Читать книгу A Dancer from the Abbey - Elsie Jeanette Dunkerley - Страница 6

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“Come and find our little bathroom, Mr. Grandison,” Rachel said. “Then you can have a look at the Abbey; or if other visitors come you can go back to the garden.”

“Why does Lady Jen want to see Rosemary and Mike in such a hurry?” Damaris asked, following them.

Benedicta fetched a fork and a trug and knelt to weed the tulip bed. “Too many of them in there, and it’s their house. I’ll keep in the background. The nice man likes Mary Damayris! He’d better take care. She won’t marry anybody. But he’s old enough to look after himself; he’s not a kid boy. Here’s our old friend shepherd’s needle, coming up in masses; I must get it out, or Damson will have fits.”

Rachel explained Jen’s anxiety over her eldest daughter, as she led the way to the Abbey gate. “Rosemary should be all right, with Jansy to look after her and with Lavender as her Queen. They all went together to school in the car with Frost, but Lady Jen is sending Henderson to fetch her babes before afternoon school, as a whole day seems so long for them at first.”

“Oh!” said Brian Grandison, as she led him through the gate. “Oh, this is beautiful! May I look?”

The green square of the cloister garth lay before him, walled by old grey buildings, with pointed arches below and a row of long lancet slits above.

Rachel stood aside to let him see. “Up there was the monks’ dormitory; each man had a window and a stone seat below it, beside his bed. Under the dormitory is the chapter-house, and the day-room, where they worked. These wide Perpendicular windows are the refectory, a lovely big light hall. You must see it all presently. Oh, thank you, Marry!”

Damaris had darted across the garth and was pulling on two ropes which hung down the refectory wall. A high note sounded, and another, and a low note repeated twice; all that again, and again, and then two high notes and only one low, as a finish.

Rachel laughed. “Those are the old Abbey bells; it’s not very long since they were found, after being lost for centuries. The high one, Cecilia, was hidden away at the farm next door; the deep one, Michael, was buried under a fall of cliff, up on the hill. Their names were written on them. We ring them to welcome visitors and on special occasions, and we have a code—the bells always mean something. Damaris rang—‘Glad to see you!’ several times, and then ‘Welcome home.’ A real greeting for you!”

“Well, he has come home, after seven years,” Damaris urged.

“A beautiful greeting! I appreciate it very deeply,” Brian exclaimed.

“Now come and see where we live, and have that much-needed wash,” and Rachel led him through a low doorway. “These rooms are right inside the walls. They used to be the refectory of the lay brothers.”

He gazed round in delight at grey walls, rose-pink curtains at long narrow windows, a red-shaded lamp, books in shelves, flowers and pictures everywhere.

The golden cat had been washing himself on the crimson cloth, but he rose at once and came to the edge of the table to meet them.

Rachel pulled his soft ears gently. “He always rises when we come in. He’s very polite.”

“He’s a very fine fellow,” Brian said.

“He thinks so! The black person in the chair is a little lady. She isn’t quite so courteous! Our pictures may interest you. They’re water-colour sketches of the Lake District; our home, as we told you. Here are Grasmere and Rydal Water—Ullswater—Grisedale Tarn—the top of Helvellyn.”

“They’re only prints,” Damaris added. “We don’t go in for anything posh like originals.”

“They’re charming, all the same; a feast of colour, in blue and grey and green and purple,” he said. “But these aren’t prints?” He bent to look closely at a row of pen and ink sketches, hung below the coloured pictures. “Surely these are drawings of your ruins, originals and very good ones?”

“Right in every particular,” Damaris told him proudly. “How clever of you!”

“Those were Christmas presents,” Rachel said. “Damaris was given one, a year and a half ago, and it seemed so suitable in here that our friends asked, last Christmas, if we would like some more. We said there was nothing we’d like better, so they told Rob Quellyn to do six, one from each bit of the family. Rob Quellyn is a cousin of Sir Ivor Quellyn, who lives at the Hall; you’ll know about him, through your father.”

“I haven’t met him, but I’ve heard of him often. And his cousin does these exquisite little drawings?”

“He came to stay at the Hall with his wife and baby boy, after Christmas. He told us to choose our subjects and added another from himself and one from Mrs. Quellyn, because they are both so fond of the Abbey. So we have nine Quellyn sketches, and we’re very proud of them.”

“These two paintings, of the garth and the gate-house, were given to us long ago,” Damaris added.

“It makes an enchanting little home. The old walls are a wonderful background and your pictures give all the colour you need.” Brian looked round in approval.

A glance passed between the girls, and Rachel said grimly, “Our aunt was caretaker here for years, and her choice for the walls was pink. The lovely old stone was colour-washed pink. We’re still rejoicing in our clean cool grey, after more than a year. Now here’s the bathroom—green and white, you see. We’ll leave you to get rid of the traces of the bonfire. When you’re ready, you shall see the Abbey, or the garden, as you wish.”

“My room is all green and gold,” Damaris informed him. “And Rachel’s work-room is a lovely blue. Did you know she writes stories? Well, she does; and gets them printed, too.”

“ ‘Curiouser and curiouser,’ as Alice would say,” he quoted. “I really have come to an enchanted place!”

“You’ll think so, when Ray shows you the Abbey and tells you all the stories,” Damaris retorted. “She does it jolly well.”

Rachel closed the bathroom door firmly. “Let the poor man have his wash and clean-up. I’m going to make coffee. Fetch Benedicta in for elevenses.”

“Oh, good! I’ll call her. The poor child’s working away like a hero, all alone. I say, Blessing! Coffee in five minutes. You are an Angel-Blessing, really you are!”

“I’ve done a lot of work,” and Benedicta showed her trug, heaped with weeds. “I’ll empty this and then I’ll come. I’d better wash before I eat.”

“Not till Mr. Grandison has finished!”

“The kitchen sink will do for me. It’s only clean earth, but I don’t want to eat it.”

“This is mighty good of you, Miss Ellerton,” Brian exclaimed, when he found Rachel presiding over a coffee-pot, and Damaris and Benedicta offering him biscuits, while the cats enjoyed saucers of milk in a corner.

“Ray really can make coffee,” Damaris told him. “We’ve lived in France and Italy, and she didn’t waste her time.”

“It’s most delicious coffee. I don’t know why you should entertain me so bountifully.”

“Since Lady Jen has bagged you for lunch we may surely give you your elevenses,” Damaris said. “After this I’m going to help Benedicta with the weeding and you’re going to see the Abbey from top to bottom. Top is the refectory, but bottom is underground. Wait till you see!”

“There’s a wonderful Saxon crypt, and the old well round which the Abbey was built, and the tomb of the first Abbot,” Rachel said.

Presently she led him off to see the wonders above and below ground, and the gardeners, much refreshed, returned to their weeding and clearing up.