A VOW OF ADORATION an utterly gripping crime mystery

by Veronica Black

  ‘Prices too steep, eh?’ The constable chuckled. ‘So what can I do for you?’

  ‘There’s a body in the old chapel,’ Sister Joan said.

  ‘Another murder?’ Constable Petrie’s slow Cornish voice had lifted and quickened hopefully.

  ‘I hope not,’ Sister Joan said fervently. ‘No, it looks like natural causes. It’s a tramp and I think he’s been dead a couple of days. It’s rather — unpleasant.’

  ‘Can you meet us down there?’ Constable Petrie sounded as if someone had just made him monitor of his class. ‘I’ve got a couple of the lads here, but I’ll need to leave one on the desk to take calls. Sergeant Bright went over to Penzance. Give me twenty minutes.’

  The receiver at the other end was replaced. Sister Joan hung up, crushing down disappointment. If Detective Sergeant Alan Mill had been there she would have felt as if she had just handed over her problem to someone who would relieve her of all the responsibility concerning it. Alan would’ve collected her from the house and not left her to make her way back to the chapel alone. Alan Mill, she thought, with a little twinge of guilt, regarded her more as a woman than a nun. It was doubtless for the best that he was away on holiday!

  She looked round the room again, her eyes appreciating the subtle blending of colour, the Picasso lithograph — surely it was an original — the trio of tiny ivory horses under glass on a side table which looked like genuine Tang Dynasty. Mr Peter obviously knew his trade.

  ‘I’ve brewed tea.’ Mrs Rufus, looking marginally more friendly, possibly because she’d eavesdropped on the telephone call, reappeared in the doorway.

  ‘Thank you. A quick cup would be very welcome,’ Sister Joan said. ‘May I make another very quick call first? To the convent.’

  ‘I don’t have to pay the bill!’ Mrs Rufus said with unexpected skittishness and vanished kitchenward again.

  Sister Perpetua answered the phone at the second ring, doubtless on her way to or from the infirmary where the two oldest members of the community spent most of their time.

  ‘Sister Joan speaking. I may be a little late home. Something came up.’

  ‘Don’t tell me you’ve found a dead body,’ Sister Perpetua said.

  ‘How did you—? You make it sound as if I’m always doing it,’ Sister Joan protested.

  ‘If you want my opinion,’ Sister Perpetua’s voice said crisply, ‘you make a positive hobby of it! Not another murder, I trust?’

  ‘A tramp. He looks as if he died of natural causes.’

  ‘Poor fellow! May his soul and the souls of all the faithful departed rest in peace. I’ll ask Sister Teresa to hold back your supper for fifteen minutes.’

  The telephone was replaced. Sister Joan repressed a grin as she hung up at her end. Sister Perpetua, with her quiff of greying ginger hair escaping from her headdress, her large, flat feet and salty comments on life in general was a constant source of secret delight to her. Only old Sister Gabrielle could hold a candle to her when it came to quick wits.

  She padded to the door and went into the hall again. Another door was open and the rattling of teacups guided her into a modern kitchen filled with gadgets, presided over by the housekeeper who indicated the chair opposite her own.

  ‘Help yourself to milk and sugar,’ she said, not unamiably.

  ‘Thank you. I can’t stay long,’ Sister Joan said, accepting the chair and the tea. ‘I have to ride back to the old chapel and meet the police there.’

  ‘Not very nice for you,’ Mrs Rufus said with unexpected sympathy. ‘Mind, this is a lonely place. Mr Peter loves it up here but I’m always glad that I don’t live in.’

  ‘You live in town?’

  ‘Over in the housing estate. I’ve a nice little bungalow there. Mr Peter picks me up in the morning and runs me home after he’s had his supper. I don’t drive.’

  ‘He’s a bachelor?’

  ‘Until last summer.’ The thin mouth became thinner again. ‘Then he got himself wed. There was no need for it, no need at all! He’d managed very comfortably for forty-five years without a wife but you know what men are — or perhaps you don’t, being a nun.’

  ‘I know what men are,’ Sister Joan said.

  ‘A bit of a girl he met on his holiday.’ Mrs Rufus sniffed. ‘Not an educated girl, if you’ll excuse my saying so.’

  ‘But pretty?’ Sister Joan guessed.

  ‘Arty crafty,’ Mrs Rufus said. ‘Very sweet but not a brain cell working. She’s away at present visiting her family so I can get on with my work and not have to listen to the latest pop songs blaring out all day long. More tea, Sister Joan?’

  ‘I’d love some but I’d better go. Thank you again.’

  ‘I cleaned your boots off a bit,’ Mrs Rufus said, preceding her to the front door.

  ‘That was very kind.’

  ‘Well, seeing as the animal didn’t disgrace itself,’ Mrs Rufus said somewhat obscurely. ‘Perhaps you’ll let me know what happens? I’m here every day except Sunday from eight to eight. On the Sabbath I go to church — Low Church. I don’t usually hold with a lot of fuss and ritual.’

  She closed the door abruptly as if repenting of her former friendliness.

  ‘Come on, girl!’ Sister Joan tied on her boots and remounted, casting a final glance back at the house which stood looking incongruously smart and civilized with the moor and the few small patches of cultivated field all about.

  She took her time to ride back through the ripening grain and was relieved to see a couple of police cars and an ambulance drawn up in the hollow, and Constable Petrie, wearing his unexpected authority with pride, as he issued instructions to a couple of junior constables.

  ‘Good morning, Sister Joan!’ His good-natured young face beamed with genuine pleasure as she dismounted. ‘Very good of you to telephone so promptly. It’s appreciated.’

  ‘I thought it best to report the incident as soon as possible,’ Sister Joan said.

  ‘Ah! You and I understand the importance of these things, don’t we, Sister? Time is of the essence when there’s an unexplained death in the matter.’

  ‘Is it unexplained?’

  ‘The police surgeon is having a preliminary look now before the remains are removed. From the quick look I took I’d agree with you that the fellow probably took shelter in the old chapel and died there — hypothermia, heart attack, something of that nature. We shall find out soon enough. You didn’t touch the remains?’

  ‘No.’ Sister Joan shook her head, grimacing.

  ‘The clothes will be examined in due course. I’ll let you know the results.’

  ‘That would be very kind of you, Constable,’ Sister Joan said meekly.

  If Alan Mill stayed away for very long on his holiday, she thought, his constable would probably start planning his own autobiography entitled, Cases I Have Solved, with the Help of Detective Sergeant Mill and Sister Joan!. She said aloud, ‘How are Mrs Petrie and the baby?’

  ‘Both very well, thank you. The baby’s walking and chattering fifteen to the dozen now. In fact the wife and I were thinking it was about time—’ The constable broke off, his ruddy cheeks darkening.

  ‘Time to go in for another?’ Sister Joan said. ‘Yes, that sounds like a good idea. Two children can play together and give their mother a bit of peace.’

  ‘As you say, Sister. Now, can you just let me know why you were riding in this particular spot? It’s a bit out of your way, isn’t it?’

  ‘I’ve never ridden so far this way before,’ Sister Joan said promptly. ‘Lilith needed the exercise and I was in the humour for a good gallop myself. You’re not putting me down as a possible suspect, are you?’

  ‘Just getting the facts straight, Sister.’ Constable Petrie scribbled busily in his notebook. ‘Ah, looks as if they’ve finished.’

  A thickset man, pulling a medical mask from his face and stripping off surgical gloves as he came, approached them.

  ‘Looks like natural causes but we’ll know more later,’ he said.
‘We’ll get the body down to the hospital now, Constable. Sister.’

  He afforded her a brusque nod.

  ‘Doctor Grigson.’ Sister Joan nodded back. From his manner she would’ve guessed, if she hadn’t known already, that he considered nuns should stay in their convents praying and not riding round getting mixed up in sudden death. ‘Do you know how long ago he died?’

  ‘Two — three days. We’ll know more later. Are you going to rope off the area, Petrie?’

  ‘The lads will have a close look over the building and then we’ll wait for your report,’ Constable Petrie said. ‘I’ve had a couple of photographs taken. We’ll need to identify the corpse.’

  ‘Mid-forties, clothes shabby but of good quality, no marks of violence, no other distinguishing marks,’ Dr Grigson said breezily. ‘Doesn’t look as if he’s been on the road very long.’

  ‘Thank you, Dr Grigson.’ Constable Petrie made a note. ‘Would you like to have a look round inside, Sister?’

  ‘Not particularly,’ Sister Joan said. ‘I ought to be getting back.’

  ‘Thanks for reporting the matter,’ Constable Petrie said. ‘No murder this time, eh?’ There was a faint tinge of regret in his voice.

  ‘Not this time,’ Sister Joan said, moving to remount the patient Lilith, aware that without warning the sun had sped behind a cloud and a chill wind had begun to blow.

  TWO

  More than the allotted fifteen minutes delay had gone by when she led Lilith into her stall, removed saddle and blanket, and hurried through the back door. In the large kitchen with its two lay cells leading off it Sister Perpetua was just bending to the oven.

  ‘On the Day of Judgement you’ll be bringing up the rear!’ she observed tartly. ‘You’d best eat it here. The rest are at recreation.’

  ‘It was very good of you to wait, Sister,’ Sister Joan said, seating herself.

  ‘I didn’t wait on your account,’ Sister Perpetua said. ‘I’ve been at sixes and sevens since Mother Dorothy turned the timetable around. Supper at six instead of seven, an hour and a half’s recreation instead of an hour and evening service at eight for two hours instead of one. I cannot get used to it!’

  ‘You know it was agreed that going to chapel at eight would help Father on the days he comes to offer benediction,’ Sister Joan said. ‘And spending two hours in chapel instead of splitting it into an afternoon and an evening session does keep the day from being chopped up.’

  ‘I’m sure you’re right.’ Sister Perpetua sniffed to demonstrate her private opinion of changes in the timetable. ‘Personally I blame Vatican Two. Now tell me what kept you? You mentioned a body.’

  ‘A tramp who apparently died of natural causes.’ Sister Joan briefly retailed her mild adventure.

  ‘Naturally you had to stay to report the matter to the police,’ Sister Perpetua admitted. ‘You know you remind me of that film star — Elizabeth Taylor, is it? She made a charming film about Lassie. I saw it years ago before I entered the religious life.’

  ‘I don’t see the connection,’ Sister Joan said, puzzled.

  ‘She collects husbands and you collect dead bodies and, upon my soul, I don’t know which is worse!’ Sister Perpetua gave a dry chuckle at her own wit and put a small cake and a cup of tea on the table.

  ‘I hope that people don’t see me in those terms.’

  Sister Joan’s smile had wavered and she looked anxious.

  ‘Nonsense, Sister, of course they don’t!’ Sister Perpetua patted her shoulder. ‘I was only teasing you. Hurry up with your supper and then join the others at recreation. Sister Teresa and Sister Marie will be down in a moment to wash up.’

  The extended recreation allowed the two lay sisters to join the rest of the community for an hour before they discharged their final kitchen duties. Only Sister Hilaria and her solitary postulant, Bernadette, left the main building after supper and walked through the grounds to the former dower house which was now the novitiate.

  Sister Perpetua went out, large feet plodding down the corridor which led past the refectory and the infirmary where Sister Gabrielle and Sister Mary Concepta slept, on account of their age rather than ill health.

  She finished her fish, ate the cake and drank the welcome cup of tea. At breakfast-time coffee was served, with dry brown bread and fruit, eaten standing to remind the community that the day’s work waited, and during the day the sisters could indulge in two cups of either tea or coffee. The rest of the time thirsts were quenched with water. Brandy was kept for medicinal purposes. Sister Joan wondered if the recent shock of finding the dead tramp entitled her to a quick tot and decided that it didn’t.

  She bolted the kitchen door and went down the corridor into the panelled entrance hall with its sweeping staircase, the newel posts carved into a profusion of swagged oak leaves and acorns. The door leading to the parlour and the chapel with the library and storerooms above was adjacent to the kitchen wing, with the antechamber to the Prioress’s parlour on the left of the main entrance. Sister Joan never mounted the stairs without picturing the ladies in their long gowns and flirting their feather fans as they swept up to the great drawing-room at the head of the stairs, now divided into refectory and recreation room, with the door on the right of the gallery sealed within a wall and the cells and two bathrooms ranged over kitchen and infirmary.

  Before joining her companions there was a small act of charity to perform. Sister Joan went through into the chapel wing, passing the parlour with its dividing grille where relatives and friends might visit at stated times, entering the long chapel with its simple pews for the community, its silver candlesticks and chalice, the little side altar where a statue of the Holy Virgin was poised above a vase of flowers, with a spiral staircase at the side winding to the upper storey.

  She dipped her fingers in the holy water stoup, blessed herself, moved to her own accustomed seat and knelt to repeat the prayers for the dead. That much at least she could do for someone who had died alone and lain forgotten.

  Her ears caught the sound of the outer door in the corridor opening and then closing. The chapel, by custom, was left open all night, so that anyone might slip in to pray or seek shelter. Only the inner door and the door at the top of the spiral staircase were firmly locked, at Detective Sergeant Mill’s insistence. There had been some heated discussion about that.

  ‘It is our custom to ensure that any passerby has the right to find spiritual help at any time of the day or night,’ Mother Dorothy had said, her small frame very erect, eyes stern behind her steel-rimmed spectacles.

  ‘Anyone who comes wandering over the moor at night isn’t usually looking for spiritual help,’ Detective Sergeant Mill had said grimly. ‘You’ve some good stuff on that altar.’

  ‘It belongs to God. If anyone were to take it God would deal with the culprit in His own way, Detective Sergeant Mill. However, since your concern for the community is, I believe, your true motive in urging this course upon us I am very willing to lock the inner door leading into the main building at the grand silence.’

  The door that closed off the upper library floor had been more recently installed. Her prayers for the dead finished Sister Joan permitted herself a small, reminiscent shiver. It was odd but since the last affair she had noticed that their financial worries had imperceptibly eased. Sister Katherine was fulfilling several orders for bridal gowns and first communion dresses, and Sister David had been compelled to put aside her series of books about the saints intended for children when a publisher was found in order to complete a number of translations from the Greek for which two universities were paying handsomely.

  Nobody had come into the chapel. Sister Joan heard a soft footfall and then the outer door opened and closed again. She rose and went into the corridor.

  It was empty, lit only by the low wattage electric light above her head. She went to the outer door and opened it, looking out into the gloom of an early summer evening. Nobody moved on the rough ground that shaded into bracken and pe
at. Someone coming to pray, then changing their minds and hurrying away again. She closed the door and hurried through to the main house, mounting the stairs swiftly, entering the long recreation room beyond the refectory and prostrating herself in penance for being late.

  ‘Sisters, I pray your pardon for being late for recreation and implore Almighty God to pardon all my sins.’

  ‘Your fault is forgiven, Sister Joan,’ Mother Dorothy said briskly. ‘A little lateness on this occasion was allowed you know, but you are quite an expert at stretching permission to its limit. Sister Perpetua mentioned that you had found a body.’

  The expression of distaste on her face rivalled that displayed by Dame Edith Evans upon contemplation of a handbag.

  ‘Another body,’ said Sister Marie and giggled.

  ‘Isn’t it time for you and Sister Teresa to complete your kitchen duties?’ Mother Dorothy enquired.

  ‘Yes, Mother Prioress.’

  Both lay sisters rose with commendable speed and left the room.

  ‘A tramp,’ Sister Joan said. ‘I rode Lilith a good distance since she needed a gallop and ended up over to the east. There’s a chapel there — very old and broken down and unused for many years I should think. I went inside to look around and found him there. He’d been dead for a couple of days.’

  ‘That must’ve been very unpleasant for you,’ little Sister David said.

  ‘I rode on to the nearest house and asked if I could use the telephone there,’ Sister Joan said.

  ‘Are there any houses out that way?’ Sister Martha asked. ‘It’s a pretty wild area, isn’t it?’

  ‘There’s a very handsome house,’ Sister Joan told her. ‘The housekeeper let me use the phone and gave me a cup of tea — that’s an extra cup I had today, Mother Dorothy.’

  ‘I believe the occasion justified it,’ Mother Dorothy said. ‘Drink water all day tomorrow to make up for it. Addiction to tea or coffee is hardly fitting for a Daughter of Compassion. Continue.’

  ‘The police arrived,’ Sister Joan said. ‘Constable Petrie was in charge.’