Читать книгу Schoolgirl Jen at the Abbey - Elsie Jeanette Dunkerley - Страница 7

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“Between Vinny Miles and Ambrose, our family seems to be growing!” Jen said to herself, as she turned to go back to Mr. Browning. “If Lavinia was a little older, and much more beautiful, I might call her Jehane and say she had come back too. But I really can’t—not Vinny! She isn’t in the least like our dear Lady Jehane.”

She sat on the rug beside their guest, tossing back her long yellow plaits. “I say, Mr. Browning! Won’t the forge people be worried when you don’t turn up? Weren’t the Spindles expecting you to go to bed with them?”

“I said to them as how I’d try to stay in the Abbey for the night,” the old man explained. “They’ll know I be here.”

“Oh, I see! We must tell Joan, or she’ll think she has to send a message to say you’re all right. She thinks of everything for everybody.”

He turned to her eagerly. “Will Miss Joan let me stay, little miss? I’ll do no harm.”

“My name’s Jen—Jen Robins. Of course you won’t do any harm. And of course she’ll let you stay. She couldn’t turn you out of the Abbey.”

It had seemed to Mr. Browning that Joan not only could, but would, turn him out. His wistful eyes brightened and wandered lovingly over the moonlit garth.

“I were fond o’ this place,” he murmured. “I never wanted to go, but Sir Antony said it, and I knew the stairs was too much for me. By time I’d took folks up to the dormitory or the refectory I hadn’t no breath left to tell ’em about it. But it hurt me bad when I had to go.”

“I’m sure it did,” Jen said. “It must have been dreadful to have to leave the Abbey.”

“Mrs. Shirley and Miss Joan told it all better than what I could do. This Mrs. Watson, she’s good too, and she speaks nice, like I never could.”

“Mrs. Watson used to be a nurse to a family in London. She had to speak properly, or she’d have lost her job,” Jen explained. “She knows how to say things, but sometimes she forgets. But she remembers all right when she’s taking people round.”

“Very nice, I thought she told it. I never could do it like that. And my asthma was bad, so Sir Antony said as how I’d have to go. Miss Joan lives at the Hall now, don’t she?”

“Yes, but it belongs to Joy. Sir Antony was her grandfather, and he left the house to her. The Abbey belongs to Joan.”

“They told me that. She’s fond of it too. She’ll take care of it.”

“Oh, she does! She loves every stone of it, and so do I,” Jen said earnestly. “Have some more coffee, Mr. Browning. I’ll pour it for you. What did Joan call you? There was some other name besides Browning.”

“I’m Boniface, little miss. It was my grandfather’s name. They used to call me Boney or Bonny.”

Jen’s eyes were dancing. “What an odd name! I never met it before. Is it Latin? It sounds rather like an old monk. ‘Mr. Bonny Browning’ is nice; ‘Boney’ wouldn’t do at all. I think it’s a lovely name! But I must speak to Joan. Do eat up those biscuits and that bun!”

And she was gone, flying across the garth, while the old man’s eyes followed her wistfully.

“Ann, there’s somebody in the Abbey. You left him behind when you locked up. I’m not angry; don’t look so worried! He wanted to be left behind. But you should have noticed he didn’t go out with the other people.” Joan, in the caretaker’s little room within the walls, was looking round unhappily, while she told Mrs. Watson about Boniface Browning. For some time this had been her home, and she was not reconciled to the changes which had been made by Ann. By Ann’s urgent request the beautiful old gray walls had been colour-washed a cheerful pink; the bare stone, said Ann, was all right in the Abbey, but to live with it “gave her the creeps”. Joan, anxious for her caretaker’s comfort, had let her have her way; if Ann preferred to live surrounded by bright, hard pink, she must be allowed to do so. But for herself, Joan loathed it, and went into the small parlour as seldom as possible, choosing to interview Ann outside or on the garth whenever she could.

“He’ll sleep in the small cloister room. We’ll send him to bed before we go home,” she said. “But you might give him some breakfast and let him come in here for a wash in the morning.”

She cut short Ann’s apologies and went out, and almost ran into Jen, who came racing to meet her.

“Why, Jen! Is anything wrong with Mr. Browning?”

“Oh, no! He’s terribly happy, having a huge supper and looking at the cloisters in the moonlight as if he’d like to eat them too. He loves the Abbey—anyone can see that. But, oh, Joan! Is his name really Boniface? It’s too gorgeous for words!”

“I felt like that when I first heard it. It seemed to suit the Abbey so beautifully,” Joan agreed. “It really is his name, Jen! But I fancy he’s been called Bonny Browning all his life.”

“Yes, he said so. It’s a shame to spoil it. ‘Boney’ wouldn’t do: he’s not a bit thin! ‘Bonny’ isn’t a bad name for him, with those red, round cheeks like withered apples. But his lovely name oughtn’t to be spoiled. I shall call him Boniface. It sounds just like a monk! Ambrose should have been called Boniface. What does it mean? Is it a real name, Joan?”

“Oh, yes! It’s a very fine old name. I suppose it means Well-Doer—one who does good things.”

“Lovely!” Jen sighed happily. “I am so glad he came back to the Abbey! I shall call one of my children Boniface.”

“I hope you’ll consider his feelings before you do that! Think how he’d be ragged at school!”

“Perhaps it would be mean,” Jen admitted.

“I didn’t know you had made up your mind to have a family,” Joan remarked.

“Didn’t you? I’m going to have lots of children—ten, I think—mostly boys. Jack and I talked about it while you were having measles. It was when we trespassed at the Manor, next door, and I said it looked the sort of house that ought to have a lot of children playing in the garden. I said I couldn’t be bothered with a family, but since then I’ve thought it might be rather fun.”

“I’m sure it would,” Joan responded, with a laugh. “A lot of boys would suit you: you’re used to brothers. But don’t call one of them Boniface! It would be unkind.”

“All right, I won’t. I shall want some girls as well—about three, I think—and all the rest boys.”

“Oh, Jen!” Joan protested, laughing. “You’re going to have a busy life!”

“Some of them could be twins. Twins must be fun! What are you going to do with Boniface, Joan?”

“Send him to bed, and then go home and think about him.”

“Oh, right!” Jen said happily. “I suppose it is bedtime.”

“It’s bedtime for you, anyway.” And Joan explained her plans to old Boniface, who brightened up at thought of sleeping in the Abbey once more, and promised not to wander about, but to go to bed and rest.

Jen packed the remains of the picnic and carried the rugs and cushions to the cloister room. “These will keep Boniface nice and warm,” she said, dumping them on the bed.

Joan brought the old man to the door. “Good-night, Mr. Browning. Sleep well! Mrs. Watson will look after you in the morning. Come along, Jen!”

Jen slung a bag over her shoulder and picked up a basket. “I say, Joan! Such a marvellous idea!”

“You’re the one for ideas, Mrs. Wren. What now?”

“Couldn’t Boniface and Ann Watson get married? Then he could stay in the Abbey for always, and she could do the work.”

Joan gave a shout of laughter. “Jen! Oh, poor Ann! He’s old enough to be her father, if not her grandfather!”

“People do marry older people,” Jen said sturdily. “She’s a widow; she might like to have a husband again. I think it’s a very good plan.”

“I don’t, and I’m quite sure Ann wouldn’t.”

“Then she could adopt him as a grandfather, and he could live with her. He didn’t want to go away from the Abbey. He’d love to spend his last days here.”

“It’s a kind thought,” Joan agreed. “But Ann hasn’t room for him, Jen. There’s only one bedroom. Where would she put him?”

“He could have the little room, where he is now. It would be like the old days, when the monks had an infirmary for aged people and nursed them till they died. It would bring back another bit of the Abbey, if you kept an aged person here, and Boniface is such a darling. Oh, Joan, do think about it in earnest! He’d be so happy!”

Joan was looking startled. “But that little room is my private place—the only bit of the Abbey that I’ve kept for myself. You wouldn’t take it from me, would you?”

“I forgot,” Jen said dejectedly. “No, of course not. You must have your own bit of the Abbey. It seemed such a wonderful plan. I thought we were going to have our old folks’ infirmary again. But you couldn’t. I see that.”

Joan knit her brows. The disappointment in Jen’s tone was so acute. “Off you go to bed!” she said, as they reached the house after a silent crossing of the lawn. “Don’t worry about Mr. Browning. He’ll be very comfortable.”

“You’ll come and tuck me in, won’t you?”

“Baby! Yes, all right. I’ll be your mother. I’m going to bed too.”

She found Jen lying with her hair loose and spread all over the pillow. “Jenny-Wren! Sit up and plait that stuff. You’ll be too hot.”

“I will, presently. It’s plaited all day. I’m giving it a rest. I’m going to cut it off when I have to put it up. I believe it would be curly.”

“I’m sure it would. But you’d look quite different.”

“It might be an improvement,” Jen grinned. “Give yours a rest too, Joan. I like to see it loose.”

Joan obligingly unwound her thick plait and shook the dark red locks free. “There! Now I really shall have to go to bed. Are you sure you’ve had enough supper?”

“Oh, heaps, thank you very much! Didn’t Ambrose—I mean Boniface!—love his sandwiches? It was lucky for him we had our picnic to-night!”

“Yes, he’d have been both cold and hungry by the morning. It was a silly thing to do. But he’s all right where he is.”

“Joan, I’m sorry I made that plan. I forgot it was your bit of the Abbey. I didn’t worry you, did I?”

“Of course not, Jenny-Wren. Now do your hair and go to sleep.”

“All the same, I believe it did worry her,” Jen said to herself, as she sat up to plait her hair, after Joan had gone. “I’m sorry I said it. But it would have been marvellous if Boniface Browning could have been the aged and infirm who stayed in the Abbey for ever and ever! I’m sure he’d have loved it. Oh, well! It can’t be done, that’s all!”