Complete Works of F Marion Crawford

by F. Marion Crawford

  The novice bowed and disappeared, and several minutes passed before Sister Giovanna came. She had last seen her aunt ill in bed and flushed with fever, but the Princess had changed too little in five years not to be instantly recognised by any one who had known her so recently.

  Both women made a movement of surprise, and the nun stood still an instant, still holding the handle of the door. Of the two, however, she was the first to regain her composure. Her aunt rose with alacrity indeed, and held out her hand, but she coloured a little and laughed with perceptible awkwardness. She had long wished to see her niece, but the meeting had come too unexpectedly to be pleasant.

  ‘I hope you have felt no ill effects from your illness?’ Sister Giovanna spoke calmly, in a tone of civil inquiry.

  ‘Oh, none at all!’ answered the Princess. ‘Thanks to your wonderful nursing,’ she added, with rather too much eagerness. ‘I had hoped to tell you before now how grateful I am; but though I have been here more than once, you were never here when I came.’

  Sister Giovanna bent her head slightly.

  ‘There is really nothing to thank me for,’ she said. ‘The novice said you wished to see me; can I be of any service to you?’

  The elder woman inwardly resented the tone of superior calm. She was now convinced that Sister Giovanna was no other than her niece Angela, though she had not yet given any direct sign of recognition. She was not quite sure of being able to meet the young eyes steadily, and when she answered she fixed her own on the line where the veil was drawn tightly across the nun’s forehead. In this way she could not fail to see any quick change in the other’s features.

  ‘It is about Captain Severi,’ she said very distinctly, ‘Ugo, as we call him — the brother of that poor Giovanni who was murdered by savages in Africa.’

  She saw what she had hoped to see and felt that she had already got the upper hand, for the nun’s face turned the colour of smouldering wood ashes when they are a greyish white, though the faint, hot glow still rises in them with every passing breath of air and then fades fitfully away.

  ‘Captain Severi’s room is ready,’ said Sister Giovanna steadily.

  ‘Yes, of course!’ The Princess nodded as she spoke. ‘It is not that, Sister. He is a great friend of mine and I was quite devoted to his unfortunate brother, so I have come to beg that he may have the very best care while he is here.’

  ‘You need not have any anxiety.’

  Sister Giovanna sat bolt upright in her straight chair, with her hands folded on her knees. The Princess rested one elbow on the table, in an easy attitude, and glanced at her once or twice during the silence that followed. Each was wondering whether the other was going to admit that she recognised her, and each was weighing the relative advantages of remaining on the present footing, which was one of uncertainty for Sister Giovanna and of armed quiescence on the Princess’s part.

  ‘Thank you,’ said the latter, after a long time, with a bright smile, as if she had quite understood the nun’s answer. ‘It will be such a comfort to know that he is being well cared for, poor fellow. I believe he will be here in a few minutes.’

  ‘We are expecting him,’ answered the nun, not stirring.

  Another long silence followed, and she sat so perfectly still that the Princess began to fidget, looked at the tall old clock in the corner and then compared her pretty watch with it, laid her olive-green parasol across the table, but took it off again almost immediately and dropped the tip to the floor. The Sister’s impassive stillness seemed meant for a reproach and made her nervous. The certainty that the motionless woman opposite her was Angela, calmly declining to know her, was very disagreeable. She tried the excuse of pretending in her thoughts that there was still a reasonable doubt about it, but she could no longer succeed; yet to address her niece by her baptismal name would be to acknowledge herself finally beaten in the contest of coolness, after having at first succeeded in making her adversary change colour.

  The ticking of the clock was so distinct that it made an echo in the high hall; the morning sun streamed across the pavement, from the cloistered garden the chirping of a few sparrows and the sharper twitter of the house-swallow that had already nested under the eaves sounded very clearly through the closed glass door.

  The Princess could not bear the silence any longer, and she looked at Sister Giovanna with a rather pinched smile.

  ‘My dear Angela,’ she said, ‘there is really no reason why we should keep up this absurd little comedy any longer, is there?’

  The nun did not betray the least surprise at the sudden question.

  ‘If you have no reason for it, I have none,’ she answered, but her gaze was so steady that the Princess looked away. ‘I prefer to be called Sister Giovanna, however,’ she added, after an instant’s pause.

  The Princess, though not always courageous, was naturally overbearing and rather quarrelsome, and her temper rose viciously as soon as the restraint which an artificial situation had imposed was removed.

  ‘I really think you should not have kept me in doubt so long,’ she said. ‘After playing nurse to me in my own house, you can hardly have taken me for another person. But as for you, your dress has changed you so completely, and you look so much older than any one would have thought possible, that you need not be surprised if I was not quite sure it was really you!’

  Her niece listened unmoved. A trained nurse, even if she be a nun, may learn a good deal about human nature in five years, and Sister Giovanna was naturally quick to perceive and slow to forget. She understood now, much better than the Princess supposed.

  ‘I am not at all surprised,’ she said, almost smiling, ‘and it cannot possibly matter.’

  The older woman began to think that her recollections of what she thought she had said in her delirium were nothing more than the record of a dream, but the fear of having betrayed herself still haunted her, although four months had passed, and the present opportunity of setting her mind at rest might not return. Rather than let it slip away she would be bold, if not brave.

  ‘And besides,’ she said, as if finishing her last speech, ‘I believe I was more or less delirious during most of the time that you were with me. Was I not?’

  Sister Giovanna was sorely tempted to speak out. But though it would be so easy to humiliate the woman who had injured her, it looked too much like vengeance; and she remembered how she had told the sick woman that she forgave, with all her heart, meaning what she said, but it had been hard to keep the passion-flower of forgiveness from fading as soon as it had opened.

  ‘You were rather quiet on the whole,’ she answered with truth, and so calmly that the Princess was relieved. ‘I wish all my patients were as submissive.’

  ‘Really? How delightful! No one ever said I was a submissive person, I am sure!’

  ‘You were very much so. And now, since your friend has not come yet, and you will wish to wait for him, I must ask you to let me leave you, for I am on duty and must not stay here too long. Should you like to see the Mother Superior?’

  Sister Giovanna rose as she spoke, for though she was sure of herself after making the first effort, she did not mean to tell an untruth if her aunt asked a still more direct question; she was well aware, too, that she had turned very pale at the first mention of Giovanni, and she did not intend to expose herself to any further surprises which her enemy might be planning.

  The Princess was disappointed now, and was not satisfied with having so greatly diminished her own anxiety. She felt that she had come into contact with a force which she could not hope to overcome, because it did not proceed only from Angela’s own strength of character, but was backed by a power that was real though it was invisible. It is hard to express what I mean, but those will understand who have personally found themselves opposed by a member of any regular order whom they wish to influence. It has been well said that there is no such obstacle in life as the inert resistance of a thoroughly lazy man; but in certain circumstances that is far inferior t
o the silent opposition of a conscientious person belonging to a large body which declines, on grounds of belief rather than of logic, to enter into any argument. That was what Princess Chiaromonte felt.

  She rose from her chair a moment after her niece had stood up.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I will wait here, if I may.’

  ‘You are welcome.’

  Sister Giovanna made a slight inclination of the head and left the hall at once. When she was gone her aunt did not resume her seat, but walked slowly up and down, and twice, as she reached the door that led to the wards, she stood still for a second and smiled. It was all very well to be as strong as Angela, she reflected, and to have a great religious order behind one, supported by the whole body of the Roman Catholic and Apostolic Church; and it was a fine thing to have so much character, and such a beautiful, grave face, and solemn, saintly eyes; but it showed weakness to turn as white as a sheet at the mention of a man’s name, though he might be dead, and in a few minutes it would be a satisfaction to note the signs of inward distress when the grave supervising nurse came face to face with the brother of the man she had loved.

  That was what the Princess was thinking of when she heard the distant gate-bell tinkling, and stopped once more in her walk, preparing herself to receive Ugo Severi with an expression of cordiality and affectionate concern.

  The portress opened the door into the hall and a confused sound of voices came from the passage. The Princess started slightly and then smiled, reflecting that she had never noticed the resemblance between Ugo’s tone and poor Giovanni’s.

  Doctor Pieri entered first, tall, grave, fair-bearded, and he was looking back to be sure that the orderlies were careful. They followed him closely, bringing Captain Ugo in a chair in which he sat upright with his injured foot lying on a raised rest before him and a rug from the motor car over his knees. He wore a covert coat and a grey felt hat.

  The Princess went forward with a bright smile, looking into his face.

  ‘I have seen the head nurse,’ she said, ‘and you are to have the best room in the hospital, and all sorts of extra care.’

  Ugo said something as the orderlies set down the chair, but almost at the same moment the Princess heard another voice. It was hard and cold, and did not match the words it spoke.

  ‘You have been extremely kind,’ said Giovanni Severi.

  She had fairly good nerves, and had been in a very small measure prepared for the surprise by having heard him talking in the passage, though in a very different tone; but she started and gasped audibly as she looked up and met his resentful eyes.

  ‘Giovanni!’ she cried in amazement. ‘Is it you? Are you alive?’

  But she had no doubt about it, in spite of the heavy beard that hid the lower part of his face.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ he answered rather coldly. ‘Quite alive, thank you.’

  She held out her hand now, but it was shaking when he took it. Doctor Pieri looked on in some surprise, but said nothing. One of the orderlies rang the bell that summoned the supervising nurse.

  ‘Where have you been all these years?’ asked the Princess. ‘Why have you never written to your friends?’

  ‘That is a long story,’ Giovanni answered, in the same tone as before. ‘If you happen to be on friendly terms with the Ministry, you will be doing the Government a service by not speaking of my return till it is made public.’

  ‘How mysterious!’ The Princess was recovering from her surprise.

  Ugo looked from one to the other, watching their faces. It was quite clear that his brother disliked the middle-aged woman of the world now, whatever their relations had been in the past, and from her behaviour when she had recognised him it looked as if the two must have once been very intimate.

  ‘What are we waiting for?’ asked the Captain cheerfully, in order to break off the conversation.

  ‘The supervising nurse,’ answered Pieri. ‘She will be here directly.’

  ‘A nun, I suppose,’ observed Giovanni carelessly. ‘Old and hideous too, no doubt. Poor Ugo!’

  ‘Not so much to be pitied as you think,’ said the Princess. ‘She is still young, and must have been very pretty! She is worth looking at, I assure you.’

  Her own astonishment and recent emotion were already forgotten in the pleasure of looking forward to the recognition which must take place within a few moments. She had hated her niece long and unrelentingly, and she had never forgiven Giovanni for what she called in her heart his betrayal; but the reckoning was to be settled in full at last, and she knew that if Sister Giovanna could choose, she would rather pay it with her flesh and blood than meet what was before her now.

  Giovanni was looking towards the door when the nun opened it, and the strong morning light fell full on her face as she came forward. Naturally enough, her eyes were at first turned downwards towards Ugo’s face, for she had already seen the Princess and Pieri was a familiar figure. She was aware that a bearded officer was standing on the other side of the chair, but she did not look at him.

  Giovanni’s expression changed quickly; at first he saw only a strong likeness to Angela, a striking resemblance that made him wonder whether the nun could possibly be an elder sister of hers, of whom he had never heard; but by quick degrees he became sure that it was herself. She spoke to the wounded man.

  ‘Shall we go up to your room at once?’ she asked in her soft voice, bending over him.

  Before Ugo could answer, a name he did not know rang out, in a tone he had never heard. He did not recognise his brother’s voice, it was so full of passion and joy, mingled with amazement, yet trembling with anxiety.

  ‘Angela!’

  Sister Giovanna straightened herself with a spring and stood transfixed, facing Giovanni. The chair was between them. In an instant, that was an age to both, sharp lines furrowed her brow, her cheeks grew hollow, and her pale, parted lips were distorted with pain. Her face was like the Virgin Mother’s, at the foot of the Cross.

  It was only for a moment; she threw up her arms, stiff and straight, as a man who is shot through the heart. One loud cry then, and she fell backwards.

  Pieri was in time and caught her before her head struck the pavement; but though he was strong and she was slightly made, the impetus of her fall dragged him down upon one knee. Giovanni could not reach her at once, for the hospital chair with the bars by which it was carried was between them and the foremost of the orderlies stood exactly in his way. He almost knocked the man over as he dashed forwards.

  The Princess was already bending over the unconscious Sister, with every appearance of profound sympathy; she was trying to loosen the wimple and gorget that confined the nun’s cheeks and throat too closely, but the fastenings were unfamiliar and she could not find them. Giovanni, pale and determined, pushed her aside as he stooped to lift the woman he loved. Pieri helped him, and the Princess rose and stepped back to look on, now that she had shown her willingness to be of use. Ugo gazed at the scene with wide, astonished eyes, turning half round in his chair and grasping its arms to hold himself in the position.

  ‘Open the glass door!’ said the Doctor to the nearest orderly.

  They carried Sister Giovanna into the cloistered garden, towards the stone seat by the well, where the three old nuns used to sit in the afternoon. Before they reached the place, she opened her eyes and met Giovanni’s, already haggard with fear for her, but brightening wildly as her consciousness returned; for he had believed that she had fallen dead before him.

  Even through the closed glass doors the Mother Superior had heard her cry and known her voice, for the window had been open to the April sunshine. The Mother could be swift when there was need, and she was downstairs and at the well almost as soon as the two men could get there, walking slowly with their burden. Exerting a strength that amazed them, she took the young nun into her arms and sat down with her, and laid the drooping head tenderly to her heart. Her own face was as still and white as marble, but neither Giovanni nor Pieri saw her eye
s.

  ‘You may go,’ she said. ‘I will take care of her.’

  In the presence of the strange officer she would not ask the Doctor what had happened.

  ‘She fainted suddenly,’ he said.

  ‘Yes. I understand. Leave her to me.’

  Pieri saw that Giovanni could not move of his own free will; so he passed his arm through the young man’s and whispered in his ear while he drew him away.

  ‘You must obey for the present,’ he said. ‘She is in no danger.’

  For he had understood the truth at once, as was easy enough; and Giovanni went with him, looking back again and again and unable to speak, not yet knowing all.

  When the Princess had seen the Mother Superior crossing the garden, she had drawn back within the door, and the Doctor shut it when Giovanni had come in. The woman of the world had believed that she could still face the man after what she had done, and perhaps find words that would hurt him; but when she saw his eyes, she was frightened, for she had known him well. When he went straight towards her she made one step backwards, in bodily fear of him; but he spoke quietly and not rudely.

  ‘It was your duty to warn us both,’ he said.

  That was all, but he stood looking at her, and her fright grew; for men who live long in the wilderness gather a strength that may inspire terror when they come back to the world. The Princess turned from him without answering, and left the hall.

  One of the orderlies had called another nurse from within, and Ugo was taken to his room, still surprised, but already understanding, as Pieri did. The latter soon took his leave, the nurse followed him for instructions, and the brothers were alone together.

  ‘When I left her,’ Giovanni said, ‘we were engaged to be married. I wrote to her just before I sailed, but she has not received the letter yet.’

  ‘What shall you do?’ asked Ugo, watching him with sympathy.