The Convent's Secret

by C. J. Archer

  Her questions shot like bullets, forcing Cyclops to lean back inch by inch with each one. The poor man needed rescuing, and I was only too happy to leave as well.

  "Excuse me," I said, "I've just remembered I have something to do in the library. Cyclops—"

  "Be glad to help! You know how much I love libraries and books, India. I can't stay away." He extricated himself from Charity's clutches and followed me out. "Thank you," he whispered. "I thought I'd be trapped in there for the rest of the morning."

  "Oh?" I said innocently. "You don't wish to be the object of Charity Glass's affections?"

  "She scares me. Who asks about knives like that?"

  "It could have been worse. She could have asked about guns."

  "If she does next time, I'm throwing Willie into her path. They'd get along."

  "Probably a little too well," I said. "It might be best to keep them apart. Letting Willie and Charity loose together in the city seems like a recipe for trouble."

  He chuckled, and I hugged his arm, feeling some of the heaviness that had been weighing me down lift.

  It didn't last long. Whenever I thought about the visit from the Glass sisters, my heart sank a little further. They all seemed set on Matt marrying Patience, as if the entire family had decided it was a foregone conclusion and not open for negotiation. Even Patience had accepted it, exchanging one fiancé for another as if they were as interchangeable as bonnets. Miss Glass, once staunchly opposed to Matt marrying any of the girls, now thought Patience would make a good wife. I felt utterly cast aside, even though Matt told me he had not agreed to the union. How long could he withstand the onslaught from his family? How long could he withstand the onslaught from his own guilty conscience?

  That was my greatest concern. If anything convinced him it was a good idea, it would be his own guilt. I knew better than anyone how chivalric Matt could be when he thought himself at fault.

  He returned but refused to tell us where he'd been, only saying he had an errand to perform. His secrecy stretched my nerves more.

  He used his watch but refused to rest, even though he'd suppressed several yawns over luncheon. "We have work to do. Ready, India?"

  I didn't want to sit in the coach alone with him, but I had no choice. He did not invite the others to join us. Inevitably, the conversation turned in a predictable yet unwanted direction.

  "Bristow informed me that my cousins called this morning and that you and Aunt Letitia sat with them."

  "Cyclops joined us for a while too," I said. "It was quite an entertainment watching him trying to avoid Charity. She doesn't give up easily."

  "I'm not interested in hearing about Cyclops," he said darkly. "I want to know why my cousins called."

  "Ask your aunt. I'd prefer not to discuss it."

  "I'm avoiding her at the moment, as I'm avoiding the rest of my family. They have nothing to say that I wish to hear."

  "Then you won't want to know why they visited."

  He regarded me a moment. "Did they say anything to upset you?"

  I crossed my arms, determined not to speak about it. Unless the situation changed, there was no point. I would only get more upset, and I was already too close to tears.

  "India," he purred, "nothing they say can convince me to marry anyone but you."

  My throat tightened. I turned to the window.

  "Not even if my life depended upon it."

  And what if her life depended on it, I wanted to say but did not. Patience's life may not depend on her marrying Matt, but her future certainly did, and that of her sisters. And as far as everyone else was concerned, I was the only thing standing in the way of them marrying.

  That was a rather sobering thought.

  "India—"

  "Let's concentrate on the task at hand," I said. "Nothing good will come of discussing anything else."

  He sighed and sat back. "As long as you know my feelings on the matter."

  "I do."

  We rounded a sharp corner and I suddenly found myself face to face with him, his hands planted on the seat on either side of me. He brushed his lips to mine then withdrew and gave me one of his boyish smiles.

  "My apologies," he said, sitting down opposite again. "I lost my balance."

  The corner would have seen him move to the side, not forward. But his smiles and the twinkle momentarily brightening his tired eyes had me smiling too.

  "That's better," he said. "I like it when you blush for me."

  "It's hot in here."

  His smile turned wicked. "It certainly is."

  Fortunately—or perhaps unfortunately—the drive to Oxford Street was short. We could have walked but the coach was ready from Matt's earlier outing and a constant drizzling rain made walks unpleasant. We had to pay Abigail Pilcher's supervisor again before he'd let her speak to us outside the workroom. We didn't retreat outside the shop, due to the rain, but stood in the stairwell. The hum of the sewing machines provided a backdrop to our discussion but wasn't so noisy that we needed to raise our voices.

  "We have reason to believe there is a magician at the convent," Matt told her. "Did you know of another there other than yourself?"

  She crossed her arms, not as a show of defiance but to hug herself. "No."

  "A wood magician," I added.

  She shook her head.

  "You never felt magical heat in any of the crucifixes?" I asked.

  Another shake of her head. "It would be madness to work magic in the convent. Are you sure you felt its heat, Miss Steele?"

  "I didn't feel anything. It was simply a theory."

  "Then your theory is wrong. I never felt magic there, and only a fool would use it in a place where magicians would be called the devil's agent and worse."

  We thanked her and headed back outside to our waiting carriage. "Do you think she's lying?" I asked.

  "Do you?"

  "No. Yes." I sighed as I climbed into the coach. "I'm not sure."

  "I think she was holding something back from us. The question is, why?" He hesitated before giving orders to the coachman to drive to St. Mary's church in Chelsea.

  "You want to speak to Father Antonio again?" I asked as he settled on the opposite seat.

  "I want to ask him if he believes in magic."

  I tilted my head to the side. "You think he's the magician? Why?"

  "If Abigail is holding something back from us, it could be because she's protecting the magician. And who does, or did, she care about?"

  "Father Antonio? Do you think she still cares for him, even now?"

  "I don't know, but she cared enough once to be with him, and he is the father of her son. She might not love him, but she might not want his name associated with magic, either. It could ruin him."

  "I see. Perhaps you're right. It's certainly worth investigating."

  Matt stifled a yawn and his eyelids drooped.

  "Use your watch," I said, closing the curtains. "Then rest for a few minutes while we drive."

  To my surprise, he obeyed without a grumble. His easy acquiescence only proved how tired he was.

  I watched him as he rested, his face slackening with every passing second until he fell asleep. Deep purple veins webbed dark eyelids, while the rest of his face sported the pallor of long illness. We shouldn't have left the house so soon after he returned home from his mysterious outing. I resolved to keep the conversation with Father Antonio short and get Matt home as soon as possible.

  Fortunately, Father Antonio was in the rectory preparing his sermon for Sunday. He was not pleased to see us but forced a smile for the sake of politeness.

  "I'll have my housekeeper bring tea," he said.

  "We're not staying for tea," I said. "We only have one or two quick questions, and we'd be grateful if you answered them honestly."

  Matt frowned at me and arched a brow in question.

  "We're busy," I told him and the priest.

  "Yes, of course," Father Antonio said. "I'll answer as honestly as I can, natural
ly, but I don't know anything of importance to you."

  Matt gave a small grunt and pressed his fingertips to his heart. His face turned even paler.

  "Matt?" I said. "Was is it?"

  "Nothing." He lowered his hand to his side. "I'm fine."

  "Do you require smelling salts?" the priest asked.

  Matt waved him away and gave a reassuring smile. It did not reassure me. I watched him closely. His lips remained white, pinched, as if he were in pain. Did he need his watch again? Why the pain this time and not mere tiredness? I didn't like it.

  "We should go," I said.

  He grabbed my hand. "We have questions for Father Antonio."

  "Then please sit," Father Antonio said.

  Matt sat then frowned at me until I sat too. I clutched my reticule in my lap, prepared to leap up at any moment to extract his watch from its hidden pocket and place it in his hand. I didn't care if Father Antonio saw.

  "Who made the crucifix in the meeting hall behind the school?" Matt asked.

  The priest blinked at him. "I'm not sure. Why?"

  "Was it you?"

  "No. Mr. Glass, why do you ask such an odd question?"

  "Was it one of the nuns?"

  "I don't know. It's been there for years. Since before my time."

  "The building isn't more than a few years old and you were here twenty-seven years ago at least," Matt said. "So who made it?"

  "I told you, I don't know. The building was built and someone put it in there shortly after. That's all I know. I ask again, why?"

  Matt's fingers, resting on his knee, curled up. His eyelids fluttered closed then reopened. "What do you know of magic?"

  The priest blanched. "Only what has been printed in the newspapers in recent days. I don't believe it, of course. Utter nonsense."

  I couldn't detect a lie but I was somewhat distracted by Matt and not entirely focused on the priest.

  "Why are you asking such an absurd question? Surely you don't believe in magic, Mr. Glass. You're an educated, intelligent man. Magic is…is childish fantasy. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have work to do."

  Matt scrubbed his jaw and sucked in a sharp breath. He let it out slowly.

  "Matt?" I asked. "Your watch?"

  He shook his head. "Father Antonio, you must know something about Mother Alfreda's disappearance and that of the babies. Someone here must know."

  The priest clasped his hands between his knees. "This is harassment. I thought the commissioner was going to speak to you."

  "He did," I said. "But he knows it's important to get to the bottom of this mystery. Now, please answer Mr. Glass's questions. What do you know?"

  Father Antonio shook his head. "I have nothing to say."

  "Is that so?" I snapped. "Because you know nothing or because you're not willing to tell us anything?"

  "I beg your pardon! Miss Steele, Mr. Glass, I'm going to have to ask you to leave." He stood and indicated the door.

  Matt drew in another sharp breath and both hands formed fists. The pain had returned. We needed to leave—and quickly.

  "Matt," I said again. "Let's go."

  "Not yet." He uncurled his fists.

  Well, if he wouldn't leave without answers, it was vital we got some without delay. I could think of only one way to do that. "Father," I said, "has anyone confessed to the murder of Mother Alfreda?"

  "Murder!"

  "Yes."

  "I wasn't expecting you to be so forthright, India," Matt muttered.

  "We have no time for finesse. Well, Father? Has someone confessed to you?"

  Father Antonio sat heavily. "Confessions are confidential," he said flatly. "I won't be breaking that trust."

  That was tantamount to a yes in my book. In that case, I had no choice but to use the last remaining weapon available to me. "Very well," I said. "If you do not tell us what was confessed to you about the disappearances of the babies and Mother Alfreda, then we will write to your bishop and tell him about your indiscretions with Abigail Pilcher when she was a nun here. Do you understand what I'm saying?" I felt a little filthy for blackmailing him, but I had no choice. Matt wanted answers before leaving and this was the fastest way to get them. Indeed, it was the only way.

  Matt did not protest so I suspected he agreed.

  "That is…! You cannot…!" Father Antonio spluttered something incoherent and sank further into the chair. "You are unchristian and unfeeling," he said sulkily.

  "And you are the father of a twenty-seven year old man," I said. "He's doing well for himself. Do you ever wonder what became of him?"

  His face flushed and he looked away.

  "Just tell us what you know," I urged him.

  "I cannot. I broke one vow when Abigail and I—" He cut himself off. "I cannot break another, after all these years. I will not. But I will tell you something that I observed at the time. Telling you doesn't break any rules of the confessional."

  "What is it?" I asked on a rushed breath.

  Matt leaned forward, looking a little healthier again, thankfully.

  "I happened to be in the convent's grounds the night Mother Alfreda disappeared." Father Antonio blushed and I suspected his reason for being on convent property was to meet Abigail in secret. "I was in the small woods at the back when I saw one of the sisters passing by. She headed into the woods carrying a spade and a box." He indicated the approximate size with his hands, two feet by two. "She emerged some time later without the box. I was curious so went looking for it but couldn't find it."

  "Who was the nun?" I asked.

  "I didn't see her face."

  "Did you see any freshly turned earth when you investigated?" Matt asked.

  "No, but it was dark. I never did go back to search in the daylight."

  "Can you show us where in the woods?" I asked.

  "No, I will not. The woods are still there, however some of it has been cleared away to allow the school children more space. I advise you not to take it upon yourselves to look around. Someone may grow suspicious."

  I met Matt's gaze and tried not to show my triumph. Father Antonio's concern meant that the person he suspected of carrying the box—the person who'd confessed to being involved in Mother Alfreda's disappearance—still lived at the convent.

  "Thank you, Father," Matt said, rising. "We're sorry to have put you into this position."

  "But it was necessary to save a life," I finished.

  Father Antonio didn't look as if he believed me. I didn't care. We had something to go on with, only I wasn't sure what to do with the new information and said so to Matt on the way home.

  "We have to investigate the woods, of course," he said.

  "We can't dig up the entire area without arousing suspicion."

  "We have to try. We'll make a start tonight. Between Duke, Cyclops and myself we should cover a large part."

  "You are not going anywhere. You need your rest."

  "Don't, India."

  "What happened in there? You looked as if you were in pain."

  He lifted one shoulder. "It's gone now."

  "But—"

  "I'm fine. Don't mention it to the others. I don't want to worry them."

  "If you're fine, there's no need for them to worry, is there?"

  He scowled but offered no retort and we traveled in silence back to Mayfair. He took himself off to his room without me prompting, and he remained there for the rest of the afternoon.

  I'd forgotten that the others were at the convent, helping with repairs and observing the goings on. Unfortunately, they had nothing to report by the time they came home in the late afternoon. They found me playing cards with Miss Glass in the sitting room. We'd hardly spoken, which was perhaps safer than touching on sensitive topics. Nevertheless, I was glad when Willie, Duke and Cyclops walked in.

  "Did you learn anything?" I asked.

  Willie threw herself into a chair and sighed. "Only that I hate hammering nails."

  "What did you two find out?" Cyclops asked.
>
  I told them what Father Antonio had told us but not how we'd extracted the information. I still felt uncomfortable about our methods.

  "Where's Matt?" Willie asked.

  "Resting."

  "He's been resting for a long time," Miss Glass said, glancing at the clock.

  My heart tripped. He had been resting longer than usual. "I'll see how he is," I said as calmly as I could. "And I'll ask Bristow to bring tea."

  I left and fortunately no one followed. I didn't want to alarm them. Not yet. I raced to Matt's room and knocked lightly. No answer. With my heart in my throat, I pushed open the door and peered inside. He lay on top of the bed covers on his back, his eyes closed. His chest didn't move.

  Oh god.

  I touched his face with a shaking hand.

  He was warm. Alive. Thank God. Now that I was closer, I could see his chest rise and fall, albeit slowly.

  His eyes suddenly opened and I fell back. He caught my hand, steadying me, trapping me at his side. "India," he murmured, drawing my hand to his lips. "India."

  Chapter 10

  I tugged my hand free and backed away from the bed. "You've slept a long time," I said. "I grew worried."

  Matt sat up and rubbed his eyes. His hair was delightfully rumpled and his eyes, when he withdrew his hands, still sported the haze of sleep. It took a great deal of control not to reach out and envelope him in my arms.

  "What time is it?" he asked.

  "Almost six."

  "Already?" He scooted off the bed and clasped my face in his hands before I knew what was happening. He planted a kiss on my forehead. "Thank you for checking on me." He let me go and sat on the bed to put on his shoes. He seemed quite unaffected by the little kiss while my nerves sang. It was grossly unfair.

  "How do you feel?" I asked.

  "Fine."

  "Has the pain returned?"

  "I feel fine, India." I heard the abruptness in his voice loud and clear. It was my cue to exit.

  "I'm sorry I woke you," I said. "We're all in the sitting room."

  "India, wait." He joined me at the door and we left together. "I'm sorry I snapped. I don't like to be fussed over."

  "I'm concerned, Matt, not fussing. It doesn't help that you won't discuss it with me or allow me to tell the others."