The Girls of Ennismore

by Patricia Falvey

  Bridie opened the door and eyed her up and down. ‘So ye got fed up living with the gentry, did ye? Did they throw you out or were you just lonely for the luxuries we have here at Foley Court?’

  Rosie ignored her sister’s sarcasm. How could she blame her? After all the promises she had made, she had let her down. She had no money to give her. Instead she was throwing herself on her sister’s charity.

  ‘I heard you had a fancy man sitting here waiting for you,’ said Bridie, her face red with indignation. ‘Doesn’t look like he rescued you though. I suppose once he saw the class of people you really come from he ran back to his own people.’

  Rosie’s heart wrenched at Bridie’s words, but she did not argue with her. After all, when she thought about it, her sister spoke the truth.

  Micko’s reception was bitter. ‘Will ye look at what the cat’s dragged in? Miss high and mighty. Oh, I’ve friends in high places, Bridie, says she. Sure they’ll be setting me up in no time and I’ll have bags of gold to bring ye, says she.’ He spat at Rosie’s feet. ‘Get to fuck away out of this and don’t be coming back annoying us.’

  Rosie picked up her bag. Micko was right. She must leave. She had no idea where she would go, but knew she was no longer wanted here. As she turned away from the door, Bridie called out after her.

  ‘You can stay for now, until you get a place. I wouldn’t want to see you on the streets.’

  Micko spat again. ‘’Tis where she belongs.’

  Ignoring his remarks, Rosie stepped into the squalid little room and set her bag down on the floor. She stifled the nausea that rose in her throat as she looked around her. The fetid smell of poverty filled her nostrils and the sight of little Kate lying listlessly on a soiled pallet on the floor made her want to cry out in protest. Had it been this wretched before, she wondered, or had her year of living in the clean comfort of Lady Marianne’s home erased her memory of this raw reality? She struggled with the horror she felt, trying not to let it show. How on earth was she going to endure it?

  She walked over to where little Kate lay on the floor and bent and picked her up. She sighed. The child was skin and bone. She seemed to have shrivelled since she last held her. Absently, she cradled her to her chest, crooning a lullaby that Ma used to sing. Tears rolled down her cheeks.

  In the days that followed, Rosie took up her old routine of leaving Foley Court early, spending the day looking for work, only to come trudging back empty-handed and weary each night. She was prepared to take any kind of work now, even domestic service, but there were no vacancies listed even for those positions. People seeking work were becoming anxious, even desperate.

  A curious tension permeated Dublin. There was talk of labour unrest, and the likelihood of strikes. The newspapers were full of it. James Larkin, the leader of the Irish Transport and General Workers’ Union, was in Dublin organizing unskilled workers. Many employers believed Larkin was trying to bring about a social revolution through unionizing workers and calling general strikes for better wages and conditions. As a result, many of them ordered their workers not to join the union and dismissed those who already had.

  The powder keg finally erupted in late August, 1913. In protest of the ban on unions, tram drivers and conductors stopped their vehicles in the middle of Sackville Street and walked off the job. They were followed by thousands of workers, both men and women, across Dublin who went on strike, Micko among them.

  ‘But we have little enough to eat as it is,’ sobbed Bridie. ‘How will we survive without your wages?’

  ‘I’ll not break the picket line. I’ll stand up with my comrades, the men of Ireland,’ Micko said. ‘I’ll starve before I’ll be a scab.’

  ‘And let your wife and child starve along with you?’

  Micko did not answer her.

  Bridie peered up at Rosie. ‘Ah, Rosie, what will we do?’

  Rosie had no answer for her, either. She thought of the similar conversations that must be taking place in every slum in the city. The workers had little enough to live on and now they were being forced into a choice between feeding their families and a chance that by striking they could in some way improve their lot. They also risked losing what little they had, and for once she felt sympathy for Micko.

  She also had her own conscience to wrestle with. She could probably secure a job if she were willing to cross the picket lines. Strikebreakers were being attacked by striking workers but that was not what made her hesitate. What stopped her was an unfamiliar feeling of anger that rose in her and took hold. For the first time she saw clearly how the poor, like herself, were being treated in Ireland, and she did not like it.

  At the height of what came to be called ‘The Lockout’, over twenty thousand men and women were on strike. Riots broke out. People were killed and injured. The already dire poverty turned deadly. The small stipend that the strikers received from their unions was woefully inadequate. People, desperate for food, clogged the Dublin docks fighting for food parcels being sent by union organizers in the United Kingdom.

  In the end, Rosie realized that food was more important than principle. One morning she made her way down to Boland’s bakery where Micko had worked, and walked through the gauntlet of protesters, ignoring their taunts and curses, and presented herself for employment. She was careful to arrive early in the morning before Micko made his way to the picket line so that he would not see her. She found a job on the night shift.

  While tensions had erupted into open turmoil in Dublin, back at Ennismore they remained subdued beneath a veneer of polite gentility. A casual visitor to the house would have detected nothing amiss – amiable hosts, efficient servants, enviable adherence to order and convention. But for those living under its roof the sour odour of lurking misfortune was palpable.

  The odour wrapped itself around Victoria like a heavy, damp blanket. Ever since she returned from Dublin she had been uneasy. The earlier feeling of not belonging in her own skin that had begun before Rosie left returned with a vengeance. The memory of Rosie’s anguished face when Lady Ennis had confronted her at the ball came back to haunt her again and again. How could Mama have been so cruel? How could Aunt Marianne have not seen that her well-intentioned thoughtlessness would destroy Rosie? For the first time in her life, Victoria felt ashamed of her family, and her class. She knew now that for her the ritual of the Season was over. She could never go back to the grand balls, teas and excursions on the continent without thinking of the underlying cruelty that accompanied them.

  Lady Ennis, still seething with outrage over the actions of Rosie and Lady Marianne, launched forth once again into a tirade.

  ‘I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes!’ she declared again, never tiring of making the same point.

  The Bell family sat around the dinner table on a late August evening but despite the warmth outside, a distinct chill hung over the diners that had nothing to do with the civil unrest in Dublin. While Victoria picked at her food her Aunt Louisa bristled with indignation at the veiled slights tossed in her direction by her sister. Valentine glared at his mother but said nothing.

  ‘It all goes back to your decision to let that girl study with Victoria,’ Lady Ennis continued, glaring at her husband, ‘and Louisa failed to remind her of her place. I’m sure Louisa thought she was doing the right thing, but . . .’

  Lady Ennis let the question hang in the air.

  Lord Ennis did not answer. Instead he focused all of his attention on the fish course that was set before him, pausing only between mouthfuls to drain his wine glass and signal for more. His new daughter-in-law, Sofia, toyed with her consommé, having waved away the main course.

  ‘Is that all you’re eating, Sofia?’ asked Valentine. ‘You need more than that to recover your strength after the baby.’

  Sofia gave her husband a baleful look. ‘I have little appetite, Valentine. Please don’t fuss.’

  Valentine sighed and turned to stare glumly out the window.

 
; ‘This fish is spoiled, Burke,’ said Lady Ennis. ‘The smell is overpowering!’

  The butler rushed to her side and stared down at the fish, sniffing conspicuously. ‘My apologies, my lady, but I am assured it was caught fresh this morning. Perhaps there are spices in the white sauce that are not to your liking. However, I will bring you some more straight away.’

  Lady Ennis waved her hand impatiently. ‘No, no. Just bring the dessert.’

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with the fish, Thea,’ said Lord Ennis. ‘You are just looking for something to complain about, now that you have finished berating me.’

  Lady Ennis stiffened. ‘Why should I not berate you, Edward? After all, it was your sister who caused this scandal.’

  Victoria could not contain herself. ‘I do think you’re making too much out of this, Mama. I for one feel sorry for Rosie. She didn’t deserve what Aunt Marianne did to her, and you made things worse by causing a scene.’

  ‘I agree with Victoria, Mama,’ said Valentine. ‘You brought more attention to the situation than was necessary. Why could you not have let the evening finish and then confront Aunt Marianne? Instead you shamed poor Rosie in front of everyone at the ball. No wonder she ran away.’

  ‘Good riddance,’ muttered Lady Louisa.

  ‘And your sister has not finished humiliating us yet, Edward,’ went on Lady Ennis. ‘She says she feels guilt over what happened and has vowed to help the girl. Can you imagine feeling guilty towards a servant? It is beyond understanding.’

  ‘Rosie looked every inch a lady, you must admit, Mama. Aunt Marianne’s plan may well have worked if you hadn’t interfered,’ said Victoria.

  Lady Ennis sniffed. ‘It would have worked only until her suitor discovered she was a peasant. No decent man would have married her.’

  Valentine flushed and bowed his head.

  As silence fell on the company, small sounds were magnified – the scraping of silverware against china, the whoosh of Lady Louisa’s fan, the rattle of the dumb waiter as it descended into the kitchen, and from beyond the open windows the echo of horses’ hooves as grooms rode back to the stables. A sudden breeze snuffed all the candles out, leaving a lingering smell of smouldering wax.

  Sofia rose abruptly. ‘If you will excuse me, I believe I hear Julian crying.’

  ‘I didn’t hear anything,’ said Valentine.

  Sofia gave him a long, studied look. ‘I’m sure you didn’t, Valentine. Your thoughts appear to be elsewhere.’

  Valentine opened his mouth to reply but thought better of it.

  Lord Ennis rose. ‘Care to join me in the library, Valentine?’

  As the men left the dining room, Lady Louisa declared that she had a headache and needed to lie down. Victoria seized her chance. The last thing she wanted was to be left alone with her mother to listen to her complaints.

  ‘I need some fresh air, Mama,’ she said. ‘I think I will walk in the garden. It’s such a fine evening.’

  Lady Ennis shrugged and rose regally. ‘I shall be in the drawing room if anyone cares to join me. Burke, bring me some tea.’

  In the library, Lord Ennis poured a brandy for himself and handed one to Valentine. ‘This damned business in Dublin is getting out of control. Twenty thousand workers walked off the job and now they’re begging for food down on the docks. That socialist Larkin should be hanged!’

  ‘You should see the conditions the poor live in, Papa. It’s unconscionable. I went up to the area where Rosie lives with her sister. I could hardly believe the filth and squalor. The building looked as if it was ready to collapse.’

  ‘And did you find her?’

  Valentine swung around at the sound of Sofia’s voice. She was staring at him with a mixture of sadness and curiosity.

  ‘I just came in for a book,’ she said dully. ‘Go back to your conversation.’

  Valentine spoke, as if to himself. ‘Yes, I found her. We talked. I doubt that I shall see her again. And I am certain she does not wish to see me!’

  When Sofia had gone, Lord Ennis looked at his son. ‘Is anything amiss, Valentine? I don’t wish to pry but I sense that Sofia is rather unhappy these days. I put it down at first to homesickness for New York, but I wonder if there is not more to it.’

  Valentine shrugged. ‘I think she is just a little tired. I expect it will pass.’

  His father chuckled. ‘Quite so, dear boy. I wish I could hope the same for your mama, but she seems to be rather enjoying her bad temper.’

  ‘Will you look at all this food coming back and me after sweating the arse off meself to make them a decent supper? Bloody ingrates!’ Mrs O’Leary wiped the sweat off her face with a dishcloth.

  ‘That will be enough, Mrs O’Leary,’ said Mr Burke. ‘I understand your disappointment, but that is no way to speak of your superiors.’

  ‘Superiors my arse,’ muttered Brendan under his breath.

  ‘Imagine now how many poor starving craturs in Dublin would welcome such a fine supper,’ said Anthony Walshe, lighting his pipe. ‘’Twould remind you of the famine times when the landlords had tables so filled with food they almost collapsed under the weight of it and people beyond in the bogs dying for want of a crust of bread!’

  ‘That’s enough of that sort of talk,’ snapped Mr Burke. ‘I’m surprised at you, Mr Walshe.’

  ‘Aye, so am I,’ said Brendan. ‘Aren’t you the man always telling me that kind of talk belongs in the public house?’

  Anthony took a long draw on his pipe. ‘I did surely, Brendan. But that was before all the stories of the hardships them poor strikers in Dublin are suffering. ’Twould cause any decent Irish man to rise up against the overlords. The hell of the famine times is never far from our memories.’

  Mrs O’Leary sank down on a chair. ‘I wonder about our Bridie up there. I hope she has enough to eat. Her ma’s astray in the head with worry over her. And now Rosie too. I say prayers for the two of them every night.’

  ‘Well you may save your prayers for the Rosie one,’ put in Sadie, who had just come in to the kitchen. ‘Lady Louisa’s after telling me the whole story. You’ll never believe it.’

  Immelda Fox shot Sadie a sour look. ‘You’ve no business talking about it.’

  Sadie smirked. ‘I suppose her ladyship told you all of it as well, Immelda, since you were up there with her in Dublin. On my oath, I’d swear you’re not keeping the story to yourself just to protect her ladyship. I’d say you have another reason altogether.’

  Immelda reddened. ‘I don’t know what you’re on about, Sadie Canavan.’

  ‘Will you get on with it, Sadie?’ said Mrs O’Leary. ‘Don’t leave us hanging.’

  Sighs and gasps followed as Sadie related the story of how Lady Marianne had tried to pass Rosie off as a lady and how Lady Ennis caught them out at the grand ball at the Hotel Metropole. Thelma dropped the pot she held into a sink full of suds and stood open-mouthed.

  ‘Ah, there was ructions altogether,’ said Sadie, embellishing the story for her audience. ‘Supposedly she wore a dress that cost a thousand pounds and danced with all the young toffs without a care in the world, and then boom – down comes the whole kit and caboodle – when her ladyship recognized her.’ Sadie paused for breath. ‘Actually, it was Master Valentine saw her first and asked her to dance, and she was bold enough to get out on the floor with him. The nerve of herself!’

  Mrs O’Leary blessed herself. ‘Jesus, mother and Mary.’

  Mrs Murphy, who had entered just as Sadie had begun her story, gasped.

  ‘What in God’s name was she thinking? Did she not know she’d be caught out?’

  Immelda scowled. ‘She would have got away with it if her ladyship didn’t make such a fuss. Just goes to show you can make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear. Just because a girl’s born poor doesn’t mean she’s not as good as the rest of them.’

  Mrs O’Leary smiled dreamily. ‘I’d say our Rosie looked beautiful all the same. Such a lovely girl. Always was.’

 
Sadie glowered.

  ‘Ah, sure you’re only jealous, Sadie,’ put in Brendan. ‘You wish it had been yourself there at a grand ball wearing a fine dress.’

  ‘Ah shut up, Brendan, and mind your own fecking business!’

  ‘Was there any word of Bridie?’ asked Mrs Murphy.

  Sadie shrugged her shoulders. ‘No. Unless Immelda here heard something.’

  Immelda shook her head. ‘Not a word,’ she said.

  CHAPTER 16

  As time went on, Victoria’s resentment of her family grew like a slowly rising fever. Her rebellions were small at first – arriving late for dinner, ignoring young male suitors to the point of rudeness, contradicting her mother in front of guests. In time she cut her hair into a short bob, scandalizing her mother as she knew it would, and refused to wear a corset. Valentine watched her with amusement, while Sofia smiled for the first time in months. Lord Ennis found more and more excuses to absent himself from Ennismore. Lady Louisa greeted Victoria’s behaviour with a mix of glee and contempt.

  ‘Since there will be no more Seasons for you, my dear, if this dreadful war they are predicting begins, you may well reconcile yourself to life as a spinster dependent upon your relatives for support.’

  Victoria had sensed the vindictive pleasure with which her aunt uttered these words.

  ‘I can bear witness to the fact that it is not an easy life. It will require patience and fortitude. Society is particularly harsh towards single women like us. The worst of it is the pity in their eyes.’

  At first, Victoria was appalled to think that Lady Louisa was condemning her to the same category as herself, but as she thought about it she realized her aunt was right. At almost twenty-one she was perilously close to the age at which girls who had failed to make a match were written off by society. She had seen the panic often enough in the faces of the older girls at the balls, desperate for a last chance to find a husband. Now she realized that she would be at the mercy of men like the Reverend Watson who, having deemed his mourning period as a widower to have been of a suitable length, was now actively pursuing a new wife. She had done her best to avoid his overtures. She still found the man as distasteful as when she had first met him at thirteen. Moreover, his attentions towards her, while apparently ignoring Lady Louisa’s existence, had increased her aunt’s bitterness towards her. At those times her annoyance with her aunt had melted into pity – which on reflection, Victoria realized, proved the truth of Lady Louisa’s words.