Strangers at the Abbey

by Elsie J. Oxenham

  Strangers at the Abbey

  by Elsie J. Oxenham

  First published in 1951

  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.

  Strangers at the Abbey

  by ELSIE J. OXENHAM

  CHAPTER ONE

  THE STRANGERS

  “Joy, the queerest thing!” Joan put down her mother’s breakfast tray and stood gazing at her cousin.

  Joy looked up from the letter she was reading. “What sort of thing? Come and have your brekker. What’s happened?”

  Joan poured out a cup of coffee and sat down. “Mother’s had a letter, and she let me read it. It’s from somebody called Belle Reekie. Joy, I’ve got two new cousins.”

  Joy stared at her. “You’ve got me, and don’t you forget it. I never heard of any other cousins.”

  “Neither did I. But Belle Reekie seems to be one, and she has a little sister, so that makes two. Two cousins, and I’d never heard of them!”

  Joy pushed away her plate. “Joan, what is all this about? We’ve known my family history, but you’ve never had any. It was just you and Aunty. Now you go and produce two cousins! What has Aunty been doing? Why has she concealed them all this time?”

  “Poor Mother! She’s upset, but she told me how it happened. Her sister—she was very fond of her—married somebody in Scotland called Fred Reekie, who was rather well off, Mother thought. About eight years ago, when we were babes of ten, Mother was finding things difficult. Both our fathers had died, and she was taking care of you as well as me; it was while we still lived in London. She couldn’t see how to do all that she wanted to do for us.”

  “And my dear grandfather wouldn’t help,” Joy put in. “I love him because he died and left me his house, but he wasn’t a bit nice while he was alive.”

  “This happened some time before Mother could bring herself to write to Sir Antony. It was only when she was really desperate, because you were so poorly in town, that she appealed to him. But she thought she could ask her own people for help. So she wrote to her sister, and had a curt, horrid letter in reply, saying the sister was very ill and the brother-in-law didn’t feel called on to support any family but his own. That was followed by a printed notice of Mrs. Reekie’s death.”

  “What a brute of a man! I suppose Aunty had nothing more to do with him?”

  “Just that. Poor Mother was evidently dreadfully hurt, and she never wrote again. I’m afraid it went on hurting her for a long time; she had no one left but us, and we were too young to be properly understanding. She had to keep it to herself, and I’m sure it helped to make things worse for her at an already hard time.”

  “I could throttle Fred Reekie,” Joy said bitterly. “Poor Aunty! And she’d lost her sister too.”

  “That added to the trouble, of course. Now this letter is from the elder girl; there seem to be only two girls. Mother had an idea there was a boy as well, but Belle doesn’t mention him. Perhaps he died; we won’t speak of him to the girls, in case it’s a sore subject. Well, you see why I’ve never heard of my cousins before? Mother put them right at the back of her mind and never spoke of them to us.”

  “I don’t blame her. What does the girl want?”

  “To come here,” Joan said simply.

  Joy raised her brows. “To see Aunty? Has the wretched father come to his senses?”

  “Perhaps. I don’t know. But he’s dead.”

  “Oh! Well, he won’t be much loss,” Joy said coldly. “He wasn’t a suitable relation, even by marriage, for nice people like you and Aunty. What about the girls? Do they want to heal the feud?”

  “They don’t feel there has been any feud. Belle is going to America, and she doesn’t know what to do with the small sister, who is only fourteen, so she wants to bring her here to Mother.”

  “To live, do you mean?” Joy cried.

  “I’m afraid so. I think it will be too much for Mother, but what can we do?”

  “Say it can’t be done,” Joy exclaimed. “Look here, Joan! I know you and Aunty; you’re saints, and you’ll take in this kid and let her upset all our lives. Of course it will be too much for Aunty! She hasn’t any strength to spare. My fault, I know, for terrifying her by having pneumonia on top of measles, and scaring her into a heart attack; she’s never been quite right since. She can’t stand anything extra now. I guess this is where I butt in, for her sake. It’s my house! If I won’t have this girl, that puts an end to the idea, and a jolly good thing for everybody. Tell Aunty from me that we’re not having any kids to live with us.”

  Joan said nothing, but spread marmalade, her face thoughtful.

  Joy shot a look at her. “Well? You don’t want the infant, do you?”

  “It depends what she’s like. If she’s nice, it might be rather fun. But I’m afraid, on Mother’s account. And Mother wants to have her.”

  “Oh, she can’t! She doesn’t really want her,” Joy wailed. No arguments about “my house” would be any use against Mrs. Shirley’s wishes, she knew.

  “She does want her, Joy. These are her sister’s girls, and she was very fond of her sister. She wants to help them.”

  Joy groaned. “But think, Joan! A kid of fourteen here all the time! I said I objected for Aunty’s sake, but I don’t want her for my own, either! If she comes, that’s the most I’ll agree to, and only to please Aunty. I won’t have anything to do with her. She’s your relation; you can look after her.”

  “Spoken like a real ex-May-Queen!” Joan commented sarcastically.

  “You’re an ex-Queen too, and her cousin. If you and Aunty choose to adopt her you can do the work and have the worry.”

  “I expect that,” Joan agreed. “I shall try to save Mother all I can. It won’t be so bad, Joy. She’ll have to go to school; she’ll be out all day. No kid of fourteen is coming to live here to loaf about and do nothing.”

  “Live here! Is it for always and always?” Joy groaned.

  “Belle has an appointment in America; I don’t know what her job is. She’s Isabella, really, Mother says, but she signs herself just Belle. If she does well, she’ll send for Rykie to join her.”

  “For who? What’s her weird name?”

  “She calls the kid Rykie; her real name is Frederica. We must ask them about it.”

  “Rykie? How does she spell it?”

  “R-Y-K-I-E. At first I called it ‘Reekie,’ but that would make her name ‘Reekie Reekie,’ and that’s not very likely. It must rhyme with—let me see!”

  “Spikey!” said Joy. “Crikey! What a name! Rykie Reekie!”

  “It is odd,” Joan conceded. “Perhaps they couldn’t bear Freddy and they didn’t think of Freda, so they called her Reeka; then they didn’t like the sound of Reeka Reekie, so they turned her into Rykie.”

  “I don’t see that Rykie Reekie’s any improvement! It’s a ghastly name. She’ll be a horrible nuisance,” Joy groaned. “Can’t you reason with Aunty?”

  Joan looked grave. “I’m afraid not. I see Mother’s point of view. If she refused, she would feel she was letting her sister down, and she would be unhappy.”

  “If these girls have plenty of money, couldn’t she—er—Rykie go to boarding-school?”

  “Who says they have money? I don’t think they have. Belle says it’s vitally important she should go to America, for th
e sake of her career. I can’t imagine what the career can be, but evidently America is necessary to it.”

  “But I thought the horrible Fred was well off?”

  “He may not have been well off when he died.”

  “True,” Joy agreed. “He may have been a gambler or a bookmaker, or even a burglar. He may not have left a fortune. Then the positions are reversed, and after his refusal to help Aunty, his girls now have to come to her. H’m!”

  “And Mother can’t refuse,” Joan added.

  “No, I see that. She wouldn’t be Aunty, if she could. Oh, what a mess! I wish the Reekies had never existed!”

  “Unfortunately they do exist. We can’t be pigs, Joy. Think of all that has been given to us! We must help Belle, and we must be good to Rykie.”

  She and Joy sat and looked at one another. They were very much alike, and had often been taken for twins; their fathers, John and Jim Shirley, had been twins, and the girls were like them, with the same brown eyes and the same rich, dark-red hair. But the likeness was not quite so apparent now, since, at eighteen, they had left school and had put up their hair—Joan wearing hers in big plaits round her head, while Joy had large coils over her ears. On occasion, however, Joy adopted Joan’s plaits, to tease strangers, and then the twin-like resemblance appeared again.

  As Joan said, much had been given to them. At fifteen, Joy had inherited the beautiful Hall and its grounds from her grandfather, Sir Antony Abinger, who, resenting bitterly his only daughter’s runaway marriage with Jim Shirley, had refused to see her child.

  Joyce had died, still unforgiven, and Sir Antony’s son had died before him, so only Joy had been left to inherit the Abinger lands. With Mrs. Shirley as her guardian, she had joyfully taken possession of the lovely old house, and was very proud and happy.

  To Joan, one month the elder, had been left the beautiful Abbey ruins, in the grounds of the Hall, to her everlasting amazement and joy, “Because of her love for the Abbey and her thorough knowledge of it,” Sir Antony had said in his will. Joan’s pride in the Abbey was as great as Joy’s pride in her house, and both girls felt very definitely that much had indeed been given to them.

  Joy sighed at last. “If you and Aunty really want to have this Rykie child, she’ll have to come, I suppose. But I don’t want her! If you think it would make an impression on Aunty’s kind heart, I’ll object violently.”

  “It wouldn’t,” Joan said decidedly. “But perhaps Rykie won’t be too much in the way. She’ll go to school; I’ll see to that! And I’ll see that she does her prep at night. We shall only have to look after her at week-ends.”

  Joy sighed again. “Oh, bother—bother—bother!”

  CHAPTER TWO

  HELP FOR JOAN

  “There’s one thing I can do,” Joan said suddenly, as she and Joy sat thinking over the situation.

  “What’s that? I didn’t think there was anything!”

  “I shall ask for Jen to help me.”

  “Jen!” Joy exclaimed. “That’s an idea! She’s older than this Rykie; she could deal with her. Jenny-Wren could cope with anybody! But she’s at school; what can she do?”

  “She could come and live here and go to school with Rykie every day. They could cycle together; then we wouldn’t need to send them in the car. Rykie couldn’t ride so far alone, but she’d be all right with Jen. I shall go to see Miss Macey; she’ll understand, when I tell her the story.”

  “Our dear Head will do a lot for you,” Joy commented. “Oh well! If you can kidnap Jen and hand young Rykie over to her, perhaps I shall be able to bear it.”

  Their friendship with Jen Robins was of two years’ standing. Jen, now fifteen, had come to school at the time of Joan’s crowning as May-Queen; she had been fascinated by the ceremonies and the country-dancing, and had become an enthusiastic member of the Hamlet Club. When, a year later, Joan’s maid-of-honour had been chosen Queen, Joan had invited Jen to take her place, and the friendship had become still deeper and more real. Jen had spent much time with the Shirley girls, both for week-ends during term and longer periods in the holidays, when the illness of her father had kept her from going home to Yorkshire; she looked on Mrs. Shirley as an unofficial aunt, and she was always welcome at the Hall and loved every corner and every stone of the Abbey.

  Jen was obviously the one to help to entertain Rykie Reekie, but she was a boarder at school, so her mother and the headmistress had to be consulted.

  “I’ll write to Mrs. Robins to-day, and to Belle,” Joan said. “Then I’ll go down to school and ask Miss Macey if she’ll take Rykie and if she’ll let us have Jen.”

  “We’ll have the car,” Joy suggested. “We’ll take Billy to drive, if you’d like it better, but you really would be quite safe with me. I’ve passed my tests and I’m considered a very good driver.”

  “I’ll trust you. I know you don’t want to smash up the new car.”

  “Oh, I don’t want to smash you either! You’d better get used to driving with me. I promise to be careful.”

  The new car, larger than the tiny runabout which had been her first venture, was Joy’s greatest treasure, so Joan felt fairly safe, even though Joy insisted on forsaking Billy, who had driven the small car, and on being her own chauffeur. She drove carefully, knowing that any accident or recklessness would mean perpetual anxiety for Mrs. Shirley. Joy adored her aunt, who had been the only mother she could remember, and would make any effort or sacrifice to give her ease of mind.

  “Are you coming in to see Miss Macey?” Joan asked, as they neared the town.

  “I thought I’d run out to see Cicely and pick you up to take you home.”

  “Give my love to Cicely, but don’t call for me. I’ll come back by train.”

  “Had enough of me and the car?” Joy grinned.

  “Not a bit. But I want to take Jen to lunch at the dairy. I told Mother I’d be out.”

  “Oh, good! The kid will love that. Right! I’ll leave you to find your own way home.”

  Jen, coming from her last class of the morning, gave the shriek of joy which was characteristic of her and rushed to fling herself on Joan.

  “Joan! You’ve come to see us! How lovely of you! It’s marvellous to have you here!”

  She was fifteen now, tall and long-legged, with a very short blue tunic and flying green girdle, blue-eyed and with long yellow plaits on each side of her face.

  “I believe you’ve grown, Jenny-Wren. You look taller every time I see you,” Joan scolded. “You’re going to be a regular lamp-post.”

  “Maypole,” Jen pleaded. “I can’t help it. I don’t do it on purpose. Is everybody quite well, Joan? Aunty Shirley and the cats? Joy’s always all right!”

  “Everyone’s very fit; the cats are full of life. I’ve come for something more than just to see you, my dear.”

  “Oh, Joan, what? Tell me quickly!”

  “To take you out to lunch at the dairy. I want to talk to you.”

  “Oh, cheers! You are an angel! I’ll fetch my coat and change my shoes. I love a dairy lunch!” and she was gone, racing to the cloakroom.

  Joan laughed and waited for her, greeting various girls as they appeared. “Hallo, Beetle!—Beatrice, I mean! Congratulations, Nesta! You’ll be a good Queen. Jen has been sure you would be chosen.”

  Nesta, one of Jen’s classmates, coloured in pleasure. “It’s lovely of the girls to want me. I’ll try, Joan. Beetle’s going to be a jolly maid.”

  “Beetle has had practice.” Joan smiled. “She’s been quite a good maid for me, when Jen was busy with cricket.”

  Beetle, a short round person with a good-natured expression, grinned up at her. “You’ve trained me as a maid. I’ll do my best for Nesta. She’s going to look lovely in her silver train.”

  The crowning of the May-Queen was due to take place two days later, for this was the beginning of the summer term. Joan had not seen the new robe yet, but she had heard its details from Jen.

  “Silver honesty pennies on a pur
ple border to a silver train; Jen told me. It will look most effective, Nesta. It’s a good choice; Nesta-Honesty will be a jolly Queen, I’m sure.”

  “You’re not asking Nesta and Beetle as well, are you?” Jen came flying back, wearing her coat and cap. “You little pigs haven’t been butting in, have you?”

  “I haven’t asked them,” Joan said quickly. “Don’t worry! This is a private lunch, just for you and me.”

  “Oh, are you taking Jen out to lunch?” Beetle asked wistfully. “Can’t we come too, Joan?”

  “Come on! We aren’t wanted.” Nesta took her future maid-of-honour by the arm and drew her away. “You know what Jen’s like about Joan!”

  “Sorry, Beetle! But I really do want to talk to Jen,” Joan called after them.

  Nesta nodded over her shoulder. “Of course. She’s your maid; you must consult her about things. Come along, Bee!”

  “Was I a stingy pig, Joan?” Jen pleaded, as they crossed the playground. “I really did want you to myself. I don’t see a lot of you now. I couldn’t bear to share you with Nesta and Beetle!”

  “I don’t call that being a stingy pig,” Joan assured her. “I’d invited you; I hadn’t asked them. Cheer up, Jenny-Wren! You’re going to see a lot of me presently. I hope it won’t be more than you want!”

  “It couldn’t be. Joan, what do you mean?” Jen stood and gazed at her.

  “I can’t tell you till we’re safely in the dairy. We may be interrupted here.”

  “Come on!” Jen gave a shout. “Those kids are coming to ask if you think Nesta will be a good Queen. Run, Joan!”

  Joan caught her hand and they raced to the gate and out into the road.

  “Saved!” Jen cried dramatically. “I saw they were going to mob you!”

  Joan checked the wild rush. “Walk decently!” she commanded. “I can’t go galloping through the streets like a wild infant.”

  Jen grinned. “Is Joy coming too? Did she drive you in? How’s the new car?”

  “Very comfortable and runs beautifully. Joy’s gone to see Cicely; I’m going home by train. Here we are! Which is your favourite corner?”