CHAPTER X. AT TEMPLEMORE.
The girls did not find themselves thoroughly comfortable at Templemore. The room upstairs was small. It faced north, and the furniture was shabby. In vain they demanded better furniture. No notice was taken of their request. What the Rector had endured for years without uttering a word they must endure now by their own choice and desire. The Rector's illness had been greatly brought on by his unsuitable bedroom.
Maureen poured out tea, Maureen coaxed the servants into a good humour, Maureen picked flowers, and with the help of Pegeen arranged the menu for the kitchen and also for the hall, where they generally partook of refreshments in the hot weather. Maureen was growing very tall and very slim, and the ugly red glow had faded from her cheek. Nevertheless, she had her trials. Henrietta and Daisy saw that as they could not work openly, they must work by guile. She might still be the pretended head of the establishment, but they could make her unhappy. They managed this by many clever dodges.
On a certain night when the Mostyns had been at Templemore for a few days, the Colonel came to dine. There was an excellent meal planned by Maureen, and the family and visitor alike were waited on by old Burke, and a smart-looking girl, who called herself by the uncommon name of Vivian. She was the head-parlourmaid, and being truly Irish by birth, was accepted by Burke as worth training. When the dinner had come to an end, the Mostyns, who were wearing bright pale blue gauzy frocks (they had refused to put on any sort of mourning for their mother), and Maureen, who was in simple white, with a green bow, the true Irish green, in her soft brown hair, were standing together in the drawing-room.
The Mostyns had not made any way whatever with the Colonel, and, although the Rector was kind to them, it was a distant sort of kindness with no love in it. He had begged them on their arrival to wear black for their mother, but as they positively refused to do anything of the sort, he did not press the point.
Denis and Kitty had both retired to bed; Dominic, the one person whom the girls could endure in the family, was nowhere to be seen; but Maureen was there, looking exquisite and fair, with her pale, creamy complexion, her dark brows and soft brown eyes to match her hair—Maureen, the interloper.
"Do you know," said Henrietta suddenly, "that you are a robber?"
"Please, Henrietta, don't talk like that," said Maureen.
"Let her alone," cried Daisy; "if we don't she'll begin to cry, and we have our fun prepared upstairs to-night."
"Whisper, whisper." The other girl nodded, and a pleased expression came over her face.
"I say, what larks!" she exclaimed. Then she said suddenly: "What a glorious piano. When did mumsie buy it?"
"Your mother didn't buy it," said Maureen. "It was Colonel Herbert who bought it and gave it to me."
"That's another of your lies," said Daisy. "All right; let's see what it sounds like."
She could hardly play a note of music, but she could pound wrong notes and crashing chords to any extent. Henrietta stood by her, smiling.
"How," said Henrietta, "you shall play my accompaniments. I have a great voice."
She set to work with great fervour, Daisy improvising the accompaniment. Her song was one just then very much in vogue: "Cheer Up; Never Say Die!" The partly cracked, untrue voice, the hopeless accompaniment, brought the gentlemen, who were all musical, out of the dining-room.
"Good heavens!" said Colonel Herbert. "Maureen's piano will be broken if that sort of thing goes on."
They entered the room long before they were expected. The Colonel said with extreme politeness to the two Mostyns: "Thank you for your performance. Now may we have the pleasure of a song from Maureen."
Maureen immediately sat down and sang the songs "dear Colonel" loved best. Her voice was gaining in power and richness every day. Dominic stood by and turned the pages for her, but suddenly a burst of giggling in a distant part of the room caused him to leave his place. He went up to the two girls, who were choking and stuffing their handkerchiefs into their mouths.
"If you wish to laugh, will you go outside," he said. "We want to listen to Maureen."
"You come along with us, Dommy, boy," said Daisy.
"Thanks; but I would not lose the pleasure of Maureen's singing for the world."
"You call that singing?" said Henrietta. "I call it the squealing of a cat."
"Thanks. You will perhaps allow me to retain my opinion. Don't laugh again when something beautiful is being done."
Maureen was singing "Those Evening Bells" when he went back to her. Her eyes were wonderfully soft and bright, and the Colonel patted her on the shoulder and kissed her on the cheek when he went away.
"We'll have a long ride to-morrow, girleen," he said. "You and I and Fergus and Fly-away. I'll call for you early, for I want to go a good long way; and, oh, by the way, Rector, may Maureen dine with me at Rathclaren to-morrow night? I can send the horse back by the groom, and will bring the child back in my motor-car in time for bed."
"Certainly. You would like that, Maureen," said the Rector.
"Oh, yes," said the little girl. "I should love it."