Stowaways in the Abbey

by Elsie J. Oxenham

  “I hope she is mistaken! We don’t want to start the business all over again.”

  “Well, you go and look at her,” said Jen.

  “I’m going,” and Nurse went off to the Abbey.

  “Are you sure it isn’t only that Susie has made herself ill with so much crying, Jen?” Joan asked anxiously. “That would give her a headache.”

  “It looked like measles to me. Joan, if it is, will you send me home? There’s only about a fortnight of the term left, so after another two weeks of quarantine——” And Jen paused.

  “Do you want to go? It would be rather hard on your mother, wouldn’t it?”

  “If I went home and was ill there? That’s what I think. I’m not going to be ill; but there’s the quarantine, and that would be an awful fag for Mother.”

  “It doesn’t seem fair to give her that worry,” Joan agreed. “She isn’t expecting you till the end of July, and after all, it’s our measles! It’s our responsibility. We ought to look after you, and if you should have it we’d like to nurse you.”

  “I knew you’d say that!” Jen shouted in triumph. “I’d like to go home, of course, but it would be simply marvellous to be here when you’re well again.”

  “I’d like to have your company,” Joan admitted. “Joy won’t be fit for much for some time, and Mother will have to take things quietly too. They’ll comfort one another, but I’m all right and I want to go out and do things—climb up to the cave, for instance.”

  “And you’d have to do it all alone,” Jen added. “Oh, let me stay and be company for you, Queen!”

  Joan laughed. “I still hope it isn’t measles and that you’ll be able to go back to school on Monday, for your own sake.”

  “That would be a frightful blow, now that my hopes have been raised,” Jen said gloomily. “I don’t believe Susie will let me down like that.”

  “I’m afraid your devotion to your studies isn’t what it should be, Jenny-Wren.”

  “I’m not a bit keen. I’m sorry about cricket, though. I haven’t been much use to Jack, after all. But they wouldn’t want me to infect the whole team.”

  “If Susie really has been so inconsiderate, I think we’ll keep you here,” Joan said. “I’m hoping to come down to-day; that was my bit of good news, but I’ve had no time to tell you. We’ll have tea under the trees. Nurse is sure the doctor will agree.”

  “Oh, bully! Gosh, won’t I be glad to have you again!” Jen cried. “I’m tired of this Romeo and Juliet business.”

  “So am I,” Joan laughed. “Here comes Nurse! Now we shall know the worst.”

  “Or the best,” Jen murmured.

  “It is measles,” Joan groaned. “I can tell by her face. Look how grave she is!”

  “A bit grim,” Jen assented. “Oh, well, we’ll have to make the best of it! I won’t rejoice too loudly, for I know it’s not the proper thing and it’s rotten for Susie.”

  Nurse nodded, in answer to Joan’s question. “No doubt of it. Pity that child went near her, but no one expected this. She’s very poorly; I must get her to bed at once. I suppose you’ll have her in the house?” and she looked at Joan doubtfully.

  “What else could we do? She’ll be all right here, won’t she? She’s not too ill to be nursed here, I mean?”

  “Oh, no, she’ll be all right. But it’s upsetting for you to begin it all again, when we hoped you were almost clear. You could send her to hospital?”

  “Oh, we couldn’t do that!” Joan exclaimed. “Poor kid, she’d be terribly lonely and frightened! Mother will want to keep her here, if you can stay to help us.”

  “I can stay, if you want me. I’ll see to it, then. You wouldn’t like her to stay where she is? The caretaker could help to look after her.”

  “Not in the Abbey! We may have tourists there at any time. It wouldn’t be fair,” Joan explained.

  “Then the woman shall help me to carry her, as soon as I’m ready for her here. But first we must see to breakfasts for you people. The child is all right where she is, for an hour or two.”

  “I’ll write and tell Timothy,” Jen said. “It’s rotten for Susie to have no mother and no home, and it will upset Timothy to hear she’s ill.”

  “You made it all right with Susie, didn’t you?” Joan asked anxiously. “Such a trouble on her mind might be bad for her, while she’s feverish.”

  “Oh, quite all right! I know she understood. I said I was sorry.”

  “Good for you! Jenny-Wren, don’t think I didn’t know how you felt. I sympathised with you tremendously, but when you asked me why you felt so bad, I had to tell you, hadn’t I?”

  Jen, flushed and ashamed, spoke quickly. “Joan, I was horrid, I know; and I felt horrid. When you challenged me to show that I really meant what I’d said about the Abbey, I ought to have gone dashing to find Susie at once. It took me hours to make up my mind; I feel bad about that. And it wasn’t really because of the Abbey that I went, after all; and not even because of you. I just couldn’t help it. I had to go.”

  “Of course you did,” Joan smiled down at her. “Was it the thought of Susie’s misery that drove you to it?”

  “I suppose it was. I woke up thinking about her, crying like that, and then I couldn’t go fast enough. I could hardly wait till I’d dressed. I hadn’t understood how bad she was feeling, and although you told me, I wouldn’t think about her at first. When I did, I went straight away.”

  “That was more like you, Jenny-Wren. Aren’t you glad you did? Suppose we’d found Susie was ill, and you hadn’t been able to tell her and set her mind at rest?”

  “That would have been awful,” Jen said soberly. “I’m jolly glad I was able to tell her myself. I didn’t let down the Abbey and you for so terribly long, did I?”

  “Not for long, and not badly,” Joan assured her. “Now I’m going to dress. Don’t you want your breakfast?”

  “Starving,” Jen called back to her, and went indoors.

  Then she came flying out again. “Joan! Joan! A letter from Sir Keith Marchwood! It must be about the pictures! Come and hear what he says!”

  Joan leant out of the window. “Quickly, then! Nurse wants me to hurry.”

  “He’s glad to hear Joy’s better,” Jen was skimming through the letter. “He’ll give instructions about the removal of the pictures immediately. He hopes I won’t be so mistaken as to be the next invalid. Rather not! I wouldn’t be so silly. Isn’t he a darling? Oh, Joan, do you think they’ll come to-day? Wouldn’t it be simply marvellous?”

  “Not to-day, I should think. That would be almost too quick. But we shall have them soon now. I’m thrilled to the limit about those pictures, Jenny-Wren!” Joan, eager and excited, withdrew to her room again.

  “Perhaps they will come to-day! Sir Keith knows what a hurry I’ll be in!” and Jen danced up and down the terrace, and then rushed in to breakfast.

  CHAPTER XXX

  TREASURES FOR JOAN

  Radiant with joy, Jen carried out tea and spread it under a big tree, with a rug for Joan’s feet and cushions for Joan’s back, and a table for Joan to pour out at.

  “Isn’t it perfectly marvellous?” she sighed happily, as she settled her guest in her chair and made sure she was comfortable. “Now, Joan, is there anything else I could fetch for you?”

  “Not another thing,” Joan said, laughing. “You’re looking after me beautifully. It is nice to be out again! Oh, there’s Timmy! Catch him for me, Jen! I haven’t spoken to a cat for a fortnight!”

  “I’ve talked to them quite a lot.” Jen dashed off in pursuit of the shaggy grey kitten. She brought him back and dropped him into Joan’s lap. “There! I knew there was something else you ought to have. I told the Mother Superior all about your measles and about Joy. She was frightfully sorry.”

  “How did she show it?” Joan asked laughing.

  “She didn’t. She put her nose into her tail and went to sleep. But I know she was feeling sorry. I told Nurse you ought to have one of them in y
our room, but she wouldn’t listen.”

  “I’m sure she wouldn’t. Here comes the Curate too. I believe they know I’m in the garden again.”

  “The Curate doesn’t care much about anybody. Jack and I are sure there’s a girl friend in the village. Perhaps he’ll tell you about her.”

  Jen ran to catch the slim young cat, and was bringing him in triumph, while he struggled to escape, when a car came up the beech avenue and stopped before the terrace. She stood, gazing over the black body in her arms; then she dropped the cat and rushed to Joan, who had started up.

  “Joan! Oh, Joan! It’s the pictures from the Manor!”

  “Are you sure?” Joan came forward quickly.

  “Oh, rather! The Jenks man is there; he’s the one who called me a burglar and talked about sending for the police. But there’s another person as well.”

  A young man was coming from the car to meet them. Jenks had recognised Jen and had said a word of explanation.

  He raised his cap. “I am Sir Keith Marchwood’s secretary. He is grieved that he was not well enough to come himself to superintend the removal of the pictures. Where would you like us to put them? I am instructed to deliver them to the owner of the Abbey in person.”

  “This is her. I mean, she’s it,” Jen cried excitedly. “This is Joan, and the Abbey’s hers.”

  Joan’s colour rose. The Abbey had been hers for less than two years, and the thought still had the power to thrill her. “I am Joan Shirley, and the Abbey is mine. Will you be so good as to bring the pictures indoors? I’ll show you where to put them.”

  “Not in the Abbey, Joan?” Jen asked breathlessly.

  “Not yet. Mother and Joy must see them. We’ll have a grand ceremony when we take them into the Abbey.” Joan controlled her eagerness before the strangers, but her voice quivered with strong feeling.

  The secretary and the valet lifted one picture and carried it in. They placed it on a settle, where a good light shone upon it, and went to fetch the second.

  Joan stood gazing in a dream at the Abbey church—the high beautiful choir, the severely simple pillars, the plain strong lines of the roof, the sunlight streaming through the windows of unstained glass. Jen’s hand crept through her arm.

  “All right, Joan?” she whispered.

  “At last!” Joan said. “We’ve seen the church at last. Oh, Jen, I do thank you for this!”

  “Me?” Jen gasped. “It’s nothing to do with me! It’s Sir Keith—here comes the outside picture!”

  “Oh, isn’t it? It’s everything to do with you.” Joan steadied herself and turned to the secretary. “Thank you for your care in bringing them. They are great treasures and we shall value them always. I shall write to Sir Keith. We are very grateful to him. Can we do anything for you? May we give you tea?”

  The offer was declined, however, and the car drove away, while Joan turned back to her treasures.

  “I was afraid they’d say yes, and we’d have to go and wait on them. I want to sit and gaze at these! So that’s how it looked when the pilgrims came! It’s just what I’ve always hoped it would be like!”

  Jen drew up a big chair in front of the pictures and set a stool beside it for herself. “Now we can worship them! Did you have enough tea? Shall I fetch your cup? Don’t you need something more, to buck you up after this excitement?”

  Joan laughed and dropped into the chair. “I’ve had enough. I only want to look at these priceless things.”

  “That’s what I want too.” Jen leaned against her. “It’s marvellous to see them here at last!”

  “It’s wonderful to have them. To think that they’ve been there, at the Manor, waiting for us for three hundred years!”

  “With the Abbey just a heap of ruins, turned into a farm, and used as barns and store-houses!”

  “The hiding-place of highwaymen and robbers.” Joan added another chapter to the Abbey’s chequered story. “It’s so marvellous to know these are real,” she said at last. “They might so easily have been a modern artist’s fancy pictures. That’s what I thought you meant at first. But any one can see they’re good old work, and we have Sir Keith’s word for their date.”

  “Ambrose saw them,” Jen added. “And Peregrine, of course, and his Katharine Marchwood. Don’t you think my locket would like to look at the pictures again? It must have gone to see them often while they were being painted. I expect Katharine wore it always.”

  “You certainly ought to let the locket meet the pictures again,” Joan laughed, her eyes bright. “Oh, Nurse! Come and look! Just see what’s here!”

  Nurse had heard the story. “Very fine,” she agreed, coming to look.

  “When can Joy see them?” Jen asked. “Isn’t she going to get up soon?”

  “Soon, but we shall go carefully with her. She had quite a bad time.”

  “Mother will see them before Joy does, I expect,” Joan remarked. “You said she could come down and sit on the terrace in the sun, perhaps to-morrow. How is Susie, Nurse?”

  “Bad, but going on all right. She didn’t do herself any good by that silly fuss yesterday.”

  Jen reddened. “I didn’t know, Nurse. I’m frightfully sorry.”

  “Not your fault. Susie brought it on herself,” Joan said quickly. “I can’t have you looking gloomy to-day, Jenny-Wren. Remember that I owe these treasures to you; oh, yes, of course I do! Who told Sir Keith he must give them to me?”

  “I didn’t! Not like that, Joan!” Jen protested.

  “Could I help with Susie?” Joan looked up at Nurse. “It would be safe enough, wouldn’t it?”

  “You might have it over again! Oh, Joan, don’t!” Jen cried in dismay.

  Nurse laughed. “I can look after Susie. You’d better keep away from her, both of you. Be out of doors all you can, but don’t tire yourself at first,” she said warningly to Joan.

  “That’s definite, anyway. We do what we are told!” Joan said, and turned to gaze at the Abbey church again.

  “It will be gorgeous to see these two hanging in the refectory!” she sighed happily.

  “When shall we put them there?” Jen asked.

  “Soon, but not yet,” Joan said quietly. “We’ll let Mother and Joy see them first.”

  “When the great day comes we’ll have a triumphal procession! I wish I could play something and march in front of the pictures, but I can’t do anything that would be really useful,” Jen sighed. “A piano’s such a silly thing! I’d love to march at the head of a procession, but a drum or a mouth-organ’s all I can think of, to play.”

  “Try a comb,” Joan suggested, laughing.

  “Not good enough. It wouldn’t be respectful to the pictures. Shall I invite Sir Keith? He might like to come and be in the procession.”

  “I doubt it,” Joan said. “But you must tell him when we hope to hang the pictures in the Abbey. Some day he might care to see them there.”

  “I don’t suppose he’s ever seen the Abbey. He didn’t like Sir Antony, so he wouldn’t come while he was alive.”

  “He hasn’t come since we’ve been here,” Joan said definitely. “Perhaps he’ll come now, to see his pictures in their proper place.”

  “Your pictures! Our pictures!” Jen cried.

  It was a fortnight before the pictures were carried to the Abbey. In the interval they remained in the hall, in view of everybody in the house.

  Jen, watching happily, knew that Joan’s eyes brightened whenever they fell on her new treasures.

  At last, however, it was time to take them to their final resting-place. That they must hang in the refectory no one had questioned. The Abbey books and parchments were there, and there, too, were the beautiful dishes, the great plates and jugs and ewers, which had been used in the church and which had been found near the long passage leading to the hills. The pictures of the great church must hang on the refectory walls, looking down on the other treasures of the Abbey.

  There was much to rejoice over, when at last Joan decided th
at the day had come. Susie was almost well again; Timothy had written, with great pains, a letter telling how kind Sir Keith had been and how much happier he was now that the butler had gone. Joy was well enough to come downstairs and lie on the terrace, well wrapped up, for some hours every day. Mrs. Shirley was herself again, though Joan kept a watchful eye upon her. It was so near the end of the term that it would have been useless for Jen to go back to school, except to pack for the summer holidays; and neither she nor Jack had shown the slightest sign of measles.

  “We can hardly call it a procession; just the men with the pictures, and you and me to follow, Jenny-Wren,” Joan said. “Shall we carry flowers, or dance the Helston Furry as a lonely couple?”

  “No, we’d feel silly. But we ought to do something, Joan!”

  “To celebrate,” Joan agreed. “I know! We’ll have a country-dance party on the lawn, to welcome the pictures. We’ll hang them in the refectory, and after we’ve danced for a while we’ll go into the Abbey and the Hamlet Club shall see the new treasures.”

  “Oh, couldn’t the Club be the procession?” Jen cried.

  “No!” Joan laughed, her tone firm. “The pictures will be hanging safely in the refectory before the Club is allowed to go near them. They’d want to carry them, and then they’d drop them. I know the Hamlet Club! But they shall dance a welcome to the pictures. We’ll send out the invitations at once, and Mother and Joy will watch the dancing from the terrace.”

  CHAPTER XXXI

  A JOYFUL DAY

  Ann Watson had never shown the Abbey to a client who was so slow. He was not old, but he was crippled by rheumatism and leaned on the arm of his valet and on a stick. But he was determined to see everything, and after what seemed like an astonished look round the garth and the cloisters, he insisted on climbing the refectory stair, painfully but resolutely.

  For a long time he sat before the pictures of the great church, thankful for the chair which Ann placed for him. She described how the pictures had been found so recently and the other treasures only a year ago, but he hardly seemed to be listening. He examined the parchments and the church plate with great care, and then pluckily went on to see the rest of the ruins, even going down to the crypt to examine the old church underground, with the tomb of the first abbot and the hermit’s well.