Читать книгу The Abbey Girls Win Through - Elsie Jeanette Dunkerley - Страница 3

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The three girls in the corners of the railway carriage stopped talking, as the train drew up in Wycombe station, and a fourth girl got in and took the vacant corner.

The first three had talked excitedly as they passed through the London suburbs; then for a time Ann had fallen silent, gazing out at the spring meadows and hills of Buckinghamshire and the endless marvellous shades of young green in the woods. The other two were old friends, who shared rooms together in town; they did not know her very well yet, as it was only two months since she had been taken on in the typing office, where Norah had worked for two years. The office girls had found Ann pleasant and friendly, but she was still “Miss Rowney” to them, and nobody knew very much about her.

Norah and Connie were different. They were a recognised couple. Con, who sold gloves in a big West-End establishment, was the wife and homemaker; Norah, the typist, was the husband, who planned little pleasure trips and kept the accounts and took Con to the pictures.

The stranger girl, who had taken the fourth corner and stopped the Con-and-Norah chatter, had a big shopping-basket full of parcels. The three Londoners eyed her for a moment or two, as the train set off towards Aylesbury; she was fair, with pretty delicate colouring, and she wore navy blue—a long coat and a little bonnet—which looked like some sort of nurse’s uniform.

Then the chatter broke out again, and this time Ann Rowney joined in. They were getting near their destination, and she was as much excited as the other two; perhaps more so. She showed it more often by a lapse into thoughtfulness; but now her feelings grew too much for her, and she had to talk.

“What do you all want to do most? Pick primroses? Or wander along those little wood paths—have you noticed them?—winding among the trees. Or sit in those red fallen leaves under the bare trees with the gray trunks? I don’t know one tree from another, do you? But I can see the differences. I like the white-stemmed ones, with tiny green leaves hanging down like hair. Do you know trees by their names, Norah? I’ve always lived in town.”

“I never knew they were so different,” Norah said helplessly. “I’ve just thought of them as trees, all alike, you know.”

“I never knew there were so many shades of green before,” Ann said reflectively. “I thought trees were merely green! But these are all green and yet all different. I’ll have to make somebody tell me the names.”

“I want to pick violets till I’m tired,” said Con. “I’ve never picked violets in my life. I want to send boxes of them to everybody. Mrs. White would love to have some, Norah. She’s our landlady,” she explained to Ann.

“I want to walk for miles on those hills,” said Norah hungrily. “I’ve never had room to walk as far as I liked. It’s no fun in streets; and if you go out for the day—we do try to, on Bank Holidays—you always have to catch a train or bus, and to fight to get in, and it spoils the end of the day.”

“I know. And a journey home when you’re tired; and town at the end of it,” Ann assented. “Think of living among all this for a fortnight! It’s too wonderful for words. I want to do all those things; but most of all I want to see the people who could have such kind thoughts for girls they’ve never even heard of. I can’t believe it’s true, even now.”

“Neither can I,” Con said, in heartfelt tones. “I can’t see why I should be here at all. You are in the office Miss Devine used to work in, even if she never knew you. But I’ve nothing to do with the office; I’m only Norah’s friend. But Miss Devine not only asks you and Norah, from the office, to come for a fortnight into the country, but sends word that we could bring a friend! I don’t see why she should, somehow.”

“It makes it far jollier. I wouldn’t have gone without you, old chap,” said Norah.

“Perhaps Miss Devine remembers that girls often live in twos,” Ann remarked. “She used to be in the office herself; she’ll know girls don’t like to go and leave their other half alone. I do hope we’ll see her! I’ve heard about her so often. I’ve promised my little sister to tell her exactly what Mary Dorothy Devine is like; she’s read her book, of course.”

The girl in blue, in the fourth corner, had put down her library book and was listening, amusement in her face. The other three had forgotten her, however.

“I expect we’ll see Miss Devine,” Norah said. “I want to see her again. It’s only a year since she left the office in such a hurry. But it’s Lady Marchwood I want to see most. It’s her house, and her idea, really. Mary Devine is only carrying on for her while she’s abroad. I’m dying to see Lady Marchwood; but I’m afraid we shan’t have any such luck. She isn’t home from Africa yet.”

“She’s expected any day now,” said the girl in the fourth corner.

The London girls whirled round to stare at her, all taken utterly aback.

“Oh, I say!” Norah cried in dismay. “We—we forgot! We oughtn’t to have been talking like that before anybody.”

“We’d had the carriage to ourselves all the way,” Connie faltered.

“Did we say anything very awful?” Ann’s eyes danced in response to the twinkle in the stranger’s eyes. “I don’t think we could! We feel too grateful. But we should have thought. Please tell us what we said? It was chiefly about trees and flowers, I’m sure!” she pleaded.

“Do you come from the Abbey?” Norah asked eagerly, since their new friend looked neither shocked nor reproachful, but merely amused. “Oh, will you tell us more about it all? And is Lady Marchwood really coming home? Is there any chance that she’ll come while we’re here? Oh, what topping luck! Isn’t everything turning out well?”

The girl in blue laughed. “You said very nice things. I couldn’t be sure you were our three new visitors until you began to talk about Miss Mary. I was hoping I’d meet you if I came by this train; I’ve been shopping for Matron. I’m Nelly Bell; I came down a year ago, as you are doing now, for a holiday, and stayed some time, as I wasn’t well and I’d lost my job in town; then Miss Mary asked me to help Matron with the babies in Miss Joy’s children’s home. Miss Joy is Lady Marchwood; but I hear her called Miss Joy all the time, and I forget she’s married. I stayed for a while, and liked it so much that I stayed altogether.”

“Lucky beggar!” said Con. “Fancy living in the country always!”

“Oh, I don’t know!” said Norah. “I’d miss town. You’d have to give up heaps of things.” She explained matters to Nell Bell. “Miss Rowney and I—the little dark one is Miss Rowney—come from the office Miss Devine used to work in, before she wrote her book and came to live here. This is my friend, Con Parsons, who lives with me.”

Ann leaned forward from her corner. “I think you might drop the ‘Miss’ now,” she said reproachfully. “Miss Bell, I’m Ann; but sometimes nice people call me Nancy. I really like Ann best, because it’s dignified, and there’s so little of me that I have to make the most of it.”

“Nobody calls me ‘Miss Bell,’ ” Nell said promptly. “It isn’t done. I’m just Nell Bell. The bare gray trees with the red leaves underneath are beeches; and the white ones with little green leaves like hair hanging down are silver birches. Miss Mary taught me trees. You see so much more when you know things.”

Ann produced a notebook and gravely put down this information. “Thanks awfully, Nell Bell! That’s a good beginning. I mean to learn all about the country in these two weeks!”

“Good luck to you! You’ll have a busy time,” Connie mocked. “I’m just going to enjoy it, and not think about learning names and things.”

“It’s more fun if you know things,” said Ann.

“That’s like her,” Norah remarked. “We’re used to that notebook in the office. She’s always putting down things. Won’t you tell us more about everything?” she asked Nell Bell. “Where does Mary Devine live now? At the Abbey? When she left us, she said she was going to live in an old ruined Abbey.”

“That was only for a week or two, this time last year,” Nell explained. “When Miss Joy married and went to Africa, Miss Mary went to live at the Hall. It’s Miss Joy’s house, close to the Abbey;—but I must remember to say Lady Marchwood! Nobody does, you know; she’s still Miss Joy to everyone. Her old aunt, Mrs. Shirley, lives at the Hall, and the two girls Miss Joy adopted, Rosamund and Maidlin; they’re still at school. Miss Mary takes care of them all and of the house and the Abbey, and looks after all the village work Miss Joy has started.”

“When does she find time to write her books?” Ann inquired. “Her hands must be fairly full, I should say.”

“Miss Jen is at the Hall now, too,” Nell added. “She’s Miss Joy’s great friend. She was away at her own home all through the summer and autumn, but she lost her father, and then she came back to the Hall, before Christmas. That’s all the family at present—Miss Jen, and Mrs. Shirley, and the girls, and Miss Mary. But they expect Lady Marchwood quite soon. We have to change here,” as the train drew up at Princes Risborough. “That little motor train is waiting for us.”

“I’m glad we met you! We understand things ever so much better now!” Ann said exuberantly, as the little train carried them along by the foot of the hills.

Nell pointed out the big white chalk cross above Whiteleaf village, and the smaller one at Bledlow. Then, presently, she was able to show the gray tower of the Hall, among the green-tinted woods; and half a mile off, along the hillside, the white walls and turrets of Marchwood Manor.

“That’s Sir Andrew’s house, where his mother lives. It ought to be Miss Joy’s home, now that she’s married him, but they say she wants to come back to her own house, for a time, at least. Miss Jen has just got engaged to Sir Andrew’s younger brother, so perhaps she’ll be going out to Africa next,” Nell explained. “Mr. Marchwood’s at home for a visit; he lives in Kenya, so I suppose Miss Jen will go back with him.”

“What a family business! Is she any relation to the Abbey people?” Norah asked.

“Just a very great friend. She seems to have lived here a great deal; everybody knows her. But she’ll be Miss Joy’s sister-in-law when she marries Mr. Marchwood, of course. Here’s our station; and the wagonette’s waiting. Miss Mary always comes to meet people herself, if she possibly can. She says they ought to be welcomed, not just allowed to arrive anyhow.”

“How topping of her!” Con and Norah spoke together, eager for a first sight of their deputy-hostess.

“It’s a very kind idea,” Ann said warmly. She had heard so much during her two months in the office, and from her hero-worshipping little sister, of Mary-Dorothy Devine that she was even more eager to see her than Norah, who had worked with her, or Con, who had never met her. “Oh! But I thought you told me Miss Devine was small and dark?”

“It’s somebody else,” said Norah disappointedly.

“But isn’t she jolly pretty?” murmured Con.

Nell Bell had paused to speak to the porter about the luggage. She came hurrying up, just as the tall girl sitting by the driver of the wagonette leaned down and called to Norah.

“Are you the three new girls for the Abbey? Didn’t you meet Nell Bell? Oh, yes, there she is! Then hop in, all of you, and we’ll take you home. You caught that train so that you’d get a lift, didn’t you, Nell Bell? Very smart of you!”

“It’s Miss Jen,” Nell said in an undertone, in answer to the inquiring, almost accusing, looks turned on her by the strangers.

Jen, on the box seat, heard and laughed, and turned. “Were you expecting Mary? Some of you were in the office with her, weren’t you? She’ll come to see you, or you must come to see her. But she’s in the middle of a rush of work—proofs that are late and are wanted in a hurry; and she really hadn’t time to come to the station. So as I’m doing nothing much for my living at present, I came instead. I’ll come in with you; then we can talk. I must make you feel at home! Did you have an easy journey?”

She had climbed down from her perch, and was coming round to the back of the wagonette to join them. She was bareheaded, with waving yellow bobbed curls, and she wore a springlike frock of lavender linen and a green sports’ coat. The newcomers felt suddenly very travel-stained and Londonish, and longed to get rid of their own hats and gloves and big coats.

Ann remarked, “I feel like a dirty little town sparrow beside a country——”

“Maypole is the usual word,” Jen said gravely, disposing of her long legs with difficulty. “There is rather much of me, I know. Mary-Dorothy would have fitted into this thing much better. That’s why I rode outside; so that bits of me could hang over the edge. Sure you’ve all got room? Right-o! Then let’s get home. You must be dying for some tea. Did you get us nice library books, Nell Bell? Oh, cheers! I was wanting that. And all the shopping? Any difficulties? Were you able to get Maidie’s songs? And Mary’s pencils? She vows she can’t write a word with any we can get in the village. You’re a benefactress to the whole household, Nell.”

As they drove up through the lanes to the village, the London girls eyed her continually. She was so fresh and full of life; as joyous as the thrushes calling overhead. The opal engagement ring on her finger told its own story, and gave the clue to her happiness; there was no trace of mourning for the father she had lost six months before, but this was not forgetfulness, but was rather a sign of her whole attitude to life. She rejoiced for him, and knew no rebellion.

The lane opened on to the village green, a wide triangular lawn, kept in beautiful condition. In the middle stood a flagstaff, which on occasion could become a maypole, as a centre for country-dancing. The parish church, the village hall, a few small general shops, and the Abinger Arms, lay around the green, beyond a wide roadway. There were also two or three old houses, behind high walls, and at the gate of one of these the wagonette drew up.

“If I remove myself, you’ll get out more easily,” and Jen uncoiled her long legs and jumped out into the road. “Do you see our maypole? We put leaves on the top when we want to dance round it; the whole village knows ‘Sellenger’s Round’ and a few more dances, and now and then we have festive little occasions of our own. Mary teaches in the hall over there, and so do I, when I’m here. We’re all keen folk-dancers. Now we’ll introduce you to Mrs. Colmar, and then I must—oh, well! I must go home now, evidently! Nell Bell, take them in and make them feel at home!” she said laughing.

A big car had come whirling round the corner of the green and was drawing up beside them. Jen waved her hand, and jumped in to take the seat beside the tall young man who was driving, and who had opened the door for her. She threw a laughing look back at the girls, who were just climbing down from the wagonette.

“Wasn’t that neatly done? I didn’t think he knew where I’d gone. But somehow he always does know. It’s a sort of instinct, or—or intuition, or secret sympathy, or telepathy. He always knows; I can’t escape. I’ll see you all again soon. Good-bye! I’m glad you’ve come!” and then the car whirled her away.

“Is that——?” began Ann Rowney eagerly.

“Yes, that’s Mr. Marchwood. She doesn’t want to escape,” Nell remarked. “Did you ever see anybody more radiantly happy? They all call her Jenny-Wren; or Queen Brownie, because her colour, as the school May Queen, was brown. I sometimes think Miss Jen is the real spirit of this whole place; its good fairy. Miss Joy—Lady Marchwood—is the mistress; and Miss Mary is her second, and takes care of everything for her. But Queen Jen is something different; something very special. It didn’t seem itself without her while she was away all autumn.”

“And now she’s going to Africa,” Norah suggested. “What will you do without her?”

“We daren’t think about it,” Nell said briefly. “Come into the house. I’ll take you to Mrs. Colmar; then I must go on to the babies’ house, farther up the road.”

“We’ve been beautifully welcomed, between you and Queen Jenny-Wren,” Ann said fervently.