Strangers at the Abbey

by Elsie J. Oxenham

  Joy gave a smothered chuckle. “Jen, if you begin painting your nails and lips, I’ll fling you out too.”

  “You don’t understand,” Rykie said defiantly. “I use make-up because Belle does.”

  “Then Belle ought to be ashamed of herself, for setting her young sister such a bad example,” Joy said.

  “Belle must do it. She’d look dreadful, if she didn’t. Everybody does, where she is. She’s going to Hollywood; didn’t she tell you?”

  “Hollywood!” Joan exclaimed. “Do you mean——?”

  “Gosh!” cried Jen. “Has Joan got a cousin who’s a film star?”

  “How extremely unsuitable!” Joy grinned broadly. “How completely unlike Aunty and Joan!”

  “Belle’s always been good at acting.” Rykie’s tone was full of pride. “A man saw her and said she’d be a success in pictures. He gave her a test and they said she was just right. She had a small part in a film, made in a London studio, and then she had an offer from Hollywood. She’s off to-morrow morning.”

  “I’m stunned and breathless!” Joy said solemnly. “So that’s Belle’s mysterious job, is it?”

  “We didn’t understand.” Joan spoke gently. “It helps to explain you, Rykie. I hope Belle will be successful, though I can’t think it will be a pleasant life. But it’s full of glamour, I suppose. I wouldn’t care for it myself.”

  Jen chuckled. “I can’t see you as a film star, Joan dear.”

  “We understand now,” Joan went on. “If Belle is in film circles, I’ve no doubt make-up is essential and she’s had no choice. But for you, here in the country, it’s quite unsuitable. So you will get rid of it, as far as you can, when we reach the house, won’t you?”

  “Oh, I suppose so, if you feel like that.” Rykie’s tone was grudging. “But it’s awfully old-fashioned not to use make-up.”

  “Not in the country,” Joan said, quietly but firmly. “You’ve come to live in the country. You must get used to country ways.”

  “Where does Belle sail from to-morrow?” Joy asked. “Southampton? Liverpool?”

  “She isn’t sailing. Some people she knows are flying and they managed to get her a seat in the plane. Hollywood wants her in a hurry,” Rykie said importantly.

  “Flying!” Joy exclaimed. “Gosh, I’d love to fly! Some day I shall try it. Belle’s in luck.”

  “I don’t think I’d like it,” Jen ventured.

  Joan smiled at her. “You aren’t likely to have the chance at present, Jenny-Wren.”

  “Why do they call you that?” Rykie demanded.

  Jen reddened. “It’s daft. It’s terribly silly, but everybody at school does it. My name’s Jen Robins, and robins and wrens seem to go together in some people’s stupid minds. They called me Jenny-Wren, and it stuck.”

  “It doesn’t suit her,” Joan laughed. “Wrens are little and Jen’s big. But it’s her pet name and she can’t get rid of it.”

  “Where does she live?”

  “I’m a boarder at school, but I live in Yorkshire, on the moors near Sheffield.” Jen spoke for herself.

  “Then why——?” Rykie began.

  “I’m staying with Joan. I often do.”

  “We like to have her at the Hall,” Joy said seriously. “Joan and I are so terribly old and staid. It brightens the house to have some young life about.”

  Jen grinned. “I do my best to cheer you up. Rykie will help, I expect.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  FIRST IMPRESSIONS

  Rykie sat silent as the car climbed to the hills. “These people may be quite nice, and I think they want to be kind. But they can’t understand,” was her conclusion.

  Jen glanced across at her. “Don’t you like our hills?”

  Rykie looked round doubtfully. “I don’t see any hills. Where do you mean?”

  Joan laughed and Joy snorted. Jen cried indignantly, “We’ve just come up a terribly steep hill! You should try it on a bike!”

  “Oh, that! It was a bit steep; I thought she managed the car awfully well,” with a glance at Joy’s back. “But there aren’t any other hills?”

  “We’re on the hills,” Joan explained. “Jen, I imagine Rykie is used to Scottish mountains, just as you are used to moors. You can’t expect her to be impressed by our Chilterns!”

  Jen lapsed into disappointed silence, while Rykie looked puzzled.

  Joy, without comment, drew up, and they sat looking out over the plain, far below. They were on the edge of the hill country, which fell away in a sudden steep slope to the flat land, stretching mile after mile into blue haze.

  Jen glanced shyly at Rykie, but said nothing. She loved the view from this point so much that it would hurt to have it greeted with jeers.

  “Oh!” Rykie said. “Yes, I see. We’ve been right on the top. It looks like a hill from here. Where are all those places?”

  “Thame is just down there. Oxford is in the distance. If you make love to Joy, she’ll take you on a tour some day,” Joan said.

  “It’s very pretty,” Rykie owned. And with that Jen had to be content.

  “She sounded so superior!” she complained to Joan, later on, with no conception of the grandeur and beauty of the Firth of Clyde, which to Rykie was a familiar scene.

  “You don’t sound as if you came from Scotland, Rykie,” Joan remarked. “Why have you no accent?”

  “That was Mother. She was English and we learned to talk from her,” Rykie said proudly. “It’s who you’re with when you’re a baby that matters. At school they laughed at us and called us English kids. But I had Mother till I was six, and Belle was ten.”

  Joan had smiled at the slip in grammar but made no comment. That could come later.

  “That explains your English voice,” she agreed.

  Joy drove on, and the car turned into the winding road which led down to the plain.

  “There’s the Abbey,” Jen said. “And the Hall—and the Manor.”

  “The Hall’s where we’re going, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, Joy’s house. The Abbey belongs to Joan.”

  “Show me the Hall! I don’t know what you mean by the Abbey.”

  “The grey house is the Hall,” Joan said. “You can see it because of the lawns all round; the trees don’t crowd it. See the blossom in the orchard! The apple trees are in full flower. The white house next door is the Manor. You shall see the Abbey to-morrow; the ruins are in the garden of the Hall.”

  “Oh—ruins!” said Rykie, in a tone of complete indifference. “I like new, modern places.”

  “I bet you do.” Joy grinned over her shoulder at Jen, who was keeping very quiet. Her eyes were smouldering, but she held herself in and said nothing.

  Joan laughed and slipped a hand through her arm. “We could tell you stories about this winding road, Rykie. It has to bend and turn, because the hill is so steep; farm carts couldn’t manage it, if it went directly up the slope. But do you see this very straight track, cutting across the road and going right up the hill? It’s the Monks’ Path, and is older than the road. The monks from the Abbey used to climb up to a quiet little cell at the top of the hill to meditate and pray, and that was the way they went.”

  “How interesting!” Rykie said politely. “How soon shall we see the house?”

  Joan’s eyes met Jen’s in a sympathetic look. “In a moment now. Here is the gate,” Joan said.

  “The house isn’t modern, my lamb,” said Joy. “It’s old and very fine; Tudor, if you know what that means. Before we reach it, you may please admire the beech avenue, which is one of my treasures.”

  “Joy is very proud of her trees,” Joan added.

  The double row of huge beeches on each side of the carriage drive made a grey wall, touched with the freshest of young green, where the leaves were opening. A shimmering emerald curtain seemed to hang overhead like fairy gauze; a carpet of dull red lay beneath.

  “Last year’s leaves. They’re always there,” Joy said. “It would take years to sweep
them away; and we like to see them.”

  “What a huge place!” Rykie sounded rather awed. “Is this all yours? How big is the garden?”

  “This is the little home park. The garden is by the house, and the orchard is behind.”

  “I say, you are lucky, aren’t you?”

  “That,” said Joy grimly, “is why you’re here, my child.”

  “I don’t understand,” Rykie said, startled.

  “Think it out for yourself. Or ask Jen. She knows.”

  Jen had seized the chance to whisper a word to Joan. “She doesn’t care two hoots about the monks.”

  “No, she’s not interested. Perhaps she’ll care more when she has been here a little while.”

  “When she’s seen the Abbey, do you think? I don’t believe she’ll like it.”

  “I think perhaps she won’t care very much. Here we are, Rykie. How do you like Joy’s house?”

  The grey mansion stood on a terrace, gracious and beautiful, with long, mullioned windows looking over well-kept lawns surrounded by flowering trees. Lilacs and laburnums and red and white hawthorns had scattered their petals on the grass and stood with coloured circles round their feet.

  “Oh!” Rykie said. “What a lovely place! Fancy having it for your own!” and she looked enviously at Joy.

  “Out you go! I’m taking the car round to the garage,” Joy commanded.

  Joan led the younger girls by the terrace steps to the great door. “You’ll take Rykie upstairs at once, won’t you, Jen? Show her her room and the bathroom, and help her to tidy herself before supper. I must speak to Mother; she’ll be disappointed to hear we didn’t see Belle.” She turned to Rykie. “Mother’s not strong. I begged her to stay in the warm room and not come out to the door; we can’t risk any illness for her. But I’m afraid—yes, I thought so!” as a door opened into the great hall and the frail, white-haired little lady appeared. “Hop off and make yourself decent!”

  Rykie, overawed by the size of the hall, with its dark oak furniture, long stained-glass windows with coloured coats-of-arms, and the wide staircase leading to a gallery, followed Jen without a word.

  “What a whacking big house!” she murmured.

  Joan went quickly to her mother and drew her back to the fire. “That was bad of you, dear. You promised me you’d wait for us in here. You shall see Rykie presently. I’ve sent her up to wash her face.”

  “To wash?” Mrs. Shirley echoed dazedly.

  “After the journey,” Joan explained. “We didn’t see Belle; Rykie came alone, but she didn’t mind. She isn’t shy. Sit down, dear; I want to tell you something. Rykie explained about Belle, who is trying to be a film star. She hasn’t reached that point yet, but she has ambitions that way and she’s been in one picture already.”

  “A film star?” Mrs. Shirley exclaimed. “Oh, Joan, how very unlike her dear mother!”

  “Unlike all our family, I’m quite sure. Joy and Jen are jeering at the thought of my having a cousin in films. Belle’s off to Hollywood.”

  “How unfortunate!” Mrs. Shirley said, much disturbed.

  “Oh, I don’t know! I suppose it’s a fine career, if she’s any good, and Rykie’s sure she’s first class. She’s going with friends; she’ll be all right. But obviously she couldn’t take a kid of fourteen with her. She had a sudden chance to travel with people she knew, so she’s dashing off to-morrow, and she hadn’t time to come with Rykie. But this is what I want to tell you, Mother. The girls have evidently been among theatrical people lately, and Rykie arrived made-up like a little actress. I couldn’t let you see her in all that paint and powder, so I sent her to wash off as much as she could.”

  “She was dolled up like a shop-window puppet,” said Joy from the doorway. “She looked a perfect sight. I think she was trying to impress us; country cousins, you know.”

  Mrs. Shirley exclaimed in dismay. “Oh, my dears, how very distressing! And how foolish!”

  “Crazy,” Joy said. “Belle must be mad. It’s a good thing you didn’t see her.”

  “I didn’t want you to see her looking like that, Mother,” Joan said earnestly. “I expect she’s nice enough really. As for impressing anybody, Joy has done most of that. Rykie is rather stunned by the house, and the grounds, and the car; and I think the sight of the hall, as we came in, quite frightened her. She went off to the bathroom like a lamb.”

  “Jenny-Wren will be very good for her,” Joy remarked. “I must go and wash, after driving. Don’t worry, Aunty. We’ll soon civilise her.”

  “This is very disturbing,” Mrs. Shirley said unhappily.

  “Mother dear, please don’t worry!” Joan begged. “I’m sure it will be all right.”

  “Don’t let yourself be disturbed by young Rykie,” Joy said. “Joan and Jen and I can cope with her between us.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  VERY ODD PEOPLE

  “This is what we call Jandy’s room.” Jen opened a door and showed a small but pretty bedroom. “It’s to be yours now. Jandy used to sleep here, but she’s gone to the South Sea Islands and got married; we had a box of wedding-cake, from Sydney. I’m next door, so if you want anything you can thump on the wall—but not too loudly, you know! Now I’ll take you to the bathroom.”

  “Have you been here long?” Rykie broke into the flow of would-be cheerful talk.

  “Only since Saturday, this time. But I’ve stayed here a lot, while Jandy was here, and once for most of the holidays, when Father was ill. Aunty Shirley—I call her that—has been a darling to me; and I’m terribly keen on Joan—and on Joy too, of course. They’ve left school now, but I knew them first at school, and I’m Joan’s maid-of-honour in the procession.”

  “Procession?” Rykie was using cold cream on her face very carefully.

  “The May Day procession. Joan and Joy are both May-Queens.”

  “Oh! But they’re grown up! They don’t go on playing at being Queens, I suppose?”

  “I don’t know about playing,” Jen said, rather indignantly. “We don’t think of it like that. All the old Queens come for the crowning of the new one. It’s quite a long procession; the coronation was last Friday, and Nesta was the seventh Queen. We were sorry it had to be before you came. But perhaps you wouldn’t have cared about it,” she added.

  “I don’t suppose I would,” said Scottish Rykie. “It sounds rather infantile. I should think they’d feel silly, when they’ve grown up and left.”

  “Joan looked lovely. They both did,” Jen said loyally.

  Rykie laughed and brushed out the silky waves of her lint-white hair. “Will Joan like me better now?”

  “You look much nicer. I don’t know why you bother to put on that stuff. You’re all right without it. Your hair’s nice.” Jen spoke grudgingly.

  “Belle said I could have a perm. It’s straight, so I look awful if I don’t have it waved.”

  “Oh!” said Jen, and stared at the shining curls suspiciously.

  “You feel as they do; you don’t like make-up.” And Rykie gazed at her. “It’s awfully old-fashioned and country-cousinish, you know.”

  “I don’t know,” Jen said stoutly. “I love the country, and paint and powder look silly in the country. And”—with sudden indignation—“your fingers are ghastly, just like a shopgirl’s. The waitress in the dairy where we have lunch paints her nails like that.”

  “Shopgirl! Waitress!” Rykie cried. “Oh, you’re hopeless!”

  “I’d rather be hopeless than have hands like that. Can’t you get it off?”

  “No,” Rykie said curtly. “Not in a hurry. They’ll have to put up with it. I’ll do it later. I’ve got some stuff that will take it off; Belle said you might not like it. Oh, tell me! What did Joy mean about her house, when I said she was lucky? She said that was why I was here. And she told me to ask you what she meant.”

  “I don’t always know what Joy’s thinking,” Jen said cautiously. “It would be easier, if it had been Joan. But I think Joy feels that just bec
ause she’s been so lucky, she must share and try to be decent to other people. It was a most tremendous bit of luck for her to have Sir Antony for her grandfather; she feels she’d done nothing to deserve it—it just happened to her. And so she tries to do nice things for other people and pass on the luck to them. It’s lucky for me to be asked here, and it’s lucky for you.”

  Rykie stared. “Nice of her to feel like that!”

  “It’s different with Joan,” Jen went on. “Sir Antony left the Abbey to her, because she loves it so much. Joan takes care of it, and she tries to be like the monks who once lived there. They welcomed everybody who came to the door and took them in and were good to them.”

  “Joan can’t take in everybody,” Rykie interrupted.

  “She can be good to people who need help,” Jen retorted. “The first time I came here was because the school had diphtheria, and rather than let me go among the others and need to be in quarantine, Joan and Joy brought me home with them. And there have been other times, when I needed somewhere to go; and other people who needed help. You needed somewhere, so Joan let you come here. It’s because of the monks, so you’d better not laugh at them.”

  “I’m not laughing! But it sounds as if Joan was a bit crazy about ancient history. Still, it’s been jolly useful to me; I hadn’t anywhere else to go.”

  “I’ve been wanting to ask you,” Jen began. “How do you get Rykie out of Frederica?”

  Rykie’s face stiffened. “Father didn’t like Freda, so they called me Reeka as a kid. But when I went to school the girls were horrible and made a mess of it. I hated it, but I couldn’t stop them. So when I went to a bigger school I said my short name was Rykie; it was Belle’s idea.”

  “How rude of the girls!” Jen’s eyes were dancing, but she carefully looked the other way. “You were very sensible to change it,” she said nobly.

  “Is Joan really silly about her old monks?” Rykie went back to the previous subject.

  “No, of course not! But she loves them, and the Abbey. We’d better go down,” and Jen led the way, looking unhappy.