“You’ve begun doing it already, by adopting people. We decided that last summer.”
“And even the Mother Superior had to adopt Grey Timmy!” Joan said, laughing. “You’d better make a rough draft of your letter. Then you can show it to Jack, when she comes after tea.”
CHAPTER X
NO LONGER ALONE
“I wish Joan hadn’t given me such an awful job!” Jen sat gazing despairingly at her writing-pad. “How do I start? ‘Dear Sir’? You’d say that to anybody. ‘Dear Sir Keith Marchwood’? That looks more like the proper thing; Joan will tell me if it’s right. What ought I to say? ‘Your boot-boy’s a stowaway in our Abbey, and we want you to be nice to him’? It doesn’t sound right, somehow.”
She sat dreaming and staring across the lawn.
“I’m sorry about the Abbey not being a sanctuary any more, but I do see what Joan means. It would be the great church that fugitives would go to for refuge, not the garth or the dormitory or even the refectory. I suppose the great church took the place of the little old one, and took its rights and its holiness too, perhaps; and we’ve only a few stones of it left.”
She pictured the site of the great church, where white violets grew among the grass-covered stones and the bases of the pillars which had once held up the roof, and sighed, as she had often done, because not even a picture of it was left.
“If only we knew what it looked like! I’d give a million pounds for a picture of the church, and Joan would give more than that!” Her mind went back to her present problem. “I must hurry on with saving Timothy Spindle. I do like Joan’s idea that we can bring back the old times by keeping the right feeling in the Abbey. I’ll help whenever I have a chance.”
She scribbled, and crossed out, and rewrote. Then, with an exasperated sigh, she flung her pad aside. “I’ll ask Jack if that will do. If not, Joan will have to help. I wish—my aunt! Who’s this? That’s not the doctor’s car. Who doesn’t know about our quarantine? I’d better vanish—oh, glory! It’s Jacky-boy!”
She went leaping across the terrace to meet the car.
“Jack! You’re not expected till this evening. How dare you come too soon? Oh, husband, it’s marvellous to have you here!”
“Don’t throttle me,” Jack grumbled. “And I am expected. Mother phoned to ask if you’d have me before tea, as Daddy needs the car this evening. Mrs. Shirley said it would be all right but she wouldn’t tell you, as it would be a nice surprise for you. Wife of my heart, have you found any spots anywhere?”
“Not one, nor an ache or pain. Nurse keeps on asking me. She says if I have it she’ll shave my head. There won’t be much to shave off you, husband.”
Jack’s black hair was closely cropped. She was smaller than Jen, and thin and slight, very boyish in her looks and movements. She had been Jen’s chum and adopted partner since Jen’s first day at school.
“You’ll see Auntie Shirley later. She’s with the girls just now. We’ll take your case upstairs, and then I’ve the most thrilling things to tell you,” Jen said exuberantly.
Jack waved good-bye to the car, and looked round in deep content at the lawn and trees and beautiful old house. “It’s marvellous to be here! Town’s very stuffy, and Dad won’t let me go where I’ll meet people; library or baths or anything decent. I’ve been pining away the whole week-end. It’s frightfully kind of Mrs. Shirley to have me.”
“It’s frightfully kind of her to have kept me. Some people would have hurled me back to school and I’d have been isolated in the San. for a fortnight. Gosh! When I think of all I’d have missed——!” Jen’s tone was awed, almost reverent.
“What would you have missed?” Jack demanded.
“I’ll tell you while we’re having tea. We’ll take it out on the lawn.” Jen had led the way to the bedroom and a maid had carried up the suitcase.
“How are Joan and Joy?”
“Joan’s much better; I’ve talked to her twice to-day. She sits on the window-sill in the sun, wearing a big shawl like a wedding-veil, and I stand on the terrace and shriek up at her.”
“You’ll do that all right,” Jack chuckled. “Just like Romeo and Juliet!”
“I hadn’t thought of that. I shall call her Juliet next time. Joy’s been much more ill, but she’s better now. Come and lug your tea out into the garden, husband! We’ll camp under a beech tree.”
The nurse looked out as she gave Joan her tea. “The friend has arrived. They’re sitting under the trees, and they look as if they meant to talk for a week.”
“I’m sure they do,” Joan agreed, laughing. “They’re great pals, and they’ve been separated since Friday. They’ve a lot of talk to make up!”
Under the giant beech Jen had spread a rug on the soft brown needles, and as she poured out Jack’s tea and acted hostess, she also poured out the story of her night in the Abbey and of Timothy and Susan Spindle.
“I’m wondering if you and I ought to adopt Susan, as we did Della last summer. Della needed to be trained in school ways; I’m quite sure Susie needs training too.”
“No, you don’t,” Jack said firmly. “Once is enough. No more adopted daughters for me.”
“Don’t be a stinge! Here’s Auntie Shirley adopting you, and you’re jolly glad. You must do something about it.”
“I’m not a stinge. You haven’t time for adopting people now. It was different when you were new and hadn’t things to keep you busy. Now you’re in my cricket team, and you’re Joan’s maid-of-honour, and you just haven’t time for anybody else.”
“I do loathe people who say sensible, practical things that nobody can possibly argue about,” Jen complained.
“Meaning me?” Jack grinned. “I’m glad you see there can’t be any argument about it.”
“Oh, but I don’t! I can adopt Susie for the times I’m here, and I’m here a good deal,” Jen said in triumph.
“You can’t count on that. Mrs. Shirley may get fed up and say she won’t have you any more.”
“I can’t see why she doesn’t,” Jen admitted. “I shall have to think about Susie Spindle. There’s one thing I mean to do: I’m going to coax people to call her Susie, not Susan. I’m sure she’d like it better; Timothy calls her Susie.”
“Does she call him Timmy, like the cat?”
“No, she doesn’t. He’s always called Timothy, but I think she likes to be Susie.”
“If my name was Susan, I’d rather be called by it,” Jack remarked, reaching for another bun. “Susie’s soft.”
“I’ll call you Jacqueline, shall I?”
Jack threatened to hurl the bun at her. “This is squashy, so look out. You’d better not! That’s different. Jacqueline sounds just terribly soft.”
“It’s rather stately,” Jen considered the matter. “I’ll begin using it.”
“Then I’ll call you Janet.”
“Pax!” Jen said hurriedly. “I won’t do it, Jack.”
Jack laughed. “When can I see Timothy Spindle?”
“After tea; he’s in the Abbey.”
“Is he going to stay there for ever?”
Jen held out a hand for her cup. “More tea? No, of course not. I’ve been writing to Sir Keith Marchwood about him.”
Jack stared at her. “True? I say, what cheek!”
“ ’Tisn’t cheek. Joan made me do it. She’s going to crit. my letter before I send it. I’m to read it to her.”
“Good thing! What have you said? I bet you’ve made a mess of it.”
Jen dived into the pocket of her blazer and flung across a folded paper. “See if you think it’s all right. I’m going to copy it out in ink, of course.”
“I should hope so! It’s a grubby mess at present.”
“Grubby mess!” Jen said indignantly. “I spent hours over it this afternoon. I didn’t want to do it a scrap, but Joan said I must, and of course I do want to help Timothy Spindle. He’s my stowaway.”
Jack knit her brows over the scribbled words. “You’d better read i
t aloud.”
“No fear; not to you. I’m sure it would sound daft.”
“It does,” Jack said simply. “Old Sir Keith will shriek with mirth.”
“You brute! After all my swotting!”
Jack grunted with joy. “Hooked you that time. I’m going to read it to you; then you’ll hear how it sounds. It’s a jolly nice letter.”
“Oh, do you really mean it?” Jen’s face cleared. “Were you just ragging? You are a loathely little object! All right, read it to me! I’ll be Sir Keith Marchwood, hearing it for the first time. I don’t really know what I’ve said; I had so many tries.”
“It looks like it! The old chap wouldn’t know what you meant from this version.”
“He’s not old, really,” Jen remarked. “Lady Marchwood is his mother—his stepmother. He isn’t married.”
“Bring him home and marry him to Joy, in a year or two. Then the Hall and the Manor would be joined, and she’d be ‘my lady.’ Or make him marry Joan, and then they’d each have a house, next door to one another.”
“That would be marvellous,” Jen sighed. “But he’s an invalid and he isn’t supposed to be going to live long. He’s too old for the Abbey Girls—much too old; though he isn’t an aged man.”
“Who’ll be the next baronet? He might have one of the girls.”
“His stepbrother, the explorer, Andrew Marchwood. He isn’t the sort to marry anybody; he’s always careering about in unknown lands. And his brother is Mr. Kenneth, who has a farm in Kenya.”
“No hope there! What a useless family of men!” Jack groaned. “Oh, well, perhaps the baronet will be so touched by your letter that he’ll remember you in his will! But oughtn’t you to write to the old lady? She’d be the one who would see to the servants. Sir Keith won’t be bothered with boot-boys and butlers.”
“Joan told me to write to Sir Keith Marchwood,” Jen said firmly. “Hurry, Jacky-boy, for I’ve something thrilling to consult you about. Oh, there’s Nurse! I’ll ask her if I may read the letter to Joan. Then once would do for you both.”
She raced across the lawn to make her request. But Nurse flatly refused to allow her patient to come to the window again.
“It must wait till to-morrow. We’ve had quite enough excitement for one day.”
“Oh, well! I suppose Sir Keith Marchwood can wait.” Jen went disconsolately back to Jack. “Help me cart all this stuff to the house, and then we’ll go into the Abbey and you can read the letter to me there.”
“And you’ll tell me the something thrilling?”
“No. That’s to be told at dead of night. It’s a mighty secret. But you shall see Timothy,” Jen said.
CHAPTER XI
JEN’S SECRET PLAN
Jack looked critically at the tall pale boy, who was polishing some brass ornaments which were the pride of Mrs. Watson’s heart.
“He’s dreadfully thin. I should say London doesn’t suit him. Does he want to go back?”
“Ask him. Come and talk to us, Timothy!” Jen called.
Timothy obeyed, looking startled. “Yes, miss?”
“It’s all right; I won’t eat you,” Jack said. “I’m quite as nice as she is. I say, do you really like living in town? Do you want to go back to the Marchwood house?”
“Yes, that I do!” Timothy’s eyes gleamed. “I like London. There’s the pictures——”
“He’s a talkie-fan,” Jen explained. “Now, Timothy, if you go back you simply must be careful. You mustn’t take any more shillings to go to the pictures. If it happened again we couldn’t help you next time.”
“No, miss.” Timothy reddened and his eyes fell. “I won’t do it again, miss. I don’t like that there Mr. Simmonds,” he added.
“We can’t ask Sir Keith to send away his butler just to please you. You’ll have to put up with Mr. Simmonds.”
“He’s a beast,” the boy muttered.
“Does your sister like to be called Susan or Susie?”
Timothy stared. “Susie, miss. Father he always called her Susie.”
“I thought so. Would she feel more at home if we called her Susie?”
“She’d like it. She says Susan feels like school, or being scolded.”
“I’ll see to that for her,” Jen promised.
“Can I see her again, miss?”
“Oh, yes, of course! I’ll speak to cook, and we’ll send Susie to talk to you. You’re to go to bed in there, where I was sleeping when I heard you sneeze; I’ve taken my things away. I’ve got a visitor, so I must sleep in the house with her. You won’t go wandering in the tunnels again, will you?”
“No, Miss Jen. I don’t like them cellars.”
“Did you meet any rats?” Jack asked with interest.
“I kept thinking I heard ’em, but I didn’t see no rats,” Timothy admitted.
“There aren’t any, so you’d have been clever, if you had,” Jen retorted.
Jack took her arm and dragged her away, with a nod of dismissal to Timothy. “You’re going to sleep with your visitor, are you? Then what about telling me your thrilling secret now?”
“I couldn’t possibly,” Jen assured her. “It’s definitely a subject for darkness and the dead of night. I thought of it in my sleep, last Saturday, before we knew about the measles, and I hurled myself out of bed and went rushing to tell Joan. Auntie Shirley stopped me just in time. I haven’t breathed a word to a soul. I’ll tell you, husband, but only under cover of darkness.”
Jack sighed. “You are a determined little wretch! Why did I marry you? I shall send you home to your mother and find another wife; a much nicer one.”
“Do! We’ll have that divorce we’re always talking about. But until you get it, suppose I bowl to you, for practice? There’s a beautiful pitch waiting for us, in a field behind the orchard. The gardener’s been getting it ready.”
“Whoops! Come on!” Jack shouted.
They were busy with their supper, in a corner of the big hall, some hours later, when Mrs. Shirley came to welcome Jack, and to bring good news of the invalids.
“Now you’ll go to bed quickly, won’t you, girls? Jen had a broken night, you know. Joan is sure you’ll sit up talking half the night.”
“Not half the night! I really am sleepy,” Jen owned. “But you won’t mind a little talking, will you? We haven’t seen one another since Friday.”
Mrs. Shirley laughed. “And this is Tuesday! You’ve been talking ever since four o’clock, haven’t you?”
“Oh, no, not talking!” Jen’s tone was shocked. “We’ve had no time. I’m teaching Jack to bowl; we’ve been working terribly hard. She isn’t a scrap of use as a bowler, and it’s silly, when she’s so good in other ways. It’s a marvellous chance to reform her. We’ve had no time to waste.”
“I’m worn out,” Jack said gravely. “She’s a fearful bully, Mrs. Shirley. But I’d like to get the hang of it.”
“If you talk too much and are still sleepy in the morning, I shall put you in separate rooms,” Mrs. Shirley threatened.
Jen looked sober. “We mustn’t be a worry to you, or you might fling us out. We’re not a bit anxious to go back to town. All right, Auntie Shirley! Only a few minutes, just to celebrate our being together again.”
“Our reunion. That’s what you’re trying to say,” Jack jeered.
She was in bed long before Jen, and sat clasping her ankles, her chin on her knees, and watching her “wife,” as she brushed and plaited her shining locks.
“Gets longer and longer, just as your legs do,” she commented. “Remember the girls calling you Rapunzel?”
Jen flung back the smooth plaits, switched off the light, and took a flying leap, not into her own bed but into Jack’s.
“I always do my hair last of all, or it gets messy again. If I don’t have measles and be nicely shaved, I shall cut it off when I’m eighteen and look like a baby again. I’m sure Daddy would rather not have a grown-up daughter. Your head’s like nothing but a cricket ball.”
> “What are you doing here?” Jack protested. “That’s your bed! Hop out of this!”
“Just as you like, my girl. But my secret plan has to be told in a whisper.”
“Oh, all right! Get on with it! I don’t suppose it’s anything much,” Jack said resignedly.
Jen crept close and spoke under her breath. “Mustn’t worry Auntie Shirley. It’s about the Manor. Queer how we seem to be tied up with those Marchwoods!”
Jack peered at her in the moonlight. “You’re not going to suggest we should burgle Marchwood Manor, are you?”
“That’s about it. I’m afraid Joan wouldn’t quite approve. That’s why I’m so glad to have you.”
“Then you can change the subject!” Jack exploded. “I’ll do a lot for you, but I won’t stand for burglary. I shall—shall exert my authority as your husband. I won’t have it.”
Jen laughed in the darkness. “It isn’t as bad as it sounds. It’s not real burglary; I don’t want to take anything, but I do want to go into that house. What’s more, I mean to do it, and you’re going to help me.”
“Not if I know it! Mrs. Shirley would fire us both back to school.”
“Now listen to me, dear!” Jen coaxed. “It’s all perfectly simple and natural and innocent. Nobody would really mind, even if they caught us at it, once we’d explained. But nobody’s going to know. We’ll go for a walk to-morrow and we’ll go up the lane to the hills, and then we’ll turn in by the gate into the Marchwood grounds and go along to look at the lake. We’ve done that before; Joan and Joy have often trespassed as far as the lake. Nobody minds that. But there’s another gate, that opens into a sort of orchard, and I’m sure it leads to the house. We’ll slip through, and once we’re in the orchard nobody will see us.”
“Except gardeners or keepers,” Jack retorted. “What’s the idea? Just to look at the house? I could live without that myself.”
“No, there’s more in it than that. You remember these old things?” Jen slipped out of bed and fetched a small box from the dressing-table. She also brought her torch, and crouching beside Jack she flashed the light on two treasures from the case: an old-fashioned gold purse and a locket, also of gold.
Stowaways in the Abbey Page 6