‘Actually, Mabel,’ I said. ‘When we go back in, maybe don’t say too much about any suffrage activities. I mean, I don’t know why you would, but just in case you felt like saying anything about the protests …’
Mabel grinned. ‘This cousin is not a supporter of the cause, I take it?’
‘Quite the opposite,’ said Nora.
‘Ah,’ said Mabel. ‘I see. And I suppose that’s why you were quite vague about your own protesting plans?’
‘Exactly,’ I said. I glanced at Nora. ‘Actually, we did have a plan but we’re not quite sure how practical it is …’
And I told her about the rowing boat scheme.
‘Goodness,’ said Mabel. ‘That’s not a bad idea, you know.’
‘Really?’ I said. I’m not used to any grown-up (or sort of grown-up) approving of my ideas. Even Mabel, who is more sympathetic than a lot of almost-grown-ups I can think of (Phyllis and Kathleen).
‘But I’m not sure you and Nora are the best women for the job,’ said Mabel. ‘Not that I don’t think you’re brave enough,’ she added hastily. ‘But I’d hazard a guess that you’re not exactly experienced oarswomen.’
‘Well, no,’ I said.
‘And Mollie gets terribly seasick,’ said Nora, unnecessarily. ‘But she is willing to sacrifice her tummy for the cause.’
‘And her breakfast, probably,’ said Mabel with a smile. ‘I’m not much good on the water myself. It’s a grand scheme, girls. But I think you could serve the cause just as well with something a little more, well, landlocked. Think about it.’
I was quite relieved to hear this. I must admit that the more I thought about trying to hold up a banner while rowing out to sea (and possibly being swept away towards Wales), the more unwell I had felt. So it was good to know that if we decided not to embark on an aquatic protest, Mabel wouldn’t consider us cowards.
By now we had reached the entrance of the tearoom, where Grace was waiting for us. To my surprise, she was flicking through the pages of the Irish Citizen when we walked in, though as soon as she saw us she quickly put the magazine back where Nora had been sitting.
‘Where have you been?’ she snapped.
Then she saw Mabel and her expression changed. ‘Oh, hello, Miss Purcell.’
‘Hello there,’ said Mabel, in her usual friendly fashion. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve seen an impractically large leather purse anywhere about the place, have you?’
‘I have, actually,’ said Grace. She held up the purse. ‘You left it on that chair.’
‘Grace, you angel!’ cried Mabel, who may not be as good a judge of character as I thought. She grabbed the purse and put it carefully back in her bag. ‘There’s a whole pound in it. If you hadn’t found it, I’d have had to pay it all back out of my own money.’
‘It’s nothing,’ said Grace. ‘It was just sitting there.’ But she looked quite pleased.
‘Right, I must fly,’ said Mabel. ‘I’ve got to meet my Mother in Switzer’s at two and I want to get as many of these Citizens sold as I can before then. Bye, girls!’
And she ran off again, leaving me and Grace and Nora alone. There was a slightly awkward silence. All at once the idea of us trudging around the park being rude to each other for hours seemed utterly unbearable. Whatever Nora thought, I was going to try and make peace with Grace. At least, temporarily.
‘Sorry we were gone for so long,’ I said, awkwardly. Grace sniffed in that irritating way of hers, but I tried not to be annoyed by it.
‘I don’t expect better manners from a pair of suffragettes,’ she said. ‘Come on, then. Let’s go for a walk down to the Nine Acres.’
And after that I really couldn’t bring myself to offer the sign of peace. Mocking the cause, just after Mabel had been so nice to her! I decided that I wouldn’t say anything to antagonise her. But I jolly well wasn’t going to say anything particularly friendly either.
‘Fine,’ I said. And off we went. The weather was perfect – there was a nice light breeze so it wasn’t too hot. But nobody said very much, and I don’t think any of us were having a good time. Including Grace. It struck me, not for the first time, that lording it over everyone and sucking up to adults instead of just having a decent time with girls your own age can’t be all that fun.
We trudged down through the trees without talking. The park is lovely, but it got rather dull after a while. I thought of E. Nesbit books and how the children in them are often bored during the summer, but then they find an enchanted castle or a magical Psammead or something like that, and I wished (even though of course I am far too old to believe in such things) that something similar would happen to us. But the most exciting thing that happened was when we saw some rabbits. They were very sweet. But it was cold comfort. Besides, as soon as they saw us they ran away at amazing speed. (They were even faster than the Menace, who I’m sure would have tried menacing them if he’d been anywhere in the vicinity.)
If Stella had been there instead of Grace – or if things were different with Grace – we could have had a jolly afternoon. We could have bought some oranges from one of the sellers and climbed a tree and stayed up there talking about all sorts of things. But of course that wasn’t possible. Finally, just as the pleasant weather was starting to feel uncomfortably muggy, even under the shady trees, Nora said, ‘We should probably turn back now. It’ll take simply ages to get back to the gates.’ I half expected Grace to object out of spite (I wouldn’t have put it past Nora to do the same thing if their positions had been reversed), but she must have been feeling too hot and tired to fight with anyone because she just said, ‘All right.’
And so we trudged back again. The weather was definitely muggy now, and by the time we reached the tram stop we were all hot and a bit smelly. I realised that I had been bitten by midges (and whenever I am bitten by midges the bites always swell up so I look as if I am covered in hideous boils – Mother put some calamine lotion on them when I got home but they still look absolutely awful). The tram was very crowded and stuffy, but Nora and I managed to squeeze into a seat together.
‘Well!’ said Nora. ‘What an utter waste of a trip to the park.’
‘It was, a bit,’ I said. ‘Though I couldn’t help thinking that maybe …’ I trailed off.
‘Maybe what?’ said Nora.
‘Maybe if we really did make peace with Grace, these outings wouldn’t be so bad. They might even be fun.’ Even as I said the last words I knew they didn’t sound very convincing.
‘Mollie Catherine Carberry!’ Nora’s face was a picture of shock. ‘A truce before the visit is all very well. But are you actually suggesting we make friends with that monster?’
‘Well, not when you put it like that …’ I said.
‘Have you forgotten how awful she was to Daisy when she won the Cup?’ said Nora. ‘And how she threatened to tell on us until Stella stopped her? Have you forgotten how beastly she’s been about the cause?’
I had actually briefly forgotten about how dreadfully she’d behaved to Daisy. But even so.
‘Maybe she can be reformed!’ I said. ‘Oh Nora, you can’t pretend that fighting with her all the time is making you very happy.’
‘I’d rather be miserable than suck up to Grace,’ said Nora. She folded her arms and glared at me in her fiercest fashion. ‘I’m disappointed in you, Mollie.’ And she turned away from me and stared out the window, even though there was nothing to see out there but a filthy old coal van.
It was bad enough squabbling with Grace, but the thought of being at odds with Nora too was simply too much for me.
‘All right,’ I said. ‘No overtures of friendship. I promise’
‘Good,’ said Nora, in a less fierce voice. I glanced at the far end of the tram, where Grace was squashed in between a sturdy man in a flannel suit and a tired-looking young woman with ink-stained fingers. Without an audience to simper or growl at, Grace just looked tired and a bit sad. Against my better judgment, I found myself wishing I hadn’t made that
promise to Nora.
By the time we got off the second tram we were all too hot and tired to say very much as we trudged along Drumcondra Road. When we reached the corner where our routes separated, I decided that it wouldn’t count as an overture of friendship if I just asked Grace when she was going to the club on Tuesday.
‘In the afternoon,’ she said. She was clearly too exhausted to say anything snooty.
‘Oh,’ I said. ‘Well, good luck. Will I see you on Tuesday, Nora?’
For a moment I thought Nora was going to tell me not to, but she just said, ‘All right.’ But she said it in such a flat way I felt rotten. Nora and I hardly ever fall out. But she was clearly still annoyed with me for suggesting a truce.
‘Bye then,’ I said.
‘Bye,’ said Nora. And she and Grace headed off in the direction of her house. I looked after them for a moment and slowly made my way down the road that leads to my road. I hadn’t gone more than ten yards when I heard rushing footsteps behind me. It was Nora, and as soon as I turned around she flung herself into my arms.
‘Steady!’ I cried.
‘I’m sorry!’ said Nora, breathlessly. ‘I’ve been a beast ever since we left the tearoom. Can you forgive me?’
‘Of course I can,’ I said. ‘I blame the heat.’
‘Call around on Tuesday morning as early as you can,’ said Nora. ‘Hopefully I will have survived our family outing tomorrow.’
‘Good luck,’ I said.
‘I’ll need it,’ said Nora, but she did look happier now we had made peace. ‘Now I’d better get back to Grace.’
I waved her farewell, feeling a lot more cheerful. Tomorrow is another day! And maybe I can use it to persuade Nora that we’ll be better off if we try to get along with Grace. Wish me luck …
Best love and votes for women,
Mollie
Tuesday, 9th July, 1912.
Dear Frances,
I am looking at my itinerary and I realise you must definitely be in Boston now. I hope you manage to get to a bookshop in the city so you can investigate all the American (and Canadian) books. Imagine if you are reading Anne of Green Gables too! I have nearly finished it and I will be so sad when it’s over. I do hope Mabel meant it when she said she would lend me the sequel.
But I have plenty of other things to think about, for today was an excellent day for many reasons. Number one, of course, was the fact that we were rid of Grace, so the question of being friendly with her or not didn’t arise. And the second reason was that, for once, I myself was totally free. Not only had my mother not devised any terrible plans to keep me busy doing household chores, but she wasn’t even at home to watch over me. In fact, I had the whole house to myself! Mother and Julia went out shortly after breakfast to visit Aunt Josephine, who has a bad cold and has taken to her bed. Everyone seems to be getting sick this summer. I hope I’m not stricken down by any fiendish germs before Mr. Asquith’s visit (or after it, for that matter, seeing as we’re meant to be going on holiday then).
I knew that Mother didn’t particularly want to visit Aunt Josephine. (I’m pretty sure she doesn’t like her any more than I do.) But Aunt Josephine had sent her a plaintive note asking if she could return a book of religious essays that Aunt Josephine had lent (unasked for) to Mother a few weeks ago and which, unbeknownst to Aunt Josephine, has been sitting untouched on top of the piano ever since. Apparently Aunt Josephine is now in need of divine solace and wants the book back straight away.
And Mother clearly felt so guilty about not reading the book (which looked very boring; I don’t blame her for not going near it), and also about the idea of Aunt Josephine languishing on her sickbed looking for help from Our Lord, that she couldn’t say no. She decided to take Julia with her because Aunt Josephine loves Julia and perhaps seeing her would cheer her up.
‘And seeing the rest of us wouldn’t?’ I said, when Mother announced her plans over breakfast. I don’t even know why I was saying it really, it’s not as if I wanted to go. Quite the opposite in fact. But it’s rather insulting to know someone doesn’t want to see you, even if you don’t want to see them.
‘I’m afraid not,’ said Mother. She turned to Julia, who was looking particularly angelic this morning, even with a mouthful of toast and poached egg. ‘You don’t mind, do you, dear?’
Julia swallowed her egg and said, ‘Of course not.’ She is the only one of us who can stomach Aunt Josephine, and that’s only because Aunt Josephine fusses over her and buys her lots of holy pictures and cards and things for her vast collection. Aunt Josephine has clearly given up the rest of us as a lost cause, but she thinks there’s still hope for Julia.
Anyway, that took care of two members of the household. And then Phyllis was on an outing to Howth with Kathleen and Mabel, probably plotting secret suffragette business. (I didn’t get a chance to ask her for details because she announced her plan shortly before breakfast and then left before I could talk to her on her own.) Harry was off in the Phoenix Park with Frank, playing cricket with some boys from school – apparently this cricket-playing has become a regular thing.
And Father was at work, of course, where I hoped he would find some time to write more of Peter Fitzgerald’s adventures. Things have been very busy in the Department recently, so he hasn’t had the leisure hours to devote himself to his fictional pursuits. In fact, we haven’t had a new installment for a few days now, but he assures me there will be more of the story when things calm down at work. Last night I asked him what he is going to do when Peter’s adventures finally come to an end.
‘You know, Mollie, I haven’t really thought of that.’ He looked quite surprised.
‘You could always send the story to a publisher,’ I suggested. I don’t tell Father this very often, but really Peter Fitzgerald’s adventures are terribly exciting and I bet other people would be as entertained by them as we all are. Father smiled.
‘That’s what I thought I’d do when I started writing it,’ he said. ‘But the story’s rather run away from me, don’t you think? I mean, if it were a book it would be hundreds and hundreds of pages long at this stage. I don’t think anyone would be able to pick it up in order to read it.’
I suppose he really has been writing it for a long time.
‘You could divide it into two separate books,’ I said. ‘Or three, even.’
I didn’t think Father would take my suggestion seriously (he never usually does), but he actually looked quite thoughtful for a moment. Then he said briskly, ‘Maybe I will. But I don’t know when I’ll have time to do any editing, not with all the work I have to do at the office.’
Anyway, sorry as I am that Father can’t devote himself entirely to his literary endeavours, I knew that I would be alone in the house all morning, apart from Maggie and Mrs. Carr who had come in, as she does regularly, to scrub down the range and other heavy work. And I knew they wouldn’t interfere with me as long as I didn’t do anything dangerous or startlingly noisy. So it was with a light heart that I ran (well, walked quickly) round to Nora’s house. I was going to tell Nora about my free house as soon as she came to the door, but I didn’t get a chance straight away.
‘She’s gone!’ Nora hissed in a noisy whisper, and without another word she grabbed my arm and whisked me up to her room. It turned out that Grace had set off for the tennis club straight after breakfast. Mrs. Cantwell seemed to have got over her disappointment that Nora had no desire to go there with her.
‘I think she knew that expecting me and Grace to spend all our time together without killing each other was rather a stupid idea,’ Nora said. ‘I nearly burst with the effort of not fighting with her on the trip to Bray yesterday.’
‘Was it really that bad?’ I was impressed that Nora had managed to restrain herself.
‘Just her usual self,’ said Nora. ‘But I think mother noticed the strain I was under. So for the moment she thinks anything that keeps Grace busy and away from me is A Good Thing.’
‘Is she at th
e tennis club all day today?’ I asked.
Nora nodded. ‘And I jolly well hope she likes it because if she doesn’t we’ll be back where we started.’
‘Well, even if she does hate it,’ I said, ‘we’re free for today.’ And I told her about my free house. She agreed that we should make our way there without delay, in case her mother had a change of heart and tried to force us to join Grace on the tennis court. As it turned out, Mrs. Cantwell seemed quite happy to see us go, though she did ask if we were sure we didn’t want to go to the club. She really does want Nora and Grace to be friends.
‘I’m sure you’d enjoy it,’ she said (rather plaintively, I thought).
‘We don’t want to get in Grace’s way.’ Nora’s expression was utterly innocent. ‘We want to give her a chance to shine among her new club-mates.’
Which was very clever of her, I thought, and clearly impressed Mrs. Cantwell, who said, ‘Well, it’s nice of you to think of that.’
Ten minutes later we were back in my house, which is much nicer when my family aren’t in it. We didn’t even have to hide away in my room or in a corner of the garden, as we usually do when I have visitors. We could loll around in the drawing room without anyone coming in and telling me to do some boring chore (Mother) or demanding that we give up the good seats (Harry) or making us listen to their piano practice (Julia). It was very restful. And it meant that we could make suffragette plans without worrying about anyone overhearing.
‘So,’ I said, when we were both ensconsed in the most comfortable chairs in the drawing room, the ones usually baggsed by Father, Mother and Phyllis. ‘What are we going to do for Mr. Asquith’s visit, now that Mabel has nixed the boat plan? He’ll be here for a few days, after all.’
I have to admit that I’m very relieved Mabel advised us against taking out a boat. And it’s not because I’m worried about my seasickness, which is a mere trifle. It’s more that I don’t actually know how to row. And neither does Nora. I’m not sure how we could manage to get out into the bay AND hold up a banner. We’d be more likely to be swept out to sea, and though I am willing to do a lot for the cause (like put myself through the horrors of seasickness and then spend a day wobbling about on land because my legs have gone funny), I am not exactly willing to meet a watery grave. And Nora feels much the same way. We both trust Mabel’s wisdom so we don’t feel too guilty for abandoning the idea.