Free House Infernal by Edward Lee by Edward Lee Page A

at a clipboard he'd picked up
from the counter.
    Before Venetia could comment further, though, Mrs.
Newlwyn turned as a younger woman stepped through
the entry. "And this is my daughter, Betta. Betta, this is
Venetia Barlow. She's come all the way from Washington,
DC, to assist us in the prior house."
    Betta seemed sheepish: dark, wan eyes, hair pulled
back like her mother's, and dressed similarly in scruffy
jeans and blouse. She even had a few dots of wall paint
on her cheek. Venetia shook her hand and noticed a
timid smile. Is she nervous meeting me? Venetia wondered.
She guessed Betta to be about thirty; she was much more
petitely built than her mother, small-breasted and reedy,
and stood six inches shorter. "Nice to meet you, Betta.
Are you all ready for this big cleanup operation? I'm
sure not."
    Driscoll gave a dry chuckle.
    Venetia expected an inconsequential response but then
Mrs. Newlwyn explained, "Betta doesn't have the power
of speech, I'm afraid, but she can hear fine. And yes, we're
both quite ready for the tasks ahead-we're looking forward to them. Aren't we, Betta?"
    The younger woman nodded, smiling.
    "We've already been working here for a while," Mrs.
Newlwyn continued. "Make no mistake, it's dirty work,
but it is gratifying in its own way."
    Driscoll madeva joke. "We'll see how gratified Mrs. Newlwyn is in about a month, when we're all done spackling the downstairs. I think by then we'll all be really sick
of this place."

    "Betta and I will never grow weary of the prior house,
Father," Mrs. Newlwyn said with confidence. Her eyes
seemed to gleam in their slits, a known assurance. "This
is our home now."
    "In that case, what time will home be serving dinner?"
    "Seven sharp."
    The priest nudged Venetia. "I'm going to show Venetia
to her room. Oh, and have you seen Dan?"
    Betta pointed upward, which Venetia presumed to
mean upstairs.
    "Good. See you at dinner."
    She followed Driscoll back to the atrium, toward a stark
stairwell. "These stairs look terrible, too, don't they?" he
commented. "It's like an old hospital or something."
    "You're the one who said God doesn't care if His house
is ugly."
    "It's a good thing..."
    "Who's Dan?"
    "He's the last member of our little cleaning detail. He's
a seminarian-you'll like him. He might give you some
ideas about cloistered life."
    Venetia frowned as she followed the priest up the dull
carpeted stairs. "What did you mean earlier?"
    "What? About spackling?" He sighed. "Have you seen
some of these walls?"
    He's deflecting on purpose, she thought. But why? "No,
Father, not the spackle. Were you suggesting that I not become a nun?"
    "Not at all." His shoes snapped on the hard stairs. "We
really will have to carpet these, don't you think?"
    Infuriating! "Father Driscoll, what did you mean when
you said-"
    "All right. I only meant that the decision to become a
nun is a very weighty one. Isn't it possible that you're
maybe just a teensy bit too young to make a decision like
that? You're only twenty."

    "I'm twenty-one, and I haven't made the decision yet. I
want to get my master's first."
    "Good girl. Then maybe wait ten years before going to
a convent."
    This was weird. "Is that clerical advice, Father?"
    "No. It's just a suggestion." On the landing Driscoll
stopped, leaning again the stair-hall's bannister.
    Only now did it occur to her that she'd lugged her suitcase all the way up by herself. Driscoll hadn't even
thought to help her, yet she felt certain it was from no lack
of manners. He's just distracted. His thoughts seem like
they're all over the place.
    Up here most of the bedroom doors were open, along
with their windows. The cross-breeze refreshed Venetia
from the stuffiness of the atrium.
    But the priest was looking at her with some unease.
"Are you a virgin?"
    Venetia's mouth fell open. "Father Driscoll, I can't believe you asked me that."
    He seemed unaware of the misstep. "I'm a priest, for
God's sake."
    "Still, this