Rebel Sisters (3 page)

Frederick came in and stood beside her. He touched her shoulder.

‘Nicholls will be here in an hour,' he sighed, drawing up a chair beside her.

‘Then we have an hour with him,' she said as Frederick's large hand clutched hers, his eyes red and raw.

The funeral took place on Thursday in their crowded local church. Reverend Harris's sermon reflected on the shortness of life and the need to become closer to God. Friends, family, neighbours and some of Gerald's old friends from High School and fellow law students from university attended the service. Afterwards he was taken to be buried in Mount Jerome Cemetery.

Standing beside his grave, Isabella was overcome with a strange sense of light-headedness and had to clutch on to Frederick's arm for fear of fainting as the earth, the open grave and grass spun giddily about her. Sidney, white-faced and sobbing, was being comforted by Bridget, while Grace, Cecil and Muriel huddled miserably together. Her other sons were trying to stand tall and maintain their composure; only Liebert, away at sea, was missing. Kate's and Nellie's and Ada's lips moved in prayer.

Afterwards they walked slowly back to the horse-drawn carriages with their black plumes as the gravediggers flung the dark-brown earth in on her boy in his wooden coffin.

Essie and Nora served their guests tea and cordial, offering a small sherry to those who sought one, as Isabella forced herself to stand in the drawing room receiving sympathy and expressions of sorrow for her troubles. Frederick was red-faced, standing near the fireplace, a malt whiskey in his glass.

‘He passed his law finals with honours and had just taken his place working with Claude and me in the family firm,' he was explaining loudly. ‘His was a fine legal mind. Gerald was a great man for detail. His loss is … enormous to all of us.'

The two Lane boys, Ambrose and Eustace, came over to Isabella. They and Gerald had been great friends; both of them had regularly visited and stayed in the house. Tears welled in Ambrose's eyes and she was tempted to pass him her embroidered handkerchief.

‘I'm sorry,' he said over and over again. ‘Gerald will be so missed.'

Her eldest daughter, Kate, made Isabella sit down, bringing her sweetened tea.

It was raining outside, rivulets of water running down the windowpane, and she dared not think of her son in his resting place.

A few of the neighbours clustered around, fussing over her like a crowd of bees. She knew they meant well, but she was too fatigued, too drained to say much. Frederick was deep in conversation with John Yeats, who was doing his best to comfort him. He had lost his own wife the previous year. His son Jack had accompanied him and was discussing illustration work with Gabriel and Ada.

Eventually Isabella could tolerate it no more. She made her excuses and went upstairs to her bedroom, stepping out of the confines of her black satin dress. Nora had put a warming pan on her side of the bed and the heat and softness enveloped her. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest as she lay on the pillow. Grief … She had felt grief before, for her father, her uncle, friends; but nothing had prepared her for this – this pain that seemed to rip through her. The loss of a son – this was true loss.

Hours later, Frederick stood before her. He too was exhausted and, opening her arms, Isabella held her husband tightly as he gave in to grief, his body racked with heavy sobs for what was gone from them.

IN THE WEEKS
following Gerald's death Isabella found herself enveloped in a strange inertia, unable to think clearly or raise any enthusiasm about anything that was happening around her. She knew the children were equally upset about the loss of their brother, but she had not the heart or energy to contemplate any discussion of the matter. She could not put thoughts of Gerald from her mind and felt a deep anger at the way he had been so suddenly taken from them. Everyone kept reminding her that she and Frederick were fortunate to have been blessed with such a large family. She found no consolation in this fact, for it was her boy Gerald whom she missed, for whom she grieved constantly and who filled her mind.

Every summer they went to Greystones in Wicklow for two months' holiday at the seaside, the days filled with picnics, swimming, walks, tennis parties and musical nights. This year she did not know how she would endure such things and suggested to Frederick that they remain at home instead.

‘My dear, a few weeks at the sea with fresh air and sunshine, away from this house, are exactly what we all need,' he insisted, refusing to consider changing their holiday arrangements.

Isabella stood on the granite steps of their imposing, red-brick Georgian residence, supervising operations while Bridget, Nora, Essie and her daughters Kate, Nellie and Ada followed her orders as they carried the trunks of clothes and items needed for their annual trip to Greystones out to the waiting carriage. She had written a list and ticked off items as they were placed down on the gravelled driveway ready to be loaded.

It seemed such upheaval and turmoil arranging for their large family and staff to transfer to another home for the summer weeks. Normally Isabella relished the change from day-to-day routines and responsibilities, but this year was different. Perhaps once she saw the familiar curve of the Sugar Loaf Mountain and Greystones harbour with the sea beyond she would somehow feel more at ease. As usual, Frederick would travel to Dublin some days during July, but for the month of August he too was on holiday as the courts and his law firm closed. He was a diligent man and well deserved a break from the busy world of contracts and legalities.

‘Grace, there is an easel already in the house,' Isabella warned, noting her daughter's attempt to bring her usual boxes of art paraphernalia with her. ‘Your sketchbooks and a few small canvases should suffice. So please put the rest back.'

Grace looked as if she was about to argue.

‘Do what your mother says, Miss Grace,' nodded Bridget, who always seemed to be better able to manage the children than she ever could herself. Unfortunately, their long-serving nanny had recently given her notice, announcing that she intended to marry. Bridget planned to return to her native county, where she and her husband hoped to run a simple boarding house.

Muriel, as ever, was organized, looking serene and lovely as she placed her belongings beside the carriages. She always reminded Isabella of a beautiful swan gliding along while everyone else flapped and splashed around her like ducks.

It mystified her that, having given birth to twelve children, they could all be so different. When she had held each of her newborn children she had thought them so alike, cherubic mirror images of each other, but as the months and years followed they changed, slipping away from her. And now dear Gerald was gone, lost to them for ever.

‘Mam, do you want the good linen tablecloths and napkins?' interrupted Nora.

Isabella forced herself to think.

‘Yes, Nora, please pack them,' she ordered and the maid disappeared quickly back into the house to fetch them as they climbed into their waiting carriages.

The train was busy, packed with holidaymakers and residents returning from the city to Bray and Greystones and Wicklow. As it made its way through Blackrock, Kingstown, Dalkey and Killiney they enjoyed sweeping views of Dublin Bay, the sea and the coastline. They stopped in the seaside resort of Bray with its wide promenade overlooking the beach, an array of hotels, tea-rooms and cafés all along the seafront. Sidney and Cecil gave whoops of excitement as the train shuddered and began to move once more, clinging to the curving railway track along by the cliffs to enter the dark of the railway tunnel.

Isabella tried not to think of the speed and precarious position of the train, and instead began to gather up her bag, gloves and the tickets for their arrival as Greystones, with its fishing harbour, North Beach and South Beach, came into view.

‘We're here!' shouted Muriel and Grace as the train stopped. Isabella took control as they alighted from the train and the porters ferried their luggage from the station to three waiting carriages. As the horse clip-clopped along Marine Road towards the imposing white-gabled house overlooking the sea, she had to admit she could already feel her heart begin to lighten.

NELLIE WATCHED AS
Mother sat reading a book under a large garden parasol. Since they had arrived in Greystones she would often sit for hours reading a novel, or dozing, saying that she was not in the humour for going to the beach or joining in their usual excursions and summer concerts.

‘Your poor mother needs to rest,' Bridget reminded them gently. ‘She has suffered a terrible loss.'

Father had taken her brothers, Claude, Gabriel, Ernest and Cecil, fishing earlier this morning, carrying their fishing lines and a big box of wriggling, smelly worm bait.

‘You are on holiday too,' Father had reminded Nellie, telling her that for the next few weeks she was not expected to help in the kitchen or with the house.

‘Mam, as it is such a warm day I thought to bring the girls for a walk down by the harbour and maybe have a paddle on the beach and let you have a bit of peace,' suggested Bridget. ‘Miss Ada and Miss Kate have gone to play tennis with friends.'

Mother looked relieved – she would have the garden to herself.

‘Bridget, the girls must all wear their hats in this weather,' she reminded the nanny, noticing that they were not in their straw boaters. ‘With their colouring they will get burned and red in no time.'

‘I'll fetch them straight away, mam,' Bridget said, disappearing back into the house.

‘I'm not wearing my stupid hat,' brown haired Sidney protested stubbornly.

‘Then you may stay in the garden in the shade with me,' Mother insisted.

Bridget reappeared with the hats a few minutes later and Nellie was annoyed as, under Mother's gaze, she had to plomp her hated straw boater on to her head.

Down at Greystones harbour boys sold fish to passing holidaymakers as the fishermen cleaned their nets. They walked up by the imposing new Grand Hotel, where guests played croquet on the front lawn, and past the rocky cove, where the tide was out, revealing tempting, deep, rocky pools and the stony beach below.

‘Bridget, please can we go down to the cove and hunt for crabs and shells?' begged Sidney.

Bridget agreed and they carefully climbed down to the beach. For the next hour or so they had the steep, rock-bound cove to themselves as they scrambled around searching in the rockpools for startled crabs and little fish.

‘Don't get your dresses wet!' warned Bridget as she found a shady spot to rest for a bit.

Too late, thought Nellie, aware of the heavy wet hem of her dress as she pushed her silly straw boater towards the back of her head. She clambered out on the rocky promontory to see if there was any sign of Father and the boys. It was slightly breezy and her stupid hat was so annoying … Suddenly it lifted off her head and she couldn't resist it – Nellie grabbed the boater and flung it out over the waves. The straw was so light it caught the wind and seemed almost to fly across the water before dipping down and floating into the distance. In a few minutes it was engulfed, disappearing into the deep blue sea.

With a whoop of glee Sidney joined her, sending her hat like a skimming stone as far as she could across the water. The sisters all watched as it bounced lightly for a second or two, before being caught by the waves and floating along. All of them laughed, and immediately Grace defiantly cast her straw hat out over the water too, then Muriel did the same. Grace clapped as she got three – four – bounces along the top of the water from her boater.

‘What are you four doing?' demanded Bridget, coming over to see what all the fun was. ‘Where are your sun hats?'

‘In the water,' they replied in unison, ‘and good riddance!'

‘Oh dear Lord! What will your mother say?' fretted Bridget, aware of the seriousness of the situation. ‘I'll be murdered!'

‘No, you won't,' they assured her loyally.

‘We'll tell Mother the wind and the sea took them,' added Sidney calmly.

Bridget looked doubtful, for she knew well that their mother had the eyes of an eagle and nothing, but nothing, got by her.

‘Hey, there's Father,' called Grace, spotting the boat in the distance.

‘You are all creating such a racket your poor father can probably hear you, and I'm sure you are scaring all the fish away!' admonished Bridget as they walked towards the South Beach with promises that they could paddle there.

Two hours later, as they walked back along Marine Road to the house, Nellie's skin felt hot and already she could see a line of freckles on her arms. Bridget had promised a family picnic on the beach and swimming tomorrow for anyone who wanted. They were all good swimmers, as Father had insisted on them having lessons.

‘Can we go for a ride on the donkeys too?' begged Sidney.

‘Of course. It wouldn't be summer without a few donkey rides on the beach,' laughed Bridget as they turned in at their gateway.

‘Nellie, your face is as red as a turkey cock and I can see freckles everywhere!' chastised Mother as she greeted them. ‘Where is your sun hat?'

‘I'm sorry, but the wind caught it and it blew out to sea,' Nellie responded nervously with her half-truth as she stood in the tiled hallway.

‘And where is yours, Muriel? You have a red patch on your nose. And Grace, your hair looks like a hayrick! You are all a disgrace! Bridget, why aren't the girls wearing their sun hats?'

Poor Bridget – Nellie could see that she looked totally flummoxed, torn between loyalty to her employer and fondness for her charges.

‘Mother, it wasn't Bridget's fault,' Nellie said defensively. ‘She was sitting on the beach and we were all down on the rocks at the water's edge.'