“You believe that she might tell lies?”
“Oh, yes,” said Mother Francis. “In fact, she does tell lies. But she is really a very good teacher, and comes here for half her usual fee.”
“So the Mother Superior told me. Now, these two cousins who also come to the school: I should like to talk to them at some time when it is convenient.”
“Whenever you like.” She glanced at the large school time-table. “Ulrica—”
“She is now the heiress?”
“Yes—is in the fourth form. She is rather an unusual kind of girl. It is a sad case. The father left the Church, and the poor child, until she came to us three years ago, had never been to church at all. Now, of course, she is anxious to do all in her power to combat the evil that has been done. We allow her more liberty than some of the children have. She is by nature solitary, loves long walks (which she is allowed to take quite often without supervision) and is an interesting child altogether. Mary Maslin, younger, of course, is in the second form. She is rather a backward girl in most school subjects, but does not lack intelligence, I believe. She will be doing elocution after break with Sister Saint Bartholomew.”
“That isn’t—?”
“Yes, Rosa Cardosa. She entered the religious life after the terrible catastrophe at the Duntrey Theatre in which she lost every penny. She wasn’t insured, you know, and, as I expect you remember, the theatre was burnt right out.”
“Poor Rosa! But I thought there was a fund?”
“Her friends agreed to support her. Hundreds of pounds were collected. She sent them all back, and said that she was going to take what she had—a little money her mother had left her, and which, for some superstitious or sentimental reason, she had never used for her theatrical enterprises—and give it to God. So she brought it along as her dowry, and has been with us now many years. She taught me when I was fifteen, at our other house.”
“And she has never wished to go back, and begin again?”
Mother Francis smiled, raised her hands in a gesture so slight as to be almost unnoticeable, and answered:
“Who can tell?”
“Her father-confessor?”
“Yes, or Reverend Mother Superior, and they will not.”
There was a pause; then Mother Francis, as though she felt that she had rebuked her visitor and wished to make some amends, said: “Tell me, ought I to send those two children home? Both are suffering from shock, and Mary from grief. Ulrica seems afraid. She is highly strung; a rather peculiar girl, although very clever.”
“As I do not know either of the girls, I cannot offer any advice,” said Mrs. Bradley. “Have you any seculars besides Miss Bonnet on the staff of the school?”
“Yes. There is Mrs. Waterhouse. She teaches all the children under six, orphans and others. We pay her forty pounds a year and she has a cottage next door to the presbytery at Hiversand Bay, which was rather a pleasant little place before the speculative builders came.”
“What are her qualifications?”
“She was an elementary schoolteacher employed by the London County Council before her marriage. She is a widow now, and lives in this district for her health. That is why we get her so cheaply. She lives rent free, and has her midday meal, and, if she wants it, her tea, with the orphans. She has no children, and lives alone.”
“Is she a Catholic?”
“I have no reason to think so.”
This, Mrs. Bradley thought, was an extraordinary reply, so she noted it. Then she asked:
“Are all the children Catholics?”
“All the orphans are Catholics. Of the private schoolchildren about nine-tenths are Catholics.”
“The dead child—?”
“Yes.”
“Mary Maslin?”
“Mary Maslin comes of a Catholic family, although her father’s present wife, I believe, is not a Catholic. In the other case, the father lapsed from the Church, as I told you just now—his father and mother were converts—and the child has been brought up without religious knowledge. It is very sad. I have hopes, however—”
Mrs. Bradley nodded.
“Do you find that the non-Catholic children tend to become Catholics in their later life?” she asked.
“We do not use any influence,” said Mother Francis sharply.
“What proportion become Catholics later on?”
“A fair number.” Her momentarily defensive attitude melted. She smiled with great sweetness. “Our Faith fights its battles,” she observed.
“It has its attractions,” said Mrs. Bradley, “in an unstable, undisciplined world. Will you arrange to have Ulrica Doyle escort me on a tour of the buildings and grounds? I should like to meet her, as it were, unofficially, as though I were an ordinary visitor to the school.”
“Certainly. The girls are accustomed to show our visitors round the gardens. I will send for her now if you would like me to do so. It is just as well that you should get to know her.”
