The Good Companions by J.B. Priestley — Read

It began, that awful week, before they reached Tewborough. It began -- at least for eight of them -- on the Sunday night at Middleford. The week at Middleford was a steady plodding affair, but it could boast one exciting event. This was the visit of a rich and eccentric old lady, Mrs. Hodney. She had driven in by car to the town to see her solicitors on Wednesday, had stayed to see the show, and after it was over had insisted upon being introduced by the local manager, who knew her as a "character," to Miss Trant, to Jimmy, to everybody. She was so delighted with them all, she said, that she wanted them to do a queer old woman a favour. Would they all go out to her house, Custon Hall, twenty miles away, on the edge of the moors, and give a performance on Sunday there for her, her maids, and any of the villagers who were not too stupid to enjoy themselves for once on a Sunday night in November? They must not think of it as a matter of business -- though she was rich enough to pay for her whims, and if twenty pounds would compensate them for their trouble, there it was -- but they must think of it as a matter of cheering up a lonely old woman who found it difficult to be pleased with anything and who would not be staying long in this world. Thus Mrs. Hodney, a very staccato but vehement old lady, who patted all the younger players on the back as she talked.

So it was arranged that all the actual performers should stay in Middleford on Sunday night, catching a cross-country train on Monday morning to Tewborough, and give a special show (in evening dress) at Custon Hall, which would have waiting for them, they were assured, a very large drawing-room; a grand piano, and a good supper. "And mind you," said the local manager, "the old lady'll do you well. She's a queer old stick -- I've heard all sorts of tales about her -- but she's taken a fancy to you and she'll see that you're all right, I give you my word. " This visit was the great topic during the latter part of the week. Miss Trant had waived any claim to part of the fee, so that it meant they would receive two pounds ten shillings each, and there were many exciting discussions, between Joe and Mrs. Joe, Elsie and Susie, as to what might be done with this windfall. Then again the command performance -- as it came to be called -- was both a compliment and an adventure. Miss Trant and Mr. Oakroyd were pitied because they would not be there. Had they been going anywhere else, these two might have stayed on too, but Tewborough was no ordinary date and there was much to be done on the Monday. At Tewborough they were playing at the Theatre Royal, a real theatre, not a mere Pavilion or Assembly Room or anything of that kind. Miss Trant knew nothing about Tewborough and, curiously enough, neither did any of the others, but she had seen an advertisement in The Stage, offering this theatre at a fairly moderate rent, and for once she had acted on her own responsibility and had taken it for a week, in spite of Jimmy's advice. "It's buying a pig in a poke," he said darkly, but Miss Trant, who could be both venturesome and obstinate on occasion, refused to be warned, and was encouraged by most of the others, who were anxious to see themselves on the stage of a real theatre again. Having thus committed herself to Tewborough, Miss Trant considered it the great date of the year, their grand opportunity, and it was necessary that she and Mr. Oakroyd should travel by car as usual on Sunday so that they could get to work at once on Monday. And they refused to be pitied because they were missing the command performance, for to them would fall the pleasure of first seeing Tewborough and its Theatre Royal.