‘’Tis plague, Sister,’ one of the other children informed her sadly, when she made enquiry.
‘Plague?’ Sister Joan stared at them.
‘Yes, Sister, chickenpox plague,’ he said. ‘They’m mortal bad.’
‘Chickenpox.’ She cast a swift look round those who had turned up. ‘In that case it might be a good idea if those of you who haven’t had chickenpox stayed at home for a few days.’
The suggestion was not well received which was flattering when she thought about it. In any case if any of them had been infected it had probably happened by now.
With some difficulty she got them down to their reading books, feeling a tinge of annoyance when she saw that in the pictures that sprinkled the pages of their Primary Readers the father was the one who drove the lorry and gave the orders while the mother made the birthday cake and picked flowers. She would have to find out who supplied the textbooks and see if more up-to-date ones could be bought.
The morning passed fairly peacefully. These were basically nice children, she thought, who might be fated to spend their lives following the furrow their parents and grandparents had ploughed but were nonetheless bright and lively. If she could impress upon one of them that the world was moving on it would be worthwhile.
‘Don’t bother to tell me that bullshit about the equality of the sexes again,’ Jacob had said angrily, ‘when you’re running away from any competition with men by burying yourself alive among a pack of sex-starved women.’
‘I will give you a pound for every sex-starved nun you can produce,’ she’d said. ‘And that doesn’t mean they’re all indulging in orgies behind convent walls either.’
She had known even then that it was not cowardice or a broken heart that pulled her towards the cloister. She loved Jacob, would in some part of herself always love him, and having known his loving she must protect herself against bitterness by transmitting that physical experience into something spiritual.
A wry grin touched her lips at the direction of her thoughts. Five years before she had been impossibly idealistic, striking mental attitudes all over the place. If anyone had told her then that the deprivation she would feel most was not sex but the freedom to walk for hours with no bell or Novice Mistress to recall her she would have been astonished.
The morning gone she dismissed the children with instructions to stay at home if they felt sick and watched Johnny Russell’s form materialise from a clump of heather.
‘You didn’t sleep there all night, did you?’ she asked, amused, as he came striding up.
‘About half an hour,’ he said. ‘Is that your lunch?’
In the act of taking the flask of coffee and the Cornish pasty out of the saddle bag where Sister Margaret had put them, she said gracefully,
‘Our lunch. I’ll drink the coffee and you can eat the pasty. I’m not keen.’
‘Is that true, or are you practising unselfishness?’ he asked suspiciously.
‘It happens to be true,’ she assured him. ‘Come into the schoolroom. What did you find out?’
‘The Prioress rang Mrs Williams and told her that Brenda had left the convent and was on a commune in Wales,’ he told her, biting into the pasty. ‘When I rang up she started telling me about it right off, asking if I knew anything, wondering why she hadn’t gone home. I didn’t tell her that I was down here.’
‘Did you manage to get hold of a copy of the inquest report?’
‘In the Public Library,’ he said, turning to open his backpack. ‘They have everything on video now, but the assistant gave me a print out. There isn’t much there.’ The account was succinct, evidently written by a local reporter who’d been told not to sensationalise.
‘The Coroner returned a verdict of Death by Misadventure yesterday on Sister Sophia Brentwood, of the Order of the Daughters of Compassion, whose death was reported in this newspaper a week ago, and whose funeral took place yesterday. The delay in the funeral was caused by the autopsy ordered by the Chief Constable upon the body.’
‘The police evidently thought there was something fishy about her death,’ Johnny pointed out as she marked the place with her finger and frowned.
‘Reverend Mother Ann Gillespie testified that she and one of the lay sisters had gone to the convent chapel to undertake a meditation and that Sister Sophia had joined them. They had been discussing fire-safety precautions earlier and decided that it might be a good idea to test the apparatus. Sister Sophia volunteered because of her youth and greater mobility to be the guinea-pig and went up to her cell on the first floor of the convent to test it. Unfortunately the strap which was designed to go under one arm and over one shoulder was worn and slippery and as Sister Sophia was attaching the hooks to the sill the arm strap slipped around her neck. Reverend Mother Ann Gillespie testified that Sister Sophia who had begun to lower herself from the window fell as the strap tightened. She had no time to call out or lever herself back over the sill. Mother Ann and the Lay Sister, Felicity Brown, immediately ran indoors and raised their companion but she was not conscious. Sister Felicity then telephoned for the doctor and roused Sister Perpetua Fielding who is Infirmarian in the convent. All attempts to revive Sister Sophia failed. Sister Felicity Brown confirmed the evidence given by Mother Ann Gillespie and a signed statement from Sister Perpetua Fielding who is still suffering from shock was read out and confirmed previous evidence.
‘Dr Mansell Tudor testified that he was called out to the convent at five past eleven in the evening and reached the convent fifteen minutes later. He had delayed only to phone for an ambulance which arrived five minutes after he himself had reached the scene. He had applied mouth-to-mouth resuscitation without success and had cooperated with the medical staff in the ambulance in the application of shock treatment used for emergencies, but all vital signs were lacking. The strap was so tight round Sister Sophia’s neck that it had to be cut away, and in his opinion the sudden tightening of the said strap combined with the dead weight of Sister Sophia as she fell from the window had killed her instantaneously.
‘Mr Justice Penrhyn, District Coroner, then gave his verdict, adding a rider which deplored the careless use of apparatus already out of date and in a faulty condition.’
‘I wonder why the police wanted an autopsy,’ Sister Joan said thoughtfully.
‘I thought of that myself,’ Johnny said triumphantly, ‘so I went and asked.’
‘That was enterprising!’ She gave him an approving look.
‘Well, I didn’t actually go to the police station,’ he said. ‘I thought that it might look a bit peculiar if I started asking questions about a nun I never even knew. I went to the local pub and hung around there, just listening and dropping in the odd question now and then. They don’t open up much to strangers, but I sort of hinted that I’d relatives in a convent — not an outright lie, honest, since Brenda would have been related to me if we’d got married — anyway the men in the bar started talking about Sister Sophia’s death. One of them said his cousin was in the local police and the police thought the whole matter was a bit peculiar, so there was an autopsy but they didn’t find anything wrong.’
Which knocked on the head any possibility that Sister Sophia had suffered from epilepsy.
‘Sister, what are we going to do now?’ He had finished the pasty and was regarding her gravely. ‘I don’t think the death of the other nun had anything to do with Brenda leaving the convent. Do you know exactly when she did leave?’
‘On the sixteenth of February,’ Sister Joan said. ‘Sister Felicity drove her to the station and saw her on to the train.’
Johnny consulted the bold-faced watch on his wrist and announced,
‘That was a Tuesday. I could ask around, find out if a nun had got on the train—’
‘No, she’d have been in the clothes she came in,’ Sister Joan broke in. ‘They are kept until she completes her period in the Novitiate. If a novice leaves, her convent dress and bonnet are kept for the next novice. It sometimes res
ults in rather odd fits, but it all helps to discourage vanity — how tall is Brenda?’
‘Five eight, quite bosomy,’ Johnny said and blushed.
Veronica Stirling was only about five feet five inches and slender. The dress handed on to her would have been altered by Sister Katherine who was in charge of linen.
‘Go and see what you can find out at the station then.’ She reverted to the original subject.
‘Is there something odd going on at the convent then?’ he demanded.
Sister Joan hesitated, wondering exactly how to explain the situation to someone not reared in Catholic tradition without sounding absurdly mediaeval.
‘Life in any convent,’ she said at last, ‘has certain features that would strike any lay person as odd. They did me when I entered the Novitiate and I’d been a Catholic all my life. The Daughters of Compassion is a modern order, founded less than fifty years ago, and yet in many ways it remains very traditional. Each convent is independent for all practical purposes but the rules as laid down by our founder remain constant though in small ways each prioress interprets them according to her own wishes. But the spirit of the rules is always kept. I mean one prioress might agree to let the novices join in some particular spiritual exercise with the rest of the Community or allow one of the professed nuns to receive a telephone call, but no prioress would allow any of her nuns to wear lipstick or go out dancing in the local disco. It would be against the spirit of the rules.’
‘Is that what the prioress here does?’ Johnny asked with interest.
‘No, of course not, but she wears pink nail varnish and perfumes her clothes, which is perfectly all right for a laywoman to do but not for a nun who’s put away worldly vanities. And then the novices here — I have discovered their heads are not shaven; their hair is not even cut short.’
‘Is your hair—?’ Johnny looked inquisitive.
‘About two inches long all over and apt to curl,’ Sister Joan said with a grin. ‘But then I am now fully professed and supposed to be better able to handle personal vanity. As one progresses further in the religious life so the rules become slightly less stringent, but never for the novices.’
‘Who chooses the prioress?’ he asked.
‘She is elected by the professed nuns,’ Sister Joan explained. ‘Her term of office lasts for five years and she is not allowed to serve more than two consecutive terms. Once a nun has served as prioress she is known as Mother instead of Sister. It must all seem rather petty and silly to you.’
‘A bit like being in school,’ he admitted. ‘But you do get out, don’t you? To teach, I mean?’
‘In our order those sisters who can earn their living are encouraged to do so. Each of our convents is self-supporting. That doesn’t relieve me of my religious duties, by the bye. I must still attend services and prayers and group meditation.’
‘On Sundays?’ he asked.
‘Every day,’ she said firmly, and smothered a giggle at the look on his face. ‘In fact we rise at five and spend two hours in chapel before breakfast. In the late afternoon we spend a further two hours at religious studies or meditation, and that doesn’t include private prayer.’
She broke off abruptly, mentally scolding herself for showing off, but her companion was clearly unimpressed.
‘I told Brenda she was an idiot to go and tie herself down in a convent,’ he said. ‘No offence, Sister.’
‘None taken,’ she said gracefully. ‘Look, I have to go. I honestly don’t feel there’s much more that I can find out about Brenda. However I’ll give it another couple of days.’
‘I’ll make some enquiries at the station. The other nun would have seen her off?’
‘Sister Felicity, yes. There are two Lay Sisters in each convent who share most of the cooking and cleaning, deal with the outside world and so on. They are excused some of the meditation periods. Sister Felicity is bound to be known. She drives an old car of which she is very proud; big, country-type woman, rather jolly.’
‘I’ll see you tomorrow then, Sister,’ he said.
‘Yes — no, I won’t be here tomorrow. Sister David is coming in instead. I’ll be back on Friday morning.’
‘Is it any use trying to find out anything?’ His face was suddenly sombre. ‘Honestly Sister, I get the impression that we’re just going round in circles.’
Sister Joan, who had begun to feel that way herself, promptly began to feel differently.
‘If you are sure that Brenda would have gone straight home when she left the convent then that is what she probably would have done, since you obviously knew her very well,’ she said firmly. ‘What I want to find out is why she left and if it had anything to do with Sister Sophia’s death. I’ll see you on Friday, Johnny.’
Locking up after he had strode off she wondered what on earth would happen if they could find out nothing more or if Brenda didn’t get in touch with her parents.
Letting the mare pick her way lazily down the track she tried to fit together the disparate pieces of the puzzle. The laxity of the rules in Cornwall House, the worries of old Sister Frances, the death of Sister Sophia, the sudden departure of Brenda who had been Sister Magdalen. It really was like a puzzle, she reflected, but she was trying to solve it without any guiding picture to help her decide where each separate piece fitted. And there was always the possibility that her instincts were wrong, that the only thing wrong at the convent was that the Prioress had unconventional notions, that Sister Sophia had merely slipped and fallen, and that Brenda had simply walked out of the Novitiate and gone off to a Commune in Wales because she wanted time alone to sort out her desires.
A small car was being driven at a snail’s pace behind her. She guided Lilith on to the turf as the car drew alongside and Father Malone stuck his greying head out of the window.
‘Good day to you, Sister,’ he said genially. ‘On your way back from the school?’
‘Yes, Father.’ She dismounted politely.
‘And how are you settling at Cornwall House now?’ he wanted to know.
‘I’m finding my feet,’ she said cautiously.
‘You have a fine lot of examples there to inspire you,’ he said.
Startled, she looked at him, suspecting irony but he was sincere, continuing with enthusiasm.
‘Reverend Mother Ann has a great devotion now to Our Blessed Lady. It’s my belief that devotion to the Holy Mother is the backbone of our Faith.’
Her initial impression of him had been correct. A good, simple man whose theology was naive.
‘Devotion to Our Lord too,’ she said mildly.
‘Of course, that goes without saying, but if Our Blessed Lady had not accepted the Will of God then Our Blessed Lord would never have been born at all,’ he said.
‘But if Our Lady was perfect then She could not have refused,’ Sister Joan said. ‘I mean there would have been no conflict between her will and Divine Will.’
‘Exactly so, Sister! I can see you’ve a good head on your shoulders.’ He looked slightly confused.
‘Are you on your way to the convent now, Father?’ she asked, somewhat unnecessarily since there was no other building in that direction. ‘I hope nothing’s wrong?’
‘Wednesday afternoon, Sister. Confession for those sisters who require it. What were you thinking might be wrong? There’s no sickness at the convent, is there?’
‘I was thinking about Sister Sophia,’ she risked saying. ‘I’ve been hearing about the accident.’
‘A terrible tragedy indeed,’ he concurred. ‘That poor young sister! Ah, but it was very foolish to go testing the apparatus at that late hour. Reverend Mother Ann was devastated. Now there is a splendid woman for you, Sister. She looks upon the sisters as her own daughters and this is a woman who might have had a distinguished worldly career. Her father was a most famous man. It’ll be a grand day when she publishes his notes and writings that he left behind when he was taken from us.’
He raised his hand in blessing and started
up the car again.
Whatever was going on at Cornwall House had nothing to do with Father Malone, Sister Joan thought, gazing after the car. It was clear that he was a good simple man dazzled by Reverend Mother Ann’s superior intellect. She was more certain than ever that nobody had ever invited him to one of the talks on pagan goddesses.
She reached the stable without seeing anyone else, unsaddled Lilith and gave her some of the feed from the large sack of it that Sister Felicity had evidently left.
She would give Confession a miss, she decided, since at this moment it would be impossible for her to make a completely full and frank one. Meanwhile she could have a quiet word with Sister Katherine.
She found the latter in the recreation room, cutting out quantities of green cotton.
‘Costumes for the local children at Solstice‚’ Sister Katherine said, glancing up with a smile. ‘They are going to be woodland piskies. There’s a very nice procession and a bazaar and dancing in the streets. The whole festival was in danger of dying out until Grant Tarquin was elected to the Council and decided to revive it. After all Helston has the Furry Dance, so it seems only fair that Bodmin should have something too.’
‘Would you like some help?’ Sister Joan sat down and picked up a swathe of green.
‘If you could cut fringes into these and sew up the sides. They’re just tubes really with holes for head and limbs. That would be a big help.’
‘I feel a bit of a fraud,’ Sister Joan confessed, taking scissors and cotton. ‘Preparing lessons certainly doesn’t take the whole afternoon.’
‘Sister Sophia used to say that,’ Sister Katherine said. ‘She used to accuse herself of being lazy.’
‘Was she?’
‘Heavens no. She always worked very hard. The days weren’t long enough she used to say. She was so excited when she made her final profession.’
‘But she was slightly depressed later on, wasn’t she?’
‘Was she?’ Sister Katherine looked surprised. ‘I suppose she was a bit quiet, now I come to think of it. But that’s natural, don’t you think? I made my final profession two years ago and it was quite a shock to wake up the next morning and find out that I hadn’t grown wings and halo. I dare say that Sister Katherine is going to remain plain old Sister Katherine to the end of the story.’
A Vow Of Silence Page 13
