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.”