Читать книгу A Dancer from the Abbey - Elsie Jeanette Dunkerley - Страница 7

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Kenneth Marchwood’s reaction to Jen’s phone-call was completely satisfactory. “Capture him—keep him—chain him down! I’ll talk for a week about Africa and we’ll argue Kenya versus Rhodesia till I win. Any news of Brownie?”

“Not yet. She won’t be home till two. I’m thinking about her all the time,” Jen responded.

She turned to her guest when Kenneth had rung off, and repeated the message. “Ken is like me, thinking about our big little girl at school. He calls her Brownie, which was my nickname as May Queen; it fits her, for she’s a little brown gipsy. It never suited me, but I wore a brown train, so I was known as Brownie. He really wants you to come, Mr. Grandison; he’ll enjoy talking to you. I hope you’ll stay for a few days. Will your people spare you?”

“They’re used to doing without me,” he smiled. “It fits rather well. Dad has to run over to Amsterdam to conduct his symphony at a concert, and Mother wants to go with him, so I was going to be on my own for the week-end.”

“Ken will love to have you here. Is that the concert the Quellyns are off to to-morrow?”

“I believe they’re all travelling together. Dad thinks a lot of Sir Ivor and they’re friendly with Lady Quellyn, too.”

“She lives next door; to us she is Joy. You came through her garden, and her twin girls are at school with our Rosemary.”

“Brownie?” he questioned.

Jen laughed and agreed. “I must show you the rest of our Pieces of Eight. Katharine is four and a half, another little brown gipsy. Then there are twin boys, Chris and Barney, who are a year and a half old; and the infant is Barbara Rose. She’s big and fair like me, and like all our five boys. Everybody shrieks at sight of her and scolds me for having an untidy family; I’m expected to have small dark girls. But she’s rather a pet, and I’m quite fond of her, although she isn’t the sixth boy I’d hoped for.”

“I’m sure you are,” Brian laughed.

It was plain to him during lunch that Jen’s thoughts were elsewhere, and he challenged her on the subject at last.

“You’re worrying about your little Brownie, aren’t you, Lady Marchwood? But why? Why shouldn’t she be happy at school?”

“I’m sorry. I apologise,” Jen said contritely. “But she is rather heavily on my mind. I’m sure she’ll be happy once she’s used to school, but she’s a queer little person, not exactly shy, but self-contained and reserved, and it may take her some time to settle down. She’s a throw-back to my husband’s family, in every way; not in the least like Ken or me—we were never shy! She’s had so much illness that she has been with me, and older people, a great deal, and she’ll find it hard to take her place among a crowd of girls.”

“But with so many little brothers and sisters—?” he began.

“Oh, she’s all right with tinies! We’ve several families of babies in the connection and Rosemary is always good with them. You should see her playing with Lady Kentisbury’s four small daughters—two sets of twins, with less than a year between them! Or with our own tribe of babies; Rosemary is a mother to them all. If she could stay with Mike, who is three years younger, she’d be happy; she’d forget herself in taking care of him. But Mike will be with the other small children; he doesn’t need protecting. He can take care of himself perfectly well. I’m afraid Brownie would feel the wrench when he had to go to the Kindergarten and she had to stay with a crowd of strange girls. Oh, well! I shall hear all about it in half an hour! Will you go back to town, to make your plans?”

“My car is parked at the Abbey gate. And Miss Damayris still has to show me round her garden,” he explained. “What delightful girls those are in the Abbey, Lady Marchwood! I’m fascinated by them.”

Jen gave him a quick look. “They’re all well worth knowing. Young Benedicta is a dear, and Rachel is a most interesting girl. She has only been here for fifteen months, but already she is counsellor and friend to our younger folk; the schoolgirls take their troubles to her, and Benedicta has dubbed her our Abbot. We shan’t keep Damaris long now; she’ll be off to London for treatment and training. Rachel is going to miss her badly.”

“I guessed as much. But her return will bring great joy to her friends in town. My Dad and Mother will be delighted to hear the news; I know how much they think of her.”

“She’ll have a great welcome,” Jen agreed. “And she’ll be very happy. Rachel will rejoice in her success, but she’ll be lonely. Benedicta can’t hope to take the place of Damaris. Let’s go back to the Abbey! I’m going to stop the car and bring my two big children home through the park. The walk will be good for them; they’re used to spending all day out of doors.”

She was waiting by the Abbey wall long before the car could arrive. Rachel and Benedicta joined her, both eager to hear Rosemary’s story, but Damaris carried Brian off to see the garden.

“Ray and Blessing will tell us about Rosemary. Come and see my baby sedums and heaths on Windermere and Wirral, and decide which you’ll have in your rock-garden at Ambleside!”

Brian went eagerly. Rachel and Benedicta were delightful and interesting, but he had fallen under the spell of Mary Damayris and wanted nothing better than her company.

“Here they are! I’ll stop the car,” and Benedicta ran out into the road, waving her arms.

The man drew up and Jen called an explanation. “I’ll take the children home by the garden, Henderson. You go on; they ought to have a walk.”

“Mother, school’s fun!” Michael shouted.

“I’m sure it is, laddie. Well, Brownie, did you like it?” Jen took her daughter’s arm and drew her out.

“Oh, Mother, must we come home early?” Rosemary pleaded, springing down into the road. “None of the others do, and they were going to have cricket this afternoon. We didn’t want to come home.”

“That’s good news!” Jen exclaimed, in great relief. “Then you thought it was fun, too, Brownie?”

“I didn’t want to come away from Myonie.”

“My—what?” Jen asked, slightly stunned.

Rachel, with dancing eyes, glanced at Benedicta, who grinned back at her, but they were careful not to interrupt.

“Brownie keeps on about Myonie,” Mike grumbled.

“Her name’s really Hermione,” Rosemary explained at breathless speed. “But it’s too long, and her mother calls her Hermy. I said she could be Hermy at home, but it wasn’t grown-up enough for school, so we’d use the end part instead, and everybody began to call her Myonie; she liked it. She’s Myonie Manley, and she’s in my form. Her mother was a Queen, like you, Mother.”

“Dear me! This is very intriguing!” Jen cried. “You haven’t lost much time in making friends! Who is Hermione Manley? Which Queen was her mother?”

“She was shy.” Rosemary went on with her story. “Mike had to go away, to be with the other little ones, and I felt a bit funny——”

“They’re nice,” Mike said. “We had great fun. And Miss Black’s frightfully jolly.”

“You felt a bit funny,” Jen prompted her daughter. “What happened next? Did you see Myonie looking shy?”

“She was crying,” Rosemary said simply. “She’s only just eight and she hasn’t anybody to play with at home, and she thought there were such lots of people. I felt like that, too, and then Rosalind came in—I mean Queen Lavender—and she told me Myonie’s name and asked me to look after her. Lavender said: ‘You aren’t shy, Rosemary. You’re used to taking care of people and Hermione is younger than you. Try to cheer her up and make her feel at home.’ So I did. And—and that’s all.”

“You made friends,” Jen supplemented. “And it cheered you up too, because you had to take care of Myonie. How clever and understanding of Queen Lavender! But tell me about Hermione. Who is her mother? I ought to know her, if she was a Queen. But I’ve never heard of Myonie before.”

“They haven’t been living here, but her mother came sometimes for crownings; I’ve seen her. She was Queen Clover,” Rosemary explained.

“Clover! The Queen after Maidie-Primrose!” Jen exclaimed. “A brown girl, who wore a dull pink train with four-leaved clovers on the border and big white clover flowers in the corners! She was younger than we were and we only saw her at coronations. So she has a daughter called Hermione! I never knew that before.”

“She’s Hermione Rose,” Rosemary said. “I told her our baby was Barbara Rose, and that there were five younger than me. She said there couldn’t be, but I told her their names, and she said she hadn’t anybody. She had a little brother, but he died. Her daddy died, too; that’s why they’ve come to live here, with her granny, so that Myonie can come to our school. She thinks I’m very lucky to have so many babies.”

“You are very lucky,” her mother assented. “Don’t you ever forget it! Poor Clover! That’s a sad story. Perhaps we can cheer her up. We wondered why she didn’t come to Lavender’s crowning. Hermione ought to have Aunty Rosamund for her god-mother, like Barbara and all our other Rose babies, but that can’t be, or we should have heard about her long ago.”

“I asked Myonie, and she said Aunty Ros—but she called her Lady Kentisbury—wasn’t ’fishly her god-mother. Her mother thought a fearful lot of Queen Rose, when she was at school, and she’d have liked to be her maid-of-honour. But Aunty Ros didn’t ask her; she didn’t know how much Myonie’s mother admired her. So when Myonie came she was called Rose after Aunty Rosamund.”

“She’ll have to be an unofficial god-child! I’m quite sure Aunty Ros will adopt her.”

“Myonie would like that. Will you tell Aunty Ros, Mother?”

“I’ll ring her up to-night,” Jen promised. “Was Myonie—I like your name for her!—more cheerful after you took charge of her?”

“Yes, a lot. But she didn’t want me to come home early. She’s never played cricket and she wanted me to show her how to bowl.”

“Your cricket’s all right, thanks to the coaching your big brothers have given you! And you’d like to stay at school all day?”

“Yes, please. Nobody else goes home early.”

“We’ll have to ask Father. But what about Mike?”

“He could stay, too. The little ones have a sleep after dinner; they have little beds—I saw them. Then they have games till four o’clock. Mike would like it.”

“Would like it ever so much,” Mike said sturdily.

“And can I have Myonie to tea?” Rosemary begged.

“Oh, for sure! We must have Myonie and her mother. Queen Clover must come, and we’ll collect the other Queens—Aunty Ros and Aunty Maid and Aunty Joy and Aunty Joan. They’ll all bring little girls and we’ll have a proper party for Myonie.”

“Oh, goody!” Rosemary gave a skip of excitement.

“This is a great weight off my mind!” Jen said solemnly, looking across at Rachel and Benedicta.