Workhouse Angel

by Holly Green

  She handed Angelina a small bundle and turned her to face Finnegan. ‘Off you go, now. Good luck.’

  Finnegan took her hand. ‘That’s the way. Come along. We’ve taken lodgings in the town with a Mrs Dailey and she’ll have dinner waiting for us, and Mrs Finnegan can’t wait to make your acquaintance.’

  He was walking her away as he spoke. It suddenly occurred to her that she had not said goodbye to Danny and Quinn, but when she looked back they were nowhere to be seen.

  Eighteen

  Mrs Dailey’s house was one of the larger buildings in the main street. Finnegan, who had not let go of her hand all the way, ushered her in through the front door and called out, ‘Here she is, Mother. Here’s our little song thrush.’

  A door opened and a plump woman with the brightest red hair that Angelina had ever seen came into the hallway. She extended her arms and cried, ‘Come here, my darling! Welcome to our company. I’ve heard so much about you and I can’t wait to hear you sing.’

  Angelina found herself smothered in a warm embrace. She extricated herself with some difficulty and remembered her manners. ‘How do you do, ma’am?’

  ‘Will you listen to that? Quite the little lady, isn’t she? Come along in, my pet, and meet the rest of the family.’

  She drew Angelina into the room, where a table was set ready for dinner. Three people came forward to meet her and she recognised one of them as the female part of the acrobatic dance team.

  ‘Now, introductions,’ the woman said. ‘I’m Mrs Finnegan, but you’ve probably guessed that. Everyone calls me Ma. This is our daughter, Fionnuala. She’s a dancer – but I think you’ve seen the show, so you know that. This is Darcy, her partner. And that there is our son, Aidan. He’s our stage manager. Now, sit down. Here, you sit by me. I expect you’re hungry.’

  Angelina sat, too stunned to reply, and the family settled themselves around the table and fell to. Dervla had been right about one thing. There was more food here than she had seen for a long time. There was a pigeon pie and a round of beef and sausages and mashed potato, and an apple pie with cream to finish. Mrs Finnegan kept putting things on her plate and urging her to eat, but she was too upset and bewildered to swallow more than a few mouthfuls.

  ‘Let her be,’ Finnegan said. ‘She’ll eat when she’s hungry. Now, I expect you’re wondering what happens next, Maeve. We’ll be leaving Buttevant this afternoon. Now the fair is over, there won’t be enough people to make it worth our while to stay. We have an engagement in Cork, starting next Wednesday. That gives us two days to work out where you are going to fit into the bill and have a rehearsal. You’ll meet the rest of the company tomorrow morning. This afternoon we have to pack up, ready to catch the five-ten.’

  Angelina wondered what a five-ten was and concluded it must be another name for a stagecoach.

  As soon as they had all finished eating, cases and boxes were brought down from the bedrooms and they all set off for the theatre, where the rest of the company were assembling. There seemed to be no time for introductions as everyone set to pack up the properties and equipment needed by the different acts. Even the painted backcloth was taken down and rolled up and put on the back of a handcart with the other boxes. No one had time for Angelina except to say a brief hello and she did not know how to help with the work, so she stood around feeling lonely and useless; but after a while she noticed the little dog whose act she had so much enjoyed tied up to a chair leg and looking rather disconsolate.

  She went over and tentatively reached out to pat him. He immediately sat up and offered her a paw to shake. She squatted down bedside him and patted his head and he licked her face and nudged her with his nose to ask her to go on stroking him. For an hour, while what seemed like chaos reigned around her, she took comfort in the dog’s unconditional affection and tried not to think of Leary and Dervla and Danny and the rest.

  When they were almost ready, the man who owned the dog came over to her.

  ‘Hello there. I’m Ronan. You must be Maeve.’

  It was on the tip of her tongue to say, ‘No. I’m Angelina,’ but she remembered that her father might still be looking for her and thought better of it.

  Ronan stooped to pat the dog. ‘He’s taken to you all right.’

  ‘What’s his name?’

  ‘He’s called Tinker. Listen, I’ve got my hands full. Would you like to bring him along?’

  ‘Oh, yes, please.’

  When everything had been packed, and the heaviest and bulkiest items loaded onto the hand cart, the entire company set off in procession, with Aidan pushing the cart and the rest following with suitcases on their shoulders and their arms full of boxes and bags. Angelina followed, leading Tinker. There were very few caravans or horses left now, but the local people came out of their houses and shops to watch the entertainers go by.

  Some waved and called ‘good luck’ and Angelina heard others pointing out the different acts: ‘Oh, there’s the conjuror! He was good’; ‘Isn’t that the girl who dances?’

  When she heard someone say, ‘Oh look, there’s the little dog who does the tricks. I suppose he belongs to that girl,’ she lifted her head and felt quite proud.

  The five-ten turned out to be a train, not a coach, bringing back memories of the day her father had brought her to the convent. It seemed a long time ago, but when she thought about it she realised it was only just over half a year. The gear was loaded into the guard’s van, they climbed aboard and they were on their way. It was only a short journey to Cork and, once there, the company dispersed to various lodging houses where accommodation had been booked in advance. It seemed to be taken for granted that Angelina would stay in the same boarding house as the Finnegans. They had obviously been guests there before and were greeted like old friends and soon they were all sitting down to a splendid tea. This time, Angelina found she had recovered her appetite.

  After they had eaten, Mrs Finnegan took her by the hand and pulled off the cap that she wore as a matter of habit. ‘Will you look at that hair!’ she exclaimed. ‘What possessed them to cut it off like that?’

  Finnegan came over and took a lock of it between his fingers. ‘Voice of an angel,’ he murmured, ‘and hair to suit. Well, that’s a bonus.’

  ‘When it grows,’ his wife said.

  ‘It will. Till then we’ll have to improvise. But first thing tomorrow you must take our little star out and find her some pretty dresses to wear. We can’t have her looking like a gypsy when the public see her for the first time.’

  That night Angelina slept in a proper bed and in a little room of her own. She had been given a bath in warm water and Fionnuala had loaned her a proper nightgown. As she dropped off to sleep she decided that her new life might not be so bad after all.

  She had just finished dressing next morning when Mrs Finnegan tapped at the door and came in.

  ‘Well, my dear, did you sleep well?’

  ‘Very well, thank you ma’am.’

  ‘There’s no need to call me ma’am. Call me Ma, like everyone does.’

  ‘Very good … Ma.’

  Mrs Finnegan took her by the shoulders and looked intently into her face. ‘Now, Maeve, I’m going to ask you something and I want you to promise to give me a truthful answer. Will you do that?’

  Angelina was beginning to feel some misgivings. ‘I’ll try, ma’am … Ma.’

  ‘You’re not a gypsy child, are you?’

  Angelina dropped her eyes and felt herself beginning to tremble. If she told Mrs Finnegan the true story, would she be handed over to her father and sent home?

  ‘No,’ she whispered.

  ‘There’s no need to shake so, pet. I don’t mean any harm. Just tell me this. Did the gypsies steal you?’

  ‘Steal me? No. I was lost and they took me in. They were kind to me.’

  ‘Lost, were you? Did someone abandon you, leave you out there on the moor?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘So how did you get yourself lost?’


  ‘I … I ran away.’

  ‘Now why would you do that?’

  ‘Because I was frightened. I didn’t want to be sent back and beaten and shut up in my room.’

  ‘And who would have beaten you?’

  ‘My mother … but I don’t think she is really my mother.’

  ‘Not your real mother?’

  ‘No. I’m … I’m a foundling.’

  ‘Ah, the gypsy man told Finnegan some wild story about finding you wandering. He said you were a changeling – a fairy child.’

  Angelina looked up hopefully. ‘Yes. I think I am.’

  Mrs Finnegan laughed. ‘Do you so? Well, well. From the way you speak I think it must have been English fairies who left you.’

  Angelina gazed up into her face. ‘Don’t send me back. Please, please, don’t send me back!’

  ‘Hush, child. No one is going to send you anywhere. We want you here with us. Finnegan paid good money for you, apart from anything else. But just let me be sure of one thing. You are here of your own free will. There’s no home you are longing to get back to, no loving family waiting for you?’

  ‘No. They don’t love me. I want to stay here with you.’

  ‘Then stay you shall, and if you want to think of yourself as a fairy child that’s up to you. Now, come and have some breakfast and then we’ll go and find you something better to wear.’

  As soon as they had finished eating, Mrs Finnegan took her by the hand and led her to a small dressmaker’s shop in a side street, where she was apparently a regular client. An hour later, Angelina was provided with two new dresses. One was of white muslin, ornamented with bows of pink ribbon and artificial pink rosebuds; the other, slightly more practical, was of pale-blue silk poplin, with white lace trimmings. A visit to the milliner’s shop next door produced a straw bonnet with blue ribbons, to hide her shorn hair. Attired in the blue poplin, she was introduced to the rest of the company, who had assembled on the stage of the theatre.

  Aside from those she had already met, there was Dermot, the conjuror, and the duettists Catriona and Michael and Barney and Finn, who provided the music on accordion and fiddle. Ronan was there with Tinker, and Angelina was delighted when the little dog ran up to her and, without prompting, offered her a paw to shake. Finnegan introduced her as Maeve and assured them all that they were in for a treat when they heard her sing.

  ‘This the little girl you bought from the gypsy?’ Dermot said, tilting back his head and looking at her with halfclosed eyes. ‘Toothsome little morsel, isn’t she? Come over here, my dear, and give your uncle Dermot a kiss.’

  Dermot had bushy red whiskers and a nose to match. Angelina drew back.

  ‘No, thank you. I don’t like to kiss strange gentlemen.’

  This roused a laugh from the rest of the company but Dermot looked affronted. ‘Hoity-toity! Pardon my presumption, your majesty!’

  Finnegan was handing round pieces of paper. ‘This is the running order for this week. None of you need any rehearsal so you’re free for the rest of the day. I want to work with Maeve here. We’ll have a run through tomorrow morning. Be here at ten.’

  Everyone was looking done the list he had given out. Michael exclaimed, ‘You’ve put the girl in as the last act! That’s a bit of a risk, isn’t it?’

  ‘You’ll understand why when you hear her,’ Finnegan said. ‘Now off you go, all of you. I want to concentrate on Maeve. Barney, you stay. I shall need you.’

  The company began to disperse, but Catriona came over to where Angelina was standing.

  ‘My dear, you’ve been given a big responsibility. But don’t worry. I’ll give you a few tips. I could give you some lessons, too. After all, I am a trained singer.’

  There was something condescending in her tone that Angelina did not like, but she replied meekly, ‘Thank you, ma’am.’

  ‘You leave her alone,’ Finnegan said. ‘I don’t want her learning any of your affectations.’

  ‘Oh, pardon me!’ Catriona replied. ‘Just wanted to give a beginner a bit of help.’ She winked at Angelina and said softly. ‘Take no notice. Anything you want to know, come to me. There’s more to performing than just standing on a stage and singing, you know.’

  When the others had gone, Finnegan said, ‘Now then, let’s decide what you are going to sing. I’ve given you two spots in the programme. For the first you can sing “The Last Rose of Summer” and one other. What else do you know?’

  ‘I know some folk tunes that Leary taught me.’

  ‘Right. What’s your favourite?’

  ‘I don’t know what it is called, but it goes …’ she sang a few bars.

  ‘Know that one, Barney?’ Finnegan asked.

  ‘To be sure I do.’ There was a piano on the stage and Barney went to it and played the tune. She was glad to hear that he was as good on the piano as he was on the accordion.

  ‘You can sing that, then,’ Finnegan said. ‘And for the second item, I want something religious, something angelic. Do you know any hymns?’

  ‘I know the “Agnus Dei” from the mass.’

  ‘You do? That’s perfect. Sing that for me now.’ He went down some steps at the side of the stage and seated himself in the front row. ‘Right you are, whenever you’re ready.’

  When she had finished he clapped his hands and Mrs Finnegan rushed out from the wings and clasped Angelina to her bosom. ‘Oh, that’s the loveliest thing I’ve ever heard. You precious, precious child!’

  ‘Mother,’ Finnegan called from the auditorium, ‘do we still have those angel’s wings we made for the Christmas show?’

  ‘Sure we do. I wouldn’t throw them out, after the trouble I had making them.’

  ‘Perfect! A simple white dress, and angel’s wings. It’ll bring the house down!’

  After that, he made her sing the other two songs with Barney’s accompaniment and expressed himself well satisfied.

  When it came to the run-through the next morning, Angelina was much more nervous. She could sense that some of the company did not believe that she was up to the challenge of performing in front of an audience, and one or two were downright hostile; but in the event she managed all the songs perfectly and no one was able to find fault. Ronan, who seemed to have decided to take her under his wing, murmured to her as they prepared to leave the theatre, ‘Take no notice if some of them seem to grudge you the success you deserve. Their noses are out of joint because you’ve been given star billing.’

  Outside, Mrs Finnegan drew her attention to a brightly coloured playbill stuck on a board at the front of the theatre. In large letters were the words ‘THE FIRST TIME ON ANY STAGE … MAEVE THE IRISH SONG THRUSH. COME AND LISTEN TO THE VOICE OF AN ANGEL.’

  For the first time, Angelina realised the enormity of the challenge facing her, and by the time she reached the theatre the following evening she was in a state of high tension. The sight of a long line of people queuing up for tickets did nothing to calm her nerves. In the dressing room, the other women were putting on heavy make-up. Mrs Finnegan sat her down on a stool and said, ‘Right now. You can learn to do this for yourself in time, but for now leave it to me.’

  She sat still while her face was daubed with a thick, greasy coating and then had to hold her eyes open while lines were drawn along her eyelids. At length Mrs Finnegan stood back and surveyed her.

  ‘Yes, you’ll do. Have a look at yourself.’

  She held up a cracked mirror and Angelina saw someone she did not recognise; someone with a pale face and red cheeks and huge eyes with blue lids. She remembered how Dervla had darkened her skin and hidden her hair and how that had transformed her. Now she was changed again, but as before she welcomed the disguise.

  ‘It doesn’t look like me,’ she said.

  ‘Oh, it does. But if we left you as you were, all the audience would see would be a pale blob of a face. This way, you will look beautiful from the other side of the footlights. Now let’s get you dressed.’

  For her first appearan
ce, she wore the white muslin and the bonnet and Mrs Finnegan declared she was as pretty as a picture. The assurance went some way to calming Angelina’s nerves, but by the time she was standing in the wings her knees were shaking so badly she thought she might not be able to walk onto the stage. Ronan was waiting beside her, to go on after she finished.

  She looked up at him. ‘I don’t think I can do it! I’m too scared.’

  ‘Course you can!’ he said. ‘Listen, we’re all a bit scared before we go on, But once we get there we’re fine. Look at Tinker now. Don’t you think he feels a bit frightened, going on in front of all those people? But he’ll do his tricks, like he always does. You can be as brave as a little dog, can’t you?’

  She swallowed and agreed that she supposed she could. On stage, Mr Finnegan was announcing her.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen, prepare yourselves for a real treat. For the first time on any stage, please welcome the one and only Maeve, the Irish song thrush.’

  Ronan gave her a gentle push, and she walked out into the glare of the footlights. Her first surprise was that she could not see beyond them. The audience was completely invisible, but she could hear them applauding. Finnegan gave her a pat on the shoulder and walked off into a corner of the stage and Barney played the introduction to “The Last Rose of Summer”. Angelina opened her mouth to sing, but only a husky croak came out. She looked at Finnegan and he gave her a smile and made an upward motion of encouragement with his hand. Barney played the introduction again and this time she sang the opening lines, but in a voice that quavered.

  From somewhere in the auditorium a voice shouted ‘Get her off!’, and one or two others took up the cry. Finnegan came out of his corner and went to the front of the stage.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen, please! You can see that this is a very young girl; a child, in fact. It’s understandable that she’s nervous. Give her a fair hearing.’

  There was a mumble of response and someone said, ‘That’s right! Give the girl a chance.’