Free Rebel Sisters by Marita Conlon-Mckenna Page A

directly to London.
    The boat was crowded and Grace was relieved that they had a cabin as other people tried to find somewhere to sit on the main passenger deck. She watched as their fellow travellers clung to the rails outside, waving goodbye to sweethearts and family. Some would never return to Ireland – gangs of young Irish men in search of better-paid labouring work and pale-faced girls who would take up jobs as waitresses and maids in big households and hotels.
    They had a light supper in the dining room and Grace took a turn around the deck before returning to the confines of their small cabin. Mother was feeling most unwell and lay silently on her bunk with her eyes closed, gripping a cologne-soaked handkerchief. Grace had to admit to feeling rather queasy too as they set off across the Irish Sea.
    Arriving in London after the long journey, Grace and Mother both longed for their hotel and the chance to freshen up with a bath and a rest before Ernest arrived to join them for dinner. Later, when they met in the dining room of the Cumberland Hotel, her brother twirled Grace in his arms and told her she looked very striking and elegant and was already attracting the attention of their fellow diners.
    He was well settled into London life and society and promised to introduce Grace to some of his circle of friends.
    â€˜I will guard her as a big brother should,’ he promised Mother as she interrogated him about his work, friends and the kind of milieu in which he mixed.
    She and Mother went shopping on Oxford Street and Regent Street. Grace had her own sense of style, knowing well what suited her tall, slender frame and her colouring. Mother nodded approvingly at the fine wool suit and the classic shirts with pin-tucked details she bought in Dickins & Jones. The next day they visited Harrods, a stunning department store on Brompton Road in Knightsbridge, where Mother bought a fitted oyster-coloured suit which showed off her slender frame, as well as a beautiful, pale-grey evening dress with a fine pattern of silk and pearls around the neckline – ideal for dinner parties and the opera.
    â€˜Mother, you have a wonderful figure and it is perfect for you. Father will definitely approve.’
    They went for lunch in The Savoy to celebrate buying two beautiful hats from the milliner near their hotel. Mother’s keen eye raked over their fellow guests and their style. Grace was already giddy with the heady pace of London life compared to Dublin.
    The following day she took a cab from their hotel to Gower Street, to the Slade, part of University College London. Passing through the gates, she was immediately impressed by the large Greek-style building with its columns and ornate dome which overlooked a wide quadrangle flanked on either side by sweeping bow-centred buildings.
    A student directed her to the left, where she found the entrance to the Slade School of Fine Art. Inside the door was a large stone staircase which fanned out in both directions at the top. As she walked in, she caught a glimpse through a doorway of an airy, high-ceilinged studio where students were busy sculpting.
    A few minutes later she was shown into an office that overlooked the grounds, its walls adorned with the work of previous students and a photograph of some of them. She had brought a portfolio of her work and was nervous about her interview with Miss Morison, the lady superintendent who met all potential women students. Admittance to the Slade was based solely on her recommendation. A tall woman with bright eyes, wearing a crisp white shirt with a navy suit, she studied Grace’s exam results from Alexandra College and Dublin’s Metropolitan School of Art.
    â€˜I see here that you won some prizes there and also that Mr William Orpen considers that you have a talent that should be developed here in our fine art department,’ she said, looking over her glasses.
    Grace blushed as the other woman lightly turned the pages