Читать книгу The Abbey Girls - Elsie Jeanette Dunkerley - Страница 9

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‘Why so solemn, mother dear?’ demanded Joy, as they rose from tea. ‘You’ve hardly said a word since we came in!’

‘Because you’ve been talking all the time! I wish you could have been with us, mother,’ and Joan glanced quickly at her mother’s sober face. ‘We had a lovely walk. It’s jolly going with Joy, for she knows all the short cuts and footpaths. Did you have a quiet afternoon?’

‘One visitor,’ Mrs Shirley said quietly.

‘Duffer!’ said Joy. ‘Did you repulse him gently? Is he coming back to-morrow?’

‘I think not. I got rid of her all right—it was a she.’

‘On a Sunday?’ Joy raised her eyebrows. ‘Careless thing!’

‘I’m always sorry for people when we have to turn them away, but of course it is their own fault,’ Joan remarked. ‘And I’m really awfully glad Sir Antony is so strict about Sundays.’

She glanced continually at her mother’s thoughtful face as they cleared the table. Then Joy took her cap from its peg.

‘Come for a walk, Joan?’

‘Joy! “Come for a walk!” We went six miles this afternoon. Don’t you call that a walk?’

‘Oh, yes! It was very jolly. But I’m ready for another now. I thought I’d walk over to Risborough, and go to church there.’

‘Four miles each way! Are you never tired, Joy?’

‘Not often! And it’s such a lovely evening. Don’t you feel tempted?’

‘No, I’ll stay with mother this time. It’s hardly fair to leave her alone again.’

‘She doesn’t mind, do you, mother dear?’

‘Not at all, if Joan would care to go——’

‘No, I’ll stay with you, and we’ll have a cosy time together. Joy’s a wandering gipsy and can’t rest indoors. She’s the Wild Cat that walked by himself through the Wet Wild Woods.’

‘Waving his wild tail and walking by his wild lone! Yes, that’s me!’ Joy laughed. ‘Good-bye, till supper!’

‘She’s never satisfied! Come and sit in the sacristy, mother. I’ll carry your chair.’

She arranged chair and footstool beside the great round window, and wrapped a shawl round her mother lest she should feel chilly.

‘You treat me as if I were an invalid, Joan,’ Mrs Shirley protested, but Joan only laughed and placed a cushion for herself on the broad window-seat.

‘Mothers must be taken care of, and they must put up with it nicely. Now what shall I read?’

‘No, I just want to talk to-night.’

‘All right! That will suit me!’ and Joan perched herself on the window-ledge, leaning against the round casement. ‘Don’t you wish the old stonework was still in this window?’

‘Joan! My visitor this afternoon was Cicely Hobart.’

‘Mother! How awfully queer! I told her I’d be out!’

‘Yes, she came to see me. She was anxious to consult me before speaking to you. It was very thoughtful.’

Joan’s eyes were wide. ‘What about? Mother, do explain!’

With her eyes fixed on her daughter’s face Mrs Shirley told of Cicely’s proposal. Joan’s cheeks flushed with startled colour, and a great eagerness dawned in her eyes.

‘How awfully kind! Oh, mother, how awfully nice of them! Oh, wouldn’t it be splendid? But would it be all right? Would you like me to take so much from them? There seems no reason why they should do it!’

‘Cicely’s reason is that it would give them so much pleasure.’

‘What a jolly way to put it! But it’s really no reason, is it? It is awfully kind of them! What do you think?’

‘I’ve been thinking it over. Do you wonder that I have been thoughtful? It would be a big thing for you, Joan.’

‘It would be just everything. It would mean Bedford—for I’d win that scholarship or die in the attempt! Oh, mother, what do you think? Would you let me accept?’

‘Yes! It means so much—everything, as you say. It would change your whole life. I could not advise you to refuse it, simply out of a feeling of pride. If they proposed to do an unusual thing for your sake it would be another matter. We could not permit it, of course. But this scholarship is a recognised one. As Cicely says, they have to choose some one. It is more than kind of them to choose you, and I think you can thank them best by accepting their kindness and trying to show yourself worthy of their choice. They would be disappointed if you did not do well. That, I think, is the right way to look at the matter.’

Joan nodded, her face very sober in spite of the suppressed eagerness in her eyes.

‘I will do well! It’s so awfully kind of them!’ she said again, drawing a deep breath. ‘And it’s such a jolly school! Think of the dancing! It will be a tremendous help to know all that before I go to college. And all that May Queen business sounds ripping! I shall see the Coronation, after all, and perhaps even take part in it!’

She gazed with glowing eyes out of the rose window, seeing, not a meadow, but a big school building, with bright-faced girls crowding into the hall to dance. But suddenly the light faded from her eyes, and she turned quickly to her mother.

‘But what about the abbey? Who would do the work? Oh, mother, you couldn’t spare me! It wouldn’t be fair!’

‘Nonsense! That isn’t going to stand in your way. My dear Joan, I’m as anxious as you can be that you should have this chance. I’m not so helpless as you make out. I can do the work well enough, with some help from Joy.’

‘Joy!’ Joan frowned. ‘No one could say Joy knows everything about the abbey! The other day she asked me what an aumbry was, and said it sounded such a funny word!’

Her mother laughed slightly. ‘It is a funny word! I quite believe Joy doesn’t know very much yet, but she can learn, Joan.’

‘She can, but will she? Suppose a fine day comes and she gets restless and wants to go off on tramp? Are you to do all the work whenever she turns gipsy? You know how she can’t sit still some days! She says the wind and trees call her, and she has to go.’

‘We shall arrange it. That must not stand in your way. I’m good for a fair amount yet, Joan.’

‘But even if you manage to chain Joy down, how can you teach her all she’ll need to know? She always says she can’t remember dates!’

‘You will have to give her and me lessons together,’ laughed her mother. ‘You will not be going to school till May. There will be two months for us to learn.’

‘But the summer’s the busy time! And I don’t like the thought of you doing it at all, mother. I don’t believe Joy will——’ and she sat, chin on hand, looking very worried. ‘It’s Joy who ought to go to school!’ she announced at last.

‘But it isn’t Joy who has been asked!’ Mrs Shirley’s tone was sharp, as if the same thought had occurred to her and been dismissed summarily. She rose with a shiver. ‘It’s getting chilly. Joy and I will manage very well, Joan. Don’t give another thought to that. I am thankful that you should have this chance, and I know you will use it well.’

‘Oh, I will! I’ll do my very best! I’ll come in presently, mother,’ and she sat on after the sunset had faded, her face deeply thoughtful and not quite so radiant as at first.

But at last she rose, giving herself a little shake as if to dismiss some burden, and made her way in the twilight through the ruined chamber, down the uneven steps and across the cloister garth. She had often wandered in the abbey by moonlight, and even in darkness had no fear of stumbling.

Her mother glanced at her face as she entered the sitting-room, and drew a breath of relief that something she had feared to see was not there. Joan’s eyes were eager again, and as she prepared the supper she said brightly, ‘It’s a good thing I’ve kept on working, isn’t it, mother? I expect I’ll be jolly glad of it when I get back to school. You know, I do think it’s absolutely the kindest thing I ever heard of! Just fancy them thinking of me! And fancy Cicely coming all that way to arrange it! I do think she’s a jolly girl!’

‘She was certainly anxious that you should take their offer,’ Mrs Shirley said emphatically.

Joan nodded. ‘Here comes Joy! Don’t say anything about it to her, mother, please! It isn’t settled enough yet.’

‘But surely, Joan——’

‘Please don’t tell her! Well, you wandering spirit, have you been to church, or have you been wandering on the hills? You’re home early. Did you get tired of waving your wild tail through the wet wild woods by your wild lone?’

Joy laughed. ‘I met Mr Baker, and he gave me a lift.’

‘It seems to me you drive a great deal too much with Mr Baker, Miss Shirley,’ said Joan solemnly. ‘He’ll be asking you what your intentions are. I suppose you gave him no choice, but jumped up behind and said “I’m going home with you.” Now confess! Don’t you bully him frightfully?’

‘You must write to Cicely to-night, Joan,’ Mrs Shirley murmured, as Joy laughed and sat down to take off her muddy boots.

‘I know. She’ll go to bed early and sleep like a top, as she always does after tramping. I’ll write, then.’

As she expected, Joy went off directly after supper to the dark little inner room which was her domain. Joan always slept with her mother; close as were the relations between Joy and her aunt, in this one point Joan came closer still to her mother. She held firmly to her privilege, and the opportunities for intimate confidence were very precious to them both.

But to-night the time for intimate talk came earlier. Joan sat down to write, and her mother sat watching her. Each knew the thought which had been in the mind of the other, but each hoped the other had put it definitely away.

Joan wrote the address on her paper, and hesitated—wrote the date, and hesitated again—wrote ‘Dear Cicely,’ and sat biting her pen. She glanced up, and found her mother’s eyes upon her. Suddenly she threw down the pen and pushed back her chair.

‘Mother, I can’t do it! It’s not right!’

‘Joan, my dear!’

‘I’ve been trying not to think of it, and so have you. But I can’t forget it. It isn’t right, mother. Joy’—her voice broke—‘Joy needs it more than I do.’

Running to her mother, she dropped on her knees and hid her face in her lap. Mrs Shirley’s arms closed round her, and she said shakily, ‘Joan dear, we had better talk it over, since it is troubling you too. I hoped you would think no more about it——’

‘I tried not to, but it wouldn’t go away. I can’t help feeling it would be worse than mean to take this chance without trying to see if Joy couldn’t have it instead. Mother, think——’

‘But it wasn’t offered to Joy, Joan dear. It would be good for her, no doubt, and she needs it more, since she will not work at home as you do. But the offer was made to you.’

‘But perhaps if I asked them they’d take her instead. That’s what’s troubling me. I can’t take it for myself without trying, mother. If they won’t agree, there’s no more to be said. But it seems to me I ought to try my hardest to get the chance for Joy.’

She sat leaning on her mother’s knee. ‘I won’t be a baby any more. It was silly. But you know how I’ve always felt about school. But think what it means to Joy!’ she hurried on, as her voice quivered on the word ‘school.’ ‘It’s her music I’m thinking of, mother. You know how she wastes her time, because she isn’t having lessons. She practised well enough while she was learning. And those things she’s always making up, songs and marches and dances—they’re very pretty and they may be good, but they may be all wrong in theory, and she couldn’t write them down. She might write music some day, and perhaps even be a great composer. But she must be made to learn, for she’ll never do it by herself. It’s not as if I could learn and teach her. I’m not musical enough, and she’d never learn from me, anyway. But if she were taught, she might do something big some day. If she isn’t taught, she’ll go on slacking and wasting her time wandering in the woods. You said yourself she needed a good general education, and she needs a good musical one too. You know it’s true, mother.’

‘Joan dear, I know it all, of course. But this chance is only for one of you just now. Perhaps if you did well, another year you might be able to put in a word for Joy——’

‘After they’d done so much for me? How could I, mother? How could I ask for more?’

‘Well, dear, why should you not have this chance, which, after all, has only been offered to you?’

‘They don’t know Joy yet. Any one who understood would see she was more worth helping than I am. Yes, really, mother, you know it’s true. I’m only ordinary. No one will be very much the better if I go to college’—her lips quivered—‘and become a drill mistress and teach in schools all my life. It would be jolly, but that’s all. It’s only a way of earning my living, and keeping the abbey will do just as well. We can be very happy here. But Joy might do something worth while. If a person writes beautiful music, every one is the better for it. If a sunny day, or a misty wood, or a wide stretch of country makes Joy dream songs even now—and you know she always says she “finds a new one” when she’s out—she might some day write music that would make everybody glad. But she must learn how. She’s more worth helping than I am. Mother, you know it’s true.’

Mrs Shirley had no answer to the challenge. Her arms tightened round Joan, but she said nothing.

‘And then I can work alone, and she can’t. I don’t believe it’s only “won’t” with Joy. I really think she can’t keep at it alone. And she won’t let me help her. I’m getting on, slowly perhaps, but I am getting on, and with Cicely’s papers and the new books Joy will bring home I’ll get on faster still. And perhaps she’ll be able to teach me some of the dancing. Whatever way you look at it, she needs it more than I do. And you know you need me here, mother, though you’re trying to make me think you’d be able to manage. But you know you’re dreading the thought of being left with only Joy to help you.’

But Mrs Shirley would not admit it. ‘Nonsense, Joan! We can manage well enough.’

‘I know what that means! I wouldn’t feel comfortable. It’s another reason! And then there’s the biggest one of all, mother.’

Mrs Shirley’s lips tightened. ‘Joan, you think of everything. I hoped you wouldn’t think of that.’

‘It’s a case of conscience!’ Joan sighed. ‘I want the one thing so much that everything joins to show me it would be wrong. But Joy’s father trusted her to us, and we promised to do our best for her. If there’s a big chance for one of us, she ought to have it. Joy has nobody but us. We must give her every chance we can. We have one another, but she’s alone in the world and she needs all the help she can get.’

‘But you, Joan? Joy’s father would not wish you to suffer for her. This chance is just what you have longed for.’

‘Now, mother!’ and Joan rose quickly. ‘You’ve got to make it easier for me, dear. It’s hard enough. I’d simply love to go back to school, but I can’t do it if there’s any chance of Joy going instead. I’d feel mean all the time. So we won’t talk any more about it, dear. And we’ll say nothing to Joy till we know. Tell me what to write to Cicely.’

Mrs Shirley’s heart ached for her, but she could not fail her after such an appeal for aid.

‘I hardly know. It’s not as if she had seen Joy and would understand.’

‘No. I’d like to talk it over with her and explain. I wonder if I could go to see her? Where does she live?’

‘At Broadway End, near Kimble. Joy would know the way.’

‘Yes, I believe she knows every path and cart track round about. She never hesitates. Will you mind if I go over there one evening?’

She wrote a very short note at last, after much hesitation.

‘Dear Cicely,—I really don’t know how to thank you for your kind thought. I don’t know why you should be so good to us. But I can’t say yes till I have had a talk with you. There is so much to explain. May I come and see you one evening? I could cycle over, if you will tell me when you get home from school.

‘Yours very gratefully,

‘Joan Shirley.’

Cicely’s answer came promptly, in the form of a telegram next evening.

‘Coming to see you Wednesday morning, half-term. Want awfully to hear all about it. You must come.’

Joan handed it to her mother with a little laugh. ‘She does know what she wants! And she doesn’t grudge money. Surely she could have left out “awfully!” ’

‘Whatever does she want to come again for?’ asked Joy from the piano.

‘That’s her business,’ said Mrs Shirley quietly. ‘I shall want you to be in, Joy, to help me while Joan is busy with her friend.’

‘Then the wet wild woods will have to call for me in vain. All right, mother dear! I’ll help you, and Joan shall go off with her new chum.’