Читать книгу The Abbey Girls Go Back to School - Elsie Jeanette Dunkerley - Страница 4

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Alone in her room, Jen sat face to face with that crushing thought which had haunted her for weeks. She had stifled it for a while, and in the excitement of good-byes at school and the warm welcome from every one at home, it had lain passive and buried happily for some days. Cicely had already gone abroad, but Joan had seen her off, among a crowd of others, all bound for London as a starting-point for various parts of the country; but all the rest were coming back after Christmas. Only for Jen was it a real good-bye. She had clung to Joan with a sudden sob when the moment of parting came. ‘I shall see you again some day, Joan? You’ll come and stay, as we’ve planned?’

‘Of course I will. And you’ll come to us. You’re quite at home at the Hall, you know!’ Joan had reminded her.

But such visits, though joyful to look forward to, must be postponed till spring or summer, and there were long dreary months to be got through first. Jen, sitting chin on hand on her window-seat and gazing out at the falling snow, realised and faced the horrible truth at last; she was not going back to school. This was not holidays. The jolly happy dancing days at Wycombe were over. She was only an honorary member of the Hamlet Club, no longer an active one. All the old friendships were broken; the old interests must be cut right out of her life. And if life were not to be hopelessly dreary and empty, she must find new interests and friendships to take their places.

She had courage and spirit, and a keenly active mind; but her brow puckered gloomily over the problem before her.

‘I’ve got to!’ she said, to the snow-sprinkled hills. ‘I’ve simply got to have something to think about, or I shall die, that’s all. But what can I do here? School was so thrilling; always something going on! There’s nothing here, and nobody at all to chum with. What do people do in villages, anyway?’

Before her window, beyond the big garden, the hill dipped to a narrow valley, where evidence of ‘works’ could just be seen in an occasional crane or bit of scaffolding or light railway, though most was out of sight under the brow of the hill. In one corner Jen could just see the clustered cottages of ‘Tin Town,’ where the workmen lived in bungalows of corrugated iron, a little colony by themselves, with their own shops, chapel, and school for the children; for the valley was in process of being turned into a reservoir, as so many others in the neighbourhood had been. It was unsightly enough at present, and Jen always walked or cycled in the other direction, where the reservoirs were finished and lay like beautiful lakes in the folds of the hills. But when this one was ready it too would be a long shining strip of water, with a wall and castled water-tower at one end; and ‘Tin Town’ would pack itself up and remove elsewhere. There were no friends for Jen in ‘Tin Town,’ though there were plenty of children; and the little old village of cold gray stone, not far from her front gate, could not supply any either. The rector was an old bachelor; the doctor had no family; her only possible friends would have to come from town, an hour’s train journey away.

Beyond ‘Tin Town’ and the valley, the hills rose again, cut up by hedges at first into fields and farms, then bare open brown moor rolling away over the crest. Just now it was beautiful, in a veil of powdery snow, but Jen had known it all her life, had scoured every inch of it with the boys; and she shrugged her shoulders as she gazed out at the emptiness. In summer it was beautiful; even now it had its beauty, and beauty of any kind made an instant appeal to her; but it was familiar, and with her present craving for the excitements of school life, for the full happy days, she found the valley and the hills empty and unsatisfying.

For at school, beyond all the usual bustle of classes and games, of competition and excitement, there had been the added interest of the Hamlet Club, with its Saturday rambles over the Buckinghamshire hills and woods, its evenings for folk-dancing, its constant association of the elder girls who had left with those still in the school. The former Queens and many of the earlier members still came to dance-evenings whenever they could, and attended as a matter of course on ceremonial occasions, when the Queens wore their state robes and their Maids of Honour carried their trains. Jen had been a keen member of the club from her first arrival at school; had learned the folk-dances quickly and with great enjoyment, both in their movements and their music; and her cup of joy had been full, when, Queen Joan’s maid, Muriel, being chosen as Queen, she had been invited by Joan to fill the vacant place. Her love and admiration for Joan were great; she had accepted joyfully, and had worn Joan’s violet colours with much pride.

She was aware of the suggestion whispered among the seniors that she might be the next Queen; and—‘I hope I’m not a baby, but—oh, I would have liked it!’ she said to herself, as she sat alone, three days after Christmas. ‘I would have tried to be a good one! And Joan would have helped me! If I could have had one more year!’

Christmas had been very quiet. An attack of illness on her father’s part had made any house-party impossible, and it had not been thought wise even for Jen to have a visitor on her own account. Her mother had promised that for later on, and Jen had tried to be as cheerful as was expected of her. She saw clearly that even her mother had no idea how much she was missing the old life, and the first resolution she made as she stared out at the snow was a brave one, for her mother’s sake.

‘I’ll never let them know. For they’d be sorry, and that would hurt us all. I’ve just got to pretend everything’s all right; they mustn’t guess. Everything is all right, of course; only—well, there used to be so much, and I don’t seem able to find it here! I suppose I shall in time.’

‘If I were only nearer! ‘she sighed at last. ‘If I were like Cicely and Joan, and could go over to school for dance-evenings and rambles! I could stand it if I had something to look forward to! But there doesn’t seem anything here! What do people do in the country? I’d better’—she laughed a little—‘teach a Sunday School class, or get up a girls’ club, or a creche; couldn’t I start something? There doesn’t seem to be anything going on. It’s the dullest, grayest, coldest village in the world, I do believe! It will get on my nerves in time. Couldn’t I wake things up a bit? What is it, Alice?’ as the maid appeared at the door.

‘Post’s come in, Miss Jen; and there’s a parcel for you.’

‘Oh? A late Christmas present?’ and Jen sprang up. ‘That’s something, anyway!’ and she ran past Alice and away along the corridor, down the wide shallow staircase, to the round oak table in the middle of the big hall.

A wooden box was awaiting her. She attacked it eagerly, and gave a cry of delight at sight of a letter in Joan’s writing lying just under the wrapping paper. She opened it eagerly, for a letter from Joan meant more than any present, even one in a big box looking mysterious and exciting.

Joan’s letter was short, however.

‘Dear Jenny-Wren,—This is a leaving-present from all of us in the club, but I was asked to see to it and send it off to you. I’m sorry it will be too late for Christmas, but the things didn’t come from town till Christmas Eve. I hope they’ll arrive safely. They’re to remind you of us all, and of the club, and our jolly evenings. I wish there were more; but these are all there are at present. I hope you’ll enjoy them; I think they’re very good.

‘I’ll write on my own account in a day or two. This is just to give you best love and all good wishes from the Hamlet Club.

‘Yours ever,

‘Joan.’

Puzzled and eager, Jen dived into the straw and shavings that filled the top of the box. ‘It’s carefully packed!—Records! That’s why they asked if we had a gramophone! What a funny present! What are they, I wonder? Oh! Oh, I say! I didn’t know you could get them! Oh, how simply gorgeous!’

Record after record, as she lifted them carefully out, bore the name of one of the dances she loved so well. She gave a little gasp of joy as she saw one after another.

‘“Peascods”!—how glorious! My dear “Sellenger”! Oh, old “Butterfly”! And “Rufty”! Now father will be able to hear what they’re like! “Hunsdon House”; I don’t know that. “The Old Mole”—how topping! And I was thinking of getting the music! These will be far better. “Sweet Kate”—I could do bits of that for father. “Newcastle “—oh, I am glad! And “Paper,” and “Mage”! There’s nothing in the world I’d have liked better. I must try them! But there are more yet. Here are some I don’t know; but I guess the tunes will be jolly. What’s this? Oh, morris! How simply perfect! Couldn’t I get some one to do “Rigs” with me? Perhaps I could teach Alice! I wonder if she could jump! Here’s the “Furry Dance”—and, oh! My darling “Jockie”! And I can dance that alone!’

Wildly excited, she ran to the gramophone to try these new treasures. But to stand still when “Jockie to the Fair” began to come out was impossible. Jen’s eyes were shining till they almost seemed filled with tears, so full of associations was the tune for her. She had danced this on the cloister garth with Joan; she loved it, with its exultant ringing notes, almost more than any of the other jigs. She bore it for a moment, her feet tapping eagerly; then shut off the music, and raced upstairs for dancing-shoes, bells, and handkerchiefs.

‘I couldn’t have stood it another minute!’ and she changed her shoes in breathless haste and pulled the bells up below her knees. ‘But I could never do “Jockie” in heels!’

Jingling gaily, she sped back to the drawing-room, passing Alice with a laugh at her astonished face. ‘The carpet will feel funny. But it’s better than a polished floor! Now, you priceless thing, play it again for me! Band records! “Jockie” on a band! How gorgeous!’

Wide-eyed and eager, heedless of Alice and Mabel at the door, she stood breathing quickly in excitement through ‘Once To Yourself,’ handkerchiefs hanging from her hands. Then, with an introductory jump and quick little step, she was into the springing morris movements, her arms swinging straight but easily, her feet light and quick. At the end of the first phrase she stumbled, beginning her side-step and finding it did not fit the music. ‘Oh, it’s written for two, of course! Then I must take a rest. Now!’ and to the amusement of the girls in the doorway she went slanting off across the big room waving her hands in circles round her head. But ‘Capers’ drew applause from them, and she turned and laughed to see them watching.

‘I learned that at school. It is jolly, isn’t it? I say, Alice, if you’d get me two little sticks, like hoopsticks. I’d teach you something!’

‘Eh, but it’s canny, Miss Jen! Would ye do it for cook an’ the rest?’

Jen’s eyes danced. ‘You get them all into the back kitchen one night, and I’ll give you a performance,’ she promised. ‘I must show father and mother first, but you shall see it too, of course. I can’t be a whole “side” all by myself, but I can show you a good deal. Perhaps you’d like to learn some country dances? I say, what a perfectly priceless idea!’

With eager happy eyes, she put on one after another of the much-loved dances, and listened with tapping feet and wistful face to ‘Newcastle,’ ‘Sellenger’s Round,’ and ‘Hey, Boys.’ Then she raced away upstairs to her father’s room, where her mother was sitting, to tell of her new treasures, offering to show as much as she could of the dances.

‘Don’t you think I could teach somebody?’ she pleaded. ‘We loved it so at school; I’m sure anybody would enjoy it. Not cook, perhaps; she’s rather’—and she laughed, while her mother smiled, and her father shook his head with twinkling eyes at thought of cook taking to morris dancing. ‘But somebody! Country dances are so easy!’

‘You’d probably find dozens of children down in ‘Tin Town’ who would be delighted to learn. They’d have to come up here for lessons, though; I couldn’t have you going down there at night,’ her mother remarked. ‘But you could have the big back kitchen; we shan’t be using it this winter.’

‘Oh!’ Jen gave a little gasp. ‘Could I really? Do you really think there’s anything in it? I’d simply love it! But could I teach anybody anything? I’ve never tried!’

‘You’ll never try younger. I should have a shot at it, if I were you,’ her father said encouragingly. ‘I shall come to see how your class is getting on. Will you let me join in?’

‘You shall be my partner!’ Jen laughed delightedly. ‘I do believe I will try! The records just make it possible, of course, for even if I had the music I couldn’t play as well as teach.’

‘And anyway, there’s no piano in the back kitchen!’ her mother remarked.

‘I’m going to give a performance there one night,’ Jen laughed. ‘Shall I bring the music up here and do it for father? They all want to see “Jockie.” I’ll get the gram., and show you!’ and she sped away to enlist Alice’s help in carrying the gramophone upstairs, while her parents laughed to see her so much excited.

‘I’m very glad of it,’ her father said warmly. ‘The child has been missing her friends, and we can’t have them here for her in mid-winter. Any new interest will be good for her. She thinks we don’t know, and she’s trying to hide it for our sake; but there’s no denying it’s a lonely house for a bit of a girl, when she’s been used to crowds and excitement all the time.’

‘I’ve seen it too,’ Mrs Robins said soberly. ‘We’ll encourage this idea of teaching. It will give her something outside herself to think about, and something in the present. We can’t have her living in the past and regretting it. This dancing seems to have meant a great deal to her.’

‘I think that was probably partly the close friendship with others who were all of the same mind. We heard enough about it in her letters, didn’t we?’ the father laughed. ‘Now we’re to see it for ourselves, apparently! It has taken an extraordinary hold on Jen, that’s certain!’

‘I withdraw!’ he cried, laughing and delighted, a few minutes later. ‘I said your dancing had an “extraordinary” hold on you, Jen! I take it back; it’s not extraordinary at all. I don’t wonder you were fascinated by it. Anything jollier or more delightful than that dance I’ve never seen. What do you call it?’

‘A morris jig—“Jockie.” I could show you others, but without music, and it isn’t the same,’ and Jen rested on the end of his bed, her eyes triumphant. ‘I knew you’d like it, father! I’ve tried to show you before, but the music just makes all the difference, doesn’t it? Did you like it, mother?’

‘Very much. It’s so very free and natural. But I must get used to it. It’s so very different from ordinary dancing, you know.’

‘Oh yes!’ Jen laughed. ‘It’s folk!’

‘Is it that you’re going to teach the kiddies?’ her father asked. ‘I’m afraid the jumping will be rather beyond me—and cook!’

‘Oh no!’ and she laughed again. ‘I’d just give them easy country dances. You don’t start with morris jigs, you know!’

‘Well, go ahead, and good luck to you! I like it!’ her father assured her heartily.