Читать книгу Secrets of the Abbey - Elsie Jeanette Dunkerley - Страница 3

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“Joan! It’s too marvellous for words! Do you really mean you’d have me?” Jen, just arrived at school for the summer term, pushed back her yellow plaits and gazed up at the May Queen with wondering eyes. “It’s just terribly good of you, Joan!”

“I’m afraid it isn’t,” Joan said, laughing. “To be quite honest, Jenny-Wren, I’m thinking about myself as well as you. I really want you, so it isn’t good of me at all.”

“Oh, but that makes it perfect! I’ll just love to be your maid! I thought you’d want somebody much older, now that Muriel’s the new Queen; she was in your form and she did everything with you. I’m such a kid; I’ll be no use to you.”

“Fourteen isn’t such a kid as all that,” Joan said. “I shall expect a lot from you. I shall make use of you in all sorts of ways.”

“Oh, I do hope you will! I wish I’d known last term! I’d have been thinking about it all the holidays!”

Joan laughed. “We were sure Muriel would be chosen Queen, but we couldn’t say so until the club had really done it, so I couldn’t choose another maid. But I’d quite made up my mind to have you, Jenny-Wren.”

“I’m sure I don’t know why,” Jen said humbly. “I should have thought there were heaps of others. What about Beetle? She’s keen on you, Joan.”

“Beetle? Do you mean the dumpy person who dances so beautifully?”

“Beetle’s a much jollier name than Beatrice, isn’t it?”

“I shouldn’t have thought so,” Joan said, laughing.

“She says she’d give an inch off her height to be in the May Day procession, and that means a lot from old Beetle, for she hasn’t many inches to spare.”

“That’s true,” Joan agreed. “Perhaps next year’s queen will choose Beetle. Or perhaps she’ll be the queen herself; you never know! But if that ever happens you’ll have to give up calling her by that horrible name. We couldn’t have Queen Beetle!”

“It sounds rather fascinating!” Jen said. “You’re sure you wouldn’t like to have Maid Beetle?”

“No, thanks! I want Maid Jen. My mind’s quite made up.”

“I can’t imagine why,” Jen said again. “But, of course, we have been rather-sort-of-friends, haven’t we? I didn’t think I’d be useful enough to be your maid. You’re seventeen; I’m such an infant!”

“Don’t worry about that! You’re the maid-of-honour I want. But you won’t be able to dance at festivals; do you mind that? If you’re in the procession you can’t be dancing too.”

“There’s plenty of dancing at ordinary club evenings,” Jen said. “And perhaps sometimes the Queens will send their maids to dance, as you did last summer—that day when Jandy Mac maided you, just for once.”

“Maided me! What an odd expression! And ‘rather-sort-of-friends’ is another, Mrs. Wren. Talking of Jandy Mac—will you come to tea with us on Saturday? We’ll fetch you and bring you back.”

“I’ll love it!” Jen’s eyes sparkled. “There’s a junior team match, but that doesn’t matter to me. I’d much rather go to tea at the Abbey.”

“Mother wants to see how you look after four weeks on your moors. But you ought to go to the match to cheer Jacky-boy. She’s your chum.”

A shadow fell on Jen’s bright face. “I’d rather not go. Jack understands.”

Joan gave her a keen look. “What’s up? You haven’t had a row with Jack?”

“I couldn’t. We’re pals; we’re married,” Jen said simply. “No, it’s the others. They’ve begun teasing me again about not being in the team. But they can’t say anything now that I’m your maid!” she added, her face radiant again. “That will stop their ragging better than anything. I’m very much obliged to you, Joan-Queen!”

“Glad to have been of service to you! But they oughtn’t to bother you; they know you’re a dancer and a Hamlet Club member, and that you can’t do cricket as well.”

“You’d have thought they’d know, by this time,” Jen agreed. “But the junior eleven isn’t strong this term, and they’ve got it into their heads that I’d be useful. Nora lectured me last night; she’s still games-captain, and she gave me a regular pi-jaw. You see, Jack’s been chosen junior captain, and I’m her chum, and they seem to think I ought to back her up and go into the team for her sake.”

“Does Jack talk like that?”

“Rather not! She knows how keen I am on the dancing. The rest will drop it when they hear you’ve chosen me, Joan.”

“I hope they will. There must be other people who could be worked up to be good enough for the team,” Joan remarked. “They’ve plenty to choose from. We should miss you as a dancer.”

“I should miss the dancing! I’m frightfully grateful to you for saving me!”

“I hope the rest will see that it’s quite impossible to expect a maid-of-honour to give up her duties for the sake of cricket!”

“Oh, I’m sure they will! Jack will understand; she doesn’t plague me—it’s the others. Why did you say—‘Talking of Jandy Mac, will you come to tea?’ What has she to do with me?”

“There’s a letter from her; rather a thrilling letter. No, I won’t tell you what it’s about. You shall hear on Saturday.”

“I shan’t be able to do any work!” Jen said. “Is Jandy all right, Joan? She wrote to me at Christmas. Is she still engaged to her cousin?”

“She’s all right and she’s still engaged. Have you a white frock that will do for the coronation? Or do you want a special one? We could put some violet flowers and patterns on the one you have already, if you’ll lend it to us; then you’d match my train.”

Jen looked thoughtful. “I never imagined I’d be a maid-of-honour, so I haven’t thought about it. I know Mother will be pleased, and she’d let me have a special frock. But if it would be all right, I’d rather like to have your colours on my ordinary white dress; then when I wear it for school shows, everybody will know I’m a bridesmaid. And I shall think of you whenever I put it on. Would it matter if my white school frock had violet flowers on it?”

“We’ll ask Miss Macey.” Joan smiled down at her new maid. “I dare say she’ll say it doesn’t matter. You wouldn’t wear a violet girdle for a school show, of course.”

“Oh no! Only when I’m carrying your train. But I could have violets on my frock. And perhaps some day a visitor will say—‘Why has that infant some violet spots on her, when all the rest are in pure white?’ And somebody will tell her—‘Oh, she’s the maid-of-honour to the Violet May Queen!’ And perhaps I’ll hear; just think! I’d be as proud as proud!”

Joan laughed out. “I’ll ask Miss Macey, and if she agrees, I’ll take the frock home and embroider violets all round it.”

“It’ll be one of my greatest treasures, for ever and always,” Jen assured her earnestly.

“At the rate you’re growing, it won’t fit you by next summer,” Joan said. “Your legs get longer, and your tunic gets shorter, every term. You’re going to be a lamp-post before you’ve finished, Mrs. Wren.”

“A maypole! That’s much prettier,” Jen pleaded. “I can’t help it, Joan. Somehow I keep on growing. I’m taller than Jack, although she’s my husband. She’s terribly annoyed about it.”

“You’ll be taller than your queen, if you don’t stop.”

“Oh, I hope not! That would be horrid! I’d spoil the procession if I were as huge as that.”

“Don’t worry! You’re not so very big yet. Jack is just a shrimp. You needn’t be upset because you’ve beaten her.”

Joan went off to interview the headmistress on the subject of the white frock, and carried it home in her bicycle-basket when she rode away after school, in company with Joy, her cousin.

“Did Mrs. Wren give her usual shriek, when you broke the news?” Joy asked, as they pushed their cycles up the long hill out of the town.

“She didn’t shriek at all. I was rather touched by the way she took it,” Joan said. “She was completely overwhelmed; it had never entered her head that she might be chosen. She stared at me as if she couldn’t believe it, and then tried to argue that she wasn’t good enough.”

“I expect you convinced her without much difficulty! Jenny-Wren would kiss your shoes; she’ll be fearfully bucked to be your maid. You taught her to dance, and you were her first queen. She can’t forget all that.”

“The others have been at her again to join the junior team. It’s too bad, when she’s so keen on dancing.”

“They know she’d be a help to the team. Those brothers at home have trained her in cricket, and, unfortunately for her, Nora and the rest are quite aware of it. I heard Nora speaking about it. They want Jen to play for the sake of the school.”

“I couldn’t say it to Jen,” Joan said, as they mounted and rode on, “but she’s doing her bit for the school as a dancer. After a year of dancing, she’s one of the very best we have. She’s a joy to watch, and we’d miss her from our shows and festivals if we had to do without her. Her dancing has something special about it; I don’t know how to put it—something radiant and very happy. The older queens agree with me; the last time we all danced together, Cicely said: ‘That Jen child is the best of the lot.’ It would really let down the club if we lost Jenny-Wren now.”

“We shan’t lose her. Nothing on earth would tempt Mrs. Wren away from the club, now that you’ve chosen her as your maid. Even Nora sees that. When she heard Jen telling the news to Jack, she said: ‘That does it! We’ll never get her now. Oh, well, we must buck the rest up, that’s all!’ And, by the way, Jen wasn’t exactly quiet and overwhelmed then, whatever she may have been when the idea was still new! She came flying across the playground, all legs and plaits, and hurled herself on Jacky-boy and just yelled—‘Jack! Jack! I’m Joan’s bridesmaid, instead of Muriel; she’s the new queen! Isn’t it simply marvellous?’ And Jack dutifully agreed that it was.”

“Muriel is going to have Nesta for her maid. I expect we shall have Nesta and Jenny-Wren as queens some day.”

“Nesta’s turn first,” Joy said. “She’s been in the club longer than Mrs. Wren.”

“They’re only fourteen; there’s time enough. Maids-of-honour often grow into queens!”

“There’s really no reason why they should,” Joy argued. “The girls choose the queen, but the queen chooses her own maid. She might not be wanted as queen by the club.”

“No, your Carry wasn’t chosen,” Joan agreed.

“And she won’t be chosen,” Joy said grimly. “But it’s extremely likely that Nesta will, and still more likely that young Jen will have her turn later on.”

“I think so too. The club likes Jenny-Wren. But she’s too much of a kiddy at present. She’s coming to tea on Saturday, to hear about Jandy Mac’s mysterious letter.”

“Did you tell her what was in it?”

“Not a word! I’m saving that for Saturday. Jen will be thrilled,” Joan said laughing. “She’s wildly curious already.”