Stowaways in the Abbey

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Stowaways in the Abbey Page 5

by Elsie J. Oxenham


  “I’m all right, Nurse. The sun’s lovely and hot. Jenny-Wren, what are you talking about? Is it a fairy tale, or a nightmare?”

  Jen turned a somersault of joy. “Joan! It’s you yourself! I haven’t seen you since Friday! Where are your spots? You look just as usual!”

  “I hardly had any spots. I’m better; I’m going to help mother with Joy. Now, Jen, what’s all this about?”

  “You look much more fit than you did on Friday night,” Jen agreed. “Put that white thing round your head like a Spanish lady’s mantilla. Arrange it for her nicely, please, Nurse. That’s right! It looks tophole, Joan; just like a wedding-veil.”

  “Jenny-Wren, stop fooling and come to business!” Joan commanded, laughing. “What do you mean by startling us all like this?”

  “But it’s true!” Jen protested. “You’re going to take care of Timothy Spindle.”

  “Timothy?”

  “Spindle. That’s his name; the fugitive from justice—my stowaway. He’s taken refuge in the Abbey, and it’s sanctuary, so he must be protected.”

  “I don’t know about that; not in these days,” Joan said grimly. “You’d better begin at the beginning, instead of giving us the end first. Is there really somebody hiding in the Abbey?”

  “In Ambrose’s cellar, under the gate-house. I was in bed, quite good and quiet, but not asleep, about midnight, Joan. I’d danced ‘Bacca Pipes’ and ‘Jockie’ on the garth in the moonlight.” She looked up at Joan, who nodded, as if it was what she had expected.

  “I was half asleep when I heard a sneeze,” Jen said dramatically.

  “A sneeze? Was there somebody in the cloisters?”

  “Yes; I heard them whisper, and then my door opened quietly, and a face looked in. I was terrified!” Jen stared up at Joan.

  “I’m sure you were. I should have been frightened myself. I’m sorry you didn’t wait till I, or even Jack, could be with you.”

  “I was only scared for a minute. I saw the ghost was quite little, so I flung on some clothes and skipped out. And there they were—Timothy Spindle and his sister Susie. She’s your Susan, you know.”

  “I knew that Susan’s name was Spindle, of course. Do you mean to say Susan was in the Abbey at midnight?”

  “Yes, with Timothy. He’s her brother; he’s older, about as old as you. He’s the boot-boy at Sir Keith Marchwood’s house in town, and they said he’d stolen things belonging to Mr. Kenneth—that’s Sir Keith’s younger brother, but he’s away in Africa. Timothy Spindle hadn’t touched anything of Mr. Kenneth’s, though the butler said he had; but he did take two shillings, that he saw lying in the kitchen, because he wanted to go to the pictures with some other chaps. So when the butler accused him falsely he was frightened, and he ran away and came back to the village. But he hasn’t any home here now, so he met Susie on her day out, and she hid him in the Abbey; and she’s been taking food and things to him, in Ambrose’s cellar under the gate-house. It was simply awfully sporting of her,” Jen ended defiantly.

  “But how did Susan take him into the Abbey?” Joan asked, frowning.

  “I hoped you wouldn’t think of that! She took your keys. I’m sorry she did it, but it was to help him. She didn’t know what else to do.”

  Joan sat on the window-sill and stared down at her, saying nothing.

  “It was very wrong of Susan,” Mrs. Shirley exclaimed.

  “I know. But she had to do something,” Jen pleaded. “It must be frightful to know your brother’s a starving stowaway.”

  “You’d better speak to her, Mother,” Joan said, knowing well that her mother’s gentle scolding would not be too hard on the culprit. “It’s something else that is bothering me. What do you expect us to do about this boy, Jenny-Wren?”

  Jen looked up, complete trust in her face. “Protect him from his enemies, of course. The Abbey is sanctuary, and he’s taken refuge there. He must be kept safe. Runaway people were always protected at the Abbey.”

  “Jen dear, don’t be so absurd,” Mrs. Shirley said. “That was in the old days. We can’t do that sort of thing now.”

  “Auntie Shirley!” Jen turned to her in quick, hurt dismay. “Joan couldn’t let the Abbey down!”

  “We must write to Sir Keith Marchwood at once and tell him the boy is here. They will be searching for him.”

  “You couldn’t!” Jen cried. “He’s taken refuge! It’s sanctuary! You couldn’t give him up to his enemies!”

  “Oh, Jen, don’t be silly! All that is past long ago!”

  “Joan, you wouldn’t do it?” Jen whirled round and gazed up at the window in entreaty. “Joan, you couldn’t—you wouldn’t——”

  Joan saw it all clearly. Jen’s intense faith in the Abbey and in herself was tottering. If it crashed, Jen would be heartbroken and her love would never be the same again. The problem, as Joan had seen at once, was not how to deal with Timothy Spindle, but how to avoid wrecking Jen’s trust.

  “We’ll do something, Jen. I must have time to think. But—yes, we must help Timothy somehow.”

  Jen’s face grew radiant. “I knew you would! That’s all right! You decide and tell me what to do.”

  “First, you’d better take your fugitive some breakfast. Isn’t he hungry?”

  “I’d saved chocolate and biscuits and an apple from my midnight feast. He felt better when he’d had those.”

  “I’m sure he did. Did you tell Ann Watson about him?”

  “Not a word, and she didn’t hear anything in the night. I didn’t want her to know till I’d heard what you thought about it.”

  “That was a good idea,” Joan agreed. “But she’d better know now, for he must come up out of the cellar. He can have your bed, when you’ve fetched away your things, and Ann can give him meals. Tell her to find him jobs to do; there may be some digging——”

  “He’s used to cleaning knives and boots,” Jen said eagerly. “Couldn’t he come here and do ours?”

  “Not yet,” Joan said decisively. “He must stay in the Abbey till we decide what to do. We have to be fair to the Marchwoods as well as to Timothy Spindle.”

  “But you won’t betray him to Sir Keith and the butler, will you?” Jen asked anxiously. “He came here to take refuge, Joan.”

  “I’ll do nothing without consulting you first. He’s your fugitive,” Joan promised.

  “My stowaway,” Jen pleaded. “It’s a much nicer word than fugitive.”

  “But it isn’t right,” Joan smiled down at her. “A stowaway ought to be on a ship.”

  “Timothy was planning to find a ship and go away; that’s why I call him a stowaway. I told him he wouldn’t like it,” Jen added.

  “Oh, I see! No, I don’t suppose he would. Well, I won’t do anything about your stowaway without consulting you.”

  “Thanks frightfully much!”

  “But, Joan——!” Mrs. Shirley began.

  “Mother dear, if you wouldn’t mind coming up here we’ll talk about it. I’m not cold, but I do think I ought to go back to bed. Jenny-Wren, your job is to explain to Ann and then fetch your stowaway out of that cellar. Don’t tell Ann too much, but make her understand he’s to be looked after. We’ll have another chat later on, when I’ve dressed.”

  “Keep that shawl-thing round your face! You look just like a bride.” Jen waved her hand and ran off to speak to Ann Watson.

  “Oh, Mother dear, do come and talk about all this!” Joan pleaded with a tired laugh, and turned to go back to bed.

  CHAPTER IX

  RESTORING THE ANCIENT RIGHTS

  “Joan, why did you give in to Jen?” Mrs. Shirley sat beside the bed, looking troubled. “You know we can’t conceal this lad in the Abbey. But Jen will expect it, after what you said.”

  Joan lay, tired out with the excitement of the talk. “I’m not as fit as I thought! I shan’t be much help to you for a day or two, Mother dear.”

  “You’ll have to be patient and go slowly,” the nurse remarked. “You had a temperature for
a couple of days. Don’t worry about your little friend and her troubles just yet.”

  “Temp. or not, we must do something about this boy, and yet we can’t let Jenny-Wren down.” Joan lay resting, but spoke with her old energy. “Mother, it would break Jen’s heart, if we betrayed her fugitive—her stowaway! She’d never trust us again. And it would ruin her feeling for the Abbey. I just can’t do it. There must be some other way.”

  “But the lad can’t stay in the Abbey, as Jen seems to expect,” Mrs. Shirley remonstrated.

  Joan laughed wearily. “Poor kid! It hasn’t occurred to her that times have changed. She thinks the Abbey sanctuary would still be respected. I shall have to talk to her. She’s tremendously sensible when things are explained to her.”

  “But about this boy, Timothy, Joan?”

  “Timothy Spindle! Yes, we’ll have to do something. Is Joy well enough to hear the story? Ask her what she thinks, Mother! By the time you come back I may have thought of a plan.”

  “Joy says the Spindles are a jolly family and the blacksmith was an old dear,” Mrs. Shirley said, when she returned presently. “She hopes you’ll find a way to help without handing the boy over to the police, but she can’t see quite what you can do. He can’t go on hiding in the Abbey. She says Jenny-Wren is a brick, and it’s a marvellous idea to call him a stowaway!”

  “She is a brick,” Joan agreed. “Sit down, Mother dear, and tell me if this idea’s any good. I can see just one thing to do. We must—you must! I can’t do it at present—write to the Marchwoods and say the boy is here and that we are sure of his innocence, except about the two shillings, and that he is very sorry about that. We’ll make up the letter together, but I’m afraid you’ll have to write it. Sir Keith wouldn’t like it smelling of disinfectant! We must plead for Timothy to be given another chance and convince them somehow that he isn’t really a thief.”

  “But will that satisfy Jen?”

  “I’ve felt all the time that Jen was more of a problem than Timothy Spindle. We can’t send the letter without consulting her; I promised that. I must try to make her see the difference between helping Timothy to start again and merely hiding him from the people she calls his enemies. We’ll try to do the one thing; we can’t possibly do the other.”

  “Jen had better write the letter to the Marchwoods,” Mrs. Shirley suggested. “I should write a much shorter and simpler letter, if it were left to me.”

  Joan’s eyes gleamed. “Good idea! Oh, a topping idea, Mother! It will give her something to do; and she’ll feel she’s being the one to save Timothy. Jacky-boy can help her to make it up. Oh, yes! Jen must write to Sir Keith. But you’d better see the letter before it goes, and I’d like to hear it! I shall insist on her reading it to me through the window. I must talk to her before she writes it, though. What about Susan Spindle? Don’t be too hard on her, will you? As Jen says, she had to do something, when her brother turned up in such dreadful trouble. It was rough on the kid.”

  “I’ll have a talk with her. She had no right to take the keys.”

  “Of course not. Perhaps you’d better keep them in your room till I’m about again. We may have anything hiding in the Abbey, if the keys can be taken so easily!”

  “I’ll keep them for you,” Mrs. Shirley promised.

  It was some hours before the nurse would sanction any more excitement for her patient. But she saw that Joan would be restless until she had talked to Jen again, so when the afternoon sun was blazing into the room she settled Joan on the window-sill, wrapped in her shawl and dressing-gown as before, and called Jen to a conference.

  Jen came dashing up the terrace steps from the garden. “Hullo, bride! Where are your bridesmaids?”

  “You’re the only one; aren’t you my maid-of-honour?”

  “Rather! When you have a real wedding, I may be your bridesmaid, as well as Joy, mayn’t I?”

  “You may,” Joan assured her gravely. “I haven’t made any other arrangements for the wedding yet, but we’ll consider that decided.”

  “I won’t let you forget. Are you better?”

  “Ever so much better. How is Timothy?”

  “He’s all right, but he’s rather gloomy.”

  “Oh? What’s the matter with him?”

  “He thinks you’re going to hand him over to Mr. Simmonds; that’s the butler. Timothy Spindle’s afraid of him. I’ve told him you couldn’t possibly do it, and that any one who comes to the Abbey is safe, but he doesn’t believe me.”

  “I’m afraid Timothy Spindle is more up-to-date than you are, Jenny-Wren.”

  “What d’you mean?” Jen asked indignantly. “You know that anybody who took refuge in the Abbey had to be protected!”

  “But that was because of the church. It was the altar that would be the sanctuary,” Joan said mildly.

  Jen’s face fell. “Oh—Joan! Not the whole Abbey?”

  “All that we have left are the conventual buildings, in which the monks lived and worked,” Joan quoted a sentence she had often uttered to tourists in the Abbey. “They weren’t holy, you know. If they had been, we couldn’t dance morris jigs on the garth by moonlight.”

  Jen shot a look up at her. “You’ve done it, haven’t you? I knew you had.”

  “Oh, yes, often. You do see that we can’t claim dormitories and workrooms and kitchens and the refectory as holy ground, don’t you?”

  “What about the chapter-house?” Jen demanded.

  “It wasn’t as holy as the church.”

  “Well, there’s the old church, and the holy well. It felt quite like being in church when I was down there on Sunday morning.”

  “I’m sure it did. But I’m afraid we’ll have to face the fact that people like the police, and Sir Keith and Lady Marchwood, wouldn’t recognise the right of sanctuary in the Abbey ruins.”

  “You mean, it isn’t holy nowadays?” Jen looked downcast, and Joan saw again that hurt dismay in her face.

  “I don’t know how to put into words what I mean. As regards other people, I’m afraid it isn’t holy, and the old rights have gone. If a criminal takes refuge in the Abbey, the police will certainly insist on having him given up to them, and nobody would agree with us if we tried to resist them. We should only get into trouble ourselves and make matters worse for the criminal. Times have changed, and we can’t shut our eyes to it. It’s only if people recognise the holiness of the Abbey that it could be a sanctuary. And they wouldn’t, you know. They’d just laugh at us.”

  “Then you’ll have to send Timothy back to the butler?” Jen’s tone was flat and she did not look up.

  Joan looked down at her, her face gentle. “But as regards ourselves, if we feel the Abbey is holy, that makes it holy to us, and we must do something about it. Don’t you think so?”

  Jen threw back her head and gazed up, her face suddenly radiant. “Joan! Oh, marvellous! Of course, it’s holy to us—it always has been. Nothing can alter that; other people don’t matter. Oh, do you mean that you’ll protect Timothy, after all?”

  “Couldn’t you say ‘help’ instead of ‘protect’? It seems so much more worth while. Just to protect him, by hiding him from his enemies, isn’t much use; it won’t take him anywhere. He couldn’t hide in the Abbey for ever, could he? But if we could help him out of this mess and send him back to his job, and see that he makes a fresh start, that would be worth doing.”

  “I see!” Jen’s face lit up. “Because he came to the Abbey, you’ll take care of him and help him out of his mess? It is because of the Abbey, isn’t it?”

  “Of course it is. To you and me, the Abbey is still a holy place, and though we can’t break the law by sheltering criminals, we’ll help anybody who comes to the Abbey in trouble, if we can.”

  “We’ll go on in the old way, even if other people don’t.” Jen’s tone was full of deep content.

  “Keeping the old rights alive, so far as we can.”

  “That’s what I wanted to say, but I didn’t know how to put it. K
eeping the old rights alive—oh, marvellous! You and I, and anybody else who loves the Abbey. I say, Joan, thank you for letting me into it!”

  “You’re very much in it,” Joan said, laughing. “Much more deeply than you think. You’re going to write the letter to Sir Keith Marchwood.”

  “I? What d’you mean?” Jen cried.

  “I can’t, can I? It would have to be disinfected. It isn’t Mother’s job; she’s attending to Susan Spindle. The way to help Timothy is to write to Sir Keith, and you’re the one who’ll have to do it.”

  “I—write to a baronet? But I don’t know how!” Jen gasped.

  “You and Jack can make up the letter, and then you’ll come and read it to me and Mother. A baronet’s just the same as anybody else.”

  “But what shall I say? Oh, Joan, I can’t!”

  “You want to help Timothy, don’t you?”

  “Yes, but—oh, Joan, you tell me what to say, and I’ll write it down!”

  “If your letter isn’t good enough, I’ll tell you how to alter it. Scribble it in pencil, and we’ll consider it together. Tell Sir Keith all about it and beg him to give Timothy another chance. I say, Jenny-Wren! It’s awfully odd how quickly I get tired!”

  Jen gave her a startled look. “Have I been too much for you? I’m terribly sorry. I’ll go away. You go back to bed and rest.”

  “Nurse wants me to; she’s looking cross. You do understand about the Abbey, don’t you?”

  “Now that you’ve explained, I do. I want to think about it, though. You and I, bringing back the old rights—it’s like Sir Antony making the ruins into an Abbey again, after all those centuries when they were farm buildings, isn’t it?”

  Joan’s face lit up. “Just like that, Jenny-Wren. I knew you’d understand, but you’ve taken my idea and turned it into something bigger and quite beautiful. We’ll restore the ancient rights by helping any one in trouble who comes to the Abbey, just as Sir Antony restored the Abbey when it was a heap of ruins.”

 

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