Читать книгу The New Abbey Girls - Elsie Jeanette Dunkerley - Страница 5

Table of Contents

“Be careful here!” and Joy paused in the passage behind the stairs. “Do you draw the line at planks over bottomless pits?”

“What?” Madam peered over her shoulder. “What has happened down here? There were no bottomless pits when I came in January.”

“It went all boggy and squishy in that heavy rain just after the President’s wedding, and we decided there must be an underground spring, like the one you fall into on the upper path. So Joan said it had better be drained, and it was a bigger job than they expected. It isn’t finished yet. I don’t say the hole’s bottomless, but it’s rather deep, so don’t fall off the plank. Do you mind?”

“Not so long as there’s a light,” Madam laughed, and followed her across a couple of uneven boards bridging a deep chasm.

Joy held the torch low to guide her steps, and Jen offered her hand. But Madam disdained it and ran lightly across. “I shan’t fall! Unsteady people might, though. It’s a long plank. Do all your visitors come across?”

“They have to, if they want to see the hermit’s church. Some funk it, of course. Now we have to find our way through hills and mountains,” and Joy guided her carefully among heaps of clay and rubbish. “The men aren’t working to-day. There are very few men we can get, and they’ve had to leave this for a more urgent job in the village. But it’s only for a week or two.”

“Tell me again the story of how Joan and Jen found the jewels!” Madam demanded, when they had inspected the crypt and ancient well, the inscriptions and the tomb of the first abbot, and were standing before the rough carving in the wall—“Jehane III” which had given the clue to the position of the buried casket.

Instead of the story, Jen gave a shriek of dismay. “Joy! The torch is going out!”

“Help! What on earth shall we do?” gasped Joy, and stared helplessly at the light, which gave a last feeble flicker and went out.

“I’ve always said that would happen sooner or later!” Jen groaned. “Torches are beastly things! You never know how much is left in them.”

For a moment there was silence in the old church, the blank silence of underground—“Of a tomb,” as Jen said later. Then Madam’s laugh rang out. “Well, Joy Shirley! Of all the ways to treat your visitors! Didn’t I say you abbey people were unexpected? I suppose you know your way out by this time?”

“Oh, I know my way!” Joy said gloomily. “And I’ll get you out, if I have to go on my hands and knees all the way. But it won’t be easy; you can’t crawl across planks!”

“I’d forgotten the bottomless pit!” Madam sobered hastily. “That’s another story. You can’t cross those planks without a light, Joy. I won’t allow it. We’ll wait——”

“You and Jen must wait, of course. We’re not all three going to crawl! But I’m going to get out somehow and bring back a light for you.”

“Joy, you can’t!” Jen expostulated. “It won’t help us for you to fall into the hole! And you’ll break something, if you do; it’s quite ten feet deep.”

“My dear kid, I’m not going to sit down and do nothing!” Joy said brusquely. “I’ve got to get you out somehow. I brought you here.”

“Joy, don’t be silly!” Madam’s voice had its old note of authority. “There are visitors in the abbey. Won’t the woman bring them here? Surely she’ll have a light?”

“Saved!” Jen cried dramatically. “Of course she will! So you needn’t do tight-rope gym stunts, after all, Joy! We’ve only got to wait!”

“They’re sure to come here, aren’t they?” Madam insisted, as Joy still hesitated. “Very well, then. We’ll wait. It would be awfully risky to try to cross that plank without a light. I dare say we could all do it if we had to; I’d try it in a moment, if I got too hungry! But if your woman is likely to turn up with lights and visitors within half an hour, we won’t do anything ridiculous. Where’s that tomb? We’ll sit by it and wait. I never felt anything so solid as this blackness!”

“You always say you can see in the dark, Wild Cat!” Jen mocked to Joy. “Lead us to the tomb! I say! Doesn’t it sound awful?”

“I’m frightfully sorry!” Joy apologised abjectly, as she guided them carefully through the blackness of the crypt. “Here you are! Here’s Michael! He’s something to hold on to, anyway. I’m sure he’ll be pleased for you to sit on him. I say!” to Madam. “We don’t often do this with our visitors!”

Madam felt her way carefully to a broad step, and with equal care sat down upon it. Then she leant back against the big square table-tomb and began to laugh, and laughed till she nearly cried. “I’ll never forget it! Fancy losing your visitors in the depths of the earth! Do you often mislay people like this? I wonder how long we shall sit here! I never expected to be buried alive! Joy Shirley, you’ll never hear the end of this!”

“I know,” Joy agreed ruefully. “I never shall. Cicely and Joan will simply scream. Every one will ask me if I’ve buried any one lately!”

“I nearly died when the light went out!” and Madam went off into another peal of laughter. “Jen’s shriek—and the last glimpse of your horror-stricken face—and the picture of you crawling along those planks—and the silence and darkness you can feel! It’s simply priceless! Can’t you feel it? It’s as solid as a London fog! And neither of you ever thinking about the visitors we’ve run away from!”

“They may not come,” Joy said gloomily. “Perhaps it’s only some old ladies. If Ann tells them about the pit and the planks, they won’t trouble to come down.”

“Then you and I will eat Jenny-Wren, and then one of us will eat the other, and then the survivor will have to crawl! But we’ll only go as far as that if we really have to.”

“Oh, I think they’ll look down, whoever they are, and we’ll all yell together at the slightest sound!” Jen argued. “Besides, there’s a man. I saw him as I scooted into the chapter-house. He won’t mind planks! He’ll want to see where the jewels were found!”

“It’s frightfully ignominious to sit waiting to be rescued by a strange man!” and Madam’s voice shook.

“Now don’t you go off again!” Jen pleaded. “Do you ever have hysterics?”

“No, never! But I’ve never been buried alive before. Anything may happen! Joy, don’t you really think it’s funny?”

Joy surrendered, and began to laugh. “Oh, if you don’t mind! If it were only Jen, I’d not care a scrap. But I am awfully sorry——”

“No, you never did care what you did to me, did you?” Jen mocked.

“That’s playing with fire, Jenny-Wren; a dangerous game!” Madam said seriously, as there was ominous silence from where Joy sat. “You deserve to be put in the hermit’s well for saying that.”

“Joy knows I’m only ragging. I’ll put her in the well if she can’t take a joke!”

“All the same, it’s a sore subject, and one you’d be just as well not to joke upon. I can’t see Joy’s face, but I know just how she looked when you said that.”

“I know too. That’s why I said it,” Jen said defiantly. “Just because I didn’t mean it; don’t you see? It’s a—a course of treatment I’m giving her. She’s so silly; she’s daft! She will go on thinking it was her fault I tipped out of Belinda that day, and bashed my head; and everybody knows it was all an accident. So I make a joke about it whenever I get a chance, just to teach her. I can’t see her either, but I know how she looked too—glum! She always does. But it’s good for her.”

“Jenny-Wren, you’re a little beast!” Joy pulled herself together. “And I’m an idiot. I know you were only ragging. But how you understand!” to Madam. “You only see us for a few minutes once in a month or so, and yet you know all we’re thinking and feeling!”

“Oh, but she always did!” Jen argued. “That was one of the very first things Cicely said about her; that she understood people so awfully well!”

“You’ve got to amuse me!” Madam said peremptorily. “I’m not going to sit here in the depths doing nothing! Tell me something interesting! What did you mean by what you said in the refectory, Jenny-Wren, when that child fell out of the pulpit on to us like a bomb? You called her ‘the novelette girl’?”

“That’s what Joy calls her. Her name’s Madalena di Ravarati.”

“I say! Really? But who or what is she?”

“Our good caretaker is her aunt,” Joy explained. “Oh, we don’t call her all that! Ann calls her Maidlin, and so does everybody else; I believe it’s old English for Magdalene. She’s lived with another aunt in the north, who always called her Maidlin.”

“Maidlin! It’s pretty. So is she, I should think, when you see her properly. She had beautiful dark eyes, and a lovely clear skin. Surely she’s partly Italian?”

“That’s the novelette bit, of course. About twenty years ago Ann was nurse in a swank family in London; and she had a little sister, heaps younger, who came up from the country to be a housemaid in the same place. And this sister, Mary, was very pretty; Ann says so, and anyway, you can guess it from what followed, and from Madalena herself! A visitor at the house, a ‘foreign gentleman,’ apparently an Italian, fell in love with the pretty housemaid; the mistress thought he kept coming to see her daughter, who had money, but was getting on in years. He knew his family wanted him to marry some one at home, whom he didn’t want a scrap; and, since he was a very decent chap, he was in a hole. Finally he and Mary went out one day and were married, and then went back and told Ann they had done it. He took Mary away to the other sister, in the country, the one who has brought Maidlin up, and wrote to his people to break the news. They were furious, and told him to come home at once, but not to dare to bring his wife. He wouldn’t go without her; but it on her mind, and at last, after some months, she begged him to go and try to get things settled up more happily. He gave in and went, meaning to be back, whatever happened, before the baby was born. But Mary was taken ill suddenly, and she died, and he never saw her again. Maidlin was a tiny scrap of a thing, and her aunt had hard work to save her life. Her father came to see her, but he couldn’t forgive himself for having gone away at all, although he had only done it to please Mary. He didn’t know what to do with the kid, so he left her with the aunt, who was married to a farmer but hadn’t any family, and sent money quite regularly for her to be properly brought up, though Ann says he hadn’t very much himself, so he couldn’t have her sent to expensive schools or anything like that. His folks had heaps and heaps, but they wouldn’t forgive him unless he would marry again, and it was to be somebody they chose this time. He never forgot Mary, so he wouldn’t, and so they kept him awfully short of money, and it was some time before he could find any way of making any for himself. He’d never expected to need to, you see.”

“I think it was topping of him,” Jen remarked. “You could understand him giving up everything for Mary, while she was alive. But to stick to her like that, when she’s been dead for fourteen years, is awfully fine, I think.”

“Yes, I like the father,” Madam agreed. “And is he still alive? Does he ever come to see the child?”

“Ann says he’s got some kind of post abroad. I suppose he had to take what he could get. He does come, but he hasn’t been for some years now. Just at present the Cumberland aunt is ill, so Maidlin is stopping with Ann. And we call her the novelette girl. Do you wonder?”

“I don’t blame you! And she’ll go back to Cumberland when the aunt is better?”

“Oh, yes, I guess so! I say, aren’t you getting chilly?”

“A bit,” Madam assented. “Sit up close, both of you. We’ll huddle together to keep warm. This is most pathetic! Hasn’t anybody any chocolate? I’ve a whole packet in my bag at the station; and a pound of apples!”

“A lot of use that is!” Jen jeered. “I haven’t a crumb, and Joy hasn’t even a pocket.”

“Joy ought to keep a secret store down here, if she means to bury her visitors often. You should have laid in provisions before you cut off our retreat, Joy.”

“I shall never hear the end of it!” Joy groaned.

“No, you never will. I shall tell everybody; every single person I meet! It’s far too good a story to be wasted! Get up, Joy!” Madam said peremptorily. “You’ve sat there long enough. I forgot you hadn’t a skirt on. Tunics aren’t made for sitting on damp stones in.”

“No, it’s coming through,” and Joy stood up and shook herself. “But what can I do? Jump?”

“You might do capers,” Jen began to laugh. “Try uprights, Joy. Your kick-jumps are still awful. Don’t kick us, though! Pity Madam can’t criticise! It’s such a waste to have her here and not get any good of her!”

“Do ‘Princess Royal’ in the dark!” Madam suggested, laughter in her voice again. “Not the half-capers, though! Don’t go careering round among the pillars, or you’ll break something or somebody, probably yourself! We’re quite warm; we’re dressed, you see!”

“It serves you right, Joy!” Jen teased.

“I’ll do ‘Princess Royal’ on the spot. Sing the tune for me!” Joy demanded.

Madam, really anxious lest she should have taken a chill, complied, and criticised the sound of the feet at the end. “You lost your rhythm once or twice. And your step isn’t clear enough even yet, after all my teaching. Are you warmer now?”

“You bet! Trust a morris jig for that. I’ve done ‘Princess Royal’ a good many times, but never in quite such a queer place before!”

“In church, too!” there was mock reproof in Jen’s tone.

“Well, that’s all right. Morris dances have been done in churches before now. What about York Cathedral?” Madam argued. “Now ‘Molly Oxford,’ Joy! That’s almost all on one spot. But don’t galley into us.”

Joy defiantly began to dance again. “I wish you could see! I’m really doing a very beautiful jig! My galleys are superfine. And my side step——”

“Oh, I can hear what that’s like! I know all about your side-step!” Madam laughed. “I’ll give you a lesson as soon as we get back to daylight!”

“Wonderful person!” Jen teased. “She doesn’t need to see you, Joy! It must be bad!”

“You won’t give anybody lessons. You’ll come straight home and have a very big lunch. What an age they’re taking to get here! Ann must be reciting every date she knows! Or else they’re asking streams of questions, and she’s yarning on about us no end.”

“All about the wedding yesterday! And she hasn’t an idea we’re waiting to be rescued,” Jen laughed. “Won’t she be upset?”

“You’d better have a go too. It’s awfully warming! Let’s each take a corner, and do galleys for all we’re worth, till we’re as hot as hot,” Joy suggested.

“What a picture for our rescuers!” Madam began to laugh. “No, we’ll be the orchestra. What would you like now?”

“Sing me ‘Trunkles.’ I want to practise my galleys,” Joy demanded.

Madam, with a suppressed chuckle, was complying when Jen gave a wild yell. “Help! Help! Come to the rescue! We’re buried! Come and save us, please!”

“At last! And I was just doing such a beautiful galley!” Joy said resentfully. “Coo-ee!” and she shouted through her hands. “Shall we go to meet them?”

“And break our necks or sprain our ankles among those rubbish-heaps? No, thanks! I’m going to wait to be rescued properly. There’s no fear of them not coming after those shrieks,” and Madam sat on her step, elbows on knees and chin on hands, and waited for the rescue party, her lips twitching with amusement, her eyes full of laughter.

Ann, bewildered by the shouts and not recognising the voices in the enclosed space, came first across the planks, looking distinctly frightened. Joy and Jen were upon her in a moment, explaining at express speed what had happened, both talking at once, forgetful of everything else.

Madam’s amused eyes found the astonished visitor in the background, as she still sat “waiting to be rescued properly.” He was tall and grave, and his questioning gaze went from one to the other of the excited girls, and rested longest on Joy, in her very short tunic and the rolled-up hair which announced the fact that in spite of appearances she was more than fifteen. The bright bronze hair betrayed her as plainly as a label, for every one had heard of the red-haired girls who owned the abbey and the Hall, and he had just heard the whole story from Ann.

His look was so incredulous that Madam chuckled again. Then she rose and went forward with the dignity she knew so well how to assume. “Thank you! We were without a light, so had to wait till you came. Now, Joy, perhaps you will lead the way. I shall soon have to hurry for my train. And you—you have to dress”—her voice was suspiciously unsteady.

“Oh!” Jen’s eyes had just fallen on the stranger.

Joy became conscious of his presence at the same moment. “We’ll go home, to lunch. Perhaps you will hold the light while we cross the planks,” she said haughtily. “After that we can manage quite well.”

“Allow me! We will come with you to the entrance, of course,” and the stranger took the light from Ann, and, crossing the plank, turned to give his hand to each as she followed.

Madam accepted his help graciously, with calm dignity and no sign of inward amusement. Joy stalked across haughtily, not seeming to see the offered hand. Jen, with an admiring eye on Madam, tried to imitate her gracious manner, clutched his hand, and nearly fell into the hole.

“Gracious, Jenny-Wren! You might as well have crossed in the dark!” Madam mocked. “Don’t go and fall in now, after waiting nearly an hour to be rescued!”

“Had you been imprisoned there so long?” the tourist turned to Joy in dismay. “Then I urge you to hurry home, and take something hot to drink. It was most unsafe to stay so long in such a vault.”

“We’d have stayed longer if we’d fallen into the pit!” Joy retorted.

“We’d been there about a week,” Jen informed him. “We were dancing about to keep warm; Joy was, at least.”

Madam’s hand on her arm restrained her from more indiscretions. “Thank you! We can have no difficulty now. Here are the steps. Joy, I think, after all, we won’t go by Underground to-day!”

“I never saw anybody so—so dignified! How do you do it?” Jen whispered, as she followed Madam up the steps to the welcome daylight. “Joy tried, but she only managed to look cross! It wasn’t the poor man’s fault. He was quite nice about it! How do you manage to look so regal?”

“I’m hungry! I shall eat grass in a moment! Aren’t you going to feed me, Joy? You said something about a very big lunch. And I agree with our friend about hot drinks. Couldn’t we run?” and Madam cast dignity to the winds, and raced, with Jen leading the way, across the garth to the tresaunt entrance and so to the old gate into the gardens of the Hall.

Joy gave a despairing look round, then followed, all long legs and flying girdle. “I don’t suppose you two lunatics saw that severe old lady sitting waiting in the cloisters? No, I thought you hadn’t! Horrified disapproval wasn’t in it with the way she looked, when first you two and then I went flying across the garth. She’ll spread the most awful stories of lunatics at large in the abbey. Why couldn’t you be dignified for two minutes longer?” indignantly to Madam. “You can put it on so jolly well when you like!”

“No, really? An old lady? I never saw her. Shall I go back and apologise, on your behalf?” Madam teased.

“It would only be you she disapproved of, Joy. Oh, don’t let’s go back! I’m simply dying of hunger,” Jen wailed. “I believe it was about a week! Mrs. Shirley will have sent out search-parties!”

“I suppose you know the President has given you a new name since you got married?” Joy queried, as she locked the garden gate behind them.

“Me? No, what?” Madam demanded. “And why since I got married? I haven’t changed!”

“Oh, yes, you have! You’re much nicer!” Jen teased.

“Well—! In what way, please?”

“She calls you The Duchess,” Joy said grimly. “Because of the grand manner you put on now and then. Says you look as if you ought to have pages walking backwards before you, bowing, and others holding up your train.”

“Well, she does look duchessy when she goes about swinging a big cloak! It’s the way she walks, somehow! I can’t think how she does it!” Jen sighed.

“Not when she’s tearing madly across cloister garths, I suppose!” Madam teased. “I’ll tell the President what I think of her next time she comes to see me. And when you come,” to Joy, “I shall be very forgiving and do my best not to lose you underground!”

“Seeing that you live in a top flat—!” Jen mocked.

“I shall never hear the end of it!” Joy sighed, as they reached the house. “Aunty, dear! We’ve brought The Duchess home to lunch!”