Schoolgirl Jen at the Abbey

by Elsie J. Oxenham

  With dancing eyes Jen brought a cushion for his back and made him lean against the wall, and supplied him with sandwiches and coffee, using the top of the flask for a cup.

  “It’s still hot. Don’t drop it! There! Are you comfy? Can I get you anything else?”

  “Are you pretending he’s Ambrose, Jenny-Wren?” Joan spoke in a low voice, unheard by the old man. “He’s a little deaf,” she explained. “Were you, Jen?”

  Jen laughed. “Perhaps I was, in a way. He looks quite like Ambrose may have looked.”

  “He does. Finish up those sandwiches and biscuits, Mr. Browning; they’re all for you. We don’t want to take them home.”

  “What’s become of the Mother Superior and Timmy?” Jen looked round for the rest of the party.

  “They fled when you came shrieking from the sacristy. I expect they thought you were a ghost.”

  “Well, Joan! Hadn’t I some excuse?”

  “You had,” Joan agreed. “I don’t blame you, really. Come over here!”

  She crossed the garth, Jen following eagerly, and paused at the door of the little room from which the rugs and cushions had come, and flashed her torch about. “What are we going to do with Ambrose, Jen?”

  Jen’s eyes sparkled. “I do believe he’s Ambrose come back! What a marvellous idea! What can we do? We can’t let him wander about the Abbey all night. There’s no place that’s really warm, is there?”

  “Was he in the sacristy? It was a good choice; it isn’t so draughty in there. But we can do better than that. He must come here and lie on the bed. We’ll spread the big quilt and he can use the heavy rug to cover himself. That will keep him warm and cosy. He won’t expect us to make up the bed for him.”

  “How lovely of you, Joan! Then you aren’t going to fling him out or row him for trespassing?”

  “Well, what do you think? He was fond of the Abbey, and he was sent away because he was too old. He wanted to see it again. Can we turn him out?”

  “Of course we can’t! And we don’t want to, either. I’m sure the monks would have taken him in. What is it that’s written on the gate-house? ‘Gate open be, To honest folk all free’? Isn’t that what the Latin means?”

  “Something like that. Yes, he must stay for to-night. This will do very well. I’ll explain to Ann Watson, in case she has a bad fright. He can make his peace with her in the morning.”

  “She must give him breakfast. She gives jolly good breakfasts,” Jen said, from experience.

  “I’ll tell her he doesn’t need anything till the morning. You go and talk to him again.” And Joan went along the cloisters to the door of Ann Watson’s rooms.

  CHAPTER V

  BONIFACE BROWNING

  “Between Vinny Miles and Ambrose, our family seems to be growing!” Jen said to herself, as she turned to go back to Mr. Browning. “If Lavinia was a little older, and much more beautiful, I might call her Jehane and say she had come back too. But I really can’t—not Vinny! She isn’t in the least like our dear Lady Jehane.”

  She sat on the rug beside their guest, tossing back her long yellow plaits. “I say, Mr. Browning! Won’t the forge people be worried when you don’t turn up? Weren’t the Spindles expecting you to go to bed with them?”

  “I said to them as how I’d try to stay in the Abbey for the night,” the old man explained. “They’ll know I be here.”

  “Oh, I see! We must tell Joan, or she’ll think she has to send a message to say you’re all right. She thinks of everything for everybody.”

  He turned to her eagerly. “Will Miss Joan let me stay, little miss? I’ll do no harm.”

  “My name’s Jen—Jen Robins. Of course you won’t do any harm. And of course she’ll let you stay. She couldn’t turn you out of the Abbey.”

  It had seemed to Mr. Browning that Joan not only could, but would, turn him out. His wistful eyes brightened and wandered lovingly over the moonlit garth.

  “I were fond o’ this place,” he murmured. “I never wanted to go, but Sir Antony said it, and I knew the stairs was too much for me. By time I’d took folks up to the dormitory or the refectory I hadn’t no breath left to tell ’em about it. But it hurt me bad when I had to go.”

  “I’m sure it did,” Jen said. “It must have been dreadful to have to leave the Abbey.”

  “Mrs. Shirley and Miss Joan told it all better than what I could do. This Mrs. Watson, she’s good too, and she speaks nice, like I never could.”

  “Mrs. Watson used to be a nurse to a family in London. She had to speak properly, or she’d have lost her job,” Jen explained. “She knows how to say things, but sometimes she forgets. But she remembers all right when she’s taking people round.”

  “Very nice, I thought she told it. I never could do it like that. And my asthma was bad, so Sir Antony said as how I’d have to go. Miss Joan lives at the Hall now, don’t she?”

  “Yes, but it belongs to Joy. Sir Antony was her grandfather, and he left the house to her. The Abbey belongs to Joan.”

  “They told me that. She’s fond of it too. She’ll take care of it.”

  “Oh, she does! She loves every stone of it, and so do I,” Jen said earnestly. “Have some more coffee, Mr. Browning. I’ll pour it for you. What did Joan call you? There was some other name besides Browning.”

  “I’m Boniface, little miss. It was my grandfather’s name. They used to call me Boney or Bonny.”

  Jen’s eyes were dancing. “What an odd name! I never met it before. Is it Latin? It sounds rather like an old monk. ‘Mr. Bonny Browning’ is nice; ‘Boney’ wouldn’t do at all. I think it’s a lovely name! But I must speak to Joan. Do eat up those biscuits and that bun!”

  And she was gone, flying across the garth, while the old man’s eyes followed her wistfully.

  “Ann, there’s somebody in the Abbey. You left him behind when you locked up. I’m not angry; don’t look so worried! He wanted to be left behind. But you should have noticed he didn’t go out with the other people.” Joan, in the caretaker’s little room within the walls, was looking round unhappily, while she told Mrs. Watson about Boniface Browning. For some time this had been her home, and she was not reconciled to the changes which had been made by Ann. By Ann’s urgent request the beautiful old gray walls had been colour-washed a cheerful pink; the bare stone, said Ann, was all right in the Abbey, but to live with it “gave her the creeps”. Joan, anxious for her caretaker’s comfort, had let her have her way; if Ann preferred to live surrounded by bright, hard pink, she must be allowed to do so. But for herself, Joan loathed it, and went into the small parlour as seldom as possible, choosing to interview Ann outside or on the garth whenever she could.

  “He’ll sleep in the small cloister room. We’ll send him to bed before we go home,” she said. “But you might give him some breakfast and let him come in here for a wash in the morning.”

  She cut short Ann’s apologies and went out, and almost ran into Jen, who came racing to meet her.

  “Why, Jen! Is anything wrong with Mr. Browning?”

  “Oh, no! He’s terribly happy, having a huge supper and looking at the cloisters in the moonlight as if he’d like to eat them too. He loves the Abbey—anyone can see that. But, oh, Joan! Is his name really Boniface? It’s too gorgeous for words!”

  “I felt like that when I first heard it. It seemed to suit the Abbey so beautifully,” Joan agreed. “It really is his name, Jen! But I fancy he’s been called Bonny Browning all his life.”

  “Yes, he said so. It’s a shame to spoil it. ‘Boney’ wouldn’t do: he’s not a bit thin! ‘Bonny’ isn’t a bad name for him, with those red, round cheeks like withered apples. But his lovely name oughtn’t to be spoiled. I shall call him Boniface. It sounds just like a monk! Ambrose should have been called Boniface. What does it mean? Is it a real name, Joan?”

  “Oh, yes! It’s a very fine old name. I suppose it means Well-Doer—one who does good things.”

  “Lovely!” Jen sighed happily. “I am so glad he came
back to the Abbey! I shall call one of my children Boniface.”

  “I hope you’ll consider his feelings before you do that! Think how he’d be ragged at school!”

  “Perhaps it would be mean,” Jen admitted.

  “I didn’t know you had made up your mind to have a family,” Joan remarked.

  “Didn’t you? I’m going to have lots of children—ten, I think—mostly boys. Jack and I talked about it while you were having measles. It was when we trespassed at the Manor, next door, and I said it looked the sort of house that ought to have a lot of children playing in the garden. I said I couldn’t be bothered with a family, but since then I’ve thought it might be rather fun.”

  “I’m sure it would,” Joan responded, with a laugh. “A lot of boys would suit you: you’re used to brothers. But don’t call one of them Boniface! It would be unkind.”

  “All right, I won’t. I shall want some girls as well—about three, I think—and all the rest boys.”

  “Oh, Jen!” Joan protested, laughing. “You’re going to have a busy life!”

  “Some of them could be twins. Twins must be fun! What are you going to do with Boniface, Joan?”

  “Send him to bed, and then go home and think about him.”

  “Oh, right!” Jen said happily. “I suppose it is bedtime.”

  “It’s bedtime for you, anyway.” And Joan explained her plans to old Boniface, who brightened up at thought of sleeping in the Abbey once more, and promised not to wander about, but to go to bed and rest.

  Jen packed the remains of the picnic and carried the rugs and cushions to the cloister room. “These will keep Boniface nice and warm,” she said, dumping them on the bed.

  Joan brought the old man to the door. “Good-night, Mr. Browning. Sleep well! Mrs. Watson will look after you in the morning. Come along, Jen!”

  Jen slung a bag over her shoulder and picked up a basket. “I say, Joan! Such a marvellous idea!”

  “You’re the one for ideas, Mrs. Wren. What now?”

  “Couldn’t Boniface and Ann Watson get married? Then he could stay in the Abbey for always, and she could do the work.”

  Joan gave a shout of laughter. “Jen! Oh, poor Ann! He’s old enough to be her father, if not her grandfather!”

  “People do marry older people,” Jen said sturdily. “She’s a widow; she might like to have a husband again. I think it’s a very good plan.”

  “I don’t, and I’m quite sure Ann wouldn’t.”

  “Then she could adopt him as a grandfather, and he could live with her. He didn’t want to go away from the Abbey. He’d love to spend his last days here.”

  “It’s a kind thought,” Joan agreed. “But Ann hasn’t room for him, Jen. There’s only one bedroom. Where would she put him?”

  “He could have the little room, where he is now. It would be like the old days, when the monks had an infirmary for aged people and nursed them till they died. It would bring back another bit of the Abbey, if you kept an aged person here, and Boniface is such a darling. Oh, Joan, do think about it in earnest! He’d be so happy!”

  Joan was looking startled. “But that little room is my private place—the only bit of the Abbey that I’ve kept for myself. You wouldn’t take it from me, would you?”

  “I forgot,” Jen said dejectedly. “No, of course not. You must have your own bit of the Abbey. It seemed such a wonderful plan. I thought we were going to have our old folks’ infirmary again. But you couldn’t. I see that.”

  Joan knit her brows. The disappointment in Jen’s tone was so acute. “Off you go to bed!” she said, as they reached the house after a silent crossing of the lawn. “Don’t worry about Mr. Browning. He’ll be very comfortable.”

  “You’ll come and tuck me in, won’t you?”

  “Baby! Yes, all right. I’ll be your mother. I’m going to bed too.”

  She found Jen lying with her hair loose and spread all over the pillow. “Jenny-Wren! Sit up and plait that stuff. You’ll be too hot.”

  “I will, presently. It’s plaited all day. I’m giving it a rest. I’m going to cut it off when I have to put it up. I believe it would be curly.”

  “I’m sure it would. But you’d look quite different.”

  “It might be an improvement,” Jen grinned. “Give yours a rest too, Joan. I like to see it loose.”

  Joan obligingly unwound her thick plait and shook the dark red locks free. “There! Now I really shall have to go to bed. Are you sure you’ve had enough supper?”

  “Oh, heaps, thank you very much! Didn’t Ambrose—I mean Boniface!—love his sandwiches? It was lucky for him we had our picnic to-night!”

  “Yes, he’d have been both cold and hungry by the morning. It was a silly thing to do. But he’s all right where he is.”

  “Joan, I’m sorry I made that plan. I forgot it was your bit of the Abbey. I didn’t worry you, did I?”

  “Of course not, Jenny-Wren. Now do your hair and go to sleep.”

  “All the same, I believe it did worry her,” Jen said to herself, as she sat up to plait her hair, after Joan had gone. “I’m sorry I said it. But it would have been marvellous if Boniface Browning could have been the aged and infirm who stayed in the Abbey for ever and ever! I’m sure he’d have loved it. Oh, well! It can’t be done, that’s all!”

  CHAPTER VI

  A DESCENDANT OF THE MONKS

  “Jen has forgotten all about the tree,” Joan said to herself, as she prepared for bed. “From that point of view, I’m glad Boniface turned up to-night. The picnic alone might not have been enough to distract her thoughts. But I do wish she hadn’t put that idea into my head. If only she hadn’t sounded so bitterly disappointed! For it would be possible. And it would make the old man very happy. But I don’t want to do it.”

  She sat on the window-seat and stared out at the moonlit lawn. “He has a pension. Ann could feed him and make a little extra for herself. I dare say she’d be pleased. If she liked him, he’d be company for her. But he’d be there always, in the Abbey, wandering in and out. I feel I should lose the Abbey itself, as well as my room—and the room has been really useful. I’ve gone there a lot, and I’ve often thought I could lend it to people for an extra bedroom some day. Jen enjoyed sleeping there; and I slept in it myself while the school was here. All that would be over; and the private feeling of the Abbey would be gone. We’d know we might meet old Boniface at any moment. How I wish Jen hadn’t had that idea!”

  Very slowly she went to bed, but lay awake for a long time, turning over the problem in her mind.

  There was only one way out. The Abbey welcome to old and tired folk must be upheld.

  Joan dressed quietly early next morning and found, as she expected, that Jen was still sleeping when she glanced into her room. Closing the door gently, she crept downstairs and out into the garden.

  Crossing the lawn to the Abbey gate, she went down the tresaunt passage, and paused in the old doorway to look anxiously round the garth. But there was no sign of Boniface, and his door was still closed.

  Much relieved, Joan went to Ann Watson’s rooms.

  “Ann, are you up? I want to talk to you.”

  “Eh, Miss Joan?” Ann’s startled face appeared. “It’s early; I’m not very tidy yet. I was getting a bite of breakfast for the old gentleman, in case he comes along.”

  “That’s good of you. I’m sorry to disturb you, but I want to speak to you about Mr. Browning.”

  Ann hastily dusted a chair. “Yes, Miss Joan? I had a word with him last night, asking if he wanted anything. He seems a nice quiet gentleman, but his breathing’s bad, isn’t it? Asthma, he says it is.”

  “Yes, I’m afraid it troubles him a good deal. I’m glad you’ve spoken to him. Do you like him, Ann?”

  Ann looked puzzled. “Well enough, Miss Joan. I’m pleased to do for him this morning.”

  “Could you do with him for a few days, if I invited him to stay in the Abbey? He could sleep in the small room, if you would give him meals.
”

  “To stay in the Abbey, Miss Joan?” Ann’s startled look came back.

  “He loves the place so much, and he was so hurt when Sir Antony sent him away. I told you how he lived here and did your job. He seemed so happy to be back that I thought he might like to stay for a little while.”

  “Well, now, we could manage,” Ann said thoughtfully. “He’d keep out o’ sight when people came, I suppose?”

  “Oh, yes! He’d understand that. He has friends in the village. He knows the Spindles, at the forge. He’d go to them during the day. But he’d like to feel he was living in the Abbey. He can afford to pay you for his meals—you’d arrange that with him—he has a small pension. It’s the idea of living in the Abbey again that I want to give him.”

  “Sort of to comfort him, like, the poor old chap.” Ann responded to the appeal with unexpected understanding. “I’ll do it, Miss Joan. I’ll make him comfortable.”

  Joan thanked her quietly and went away, bidding her explain to Mr. Browning when he woke. “So that’s that!” she said to herself, as she crossed the garth. “It was better to say it was only for a few days. We’ll see how he likes the idea, and how they get on together. I didn’t think Ann would be so nice about it. But I believe she’s beginning to love the Abbey, so perhaps she feels sorry for him. I hope she will love the place. If she does, she may settle down and stay for years. I hope she will. I don’t want to have constant changes, and Ann does the job very well. Jenny-Wren?”

  Jen’s head appeared at a window. “Joan! You’ve been to the Abbey without me! You rotter!”

  “Not at all. You were sound asleep. Come down, and I’ll tell you why I went so early.”

  Jen came flying out to join her. “Breakfast on the terrace, in the sun! Oh, please, Joan! I’ll help to carry! You put up the table; I’ll bring chairs.”

  “Quickly, then.” And Joan set up the folding table and piled breakfast dishes on a tray.

  “There!” Jen said, with much satisfaction. “I love outdoor breakfasts. Everything smells so fresh. Oh, Joan! Is Boniface all right? Did you go to see him?”