Rebel Sisters (2 page)

The congregation nodded and muttered in agreement.

Isabella bowed her head and tried to control her emotions. The queen had been old, a woman of eighty-one years, but it had always seemed she would reign for ever. The queen had been so much a part of their lives, her life …

Queen Victoria had knighted her uncle, Sir Frederick Burton, for his services as the director of Britain's National Gallery in London. It was a fitting reward for his life's work, something her kind uncle so richly deserved. His death last March had upset her deeply and she still mourned him. Now the nation was in mourning for Queen Victoria, a monarch whom no one could or would ever forget.

As Reverend Harris took up the Bible, Isabella reached for her handkerchief and daintily and discreetly dried her eyes. God bless the queen!

‘Father, we prayed for Queen Victoria today at service,' Sidney announced as the family gathered for Sunday lunch. ‘Everyone was sad.'

‘Her death is tragic,' Isabella sighed.

‘Isabella dear, how can you call it tragic?' Frederick chided her as he helped himself to horseradish sauce. ‘She was an old woman who perhaps reigned for far too long.'

‘She was our queen!' Isabella protested loyally.

‘Victoria was a very fine queen, a good monarch and held the empire together for years,' he agreed.

‘Many call her the Famine Queen for what she and her government did to Ireland during the Great Famine,' interjected Nellie from the end of the table. ‘Those who faced starvation will certainly not mourn her.'

‘Nellie, I will not have you speak of the late queen in such a fashion,' Isabella reprimanded her loudly.

‘Nellie's observation is valid, for the queen may not have been a perfect ruler, but I fear we will never see her like again,' Frederick replied. ‘Without Queen Victoria on the throne I'm not sure what will happen throughout the empire.'

‘Father, what do you mean?' pressed their youngest boy, Cecil.

‘The empire might fall,' said Frederick, catching their full attention.

‘Never!' shouted their eldest sons, Claude and Gerald, fervently. ‘The British empire will never fall.'

‘It is a possibility that must be considered.' Frederick touched his moustache and top lip thoughtfully. ‘Queen Victoria's is a large family, much like our own. Her children are wisely married to half the crowned heads of Europe. But brothers and sisters and cousins – even royal ones – often do not agree, and may perhaps squabble and fall out, especially without a strong hand like the late queen's to keep the peace.'

‘They are royalty,' Isabella reminded him.

‘Families fight and argue. Without the queen to keep the royal families of Europe in line there is a very real worry about what may or may not happen. The nations may fall out.'

‘Edward is our new king,' Isabella insisted. ‘He will be a good ruler.'

‘I am not so sure.' Her husband sounded serious.

Isabella flushed. There had been rumours about the Prince of Wales's drunken and lecherous behaviour over the years, but now that he was king surely things would be different.

Nora, their maid, came in quietly and went to the long mahogany sideboard. She took their plates away, then served the apple sponge pudding before disappearing.

‘This pudding is delicious,' Frederick said as he spooned it into his mouth. ‘She's added something to the apple. I must compliment Essie.'

‘I made it and I put in a little nutmeg,' admitted Nellie. ‘I just used a hint.'

When seventeen-year-old Nellie had told them that she had no intention of doing her final school exams and had pleaded with them to be allowed to stay at home and learn how to cook, Isabella had at first objected to such a role for their daughter. However, Nellie, who had never been academic and certainly did not harbour the same ambitions as her sisters, had soon proved her culinary skills. She was learning to become a fine cook under Essie's guidance and displayed a great ability for organizing and helping with the day-to-day running of such a large household.

Isabella watched approvingly as her six daughters politely ate only a few spoons of the delicious apple pudding. Everyone knew that it was only manners for a young lady, no matter how hungry, to leave a good portion of pudding behind her.

‘Father, if the British empire falls, does that mean Ireland will be free?' questioned eleven-year-old Sidney.

‘Don't be such a ninny!' retorted Claude, who was sitting across from her. ‘We are
part
of the empire.'

‘Where do you get such silly ideas?' added Gerald. ‘We are part of the union, ruled and governed by a British king or queen and the parliament in Westminster.'

‘But someday Ireland will be free again,' Sidney continued doggedly.

‘Boys, your little sister may have a point,' interrupted Frederick calmly as one side of the table erupted into a fierce argument. ‘Many people believe that in time Ireland should have Home Rule with a proper parliament of its own here in Dublin.'

‘Westminster will never agree it,' argued Claude pompously, as if he were in court.

Isabella sighed. She knew well that it was their nanny and maids who had encouraged such liberal thoughts. Bridget, with all her songs and stories of Irish rebellions and heroes! She had warned Frederick about it, but it was only a minor foible given that the children adored her and she was a very valued and essential member of their household.

‘Well, I for one am proud to be part of the union and a loyal subject of the crown,' Isabella joined in. ‘Like everyone at this table.'

Sidney stuck out her lip as if she were about to say something.

‘And there will be no more arguments on the matter,' Isabella added, giving the signal for Nora to come and clear the table.

NELLIE ENJOYED COOKING
and learning the daily regimes of the kitchen and household at 8 Temple Villas.

Father liked to eat beef four times a week, fish once a week and other meats or fowl on the other days. He insisted on a good cheese-board and enjoyed a different pudding every day of the week. A selection of fine clarets, burgundies, ports and bottles of his favourite malt whiskey were always kept in the drinks cabinet. When his old friend the portrait painter John Butler Yeats visited in winter, both men enjoyed hot toddies with plenty of cloves as they discussed affairs of the day and legal matters. Mother preferred a lighter diet – chicken, fish, lean meat and soufflés. She liked blancmanges and custards, and a special peppermint cordial was kept to aid her digestion. Nellie's sisters, with the exception of Ada, abhorred kidneys. Grace refused to eat semolina or tapioca, while Sidney hated peas. The boys ate mostly everything, though young Cecil seemed to get a rash if he ate strawberries. Her brother Gerald of late had been craving thick slices of gingerbread and fresh ginger biscuits, claiming they aided his study; he was doing his final law exams and often worked till the middle of the night.

‘Ginger is good for the brain and for concentration,' he declared as she cut him big pieces of her homemade cake.

The ginger clearly worked, as he passed his exams and took up a position with Father and Claude in the family law firm.

It was only a few weeks later when Nellie noticed that Gerald had not attended breakfast or Sunday lunch, claiming he was not hungry – a rare occurrence in any of her brothers.

‘Will I make you a sandwich?' she offered as he drank a glass of cold water in the kitchen.

‘No, I'm not hungry,' Gerald murmured. ‘I've got a thundering headache.'

‘It's probably after all that studying for your exams,' she consoled him, noticing that her twenty-four-year-old brother was pale, with dark shadows under his eyes.

‘I took a knock playing rugger with a few of the fellows yesterday. Maybe I just need to have a bit of a rest,' Gerald said quietly, disappearing off up the stairs.

Returning from helping all afternoon at the church fair with Mother and her sisters, Nellie went to change her shoes and put away her jacket. There was no sign of Gerald at teatime, so later she carried him up some tea and two scones. He seemed drowsy and she made him sit up a bit.

‘I'm fine,' he mumbled. ‘I just want to sleep.'

She looked in on him again before she went to bed, relieved to see that he was in a deep, heavy sleep.

When Gerald did not appear the next morning, Nellie decided to bring up his breakfast on a tray. Her brother lay curled up on his side in bed and barely looked at her. She pulled open the heavy damask curtains.

‘Close them!' he yelled. ‘The light hurts my eyes.'

She did what he said but went over to stand beside him. He looked awful, and then she noticed the blotchy rash on his arms – purplish, nearly black, like blackberries.

She went immediately to her parents' room. Father was getting dressed for work, fixing his tie and pulling on his waistcoat.

‘It's Gerald! He's much worse,' Nellie interrupted.

She could read the alarm on both their faces once they saw Gerald. Father told her to send Nora or Essie for their neighbour, Dr Mitchell, as quickly as possible. He arrived immediately.

Nellie waited anxiously in her room as he examined her brother. The doctor took an age, then at last she saw him talking, serious-faced, to her parents on the landing.

‘It's some kind of brain infection, meningococcal, very vigorous and in the fluid around Gerald's brain, judging by that rash. I have only seen it a few times, but I'm afraid his condition is grave.'

‘Should we move him to the hospital?' demanded Mother. ‘Get the proper treatment there?'

‘Unfortunately I think your son is far too ill to move,' said James Mitchell calmly. ‘He needs total rest, peace and quiet in a darkened room. The next few hours, the next day or two, will be very critical.'

‘Critical?' repeated Father.

‘Frederick, his condition is grave – very grave. I will organize for a nurse to come and attend Gerald. But you must send for me at once if there is any change.'

Nellie sat with her brother in the darkened room as Mother went to dress. Father refused to go to the office.

‘I have my briefcase, so I can read files and case notes here at home,' he insisted.

Nellie listened to her brother's laboured breathing. His eyes were firmly shut and his face had a strange pallor.

‘Gerald is strong, always has been,' Father assured her, watching him. ‘Boys often have falls and knocks, but they get over them and so will he, just you wait and see.'

Nellie didn't know what to say.

‘I'll be in my study,' he said, shutting the door gently and going downstairs.

Mother came and sat with Gerald awhile. She read aloud from her father's Bible, but Nellie wasn't sure if her brother could hear her.

The nurse arrived two hours later. She checked his pulse and temperature and made them go outside while she examined his skin. The rash had worsened.

Mother rested for a while in the afternoon and Muriel, who had returned from school, sat with Nellie and sang their brother some of his favourite songs softly.

‘He loves to sing,' Nellie explained to the nurse. ‘He has a fine tenor voice.'

Muriel sat patiently beside Gerald for hours, asking the nurse how she could help. She sponged his face and moistened his lips so they would not dry out, talking quietly to him all the time.

Claude arrived after work to see his brother and they all took turns sitting by his bedside. He was no better but certainly no worse. Dr Mitchell called to visit him after dinner, conferring quietly with the nurse about his condition. She would stay through the night and another nurse would take over in the morning.

The doctor came again after breakfast. He was most concerned about Gerald's breathing and the fact that he could not be roused.

‘The brain at times shuts down to protect itself,' he explained, ‘but often this can worsen so the patient slips deeper and deeper into unconsciousness.'

‘But he will recover,' Mother said firmly.

‘I cannot say or promise that,' Dr Mitchell replied quietly. ‘Gerald's position is most unstable.'

The new nurse was older and she gently sponged her patient down. ‘You poor, poor boy,' she said kindly, turning down his sheet and combing his hair.

By the time Muriel, Grace, Cecil and Sidney had returned from school, Gerald was much worse. They all sat in the kitchen as Essie made endless cups of tea. Nora took up a tray for Mother and Father, who sat with him, pale-faced and exhausted, Mother holding his hand in hers.

Then the nurse urged them all to come upstairs quietly to say goodbye to their brother. Nellie was shocked, unable to take in the fact that Gerald was going to die. They crowded into the room, each taking a turn to kiss his cheek. Sidney and the twins, Grace and Cecil, were so upset that Nellie had to take them outside. Twenty minutes later it was all over.

Nellie sat on her bed looking out on the dark road and the shadowed plane trees in the moonlight, wondering why this had happened. Her brother had never done a bad thing in his life, never hurt anyone. But now Gerald was dead, her strong, healthy brother taken cruelly from them.

ISABELLA SAT BY
her son's bed. He looked as if he was asleep, his eyes closed, his mouth slightly open. Her boy – Gerald would always be her boy. He was handsome in his own way, strong and muscular, always happy to have a ball in his hand, football, rugby, tennis or cricket. A lock of hair fell across his brow; unconsciously, she pushed it off his face. Frederick had said the undertakers would arrive soon. Until then Gerald was hers.

He would take no wife, have no child, but stay as he was now on the brink of his life and manhood, his hard work, his years of study no more use to him. It was unfair, unjust and inhuman, what the Lord had done, taking her son. She sat listening to the clock on the landing tick as his hand seemed to grow colder and colder.