Strangers at the Abbey

by Elsie J. Oxenham

  “I knew she wasn’t going to be our sort!” she said to herself.

  “What odd people!” was Rykie’s summing-up, as she followed Jen down the great staircase. “But it’s a gorgeous house. I’ll put up with a lot for the sake of living here.”

  “Aunty Shirley, here’s Rykie,” was Jen’s introduction.

  “Hallo, Aunt Margaret! Thanks for having me,” and Rykie went forward to be kissed. At sight of the little old lady, she was suddenly glad her lipstick was gone. Joan had certainly been right about that.

  Mrs. Shirley gave her a keen look, but was satisfied. “My dear, we are glad to see you. We want to hear all about Belle and yourself. But you must be hungry, so we will go to the dining-room at once.”

  “Belle was sorry she couldn’t come to see you, Aunt Margaret. She sent a letter by me, to thank you for having me. Here it is! But she had to go; it was really important,” Rykie explained.

  “I’m glad Belle did that much, anyway. Joan!” and Jen, following them, caught Joan’s arm, “is ‘Aunt Margaret’ right? I never heard Aunty Shirley’s name before.”

  “I don’t suppose you did,” Joan agreed. “Perhaps you don’t know that my full name is Joan Margaret Shirley?”

  “I didn’t know. I’ve never heard you called anything but just Joan. Why didn’t they call you Margaret Joan? It’s prettier that way.”

  “It doesn’t matter, since I only use the Joan part. My father’s name was John, so I’m called after them both.”

  “I see. Joan Margaret! How funny!”

  Joan smiled. “Not so very funny, Jenny-Wren.”

  “Joan!” and Jen dragged her back into the hall, as Mrs. Shirley led Rykie to the room and showed her where to sit. “She—Rykie—thinks we’re awfully odd; I know she does.”

  “Well, we think she’s a little odd, so that’s all right. People can’t be just alike,” Joan said cheerfully.

  “She thinks it’s funny about you and Joy being Queens, now you’re grown up.”

  “That’s not very serious! I expect lots of people think that.”

  “Joan, her hair’s not real. I thought it was so pretty.”

  “It’s permed,” Joan agreed. “It looks very nice. But she’s too young; no one here will give her money to have it done again when it grows out.”

  “I said her fingers were like the girl’s in the dairy; the waitress, you know. She didn’t like it.”

  “I don’t suppose she did. But don’t rag her too much. She has lived in a different world; she’ll need to get used to ours. I must go and help Mother.”

  Rykie’s thoughts were busy during supper. The size of the dining-room impressed her deeply, and her eyes kept going to Joy, who saw it with amusement.

  “I’m in luck. We had no idea it was such a big house,” was Rykie’s conclusion.

  “I think you and Jen should go to bed quite soon,” Joan remarked, as they sat with Rykie in the hall beside a little fire. “You’ve evidently had a busy day in town”—for Rykie’s tongue had been hard at work during supper, telling of Belle and her doings and the thrilling friends they had met.

  All her talk was of recent days in Glasgow; of her early life she said almost nothing. She had lived in the country, but had spent years at boarding-school. Her father had died; his money had gone. She and Belle had stayed with Glasgow friends and had been taken up by a theatrical set, and Belle had been acclaimed, for her beauty and talent, as a great discovery for film work. So said Rykie, with much pride.

  “Then you had the journey and the car ride,” Joan went on. “As for Jen, she has to get up at dawn, almost, to do her prep, which she left to-night, so that she could come to meet you. Take some biscuits up with you, Jen, and don’t start working before six.”

  “I only hope I’m awake by six,” Jen groaned. “I simply must finish my history and polish up my French.”

  “I’ll knock on your door at six,” Joy promised. “I shall probably be up. I love being in the garden very early.”

  “Wish I could come with you!”

  “Shall I poke the Curate into your room, to help you with the French?”

  “No, please don’t. I shouldn’t do much work! And he doesn’t know any French. He’s quite good at history, I expect.”

  “The dissolution of the monasteries, by Henry the Eighth,” Joy grinned.

  “The cat,” Joan explained, in answer to Rykie’s wide-eyed stare. “One of the cats. They live in the Abbey, so Jen thinks they’ve picked up some history there.”

  “Oh—cats!” Rykie was not interested.

  “And to-morrow you’ll be going to school,” Joan went on. “So you’d better have a good night’s rest.”

  “School! I’m not going to school,” Rykie said defiantly.

  CHAPTER NINE

  COPING WITH RYKIE

  There was a pause. Rykie’s face flamed with indignation. Jen listened and watched and waited, excitement smouldering in her eyes.

  “Oh, yes, my dear! Of course you must go to school with Jen,” Mrs. Shirley said placidly. “It is all arranged. Miss Macey is willing to have you.”

  Rykie’s eyes went from one to another. “I’ve had enough of school. I don’t want to start in a new place.”

  “And what did you think of doing?” Joy asked pleasantly.

  Rykie gave her a suspicious look; Joy’s tone was too gentle to be real. “I want to specialise. I’ve had enough of ordinary subjects. I thought perhaps I could have lessons in elocution and singing and go to dancing classes.”

  “Joan can teach you dancing,” Jen said, but no one took any notice of her.

  “Are you thinking of following in Belle’s footsteps?” Joy still spoke in that dangerously easy tone.

  Joan sat gazing thoughtfully at her small guest. “Are you, Rykie?” she asked.

  “Yes, I am. My singing and dancing aren’t up to much yet—I mean, I haven’t done a lot, but as far as I’ve gone people say I’m jolly good. But I love acting and I’ve been in heaps of plays.”

  “You’re thinking of being an actress or going into films?”

  “Of course I am!” It seemed to Rykie that Joan sounded surprisingly reasonable. “I can’t waste time messing about with maths and French and history. I want to start in earnest, with special classes—good ones, not just school stuff. Could I go to London for lessons? It isn’t really far. Or is there somewhere nearer?”

  “All that sounds sensible enough, but it’s about two years ahead,” Joan said decisively. “You’re only fourteen; at sixteen you can begin to specialise, but for at least two years——”

  “I’m nearly fifteen!”

  “For two years more, your ordinary school work comes first. You’ll be a better actress if you’ve had a good sound general education.”

  “I don’t want it. I’ve had enough! I’ve been to school for years.”

  “Can you speak French?” Joy demanded.

  “N-no. French might be useful. I could go to classes for that, perhaps.”

  “More than useful; necessary, I should think,” Joy told her.

  “Rykie dear, don’t be silly,” Joan said. “You’re going to school for the next two years, if you stay with us. It’s a good school and it has a very fine headmistress; you’re lucky to go there. You’ll cycle with Jen every morning, and you’ll do your prep every night.”

  It was a hateful prospect to Rykie. “And if I won’t go?” she raged.

  “Oh, that’s easy.” Joy mocked her anger. “Back to town, in double quick time.”

  “We can only keep you here if you’ll do what seems reasonable to us,” Joan said. “We shall certainly take you back to your lawyer-trustee, if you don’t do as we wish.”

  “And thank goodness we know his address!” she said to herself fervently. “This would be a hopeless mess, if Belle hadn’t given us his name.”

  “You don’t understand!” Rykie said furiously. “It’s time I started in earnest. I ought to have been dancing for years!”
r />   “Ballet-dancing, you mean?” Joy asked.

  Rykie stared at her. “What other sort of dancing could I mean? I want dancing for the stage, not ballroom, or reels and strathspeys.”

  “What are those?” Jen asked eagerly. “Haven’t you any country-dances in Scotland?”

  “Oh, country-dances!” Rykie said scornfully.

  “We are very keen country-dancers here,” Joan explained. “And if you hope some day to go on the stage, Rykie, you couldn’t do better than learn our dances. Nothing will help your balance and poise more than folk-dancing; it would be really valuable to you. But that’s as you wish. I expect we can find ballet classes and you could have lessons once a week; singing and elocution too, in time, but you can’t do everything at once.”

  “I can, if I don’t have to mess about with school work!”

  “It’s only on condition that you go to school and work properly that I’ll make any effort to find you special classes in your pet subjects,” Joan said firmly. “Good school work is the absolute condition.”

  “No school, no ballet, in fact,” Joy observed.

  “Why should you all bully me?” Rykie almost sobbed. “I know what I want to do! I’ll work like anything and it will be really useful, and you won’t let me do it! You don’t know half as much as me about what I need!”

  “I know you need to speak good English,” Joan said dryly. “Your grammar’s shaky. You need at least two more years of school.”

  “What do you mean? I didn’t say anything wrong!”

  “Oh, yes, you did! ‘Half as much as I do’—not me.”

  “What does it matter?” But Rykie reddened in annoyance with herself.

  “Only that you sound uneducated. If you are going to meet artistic people, you must be able to speak properly.”

  “But it’s such a waste of time! And I’m getting so old! If I want to do anything in ballet I ought to be working at it every minute. You don’t understand! I’m fourteen.”

  “I should have thought you were far too old,” Joy said. “Don’t you have to start in the cradle to be a ballet-dancer?”

  “No!” Rykie snapped. “That idea’s all wrong. But I ought to have begun years ago, and—and we lived in the country and Belle hadn’t thought of going into films, and there were no classes, and anyway, I was at boarding-school. But they say I’ll make quite a good dancer if I start at once.”

  “I thought you wanted to be an actress?” Jen queried.

  “I do! I’m going to act—I must! But dancing and singing will be useful. I want to do them all.”

  Joan interposed. “Rykie, listen to me! You have come to live with us, and we want to do our best for you. The career you have chosen doesn’t appeal to us, but we’ll help you as far as we can. It’s your life, and you must have your chance. But we are older than you, and we know it’s important that your education should be carried on. If you are to succeed in this or any other career, you can’t go into it half-educated. You must be able, for instance, to speak good English; you’ll meet all sorts of people and they mustn’t have any reason to look down on you. Your whole life is before you and you must be equipped for it. You’ll find excellent teaching in singing and elocution at Miss Macey’s; it’s too soon to train your voice, if you have one, in earnest. I realise the importance of time in your dancing, and I’ll make inquiries about good teaching for you in Oxford, and you can go by train on Saturdays. That seems to me the most you can do at present. But there is one condition: school, and good solid work, and prep properly done. You can think it over. If Miss Macey has to complain of your behaviour or your work, the ballet lessons will stop. I know this is the best way for you, and I believe it is what Belle would wish.”

  “If Belle has any sense, it certainly is,” Joy said.

  Rykie’s eyes fell. She knew very well what Belle had said. “You’ll need to go to school for a while longer, kid. Aunt Margaret will see to that. But when I’ve made good you’ll come and join me, and then we’ll see what we can do for you.”

  “Now, off you go to bed,” Joan said briskly. “We’re sorry to have had all this talk on your first night, but we never dreamt you would refuse to go to school. I’ll give way on one point; you needn’t go to-morrow. You can have one day to get used to us and to see everything—the house and the garden, the village and the Abbey. And you can be thinking over what I’ve said. Off you go! You go too, Jenny-Wren. Remember to-morrow morning!”

  “I’m remembering all right,” Jen said sadly. “But this has been so fearfully interesting.”

  “Good night, my dear.” Mrs. Shirley had listened to the discussion with troubled face, much disturbed by Rykie’s rebellion and her plans for her future.

  “Interesting!” Joan groaned, when the two girls had gone. “So that’s what Jenny-Wren calls interesting!”

  “A lot too interesting,” Joy said. “What a little ass! But you coped with her all right. Don’t worry!”

  CHAPTER TEN

  A CHANCE FOR RYKIE

  Jen glanced at Rykie as they went upstairs. “We’d better not talk to-night. Some days perhaps we will, but I’d rather not be too late. I really do want to work to-morrow morning.”

  “Do they keep you at it all the time, at this place?” Rykie asked sombrely.

  “Oh, not too bad! But I didn’t do any prep to-night, because I came to meet you. Will you be all right? Thump on the wall if there’s anything I can do. You aren’t feeling homesick, are you?”

  “No, not a scrap. We’ve been away from home for quite a while.” Rykie’s tone was curt and she went into her room and closed the door.

  Jen gazed at it, then sighed and went into her own room.

  “Not our sort! Quite a stranger!” she said sadly. “But she may get nicer when we know her better. She doesn’t like us very much at present, I’m afraid.”

  She greeted Rykie cheerfully next morning, however, virtuously conscious of an hour’s good work behind her.

  “I wish you were coming with me to-day! But it is rather soon, perhaps; you don’t know your way about yet. I say, Rykie! I won’t say anything to the girls about Belle and the films.”

  Rykie stared at her. “Why not? I’m terribly proud of Belle. You don’t think I’m ashamed of her, do you?”

  “Gosh, no! It’s the other way round,” Jen cried, indignant at the misunderstanding, “The girls will be frightfully thrilled—some of them, anyway. I thought you’d want to tell them yourself. I don’t want to spoil it for you by getting in first.”

  “Oh, I see.” Rykie’s face cleared. “I thought you wanted me to make a secret about Belle. Tell them, if you like. If you don’t, I shall; I’m proud of Belle. I wish I was half as clever, and as smart, and as pretty as she is.”

  “I’ll leave it to you.” Jen noted that Rykie’s nails were at last clean, but she made no comment. “I’ve had an idea for you,” she said, as they went down to breakfast. “You could be Jaques. I expect the Dramatic will welcome you with open arms.”

  “What’s that?” Joan asked. “Did you sleep well, Rykie? Good! That’s our fine country air. Prep done, Jen? Splendid! What’s this about Jaques? Is the Dramatic doing As You Like It again?”

  “At the end of term. Why ‘again,’ Joan? Have they done it before?”

  “That’s part of the history of the Hamlet Club,” Joan explained, attending to cups and coffee. “It was before my day, but I’ve heard about it from Cicely. The Club and the dancing were secrets; only the Club members knew, for they practised and learned dances in the woods or in the big barn at Darley’s farm. The Dramatic were preparing As You Like It for the end of the spring term, and at the very last moment Rosalind and Jaques went down with measles. They had no understudies, so the whole thing had to be postponed till midsummer. They’d sold tickets and invited people, so they tried to get up a last-minute concert. Then Cicely had her great idea. She talked to the Hamlets, and they offered to give a show of country and morris dancing. No one knew anything abo
ut it then, so everybody was thrilled, and it all looked lovely, and they crowned Mirry, who wore a white robe and looked very pretty. It was a great success, and the Hamlets had saved the situation. But they’d given up their secret for the sake of the school, and they’d helped the Dramatic girls, who had not been at all nice to them, out of a dreadful hole. I suppose you hadn’t heard that story?”

  “Not a word of it. How jolly decent of the Hamlets!” Jen cried, her eyes shining. “I do love anything sporting!”

  “Can’t the Dramatic find anyone to be Jaques?” Joan asked.

  “There’s no one quite good enough. I expect Rykie would make a lovely Jaques. She’d like declaiming—‘All the world’s a stage.’ ”

  “You don’t declaim it,” Rykie retorted. “Jaques was thinking aloud; you have to say it like that. I’d rather be Rosalind.”

  “Nesta—Queen Honesty—is Rosalind and she’s jolly good. You’d better join the Dramatic and let them hear what you can do.”

  “I want something better than school acting.”

  “All in good time,” Joan told her. “This would be fine experience for you.”

  Joy came strolling in, a little late as usual. “Are you expecting me to run you in to school, Jenny-Wren?”

  “And to fetch me home,” Jen said happily. “But I’ll cycle, if you like.”

  “To-morrow you shall ride with Rykie. Don’t have any returned lessons and make me wait for hours!”

  “I think I’ll just scrape through. I’ll have another look at my French in the car. You do ride, don’t you, Rykie?”

  “Of course I do. But I haven’t got a bike here.”

  “Neither have I. I’m going to have Joan’s.”

  “Rykie can have mine. You must try them to-night and see if they’re comfortable. I don’t believe they’ll need any adjusting; you’re big hefty girls.”

  “I can ride Joan’s all right. I’ve done it often,” Jen said.

  “Oh, you’re a maypole! More coffee, please!”

  “You won’t make me late, will you?”

  “Have I ever made you late yet?” Joy demanded.