Читать книгу The Abbey Girls Play Up - Elsie Jeanette Dunkerley - Страница 8

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“Look at that lovely kid!” Maribel, driving slowly, glanced across the lily pond which lay beside the private road.

On the other side was a bank, covered with flowering rhododendron bushes. A small boy, of about two years old, had pushed his way through and stood gazing at the car. He wore a white smock and tiny white socks and knickers, and had a mop of dark red hair curling about his face and neck in tiny rings and twists, and light brown eyes wide with surprise.

“Heavenly infant,” Rosalind agreed. “But he oughtn’t to be there alone. He’s too near the water.”

Apparently giving up the puzzle of the car as too much for him, the child turned and toddled straight down a narrow path and into the pond, towards a big clump of yellow wild iris.

The Guiders leapt from the car.

“Brat!” cried Rosalind. “Who on earth is in charge of him?”

“The little idiot!” cried Maribel, and they ran to the rescue.

At the same moment some one crashed through the bushes in pursuit, plunged down the path, and reaching out a long arm clutched the happy baby, who, in several inches of water already, was wading towards his prize.

“John Raymond! I never did! For one second I look the other way, and you’re off like a rabbit!”

The Guiders hurried up. “Can we help? Is he all right?” cried Rosalind. “We were coming to call—that’s our car—and we saw the little monkey walk right in.”

“Monkey! He’s a young limb. Thanks, he’s all right, but it’s more than he deserves. Now, John Raymond, off with those wet shoes and socks! We must take you to nurse to be dried.”

She was a tall girl, with bobbed yellow curls and blue eyes. She set “John Raymond” on a stump and unbuttoned his shoes. “He’s in the pond, or the stream, or the pool, whenever he has the chance. He might as well go barefoot.”

The Guiders looked for howls from the disappointed John. He looked up at them, however, and broke into an infectious chuckle.

“He thinks we look funny,” Maribel remarked. “Look, John,” and she dangled her whistle before his eyes.

“I expect we do look funny, to him,” Rosalind agreed. “I thought he’d yell because his game had been spoiled.”

The girl on her knees before John looked up and laughed.

“He isn’t used to Guide uniform. He thinks it’s a joke.”

“Ye’ow! Ye’ow!” John stretched out his hands.

“I know the flowers were yellow. But that’s no reason why you should go into the pond after them, and run away when aunty wasn’t looking,” “aunty” said severely. “It’s those iris,” she explained. “John’s crazy for anything yellow. He went into the stream to catch the ducklings yesterday, and yellow chickens simply aren’t safe anywhere near him. If he were mine, I’d dress him all in yellow; then he might be satisfied. Joan’s going to give him a yellow jersey. I’m supposed to be in charge of him, and we were playing picnics up on the bank. But my own young hopeful started eating dirt; he eats everything he sees, and he’s had a shot at twigs and beech-nuts already this afternoon. I was fishing the earth out of him when I found John had disappeared. I knew he’d have made for the lake. John, sit still while aunty fetches Tony!”

John looked up at her with adorable brown eyes, and kicked his bare toes. “John pick ye’ow f’owers,” he said, and scrambled off his stump.

“Aunty” picked him up. “Then you’ll have to come too, you bad boy.”

“Oh, let us mind him!” Maribel cried laughing. “You can’t lug him up the bank, and carry another baby as well. Did you say there was another?”

“Will you really keep an eye on him? I say, thanks awfully! It’s jolly sporting of you. The other one’s mine—Peter Antony Marchwood. He’s going to be just as bad as John in six months’ time,” and “aunty” raced up the bank and disappeared.

The Guiders looked at one another. Maribel’s eyes were dancing.

“I wonder who——” Rosalind began.

But there was no time for idle wondering for anybody who was in charge of John Raymond. He was off his stump and making for the yellow flowers with a determined air.

“Aunty was right. He’s a young limb,” and Rosalind picked up the culprit. “Now, John Raymond, who’s holding you? Are you going to howl?”

John looked doubtful; then he laughed, and began to dance up and down in her arms.

“Mercy! I can hardly hold the creature! He’s terrifically strong for his size.”

John, crowing happily, clutched the badge on the side of her hat and dragged the hat crooked. Rosalind pretended to squeal, and he shouted in delight.

“Who was the nice lady, John?” Maribel demanded. “Not Mrs. Raymond, surely, Rose?”

“No, she was aunty. This gentleman belongs to Mrs. Raymond. I gathered that she was Mrs. Marchwood, though she’s not much older than we are.”

“She must be Lady Marchwood, the one who plays the whistle,” said Cecily, who had followed and had been watching and listening eagerly. “Elsie said Mrs. Raymond’s friend was called Lady Marchwood, and she said she had a baby boy.”

“You said something about her before. Could that be Lady Marchwood?” Rosalind exclaimed. “Bel, undo this creature! He’ll have my hat in pieces. I’m sure I look a sight.”

“You do,” Maribel assured her.

“Would you mind coming round to the top of the lake?” the tall fair-haired girl stood on the bank looking down at them, a baby of a year old in her arms. “I’m afraid John’s being a trouble to you. I’m ever so grateful to you for helping. I can manage two of them when I have them together; I’ve two of my own, you see. But when they’re separated, one up the bank and one down, and both as bad as they can be, what can I do?”

“You have two, did you say?” Rosalind asked incredulously, when they had walked round the lake and met at the end of the shrubbery.

“We’ve left Andrew at home; he’s two and a bit, a little older than John. This is my Tony; look!”

She showed the yellow-haired baby proudly. He was falling asleep, his head nestled against her.

“I must take him to the house. Were you coming to see Joan?—I’m sorry; I mean Mrs. Raymond. Then won’t you come along? If you’ll really carry John for me I’ll be greatly obliged. It isn’t far.”

“Suppose we put John in the car?” Maribel suggested. “He’s rather making a mess of Rose, isn’t he?”

“Pulling me to bits. But he seems to like me,” Rosalind said cheerfully. “I expected howls when I picked him up. He was making for the yellow flowers again, as soon as aunty turned her back.”

“Aunty” laughed. “I ought to have introduced myself. My name is Marchwood, and I’m staying with Mrs. Raymond. That lively infant is her son; she has a girl too, whose godmother I am. Janice is five. So Joan has her hands full.”

“But she makes time to teach country-dancing in our villages among the Downs!”

“Oh, that’s play! She must play sometimes. Have you come to see her about classes?”

“About something arising out of one of her classes. Won’t you jump in with Tony and let Maribel drive you to the house?”

They were standing beside the car. John gave up the idea of tearing the badge out of the hat and reached out for the gleaming metal-work.

“You can’t pick that, John. It isn’t flowers. Hop in, Bel! Can you carry us all? Cecil and I will squeeze into the dickey, and between us we may be able to hold John down.”

“It’s only just round the corner,” Lady Marchwood placed herself cautiously in the front seat, protecting Tony’s little head with care. “Sorry my legs are so long. I always have to tuck into Joan’s own little private Austin Seven in sections. It takes the big car to hold me comfortably. I’ll double myself up; I’ve had lots of practice.”

“All safe up there?” asked Maribel, over her shoulder.

“Tucked in beautifully. It’s a work of art, but we’ve managed it. Fortunately John is just a trifle awed. Hustle on, Bel, before he recovers,” Rosalind pleaded. “If he begins to do his morris jigs up here, something will happen.”

“I say!” Lady Marchwood whirled round in the front seat. “Are you a folk-dancer?”

“I go to classes in town every week.”

“Oh, cheers! Who’s teaching? What’s your grade? Do you know any of the crowd we used to know?” The questions shot out in an excited stream.

Rosalind mentioned two or three names. “My morris is very elementary, but I’ve done a good deal of country. Are you keen too?”

“Oh, rather! We used to go to Vacation Schools, but now, of course, with troops of kids—well, each of us has two, and that makes six in the family—we can’t spend weeks at dancing! But we’re still very keen. I am so glad to meet you! We’ll have a jolly chat as soon as we’ve disposed of the infants.”

“How do you make six?” Maribel asked. “Don’t you mean four?”

“My sister-in-law, who is also Lady Marchwood, has twin girls, just three years old. She lost her husband before the twins were born.—There’s Joan! Will you stop, please?—Joan! Come here!”

They had turned a corner, and the house, of gray stone, low and wide-spread, stood before them. On the lawn in one corner, with azalea bushes making walls of salmon-pink and lemon, a tea-table with basket chairs suggested that it was four o’clock.

Joan Raymond looked up from the cups she was arranging. She was tall, but not quite so tall as her friend; she wore a white frock, and her uncovered hair, plaited and twisted round her head, was deep bronze-red.

For a moment she stared at the laden car—the Guide uniforms—her small son perched up behind. Then she came hurrying across the lawn.

Lady Marchwood sat waiting for her. “Don’t wake Tony! But you might take John. He’s been in the lake, as usual.”

“How very kind of you!” and Joan took John from Rosalind’s arms. “Introduce me to your friends, Jenny-Wren.”

Lady Marchwood looked at her friends. Maribel reddened in confusion; Rosalind’s eyes danced.

Before they could speak, Lady Marchwood said airily, “ ’Fraid I can’t. I forgot to ask their names. It’s you they’ve come to see—on business, about some of your classes.”

“Jenny-Wren!” Joan cried indignantly. “Do you mean to say——”

“But they’ve been perfect bricks, helping me with John, when I had my hands full with Tony. And they’re folk-dancers, and they know heaps of people. What do names matter? I suppose they have names, but I know they’re jolly good sports.”

“I do apologise for Lady Marchwood,” Joan Raymond began. “She’s still nothing but a schoolgirl.”

“That’s what makes her such topping fun,” Rosalind said, as she jumped down from the dickey. “Mrs. Raymond, you don’t know us, but I hope you’ll forgive our intrusion. I am Rosalind Firth, and this is Maribel Ritchie. I think you know Cecily Brown.”

Mrs. Raymond’s puzzled face cleared at sight of Cecily, and she grasped the clue hopefully. “Of course I know Cecily! We missed you on Wednesday. I hope you’ll be able to come next week.”

“I came to say I’m sorry I made a fuss the week before,” Cecil’s apology fairly tumbled out. “I never meant to be rude. But I was mad, and I didn’t know what I was saying. I’m awfully sorry. Sarah—I live with her, you know—she heard about it and she wouldn’t let me go this week, because they told her I’d been rude. Rosalind and Maribel are my guardians, and she told them, and they brought me to tell you I was sorry.”

“But that’s all right!” Joan Raymond exclaimed. “I didn’t think you were rude. I knew how you felt. I felt just the same myself, but I couldn’t let myself go. You did, and it was quite a relief. Don’t think any more about it! I’m so sorry you missed a week.”

“Is this the Firework?” Jen Marchwood had uncoiled herself carefully and now stood holding Tony and listening with interest. “I heard the story. I can tell you I sympathised with her! People who won’t listen are the limit. I’ve done some teaching, and I know!”

“It’s quite all right, Cecily,” Mrs. Raymond said again. “They were behaving very badly that night. You’ll let her come next week, won’t you?” and she looked at the Guiders, evidently puzzled. “Did she say you are her guardians?”

“You solve the riddle, Joan. I’ll take the babes to nurse, and then we can have tea in peace,” said Jen. “Come along, John! Run on the grass with bare toes!”

The idea appealed to John, who trotted ahead with gurgles of delight. They disappeared round the side of the house, and Mrs. Raymond turned to her guests again.

“We may give you tea, I hope? Oh, you must stay, when you have come so far! Jen and I will be alone; my husband won’t be in till six, and hers is at home in Oxfordshire. She says she’s having a holiday,” and she laughed. “You really must join us for tea. I want to hear which of our London folk-dance friends you have met.”

“It’s jolly kind of you,” Rosalind said warmly. “Cecil, run after Lady Marchwood with these damp socks and shoes! If you can’t find her, there’ll be some one you can give them to.”

“Oh, never mind the socks!” Joan exclaimed.

“Yes, please let her go. She’d like to be useful.” Then as Cecily hurried away, Rosalind explained. “We really came to ask your advice about the kid, Mrs. Raymond. She’s in our charge, and we’re troubled over the effect folk-dancing has on her. We thought perhaps you could help us. But we can’t talk before her. Will you help us to——”

“To get rid of her without being too obvious about it?” Maribel finished.

Joan looked thoughtful. “I’d like very much to have a talk with you about her. Would she like to have nursery tea? I’ll tell Janice to have a party for her, shall I? Janice is five, and feels very grown-up beside John. Wouldn’t Cecily perhaps be shy with all of us?”

“She wants to sit and look at you. She’s so grateful to you for giving her ‘Rufty Tufty,’ ” said Rosalind.

Joan laughed, but with sympathy. “I know. I’ve been watching her for weeks. I wasn’t surprised at her outbreak. We won’t banish her during tea, then; she might feel that. We’ll gossip, and exchange experiences of folk-dancing. After tea I’ll ask her to play with Janice while nurse puts John to bed, and we’ll have our talk then.”

“It’s more than good of you!” Maribel said.

“Awfully sporting!” Rosalind exclaimed. “I must tell you one thing! Cecily heard about Lady Marchwood’s whistle last Wednesday, and she went racing into town to buy one. And already it’s the joy of her heart, and she can play several tunes. She picks them up like magic, and her playing is full of just the right feeling; makes you want to dance. It’s really topping!”

Joan looked at them wide-eyed. “But how perfectly splendid! Already? I am glad! My class has been worth while, just for that. She must certainly play to us. But I’m not surprised. Of course, you know the child is an artist to her finger-tips?”

Rosalind and Maribel looked at her, and then at one another.

“An artist?” Rosalind said. “We were going to make her a typist, or a cook, or a clerk.”

“Perhaps we can think of something better than that,” Joan Raymond exclaimed. “But we won’t talk of it before her,” as Cecily came up. “Come and help me, Cecily! I’ll pour out, and you shall hand the cups round, till Jenny-Wren comes back. You know I mean Lady Marchwood, don’t you? I’ve known her since she was much younger than you, so you’ll forgive me if I call her Jenny-Wren? It’s her old school name.”

“It doesn’t fit her,” Maribel said laughing. “Jenny-Wren should be tiny and shy.”

“She was thirteen when I knew her first. You’re fifteen, aren’t you, Cecily? I was the May Queen, and my Coronation was her first big school event, and her introduction to folk-dancing. Later, when my Maid of Honour became Queen, I chose Jen in her place; and later—much later!—she was Queen herself. So you won’t expect me to speak of her as ‘Lady Marchwood.’ So you heard about her piping, at last week’s class?”

Cecily looked at her shyly. “Elsie told me. I could have cried because I’d missed that day. I—I bought a whistle.”

“That was much better than crying! Now which is Elsie?”

“The fat heavy one,” Cecily said simply.

Mrs. Raymond laughed. “You have your work cut out to take her down the middle, don’t you?”

“She’s always off the beat. I can’t make her hear it.”

“I’ve seen your struggles with Elsie. But she’s improving, Cecily!”

“She isn’t as bad as she was,” Cecily admitted. “Do you think perhaps Lady Marchwood would”—and then she stopped, flushed and shy.

“Pipe to us after tea? I’m sure she would. I’ll ask her, shall I?”

“Oh, thank you awfully much!” and Cecily shrank into shy grateful silence as a maid appeared with tea and Lady Marchwood came across the lawn, humming a morris tune.

“Now for half-an-hour’s respite from family cares! All the babes are safely in nurse’s hands, so we can breathe,” and she dismissed the maid and came to wait on the guests.