Schoolgirl Jen at the Abbey

by Elsie J. Oxenham

  “Teacher at school don’t tell us stories, like Miss Joan did. She ain’t got the time.”

  “It would do you good just to talk to Joan and try to say things as she does,” Jen remarked. “Now, Lavinia, listen to me! It’s no use howling about things that are finished, like those classes, or things that have to happen, like the tree. That’s finished too, though it’s horrible to think of. You came to say good-bye to the tree—it’s what I came to do myself—and you’ve done it. Now you mustn’t cry any more; you mustn’t be silly. I’ll tell Joan about you, and perhaps she’ll think of something that will help; and you’ll go home to Mrs. Jaikes and the children, and you won’t howl any more. You will be sensible, won’t you?”

  There was adoring gratitude in the look Lavinia gave her. No one, except Joan, had ever taken trouble about her in this wholesale way before.

  “I’ll do it, Miss Jen.”

  “Good! Then I’ll go and talk to Joan. She may think of some way to help. Your father ought to look after you now. It’s silly that you should be dumped on poor Mrs. Jaikes, when you’ve a father and brothers in America. You ought to go to them. Perhaps Joan will help you to write a letter. I’ll see what I can do about it. Off you go! You can’t save the tree by clutching hold of it. Good-bye! I expect I’ll see you again. If I’ve gone home, there will still be Joan, and she’s much more use than I am.”

  She watched Lavinia as she ran to the entrance and along the lane. Then, with a grave look at the tree, standing majestic and patient, unconscious of its fate, she raced off in the opposite direction, through the Abbey ruins, to find Joan still sitting on the terrace.

  CHAPTER III

  PLANS FOR LAVINIA

  “I remember Vinny Miles!” Joan exclaimed, when Jen had told her story at express speed. “She was a small child, who came with the older girls, and seemed to enjoy herself. I never heard her called Lavinia! It sounds like a gipsy.”

  “A gipsy? I thought it sounded rather stately, like a duchess or a countess,” Jen said. “And she’s such a scrap of a kid. I nearly laughed in her face.”

  “The Lady Lavinia—well, perhaps,” Joan agreed. “Either that or a gipsy girl. Nice of her to care so much about our tree!”

  “It was because you sat under it and told them stories. Tell me about your class, Joan-Queen! I’ve never heard of it before.”

  “It was while we lived in the Abbey, as caretakers, before Joy’s grandfather took any notice of us. I heard the village girls grousing because they didn’t have enough drill at school; their teacher was elderly, and she didn’t care about drill. There’s a new one now who is very keen, I believe. I invited the girls to come to the Abbey in the evening, and we had quite good times. I’d often thought I’d like to be a gym and games mistress, so it was good practice.”

  “You’d do it jolly well. Did you drill them on the garth?”

  “Sometimes. But sometimes we used the meadow and Joy played for us: we could hear her piano, if we were just outside the windows. The girls liked it best with music, of course. If I’d known about country dancing, they’d have liked that even better than drill. But that was before we met the Hamlet Club and learned to dance. Sometimes we played team games out on the meadow.”

  “And the big tree was ‘home’. You sat under it, and you told them stories.”

  “I believe I did,” Joan said, much amused. “Apparently Lavinia hasn’t forgotten.”

  “She’s keen on you. Couldn’t we help her somehow? In a sort of way, she came to the Abbey to be comforted, and she needs help. The monks would have done something about it, wouldn’t they?”

  “They’d have helped anybody who was in trouble. Vinny Miles seems to be left stranded by her family. What shall we do, Jenny-Wren?”

  “I thought you could help her to write a letter to her father. Perhaps one of the brothers could come and fetch her.”

  “Perhaps the stepmother doesn’t want her. But we could try.”

  “She couldn’t possibly do it alone. Her grammar’s awful, and I expect her spelling’s worse.”

  “I wonder if she knows the address? But Mrs. Jaikes will have it, and she’d probably be glad to be rid of Vinny. Poor kid! It’s dreadful for her. We’ll try to help, Jen.”

  “Oh, good! I knew you would,” Jen said happily. “And, I say, Joan! There’s one thing we could do at once.”

  “Oh? What’s that, Mrs. Wren?”

  “Give her a bit of ribbon and make her tie back her hair. It’s fearfully untidy. Having her hair all over the place like that must make her feel an absolute mess!”

  “Do you mean, in her mind, as well as in looks?” Joan asked seriously.

  Jen gave her a quick glance. “You do understand! I did mean that. She must feel neglected and untidy, going about all hairy. It can’t be good for her.”

  “I’m sure you’re right. We’ll find a ribbon and present it to Lavinia.”

  “A bright red ribbon!” Jen pleaded. “She’ll love it. Her frock’s red.”

  Joan looked at her and grinned suddenly. “Not one in our house, my dear! It’s the last place in the world to find a scarlet hair-ribbon. Did you suppose either Joy or I would have one?”

  Jen’s eyes went to the thick plait of deep red, which lay on Joan’s shoulder. “No, I guess not. You’d look awful in scarlet; it would spoil you altogether.”

  “Mother hasn’t any red ribbons, either. We’ll buy one for Lavinia. Do you know what I think? We’ll go to see Mrs. Jaikes to-morrow morning. That won’t feel like having a picnic.”

  Jen looked at her quickly again. “While those men—yes, I see. You don’t think we ought to stay—with the tree, you know?”

  “No, Jenny-Wren, I don’t. It was a kind thought, but we couldn’t help the tree by being here, and we should feel very bad if we watched. We’ll do something to help Vinny Miles, who loves the tree. That will be far better than staying here and feeling sad and sentimental.”

  “I shall feel sad all right, but I’d hate to do the other thing,” Jen said vigorously.

  “Then we won’t think too much about it. The tree has to go, and there’s nothing we can do by being here. To-morrow we’ll explore the hills and find our way to Miles’s farm and interview Mrs. Jaikes. We might hunt for Vinny’s red ribbon in the village. If we can’t find any there, we’ll walk over the hills to Wycombe and have lunch and buy our ribbon, and then come home by bus.”

  “And to-night we’ll be on our own—just you and me together. It’s rather fun, you know, Joan-Queen.”

  “You ought to stop calling me that, now that Muriel is Queen.”

  “I’m not going to stop. You’re still my Queen. What shall we do to-night? Let’s be mad, for once, because we’re all alone!”

  “I don’t think I know how to be mad,” Joan said, much amused. “Do you mean pillow-fights? Or hide and seek in the dark, and jumping out on one another with wild shrieks and yells? We’ll send for Jacky-boy. She’d help you to be mad better than I should.”

  Jack, or Jacqueline, had been Jen’s chum for a year, since Jen’s first day at school. But her home was in Wycombe, and she had just gone off to the seaside with her mother.

  “We can’t have Jack,” Jen said. “But I don’t want her. It’s being on our own, just us two, that is so thrilling. We could have supper in the Abbey, Joan. That would be a thing we couldn’t possibly do while your mother and Joy were here.”

  “By all means!” Joan was quite willing. “We’ll pack a picnic supper and carry it to the Abbey. I’ll warn Ann Watson, so that she won’t think we are ghosts.”

  “Perhaps the ghosts of Ambrose and Lady Jehane will come and peep at us.” Jen referred to the lay brother and his lady-love, who were part of the Abbey story at the time of its destruction by Henry the Eighth. “I wish they would! I’d love to see them, even their ghosts.”

  “You’d better not hope for that.” Joan laughed, glad to see Jen’s thoughts had turned from the doomed tree. “But I can tell you who will
expect to share our supper.”

  “The cats! The Mother Superior and Gray Timmy and the Curate. We’ll take extra milk and some fish.”

  “You can carry the fish. Come and have some tennis. We must practise, for Jandy will want to play. She’ll beat both of us together, I’m quite sure. We haven’t had much tennis lately, thanks to the measles, and then Joy’s and mother’s packing. We’d better do a little work before Jandy comes.”

  “I’m not much good, but I’ll try to give you some sort of game. Cricket’s more in my line.”

  “You must polish up your tennis, while you’re here,” Joan said, and led her round the house to the courts.

  CHAPTER IV

  AN ADVENTURE IN THE ABBEY

  “It is fun to have you all to myself, Joan-Queen!” Jen gave Joan a beaming look as they crossed the garden and entered the Abbey by the old gate, laden with bags and baskets for the picnic supper.

  The cat family came leaping to greet them: the slim young Curate, with his square of white under his chin, his comfortable black mother, and Timmy, the shaggy gray kitten, now almost full grown.

  “They’re pleased to see us,” Jen remarked. “They don’t know yet that I’m lugging a bowl of fish and three extra saucers.”

  “They’ll be still more pleased when they find it’s a feast. Where shall we sit?” Joan paused and looked round the cloister garth in the evening light.

  “Just outside the chapter-house. We’ll see the sunset from there. I’ll fetch a rug.” And Jen put down her basket and went to the little room in which she had slept for one exciting night.

  She came back laden with rugs and cushions and spread them on the grass, to the delight of the cats, who at once took possession and made themselves at home, tramping up and down and trying place after place. “What a good thing people can’t come in here at night! We must look funny, camping out.”

  “We certainly don’t look like a monastery,” Joan agreed, laying sandwiches on plates and bringing out thermos flasks of coffee. “Don’t touch, children! Yours is coming presently. Where’s that fish, Jen?”

  “Here. Come on, littlest!” to Timmy. “This is yours, Mother Superior. The Curate last. Now we shall have some peace!” as three hungry faces disappeared into saucers. “It is a feast!” And Jen eyed the display with much satisfaction. “Another adventure for the Abbey! A midnight supper with a Queen!”

  “Hardly midnight,” Joan objected. “And only an ex-Queen!”

  “But we might stay till midnight,” Jen hinted. “You can tell me stories, as you used to do to Lavinia and the rest. Let’s start! Those sausage rolls make me hungry.”

  “It may be the tennis. We’ve brought far too much. We shall go home laden with food.”

  “Oh, you never know! The cats will help. And I might eat three times as much as usual, because we’re out of doors. Or we may find another stowaway, like Timothy Spindle, when I slept over there. I was jolly glad I had some grub to give him.”

  “I hope there are no more stowaways,” Joan said. “But we can present our extra food to Ann Watson, if there’s much left. The family won’t care for sausage rolls.”

  “There’s the robin, too. He loves the garth. We could give him our crumbs.”

  “You can’t have Robin and the Curate at the same party,” Joan remarked.

  “We’ll put the Curate to bed and leave crumbs for Robin’s breakfast. Aren’t they enjoying themselves? They think midnight feasts are a lovely idea. I shall put the crumbs in the sacristy for Robin. He’ll be safer there.”

  Presently even Jen had eaten as much as she could, and she lay back against Joan, stroking the happy Mother Superior, and refusing to go home to bed. She talked of her brother being married next morning and of the telegram she would send to the family party in Glasgow; of Jandy Mac, travelling from Scotland; of Vinny Miles and the old tree that had to go.

  “We must go home,” Joan said at last.

  “In one minute! I’m going to wander round by moonlight. You stay here—unless you want to come too?”

  “I’ll pack the baskets.” And Joan set to work.

  “The Curate’s gone for his evening prowl, and Timmy’s fast asleep: he’s had too much supper. I shall have to go alone.” And Jen disappeared, running up the steps to the dormitory, torch in hand. Presently she came back to the garth and wandered round the corner to the sacristy, to look at the rose window, which Joy loved so much, and to scatter crumbs for Robin’s breakfast.

  With a wild cry she came racing back, and flung herself into Joan’s arms. “Oh, Joan! Joan! I saw Ambrose—in the sacristy! Oh, Joan, there couldn’t be a ghost! But I did see him!”

  “Jen, dear, what are you talking about?” Joan cried, and held her tightly. “Why, Jen, you’re shaking all over! What startled you, my dear?”

  “Ambrose!” Jen sobbed, and hid her face. “An old man, with a long white beard. It couldn’t be Ambrose, Joan! But I saw him!”

  “It couldn’t be Ambrose. There are no such things as ghosts,” Joan said firmly. “If you saw anybody, it was someone who has no right to be there. Are you sure it wasn’t just a trick of moonlight?”

  “Certain sure. He was sitting in the rose window. He got up and came——”

  “Wait a moment.” Joan put her down, considerably startled herself.

  Jen looked up and then sprang to her feet. “There—you see? Ambrose!”

  “Not Ambrose,” Joan repeated. “Definitely not. But perhaps another stowaway, Jenny-Wren. I wonder if he’s in trouble too?”

  “A refugee,” Jen murmured, and crept forward behind Joan.

  An old man stood in the gap in the wall which led to the sacristy and the site of the great church. He was bent and his eyes were tired; he had a long white beard, and he wore a big brown cloak wrapped round him, but no hat.

  “I don’t blame Jen. He might very well be an old monk.” The thought flashed through Joan’s mind as she went to meet him.

  “Who are you? And why are you in the Abbey at this time? Why, it’s Mr. Browning, isn’t it? Mr. Boniface Browning?”

  “Yes, Miss Joan. It be I, old Browning. I’m right vexed I scared the little one.” The voice was old and tremulous.

  “I’m not a little one!” Jen cried indignantly. “And you looked just like the ghost of old Ambrose. Joan, who is it? You know him, and he knows you.”

  “It’s Mr. Browning, who used to be the caretaker and show people round, before Mother took on the job,” Joan said swiftly. “He taught me all about the Abbey—all that was known in those days. There’s a lot more now. We hadn’t heard of Ambrose or found the crypt, or the tunnels, or the Abbey treasures. But you went away to live with your son in Birmingham,” she said to Mr. Browning. “What are you doing here? And why are you in the Abbey at night? What was Ann Watson thinking of?”

  “I came back for two-three days to see folks again and to bide in the village. The Spindles at the forge took me in.”

  A quick look flashed from Jen to Joan. “The Spindles! Timothy Spindle was my first stowaway,” Jen murmured.

  “But why are you in the Abbey at night?” Joan’s tone was severe.

  “I came in with a party, late-ish like, to have another look at the old place,” he said apologetically. “She didn’t know me—the lady who showed us round.”

  “No, she wouldn’t know you,” Joan agreed. “You’d been gone for quite two years before Mrs. Watson came here. Did you stay behind when the rest of the party left?”

  “I did that, Miss Joan. Mrs. Watson didn’t notice I weren’t there, and I says a word to the folks when we was down in the old church. ‘Don’t say nothing,’ I says. ‘I knows this place, and I’m stopping behind to have another look,’ I says. They thought it was all right, so they went away, and she locked the gate and never knew I were still here. There’s some queer-like bits down there, Miss Joan. I never knew about them dark places.”

  “None of us knew. Did you want to explore them by yourself?”


  “Have you been wandering in the tunnels on your own?” Jen cried. “You might easily have found the one that leads to the house! What a shock we’d have had, if you’d risen suddenly from the depths of the earth!”

  “Mrs. Watson, she said not to go that way, for it went to Miss Joy’s house. You beant Miss Joy.” And he eyed Jen severely. “You a’n’t big enough, and you’re the wrong colour.”

  “My hair, you mean,” Jen grinned. “Mine isn’t nearly as lovely a colour as Joan’s and Joy’s. I’m only staying here, and I’m three years younger than they are. You gave me an awful fright, you know! I don’t believe in ghosts, but I really thought you were good old Ambrose, come to speak to us.”

  “The old one the lady told us about, what lived down there?”

  “Who’s buried down there,” Jen corrected him. “Ambrose lived in the gate-house, after the Abbey was smashed up by that pig, Henry the Eighth. I found his grave,” she ended proudly.

  “Did you, now? The lady showed us. I’m sorry, little miss; I didn’t mean to frit nobody. I just wanted to wander about by myself. I was fond of the Abbey.” He turned to Joan in apology again. “I never meant no harm, Miss Joan. I was sorry to go away, and I wanted to see the old place once more. And there was so much that I’d never heard tell of. I just felt I’d like to think about it all.”

  “But what were you going to do in the morning?” Jen cried.

  “I’d ha’ told her then and asked her to let me out. I ain’t done no harm to the place.”

  “You’d have been very cold and hungry before the morning!”

  Joan had been listening in silence. Now she said, “Did you bring any supper?”

  “I never thought to do it, Miss Joan.”

  “Then come and finish ours. We’ve had a picnic, and there’s still some food left and a whole flask of coffee that we couldn’t drink. We said we had far too much. We can’t have people being hungry in the Abbey.”

  She led the way back to their resting-place and told the old man to sit on the rug.