‘You have to take what’s put before you here. Sometimes we have as many as a hundred and thirty pilgrims. Suppose a hundred and thirty people all wanted tea without milk —’
Her victim, a young lawyer who was recovering from dipsomania, had replied, ‘But I only say don’t trouble to put milk in mine.’
‘It isn’t what you say, it’s what you get.’
They sat later at a polished oak refectory table silently eating a suet-laden supper which represented the monastic idea at St Philumena’s. Their mouths worked silently, rhythmically, chew-pause-chew-pause-swallow-pause-chew. A sister from the convent next door was reading aloud the ‘holy work’ prescribed for mealtimes. Caroline recognized the Epistle of St John, and listened, fixing her eyes on the white blouse of Mrs Hogg opposite. Soon her mind was on Mrs Hogg, and the recent dispute about the tea. She began to take in the woman’s details: an angular face, cropped white hair, no eyelashes, rimless glasses, a small fat nose of which the tip was twitching as she ate, very thin neck, a colossal bosom. Caroline realized that she had been staring at Mrs Hogg’s breasts for some time, and was aware at the same moment that the woman’s nipples were showing dark and prominent through her cotton blouse. The woman was apparently wearing nothing underneath. Caroline looked swiftly away, sickened at the sight, for she was prim; her sins of the flesh had been fastidious always.
That was the first evening.
And this was the third day. At the end of the long corridor they turned. Caroline looked at her watch. Mrs Hogg did not go away.
‘The Manders converted you. They are always converting somebody.’
‘No. Not in my case, they didn’t.’
‘The Manders are very nice people,’ said Mrs Hogg defensively.
‘Charming people.’
‘Very good people,’ Mrs Hogg insisted.
‘I agree,’ said Caroline.
‘You couldn’t possibly disagree. What made you a Catholic then?’
‘Many reasons,’ Caroline said, ‘which are not too easy to define: and so I prefer not to discuss them.’
‘Mm… I know your type,’ Mrs Hogg said, ‘I got your type the first evening you came. There’s a lot of the Protestant about you still. You’ll have to get rid of it. You’re the sort that doesn’t mix. Catholics are very good mixers. Why won’t you talk about your conversion? Conversion’s a wonderful thing. It’s not Catholic not to talk about it.’
The woman was a funny old thing in her way. Caroline suddenly felt light-hearted. She giggled and looked again at her watch.
‘I must be going.’
‘Benediction isn’t till three o’clock.’
‘Oh, but I’ve come here for rest and quiet.’
‘But you’re not in Retreat.’
‘Oh yes, you know, I am in retreat.’ Then Caroline remembered that the popular meaning of ‘retreat’ in religious circles was an organized affair, not a private retiring from customary activities, so as to possess one’s soul in peace. She added, ‘I mean, I’ve retreated from London, and now I’m here for rest and quiet.’
‘You were speaking plenty to that young lawyer this morning.’
In her private neurotic amusement Caroline decided to yield. Ten more minutes of Mrs Hogg. The rain pelted with sudden fury against the windows while she turned to the woman with a patronizing patience.
‘Tell me about yourself, Mrs Hogg.’
Mrs Hogg had recently been appointed Catering Warden. ‘If it wasn’t for the Faith I couldn’t hold down the job. On my feet from six till two, then on again at three and then two hours’ break till supper and then there’s the breakfast to think about. And I’ve got a great number of Crosses. That young lawyer you ye got in with, the other night he said, “I don’t take milk in my tea” — did you hear him? Sometimes we have as many as a hundred and thirty. Suppose a hundred and thirty people wanted tea without milk —’
‘Well, that would be fairly easy,’ said Caroline.
‘Suppose they each wanted something different.’
‘All at the same time?’ said Caroline.
Seeing Mrs Hogg’s expression at this moment, Caroline thought, ‘Now it has struck her that I’m an enemy of the Faith.’
But Mrs Hogg righted herself; her mechanism was regulated for a chat.
‘I’ll tell you how I came here — it was a miracle. Our Lady sent me.’
But Caroline’s mood had changed again. Her sophisticated forbearance departed and constriction took its place; a pinching irritated sense of being with something abominable, not to be tolerated. She had a sudden intense desire to clean her teeth.
‘Oh tell me about the miracle,’ Caroline said. Her tone was slightly menacing. ‘Tell me all the details.’ These scatty women with their miracles. Caroline thought, ‘I hate all women and of all women Mrs Hogg. My nerves are starting up again. The next few eternal minutes are important. I must mind what I say. Keep aloof. Watch my manners at all costs.’
‘Well,’ Mrs Hogg was saying, ‘I was of two minds whether to take a post in Bristol with a lady who was having her baby at home — I’m a registered midwife, you know, although most of my experience has been as a governess. One time I was housekeeper to a priest for two years. That was in Birmingham. He was sent to Canada in 1935, and when we said good-bye he said, “Well, Mrs Hogg —”‘
‘What about the miracle?’ said Caroline, and to cover up her testiness overdid it and added, ‘I can’t hear enough about miracles.’
And, privately she consoled herself with the words, ‘Little dear —for that was how she spoke to herself on occasion — ‘you will receive letters tomorrow morning from the civilized world.’
‘Well, you know,’ Mrs Hogg was saying, ‘to me it was a miracle. I was debating whether to take the job in Bristol or a permanent place in the north with a deaf lady. A letter arrived, it was a Tuesday morning, to say that the lady in Bristol had gone to hospital because of some complications, and was having her baby there. The husband sent me a week’s money. Then in the afternoon another letter arrived from the other place. No, I’m wrong, it was the next morning. The deaf lady had died. So there I was without a job. So I said to Our Lady, “What am I going to do now?” and Our Lady said, “Go back to St Philumena’s and think it over.” I’d already stayed at St Philumena’s on one of the big Retreats —’Did you actually hear a voice?’ Caroline inquired.
‘A voice?’
‘I mean, when you say, “Our Lady said”, do you mean she spoke audibly to you?’
‘Oh no. But that’s how Our Lady always speaks to me. I ask a question and she answers.’
‘How do you hear her answer, then?’
‘The words come to me — but of course you won’t know much about that. You have to be experienced in the spiritual life.’
‘How do you know the words come from the Blessed Virgin?’ Caroline persisted relentlessly. Mrs Hogg moved her upper lip into an indecent smile. Caroline thought: ‘She desires the ecstasy of murdering me in some prolonged ritualistic orgy; she sees I am thin, angular, sharp, inquiring; she sees I am grisly about the truth; she sees I am well-dressed and good-looking. Perhaps she senses my weakness, my loathing of human flesh where the bulk outweighs the intelligence.’
Mrs Hogg continued: ‘I know it was Our Lady’s message because of what happened. I came to St Philumena’s, and saw Lady Manders who was here just at that time. When I told her the position she said, “Now, there is a job for you here, if you like to try it. We want to get rid of the Catering Warden, she isn’t strong enough for the job. It’s hard work, but Our Lady would help you.” So I came for a month’s trial. That was in the autumn, and I’m loving it, every minute of it.’