In Convent Walls Part 40

Sweet Saint Mary! what am I saying? Do I not know that every sister, every priest, in this house would be awfully shocked to know that such a thing could be? It is better it should not. And yet--my poor child!

This house no longer holds a Sister or Mother Gaillarde. She is now Lady Prioress, having been ordained and enthroned this afternoon. I must say the ceremony of vowing obedience felt to me less, not more, than that simple _Placet_ the other day, which seemed to come red-hot from the hearts that spake it.

The Sister chosen to succeed her as Mother is Sister Ismania. I am glad of it, for she is certainly fittest for the place. Mother Joan becomes the senior Mother.

Our new Prioress does not let the gra.s.s grow under her feet, and is very different from her predecessor. During the first week after her appointment, such quant.i.ties of household articles began to pour in-- whereof, in sooth, we stood in grievous need--that we Mothers were at our wits' end where to put them. I thought the steward's man would never have done coming to the grating with such announcements as--"Five hundredweight of wax, if you please, ladies; a hundred pounds of candles, ladies; twenty oaks for firewood, ladies; two sacks of seacoal, ladies; ten pieces of nuns' cloth, ladies; a hundred ells of cloth of linen, ladies; six firkins of speckled Bristol soap, ladies,"--cloth of Sarges [serge], cloth of Blanket [Note 1], cloth of Rennes; mops, bougets, knives, beds; cups, jugs, and amphoras; baskets by the dozen; quarters of wheat, barley, oats, beans, peas, and lentils; stockfish and ling, ginger and almonds, pipes of wine and quarts of oil--nay, I cannot tell what there was not. Sister Ada lost her temper early, and sorely bewailed her hard lot in having first to carry and find room for all these things, and secondly to use them. The old ways had suited her well enough: she could not think what my Lady wanted with all this mopping and scouring. Even Sister Joan said a little sarcastically that she thought my Lady must be preparing for the possibility of our having to stand a siege. My Lady, who heard both behind their backs, smiled her grim smile and went on. She does not keep in her own rooms like the last Prioress, but is here, there, and every where. Those of the Sisters who are indolently inclined dislike her rule exceedingly. For myself, I think in truth we have been going along too easily, and am glad to see the reins tightened and the horse admonished to be somewhat brisker: yet I cannot say that I can always keep pace with my Lady, and at times I am aware of a feeling of being driven on faster than I can go without being out of breath, and perhaps risking a fall. A little occasional rest would certainly be a relief. Howbeit, life is our working-day: and there will be time to rest in Heaven.

Joan tells me that she has had some talk with Father Mortimer, and finds that her mother and he were cousins, he being the only son of her grandfather's brother, Sir John de Mortimer, who died young in the tilt-yard [Note 2]. It is strange, pa.s.sing strange, that he and Margaret should have been drawn to one another--he the nephew, and she the daughter, of men who were deadly enemies. From what Joan saith, I can gather that this grandfather of hers must have been a very evil man in many ways. I love not to hear of evil things and men, and I do somewhat check her when she speaks on that head. Was it not for eating of the tree of knowledge of good and evil that our first fathers were turned out of Paradise? Yet the Psalmist speaks of G.o.d as "He that teacheth man knowledge." I will ask Father Mortimer to explain it when I confess.

The time is not far off now when my child Joan must leave us, and I shrink from it as it draws near. I would either that she were one of us, or that I could go back to the world. Yet neither can be, seeing she is wedded wife and mother: and for me, is not this the very carnal affection which religious persons are bidden to root out of their hearts? Yet the Apostle Saint John saith we are to love our brethren.

How can I do both? Is it lawful to love, only so long as we love not one above another? But our Lord Himself had His beloved disciple: and surely one's own mother must ever be more to her daughter than some other woman's mother? This also I will ask Father Mortimer.

Lack-a-day! this world is full of puzzles, or rather it is this life. I would one might see the way a little clearer--might have, as it were, a thread put into one's hand to guide one out of the labyrinth, like that old Grecian story which we teach the children. Some folks seem to lose their way easier than others; and some scarcely seem to behold any labyrinth at all--they walk right through those matters which are walls and hedges to others, and look as though they never perceived that any such things were there. Is it because of recklessness of right, or of single-heartedness and sincerity?

There are three matters to lay before Father Mortimer. I shall think long till the time come; and I hope he will be patient with me.

So soon as I stepped forth of my cell this morrow, I was aware of a kind of soft sobbing at no great distance. I went towards it, and as I turned the corner of the corridor, I came on a young novice, by name Denise, who sat on the ground with a pail before her, and a flannel and piece of soap on one side of it.

"What is the matter, child?" said I.

"Mother Ismania bade me scrub the boards," said she.

"Well! wherefore no?"

Denise fell a-sobbing yet more. For a minute or two might I not come at the reason: but at the last I did--she was a kinswoman of Sir Michael de La Pole, and thought it so degrading to be set to scrub boards!

"Why, dear heart," said I, "we all do work of this fas.h.i.+on."

"Oh yes, common Sisters may," quoth she.

"Well," said I, "we cannot be all uncommon. I ensure thee, Denise, there are here many daughters of better houses than thine. Mother Ismania herself is daughter of an offshoot of the Percys, and Sister Isabel is a Neville by her mother. My Lady is a Fitzhugh of Ravenswath."

"Well, Sisters!" came from behind us in my Lady's most sarcastic voice, "you choose a nice time for comparing your pedigrees. Maybe it were as well to leave that interesting amus.e.m.e.nt for recreation-time, and scrub the corridor just now."

Sister Denise melted again into tears, and I turned to explain.

"Your pail looks pretty full, Sister," said my Lady grimly: "much more water will make it overflow."

"May it please you, Madam," said I, "Sister Denise is thus distressed because she, being a De La Pole, is set to scrubbing and such like menial work."

"Oh, is she, indeed?" laughed my Lady. "Sister, do you know what Mother Annora is?"

Sister Denise could only shake her head.

"Her mother was grand-daughter to King Edward of Westminster," said my Lady. "If we three were in the world, I should be scantly fit to bear her train and you would be little better than her washerwoman. But I never heard her grumble to scour the corridor and she has done it more times than ever you thought about it. Foolish child, to suppose there was any degradation in honest work! Was not our blessed Lord Himself a carpenter? I warrant the holy Virgin kept her boards clean, and did not say she was too good to scrub. No woman alive is too good to do her duty."

Sister Denise brake forth into fresh sobs.

"A wa--wa--washerwoman! To be called a washerwoman! [Note 3.] Me, kinswoman of Sir Michael de La Pole, and Sir Richard to boot--a washerwo--woman!"

"Don't be a goose!" said my Lady. "De La Pole, indeed! who be these De La Poles? Why, no more than merchants of Lombard Street, selling towelling at fivepence the ell, and coverchiefs of Cambray [Note 4] at seven s.h.i.+llings the piece. Truly a goodly pedigree to boast of thus loudly!"

"But, Madam!" cries Sister Denise--her tears, methinks, burned up by her vexation--"bethink you, Sir Michael my cousin is a knight, and his wife the Lady Katherine heiress of Wingfield, and the Lady Katherine his mother 'longeth to the knights De Norwich. And look you, his sister is my Lady Scrope, and his cousin wedded the heir of the Lord Cobham of Kent."

"Nay, tarry not there," said my Lady; "do go a bit further while thou art about it. Was not my Lady Joan Cobham's mother daughter to my Lady of Devon, whose mother was daughter unto King Edward of Westminster--so thou art akin to the King himself? I cry thee mercy, my Lady Princess, that I set thee to scrub boards.--Sister Annora, prithee, let this princely damsel go to school for a bit--she's short of heraldry. The heiress of Wingfield, _the_ Lady Katherine, forsooth! and the daughter of Sir John de Norwich a 'Lady' at all! Why, child, we only call the King's kinswomen _the_ Lord and Lady. As to thy cousin Sir Michael, he is a woolmonger and lindraper [linen draper. The _en_ is a corruption]

that the King thought fit to advance, because it pleased him, and maybe he had parts [talents] of some sort. Sure thou hast no need to stick up thy back o' that count! To-morrow, Sister Denise, thou wilt please to clean the fire-dogs, and carry forth the ashes to the lye-heap.--Come, Sister Annora; I lack you elsewhere."

Poor little Denise broke into bitterer tears than ever; but I could not stay to comfort her, for I had to follow my Lady.

"I do vow, this world is full of fools!" said she, as we went along the corridor. "We shall have Sister Parnel, next, protesting that she knows not how much oats be a bushel, and denying to rub in the salt to a bacon, lest it should make her fingers sore. And 'tis always those who have small reason that make fusses like this. A King's daughter, when she takes the veil, looks for no different treatment from the rest; but a squire's daughter expects to have a round dozen of her Sisters told off to wait upon her.--Sister Egeline, feathers for stuffing are three-farthings a pound; prithee strew not all the floors therewith.

(Sister Egeline had dropped no more than one; but my Lady is lynx-eyed.) Truly, it was time some one took this house in hand. Had my sometime Lady ruled it another twelvemonth, there would have been never a bit of discipline left. There's none so much now. Sister Roberga had better look out. If she gives me many more pert answers, she'll find herself barred into the penitential cell on bread and water."

By this time we had reached the kitchen. Sister Philippa was just coming out of it, carrying one hand covered with her veil. My Lady came to a sudden halt.

"What have you there, Sister?"

Sister Philippa looked red and confused.

"I have cut my finger," she said.

My Lady's hand went into her pocket.

"Hold it forth," said she, "and I will bind it up. I always carry linen and emplasture."

Sister Philippa made half a dozen lame excuses, but at last held out her left hand, having (if I saw rightly) pa.s.sed something into the other, under cover of her veil.

"Which finger?" said my Lady, who to my surprise took no notice of her action.

"This," said Sister Philippa, holding out the first.

My Lady studied it closely.

"It must have healed quick," said she, "for I see never a scratch upon it."

"Oh, then it is that," quoth Sister Philippa, holding forth the second finder.

"I rather think, Sister, it is the other hand," said my Lady. "Let me look at that."

As my Lady was holding Sister Philippa's left hand, she had no chance to pa.s.s her hidden treasure into it. She held forth her right hand--full unwillingly, as I saw--and something rustled down her gown and dropped with a flop at her feet.

"Pick that up, Sister Annora," said my Lady.

I obeyed, and unfolding a German coverchief, found therein a flampoynt and three placentae [a pork pie and three cheesecakes].

"What were you going to do with these?" said my Lady.

"It's always my luck!" cried Sister Philippa. "Nothing ever prospers if I do it. Saint Elizabeth's loaves turned into roses, but no saint that liveth ever wrought a miracle for me."

"It is quite as well, Sister, that evil deeds should not prosper," was my Lady's answer. "Saint Elizabeth was carrying loaves to feed the poor. Was that your object? If so, you shall be forgiven; but next time, ask leave first."