The Girls of Ennismore

by Patricia Falvey

  ‘Ah, now, now, ladies. Is that any way to behave?’

  A deep, resonant male voice penetrated the air and the women stopped their beating and turned around. Rosie blinked to make out the man who had spoken. He was tall and broad-shouldered with an angular face and longish brown hair. He wore a long, dark overcoat, which swung open as he strode towards them. She judged him to be in his early forties.

  ‘Sure there’s plenty of room for all of ye in Dublin. No need to be beating the bejasus out of one another. Off ye go now.’

  The two women glared at him and then at Rosie before walking away arm in arm. Rosie made to move as well, but the man caught her arm.

  ‘What’s your hurry, darlin’? Sure the night’s still young so.’

  Rosie recognized his County Mayo accent immediately.

  He pulled her down beside him on the bench. ‘Sit down, love. Sure I’d enjoy your company. ’Tis lonely here sometimes even though the streets are choked with people.’

  Rosie stood up. ‘I am no harlot, if that’s what you’re after thinking,’ she began, gathering energy from her outrage at his insinuation. ‘You’ll find plenty of the kind you’re looking for beyond on Sackville Street. Just follow the two of them you’re after chasing away.’

  The man let out a loud guffaw, throwing his big head back. ‘Ah, ’tis a Mayo woman that’s in it if I’m not mistaken. And a fine one at that.’

  Rosie was a little taken aback that he had recognized her accent so readily. She shrugged. So much for all of Lady Marianne’s and Lady Louisa’s efforts to stamp out her country brogue.

  He stood up and bowed. ‘Cathal O’Malley at your service, miss. Lately come from the fine Mayo town of Westport on the shores of the Atlantic Ocean. Would ye not sit and talk a while with a pilgrim like yourself?’

  Rosie studied him. He was handsome for a man of his age, and something about his deep, soft brogue and his demeanour charmed her. Suddenly self-conscious, she smoothed out her dress and pushed her stray curls up under her hat. She might not be a beauty, she thought, but at least she looked respectable. If Rosie could have seen herself through others’ eyes, however, she would never have questioned her beauty.

  She sat down on the bench again and extended her hand to him. ‘Roisin Killeen from the village of Ennis in County Mayo,’ she said.

  He shook her hand and sat down beside her. ‘Pleased to make your acquaintance, Roisin Dubh.’

  Rosie started. ‘My da used to call me that,’ she said, without thinking.

  He leaned back on the bench, strong legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles, his feet shod in leather boots. His hands lay in his lap. Rosie noticed that they were elegant and well-manicured, at odds with his sturdy appearance.

  ‘Ennis?’ he said. ‘I know the place well. Fine big house there named Ennismore. I’d say you know it.’

  ‘I do,’ said Rosie, flinching slightly at the name.

  ‘And what brings you to Dublin?’

  Rosie hesitated. ‘My sister’s been ill. I came to help her.’

  ‘Has she seen a doctor?’

  ‘The public hospital only.’

  ‘Ah, the Union. I know it well.’

  He lapsed into silence for a moment. Rosie could not contain her curiosity.

  ‘And yourself?’

  He seemed to return from a faraway thought. ‘Me? Ah, ’tis a long story. Too long to be told while sitting here on a cold bench.’

  He turned to stare at her, a smile playing about his lips. For a moment she felt herself unable to turn away from him. Then alarms sounded in her head and her curt manner returned.

  ‘I have already told you, Mr O’Malley, I am not the type of woman who keeps company with men at night.’

  He threw his head back and laughed again. ‘Aye, you made that very clear, Roisin Dubh. And I had no intention of inviting you to spend a sinful evening with me. I’d never think of corrupting a lovely, pure Mayo girl like yourself.’

  Rosie stood. ‘I’m glad to hear it. Goodnight, Mr O’Malley.’

  He stood up and bowed, still grinning. He took her hand. Again, Rosie was struck by the smoothness of his hands.

  ‘Goodnight, Rosie Killeen,’ he said. ‘Perhaps our paths will cross again.’

  ‘I doubt it,’ she said.

  On the way back to Foley Court, Rosie thought about the encounter. Something about Cathal O’Malley had piqued her interest. She was sure he had mistaken her for a prostitute, but when she had protested he had been gracious, even though he poked a little fun at her. Perhaps it was his connection with Mayo that had drawn her to him. She had not realized how lonely she was for some connection with home.

  A sense of purpose began to infuse her as she walked. She was glad she had set him straight. No matter how low she fell, she knew she would never stoop to that. She would never allow herself to be used again. A new resolve flooded through her. Victoria was right – she had a chance now to forge her own future. From now on she would no longer be a victim. She would no longer allow the gentry to hand her gifts only to snatch them away again. She would take charge of her own life. No matter what it took she would never again subject herself to the humiliations she had experienced at the hands of the gentry. The young starry-eyed country girl with unrealistic dreams was gone.

  PART FOUR

  REBELLION

  1914–1916

  CHAPTER 19

  Victoria bid goodbye to her father outside 6 Fitzwilliam Square.

  ‘Thank you, Papa, for all you have done.’

  Lord Ennis smiled at his only daughter. ‘You will thank me by doing your best, Victoria, and applying yourself to your training with Dr Cullen. It is most generous of him to take you on.’

  Victoria bowed her head. ‘Yes, I know, Papa, and I promise I will work hard.’

  Lord Ennis bent and kissed her on the cheek. She noticed that his eyes were moist and she reached over and hugged him tightly. He pulled away, looking somewhat embarrassed. ‘There, there, Victoria. I must be off now. Don’t forget to write to your mama.’

  With that he called to his driver and climbed into the carriage. Victoria watched as it took off up Sackville Street, looking old-fashioned and somewhat out of place among the electric trams. Just like Papa, she thought to herself, still clinging to the old-fashioned habits of the past.

  She lingered on the pavement until the carriage disappeared. Then a sudden and unexpected fear overwhelmed her. She did her best to quell it, but without the promise of Rosie’s companionship she felt utterly and miserably alone. Renewing their friendship was the thing she had most looked forward to in coming to Dublin, and that hope had been dashed. She couldn’t see how things could be mended now.

  She allowed her thoughts to turn to her visit to Rosie in Foley Court, even though the memories of the sights and smells of the place still sickened her. Celine had warned her that Bridie lived in a Dublin slum, but she had not been prepared for the squalor and despair she found there. It was all she could do to keep her rising nausea at bay. Her earlier euphoria at her new-found courage in standing up to Rosie had begun to ebb. She understood that Rosie’s antagonism towards her stemmed from embarrassment, but still her old friend’s words had stung.

  For a moment she wished she was back in the safety of Ennismore where she was sheltered from the vagaries of the world. She found herself craving the very protections under which she had so recently felt stifled. She began to question her ability to survive in the real world outside that sweet prison in which she was brought up. Sighing, she entered the front door of her aunt’s house and closed it tightly behind her.

  That night, she dreamed of Ennismore, where she was playing in the garden with Rosie while the sun shone down on them. Valentine was nearby, laughing. Suddenly she was twirling in her bedroom, showing off her new dresses to Rosie, excited at the prospect of her first Season. But now Rosie was crying. She put her arm around her to comfort her but Rosie pushed her away and ran out. She ran after her, calling her name, bu
t Rosie would not look back. Then she was back sitting in the garden, this time with Brendan, kissing him passionately, but in the middle of the kiss he got up and walked away from her.

  She awoke before dawn, exhausted from her dreams and bleary-eyed, and for a moment she was not sure where she was. Then she remembered. She sat up in bed. She must turn her mind to the future. Today she was to begin work as a trainee nurse volunteer in Dr Cullen’s clinic. She had no idea what kind of nurse she would be but was determined to try her hardest. She hoped the sight of blood and suffering would not weaken her resolve to succeed.

  True to her promise to her father, she applied herself with zeal to her new duties. The nurse who trained her was firm but kind and Victoria’s natural gentleness won her favour with patients. She was anxious to learn as much as she could but soon grew bored with the society matrons and their daughters whose genteel complaints of nervous conditions, digestive disorders, fatigue and the like made up most of Dr Cullen’s practice.

  She grew a little disappointed as she realized that while she was no longer at Ennismore she was still trapped in the same circles of society as before. The only welcome change was the freedom to come and go from Lady Marianne’s without a chaperone – a matter on which she was most insistent. She must fight to regain her courage.

  ‘I am no longer a child, Aunt Marianne. I have come to Dublin to find independence and to learn a skill that in time may help me earn my own living. I thought that was something you encouraged.’

  ‘But I do, my dear. I am all for modern young women becoming independent. It’s just that I am responsible for you here. And you are not aware of the hidden perils of a city like Dublin. If something should happen—’

  ‘I will take full responsibility for my own safety,’ Victoria interrupted.

  Aunt Marianne uttered a defeated sigh. ‘D’accord, Victoria. I see you intend to have it your own way. I will not interfere.’

  CHAPTER 20

  The summer passed uneventfully at Ennismore, but the underlying tension arising from distant events continued to grip it. The trouble brewing on the continent of Europe grew and, as Lord Ennis had predicted, when Germany declared war on small, neutral Belgium, Prime Minister Asquith delivered an ultimatum to Germany – stay out of Belgium or we will declare war against you. The ultimatum went unanswered and on 4 August 1914 Britain entered the war.

  Valentine Bell decided to sign up.

  ‘Out of the question,’ thundered Lord Ennis. ‘We have lost one heir to the Ennis Estate. We shall not lose a second!’

  ‘Its future is safe with Julian,’ said Valentine, his voice even.

  Lord Ennis moved closer to his son, his face florid. ‘Julian is a mere infant. Who will look after things if you don’t return? I shall certainly not be up to it for the next twenty years.’ He shook his head. ‘I don’t understand you, Valentine. I thought you had changed but I see now you are just as immature as ever.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Papa, but I believe it is my duty.’

  ‘Your duty is here,’ shouted his father. ‘Your duty is to this family and this estate. What of Sofia and Julian? Would you put them in such peril? And what of your mama? Didn’t she suffer enough with Thomas?’

  They were standing in the library where they had repaired as usual after dinner to discuss the affairs of the estate and other news of interest. Valentine left his father and went over to look out the window and down to Lough Conn in the distance.

  ‘I shall not be gone for long, Papa. Everyone says the war will be over by Christmas.’ He gave a wan smile. ‘I fully intend to return safe and sound.’

  Lord Ennis gave his son a long, penetrating look.

  ‘Unless, of course, you think I’ll fail as a soldier, just as I failed at everything else.’

  ‘No, Valentine, of course I don’t!’

  ‘Oh, I think you do, Papa,’ Valentine said aloud, then whispered ‘and well you know it,’ under his breath as he turned away.

  Below stairs the news of war was met by argument, excitement, concern and prayers.

  ‘There’s not many will be going,’ declared Anthony Walshe. ‘There’s few boys will be risking life and limb for an English king. I won’t go if they ask me.’

  ‘’Tis a good job you’re the age you are and they’ll not be calling you,’ snapped Mrs O’Leary, ‘because I’d have no cowards around my kitchen.’

  Anthony looked offended. ‘I’m not so old I can’t stand and fight against any man. But this is a different kettle of fish altogether. Why should our Irish lads fight for England? What has England ever done for them?’

  ‘Arrah, you sound more like Brendan Lynch every day of the week. I thought we’d heard the end of that talk when he left.’

  Mr Burke, who had been watching the proceedings from behind his office window, stepped out into the servants’ hall.

  ‘There has been no word of conscription for Ireland, but if it comes I would expect all able-bodied young men to do their duty.’

  ‘Hear, hear, Mr Burke,’ said Mrs Murphy.

  ‘’Twould be exciting all the same,’ said a young stable hand. ‘Anything to get away from the monotony of this place.’

  Anthony glared at him. ‘Take the King’s shilling, would you? Just like Judas Iscariot!’

  ‘Don’t be blaspheming, Anthony,’ said Immelda.

  ‘I can’t believe Master Valentine’s going,’ put in Sadie, ‘and him just married and a new father. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, something’s not right with them two.’

  ‘That’s enough of that, Miss Canavan,’ said Mr Burke.

  In the end Valentine could not be dissuaded and he entered the newly formed Second Battalion of the Irish Guards as a second lieutenant. The family and servants stood on the steps of Ennismore to bid him farewell. He was resplendent in his dress uniform of scarlet jacket with two shamrock insignias on the collar. Lady Ennis presented her son with a cold cheek to kiss, while Lord Ennis gave him a formal handshake. Sofia stood expressionless, baby Julian in her arms, while Lady Louisa regarded the proceedings with a faint hint of satisfaction on her face. The assembled servants waved goodbye as the coach clattered away down the gravel path towards the estate gates.

  ‘Well, there’s another one gone then,’ sighed Mrs O’Leary, holding her hand over her brow to block out the sun as she watched the coach disappear.

  ‘He looked so handsome,’ said Sadie. ‘I’d be dying if he was my husband going off to war, but herself just stood there like a statue.’

  ‘Ah now,’ said Mrs O’Leary, ‘not everybody shows their feelings in public. You’ve no notion what Miss Sofia is thinking, Sadie Canavan.’

  ‘Maybe that’s the way Americans are,’ said Thelma.

  ‘’Twill be a terrible cold place here without himself or his sister, all the same,’ said Anthony. ‘If it wasn’t for the gosoon, Julian,’ he added, not for the first time, ‘there’d be no life left in the house at all.’

  CHAPTER 21

  In Dublin, following the declaration of war, Rosie overheard arguments for and against it as she went about her business from day to day, but took little interest. Had she been a man she might have agreed with those who hoped to join the army – after all, a secure job at this point in her life would mean a lot more to her than loyalty to Ireland. But she kept such thoughts to herself. She was beginning to despair of ever finding permanent work. She’d had a series of low-paying, temporary jobs, but the likelihood of a well-paying, permanent position seemed as far away as ever. The prospect of having to remain living with Bridie and Micko sapped whatever energy and resolve she had left.

  And so when yet another note came from Lady Marianne Bellefleur inviting her to tea, Rosie did not automatically tear it up. Instead she held it in her hand and read it over and over again, warring with herself as to what to do. She had made a vow that she would never again let herself be used by the gentry. The humiliation of her exposure at the Metropole Ball had never really left her, much as she
had tried to suppress the memory. Re-entering their world would once again expose her to all the hurts and betrayals that had almost destroyed her. She remembered the night she had walked back from O’Connell Bridge to Foley Court and had resolved to take charge of her life. Well, she had done so and what good had it done her save to reinforce that most dreams were pointless when subjected to the harsh beam of reality.

  But as she lay in the darkness of Foley Court that night a new resolve filled her. Why not use the gentry rather than allowing them to use her? After all, would not turnaround be fair play? As long as she kept her wits about her, why not let Lady Marianne assuage her guilt about the Metropole Ball fiasco by helping her? And besides, she needed to find a way to help Bridie, particularly after all the promises to her sister which she had not kept. Comforted by these thoughts, she turned over and drifted into a sound sleep.

  The following week, Rosie sat once again in the drawing room of Lady Marianne’s house on Fitzwilliam Square. The first time she sat here she had thrown herself on the mercy of this lady whom she had never met. She had been desperate and vulnerable and ready to accept any help that might be offered. Now, while still somewhat desperate, she no longer felt vulnerable. The lessons of the last year were hard-learned and the Rosie who sat here now was sceptical, practical and wiser.

  Her only trepidation upon entering was that Victoria might be present and she was reluctant to face her old friend after their quarrel at Foley Court. However, Lady Marianne eased her concerns immediately.

  ‘I’m sorry that Victoria cannot be here to greet you, my dear. She has been gone since early morning tending the sick. It truly amazes me how diligent my niece has turned out to be. I don’t believe she has missed a single day.’