Читать книгу Rachel in the Abbey - Elsie Jeanette Dunkerley - Страница 7

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“What about it, Ray?” Damaris demanded. “You’re the head of the firm.”

“I’m not the head of the garden! There’s a lot to be said for the idea. But I’m thinking—we haven’t any room. We’re cramped as it is.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t butt in on you here!” Benedicta exclaimed, with instant appreciation of Rachel’s feeling. “The Abbey is your place; I wouldn’t expect to live here. But I could find a room in the village, or at the Music-School. I’d come to work in the garden every day; it’s only five minutes’ walk.”

“Oh, if you’d do that——!” and Rachel’s face cleared. Without meaning to be in any way inhospitable, she had shrunk from the thought of a third person in the Abbey, however friendly. It was her place, and Marry’s; there was no room for a third. In the garden it was different.

“We’d feed you,” Damaris added. “We really haven’t a spare corner, but if you could sleep under a bush somewhere we’d see to your meals.”

“Not under a bush. With Mrs. Puddephat,” Rachel said. “She’s definitely a dear old thing and she has a jolly room and is glad to let it.”

“I shall go home tomorrow and talk to Gail and Jimmy,” Benedicta said jubilantly. “I’ll see Mrs. Puddephat before I go. Could anybody with a name like that be a dear old thing?”

“She’s one of the best,” Rachel assured her.

“Well, tell me! I must be able to tell Jim all about you. Do you really write stories?”

“I write them,” Rachel said grimly. “They aren’t always taken. But I go on trying.”

“Her stuff’s jolly good,” Damaris declared. “She’s done half a book, but it isn’t getting finished because she’s doing so well with her short things.”

“Thrilling!” Benedicta said warmly. “You are interesting, both of you! I shall love being with you!”

Rachel laughed. “You may not like us—who comes here?”

Voices sounded in the cloisters and at the parlour door appeared two girls of twelve, alike in every way, with deep brown eyes and dark red hair, bobbed and curly. One clasped a golden kitten to her breast; the other clutched a wriggling fluffy black one.

“You said there were cats in the Abbey,” said the younger twin. “We came to find them. They’re rather little!”

“But they’re very sweet.” The elder girl hugged the golden child. “What are they called?”

“Come in, Twins!” Rachel said. “The black kit is Miss Nigger, because she’s a girl; her grandmother once lived in the Abbey. The golden one used to be the Angel, but he isn’t nearly good enough to be an angel, so now we call him Golden Boy, or just Boy. Which of you is Elizabeth, and which is Margaret?”

“I’m Elizabeth. This is Margaret-Twin. Will you remember, do you think?”

“We saw Aunty Dam in the garden,” Margaret said. “We remember you quite well, Aunty Ray.”

“Clever of you! You haven’t seen me for a long while. Have you come to see the garden?”

“No, please,” Elizabeth said firmly. “Only you and the Abbey. We’re coming later, with Mother, to see the garden. But we wanted to see your cats. Twin, you know Mother says we’re to stop calling people ‘Aunty’ now we’re so big, unless they’re real aunts like Aunty Joan and Aunty Jen. And she said most particularly that she doesn’t like us to say ‘Aunty Dam’.”

“I’m glad to hear it. It’s not a bit nice,” Damaris protested. “If you call me that I shan’t show you George. He’s the hedgehog, and he lives in the garden, Benedicta.”

The twins whirled round. “Who did you say?”

“It’s a tea-party!” Margaret said. “We’ve interrupted. Oh, I say, we’re jolly sorry!”

“No, we had finished——”

“It’s Aunty Benedicta! I mean, it’s Benneyben!” Elizabeth cried. “Benneyben come back! Nobody told us!”

“Nobody knows. I only came this afternoon. How you’ve grown, Twins! What long legs!”

The twins each thrust out a leg and gazed at it critically. “Not so very long, I think,” Elizabeth said. “They don’t stick out of our frocks too far. But we’re bigger than we were.”

“Are you quite grown-up?” Margaret eyed Benedicta curiously.

“Not all the time. I could play bears with you in the dark.”

The twins grinned. “Not today, thank you.”

“What about a game up in the dormitory?” Damaris asked unkindly.

Margaret turned red. “No. Pig! I shall call you Mary Damayris. I hope you don’t like being called that.”

“I don’t mind,” Damaris retorted.

Elizabeth put down the golden kitten and came to her, looking earnestly up into her face. “Can’t you really dance now? Do you mind very much? We’re frightfully sorry.”

It was said so sincerely and simply that no one could be hurt. Rachel looked anxiously at her sister, but Damaris said quietly, “Thank you, Elizabeth. I’m sorry, too, but it can’t be helped. I can’t dance, but I can do other things. Wait till you’ve seen my garden properly!”

“Brave,” Benedicta murmured, under her breath. “I wouldn’t have dared!”

Rachel nodded, relief in her face. “Nice of Elizabeth-Twin!”

“Mother calls it the Damaris Garden,” Margaret remarked.

“What an odd name! I love my garden.”

“And George? Do you love George?”

“It’s difficult to love George. He’s so prickly, and he doesn’t stay to talk to me.”

The twins laughed. “We’d better go now. We only came to see the cats. Mother won’t know where we are. We’ll come back later to see George.”

“May we tell people Benneyben has come back?” Elizabeth asked.

“Is she a secret?” Margaret added, freeing the black child, who butted her golden friend with her head and dashed away into the kitchen.

“We don’t want to spoil a secret,” Elizabeth explained.

“I’m not a secret. Tell your mother that I’ll come to see her tomorrow. I’m staying with Miss Betty tonight.”

“That’s nice for you,” Margaret commented.

“I’ll go now,” and Benedicta turned to Rachel, when the twins had gone off together. “You want to get back to your work. I shall come to see the rest of the Abbey tomorrow.”

“I’ll give your babies some milk, Ray. They’re shrieking for it,” Damaris said. “Here—take this! Show Benedicta the oratory. She’ll like it.”

She handed to Rachel a key which had hung round her neck. Rachel took it, looking grave but well-pleased, and led the way out to the cloisters again.

“Damaris must like you quite a lot,” she said. “This is the key to her own private place. There are times when the thought of all she has lost is too much for her and even the garden can’t comfort her. She has to get away by herself. Mrs. Raymond understood and gave her the key of a little room that isn’t shown to visitors, because there’s nothing to see. But once when Marry was in there she found a secret stair in the wall, which led to a place that even Mrs. Raymond had never seen. If Marry wants you to see it, it means she likes you very much.”

“Oh, I’m glad she feels like that!” Benedicta’s tone told how deeply she was moved. “Up the refectory stair? I never knew there was a room in here!” as Rachel unlocked an ancient door.

“Mrs. Raymond knew about this, but, as you can see, there’s nothing to show to visitors.”

Benedicta looked round the bare little chamber. “No, but if it’s where Mary Damayris comes, when she’s breaking her heart because she can’t dance——! She is, isn’t she, although she’s so brave?”

“Only sometimes,” Rachel said quietly. “She really is happy in her garden.”

“The Damaris Garden,” Benedicta murmured, her eyes roaming round the bare-walled room. “Oh! Oh, I see! Can we go in there?”

Rachel had touched a spring and opened a door in the wall. Holding a torch, she led the way up four old steps. “No electricity in here!” She stood aside for Benedicta to pass.

“Do you see? An almost defaced crucifix, and a step below, on which the Abbot knelt to pray. This was his private place, as well as Marry’s.”

“The stone is worn away where he knelt,” Benedicta whispered. “It’s a very holy place. Oh, thank you for bringing me here! Could you—could you leave me alone for a minute or two?”

Rachel understood. Benedicta Bennett was not the first to make that request. The first who had made it to her had been Rosamund, the Countess of Kentisbury, and her friends guessed that she had prayed for the health of her greatly-loved but delicate husband. Waiting in the room below Rachel wondered if this new girl would pray that she might come to the Abbey.

Benedicta gave her a clue, when she came quietly down the worn steps. “I would like to be good enough to live and work here; worthy, you know. I don’t think I am yet, but perhaps the Abbey will teach me things.”

Rachel smiled, as they went out and she locked the door again. “Damaris must think you are good enough to see the oratory, since she gave us the key.”

“Perhaps she thought I needed it,” Benedicta said ruefully.

“That wouldn’t be like her. No, she just liked you and wanted to do the best thing for you that she could. Come back in the morning to see the rest of the Abbey!”

As Benedicta settled down in her bed at the Music-School, which was run for Lady Quellyn by pretty Scottish Betty McLean, the Guide Captain, her thoughts were busy with the girls in the Abbey—Rachel, the writer, and Damaris, the dancer; Rachel in her white gown and Damaris in her corduroy shorts. She liked them both and she believed they had liked her. She would be glad to work with Damaris in her garden, if it could be arranged, and to be fed by Rachel in those cool grey rooms in the Abbey walls, with their colours and pictures. She thought of the oratory and of how it had been found, and of Mary Damayris rushing in to cry her heart out when the pull of her lost career became too great.

Then she thought of the schoolgirls and their flight to the Manor, and wondered anxiously about the result. Would Joy Quellyn understand? She was hot-tempered; she spoke without thinking, and she had wounded many people, Benedicta knew, though they made allowances and loved her still. It would be tragic if Queen Marigold and little Jansy were really hurt, when they had meant no harm. They had acted for the best, as they thought, though probably they had been unwise.

Wondering what had happened at the Hall, Benedicta fell asleep.