Читать книгу Maidlin Bears the Torch - Elsie Jeanette Dunkerley - Страница 7

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The car rolled away, and Maidlin and Benney turned back from the gate-house.

‘I hope nobody else will come!’ Benney sighed happily. ‘It’s so marvellous of you to have asked me!’

‘We often have nobody at all. If anyone comes, you can slip into Aunty’s little room, where we’ll have tea presently. I hope we’re not interrupted; I want to finish my gown before the meeting.’

Maidlin sat on a cushion on a broken stone step and spread out a gorgeous robe of yellow cloth, ornamented with brown leather fringe and bands of soft leather for collar and decoration. While Benedicta exclaimed and admired, she told the meaning of the various symbols, and worked with coloured silks from a basket at her side.

‘I’m finishing these wavy lines, which stand for music and song. They all soar upwards—you see? I left the last ones unfinished until I’d have sung in public for Ivor; it was to have been last autumn, but when he arranged his programmes it seemed better to leave me till the spring. There were other people who had to be put in the concerts, and I was glad enough to wait. Now that I’ve done it, it’s time to finish the song part of my gown.’

Benedicta agreed, deeply fascinated. ‘Are you a Torch-Bearer?’

Maidlin coloured. ‘To-night,’ she confessed. ‘That’s why I said it was a special meeting. They think I’ve qualified, both in Music and as a leader of the Camp Fire, so I’m to have my silver pin. Maribel Marchwood is coming, to give it to me; I asked her to come, as she was the one who started our Camp and gave me the first torch to light our Fire. That’s why the meeting is so early; we usually have it after dark. Maribel lives in town, and she has a baby girl, nearly a year old—Marigold. Mike—that’s Marigold’s father—will drive Maribel down, but she has to get back to Baby; she’ll only stay for a few minutes.’

‘How thrilled your girls will be!’

‘They want to be Torch-Bearers themselves, so they’re pleased for me to lead the way,’ Maidlin said, laughing. ‘Now, Benedicta, we’ll ask Aunty for our tea. Did you say you had a picnic lunch in the woods? Then a boiled egg for you! And I shall have no dinner, only a very late supper, so one for me too, I think.’

The little old rooms in the wall fascinated Benney. She saw where Lady Quellyn had lived as a girl and where Maidlin had slept on the night when the twins were born.

‘Don’t any of them come into the Abbey to see you, when you’re caretaking?’ she asked.

‘The difficulty is to keep Elizabeth and Margaret away; they want to be here to help. But there’s nobody at home to-day. Joy—Lady Quellyn, you know—has gone with Ivor to Manchester; she has always wanted to go to a concert in the Free Trade Hall. The twins are at the Manor with their cousins; the Manor is next door to the Hall, and Sir Kenneth Marchwood is the twins’ uncle. There are four children, three of them boys, and our girls are as much at home there as at the Hall. So if Joy wants to go with Ivor for a night, she parks the twins with Jen—she’s Lady Marchwood, of the Manor.’

‘And do you go too?’

‘Sometimes. To-night I shall stay at home, as Rosamund is with us. She’ll be in town till late; she had to meet Geoffrey—he’s the Earl—and she’s fearfully busy with dressmakers and so on; but she’s living with us until she’s married next week. So there’s no one at home to-day. Mary—I haven’t told you about her yet; she writes books—is there, but she’s working hard just now. She has off spells and working spells, and this is a busy time, with proofs of next autumn’s book.’

‘I’d love to see her,’ Benney said wistfully. ‘Won’t she come to your meeting?’

Maidlin coloured. ‘I invited her. She may come.’

The possibility added to Benney’s excitement, as she waited alone for the Council Fire to be lighted. By Maidlin’s suggestion she sat perched on the broken stone railing which enclosed the remains of the cloisters, raised a couple of feet above the grass of the garth, from which she could overlook all that happened.

A murmur of voices and gleams of yellow and brown and flame told her that the girls, in their gowns, were gathering in the archway by which she herself had arrived. From the door of the little private room came Maidlin, transformed into a high priestess, with richly-decorated yellow robe, hanging fringe and chains of coloured beads, her thick hair plaited and falling in long black braids on each side of her face. She went quietly to the centre of the garth and knelt to build a safe foundation for the fire, laying a triangular sheet of metal on three brick pillars, so that it was raised well above the grass.

‘We’re not going to leave a burnt patch in the middle of the garth!’ she had said, earlier in the afternoon.

Her headband, tied across her forehead, was of glittering gold and silver beads, woven on the small loom. The coloured waving lines of music and song, rising from her hem, were at last complete. On her bare arm was the silver bracelet of the Fire-Maker.

She stood and gave the low Wohelo call, and the girls came quietly out, a long procession of fifteen all wearing gowns, though some of these were undecorated. Each raised her right arm in turn, giving the Sign of Fire, and the Guardian responded with a greeting to each. Several of the first-comers slipped away, while the rest were still arriving, and came back with their arms full of wood, which had been stacked in the corner of the cloisters, almost out of sight. They glanced at Benedicta, as they gathered it in their arms, but they did not speak to her.

Three Fire-Makers came last in the line, carrying unlit candles in wooden holders. They placed these in the corners of the metal tray, when they had greeted the Guardian, and knelt to arrange the twigs and sticks, which the Wood-Gatherers had brought.

The Guardian raised the notes of a chant, and the circle stood to sing around the unlit fire. Then Maidlin handed one of the tall candles to the leading Fire-Maker, a girl with flaming red hair, worn in two thick plaits and bound down by a green band, and she carried it away into the little room in the wall. She came back in a moment with the candle lighted, shielding the flame with her hand, and set it in its place, kneeling and reciting a verse, claiming it as ‘The Light of Work.’ Maidlin lit a long taper and handed it in turn to the other Fire-Makers, who knelt and lit their candles for Health and Love. Then the Guardian lit the little fire, and after a moment of suspense the circle began to sing, seeing that it was burning safely.

Maidlin, kneeling still, recited a verse—‘Kneel always when you light a fire.’ The Fire Song, with its actions, followed, and then the girls put down the leather cushions, stencilled with their personal symbols, which they carried, and sat in a ring round the fire. A Wood-Gatherer read the Count of the last meeting; then, clearly across the silent garth, came Maidlin’s voice.

‘Camp Fire Sisters, a friend came to-day to see the Abbey. I found she was a Camp Fire Girl and wore a ring. I have asked her to watch our Council Fire. Shall we welcome her into our circle, or must she watch from far off?’

‘Oh, let her come in, Guardian!’ There was a hospitable chorus.

The red-haired Fire-Maker came to Benedicta, who stood, shy and eager, in her corner. ‘Won’t you come to the fire? We wondered who you were. Have you a Camp Fire name?’

‘It’s terribly nice of you all! I’m Ohitaya, “to be brave”, but my real name is Benedicta Bennett.’

‘She didn’t need an Indian name, did she? She could have used her own and called herself “Blessing”,’ Maidlin said, making room for Benney beside her.

‘I expect she wanted a ceremonial name,’ said the Fire-Maker. ‘I’m Wopida, The Grateful One, because everybody’s been so jolly good to me. Outside Camp Fire I’m Cecily.’

‘It’s simply marvellous to be here!’ Benney said happily.

‘Look!’ The Grateful One laid a hand on her knee.

Maidlin had risen in her place. From the old archway which led to the Hall came a stranger—a tall girl in a beautifully-decorated gown, with long yellow plaits framing her face and hanging over her breast. She held a lighted torch above her head and the light twinkled on the beads of her dark blue and white headband.

‘Young Mrs. Marchwood,’ Cecily whispered. ‘She helped us to start, four years ago. I was at that meeting, when she gave Maidlin the torch to light our first fire.’

‘She doesn’t look like a “Mrs.” to-night,’ Benney murmured.

‘She’s only a little older than Maidlin, but she has the loveliest baby girl. We’ve seen Marigold.’

Then they were silent, as Maribel Marchwood, a Torch-Bearer since her school days in Camp Keema, drew near, and the circle, standing now, parted to let her come to the fire.

‘Nawadaha, Singer, Guardian of the Fire, I bring you our highest rank. You have been Guide to your younger sisters for four years; you have sung to little country groups, and to thousands in London; you have used your gift to help all who sought your aid, and you have taught music and song to others. You are now the first Torch-Bearer of Camp Waditaka.

‘ “I hand the torch to you;

O bear it firm and true!

That every younger Camp Fire Girl

May look for light to you”!’

She handed the blazing torch to Maidlin, and pinned a round silver brooch on the breast of her gown.

Maidlin held the torch aloft.

‘ “That light which has been given to me I desire to pass undimmed to others.” And now, if you don’t mind, Stormy Waves——!’ and she hastily dropped the torch into the fire before it burned her fingers.

‘I hoped it would just last out!’ Maribel said, laughing.

‘Thank you so much for coming! Girls, sing a cheer for Stormy Waves!’

‘Camp Waditaka,’ said Maribel Marchwood, ‘you’re a jolly lucky Camp Fire. I heard your Guardian sing in London, and I can tell you all the thousands of people liked her very much. Ask her to give you one of the songs she sang at the big concert! There was one that needed no accompaniment, and it was very delightful. Now you must excuse me. I have to hurry back to Marigold and Mike.’

She passed through the circle and walked, very stately in her swaying robe and beads, to the dark passage and disappeared under the pointed archway, followed by a storm of cheers. Maidlin ran after her to say another word of thanks and farewell, and Cecily, the red-haired Fire-Maker, caught up a pipe that hung round her neck by a leather thong, and began to play ‘Sellenger’s Round.’

The girls took hands eagerly and danced in a big ring round the fire. Maidlin made her way carefully through the maze, as they ‘armed’ in couples, and stood beside the fire, with a smile for Benney.

‘I know it. Can’t I join in?’ Benney pleaded.

‘There’s no partner for you, and anyway, here’s the end,’ as the ring swung round again. ‘Next time you and I will dance together. They’ll want me to sing, after what Stormy Waves said, so I mustn’t dance before that. Think of singing just after “Sellenger’s Round”!’

Benney laughed. ‘You couldn’t. But I’d love to dance with you.’

‘We shan’t dance much, because our gowns are so heavy. The beadwork and the leather collars weigh them down. But we’ll have one dance for you. Isn’t Cecil’s playing perfect? She’s a real musician; a born accompanist.’

‘Sing to us, Nawadaha!’ cried Camp Waditaka.

‘Sit down, then, and I’ll sing you the story I sang to them in London,’ and Maidlin stood by the fire and sang the ballad of Silvy, The Female Highwayman.

‘I only did it for to know

Whether you were a man or no.’

The beautiful deep voice died away, and the girls sat in silence. Cecily Perowne broke it, as Maidlin stood gazing into the fire.

‘Lead us in “Mammy Moon”, Guardian. The fire’s going down.’

Maidlin sat beside the fire and sang very softly, and the circle took up the chorus. Then she called to Cecily. ‘One more dance, Gratitude, so that our visitor can join in with me. Play us “The Irish Washerwoman”, and we’ll dance Circassian Circle round the fire.’

‘We choose round dances, because of the fire,’ she explained to Benney, as they danced together.

The sun had set and the last glow was fading, leaving the garth in deep shadow. The Fire-Makers had made up the fire before the second dance began, and the light shone on the arches of the chapter-house but left the high windows of the refectory dark.

‘Isn’t it mysterious, with those black shadows under all the arches?’ Benney murmured, as she skipped round with her partner in the promenade. ‘I say! How beautifully you dance! I feel like a sack of potatoes!’

‘I’ve had ten years of dancing. Yes, isn’t the garth wonderful to-night? I’ve often longed for a Council Fire here.’

‘Ought we to dance, if it was once a burial ground?’

Maidlin laughed. ‘It’s not the first time. Joan did it herself, so she wouldn’t mind. The Abbey is hers, not ours; we only take care of it for her, now that she’s married. She’s going to leave the Abbey in her will to her eldest little girl, Jansy—Janice Raymond, the twins’ cousin. They’re well off for cousins. Now we’ll sit round the fire and eat cakes and talk; the Camp will want to know how I felt on Wednesday night. I shall have to tell them how frightened I was.’

‘Then, please, may I say that I was there and you didn’t show it a scrap?’

‘If you like. You can tell your story of the great occasion! I’m sure Camp Waditaka would be pleased.’

‘I’d like to.’ Benney was nervous of the crowd of girls at first, but she soon lost her shyness and gave a description of the concert that delighted the Camp and drew a laughing protest from Maidlin.

‘I’m sure I didn’t look as calm and beautiful as all that, Benedicta-Ohitaya! I felt like jelly inside. Rosamund had stayed with me till the last minute, to keep me talking, all about nothing, so that I’d have no time to think. I’m never nervous once I begin to sing, but I don’t like the time beforehand. I never heard a note of “Figaro”, and I do love it! I was wondering whether I was going to be sick.’

The girls laughed in sympathy. ‘I suppose everybody was there?’ one girl asked. ‘Did Lady Marchwood and Sir Kenneth go?’

A shadow fell on Maidlin’s face. ‘It was dreadful. They went, but they didn’t hear me sing. I only heard about it afterwards; they were sitting in the stalls and I couldn’t see them. Joy and Rosamund knew, but they didn’t tell me till we were halfway home. I asked if they thought Jen—that’s Lady Marchwood, our very best friend, Benney—had liked it, and they had to tell me. She and Kenneth were fetched out just before the overture began, because Rosemary had been taken ill, and they had to race home as fast as Kenneth could drive. She’s a little better, but she’s still in bed, and they’re very worried about her; she isn’t as strong as the boys.’

‘So they didn’t hear you sing? Oh, what bad luck!’

‘That didn’t matter; they had to go to Rosemary. Jen was upset about missing my songs; she apologised to me next morning, but that was silly and I told her so. It was a good thing they were able to go home so quickly. But Jen says she’ll always be sorry she missed my first London concert; and of course I’m sorry too. Rosemary’s only three, and she’s had two bad times with croup; they’re always anxious when she’s poorly. Now that’s enough about my concert! Grateful One, tell the Camp Fire your news; you only arrived from Switzerland two days ago. How is your mother?

‘Very well just now,’ and Cecily began to tell of her latest doings in the mountain village where her mother lived.

The meeting closed when darkness had fallen, with a quiet song around the dying fire. The candles were put out with due ceremonial, the Guardian said a few low words of blessing and farewell, a ritual chant was sung almost in a whisper, and the girls stole away in silence, with the Fire sign given by each and answered by Maidlin.

In the Abbey entrance there was subdued talk as they put on their shoes and coats and caps, but all were hushed by the solemnity of the benediction, and no one laughed or shouted.

Maidlin sank down on her cushion to rest. ‘Just a minute or two, Benedicta! Then I’ll go and dress, and we’ll ask Aunty to give you some supper before your brother comes. It’s nearly time, but you’ll be able to have a cup of cocoa and biscuits. I must have mine with Rosamund; she’ll be home now and she was going to wait.’

Cecily Perowne came running across the garth, her face troubled. ‘Maidlin, somebody wants you. He’s there, at the gate—I think there’s something wrong.’

‘Oh, but I can’t go like this! Who is it, Cecil?’

‘I don’t know; a man—a boy. He asked for you—he’s in a hurry, and he’s upset.’

Maidlin stood, uncertain what to do. Then in the dimly-lit archway she saw Jimmy Bennett’s face, and at what she read in it she forgot herself and ran to meet him. He was very white and his eyes were tortured by fear.

‘Oh, what is it?’ she laid her hand on his arm. ‘What has happened? Has there been an accident?’

‘Mother,’ he said unsteadily. ‘I’ll have to tell Ben.’

‘Come in here!’ Maidlin grew as white as he. She pushed him into her aunt’s little room, and closed the door.