by Comfort Me
Every night there was music and talk before supper and Anna told Mrs O’Brien that she had been made so welcome that she felt she had known the family for years.
‘I know,’ Mrs O’Brien said. ‘I was nursing in Dublin and Paddy was a medical student here when we met and I felt the same when I went to his house. Bridie was very kind to me. John Farrell’s a fine man too.’
One evening the talk turned to events in Liverpool and London, where celebrations were planned for the coronation of King Edward VII. The O’Briens planned to return to Liverpool on 20 June so as to be home in good time for it. Anna and Dorrie were amazed at how well informed all the Farrell family seemed to be about affairs in England, better, Anna thought ruefully, than she was herself, and Dorrie agreed with her. ‘Some of those politicians they mentioned I’d never even heard about,’ she said. ‘I felt so ignorant.’
Michael was due to return to barracks a few days before they were to leave for Dublin and on his last day Dermot drove Dr and Mrs O’Brien and Anna and Dorrie to spend the day at the Vale of Avoca, leaving Michael and his mother to have a day to themselves.
Dermot was an entertaining host, pointing out places of interest they passed and talking of Ireland’s ancient history. Of Queen Maeve and Malachi and his collar of gold.
Dorrie missed Michael but she was consoled when Dermot said quietly to her, ‘You’re a good girl, acushla, to let Mammy have this day with Michael all to herself. It means a lot to her.’
They were all entranced by the peace and beauty of the Vale of Avoca and went to the point at which the waters met. A few wild flowers grew on a tiny projecting piece of land and Dermot plucked three of them. He gave one to each of the ladies, saying, ‘This will remind you of the Vale of Avoca.’
‘Even the name is poetic!’ Anna exclaimed and Dermot said immediately, ‘Thomas Moore wrote a poem about it.’
He stood resting his arm along the branch of a young tree and in his pure tenor voice sang, ‘There is not in the wide world a valley so sweet, as the vale in whose bosom the bright waters meet.’ He sang it right through and then, smiling at them, he sang the last verse: ‘Sweet Vale of Avoca how calm could I rest, in thy bosom of shade with the friends I love best, Where the storms that we feel in this cold world should cease, and our hearts like thy waters be mingled in peace.’
It was a moment of magic and everyone was silent. The only sounds were the ripple of the water and the cry of a bird, until Dermot walked back to the trap. ‘I’ll remember this all my life,’ Anna said softly and Dorrie replied quietly, ‘So will I.’
The O’Briens were holding hands but they stood up when Dermot came back with a huge picnic basket. ‘We won’t starve, anyway,’ Dr O’Brien said as he lifted the lid.
As they drove home Dorrie whispered to Anna, ‘I think I was quite mistaken about Dermot. He’s really nice, isn’t he?’ She giggled. ‘Imagine any of the fellows we know at home standing up and singing like that, yet it was so beautiful and so right. He wasn’t showing off or anything, just so natural.’ Anna nodded and Dorrie went on, ‘But imagine it at home! Imagine James Hargreaves doing it!’
‘Poor James,’Anna said. She wondered whether he knew of their holiday and what it meant but her thoughts were really on Dorrie’s words about Dermot. She could not agree. She felt that they had seen the real Dermot when they first arrived but he was now hiding that side of his nature out of courtesy to the family guests. She liked him and thought him clever but he could be a dangerous young man, she felt.
They arrived back in time for supper, followed by a musical evening. Mrs Farrell, who was flushed and happy, cried joyously to Michael, ‘Come on now, Michael. I’m sure you have a song to sing.’
‘I have, Mammy,’ he said, smiling at Dorrie. ‘“Believe Me If All Those Endearing Young Charms.”’
Dermot sat down at the piano and played the accompaniment while Michael sang the words of love, gazing at Dorrie while the older people looked on, smiling. He followed this with ‘The Lark in the Clear Air’, another love song, then Dr O’Brien exclaimed, ‘Something for us older people now.’
Mr Farrell picked up his violin and played ‘Love’s Old Sweet Song’, then at the end of the evening they all sang ‘God Be With You Till We Meet Again’, which everyone felt rounded off a most successful visit.
Michael left the following morning, then for the others it was all packing and leave-taking before they set off for Dublin to visit Dr O’Brien’s younger sister, who was Eugene’s mother, and her family.
Chapter Six
When they drew near to Dublin Dorrie leaned close to Anna and whispered, ‘Now you’ll meet your future in-laws, Anna. I hope they’re as nice as Michael’s family.’
‘Be careful, Dorrie,’ Anna said in alarm. ‘You and I are in different positions altogether. Marriage has never been mentioned. I don’t suppose Eugene has said anything about me to his family.’
‘I’m sure he has. Perhaps not about marriage, but only because it’s early days yet for anyone less madcap than Michael.’ Dorrie smiled fondly, then added, ‘You’ll be able to see what Eugene’s family is like in good time anyway.’
‘If they’re half as nice as Michael’s I’ll be pleased,’ Anna said but before the visit was over she decided that they were not even that.
The D’Arcys’ family home was a beautifully proportioned Georgian house in a quiet Dublin square but the O’Briens and their young companions were coolly received. There was none of the openhanded comfort of the Ballinane farmhouse, or the warm welcome, and Anna soon decided that everything in the house was for show.
She felt that Eugene’s description of his mother as ‘languid’ fitted her perfectly. Three of the daughters were away on visits and the one remaining at home was only a pale imitation of her mother. They saw little of Mr D’Arcy and were not sorry.
His high, stiff collars held his head at an angle so he seemed to look down his long nose at them and they all, even Dorrie, found his manner patronising.
Although the fires were small and the food at the formal meals was poor, the house was overrun with servants who solemnly assembled for morning and evening prayers. Dr O’Brien had little patience with the pretensions of his younger sister and treated her robustly, although Mrs O’Brien and the two girls secretly felt intimidated by her.
At dinner the first evening Mrs O’Brien nearly provoked a quarrel between her husband and his brother-in-law. They had been speaking about the beautiful countryside near the Ballinane farmhouse and Mrs O’Brien innocently remarked that Charles Stewart Parnell had been born not far from there.
Mr D’Arcy, who had scarcely spoken until then, said sneeringly, ‘Not a fact to be proud of.’
‘I’m proud of it, Dr O’Brien said hotly. ‘Parnell was a great man. The uncrowned King of Ireland.’
‘An adulterer and a fool,’ Mr D’Arcy sneered. ‘Pressing for Home Rule when it was a lost cause. What would these people do with Home Rule anyway? They’re ungovernable as it is.’
‘You’ll see what they’ll do with Home Rule,’ Dr O’Brien said, his face red with anger. ‘Because it will come, mark my words. Gladstone’s Home Rule Bill was thrown out in eighty-six but he’ll get it through eventually. Parnell wasn’t the only one working for it.’
‘The others have lain very low since Parnell was disgraced, then,’ said Mr D’Arcy. ‘He was the ringleader.’
‘Yes, and that’s why he was brought low,’ Dr O’Brien said passionately. ‘The Home Rule Bill was thrown out in eighty-six. In eighty-seven The Times tried to tie him in with the murder of Lord Frederick Cavendish, but they failed, so they used that foolish woman to bring him down. Just shows how much he was feared.’
Nuala gave a tinkling laugh. ‘Well, it’s all over now. You won’t be able to see much of Dublin on this visit, will you? Perhaps we could have a drive out tomorrow?’
Mrs O’Brien followed her lead and said that although she knew Dublin well she hoped that Anna and Dorrie would be able
to return when they had more time for sightseeing.
Dr O’Brien had cooled down but Anna, who sat next to him, was amused to see that he was served with the best food from the serving dishes by the manservant. She heard the low whisper from the man, ‘More power to you, sor. God save Ireland.’
The following day Nuala ordered her landau to drive them round Dublin. ‘Unless you would prefer a closed carriage?’ she said to Mrs O’Brien.
‘Not at all. We’ll see more in the open carriage,’ she replied but the fact that the D’Arcys also owned a carriage was not lost on her or the girls.
Soon after leaving the Georgian square, they passed once-imposing houses that were now almost derelict and were evidently home to the gaunt and haggard women and the dozens of barefoot, ragged and hungry children who swarmed there.
‘Good God, I’ve never seen such poverty, even in Liverpool,’ Dr O’Brien exclaimed. ‘It’s much worse than when I was last here. Is nothing being done for them?’
‘There are always appeals for charity. Soup kitchens and all that sort of thing,’ Nuala said carelessly. ‘Really, you grow tired of it. They prefer to live like animals, shiftless and dirty, drinking any money they get. Cleanliness costs nothing.’
‘Of course it does!’ Dr O’Brien exclaimed. ‘And water is hard enough to come by for cooking and drinking in these places, never mind washing.’
‘Look at that,’ Nuala said scornfully as they passed a group of poor children with mops of unruly hair. One redhead was scratching her head. ‘They could at least cut and comb their hair.’
‘Yes, if they had scissors or a comb,’ Dr O’Brien said. ‘I can’t believe you don’t feel compassion for them, Nuala. You’re not the girl I knew.’
Dr O’Brien’s back was to the coachman so he was unable to see that the man was flicking his whip at the children who were running alongside the horses, but from her seat Anna could see that a child was often caught with the whip and left crying in pain.
She grew steadily more indignant, especially as Nuala, sitting beside her, could also see what was happening but chose to remain oblivious. Probably told the man to do it, Anna thought savagely.
They soon left the district but the beauty of the rest of the drive was lost on them and they were glad when it was over. ‘We’ll come again to Dublin, girls,’ Mrs O’Brien whispered to Anna and Dorrie, ‘but we’ll give this crowd a wide berth. I’ll show you the city.’
Later, as they prepared for dinner, Anna said suddenly, ‘I wish we could go home now, this minute, Dorrie.’
‘Yes, I feel the same,’ Dorrie said. ‘And I’m sure the O’Briens do too. It seems an awful thing to say when we’re accepting the D’Arcys’ hospitality but I’ll be glad to leave.’
‘I dread this dinner,’ Anna said and Dorrie agreed. So they were all the more surprised by the warmth of the welcome they received when they went downstairs and the effort that all the D’Arcys put into being pleasant and hospitable.
They would have been less surprised if they had heard a conversation between Mr D’Arcy and his wife as they dressed for dinner.
Nuala had been complaining about the drive. ‘Really, my brother has grown quite uncouth,’ she said. ‘And so contentious. He really annoyed me.’ She was sitting at her dressing table and her husband stood behind her, putting studs in his shirt. Their eyes met in the mirror and he said meaningly, ‘I hope you didn’t show it, my dear. It appears that the red carpet was rolled out for them at Ballinane.’ She said nothing and he went on, ‘As the eldest nephew, Eugene is your brother’s natural heir but young Farrell seems to have made himself a favourite with the O’Briens.’
‘There is an understanding between young Farrell and the younger girl, Dorothea, I believe,’ said Nuala. ‘Patrick and his wife approve, apparently.’ Her husband stared into the mirror, pursing his lips. ‘We must be careful, my dear, and do our best to promote Eugene’s claim. You know how important it is for him – how little we can do for him. Your brother could easily decide to make them joint heirs.’
‘Or even worse,’ Nuala said, looking alarmed, ‘it could all go to Michael Farrell.’
Her husband said smoothly, ‘Yes, so you must hide any irritation you feel and try to charm them.’
‘You were the one who argued with him at the table last night,’ Nuala said in a sulky voice but he replied dismissively, ‘Politics. Men’s talk. Not an argument.’
Nothing controversial was mentioned at the dinner table that evening and Nuala and Mr D’Arcy talked only about Dublin and some of the literary figures they had met. Dr O’Brien, who had been dismayed by the change in his sister, was only too happy to see her ‘more like herself’ and to charm and be charmed. Mrs O’Brien decided that perhaps their hosts had only been stiff and shy the previous night and willingly responded to the warmer atmosphere.
Even the daughter, Maeve, talked to Anna and Dorrie about the dances which took place in Dublin in winter. When they moved to the drawing room for coffee Mrs D’Arcy began to sing the praises of Eugene and asked Mrs O’Brien what she thought of her son.
‘He’s a fine young man. Very classy looking,’ Mrs O’Brien said. ‘And very polite and pleasant with us. We really enjoy his visits. Did he tell you about the grand picnic we had in Calderstones Park when he was in Liverpool for the weekend?’
Anna dreaded a remark about his attentions to her, as she was sure he had said nothing about her at home, but Mrs O’Brien was far too diplomatic to speak in any but the most general terms. Dr O’Brien, fortunately, was being shown a folio of paintings of the Mansion House and missed the conversation.
‘I do love a picnic, don’t you? If the weather’s good, of course,’ Mrs O’Brien went on.
‘Yes, you must have the weather,’ Mrs D’Arcy agreed. ‘Eugene does love Liverpool. He says he always leaves it very reluctantly because you are so kind and make him feel so much at home.’
Not much of a compliment with a home like this a small voice in Anna’s head remarked but she ignored it and smiled blandly.
Nuala raised her voice. ‘I’m just saying, Patrick, that Eugene loves Liverpool and he admires the work you do there among the poor. He thinks you’re very heroic.’
‘Nothing heroic about it,’ Dr O’Brien growled, his face red. ‘I prefer treating the real illnesses of the poor rather than rich women with imaginary ailments, that’s all.’
Mr D’Arcy suggested some music and a manservant was called to set up a harp for Maeve to play. Anna was sitting near Mrs D’Arcy and heard her husband drawl as he passed by them, ‘Discard the trowel, my dear.’ She saw the venomous glance he received from his wife too, and decided that it was a strange and uncomfortable house, in spite of all the suddenly effusive treatment they were receiving.
But she soon forgot these thoughts when Maeve began to play. Anna was not qualified to judge how well she played but Miss D’Arcy was wearing a flowing dress and flowers in her hair and she struck such an attitude, drooping against the harp with her eyes upturned soulfully to the ceiling.
Anna was seized with a desire to giggle and was afraid to look at Dorrie in case she was in the same state, so for the length of the music she suffered, swallowing madly and pressing her handkerchief against her lips, as though to prevent a cough.
Anna dreaded an encore but Dorrie was being politely pressed to sing. She glanced at Anna, who rose and went to the piano. Dorrie’s face was flushed and her eyes brighter than usual, but otherwise she was composed and her example helped Anna to sit sedately at the piano and accompany her as she sang ‘The Last Rose of Summer’ and ‘The Little Toy Soldier’.
Afterwards, more coffee and sandwiches were brought in and Nuala pressed Dr O’Brien for his opinion of Eugene and whether he had been wise to join the Irish Guards.
‘Yes, indeed,’ he said heartily. ‘It was a good move for both of them. The discipline is very strict but that’s good for them and they’ve both grown into fine young men. We enjoy their company and, as I said
to Eugene the last time we saw him, it’s very good of yourself and Bridie to let them spend time with us when you must be desperate to see your sons.’
‘I am, but you have a claim to him too. Eugene is your eldest nephew and very fond of both of you,’ Nuala said.
‘As we are of him,’ said Mrs O’Brien. ‘We really enjoy his company and he’s well liked by our friends.’
‘Yes, they’re fine young men, both of them, and we’re very proud of them, although the credit is yours for the way they’ve been reared. Eugene is quieter and more reserved than Michael, but sure that’s no bad thing,’ Dr O’Brien said, looking with twinkling eyes at Dorrie. But Mr D’Arcy and his wife were too busy looking at each other with complacent smiles to notice.
The farewells the next day were effusive, with invitations to return at any time. Dr O’Brien had insisted on hiring a cab to take them to the boat so they were able to speak freely as they drove away.
‘That was a strange visit altogether,’ Mrs O’Brien said. ‘I wonder had there been some trouble just before we arrived. They seemed so stiff and unwelcoming but perhaps we came at a bad time. They were different altogether last night.’
‘Yes, I’m glad we didn’t leave before dinner last night,’ said Dr O’Brien. ‘I’d have gone away thinking I’d lost my little Nuala but she was her old self last night, thank God.’
‘We’ll have happier memories of the visit now,’ his wife agreed.
‘I know I’ve eaten his bread and salt and I shouldn’t say this but I can’t stand that fellow D’Arcy,’ said Dr O’Brien. He began to look out of the window and comment on places they passed and Dorrie pressed Anna’s arm.
‘Never mind,’ she whispered. ‘The family were hard to understand but it is Eugene you’ll be marrying, not his family.’
Anna said nothing. She wondered if indeed she would be marrying Eugene. It was obvious to her that his family knew nothing about her. He had not even mentioned her as a special friend.