Читать книгу Maid of the Abbey - Elsie Jeanette Dunkerley - Страница 4

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Once more Lindy lay thinking in the early morning, but to-day her mood was quieter, for she had not slept much. The beautiful music still rang through her mind, and before her eyes in the darkness had been the picture of the singer who had been The Angel: a slight, small girl, white-clad, very dark, with great black eyes which looked far beyond the Free Trade Hall as she sang.

“She was lovely. I must hear her again, often,” Lindy thought. “I shall listen-in whenever she broadcasts; it will be quite different now that I’ve seen her. I read in the paper that she was singing in Elijah soon; I wonder if they’ll have wireless at this Whiteways hostel? Sure to have, I suppose; but there may be other people who won’t want Elijah. It would be awful to know she was singing and not to hear her! There’s the postman. I wonder if Nan’s awake?”

She glanced at her sister, who had not moved. Lindy snuggled down and decided not to move either.

“I was up first yesterday. I’m sure Nan slept better than I did; she liked the concert, but she wasn’t as thrilled as I was. I wonder what the postman brought? It might be for me; one of the girls might have written.... I suppose I’d better see,” and she rolled out reluctantly. “Nan isn’t going to move, evidently!”

She came racing up from the front door and hurled herself on her sleeping sister. “Nan! Wake up! A letter, and the postmark’s Princes Risborough! Perhaps it’s to say we can’t go to the village, after all!”

It took a moment to rouse Anne, who had been sound asleep and was indignant at this rough awakening. But when she understood she tore open the letter in anxiety as keen as Lindy’s.

“No—yes—it is that—but it’s all right,” she said incoherently.

“Tell me, or give me the letter to read!” Lindy raged.

“I say!” Anne was staring at the signature. “This will thrill you, Belinda Bellanne! But the letter—yes. They’ve had a case of measles in the hostel. They can’t ask us to go there, but they don’t want to put us off; the country’s looking so beautiful, and they know we’ll have made our plans for leaving to-morrow. Considerate people! It would have been awful to have to give it up now.”

“Sort of dashing the cup from our lips,” Lindy agreed. “Jolly nice of them to see that! Are we to go somewhere else? Let me see, Nan!”

Anne lay back and gazed at her, still keeping the letter from her. “They suggest we should come and stay in their house—Abinger Hall. There’s almost nobody at home—just some children and the secretary; and they’ve heaps of room. They’re sure we’ll be friends, because of the way Miss Rowney wrote about me; they’ll let us feel as free to please ourselves in what we do as if we were in the hostel. Lindy! An invitation to a big country house! We simply haven’t clothes for it!”

“Oh, rot!” Lindy shouted. “They won’t dress for dinner if it’s only kids and a secretary. Our summer frocks will do, and as it’s in the country jumpers and short skirts will be all right. Who are ‘they’? Whose house is it? Whose secretary and kiddies?”

Anne looked at the letter again. “Lady Quellyn’s; but she’s in New York. This says: ‘Miss Devine, Lady Quellyn’s secretary, will look after you.’ It was someone called Devine who wrote the first letter.”

Lindy’s eyes widened. “Sir Ivor Quellyn’s house? Oh, I wish he was at home! How I’d love to see him!”

“This says: ‘Lady Quellyn’s house,’ ” Anne objected. “I suppose he’s in New York too. What is he doing there? You know all about the musical world!”

“Conducting an orchestra; I read it in the paper. He went last summer,” Lindy said promptly. “He was at home in the autumn for some concerts, but he went away again after Christmas. Lady Quellyn’s house—and we shan’t see either her or him! That’s rotten luck!”

“Apparently we shall see her children and her secretary,” Anne observed.

“But wouldn’t she take her children with her? Won’t it be somebody else?”

“We’ll find out when we get there. It’s marvellous to be asked to the house! I’m a bit scared,” Anne admitted.

“But if there are almost none of the family at home!” Lindy argued. “Kiddies don’t count; they must be only tinies. Lady Quellyn’s quite young still. You couldn’t be scared of a secretary! It’s just terribly kind of them to ask us.”

“You haven’t asked who wrote this letter.”

“Isn’t it from—oh, but it speaks about the secretary. Then who——? Nan, tell me! Why are you hiding the letter?” Lindy plunged forward to seize the paper.

“Don’t do that! You’ll tear it, and then you’ll be sorry. You’ll want to keep it in a glass case. I’ll show you, silly,” and Anne handed her the letter.

Lindy gave a gasp of blank amazement. “It couldn’t be! ‘Madalena di Ravarati’—Nan! It couldn’t possibly be!”

“I don’t see why not.” Anne lay and gazed at her. “And anyway, it looks as if it is. Didn’t you tell me Miss di Ravarati had been brought out as a singer by Sir Ivor Quellyn and that she often sang Lady Quellyn’s songs? Perhaps she’s a friend and lives with them.”

Lindy’s eyes filled with awed expectation. “Do you think we’ll see her? Speak to her? Oh—Nan! What a thrill! Does she say she’ll be there?”

“She says: ‘I may have to be away for a day or two, but Miss Devine will look after you.’ That sounds as if she lived there.”

“And as if she expected to be there when we arrived!” Lindy shouted. “We shall see her! We’ll be able to tell her what a lovely Angel she was! But she’s here in Manchester, Nan!”

“She was here last night. But if that was only for the concert she’ll go home to-day.”

“And be there to welcome us. Oh, it’s super marvellous!” Lindy sighed in ecstasy. “There isn’t anybody in the whole world I’d rather see! I might have been scared of Sir Ivor and Lady Quellyn, but The Angel didn’t look a scrap frightening, did she?”

“I thought she looked frightened,” Anne said, laughing. “The Free Trade Hall’s quite large and she was rather small. She looked nervous until she began to sing. She seemed to me very natural and without any sign of swank. Her letter sounds friendly; we needn’t be shy. It will be wonderful to meet her.”

“You’ll give me the letter?” Lindy pleaded. “I shall keep it for ever.”

Anne handed her the letter with a mocking smile. “Here’s the precious autograph. I shall tell her you’re carrying it next your heart.”