Selma at the Abbey

by Elsie J. Oxenham

  “Oh yes! They’re searching for him. Can you tell us anything about him?”

  “They’ve no’ got him yet?”

  “Not yet. But they will, you know. It’s not so easy to escape. We know all about the boy who helped; he belongs to the village and is known to everybody as being rather simple. He probably didn’t understand quite how serious the thing was that he was doing.”

  “But the other one, who was going to take the stones! Miss Joan, it might have been me,” Angus cried, his voice breaking in distress. “Don’t send him to jail, Miss Joan! I was just as bad, and you let me off.”

  Dumb with surprise, Joan gazed down at him. This was a new Angus and an unsuspected one.

  “I’ve been thinking,” he whispered. “It’s what I tried to do. You stopped me in time, and I’ve been glad and thankful ever since. I stopped this chap; he only tried—he didn’t take anything. If you send him to jail, I shall always feel it ought to be me.”

  “But we can’t let him off, to go burgling other houses!” Joan exclaimed. “It wouldn’t be right, Angus!”

  “Maybe he’ll no’ do it again. He’ll have had a fright and he may go straight now.”

  “But he hurt you! He hurt you quite badly!”

  “Aye,” Angus whispered, and a quiver of pain passed over his face. “But it was because I tried to stop him. I ken how he felt about that too. He thought he’d got the stones, and I rushed in on him and it made him mad. Miss Joan, don’t send him to jail!”

  “I don’t know that we can help it,” Joan said doubtfully. “The police won’t like it.”

  “Have they anything else against him? He did no’ take anything,” Angus pleaded.

  “He broke into our house, intending to steal, and he injured you. That’s quite enough to get him into prison, and it might be the best thing for him.”

  “It might make him worse when he came out. I’ve heard o’ that with chaps.”

  “So have I,” Joan admitted. “I’ll talk to Mother and Joy, if you really are sure you want us to let him off, but I don’t know what they’ll think. I’m fairly sure what Joy will say!”

  “Ask her to be kind,” Angus whispered. “You’ve been so kind to Selma and me. Tell her it might have been me!”

  Joan bent over him and pushed back the fair hair from his hot face.

  “I’ll tell her. We’ll talk it over. Now, Angus, you mustn’t worry any more. You’ll keep yourself from getting well, and we want you to be well. You will stop thinking, won’t you?”

  “I’ll try,” he murmured. “I’m tired. But I keep on remembering yon chap and the police being after him.”

  “Try to stop worrying. We’ll see what we can do. If we knew he was sorry for what he had done, we might try to let him off. But we’ve no reason to think he’s at all sorry. He may be trying to do the same thing somewhere else.”

  “If they catch him they’ll maybe find he’s sorry. I keep thinking it’s just like me, last summer,” Angus said unsteadily.

  “You were sorry, right at once, and you said so. It made all the difference to us. Now that you’ve told me what has been troubling you, you’ll go to sleep, won’t you?”

  “I’ll try,” Angus whispered. “I did no’ ken it was the jewels they were after,” he added. “I just thought it was something of yours and I must stop them. I had no’ heard the stones were there. But the light shone on them and they twinkled, like—like yon other time—and I knew it was the jewels that Rykie and I——”

  “And you couldn’t let them be stolen,” Joan agreed. “Of course you couldn’t. We do appreciate your help and your courage. Perhaps you owed us a little thing because of that trouble last summer, but you’ve certainly paid your debt in full. Now go to sleep, Angus!”

  She found the nurse, as she went out. “Could you give him something to quiet him? He’s told me what has been worrying him, and I hope he’ll sleep now. But perhaps you can help?”

  “I’ll see to that. He ought not to have anything on his mind just now,” the nurse said anxiously.

  CHAPTER 29

  SANCTUARY IN THE ABBEY

  “Oh, rot!” Joy exploded, when she heard the news that evening. She had been to Wycombe to fetch some things the nurse wanted, so Joan had waited till after tea to tell her story. “Tell Angus not to be a silly ass! We couldn’t do that. The bobby from Wycombe would never stand for it.”

  Jen looked up from her home-work. “But how simply awfully surprising!” she said. “And how super decent of Angus! Who would have believed he’d think of it?”

  “He’s very much in earnest,” Joan said. “I don’t say he’s right, but the idea has taken hold of his mind, and he’s ill and he can’t reason about it. He feels he might so easily be in this man’s place, hunted by the police and in terror of prison.”

  “He’s right there. He most certainly might be in the same hole.” Joy frowned. “If you hadn’t been so firm last summer I’d have sent for the police and handed him over to them.”

  “Aren’t you glad you didn’t?” Jen stared at her, her chin resting in her hands, her plaits hanging on each side of her sober face.

  “I am, of course,” Joy admitted. “But it’s different. Angus isn’t really that sort.”

  “Prison would certainly have done him harm. It might have made a criminal of him,” Joan observed.

  “Do you want to call off the police and let this chap go free?” Joy demanded.

  “No. And Mother thinks it wouldn’t be either possible or wise. She doesn’t believe the police would consent, and I’m sure she’s right. But she thinks we might be able to do something about it when they catch him. They may disapprove of us, but they can’t force us to prosecute him. If we see what he is like, and if we think—yes, Susie? What is it?”

  “Oh, Miss Joan, Mrs. Watson’s on the phone, from the Abbey. She wants you to go there quick. She’s upset about something. All of a dither, she is, in a regular state, miss.”

  “I’ll go.” Joan rose quickly. “What can be the matter with Ann now?”

  “I’ll come too,” Joy said. “You’re not going to wander about the garden alone. You’ll get yourself murdered.”

  “Joy, don’t be an idiot! It’s only across the lawn.”

  “And down that dark shrubbery path, and there may be criminals lurking about. Besides, I want to know what Ann’s been up to.”

  “You’re not going to leave me out!” Jen’s books went flying. “Of course I’m coming! It’s not a bit of use saying anything. I wouldn’t miss it for pounds! We’ll take torches and our big coats; I’ll fetch yours, Joan. The whole mob of us will go. Shall we go through the tunnels?”

  “Don’t tell Selma!” Joan called after her. “Three’s plenty. I must warn Mother we are going to see Ann.”

  “Right! Selma only wants to sit and look at Angus.”

  They crept out quietly into the night, and met no lurking thieves or murderers in the shrubbery. The Abbey was silent and the garth was peaceful, but light was streaming from Ann Watson’s door.

  “Don’t fall over the Curate!” Jen hissed. “He’s sure to be on the prowl!”

  Joan’s light swept round the garth. “He’s not here. You seem worried about people falling over the Curate!”

  “Well, Joan, I’ve done it, and I banged myself most frightfully hard. The Curate ought to wear a light in his tail. Now for it!” Jen whispered, in joyful excitement. “Has Ann caught a burglar or killed somebody?”

  “Or has something frightened her?” Joan added.

  Ann came running to meet them. “Oh, Miss Joan! Miss Joy! Miss Jen! Oh, Miss Joan, it’s ’im!”

  Under her breath Jen quoted softly: “ ‘Heedless of grammar, they all cried—“That’s him!” ’ Who, I wonder?”

  Ann’s English, carefully studied while she had been a children’s nurse in London, deserted her in moments of excitement. “It’s ’im, Miss Joan! ’Im as led our poor Frankie astray, what don’t know no better.”

&nb
sp; “Dear, dear! Ann is all worked up!” Joy murmured.

  “Who is it, Ann?” Joan went quickly towards the small rooms in the wall.

  “In my parlour, Miss Joan.”

  Joan stood at the door of the sitting-room and gazed at the man who sat slumped in a chair by the table. The Mother Superior looked up sleepily from her basket, surprised by this late visit; Timmy slept on undisturbed. Ann did not really care for cats, but she tolerated these two, for Joan’s sake.

  But to-night Joan had no time for cats. She stared at the stranger, and at sight of her he groaned and hid his face in his arms.

  “Bin cryin’ like a babby he has,” Ann said severely. “And no more’n he’d oughter!”

  The man’s face was dirty and tear-stained, and his shoulders shook as the girls gazed at him silently. He was young, no older than Angus, and in pitiable condition; he had been out on the hills, in hiding, for the greater part of two days and two nights, and he was wet and cold and hungry, and obviously terrified.

  “Well, you’re a poor specimen!” Joy said bluntly.

  “He’s feeling awfully bad, Joy,” Jen protested.

  “As Ann says—though she put it differently—so he should.”

  Joan went to the tall lad and touched his shoulder. “It was you who came to our house two nights ago?”

  “Yes, miss. Is he dead?”

  “Is who dead?” Jen cried.

  “The young guy I knocked down.”

  “Angus,” Joan said. “No, luckily for you he isn’t dead. Things are bad enough for you, but they’d be a lot worse if you had killed him. But he’s quite badly injured, thanks to you. Why have you come here?”

  “I hadn’t nowhere to go. The cops are after me and they’ll sure get me. And—and young Frankie he said you was kind to folks, and—and I didn’t take nothing, so I thought maybe you’d call off the cops.” The explanation was broken by sobs. Evidently, finding himself hunted, he had completely lost his nerve. “And I wanted to know about the young guy I knocked down.”

  A more demoralised criminal it would have been hard to find. Joan went on relentlessly with her questions.

  “What is your name? Where do you come from?”

  “I’m Alf Watson, miss. I been in America with my dad. I come home——”

  “Watson?” The girls all spoke together. “Any relation to Frankie? Same family?”

  “Yes, miss. Frank’s my cousin.”

  “I haven’t never seen him before,” Ann Watson said dourly. “I heard there was a cousin and he was comin’ back, but he’s been across seas all the time I’ve been here. Went with his dad when he was a young boy.”

  “And he came back and fell in with his cousin Frankie, as he was on his way to the village, and Frankie had a story which he had heard from Ann, of jewels in a big house with only women and girls in it,” Joan said. “You thought you were on to a good thing, I suppose, Alf. Really, you are very silly!”

  “Not much better than Frankie,” Joy remarked. “You must have known the police would be after you.”

  “Frank said the stones was worth a fortune,” Alf muttered. “I thought I’d go to S’thampton and get on another ship and go to France, or back to N’York. But I couldn’t get past the cops; I knew they’d get me. And—and I’d hit that young guy that tried to stop me, and I was sure scared.”

  “You might well be scared,” Jen said severely. “You might have murdered him easily.”

  “I think we have the whole story now,” Joan interposed. “We’ll ring up the police. Yes, of course, Alf; they must know you are here. They’ll come, but we’ll do our best for you and perhaps they won’t be hard on you. We can’t let them go on searching for you! And you can’t stay here. But for to-night—yes, I think you must stay. Ann, could you feed him? Have you enough food in? Good! Then give him a meal and send him to bed in my little room, where old Boniface slept last year. You can lock him in, if you like, but you’ve no need to be afraid. He won’t murder you! Alf, why did you come to the Abbey and not to the Hall?”

  “Something Frankie said,” Alf mumbled. “I met him on the hills, and he said the cops was after me. I said, what could I do? And he said, go to the Abbey. He said you was always kind to folks in this place, and that there’d been an old man, and a girl, and you’d helped them. He said perhaps you’d help me too. And I was scared to go to the big house. I came and asked her”—with a nod towards Ann—“what I’d do. And she said you’d know what was best.”

  A look flashed from Jen to Joan. But Jen waited till they were crossing the garth before breaking out eagerly, “Joan! Oh, Joan! He came to the Abbey to be helped! You couldn’t let him down—or the Abbey. He came to be safe. Oh, Joan!”

  “For sanctuary,” Joan agreed. “Frankie seems to have had a queer glimmer of understanding. It does feel as if Alf was the criminal fleeing from justice and claiming sanctuary here. We’ll do what we can, Jen.”

  “You always do,” Jen said happily. “I wonder what Selma will say? Angus will be surprised to hear about Alf!”

  Mrs. Shirley was awaiting them anxiously. “What was the matter with Ann?”

  “I’ll call Selma and we’ll tell you all about it,” Joan said.

  Jen planted herself in front of Mrs. Shirley. “Ann Watson has caught the burglar, Aunty Shirley. What do you think of that?”

  “Jen, my dear! What are you saying?”

  “Just that. She’s giving him supper and she’s going to put him to bed. He’s the most miserable object you can imagine.”

  “The man who hurt Angus? And so he ought to be!” Selma cried from the doorway.

  “Come here, and we will listen to the story together. Joan shall tell us properly what has happened.” Mrs. Shirley held out her hand.

  Selma crouched on a stool by her side. “I could do horrible things to that man!” she whispered.

  Mrs. Shirley stroked her hair gently and looked at Joan.

  “Yes, you tell them properly,” Jen grinned.

  Joan told the story. “We must phone the police. But he’s all right where he is till the morning. We know what Angus wants us to do!”

  “Do you think Alf should be let off, Selma?” Jen demanded.

  “Me?” Selma looked at her. “I think he should be hanged, or beheaded, or put in prison for life.”

  Joy gave a shout of laughter. “Well done, Viking Daughter! But you’ll never make Joan and Jen see it. He came to the Abbey, you know.”

  “I don’t see that it matters. He hurt Angus.” To Selma that ended the problem. “I know what Angus wants, for he told me,” she added. “But he’s daft. He’s been lying there thinking, and making himself all hot and worried. I told him he was silly. That man ought to be punished. I hate him!”

  “But if Angus is willing to forgive him, my dear?” Mrs. Shirley protested gently.

  Selma’s head was buried in her lap. “He hurt Angus,” she sobbed, breaking down suddenly. “And if—if he can no’ play his fiddle, what’ll he do?”

  “Oh, but he will be able to play!” Jen ran to her side, all sympathy in a moment. “His arm was hurt because he saved our jewels. It will get well; it must! God isn’t as cruel as that.”

  Selma raised tear-filled eyes and stared at her. “D’you think God cares about Angus’s arm?”

  “Of course He does! Angus was splendidly brave. I know God will take care of him. But don’t you go hating people, even Alf Watson. That won’t help.”

  “I should hand him over to the police,” Selma sobbed, and hid her face again.

  “Jen, go back to your work!” Joan commanded. “Joy, you might ring up the police; you’ll do it best. But ask them to leave Alf where he is till the morning; he won’t run away again. Tell them how exhausted he is.”

  “I’ll say he’s safe and I’ll come early to-morrow and talk it over with them. I’ll run you down to school, Jen, and Selma, too, if she feels like going.”

  “I want to stop with Angus, please.”

  “So
you shall,” Joan promised, and joined her mother in her efforts to comfort her.

  “I’ve an odd feeling,” Joan said later, when Selma had gone upstairs again, “that Angus has grown up at last. He has seemed so very young and silly; not at all like his real age.”

  “Positively infantile,” Joy agreed. “He certainly seems more—well——”

  “More mature,” Joan finished for her.

  “Is it being ill that has done it?”

  “I believe it’s his love for Selma. He has learned, from her, to care for somebody else more than for himself. Until now, he has thought only of getting on, for his own sake; now he’s thinking more for other people.”

  “It’s going to make him much jollier.” Jen was listening, with thoughtful eyes.

  “It’s only natural.” Joan was thinking aloud. “His mother died, and although his father was married again, to Mother’s sister, she had her own two girls, and Angus may have felt a bit out of things. His father was not sympathetic, as we heard from Rykie, and as Angus grew up he was evidently restless, with his music all unused and not understood.”

  “Boiling in him,” Joy nodded. “I know all about that. Of course he had to strike out and do something about it. Can’t blame him for that!”

  “It would make him think only about himself,” Jen agreed. “It’s a good thing he’s found Selma.”

  “And we’ve helped him to bring out his music,” Joan added. “It has all tended to make him grow more balanced and all-round. He seems much older now.”

  “And very much nicer. But we won’t say that to Selma,” Jen announced.

  CHAPTER 30

  A TASK FOR AMBROSE

  “He doesn’t like us one bit,” Joy reported, after her trip to town to interview the police. “He admits he can’t force us to prosecute Alf Watson, but he’s very wrathful at the thought of letting him off. He’s coming to argue with you, Joan, and he wants to talk to Angus too, so prepare your arguments. He must see Alf, of course, even if he only cautions him. But he says a spell of prison would be the best thing for him.”