Selma at the Abbey

by Elsie J. Oxenham

  “I could do that. I’d love to go to England!” Selma said yearningly. “It would be a real adventure!”

  “You and your adventures! You’d go to the North Pole, if anybody asked you!”

  “Oh, aye! I would that! Angus says it’s because of my father; I’ve inherited it from him. He was a sailor, you know. I’d like to go to sea, and I’d like to sail to odd countries. I wonder if England’s very different from Scotland?”

  But Mollie knew nothing about England. “I don’t see how it can be. It’s no’ so far away. But they speak differently; you’ve heard English people talking.”

  “I’d soon get used to that. Do you think I could possibly go, Mollie? Think what a lot I’d see!”

  “They’ve asked you,” Mollie argued. “I don’t see why you can’t go. The boy-friend must want you to go, if he told these folks about you.”

  Selma gloated over the possible prospect. “England—and the South of England! She says they live in the country, near Oxford. Oxford’s in the South; I do know that much!”

  “What’s her name?”

  “Joan Shirley. It’s a queer name, but jolly.”

  “She’ll think yours is a queer name, I bet. Was it a nice letter?”

  “Jolly nice; friendly and welcoming. She seems to think I might stay with them for some time; Rykie was there all summer, and this person says they miss her and perhaps I’ll come and take her place. That doesn’t sound like going for a week, does it?”

  “They mean you to stay for a good while. You’ll have to give up your job; the boss wouldn’t give you as long as that for a holiday.”

  “I’d get something else. I’m no’ a scrap keen on the old shop. And I’ve had my holiday. I could no’ ask for another.”

  “Do these people want you to go at once?”

  “As soon as I can arrange it, the letter says.”

  “You’d better give a week’s notice. But talk to the boy-friend first. There may be snags you’ve no’ thought of. I will miss you, if you go! Oh, don’t go, Selma! It would be horrible without you!”

  “You’ll have to chum up with Jean or Margaret or Bella. I’m not a heartless brute, Mollie, but I do want to go, if Angus thinks it’s all right. It’s such a marvellous chance!”

  “Oh, aye, it’s that, and you’re in luck.” Mollie sighed. “Are you sure you’ll no’ need anybody to take care of you? You’re only a kid!”

  Selma’s laugh rang out. “I can take care of myself! I’ll write and tell you all about England! Come on! Time to do some work. Don’t tell anybody, Mollie! It may come to nothing, you know.”

  “I’ll no’ tell a soul,” Mollie promised, and they joined the First Aid class and bandaged one another with great gusto but not much skill.

  As a rule they lunched together, since their hours coincided, but next day Mollie, with a rueful grin, turned the other way.

  “My love to the boy-friend! Tell him I’m no’ wantin’ to lose you.”

  “But I want to go. I’m wanting it more all the time. I’ve been thinking about England all night,” Selma confessed, as she hurried away.

  Angus was waiting outside the tea-shop she had suggested in her note. He watched her as she came demurely up the street; she was remembering that she was a business woman and that it would not do to rush on him like a whirlwind, demanding to be told everything.

  In vain he tried to see her with Joan Shirley’s eyes. How would she appear to Mrs. Shirley? Would she fit in with the family at the Hall? But he could only see her as he had done ever since he had first met her; dark brown hair hanging loosely just to her shoulders in natural waves, deep brown eyes; neat working suit of dark blue. Her eyes at the moment were full of excitement, and he thought all would be well.

  “Angus! Tell me! You know about the letter, don’t you?”

  He took her elbow and steered her into the crowded shop to a small table in a corner. “I can no’ stay long. McAlistair wants me at two sharp. But you can’t stay, either. I’ll order; what will you have? Their sausage-and-mash is quite decent.”

  “That will do fine. I don’t care what I have; I’ll no’ notice what I’m eating. A bun and milk would do.”

  “It would not,” and Angus gave his order. “Now, out with it! Have you had Miss Joan’s letter?”

  “A lovely letter! Oh, Angus, I want to go! I’d give anything to see England! Would I have to go through London? It’s a super thrill! But ought I to go? Why have they asked me? Do they really want me? Tell me about them, and what it all means!”

  “There’s Miss Joan and Miss Joy—she’s keen on music and she writes tunes. And there’s Miss Joan’s mother, Mrs. Shirley. She’s——” Angus stumbled. “I don’t know how to say it. She’s beautiful; a wee old lady, and so douce and gentle and kind. And there’s Miss Jen, who goes to school but comes to stay with them a lot; she’s about as old as you. She was jolly decent to Rykie; they all were. I—I saw them when Rykie was there.”

  “What’s the matter?” Selma eyed him keenly. “Why have you gone so red? What’s odd about your going to see Rykie and meeting the folks she was staying with?”

  “I told them about you,” Angus hurried on. “They said they’d like to see you and perhaps you’d come and stay for a bit, as Rykie had gone away. I knew how keen you were to see new places, and you’ve never been to England. It’s the bonniest place, all country and trees and gardens and flowers; and they’re the kindest people. You’ll love them, and—and everything. I hope you’ll go, Selma.”

  “You really mean it? You think I ought to go?” Selma’s eyes gleamed.

  “Miss Joan will be disappointed, if you don’t.”

  “How old is she? An old body?”

  Angus laughed. “She left school a year ago. She and Miss Joy—they’re exactly alike, though they aren’t twins, but only cousins—have the loveliest red hair; dark red, not ginger. They’re both very bonny and only just grown-up. Miss Joy works at music; she plays the piano beautifully. Miss Joan takes care of the house and her mother, and the Abbey belongs to her. It’s ruins, in their garden.” His colour rose again, but once more he hurried on. “The house is called the Hall, and it belongs to Miss Joy.”

  “A big place?” Selma looked startled. “A big country house? Oh, Angus, I’d be scared! I’d no’ ken how to behave!”

  “You couldn’t be scared of those folks. There’ll no’ be anybody else. Why do you no’ give notice at Macdonald’s? You’ll easy get taken on somewhere else when you come back, and it’s no’ been good enough for you. You’ve always felt it was only for a start.”

  “To get experience. Oh, I’m no’ going to stay at Mac’s all my life! But I had to begin somewhere.”

  “Write to Miss Shirley and say you’d like to come.”

  “And thank her,” Selma added. “When could I go? You’ll tell me how to get there, won’t you?”

  Angus grinned. “I know you’re an explorer at heart, Selma Andersson, but you’re no’ going all that way alone. I’ll take you and hand you over to them.”

  “Oh! That would be fun! But is it no’ going to cost an awful lot?” Selma asked doubtfully. “And will I no’ need heaps of new clothes, to stay at a place like that?”

  Angus took up the bill. “I’ll have to rush. Yes, I’m paying to-day.”

  “No, please! Go shares as usual, Angus!”

  “No’ to-day. Will you come out with me on Sunday afternoon? We’ll take the bus to Ashton and sit on the rocks.”

  “And talk. I’ve heaps more questions! Yes, I’ll do that; I’d like it. I’ll no’ write to Miss Shirley till you’ve told me more about it. But if you think I can go, I’ll go on dreaming about England.”

  “Don’t dream while you’re on the job! You’ll give the wrong change.”

  “I could give the right change in my sleep,” Selma retorted.

  CHAPTER 8

  IN A CROWDED TRAIN

  “I’ve done it!” Selma ran to meet Angus on Sunday afternoon, hatles
s as usual, but wearing her best green frock and a big coat.

  He led her to the station. “Aye, I ken you like the bus better; so do I. But the train’s quicker, and we’ve no’ too long. What have you done? Written the letter?”

  “Not yet. There are a thousand things I want to know, before I write. I’ve given notice at Mac’s.”

  “Have you so?” Angus cried, half admiring, half doubtful.

  Selma glanced at his face. “I had to do it. I’m going to England; I can’t miss such a wonderful chance. Besides, it happened; I’m no’ sure that I didn’t get the sack.”

  Angus took the tickets and guided her to the train. “Better tell me all about it.”

  “Where are we going? You said to Ashton.”

  “Gourock. We’ll walk along to Ashton and sit on the rocks; the train saves time. What’s this about getting the sack?”

  “I made so many mistakes that they had me up to the office and lectured me,” Selma said ruefully. “I could no’ think of anything but England, and the journey, and London, and the new people, and what clothes I’d need to take, and——”

  “I bet you made mistakes! Did they fire you on the spot?”

  “They were rather nice about it,” Selma said, with dignity. “I told them I’d had an invitation to go and stay with people near Oxford, and as I wanted to go frightfully badly and I couldn’t ask for more holidays, I thought I’d have to leave the shop. They said it might be just as well, if I was going to be so careless, but I’m to go and see them when I come back, and if they’ve a vacancy they’ll take me on again. They say my work’s good enough as a rule, when my mind is no’ full of other things. I thanked them, but I’ll no’ go back. I’ll look for something better. Angus, I’m boiling over with questions!”

  The carriage was filling up for the quick run to the coast. Angus sat in the corner opposite to hers and they leaned forward, their heads close together.

  “Fire away. But don’t shriek,” he said briefly.

  Selma’s dark eyes, always large, seemed to grow larger still. “I’ve been thinking and worrying, ever since you told me about those girls.”

  He looked at her quickly. “Miss Joan and Miss Joy, and little Miss Jen?”

  “Yes, but no’ the little one. The grown-ups; you say they are bonny, with lovely hair, and one of them’s keen on music, like you. You’re no’ going to—to like either of them very much, are you?”

  There was acute anxiety in her voice. Something had happened to her, since Angus had spoken of the English girls, three days before. The talk of Mollie and the rest had had its effect and she had come to look on him as her special property. Suddenly she had known that she did not want him to like any other girl—not in that special way. The more she had thought about it, the more likely it had seemed that he would be swept off his feet by these girls and that she would be forgotten.

  “I’m only a kid. He wants somebody older than me,” she had said to herself, again and again; and she had neglected her duties and had given the wrong change.

  To her immense relief she saw his eyes fill with laughter. “You cuckoo!” he said. “Wee idiot! Those girls would no’ look at me. They’re rich, and—well—different. I could never ask one of them to marry me.”

  “No, but you might worship her from far off!” Selma had been reading novelettes. “You’d work, and become famous, and she’d wait for you, and one day——”

  “Oh, stow it!” He laid his hand on her knee. “I’ll work, and I’ll be famous, but it’s somebody else I want to wait for me, not Miss Joan or Miss Joy.”

  Selma shot a quick look at him. “Are you—you couldn’t be proposing to me—in a crowded train? Do you really mean me?”

  “I’m no’ asking you to marry me yet,” Angus said, sudden fierce intensity in his tone. “And I’d no’ meant to speak of it to-day, or for years yet. But you’ve witched it out o’ me. Some day I shall ask you properly. Will you wait for me?”

  “Aye, will I!” Selma said fervently. “I’m no’ wanting to be married, but it would be awful nice to know we belonged to one another.”

  Angus laughed under his breath. “My lassie! And you’ll mind I’m your man, Selma girl?”

  “I’ll mind that! But it’s no’ a good place to ask me,” Selma protested.

  “Nobody’s taking any notice of us. Let’s leave it like that. We’ll belong to one another, and some day we’ll get married.”

  “That’s what I’d like,” Selma said eagerly.

  “Shake hands on it!” Angus’s lips were quivering with amusement.

  They clasped hands, and Selma added, “And you’ll no’ look at any other girl, ever, no matter how rich or beautiful she is?”

  “I’ll no’ look at anybody but you,” he promised. “And you’ll no’ go off with any English chap you meet? You’ll be a dreadful long way from me. I don’t know how I’ll bear it.”

  “Don’t worry! I’ll no’ be too far away to think about you. Now, Angus! How am I to get to this place? It is a long way! I’ll love to travel; you know I’ve always wanted to see new places. But I’ll no’ ken how to start. Do I go to the Central and ask for a ticket to London? But what happens after that? And how much will it cost? I’ve only got a little money.”

  “You go with me,” Angus explained, his eyes twinkling. “I take you and hand you over to Miss Joan. Of course! I told you I’d no’ let you go alone.”

  “Oh!” Selma drew a long breath. “Did you really mean it? It would be sort of comforting to have you there. But will it no’ cost an awful lot for the two of us?”

  Angus leaned nearer and spoke earnestly, telling of the cheque from Terry Van Toll, who had married Belle, his half-sister, and seemed anxious to adopt her whole family. “It makes heaps of things possible. I’m going to take you south, but I’ll no’ be staying. I must hurry back; McAlistair gets mad, if I miss his lessons; and there’s the club-playing at night. But I’ll see you safely into Miss Joan’s hands.”

  “But you can’t spend all your cheque on me!”

  “I can so, now that you belong to me.”

  “Oh! Does it make a difference?”

  “I’ll say it does! I can use my cash to help my girl.”

  Selma laughed. “And can I take all that money, because you’re going to be my man?”

  “I guess so. And, look here, Selma! If you want to buy frocks, I’ll pay the bills.”

  Selma shook her head. “I don’t think that’s right. It’s no’ fair to you.”

  “It is, if it’s what I want. Terry told me to get things for myself, but I’d a lot rather buy them for you.”

  Selma sat gazing out at the chimneys and tenements of Greenock’s east end. “No,” she said at last. “Not just now. I don’t know what I’ll need; I might waste your cheque on the wrong things. It’s terribly kind of you, and I’m sure you mean it, but I can’t feel it’s right for me to take your money.”

  “Well, I say! Ask Miss Joan what she thinks! She’s grown-up; she’ll tell you what to do.”

  “I could do that, if you’ll no’ object.” Selma’s face was very sober. “It does seem queer to be going to stay with new people! I can no’ get used to the idea.”

  “You’ll feel at home in that house after the first five minutes. Here’s Fort Matilda; we’ll be at Gourock in no time. Shall we take a bus along and sit on the rocks by the Cloch? Or do you want to go on to Inverkip?”

  “No,” Selma said abruptly. “I don’t want to see my dear stepfather. We’ll no’ go past the Cloch. I suppose”—yearningly—“we couldn’t go on a boat? There’s one at the pierhead now. How I’d love to go down the water once more, before I go away! You know how keen I am on sailing!”

  “No’ to-day,” Angus said firmly. “Perhaps we could have a sail before you go, but to-day I want to talk, and you’ll go all excited, if you get on a boat. There’s something I’ve got to tell you.” His voice changed suddenly.

  Selma gave him a startled look, as they jumped f
rom the carriage, in the midst of the hurrying crowds. “What is it? Angus, how queer you look! What’s up? Are you ill?”

  “You’ll understand, when I tell you.” He steered her through the crowds to the waiting bus in the station yard. “We could walk; it’s only a few miles; but we’ll no’ do that to-day. We’ll ride as far as the Cloch and go down on the shore.”

  “And then you’ll tell me?” Selma asked anxiously. “I don’t like you to look like that.”

  “I didn’t mean to tell you. I could no’ decide,” Angus said abruptly. “But what we said in the train made up my mind; I’ve got to tell you now. We must have things all clear between us.”

  “Oh, aye! Don’t have any secrets! But is it something dreadful?” Selma wailed, as he put her into the bus. “You look quite green! Oh, Angus, what’s wrong?”

  “You may want to go back on what you said,” he told her grimly. “I’ve a story for you, and when you’ve heard it you may no’ want any more to do with me. That’s what is bothering me, my lassie.”

  “Well, it needn’t. Whatever it is, it won’t make me change my mind,” Selma said stoutly. “I’m glad to belong to you. It gives me a nice, settled, comfortable feeling. And I’m no’ going back on it. So stop worrying about that, anyway.”

  Angus groaned. “Wait till you hear!”

  CHAPTER 9

  A REFORMED BURGLAR

  Leaving the bus just before they reached the Cloch point, they went down on to the rocks, with the tide creeping to their feet and the white pillar of the lighthouse behind. In front was all the panorama of the Firth, with the northern peaks thrusting into a blue sky, each vividly clear, and the sea-lochs opening out to run up among them.

  Selma stood perched on a flat rock and gazed, her hair blown back wildly by the breeze. She had known this all her life, but it still fascinated her. The Viking in her blood longed to be off, exploring those lochs and the hills and glens beyond.

  Angus squatted on a big stone, waiting for her. To-day he had no eyes for the beauty of the scene.