The White Ladies of Worcester A Romance of the Twelfth Century

CHAPTER XXXVII

WHAT MOTH­ER SUB-​PRI­ORESS KNEW

Moth­er Sub-​Pri­oress had ap­plied her eye, for the fifti­eth time, to the key­hole; but naught could she see in the Pri­oress's cell, save a por­tion of the great wood­en cross against the op­po­site wall.

Sis­ter Mary Re­bec­ca, mount­ed up­on a stool, at­tempt­ed to spy through the hole over the rope and pul­ley by means of which the Rev­erend Moth­er rang the Con­vent bell. But all Sis­ter Mary Re­bec­ca saw, af­ter bump­ing her head up­on a beam, and her nose on the wall, ow­ing to the im­pos­si­bil­ity of get­ting it out of the way of her eye, was a por­tion of the top of the Rev­erend Moth­er's win­dow.

She cried out, as a great dis­cov­ery, that the cur­tains were drawn back; up­on which, Moth­er Sub-​Pri­oress, ex­claim­ing, tart­ly, that that had been long ago ob­served from the gar­den be­low, pushed the stool in her anger, and sent Sis­ter Mary Re­bec­ca fly­ing.

Jump­ing to save her­self, she alight­ed heav­ily on the feet of Sis­ter Tere­sa, strik­ing Mary Seraphine full in the face with her el­bow, and scat­ter­ing, to right and left, the crowd around the door.

This cleared a view for Moth­er Sub-​Pri­oress straight down the pas­sage and through the big open door, to the clois­ters; when, look­ing up--to scold Mary Re­bec­ca for tak­ing such a leap, to bid Sis­ter Tere­sa cease writhing, and Mary Seraphine to shriek in her cell with the door shut, if shriek she must--Moth­er Sub-​Pri­oress saw the Bish­op, alone and unat­tend­ed, walk­ing to­ward them from the clois­ters.

“_Benedicite_,” said the Bish­op, as he ap­proached. “I am for­tu­nate in chanc­ing to find the whole com­mu­ni­ty as­sem­bled.”

The Bish­op's up­lift­ed fin­gers brought the nuns to their knees; but they rose at once to their feet again and crowd­ed be­hind Moth­er Sub-​Pri­oress as, tak­ing a step for­ward, she has­tened to ex­plain the sit­ua­tion.

“My Lord Bish­op, you find us in much dis­tress. The Rev­erend Moth­er is locked in­to her cell, and we fear that, af­ter a long night of vig­il and fast­ing, she hath swooned. We can­not get an an­swer by much knock­ing, and we have no means of forc­ing the door, which is of most mas­sive strength and thick­ness.”

The Bish­op looked search­ing­ly in­to the fer­re­ty face of Moth­er Sub-​Pri­oress, but he saw naught there save gen­uine dis­tress and per­plex­ity.

He looked at the mas­sive door, and at the ex­cit­ed crowd of nuns. He even gave him­self time to note that the nose and lip of Seraphine were be­gin­ning to swell, and to ex­pe­ri­ence a whim­si­cal wish that the Knight could see her.

Then his calm, ob­ser­vant eye turned again to Moth­er Sub-​Pri­oress.

“And why do you make so sure, Moth­er Sub-​Pri­oress, that the Rev­erend Moth­er is in­deed with­in her cell?”

“Be­cause we _know_ her to be,” replied Moth­er Sub-​Pri­oress, as tart­ly as she dared, when ad­dress­ing the Lord Bish­op. "Per­mit me, Rev­erend Fa­ther, to re­count to you the hap­pen­ings of the last twen­ty hours.

“Soon af­ter her re­turn from Ves­pers, yestereven, the Rev­erend Moth­er sent word by Mary Antony that she pur­posed again spend­ing the night in prayer and vig­il, and would not be present at the evening meal; al­so that she must not, on any ac­count what­ev­er, be dis­turbed. Mary Antony took this mes­sage to the kitchens, bid­ding the younger lay-​sis­ters to pre­pare the meal with­out her, say­ing she cared not how bad­ly it was served, see­ing the Rev­erend Moth­er would not be there to par­take of it.”

Moth­er Sub-​Pri­oress paused to sniff, and to give the oth­er nuns an op­por­tu­ni­ty for ejac­ula­tions con­cern­ing Sis­ter Antony. But their awe of the Lord Bish­op, and their gen­uine anx­iety for the old lay-​sis­ter, kept them silent.

The Bish­op stroked his chin, keep­ing the cor­ners of his mouth firm­ly in place by means of his thumb and fin­ger. Old Antony was delectably fun­ny when she said these things her­self; but she was delectably fun­nier, when her re­marks were re­peat­ed by Moth­er Sub-​Pri­oress.

“The old _crea­ture_,” con­tin­ued Moth­er Sub-​Pri­oress, eye­ing the Bish­op's med­ita­tive hand sus­pi­cious­ly, “then be­took her­self to the out­er gates, told the porter­ess that she had your or­ders, Rev­erend Fa­ther, to re­port to you if the Rev­erend Moth­er again elect­ed to pass a night in vig­il and in fast­ing, be­cause you and she--you and _she_ for­sooth!--were made anx­ious by the too con­stant fast­ing and the too pro­longed vig­ils of the Rev­erend Moth­er. Mary Mark very prop­er­ly re­fused to al­low the old”----

“Lay-​sis­ter,” in­ter­posed the Bish­op, stern­ly.

Moth­er Sub-​Pri­oress gasped; then made obei­sance:--“the old lay-​sis­ter to leave the Con­vent. Where­upon Sis­ter Antony sent Mary Mark to de­liv­er the Rev­erend Moth­er's mes­sage to me, brib­ing her, with the promise of a gift from you, my lord, to leave her the key. When the porter­ess re­turned, Mary Antony was gone, hav­ing left the great doors ajar, and the key with­in the lock. She has not been seen since. Did she reach the Palace, and speak with you, my lord? Is she now in safe­ty at the Palace?”

“Nay,” said the Bish­op grave­ly. “Sis­ter Mary Antony hath not been seen at the Palace.”

“Alack-​a-​day!” ex­claimed Sis­ter Abi­gail; “she will have fall­en by the way, and per­ished! She was too old to face the world or at­tempt to reach the city.”

“Peace, girl!” com­mand­ed the Sub-​Pri­oress. “Thy com­ments and thy wail­ings mend not the mat­ter, and do but in­cense the Lord Bish­op.”

Noth­ing could have ap­peared less in­censed than the Bish­op's be­nign coun­te­nance. But he had spo­ken stern­ly to Moth­er Sub-​Pri­oress, there­fore she en­deav­oured to put her­self in the right by charg­ing him, at the first op­por­tu­ni­ty, with un­rea­son­able ir­ri­ta­tion.

The Bish­op re­as­sured Sis­ter Abi­gail, with a smile; then, point­ing to­ward the closed door: “Pro­ceed with your recital, Moth­er Sub-​Pri­oress,” he said. “You have as yet giv­en me no proof con­firm­ing your be­lief that the Pri­oress is with­in the cell.”

“When the ab­sence of Mary Antony be­came known, my lord,” con­tin­ued Moth­er Sub-​Pri­oress, “we felt it right to ac­quaint the Rev­erend Moth­er with the old lay-​sis­ter's flight. I, my­self, knocked up­on this door; but the on­ly re­ply I re­ceived was the con­tin­uous low chant­ing of prayers, from with­in; not so much a clear chant­ing, as a mur­mur; and when­ev­er, dur­ing the night, nuns lis­tened at the door, or ven­tured again to tap, the sound of the Rev­erend Moth­er's voice, recit­ing psalms or prayers, reached them. As you may re­mem­ber, my lord, the ground up­on the oth­er side of the build­ing is on a low­er lev­el than the clois­ter lawn. The win­dows of the Rev­erend Moth­er's cell are there­fore raised above the shrub­bery and it is not pos­si­ble to see in­to the cham­ber. But Sis­ter Mary Re­bec­ca, who went round af­ter dark, not­ed that the Rev­erend Moth­er had light­ed her ta­pers and drawn her cur­tains. This morn­ing the light is ex­tin­guished, the cur­tains are drawn back, and the case­ment flung open. More­over at the usu­al hour for ris­ing, the Rev­erend Moth­er rang the bell, as is her cus­tom, to wak­en the nuns--rang it from with­in her cell, by means of this rope and pul­ley.”

“Ah,” said the Bish­op.

“Sis­ter Abi­gail, up al­ready, there­upon ran to the Rev­erend Moth­er's cell; and, the bell still swing­ing, tapped and asked if she might bring in milk and bread. Once more the on­ly an­swer was the low chant­ing of prayers. Al­so, Sis­ter Abi­gail de­clares, the voice was so weak and fal­ter­ing, she scarce knew it for the Rev­erend Moth­er's. And since then, my lord, there has been si­lence with­in the cell, and a sore sense of fear with­in our hearts; for it is un­like the Rev­erend Moth­er to keep her door locked, when the en­tire com­mu­ni­ty calls and knocks with­out.”

The Bish­op lift­ed his hand.

“In that speak you tru­ly, Moth­er Sub-​Pri­oress,” said he. “Al­so I must tell you with­out fur­ther de­lay, that the Pri­oress is not with­in her cell.”

“_Not_ with­in her cell!” ex­claimed Moth­er Sub-​Pri­oress.

“Not with­in her cell!” shrieked a score of ter­ri­fied voic­es, like seag­ulls call­ing to each oth­er, be­fore a gath­er­ing storm.

“The Pri­oress left the Con­vent yes­ter­day af­ter­noon,” said the Bish­op, “with my knowl­edge and ap­proval; trav­el­ling at once, with a suf­fi­cient es­cort, to a place some dis­tance from Worces­ter, where I al­so spent the night. I have come to bring you a mes­sage from His Ho­li­ness the Pope, sent to me di­rect from Rome. . . . The Holy Fa­ther bids me say that your Pri­oress has been moved on by me, with his full knowl­edge and ap­proval, to a place where she is re­quired for high­er ser­vice. Per­haps I may al­so tell you,” added the Bish­op, look­ing with kind­ly sym­pa­thy up­on all the blankly dis­con­cert­ed faces, “that this morn­ing I my­self per­formed a solemn rite, for which I held the Pope's es­pe­cial man­date, set­ting apart your late Pri­oress for this high­er ser­vice. She grieved that it was not pos­si­ble to bid you farewell. She sends you lov­ing greet­ings, her thanks for loy­al­ty and obe­di­ence, and prays that the bless­ing of the Lord may ev­er be with you.”

The Bish­op ceased speak­ing.

At first there was an amazed si­lence.

Then the un­ex­pect­ed hap­pened. Moth­er Sub-​Pri­oress, with­out any warn­ing, broke in­to pas­sion­ate weep­ing.

Nev­er be­fore had Moth­er Sub-​Pri­oress been known to weep. The sight pet­ri­fied the Con­vent. Yet some­how all knew that she wept be­cause, in the hard old nut which did du­ty for her heart, there was a ker­nel of deep love for their no­ble Pri­oress.

The oth­er nuns wept, be­cause Moth­er Sub-​Pri­oress wept.

The sob­bing be­came em­bar­rass­ing in its com­plete­ness. Where­so­ev­er the Bish­op looked he was con­front­ed by a weep­ing nun.

Sud­den­ly Moth­er Sub-​Pri­oress dried her eyes, hold­ing her­self once more in con­trol. It had just oc­curred to her that the Bish­op's word could not be tak­en against the ev­idence of all their sens­es! On that very morn­ing, at five o'clock the Con­vent call to rise had been rung from _with­in_ the Pri­oress's cell!

So Moth­er Sub-​Pri­oress dried her eyes, pun­ished her nose for shar­ing in the gen­er­al break­down, and look­ing with bel­liger­ent eye at the Bish­op, said: “_If_ the Rev­erend Moth­er _be_ not with­in her cell, _per­haps_ it will please you, my lord, to _in­form_ the Con­vent who is with­in it!”

“That point,” said the Bish­op, “can speed­ily be set­tled.”

He took from his gir­dle the Pri­oress's mas­ter-​key, hand­ed over to him be­fore he left War­wick.

Fit­ting it in­to the lock, he opened the door of the cell, and en­tered, fol­lowed by the Sub-​Pri­oress and a crowd of pal­pi­tat­ing, ea­ger nuns.

A few paces from the door the Bish­op paused, sign­ing to Moth­er Sub-​Pri­oress to come for­ward, but re­strain­ing, with up­lift­ed hand, those who pressed in be­hind her.

The cham­ber was very still.

The chair of the Pri­oress was emp­ty.

But, be­fore the shrine of the Madon­na, there lay, stretched up­on the floor, the un­con­scious form of the old lay-​sis­ter, Mary Antony.