The Making of Mollie Page 10

But I haven’t had much time to think about how I will persuade Phyllis because the next day, after Mass, we had to go for our weekly visit to Aunt Josephine.

  ‘It looked like rain this morning.’ said Mother, as we walked down the long road that led to Aunt Josephine’s house. ‘Aren’t we lucky it held off?’

  I didn’t feel very lucky as I sat in Aunt Josephine’s stuffy drawing room and listened to her complain about her servants. She has two of them, even though she’s the only person in the house. Her son is in the army and her husband, Uncle Gerard, died a few years ago. He was nicer than Aunt Josephine, though quite boring. Anyway, Aunt Josephine is looked after by one cook-general, one house-parlourmaid, and a charwoman who comes in twice a week to do the rough jobs. Which is more than twice as many servants as we have and there are six of us. Aunt Josephine doesn’t even have a dog or a cat.

  ‘I don’t know why I pay that girl,’ she said crossly. ‘I went down to the kitchen the other day and she was fast asleep with her head on the kitchen table when she should have been polishing the silver.’

  ‘That girl,’ by the way, is as old as Mother and if she was asleep it was because Aunt Josephine makes her servants get up at half past five to set all the fires ‘so they have time to heat the house properly’. She has a fire in practically every room all year round because she says she ‘feels the cold’. And then the servants aren’t allowed go to bed until after she’s asleep, and she has trouble sleeping so they’re forced to stay up very late and make her hot milky drinks. She is a dreadful tyrant.

  Mother said, ‘Well, you do work her rather hard,’ which Aunt Josephine didn’t like at all.

  ‘Just because I don’t let them do what they like, doesn’t mean I work them too hard,’ she said, in frosty tones. ‘You’re far too lenient on that girl of yours.’

  ‘Maggie is an excellent worker,’ said Mother, firmly.

  ‘She leads you a merry dance,’ said Aunt Josephine, with an unpleasant laugh. ‘I don’t know what you’re thinking of, letting her have visitors in your kitchen. It’ll be gentleman callers next, you mark my words.’

  ‘Maggie is perfectly well behaved,’ said Mother, standing up. ‘And now, Josephine, I think we should leave you in peace. She looked at Father, who had been dozing over the paper while all this was going on. ‘Come on, Robert.’

  Once we’d left the house and set off for home, Mother seemed almost giddy to be free of Aunt Josephine.

  ‘Why don’t we have pirate tea later?’ she said.

  And even though Harry and I are far too old for games, we all cheered. Pirate Tea is an excellent game that we used to play quite a bit when I was younger. Instead of having a proper meal at the table, we dress in old clothes with scarves around our heads and make a sort of cave out of a clothes horse, and then we all sit on the floor outside it and have a feast and make lots of hot buttered toast (when I was very, very small I wasn’t allowed use the toasting fork in case I burned myself but that was a long time ago.).

  Anyway, it is the best possible antidote to an afternoon of Aunt Josephine and I was very pleased Mother had suggested it. It was so much fun that even Harry forgot to be rude and annoying and told a quite funny story about some boys in his class. By the time we were all lolling on cushions, delightfully full and greasy thanks to the toast, I felt perfectly happy and content. In fact, I still feel rather happy as I write this letter. And I am quite sure that I’ll be able to persuade Phyllis to let us carry on supporting the cause.

  Best love, and votes for women!

  Mollie

  Monday, 27th May, 1912.

  Dear Frances,

  Thank you so much for your letter. It is a great relief to know you really don’t mind me going on for pages and pages. I am sure that once this campaigning is all over and we’ve won the vote (that can’t possibly take too long, can it?) and my life goes back to its boring old self, then my letters will return to normal length.

  I am very glad that your leg is on the mend and that rehearsals for the play have begun. How exciting that you are playing Polonius! That bit where he gets stabbed behind a curtain is awfully dramatic, you must tell me how you perform it. Will you have a false beard and everything?

  I haven’t even bothered putting anything in my own letters about school recently because then the letters would be even longer. But you can take it for granted that while all this has been going on, we have been going to maths and Latin and stupid Drill and Dancing and all the usual boring school things. Oh, and the nuns have told Grace that if she keeps up her work and good behaviour then she has a very good chance of winning the stupid cup she’s so obsessed with.

  ‘I know they were just being kind,’ she told Gertie and May at the top of her voice, so that everyone in the refectory could hear her. ‘But it’s awfully encouraging to hear them say so. I just hope everyone else is concentrating on their work too and not getting distracted by nonsense.’ And she looked over at Nora and gave her one of her fake smiles.

  But of course my most important news is all about the movement. There is going to be a big meeting soon, on the first of June. Lots and lots of suffrage campaigners from all over Ireland – unionists AND nationalists, according to Phyllis – are going to turn up. And the I.W.F.L. (the Irish Women’s Franchise League) – you know, Phyllis’s group – have launched a new magazine, which is terribly exciting. It’s called The Irish Citizen and we found out about it the other day thanks to Phyllis’s friend Mabel. We were all sitting around the drawing room reading and listening to Mother play the piano, when there was a ring at the door and a moment later, Maggie showed in Mabel, who was carrying a large bundle and looking very excited. Phyllis was very taken aback.

  ‘Mabel!’ she said. ‘I wasn’t expecting you. Mother, this is my friend Mabel Purcell.’

  ‘How do you do?’ said Mabel, still looking rather red in the face.

  ‘Very well, thank you, Mabel,’ said Mother. ‘Won’t you sit down?’

  Because Mabel was still standing in the doorway clutching her parcel.

  ‘Actually,’ said Phyllis, ‘I think we’ll go to our room. Mabel is getting married soon and she’s …’ I could see Phyllis thinking fast. ‘She wants to show me her, um, trousseau.’

  I could tell that Mother thought it was a bit odd of Mabel to carry over her new clothes in a parcel rather than inviting Phyllis over to see them hanging in her own wardrobe. And the bundle Mabel was carrying didn’t much look like clothes to me. But Mother didn’t seem to suspect anything untoward as she said, ‘How nice. Well, do come down for some tea afterwards.’

  ‘Thank you, Mrs. Carberry,’ said Mabel, and then Phyllis practically shoved her out of the room and closed the door behind them.

  I was dying to know what was going on. I knew it had to have something to do with the I.W. F. L. But of course I had to just sit there and pretend to read my book as Julia asked Mother to play ‘Salve Regina’, which is a Latin prayer/hymn that we sing a lot at school. That’s Julia’s idea of a jolly song. Mother wasn’t very keen and said it was really designed to be sung on its own, not played on the piano, so I asked her to play ‘Daisy, Daisy’. But Mother doesn’t much like music hall songs either and played some more Mozart instead. Not that I was listening to her, I was just waiting for Phyllis and Mabel to come downstairs so I could find out what was going on. Eventually they appeared, and now Phyllis looked quite excited too, though she was trying to hide it as they sat down on the sofa.

  ‘So Mabel, tell us when you’re getting married,’ said Mother. ‘I presume you’re not going to university like Phyllis?’

  ‘Oh, I am,’ said Mabel, and then Phyllis glared at her and she said, ‘Um, my fiancé is a student there already. We shall study side by side after we get married. Which will be in, um, September.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Phyllis. ‘Just a few weeks before we start lectures.’

  ‘How very modern,’ said Mother, looking faintly astonished.

  ‘He’s an awfully nice boy, Mot
her,’ said Phyllis. ‘His father is a barrister.’

  Mother looked very impressed by this and before she could ask any more questions about Mabel’s imaginary fiancé and his family, Phyllis distracted her by asking how the church sale of work was going. I had to wait until Mabel had had a cup of tea and two of the best biscuits before I could get Phyllis alone and find out what was going on.

  ‘What did Mabel want?’ I said. ‘And don’t tell me she wanted to show you her wedding clothes because I know perfectly well you were making all that up.’

  ‘Do you think Mother guessed?’ said Phyllis.

  I shook my head.

  ‘Does Mabel even have a fiancé?’ I asked. ‘I bet she doesn’t.’

  ‘No,’ said Phyllis. ‘It was the first thing I could think of.’

  ‘I knew it,’ I said. ‘So what did she want?’ Phyllis hesitated. ‘Go on, Phyl, you have to tell me.’

  ‘All right,’ she said. ‘Come up here.’ We went up to her bedroom and she took down a pile of magazines from the top shelf of her wardrobe.

  ‘Behold!’ she said, handing me one. ‘I’m going to be out selling this tomorrow.’

  ‘Heavens!’ I said. The magazine was called The Irish Citizen, and in big letters on the front it said, ‘FOR MEN AND WOMEN EQUALLY, THE RIGHTS OF CITIZENSHIP. FROM MEN AND WOMEN EQUALLY, THE DUTIES OF CITIZENSHIP.’ Which is quite a long-winded way of saying that men and women need equal rights and then they can serve their country equally. Unlike now, when women have to obey laws and pay taxes to a government they can’t choose.

  ‘Mr. Sheehy-Skeffington is the editor,’ she said. ‘Well, one of them. Mrs. Cousins’s husband is the other one.’ Mrs. Cousins is another of the I.W.F.L. leaders.

  ‘Oh Phyl,’ I said. ‘I can’t believe you didn’t tell me that this was coming out. You must have known.’

  ‘Well, yes, I did,’ said Phyllis. ‘But you and Nora already know far too much about all this League business. I need to put my foot down somewhere.’

  ‘Can I at least read it?’ I asked.

  But Phyllis didn’t look enthusiastic about this prospect.

  ‘How do I know you won’t leave it lying on your bed or something?’ she said. ‘Or read it in front of the drawing room fire?’

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ I said. ‘I’ll only read it in my room when Julia’s not there, and I’ll hide it under my mattress. The only person who’s likely to look under there is Maggie when she’s changing the sheets, and she’s hardly going to say anything.’

  ‘Oh, all right,’ said Phyllis, as I knew she would. ‘But you have to pay for it.’

  I thought this was a bit much, but I didn’t want to push her too far so I got a penny out of my money box and gave it to her. She handed me a copy of the magazine.

  ‘I shouldn’t really even sell it to you,’ she said. ‘It’s not officially on sale for a few days.’

  ‘Are you going to sell it at meetings and things?’ I asked.

  Phyllis nodded. ‘And me and Mabel are going to sell it in town on Saturday,’ she said. And that was when I had a good idea which I will tell you about later in this letter. Then Phyllis said, ‘Now we’d better go back downstairs before Julia or Harry starts sniffing after us.’

  So we did, but not before I ran into my room and slid the magazine under the mattress. It wasn’t until after supper, when Julia had finally persuaded Mother to sing Latin hymns with her, that I was able to sneak up and read it (it wasn’t a Peter Fitzgerald night so it didn’t matter that I wasn’t with the rest of the family). The magazine was awfully interesting. There was information about various suffrage groups. It said there were about 3,000 active suffragists in Ireland, which seems like a lot, and I bet that isn’t even counting girls like Nora and me who have just discovered the cause and haven’t been able to actually do much about it yet.

  When I said this to Nora and Stella the next day, Nora strongly agreed with me.

  ‘And,’ she said, ‘I bet there are even more who would call themselves suffragettes if they really knew about it, and not just the nonsense they hear grown-ups saying when they read the papers.’

  ‘I think I might be one too,’ said Stella.

  We both stared at her in surprise.

  ‘Well, maybe not a proper suffragette,’ Stella added. ‘I don’t think I approve of breaking things and chaining yourself to things and going around wearing a big poster. I would never want to do anything like that.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ I said.

  ‘But I do think women should have the vote,’ said Stella. ‘I mean, it just makes sense, doesn’t it? When you look at people like Professor Shields or Mother Antoninas, they’re terribly clever. I mean, if anyone should have their say, they should.’

  ‘Quite right too,’ cried Nora. ‘Bravo, Stella.’

  ‘But I really, really mean it about not breaking things,’ said Stella nervously. She looked a bit as though she expected us to immediately drag her out to Dublin Castle and put a brick in her hand.

  ‘That’s quite all right,’ I said. ‘I mean, we haven’t any plans to break anything either.’ Yet, I thought, but I didn’t say it out loud. Not that I really want to break any windows, but I do want to do something, and I told Nora and Stella what it was.

  ‘Phyllis is going to sell the magazine in town on Saturday,’ I said. ‘Somewhere around Sackville Street, she said. Why don’t we go in after school and see if we can help?’

  ‘Are you sure she’ll let us?’ Nora asked.

  ‘Well, not if we ask in advance,’ I said. ‘But if we just turn up I’m quite sure she wouldn’t turn down the help. After all, we did save her at the last meeting.’

  ‘I won’t be able to leave the school,’ said Stella, with obvious relief.

  ‘Don’t worry, Stella, I didn’t expect you to,’ I said.

  ‘I suppose we could both get away,’ said Nora. ‘All right, let’s do it!’

  Anyway, both Mother and Mrs. Cantwell were quite happy to do without us for a few hours on Saturday afternoon, especially when we each told our mothers we were going to the other’s house. Which was why we were able to walk into town as soon as lessons finished.

  ‘Where do you think she’ll be?’ said Nora as we approached Rutland Square.

  ‘Well, it must be somewhere fairly prominent,’ I said. ‘She wouldn’t bother going down some side street. She could even be on the Square.’

  We walked the whole way around Rutland Square and Phyllis was nowhere to be seen, although there was a boy selling newspapers, a man selling matches and another playing a barrel organ. But luckily we didn’t have to hunt too long, because just after we reached Sackville Street we saw her. She was on her own, standing outside the Gresham Hotel, holding up a copy of The Irish Citizen. She had a bag slung across her front with a strap, and I could see more copies of the magazine sticking out of the top of it.

  ‘Support votes for Irish women!’ Phyllis cried. ‘Buy The Irish Citizen!’ Then she glanced in our direction, and when I saw the expression on her face I started to wonder if my good idea had really been so good after all.

  ‘What on earth are you doing here?’ she said in a voice that was more like a hiss. ‘Sneaking after me yet again?’

  I didn’t think this was very fair, especially after last week.

  ‘You told me you were selling magazines in town today!’ I said. ‘We’re hardly sneaking if we happen to find you. And besides, we want to help.’

  ‘Oh, for goodness’ sake,’ said Phyllis.

  ‘Come on, Phyl,’ I said. ‘You must know by now that we really do want to help the League. And we stopped Mrs. Sheffield finding you last week. Can we, I don’t know, hold your bag or something?’

  The bag really did look very heavy, which is probably why Phyllis started to look slightly less fierce.

  ‘What if someone we know sees you?’ she said. ‘Another friend of Mother and Father? Or even Aunt Josephine?’

  ‘You know Aunt Josephine never comes i
nto town on Saturdays, she hates crowds,’ I said. ‘And besides, the same goes for you. You don’t want Mother and Father to know that you’re doing this, but you’re out here anyway.’

  ‘Well, I’ve told you, that’s a risk I’m prepared to take for myself,’ said Phyllis. ‘And it’s not that I don’t appreciate you helping me last week. But it was too close a call, and I’m not having you around if it happens again.’

  ‘Oh please, Phyllis,’ said Nora.

  ‘If anyone asks, we’ll say we forced you to give us the bag,’ I said. ‘Or that we stole it.’

  Phyllis sighed. And then she took off her bag and put it at my feet.

  ‘Right,’ she said. ‘You can look after that while I go to the lav. But I wouldn’t be doing this if I didn’t really, really need to go.’ And she took a much-folded piece of paper out of her coat pocket and glanced at it for a moment.

  ‘What’s that?’ I said.

  ‘My lavatory list,’ said Phyllis. ‘Now, stay there and mind the bag. Do. Not. Sell. Anything. I’ll be back in about ten minutes.’

  And before I could ask her what the lavatory list was, she was trotting down Sackville Street in the direction of the bridge. Nora and I stared at each other.

  ‘Now what?’ asked Nora.

  ‘I suppose we really do have to do what she said,’ I said, a little sadly. It did seem a bit of a shame that we were out with a bag full of suffrage magazines and couldn’t do anything. Though when I thought of actually holding out the magazine to strangers and asking them to buy it, I felt my stomach churn with nerves, so maybe it was all for the best.

  ‘Do you think you could actually bring yourself to sell it?’ said Nora, who was clearly thinking the same thing.

  ‘Well, if Phyllis can do it …’ I said. But I had to be honest with Nora. ‘Not really. Not yet. Maybe I could build myself up to it by handing out something free first. Like leaflets.’

  We wondered if there were any leaflets in the bag, so we could have a go, but when we looked inside there weren’t any.

  ‘It’s probably a good thing there aren’t,’ I said. ‘Phyllis would be furious. Even though she didn’t specifically tell us not to give out leaflets.’