The Portuguese Escape (41 page)

Julia had made up her mind that it was important that Father Antal should have an opportunity to give Hetta his guidance in what lay ahead of her—life in the western world, probably a diplomatic marriage—before Atherley started on the poor child. But on her way to the priests' study she was caught by Hetta's other admirer.

‘Oh, Miss Probyn,
there
you are!' Townsend Waller said. ‘I was wondering—do you know where Countess Hetta is? I never had a chance to speak to her last night, and I really
would
like a talk with her.'

‘Townsend, I know you would, and I expect it can be fixed presently. But just now I'm trying to arrange for her to have a long,
quiet
talk with Father Antal; you see he's probably flying to the States on Saturday, so she and he won't have much time together; and honestly I think you young men can wait!'

‘Leaving on Saturday!' the Bostonian exclaimed.

‘Yes. I'll tell you the story later—it is quite a story! But Townsend, I must go now.' She felt ready to shake both these greedy grasping creatures, thinking so much more of their own desires than of Hetta's real needs, and walked into the priests' study in a mood of strong impatience.

Subercaseaux had been sufficiently impressed by Miss Probyn's
démarche
in the study the previous evening to raise no objections when she stated that
now
would be a very good time for Father Antal and Hetta to have a little talk, alone. ‘If I don't arrange it no one else will,' the girl said. ‘There are all these wretched suitors clamouring for her all over the house—she might be Penelope! Can't the Vatican take your infernal revisions as read, Monsignor?'

Both men laughed; Father Antal rose at once. ‘I am at your disposition.'

‘Splendid. Come along.'

Julia had decided that the knot-garden or anywhere out of doors was too liable to interruption, and led the priest to one of the huge deserted salons; there she looked round for an ash-tray, another rarity in Portuguese country-houses, and ruthlessly grabbed a small celadon dish off the chimney-piece.

‘There you are—now smoke away! I'll bring her down.'

She looked in on her way to see if Mrs. Hathaway was all right; she found Nanny seated with that lady in the latter's boudoir, deep in conversation, and both mending stockings—Mrs. Hatha way's stockings. ‘Oh, the young Countess is in my sitting-room, helping Luzia with her puzzle,' Nanny said. Julia found Hetta, and bore her off with ‘Father Antal wants to talk to you.'

Will it work? she asked herself as they went downstairs; these arranged things sometimes didn't. But unless this
was
arranged they would get no chance. She pushed Hetta into the great room, and left them to it.

‘This is nice,' Hetta said happily, pulling a brocaded tabouret over to the rather severe upright Louis XV armchair in which Father Antal, regardless of his own comfort, had settled down, and seating herself at his feet. ‘How did Yulia get this tedious Monsignor to release you? For I am sure she
did
. It seems he never lets you out of his sight!'

‘Who told you this?' the priest asked, non-committally.

‘Luzia; there is nothing she doesn't know. I find her— but
quite
enchanting!'

‘She is. Now tell me why you describe Mgr Subercaseaux as tedious?' He was still perfectly non-committal.

‘Oh but really, Father, surely you can see this for yourself! Flattering this poor old
beata
Dona Maria Francisca last night, being agreeable to the Duke, to everyone; enjoying his wine and his cigar!' Hetta said contemptuously. ‘And he is always the same: with my mother, with the Comte de Bretagne, with anyone who is rich or great! I dislike it. He is so—so
utterly
different to you!'

Father Antal made no direct reply to this outburst.

‘Do you know about your mother's charities in the Alfama?' he asked quietly.

‘Charities of
Mama's?
' She sounded incredulous. ‘No, I never heard of them. And where is the Alfama?'

‘It is one of the districts of Lisbon where only quite poor people live, and money for the necessary charities is therefore hard to come by. But for the last few years the parish priest has received practically all he needs—from your mother.'

‘This is
very
odd! At home it was always Pappi who took an interest in poor people, and charities. That parish priest must be a most persuasive person, if he has succeeded in interesting Mama!'

‘She has never met him,' Father Antal said. ‘It is the Monsignor, whom you so despise, who has tapped this source of wealth to help the poor. Also he goes and says early Mass there at least twice a week, to give the parish
priest a chance to rest and say his Mass later. As you know, working people must hear Mass early, or not at all.'

Hetta pondered.

‘He drives in from Estoril to say Mass? At what time?'

‘At seven.'

‘Then he must leave his house soon after six. Well, that is something for him!' She pondered again. ‘Father, you mean some particular thing by telling me all this—what is it? Do not leave me to guess; you know that I am stupid at guessing!'

He patted her head gently.

‘My child, I think you are in a certain confusion. Partly it is due to ignorance and inexperience, partly to the natural intolerance of youth; what is unfamiliar to you is necessarily wrong! This is a mistaken idea, believe me. What I wish you to recognise, and accept, is that there are other ways of serving God than those which obtained in the Alfold! God's plan for the world, and His wisdom, are not limited by your personal experience; He uses other means, other men, and it is presumption not to recognise the fact.'

She was silent, troubled.

‘I fancy this is, in you, a certain spiritual pride,' he went on. ‘That, as you know, is a sin. You have only seen certain aspects of Monsignor Subercaseaux's activities, and in a certain
milieu
which, since it is unfamiliar, you take upon yourself to disapprove of—you, an ignorant girl of twenty-two! Who are you to judge?'

Hetta was deeply disturbed. In all their years together her beloved Father Antal had never spoken so severely to her before.

‘But, Father—he is so different to you,' she repeated lamely.

‘And am I the only model for God's servants? Must they all be cast in the mould which Hetta Páloczy approves? The Monsignor is quite as efficient as I am in achieving God's ends, and as uncompromising; and those ends are always worth achieving, even if it should be done by associating with the great or the rich.'

Hetta burst into tears.

‘Oh, it is all so difficult!' she exclaimed, between sobs. ‘To me, nearly everything here is a muddle! Compromise,
compromise!—dress well, say always the right thing, whether it is true or not, and you are safe, you are accepted! But how can I live so? It is not my nature, and I have never learned it.'

Father Antal let her cry for some time; then he put out a hand and raised her tear-stained face to look at him.

‘This is what you must now learn,' he said. ‘What made you a good little cook in a country presbytery, and a dutiful helper to Mother Scholastica will not suffice here. You must learn tolerance, and control, and moderation—but tolerance above all. Listen,' he said, as she shook her head rebelliously, scattering tear-drops on his knees and her lap, ‘God has some particular work for each of us to do—yes, even for His little ignorant obstinate Hetta! But we must accept the place, and the conditions, which He chooses to set; if we do not accept them we are useless. And part of our acceptance must be a willingness, a
humble
willingness, to learn the appropriate technique. This for the present is your duty, since you have been set down by Almighty God in the free world, and in rather
mondain
surroundings. I shall be distressed,' he ended, rather sternly, ‘if you do not accept these terms.'

This time Hetta did not cry. She shook back her hair and frowned, concentrating on his words; it was some moments before she spoke.

‘I
have
tried to accept Mama,' she said at last. ‘And truly I have tried to be docile: to go for ever to the coiffeur, to put stuff on my face, to wear the right clothes. But—just lately—other things have come in, too; they make me wonder what I must do. Oh, I don't know whether I
can
live out here!'

‘Are you thinking of M. Atherley?' Father Antal asked.

She stared at him. It was a strange expression that came over her strong face just then: surprise, hauteur, uncertainty—but, he would have sworn, also joy.

‘But—why—I know that he is here; has he spoken?' the girl asked. Her words were confused, but there was no confusion in her manner; as always it was perfectly direct.

‘Not to me. Has he to you? My child, I do not wish to force your confidence but before I leave I should like to know how this affair stands.'

‘Asked me to marry him—no,' Hetta said thoughtfully. ‘I think he has become attached to me, in a rather unthinking way; he did once say to me that he thought he could be happy with me anywhere.'

‘And what did you say?'

‘That he had not given the matter any thought; that I should drive him mad by—by my lack of control and tolerance and moderation!' the girl said explosively. ‘All the things you wish me to learn.' She paused. ‘In any case, he is not a Catholic, and that is difficult,' she ended in a different voice.

‘Might he become one?'

‘Well, at least he very much admires the Monsignor!' Hetta exclaimed. ‘We have arguments about him. Perhaps this is the road to Rome!'

Father Antal burst out laughing.

‘This is a hopeful sign!—though it may only mean that Monsieur Atherley has more experience, and therefore more tolerance, than my late cook! One would expect this of a diplomat, of course.'

Hetta laughed too, then became grave.

‘Father'—she hesitated.

‘Yes, my child?'

‘Supposing he—Richard—did not wish to become a Catholic at once, should you approve of my getting married to him all the same?'

The priest took his time over replying. The question itself told him much. Clearly Hetta was anticipating a proposal; and his mind returned to what that so excellent young Englishwoman had said to him only yesterday about the importance of getting the child away from her mother. But there was the official Catholic view on this matter. At last, with deliberation, he spoke.

‘My child, as you know the Church does not approve of mixed marriages. But Mother Church also takes particular circumstances into consideration; and in your case I should not oppose your marriage to this Englishman, provided that you love him, and are prepared to try to fit yourself to be his wife.
Do
you love him?' the old man asked bluntly.

‘Oh yes—very,
very
much!' Hetta said in ringing tones.
There was no bashful hiding of the face; she threw up her head as she announced her love for Richard Atherley. ‘Only I think we might have fights! But not
so
many if I practise these things you have told me of. And—' She stopped, her face clouding, as if the sun of her love had gone in.

‘Yes?'

Hetta, too, delayed her reply, frowning in thought.

‘Look, Father dear,' she said at last, ‘I am young, and as you say without experience, unsophisticated'—there was a note of contempt on the word. ‘So it is hard for me to know if this, I mean to marry me, would be right for
him
. He
is
sophisticated, and the other day I met a person, a'—she faltered—‘well, to me a most
disagreeable
person, who claimed to know him very well; and she made it plain that in her opinion I should make him miserable. This I have so much wanted to ask you about, for me it is important—in quite a different way to how it is important to her!' the girl said, with sudden anger. ‘She is an old woman who wants to keep a young lover; I am young, and I think of a husband, and having children, and a life together!'

He stroked her dark savage little head; he could not help smiling, though he was moved.

‘Monsieur Atherley has broken with Madame de Vermeil. That affair is finished,' he said.

‘
You
know about this? How extraordinary!'

‘No, personally I could not know. But Monsignor Subercaseaux, owing to this worldliness which you so contemn, knows all about the lady in question. And only two days ago young Atherley told him that the thing is over, and that he will never willingly meet this person again.'

‘So,' Hetta Páloczy said thoughtfully. ‘So,' she repeated slowly. She was considering this information. It must mean that the two priests had discussed her and her relation to Atherley; almost certainly it must mean as well that the Monsignor and Richard had also spoken of her relation to him. Now, no young girl whose heart is engaged before her hand really relishes the idea of her relations with the man of her choice being discussed by other people, but in Hetta's realistic Central European make-up there was no
room for the quivering sensibility of the Nordic races over matters of romance. If they had all talked her and Richard over, well they had, and that was that; at least she had learned one really most precious fact—that this hitherto redoubtable enemy, the Frenchwoman, was no longer to be feared. She got up off the tabouret.

‘Father, I do thank you. You have helped me so much: cleared my mind and my conscience. Now I see my way, if it should turn out so.' Her deep voice hung suspended on the last words. ‘And now I am sure the Monsignor wants you!' She knelt on the Aubusson carpet. ‘Father, will you give me your blessing?'

His hands on her head, he did so, tears at last running down his face.

On the Friday morning preceding the nuptials of the son of the Comte de Bretagne another procession of cars passed down the by-road from Gralheira to São Pedro do Sul. In the twenty-four hours before an event of this sort one might have expected a certain degree of fuss to prevail; in fact there was none. For such occasions Dona Maria Francisca invariably donned a slightly richer version of her usual out-of-date black, and unlike Countess Páloczy gave no thought whatever to her hair or her face, let alone her feet; as for Julia, she had left the green brocade dress, which had so
épaté
Atherley, in a cupboard in the Ericeira Palace in Lisbon, all ready to put on.