Rebel Sisters

by Marita Conlon-McKenna

  Father had sat there silent for most of her mother’s tirade. For once Muriel secretly begged him to stand up against his wife and not just follow her opinion. ‘Father,’ she appealed, ‘what do you say?’

  But as usual Father sat at the table saying nothing.

  ‘Think of what people will say of such a union, Muriel,’ said her mother.

  ‘Mother, to be honest I don’t care what other people say or think. I only care about MacDonagh and being his wife. We love each other.’

  ‘My advice is that you immediately break off this so-called engagement,’ ordered Mother.

  ‘No, never!’ she shouted. ‘Why can’t you both understand that I have met the man I love and I intend marrying him and nothing either of you say or do will change that! I am of age and we will get married whether you approve or not.’

  With nothing more to say, Muriel left the room and ran upstairs. Only when she sat down at the table was she aware that she was shaking, but it was with a strange sense of relief that she took out her pen and wrote to MacDonagh to tell him that she had dropped the bomb and their engagement was no longer a secret.

  Chapter 29

  Muriel

  MURIEL SLIPPED HER engagement ring on to her finger where it rightfully belonged, relieved that there was no longer any need to keep it hidden in her pocket.

  Mother and Father were already down at breakfast. Father was hiding behind the daily newspaper as usual while Mother slowly added some honey to her morning porridge, her lips pursed as if she wanted to say something; but neither of them said a word to her, the silence oppressive as they ate. How Muriel longed for one of her sisters to appear as she helped herself to bacon and some scrambled egg and sat down.

  She was almost finished eating when she saw Father draining his teacup, preparing to leave for work.

  ‘Mother and Father, I have invited Mr MacDonagh to join us here at home for tea on Sunday,’ she said calmly. ‘I want to introduce my fiancé to you. I am very sorry, but it was most remiss of me not to have invited him here sooner.’

  Father threw a worried glance at Mother, unsure of how to react. The silence hung between them.

  ‘Very well,’ agreed Mother tersely a minute later. ‘We will await his visit and the opportunity to form our own impression of this man you tell us you intend to marry.’

  Muriel resisted the temptation to get entangled in another war of words with her mother and instead smiled sweetly.

  ‘I know that MacDonagh is anxious to meet you both and will look forward to the visit.’

  Father practically fled from the room, and Muriel got up quickly and excused herself. Upstairs she grabbed her things and her letter to MacDonagh, which she would post on her way into town.

  On Sunday there were butterflies in her stomach. She couldn’t help but be nervous about what Mother would say or do when she met MacDonagh. He had reassured her when they met at the theatre the previous night that all would go well – but then he did not know her mother.

  Muriel decided to wear her new pale-pink silk shirt and fine wool skirt, and anxiously counted the minutes until his arrival.

  MacDonagh refused to be nervous about things and was puzzled by her apprehension. He was genial and affable and got on well with everyone. He also reminded her that he was well used to standing up in front of classrooms of boys and students, giving talks and even performing on stage, so to him meeting her parents was not a worry.

  But she was worried and had pleaded with her sisters to cancel any arrangements they had made and be home for her sake. Grace, John and Nellie all agreed to be present in case Mother erupted.

  The doorbell went and Muriel braced herself for the ordeal ahead as their maid answered the door and came up to the landing to tell her that a man in a skirt was downstairs waiting for her.

  Muriel flew down to welcome him. She loved it when MacDonagh wore his kilt, but somehow had not expected him to wear it today of all days. What would Mother and Father think?

  ‘I’m so glad you are here,’ she laughed as he hugged her and kissed her hand, his grey eyes sparkling. He was dressed in his green kilt with his brat, the woollen material swept up to his shoulder and held with a large engraved traditional copper brooch.

  ‘Come into the drawing room,’ she said, ushering him inside. ‘The family will join us in a minute.’

  ‘Don’t fret, Muriel dear,’ he reassured her, taking her hands in his. ‘Everything will be fine.’

  She could not disguise her trepidation as Father came in and shook MacDonagh’s hand politely.

  ‘So, Mr MacDonagh, we finally get to meet.’

  ‘Yes, sir. I wish it could have been sooner, but at least it is happening now.’

  Mother appeared a few minutes later, her eyes widening in incredulity at the sight of a man in a kilt standing in their drawing room in front of the fireplace, nonchalantly discussing his home county of Tipperary with Father.

  ‘Do please sit down, Mr MacDonagh, as tea will be served in a few minutes.’ She gestured towards the sofas and chairs.

  Muriel’s heart sank as he sat down beside Mother, who would without doubt interrogate him – but then she sat and listened awestruck as MacDonagh first commended her mother on her beautiful drawing room and fine taste, then even complimented her on her lace blouse.

  ‘Now I know where Muriel gets her great beauty and sense of style from,’ he said approvingly.

  ‘I have been designing and making clothes since I got married,’ Mother admitted proudly. ‘This skirt I’m wearing is one I made myself.’

  ‘What a talented lady.’

  Grace smiled over at her as Nellie took charge of pouring the tea and John passed around plates of dainty sandwiches.

  Thomas and Father discussed the new Parnell monument on Sackville Street, which had been unveiled by John Redmond, Parnell’s successor as leader of the Irish Parliamentary Party.

  ‘I have to agree with you, Mr MacDonagh, that Parnell’s monument does not have the same presence as that of Daniel O’Connell’s statue,’ said Father. ‘I have always felt the man was poorly treated and deserved recognition for all he accomplished.’

  Mother bristled, for she always referred to Charles Stewart Parnell as the Adulterer.

  ‘Parnell was a fine leader. Gladstone considered him remarkable,’ agreed MacDonagh, ‘and Asquith believed he was one of the greatest men of the century.’

  Muriel smiled when she saw how he and Father were getting along, the conversation moving on to music. MacDonagh impressed both her parents by telling them about the musical composition he had written for a choir a few years earlier.

  ‘My mother was raised in the Church of Ireland and taught the piano,’ he explained, ‘so choral music was always very important to her and naturally she made sure we could all play and give a good account of ourselves musically.’

  ‘Do you still play, Mr MacDonagh?’ asked Mother, curious.

  ‘Of course. Perhaps some time I will have the opportunity to play for you.’

  Mother’s mouth tightened.

  ‘I admit I’m a Gilbert and Sullivan man myself,’ revealed Father, ‘but Isabella and I both enjoy the opera and endeavour to go as often as possible.’

  ‘Do you teach music yourself?’ asked Mother.

  ‘Unfortunately I don’t. My field is English and French, especially poetry like Keats and Shelley. The thing I find is to create an interest with the students. I have just finished writing about Thomas Campion, one of the renowned Elizabethan poets.’

  An hour, two hours passed quickly.

  ‘I have to say, when Muriel and I first visited the National Gallery I had no idea about her family connection with Sir Frederick Burton and his wonderful collection of work.’

  Muriel had to stop herself from smiling as Mother took the bait and, leaning forward, began to tell him the complete history of her beloved uncle.

  It was getting late when MacDonagh apologized and said that, sadly, it was time for him to leave
.

  Muriel held her breath, waiting for Mother to say or do something that would wreck the pleasant ambience they had enjoyed.

  ‘I do hope that you will permit me to call again,’ he ventured, his grey eyes deadly serious.

  Mother hesitated, taken aback by his forthright request and all too aware of what such an agreement would mean – perhaps even a grudging acceptance of him as part of her daughter’s life.

  ‘Mr MacDonagh, I’m sure that can be arranged,’ she said coldly, remembering her opposition.

  ‘MacDonagh, please do come to visit again soon,’ begged John wickedly.

  Muriel accompanied him out to the hallway. She felt as though she was walking on air as he held her.

  ‘This is only the first step, darling girl,’ he teased, ‘on our long road together.’

  Watching him walk along Palmerston Road, she gave silent thanks that the enormous hurdle of meeting her parents had finally been overcome.

  Chapter 30

  Muriel

  MURIEL’S HAPPINESS WAS complete when, in December, MacDonagh was offered a position as an English lecturer in the National University, a position that he had so craved. He immediately accepted it.

  ‘This means we can get married without delay,’ he said excitedly. ‘Now my income should be sufficient to support a wife and family. You will be marrying a respected lecturer in the English department instead of a poor teacher. Let’s organize our wedding and marry straight away if that is what you want.’

  ‘You know that is what I want,’ she replied, hugging him and holding him close.

  Father and Mother congratulated him when he told them about his appointment. Mother was an inveterate snob and Muriel knew that having a son-in-law who was a lecturer in the university sounded far better than a teacher!

  Theirs would be a small wedding at the start of the new year. Mother was upset that the wedding would be held in the local Catholic Church on Beechwood Avenue.

  ‘Why can’t it be in our church where we always worship?’ she persisted.

  ‘Because this is what Thomas and I have agreed,’ said Muriel firmly, refusing to budge.

  ‘Then promise me that you will not convert,’ Mother urged. ‘I could not bear it.’

  ‘Mother, I will follow my own beliefs,’ Muriel reassured her.

  The MacDonagh family were finding the fact that Thomas was marrying a non-Catholic difficult too. His older sister Mary – the nun Sister Francesca – though she was delighted for them, had expressed her concerns and reservations about their religious differences when Muriel went to see her.

  ‘Our wedding will be a small affair,’ Muriel told her with a smile, ‘but we hope both families will attend.’

  MacDonagh talked about continuing to live in Grange House Lodge in Rathfarnham once they were married, but while Muriel liked visiting the remote countryside lodge, she could not imagine it being their home.

  ‘It is so quiet and peaceful here,’ he enthused, ‘and the rent is very manageable.’

  ‘But it is too quiet, too peaceful and far too lonely,’ she said ruefully. ‘I like visiting the lodge when you are here and there are friends calling and visiting, but what about when you are away?’

  MacDonagh was the type of man who couldn’t sit still and was always busy and active, involved in all sorts of things that took him away from home. She considered the cottage much too isolated a place to live.

  ‘I would be far too nervous to stay here alone, surrounded by woods and fields,’ she explained. ‘What if we had a child – how would I manage?’

  MacDonagh wrapped her in his arms protectively and promised her that they would find somewhere else to live closer to town, the university, their friends and family.

  They found a perfect little flat on Upper Baggot Street, one of Dublin’s busy areas, above Hayes, Conyngham & Robinson’s chemist. They had a large sitting room, a tiny kitchen, a good-sized bedroom and a cold, leaky bathroom on the landing.

  Despite her objection to their marriage, Mother was curious to see where they were going to live, so Muriel brought her to see the flat. She was nervous, making sure that everything was clean and tidy as her mother inspected their first home.

  ‘It is charming – better than I expected. You have good taste, Muriel, and no doubt will soon furnish it and make it your own.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, delighted with her mother’s rare compliment.

  ‘However, I could not help but notice that you are short of silver spoons and forks and servers. There are plenty at home. Also, there are lots of things in the china cupboard that I will not use again. Perhaps they may be of use to you and Thomas when you are entertaining. I will let you have them if you wish.’

  ‘Thank you, that would be lovely, Mother.’

  ‘Some of the plates and dishes are from your grandmother’s side of the family,’ Mother went on. ‘I would like to see someone in the family use them.’

  Muriel smiled. Perhaps MacDonagh had been right. In time Mother would come round and learn to accept their marriage.

  The night before her wedding, Muriel read and re-read MacDonagh’s latest letter. She loved the way he constantly wrote to her, expressing his true feelings in a way most men never would. His words were always heartfelt and romantic.

  ‘Tomorrow begins life for us … my darling.’

  She loved him so much and could hardly believe that in only a few short hours they would make their vows and be husband and wife.

  She wore a cream lace dress with a warm, lined matching jacket and a pearl and floral headpiece with a short veil.

  ‘You look wonderful!’ exclaimed Grace, passing Muriel her wedding posy, which was tied with a blue ribbon.

  ‘Topping!’ grinned her brother Gabriel.

  ‘You look like a film star,’ John gushed as she dressed for church.

  ‘You are a beautiful bride, Muriel dear,’ Father said as they drove in the carriage to the church. He squeezed her hand when they saw MacDonagh nervously waiting there for her. He was dressed in his kilt, just as they had planned. Padraig was to be his best man, but she could see no sign of him.

  Mother, in her grey wool suit and hat, sat ramrod straight in her pew in the church, as if the very devil were about to attack her.

  Father walked Muriel slowly up the aisle as the organist played. They could wait no longer for the best man, so Canon Hogan asked a parish workman to stand in his place. When Muriel repeated her marriage vows and gazed into MacDonagh’s serious grey eyes she knew this was the happiest day of her life and that she was marrying the man she truly loved.

  MacDonagh slipped the wedding ring on to her finger as they promised to love each other for the rest of their lives.

  They enjoyed a small wedding breakfast in the Russell Hotel then went to Woodenbridge in Wicklow, where they stayed for five days on their honeymoon. The weather was cold and damp but neither of them cared as they walked and talked and sat by a blazing turf fire, and fell even more in love.

  Chapter 31

  Muriel

  MARRIAGE WAS BLISS. She and MacDonagh living together, sharing everything, heart, soul and spirit – Muriel had never known such happiness. The tread of his footstep on the stairs was enough to make her smile. She loved their small flat, with the fire blazing in the grate and their large settee and cushions; it felt as if they were two birds in a cosy nest. MacDonagh had immense energy and, though busy at the university, still found time to edit the Irish Review and to write his own plays and poetry. He wrote a poem for her called ‘A Song for Muriel’.

  She knew that he valued her opinion of his work and was immensely proud of his writing and the fact that often she was his first reader.

  Nellie had given her a cookery book and insisted on showing her how to cook some basic tasty dishes, as she had never cooked at home.

  ‘You won’t have a cook or a maid,’ her practical sister warned, ‘so you have to learn to cook, Muriel!’ She even gave her a special leather notebook
to write recipes down in. ‘I always find that helps and before you know it you will have a collection.’

  They were near to Findlaters, Grocers and Providers, and over the weeks she tested out cooking on their temperamental stove, managing to destroy an expensive roast of beef and burn a rice pudding, one of MacDonagh’s favourite desserts.

  ‘I will learn,’ she promised him, determined to be a good wife and hostess.

  Grace had given them a set of serving dishes and two of her paintings, while Claude and his wife had given them a set of pretty crystal glasses and Mother had provided a glorious dinner service which Muriel fully intended to use.

  MacDonagh gave her a housekeeping allowance and one day, shopping on Grafton Street with Grace, she saw the most divine hat in a shop window and could not resist trying it on.

  ‘You must buy it!’ urged her sister, who was purchasing a new lace blouse herself.

  Muriel studied herself in the mirror and had to agree the wide-brimmed hat was exquisite. Impulsively, she found herself purchasing it.

  Three days later she realized that she had no money in her purse to buy milk or butter or meat, and had instead made scrambled eggs for their dinner. MacDonagh looked puzzled when he saw his plate.

  ‘I’m so sorry, but I have no money left to buy food,’ she apologized. ‘I spent it all.’

  ‘Spent it all?’

  ‘I bought a beautiful new hat,’ she confessed, waiting for him to get angry and shout at her.

  Their finances were scanty to say the least, and MacDonagh’s own plans to purchase a new bicycle a few weeks ago had been cancelled as he could not afford it.

  ‘Walking will do me no harm,’ he’d said with a smile, even though he had lost his deposit. And now here she was, frittering away his precious income on an unnecessary frivolous item. What kind of wife was she?

  ‘Go and put on your hat,’ he urged gently.

  She returned nervously, wearing her new millinery creation, and he swept her up in his arms and kissed her, telling her that she was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen and that her hat was magnificent.