The Girls of Ennismore

by Patricia Falvey

  The street was empty. She walked with her head down as fast as she could away from Foley Court. New thoughts tossed about in her mind. She must find a job and a place to stay as quickly as possible. The very thought of returning to Bridie’s room made her stomach churn. And she must find a way to rescue Bridie and her child from that squalor. She realized with a start how this new urgency had replaced all her shattered dreams about Valentine. ‘This is reality, Rosie,’ she murmured to herself. ‘You’re no longer living on dreams.’

  By the time the first rays of dawn appeared she had reached Sackville Street, the main thoroughfare of the city. Young boys in caps held out newspapers, shouting the headlines at passers-by. Iron gates rattled as shopkeepers pushed them aside to open their premises. An electric tram hissed past her and made her swing around. She had never seen such vehicles before, and was both mesmerized and alarmed by them. The riot of noises shook her nerves and she found herself longing for the familiar, mellow sounds of home.

  She bought a newspaper and went into a dimly lit café where she ordered tea. She was starving, but ignored the array of tempting buns and other baked goods on display. She must conserve what little money she had. She scoured the newspaper for employment advertisements. The column for female ‘situations vacant’ was disappointingly short. She had expected rows of openings for shop clerks, postal clerks, seamstresses, teachers or governesses. She would even consider, if necessary, factory work, but even these vacancies were scarce. There were one or two openings for typewriter operators, but Rosie had no training. She didn’t even know what a typewriter looked like. Most of the advertisements were for maids, and nannies, and one for a cook. She sighed. How could she ever return to domestic service again? She swallowed the last of her tea and left the café.

  She started off each day the same way – an early departure from the dismal room before Bridie and Micko were awake, a walk to Sackville Street and a tea in the café along with the day’s newspaper. Then followed hours upon hours of entering premises to enquire for work, only to exit them again filled with disappointment. At first she was selective – dress shops, hat shops, flower shops, drapers and tobacconists. Then she became bolder – solicitors’ offices, doctors’ offices, banks. In desperation she tried butchers, pawn shops and even public houses. By turns she was sniffed over, ogled, ignored and laughed at. She was considered under qualified in some cases, over qualified in others, but in all cases unsuitable.

  By day she walked the length and breadth of the city and each night returned exhausted to 6 Foley Court. She came to realize that Bridie’s situation was the same as thousands like her in Dublin. The city was immersed in poverty. There was no work to be had. The only thriving occupation for a girl like her, as Micko constantly reminded her, was prostitution. Indeed, Rosie had seen the girls around the city – both in the area around Bridie’s house, and also in the city centre. She came to understand that even the prostitutes had their hierarchy – the poorer ones working on Montgomery Street, and the better dressed ones on Sackville Street – and that the majority of their customers were British soldiers from the nearby barracks.

  At last she came to a decision. She got up before dawn one morning two months after she had arrived at Bridie’s. She dressed more carefully than usual, putting on her best hat and jacket, and polishing her boots. She put a perfumed handkerchief in her pocket, and made sure her hair was brushed. Washing her hair the night before had been no mean feat. A bucket of water had to be hauled up the four flights from a communal tap in the rear yard of the building. There was no chance of heating it, so she made do with the cold water.

  Bridie was full of apologies for the state of things but Rosie waved her away. This was not her fault. Besides, Rosie was more concerned about Bridie’s infant. The child had been sick with a fever ever since Rosie had arrived. There was no money for doctors, and all Bridie could do was wipe her down at intervals with a cold wet cloth. ‘What if I lose her to the fever?’ she blurted out one night. Rosie was unable to answer her.

  It was living in this squalid, hopeless place that had helped Rosie make up her mind. She would go to visit Lady Marianne Bellefleur, aunt of Victoria and Valentine, and sister of Lord Ennis. Victoria had told her that Lady Marianne had extended an offer for either of the girls to visit her in Dublin, particularly if they wished to strike out on their own. Rosie had tossed and turned all night in a sweat, wrestling with her decision. How could she throw herself on the mercy of this woman she hardly knew? How could she go to a relative of the Bell family after she had run away so abruptly? What about her pride? But as she drifted in and out of sleep, listening to the rats scurrying inside the walls, she realized that all her pride had been used up during her days of walking Dublin’s inhospitable streets. There was no choice any more. Her pride did not matter. What mattered was saving Bridie from this life.

  It was a particularly cold morning, and Rosie pulled her jacket tight around her as she walked. She went into the café and bought a cup of tea. This morning she allowed herself a warm bun. She had time to kill. It would not be respectable to call at Lady Marianne’s house before ten o’clock. Rosie had casually enquired of Bridie one evening as to where Lady Marianne lived.

  ‘Fitzwilliam Square,’ Bridie said, ‘number six, just like here!’

  She had laughed when she said it, but Rosie knew that Fitzwilliam Square would be nothing like Foley Court. Now she stared at the address she had written down. It should not be that hard to find. Bridie had said it was south of the city beyond the river. She ate and drank slowly, tucked away in a dim corner.

  As the café grew more crowded the waitress began to glare at her, as did customers waiting for her table. She sighed and stood up and edged her way back out on to the street and began to walk south. The city had come alive while she was inside sipping her tea. Trams and horse-drawn cabs wrestled one another for space, while bicyclists and pedestrians dodged around them. As always, the noise was deafening – the blare of horns, shrill whistles, the whoosh of trams and the clip-clop of horses, the calls of errand boys. She had a fleeting image of the woods and pastures around Ennismore where the only noises were the calls of the birds, the lowing of cattle and the soft breezes from the lake and her heart felt heavy.

  It grew colder as she reached the River Liffey which ran through the city. As she crossed the O’Connell Bridge she looked down at the bustling dock workers hauling cargo on and off boats. It struck her that even amidst all these crowds she had never felt so alone. As she walked south she passed Trinity College. Valentine had spent a term there before being asked to leave. She looked now at the young men flooding in and out through the main gate – some hurrying as if late for a class, some dawdling, others stopping to greet their comrades. She slowed her step to look at them, blushing when several of them turned around after a tall young man had pointed at her.

  As she walked on, her hands buried deep in her coat pockets against the cold, she noticed that the area had grown cleaner and quieter. The tenements and filth of Montgomery Street and Foley Court seemed a world away. Here, the four storey terraced houses were solid and well-kept, and no women beggars with babies in shawls occupied the pavements. There were no prostitutes either, she noticed, at least not obvious ones.

  She came upon one square of houses with a small green in the middle. She glanced up at the brass plate on the corner building and saw it said ‘Merrion Square’. Where had she heard this name before? Ah, yes, Lady Ennis had rented a house here for Victoria’s first Season. She thought again of the rejection she had felt the morning Victoria had ridden off from Ennismore. How much she had wanted to go with her! She stood for a moment, wondering which house they had lived in, and imagined the parties that might have taken place there. Then, putting such thoughts out of her mind she pressed on.

  At last she came to Fitzwilliam Square. Well-tended, terraced houses formed a square around an enchanting, tiny park. A pang of homesickness struck her as she thought of the Victorian garden wher
e she and Victoria had played as children, where she and Valentine had kissed. There was hardly a sound as she walked around the square looking for number six. She admired the ivy-covered brick houses, each with a brightly painted door of blue, red, green or glossy black. Glass panels flanked each door, above which was an elegant arched window. Even though it was still winter, plants and flowers overflowed painted window boxes. Ornate wrought iron railings and window guards protected each house.

  She stopped in front of the steps that led up to number six. She smiled when she saw the boot-scraper on the top of the steps – a memory of Ennismore. And she found herself taking pride in the observation that the steps had not been scrubbed up to Mrs Murphy’s standards, or to her own, for that matter. Her brief sense of pride was immediately replaced by doubt. Was it the height of impertinence to arrive unannounced? What if Lady Marianne was away and she had come all this way for nothing? What if Lady Marianne was outraged at her boldness? Her hand froze as she reached for the brass knocker, a highly-polished brass circle with three stylized lilies. She recognized the design from a rug at Ennismore – fleur-de-lys, Victoria had told her, a French design.

  Everything in her wanted to turn and run. But the spectre of Bridie and her baby in that squalid room at Foley Court kept her there. She lifted the knocker and let it fall with a thud.

  The door opened and a girl about her own age in a grey maid’s uniform with a frilly white apron and cap smiled down at her.

  ‘May I help you, mademoiselle?’ she said in a strong French accent.

  Rosie swallowed. ‘I am here to see Lady Bellefleur,’ she said. ‘I am a friend of her niece, Miss Victoria Bell.’

  The girl eyed her with interest. ‘And your name, please?’

  ‘Miss Roisin Killeen.’

  The maid stepped aside. ‘Come into the drawing room please. I will let Lady Marianne know you are here. You have a card, no?’

  Rosie reddened. She knew the proper form was to present a card when you came on an unexpected visit. ‘I’m afraid I do not have it with me,’ she lied.

  ‘D’accord. You will wait here please.’

  The maid disappeared, leaving Rosie standing in the drawing room. She looked around her, afraid to sit down. The colours in the room were a delicate concoction of blue and pink pastels set off by gilt-edged mirrors and rich, citrus-wood furnishings. The fleur-de-lys pattern on the front door knocker was repeated in the pale blue rug. There was a light, airy feel to the room, as compared with the heavy, substantial, faded grandeur of the rooms in Ennismore. Rosie was reminded of the ornate birdcages she had seen pictured in some of Victoria’s books on France, and she smiled. A rustle behind her intruded on her thoughts and she swung around.

  Lady Marianne Bellefleur entered the drawing room wearing a pale green tea dress. Rosie was taken aback. She had never seen Lady Marianne up close. She was radiant for a woman her age. Her skin was white and flawless, and her hair, though blacker than may have been natural, formed a glossy frame for her delicate face. She offered her hand to Rosie.

  ‘Bonjour, Mademoiselle. You are a friend of my niece Victoria? Is she well?’

  Rosie took her hand and let it drop quickly. Lady Marianne seated herself on a carved, pink love seat beneath the window, and motioned for Rosie to sit on a delicate blue velvet side chair. Rosie sat down, and clutching her reticule leaned forward.

  ‘Very well, ma’am, er, my lady,’ she began. And then she spoke rapidly, afraid that if she didn’t get all her words out at once she might flee from this place and never return. ‘I am Rosie Killeen. I was Victoria’s school companion for years at Ennismore until she came out for her first Season. I’ve been in Dublin for some time. I hoped to strike out on my own. I know that’s something you encourage young woman to do. Victoria told me you said that. And, and she said that you told her either one of us could come to see you in Dublin. I wouldn’t have come at all but for my sister Bridie’s living in awful conditions and I have to find a way to help her and . . .’

  Rosie ran out of breath and a sudden terror seized her as she looked at Lady Marianne.

  ‘Does Lady Ennis know you are here?’

  ‘What? Er, no, my lady. Nobody knows where I am.’

  ‘Was there a scandal?’

  Rosie flinched. Could her running away in the middle of the night without notice or warning be considered a scandal?

  ‘No, nothing like that,’ she said, her voice louder than she intended, ‘I just needed a change. I wanted to take charge of my future.’

  Lady Marianne picked up a tiny bell from a side table and summoned the maid, asking her to return with tea. Rosie waited, her heart thumping.

  ‘And just what is it you think I can do for you, Miss Killeen?’

  A wave of misery washed over Rosie. What was the use of hiding the truth any longer? She began to sob.

  ‘I don’t know, my lady. You are my last hope. I can’t go back to Ennismore. Valentine said he planned to go to America and for me not to wait for him and . . .’

  Lady Marianne smiled. ‘Ah, the truth at last. Toujours l’amour. Yes, dear Thomas came to visit me some weeks ago. As I had predicted he would, he told me he would be sailing to America on the Titanic with Miss Sofia Hoffman and her papa. I was delighted to hear his news. He mentioned that Valentine would be accompanying them. One would be pleased to see two fine young men going off on a great adventure.’ She paused and sighed. ‘Unless of course one happens to be in love with one of them.’

  Rosie blushed. There was no turning back now. She was at the mercy of this woman whom she had never before met. She held her tiny china cup in a shaking hand while Lady Marianne peered at her.

  ‘You speak well and you are well groomed. You could possibly be mistaken for a lady.’ Lady Marianne appeared to be speaking to herself as much as to Rosie.

  ‘I just want help finding employment, my lady. Just to earn enough to pay my own way, and help my sister.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I thought maybe you could give me a reference. That’s all I want.’

  Lady Marianne leaned back on the sofa. ‘Nonsense, my dear. A girl with your looks and bearing must set her sights much higher than that.’

  She drained her tea and stood up, an impish smile on her face. ‘I shall talk your situation over with dear Mr Kearney – he always has splendid ideas. Give me the address of your lodgings and I shall send a note letting you know when to return. At that time I shall tell you what we have planned for you.’

  Rosie left the house on Fitzwilliam Square filled with a mixture of dread and excitement. She retraced her steps past Trinity College, along the bridge over the river Liffey and up Sackville Street. This time she was in too much of a trance to notice anything around her. By the time she mounted the stairs to Bridie’s room her resolve had hardened.

  ‘I don’t care what the woman has in mind,’ she said to herself, ‘I’ll agree to whatever it is. I can’t spend one more night in this vile place.’

  CHAPTER 11

  On the same day Rosie visited Lady Marianne, Valentine, who had been in London since the beginning of the year, joined his brother on the journey home to Ennismore to say their goodbyes to the family. He and Thomas would board the Titanic when she docked at Queenstown in County Cork on 11 April – Sofia and her father having boarded the previous day in Southampton.

  The young men chatted in the carriage all the way down from Dublin. It was only when Ennismore came into view that they grew silent and preoccupied.

  ‘This is going to be difficult,’ said Thomas, as if reading his brother’s thoughts.

  ‘An understatement, I think.’

  ‘Mama will be the hardest to convince. I know she does not approve of Sofia.’ Thomas straightened his back and jutted out his chin. ‘Not that it matters. I mean to marry her. Still, I hate to see Mama distressed.’

  Valentine studied his brother. ‘You are braver than I am, Thomas. You will let nothing stand in the way of your love.’

  ‘What could be more im
portant?’ said Thomas.

  Their hired carriage drew to a halt in front of the house. Lady Ennis, Lord Ennis and Victoria came down the front steps to meet them, their sister rushing ahead of their parents.

  ‘I’m so glad to see you!’ said Victoria as she reached up and hugged each of them in turn. ‘How exciting this all is. Do tell me your news. Oh, I so wish I was going with you, but Mama will not even consider it. She says I am too young, and—’

  ‘Victoria!’ Lady Ennis’s tone was sharp.

  Victoria stood aside as her brothers approached their parents. They each attempted to embrace their mother who, instead, turned a stiff, disapproving cheek towards them to be kissed. In contrast, Lord Ennis offered his hand and a pat on the shoulder in a friendly greeting. The family went inside as Brendan and Sean came out to fetch their bags while a groom led the coachman around to the stables so that he might water the horses.

  Lady Ennis erupted into full hysteria as the family assembled in the drawing room. ‘How could you boys do this to your mother?’ she wailed, dabbing her eyes with a dainty handkerchief. ‘I never thought to see the day when my sons would abandon me in such a manner.’

  ‘I’m not abandoning you, Mama,’ said Thomas and Valentine in unison.

  ‘But you are. What else would you call sailing off to that uncivilized place from which you might never return? Who knows what calamities may befall you there? I hear the savages still run amok cutting off people’s heads.’

  ‘That was the French, Mama,’ put in Valentine, forcing a smile. ‘The American Indians take scalps.’

  Lady Ennis descended into another paroxysm of sobs.

  ‘Now, Thea, you are letting your imagination overwhelm you,’ said Lord Ennis. ‘Compose yourself, my dear. Louisa, please attend to her.’