‘That must be Nugent,’ said Harry, pushing back his chair and jumping to his feet. ‘At last, I won’t be alone in this house of females.’
‘Ahem,’ said Father mildly.
‘Sorry, Father,’ said Harry, shoving his way past my chair and practically knocking me into the leftover toast. ‘I’ll get it Maggie!’ he yelled from the hall, and a moment later the front door was opened and Frank, looking uncharacteristically awkward, came into the dining room.
‘Sorry Mr. Carberry, Mrs. Carberry,’ he said. ‘I didn’t mean to disturb your breakfast.’
‘We’re just finished, dear,’ said Mother, and Father stood up and shook Frank’s hand.
‘You’re more than welcome, my dear young fellow,’ he said. ‘Now, I think there might be some toast left if you’d like some.’
But Frank shook his head.
‘They gave me a huge breakfast at home,’ he said. ‘Not that they think you won’t feed me properly here, of course,’ he added quickly, looking a little flustered.
‘Come on, Nugent,’ said Harry, slapping Frank on the back in a ridiculously hearty fashion. He never normally does things like that, and Frank was clearly taken by surprise. ‘Let’s get your bags up to my room and leave this lot to their toast.’
‘See you all later,’ said Frank, and followed Harry out of the room.
‘What a nice young fellow he is,’ said Mother. She looked at me and Julia. ‘I hope you two won’t be pestering and annoying him. He’s our guest after all.’
The cheek of her, lumping me in with Julia and thinking I would – I can hardly bear to write it – PESTER AND ANNOY Frank!
‘Of course I won’t,’ I said. ‘In fact, I’m going to stay out of his and Harry’s way. May I please be excused and go to Nora’s house?’
Mother nodded and, without another word, I got up and stalked out of the room. At least I tried to stalk. Harry hadn’t put his chair back in under the table and I banged into the corner of it, which really, really hurt, but I ignored the agony and kept on walking. It is very difficult to retain my dignity in this house. I could hear Frank and Harry chatting away upstairs. Ever since Harry’s voice started to change he has sounded very grumbly. Frank’s voice has changed too, but he sounds like a normal person. I was looking for my outdoor shoes when he came down the stairs.
‘Hello!’ he said. ‘Where are you off to?’
‘Just Nora’s house,’ I said. There was a pause, but not an especially awkward one. ‘I hope it’s not going to be too boring for you staying here. When your parents are off on holiday, I mean.’
‘Well, it’s not exactly a holiday.’ Frank’s smile was wry.
‘My friend Frances is in New York,’ I said. ‘I wish I could go there. It sounds so exciting.’
And that’s when he told me about the tall building. But before we could talk about it anymore, Harry came thundering down the stairs saying, ‘Come on, Nugent. Let’s get some lemonade in the kitchen.’ So I left them to it.
When I got to Nora’s she was sitting in the garden reading Anne of Green Gables, while George hit a tennis ball against the wall.
‘That’s a strangely soothing sound,’ I said, sitting down beside her.
‘I’ve barely noticed it.’ Nora’s eyes were bright. ‘Goodness, Mollie, this book is wonderful.’
It’s always a nice feeling when you give someone a book you love and they like it as much as you do. We talked about it for a bit, and I almost gave away some bits of the plot that Nora hasn’t reached yet, but I stopped myself in time. After a while, having made sure that George was out of earshot, I said, ‘I’ve had an idea.’
Because I had. It had struck me on my way over to Nora’s house.
‘Really?’ Nora looked insultingly surprised.
‘We should go to the meeting tomorrow,’ I said. ‘You know, the weekly IWFL one in the Phoenix Park.’
‘What good will that do?’ said Nora.
‘Well,’ I said, ‘Phyllis won’t tell us anything about their plans. We don’t even know for definite if they’re going to go out in the boat. Maybe they’ll announce their intentions at the meeting, and we can see if we can join in.’
‘I suppose it couldn’t hurt.’ Nora was thoughtful.
‘Well, we haven’t come up with anything else,’ I said.
Nora’s face brightened. ‘Actually, I have. A new verse for our song.’
‘Go on then,’ I said.
Nora took a deep breath and then, singing softly so as not to be overheard, she sang:
We will never cease our shouting
’til you heed our Irish call
Votes for men and votes for women
Votes for us and votes for all!
I stared at her in admiration. ‘Goodness, Nora, that’s not bad. And,’ I added, ‘Maggie’s sister Jenny would approve of the votes for all. She thinks it’s disgraceful that working men don’t get the vote and men like our fathers do.’
‘Well, that’s just not fair play,’ said Nora. ‘As Grace would say.’
‘Where is she, anyway?’ I said.
‘At the club, of course.’ Nora yawned and stretched back in her chair. ‘And long may she stay there.’
‘You must admit,’ I said, ‘that the club seems to be doing her some good.’
‘Maybe,’ said Nora. ‘But not at night. She told Mother she thought the camp bed was bad for her back and that meant she couldn’t play tennis properly. So I’ve got to sleep in it all week!’
Maybe Grace hadn’t reformed so much after all. But luckily she’s playing at some beginners’ tournament in the club tomorrow so we won’t have to try and get rid of her before we go to the meeting in the park. We arranged to meet at our usual corner, and it wasn’t until Nora had walked me out to the front door that she remembered something.
‘Hang on!’ she said, when I was already walking down the short tiled path that leads from her front door to the pavement. ‘Didn’t a certain SOMEONE arrive at your house today?’
‘I’m so sorry, I don’t know what you mean!’ I said. And then I ran down the road before she could ask any more annoying questions. Besides, I was already late for tea. I was quite looking forward to talking to Frank over the cake and buns, but when I got home he and Harry were nowhere to be seen.
‘Oh,’ said Mother, when I asked – very casually, and as if I had no real interest in the answer – where they were. ‘I believe they’ve gone out with Frank’s uncle. There’s no room in his house for Frank to stay, but he’s taking both the boys out to the theatre to make up for Frank missing his holiday.’
And now I’m going to bed and they’re still not back. Not that I really care, of course. But it would be nice to have the opportunity to be polite to our guest.
Best love and votes for women,
Mollie
P.S.
I forgot to say that Mabel, that wondrous girl, gave Phyllis a copy of another book about Anne of Green Gables to give to me. It is called Anne of Avonlea, and I have just started it, but it looks just as good as the first one. I don’t know if it’s been published here yet but it is out in America – she got it from her cousins – so I do hope you get hold of a copy of it!
Sunday, 14th July, 1912.
Dear Frances,
I have been thinking about the suffrage movement in America. I wonder if it is popular. I realise that I don’t really know anything about it at all. If I could afford to send you a telegram, I would ask you to get me an American suffrage magazine. I wonder what their meetings are like, because Nora and I went to the Phoenix Park Meeting yesterday and unfortunately it didn’t go that well. For us, anyway.
I had thought it was better not to give Phyllis any hint that we were going to the meeting, but I didn’t see much of her anyway because she left the house soon after breakfast. She said she was going to help Mabel try on her wedding dress so of course I knew she was off on suffrage business. I do think this fictional cover story about Mabel getting married has bec
ome very impractical. What is Phyllis going to do in a few months? Tell my Mother about an imaginary wedding? Start referring to Mabel as Mrs. Pretend-Surname? It’s quite ridiculous. Though really, I’m hardly one to talk, given all the lies I’ve told over the past few months.
It was strange having Frank at the breakfast table. He seemed to find it a little strange too and was a bit quiet at first, though of course Harry made enough noise for the pair of them. But Mother and Father talked to him very nicely and soon he was laughing with the rest of us over a funny story about Father’s office.
‘I hope you’ll be joining us to hear the next installment of my novel,’ said Father. ‘The Adventures of Peter Fitzgerald.’
Harry looked a bit embarrassed and said, ‘Frank’s too old for storytelling.’ But Father said, ‘Nonsense! Even Phyllis likes to listen to Peter’s adventures.’ And Phyllis laughed and said, ‘I certainly do.’
‘I look forward to it,’ said Frank, who really is a very decent guest. But I didn’t speak much to him after breakfast, because he and Harry were going off to the house of one of their many friends who don’t seem to have first names – at least, they never refer to them by their first names. It’s always Harrington and Sheridan and Murphy. Today it was Harrington and, as they were going, Frank grinned at me and said, ‘See you later, Mollie.’
I felt strangely cheerful as I bounced down the road to meet Nora. I had told Mother we had met Mary Cummins in the Gardens the day before (which was true) and were going to her house for tea (which of course was not, but I thanked heaven that we had bumped into Mary because it gave me the idea for a fresh excuse. Although I am not sure I should be thanking heaven for something that inspired me to tell a lie). I had had to raid my moneybox to get enough money for the tram fare to the park. I only just had enough; we wouldn’t be getting any buns in the tea-room that afternoon.
‘Being a campaigner is jolly expensive,’ said Nora, as we paid our fare on the second tram.
‘If only we had bicycles,’ I said, ‘we could just pedal there and back.’
I longed for bicycles even more as we trudged through the heat to the site of the meetings. I wish it were nearer the gates. The park was full of people and when we arrived at the spot where the usual platform was arranged, there was quite a large crowd. My heart sank as I realised that a few of them were already yelling insults. But there were a fair few people, men and women, who were clearly there to listen. I caught sight of Mabel, Kathleen and Phyllis standing near the platform with their bags of Irish Citizens and pulled the brim of my hat down over my eyes. A woman mounted the platform to the applause and jeers of the crowd.
‘Now,’ said Nora, ‘let’s hope they tell us what they’re planning for Thursday.’
But alas the speakers didn’t reveal any such thing. The speeches were jolly good, and very inspiring (even though sometimes the speakers’ words were drowned out by the vulgar insults of the rowdies, in which the words ‘You belong in Mountjoy!’ featured prominently), but we didn’t learn anything about Asquith’s visit that we hadn’t known already.
When the speeches were over, Nora sighed. ‘Well, it was worth a try,’ she said. ‘What will we do now?’
I looked towards the platform, where Phyllis, Kathleen and Mabel were deep in conversation.
‘Go home before they see us,’ I said. But alas, just at that moment Phyllis glanced up and I knew from the expression on her face that she had spotted us. Before we could make a run for it (which we wouldn’t have done anyway, it would be far too undignified), she strode across the grass to us, followed by Mabel and Kathleen. There was no escape.
‘Hello, Phyllis,’ I said, as brightly as I could.
‘Oh for goodness’ sake.’ Phyllis’s face was grim. ‘What are you two doing here?’
‘We’re attending a public meeting,’ I said. ‘As we have every right to do.’
‘You really should stay out of this.’ Kathleen could barely conceal her contempt. ‘It’s not suitable for kids.’
I don’t know why Kathleen has to be so superior all the time. She’s even worse than Phyllis. Thank heaven for Mabel, who actually remembers what it was like to be young (you’d think the other two were a hundred years old, the way they carry on).
‘Come on, Kathleen,’ Mabel said. ‘They’re not doing any harm. I think it’s rather impressive, how committed they are to the cause.’
‘Mabel!’ said Kathleen. ‘Don’t encourage them!’
‘We can’t afford to turn away any supporters,’ argued Mabel.
‘Kids don’t count,’ said Kathleen, brushing back a feather which had fallen over her face. I may be a kid in your eyes, I thought, but at least I’m not wearing a hat that looks like a bomb went off in a hen house. I didn’t say that out loud, though.
‘We want to protest the Prime Minister’s visit,’ I said.
‘Out of the question.’ Phyllis was firm.
‘I don’t see why they shouldn’t do something,’ said Mabel.
‘They’re too young!’ cried Phyllis. ‘And you’re just giving them ideas.’
‘I just think that if they want to join us in the Nassau Street house after the poster parade,’ Mabel began, but Phyllis cut her off with a furious whisper.
‘Shut up!’ she hissed, just as I said, ‘What Nassau Street house?’
‘Don’t tell her,’ said Phyllis, but Mabel ignored her.
‘Some people in the IWFL have rented an upstairs room in a house on Nassau Street,’ said Mabel. ‘And a group of us are going to go there and hang flags and things out of the window as Mr. Asquith goes by.’
What a wonderful idea! And it would solve all my and Nora’s problems about being too short to be seen by the Prime Minister.
‘Oh Phyllis!’ I cried. ‘We have to go.’
‘No, you don’t.’ Phyllis glared at Mabel. ‘And you shouldn’t have mentioned it to them. Now they won’t give me any peace.’
‘Well, I’m sorry about that,’ said Mabel. ‘But really, it shouldn’t be a secret. It’s not like the window smashing. We’re not doing anything wrong or dangerous. Anyone can rent some rooms and wave some posters and flags and things. And it’s even safer than the poster parade because we won’t be out in the street.’
‘We don’t want children getting in the way,’ said Kathleen, in her superior tone. I felt like knocking her stupid feathery hat right off her head.
‘We wouldn’t get in the way!’ I cried.
‘We’re quite small,’ Nora pointed out. ‘We wouldn’t even take up much room.’
‘That’s enough!’ Phyllis snapped. ‘We are not discussing this, and certainly not here. Go home, the pair of you.’
‘But Phyllis …’ I began.
‘Go home!’ Phyllis looked really angry now. Maybe we finally had pushed her to her limits.
‘All right then.’ I sounded as dignified as I possibly could. ‘Come on, Nora.’
As soon as we were out of earshot Nora said, ‘We’re going to get to that house, aren’t we?’
‘Of course we are,’ I said firmly. Though by the time we got home we hadn’t thought of a way of doing so. And I still haven’t. But we will definitely think of something. If Phyllis won’t give way, maybe we should try getting Mabel to plead our case? Although if that ploy didn’t work, it would only harden Phyllis’s heart further against us.
Oh, it is all very complicated. And there are only a few days left to sort something out. It was quite a relief to spend most of today on a trip to the beach at Dollymount Strand. We went out on the tram after Mass and had a picnic lunch. Then we all ran around on the beach (even Phyllis) and played beach cricket. Frank and I were on the same side with Phyllis, playing against Father, Harry and Julia (Mother was looking after the picnic and watched the game from a rug) I wasn’t very good, but it was so much fun I didn’t really care, and Frank didn’t seem to mind even when I failed to catch what Harry rudely told me was ‘the sort of throw a baby could have caught’.
&
nbsp; If Frank hadn’t been there, I might have taken my shoes and stockings off, to make it easier to run around on the sand, but I felt a bit odd about doing that in front of him so I kept mine on. So did Phyllis and Mother, of course, though Julia took hers off to have a paddle.
I didn’t bother mentioning any suffrage stuff to Phyllis while we were on the beach. And although she was a bit funny with me in the morning she seemed to thaw as the day progressed. So you never know; maybe she will give in.
Anyway, I am not going to think about it now. I am going to read Anne of Avonlea instead. Speaking of books, I had a very good chat about books on the beach with Frank this afternoon while we were eating the picnic. He told me he has been reading an exciting book by H. G. Wells called War of the Worlds, all about terrifying creatures from Mars who take over earth. It sounds very thrilling and he says he will lend it to me when he is finished, if I like. What a generous and sensible boy he is.
Best love and votes for women,
Mollie
Monday, 15th July, 1912.
Dear Frances,
Something very serious has happened. And (just in case you are thinking along the same lines as Nora) it’s nothing to do with Frank staying in my house. No, this is something much more serious than that. Phyllis knows about me and Nora and the postbox. And it’s all my fault. If I hadn’t got into a row with Phyllis it would never have happened.
It happened just now. We were on our own in the house: Father was at work, Harry and Frank had gone to the park for yet another game of cricket, Julia was at her friend’s house, Mother was visiting Mrs. Sheffield, and Maggie had gone to collect some shoes that had been left into Mr. Kelly’s shop for repair. Phyllis was in the garden, sitting in the basket chair that’s usually in her room (and usually covered in clothes that she hasn’t bothered to put in the wardrobe), which she had dragged outside and put under the crabapple tree. It was a jolly good idea because, as she pointed out to me, it was a lot more comfortable than sitting on a lumpy rug on the grass, which is all I had to sit on.