Читать книгу Rachel in the Abbey - Elsie Jeanette Dunkerley - Страница 8

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Joy Quellyn lay back in her chair and looked about with a sigh of deep content. There were roses everywhere; the afternoon sun streamed through the big windows and threw patches of red and blue and green from the stained glass on the polished floor; the walls had framed portraits of her ancestors for many generations. The wide staircase led up to a gallery from which the bedrooms opened; the wood of banisters and railing was dark oak and matched the ancient settles and tables and big chairs in the hall below. It was her home and she loved every corner of it; she had been in New York, except for brief visits home, for four years, and she had had two children there. Now the travelling days were over; about that she was determined.

“It’s good to be home at last! Oh, I am so glad!”

“It’s good to have you at home,” her friend and secretary, Mary Devine, assured her.

“This time we’re going to stay. Ivor won’t make any plan that means living away from home. The years in New York have helped him in his career; he’s even more highly thought of than he was before he took on the David Orchestra. Requests and engagements are pouring in; he’s going to be very busy, and he has the London work as well. All sorts of places want him as guest conductor. But we shall live at home, and I shall only go with him to his concerts if it means just one night away from home. The boys and Baby Rose must grow up here, as Elizabeth and Margaret did.”

“Are you going to call her Rose?” Mary asked, with interest.

“Ivor wants her to be Maidlin Rose, and Rose for general use; Maidlin doesn’t mind. We didn’t really care for Madeline, which I thought of first, so when Ivor said we’d call the babe Rose, we decided we could put Maidlin as a first name, since it won’t be used. Rose Quellyn is a good name.”

“Better than Maidlin Quellyn,” Mary agreed.

“No one in the clan is called Rose for everyday use, though we have several Roses as second names,” Joy went on. “And Rosamund was always Ros, not Rose, except for one brief period, when we adopted her father’s name for her and called her Rosie. We were feeling particularly fond of her and she was going through a bad period, and we wanted to be extra friendly and affectionate.”

“I remember. It was at the time her stepmother appeared.”

“Rosie didn’t last long, and she became Ros again. Our little Rose will be the first. It’s a nice short name. I couldn’t see how to use Madeline; I don’t like names cut down—and certainly not into Maddy!”

“Dreadful,” Mary laughed. “Rose is much better. We’ve wondered what she would be called.”

“Rose Quellyn. Where are all the children? The house seems very quiet!”

A large party had gathered to greet her. Her cousin, Joan Raymond, the mother of Jansy and godmother of Littlejan Fraser, had come, bringing her youngest child, Jillian Rose, who had been newly born when Joy left home. Jen had come from the Manor next door, eager to show her twin boys, now nearly a year old. Rosamund, the Countess, had driven over from Kentisbury, and Maidlin had come from The Pallant, both clamouring to see their godchild, Maidlin Rose, who had been born in New York two months before. They had not brought their children, however, feeling that these important little people would not be properly appreciated in all the excitement. This was Joy’s day, and her small boys, David and Richard, and the new baby, had been the centre of attraction; and there had been much admiring comment on the way her twins, Elizabeth and Margaret Marchwood, had grown. Tomorrow Joy would lunch with Maidlin and have tea with Rosamund, taking her big daughters to see Maidlin’s little girls and Rosamund’s boys and her two sets of twin baby girls; and they would call on Joan on the way, to see the rest of her small family, Jennifer and Jimmy.

The men-folk had come too, for Maidlin’s husband, Jock Robertson, was a close friend of Ivor Quellyn and they had much to discuss about future musical events. The Earl of Kentisbury and Jack Raymond, both quiet kindly men, had less to say, but were interested to hear about the voyage and to see the children. While “the clan” talked, mostly all at once, they had listened, smiling at one another occasionally, when the babel rose to a clamour.

“My wife always wins!” proclaimed Kenneth Marchwood, as Jen’s voice rose above the rest—“But tell us, Joy! Don’t interrupt her, Ros! Joy, how did you——”

“Nobody else stands a chance,” Jack Raymond agreed.

“This is a real shauri—a great occasion.” Kenneth used an East African word. He marched up and down, proudly carrying his sons one on each arm, and laughing as they waved their arms and almost hit him in the eye. Then he surrendered them to Jen, and went to tease Marigold and Jansy and to annoy “Lady Rosalind” by treating her with exaggerated deference.

Joy, eager for the family news, had noted with approval how Littlejan Fraser had firmly removed Elizabeth and Margaret to a table near a window, and with Jansy and Rosalind had given them tea and kept them out of the way. Now they had disappeared, and she wondered where they were. The visitors had gone home; the small children were in the nurseries; Ivor was busy at the telephone, greeting friends and making appointments for business interviews; and the house seemed deserted.

“I suppose the school crowd are all together somewhere,” Joy remarked to Mary. “It was good of Queen Marigold to help! I liked the capable way she saw what was needed and took charge.”

“Somebody’s coming now. It’s your twins,” Mary said.

“We’ve been in the Abbey,” Elizabeth explained from the doorway. “But we didn’t go to the Damaris Garden, because we’re going there later with you, Mother.”

“We saw the cats,” Margaret added. “One’s gold and one’s black, and the black one’s granny once lived in the Abbey.”

“A descendant of the Mother Superior?” Joy laughed. “How very suitable! Who brought her back to the Abbey?”

“And Benneyben’s there. She’ll come to see you tomorrow.”

“Benedicta?” Joy and Mary spoke together.

“Now that really is startling news, Elizabeth!” Joy exclaimed. “I’ll love to see Benneyben again! Does she look just like she used to do?”

“She’s a bit bigger, but not so very much.” Elizabeth considered the question carefully.

“Like us,” Margaret put in. “She said we were a lot bigger. She looks just the same.”

“And what brought Benedicta back to the Abbey?” Mary asked. “I want to see her again too.”

“Tomorrow morning, she said. She came to see the Abbey. Aunty Ray—I mean, Rachel—had a tea-party for her.”

“We interrupted the party. We butted in very badly,” Margaret said gloomily. “But we didn’t know.”

“They’d finished the party. Benedicta—that’s to be her name now, she says—is going to sleep with Miss Betty tonight, and she’ll come to see us in the morning. She said you’d be too busy tonight,” Elizabeth said, all in one breath.

“That was thoughtful of her! But we’d have made time for Benedicta,” Joy said. “I’m glad Rachel and Damaris gave her tea. It was kind of them, as they never knew her. Where are the others, Twins?”

“What others? Nobody’s been with us.”

“Not Marigold and Jansy and Rosalind?”

“Don’t know anything about them,” Margaret declared. “We haven’t seen them.”

“Then where can they be? I thought you were all together.” Joy looked puzzled.

“We’ll go and look for them!” Margaret cried. “Come on, Twin! Perhaps they’re in the garden!” and they dashed off together.

“What can the silly girls be doing?” Joy exclaimed.

Mary interposed. “I promised not to tell you until you asked, Joy. That was the most they could get me to say; they wanted me to promise I wouldn’t tell you where they had gone, but I couldn’t do that.”

“Gone? What do you mean, Mary-Dorothy? Where could they go? And why?” Joy cried.

“They’ve removed themselves to the Manor. They were sure you wouldn’t have room for them here. I told them it was absurd, but they wouldn’t stay. They meant well, Joy. They don’t want to be in your way.”

Joy stared at her. “Do you mean to say they’ve really gone? Without waiting to ask me?”

“We told them to ask you first, but they felt you’d have to say you wanted them—which was true, of course. They didn’t want to give you any trouble.”

“Whose idea was it?” Joy demanded.

“Littlejan’s. Jansy agreed, but I think Rosalind was doubtful.”

“I should hope so! A girl of her age ought to have some sense. Littlejan Fraser should have known better.” Joy was crossing the hall, but she stopped and turned back. “At the Manor? Do you mean to tell me Jen has taken them in, without a word to me?”

“She didn’t agree with them. She told them they were silly cuckoos; I think that was the expression. But she said, since they had made up their minds to be mad, it would be better they should hear from yourself just how mad they were, as they wouldn’t believe it from anybody else.”

“I see. Jen didn’t sympathise with them?”

“Not in the least. But she said they might camp out in her attics, if they wished.”

Joy gave what could only be called a snort and stalked to the telephone. “Ivor, could you spare me the phone for one moment?”

Her husband looked up from the notes he was making of his engagements. “Surely! What’s the trouble? You look upset.”

“I am, just a little,” Joy said grimly, and she called up the Manor.

Jen was expecting the call, and she answered herself. “The Manor speaking. Who is it?”

“Joy. Have you got my three silly schoolgirls?” Joy asked wrathfully.

“I have. They’re making up beds in the attics.”

“Then send them home at once, and tell them not to be such stupid little goops.” And Joy banged down the receiver with indignant emphasis, and turned to explain the situation to Ivor.

“Enterprising young people, but extremely silly,” he said, with indignation to match her own. “Send them all to bed for the rest of the evening. Best place for them!”

“Oh well!” Joy’s wrath began to subside, as his rose. “Mary says they meant well. We can’t have a row on our first night at home! But I really expected Marigold and Rosalind to have more sense. Don’t row them, Ivor, please. Leave it to me. I’ll talk to them.”

“You’ll be soft with them,” he growled, and turned to his notes again.

“I don’t feel like being soft, at the moment,” Joy retorted, and she went out to the hall to wait for her runaway guests.