CHAPTER VI
A NUN'S DEFIANCE
It was a very strange evening that Mary and her father passed in thelittle upstairs room looking on to the street at Rusper.
Sir James had hardly spoken, and after supper had sat near the window,with a curious alertness in his face. Mary knew that Chris was expected,and that Mr. Morris had ridden on to fetch him after he had called atOverfield, but from her short interview with Margaret she had seen thathis presence would not be required. The young nun, though bewildered andstunned by the news that she must go, had not wavered for a moment asregards her intention to follow out her Religious vocation in somemanner; and it was to confirm her in it, in case she hesitated, that SirJames had sent on the servant to fetch Chris.
It was all like a dreadful dream to Mary.
She had gone out from dinner at her own house into the pleasant Octobersunshine with her cheerful husband beside her, when her father had comeout through the house with his riding-whip in his hand; and in a fewseconds she had found herself plunged into new and passionate relations,first with him, for she had never seen him so stirred, and then with herbrothers and sister. Ralph, that dignified man of affairs, suddenlystepped into her mind as a formidable enemy of God and man; Chrisappeared as a spiritual power, and the quiet Margaret as the very centreof the sudden storm.
She sat here now by the fire, shading her face with her hand andwatching that familiar face set in hard and undreamed lines of passionand resolution and expectancy.
Once as footsteps came up the street he had started up and sat downtrembling.
She waited till the steps went past, and then spoke.
"Chris will be riding, father."
He nodded abruptly, and she saw by his manner that it was not Chris hewas expecting. She understood then that he still had hopes of his otherson, but they sat on into the night in the deep stillness, till the fireburned low and red, and the stars she had seen at the horizon wheeled upand out of sight above the window-frame.
Then he suddenly turned to her.
"You must go to bed, Mary," he said. "I will wait for Chris."
She lay long awake in the tiny cupboard-room that the labourer and hiswife had given up to her, hearing the horses stamp in the cold shed atthe back of the house, and the faces moved and turned like the coloursof a kaleidoscope. Now her father's eyes and mouth hung like a maskbefore her, with that terrible look that had been on them as he facedRalph at the end; now Ralph's own face, defiant, icy, melting in turns;now Margaret's with wide terrified eyes, as she had seen it in theparlour that afternoon; now her own husband's. And the sweet autumnwoods and meadows lay before her as she had seen them during that silentride; the convent, the village, her own home with its square windows andyew hedge--a hundred images.
* * * * *
There was a talking when she awoke for the last time and through thecrazy door glimmered a crack of grey dawn, and as she listened she knewthat Chris was come.
It was a strange meeting when she came out a few minutes later. Therewas the monk, unshaven and pale under the eyes, with his thinned facethat gave no smile as she came in; her father desperately white andresolved; Mr. Morris, spruce and grave as usual sitting with his hatbetween his knees behind the others;--he rose deferentially as she camein and remained standing.
Her father began abruptly as she appeared.
"He can do nothing," he said, "he can but turn her on to the road. And Ido not think he will dare."
"Ah! Beatrice Atherton?" questioned Mary, who had a clearer view of thesituation now.
"Yes--Beatrice Atherton. He fears that we shall tell her. He cannot sendMargaret to Overfield or Great Keynes now."
"And if he turns her out after all?"
Sir James looked at her keenly.
"We must leave the rest to God," he said.
The village was well awake by the time that they had finished their talkand had had something to eat. The drama at the convent had leaked outthrough the boy who served the altar there, and a little group wasassembled opposite the windows of the cottage to which the monk had beenseen to ride up an hour or two before. It seemed strange that no priesthad been near them, but it was fairly evident that the terror was toogreat.
As the four came out on to the road, a clerical cap peeped for a momentfrom the churchyard wall and disappeared again.
They went down towards the convent along the grey road, in the paleautumn morning air. Mary still seemed to herself to walk in a dream,with her father and brother on either side masquerading in strangecharacter; the familiar atmosphere had been swept from them, thebackground of association was gone, and they moved now in a new scenewith new parts to play that were bringing out powers which she had neversuspected in them. It seemed as if their essential souls had been laidbare by a catastrophe, and that she had never known them before.
For herself, she felt helpless and dazed; her own independence seemedgone, and she was aware that her soul was leaning on those of the twowho walked beside her, and who were masculine and capable beyond all herprevious knowledge of them.
Behind she heard a murmur of voices and footsteps of three or fourvillagers who followed to see what would happen.
She had no idea of what her father meant to do; it was incredible thathe should leave Margaret in the road with her gown and five shillings;but it was yet more incredible that all his threats should be idle. Onlyone thing emerged clearly, that he had thrown a heavier responsibilityupon Ralph than the latter had foreseen. Perhaps the rest must indeed beleft to God. She did not even know what he meant to do now, whether tomake one last effort with Ralph, or to leave him to himself; and she hadnot dared to ask.
They passed straight down together in silence to the convent-gate; andwere admitted immediately by the portress whose face was convulsed andswollen.
"They are to go," she sobbed.
Sir James made a gesture, and passed in to the tiny lodge on the leftwhere the portress usually sat; Chris and Mary followed him in, and Mr.Morris went across to the guest-house.
The bell sounded out overhead for mass as they sat there in the dimmorning light, twenty or thirty strokes, and ceased; but there was nomovement from the little door of the guest-house across the court. Theportress had disappeared through the second door that led from the tinyroom in which they sat, into the precincts of the convent itself.
Mary looked distractedly round her; at the little hatch that gave on tothe entrance gate, and the chain hanging by it that communicated withone of the bolts, at the little crucifix that hung beside it, thedevotional book that lay on the shelf, the door into the convent withthe title "_Clausura_" inscribed above it. She glanced at her father andbrother.
Sir James was sitting with his grey head in his hands, motionless andsoundless; Chris was standing upright and rigid, staring steadily outthrough the window into the court.
Then through the window she too saw Mr. Morris come out from theguest-house and pass along to the stable.
Again there was silence.
The minutes went by, and the Saunce bell sounded three strokes from theturret. Chris sank on to his knees, and a moment later Mary and herfather followed his example, and so the three remained in the darksilent lodge, with no sound but their breathing, and once a sharpwhispered word of prayer from the old man.
As the sacring bell sounded there was a sudden noise in the court, andMary lifted her head.
From where she knelt she could see the two doors across the court, thoseof the guest-house and the stable beyond, and simultaneously, out of theone came Ralph, gloved and booted, with his cap on his head, and Mr.Morris leading his horse out of the other.
The servant lifted his cap at the sound of the bell, and dropped on tohis knees, still holding the bridle; his master stood as he was, andlooked at him. Mary could only see the latter's profile, but even thatwas scornful and hard.
Again the bell sounded; the mystery was done; and the servant stood up.
As her fa
ther and Chris rose, Mary rose with them; and the threeremained in complete silence, watching the little scene in the court.
Ralph made a sign; and the servant attached the bridle of the horse to aring beside the stable-door, and went past his master into theguest-house with a deferential stoop of the shoulders. Ralph stood amoment longer, and then followed him in.
Then again the minutes went by.
There was a sound of horse-hoofs on the road presently, and of talkingthat grew louder. The hoofs ceased; there was a sharp peal on the bell;and the talking began again.
Chris glanced across at his father; but the old man shook his head; andthe three remained as they were, watching and listening. As the bellrang out again impatiently, the door behind opened, and the portresscame swiftly through, followed by the Abbess.
"Come quickly," the old lady whispered. "Sister Susan is going to letthem in."
She stood aside, and made a motion to them to come through, and a momentlate the four were in the convent, and the door was shut behind them.
"They are Mr. Torridon's men," whispered the Abbess, her eyes round withexcitement; "they are come to pack the things."
She led them on through the narrow passage, up a stone flight of stairsto the corridor that ran over the little cloister, and pushed open thedoor of a cell.
"Wait here," she said. "You can do no more. I will go down to them. Youare in the enclosure, but I cannot help it."
And she had whisked out again, with an air of extraordinary composure,shutting the door behind her.
The three went across to the window, still speaking no word, and lookeddown.
The tiny court seemed half full of people now. There were three horsesthere, besides Ralph's own marked by its rich saddle, and still attachedto the ring by the stable door, and a couple of men were busy loadingone of them with bundles. From one of these, which was badly packed, ashimmering corner of gold cloth projected.
Ralph was standing by the door of the guest-house watching, and making asign now and again with his whip. They could not see his face as hestood so directly below them, only his rich cap and feather, and hisstrong figure beneath. Mr. Morris was waiting now by his master's horse;the portress was by her door.
As they looked the little black and white figure of the Abbess came outbeneath them, and stood by the portress.
The packing went on in silence. It was terrible to Mary to stand thereand watch the dumb-show tragedy, the wrecking and robbing of thispeaceful house; and yet there was nothing to be done. She knew that theissues were in stronger hands than hers; she glanced piteously at herfather and brother on either side, but their faces were set and white,and they did not turn at her movement.
There was the sound of an opening door, and two women came out from theconvent at one side and stood waiting. One was in secular dress; theother was still in her habit, but carried a long dark mantle across herarm, and Mary caught her breath and bit her lip fiercely as sherecognised the second to be her sister.
She felt she must cry out, and denounce the sacrilege, and made aninstinctive movement nearer the window, but in a moment her father'shand was on her arm.
"Be still, Mary: it is all well."
One of the horses was being led away by now through the open door; andthe two others followed almost immediately; but the principal actorswere still in their places; the Abbess and the portress together on thisside; Ralph on that; and the two other women, a little apart from oneanother, at the further end of the court.
Then Ralph beckoned abruptly with his whip, and Mary saw her sister moveout towards the gate; she caught a glance of her face, and saw that herlips were white and trembling, and her eyes full of agony. The otherwoman followed briskly, and the two disappeared through to the roadoutside.
Again Ralph beckoned, and Mr. Morris brought up the horse that he hadnow detached from the ring, and stood by its head, holding theoff-stirrup for his master to mount. Ralph gathered the reins into hisleft hand, and for a moment they saw his face across the back of thehorse fierce and white; then he was up, and settling his right foot intothe stirrup.
Mr. Morris let go, and stood back; and simultaneously Ralph struck himwith his riding-whip across the face, a furious back-handed slash.
Mary cried out uncontrollably and shrank back; and a moment later herfather was leaning from the window, and she beside him.
"You damned coward!" he shouted. "Morris, you are my servant now."
Ralph did not turn his head an inch, and a moment later disappeared onhorse-back through the gate, and the portress had closed it behind him.
The little court was silent now, and empty except for the Abbess'motionless figure behind, with Mr. Morris beside her, and the lay sisterby the gate, her hand still on the key that she had turned, and her eyesintent and expectant fixed on her superior. Mr. Morris lifted ahandkerchief now and again gently to his face, and Mary as she leanedhalf sobbing from above saw that there were spots of crimson on thewhite.
"Oh! Morris!" she whispered.
The servant looked up, with a great weal across one cheek, and bowed alittle, but he could not speak yet. Outside they could hear the jingleof bridle-chains; and then a voice begin; but they could not distinguishthe words.
It was Ralph speaking; but they could only guess what it was that he wassaying. Overhead the autumn sky was a vault of pale blue; and a bird ortwo chirped briskly from the roof opposite.
The voice outside grew louder, and ceased, and the noise of horse hoofsbroke out.
Still there was no movement from any within. The Abbess was standing nowwith one hand uplifted as if for silence, and Mary heard the hoofs soundfainter up the road; they grew louder again as they reached higherground; and then ceased altogether.
The old man touched Mary on the arm, and the three went out along thelittle corridor, and down the stone stairs.
As they passed through the lodge and came into the court Mary saw thatthe Abbess had moved from her place, and was standing with the portressclose by the gate; her face was towards them, a little on one side, andshe seemed to be listening intently, her ear against the door, her lowerlip sucked in, and her eyes bright and vacant; she still held one handup for silence.
Then there came a tiny tapping on the wood-work, and she instantlyturned and snatched at the key, and a moment later the door was wide.
"Come in, my poor child," she said.