“Those don’t sound like hymns,” Janice protested.
Joan laughed. “Moody and Sankey, Jandy Mac. Jen’s probably right. It’s just the sort of thing Lavinia and her family would treasure.”
“I’ve seen them in cottages in the village at home,” Jen said. “There’s ‘Let the Lower Lights Be Burning’—about light-houses, I think. I rather like that one. And ‘Hold the Fort, for I am coming’—that’s a good one too. But I don’t want Vinny to give me hymns! It’s worrying me quite a lot.”
“We’ll soon put an end to that,” Joan told her. “Vinny comes to ask for you every day. You’ll really have to see her soon. She’s sure you must be better now.”
“I’m not better enough for hymn-books,” Jen asserted. “Have you given her the ribbon yet?”
“No, I was leaving that for you to do.”
“Then give it to her, Joan, dear, and tell her how to wear it. I don’t want to see her any more with her hair all in a mess. Tell her it’s from me, if you like; but make her look decent before I see her again!”
“I will, if it’s what you want, of course. I’ll show her how to do her hair,” Joan promised.
That evening she went to Jen’s room and sat on the bed. “Something to tell you, Jenny-Wren.”
“Something nice? Where’s Jandy Mac?”
“Writing to Alec. I had a talk with Boniface to-day. He’s had a letter from his son.”
“And will they let him stay in the Abbey?”
“They think it’s a splendid plan. It’s quite plain, from the letter and from what he says, that they are badly overcrowded, and they’ll be really glad for him to live somewhere else, so long as he’s sure he will be happy.”
“He’ll be happy all right.” Jen had been thinking of Boniface while she lay in bed. “He wants to stay.”
“Yes, but it’s a long way from his people.”
“He’ll like it. The question is, will you be happy, or will he spoil the Abbey for you?”
“He hasn’t been any bother so far. I asked Ann to give him a hint that I came into the Abbey to be quiet, and he has never come near or disturbed me in any way. I had to send Ann to find him when I wanted to speak about his son; she told me he had had the letter. But I haven’t been in the Abbey very much since he came.”
“For fear he’d want to talk.” Jen understood at once. “I’m sorry about that, Joan. And you’ve lost your little room.”
“We can’t have everything. Boniface and Ann seem to be quite good friends, and he’s radiantly happy, so it’s worth while giving up my room to make that possible. But there’s something on his mind—something he won’t tell me.”
“How odd!” Jen exclaimed. “Has he committed a crime?”
“Not that sort of thing. There’s some idea in his head, but he won’t speak of it. Perhaps he’ll tell us some day. When I asked if he’d like to stay in the Abbey, he implied that there was somewhere else he’d like to be, but that it wasn’t possible, and that was all he would say. He didn’t mean Birmingham, with his son; there’s somewhere else.”
“Gosh, how weird! Where do you suppose he wants to go?”
“I haven’t the slightest idea. I could write and ask his son if he knows, but it doesn’t seem fair. Boniface would tell us, if he wanted us to know.”
“I thought the Abbey was what he wanted most of all.”
“There’s one thing he wants more than the Abbey, but he’s either ashamed of wanting it or shy of speaking of it. He just says it isn’t possible.”
“You might make it possible. Then he’d go away, and you’d have your room again.”
“I thought of that. But I shan’t ask him. If he tells me, that will be different. There’s something we ought to be doing, Jen—nothing to do with Boniface. We ought to make up a letter to Vinny’s father, now that we have his address.”
“Won’t Vinny write herself?”
“She must, of course, but I think we should write too. I don’t feel Vinny’s letter will be quite enough.”
“I think it will be a lot too much!” Jen hinted. “If her letter is anything like I expect it to be, he’ll come galloping home by the first boat to take her back and teach her how to spell.”
“That would be one way out of the difficulty. We’ll send a letter from her—you may be sure of that! But it would help to have one from us too. I’ve been making notes. Would something like this do?
“‘Dear Mr. Miles,
“We have seen your little girl, Lavinia, or Vinny, and she does not seem to be happy at the farm. You will know that her aunt has died and she is left alone. Mrs. Jaikes has been very good and has done what she could, but she has a family of her own and her hands are full. Would it not be possible for Vinny to join you and her brothers? She is old enough to be some help to her stepmother, and she would like to be with her own people. If no one can come to fetch her—and we realise that might be difficult—perhaps we could find somebody who would take care of her on the journey, if you could send the money for her fare. We would make arrangements and would see her safely on to the ship, if you could meet her at Montreal.’”
“Montreal! I thought it was New York!” Jen exclaimed.
“The address is ‘Whiteways Farm, Ontario, Canada.’ Vinny said America, but she was wrong, or else they’ve moved.”
“It’s all the same to her,” Jen grinned. “It’s the other side of the Atlantic, and that’s America. Somehow I’d rather she went to Canada than to New York, and a farm would be jolly for her, as she’s used to farms. They’ve called their place after the village here! That was nice of them. Vinny will go from one Whiteways to another! It’s a jolly good letter, Joan-Queen. I can’t think of a single other thing to say. He must send her fare, of course. You can’t pay it!”
“It wouldn’t do to suggest it,” Joan said decidedly. “If they don’t want Lavinia they’ll make an excuse, and she’ll have to stay where she is. If they want her, they’ll manage to send her fare. If we paid for her and sent her to them, they might not welcome her.”
“Of course, they must say they want her,” Jen agreed. “I do hope they’ll be kind! Tell her to write her letter at once, Joan. Then we can send them together, and then we shall know.”
“I’ll tell her to write it in pencil and let us see it,” Joan suggested. “If it’s too bad, we can improve it and then she can copy it out neatly.”
“It won’t be Vinny, if you edit it! Send it just as she writes it, I say! Then he’ll know the worst!”
“We’ll see how bad it is,” Joan decided. “I haven’t asked him to pay something to Mrs. Jaikes. I’m hoping he’ll think of it for himself.”
“Much nicer,” Jen agreed.
“If he doesn’t suggest it, we shall have to ask him. It would be only fair,” Joan said.
She came to Jen’s room later in the day to report progress. “Vinny nearly wept with joy when I gave her the ribbon. She begged me to thank you ‘everso’. I told her to divide her hair into two and tie each bunch with ribbon, and I helped her to do it, for the first time. It improves her enormously; she looks a different girl. She says she can do it herself, and she’s thrilled by her own appearance. She’s coming to-morrow to show you how she looks. I said you’d be able to see her, unless you had a bad night, for any reason.”
“Meaning, unless I worry too much about that awful book and can’t go to sleep!” Jen laughed. “Kind of you to leave me a way of escape! But I won’t take it. We’d better get it over and know the worst. I promise faithfully I won’t shriek with horror. I’ll be pleased, whatever it is.”
“It’s Vinny’s dearest treasure. I know that by the tone in which she speaks of it. So I hope you will be pleased.”
“I oughtn’t to take it, if she cares as much as that,” Jen began hopefully.
“Oh, you must take it! She’s determined you shall have it.”
“What did she say about the letter to her father?”
“She thinks mine is just ever
so lovely. She was terrified at the thought of writing one herself, but I talked to her, and she’s promised to try. She’ll do her best and bring it to show us to-morrow.”
“Horrors in store for us!” Jen groaned. “Oh, well! We’ll get them all over at once!”
“The mysterious book is old; she let fall that hint. Very, very old, she said. I do wonder what it is!”
“I expect she just meant that it was in rags and tatters, all dog-eared and dirty. I know it’s an ancient hymn-book!” Jen sighed. “Don’t look at me when she gives it to me, Joan, dear! I shall shriek with horror, or roar with laughing, or sob, or something, if I catch your eye.”
“It isn’t likely to be as old or as interesting as Katharine’s book, I’m afraid,” Joan said sadly.
CHAPTER XVI
LETTERS, AND A DIARY
The next morning brought letters for everybody.
Joan handed a fat one to Janice with a smile. “From your Alec. I’ll take Jen’s up to her; it’s from her mother. Mine is from Joy. I want to know what she says about her ancestress Katharine’s present to us.”
“Joan! Come and speak to me, Joan!” Jen hung over the gallery railing, a few moments later.
Joan dropped Joy’s letter and ran upstairs. “Anything wrong, Jen, dear?”
“I don’t know.” Jen looked at her with anxious eyes. “Mother starts by telling me about the wedding, and then she breaks off to say Father is ill and he won’t be able to come home just yet, and do I think you could possibly keep me for a few days longer? Or I can go back to The Grange, but I’ll be all alone there. I don’t want to do that; I’d worry about Father if I had no one to talk to. Oh, Joan, dear, may I stay here with you?”
Joan flung an arm round her. “Jenny-Wren, of course you’ll stay here! Don’t think twice about it. Write to your mother at once and say we’ll love to keep you for as long as she likes.”
“She doesn’t feel it’s fair to ask you, after last summer,” Jen whispered, clinging to her. “There’s a note enclosed for you. I expect it’s to apologise. You had to keep me for a fortnight last August. Do you remember? But she doesn’t know what else to do, and she feels so happy about me while I’m here, she says.”
“What a lovely compliment! I’ll write to her. I think she knows we love having you.”
“I think she’s worried about Father.” Jen hid her face on Joan’s shoulder. “I know I am. He oughtn’t to be ill again. Do you think there’s anything badly wrong with him, Joan?”
“I expect the travelling and the excitement of the wedding have upset him a little,” Joan said consolingly. “A few days’ rest may put him right. Are they staying with friends?”
“Yes, but if he isn’t better soon, she’ll think he ought to go to hospital. They can’t be a nuisance to people,” Jen said brokenly. “I’m frightened about him, Joan. Suppose he doesn’t get better?”
“Oh, Jen, dear, there’s no need to think of that! Wait for a day or two. I expect good news will come soon. Get dressed now, and then you can write to your mother. Remember you have to be ready for Lavinia, and she’s sure to come early.”
“I don’t like Father to be ill so often.”
“But he was better quickly after that last time, and he’s been all right through the winter, hasn’t he?”
“Yes, but he shouldn’t be ill again, Joan.”
“I don’t expect it’s anything much. Shall I help you to dress?”
“No, I can do it; I’m almost all right again. You read Mother’s letter. I’ll be down soon.”
“There’s a letter from Joy,” Joan said, in an effort to cheer her.
It was successful, to some extent. Jen asked eagerly, “What does she say about Katharine’s pictures?”
“She’s thrilled to the limit, and Mother wants to see them too. Joy’s so pleased about Minette and Ambrose! You shall read what she says when you come downstairs.”
“We must cheer Jen up,” Joan said to Janice, as she told her the news. “She’s really worried about her father.”
“What’s wrong, do you think?”
“I’ve no idea. He seems to have these bad times, but the last one was a year ago, and it passed off safely. I hope he’ll be all right. Jen’s too young to have any serious trouble. I’d be sorry if she had to grow up too soon.”
“We’ll keep her from thinking,” Janice promised.
Jen was quiet and shadowed at first, but she became more herself in her interest in Joy’s comments on her new treasure, and when Lavinia appeared she was able to greet her with a shout of delight.
“Vinny! Oh, you do look nice! You’ve done your hair quite beautifully! I didn’t think you were so clever!”
“Red suits Lavinia,” Janice remarked.
“Oh, Miss Jen!” Vinny ran to her. “Be you all right? They all tells me as how you might’ve been killed, and it had oughter been me.”
“I’m sure nobody ever said anything so horrid!”
“I expect they told Lavinia it might have been her,” Joan said. “Jen’s much better now, Vinny. Doesn’t she look all right?”
“Yes, Miss Joan. Oh, Miss Jen, I were frit when Uncle Bonny said you looked just like a dead lass!”
“Oh, Vinny, dear! Don’t think about it any more! I never was anywhere near being dead!” Jen cried. “Turn round, so that I can inspect you properly! Is your back as neat as your front?”
“She was very near being dead.” Joan’s eyes shot a meaning look at Janice.
“But if she doesn’t realise it, don’t rub it in,” Janice murmured.
“Very nicely done!” Jen said, with warm approval. “Does Mrs. Jaikes like you like this?”
“Said I weren’t quite such a scarecrow,” said Lavinia bluntly. “I done my letter, Miss Joan.”
“It was clever of you to be so quick. May we see it?”
Shyly, Lavinia produced a sheet of paper and watched anxiously as the girls looked at it together.
Joan’s face lit up in relief. It might have been so very much worse. Lavinia, apparently, could spell, though her English grammar deserted her when she spoke at full speed, as she often did. The writing of the letter had been an ordeal, and she had done it slowly, taking great care, and had made it very short.
“Dear Dad,
“Let me come! I want to be with you. I will be a good girl and do everything you say. I will work hard to help my new mother. I can do lots of things in the house, and I know about babies. Please let me come to you, Dad!
With love from your girl,
Lavinia (Vinny).”
“What a lovely letter!” Jen cried. “Vinny, you really are very clever!”
“She’s done it splendidly,” Janice said.
“If I were your father, Vinny, that letter would make me want you very much,” Joan exclaimed. “It’s exactly right.”
Lavinia looked from one to the other doubtfully. Then her face lit up in immense relief. “Be it good, Miss Joan? I didn’t know what to put.”
“It couldn’t have been better, if we’d told you what to say,” Joan assured her. “You know, Vinny, you ought to try to talk better. You can do it. That letter is quite well put together, and you use the right words. But when you talk you often use the wrong ones.”
“I f’get, Miss Joan, when I talks quick.”
“Quickly.” Jen flung the word at her. “An adverb, not an adjective.”
Lavinia stared at her blankly. “Sounds like school.”
Jen laughed. “Vinny, are there any cousins in Canada? Didn’t we hear that your dad and the boys went out to join an uncle, who was doing very well?”
“That be right, Miss Jen. Uncle Jim, he’s got a farm, and my dad went to help him, as his boys wasn’t old enough to be of use.”
“Boys! Then there are cousins.” And Jen eyed Vinny thoughtfully. “I’m glad they’re boys.”
Joan looked at her quickly. Then she turned to Lavinia. “Vinny, has your new mother any children? You said something about takin
g care of babies.”
“Mrs. Jaikes says as how the last letter what come—came!”—poor Vinny pulled herself up under the horrified eyes fixed on her—“said there was a little girl. She’ll be my sister, won’t she? I’d love to have a little sister; I haven’t never had one.”
“I hope Mrs. Jaikes is right and there is a baby half-sister,” Joan said gently. “You’d be a great help to them; you’d take care of her beautifully. Now, Vinny, what about that book you were going to give to Jen?”
“I ain’t brought it, Miss Joan. I were frit. It beant good enough for Miss Jen.”
“What?” There was a united shout from the three.
“Oh, Vinny, you brute!” Jen wailed. “I want my book!”
“Vinny, how unkind!” Joan cried. “Didn’t you know we’d want to see it?”
“She might have let Jen say if it was good enough,” Janice said indignantly.
Lavinia looked from one to the other, startled by their outcry. “It’s old,” she faltered. “’Tain’t anything much. It were wrote by Jane Miles long ago—her whose dad had to run away or he’d’ve been hanged, so they do say.”
Stunned, Jen stared at Joan, and Joan stared at Lavinia.
“Hanged?” Janice murmured, dazed. “What for? Was he a sheep-stealer?”
“Not sheep,” Lavinia protested, shame in her voice. “But he were a bad ’un, and he had to run.”
“Or he’d have been hanged. It must have been serious,” Janice began.
“If they’d catched him, but they never did,” Vinny added.
“Jane Miles was his daughter?” Joan started to straighten out the story. “And she wrote a book, Vinny? What sort of book?”
“’Bout the things she did, Miss Joan.”
“Do you mean a diary?” Jen gave a shout. “Oh, Vinny, do you mean a diary? Joan, it may be thrilling! For it must go back a long way. Everybody has forgotten this gentleman who ought to have been hanged. It must be centuries ago!”
“Do you mean a diary, Vinny?” Joan demanded.
“I d’n know. What’s that, Miss Joan?”
Schoolgirl Jen at the Abbey Page 9