Читать книгу Stowaways in the Abbey - Elsie Jeanette Dunkerley - Страница 9

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A sneeze; and whispering. Somebody was in the Abbey—in the cloisters—just outside the door.

Jen dived under the bedclothes. Then she flung back the blankets and sat up.

“Idiot! That’s no use! I must fetch Mrs. Watson. Who on earth can it be? Well!” she said valiantly. “It’s not a ghost, for it can sneeze and whisper. Gosh! It’s coming in here!”

Someone was cautiously trying the handle of the door. Jen, petrified with astonishment and fear, gasped, “Who is it? Go away! What do you mean by it?”

The door opened, and a small face appeared, and frightened eyes stared at her, as much astonished as her own. Then the apparition fled, with a cry of terror.

Jen came to herself. This ghost was small enough for her to tackle. She leapt out of bed, thrust her feet into shoes and flung on her coat, caught up her torch, and ran out.

“Trespassing, that’s what you are, ghostie! Now, who are you? And what are you playing at?”

The ghost, with a despairing cry, tripped and fell down the two steps of the cloisters. Someone ran to help her—Jen could see that it was a girl, and that the second intruder was a man or boy.

Before he could jerk the girl to her feet, Jen was upon them. “Who are you? What are you doing here?”

Her torch flashed on their faces. A tall thin boy, who looked ill and frightened; a girl of fifteen, who clung to him and hid her face.

The boy collapsed helplessly on the cloister steps and dropped his head in his hands. The girl cowered beside him, keeping her face hidden.

“Who are you?” Jen demanded again. “What’s the matter? Why are you in the Abbey? Come on, you’ll have to tell me now.”

The boy flung his arm round his companion and looked up, brave but despairing. “She helped me. You mustn’t hurt her. She stood by me. She’s the only one——”

His voice broke, and he dropped his head again.

“He’s hungry,” the girl gasped. “I brought some bread, but I couldn’t get much——”

“Hungry!” Jen knew it was true; that was what the look in the boy’s eyes had meant. “I say, wait just two secs! I’ve biscuits and an apple and simply piles of chocolate. It’s in here; don’t run away! I’ll fetch you some eats, and then I’ll put some clothes on.”

She dashed into the bedroom and was back in a moment, her hands full. “There! Tuck into that and you’ll feel better. Good thing I saved it. Wait for me; I won’t be a second.”

Her captives were far too stunned to run away. The boy seized the chocolate and began to eat hungrily. The girl sat beside him, her head still bent, her shoulders heaving.

Jen dressed at lightning speed. She was beginning to enjoy herself.

“What a night! I know that girl’s voice, though she only said about two words. She expected me to know her; she wouldn’t look at me. Who is she? And how did they come into the Abbey? I must get to the bottom of this!”

The thought of fetching Mrs. Watson never occurred to her. It was obvious that the intruders were hiding. She must know what it all meant, but she could not betray them to the caretaker. Joan would have to know in the morning, of course.

She pulled on stockings, and a warm jumper over her tunic. Then putting on her coat again, she ran out to question her prisoners. Although they were two to one, and the boy was at least three years older than herself, she knew she was more than a match for them; their broken attitude as they sat on the steps had shown her that.

“Now tell me what this means!” She spoke with gentle firmness. “You haven’t any right to be here at this time. What are you frightened of? Why are you hiding? Who are you, anyway?”

The girl looked up in despair, pushing back short brown hair. “Miss Jen, I took the keys——”

“Susan! I thought I knew your voice! You stole the Abbey keys, when Joan was ill and nobody was thinking about them?” Jen asked sternly.

The girl, an orphan who had been left destitute by the death of her aunt, had been taken into the house by Mrs. Shirley, for training under the cook. Jen had seen her picking gooseberries in the garden, but had only once heard her speak.

Susan shook with desperate sobbing. “He was here. He hadn’t nothing to eat. I’d a-plenty. I had to come.”

“He was hiding in the Abbey? He’s your brother?” Jen grasped the situation. “So you took the keys and brought him grub at night? Awfully sporting of you, but you oughtn’t to have stolen the keys, you know. Mrs. Shirley would have helped you. Why is it?” She looked at the boy. “What are you hiding for?”

“He never done it!” the girl cried fiercely. “He never done nothing wrong!”

“Chuck it, Susie,” the boy reddened. “I didn’t do what they said, but—’twasn’t anything so very bad,” he said defiantly.

Jen looked at him thoughtfully. “Then you did do something? You’d better tell me all about it. What’s your name?”

“Timothy. Timothy Spindle, miss.”

“Timothy Spindle! What a gorgeous name!” Jen’s eyes danced. “Sure you didn’t make it up? Oh, is Susan’s name Spindle too?”

“She’s Susie.” The owner of the name stared blankly.

“Of course, you’re used to being Timothy Spindle,” Jen conceded. “It won’t seem gorgeous to you. I call it a simply marvellous name. Do they call you Tim? Our kitten’s called Timmy. Or are you always called Timothy?”

“Yes, miss!” Timothy was still staring at her.

Jen laughed under her breath. “He thinks I’m batty. Now, Timothy!” she spoke aloud, with a return of her stern manner. “Why are you hiding in the Abbey? Why does Susie need to steal food for you? What are you so frightened about?”

“They said I took things from Mr. Kenneth’s room,” Timothy’s voice rose stormily. “I never! I never touched Mr. Kenneth’s things. But—but I wanted to go to the pictures with some other chaps, and I—I took some money—only a shilling or two—nothing to matter——”

“Stealing’s stealing, even if it’s only a shilling,” Jen said judicially. “I’m all in a fog. Who is Mr. Kenneth? Where does he live? Did you work in his house?”

“Boots and knives, and odds and ends. He’s Mr. Kenneth Marchwood.”

Jen began to see light, but still only dimly. “Mr. Marchwood! But Marchwood Manor is shut up and has been for ages. Oh, do you mean the town house? Were you in service with them in London?”

“Sir Keith and Lady Marchwood gave me a job. Our father was gardener at the Manor. He died, and Susie went to Aunt Emily in the village. Lady Marchwood said they’d have me at their London place.”

“I see. And you made friends with some boys and wanted to go out with them, and so you took some money?”

“ ’Twas only two shillings,” Timothy said sulkily.

“He never touched nothing else! He never went near Mr. Kenneth’s things!” Susie cried passionately.

“Mr. Kenneth—he’s Sir Keith’s brother, isn’t he? Did he say you’d taken his things? How beastly of him!”

“Mr. Simmonds, he’s the butler, he said it. Mr. Kenneth’s gone to Africa,” Timothy explained.

“Can’t blame him, then! So you ran away and came home to the village. Then Susie took the Abbey keys and you hid—where have you been hiding? How long have you been here? Why has nobody seen you? Does Mrs. Watson know?” Jen’s questions poured out, as she grasped the situation.

“She don’t know,” Timothy said hastily. “I was in the cellar where the big chest is. Susie brought a blanket from her bed, the first night, and she said nobody goes down there.”

“Not just now. That’s true,” Jen admitted. “We’ve only just found out about that cellar, and we’re waiting for a man to come from London to look at it. He doesn’t want it touched till he’s examined it thoroughly. He may come any day; he might have come and found you there! But we don’t expect him for a week or two now, because of the illness at the Hall. He’ll wait till the girls are better, so that they can go with him through the tunnels.”

She looked at Timothy thoughtfully. “It’s a safe place at present. It was clever of Susie to think of it. Of course, as you’ve taken refuge in the Abbey we can’t give you up to your enemies. Anybody who came to the Abbey had to be protected. It was a sanctuary, or a safe place, for people who ran away. But I don’t see quite how it’s to be managed. You can’t stay in that cellar for ever.”

The brother and sister stared at her. This doctrine of sanctuary was a mystery to them. Timothy had taken refuge in the ruins because they seemed the only possible hiding-place.

“I thought,” he said dully, “that if I could get help from Susie, and a little money, I could get to the sea and go on a ship, maybe.”

“As a stowaway, do you mean? Was Susie to steal the money?” Jen looked grave. “That’s no use. It would be a very bad start! And I don’t suppose you’d like being on a ship, even if they’d take you. You couldn’t go on being a stowaway, you know; they’d find you, and they might not be nice about it. You’re a sort of stowaway here in the Abbey, aren’t you? Joan may have a better idea than stowing away on a ship.”

“You won’t tell them at the house?” Susan cried in panic.

“Of course I shall. Don’t be silly! Timothy has come to Joan’s Abbey for refuge; she’ll keep him safe, but she must know he’s here. Don’t cry like that, Susie! I’ll ask them not to scold you too much. You did it for Timothy; we understand that.”

“They’ll say I hadn’t ought to have taken them keys,” Susie sobbed.

“Well, you knew that yourself. You ought not to have touched the keys, even for Timothy’s sake. But Joan will understand. Now you’d better go back to bed, if you can crawl into the house without being caught.”

“I done it two nights,” Susie muttered.

“You won’t do it any more. Joan will tell us what to do, but I know she won’t want you creeping about at night like a burglar. Timothy, are you comfortable in that cellar?”

“Well enough, miss. But it’s so quiet down there. I don’t like it.”

Jen nodded. “I know. I had an hour or two all alone in those tunnels, about a month ago, and I haven’t forgotten it. It was horribly eerie, and I thought of ghosts and rats.”

“Yes, miss,” said Timothy gloomily.

“You thought of them too, did you? But there aren’t any, so you needn’t worry. Oh, I say! Was it you I heard in the passage on Sunday morning? I was sure something moved behind that door. Did you go for a walk, and go up the steps to the door that leads into the old church?”

Timothy looked at her wide-eyed. “Yes, miss. I was tired doing nothing. I thought I heard somebody speak, so I went away.”

“I expect I talked to myself. I was terrified,” Jen assured him. “I thought you were a ghost, just for a second. I’m glad to know who it was. I thought I’d begun imagining noises! I never guessed there was a stowaway in the Abbey! I’m afraid you’ll have to put up with the ghastly silence of the cellar for a little while longer. I can’t stay and hold your hand, and Susie must go back to bed. You’d better try to go to sleep. Are you still hungry?”

“Not so bad now, miss, thank you very kindly.”

“I haven’t another crumb to give you, and I’d rather not raid Mrs. Watson’s larder,” Jen said thoughtfully. “Can you hold out till the morning?”

“Easy, miss. I’ll go to sleep.”

“Right! Good-night! Now, Susie, hop it! Through the tresaunt and the garden—that’s your best way. I’ll come with you to the gate, because the passage is so dark. But with this moon you can see your way through the garden easily. Come on!”

She drove Susie before her through the tunnel under the refectory and by way of the Abbot’s garden to the gate which led to the Hall.

“There! Now you’ll be all right. Rush home and jump into bed. And don’t cry, Susie! It was sporting of you to stand by Timothy; you had to do it when he turned up and asked you, of course; but we’ll see to him now. He’ll be all right; the Abbey must protect him, you know.”