Selma at the Abbey

by Elsie J. Oxenham

  Selma at the Abbey

  by Elsie J. Oxenham

  First published in 1952

  This edition published by Reading Essentials

  Victoria, BC Canada with branch offices in the Czech Republic and Germany

  For.ullstein@gmail.com

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage or retrieval system, except in the case of excerpts by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review.

  Selma at the Abbey

  by ELSIE J. OXENHAM

  CHAPTER 1

  ANGUS COMES TO THE ABBEY

  “Joy, come and look,” Joan called softly.

  Joy’s Schubert Impromptu came to a sudden end and she rose from the piano.

  “Bother you, Joan! Why did you spoil it? I was miles away.”

  “I’m sorry. But you can dream some other time. This seems likely to be important. It’s very odd.”

  Joy came through the long windows on to the terrace, where her cousin leaned on the stone balustrade and gazed across the lawn. They were much alike, tall, good-looking girls, with brown eyes and beautiful dark red hair; Joan, the elder by a month, wore hers in big plaits round her head; Joy’s was rolled up over her ears. They were nineteen, and had left school a year ago.

  The Hall, on the terrace of which they stood, had come to Joy from her grandfather three years before. The Abbey ruins, in the grounds of the big house, had been left to Joan, to her great joy and pride.

  “What’s very odd?” Joy stood beside Joan and stared at the drive, where a figure had appeared at the end of the beech avenue. “Somebody coming? Who is it?”

  “Yes, who is it? Look again.”

  “It looks like Angus Reekie. It can’t be Angus! He’s in Glasgow.”

  “He’s in our drive,” Joan said. “I can’t imagine why, but he’s certainly coming across our garden.”

  “Has he come to ask for another ruby, to help him in his career?”

  “Don’t be unkind,” Joan scolded.

  “But, of course, he didn’t ask last time. He took—or at least he tried to take.”

  “But he didn’t do it,” Joan said quickly. “We gave him the ruby. Joy, you ought to forget that horrid story.”

  Joy’s thoughts had gone back two months, when this same lad had come to the Abbey by night, urged on by his small half-sister, and had been tempted by the sight of the jewels inherited from Joy’s ancestress, Lady Jehane, into nearly committing a great folly. Discovered just in time by Joan and her younger friend Jen, he had been deeply penitent and ashamed. Joan had sympathised with his distress and Joy with his craving for a musical education; they had sold one ruby and given the proceeds to help with his lessons from a good teacher in Glasgow, his home town.

  “If he’s come to ask for another ruby he won’t get it,” Joy remarked, as they watched Angus in his approach to the house. “It would be thundering cheek.”

  “He’s coming very slowly,” Joan said. “He’s doubtful of us and a little bit afraid. I wonder if he really is going to ask for something more?”

  Angus did, indeed, seem hesitant, as if not sure how he would be received.

  “We’re not going to give him any more of Jehane’s jewels.”

  “There might be something else,” Joan said. “He didn’t seem to have anybody to turn to, if he was in a hole. He may want advice.”

  “You’re good at advice,” Joy observed. “But I’m not good at giving away rubies. Once was enough. He hasn’t brought the fiddle,” she added.

  Joan gazed down at Angus gravely, as he stood below the terrace, cap in hand. He was a thin, fair-haired lad, not looking in the least like his twenty-one years. Then she smiled a welcome.

  “Come up here and talk to us. We didn’t expect to see you again so soon.”

  “Don’t stand there like a criminal in the dock,” Joy scolded. “Joan and I aren’t as horrible as all that, I hope.”

  Angus came up the wide stone steps. “I feel rather like that, Miss Joy—like a criminal, I mean. I’ve come to ask you to help me again, and when you were so good last time it seems—well, I’m no’ feeling too good about it. But I don’t know where else to go, and you’re so terribly kind that I thought maybe——”

  “I’m not terribly kind,” Joy scoffed. “That’s Joan. You’re mixing us up.”

  “You’re both kind,” Angus insisted. “I don’t feel I can ask any more. It’s been hard to come, and it’s hard to tell you. But you were so good to Rykie all summer, and then so marvellously generous to us both, when—when we——”

  “Don’t!” Joan interrupted him. “We don’t want to think any more about that. What do you want us to do for you now?”

  “Not another ruby, I hope?”

  “Joy! How can you?” Joan cried indignantly. “That was brutal, and very ungenerous.”

  Angus had grown white. But he said sturdily, “I deserve it, Miss Joan.”

  “I’m sorry,” Joy exclaimed. “I didn’t mean it. I spoke without thinking; I’m always doing it. Angus Reekie, I apologise abjectly! But if you’d tell us what you really have come for, we wouldn’t need to imagine horrible things.”

  “I thought maybe you would help me with Selma,” Angus said simply. “I’ve nobody to ask, and I don’t know what to do.”

  The girls stared blankly at him. “With—with whom?” Joan stammered.

  “Or what?” Joy added. “What, or who, is Selma?”

  “My girl,” Angus said, more simply still.

  “Your—Angus Reekie, don’t tell us you’re engaged?” Joan cried.

  Joy pursed her lips. “That would be mad, with all your career before you. Don’t go and do anything crazy! You’ve your way to make yet.”

  “We’re no’ engaged. She doesn’t know. But she’s my lassie, all the same.”

  “Tell us more!” Joan commanded. “Who is she? And how can she be your girl, if she doesn’t know?”

  “Sounds silly to me,” Joy said severely. “And what’s her name? What did you call her?”

  “Selma. Selma Andersson, Miss Joy.”

  “How odd! Where did she find a name like that?”

  “Never mind her name just now. You can tell us all that later.” Joan spoke with authority. “Angus, tell us more about—about Selma! Why doesn’t she know you want her to be your girl?”

  Angus looked at them, his face set and determined.

  “I want her, when she’s old enough. She’s only sixteen. I’ve no’ said a word; I’m ready to wait. I know some girls get engaged at sixteen, but Selma’s no’ that kind. She’s no’ thinking like that. But we’re pals; she’s my friend; and when the time comes I want her for my own.”

  “I see,” Joan said slowly. “But you may change your mind. She won’t be ready for some time yet.”

  “That’s a thing I want to know,” Angus cried. “How old should a girl be before she marries? I know lots of them do it quite early, but is it right? Is it fair to her? I don’t know, and I’ve nobody to ask.”

  “It seems to me you want a mother,” Joy said solemnly.

  He looked at her. “Well, I do. I haven’t anybody. I want to do the right thing by Selma. I don’t want to tease her too soon. Will you no’ help me?” He turned to Joan, his face wistful.

  Joan’s voice was almost motherly, though she was two years his junior, as she said gently, “It’s very nice of you to consider Selma like that, Angus. Some boys would think only of themselves and would try to rush the girl along too quickly. If you can wait till she is eighteen, I think you should. But if you feel she really cares, you could have some understanding with her
. If she begins to care for you, she ought to know you care for her too. Don’t talk of marrying before she is nineteen; that’s quite early enough, I should say.”

  “Spoken like a mother!” Joy mocked. “I’ll do the heavy father. Don’t talk of marriage till you’ve made a good start on your career. Don’t hamper yourself with a wife till you really see where you are going. And—Angus! We don’t know Selma, but if you are going to be a great violinist and play at big concerts, be sure she is the right kind of wife for you. Is she, by the way?”

  Angus looked at her steadily. “Not yet, Miss Joy. I’ve thought of that. But she will be some day; she must, because she’s my lassie and I can’t do without her.”

  “This is very intriguing!” Joan murmured, gazing at him with fascinated eyes. “Angus, I’m beginning to like you rather a lot!”

  Angus knitted his brows. “I don’t understand. I want Selma. She’s no’ ready yet; I want to help her. I thought perhaps you would advise me, Miss Joan. I’ve no one else to ask.”

  The girls gazed at him, not yet grasping the real reason for his coming.

  “You sound a bit forlorn,” Joy observed. “But what can we do?”

  “Tell us more, Angus!” Joan coaxed. “How can we help? We’ll advise you in any way we can, but Mother could help you still better. We’ve had no experience in this sort of thing.”

  “And we don’t want it,” Joy said emphatically. “Getting married must be an awful bore; a man always fussing round and having to be consulted and expecting to get his own way! Not for me, thank you!”

  “There’s more in it than that. Don’t be silly, Joy! Angus, how can we help you?” Joan asked.

  Angus, with desperate courage, threw back his head and took the plunge.

  “If Selma could come here and—and stay with folks like you, and learn to be like you! That’s what she needs and what I want for her, Miss Joan.”

  “Oh!” The girls stared at him again, dumb with surprise.

  CHAPTER 2

  ALL ABOUT SELMA

  “What colossal cheek!” Joy cried.

  Angus grew scarlet. “I know. I feel like that myself. But it would be the making of Selma.”

  “It’s not really cheek,” Joan said. “Joy, it’s the most tremendous compliment, if you’ll only look at it that way.”

  Joy gave a groan, half amused, half indignant.

  Angus turned to Joan, his face ablaze with eagerness. “Oh, Miss Joan! It’s no’ easy to ask you. It’s harder for me than for anyone else in the world, after—well, you know! But I do want to help Selma, and it would just change all her life. You were so good to Rykie; I thought perhaps——” He came to a sudden stop.

  “That we could take your Selma in her place,” Joan finished for him. “It’s Joy’s house; you’ll have to ask her. But first, tell us about Selma, Angus.”

  “Her folks lived at a wee place down the water from Glasgow,” Angus said breathlessly. “Inverkip, it’s called; they had a bit of a farm. But her mother died and there’s only a stepfather left, and Selma doesn’t like him. Small blame to her! He’s no’ a nice chap. So she’s got a job in Glasgow, where she went to school—her mother would have it that she must go to a city school. Selma’s working in a shop, but she doesna—doesn’t like it. I’ve seen her a lot lately, and—and I want her for my girl, Miss Joan.”

  “But you think she needs more education?”

  “Aye! Yes, Miss Joan. She hasn’t met people; she doesn’t know the right things to say. When I’m playing with an orchestra in yon great hall in London, and she comes to hear me and she’s my wife—well, she’ll need to talk, won’t she?”

  “Not while you’re playing,” Joy grinned.

  “She certainly will,” Joan agreed. “She’ll have to meet people; she mustn’t disgrace you by seeming a country cousin.”

  “Aye, that’s it!” Angus cried. “It’s no’ so much book-learning; she’s been to school. But it’s meeting people and seeing how they think and what they do——”

  “Social education,” Joy remarked. “Are we qualified to do that for Selma, Joan?”

  “If she could get to know people like you!” Angus began fervently. “And—and if little Miss Jen would be a friend for her! She’s a good, bonny lass, is Miss Jen.”

  “She is,” Joan assented. “That just describes her. You think Jen could help your Selma? Oh, she doesn’t live here!”—as his eyes swept round the garden, apparently in search of Jen. “She’s at school; the autumn term has just begun. We borrowed her for the summer, so that she could help us with Rykie. I don’t know that we could do it again.”

  “I thought she’d be the one to be friends with Selma,” Angus said wistfully. “Miss Joan, I’ve got some money; I can pay. I’m no’ asking you to take Selma for nothing.”

  The girls looked at him curiously. “There’s no need for that,” Joy said abruptly. “If we want your Selma we can afford to take her.”

  “How do you happen to have money to spare, Angus?” Joan’s voice was gentle. “You hadn’t any, when we knew you before.”

  Angus went scarlet; the question was a fair one, he knew. He looked at Joy, expecting a sharp comment. “And look at the way you tried to get it!” or something of the kind. But Joy restrained herself and waited for his answer.

  “Terry gave me a cheque, Miss Joan, before he went back to Hollywood.”

  “Terry! It’s useful to have a wealthy half-brother-in-law!” Joy exclaimed.

  “He wanted me to go with them and be one of the family, for Belle’s sake, but he knew I wanted to stay in Glasgow and have lessons from McAlistair, so he gave me a cheque instead. I want to use it for Selma. She matters more to me than new clothes, or concerts, or better rooms to stay in.”

  “That’s really very nice of you, Angus!” Joan’s tone showed how she was warming towards him. “If Selma comes here I don’t think Joy would want you to pay, but if——”

  “Rather not!” Joy exploded. “We don’t keep a boarding-house! We’ll invite her, if she comes at all.”

  “Yes,” Joan agreed. “But it’s nice of Angus to offer it. Don’t be ungracious, Joy! But if Selma goes to school with Jen, you could pay her fees, Angus. Mother and Joy paid for Rykie, but there would be no reason for them to do it for Selma. And I feel she should go to school. She’d see far more of Jen, and it would be much more interesting for her than staying at home with us. If she’s only sixteen, a little more school won’t hurt her.”

  “Will you let her come, Miss Joan?” Angus asked humbly.

  “We’ll have to talk it over with Mother,” Joan explained. “We’ll consult her presently. She’s much stronger than she used to be, but I still persuade her to rest in the afternoon. Tell us more about Selma, Angus!”

  “Tell us about her odd name,” Joy demanded. “Where did she find it? Is it her real name, or is there more of it? It sounds like a short version of something else.”

  “She’s Janet Selma Andersson, Miss Joy. Her father was a sea-captain, sailing between Stockholm and Glasgow, with timber. I think Selma is a Swedish name.”

  “It sounds like it. But you said she came from a farm,” Joy objected.

  “Her mother’s people had the wee farm near Inverkip, down the water from Glasgow, and her mother stayed with them when the captain went to sea. Almost opposite Inverkip, across the Clyde, there’s a white castle on the hill, and its old name was Dunselma; when he heard that, Captain Andersson laughed and said it meant the hill or fort of Selma, and who could Selma have been, in Scotland, as it was a girl’s name in his country? They called their baby Janet for her mother, and Selma for her father’s country. The captain went away and never came back; his ship was lost off the Orkneys. Mrs. Andersson married again after a time, a chap called Macgregor; and then she died, and the stepfather was horrible to Selma. As soon as she could, she took a job in Glasgow; school friends of hers helped her to find it. It’s no’ much of a job yet, for she’s only a kid; but she’s keen to learn an
d she’ll get on. But, Miss Joan, it’s no’ good enough for her; just a shop-girl! She needs more than that, if—if some day——” And he paused.

  “If she’s going to marry a world-famous violinist,” Joy finished for him.

  “We see that, and we’d like to help,” Joan agreed. “But there’s plenty of time. You’ve still a long way to go yourself.”

  “Aye, but I’ve started, because you folks were so kind and helped me to go to McAlistair. I want Selma to start too. I’ve no’ a scrap of right to ask you to help her as well as me, but I don’t know anybody else, and you were good to Rykie.”

  “Rykie and Selma! You do go in for odd names!” Joy said. “We must talk to Aunty before we promise anything. Why do you have Swedish names in Scotland? Who called your castle Dunselma?”

  “I wouldna ken that—I mean, I wouldn’t know, Miss Joy.”

  “Vikings,” Joan said, without hesitation. “They sailed all over those Northern seas; they were sure to visit Angus’s shores of Clyde. I expect there are plenty of old Scandinavian names, a bit altered during the centuries.”

  “Is your Selma a Viking in looks, Angus?”

  “What would that be, Miss Joy?”

  “Tall and fair and blue-eyed. Is she like her father?”

  “No, Miss Joy. Her hair’s dark, like her mother’s.”

  “That will be a change in your family; you and Rykie are so very fair.”

  “Belle is dark,” Joan reminded her.

  “Selma’s lovely, Miss Joan,” Angus broke out. “Her hair’s like—like a soft dark cloud, and her eyes are like brown pools in a peat-burn, and her voice is like the wee burn itself, as it ripples along.” He stopped and reddened, at the twinkle in Joy’s eyes.

  “Dear, dear!” Joy mocked. “I didn’t know you were a poet, as well as a fiddler, Angus Reekie.”

  “That’s how I feel about Selma,” Angus said doggedly.

  “Then we must take care of her for you,” Joan decided. “If she’s really pretty she mustn’t be left to knock about in a city, with nobody to protect her. I’m glad you spoke out and told us how you feel about her, Angus; it’s how you ought to feel, if she’s to be your girl some day. Come along indoors and we’ll talk to Mother.”