Joy laughed. “I’ve been blamed for the same thing. I like to tramp alone! Come on, let’s go down to town!” and they gathered up all the signs of their feast and went on, for shopping and cups of tea at a café, and then home by train. Selma and Jen would have walked back across the hills, but Joan and even Joy would not hear of it.
“We mustn’t kill you on your first day with us,” Joan laughed. “To-night you’ll rest and Joy will play to us, and Jenny-Wren must finish the home-work she neglected last night.”
Jen groaned. “I suppose I’d better. But I shall listen to Joy while I’m doing it.”
“A lot of work you’ll do!” Joy scoffed.
“I don’t suppose I shall listen to you very much,” Jen retorted.
In the little train Joy stood with Selma by the window, pointing out the places at which they had looked from the hills.
“There’s the Whiteleaf Cross; we told you about our Club at school and how it started with the Cross. And here’s King’s Bottom, running out from the hills. D’you remember how we went round the top of it and told you the story of Vinny Miles?”
“Aye, I mind that fine,” said Selma.
Jen, sitting with Joan, whispered, “She’s nice, isn’t she, Joan? But we must show her the Abbey. You’ll let me come too, won’t you?”
“On one condition, Jenny-Wren. Yes, I like her very much.”
Jen looked startled. “What condition? You don’t usually make conditions about going into the Abbey!”
“This is about you, not the Abbey. You’ll be very, most particularly, careful, won’t you?”
“What about?” Jen asked indignantly. “Do you think I’ll scribble my name on the walls?”
Joan stifled a laugh. “No, about Angus. Don’t say anything about him when we go to the refectory.”
“Oh!” Jen gave her a quick look of complete understanding. “About the jewels, and about how I jumped on him? I won’t, Joan; of course I won’t. I know I talk too much, but not about things like that. You don’t think Selma knows?”
“How could she know? I’m sure Angus is most anxious she should never hear of it.”
“Yes, he would be. I won’t say a word. She hasn’t said much about him, has she? She’s talked about other things, but not about Angus.”
“I noticed that,” Joan agreed. “Don’t tease her about him.”
CHAPTER 15
THE HEART OF A HERO
“Now come into the Abbey, with Joan and me!” Jen said, on Sunday afternoon. “We must introduce you to the cats too.”
The week-end was making a difference in Selma. A very real companionship had grown up during the tramp on the hills; many things had been discussed, and she had shown no shyness in telling of her doings at home and her excursions among the sea-lochs, in which she had delighted—of Mollie and the club and the other girls in the shop—of her village of Inverkip, with its glen and wild snowdrops and tumbling river. She had heard all about Jen’s plans for the future, with her large family of children—“Ten, at least, but Joan thinks eight would be enough”—and had inquired anxiously about the husband.
“Oh, him! I don’t know yet. I’ll find him when I want him,” Jen had said airily. “I know there’s got to be a father for the family, but it’s the children I’m interested in.”
And in the shout of laughter from Selma, Joan and Joy had joined and all remnants of shyness were swept away.
At night, pleasantly tired, they sat round the piano and listened to Joy’s beautiful playing of Beethoven Sonatas and Schubert Impromptus, while Jen in the background pretended to work. Selma’s eyes had been fixed on Mrs. Shirley, and presently the little lady moved nearer to the fire and invited Selma to join her.
“Come and sit with me, my dear. If we speak softly we sha’n’t disturb Joy.” And she, in her turn, drew Selma out with gentle questions and found pleasure in her frank replies.
“She is a nice child,” Mrs. Shirley said to Joan, at bedtime. “I like her very much.”
“She likes you, Mother dear,” Joan said, laughing. “She looks at you as if you were too good to be true. Did you make her talk about Angus?”
“Not much. She seems reserved where he is concerned. But she is very fond of him and very proud of his music.”
“That’s quite a good beginning. I like her too, and Jen has taken her to her heart—or she will do, if Selma likes the Abbey. She hasn’t passed that test yet. Jen can’t be really keen on people who don’t care about the Abbey! Joy likes her for her adventurous spirit and her wandering instincts; her Viking side. They talked together a lot this morning on the hills.”
Selma went readily, when invited to come into the Abbey, not knowing it was the final test to gain Jen’s complete approval. She would have been nervous, if she had understood, for she was growing fond of Jen, but she was entirely unselfconscious and merely eager to see this Abbey, of which Jen spoke so often.
She passed the test triumphantly. After watching with interest while Joan led her down a shrubbery path and unlocked an ancient door in a wall, she followed her into a small garden, filled with late roses, and looked up at wide windows in an old high building; then down a stone tunnel under the building towards a gleam of green.
“Oh!” and she stood and looked round the small enclosed square of the cloister garth. “Oh, how bonny! What is it? What are all those windows and doors? Are they rooms? Is it—what sort of place is it? I’ve no’ seen anywhere like this before. Please tell me all about it!”
“Fire away, Jenny-Wren! You’re quite a good guide,” Joan smiled.
“It was a monastery,” Jen said breathlessly. “Monks lived here; no nuns, only men. Up there was the bedroom; we call it the dormitory. Just here is the day-room, where they worked when they weren’t out in the fields or the garden. I expect it was a herb-garden. We’ll show you the refectory, where they had their meals; that’s the arch of the lavatory, where they washed; and up there’s the place where the bell was hung. There’s all that’s left of the cloisters, but in the old days they went right round the garth, of course.”
“This quiet green place is the cloister garth,” Joan added. “The monks were buried here. There’s no church; it was destroyed by Henry the Eighth, but it used to be all along that side, looking down on the garth. We can show you the vestry, or sacristy, and we have pictures of the church, painted soon after it was broken down, so we know what it was like. Here’s the chapter-house, where meetings of the chapter were held. Would you like to explore by yourself, or shall we come with you and tell you all about everything?”
“Oh, please tell me! Can we go into all those places—where they slept and worked, and the dining-room?”
“Oh yes! Come along and see it all!” and Joan led her up the uneven stair to the dormitory, to look down on the garth and across at the cloisters, to see where each monk had slept and where the steps had been by which they had gone to service in the vanished church.
Selma was enthralled by this glimpse into the past.
“I’ve been to the Cathedral in Glasgow,” she said, “but that’s a church. I’ve never seen anything like this. It makes it all so real to see their bedroom!”
“Jen shall tell you the story of Ambrose and Lady Jehane,” Joan promised, and led her on to see the day-room and the chapter-house and the sacristy.
“The tunnels can wait.” Joan glanced at Jen. “It’s too much for one day, if Selma really likes the Abbey. It’s all very well to show everything at once to casual people, but she has plenty of time and she’ll enjoy the underground parts more another day.”
“Underground? I do really like it, Miss Joan! It’s just fine!”
“Passages,” Jen said. “Made by the monks; all sorts of ways out of the Abbey—up on to the hill, and to the gate-house, and to the Hall. It’s an old house; it was here when the monks were here, for Jehane lived in it.”
“Parts of it,” Joan remarked. “It has been added to since then. Now come up to the refector
y; the dining-room, you know. We keep the Abbey treasures there; the books and parchments, and the dishes they used.”
Jen stared across the garth, very carefully not looking at Joan, lest her eyes should betray her as she thought of the treasures no longer kept in the refectory, the jewels of Lady Jehane.
“We have tourists here on week-days,” Joan explained, as they mounted the refectory stair. “But it’s quiet on Sundays. We must tell you how Mother and I used to be the caretakers. There, Selma! This is the refectory,” and she stood aside to let Selma see the big light hall, the wide windows, and the high arched roof, with its carving.
“Oh! It’s lovely!” Selma cried. “It’s so big!”
“There’s a lot to see in here. The reader’s pulpit was up there; he read aloud, while the Abbot and the rest of the brothers dined. Come and look at the strange old tiles over here! And we must show you our treasures; the pictures of the church, and the relics of Jehane and Ambrose.”
Selma suddenly became very quiet. She followed Joan round and listened to her stories, but her mind seemed to be far away. She was, indeed, in her thoughts on the rocks by the Cloch lighthouse, with the waves lapping at her feet, while Angus in bitter shame told his tale.
By the long table which held the parchment books she stood and gazed at Joan. “Was it here that it happened?”
Joan and Jen stared back at her. “That what happened?” Jen cried breathlessly.
“That—that Angus and Rykie——”
“Do you know?” Jen shouted. “We’ve been so careful not to say anything! Do you know all that story?”
“How do you know, Selma?” Joan asked quietly, an eager light in her eyes.
“Angus told me. He said he could no’ let me come here unless I knew.”
“Oh, gosh!” Jen leaned limply against the table. “I’d never have believed he had it in him!”
“No, Angus is very much braver than we thought,” Joan agreed.
“He has the heart of a hero!” Jen said solemnly. “Just fancy telling her, when there was no need! I wouldn’t have thought he would do it!”
Selma looked from one to the other, bright-eyed and eager. “I thought it was very brave. I told him he was a sort of hero, but all he would say was that he’d nearly been a burglar, but now he’d reformed.”
“A reformed burglar!” Jen chuckled. “Yes, that’s Angus!”
“But there was some need for him to tell me,” Selma said urgently. “He had to be fair to you, if I was coming to stay with you. He wanted me to know how awfully, frightfully decent you had been, when you forgave him and sold the ruby to give him his lessons. I had to know, so that I’d understand about you. It was the kindest, most marvellous thing I ever heard.”
“We knew he was sorry,” Joan said. “And we understood a little of what he had been feeling, when we heard about his music. We wanted to help.”
“Did he tell you what I did?” Jen turned to Selma, half laughing, half confused.
“You jumped on him and knocked him down. You had to stop him somehow.”
“Joan would have done that. I didn’t really need to knock him down. But we had a shock when we found what was happening, and I didn’t stop to think.”
“When do you stop to think?” Joan asked severely. “Selma, we would never have told you, but since Angus felt he had to do it, we’re glad you understand. Now you know all about him.”
“He said we must no’ have any secrets,” Selma said gravely. “He’s no’ really like that, Miss Joan. He’ll never be a burglar again.”
“Oh, I’m sure he won’t! He was very silly, but it was only for a moment. He was sorry afterwards.”
“He was terribly sorry! He felt awful when he told me. And it really was Rykie’s idea, though Angus did no’ say much about that.”
“There was no need for Angus to take on Rykie’s silly idea,” Joan said. “We can’t excuse him; he was tempted and he lost his head. But he had a shock when he found what he had nearly done, and it sobered him.”
“He’s been terribly upset about it,” Selma said earnestly. “If he had no’ felt so bad, he’d no’ have troubled to tell me. He really is honest, and he wanted me to know. He said”—she hesitated, her innate reserve struggling with the impulse to explain—“he said that since we belong to one another, we must no’ have any secrets. It must be all clear between us.”
CHAPTER 16
A PROGRAMME FOR SELMA
There was a moment’s startled silence. Jen’s eyes blazed with excitement and she looked eagerly at Joan. But Joan’s hand pressed lightly on her shoulder, to restrain her from too hasty speech.
Selma watched them curiously. “Didn’t you know? About Angus and me?”
“We knew about Angus,” Jen exploded. “But not about you.”
“What did he say about me?”
“He called you his lassie, and he said lovely things about you.”
Selma coloured and looked at Joan.
“That’s enough, Jenny-Wren,” Joan said quietly. “Selma, Angus thinks a great deal of you; he is very fond of you. He spoke of you as his girl, but he said you didn’t know. He felt you were not old enough, so he hadn’t said anything to you. But it sounds as if you knew a good deal.”
“It was in the train,” Selma said, speaking frankly and with no trace of shyness. “We went down to the coast and sat on the rocks by the Cloch, and on the way I asked him about you and Miss Joy, and—perhaps it was mad, but I was worried—I asked if he was going to like one of you extra specially much. I’d felt as if Angus was mine; the other girls had been teasing me about him and calling him my boy-friend, and although I told them he wasn’t—no’ in that way—all of a sudden I knew I did no’ want him to be anyone else’s particular friend. So then he said he never would, and—and that I mattered more than anybody to him. And perhaps some day we’d get married.”
“And did you say you would?” Jen cried.
“I did so! But we knew it would no’ be for a long, long time.”
“Well now, that’s very nice for you both,” Joan said cheerily. “It means waiting, but neither of you is ready yet.”
“Oh, it’ll no’ be for ages! But I’m glad to feel we belong to one another.” Selma sounded a little forlorn. “I haven’t anybody, you know. Mother died, and the stepfather just does no’ exist, so far as I’m concerned. I don’t like him and he can no’ be bothered with me. So far as I know I’ve no aunts or cousins; no’ in Scotland, anyway. I shall get along all right, of course; I can always find jobs and I don’t mind working. But it’s lonely to be on one’s own. It’s marvellous to think I belong to Angus.”
“And that Angus belongs to you,” Joan agreed, with instant sympathy. “I’m glad you’ve arranged matters with him, and I hope some day the rest will happen too. I’ve an idea that Angus won’t change his mind.”
“I’ll no’ change mine! He’s going to be famous one day. I’ll be gey proud to be married to him!”
“Of course you will. And he’ll be proud of you. But all that is a long way off, isn’t it?”
“Aye, but it’s the reason he wanted me to know—what happened here, that night. He asked me if it would make any difference, and if I’d be willing to marry a reformed burglar.”
“And you said you would, if he’d really reformed?” Jen asked eagerly.
“I said it made no difference at all, and that I thought he was very brave to tell me.”
“It was brave,” Joan agreed. “We’re glad that you know and that you’ve told us. Now there isn’t a secret between us and you either, so we can forget all about that horrid story and bury it. Angus is making good and we trust him; you’re going to wait for him, and some day you’ll marry him and take care of him.”
“I’m no’ good enough for him.” Selma voiced a hidden fear. “I’m no’ fit to marry a great man.”
“Angus thinks you are. He wants you,” Jen said, eager to comfort her.
“You’ve plenty of time. Yo
ur job now is to get ready for Angus,” Joan explained.
“How will I do that?” Selma’s question was pathetic in its anxiety. “Is there any way I can do it?”
“As a start, why not go to school with Jen?” Joan smiled at her. “Every little extra thing you learn will help you to feel more ready. If you could talk French, for instance, think what a help you could be to Angus, if he wanted to go to Paris to study, or if he was asked to play in places abroad! And you can read all the books that people ought to have read. I haven’t done that—yet; but Joy has a very good library and you can help yourself.”
Selma’s face blazed with eagerness. “Would more school really help?”
“Of course it would! And meeting new people—the girls and mistresses at school; all that will help. We’ll ask the President of our Club to lunch, and she’ll ask you to Broadway End and tell you about her travels to Ceylon. And our first Queen, Miriam; she’s just married and she has her own new little home; you’ll love her.”
“Will people laugh at the way I speak? I know it’s no’ like Jen, or you.”
“Rather not!” Jen cried. “I think it’s just awfully pretty! I hope you won’t change it.”
“I’ve no’ got the Glasgow talk,” Selma said shyly. “Mollie and the rest laughed at me and said I had a country accent; West Coast, you know. Inverkip is a good long way down the water.”
“Whatever it is, it’s very pretty and I like it,” Jen assured her.
“Nobody will laugh at you, Selma,” Joan said. “Shall I tell you what I think you should do?”
“Aye, please do!”
“Wait till half-term; that’s in three weeks. Get to know the country and to feel at home with us. Then go to school with Jen; work at French and literature and grammar and history; join the Hamlet Club and learn our dances, which are rather different from those you did at your Youth Club, but the same sort of thing; and write long letters to Angus to cheer him up. How’s that for a programme?”
Selma at the Abbey Page 8