The Making of Mollie

by Anna Carey

  I have never been so glad to be a day girl. Our house may be noisy but at least the lavatory is in working order.

  ‘And none of us could wash properly,’ said Daisy. ‘We just had to sort of rub ourselves down with our dry flannels. I feel awfully grubby.’

  What a horrible thought. I thought fondly of the nice jug of warm water that Maggie brings me every morning.

  ‘I hope this doesn’t go on for much longer,’ said Stella. ‘I feel quite grey with dirt.’

  But I hoped it would last for a while (though I also hoped they could arrange something so the girls could wash – we had to spend ages honestly assuring Stella that she didn’t actually look grubby at all). Because if the school closed down, then Nora and I would have more time to spend on our … activities. I didn’t have time to say anything to her, though, because the second bell rang and we all had to hurry off to class.

  It was a strange sort of day. The teachers were all very distracted, and we couldn’t use some of the classrooms because the pipes had leaked all over them. During our big break we were all called into the Hall and were told that because of the unusual circumstances, at the end of lessons today the school would be closed until the following Monday, as it would take until Friday to repair the burst pipes and fix the damage they had caused.

  ‘But let none of you think that this is a holiday,’ said Mother Antoninas sternly. ‘We expect all of you to devote the rest of the week to your studies. After all, many of you will have your summer exams on Tuesday.’

  Those boarders who couldn’t go home for just a few days (which was most of them) would be taken out for educational outings and to study in the library of one of the other Dominican convents so as to leave the school (and its water system) as free as possible before we all returned next week to take our summer exams.

  Nora and I were in an excellent mood as we walked down the library corridor with Stella at the end of lessons. Stella was carrying her knitting bag, which looked even bulkier than usual.

  ‘What on earth have you got in there, Stella?’ I said. ‘That can’t be just knitting.’

  ‘I found Grace’s big study notebook,’ said Stella. ‘She left it behind after historical geography. I’ll give it to her in the cloakroom.’

  ‘It’s very noble of you to look after it,’ I said. ‘I’d have been tempted to drop it down the lavatory.’

  ‘Oh come on, Mollie, you know you wouldn’t have done that,’ said Stella. Which was true. Probably.

  ‘Well, I’d have considered it,’ I said.

  ‘Who cares about Grace and her silly notebook?’ said Nora. ‘We have a whole week of freedom. Well, practically.’

  ‘Not quite freedom,’ I said. ‘You know our mothers will make us work.’

  ‘Well, we’ll have some freedom,’ said Nora. And then she stared at me. ‘I say, Mollie. We could do it.’

  ‘Do what?’ I said stupidly. Then I stared back at her. ‘You mean … the painting?’

  Nora nodded.

  ‘It’s perfect,’ she said. ‘Now we’ve got time to do the preparations, and I bet Harry won’t be back for a few days so you can take his clock. And if the worst comes to the worst and it all goes horribly wrong and we get arrested, we won’t have to miss school that day. ’

  ‘You’re right,’ I said, though of course I was very much hoping we wouldn’t get arrested. ‘It’s perfect.’ I looked at Stella. ‘And don’t try and talk us out of it, Stella, because we’re going to do it. Even if we do have to go to jail.’

  And that was when a voice behind us said, ‘Go to jail?!’ in horrified tones.

  We whirled around (Stella’s extra-heavy knitting bag whacked me in the leg) to see Grace, Gertie and May. Gertie was smirking, Grace looked like she was going to burst into (pretend) tears of horror and May looked slightly uncomfortable.

  ‘Why are you talking about going to jail?’ said Grace. ‘What are you planning?’

  ‘Nothing,’ I said.

  ‘Oh Mollie, don’t tell lies, you know it’s a sin,’ said Grace, sadly. ‘I heard you say something about preparations, and telling Stella not to talk you out of it.’

  ‘You shouldn’t have been eavesdropping,’ said Nora.

  ‘It’s for your own good,’ said Grace. She reached out and tried to take Nora’s hand, though Nora snatched it away. ‘I can’t let you get into trouble, Nora. What would Aunt Catherine say if she knew you were planning to do something …’ Grace paused for effect before saying, in a very dramatic voice, ‘illegal!’

  ‘She won’t know anything,’ said Nora, in steely tones, ‘if you don’t tell her. Because we’re not going to be arrested.’

  ‘But you might be,’ said Grace. ‘Oh Nora, it’s not something to do with that suffragette nonsense, is it?’

  And there she had us. Neither Nora nor I could deny our commitment the cause now that we’d been asked a direct question. It would be almost (I did say almost) like St Peter denying Our Lord. So we would just have to brazen it out.

  ‘What if it is?’ I said. ‘It’s nothing to do with you. And like Nora said, we’re not going to be arrested.’

  Gertie sniggered.

  ‘Oh yes,’ she said. ‘Because you’re such master criminals. That’s why you’re talking about your stupid plans at the top of your voice in the library corridor.’

  She actually had a point there, not that I was going to admit it to her.

  Grace shook her head.

  ‘I can’t let you do this, whatever it is,’ she said. ‘I must save you from yourselves. I’m sorry, Nora, but this time I really do have to tell Aunt Catherine that you’re planning to break the law.’

  I must say that Nora was marvellous. I knew that she was scared of what Grace might say to her mother (I know I was), but she hid it wonderfully.

  ‘You have no proof,’ she said. ‘Do your worst!’ She sounded like Peter Fitzgerald facing the jewel thieves. But it still looked as though Grace was going to call her bluff.

  ‘I don’t have to prove it,’ she said. ‘I just have to tell your mother and let her tackle you about it. And I know perfectly well you won’t deny your stupid cause, or whatever you call it, if somebody asks you directly.’ She was right.

  Stella had been looking on in horror throughout this whole thing, but finally she spoke.

  ‘I can’t believe you’re being such a … such a rotten beast about this, Grace,’ she said, her voice trembling with emotion.

  ‘Oh be quiet, Stella,’ snapped Grace, dropping her sweet and concerned façade.

  ‘What difference does it make what Nora and Mollie do for their cause?’ cried Stella. ‘It’s got nothing to do with you.’

  ‘Nora is my cousin!’ cried Grace. ‘And they’re not going to give the Middle Grade Cup to someone who’s related to a … a … a criminal!’

  And there we had it. I might have known there was a specific reason Grace had been going on at me and Nora about everything from passing notes in class to being suffragettes. It was all about that ridiculous cup and her chances of winning it. She didn’t want us – or rather Nora – to do anything in public that could damage her family in the teachers’ eyes. I was so angry I couldn’t say a word.

  But Stella could.

  ‘The summer exams aren’t until next week,’ she said, her voice still a little bit wobbly. ‘You don’t know how you’re going to do in them. Maybe you won’t win the cup – especially if you don’t have this.’

  And she reached into her bag and took out Grace’s study notebook. Grace gasped. Honestly, she actually gasped, like someone in a play.

  ‘My notebook!’ she cried.

  ‘Swear on … on your mother’s life that you won’t tell anyone about Nora and Mollie,’ said Stella, her voice sounding much more steady now, ‘or I will run down this corridor right now and drop this notebook in the lavatory. And you know I can run faster than you.’

  Grace made a grab for the book, but Nora and I jumped in front of her to block her way.
r />   ‘You’re a pack of wicked blackmailers,’ said Grace.

  And then May spoke for the first time. ‘Oh, don’t talk rot, Grace,’ she said. ‘You were going to tell on them.’

  Grace looked like a mouse had roared at her. Well, two mice, if you counted Stella as a mouse. Which I never would again. I know I’ve said she was a bit wet and white-mouse-ish in the past, but really, Frances, she was like a lioness that afternoon. It was glorious. Especially when Grace said, ‘All right then. I promise. On my mother’s life. But I hate you all.’

  ‘It’s perfectly mutual,’ said Nora, which was a little like kicking someone when she was down. But I couldn’t really blame her.

  Stella handed over the notebook.

  ‘And if you dare break your vow and say anything about Mollie and Nora,’ she said, ‘I will steal this notebook and burn it.’

  It was all very dramatic. I really believed her when she said it, though now it’s all over I can’t actually imagine her stealing and burning anything. Anyway, Grace and Gertie didn’t say another word. They just stalked down the corridor, but May looked back at us and said, ‘Sorry’ before hurrying after them.

  Nora and I turned to Stella.

  ‘You saved our lives!’ I cried.

  ‘Well, not literally,’ said Nora. ‘But you really did save us, Stella. Thanks awfully.’

  ‘Yes, thank you, thank you,’ I said.

  Stella blushed (so it isn’t just me who goes red).

  ‘I just did what any friend would have done,’ she said. ‘Just because I’m not going to go out and paint slogans or chain myself to the post office doesn’t mean I’m not on your side.’

  ‘We know,’ I said.

  ‘And that’s why,’ Stella went on, ‘I made you these.’ And she reached into her knitting bag again and started to untangle what looked like a large moss-green bundle.

  ‘The complicated scarves!’ I said. ‘Oh, you shouldn’t have. Not for us.’

  ‘They’re not just ordinary complicated scarves,’ said Stella, who had managed to separate the tangled woollen loops. ‘Look.’ She pointed to the ends, where a lacy pattern was knitted in white and orange wool. ‘They’re the I.W.F.L. colours. Green, white and orange.’

  ‘Stella!’ gasped Nora. ‘They’re the most wonderful scarves I’ve ever seen.’

  Stella blushed again.

  ‘There’s more,’ she said. And she held up the scarf so we could look more closely. It took a moment before I could see it, but when I did I said, ‘Oh, Stella!’ I almost felt tearful.

  The main part of each scarf was knitted in plain garter stitch. But towards the end Stella had used purl stitches to create letters that looked as if they had been stamped into the surface of the scarf. And those letters made the words VOTES FOR WOMEN. You could only see it if you looked very carefully, but the message was there.

  ‘How did you do it?’ breathed Nora in wonder.

  ‘I worked out the letters on a grid,’ said Stella. ‘There was some squared paper in the library. It was quite easy really.’

  ‘You’re a genius,’ I said, and I meant it. I wrapped my scarf around my neck, and Nora did the same. ‘I will wear it always,’ I said.

  ‘Well, it’s a bit hot to wear it now,’ said Stella, ‘but the message will still be there in autumn. And if you’ve won votes for women by then, it can be a celebration slogan.’

  Just then an imposing figure turned onto the corridor. It was Mother Antoninas and she looked very surprised to see us.

  ‘What are you day girls still doing here?’ she said. ‘The last bell rang ten minutes ago.’

  ‘Sorry, Mother Antoninas,’ we said humbly.

  ‘And why are you wearing those scarves?’ she said. ‘The temperature’s well into the seventies.’

  ‘I made them,’ said Stella quickly. ‘They’re presents.’

  Mother Antoninas’s stern features softened, just a tiny bit.

  ‘I see,’ she said. ‘Well, that’s very nice of you, Miss Donovan, but your friends will get heat stroke if they bundle themselves up in scarves now. Even pretty ones like that.’ She reached out and held up the lacy end of Nora’s scarf. ‘Very good lacework,’ she said. ‘Sister Therese has certainly taught you well.’ And then something seemed to catch her eye. She leaned over and looked at the scarf very closely, and my stomach tied itself in a knot. Mother Antoninas may not have had Professor Shields’s terrifying eagle eye but she was very observant in her own way. And when she stood up straight again, she didn’t look at any of us but said, ‘You know, girls, that at this school we hope that we are educating you to be of service – to God, to your parents, to your husbands and families when you have them.’

  ‘Yes, Mother Antoninas,’ we murmured.

  ‘And we also encourage you to be independent, and to think for yourselves, and to serve the wider community,’ Mother Antoninas went on. ‘And some people would say that part of serving the community is having a say in how the country is run.’

  She looked at us for a moment but didn’t say anything.

  ‘Now run along,’ she said briskly. ‘Your mothers will be wondering where you are.’

  ‘Mine won’t. I’m usually a bit late home,’ I said, without thinking.

  Mother Antoninas raised an eyebrow (Is this something all grown-ups can do? I hope I learn how to do it soon).

  ‘I don’t think you should say any more, Miss Carberry,’ she said. ‘Now off you go. And you,’ she looked at Stella, ‘should be getting ready for the boarders’ afternoon walk. Come on.’

  And she walked back towards the main body of the school, with Stella trotting at her heels. Nora and I walked as fast as we could down the corridor, into the entrance hall and out the door. Only then did we dare talk.

  ‘Well!’ said Nora.

  ‘She did mean …’ I said. ‘Didn’t she?’

  ‘I think so,’ said Nora. ‘Heavens, I feel quite dizzy.’

  ‘You’d better not faint or anything,’ I said. ‘We’ve got to make plans. I mean, we’ve definitely got to do the painting after all that.’

  As we walked down Drumcondra Road, we decided just what we would do. Nora would be in charge of providing the paint, as previously discussed. I would have to ensure that we got up early by stealing Harry’s clock, waking Nora by throwing stones at her window. I had serious doubts about the last part.

  ‘I’m not very good at throwing stones,’ I said. ‘Not in a specific direction, I mean. I’m not even good at throwing balls, and they’re actually meant to be thrown.’

  ‘Well, it’s not as though you’ll have to hit a tiny target,’ said Nora. ‘My window’s quite large.’

  ‘Yes, and so’s your parents’ window, right next to it,’ I said. ‘What if I hit that instead?’

  ‘You won’t,’ said Nora confidently.

  ‘What if I hit your window and it doesn’t wake you up?’ I said. ‘Or if I hit it too hard and it breaks?’

  ‘It won’t,’ said Nora. She stopped walking and turned to me. ‘You do want to do this, don’t you?’

  ‘Of course I do,’ I said. ‘I’m the one who introduced you to the cause, remember?’

  ‘Well then,’ said Nora. ‘We know we’re taking a frightful risk, but we have to be brave. And we have to believe it will work.’

  ‘I suppose we do,’ I said.

  Nora said she would get the paint that afternoon, while I would wait until Wednesday evening to swipe Harry’s alarm clock. We decided that the clock, being inside the house, would be more likely to be missed, so we thought I should take it at the last minute. If by any chance Harry had returned home by then and we had no alarm, we would just have to stay awake all night (I was privately rather worried about my ability to do this).

  ‘What if someone catches us while we’re doing all these preparations?’ I said nervously.

  ‘What if they do?’ said Nora. ‘There’s nothing wrong with having some paint or alarm clocks. We could be using them for perfectly innoce
nt reasons. We can just make excuses.’

  And as it turned out, we didn’t have to. That afternoon, Nora waited until her mother was out visiting a friend and Agnes was busy collecting the laundry so that nobody would notice her going into the shed. Then she sneaked the pot of paint out of the shed (it was at the back of the top shelf, so we thought the chances of Mr. O’Shaughnessy noticing that it had been used were pretty small). She ran back into the house and hid the pot under her winter jumpers in her chest of drawers, where nobody was likely to look at this time of year.

  Meanwhile, there was news about Harry. Uncle Piers, who is clearly much more extravagant than his sister ever is (all those telegrams must have cost a pretty penny), sent another wire that read:

  HARRY MUCH IMPROVED. NO FEVER BUT STILL BILIOUS. STAYING UNTIL SUNDAY TO RECOVER. PIERS

  ‘Well, that is a relief, isn’t it, Julia?’ said Mother after she’d read it aloud to both of us.

  ‘See?’ I said to Julia. ‘I told you he wasn’t dying.’ But I was happy to see her small face look less miserable. And a little bit pleased to have confirmation that Harry was going to be all right.

  About half an hour later, another telegram arrived, this time a completely unnecessary one from Harry himself, who obviously had persuaded extravagant Uncle Piers to pay for it seeing as he certainly doesn’t get enough pocket money to pay for all this wiring.

  DO NOT WORRY MOTHER. HAVE UNCLE’S AENEID AND JIM’S OLD GEOMETRY BOOKS. AM WORKING HARD FOR EXAMS ON SICKBED. HARRY.

  I’m not sure I’d have bothered getting someone to dig out my cousin’s old schoolbooks if I was in bed with bilious flu. For a moment, I actually felt sorry for Harry, having to study in between getting sick, though a part of me thought he deserved it for all those times he threw socks at me and said rude things.

  Anyway, I had to do some studying myself. As predicted, because it was officially a school week both my mother and Nora’s made it clear as soon as they heard about the pipes that we weren’t to think of this as a holiday. We would have to stay home and work on our studies or, as my mother put it, ‘make yourself useful’. So I spent most of Wednesday doing my Latin translation and trying to remember history dates. But Nora and I did manage to meet up for a short walk ‘to get some fresh air’ on Wednesday afternoon, and I told her that Harry was still safely out of the way for a few days.