Schoolgirl Jen at the Abbey

by Elsie J. Oxenham

  “So did mine,” Joan assured him. “But there’s no need to worry any more. She’ll be all right in a day or two.”

  “It’s glad I be to hear it. I spoke very rough to Vinny and told her she were to blame, and if little Miss Jen died, it were her had done it.”

  “Poor Vinny! Boniface, Jen says that when Lavinia ran to you she called you ‘Uncle Bonny’. You aren’t really her uncle, are you?”

  “I were uncle to her mother, what died years ago, Miss Joan. Vinny’s always called me Uncle Bonny.”

  “Oh, I see! Her great-uncle. How odd! I didn’t know she was related to you.”

  “Lizzie Miles, her mother was. But her first name were Lizzie Browning. My brother’s girl, Lizzie was. But she died, and her man, that was Vinny’s dad, went off to ’Mericy with the boys and left Vinny with Mary Ann, that was Lizzie’s sister, and then she died too, Miss Joan.”

  “This is getting complicated!” Joan exclaimed. “Your brother had two girls, Lizzie and Mary Ann. Lizzie was Vinny’s mother, Mrs. Miles. Mary Ann was the aunt who stayed at the farm when the family went to America—the one who took care of Vinny and then died. Is that right?”

  “That be the way of it, Miss Joan. I were uncle to Liz and Mary Ann, but they be both gone now.”

  “So now you are uncle to Lavinia. Perhaps you could advise us,” Joan said thoughtfully. “We want to help her, but we thought she had nobody of her own left in this country. Since she has you, we must certainly consult you. But not to-night; I must talk it over with Jen first.”

  “I’d like to help the lass. Her’s not too happy at the farm, now Mary Ann’s gone. But what to do for her I do not know, Miss Joan. I thanks ye for thinkin’ of the child, and for bein’ so kind to me, sayin’ as how I may bide in the Abbey for a day or two. I’ll tell my son, and I’ll fetch my bits o’ things from Spindles’.”

  “How do you like Mrs. Watson, Boniface?”

  “Her be a very pleasant lady, and very kind. Her give me a wonnerful breakfast ’smorning, and her were gentle with Vinny, when the lass were crying her eyes out along of little Miss Jen being hurt. We told Vinny Miss Jen looked just like death when the lads carried her off, and Vinny knew ’twas her fault and her cried and cried.”

  “Poor Vinny! That was too bad,” Joan exclaimed. “I must send a message, to tell her Jen will be all right. I’m glad Mrs. Watson was kind to her. Boniface!”—and she braced herself for a great effort. “Would you like to come and live in the Abbey? To stay there altogether, I mean? Not just for a few days?”

  Boniface stared at her, his eyes widening, his face lighting up in incredulous joy. “Oh, Miss Joan! Do ye mean I’d make my home there and bide there to end my days?”

  “I wouldn’t have put it that way,” Joan said gently. “But I do mean that. You love the Abbey, and it’s peaceful and quiet, with no noisy children. We could only give you that one tiny room, and you’d have to keep out of the way during tourist times. But you could spend the day in the village or at one of the farms, and the Abbey would be your home. Mrs. Watson would give you your meals. You’d pay her something each week for your food, but not for the room, of course.”

  “For her trouble,” Boniface murmured, looking dazed. “It would mean all the world to me, to end my days here. The many times I’ve thought about the Abbey, away there in the city! I’ve wanted it so much that I just had to come back to see it all once more. Oh, Miss Joan, you couldn’t of meant that, surely! I haven’t a lot of stuff; I’d fit into the small room nicely. I’d sooner be here than anywheres in the world! Well, no, I wouldn’t say that. There’s one other place I’d sooner go. But that can’t be, so it’s no use to think o’t.”

  “Where is the other place?” Joan asked curiously.

  “Nay, ’tain’t possible, not for an old ’un like me. I’ll not think or talk of it.”

  “But tell me, Boniface! I’d like to know.”

  “Some day, maybe, but not now. I thought of it once, but I’m past it. But if I could bide in the Abbey I’d be happy. I never dreamt of anything so good, Miss Joan. May I ask Mrs. Watson if she’d do for me?”

  “Ask her if she’d be willing to take care of you,” Joan agreed. “That’s very important. She has her work in the Abbey. We mustn’t ask too much of her.”

  “I could be of use to her,” the old man said, tremulous with eagerness. “It were the stairs that was too much for me. I could mind the gate while she showed folks round, and I could do a bit o’ dusting, to help her. I knows all there is to do. And I could fetch her bits of shopping from village. I’d do anything to be useful, Miss Joan.”

  “Go and talk it over with her,” Joan advised. “And you must write to your son. He may not want to lose you.”

  “They’ll be glad to have my room,” Boniface said, rather desolately. “They been kind, but they ain’t got the place for me. They only took me in because I hadn’t nowheres else to go. It near broke my heart to leave the Abbey, Miss Joan.”

  “I guessed that.” Joan’s eyes were kind. “I felt you would like to come back.”

  “I never could of dreamed of anything so good,” Boniface said earnestly.

  “Then go and talk it over with Mrs. Watson. Tell her I’ll see her in the morning. And tell her Jen will be all right, Boniface.”

  “I do thank ye, Miss Joan.” The old man still looked dazed with happiness, as he followed Joan to the door and went off across the lawn to the Abbey gate.

  “You’ve done it now, Joan, girl,” Janice said severely, when Joan returned. “You’ve burnt your boats. You can’t go back on it now.”

  “I felt I must do it, so that I couldn’t draw back,” Joan admitted. “But once I’d said it, I didn’t want to withdraw. Did you ever see anybody look more radiantly happy?”

  “Oh, he’s perfectly enraptured, of course! It’s the great event of his life. You’ll never get rid of him! And he’ll live for years and years in the peace of the Abbey. How old is he? He’ll be on your hands till he’s ninety-five!”

  “I believe he’s seventy-three. Sir Antony thought he ought to retire at seventy, and you can’t blame him. Boniface couldn’t do the job now.”

  “You’ll have him here for twenty years.”

  Joan flinched a little. “Perhaps not. But I hope he’ll have a few happy years. I can’t be sorry, when I remember the look on his face. Even if it keeps me from coming into the Abbey so much, it’s worth it to have made Boniface look like that! And Jen is right; the Abbey will be doing its proper work again, giving shelter to someone who needs it. It’s a very satisfying thought.”

  “Will it comfort you for losing the Abbey for yourself?”

  “I may not lose it,” Joan retorted. “I can’t pretend that I like the thought of there being someone always there, but Boniface is an old dear. He may not be so much in the way as I think. He’ll keep out of sight when I’m there.”

  “Not he! He’ll want to come and talk and thank you for being so kind.”

  “I’ll explain that I want to be quiet. He loves the Abbey so much that he’ll understand. I wonder what he meant about some other place where he would rather be?”

  “He was very mysterious about it. He’ll tell you some day. He’s going to worship the ground you tread on.”

  “Ass!” Joan said. “Jandy, I must write to that poor kid Lavinia.”

  “They’ve frightened her badly, among them,” Janice agreed.

  “Yes, they’ve terrified her. She must be told Jen is all right, or she’ll cry herself sick. I really can’t go all the way to the farm again! We were there this morning. But she must be reassured to-night. I shall send a note. I’ll find some boy to take it.”

  “Send Boniface. Make him useful!”

  “No, he’s too old. But there are boys about the farm. Susie will find one. She knows them all.”

  “Could somebody fetch my baggage from the station? I’m sorry to be a nuisance, but I really couldn’t lug it up through the woods.”

&nb
sp; “Of course not. I’ll send for it. Joy has taken the car, but there’s a carrier in the village. I’ll ring him up, and the station.”

  “Thanks, old dear. Then I’ll go and write to the aunts, who’ll want to know what I did in London, while you attend to Lavinia and all the other business. And, I say, Joan! Let’s go to bed early—very early! You’re about done in, with all that’s happened to-day, and it’s not so long since you were down with measles. I wonder it hasn’t been too much for you.”

  “I’m all right, but I am tired,” Joan owned. “A long night in a proper bed wouldn’t hurt you either, Jandy Mac! But I couldn’t sleep unless I’d done something about Vinny Miles.”

  “Run along and ease her mind,” Janice agreed.

  CHAPTER XI

  A VISIT FROM LAVINIA

  “There’s one more ordeal before us, Jandy Mac. We’d better get it over.” Joan, much refreshed by a long night’s rest and a reassuring visit to Jen, who was still asleep, looked across the coffee-pot at her visitor.

  “Let me guess!” Janice said. “Seeing young Vinny?”

  “I shall have to see her sometime. But there’s something before that. Guess again!”

  “I know. I was thinking about it in bed. You want to go and see if the tree has gone?”

  “I don’t want to! That’s why it’s an ordeal. I’m dreading the first sight of the gate-house without its tree. The sooner we get it over the better.”

  “That tree was rather like a guardian angel to the gate-house, which will now have to stand on its own feet—or, rather, its own foundations!—unprotected from all the winds that blow,” Janice remarked.

  “It’s quite capable of it. I believe we shall like the result, once we’re used to it. But it’s sure to be a shock at first. Come and help me to bear it!”

  “We shall meet Boniface. We shall always meet Boniface when we go through the Abbey.”

  “That can’t be helped. Perhaps we won’t see him,” Joan said hopefully.

  Her trust was justified, for they met no one as they crossed the garth and unlocked the Abbey door. But at sound of the key Ann Watson came out from her room.

  “The old gentleman’s away down to the village to fetch his things from the forge, Miss Joan. He told me of your kindness. Right pleased and happy he is, to be sure.”

  “Can you manage, Ann? He won’t need a great deal done for him. I don’t want to ask too much of you.”

  “I’ll do it. I couldn’t say no, and him so set up about living here. He’ll be a bit of company for me. It’s lonely sometimes. I’m used to it now, but I’ll be glad enough of somebody to speak to. He loves the Abbey. We can talk about it.”

  “I’m glad you feel that way. It’s very kind of you,” Joan said warmly.

  “It will be like having one of the old ones come back to the place—one of them monk chaps,” said Ann. “They did use to have old folks living here, didn’t they, Miss Joan?”

  “Yes, in the infirmary; but there’s nothing of it left but a few big stones covered with grass.”

  “We’ll have a ’firmary again for Mr. Boniface—he says that’s his name. If he’s ill, I’ll take care of him.”

  “How sweet of Ann!” Janice exclaimed, as they went out to the meadow.

  “Ann’s a very decent sort, and she seems to have absorbed an extraordinary amount of Abbey feeling and tradition,” Joan agreed. “Well, what do you think, Jandy?”

  “I think you’re right,” Janice said, as they stood gazing at the stump which was all that was left of the giant elm. “Once we’re used to the change, it’s going to be an improvement. We can see the gate-house much better now.”

  “And it’s beautiful,” Joan said. “Those great buttresses are so strong and simple—so dignified. Yes, I like it. I’m sorry about the tree; I’d never have sacrificed it, if there had been any other way—not even to give us this new, fine view of the gate-house. But Mr. Edwards from the farm insisted that the tree wasn’t safe, and that it must go, so I had no choice. And the result is even better than I’d hoped. The gate-house is really very fine, now that we can see it properly.”

  “It certainly looks able to stand on its own, without any protection,” Janice laughed. “I expect it looked like this when Ambrose lived in it. If the tree was there in his day it must have been very young and small.”

  Joan’s face lit up. “That’s true. I’ll remind Jenny-Wren that we’re seeing the gate-house as Ambrose saw it. It will be a real comfort to her.”

  “You could train creepers over the stump. It looks rather raw,” Janice said. “Or it would make a good seat. You’ve nothing to sit on out here.”

  “Nobody wants to sit here and look at a rough meadow!”

  “Oh, I don’t know! That row of trees between the field and the farm is rather fine. What are they? Holly?”

  “I believe they’re ilex—evergreen oaks. But we don’t go near the farm, because Matthew Edwards hasn’t been friendly. We keep away from him.”

  “You could sit and look at the gate-house.”

  “Yes, and at the tourists driving in from the road,” Joan said, laughing. “Here comes one of them! But she’s not a tourist. I rather thought she’d come to-day, but she’s earlier even than I expected.”

  “Is it Lavinia?” Janice asked with interest, as the small child with untidy black hair and a red frock entered the meadow from the road.

  “Oh, Miss Joan!” She came flying across the grass. “Is she all right—Miss Jen? Oh, thank you for your letter! I’d’ve cried all night if you hadn’t wrote and told me as how she’d get better! It was kind of you to write!”

  “She’ll be well again in a few days. She isn’t badly hurt, but she might have been. Why did you do such a silly thing, Lavinia?” Joan asked severely. “Both you and Jen might have been killed.”

  Lavinia went very red. “I’m sorry. Everybody’s told me what might’ve happened. I see my Uncle Bonny, and I didn’t know as how he was here, and I called to him and then I ran to find him, and that was all, Miss Joan. I didn’t think. I never meant no harm.”

  “By not thinking, you nearly killed both Jen and yourself. It’s time you began to think, Vinny. You’re a big girl now. I remember you quite well from our drill days, but you’ve grown a lot, and you look older. You ought to behave as if you were older too.”

  “Yes, Miss Joan. I’ll be careful. Could I—oh, could I see Miss Jen for one minute?”

  “Certainly not! The doctor won’t allow visitors. Come back in a few days, and we’ll see what he says then. It depends how she goes on.”

  “Yes, Miss Joan, I’ll come. I got a present for Miss Jen.” Vinny’s tone was full of breathless eagerness. She was clutching a battered old black bag, which evidently held a treasure.

  “Oh? That’s very nice of you. Shall I take it to her?” Joan asked.

  “No, please, Miss Joan! I wants to give it to her meself.”

  “Oh, I see! All right! Bring it next time you come. It’s something that will keep, I suppose?” Joan’s mind had gone to fresh eggs, perhaps, or something else from the farm.

  “It’s a book!” Vinny burst out, her face ablaze with excitement.

  Joan looked startled and her eyes met Jandy’s doubtfully. What sort of book could Vinny possess that could be of the slightest interest to Jen?

  “I shouldn’t have thought she had a book of her own!” she said to Janice afterwards.

  “Miss Jen will like it,” Lavinia insisted, reading their thoughts.

  “I’m sure she will,” Joan said hastily. “It’s very kind of you, Vinny. But Jen won’t want to rob you of your book.”

  “I wants her to have it. I ain’t got nothing else, only my book.”

  “Your one treasure!” Joan said. “It’s really very nice of you. I’ll tell Jen, shall I? Then she can be looking forward to it.”

  “Yes, please, Miss Joan. But I wants to give it to her meself.”

  “Of course you must. Jen will be very pleased, and sh
e’ll want to thank you. Bring the book in a few days, and then I hope we’ll be able to let you see her.”

  “Yes, Miss Joan. And Mrs. Jaikes, she said as how I was to give you this.” She fumbled in her bag and drew out an envelope.

  “Thanks very much, Vinny; and thank you for bringing it. That’s a real help.” Joan took the letter. “Now don’t worry any more about Jen. We’re taking care of her. Would you like to see your Uncle Bonny? But I’m afraid he’s out; he’s gone to the forge to fetch some things. He’s going to stay in the Abbey, so you’ll see him another day.”

  Lavinia’s eyes wandered to the stump of the old tree. “Did they have to kill it, Miss Joan? It were so big and pretty, and such a nice shade. You used to sit under it and tell us things.”

  “It had to come down, Vinny. It wasn’t safe. We all felt bad about it, but it couldn’t be helped.”

  “Looks ugly now,” Lavinia said gloomily.

  Joan laughed. “I used to sit under it. Now I’m going to sit on it!” And she perched herself on the raw stump. “Does it still look ugly, Vinny?”

  “No, Miss Joan. Looks all right now.” Vinny’s eyes dwelt on her adoringly.

  “Then don’t be silly! Don’t think any more about it. Run along to the village and speak to Uncle Bonny before you go back to the farm. And—I say, Vinny! Go into the shop and buy some toffee to take home with you!” And she slipped sixpence into Vinny’s rather grubby hand.

  Beaming, Lavinia ran off, hugging her bag, and left Joan and Janice looking at one another.

  “I’d give something to see what she has in that bag!” Joan said yearningly.

  “How can a dirty little scrap like that have a book that Jenny-Wren could possibly want?”

  “That’s what I’m wondering. It’s probably a tattered copy of The Three Bears or Cinderella. I’m glad to have the chance to warn Jen. She might have had a shock.”

  “Lavinia doesn’t look bookish! She’s a weird little person.”

  “Jen has a present for her too. We bought it in the village yesterday; red ribbon to tie back that untidy hair. Jenny-Wren’s idea is that nobody can feel decent or have any self-respect with her hair all in a mess.”