"SHARPEN THE WITS OF MARY ANTONY"
When the Prioress started upon her pilgrimage to the Cathedral with the
Knight, she locked the door of her chamber, knowing that thus her
absence would remain undiscovered; for if any, knocking on the door,
received no answer, or trying it, found it fast, they would hasten away
without question; concluding that some special hour of devotion or time
of study demanded that the Reverend Mother should be free from
intrusion.
The atmosphere of the empty cell, charged during the past hour with
such unaccustomed forces of conflict and of passion, settled into the
quietude of an unbroken stillness.
The Madonna smiled serenely upon the Holy Babe. The dead Christ, with
bowed head, hung forlorn upon the wooden cross. The ponderous volumes
in black and silver bindings, lay undisturbed upon the table; and the
Bishop's chair stood empty, with that obtrusive emptiness which, in an
empty seat, seems to suggest an unseen presence filling it. The
silence was complete.
But presently a queer shuffling sound began in the inner cell, as of
something stiff and torpid compelling itself to action.
Then a weird figure, the wizen face distorted by grief and terror,
appeared in the doorway--old Mary Antony, holding a meat chopper in her
shaking hands, and staring, with chattering gums, into the empty cell.
That faithful soul, although dismissed, had resolved that the adored
Reverend Mother should not go forth to meet dangers--ghostly or
corporeal--alone and unprotected.
Hastening to the kitchens, she had given instructions that the evening
meal was not to be served until the Reverend Mother herself should
sound the bell.
Then, catching up a meat chopper, as being the most murderous-looking
weapon at hand, and the most likely to strike terror into the ghostly
heart of Sister Agatha, old Antony had hastened back to the passage.
Creeping up the stairs, hugging the wall, she had reached the top just
in time to see, in the dim distance, the two tall white figures
confronting one another.
Clinging to her chopper, motionless with horror, she had watched them,
until they began, to come toward her, moving in the direction of the
Reverend Mother's cell. They were still thirty yards away, at the
cloister end of the passage. Old Antony was close to the open door.
Through it she had scurried, unheard, unseen, a terrified black shadow;
yet brave withal; for with her went the meat chopper. Also she might
have turned and fled back down the stairs, rather than into the very
place whither she knew the Reverend Mother was conducting this tall
spectre of the long dead Sister Agatha, grown to most alarming
proportions during her fifty years' entombment! But being brave and
faithful old Antony had sped into the inner cell, and crouched there in
a corner; ready to call for help or strike with her chopper, should
need arise.
Thus it came to pass that this old weaver of romances had perforce
become a listener to a true romance so thrilling, so soul-stirring,
that she had had to thrust the end of the wooden handle of the chopper
into her mouth, lest she should applaud the noble Knight, cry counsel
in his extremities, or invoke blessings on his enterprise. At each
mention of the Ladies Eleanor and Alfrida, she shook her fist, and made
signs with her old fingers, as of throttling, in the air. And when the
clerkly messenger, arriving to speak with the Lady Alfrida--who, Saint
Luke be praised, was by that time dying--found the Knight awaiting him
with a noose flung over a strong bough, old Antony had laid down the
chopper that she might the better hug herself with silent glee; and
when the Knight rode away and left him hanging, she had whispered
"Pieman! Pieman!" then clapped her hands over her mouth, rocking to
and fro with merriment. When the Knight made mention that they called
him "Knight of the Bloody Vest," old Antony had started; then had
shaken her finger toward the entrance, as she was used to shake it at
the robin, and had opened her wallet to search for crumbs of cheese.
But soon again the story held her and, oblivious of the present, she
had been back in the realms of romance.
Not until the Knight ceased speaking and the Reverend Mother's sad
voice fell upon her ear, had old Antony realised the true bearing of
the tale. Thereafter her heart had been torn by grief and terror.
When they kneeled together, before the Madonna, with uplifted faces,
Mary Antony had crawled forward and peeped. She had seen them
kneeling--a noble pair--had seen the Prioress catch at his hand and
clasp it; then, crawling back had fallen prostrate, overwhelmed, a
huddled heap upon the floor.
The ringing of the Refectory bell had roused her from her stupor in
time to hear the impassioned appeal of the Knight, as he kneeled alone
before the Virgin's shrine.
Then, the Knight and the Prioress both being gone, Mary Antony had
arisen, lifted her chopper with hands that trembled, and now stood with
distraught mien, surveying the empty cell.
At length it dawned upon her that she and her weapon were locked into
the Reverend Mother's cell; she, who had been most explicitly bidden to
go to the kitchens and to remain there. It had been a sense of the
enormity of her offence in having disobeyed the Reverend Mother's
orders which, unconsciously, had caused her to stifle all ejaculations
and move without noise, lest she should be discovered.
Yet now her first care was not for her own predicament, but for the two
noble hearts, of whose tragic grief she had secretly been a witness.
Her eye fell on the Madonna, calmly smiling.
She tottered forward, kneeling where the Prioress had knelt.
"Holy Mother of God," she whispered, "teach him that she cannot do this
thing!"
Then, moving along on her knees to where the Knight had kneeled:
"Blessèd Virgin!" she cried, "shew her that she cannot leave him
desolate!"
Then shuffling back to the centre, and kneeling between the two places:
"Sweetest Lady," she said, "be pleased to sharpen the old wits of Mary
Antony."
Looking furtively at the Madonna, she saw that our Lady smiled. The
blessèd Infant, also, looked merry. Mary Antony chuckled, and took
heart. When the Reverend Mother smiled, she always knew herself
forgiven.
Moreover, without delay, her request was granted; for scarcely had she
arisen from her knees, when she remembered the place where the Reverend
Mother kept the key of her cell; and she, having locked the door, on
leaving, with her own master-key, the other was quickly in old Antony's
hand, and she out once more in the passage, locking the door behind
her; sure of being able to restore the key to its place, before it
should be missed by the Reverend Mother.
Sister Mary Antony slipped unseen past the Refectory and into the
kitchens. Once there, she fussed and scolded and made her presence
felt, implying that she had been waiting, a good hour gone, for the
thing for which she had but that moment asked.
The younger lay-sisters might make no retort; but Sister Mary Martha
presently asked: "What have you been doing since Vespers, Sister
Antony?"
By aid of the wits our Lady had sharpened, old Antony, at that moment,
realised that sometimes, when you needs must deceive, there is nothing
so deceptive as the actual truth.
"Listening to a wondrous romantic tale," she made answer, "told by the
Knight of the Bloody Vest."
"You verily are foolish about that robin, Sister Antony," remarked Mary
Martha; "and you will take your death of cold, sitting out in the
garden in the damp, after sunset."
"Well--so long as I take only that which is mine own, others have no
cause to grumble," snapped Mary Antony, and turned her mind upon the
making of a savoury broth, favoured by the Reverend Mother.
And all the while the Devil was whispering in the old woman's ear: "She
will not return. . . . Make thy broth, fool; but she will not be here
to drink it. . . . The World and the Flesh have called; the Reverend
Mother will not come back. . . . Stir the broth well, but flavour it
to thine own taste. Thou wilt sup on it thyself this night. When the
World and the Flesh call loudly enough, the best of women go to the
Devil."
"Liar!" said Mary Antony, brandishing her wooden spoon. "Get thee
behind me--nay, rather, get thee in front of me! I have had thee
skulking behind me long enough. Also in front of me, just now, being
into the fire, thou wilt feel at home, Master Devil! Only, put not thy
tail into the Reverend Mother's broth."
When the White Ladies passed up from the Refectory, Mary Antony chanced
to be polishing the panelling around the picture of Saint Mary
Magdalen, beside the door of the Reverend Mother's cell.
Presently Sister Mary Rebecca, arriving, lifted her hand to knock.
"Stay!" whispered Mary Antony. "The Reverend Mother may not be
disturbed."
Sister Mary Rebecca veiled her scowl with a smile.
"And wherefore not, good Sister Antony?"
"'Wherefore not' is not my business," retorted old Antony, as rudely as
she knew how. "It may be for special study; it may be for an hour of
extra devotion; it may be only the very natural desire for a little
respite from the sight of two such ugly faces as yours and mine. But,
be the reason what it may, Reverend Mother has locked her door, and
sees nobody this even." After which old Antony proceeded to polish the
outside of the Reverend Mother's door panels.
Sister Mary Rebecca lifted her knuckles to rap; but old Antony's not
over clean clout was pushed each time between Sister Mary Rebecca's
tap, and the woodwork.
Muttering concerning the report she would make to the Prioress in the
morning, Sister Mary Rebecca went to her cell.
When all was quiet, when every door was closed, the old lay-sister
crept into the cloisters and, crouching in an archway just beyond the
flight of steps leading to the underground way, watched and waited.
Storm clouds were gathering again, black on a purple sky. The
after-glow in the west had faded. It was dark in the cloisters.
Thunder growled in the distance; an owl hooted in the Pieman's tree.
Mary Antony's old bones ached sorely, and her heart failed her. She
had sat so long in cramped positions, and she had not tasted food since
the mid-day meal.
The Devil drew near, as he is wont to do, when those who have fasted
long, seek to keep vigil.
"The Reverend Mother will not return," he whispered. "What wait you
for?"
"Be off!" said Mary Antony. "I am too old to be keeping company, even
with thee. Also Sister Mary Rebecca awaits thee in her cell."
"The Reverend Mother ever walked with her head among the stars,"
sneered the Devil. "Why do the highest fall the lowest, when
temptation comes?"
"Ask that of Mother Sub-Prioress," said Mary Antony, "next time she
bids thee to supper."
Then she clasped her old hands upon her breast; for, very softly, in
the lock below, a key turned.
Steps, felt rather than heard, passed up into the cloister.
Then, in the dim light, the tall figure of the Prioress moved
noiselessly over the flagstones, passed through the open door and up
the deserted passage.
Peering eagerly forward, the old lay-sister saw the Prioress pause
outside the door of her chamber, lift her master-key, unlock the door,
and pass within.
As the faint sound of the closing of the door reached her straining
ears, old Mary Antony began to sob, helplessly.