The Abbess of Crewe by Muriel Spark Page A

But the telephone rings
     again. Peace is over.
    Walburga answers impatiently and again transmits the message. ‘They are very
     persistent. The reporter wants to know your views on Felicity’s
     defection.’
    ‘Pass me the telephone,’ says the Abbess. Then she speaks to the operator.
     ‘Sister, be vigilant, be sober. Get your pencil and pad ready, so that I may
     dictate a message. It goes as follows:
    ‘The Abbess of Crewe cannot say more than that she would welcome the return of
     Sister Felicity to the Abbey. As for Sister Felicity’s recent escapade, the Abbess
     is entirely comprehending, and indeed would apply the fine words of John Milton to
     Sister Felicity’s high-spirited action. These words are: “I cannot praise a
     fugitive and cloistered virtue, unexercised and un-breathed, that never sallies out and
     sees her adversary, but slinks out of the race …” — Repeat that to
     the reporter, if you please, and if there are any more telephone calls from outside
     please say we’ve retired for the night.’
    ‘What will they make of that?’ Mildred says. ‘It sounds awfully
     charming.’
    ‘They’ll make some sort of a garble,’ says the Abbess. ‘Garble is
     what we need, now, Sisters. We are leaving the sphere of history and are about to enter
     that of mythology. Mythology is nothing more than history garbled; likewise history is
     mythology garbled and it is nothing more in all the history of man. Who are we to alter
     the nature of things? So far as we are concerned, my dear Sisters, to look for the truth
     of the matter will be like looking for the lost limbs, toes and fingernails of a body
     blown to pieces in an air crash.’
    ‘The English Catholic bishops will be furious at your citing Milton,’ says
     Walburga.
    ‘It’s the Roman Cardinals who matter,’ says the Abbess, ‘and I
     doubt they have ever heard of him.’
    The door opens and Winifrede, tired from her journey, unbending in her carriage, enters
     and makes a deep curtsey.
    ‘Winifrede, my dear,’ says the Abbess.
    ‘I have just changed back into my habit, Lady Abbess,’ Winifrede says.
    ‘How did it go?’
    ‘It went well,’ says Winifrede. ‘I saw the woman
     immediately.’
    ‘You left the shopping-bag on the wash-basin and went into the lavatory?’
    ‘Yes. It went just like that. I knelt and watched from the space under the door. It
     was a woman wearing a red coat and blue trousers and she carried a copy of
The
     Tablet.
She started washing her hands at the basin. Then she picked up the bag
     and went away. I came out of the lavatory immediately, washed my hands and dried them.
     Nobody noticed a thing.’
    ‘How many women were in the ladies’ room?’
    ‘There were five and one attendant. But our transaction was accomplished very
     quickly.’
    ‘What was the woman in the red coat like? Describe her.’
    ‘Well,’ says Winifrede, ‘she looked rather masculine. Heavy-faced. I
     think she was wearing a black wig.’
    ‘Masculine?’
    ‘Her face. Also, rather bony hands. Big wrists. I didn’t see her for
     long.’
    ‘Do you know what I think?’ says the Abbess.
    ‘You think it wasn’t a woman at all,’ Walburga says.
    ‘One of those student Jesuits dressed as a woman,’ Mildred says.
    ‘Winifrede, is that possible?’ the Abbess says.
    ‘You know,’ says Winifrede, ‘it’s quite possible. Very
     possible.’
    ‘If so, then I think Baudouin and Maximilian are dangerously stupid,’ says
     the Abbess. ‘It is typical of the Jesuit mentality to complicate a simple process.
     Why choose a ladies’ lavatory?’
    ‘It’s an easy place for a shopping-bag to change hands,’ Walburga says.
     ‘Baudouin is no fool.’
    ‘You should get Baudouin out of your system, Walburga,’ says the Abbess.
    Winifrede begins to finger her rosary beads very nervously. ‘What is the matter,
     Winifrede,’ says the Abbess.
    ‘The ladies’ toilet at Selfridge’s was my idea,’ she laments.