“Yes, I certainly will. I’ll apologise, and explain. After all, she has only herself to thank for her cool reception. Your aunt had no business to come home as a masquerader, and she really got what she deserved; but I will send her a nice letter. Tom shall take the dairy pony and ride down.”
Once again the dairy pony carried an errand to Mrs. Aron at “The Arms,” but on the last occasion he had his journey for nothing—to Mrs. Doran’s note there was no reply.
CHAPTER VII
As winter advanced, the outlook for hunting was excellent, but, on the other hand, the prospects of the poor were lamentable. It had been a miserably wet harvest; there was a blight on most of the potato crops. Altogether, times were bad, and many decent, respectable old people were just struggling to keep the workhouse at arm’s length. The upper class in this part of the world were not wealthy; times were bad with them also, but they did what they could, and started a fund to provide firing, blankets, soup, and tea. In order to augment this subscription, Mrs. Doran, the ever bustling and benevolent, suggested holding a concert in the big drawing-room of the old part of the Castle, which, with one or two small passages, a cavernous kitchen, and pantries, was all of the dwelling that remained from the fire. This drawing-room lay at the opposite end of the yard from the present somewhat jerry-built mansion, and was utilised as a sort of general lumber- and store-room. It proved, when emptied, capable of holding three or four hundred people, and Mrs. Doran generously offered it free of charge. Decorations, she declared, were easy; chairs and forms could be borrowed; she would lend her piano—yes, and her youngest son should be one of the performers; for Ulick, as most people knew, had a delightful voice. The eager lady drove about the country and expounded her scheme to her neighbours with convincing eloquence. The concert, of course, to be undenominational: the schoolmistress could get up glees, Lady Tandragee would play the violin, Father Daly, the parish priest, should sing, and the rectory girls perform on the piano; kind friends must contribute their talents, and the public their money. Tickets were to be ten shillings, five shillings, and two shillings, and there were to be—oh, marvel!—refreshments, which would be served in the Castle dining-room and servants’ hall, according to the rank of the ticket-holders. For, as Mrs. Doran declared, people could not be expected to come for miles and sit out two mortal hours and more, and then go away hungry. Her hearers listened and approved. But was this really Mrs. Doran who was setting forth such an innovation?—she, of all people, who suffered acquaintances to come and visit her from many miles distant, and rarely “put up” a horse, or offered the caller a cup of tea! What had come to her? Possibly now that her youngest son was at home, he had wisely prevailed on his mother to be less penurious, and more like other people. At any rate, Mrs. Doran was in her element; she was a born organiser; arranged a stage, wall-lamps, programmes, chairs, forms, and collected a really capital company. She borrowed far and she borrowed near; her pen, as she said herself, was never out of her hand! and, thanks to her exertions, which were prodigious, every ticket was sold. Lady Borrisokane was coming, weather permitting, with a large party, and General and Mrs. Haverstock were bringing a houseful of guests. For many days the grand concert and little but the concert was discussed in cabin, cottage, and Castle. The schoolmistress drilled a selection of girls to sing in the glees, and among the chosen was Mary Foley. The others were the daughters of strong farmers, or of people of the shopkeeping class; but Mary had a deliciously sweet treble, and could not well be overlooked; although her companions were a bit above her station, her voice soared above theirs, as a lark’s above the twittering of finches. All were commanded to appear in white, and Mary’s dress for her first communion came in nicely for the splendid occasion.
A full moon and a hard frost, made locomotion easy on the eventful evening, and by seven o’clock the yard of the Castle was packed with every description of vehicle, from an ass’s car to a smart private omnibus, and a bicycle to a mourning coach; “the house,” so to speak, was crammed to the door, the farmers and tradespeople gladly paid five shillings for a good charity, which combined songs, a supper, and a sight of all the quality in the country! The poorer folk expended two shillings, to show they could afford it, and were not coming on the parish; the boys also paid for the girls. There was much to see: the old drawing-room did not know itself; its walls were decorated with holly and pink paper, lit up by flaring wall-lamps. At the upper end was a platform (covered and draped in turkey red, rising from a forest of palms and exotic plants) on which stood a grand piano, chairs, and yet more palms. Behind this platform hung the doctor’s best drawing-room curtains, concealing the exit and entrance to the green-room (down three rickety steps and into a mouldy pantry), where was a lamp and a couple of kitchen chairs. By the time the five- and two-shilling seats had digested all these splendid details, the ten-shilling places began to arrive. It was the first time that many of the simple crowd had seen a real diamond necklace, or a black velvet dress. Lady Borrisokane’s head was covered with white plumes, “for all the world,” as some one said, “like a child’s hearse!” There was his lordship, bent in the shoulders, bald on the head, and furious in the face! Undoubtedly he was here against his will. Lady Tandragee, smart and showy in spangled pink satin, with a low body and pearls—the sight of her was worth at least one shilling. Next came Sir Thomas, in his pink coat, the honourable Mrs. Fagan and three daughters, all heiresses, but as plain as a heap of stones. The general, very gay-looking, with grand company; the rector of the parish; the parish priest. Each party or individual was loudly clapped as they entered; some were embarrassed, some laughed, others accepted the demonstration as their due, and indeed, Mrs. Fagan went so far as to scatter half a dozen stately bows! By the time they had all found seats, the doors were closed. The room was full—even the window-sills were occupied, and no less than five boys were seated (half-price) upon the chimney-piece.
It is perhaps scarcely necessary to mention that the concert opened with a duet—the Overture to Zampa! After this the comic man sang a capital song, “Lannigan’s Ball.” The next item was a solo on the violin by Lady Tandragee, much appreciated by the ten-shilling places, but the performance was rather over the heads of the others; she gave a concerto delightfully. The farmer folk thought it most amazing to see a lady playing the fiddle; the working of her arms was a real wonder, but she was not getting out much tune! However, when she concluded, they clapped and stamped from politeness, and a good-natured appreciation of her desperate exertions. After an encore, there was a humorous recitation by the rector; and the last item on the first part was a song by Ulick Doran, Esq. When he stepped forward in his evening-dress clothes, looking remarkably handsome and well groomed, there was a loud burst of applause, and a noisy shuffling of feet under the cheap forms. Mr. Doran was entirely at his ease, the result of a long apprenticeship to soldiers’ sing-songs, and he sang in a fine, clear voice the well-known melody—
“Rich and rare were the gems she wore.”
This being wildly encored, he gave them “Father O’Flynn,” and subsequently, without waiting for an uproarious demonstration, descended headlong into the so-called green-room—which he had named “the black hole.”