Stowaways in the Abbey

by Elsie J. Oxenham

  CHAPTER V

  JEN’S GREAT IDEA

  Jen put down the brush and sprang up. “I’d better go back to the old church and show myself that I’m not scared. I’m positive certain I shan’t hear anything. If I don’t go I shall keep on thinking about it. Better have it over!”

  She plunged down the steps to the crypt again and stood listening intently, keeping close to the entrance. There was not a sound. The old church had all the usual silence of underground.

  “Idiot!” Jen shook herself. “You made it up. What are you sticking close to the steps for? There’s nothing here. Do you think it was the ghost of Ambrose? Or Jehane? That’s what comes of feeling romantic in the dark all alone!”

  Deliberately she walked round the crypt and stood beside the tunnel door, whistling—“We Won’t Go Home Till Morning,” under her breath.

  “Nothing there!” she said cheerfully. “I’m an idiot! I shall never tell anybody what an ass I was. I could stay down here all night, and not be frightened. I say! What a marvellous idea!”

  On fire with eagerness, she ran up to the garth again, dived into the little room which Joan had furnished for her own use, and came out with pad and pencil, to write her daily letter to the invalids. But to-day she had more to say than mere gossip about the cats.

  “Dear Joan—Dearest Darling Joan,—Yes, of course, I’m putting it that way because I want something. You’ve often promised I should spend a night in the Abbey, but I’ve never done it yet. Couldn’t it be now, to-night or to-morrow, before Jack comes, when I’ll be alone anyway? It seems such a sensible idea. Do please say yes! It’s lovely weather and there’s a moon. Last night I quite wished I was a cat, so that I could prowl about all night, as the Curate and the others do. I won’t prowl much, of course. I’ll go to bed in your little room as good as anything. But I might wander round the garth once or twice to see how it looks by moonlight. You know I’d be all right. You slept there last summer when the house was so full and Jandy Mac asked if she might come; and nothing happened to you! I’ll have the cats for company. I must tell you about Timmy! But I may sleep in the Abbey, mayn’t I, Joan?”

  She added some stories of the cats, then closed the letter and hurried back to the house, to lie in wait for Mrs. Shirley or the nurse.

  It was the nurse she met first.

  “Will you please be so kind as to give this to Joan?”

  The nurse looked down at her. “You’re the little suspect case, are you?”

  “What a horrid thing to call me!” Jen cried. “I’m perfectly well. There’s not a single measle about me!”

  “Nor any cold, nor a sore throat, nor a headache? Good! See that you keep well. We might have to shave off all that hair, if you were very ill.”

  “I shouldn’t mind. It’s only to please Daddy. He’d be upset, of course. Oh, I say! You haven’t cut off Joan’s hair, have you?” Jen cried in alarm.

  “Certainly not. She’s not very ill; she’s much better. The other one is worse, but we’ll try not to sacrifice her hair. It’s beautiful hair; it would be a pity to shave it off.”

  “Oh, you mustn’t cut Joy’s hair either,” Jen cried earnestly. “That would spoil the Abbey Girls. They’ve always been as alike as twins; their fathers were twins. It’s the joke of the school, when they dress up as May Queens. Strangers think they’re seeing double and rub their eyes and ask if there are really two. You mustn’t cut the hair off one of them!”

  The nurse laughed. “Then Joy must bring her temperature down. We can’t run risks for the sake of her hair; she’d be much cooler without it. But we won’t cut it unless we really have to.”

  “Please don’t!” Jen begged. “Everybody would be fearfully sorry, except perhaps Joy herself. I don’t believe she’d mind; but Mrs. Shirley would.”

  “We won’t do it unless it’s necessary,” the nurse promised, and took the letter to Joan’s room.

  Jen awaited the answer eagerly, but it did not come until the evening, when Mrs. Shirley again came into the garden for a walk.

  Jen raced to meet her. “Oh, Auntie Shirley, what does Joan say? And how are they?”

  “Much the same. We’re a little worried about Joy. Joan is almost herself again.”

  “You won’t let that nurse cut off Joy’s hair, will you? She isn’t bad enough for that, is she?” Jen pleaded.

  “I hope we shan’t have to do that. But we must do anything that will help to make her better. Joan read your letter and she says—wouldn’t you rather wait till you could have Jack’s company?”

  “No, I wouldn’t,” Jen said decisively. “If Joan thinks for two minutes she’ll know why.”

  Mrs. Shirley laughed. “She did think, and she said she believed you’d rather be alone. Why is it, Jen? You’re fond of Jack, aren’t you?”

  “Fearfully. She’s my husband-chum. But she doesn’t care about the Abbey in the way Joan and I do, and she thinks I’m soft about Ambrose and Jehane.”

  “Joan also said I should ask whether you wouldn’t like to wait till she could keep you company in the Abbey?”

  Jen grew scarlet, and looked across the lawn. She glanced at Mrs. Shirley, then looked away again.

  “I wouldn’t like to hurt Joan’s feelings. I’d far rather have her than anybody else, if—if I had to have somebody. But——” She faltered and came to a stop.

  “But you’d really prefer to be alone?”

  “I’d rather not have anybody at all,” Jen admitted. “Do you think Joan will mind? Don’t tell her, if she’ll be upset or disappointed! I’ll wait till she’s better.”

  “Joan understands,” Mrs. Shirley said quickly, to relieve her mind. “She told me to ask you, but she said she believed you’d want to be by yourself. Don’t be worried, Jen; Joan feels just the same about the Abbey. She likes to be there alone. As she can’t have it just now, she’s glad that you should enjoy it. She suggests to-morrow night, as Jack won’t be here before Tuesday or Wednesday; we haven’t heard what her mother thinks of the plan yet. Suppose you have to-morrow night for your visit to the Abbey? That will give you all to-morrow to think about it.”

  “To look forward to it and make my preparations!” Jen gave a skip of delight. “Much better than to-night! The cats will have time to get used to the idea too; I must go and tell them! They expect to have that bed all to themselves. They’ll be surprised to find me in it.”

  “You must promise to go to bed properly,” Mrs. Shirley said, laughing at the thought of the matter being explained to Timmy and his mother. “Don’t go wandering about the ruins all night!”

  “Oh, I’ll go to bed nicely! But I might have one little prowl in the moonlight, and perhaps eat an apple on the garth at midnight, just to feel it’s a picnic. I’ll ask Mrs. Watson to buy me a packet of chocolate in the village. And to think I ought to be going back to school to-morrow morning!”

  Mrs. Shirley laughed again. “Your attitude to school and lessons is deplorable, Jenny-Wren.”

  “I’m sure it’s quite natural,” Jen protested. “I don’t see how anybody could ask a girl to be sorry about having a simply marvellous extra holiday.” And she ran off to tell the cats that she would share their bed on the following night.

  All through what might otherwise have been a rather dreary Monday, Jen went about with shining eyes which were full of secrets. She consulted Mrs. Watson, the caretaker in the Abbey, and entrusted her with commissions to be done in the village, during the hours when the ruins were not open to the public; but she would not reveal her plans to any one else.

  Joan, lying in bed, laughed when her mother reported Jen’s mysterious air.

  “A midnight picnic in the Abbey, all on her own! Isn’t it queer how mixed people are, Mother? There couldn’t be anybody more fond of a crowd than Jenny-Wren; she’s always happiest at a dance-party or in a cricket team. And yet she’s revelling in having the Abbey all to herself for a night. I wonder if she’s going to be Jehane, going to meet her lover? Or Ambrose, loo
king for her?”

  “It doesn’t seem like Jen,” her mother said. “I should have thought she’d want you or Jack.”

  “It’s her love for the Abbey,” Joan said. “She feels any other person would come between her and her visions. We shall hear all about it afterwards.”

  Monday brought a phone call from Jack, full of gratitude for Mrs. Shirley’s letter to her mother and eager for Tuesday, when she was to come to the Hall. Jen’s spirits leapt even higher as she thought of all she would have to tell.

  “Jacky-boy will be green with envy when she hears about my night alone in the Abbey! Now I’d better go and pack.”

  “What are you doing, Jen?” Mrs. Shirley paused to look into the bedroom. “Preparing for Jack?”

  “No, packing for the Abbey.” Jen’s tone was full of importance.

  Mrs. Shirley came into the room and sat on the bed and laughed. “Jen dear! Are you going to take all your possessions, just for one night?”

  Jen balanced on her heels, between a large suitcase and a small one, and laughed back at her. “Not everything, Auntie Shirley! But it seems so much more important if I make a bit of fuss. I might want extra things, mightn’t I? Another pair of stockings, in case I had a hole in my heel or a ladder; and my dressing-gown, of course, and night things; and a book or two, for fear I can’t sleep in Joan’s bed; and my torch and a spare battery; and a few other odds and ends. I’ll have enough to fill my wee case, that I brought for the week-end; I won’t take the big one Miss Macey sent this morning. The little one will feel like luggage, and I shall think I’m really going away for the night.”

  “What about this midnight picnic? Joan is quite sure you’re going to have a quiet feast all by yourself.”

  Jen’s eyes danced. “I’ve arranged that with Mrs. Watson. She’s been a dear; she quite understands.”

  “And we’re not to know anything about it?”

  “Not till to-morrow. I’ll tell you to-morrow; and I’ll write a lovely letter to Joan. You don’t mind, do you?”

  “Not at all. But don’t catch cold! We’ve enough illness without that. If you were ill we should have to send Jack home.”

  “I’ll be careful,” Jen promised. “I’m enjoying myself too much to catch cold! How is Joy now?”

  “A little better. Joan will be up to-morrow.”

  “Oh, cheers! She’ll be able to help and you can send away the nurse. Joan will be pleased!”

  “We’ll keep the nurse for a few days,” Mrs. Shirley said. “Joan mustn’t do too much at first. She asked me to tell you she envied you, having your first night in the Abbey.”

  Jen nodded. “I know. I’d quite have liked to have her with me, but as she can’t possibly come I shall be all right alone.”

  “Joan understands how you feel,” Mrs. Shirley assured her. “She knows you want to be alone with your monks and ladies.”

  “Only one lady!” Jen protested. “Only Jehane!”

  “Joan sends her best wishes and hopes you’ll have a happy time.”

  “Oh, I know I shall! Give her my love, Auntie Shirley, and say I shall think about her. I can’t help doing that, because it’s her Abbey.”

  CHAPTER VI

  ALONE IN THE ABBEY

  Jen’s face was alight with joyful anticipation as she carried her little case through the garden, down the tunnel, and into the Abbey. She had had her supper as usual, but she was to have breakfast with Ann Watson in her rooms within the Abbey walls—the rooms which had once been the quarters of the lay brothers, who were not proper monks, and in which Joan and Joy and Mrs. Shirley had lived, before the death of Joy’s grandfather, Sir Antony Abinger, had given the Abbey to Joan and the Hall to Joy.

  “It really does feel like being alone in the Abbey,” Jen said to herself, as she lit a candle and unpacked her case in the little room. “Mrs. Watson’s on the other side of this wall, I suppose, but there’s no way through to her place. I’d have to go out to the cloisters and along to her door, if I wanted her. This wee room is quite on its own, shut off from all the rest. It is an adventure! Jack will be jealous!”

  The Mother Superior was curled up on the bed, with her adopted child, Grey Timmy, tucked into her on one side, and her tall slim son, the black Curate with the white collar under his chin, keeping her back warm on the other.

  Jen shook her head at them. “The whole family! Not much room for me in that bed! I’m not ready for my share yet, children, but when I want to come in somebody will have to move. I won’t shift you for a little while. I’m going to wander round by moonlight; and then I must have my picnic.”

  She arranged her possessions with as much care as if she had come to stay for a fortnight. Waiting on the table were the goods Mrs. Watson had brought from the village; a packet of chocolate and one of biscuits, a small piece of cheese, two apples, a pot of honey, a plate of ripe yellow gooseberries, and some slices of bread and butter. Ann had added a jug of milk and a plate and glass, and Jen nodded gratefully.

  “Old sport! How jolly decent of her! I’m glad she’s given me a glass; I don’t like milk out of a cup—it never seems quite right. This will be a marvellous feast! But I’m not ready for it yet. There’s something missing—I know!”

  An empty vase and two little dishes stood on a shelf. Jen went to ask for a jug of water from Mrs. Watson, then called a cheery good-night, and ran to the Abbot’s garden. She brought blue pansies for the small dishes and yellow roses for the vase, and arranged them by the light of the candle.

  “I ought to have thought of them before. Joan likes to keep flowers in here; I shall see that there are always some now. She’ll be pleased, when she comes back. That looks better!” and she surveyed the effect of her decorations against the old grey wall.

  Regretfully she put the chocolate and biscuits into her case. “Those are for to-morrow, unless I’m really fearfully hungry. I’m sure Ambrose and Jehane didn’t have chocolate, and if they had biscuits I expect they were different from these. But the rest of the stuff is all right. The monks must have had bread and butter and cheese; and they kept bees, so they’d have honey; and apples and gooseberries are safe, I think. Just for to-night I want to have only things they could have had. Good thing dear old Ann gave me milk, not ginger-beer! I suppose the monks had ale, but that doesn’t appeal to me!”

  Her meal, when she had spread everything on small plates on the step of the cloisters, was certainly such as the monks might have enjoyed, and she looked at her choice with much satisfaction.

  “I can easily think I’m a lay-brother, eating bread and honey, and cheese and apples, and drinking milk! I shall have my picnic on the stroke of midnight. I wonder if the Abbey had a bell, that was heard all over the woods and hills? I expect it had a lovely deep sound. Joan says Cistercians were allowed one bell on their churches, but they mustn’t have more than one. Now I’ll go for my moonlight prowl! It might be sensible to put the milk on the shelf, just in case Timmy goes for a walk too.”

  She lifted the jug into safety and covered the bread and butter and the cheese. Then, taking her torch, she set out on the expedition to which she had been looking forward, wandering through the ruins to see them from every point in the strange white light.

  The refectory threw a black shadow across the garth. Jen climbed the stone stair to the great hall and found it lit up in brilliant radiance, as the moon streamed through the southern windows. Entranced, she gazed and wandered round; then went cautiously down the dark steps, which always seemed more difficult to go down than to go up, and crossed the garth to the dormitory stair.

  This was dark also and rather risky, as the steps were winding and worn away. But Jen used her torch and went carefully, and felt repaid when she stood in a window niche and gazed down at the garth in its flood of silver light.

  “I never saw it look so lovely before. I suppose Joan has seen it often like this. How marvellous the cloisters are by moonlight! But it’s all marvellous to-night. My supper looks silly, spread on
the steps!” She laughed, and went to the end of the dormitory—very warily, because here the window and the skew-door were unprotected—to look across the site of the great church to the wooded hills beyond, and then came back to glance into the monks’ day-room, into which the moon was shining, before returning to the garth.

  At last, satisfied that she had visited every corner above-ground, and not at the moment interested in tunnels and passages, she brought cushions and settled down to her midnight supper.

  “My frugal monkish meal! Not so frugal, either. I’m going to do jolly well, with cheese and honey and fruit and milk!”

  She shared the milk with the Curate, who was setting out on his nightly pilgrimage to the village; and then had to give some to Timmy and his mother, who heard the Curate lapping and came to say they were hungry too.

  “Share and share alike!” Jen said gravely. “But the most for me, children, because I really am much bigger than you all put together. Good-night, Curate! Good luck!”

  The Curate stalked across the garth and into the shadows. Jen, suddenly possessed by a great desire, sprang up, laid two sticks on the garth in the moonlight, in the form of a cross, slipped rings of bells on her ankles, and began to dance “Bacca Pipes,” heel and toe placed neatly in the angles. Laughing at herself and at the puzzled face of the mother cat, she put the sticks away and brought two handkerchiefs from her suitcase, and danced across the grass, with arms waving in circles above her head, in “Old Mother Oxford,” and finished with “Jockie to the Fair.”

  “Wish I had some music! How weird the bells sound! There! I had to have a few jigs, just to work off my feelings! Joan would understand; I’m sure she’s done it herself. Now I’ll tidy up, and then I’ll be ready for bed.”

  When everything was neat she carried the cats into the little room and settled them at the foot of the bed, both purring in bliss as they realised that to-night they were to have company.