"Yes, isn't she?" cried Sister Philippa. "Wanting Sister Ismania to be
preferred, instead of her, after all her plotting with Mother Gaillarde
and Sister Margaret! I can't bear folks who look one way and walk
another, as she does. _I_ shouldn't wonder if the election were
vitiated,--not a bit!--and then where will you be, _Mother_ Annora?"
"Where you will be, Sister Philippa, until compline," said a voice
behind me, "is prostrate on the chapel floor: and after compline, you
will kiss the floor at Mother Annora's feet, and ask her to forgive you.
Sister Roberta, go to the laundry--there is nobody there--and do not
come forth till I fetch you. You also, after compline, will ask the
Mother's forgiveness."
Oh, how thankful I felt to Mother Gaillarde for coming in just then!
She said no more at that time; but at night she came to my cell.
"Sister Annora," said she, "you must not let those saucy girls ride
rough-shod over you. You should let them see you mean it."
"But," said I, "I am afraid I don't mean it."
Mother Gaillarde laughed. "Then make haste and do," said she. "You'll
have a bear-garden in the work-room if you don't pull your curb a little
tighter. You may always rely on Sister Ismania, Sister Isabel, and
Sister Margaret to uphold your authority. It is those silly young
things that have to be kept in order. I wish you joy of your new post:
it is not all flowers and music, I can tell you."
"Oh dear, I feel so unfit for it!" I sighed.
Mother Gaillarde smiled. "Sister, I am a bad hand at paying
compliments," she said. "But one thing I will say--you are the fittest
of us all for the office, if you will only stand firm. Give your orders
promptly, and stick to them. _Pax tibi_!"
I have put Mother Gaillarde's advice into action--or rather, I have
tried to put it--and have brought a storm on my head. Oh dear, why
cannot folks do right without all this trouble?
Sisters Amie and Catherine began to cast black looks at one another
yesterday evening in the work-room, and when recreation-time came the
looks blossomed into words. I told them both to be silent at once.
This morning I was sent for by my Lady, who said that she had not
expected me to prove a tyrant. I do not think tyrants feel their hearts
go pitter-patter, as mine did, both last night and this morning. Of
course I knelt and kissed her hand, and said how sorry I was to have
displeased her.
"But, indeed, my Lady," said I, "I spoke as I did because I was afraid I
had not been sufficiently firm before."
"Oh, I dare say it was all right," said my Lady, closing her eyes, as if
she felt worried with the whole affair. "Only Sister Ada thought--I
think somebody spoke to her--do as you think best, Sister. I dare say
it will all come right."
I wish things would all come right, but it seems rather as if they all
went wrong. And I do not _quite_ see what business it is of Mother
Ada's. But I ought not to be censorious.
Just as I was leaving the room, my Lady called me back. It does feel so
new and strange to me, to have to go to my Lady herself about things,
instead of to one of the Mothers! And it is not nearly so satisfactory;
for where Mother Gaillarde used to say, "Do _so_, of course"--my Lady
says, "Do as you like." I cannot even get accustomed to calling them
Sister Gaillarde and Sister Ada, as, being a Mother myself, I ought to
do now. Oh, how I miss our dear Mother Alianora! It frightens me to
think of being in her place. Well, my Lady called me back to tell me
that the Lady Joan de Greystoke desired to make retreat with us, and
that we must prepare to receive her next Saturday. She is to have the
little chamber next to the linen-wardrobe. My Lady says she is of good
lineage, but she did not say of what family she came. She commanded me
to tell the Mothers.
"_Miserere_!" said Mother--no, Sister Ada. "What an annoyance it is, to
be sure, when externs come for retreat! She will unsettle half the
young Sisters, and turn the heads of half the others. I know what a
worry they are!"
"Humph!" said Sister Gaillarde. "Of good lineage, is she? That means,
I suppose, that she'll think herself a princess, and look on all of us
as her maid-servants. She may clean her own shoes so far as I'm
concerned. Do her good. I'll be bound she never touched a brush
before."
"Some idle young baggage, I've no doubt," said Sister Ada.
"Marry, she may be a grandmother," said Mo--Sister Gaillarde. "If she's
eighty, she'll think she has a right to lecture us; and if she's only
eighteen, she'll think so ten times more. You may depend upon it, she
will reckon we know nought of the world, and that all the wisdom in it
has got into her brains. These externs do amuse me."
"It is all very well for you to make fun of it, Sister Gaillarde," said
Sister Ada, peevishly, "but I can tell you, it will be any thing but fun
for you and me, if she set half the young Sisters, not to speak of the
novices and pupils, coveting all manner of worldly pomps and dainties.
And she will, as sure as my name is Ada."
"Thanks for your warning," said Mother Gaillarde. "I'll put a rod or
two in pickle."
The Lady Joan's chamber is ready at last: and I am dad. Such a business
I have had of it! I had no idea Sister Philippa was so difficult to
manage: and as to Sister Roberga, I pity any one who tries to do it.
"You see, Sister Annora," said Sister Gaillarde, smiling rather grimly,
"official life is not all flowers and sunshine. I don't pity my Lady,
just because she shirks her duties: she merely reigns, and leaves us to
govern; but I can tell you, no Prioress of this convent would have an
easy life, if she _did_ her duty. I remember once, when I was in the
world, I saw a mountebank driving ten horses at once. I dare say he
hadn't an easy time of it. But, lack-a-day! we have to drive thirty:
and skittish fillies some of them are. I don't know what Sister Roberga
has done with her vocation: but I never saw the corner of it since she
came."
"Well!" I said with a sigh, "I suppose I never had one."
"Stuff and nonsense!" said Sister Gaillarde. "If you mean you never had
a liking for the life, that may be true--you know more about that than
I; but if you mean you do not fill your place well, and do your duty as
well as you know how, and a deal better than most folks--why, again I
say, stuff and nonsense! You are not perfect, I suppose. If you ever
see any body who is, I should like to know her name. It won't be
Gaillarde--that I know!"
I wonder whose daughter the Lady Joan is! Something in her eyes puzzles
me so, as if she reminded me of somebody whom I had known, long, long
ago--some Sister when I was novice, or perchance even some one whom I
knew in my early childhood, before I was professed at all. They are
dark eyes, but not at all like Margaret's. Margaret's are brown, but
these are dark grey, with long black lashes; and they do not talk--they
only look as if they could, if one knew how to make them. The Lady Joan
is very quiet and attentive to her religious duties; I think Sister
Ada's fears may sleep. She is not at all likely to unsettle any body.
She talks very little, except when necessary. Two months, I hear, she
will remain; and I do not think she will be any trouble to one of us.
Even Sister Gaillarde says, "She is a decent woman: she'll do." And
that means a good deal--from Sister Gaillarde.
I have the chance to speak to Margaret now. Of course a Mother can call
any Sister to her cell if needful; and no one may ask why except another
Mother. I must be careful not to seem to prefer Margaret above the
rest, and all the more because she is my own sister. But last night I
really had some directions to give her, and I summoned her to my cell.
When I had told her what I wanted, I was about to dismiss her with "_Pax
tibi_!" as usual, but Margaret's talking eyes told me she had something
to say.