Читать книгу The Abbey Girls Again - Elsie Jeanette Dunkerley - Страница 4

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An imperative knock brought Mary to her feet with a start, her eyes dazed and dreamy. She threw her darning aside and hurried to the door.

Who could it possibly be? Biddy had her key. Could there have been an accident? Bad news? No one ever called; and it was not post time. Mary was looking startled and a little frightened as she opened the door, her eyes still bewildered with the sudden plunge back to earth.

“Oh!” she gasped, utterly taken aback, and stood staring amazedly.

“May I come in, just for a second?” a happy girl’s voice, full of music, asked the question. “Did I startle you? Were you asleep?” and the blue eyes searched Mary’s face curiously. “Do you mind if Frost comes in too? It’s quite ridiculous, I know, but Mother made me promise absolutely that I wouldn’t come in unless he was with me; and I want to come in! I think she thought I might be going into a den of robbers, or coiners, or kidnappers, or a night club, or a dope place; anything you like! I told her you didn’t look the least like the representative of kidnappers or coiners; but she made me promise. So may he come in, too? He drives our car, you know. We haven’t been in London long, and Mother’s still a bit nervy about me, poor dear. It’s all rot, of course; but we’re country people—Yorkshire, from the moors, as you may have discovered from Daddy’s papers!—and Mother and he are sure somebody wants to run away with me. I say I’m perfectly safe, because there’s so much of me. It would be so fearfully difficult to dispose of the body, if I were the victim of a deadly crime, wouldn’t it? Are you a den of robbers, Miss Devine?”

She was tall, but managed her height in a wonderful way, moving with that easy, unconscious grace which Mary had noticed in the office. She wore the same round fur cap on short yellow curls, and the big motoring coat, which she had thrown open as she climbed the long stairs. The blue of her frock matched her eyes; she was keenly, intensely alive, and her face and voice had a radiant note of happiness very fascinating and quite irresistible. Her eyes were roaming eagerly about, full of interest in the new surroundings; she knew several London flats, but this one fell short of the others she had visited. It was quietly home-like but rather bare, and the touch of beauty and colour, in which her artist friends delighted, was missing.

“Please do come in!” Mary had found her breath again; it had gone completely in the face of Jen’s stream of eager talk. “Won’t you sit down? I’ve read through the papers.”

“Sit down, Frost!” Jen’s eyes had seen the stockings and the mending basket, and had brightened at sight of the violets, on the table and on the mantelpiece. “I came to talk business!” she announced, taking the big chair by the fire, “but I’d far rather put it off. I brought you something; do you mind? When I got home I found a huge box from home waiting for me, sent by some girls I know. It was full of wild daffodils, far more than we can use even if we put them in every room. Our flowers are much later than yours here, you know. April is daffodil time with us. So I brought along a few to you. I thought you must like flowers. Will you have them? They’re straight from the country. And a few early bluebells from the sheltered woods.”

“Oh! Bluebells and daffodils!” Mary’s hands reached out for the basket. “Oh, how did you know? I starve for them every April; we used to live in the country. I love them better than the summer flowers, I really think. But can you truly spare them? For me?”

Jen’s eyes were satisfied as she watched the change in her face. “She’s not so very old,” she said to herself. “I suppose being in an office makes one old; I’ve always said I should die!—Do you live all alone?” she demanded severely. “I suppose it’s frightfully rude to ask, but I simply must know. You couldn’t be as lonely as that, surely! Do you mind my asking?”

“Not a scrap,” Mary said swiftly. “It’s kind of you to be interested enough to ask. I have a little sister, who is only fifteen. She’s out; she loves the cinema, and I don’t care about it, so she goes with her chums.”

“And you darn her stockings?”

“Well, isn’t that an elder sister’s privilege?” Mary smiled. “If Biddy has to put up with a sister twice her age, she may at least expect to get her darning done for her. I shall put some of these daffodils on the mantelpiece beside the violets, against the mirror; then I shall have them twice over. I love flowers against a big glass, don’t you?”

“I never thought of it. It’s a jolly idea! I’ve always had as many flowers as I’ve wanted, so I’ve had no need to double them.” Jen watched her as she arranged bluebells and daffodils in a vase to stand against the mirror.

“I want as many as I can get. You’ve brought me such a lovely lot. It’s more than kind of you to think of me,” Mary said warmly. “I shall take some to the office to-morrow and put them on my desk, and I’ll see woods and fields all the time I’m working. I think Mr. Robins’s manuscript will be interesting to type; I’m looking forward to it.”

“I brought you this,” and Jen handed her an envelope. “I know what my writing’s like, and it’s worse still when he’s dictating to me; and I’m not much prouder of his than of my own. So I’ve printed all the place-names that would be strange to you, and some of the dialect; you’ll soon get used to it. Then there are some notes from him as to how he wants it arranged.”

Mary glanced through the instructions. “That will be a great help. I wish everybody would take as much trouble. I shall have no difficulty at all now. You are very thoughtful.”

“Oh, but we want it to look right!” Jen laughed. “It’s part of Daddy’s baby—the child of his old age! Some day he’ll put these papers together and make a book on Yorkshire out of them, and then he’ll simply burst with pride. He’s rather ill, and it gives him something to think about. Mother and I would do anything to help him with his baby!—I could have posted that note,” she changed the subject abruptly and plunged eagerly into another. “But I wanted to see you. I wanted to ask you to do a little tiny wee job for me. Will you?”

Mary’s face lit up. “I’d love to! Have you been writing articles, too? And is it a secret?”

“Not yet,” Jen twinkled. “Perhaps some day! I shouldn’t wonder. But I haven’t done it yet. No, this is nothing so thrilling as that. It’s too little a job to take to an office, but I thought somebody who had a typewriter might be willing to do it in an odd moment.”

“I’ve a typewriter here,” Mary said eagerly. “It was my father’s. It’s an old one, but does quite good work. I would be glad to do it for you.”

“I was sure you would, the moment I saw you this afternoon, but I hadn’t got the thing with me. I want about two dozen programmes for a show I’m giving with a few friends. I’m rather thrilled about it! Shall I tell you?”

Her laughing, eager eyes were irresistible. Mary sat down on her stool by the fire again to listen. It was long since any outside interest had gripped her as did this girl’s vivid personality. “Please do! I’d love to hear. What kind of show?”

“Oh, folk-dancing! There isn’t anything else I care about; nothing else worth while! It’s this way! We’ve taken a flat close by, right in town here, for six months, so that Daddy can have treatment from a specialist. I used to teach my boys and girls in our village, but that has had to stop for the time. Of course, we went to church here and made friends; I had friends in town, school friends, but Mother hadn’t, and she likes to make them through our church. The people there have a girls’ club, and the leader, who taught them gym and drill and singing, has had to go away for some months with an aunt who is ill and has to live in the country. So the club is stranded; and the committee people have found out that I’m a little bit mad on the subject of folk-dancing; that’s how it looks to Mother! I say I’m just awfully keen on it, both for myself and to pass it on to others. Anyway, they asked me to carry on till the other person comes back, and gave me leave to teach all the dancing I like, so long as it’s folk. They don’t want ordinary dancing; lots of church clubs don’t. Some won’t even let their girls have country-dancing; but this is an enlightened kind of church, and they say their girls may dance, so long as it’s folk-dances. As the other kind bores me stiff, that’s all right, and I can help them.”

“But what is the difference?” Mary managed to get in a word with difficulty. “What is folk-dancing? I’m afraid I’m very ignorant!”

“Oh, not more than lots of people!” Jen laughed. “You really only know the difference when you’ve seen country-dancing. Folk-dancing is country, morris, or sword; old dances that have come down to us for hundreds of years, with the most beautiful old music that haunts one for days. It’s ‘folk’ because it grew among the common people and was kept alive by them; it was never made, any more than a folk-song is made. It’s for everybody, not just for a few trained and beautiful dancers; any one can do a country-dance. These girls—shop-girls and clerks, I believe—will love it as much as we used to do at school. My village kiddies loved it; and so do the most musical and artistic people you can find; for I know some of them! But the girls won’t know what it’s like, so I’ve asked a few friends to come along the first evening and give them a little show, just by way of a start and to introduce the new subject.”

“To introduce the new teacher, I should say,” Mary glanced at her eager face. “Lucky girls! How they’ll enjoy it!”

“I hope they’ll love the dances! But really I’m feeling frightfully nervous about the job. I’m only eighteen! There may be lots of them older than I am. I’ve only taught children or village girls. Some of those were nearly my age, but they weren’t like London girls. These have had a real gym teacher; I’m terrified of them. Unless they’re keen, they may not get on with me at all. That’s the reason for my show; I want to make them frightfully keen as a start.”

“I don’t think you need be nervous,” Mary said quietly. “They’ll fall in love with you and do anything for you.”

“I don’t know!” Jen said doubtfully. “I shall try to make them love the dances. Well, I thought I ought to have a few programmes for the friends who are helping me, and for one or two outsiders who may come to look on. I believe a few of the church people are curious and want to see what folk-dancing is; and one or two know what it is and want to see what we’ll do, and how we’ll do it!”

“I’ll do them for you gladly. Who is going to give the show? Shall you dance yourself?”—there was an unconscious hungry note in Mary’s voice.

“Oh, rather! There will be eight or a dozen of us. I know lots of folk-dance people now, and I’ve begged a few to come. They’re awfully decent, and they promised right away. It’s going to be rather a joke,” and Jen’s eyes danced with delight. “You’ll hardly see the point, but we’re going to pretend we’re the real thing, the people who go to demonstrate the dances all over the country. We know one of them, and she’s a tremendous sport, besides an absolutely heavenly dancer! She said at once she’d come herself, and give me a good start, and she’d wear her blue frock, and she’s borrowed others for us from her friends, so that we’ll be all alike. So we’re going to dress up as Staff people, real demonstrators, the other girls and I; and we’ll feel bigger than we’ve ever felt in our lives before. It’s been the dream of my life to wear a blue frock!—I mean, a real demonstration frock; I shall grow at least six feet more than I am now when I put it on. It will be the hugest joke—to all of us, anyway. And we’ll probably all lose our heads with excitement, and disgrace Madam and the frocks. I’ve told Jack if she dares to mess up things, I’ll get a divorce! Jack’s my chum; we used to be married when we were at boarding-school together, and she’s still my husband. But I mustn’t go babbling on like this. You should cough, or yawn, or tread on my toe, or pretend to go to sleep. My friends have to stop me sometimes, if they want an innings themselves. I’ll have bored you to tears!”

“I’m not weeping,” Mary assured her swiftly. “I’ve felt no desire to yawn. I’m very much interested. I hope you’ll have a very jolly evening. May I see your programme?”

“Yes, you’d better look through it; it’s in my fearful scrawl again. I ought to have printed it. Some of the names are unusual,” and Jen handed her a sheet of paper.

Mary read the names aloud. “ ‘The Helston Furry;’ is that Helston in Cornwall? But how interesting! ‘The Mary and Dorothy;’ is that really a dance?” She looked up, a touch of colour in her face, and laughed. “I hope it’s pretty! Those are my names. I never knew I was called after a dance!”

“Oh, it’s a dear! It was my first dance. You ought to learn it. We put that in for me. Then ‘Gathering Peascods’; those are all country-dances; and ‘Newcastle,’ to finish that group, because we all love it so. Then Madam’s going to dance a morris jig for us, to let us get our breath—‘The Old Woman tossed up in a Blanket;’ and if there’s an encore—and there will be! We’ll see to that! Her dancing’s a dream—it will be ‘Lumps of Plum Pudding.’ Later on she’ll do us ‘Princess Royal’ and ‘Ladies’ Pleasure.’ She’s awfully sporting, and always kind and willing to help.”

“The names are delightful,” and Mary read others here and there. “ ‘Laudnum Bunches’—‘Bobbing Joe’—‘Shepherd’s Hey’—‘Rigs o’ Marlow’——”

“Those are all morris dances. She taught them to us, so they ought not to be too bad. We’ll do our best!”

“ ‘Lady in the Dark’—‘Maid in the Moon’—‘Old Noll’s Jig’—‘Childgrove’—‘Parson’s Farewell’—‘Oranges and Lemons’—‘Scotch Cap’—‘Sweet Kate’—‘Sellenger’s Round.’ How quaint some of the names are! What do they mean?”

“Nobody knows. They were most likely songs, and had dances put to the tunes. All those country-dances were known and danced in the seventeenth century, and may have been old then. Wouldn’t you like to come and see my show?”

“Oh!” Mary looked up at her, her face flushing in excitement. “Did you see how much I wanted to be asked? I tried not to show it. I’d like it above all things! But it’s too kind! I’ve never seen anything of the sort.”

“You must come, then, and bring your sister. I’ll send you tickets. I hope it will be good, but you must remember we’re only learning ourselves. We aren’t very good. The girls won’t know that, but I hope other people won’t be too critical.”

“Biddy and I won’t know either. I’m sure it will be delightful. But won’t you be nervous?”

“Of the audience, do you mean? Gracious, no! They simply won’t exist, once the music starts. We shall just enjoy ourselves,” Jen laughed. “We’ll pretend it’s a party, but with more room than usual. A country-dance party is generally a fearful crush. Oh, I shall never think of the audience once I hear the tune! Nothing but the dance matters then. That’s why it’s such a splendid rest for business people; everything goes away, and you think only of the movements, and the pattern you’re making, and of keeping right with the music. No, it’s the teaching afterwards I’m nervous of! Now I simply must go. I’ve a great friend coming for a day or two, and she’ll be there waiting for me by this time.—I say, Miss Devine! You will let me pay you for doing the programmes? You’ll tell me honestly how much they ought to be? I haven’t the foggiest notion.”

“It really isn’t worth while. I’ll be delighted to do them. It’s so very little,” Mary said quickly.

“Oh, but please——!” Jen pleaded. “I’d hate to take your work for nothing. It isn’t fair to take a working person’s spare time; I’d feel a perfect beast, and be sorry I had asked you. I only dared to ask you because I felt so sure you would understand and be nice about it. I’d feel far happier, really.”

Mary hesitated. Then she said quietly, “I don’t want anything for doing them. If you’ll let me and Biddy see the show, you’ll be giving us a big treat. But I would far rather take a little for doing the work than have you feel uncomfortable in any way. I wouldn’t like to think you were sorry you had asked me.”

“That’s nice of you,” Jen said warmly. “I’d feel very bad if you didn’t let me treat you fairly. See how long the work takes, and tell me honestly how much I ought to give you. You must know what your time’s worth by the hour! I’ll be far happier that way, and I think you’re a sport to understand.”

“Thank you so much for the flowers!” said Mary, with a little smile, as she opened the door. “And you will let us see your show? I haven’t been to anything of the kind for ages. You’ve no idea what a treat it will be.”

“I’ll let you have all particulars. Biddy must come, too. Good-night! Mother will be thinking you have kidnapped me, after all.”

As she closed the door, Mary glanced at the clock, then went to uncover her typewriter. “I’ve a clear hour before Biddy’s likely to come in. I’ll get the programmes done at once. And I’d better count the minutes, and work out the bill to a fraction of a farthing! It will amuse her, anyway.—These pretty old names! I’ll enjoy copying them. ‘Heartsease!’ Fancy that being a dance!—oh, it’s for four people! She’s put the number of dancers against each! How interesting! ‘Heartsease’ is a ‘square for four.’ So is ‘Rufty Tufty;’ and ‘Parson’s Farewell’ is another. ‘The Boatman’ is ‘longways for six’; what does that mean? ‘Scotch Cap’ is the same. Then here are ‘squares for eight’; will that be like a quadrille? And ‘rounds’ for six or eight; what are they? ‘Longways for as many as will;’ that’s quaint, too,” and she calculated distances, arranged the setting of her page, and set to work with real enjoyment.

Biddy was later than usual. Mary had put the typewriter away, and was darning and dreaming again before the door opened. But this time there was a difference in the dreams. It was not so easy to lose herself in unreal romance after the new and very real happenings of the day. Jen Robins’s happy face would come, instead of scenes of her own imagining.

It was an unusual experience for Mary to have something fresh to think about; her life had been monotonous, with Biddy and work for its only interests. Work as a subject for meditation at home had been unsatisfying; Biddy had been a difficult problem. The way of escape from both had been all too easy.

But this was different. Here was something pleasant to think over, something to look forward to which in its very novelty would be exciting. She went over the names of the dances; thought wistfully that there would be music—music in which Jen could forget all the rest of the world and lose herself entirely; remembered the promise of one very special dancer, who would “do jigs,” whatever they were—jigs with odd, quaint names that spoke of old country folk,—some one whose dancing was “a dream” and “absolutely heavenly,” and who was “a tremendous sport” and “always kind and willing to help.” She wondered if it were the dancing that had made tall Jen move so beautifully; it would be a joy to see her dance! And was it this interest, this delight in music, that gave her her look of radiant happiness? As she sat by the fire, and later as she went to bed, Mary for the first night for years had no time, no space in her mind, for unreal dreams.

The sound of Biddy’s latchkey brought her back to earth with a start, but it was from dreams of the future.

“Goodness me, Mary!” Biddy’s voice rang out. “Who’ve you had here? Who’s been flirting with you now? Daffodils! Bluebells! Mary!” and she stared at her sister with accusing eyes.

“I’ve been down into Surrey on a magic carpet and brought them back for you. No, I mean my fairy godmother has been here in her chariot, and she’s going to let Cinderella go to the ball some night soon. Aren’t they too lovely for words? I’ll get supper, and then tell you all about it.”