Best love and votes for women,
Mollie
Saturday, 6th July, 1912.
Dear Frances,
Sadly the first night with Grace was just as bad as Nora had feared. I was right about the nightie – apparently Grace went to bed in ‘something that looked like a wedding dress’, as Nora put it. This morning I was lying on a rug in the sunny back garden reading A Tale of Two Cities (It’s jolly good, all about the French Revolution. There is a miserable but strangely attractive lawyer called Sydney Carton who is in love with a rather boring girl called Lucie and also some terrific French revolutionaries who are frightening but exciting), when Nora came out of the kitchen door.
‘Maggie let me in,’ she said, throwing herself down on the rug beside me.
‘Where’s Grace?’ I asked.
Nora rolled onto her back and covered her face with her hat.
‘Urrrrrrrrgh,’ she said. At least, that’s what the noise that emerged from beneath the hat sounded like.
‘You haven’t pushed her in the river or anything, have you?’ I wouldn’t quite put it past her.
‘Unfortunately I have not,’ said Nora. ‘I left her in the kitchen, helping Agnes make a cake. I suppose I should thank my lucky stars that she wants to hang around a hot stuffy kitchen on a day like this.’
‘What does Agnes think of Grace?’ I said.
‘Oh, she loves her,’ said Nora bitterly. ‘Grace has been doing her usual good girl act. “Oh Agnes, how clever you are, could you show me how to grate a lemon?”’
‘Well, maybe she really does want to know how to make a lemon cake,’ I said. ‘And it’s probably quite nice for Agnes to feel appreciated.’
‘I appreciate her!’ said Nora indignantly, sitting up and putting her hat back on her head. ‘You know I do. I just don’t suck up to her the way Grace does with all grown-ups.’
Grace only fusses over grown-ups when she wants to impress them. She wasn’t particularly nice to the women who scrub the floors and windows at school. But I wasn’t surprised that she had been nice to Agnes. She clearly wanted to get everyone in the Cantwell household on her side – apart from Nora, of course.
‘Did your mother mind you leaving her with Agnes?’ I said.
Nora looked slightly guilty. ‘Well,’ she said, ‘Mother doesn’t exactly know I’ve gone.’
‘Oh Nora!’ I cried. ‘You could have just told her you were going out while Grace was happy in the kitchen.’
If Nora’s parents discovered that she was sneaking off without saying a word to them, they might start keeping a closer eye on her movements and then that would put a stop to all our potential suffrage activities for the next few weeks. So far, Nora and I have managed to work out a system whereby we each tell our parents we’re going to the other’s house. And we do it just infrequently enough to avoid suspicion. But one ill-timed escape like today could cause Mrs. Cantwell to start questioning Nora’s regular outings to my house.
‘I’ll go back in a minute, she won’t even notice,’ said Nora. ‘I just had to get away and breathe the fresh air of freedom for twenty minutes.’
‘Can’t you get away later today?’ I asked. ‘Does she still want us to take Grace to the Gardens?’ But Nora shook her head.
‘It turns out George is playing a match at the tennis club today, and Grace says she wants to cheer him on, so we all have to go,’ she said. She looked at me hopefully. ‘It’s some sort of club tournament. I don’t suppose you want to come too?’
I didn’t particularly want to sit around the tennis club watching Nora’s brother play tennis, but Nora looked so miserable I had to tell her I’d ask my mother. Even though a part of me hoped she’d say no.
‘Anyway,’ I said, you still haven’t told me what she was like last night.’
‘Well, first of all,’ Nora began, ‘she went to bed at eight. And when Mother said that was very early she got all wide-eyed and said, ‘But Aunt Catherine, doesn’t Nora go to bed then?’ And of course Mother said I should go up with her and get her settled in and that maybe I should go to bed too. At eight! In the holidays!’
Even Julia doesn’t go to bed that early in the summer holidays and she’s only twelve.
‘And then, when we were in my room, she kept fussing over the curtains and saying it was too bright, and I said of course it was, after all it was broad daylight outside, and she said in her house they have decent thick curtains and the sunshine can’t get in.’
‘How rude!’ I said.
‘And THEN,’ Nora said, getting more and more worked up, ‘when she finally fell asleep she kept tossing and turning and making hideous snorting noises and I had to lie there on that wobbly little camp bed, and I couldn’t go to sleep even if I’d been tired! Which I wasn’t, of course, because it was practically the middle of the day.’
‘So what did you do?’ I asked.
‘I got my book and read until it was too dark to see properly,’ said Nora. She has been reading a book called Lady Audley’s Secret, which she says is very exciting. (She is going to lend it to me when she’s finished.) She found it hidden away on top of the bookshelf in their dining room so she’s not sure her parents would approve of her reading it, but she is reading it anyway. The thought of poor Nora trying to read her book in the increasing gloom made me feel so sorry for her that I have decided I will try my hardest to persuade Mother to let me go to the tennis club. I am going to do so now (though a part of me is hoping that she will say no so I don’t have to go …)
Later
Well, I didn’t have to try very hard because it turns out that Mother heartily approves of the tennis club.
‘I went to their last fundraising fête,’ she said. ‘I was thinking we might join. It could be a very nice place for you children to spend some time over the summer.’
‘I’m not going to play,’ I said hastily. I didn’t want to be forced out on the tennis court. ‘I’m just going to watch Nora’s brother.’
‘Well, maybe you’ll get a taste for it,’ said Mother, but I was pretty sure I wouldn’t. We play tennis at school sometimes and I am not very good at hitting the ball. Well, I can hit it all right, but hardly ever strongly enough to bounce off the grass, and everyone in my class knows this and so they always stand up near the net to catch my feeble shots and then lob the ball straight back over my head. Nora is quite a decent player, but she says she’s not interested enough in the game to play properly. Her parents joined the club a few years ago so they can all play there, but George is the most enthusiastic tennis player in the family.
Mother said I should change my clothes before going to the club.
‘You can’t turn up in that old thing,’ she said. ‘There’s a grass stain on the seat.’
‘No there isn’t!’ I said indignantly, but it turned out that there was. So it was probably for the best that Mother made me change into my new-ish pale blue frock (new to me, really a hand-me-down from Phyllis). I don’t see why I had to change my stockings, though, they were perfectly all right. But Mother insisted they looked ‘grubby’. And she made me wash my face and neck and behind my ears, even though I’d washed myself perfectly well that morning. Really, she made me feel like a dirty little street urchin.
I think she was worried I’d disgrace her in front of Mrs. Sheffield and her other friends who are members. But Mrs. Sheffield spends all her time with Barnaby, so she can’t be too fussy about cleanliness. He’s always jumping into puddles and rolling around in mud (when it’s raining) and dust (and worse things than dust. He’s particularly interested in horse dung) when it’s dry. They have to put him out in the garden at least once a week and clean him with a garden hose.
So what with the new-ish frock and the stockings and my white kid shoes, I was a vision of cleanliness when I knocked on the Cantwells’ front door. Agnes let me in as Nora came down the stairs.
‘What happened to you?’ Nora barely attempted to restrain her laughter. ‘You look like something off a choc
olate box.’
‘Mother made me change,’ I said glumly. ‘She thought I was too scruffy to appear in front of the tennis club ladies.’
‘Well, you’ll still look scruffy next to Grace,’ Nora whispered. ‘She’s practically head to toe frills.’ And so she was. A few minutes later the three of us were on our way to the tennis club, Grace wearing a spotless straw hat decorated with small pale silk flowers, a cream linen blouse with a pale blue ribbon around the neck and lace at the collar and cuffs, and a beautifully made cream skirt with a ruffle around the edge. It all looked pretty ridiculous for a Saturday afternoon if you asked me, but Grace was clearly very pleased with herself and made me and Nora walk on the outside of the pavement in case any passing vehicles threw up dust.
‘What about them throwing up dust on us?’ said Nora.
‘No one will notice,’ said Grace, looking disdainfully at Nora’s buff coloured skirt and pale green blouse, which I thought were jolly nice. Nora clenched her fists and glowered at Grace (who didn’t notice, of course) but she didn’t say anything. She is making a very brave effort to control her temper. I don’t know how she does it to be honest, I’d have pushed Grace under a lorry by now.
We managed to make it to the tennis club without anyone either being pushed under a lorry or indeed covered in dust (well, no more than usual on a sunny summer’s day). George’s match was taking place on a court on the far side of the club, which was very busy and had a festive air. It felt more like a garden fête than a sports tournament. There was even a table with some jugs of lemonade and a tea urn, staffed by some harassed-looking women who, it turned out, were on the tournament committee.
‘Shall we get some lemonade?’ Nora suggested. I thought this sounded like an excellent and refreshing idea after our hot walk. The lemonade, however, wasn’t good enough for Grace, who wrinkled her nose after just one sip and said, ‘You’d think they’d be able to come up with better lemonade than this.’
‘I’ll drink it if you don’t want it,’ said Nora, who had already drained her own glass of the delicious beverage.
‘No, I need a drink after the walk,’ said Grace, and she quickly drank it down. ‘Where’s your brother’s match?’
‘Court one,’ said Nora. ‘Though I’m not sure where that is.’ George has been a member of the tennis club for a few years, but Nora has never shown much enthusiasm for it.
We wandered around until we found George whacking a ball against a wall near the court. I never quite know what to say to George. He’s only a year older than Nora and not particularly intimidating – he even looks a bit like her, with his reddish hair, though he’s a lot taller. And he’s quite friendly – much nicer than Harry, to be honest. But because he’s in boarding school I only ever see him in the holidays, so I never really have time to get used to him. It’s not because he’s a boy (though I know it would probably be easier to talk to him if he were a girl). It’s more that he feels like a sort of stranger who sometimes turns up in Nora’s house. I once asked Nora was it odd when he came home, and she said it generally was for the first couple of days. After all, he went off to prep school when he was nine, so for nearly six years she hasn’t seen much of him for most of the year.
‘But then after a while it sort of goes back to normal,’ she said. ‘Usually one of us will push the other one off a chair or something like that. Then we can joke with each other again.’
I was quite pleased to hear it. Much as I might dream of the idea of Harry going off to boarding school (presumably one as far away as possible, like another country), the idea of us being like strangers to each other when he returned did make me feel a little sad (only a very little bit, mind you. A part of me thought it would be a very satisfactory state of affairs).
Anyway, George greeted us quite cheerfully. Grace said hello to him in her familiar simpering way, but I was relieved to notice that he didn’t seem to care for it.
‘What time is your match at?’ Nora asked.
‘It’s in ten minutes.’ George threw a tennis ball in the air and caught it again. ‘But you know, you don’t have to watch if you don’t want to. It won’t be that exciting.’
I couldn’t help thinking that George is a lot more humble than Harry, who would definitely have bragged about how wonderful his match was going to be.
‘I’m sure it’ll be thrilling, Cousin George,’ said Grace sweetly.
George and Nora exchanged looks and I realised George definitely wasn’t impressed by Grace’s goody-goody act.
‘I wouldn’t go that far, um, Cousin Grace,’ he said drily. He glanced over at the court, where another boy in tennis whites was already waiting, bouncing a tennis ball on his racket. ‘Anyway, I’d better warm up.’ And off he went.
‘I’m going to … refresh myself,’ said Grace, and headed off in the direction of the tennis pavilion.
‘Refresh myself indeed!’ said Nora. ‘Why can’t she ever say she’s going to the lav? We all know that’s what she’s doing.’
‘Well, at least we’ve got rid of her for a few minutes,’ I said.
‘Did you hear her?’ said Nora. ‘Calling him Cousin George! Like something out of a Victorian novel. I wouldn’t dream of calling her Cousin Grace.’
‘Well, if it’s any consolation, I don’t think George was charmed by it,’ I said. ‘You probably won’t have to worry about him siding with Grace.’
‘Old George isn’t so bad,’ said Nora. ‘Oh look, the match is about to begin.’
The tennis match was actually pretty exciting. George must play a fair bit of tennis in his school because he’s jolly decent at the game. The sun was beating down on the court – I don’t think I could have run for longer than a couple of minutes in that heat – but George was full of energy.
Grace arrived back halfway through the first set. To my surprise, all she said when she returned was ‘What’s the score?’ When we told her, she watched the match with great attention. And it can’t have been just because she wanted to suck up to George afterwards by telling him how brilliantly he’d played, because when his opponent – a boy called John McDonagh – hit an excellent serve, Grace said, ‘that was marvellous,’ with real admiration in her voice. I’d never seen her like this before. I couldn’t decide what the difference was and finally I got it: for once, she wasn’t thinking about impressing anyone.
The match lasted quite a long time, but in the end George won and we all cheered very loudly as the umpire cried ‘Game, set and match to George Cantwell.’ When he walked off the court, dabbing his brow with a white towel, he was immediately surrounded by his tennis-club pals.
‘I didn’t realise he was so good,’ said Nora. ‘He must have been practising awfully hard at school.’
‘I wish I could play a game,’ said Grace, and for once she sounded sincere.
‘Maybe you can,’ said George, who had suddenly emerged from the crowd of admirers. ‘You know they’re allowing non-members to play best-of-three games on the third court? Just schoolboys and girls. You don’t have to have special tennis clothes.’
‘Are they really?’ said Grace.
George nodded. ‘It’s just for fun, to give people a chance to try the game. It’s girls until four and then boys until six. Though you have to be at least fifteen.’
‘I was fifteen last month,’ said Grace. I had vague memories of Gertie and May giving her cards.
‘There you go, then,’ said George.
‘Do you really think I could play?’ Grace sounded positively wistful.
‘Well, they might be fully booked,’ said George. ‘But it’s worth a try.’
‘Where’s the third court?’ Grace asked.
George pointed at the far end of the club grounds.
‘Down there,’ he said.
And without even making a smart remark at any of us, Grace ran off.
‘Goodness,’ said Nora. ‘I didn’t realise she was so interested in tennis.’
‘I suppose she’s been devoting a
ll her attention to the Middle Grade cup in recent times,’ I said. ‘She hasn’t had time to think about sports until now.’
‘Well, I’m going to get a lemonade,’ said George. ‘Want one?’
Nora and I exchanged glances. We both knew that if her mother found out that she’d lost Grace at the tournament, she would not be pleased.
‘No thanks,’ said Nora. ‘I think we should probably see what Grace is up to.’
‘I was thinking the same thing,’ I said. And off we went to court three, where we found Grace deep in conversation with a willowy young woman in white who was holding a notebook and pencil.
‘We’ve got a free spot after this game,’ the willowy woman was saying. ‘Someone got sick after eating too many buns.’
‘Oh goody, what luck,’ said Grace, which sounded a bit heartless as regards the poor bun eater, but in fairness I’d probably have been thinking the same thing if I were her.
‘It’ll probably be in about twenty minutes,’ said the young woman. A ball sailed over our heads. ‘Well, less if they keep whacking the ball out like that.’
Grace looked over at us.
‘We can stay that long, can’t we?’ There was a look in her eyes that could almost be described as pleading.
Now, after the way Grace had been carrying on, I wouldn’t have blamed Nora if she’d insisted on going home straight away. After all, they’d gone to the club to see George’s match, and now that was over they weren’t required to hang around the place any longer. But she must have been feeling noble – or maybe a part of her saw that this was a way of keeping Grace occupied – because she said, ‘I suppose so.’
Grace looked relieved but, being Grace, she didn’t say thank you. She just turned back to the tall young lady and said, ‘Then please put my name down for it. Grace Molyneaux.’ And she spelled her surname carefully. The young lady grinned. She reminded me of Phyllis, for some reason.