The Velvet Glove Read online

  CHAPTER IX

  THE QUARRYSarrion called at the convent school of the Sisters of the True Faith thenext morning, and was informed through the grating that the school was inRetreat.

  "Even I, whose duty it is to speak to you, shall have to perform penancefor doing so," said the doorkeeper, in her soft voice through the bars.

  "Then do an extra penance, my sister," returned Sarrion, "and answeranother question. Tell me if the Sor Teresa is within?"

  "The Sor Teresa is at Pampeluna, and the Mother Superior is here in theschool herself. The Sor Teresa is only Sister Superior, you must know,and is therefore subordinate to the Mother Superior."

  Sarrion was a pleasant-spoken man, and a man of the world. He knew thatif a woman has something to tell of another she is not to be frightenedinto silence by the whole Court of Cardinals and eke, the Pope of Romehimself. So he drew his horse nearer to the forbidding wooden gate, anddid not ride away from it until he had gained some scraps of informationand saddled the lay sister with a burden of penances to last all throughthe Retreat.

  He learnt that his sister had been sent to Pampeluna, where the Sistersof the True Faith conducted another school, much patronised by the poornobility of that priest-ridden city. He was made to understand, moreover,that Juanita de Mogente had been given special opportunities for prayerand meditation owing to an unchristian spirit of resentment and revenge,which she had displayed on learning the Will of Heaven in regard to herabandoned, and it was to be feared, heretic father.

  "Which means, my sister?"

  "That neither you nor any other in the world may see or speak to her--butI must close the grille."

  And the little shutter was sharply shut in Sarrion's face.

  This was the beginning of a quest which, for a fortnight, continuedentirely fruitless. Evasio Mon it appeared was on a pilgrimage. SorTeresa had gone to Pampeluna. The inexorable gate of the convent schoolremained shut to all comers.

  Sarrion went to Pampeluna to see his sister, but came back without havingattained his object. Marcos took up the trail with a patient thoroughnesslearnt at the best school--the school of Nature. He was without haste,and expressed neither hope nor discouragement. But he realised more andmore clearly that Juanita was in genuine danger. By one or two moves inthis subtle warfare, Sarrion had forced his adversary to unmask hisdefenses. Some of the obstructions behind which Juanita was now concealedcould scarcely have originated in chance.

  Marcos had, in the course of his long antagonism against wolf or bear orboar in the Central Pyrenees, more than once experienced that sharp shockof astonishment and fear to which the big-game hunter can scarcely remainindifferent when he finds himself opposed by an unmistakable sign of anintelligence equal to his own or an instinct superior to it, subtlymeeting his subtle attack. This he experienced now, and knew that hehimself was being watched and his every action forestalled. The effectwas to make him the more dogged, the more cunning in his quest. Becausehe knew that Juanita's cause was in competent hands, or for some otherreason, Sarrion withdrew from taking such an active part as heretofore.

  His keen and careful eyes noted a change in Marcos. Juanita'shelplessness seemed to have aroused a steady determination to help her atany cost. Weakness is an appeal that strength rarely resists.

  It was Marcos who finally discovered an opportunity, and withcharacteristic patience he sifted it, and organised a plan of actionbefore making anything known to his father.

  "There is a service in the Cathedral of La Seo tomorrow evening," heannounced suddenly at midnight one night on his return from a long andtiring day. "All the girls of the convent schools will be there."

  "Ah!" said Sarrion, looking his son up and down with a speculative eye."Well?"

  "My aunt... Sor Teresa... is likely to be there. She has returned toSaragossa to-day. The Mother Superior--by the grace of God--hasindigestion. I have got a letter safely through to Sor Teresa. Theservice is at seven o'clock. The Archbishop will go in procession roundthe Cathedral to bless the people. The Cathedral is very dark. There willbe considerable confusion when the doors are opened and the people crowdout. I have a few men--of the road, from the Posada de los Reyes--whowill add to the confusion under my instructions. I think if you help mewe can get Juanita separated from the rest. I will take her home and seeto it that she arrives at the school at the same time as the others. Wecan arrange it, I think."

  "Yes," answered Sarrion. "I have no doubt that we can arrange it."

  And they sat far into the night, after the manner of conspirators,discussing Marcos' plans, which were, like himself, quite simple anddirect.

  The Cathedral of the Seo in Saragossa is one of the most ancient inSpain, and bears in its architecture some resemblance to the Moorishmosque that once stood on the same spot. It is a huge square building,dimly lighted by windows set high up in the stupendous roof. The choir isa square set down in the middle--a church within a Cathedral. There aretwo principal entrances, one on the Plaza de la Seo, where the fountainis, and where, in the sunshine, the philosophers of Saragossa sit and donothing from morn till eve. The other entrance is that which is known asthe grand portal, and with a wrong-headedness characteristic of thePeninsular, it is situated in a little street where no man passes.

  Marcos knew that the grand portal was used by the religious communitiesand devout persons who came to church for the good motive, while thosewho praised God that man might see them entered, and quitted theCathedral by the more public doorway on the Plaza. He knew also that theconvent schools took their station just within the great porch, which,during the day, is the parade ground for those authorised beggars whowear their number and licence suspended round their necks as a guaranteeof good faith.

  The Cathedral was crammed to suffocation when Marcos and his fatherentered by this door. At the foot of the shallow steps descending fromthe porch to the floor of the Cathedral, Sor Teresa's white cap roseabove the heads of the people. Here and there a nun's cap or the blueveil of a nursing sister showed itself amidst the black mantillas. Hereand there the white head of some old man made its mark among the sunburntfaces. For there were as many men as women present. The majority of themlooked about them as at a show, but all were silent and respectful. Allmade room readily enough for any who wished to kneel. There was nopushing, no impatience. All were polite and forbearing.

  The Archbishop's procession had already left the door of the choir, andwas moving slowly round the building. It was preceded by a chorister anda boy, who sang in unison with a strange, uncomfortable echo in the roof.Immediately on their heels followed a man in his usual outdoor clothes,who accompanied them on a haut-boy with queer, snorting notes, and noddedto his friends as he perceived their faces dimly looming in the light ofthe flickering candles carried by acolytes behind him.

  They stopped at intervals and sang a verse. Then the organ, far abovetheir heads, rolled in its solemn notes, and the whole choir broke intosong as they moved on.

  The Archbishop, preceded by the Host borne aloft beneath a silken canopy,wore a long red silk robe, of which the train was carried by two carelessacolytes, a red silk biretta and red gloves.

  As the Host passed the people knelt and rose, and knelt again as theArchbishop came--a sort of human tide, rising and kneeling and risingagain, to dust their knees and stare about them, which was not without asymbolical meaning for those who know the history of the Church in Latincountries.

  The face of the Archbishop struck a sudden and startling note ofsincerity as he passed on with upheld hand and eyes turning from side toside with a luminous look of love and tenderness as he silently invokedGod's blessing on these his people. He passed on, leaving in somedoubting hearts, perhaps, the knowledge that amid much that was mistaken,and tawdry and superstitious and evil, here at all events was one goodman.

  Immediately behind him, came the beadle in vestments and a long flaxenwig ill-combed, put on all awry, making room with his staff and hittingthe people if they would not leave off praying and get out of
the way.

  Then followed the choir--a living study in evil countenances--perfunctory, careless, snuff-blown and ill-shaven, with cold hard faceslike Inquisitors.

  All the while the great bell was booming overhead, and the wholeatmosphere seemed to vibrate with sound and emotion. It was moving andimpressive, especially for those who think that the Almighty is betterpleased with abject abasement than a plain common-sense endeavour to dobetter, and will accept a long tale of public penance before the recordof simple daily duties honestly performed.

  Near the great porch on either side of the bishop's path were ranged theseminarists, in cassocks of black with a dark blue or redhood--depressing looking youths with flaccid faces and an unhealthy eye.Behind them stood a group of friars in rough woolen garments of brown,with heads clean shaven all but an inch of closely cut hair like a haloon a saint. They seemed cheerful and were laughing and joking amongthemselves while the procession passed.

  Behind these, on their knees, were the girls of the convent school--andall around them closed in the crowd. Juanita was at one end of the rowand Sor Teresa at the other. Juanita was looking about her. Her specialopportunities for prayer and reflection had perhaps had the effect thatsuch opportunities may be expected to have, and she was a little weary ofall this to-do about the world to come; for she was young and thispresent world seemed worthy of consideration. She glanced backwards overher shoulder as the Archbishop passed with his following of candles, andgave a little start. Marcos was kneeling on the pavement behind her. SorTeresa was looking straight in front of her between the wings of hergreat cap. It was hard to say whether she saw Juanita, or was aware thata man was kneeling immediately behind herself, almost on the hem of herflowing black robes--her own brother, Sarrion.

  The procession moved away down the length of the great building and leftdarkness behind it. Already there was a stir among the people, for it waslate and many had come from a distance.

  The great doors, rarely used, were slowly cast open and in the darknessthe crowd surged forward. Juanita was nearest to the door. She lookedround and Sor Teresa made a motion with her head telling her to lead theway. Marcos was at her side. A few men in cloaks, and some inshirt-sleeves, seemed to be grouped by chance around him. He looked backand made a little movement of the head towards his father.

  Juanita felt herself pushed from behind. Before her, singularly enough,was a clear pathway between the crowds. Behind her a thousand peoplepressed forward towards the exit. She hurried out and glancing back onthe steps saw that she had become separated from the school and from thenuns by a number of men. But Marcos' hand was already on her arm.

  "Come," he said, "I want to speak to you. It is all right. My father isbeside Sor Teresa."

  "What fun!" she answered in a whisper. "Let us be quick."

  And a moment later they were running side by side down a narrow street,where a single lamp swung from a gibbet at the corner and flickered inthe wind of Saragossa.

  It was Juanita who stopped suddenly.

  "Oh, Marcos," she cried, "I forgot; we are not to walk home. There is anomnibus to meet us as usual at these late services."

  "It will not come," replied Marcos. "The driver is waiting to tell SorTeresa that his horses are lame and he cannot come."

  "And why have you done this?" asked Juanita, looking at him with brighteyes beneath her mantilla flying in the wind.

  "Because I want to speak to you. We can walk home to the school together.It is all arranged. My father is with Sor Teresa."

  "What, all the way?" she asked in a delighted voice.

  "Yes."

  "And can we go through the streets and see the shops?"

  "Yes, if you like; if you keep your mantilla close."

  "Marcos, you are a dear! But I have no money; you must lend me some."

  "Yes, if you like. What do you want to buy?"

  "Oh, chocolates," she answered. "Those brown ones, all soft inside. Howmuch money have you?"

  And she held out her hand in the dim light of the street lamps.

  "I will give you the chocolates," he answered. "As many as you like."

  "How kind of you. You are a dear. I am so glad to see your solemn oldface again. I am very hard up. I don't really know where all mypocket-money has gone to this term."

  She laughed gaily, and turned to look up at him. And in a moment hermanner changed.

  "Oh, Marcos," she said, "I am so miserable. And I have no one to talk to.You know--papa is dead."

  "Yes," he answered, "know."

  "For three days," she went on, "I thought I should die. And then, but Iam afraid it wasn't prayer, Marcos, I began to feel--better, you know.Was it very wicked? Of course I had never seen him. It would have beenquite different if it had been my dear, darling old Uncle Ramon--or evenyou, Marcos."

  "Thank you," said Marcos.

  "But I had only his letters, you know, and they were so political! Then Ifelt most extremely angry with Leon for being such a muff. He did nothingto try and find out who had killed papa, and go and kill him in return. Ifelt so disgusted that I was not a man. I feel so still, Marcos. This isthe shop, and those are the chocolates stuck on that sheet of whitepaper. Let us buy the whole sheet. I will pay you back next term."

  They entered the shop and there Marcos bought her as many chocolates asshe could hope to conceal beneath the long ends of her mantilla.

  "I will bring you more," he said, "if you will tell me how to get them toyou."

  She assured him that there was nothing simpler; and made him aparticipant in a dead secret only known to a few, of the hole in theconvent wall, large enough to pass the hand through, down by thefrog-pond at the bottom of the garden and near the old door which wasnever opened.

  "If you wait there on Thursday evening between seven and eight I willcome, if I can, and will poke my hand through the hole in the wall. Buthow shall I know that it is you?"

  "I will kiss your hand when it comes through," answered Marcos.

  "Yes," she said, rather slowly. "What a joke."

  But now they were at the gate of the convent school, having come a shortway, and they stood beneath the thick trees until the school came, withits usual accompaniment of eager talk like the running of water beneath alow bridge and its babble round the stones.

  Juanita slipped in among her schoolmates, and Sor Teresa, lookingstraight in front of her, saw nothing.