At times during the journey Father Owen’s words came into her mind, and she had wondered if Mr Wilson was the Devil dressed up again. But then she had discarded that idea, for there was Mrs Wilson, and she couldn’t see the Devil being married.
But now she was having grave doubts as to Mr Wilson’s true identity, for after buttoning up his coat and adjusting his cap he sat down again on the edge of his seat and, leaning towards her, he said, solemnly, ‘Now, me bairn, listen to what I’m saying; you’ve a sensible head on your little shoulders.’ He paused before going on. ‘Now, if they do anything to frighten you at that place you write straight away to your da. They’ll likely watch you like a prisoner, but you—’
‘George!’ Mrs Wilson, gathering her belongings together, spoke urgently and sharply under her breath. ‘It’s you who’s doing the frightening. You’ll have her scared to death.’
‘I’m only doing me duty.’ Mr Wilson was on his feet again. ‘And if I’d done it years ago and been firm with our Jimmy things wouldn’t have been as they are today…family divided and—’
‘Be quiet!’
Mary Ann looked quickly at Mrs Wilson. She sounded just like her ma when her patience was being tried by her granny.
‘You’re as much to blame as anybody. Talk about them being bigoted, they’ve got some way to go to catch up to you.’
‘Well!’ Mr Wilson’s tone, besides being surprised, held all the hurt and misunderstanding in the world. He stared at his wife, then, stretching his scraggy neck out of his collar, he turned and looked out of the window, and Mary Ann yet once again divided her gaze between them. They were fighting, and about the convent. But why should they? Convents, although she had never been in one, held no terrors for her, rather the reverse. She had always wanted to go to one. The only terror lay in the distance that this one was from Newcastle—if it had been ‘round about’, this first day would have been one of joy, for then she could have gone home for the night and told her da all about it.
‘Are you all ready, my dear?’ Mrs Wilson was smiling now as if nothing had happened. ‘You’ve got all your things together? That’s right, put your coat on. Can you feel the train slowing? Aye, it’s been a long run, even it’s tired.’
After Mary Ann had put on her coat, her hands automatically went into her pockets, and coming in contact with the envelope for the first time, she drew it out and gasped her surprise. ‘Look!’ she cried. ‘Look what I’ve found in my pocket!’
‘Didn’t you know it was there? We saw him put it in—the old man—didn’t we, George?’
George, apparently forgiven, turned from the window, and said, ‘Aye. Yes, we saw him. Go on, open it.’
Mary Ann, opening the envelope, drew out two sheets of paper. Between them was a folded pound note. Her eyes flicked up at the old people. Then slowly she read out the few words written on the paper:
‘My dear child,
If you want to please me pay great attention to your lessons and learn—learn everything you can. I know you won’t disappoint me. You are a brave little girl, and when you think of me, think of me by the name you once called me.
– Your Granda.’
There was a lump in her throat again. Oh, he was nice! Oh, he was. And to write her a letter. If her da, too, had thought of writing her a letter it would have been wonderful, better even than this. But he had bought her comics, hadn’t he, and chocolates.
‘By! Some more money. By, you’re lucky.’ Mrs Wilson was enthusiastic, but the sight of the pound note returned Mr Wilson to his natural aversion which centred around anything Catholic. ‘If you want to keep it,’ he said, ‘you hide it. Have you any place to put it?’
‘Me purse.’
‘Oh, they’ll look through that.’
‘I’ve got me locket.’ From beneath her dress she pulled out a narrow chain, from which hung a locket, with a holy picture painted on each side, and when she sprung it open to reveal a small rosary Mr Wilson made a sound in his throat which was too deep for interpretation. Then, with an evident effort towards calmness, he said, ‘Put them things in your bag, and put your note in there, and the other one an’ all from your purse.’
Not only did Mr Wilson give her advice on the expedience of storage, but to his seeming satisfaction he also carried out the operation, and when the locket was once more reposing under cover on Mary Ann’s chest, he said, ‘Well, that’s that.’ Doubtless he felt he had gained a victory over all convents and their iron rules, and the Catholic Church in particular.
As the train came to a jolting stop, which nearly knocked Mary Ann off her seat, Mr Wilson exclaimed, ‘Well, now, it’s goodbye, me bairn, but we’ll likely come across each other again; it’s a small world when all’s said and done. And when we go back at the end of the month I’ll call and see your da, I will that.’
‘Oh, will you? Oh, ta!’
‘I will. Goodbye now, hinny, and be a good lass.’
‘Goodbye, me bairn.’
‘Goodbye, Mrs Wilson.’ Mary Ann looked up at the old woman; then slowly turned her eyes to the old man. These were the very last links with home, and she was loath to let them go. Her voice shook slightly as she said, ‘I wish I was coming with you.’
Mrs Wilson tapped her cheek, then stooped and kissed her hastily, saying, ‘Well, you are in a way. We’ll likely be on the same train all the way down, and when we get to St Leonards, we’ll look out for you getting off. There now. Now, now, you mustn’t cry. Be a brave lass. Come on, let’s get these things out, the guard’ll be along in a minute.’
Almost before Mrs Wilson had finished speaking there appeared beyond the corridor window the guard, accompanied by two black-robed nuns.
‘Go on, hinny, there they are. Go on. Goodbye. The porter will come and get your things.’
Mrs Wilson seemed suddenly anxious that Mary Ann should be gone, and so, manoeuvring herself to block her husband’s exit into the corridor, she pushed her away, and Mary Ann, coming to the door, looked straight into the face of the nun and knew her first disappointment.
Nuns were merely angels walking the earth, they were young and beautiful and holy and always smiling. The face before her was youngish, but it was bespectacled and unsmiling and possessed the largest set of buck teeth that Mary Ann had ever seen.
On the journey from London to St Leonards Mary Ann discovered only one pleasing thing about her escorts: the one that spoke to her spoke nice—swanky, but nice—but she never smiled. The other nun smiled but didn’t speak, and Mary Ann sat looking out of the window lost and alone. Really alone now.
From time to time she fervently wished Mr Wilson was sitting opposite. She wouldn’t even mind if he went on about the convent. She wasn’t interested in the passing scenery—she had seen too much scenery today. Her only impression of it was that it was greener, and the hills went up and down, and on and on. Her mind became a confused maze, whirling round her da, Mr Lord, Mr Wilson, her watch, her ma, their Michael and, for some reason or other, the nice young man who had come to work on the farm. Then the rhythm of the wheels churned them altogether until only one filled her weary mind and tear-filled heart, and it went, ‘Diddle-de-da, diddle-de-da, diddle-de-da, diddle-de-da,’ then filed itself down into, ‘Me da, me da…me da, me da…me da, me da…me da, me da…’ and to this chant her head dropped sideways onto the nun’s arm, and she went fast asleep.
When she awoke exactly an hour later she didn’t know where she was. She looked up at the nun, who was bending over her.
‘Come along, we’re there.’
Drunkenly she got to her feet, and the nun, with deft fingers, straightened her hair and adjusted her hat, and then the train stopped, and she was on the platform. She had forgotten about Mr and Mrs Wilson until their bright faces and waving hands drew her attention, and she had only time to give one wave in return before the train ran into the tunnel.
‘Hallo, there! Well, you’ve arrived.’ She turned to face another nun who seemed to have descended from
the roof, so quickly had she made her appearance. ‘You look tired. Are you tired?’
‘Yes, Miss.’
‘Yes, Miss. Ha! ha!’ The laugh ran down the empty platform. ‘Sister, child. I’m Sister Agnes Mary.’ The voice was deep, not unlike a man’s.
‘Sister!’ It was the escort speaking, and there was a strong breath of reprimand in the word.
Mary Ann, eyes slightly wider now, moved under the propulsion of the guiding hand of her escort towards the entrance, and ahead of them, carrying both her cases, strode Sister Agnes Mary. Fascinated, Mary Ann watched her make straight for a car, an old car, a very old car, and after dumping the cases into the boot pull open the door, squeeze herself in, and start up the engine.
Nothing at that moment could have surprised her more. Never had she seen a nun in a car, let alone driving one. All her preconceived ideas about nuns were being knocked to smithereens with sledgehammer force.
‘In you get.’ This was from Sister Agnes. ‘Push that box along, do it gently. You’re not afraid of hamsters, are you?’
Mary Ann, in a stooped position on the step, stood riveted, gazing at the wire box full of mice, as she thought of them.
‘Oh, well, all right, I’ll bring them over here…Here.’ She lifted the box over the back seat. ‘Hold it, Sister.’
Sister Catherine took the box with no great show of pleasure, then putting Mary Ann into the back of the car, and indicating her silent companion to follow, she closed the door and without a word seated herself in the front next to Sister Agnes.
There was a grating somewhere under Mary Ann’s seat, then, with a jerk that knocked her backwards, they were off. The young nun steadied her and smiled.
She had been in Mr Lord’s car when he drove fast, but it hadn’t been this kind of fast, nor had it made all this noise and rattle. That the noise was even affecting the imperturbable driver was made evident when her voice, above the din, came to Mary Ann, crying, ‘Have to take His Eminence’s inside out tonight.’
‘I thought you were going to do it this afternoon.’ Sister Catherine’s voice, although loud, was still prim.
‘Couldn’t. Just got my office in when I had to go to the laundry. Sister Teresa’s got toothache. You’d think it would be rheumatics she’d get, not toothache, wouldn’t you?’ A pause. ‘She’s small—what’s her name?’
‘Mary Ann Shaughnessy.’
‘Huh! “Just a little bit of heaven”.’ The words were sung in a full contralto. ‘That should make the hearts of Sisters Alvis and Monica glad.’
‘Sister!’ Again the tone of reprimand, and then…Could Mary Ann believe her ears, or was it the jingling of the car that made Sister Agnes Mary’s reply sound like, ‘Oh, stow it!’
It must have been the jingling of the car, no nun could ever say such a thing, nuns couldn’t know words like ‘stow it’, they were angels. At this point, and so early in her acquaintance of the celestial beings, Mary Ann had to remind herself of this fact, which immediately placed her further acquaintance with the heavenly overflow on a very insecure footing. Matters such as nuns being angels, as everybody knew, should be accepted without question, like the sun coming up and the rain coming down.
The town was left behind now, and the car was rocketing through the narrow, high-hedged lanes. Then, with startling suddenness that seemed to be the main facet of its character, or was it its driver, it was out of the narrow lane and thundering up a broad drive. And the next minute it had stopped, and Mary Ann was once again lying back in the seat with her legs in the air.
‘Come on, out you get, Miss Mary Ann Shaughnessy.’
Sister Agnes Mary was holding open the door and laughing. ‘It’s a big name for such a little soul, eh?’
‘Yes, Miss—Sister.’
Mary Ann stepped out of the car, and recognised immediately that she had dropped, or been thrown, into a new world. Before her were wide steps leading up to a house which was so big that the wall on either side seemed to stretch endlessly away, and all about, in front of the house, people—girls of all ages and grown-ups, and nuns, and over all she felt the canopy of excitement.
Before Sister Catherine’s hand descended on her she glimpsed behind her a balustrade and, through its grey stone pillars, terraces falling away in a glory of colour.
Sister Catherine’s hand firmly on her head now, she was directed up the steps and through the wide-open doors into a huge hall, with broad oak stairs leading from its farthest end.
Only two impressions touched her whirling mind here. One was that the floor was so highly polished that she could see her white socks in it, and the other that the school was a funny place to have big pictures. In her ascent of the main staircase she glanced up in some awe at the gigantic old paintings covering the walls. But, arrived on the first floor, even these were thrust into the background by the maze of corridors branching from the long gallery. Like an appendage to the silent nun, she turned and twisted and dodged the scurrying figures of girls, and eventually arrived in a corridor away to the right, and at its end went through a door and into a dormitory full of beds. And the impression she had on arrival here was that nobody, nobody had taken the slightest notice of her. She could have been in her own school for all the curiosity she had aroused. And this, strangely enough, added to the weight of her loneliness.
Beside all the beds but one there were cases, and beside each case a child knelt or stood, and with the exception of two of them they were all chattering and laughing across to each other. Of the two, one was kneeling silently by her case and the other was crying by hers, and it was to the bed between these two that Sister Catherine took her. And from there she called imperiously to a girl at the end of the room: ‘Beatrice!’
Beatrice, a thin, lanky girl of about eleven, came running down the room. ‘Yes, Sister?’
‘Must I remind you about running in the dormitory? Walk—I think we had all this out last term.’
‘Yes, Sister. I forgot.’
To Mary Ann the voice sounded high, swanky and cheeky.
‘This is Mary Ann Shaughnessy. Show her what is necessary, then take her down to tea.’
‘Yes, Sister.’
Sister Catherine now turned to Mary Ann, saying, ‘When your cases come up Beatrice will show you what to do. After tea Reverend Mother wishes to see you; report to Mother St Francis.’
‘Yes, Mi—Sister.’
The Sister walked out, the door closed after her, and then to Mary Ann’s open-mouthed horror, and it was horror, she saw Beatrice’s face pucker up until her upper lip exposed in a half-moon her top teeth, and her eyes screw up as if she were peering through glasses, and with her arms hanging like penguin’s wings she took a few steps towards the door, saying, through her distorted mouth, ‘Catty—Cathie! Catty Cathie!’
There were some apprehensive giggles, there were some laughs, there were also some murmurs of disapproval, but these were low, timid and covert.
‘Did she bring you?’ Beatrice was fronting Mary Ann now.
‘Yes.’
‘Poor you; you should have had Aggie. Where are you from?’
‘From Jarrow. No, I mean in the country outside—near Pelaw.’
‘Make up your mind.’
Mary Ann stared at the girl. A moment ago she had stood in awe at her daring; a moment prior to that she had been made uneasy by her swanky voice and manner; now the voice and manner only annoyed her, and simply caused her to think, I don’t like her, she’s cheeky. Moreover, there was something familiar about the girl that puzzled her.
‘What do you think you’re doing?’ Beatrice had turned from Mary Ann to the girl on her right who had lifted one of her cases onto the bed. ‘Get that off there—you know they haven’t to be put on the bed.’
The girl, who was nearly as tall as Beatrice, straightened her back and looked at her; then in a voice of a kind which Mary Ann had never heard before, she said, slowly, ‘Eef you do not like eet, then leeft it hoff, or go and run to teel Sister.’
The two girls faced each other across the bed, then Beatrice, nodding slowly, said, ‘All right, you wait till tomorrow when the marks start.’ With this she walked away, and an oppressive silence fell on the room for a few seconds. Then it was broken by the sound of a bell and a number of voices calling together excitedly, ‘Tea! tea! tea! Come on.’
There was a scrambling round the cases, and Mary Ann watched the legs flying down the dormitory. The girls were all running now, but at the door Beatrice stopped for a moment and called back to Mary Ann, ‘Come on.’ But she did not wait for her, and as Mary Ann made to walk away from her bed the girl from the next bed said, ‘Take hoff your coat and hat.’
The tone was kindly, and Mary Ann took her things off, then looked at the girl. And the girl held out her hand and said, ‘Come.’
With her hand in the strange girl’s Mary Ann walked up the empty dormitory, and she had the feeling she was with someone ‘grown-up’. Before the girl opened the door she paused and said, ‘My name is Lola, and yours ees Mary Han?’
‘Yes.’
The girl nodded, and a little smile lighted up her grave face. Outside the door they surprised the girl from the other bed. She was rubbing vigorously at her face, and Lola said, offhandedly, ‘You make hit worse, Marian. You are not the honly one who cry today. Come on.’
Marian, walking on the other side of Mary Ann, sniffed a number of times, then spoke across her to Lola. ‘I wasn’t crying about coming back…I wasn’t really. It was when Sister Alvis told me I was in Beatrice’s dorm. She’s awful. She’s hateful, I wish I wasn’t nine.’
Mary Ann, perhaps in an effort to comfort someone who looked and sounded as sad as she felt, said, ‘I’m only eight.’
The Devil and Mary Ann Page 8