves would be an immense waste of time and pull us away from Dublin when, perhaps, we needed to be here most.
Sturgis nodded. “Indeed. I’ll mention it to Jeudwine.” Who was acting as General Officer Commanding in Macready’s absence.
This would at least ease my mind that we were leaving no stone unturned—though, like Willoughby, I held my doubts that it would prove fruitful.
The next few days brought an increase in exasperation and a dimming of hope, as the temperature of the conflict seemed to be turned up even hotter despite the chill of December.
A proclamation of martial law was issued for four counties in southwestern Ireland, with whispers that it would be gradually extended until all of Ireland felt the squeeze of the British fist. This, while Lloyd George was continuing to meet with Archbishop Clune and announcing to the House of Commons that he would discuss peace with representatives of the Irish people as long as they would agree to three points: That the six counties in the northeast that the British had already partitioned as Northern Ireland were treated separately.
That there would be no secession of any part of Ireland from the UK, and thus no republic.
And that they would not hinder the security of Britain or its safety during times of war.
He, of course, failed to mention the point against which the republicans were most opposed.
That the republicans must surrender their arms. Given their lack of trust in the intentions of the British government and its implementation of conflicting policies—applying both the carrot and the stick—one could hardly blame the rebels for balking at this point.
If they turned over their weapons, how would they ensure that the British government negotiated with them in good faith or prevent the British from reneging on the agreement entirely, citing some arbitrary infraction?
This disagreement on one point threatened to derail Archbishop Clune’s efforts, though discussions hadn’t yet broken down entirely.