Friday, 19th July, 1912

Friday, 19^th 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?’

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.

She was there before us, bouncing on the tips of her toes as if she were so excited she couldn’t stand still. When she saw us she ran towards us, a suitcase swinging by her side.

‘Thank goodness!’ she gasped. ‘Quick, we’d better go. My mother could be here any minute.’

‘Your mother!’ said Phyllis. ‘Oh Nora, she hasn’t found out where we’re going, has she?’

‘No, no, it’s nothing like that,’ said Nora. ‘Come on!’

And she practically ran down the road towards the tram stop. Phyllis and I hurried after her and caught up with her at the junction of Drumcondra Road. Once we’d turned the corner Nora paused to catch her breath.

‘Sorry about that,’ she said. ‘Mother is going around to Mrs. Sheffield’s house. She wanted to walk out with me and I had to tell her I was late to meet you and couldn’t even wait for her to put her hat on. And then I ran all the way to the corner. I couldn’t risk her seeing our bags. She’d be bound to ask some very nosy questions.’

‘But surely she saw your bag if you were both getting ready to go at the same time?’ said Phyllis.

‘I hid it under the hedge last night,’ said Nora, triumphantly. ‘So I could just grab it on my way out without being seen.’

Phyllis looked impressed despite herself.

‘Good thinking,’ she said. ‘Now come on, girls, let’s get that tram.’ And the three of us ran across the road to the tram stop.

It felt terribly exciting to be out during the week on suffragette business, and I couldn’t help thinking of the last time Nora and I set out on a mission. Tonight’s outing was a lot less nerve-wracking, however, especially as Phyllis was with us. And the whole thing wasn’t as dangerous (or as illegal) as painting on a postbox. I said this to Nora and Phyllis said, ‘Oh, do stop going on about that postbox,’ which is a bit much considering she has never risked her liberty for the suffragette cause and we have. But then she paid for our tram fare so I forgave her.

‘Now remember,’ she said quietly, as we took our seats at the back of the tram., ‘there might be serious trouble this evening. More than at any of the suffrage meetings. This is the Prime Minister, and he’s going to attract a lot more people than even Mrs. Sheehy-Skeffington ever does – people who are for him AND against him. So if anything starts when we’re out on the street, I want both of you to go into a shop and stay there until I come and find you. All right?’

We both nodded meekly and I gripped the handle of the carpet bag with both hands as the tram shot into town. Imagine if I left it behind me, like the time I lost my favourite gloves! Or what if someone stole it (a less likely prospect, I have to admit – I couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to snatch a rather threadbare old carpet bag). Nora was clutching her suitcase with equal firmness.

‘What did your mother want with Mrs. Sheffield, anyway?’ I asked, as the tram headed down Dorset Street.

‘You won’t believe it,’ said Nora with a sigh. ‘She’s going to collect Barnaby. He’s coming to a late tea in my house.’

‘He’s what?’ I cried.

‘Ssh!’ said Phyllis, who was sitting on my other side.

‘Sorry,’ I said, and turned back to Nora. ‘Why on earth is he doing that?’

‘It’s a treat for Grace,’ said Nora. ‘You know, because she’s going home on Monday.’

Imagine thinking the Menace visiting your house would be a treat. I hope Grace can exert her civilising influence on him. If he paid an official visit to our house he’d probably eat all my socks or get sick in my shoes or something. Anyway, at least Nora was missing his little tea party.

When we reached town there were quite a lot of people milling about, more than I’ve ever seen on a Thursday evening.

‘Lots of people will be coming in to see Mr. Asquith,’ said Phyllis. I wondered were there any Ancient Hooligans in the groups already gathering around the Pillar on Sackville Street. We got off the tram in College Green and followed Phyllis through the crowds who were waiting to see the Prime Minister. Some of them were already waving little union flags, while others had green flags and banners. We wriggled through them and walked towards Grafton Street (where a rude man barged past us and nearly knocked me off the pavement and under a delivery van). After making our way along the busy pavements we turned off Grafton Street onto a small lane where, opposite a church, there was a smart little hat shop that I’d never noticed before.

‘Here we are,’ said Phyllis, and she pushed open the door. A bell jangled and a slightly harassed-looking young woman emerged from a curtained door.

‘Hello, Miss Murphy,’ said Phyllis. ‘Can I have a quiet word?’

‘Of course,’ said Miss Murphy. ‘In here, please.’

Phyllis followed her through the curtained door. As she pulled back the curtain, she looked out and mouthed the words, ‘Don’t touch anything’ at me and Nora. As if we were babies! Though I must admit that some of the hats on display did look very tempting. I wondered what I’d look like in a particularly charming straw one with a cherry-red ribbon and an arrangement of berries and cherry-blossom on one side. A moment later Phyllis stuck her head out from behind the curtain and said, ‘Come on, then.’

Nora and I hurried through the curtain and into a small hall. There was a door to the left that opened onto what was clearly a dressing room, in which clients could try on hats in front of a full length mirror. Phyllis and Miss Murphy were waiting for us there.

‘I’ll leave you to it,’ said Miss Murphy. She smiled at me and Nora, and the harassed expression lifted from her features. She looked much younger. ‘You’re a pair of young sports, that’s what you are,’ she said, and went back to the shop.

‘All right,’ said Phyllis. ‘You start getting changed. Hopefully Mabel will have arrived by the time you get those skirts on and can help me do your hair.’

I hoped so too. I didn’t really trust Phyllis to put up our hair properly. At least, put it up so that it stayed up. She’s bad enough at doing her own. Nora and I took off our shoes, wriggled out of our skirts and petticoats and put on the skirts that Mabel had borrowed for us. Luckily, Nora’s was a decent fit.

‘Thank goodness,’ she said.

‘Mine is a bit long,’ I said. I tucked my blouse under the waistband and tried to look tall.

‘Don’t forget they won’t be too long once you’ve got your shoes on,’ said Phyllis. ‘Thank goodness waists have got higher, you can’t tell you’re not wearing corsets.’

Nora and I put our shoes on, Nora stuffing some cotton wool into the toes of hers. And thanks to her long skirts, you couldn’t see the scuffs at all. Well, hardly at all. We walked around a bit in the shoes, trying to get used to the unfamiliar high heels.

‘See?’ said Phyllis. ‘The skirts aren’t too long at all now. Oh thank goodness!’

Mabel had arrived.

‘Hello, all!’ said Mabel. ‘Goodness, girls, you do look grown up – apart from the plaits. Right, Mollie first, I think. She needs the most work.’

I sat down and let Mabel work her magic. This time, probably because she’d had some practice, it didn’t take her half as long to put up my mane and then move on to Nora. While she ran a brush through Nora’s red curls, I got up and went to the full-length looking glass that stood in a corner of the room.

‘Gosh,’ I said softly.

I almost didn’t recognise myself in the glass. I don’t know if it was the hair or the long skirt or the shoes – which looked right with the long skirt, in a way they hadn’t looked when I tried them at home with my stockinged legs sticking out of them. I didn’t even feel like I was in disguise anymore. Or if I was, I was dressed as my future self.

‘I suppose you’ll do,’ said Phyllis, slamming Mother’s hat on my head and jamming in a hat pin to keep it in place. ‘As long as you don’t stand in direct sunlight.’

‘I think I look jolly good!’ I said indignantly. Mabel laughed and pinned a last lock of hair on top of Nora’s head.

‘You both look marvellous,’ she said. ‘Right, Nora, go and feast your eyes on your unnatural beauty.’

Nora’s hair looked very nice – much better than when she’d tried to do it herself. But I realised that when she was walking towards the glass she did look a bit funny.

‘I think you need more cotton in the shoes,’ I said. ‘You’re almost slipping out of them.’

‘I’ll ask Miss Murphy,’ said Phyllis, and she slipped back through the curtained entrance into the shop. She returned a moment later with some cotton wool.

‘If this doesn’t work, you may have to give up,’ she said sternly, handing it over to Nora. ‘We can’t have you wobbling around drawing attention to us.’

Nora’s face was grave as she prodded the cotton wool into place. She put the shoes back on and took a few tentative steps. This time, she looked much more at ease. Though I must say I don’t understand why grown-ups wear high heels. They really aren’t very practical at all.

‘Good,’ said Phyllis. ‘Now come on, we’d better get down to Nassau Street.’

The pavements were even more crowded when we got back to Grafton Street. I felt terribly conspicuous in my new garb, but to my great relief no one seemed to notice anything strange about me or Nora. Maybe things would have been different if there hadn’t been so many people around, but as it was we could just blend in with the crowd. The crowds, in fact, were so numerous at the Nassau Street end of Grafton Street that Mabel suggested taking a more circuitous route. So we went down Duke Street, where a man (who Nora said afterwards must have been intoxicated) emerged from Davy Byrne’s pub and cried, ‘Hello there, young misses!’ after us as we passed. We turned onto Dawson Street, and I couldn’t resist looking at the books displayed in the windows of Hodges Figgis.

‘Don’t dawdle,’ said Phyllis tersely, pulling me away by the arm as if I were a kid and not the sophisticated young lady she wanted me to be.

‘The crowds are too thick,’ said Mabel. ‘Let’s go back around by Molesworth Street.’ She strode off in that direction, the rest of us hurrying in her wake.

‘Where’s Kathleen?’ Phyllis asked. ‘Is she meeting us there?’

‘She’s going to protest in Sackville Street,’ was Mabel’s reply. ‘She had to meet her mother for dinner in the Gresham so she wasn’t sure if she’d get over here in time.’

‘I can’t walk fast in these shoes,’ muttered Nora as we crossed the road, narrowly avoiding being hit by a ’bus.

‘It can’t be long now,’ I reassured her. ‘Can it?’

Luckily, it wasn’t. We followed Mabel down Frederick Street and onto Nassau Street, where the crowds were already spilling out onto the pavement. Policemen were walking along the road, urging spectators to stand back.

‘Come on,’ said Mabel. ‘It’s down here, I believe.’ She led us through the throng and towards a door situated next to a shopfront. She rang the bell, and a moment later a vaguely familiar woman (I later realised I’d seen her at one of the IWFL meetings) answered the door.

‘Hello, Mamie,’ said Mabel. ‘We haven’t missed him, have we?’

‘No, of course not,’ said Mamie. ‘Quick, come in.’ We all squeezed into a narrow hall. Mamie eyed me and Nora with faint suspicion. I pulled down my hat and tried to look tall and grown up.

‘Who is this?’ said Mamie.

‘My cousins,’ said Phyllis. ‘This is Mollie Carberry, and this is Nora Cantwell.’ Mamie relaxed a little and gave me her hand.

‘Mamie Quigley.’ Her handshake was firm. ‘Call me Mamie. Sorry to be so suspicious, but you can’t be too careful these days, now can you?’

‘Where’s our room?’ asked Mabel.

‘Upstairs,’ said Mamie. ‘Follow me.’

The room was quite big, but it was so full of people, nearly all of them women, that it felt almost cramped. Several large flags were folded on a sideboard at one end of the room, the fabric bunched and trailing onto the floor; it was impossible to see what they said. Large windows looked out onto Nassau Street and across to the playing fields of Trinity College, where I could see some young men in cricketing whites making their way back to the sports pavilion. Somehow I found myself thinking of Frank, and wondering what he would say if he could see us in our disguises, ready to protest. I’d like to think he’d be impressed – he was jolly supportive of the chalking, after all – but you never know.

‘Look at the posters,’ whispered Nora. Several posters with straps at the top of them were propped against the wall. One said ‘HOME RULE FOR IRISH WOMEN AS WELL AS MEN’; another read ‘WE DEMAND WOMAN SUFFRAGE AMMENDMENT TO THE HOME RULE BILL’, as well as others with shorter slogans.

‘Well, we needn’t have worried about our poster slogan ideas being too long and complicated,’ I whispered back.

‘What are you two muttering about?’ said Phyllis, in what I can only describe as a mutter. ‘You’d better not be planning any silly stunt.’

Yet again, I was struck by how unfair Phyllis always is.

‘We were just looking at the posters,’ I said indignantly.

‘Oh yes.’ Phyllis didn’t even have the grace to apologise for unfairly suspecting us. ‘I’d forgotten about the poster parade.’ She went over to Mamie Quigley, who was standing near one of the other windows, leaning against a small table and talking to Mabel with a serious expression on her face. Nora and I followed her.

‘How did the parade go this afternoon?’ Phyllis asked Mamie.

‘Not bad, actually.’ Mamie’s face brightened. ‘We sold quite a few Citizens.’

‘Any trouble?’ said Mabel.

Mamie shrugged.

‘A few silly jokes,’ she said. ‘But nothing we haven’t heard before. It was all quite good humoured, really.’

‘There you go,’ said Mabel, with customary cheerfulness. ‘We get more of the public on our side every day.’

‘Hopefully we’ll have a few more by tomorrow,’ said Mamie. ‘Have you seen the confetti?’

‘What confetti?’ said Mabel and Phyllis at the same time.

Mamie grinned. ‘This you must see,’ she said. She picked up a small paper bag which was sitting on the table and gently shook some of the contents out onto the palm of her hand ‘Look!’

The bag was full of small paper circles, but when you looked at them closely you could see the words VOTES FOR WOMEN printed on them in small but legible letters. Mabel laughed in delight.

‘How absolutely wonderful!’ she said.

‘We’re going to scatter it out of the windows,’ said Mamie. ‘There are another few bags of it over there. Maybe some Antis will carry our slogans around on their hats for the rest of the evening!’

That’s when I was struck by an excellent idea. Phyllis had made us promise not to try to wave any flags. But she hadn’t said anything about confetti.

‘Could I please throw some confetti?’ I asked Mamie.

‘Mollie!’ said Phyllis. But Mamie smiled.

‘I don’t see why not,’ she said. ‘Is this your first suffrage event?’

‘Oh no,’ I said. ‘I’ve been to lots of meetings. So has Nora.’ I wished I could tell her about the postboxes, but I knew that wouldn’t be a good idea.

‘Sorry,’ said Mamie. ‘It’s just that you look so young.’

‘Oh, we’re both eighteen.’ I hoped my cheeks wouldn’t betray me by going bright red, as they so often do. But if I did blush, I hope my hat (which I was keeping firmly on my head, as Phyllis had instructed) covered enough of my features to make it unnoticeable.

‘Here you go,’ said Mamie. She handed me the bag of confetti and looked at her watch. ‘Goodness, he’ll be here soon. We’d better get the flags ready. They’re terribly awkward in an enclosed space like this. I told Mrs. Mulvany we have to make sure we don’t smash a window pane.’

‘Let me help,’ said Mabel. One of the flags was carefully attached to a long pole.

It took several people to manoeuvre the flags across the room without the poles hitting or breaking anything (or anyone).

‘All right, everyone,’ said a woman whom I recognised as Mrs. Mulvany, the woman I’d spotted giving leaflets to Phyllis in the street, what felt like years ago. ‘The Prime Minister should be passing soon. Mrs. Quigley and Miss Purcell, you take that flag, and Miss Carberry and Miss Clarke, you can take that one. Mrs. Byrne should be here soon with another flag pole, but, in the meantime, we can just hold the flags out of the window. Mr. Donnelly and Mrs. Murphy, please push up the windows as far as they will go. Careful now!’ The windows were pushed up, but just as the flags were being placed into position, Mabel, who was leaning out of the window, said, ‘I say, there are some policemen outside the door.’

‘Well, there are bound to be lots of policemen, with crowds like this,’ said Mrs. Mulvany. ‘Come on, everyone, get the flags out.’

Just then, however, there was a loud banging on the front door. The flag bearers exchanged worried glances.

‘Carry on, everyone,’ said Mrs. Mulvany. ‘I’ll go down and see what they want.’

I squeezed through the group and found a position at the window that wasn’t being used for a flag. Quite a crowd of policemen seemed to be gathered outside the building we were in. They couldn’t all be here because of us, could they?

But then I heard Mrs. Mulvany cry out, and a moment later a crowd of police officers burst into the room. They were followed by several men without uniforms who turned out to be plain-clothes policemen.

‘Oh my God,’ said Phyllis. She looked at me and Nora and then stared wildly around the room. There was no way any of us could get past the policemen now. ‘Get behind me.’

‘But why are they here?’ I said. ‘No one’s doing anything wrong.’

‘All right, ladies,’ said a large police officer in booming tones. ‘I’m Inspector Campbell and I must order you to take down that flag.’

An old woman in spectacles stepped forward.

‘What’s going on?’ she demanded. ‘We’ve rented this room perfectly legally. We’re not breaking any laws. How dare you barge in like this?’

‘We have it on good authority,’ said Inspector Campbell, ‘that this room is being used to launch an attack on the Prime Minister.’

Everyone started talking at once. I could hear Mrs. Mulvany shout, ‘That’s an outrageous lie!’

‘Quiet, please!’ boomed Inspector Campbell. A young policeman rushed into the room carrying a large flag pole.

‘I got this at the door, sir,’ he said. ‘Some old biddy …’

‘Ahem!’ said Inspector Campbell. ‘Some respect, please, Constable Brosnan.’

‘Sorry, sir,’ said the abashed Constable Brosnan. ‘A woman, sir, was coming in with this big old stick. A dangerous weapon, sir.’

‘It’s a flag pole, you great fool,’ said Mrs. Mulvany contemptuously.

‘Flag pole it may be,’ said Inspector Campbell. ‘But it’s also a dangerous weapon. What would happen if you hurled something like this from the window in the direction of the Prime Minister’s carriage?’

‘I wouldn’t be able to do any such thing,’ said Mrs. Mulvany. ‘It’s far too heavy. We just want to attach a flag to it and wave it out the window.’

‘A likely story,’ muttered Constable Brosnan.

‘All right, Brosnan, that’ll do,’ said Inspector Campbell. ‘But really, Miss …

‘Mrs. Mulvany,’ said Mrs. Mulvany.

‘Mrs. Mulvany, then,’ said Inspector Campbell. ‘This visit is a very serious occasion. We can’t have dangerous radicals waving giant sticks at the Prime Minister.’

‘What of the crowds below?’ said Mrs. Mulvany.

‘What about them?’ said Inspector Campbell, who was starting to look impatient.

‘Well, some of them are waving paper flags,’ said Mrs. Mulvany. ‘Perhaps one of them could be thrown at Mr. Asquith and poke his eye out.’

‘This isn’t a laughing matter Mrs. …’ Inspector Campbell’s face reddened as he tried to remember her name. ‘Mrs. Mulvany. We take the security of the prime minister very seriously. Brosnan and Donnelly, stay here with me. The rest of you, go outside and keep an eye on the street. Don’t let anyone else in here.’

‘We’ve rented this room perfectly legally!’ protested Mamie Quigley.

‘That’s as may be, Miss,’ said Inspector Campbell.

‘Mrs. Quigley,’ said Mamie, primly.

Inspector Campbell sighed.

‘Mrs. Quigley, then,’ he said. ‘As I told your friend here, we have a right to search the premises. And that’s what we’re going to do.’

There was a burst of protest from the assembled suffragettes and their supporters, and then another police inspector strode into the room. He wasn’t as burly as Inspector Campbell.

‘I’ve checked the roof, Campbell,’ he said. ‘Nothing up there.’

‘Of course there’s not!’ cried Mabel. ‘Really, this is outrageous.’

Both inspectors ignored her.

‘Thank you, Inspector Cummins,’ said Inspector Campbell. ‘Search the room, boys!’

Constable Brosnan and his colleague Constable Donnelly started poking through all the poster boards and opening the various drawers, under the watchful eyes of the two inspectors. They shook out the flags before dumping them on the floor by the suffragettes’ feet and even went through the pockets of the coats that were hanging on a hatstand in the corner, despite the protests of their owners.

‘What do they think they’ll find?’ I whispered to Phyllis.

‘Shut up,’ Phyllis hissed back. Her face was very white. ‘Don’t bring any attention to yourself.’

Then Mabel, who had been glowering out of the window, unable to bring herself to look at the policemen, let out a cry.

‘He’s coming! He’s coming!’

I whirled round and, looking out onto Nassau Street, saw a large and impressive carriage making its way down the street from the direction of Westland Row. The crowd started to cheer and lots of people waved their little flags. Everyone in the room, apart from the policemen, crowded around the windows.

‘Stand back there, ladies!’ called Inspector Cummins, but we all ignored him.

‘Quickly,’ said Mabel. ‘Roll out the flags!’ And several suffragettes grabbed the flags and rolled them out of the window, clutching the edges tightly to stop them falling down onto the crowds and policemen gathered below. One said, ‘HOME RULE FOR IRISH WOMEN’ and the other just said, ‘VOTES FOR WOMEN’.

‘Stop that at once!’ said Inspector Campbell, but it was too late. Mr. Asquith’s carriage was practically upon us, and now I could actually see his face, so familiar from pictures in Father’s newspaper. Mr. Redmond, whose features were equally familiar, sat next to him in the carriage.

‘VOTES FOR WOMEN!’ roared Mabel, and everyone else took up the cry. I knew I should have been trying to fade into the background, but I couldn’t resist. I roared ‘Votes for Women!’ along with the rest of them, and so did Nora. And, even though she was so worried about me and Nora getting arrested (and, more importantly as far as she was concerned, getting her into trouble), so did Phyllis. As the Prime Minister went past us, he turned his head towards the sound of the roars, and I’m not going to say he acknowledged our shouts, but he definitely heard them and he couldn’t possibly have missed the enormous flags.

‘Mollie!’ cried Nora. ‘The confetti!’

And I pushed under Phyllis’s arms, leaned as far out of the window as I could, and shook the paper bag with all my might. The little circles of paper floated down onto the crowd, and several people looked around to see where the mysterious confetti was coming from.

‘Votes for women!’ I cried, and ‘Votes for women!’ yelled Nora, and then Phyllis yanked me back so hard I nearly fell onto the floor which, as I pointed out later, would really have made the policemen notice me, so she should have just left me alone. Not that she was thinking of that.

‘Stop fooling about!’ she snarled. ‘Good lord, why did I take you here?’

But before I could answer her, the two constables were in our midst and were pulling the flags out of the hands of those who had been waving them out of the window.

‘All right, all right, you’ve had your fun,’ said Inspector Cummins. ‘Now, why don’t you go home to your husbands and stop this play-acting?’

‘You’d be better off occupying yourselves down there,’ said a stout woman in a dark purple coat, pointing down to the street below, where two drunken men had pushed their way through the crowds and were now following the procession with many roars and rude chants.

‘And that pair probably have the vote,’ muttered Mamie.

‘Come on, lads,’ said Inspector Campbell. ‘We’ve done all we can do here.’ He raised his hat at the suffragettes still gathered by the window. ‘Ladies.’ And with that, he strode out of the room, followed by his colleagues. Mrs. Mulvany went over and shut the door, then turned to face the rest of us.

‘Well!’ she said. And she sat down very suddenly in the nearest chair. ‘Good lord, I feel quite faint.’

‘I’ve got some salts,’ said Mamie, rushing to the hat stand and picking up a small velvet bag, from which she produced a bottle whose strong-smelling contents soon restored Mrs. Mulvany. I have never been revived by smelling salts but they smell jolly strong so I am not surprised that just having them wafted under your nose would restore you.

‘Thank you, Mrs. Quigley,’ said Mrs. Mulvany. ‘I don’t know what came over me.’

‘It sometimes happens after great exertion,’ said Mabel. ‘My father’s a doctor and he says that when one’s been very brave, one sometimes collapses once it’s all over. As if one’s run out of oil.’

‘What could have led them to raid us?’ said a young man with curly hair, who was folding up one of the flags.

‘Ignorant trouble-making,’ said Mrs. Mulvany.

‘They can’t have thought we were really going to do something to the Prime Minister,’ said Phyllis. She looked nervously around the room. ‘Can they?’

‘You’ve read how we’re described in the papers,’ said Mamie Quigley. ‘They’d believe us capable of anything.’

‘Apart from voting,’ said another suffragette dryly, and everyone laughed.

‘Well, ladies,’ said Mrs. Mulvany, sounding much restored. ‘We may have been rudely interrupted, but we managed to get our point across nevertheless.’

‘Three cheers for the I.W.F.L!’ cried the irrepressible Mabel. ‘Hip, hip, hooray!’

And everyone joined in. Then they all started gathering their coats and bags and discussing what to do next.

‘Are there more protests happening this evening?’ asked Nora.

‘If there are, you won’t be anywhere near them,’ said Phyllis firmly. ‘I’m going to get you two home before anything else dangerous happens. If the hat shop’s still open, you can change there. And if it’s not, we’ll go to the Farm Produce.’

There was no point in arguing with her. We followed her down the stairs, with Mabel bringing up the rear.

‘I was thinking of trying to get in to the Theatre Royal meeting tomorrow,’ Mabel said. ‘You know, where Mr. Asquith and Mr. Redmond will be speaking.’

‘There’s no point,’ said Phyllis. ‘You know they’re only letting women in if they can be vouched for by a man. And they’ve already been refunding tickets to any men they’ve discovered are sympathetic to the cause.’

‘Such babies!’ said Mabel in disgust. ‘Call themselves politicians, and then they can’t even bear to answer a few simple questions.’

‘I heard Mr. Sheehy-Skeffington is going to try to get in anyway.’ Phyllis had reached the street door when suddenly she paused. A familiar figure was pushing her way through the crowd towards us. ‘Kathleen! I didn’t think you were coming.’

‘I had to warn you …’ gasped Kathleen. She looked as if she had just run a mile. Her cheeks were flushed, and her hat, a typically flamboyant affair the shape of an upside down pie dish, with a large cream satin rose that looked more like a cabbage to me, was askew over her dark curly hair.

‘Come in here and sit down.’ Mabel took charge. She led Kathleen back into the building and sat her down on a small hard chair near the door. ‘What’s happened?’

‘It was on Sackville Street,’ said Kathleen, whose breathing was returning to normal. ‘Just at the bridge. Someone threw a hatchet at the Prime Minister.’

There was a shocked silence for a moment. When Phyllis broke it, her voice was shaking.

‘You’re joking.’

‘I wish I was,’ said Kathleen.

Nora’s face was very pale. ‘Is he … dead?’ she asked.

I felt my stomach lurch. The Prime Minister was my enemy, being opposed to the cause. But I certainly didn’t think he should be murdered.

Kathleen, however, shook her head. ‘It didn’t hit him. It got Mr. Redmond, but he wasn’t badly hurt.’

‘But who could have done something like that?’ said Phyllis. ‘Was it a Nationalist? Or someone against Home Rule?’

‘No,’ said Kathleen. ‘It was a suffragette!’

We stared at her, too stunned to speak.

‘I was shocked too,’ said Kathleen. ‘But there’s no doubt. Mrs. Joyce saw it happen.’

‘But that wasn’t one of our plans,’ said Mabel. ‘I know we don’t get told everything, but there’s no way any of the leaders would agree to something like that. Not here. Not now.’

‘She was from a group of Englishwomen,’ said Kathleen. ‘At least, that’s what Mrs. Joyce told me. She was next to them in the crowd and she heard them talking – I was a little further back. They threw a hatchet with a message tied to the handle. She couldn’t make out what it said.’

‘What were they thinking?’ cried Phyllis. ‘If they wanted to throw hatchets at him – not that I think they should – why couldn’t they do it in England? Why did they have to come over here where we’ll all get the blame?’

‘I think we should all get home straight away,’ said Kathleen. ‘The crowds were getting very angry. I only came over here to warn you.’

I know she’s always been rather snobbish and patronising towards me and Nora, but braving the crowds in order to warn her friends was jolly decent.

‘If we go around by Westland Row and then across the bridge to Beresford Place we can go down Gardiner Street,’ said Phyllis. ‘At least that way we’ll avoid Sackville Street.’

That was when Kathleen seemed to notice me and Nora for the first time.

‘What on earth are those two doing here?’ she demanded. ‘And why are they dressed up like that?’

I stopped feeling sympathetic.

‘They’ve earned the right to be here,’ said Mabel firmly. ‘Now come on, let’s get going.’

She, Kathleen and Phyllis led the way, with me and Nora trailing behind. It wasn’t easy to walk quickly in high-heeled shoes. There were still a lot of people milling around Nassau Street, though the policemen were nowhere to be seen. I pointed this out to Nora.

‘They’re probably down in Sackville Street arresting the English suffragettes,’ she said.

‘Come on, you two,’ said Phyllis, grabbing my arm and yanking me along like a baby. ‘I’m not going to risk losing you in this morass.’

‘You don’t have to pull me,’ I grumbled.

‘I shouldn’t let you out of my sight.’ Phyllis looked genuinely worried, not just annoyed (her usual expression when dealing with me). ‘We could all have been arrested!’

‘It was terribly bad luck,’ said Nora. ‘I mean, we were in a nice, safe private room. You couldn’t have known we’d be raided by the police.’

‘It was quite exciting, though,’ I said. ‘Come on, Phyl, you must admit it was. After all, nothing bad really happened.’

Phyllis wasn’t going to admit any such thing.

‘It wouldn’t have been exciting if you’d been carted off to jail for throwing that stupid bloody confetti.’

I have never heard her swear before. And calling the confetti stupid as well! Nora and I gaped at her in horror.

‘Phyllis!’ I said.

She had the grace to blush.

‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I shouldn’t have said that in front of you.’

‘Or at all,’ I said severely. ‘Anyway, we weren’t carted anywhere. We’re all perfectly safe. And now we have a jolly good story to tell.’

‘You’d better not tell it to anyone,’ said Phyllis.

‘I meant when we’re old and grey,’ I said. ‘We can tell our great-grandchildren.’

‘I doubt they’d be interested,’ said Phyllis. ‘Oh, blast it all, these crowds!’ We had reached Great Brunswick Street, where just a few weeks ago we had tried to attend the giant suffrage meeting. We had no choice but to walk down to Tara Street, where we could cross the river.

‘I think we should try and get a cab,’ said Mabel in a low voice. ‘The crowds could turn on us if they realise we’re suffragettes.’

‘But weren’t the jarveys protesting today?’ said Phyllis. ‘I read in the paper they’re objecting to motor cabs.’ You may have forgotten, but ‘jarvey’ is our Dublin word for cab driver.

‘They’re still operating their cabs, though,’ said Mabel. ‘I saw a few on my way here. It’s worth a try.’

Phyllis nodded. There was a jarveys’ rest near the train station, so we went back to Westland Row and luckily managed to get one straight away.

‘I’ll be happy to take you ladies home,’ said the jarvey. ‘Town’s not safe this evening, with those suffragettes roaming the streets.’

None of our group trusted themselves to say anything, but the jarvey didn’t seem to care.

‘Did you hear about the hatchet? Bleeding disgrace – pardon my language, ladies.’

‘It’s quite all right,’ said Mabel, faintly. With a subtle movement, she adjusted the lapel of her coat so that her I.W. F. L. Votes for Women badge could not be seen. ‘Can you take us to Drumcondra, please?’

‘Just climb aboard,’ said the jarvey.

As the cab clattered along the street and over Butt Bridge, I saw that the crowds were still fairly thick. There were quite a large number of angry-looking men, and I was very glad Phyllis had thought of getting a cab. The crowds had thinned out by the time we reached Gardiner Street, and it wasn’t until we were rattling down Drumcondra Road that something very important struck me.

‘Phyllis,’ I said. ‘Our clothes!’ In all the fuss and excitement, we’d forgotten to change back into our own things. As soon as she realised this Phyllis looked as if she were going to cry. But once more, Mabel took charge.

‘Kathleen, block out that window. I’ll get in front of this one. Right, girls, get changed. And do it quickly.’

We were so squashed that it was difficult to move at all, let alone unbutton and wriggle out of the borrowed long skirts. We barely had room to open the bag and get out our ordinary clothes. There was a terrible moment when we thought one of Nora’s own shoes had been left behind in the hat shop, but it was found wrapped up in her skirt. As the cab turned off Drumcondra Road and towards the corner where we’d asked to be let out, I managed to squash the borrowed hats, skirts and shoes back in the carpet bag. There was no time to take down our hair but as Mabel said, ‘It can’t be helped. Besides, you can brush that off as a joke. Just say you were trying to look sophisticated for the theatre. It’s harder to explain why you were parading around the streets in long skirts and my mother’s shoes.’

The cab clattered to a halt and we tumbled out (almost literally in the case of me and Nora). Mabel paid the jarvey, who looked at us curiously as he drove away, probably wondering why two sophisticated young ladies who had got into his cab half an hour earlier had been transformed into slightly grubby schoolgirls. Our appearance wasn’t improved by the fact that, when they were all squashed into the bag, our shoes had managed to transfer a surprising amount of dust onto our skirts.

‘It’ll brush off,’ said Nora optimistically, and turned to Phyllis. ‘Thanks awfully for taking us today, Phyllis. I know you didn’t particularly want to …’

‘I didn’t,’ said Phyllis.

‘But we really do appreciate it. Don’t we, Mollie?’

I nodded. ‘And thank you too, Mabel.’

‘It’s the least we can do, after all you’ve done for the cause,’ said Mabel. ‘I hardly dare imagine what you’ll do next.’ Her tone was solemn, but there was a twinkle in her eye.

‘You keep going on about all they’ve done for the cause,’ said Kathleen peevishly, ‘but as far as I can see, all they’ve done is cause a lot of trouble and worry.’

‘Oh, they’ve played their parts,’ said Mabel. ‘We’ll tell you all about it another time.

‘Why don’t you all come back to our house?’ said Phyllis. ‘Mother and Father won’t be back for ages yet.’

But Kathleen’s mother was expecting her so she couldn’t go. I can’t pretend I was disappointed as she said goodbye and headed off towards her own house.

‘What about you, Nora?’ said Mabel. ‘After all, your parents won’t be expecting you home yet. We can all have a nice cup of tea. And maybe some cake, if Maggie’s made one’

‘All right,’ said Nora, to my delight. It was nice for us both to be treated as equals by Mabel and Phyllis – well, Mabel, anyway, but Phyllis didn’t object. I remembered how we’d been invited to a suffragette tea after the Brunswick Street meeting but we couldn’t go. Now we were going to have a suffragette tea of our own (well, sort of). As we made our way to our house, I suddenly felt utterly exhausted. It must have been what Mabel had been talking about earlier – as if I were an engine and all my oil had suddenly run out. By the time we got home, I was starting to yawn.

Nora nudged me.

‘Stop yawning,’ she hissed. ‘If they think you’re tired they’ll probably send me home and send you to bed.’

‘What are you two muttering about?’ called Phyllis, who had walked a few yards ahead of us with Mabel.

‘Nothing,’ I said. ‘Do you have a key?’

But Phyllis had forgotten her latch key (I, of course, am not trusted to have one of my own) so she knocked on the door. And who should answer it but Frank!

I don’t know why, but I had totally forgotten that Frank and Harry might be at home. I think Phyllis had too, because she looked quite surprised to see him.

‘I thought you and Harry were at a party,’ she said, in an almost accusatory tone.

‘It was afternoon tea. We’ve been back for a while.’ Frank sounded apologetic as he answered. Then he caught sight of me and Nora and his eyes widened as he took in our unusual hair arrangements. ‘Oh, hello, Mollie. And Nora.’ He glanced at Mabel. ‘I’m terribly sorry, but I can’t remember your name, Miss …’

‘It’s Mabel Purcell,’ said Mabel. ‘But you can call me Mabel. Now, has Maggie made any cake?’

And she strode past a slightly flummoxed-looking Frank, followed by Phyllis. Nora and I went after them. I still felt very awkward in Frank’s presence, but this was a time to rise above such petty feelings. As we passed him I whispered, ‘Don’t tell Harry about our hair. Please, Frank.’

‘I won’t, if you don’t want me to,’ he whispered back. ‘But he’s in the dining room. He could be out here any minute.’

I turned to Nora.

‘Come on!’

And taking her hand, I ran upstairs and into my room.

‘These stupid pins!’ said Nora, pulling them out as quickly as she could.

‘Careful!’ I cried. ‘You’ll be a tangled mess if you don’t watch out.’

It took simply ages to get our hair down; I hoped Mabel and Phyllis would realise what we were doing and wouldn’t send Harry up for us. When we were both brushed and plaited we raced down to the kitchen, where Mabel and Phyllis were sitting at the table with Maggie, drinking tea. Phyllis looked relieved to see us with our usual boring schoolgirl hair and even poured out two cups of tea without being asked.

‘Here you go,’ she said. ‘And there’s cake too.’

‘Lemon drizzle,’ said Maggie. She got up and closed the door to the hall.

‘We were just telling Maggie about the policemen,’ said Mabel, her mouth full of cake.

‘Mabel, you have the manners of a bear,’ said Phyllis.

‘Bears don’t eat cake,’ retorted Mabel. ‘Or use napkins.’ She picked up hers and wiped away a few crumbs.

‘I’d rather not talk about any policemen now the girls are here,’ said Maggie firmly, handing me a slice of lemon drizzle cake.

‘Just this once won’t hurt, Maggie,’ said Mabel. ‘After all, if by any chance Mr. and Mrs. Carberry walk in and hear what we’re talking about, you can say you were cleaning up and couldn’t hear us. No one could accuse you of being involved.’

Maggie didn’t look convinced, but she went to the sink and started filling it with hot water.

‘So what are we going to do tomorrow?’ Nora’s eyes were bright.

‘You are not going to do anything,’ said Phyllis. ‘Mabel and I are going to go to the Beresford Place meeting and sell some Citizens.’

‘I don’t see why we can’t go too,’ I retorted. ‘I could tell Mother and Father I’m going to Nora’s house. I’ve done it plenty of times before.’

‘I can’t hear anything,’ said Maggie in a loud voice.

‘And I can say I’m coming here,’ said Nora. ‘Grace is going to some special fête, or match, or something, in Rathmines with the junior members of the tennis club and they’re being fed afterwards in someone’s house, so my mother won’t expect me to stay in and look after her.’

‘No,’ said Phyllis firmly.

Nora and I exchanged glances as if to say, ‘we’ve got around her before’. But Phyllis clearly suspected what we were thinking, because she said, ‘I really mean it, Moll. I know you’ve shown your commitment to the cause, but something very bad could have happened this evening. And don’t even think of blackmailing me again because I know you wouldn’t dare.’

She was right. I tried doing it before, if you recall, and I felt far too guilty to go through with it. I looked to Mabel for support, but she shook her head.

‘I agree with Phyllis,’ she said. ‘After that hatchet business …’

Maggie turned quickly around.

‘What hatchet business?’

‘Some English girl threw a hatchet at Mr. Asquith. He wasn’t hurt,’ Mabel added quickly. ‘But it means that the police will be even more determined to stop any activity. And not just the police. Imagine what the Ancient Hooligans and their chums will be like now.’

‘Then it’s not safe for you to be in town either,’ Nora pointed out.

‘We’re old enough to make that decision for ourselves,’ said Mabel. ‘And you two are not.’

I was just about to answer her when the kitchen door opened and Frank and Harry came in.

‘Oh, there you are,’ said Harry. ‘What are you skulking down here for? Poor Maggie is trying to work.’

‘We were trying to hide from you,’ I said, in my most cutting voice.

Harry looked affronted.

‘Well, I was going to see if you wanted to play cards with us,’ he said. ‘But I wish I hadn’t bothered now.’

Frank gave Harry a friendly punch in the arm. ‘Ignore him.’

‘I usually do,’ I muttered.

‘So, do you and Nora want to play cards?’ Frank asked. He was clearly making an effort to be friendly today. He was obviously trying to forget about the embarrassing nightgown/pyjamas/red-faced incident. And I wanted to show him that I was keen to forget about it too, and let things go back to normal. But I couldn’t leave Mabel and Phyllis now, not when we had so much to discuss. So I just said, ‘We’re fine here, thank you, Frank.’

‘All right,’ said Frank. ‘I’ll leave you to it.’

‘Come on, Nugent.’ Harry had already left the kitchen. Frank, looking a little flustered, followed him, closing the door behind him.

But even though I had just spurned Frank’s olive branch of friendship, I still wasn’t able to successfully plead my case. Even though we begged and begged, Nora and I simply couldn’t persuade Mabel and Phyllis to take us.

‘And if you think of sneaking along anyway,’ said Phyllis in her most threatening voice, ‘I’ll find that Inspector Campbell and have you both arrested.’

Mabel stifled a laugh, but I had a horrible feeling Phyllis meant every word. And then I had an idea.

‘Come on, then, Nora,’ I said. ‘If they don’t want our support …’

‘Oh, don’t be like that,’ said Mabel, but I wanted to talk to Nora alone.

‘Thanks awfully, both of you,’ said Nora, getting up and brushing away the cake crumbs. ‘It’s been a wonderful day. Even with the police and everything.’

Mabel grinned back at her. ‘It has, hasn’t it?’

‘Apart from someone throwing a hatchet at Mr. Asquith,’ said Phyllis, taking a moody bite of lemon drizzle.

Harry and Frank were still in the dining room, and I knew Julia was in our room, so we went into the dining room and closed the door behind us.

‘We are going to go along tomorrow, aren’t we?’ Nora’s voice was low. ‘There’s no way I’m missing any more excitement.’

‘Of course we are,’ I said. ‘And I’ve thought of a good way of doing it.’ I paused for dramatic effect, but Nora doesn’t seem to understand such things because she said, ‘Well, go on then, don’t make me wait all night.’

‘Disguises!’ I said.

‘But Phyllis has seen our disguises,’ said Nora. She really can be obtuse sometimes.

‘We don’t have to wear the same ones,’ I pointed out. ‘If we borrowed some things from your mother, they’ll be things she’s never even seen before.’

‘And hats are rather low-brimmed this year.’ Nora was clearly warming to the idea. ‘If we pulled them quite low over our faces and put our hair up under them, Phyllis would never notice us in a crowd.’

‘Exactly!’ I said. ‘Do you think you can get hold of some things?’

Nora pondered the question. ‘If I get some winter coats down from the attic Mother wouldn’t notice they were gone. We’ll be awfully hot, though.’

‘And we’d look very conspicuous, wearing woolly coats in the middle of summer,’ I said. ‘Even worse than if we’d worn Stella’s scarves.’

Then Nora’s face brightened.

‘I know! There was a problem with our laundry this week, and the clothes couldn’t be sent out. They’re still in a bundle in the kitchen, waiting for Monday. And I know for a fact that Mother’s linen jacket and last year’s summer coat are in there. They might be a bit stained, though …’

‘That doesn’t matter,’ I said. ‘And we can wear the same skirts as last time, Phyllis won’t really notice them in a crowd. What about the hats?’

‘Father is always telling Mother she has far too many,’ said Nora. ‘She definitely won’t notice if two more are missing. I’ll hide them in the shed tonight so I can get them tomorrow without anyone seeing.’

‘What about the laundry clothes?’ I asked. ‘Do you think you can sneak them out easily?’

‘I’ll do it tonight,’ said Nora. ‘I’ll sneak down after everyone’s gone to bed.’

I wasn’t sure I trusted Nora’s ability to stay awake that late, but she insisted she could do it.

‘And even if something happens to stop me, I can keep a careful eye on Agnes and sneak in there whenever she goes out. Mother’s going to Belfast tomorrow morning on the train and Grace is going to be at her tennis thing in Rathmines all day so I don’t have to worry about her.’

Then she glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece and jumped to her feet.

‘Heavens, I’d better go,’ she said. ‘They’ll wonder why I’m so late. Unless of course Barnaby’s done something really dreadful to distract them.’

We arranged that she would call over here late this afternoon to give us plenty of time to get to the meeting. It wasn’t until after she’d gone that I realised we didn’t have anywhere to change our clothes. In fact, we still don’t. But we’ll think of something. Where there’s a will, there’s a way!

And now I must finally stop this account of our dramatic time yesterday. I’ve been writing it all day – I just took a break for lunch – and my hand feels like it’s about to fall right off. But I did want to write everything down before I forgot it. I hope you’re doing the same with your American adventures! I haven’t really seen Frank all day because he and Harry have been out, but it’s probably for the best. Knowing my luck, my stockings would probably fall down, or the Menace would jump on top of me, or something as soon as I saw him.

Best love and votes for women,
Mollie