Читать книгу A Dancer from the Abbey - Elsie Jeanette Dunkerley - Страница 5

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“I shall pipe a little tune for him,” Jen murmured, as they went towards the garden.

“What’s that?” Brian Grandison stamped out the remains of the fire and looked at Benedicta, as the clear high notes came to him across the tulips and hyacinths.

“ ‘Trunkles,’ played on an Old English pipe. It has only three holes and it’s made of wood. Isn’t it pretty?”

“Like a silver bird-note. But how does she do it, with only three holes? Oh, Miss Damayris! I thought you were making that music?”

Damaris came running from the Abbey, but the music went on. His eyes devoured her hungrily, for her curls were brushed and her face was clean, though she still wore her shorts and pullover.

“I’m not the piper! How’s my fire? All safe?—oh, good! I guess you’d like to wash now, wouldn’t you? Benedicta must show you the bathroom. We really have a bathroom, though it’s rather surprising; small, but useful! The piper is Lady Marchwood, from the Manor, next door,” she added, seeing his eyes on the two who had just come from the Abbey gateway—Rachel in her white monk’s gown, and tall, fair Jen, piping like a schoolboy.

“She doesn’t look like the mother of eight, does she?” Benedicta remarked.

Jen and Rachel were coming along a narrow path, bordered by bushes of lavender, with the first marigolds just opening into flower.

“The mother of—oh, surely not!” Brian exclaimed.

“It’s true,” Damaris told him. “Two big boys at school in York; the eldest is twelve. A girl and a small boy who have gone to school for the first time to-day. Another small girl, twin boys, and a very new girl, a few weeks old. Quite a respectable family, isn’t it?”

“I shouldn’t have thought she was more than twenty-five,” he marvelled. “Did she begin at fourteen?”

“She’s older than she looks,” Benedicta grinned. “But she married early, I believe. Lady Jen! We’ve been telling him you’re the mother of eight children. He doesn’t believe it; he says you must have had the first when you were fourteen.”

“No, twenty,” said Lady Marchwood. “I really am an old lady. I’m not going to have any more—at present!” with a mischievous glance at Brian. “I keep a hope that when I’m really old, perhaps forty, I may have one more; a sort of back-ender. But I’m content with our little crowd. I call them our Pieces of Eight—treasure, you know. Have you ever seen a pipe like this, Mr. Grandison?”

“Indeed I haven’t. I’m very curious to know how you can make so many notes from three holes.”

“And the open note; it’s really four. I can make eleven notes, but the tune has to fit into that range. If it goes beyond the eleven, you have to cheat; I’m quite good at cheating! Held and played with the left hand, you see; the right hand is supposed to play the tabor—a little drum. Are you keen on music like your father?”

“No, it turned to painting with me. I couldn’t make anything original in music, but at one time I had an idea I could paint. That was stamped on by circumstances; I sketch a bit, to amuse myself, but I don’t turn out anything really worth while. I’ve been in Africa for seven years, and now I want some sort of job at home.”

“Africa? Kenya?” Jen cried. “You must meet my husband. He lived there once and I think he’s left part of his heart in Kenya.”

“It was Rhodesia, I’m afraid,” Brian said. “But I’d like to meet—is it Lord Marchwood?”

“Oh, no, thanks be! He’s only a baronet; it’s quite bad enough! You must meet Kenneth; he’ll love to compare notes with you. But you won’t persuade him that Rhodesia can be anything like Kenya. What sort of job are you looking for?”

Brian’s eyes swept over the garden. “This!” he said comprehensively. “No, I’m not crazy and it isn’t a sudden idea. I want to be instructed about those rock-gardens. My grandmother left me her old house, in the north, and I’m told the rock-garden is rather good; I haven’t seen it yet. I’ve a hunch that I might develop it and do something in the market-garden line, specialising in rock plants. It’s near Ambleside, in the Lake District—”

“Ambleside!” There was a united shout from the Ellerton girls.

“It’s our home!” Rachel cried. “We come from Grasmere. We’ve an old farm house on the fells—oh, you don’t know me yet! I’m Rachel Ellerton, the Guardian and guide to the Abbey ruins, and Damaris is my little sister.”

“A hefty little sister,” Damaris grinned. “Mr. Grandison, give our love to the fells, when you go to see your house. I believe you could make something good out of your idea. But it might not pay for some time.”

“That wouldn’t matter,” he said simply. “I want to do a job that will satisfy me and be useful to other people. Granny left me a good deal, because she felt I’d stood by my sister and pulled her through, when no one else could do it. I wouldn’t speak of it, but I know you’ve heard the story.”

“You took care of your sister, on behalf of the family,” Damaris agreed. “That was very fair of the old lady. I hope you’ll have luck with your venture. Gardens are jolly things, when you have to build up a new career.” Her eyes sought Jen’s, as if to say: “Have you heard? Do you understand?”

“Dammy-Marry, I am so glad for you!” Jen cried. “It’s marvellous news, and I wish you all the luck you’ve just wished Mr. Grandison. You must be very happy to-day.”

“I’m going back!” Damaris gave a shout. “I shall dance again! All that wonderful life is going to be mine! Oh, Lady Jen, can you play ‘Shepherd’s Hey’?”

Jen raised her brows. “I can. But what use is a morris dance to you, my child?”

“Oh, please!” Damaris pleaded.

“Oh, play it for her!” Benedicta cried. “I don’t know why, but if she wants it, let her have it!”

“I know why,” Rachel said. “Please, Lady Jen!”

“Please, Lady Marchwood!” Brian urged.

“There’s no difficulty about ‘Shepherd’s Hey.’ It’s a real pipe tune. But I don’t understand,” Jen protested.

She began to play the jolly lilting melody, and Brian and Benedicta found their feet tapping to the infectious rhythm. Then they forgot everything, for Mary Damayris was dancing on a patch of green lawn, ringed round with scarlet tulips, with all the wild abandon and beauty that had given such joy to thousands.

“It’s horribly bad,” she cried, as she paused. “But you people won’t know that. I can do it, and that’s the great thing. I’ll soon work up to something decent again.”

“Bad!” said Brian. “You’re the loveliest moving thing I’ve ever seen, Mary Damayris.

“Do some more, Damson!” Benedicta pleaded.

“Like it?” Damaris asked casually. “You’ve teased often enough to see me dance. Satisfied now?”

“No! I want to go on watching you for ever.”

“Hear, hear!” cried Brian.

Damaris bobbed. “I can’t curtsy in shorts. Thank you, kind lady and gentleman!”

Rachel was explaining to Jen, who was urgently demanding an answer. “Marry always dances when she hears that tune. It came on the radio, when we were in Annecy, seven years ago, and she jumped up and danced, and Papa Berthelot saw her and insisted that she must become a dancer. That started her on her career. The same thing happened at Hikers’ Halt, the tea-cottage near Ambleside, and she danced there too. ‘Shepherd’s Hey’ always sets her off. It’s nothing like your morris dance, of course.”

“It’s very, very different,” Jen said solemnly. “But I’m glad to have seen it. It is a jolly tune! I don’t wonder she can’t resist it. But it’s the oddest ‘Shepherd’s Hey’ I ever saw. Mary Damayris, you’re as beautiful as you used to be, when you dance. Thank you for the treat! When you’re the idol of the London stage again, we’ll remember how you danced for us among the tulips.”

“Nice of you!” Damaris laughed. “Your music’s marvellous, Lady Jen. It’s not the same as the radio version; that works up so tremendously at the end. Papa Berthelot loved what I made out of it. But yours is the same tune, without the frills. No, not any more just now, Blessing! But you shall watch me practise, if it won’t bore you. I couldn’t bear it before, but I shan’t mind now. Ray, aren’t you going to show Mr. Grandison the Abbey? Lady Jen can talk to Blessing and me.”

“But I want to talk to Blessing and you, too,” he protested. “I want to be told all about rock-gardens. You’re going to instruct me, I hope.”

“There’s time for both,” Jen interposed. “I’m going home to my neglected twins and my little girls; but I’m coming back about two o’clock, to meet Rosemary and Mike on their way from school. Mr. Grandison, I really would like you to meet Kenneth; he’ll enjoy a chat with you so much. But he won’t be home till seven. Couldn’t you come again to-morrow and spend a few days with him? It would give him real pleasure.”

“It would give me very great pleasure,” Brian said promptly. “It’s more than kind of you to suggest it. But are you sure Sir Kenneth——?”

“Certain,” Jen assured him. “There’s nothing he’d like better. Come to the Manor for lunch at one, and we’ll phone him and arrange it. He’s lunching at his club, so we can get hold of him there. He always tells me where he’ll be at lunch-time, or else he rings me up. These girls can’t feed a hungry man, and we don’t want you to go to the inn——”

“We could. We’d like to,” Rachel began.

“You’ll show him the Abbey, and Dammy-Marry will tell him about her Wirral and Windermere.” Jen spoke with authority. “Send him to me about one o’clock; Benedicta can show him the path. There’s no one at the Hall, so he needn’t mind trespassing in the garden; Joy and Mary are having lunch at The Pallant and Ivor’s in town, as usual. Only Nanny and the babies are at the Hall. Take him in and let him wash, Abbey Lady; bonfires are messy things. I’ll see you presently, and we’ll hear Rosemary’s adventures at school. I’m quite sure Mike is having a joyful time! I wish I could feel as certain that my daughter is happy. Thank you for your dance, Mary Damayris! But it was an odd ‘Shepherd’s Hey’! Very odd indeed!” and shaking her head seriously, Jen walked away, piping “Hunting the Squirrel” as she went.