‘You were a long time,’ Grace observed.
‘I had to help Maggie go through the clothes.’ Yet another lie. It really is worrying how easily they spring to my lips.
‘Well, I have to go.’ Grace stood up and brushed some grass from her skirt. ‘I said I’d take Barnaby for a walk this afternoon. I’ll see if your mother has an answer for Mrs. Sheffield.’
‘Does Barnaby always behave himself for you?’ I knew how badly the Menace carried on for Mrs. Sheffield and her family, which is why they were always so keen on getting other people to take him for walks. It seemed almost miraculous that he could be so consistently good with Grace.
‘Of course he does.’ Grace seemed genuinely baffled by the question. ‘I don’t know why everyone acts like he’s some sort of monster. He’s a lovely little dog.’
There was no point in arguing with her, so I didn’t. I just bade her farewell with great politeness. And as soon as she left I told Nora all about Phyllis’s plan and Mabel’s clothes delivery. She hadn’t brought hats but we decided we could borrow old ones belonging to our mothers.
‘Do you think I could try on the clothes now?’ Nora said.
‘Let’s see where Julia is,’ I said. But when we went inside, she and her friend Christina were in my room, writing things down in a school exercise book.
‘What are you two doing?’ I demanded.
‘Nothing!’ Julia looked rather flushed. Surely someone so saintly wasn’t up to no good?
‘We’re writing a story,’ said Christina. She was rather a nice-looking kid, with very straight black hair and brown eyes, as different from Julia as could be.
‘Christina!’ Julia sounded furious. ‘It’s a secret.’
‘Don’t worry,’ I said. ‘I won’t tell anyone.’ And I left them to it. I certainly wasn’t going to object if Julia had found a pastime that didn’t involve praying all the time. It might even distract her from her other pastime of lecturing me for not praying enough. In fact, the two of them were so devoted to their story that they didn’t notice me taking out the bundle of clothes Mabel had brought for Nora and sneaking it out of the room. But it did mean that Nora couldn’t try on her disguise before she went home. Still, it couldn’t be helped.
‘How will you get that into the house?’ I said, pointing at the bundle as we said goodbye on my front step.
‘I’ll hide it in the hedge outside my house for now,’ said Nora. ‘And hope it doesn’t rain before I can collect it.’
‘I wish we could wear the scarves Stella made us,’ I said. ‘But it really is too hot.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Nora. ‘And we’d look very conspicuous wearing woollen scarves at this time of year. Especially if anyone noticed the secret message.’
We agreed to meet at the corner of her road tomorrow.
‘And you really can’t be late,’ I said, ‘because Phyllis will insist on leaving without you.’
‘Of course I won’t be late!’ Nora was indignant. ‘I never am.’ She sometimes is, though. But I am quite sure she will be on time tomorrow, because she is as excited as I am. This time tomorrow I will be waving a banner at the Prime Minister!
And it’s a good thing that I have such exciting events to think about, because things between me and Frank are still rather awful. Tonight Father read to us all from Peter Fitzgerald, but I couldn’t really concentrate even though Peter Fitzgerald was trapped on a beach at the foot of a sheer cliff face with the tide coming in fast. And I couldn’t concentrate because when Frank and Harry joined the rest of us in the drawing room for the story reading, the only empty seat was beside me on the sofa, and Harry, being (for once) a good host, urged Frank to take it.
‘I can bring a chair in from the dining room for myself,’ he said. But Frank, looking rather red, said, ‘No, no, I’ll do that.’
‘All right, if you insist.’ And Harry laughed in an obnoxious fashion. ‘I wouldn’t want to sit next to Mollie either.’
And Frank didn’t deny it! He just mumbled something inaudible and left to get a chair from the other room. You can see why I couldn’t give much of my attention to Peter Fitzgerald after that. But at least writing this account of today’s events has stopped me thinking about Frank. And now I will try to go to sleep by imagining what Mr. Asquith will look like tomorrow when he sees me and Nora brandishing a banner at him.
Best love and votes for women,
Mollie
Friday, 19th July, 1912.
Dear Frances,
I don’t know where to start this letter. So much has happened, and lots of it wasn’t good at all. By the time you read all my letters you might have already read about it in the papers – but maybe you haven’t. I don’t know how much they write about European news over there. Anyway, whether you’ve read about it or not, I was actually there for much of it, and it really was very dramatic and very frightening.
But I’m getting ahead of myself. I can’t remember if I mentioned in my last letter that me and Nora had managed (very cunningly, if you ask me) to convince our parents to let Phyllis and Mabel take us to ‘the theatre’ last night. They didn’t suspect a thing. Actually, they were almost too enthusiastic about the scheme.
‘Harry, why don’t you and Frank go with them?’ said Mother over lunch that afternoon. ‘You can all make an outing of it.’
My blood ran cold. Harry does like going to the theatre, and he was generally quite willing to put up with his supposedly annoying sisters if he got to see a play or a musical show. In fact, he looked quite willing to put up with us now.
‘What do you think, Nugent?’ said Harry. ‘Want to go to a play?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Frank, glancing over at me. ‘I don’t suppose the girls would want us to tag along.’
I felt very odd inside. Of course I didn’t want Frank and Harry to spoil our suffragette plans. But on the other hand, a part of me wished that Frank was more enthusiastic about going to the theatre with me. He clearly didn’t want to go.
‘Of course we don’t mind,’ I said, forcing a smile. ‘Though I’m sure you’d be horribly bored.’
Then, to my enormous relief, Harry sighed.
‘Oh blow, we can’t go,’ he said. ‘It’s Harrington’s birthday tea thing, remember? We won’t get back in time.’
Harrington (I can’t remember his first name and they never call him by it) is a boy in their class who Harry always wants to impress because he’s very good at rugby. Boys (or at least Harry) can be very silly sometimes. I didn’t think boys his age had birthday teas anymore, but apparently Harrington is awfully rich – or at least his parents are – and to celebrate every birthday he’s allowed take his pals to a hotel for a fancy feast. Which will be wasted on Harry because, if his behaviour in the family home is anything to go by, he will just gobble up whatever is in front of him, regardless of how delicious or beautifully prepared it is. A pile of old ham sandwiches would do for him. He is not what the French call a connoisseur (I am not sure if I have spelled that right but I can’t be bothered looking for my French dictionary to check).
Anyway, I felt very grateful to Harrington (It sounds a bit rude to just refer to him by his surname, but I can’t do anything about that), because thanks to him, Phyllis, Nora and I would be unobserved as we left the house carrying our disguises. I was also grateful that it’s the summer holidays because otherwise my parents would definitely not let us go anywhere on a Thursday night, even with Phyllis and Mabel.
After breakfast, Phyllis went off to meet Mabel to discuss the evening’s plans, and I sneaked off to my room and gathered together the elements of my disguise, which I put in a carpet bag that Harry had taken home from our Uncle Piers in Dundalk last month. I put the shoes at the bottom of the bag, then the skirt, and carefully placed Mother’s old hat on top. I hoped it wouldn’t get too squashed in the carpet bag, but it was a risk I had to take. Knowing my luck, if I went out wearing it I’d bump into Mrs. Sheffield or someone else who’d ask difficult questions
about why I was wearing such a grown-up hat.
After I’d packed the disguise, the rest of day seemed to drag and drag. I wondered how the brave suffrage boatswomen had got on out in Kingstown. I hoped no one had been seasick or fallen in. They were, I had to admit, probably better organised than Nora and I would have been. A yacht sounded a lot more stable than a rowing boat. And a megaphone would be a lot more effective than a banner. After all, someone can look away from a banner or even just not notice it. But you simply can’t ignore the sound of someone yelling at you through a megaphone.
I was lying on a rug in the back garden, where I’d been trying unsuccessfully to concentrate on my excellent book, wondering for the first time if it was illegal to yell at the Prime Minister, when suddenly Mother loomed up over me.
‘There you are!’ she said. ‘Come and help Maggie in the kitchen. I just don’t have time today.’
I didn’t want to argue with her in case she told me I couldn’t go out later, so I followed her back into the house, where Maggie was standing at the kitchen table with some freshly washed lettuce and tomatoes in front of her.
‘I’ve found you a helper, Maggie,’ said Mother. ‘I’m not sure what good she’ll be. Oh, don’t look so outraged, Moll, I was only teasing. Now, I’m going to practise that Mozart piece so don’t disturb me for the next half hour. I need to perfect it by tonight and that last movement still isn’t quite right.’
‘What’s the hurry?’ I asked. Mother looked like she was trying to control her irritation.
‘Your aunt sent over a note this morning,’ she said. ‘She wants me to play for her guests.’
‘Why can’t you play something you know already?’ I said.
‘She heard me play the first movement the other week,’ said Mother. ‘So she wants to hear the rest of it now.’
‘Well, I think you should refuse,’ I said firmly. ‘Why don’t you tell her you don’t know the whole thing properly yet? You’re not her private musician!’
Mother laughed.
‘I don’t mind really,’ she said. ‘I’ve been getting rather lazy recently about tricky pieces. I probably needed something to force me to perfect this one.’
Which is fair enough, but I still don’t think Aunt Josephine should be going around ordering my mother to play the piano for her. Mother pointed out that if she had actually fulfilled her youthful dream of becoming a concert pianist, she would have to play things on demand all the time, ‘for much more annoying people than your aunt.’ But I’m not sure such people exist. And even if they did, at least they’d be paying her. All she’s going to get from Aunt Josephine is dinner and it probably won’t be much good because her cook walked out last week and she hasn’t found a new one yet, so the kitchen maid is doing all the cooking by herself. The cook had had enough of putting up with Aunt Josephine’s domineering ways (and who can blame her?).
Anyway. Mother went off to play her Mozart (which actually sounded perfect to me, but clearly wasn’t up to her own exacting standards), and I got a knife and helped Maggie chop up the salad ingredients. We chopped away in silence for a while, side by side, and then Maggie said, ‘I suppose you might see the Prime Minister this evening. On your way to the theatre.’
She didn’t look at me as she said it, and anyone who didn’t know her well might not have noticed the tone of voice that suggested there was more to her remark than a simple observation.
‘I suppose I might,’ I said, chopping a tomato in half. ‘Maybe on Nassau Street.’ ‘Well,’ said Maggie. ‘Be careful. It might get lively in town tonight.’
‘I will,’ I said, handing Maggie the last head of lettuce. ‘Be careful, I mean.’
And Maggie put down her knife and gave me a hug.
‘Good luck to you,’ she said. She was looking right into my eyes now. ‘Now go back out there with your book before I forget myself and start asking questions I shouldn’t know the answer to.’
‘All right,’ I said. When I reached the kitchen door I paused and looked back at the table where Maggie was chopping the last lettuce. ‘I wish you could come with us.’
Maggie smiled at me.
‘So do I,’ she said.
The rest of the afternoon seemed to go by even more slowly. It was even worse than the day Nora and I had gone (or tried to go) to the meeting in the Antient Concert Rooms. Normally I should have been glad that Mother was leaving me to my own devices and that no one was making me look after Julia or darn some socks or something, but to be honest I’d have welcomed having something to do. I couldn’t volunteer for any domestic work, though, or Mother would definitely have got suspicious. So I just stayed in the back garden, trying to read Phyllis’s copy of A Room with a View. It’s a jolly good book, all about a girl who goes to Italy, but you really do need to concentrate on it and I was finding concentrating on anything very difficult. I felt extremely fidgety and uncomfortable, and I was relieved when Phyllis arrived home and joined me in the garden. She was flushed with excitement and her eyes were sparkling.
‘What’s happened?’ I whispered, as she flung herself down next to me on the rug.
‘Was that supposed to be a whisper?’ said Phyllis. ‘Or have you got a cold?’
‘Of course it was a whisper,’ I said. ‘I was trying to be discreet.’
‘Well, it sounded just as loud as your normal voice,’ said Phyllis. ‘Anyway, no one can hear us out here.’
I ignored her jibe, something I am very practised at doing these days.
‘So?’ I said. ‘Have you heard anything about the boat?’
‘I certainly have,’ said Phyllis. ‘Kathleen went out to Kingstown to cheer them on. Mabel and I met her in town afterwards.’
‘And what did she say?’ I asked, trying to keep the impatience out of my voice.
‘It all went wonderfully.’ Phyllis beamed. ‘They got quite near the steamer, and the megaphone worked perfectly.’
‘Did the Prime Minister say anything back to them?’ I said. I rather liked the idea of a conversation taking place between two boats.
‘I don’t think so,’ said Phyllis. ‘Apparently someone yelled something back from the ship, but they didn’t have a megaphone so the IWFL ladies couldn’t hear what they were saying.’
‘Still,’ I said. ‘It must have jolly well made Mr. Asquith take notice.’
‘Indeed it must!’ said Phyllis. ‘And he’ll take even more notice later on, when we wave our flags out of those windows. By the way, I hope you got your things together, because we’ll be leaving in about half an hour. Mother’s already dressing for dinner.’
‘Thank goodness Aunt Josephine is so demanding,’ I said, for the first and probably the last time. An ordinary person wouldn’t have insisted on their guests arriving so early, and if Mother and Father were still around when we left, it could have led to awkward questions about the carpet bag.
‘Come on,’ said Phyllis, standing up and pulling me to my feet. ‘Let’s go and see them off.’
It was clear that neither Mother or Father were looking forward to the evening – Mother looked more like someone being sent to the gallows than someone going to a party – but they managed to cheerfully urge us to have a good time at the theatre.
‘Make a note of the music in the show,’ said Mother, as she and Father left to get a cab. ‘I always like hearing what songs they use.’
‘I say, I hadn’t thought of that,’ I said to Phyllis after they’d gone and Maggie and Julia had gone to the kitchen, where Maggie was showing Julia how to make buns. ‘What if they ask us lots of questions about the show?’
‘I’ve thought of that,’ said Phyllis, with a touch of smugness. ‘Kathleen’s mother went to the same play last night and Kathleen asked her lots of questions about it, so we’ll know what to say if anyone asks us.’
‘What if something unusual happens?’ I said. ‘I mean, what if someone falls off the stage or the theatre goes on fire or something and it’s in all the papers?’
&
nbsp; Phyllis looked a little worried but pulled herself together.
‘We’ll cross that bridge,’ she said, ‘when and if we come to it.’
Once Mother and Father had gone Phyllis and I hurried to get our things together. Phyllis threw a hairbrush and a tin of hairpins into the carpet bag, and carried it down to the hall. I stuck my head through the kitchen door.
‘We’re going now, Maggie,’ I said. ‘I know it’s early, but Phyllis is going to take me and Nora for a meal beforehand.’
‘Isn’t that generous of her?’ said Maggie. ‘Good luck, Mollie.’
‘Why are you wishing her good luck?’ asked Julia, as I slipped away. I didn’t hear Maggie’s answer. I was too busy shoving my plaits under my hat. A few moments later Phyllis and I were striding down the road, the bag swinging from Phyllis’ wrist. As we stood at the corner waiting for a lorry to pass we caught each other’s eye. To my surprise, Phyllis grinned.
‘It’s awfully exciting, isn’t it?’ she said.
I grinned back. It’s been ages and ages since Phyl and I felt like co-conspirators. Probably not since she was about twelve and I was about eight and she and Harry and Julia and I joined forces in order to smuggle a kitten into the house. We’d found it in a hedge at the bottom of our road, where its mother (who was nowhere to be found) must have left it. We all knew that we had to take it home and look after it – it’s one of the very few times the four of us have ever been in total agreement. We smuggled it into Phyllis’s bedroom and got it a cardboard box to use as a lavatory. And we managed to feed it on scraps and saucers of milk for a whole week until it made a mess on Phyllis’s bed and we couldn’t hide it from Mother and Maggie any longer. Kittens make mother sneeze, so sadly we couldn’t keep Cyril (as we had called the kitten, after one of the children in Five Children and It), but he went to live with the Kellys who live down the road. He’s huge now and whenever I see him I give him a little wave, but I don’t suppose he remembers living with us now. Anyway, during the week Cyril lived with us, it really felt as though Phyllis and I were on the same secret team. And that’s what it felt like as the two of us made our way to the corner where we’d arranged to meet Nora.