Strangers at the Abbey

by Elsie J. Oxenham

  “Of course. But not to Rykie, Joy. It wouldn’t seem as bad to her. She really felt we could spare one.”

  Joy gave an angry snort. “What do we do now?”

  “Go back to bed,” Joan said promptly. “And as fast as possible. Put the cups in the sink, Jen; I’ll explain to Cook in the morning. Go straight to bed, and sleep as long as you can. We’ll have breakfast at ten o’clock, if necessary. I shall have to be up to look after Mother, but you and Rykie needn’t hurry. Don’t talk any more to-night, either of you.”

  She was going into her room when Jen crept to her. “Joan, I’m sorry, but Rykie’s still crying. Shall I go and tell her not to be an idiot?”

  Joan smiled at her. “No; go to bed. I’ll go to Rykie.”

  “That’s much nicer for her, of course. But you’re tired to death, Joan.”

  “I am, very nearly. I’ll not stay long,” Joan promised.

  She closed Jen’s door on her firmly and went into the next room and sat on the bed. “Rykie, you must go to sleep. Or at least you must be quiet.”

  Rykie caught her hand feverishly. “Joan, I never meant it! I only meant one little stone; I thought you could spare one. You’ve such a lot, and we need it so frightfully badly. But when Angus said—oh, Joan! I never meant that!”

  “No, I don’t believe you did,” Joan said gently. “You shall tell me more about it in the morning.”

  “I’m sorry. I’m so dreadfully sorry, Joan!”

  “Good!” To her own surprise Joan bent and kissed her. “You’ll feel better now you’ve said so. I hope you’ll go to sleep. Good night!”

  “You’re nice. You’ve always been kind,” Rykie murmured.

  “She’ll sleep. She’s worn out, poor silly infant,” Joan said to herself, as she went to bed at last.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  MORE ABOUT ANGUS

  Sitting by her mother’s bed, Joan told the story of the night’s adventures as gently as she could.

  Mrs. Shirley, shocked and alarmed, broke down and wept. “That poor child! Oh, that poor little girl!”

  “That’s how I feel,” Joan agreed. “I’m glad we think alike, Mother dear. I’m terribly sorry for her. It isn’t easy to make Joy and Jen understand, but with you behind me I’ll manage it.”

  “They are very young. They don’t look at things as you do.”

  Joan laughed. “Oh, Mother! Joy’s only a month younger than I am!”

  “To me she seems still a child. Little Jen often has more sympathy and understanding than Joy.”

  “That’s true. Even last night Jen was feeling sorry for Rykie. Did you know about this boy, Mother? He may be three years older than Belle, but he didn’t seem like twenty-one, and I told him so.”

  “I had heard of him, but I had forgotten. I never visited Isabel; I did not care for her husband. I had forgotten there was a stepson,” Mrs. Shirley admitted.

  “Rykie must tell us more about him. I think they have been brought up together, as one family. I must find out if he had any excuse, or if he’s just a plain, common thief. That would be horrible, wouldn’t it?”

  “What excuse could there be? It was plain, common theft,” Mrs. Shirley said brokenly.

  “There may be something behind it. I feel as if Rykie had some excuse—just a little. She does want money very badly, so that she can join her sister. She had seen the jewels and she knew they were valuable; and she asked us for one and we refused. Last night she said, or rather sobbed, ‘I thought you could spare one little one.’ And of course we could spare one quite well. They aren’t any use to anybody lying in a glass case. It’s only the idea of keeping all Jehane’s treasures together that matters. To Rykie, wanting money so badly, they must seem wasted, kept in the refectory. It wouldn’t matter in the least to tourists if there were five rubies instead of six! It would matter to me, and to Jen, and perhaps to Joy, but that’s just our feeling for them. It seems as if maybe they ought to be used.”

  Mrs. Shirley looked at her. “You have been thinking all night, haven’t you?”

  “A good deal of the night,” Joan said cheerfully. “This afternoon I shall be an old lady and have a nap. But I must talk to the others first, and to Ann; she was terribly upset last night.”

  When all the late breakfasts were over, Joan invited Rykie to come into the Abbey. “I want you to tell me some things. If tourists come, we’ll sprint back into the garden, but it’s early yet and we may not be disturbed.”

  “May I come too?” Jen asked wistfully. “Or is it private?”

  “Not private at all; I want you with Rykie. Coming, Joy?”

  “Oh, rather! I want to know things too.”

  “Yes,” Joan agreed, and led the way. She was secretly amused but a little perturbed by the attitude of the three girls to one another; this must be put right, or the household would be uncomfortable, to put it mildly. Jen was reserved and unusually silent, obviously suspicious towards the criminal of the night before, but determined to be polite and trying hard to be kind. Joy’s brown eyes had a mocking look which told Rykie that she knew the story, and she seemed always on the point of making some cutting speech. Her expression kept Rykie on tenterhooks of anxiety all through breakfast-time.

  Rykie herself was on the defensive, waiting for reproaches which did not come. She looked uneasy and restless, and she kept close to Joan, as to her only champion.

  “Don’t let them rag me!” she whispered, as they went down the shrubbery path.

  “They won’t do it,” Joan promised. “Bring cushions, Jen; we’ll sit on the cloister steps.”

  “I had a talk with Ann Watson,” she said to Joy, as they settled down. “She’s going to take the jewels to her room every night and sleep with them under her bed.”

  Joy gave a shout. “Oh, tell her not to bother! Nobody can get in without the keys.” She looked pointedly at Rykie.

  Rykie flushed and her eyes fell. “I won’t do it again.”

  “You won’t get the chance,” Joan assured her. “I shall sleep with the keys under my pillow. That’s far more useful than Ann’s idea. She couldn’t foil an intruder, if one came after the treasures! But as no one can get in she really needn’t be frightened.”

  “I know how she feels.” Jen carefully avoided looking at Rykie. “She was horribly upset last night. I hope she will sleep on the stones. I’ll feel better about them if she does.”

  “It sounds knobbly,” Joy remarked.

  “If I were Mrs. Watson, I couldn’t sleep, feeling somebody might be burgling the refectory; not after last night,” Jen insisted.

  “But you know no one can get in, Jenny-Wren,” Joan protested. “Do you think we’d have let you sleep alone in the little room, if anyone could come in to frighten you?”

  Jen’s eyes gleamed. “Someone did!”

  “Yes, your stowaway. But that was an inside job too; Susie Spindle let him in. You know the Abbey’s safe from outsiders.”

  “All the same, I think Mrs. Watson’s very sensible.”

  “I shan’t object, if it makes her feel happier. Rykie, tell us about Angus!” Joan began. “I suppose your mother brought him up along with you two girls?”

  “Yes, but—but she was ill for a long time, and we did what we liked,” Rykie muttered, her eyes downcast. “And Father was away a lot, and anyway, he never interfered.”

  The elder girls looked at one another.

  “That explains a good deal. It’s what I expected,” Joan said, gravely gentle.

  “What form does the family genius take in Angus?” Joy demanded. “For Belle, films; for you, acting. Does he do anything? Or does he just drift?”

  “Music!” Rykie snapped at her. “You ought to be nice to him. You’re so keen yourself.”

  “Music!” The rest warmed into interest at once. “What does he do? Play? Sing? Compose?” Joy asked.

  “He didn’t look like a musician,” Jen protested.

  “It’s been horribly hard on Angus!” Rykie brok
e into an excited rush of explanation. “Father was all against it; he wanted Angus to learn his business. He thought we were mad, because we were keen on theatres, but he felt worse about Angus; he was quite sure he was crazy. He said it might be all right for Belle to act and show herself off, because she really is lovely; he was proud of her. And he said I might not be too bad when I was older. But for Angus to want to make his living by playing the violin seemed to Father the maddest thing.”

  “A violinist!” Joy managed to put in a word, as Rykie paused for breath. “Is he any good?”

  “He’s awfully good! He can get any amount of jobs, playing in trios and orchestras, or with dance bands or in theatres. They’re always glad to get him; he’s a splendid leader. He’s been doing it for years. He can keep himself, though he couldn’t look after us too. But it isn’t good enough. He wants to play in big concerts; he hates the small orchestras, and they don’t pay much. He wants to have lessons, really good ones, and if he did, he’d be brilliant. He’s never had a chance——”

  “Wait a moment!” Joan checked her. “You’re going too fast. All this has rather stunned us. How did Angus learn to play, if your father was so much against it?”

  “And who gave him the fiddle?” Joy asked.

  “But I thought you said last night that he’d been on a ship?” Jen cried.

  “To get some money, so that he could have more lessons.” Rykie flung the words at her. “You can’t spend much at sea; he thought he’d save his pay and have lessons when he came back. It’s easy to find a job at sea, if you live in Glasgow; we had heaps of friends who had to do with ships. But Angus didn’t like it; it was a rough life and he hated it, and he hadn’t any chance to practise. The men loved his fiddle and made him play to them, but he hadn’t much time and it wasn’t the sort of music he likes. They only wanted the tripiest of tripe.”

  “That’s a good expression; I must adopt it,” Joy said. “They would want utter tripe, of course. And Angus has a soul above tripe?”

  “He likes good stuff,” Rykie said shortly.

  “How did he learn to play?” Joan asked.

  “Oh, that was all right! Father let him have a fiddle and learn to play; he liked to listen when Angus played songs, or reels and strathspeys. He often played at home, for people to dance, and Father didn’t mind that; he was rather proud of him. But when it came to making his living by fiddling, that was different. Father raged and ordered him to go into an office. Angus said he wouldn’t touch business with the end of the poker and it would be sheer waste of time for him. So Father turned him out and told him to go and make money with his fiddle, if he could.”

  “A family row,” Joy commented. “I feel for Angus.”

  “And could he? Did he get on well?” Jen asked breathlessly.

  “He made enough to live on, but not enough for the good lessons he wanted. It was terribly hard on him,” Rykie urged again. “He knew he could be really good, and yet he had to spend his time playing every night and never getting near what he really wanted. He hated the stuff he had to play, but nobody would help him to get on. You can’t understand,” and she glared at Joy. “You’ve always had the lessons you needed, and you’ve been encouraged to go in for music and been helped all the way along. Nobody has helped Angus, and he’s felt as if everyone was keeping him down.”

  Joy whistled and looked at Joan, and reddened. No one knew better than she how difficult she had been during the years of frustration, when the lessons she craved for were out of the question and the music that was in her was stifled and trying to push its way out. They had been hard years for her, and quite as hard for Joan and Mrs. Shirley.

  “Joy knows more about it than you think, Rykie,” Joan said soberly. “We haven’t lived here long, you know. Before that we had very little, and music lessons weren’t possible. She can sympathise with Angus, if anyone can.”

  “But I didn’t resort to theft to pay for my lessons,” Joy said dryly.

  Rykie grew scarlet. “That was my fault. I thought he could help us both, and you have so many jewels, and they’re no good to anybody lying there. It isn’t as if you’d had them made up into brooches and things, so that you could wear them. They’re just being wasted.”

  “And when Angus saw them he wanted to bag the lot,” Jen remarked.

  Rykie coloured again. “It meant everything to us. You can’t understand. When he saw so many lovely stones, it—he——”

  “It was too much for him. He was tempted,” Joan said quietly. “I think we do understand. Angus is feeling as if everything is against him and no one will give him any help. His principles are not strong; he’s weak, and he hasn’t had the firm hand over him that might have saved him. He’s artistic and disappointed, and he lost his head when he saw the jewels. Is that right?”

  “I suppose so,” Rykie said sulkily. “But it was me, not Angus.”

  “It was your idea,” Joan assented. “Do you think now that it was a good one?”

  Rykie’s eyes fell. “N-no. Not very good,” she mumbled.

  The bell clanged at the Abbey gate, and the girls sprang to their feet. Jen snatched up the cushions and hurled them into the small room which opened off the cloisters.

  “Come on, everybody!” and Joan led a wild race to the tresaunt and back to the garden of the Hall.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  ONE BIG RUBY

  “We won’t talk any more at present,” Joan said. “Rykie has told us what we need to know. I’m sorry for Angus, and I feel we did the right thing when we sent him away last night, but I hope very much he’ll never do anything of this kind again.”

  Rykie caught her hand in a fierce grasp. “Thank you for letting him go! I’d hate to have him in a real mess.”

  “You wouldn’t like to know he was in prison,” Joy remarked. “I’m sorry for him too. I know that frustrated, shut-in feeling; it’s rather awful. But all the same, if Angus wants to do anything worth while in music he must be honest. I know that much; sincerity matters enormously. If he isn’t sincere and honest he’ll never do well. So tell him to pull up and behave himself for the sake of his music, if for no other reason.”

  “You can give him that message from a real musician, Rykie,” Joan said. “You’ll write to him about last night, of course. Tell him what Joy says; she knows. She’s going to write music some time, and then she’ll be famous.”

  Joy reddened. “Oh, I don’t know! My stuff may not be really good. But I mean to try. I say, Rykie! I still don’t quite see why you’ve concealed Angus all this time! You might have told us of his existence!”

  “But you—I mean Aunt Margaret and Joan—helped us because we were just two girls, left alone to shift for ourselves. We thought, if you knew we had a brother——” Rykie paused.

  “We’d say Angus should look after you,” Joan said. “And Angus couldn’t do it. We understand that.”

  “He’d gone away on the ship. There was no need to speak about him,” Rykie urged.

  “I wish you’d been more honest about your family,” Joan remarked.

  “She’s always been a bit of an oyster,” Joy agreed.

  A maid came from the house. “Miss Jen is wanted on the telephone.”

  “Gosh! I hope Father isn’t ill!” Jen rushed to take the call.

  She came back in a moment looking relieved. “It was Jack. I’ll have to play this afternoon; there’s a match against that Risborough school. Kath woke up this morning with a streaming cold and a bad throat and she’s feverish; her mother won’t let her out of bed. Jack’s frantic; she really needs me. I promised to go, Joan. Did you want me for anything?”

  “I want you to play for the school, so long as you can do it and still be my maid-of-honour.” Joan smiled at her.

  “Then I’ll dig out my whites and see if my frock needs pressing. I may cycle to Risborough alone, I suppose? Rykie won’t want to come; cricket bores her to tears.”

  “I’ll run you over in the car.” Joy had bee
n listening. “I’ll park her and climb up to the Cross and have a picnic while you’re playing. Care to come, Joan?”

  “I’d love it, but not to-day. I’m going to bed after lunch,” Joan said promptly.

  “Oh! I’m not feeling as bad as all that! I’ll picnic on my own, then. I’ve a fancy to see the Cross again, and I want to think.”

  “A new tune?” Jen asked, as she turned to go indoors.

  “No, something else. You’d better come with Jen,” Joy said to Rykie. “There won’t be anything for you to do here.”

  “Shall I go with you? I’ve seen that Cross from the road on the way to school.”

  “I bet you have. No, I don’t want anyone with me, unless Joan had been able to come.”

  “The Wild Cat will walk by her wild lone,” Joan laughed. “You go with Jen, Rykie, and clap when she takes all the wickets.”

  “I bowled their captain last year.” Jen’s eyes gleamed as she ran to find her cricket suit. “I’ll put in a little practice this morning.”

  The car came back about seven. Jen was jubilant, and Rykie regarded her with new respect. Joy looked deeply thoughtful and had little to say; her lonely brooding by the white chalk Cross had evidently been full of interest.

  There was no brooding about Jen. “I did it again!” she shouted joyfully to Joan. “I took four wickets and one was their captain’s. She yelled with horror when she saw me; she can’t stand up to my balls, and she knows it. We won by twenty-three, and Jack’s gloomy because she can’t have me all the time. And—oh, Joan! Honesty-Nesta told me to ask you if we could have a party here on Saturday night or if it would need to be at school.”

  “Ask Joy.” Joan smiled at her. “Congrats on the wickets!”

  “Sorry, Joy! I didn’t mean to be rude. Will you let the Club come here? They love parties on your lawn!”

  “It’s better than at school. We will entertain the Club, if Queen Nesta will arrange for a fine evening. But tell them not to come if it’s wet,” Joy warned her. “We can’t do much indoors. I wish we had a barn!”