“What will it be? What will you do, I mean?”
“Domestic service, madam. But I’m so afraid I’ll feel odd. It won’t be like the convent, and I don’t know what mistresses are like. I shouldn’t care to be awkward ard do the wrong things. Then—gentlemen. We have so few gentlemen to wait on, and most of those are priests who come here because they’ve been ill.”
“I expect you’ve been very well trained. There is nothing to dread. People have need of good servants. I’m sure you’ll like it very much if you get a good place.”
“But I don’t expect to like it, madam—not as I’ve liked it here.”
“So you do like it? I’ve often wondered what the feeling was. Is anybody unhappy here, do you think?”
“You mean that poor little girl, madam? I couldn’t tell you. Us orphans aren’t, except Bessie. I couldn’t answer for her. My belief she’d be a misfit anywhere. But we all dread leaving, except Bessie, and now there’s been this dreadful upset, and all this questioning, and nobody knowing anything, it’s worse.”
“Are you girls trained for anything besides domestic service? Are there other prospects?”
“We can learn the typewriter and the shorthand, madam, if we wish. The clever ones do. But I want to be a real cook, madam. Still, I do dread to think about leaving here, especially now. Because what could have made her do such a dreadful thing? Not anything here, I do know. It must have been something outside, and that’s what frightens me so.”
“But, Annie, there’s nothing to dread. Your mistress, I’m sure, will take to you because you have pleasant manners and you know your work and like it. You are sensible and good, I am sure. How many young men have you met?”
“Oh, madam, that’s the part that worries me most. I’m sure they’ll think I’m odd, and I dread their ways.” Her young, clear eyes sought comfort. Mrs. Bradley’s brilliant gaze met hers, and both of them smiled.
“You mustn’t dread them, Annie. That will never do. Don’t you meet the butcher and the baker?”
“Nobody but the milkman, madam, and he’s been changed since Mother Saint Ambrose found out he gave Maggie some cream with a rose stuck through a bit of string round the carton.”
Mrs. Bradley cackled.
“There you are, you see. He didn’t think Maggie odd. He obviously thought her pretty and attractive.”
“Yes, madam, so she is. We don’t have the baker and the butcher because we bake all our own bread, and kill our own meat, partly. The rest comes in from Kelsorrow twice a week, and the butcher’s wife brings it by car.”
“I see. Now, Annie, how much of the day are you girls on duty here in this guest-house?”
“Every morning from nine-thirty until eleven, madam, and on Monday, Wednesday and Thursday afternoons from half-past two until seven.”
“So some of you were actually on duty over here— or may have been—when that poor child entered the guest-house? You did not see her come?”
“I wasn’t here myself. It was Bessie and Kitty. But nobody saw her. At least, so everybody says. We always work in pairs, madam, over here, though the pairs aren’t always the same, in case we get too friendly.”
“I must talk to Bessie and Kitty. Now, please, think carefully, Annie. Did anything out of the ordinary come to your notice that day?”
“No… Yes, madam. The gardener was putting creosote on the fence, and Miss Bonnet gave up her holiday from the other school she attends to stay here and give the younger orphans some netball.”
“Is that all?”
“Yes, that’s all, but, of course, she wanted a bath, like she always does after games when she’s took part herself and got hot, and that was how we found out about the poor little girl.”
“Did the orphans get dirty and hot?”
“Oh, yes, but there wasn’t no baths for them then. They had theirs just before bedtime. They all had a wash, though, before they went back into school.”
“I see. At what time did Miss Bonnet take this bath?”
“Well, actually, of course, she didn’t, madam, though the time was about half-past three, because of getting her lunch down. It was all the same bathroom you see, so she never had a bath after all, it turned her up so, finding the poor little girl.”
“Very awkward and not very pleasant. Did Miss Bonnet select the bathroom she was to use, or did somebody else arrange that she happened to try the one where the child lay dead?”
“She said, ‘Ah, this’ll do, Annie,’ and walked herself in. She wasn’t used to waiting to be asked. She’s Physical Training, you see.”
“And did she—how did she react to what she saw?”
“I don’t hardly remember, madam. I think she just went white and stuck her head out and shouted, ‘Annie, fetch somebody, quick!’ So I hollered to Bessie to fetch Mother Saint Ambrose quick, because I could see that something must have upset Miss Bonnet proper, and she came out quick and shut the door.”
“And Mother Saint Ambrose came?”
“Yes, ever so quick. Bessie went for her, and I reckon Bessie was frightened at me yelling out like I did.”
“Was Mother Saint Ambrose frightened?”
“You can’t tell that with the religious. She acted quiet and gave orders to fetch Mother Saint Jude, and they was the two that carried the little girl out, Miss Bonnet going as well to do the first aid.”
“Where did they take the little girl?”
“To one of the bedrooms which didn’t happen to be occupied. The little girl’s auntie had had it, but said the springs of the bed was not too good. Miss Bonnet tried everything she knew, and Mother Saint Ambrose telephoned for the doctor, but nothing was any use.”
“I had better see Mother Saint Ambrose and Mother Saint Jude. Where are they to be found?”
“I’ll go and find them, madam. Would you want them both at once?”
Mrs. Bradley said that she would, and while the girl was gone she examined the dining-room closely. A silver vase, without flowers, attracted her attention, and so did two metal ash-trays, obviously and beautifully made by hand. She was still admiring these when Annie re-entered the room.
“If you please, madam, Reverend Mother Superior sends her compliments by Mother Mary-Joseph, and if you can spare the time, she would be very glad to meet you. That is, unless you are employed, in your opinion, more usefully.”
Mrs. Bradley put down the ash-tray and went with Annie to the door.
“By the way, Annie,” she said, “you said that you showed Miss Bonnet to the bathroom. But you also said that you weren’t on duty that day.”
“Yes, madam, that’s right. I was over at the Orphanage, and got sent over with Miss Bonnet.”
They left the guest-house by its entrance, went round to the gatehouse, were admitted by a smiling lay-sister portress, passed an asphalt netball court set among grass, and then went through a wicket-gate into an orchard. The orchard was bounded on its north side by another low hedge, similar in every way to the first in which the wicket-gate had been set. Both hedges were carefully kept, and were composed of box shrubs set close together. But this time there was no wicket, and they turned sharp left through a gloomy arch of green, a tunnel in the higher and thicker hedge which separated the nuns’ garden from the orchard. A path through the herb garden and beside a rock garden brought them to a brick-roofed passage several yards in length, and this opened on to the cloister. At the far end of the passage was a flight of steps which reached a round-headed door-way infinitely ecclesiastical. At the base of the steps stood a young nun. She inclined her head to dismiss Annie, who curtsied and retired, and then held out her hand to Mrs. Bradley.
“I am Sister Mary-Joseph. Reverend Mother Superior is glad you have come,” she said. Mrs. Bradley followed her up the outside staircase, walked past her, by invitation, when they came to the round-headed door-way, found the door ajar, and went in. The nun followed, and closed the door very quietly.