Читать книгу The Abbey Girls at Home - Elsie Jeanette Dunkerley - Страница 4

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“You tell first!” Jen commanded, pushing Betty gently down into a chair. “I’ve told you the worst, the very worst, about me. But I’ve had the biggest shock. At least you came here expecting to find me; I hadn’t the remotest notion you were anywhere near. My explaining will keep. But where have you sprung from, Bets?”

Betty hastily told the circumstances which had brought her to the Hall, as the quickest way of inducing Jen to tell her own story. “I was staying in town with my married sister. Tickles wrote from school, asking why I didn’t go to see you, and giving me your address. Chris sent me in her car—no, she’s not waiting outside!” at a quick question from Jen. “She had an engagement, so she couldn’t come. I came alone in the car.”

“Driving yourself? No? Alice will give the man some tea. It was ripping of you to come, Betty. But what have you been doing with yourself, my dear?” Jen asked severely. “You don’t look well. And you look much older than twenty-one! Have you been ill? Or is anything the matter?” and her face lost its laughter and grew kindly. “I don’t like the look of you, Betty,” she scolded gently. “I think you need petting. What’s up?”

Betty had flushed, but now she laughed. “You sound motherly. It’s sweet of you, Jenny-Wren, but I’m all right. We’ve had trouble; and we’ve been travelling since. I’m just home from the Cape. But I’m very well, really. Now tell me what it all means! Tickles said you were staying with Lady Marchwood. You say you are Lady Marchwood! And you’ve only been married for a fortnight? Jen! Have I arrived in the middle of your honeymoon? But Tickles didn’t know!”

“I don’t suppose she’s heard yet. I’ve had a week of my honeymoon; the rest’s postponed. I’m looking forward to it later on,” Jen said airily. Then her voice grew grave. “Betty, dear, don’t you know? We’ve had great trouble here. Really, I’m as sober as anybody could wish, and even a little sad; but the surprise and the joy of seeing you made me forget. And the shock of hearing you arguing with Alice—I really had to laugh. Poor Alice! We’re having such a time, trying to educate them all up to my new name; and then, when she’s doing her very best to remember, you turn up and insist—‘Not Lady Marchwood; Miss Jen!’ And the poor girl—‘Yes, Miss Jen—Lady Marchwood!’—doing her level best to stick to it. It really was priceless!”

“I’m sorry,” Betty apologised. “I thought both Alice and I had gone daft. But isn’t there another Lady Marchwood, Jenny-Wren? Tickles said you were staying with her; and a child in the road, when we asked the way, said, ‘Miss Joy—Lady Marchwood.’ Do you wonder I arrived feeling in a perfect fog?”

“I don’t blame you,” Jen conceded. Then she explained quickly, “Betty, dear, this is Joy Shirley’s house. You remember Joan Shirley, who came home with me to The Grange after that accident I had? Joy is her cousin, and as like her as if they were twins. Joy married Andrew Marchwood a year ago, and went out with him to Kenya. His younger brother, Kenneth, stayed at home and got engaged to me. Their mother lives at Marchwood Manor; I expect that’s been puzzling you too? She’s old Lady Marchwood; Joy is young Lady Marchwood. I don’t know what I am to the neighbours, for we aren’t seeing callers at present; but I suspect I’m ‘little Lady Marchwood,’ if any one of my height could be called little. Or perhaps ‘the new Lady Marchwood’!”

“But how——?” Betty began. Then her face grew grave. “Oh, Jen! I’d forgotten! Sir Andrew—out in Africa——”

“Yes. Joy came home two months ago, expecting him to follow her. He—didn’t. The news came at a bad time for her and nearly killed her. But she’s all right now, and almost strong again; and the twins are little angels.”

Jen’s eyes were dancing. She laughed and nodded, as Betty raised her eyebrows.

“Yes! Perfectly beautiful little girls, just like Joy and Joan, with their lovely bronze hair. Both girls; that’s why I’m Lady Marchwood. I hoped I’d be ‘Mrs.’ But it can’t be helped. They’re three weeks old, and angels for goodness. And, of course, they’re the greatest possible comfort to Joy.”

“Oh, I am glad she has them!” Betty said fervently. “She can’t feel she has lost everything if she has two babies to live for.”

“She says,” Jen said soberly, “that she feels her life is over—but at the same time that she’s begun a new life. She’s being very plucky, Bets; it’s done me good just to be with her. At first she was stunned, and wanted only to hold the babies and cry; but now she’s beginning to plan, for them first and then for all of us. She’s going to miss Andrew fearfully, but she isn’t going to go under, as we feared at first. The babies have saved her.”

“But what about you, Jenny-Wren?” Betty urged. “Did you say you’d been married only a fortnight? But where is—is your——?”

“My husband?” Jen said calmly. “Better get used to it! I’m only getting used to the idea myself. It still sounds funny. Ken had to go out to Kenya at once, to see about things for Joy and settle up about his own shamba; for he’ll live at home now. I thought I’d have to go out to Africa with him, and I was dreading it. I’m rejoicing to think that I can stay at home with Joy. We were married before he went, and we toddled off to town together for a week. Then we ‘had a few words and parted,’ and he went to Kenya and I came home to Joy and the twins.”

“Oh, Jenny-Wren! That’s rather sad for you,” Betty cried sympathetically.

“It is,” Jen agreed. “But it won’t be for very long. And I insisted on being married. I absolutely refused to let him go unless he married me first.”

“Was it all your idea, Jenny-Wren?”

“Oh, he proposed it!” Jen admitted. “But I’ll confess I jumped at the idea. Joy tried to make me wait, so that I could have a swanky wedding and invite people like you; but I’d lost all my own family and I wanted to belong to somebody. So Ken took me into his family, and made me Joy’s sister, and he left me his mother to look after. We’re worried about her; Andrew’s death was a terrible shock to her, and she wasn’t well when it happened. So I’m living half here and half at the Manor, and taking care of everybody. It’s far easier to do it as ‘the new Lady Marchwood,’ than just as Jen Robins, an old friend of the family!”

Betty laughed and agreed. “And have you and the twins and their mother all this great house to yourselves?”

“My hat, no! We’re a large family. There’s Mrs. Shirley, to begin with. She’s Joy’s aunt, who brought her up and has been like a mother to her. Just at the moment Aunty Shirley’s staying at the Manor with Lady Marchwood. Joy’s illness and the anxiety and the birth of the twins upset her, and she had rather a collapse last week. The excitement was too much for her; and my wedding came on top of all the rest. So as soon as I came back from town I persuaded her to go to the Manor for a few days; I thought she’d rest more thoroughly if she went right away.”

“She’ll be company for old Lady Marchwood too,” Betty remarked.

“And there’s a delightful companion there, who is really a nurse and is splendid with old ladies, and she can look after two as easily as one. It’s jolly for them all; they’re both pleased about it, and the change is really doing Aunty Shirley good. We miss her here, but there are plenty of us left! There are Joy’s adopted twins as well; she adopted two daughters two years ago,” Jen explained. “It really served her right to get twin girls of her own, for she always used to speak of Ros and Maidie as ‘my twins.’ Rosamund’s seventeen, and Maidlin is sixteen; quite hefty girls to be adopted by Joy, who is only twenty-four herself! They’re at school at the moment, but you may see them presently. Maidlin is the reigning May Queen at school; Ros was the Queen two years ago, and I came in between. Yes, absurd, wasn’t it? But I went back last year, for cookery and other domestic stunts, and they made me be the Queen. If you hear me called Brownie, that’s the reason; I was the Brown Queen—beech brown. Maidlin is the Primrose Queen. My cookery wasn’t very extensive, as things happened, and I had to leave; but such as it is, it’s being quite useful, for on top of everything else we’re cookless, temporarily. Our—I ought to say Joy’s—old cook is away nursing her mother; a friend who was staying in the village came to the rescue, and cooked for us and pulled us through Joy’s illness and my wedding and my time in town. But three days ago she was wired for, because her little sister had suddenly begun with appendicitis and had to be operated on at once. So Nancy, who dotes on the kid, packed up and fled; and we felt rather stranded, till we got in a nice sensible woman from the village. Her cooking is as sensible as she is, but not always quite as nice; very reliable, but not frilly or thrilling! So occasionally I drift into the kitchen and fling a few things into a basin, and sometimes quite a decent pudding comes out; and Ros and Maidie fall on my neck. Joy says she likes my pastry and my cakes! Everybody’s been very kind and polite!”

“I’m sure your cooking’s top-hole,” Betty said, laughing. “But I feel I ought not to have come at such a time, Jenny-Wren. We had no idea; we didn’t know whether your Lady Marchwood was connected with the explorer we had heard about or not. Will you apologise for me, and say I wouldn’t have dreamt of coming if I’d known? And you must be busy too; I am sorry——”

“I’m not sorry! Haven’t I said I’m overjoyed to see you? But I am busy, acknowledging wedding-presents,” Jen said haughtily. “They’ve been pouring in while I’ve been in town. People hadn’t any warning; it was all over in such a hurry, and we never told anybody. Joy sent word round at the last minute, and folks came to the church; but there wasn’t time for presents. So now clocks and spoons and salt-cellars are arriving by every post.”

“Congratulations!” Betty said warmly, laughing. “I’d have brought a salt-cellar if I’d had the least idea.”

“I have to write about them all myself, of course. It’s not a job I can shove on to Mary-Dorothy—Mary? She’s Joy’s secretary, and our best friend, and she writes books for girls and dedicates them to me. I’m her godmother; well, she says so. She looks after the village; Joy has all sorts of social stunts going on, clubs and hostels and homes and country-dancing. Mary kept them all happy and attended to all the business while Joy was abroad. She’s one of the family. We’ll invite her to tea with us on the lawn. I see Alice is setting it out there; good girl! She knows what I like. Would you like me to steal Elizabeth and Margaret for you to see how beautiful they are?”

“Elizabeth and Margaret?” Betty turned to her, an indescribably startled look on her suddenly white face.

“Why, what’s the matter? What is it, Betty?” Jen cried anxiously. “What have I said to upset you?”

“I’m silly,” Betty caught her breath. “I was taken by surprise. Are the new twins called Elizabeth and Margaret?”

“Elizabeth Joy and Margaret Joan. What about it, Bets?”

“What pretty names!” Betty said conventionally, but her lips were quivering and she looked through the open window out to the lawn.

“Betty McLean, I shall shake you if you don’t tell me what’s the matter!” Jen said sharply. Then she laid her hand on her friend’s knee. “What is it, old chap? Do tell me!”

“I’m not sure if I can,” Betty said unsteadily. “My twin was Margaret; I’m Elizabeth, of course. I told you we’d had trouble. Meg—she was always Meg at home, though at school they called her Maggie, because they had a Meg and a Margaret already—she was ill and at home when you got to know us at Rocklands, so you never saw her. We took her to Switzerland, and we were there with her for months; but it was no use. I miss her every day. As children we did everything together. I can’t get used to being alone.” It was a real cry from her heart.

Jen’s face had softened into understanding. “I didn’t know. I am so sorry, dear! You’ll miss her all the time. It must be frightfully hard to be brave and go on alone, but you’ll do it. She’d want you to, wouldn’t she? I know how I felt when father went first and then mother. A twin must be a very sore loss. But you’ll do it, Bets; you’ll pull yourself together and go ahead. Nobody with any grit in them can be content to sit down and feel hopeless. It’s just what Joy’s having to do, in a way; to make up her mind to go on alone. She’s going to make something of her life, even without her husband; and you’ll do it too, Bets.”

“But she has her children. They’ll make up for everything,” Betty said unsteadily. “As you said just now, she’ll begin a new life for their sake. I have to go on with my old life, but without Meg. We’d planned all our lives together.”

“You’ll have to make a new start. Wait for me one moment, old chap!” and Jen was gone, racing off upstairs.

She went quietly into the big sunny room where Joy sat by the open window, gazing out with hungry brown eyes at the lawn and the beech avenue; eyes which asked an endless question of life.

She turned back to the present at sight of Jen, however. “Who’s here, Brownie? I saw a strange car. Is it somebody for you?”

Jen knelt beside her chair. “ ‘Traveller’s Joy,’ may I borrow Betty and Meg? I want them to do a little missionary work downstairs.”

Joy frowned at the contraction of her children’s stately names. Then she smiled.

“What missionary job have you found for them now? You may always have them if there’s work for them to do. They’re pleased to help. What is it, Brownie? Who wants to see them? How are they to be missionaries? And why are you messing up their names? You must have some reason, for you know I don’t like it. You aren’t just teasing, Jenny-Wren?”

“There’s another Betty downstairs,” Jen explained. “Such a pretty Scottish Betty! I’d love you to see her sometime. She was at that school near my home, and I knew her when she was the head girl. We were great friends. She came to see me, not knowing anything; she sends all sorts of apologies to you for intruding, but she hadn’t the least idea. She nearly swooned when she saw my wedding-ring; and she’s rather dazed by all I’ve been telling her.”

“I can believe that, if you talked at your usual rate,” Joy said dryly. “What a pow-wow you must have had! And does she want to see the babies?”

“Her twin was Meg, and she’s just lost her, and she’s heart-broken and lonely, ‘Traveller’s Joy.’ When I referred to Elizabeth and Margaret, her face showed me there was something wrong, so I made her tell me. She feels she can’t live without her Meg, who was evidently her other half.” Jen’s eyes met Joy’s.

Joy looked away quickly to the garden again. “Take the children to her, Jenny-Wren. Give her my love, and tell her she must find something to give her heart to. She can’t live if it’s empty and crying out. Bring the babies back to me quickly.”

Jen kissed her. “You dear brave thing! I’ll only keep them for five minutes. I know you don’t like to feel they’re out of your sight. Nurse must carry one. I daren’t go downstairs holding two.”

Joy smiled wistfully as the children were lifted from their cradles, and little Margaret gave a protesting murmur, which was promptly echoed by Elizabeth.

“I’m sure they hear one another. As soon as either speaks the other answers. They’ll be a perpetual duet when they can talk,” said Joy. “So far as I can see, they both copy one another. It’s not always Elizabeth who begins the conversation, by any means, although she’s the elder. Give a nice message to Aunty Brownie’s Betty and be good girls downstairs, children!”

Jen laughed and carried Margaret away, followed by the nurse with Elizabeth.

Betty was standing by the window looking out over the lawn.

“This is Joy’s little Margaret, Bets,” Jen said gently. “Sit down and hold out your arms! I’ll fill your lap with babies; Margaret on that arm; Elizabeth on this one! There! Do you wonder Joy feels she has something to live for?”

“Oh——! The little angels!” Betty whispered, as the tiny red heads nestled against her.

Jen repeated Joy’s message. “You’ll find something or some one, Bets. There must be somebody needing you.”

“How very kind of ‘Joy’! Will you thank her for me, Jen? I can’t think of her except as Joy; I hope she won’t mind. It’s beautiful of her to think for me at this time. And tell her I’ve never seen such lovely babies. Look at the wee curls already!”

“It’s the dainty hands and feet I love. I could cuddle their toes all day; I try to, don’t I, nurse? And they can grip with their fingers already; look!” and she gave one finger to each twin and laughed as the little crumpled hands closed on them. “They cling like small monkeys!”

“Do you do anything in this house besides baby-worship?” Betty queried.

“I write notes of thanks for salt-cellars,” Jen reminded her.

“Oh, yes, I forgot the salt-cellars! I must hurry home and see if I can find one for you. I’m interrupting your work most frightfully. But I do appreciate having been allowed to see these wee people.”

“It’s not everybody who is honoured to that extent,” Jen informed her. “But they come down to speak to very special friends. They’re meeting all our circle by degrees. Now, Margaret dear, if you could bring yourself to give up that finger, it’s time you went back to mother!”

“Margaret Joan! Elizabeth Joy! I understand the Joan and Joy, but where did the other names come from?” Betty asked.

“Margaret is for Mrs. Shirley; Joy’s aunt and Joan’s mother. Elizabeth is for Lady Marchwood; our mother. Joy and I call her ‘our’ mother now; neither of us quite feels like saying ‘my’ mother. I can’t put her in the place of my own mother, and Joy still has Aunty Shirley. But Lady Marchwood is ‘our’ mother; and that reminds us that we belong to one another at last. Now, babies, say good-bye to Aunty Betty! It’s tea-time for everybody!”