by C. J. Archer
Thankfully Sister Bernadette was indeed in the coach house. The building also housed the stables, going by the smell of horse. A young nun sweeping out the one and only stall in use directed us to the back of the building where Sister Bernadette knelt beside a cart. She peered up at the cart's underside, one dirty hand resting on the wheel. Her toolbox sat within reach. It was wooden and filled with tools sporting wooden handles that could become weapons if she chose to use her magic against us.
"Sister Bernadette," Matt began, "we need to speak with you."
The fingers tightened on the wheel and for a long moment, she did not move, merely continued to inspect the undercarriage. "I'm busy," she said in her thick Irish accent. "Come back later."
"We know what you are," Matt said quietly.
I glanced back toward the stable area, but the young nun could not be seen from where we stood, nor could the sweep of the broom be heard anymore. "Don't be afraid," I said to Sister Bernadette, who had not moved. "I'm a magician too. That's how we discovered you. I felt the warmth of your magic in—"
"Hush," she whispered, finally emerging. "Be quiet. Don't speak that word here." Her nervous gaze flicked toward the stables.
Matt held out his hand but Sister Bernadette merely scowled at it. His fingers curled up as she stood without assistance.
"Is there somewhere we can speak in private?" I asked.
"No," she snapped. "Leave me alone."
I retraced my steps and informed the nun in the stables that Sister Clare had need of her. I waited until she put away the broom and left the stables before returning to the part of the building where they kept the cart. It appeared to be the only vehicle. I supposed nuns had no need for a second conveyance.
"She's gone," I said. "We can talk freely."
Sister Bernadette snatched up her toolbox and held it in both hands in front of her like a shield. "I will not talk to you about…that. It's foolish to discuss it here. Go away and leave me be." Her cold manner was so different to the friendliness she'd shown us upon meeting her for the first time. That day we'd come to the convent and spoken to her and Sister Margaret she'd been cheerful until we'd asked questions about Mother Alfreda and Phineas Millroy.
"We can't leave without answers," Matt said. "This is too important. Tell us why you buried the babies' records in the woods."
Her lips parted in a silent gasp. "I…I…I don't know what you're talking about."
"Yes you do. The box they were buried in was made using strong magic. The cross on the mother superior's office wall was also infused with strong magic. You made it, Sister Bernadette, and I will not stand for more lies."
"Are you threatening me, Mr. Glass?"
Matt looked uncertain, hindered by his own gentlemanly code of honor. He would not use violence against a woman, and coercing a nun to speak against her wishes was a task beyond him. We needed to find another way.
"He isn't," I said. "But I am. If you do not tell us what we want to know, I'll tell Mother Frances that you're a magician."
"She won't believe you. I doubt she believes in magic."
"If she needs convincing then I'll tell her how the cross leapt off the wall in the meeting room and almost killed me."
She clutched the toolbox tighter. "It didn't."
"It came close," I said. "Too close. And you made it fall, just as I can make watches and clocks move with my magic."
Her eyes widened ever so slightly. "You can? How do you do it? I can't control it, it just happens all on its own, and only when I'm desperate."
"I can't control it either." If the circumstances were different, I would have liked to compare my magic to hers, but not now. "So you admit you are a magician."
She gave a slight nod of her head. "Don't tell anyone. Do you hear me? They'll send me away, and then what am I supposed to do? This is my home. All my friends are here. I have no family outside these walls, no friends." Her lips trembled and her eyes watered. I suddenly felt ashamed for forcing her to talk to us. "What do you want from me?"
"We want answers," I said gently. "That's all. We are not your enemy. We don't even care if you are responsible for Mother Alfreda's disappearance."
Her face crumpled and a tear fell from each eye. Matt handed her his handkerchief and she set down her toolbox and took it.
"We just want to know what happened to the boy known as Phineas Millroy," I finished. "Is he alive?"
She dabbed at the corner of her eye. "He's alive."
Relief surged through me. I felt light headed, unbalanced. Matt touched my elbow, steadying me. How could he be so calm? Then I felt his fingers tremble.
"I see him in church, from time to time," Sister Bernadette went on. "His parents still live in this parish. Phineas is no longer his name. His parents, the couple I gave him to who brought him up as their own, gave him a new name. I can assure you he is healthy and happy." She smiled sadly. "I remind myself of that every day. Sometimes it helps to banish the guilt, but not always."
"Where can we find him?" I asked.
"I cannot tell you that. I know why you want to see him, and I sympathize, but it is against God's will to use his magic to prolong life."
"You have no right to decide!"
She looked at Matt with sorrow and sympathy. "I know the man you know as Phineas is a healing magician, and I can see that you're ill, Mr. Glass, but I cannot allow you to ask him to cure you. Indeed, he cannot cure you of grave sickness. It's best to succumb to God's will than fight it."
"Listen to me," I said darkly. "Matt was shot in cold blood. That is not God's will. That was the act of a vicious murderer."
She flinched and covered her mouth with Matt's handkerchief.
"He can live longer when a doctor's magic is combined with horology magic," I went on. "We do not have time to go into the specifics, but I urge you most vehemently to tell us where to find Phineas Millroy. Otherwise your secret will be out." I straightened my shoulders and spine. "I'll tell everyone that you killed Mother Alfreda."
She whimpered and tears spilled, but I was beyond caring. We had confirmation that Phineas was alive and also a medical magician. Desperation replaced relief. We were so close, and I refused to be thwarted now that he was within reach.
When she didn't speak, I tried to think of how else to force her to talk. But it was Matt who spoke next. "Tell us what happened," he said. I thought he deliberately gentled his voice to soothe her, but one look at his pinched face made me wonder if he were in pain again. "Tell us why it was necessary to smuggle him out of the convent."
She swallowed. "I…I can't. It's too painful."
"Mother Alfreda was going to do something to him, wasn't she?" She merely blinked at Matt. "Kill him?" he suggested.
She choked on a sob. "I believe so," she said in a small voice. "He was so tiny and helpless, just an innocent baby, yet she thought of him as evil."
"How did she find out about his magic? A baby couldn't perform a spell."
"He didn't need to. His magic is strong, like mine, and simply touching him improved minor ailments. Headaches would disappear, small cuts healed faster and so on. He possessed enough magic that it simply exuded from him without a spell being necessary. But only in a minor way, you understand. He couldn't heal deep cuts or chronic aches, just temporary ones."
"You touched him?" I asked. "Is that how you knew he was a magician?"
She nodded. "I was fixing a cradle in the nursery one day and overheard Sister Francesca—that's Abigail Pilcher—marvel at how warm he felt. Yet when one of the other nuns touched him, she said he felt cool to her. I already knew Sister Francesca was a magician. I'd touched a silk handkerchief she'd fixed and sold in the shop. I never told her that I was a magician too. I thought it best not to tell anyone. But her comment about the warm baby made me curious, so I touched him. I felt his warmth immediately, and I knew it was magical warmth. I didn't know he was a healing magician, however. Not until one of the other nuns complained of a headache before going int
o the nursery then came out marveling out how better she felt after spending ten minutes with the baby. He was the only one in the nursery at the time, so it had to be him. She thought it was because he was a content baby and his contentment rubbed off on her, but I suspected it was something more. So I snuck into the nursery and experimented on a bruise." She indicated her thumb. "I touched it to his cheek. The bruise instantly went away."
She handed back the handkerchief but Matt refused to take it. "You didn't speak to Abigail Pilcher about what you'd learned and what should be done?" he asked.
She shook her head. "I was too afraid. I knew my magic would be seen as the devil's work. Growing up in Dublin, I'd witnessed first-hand how magicians were treated by the church." Her chin trembled and she struggled to speak. "And she had her own problems at that time."
"Her pregnancy," I said. "So you decided to smuggle Phineas out of the convent alone?"
She nodded. "If I didn't, he would have died, like the other baby."
"The other missing boy?" I said. "The one whose records you also buried in the woods?"
Another nod. "He disappeared from the convent some months before Phineas. Sister Clare brought it to my attention. According to Mother Alfreda, he'd died in the night and she'd taken his body to the morgue herself. Sister Clare thought it odd that she didn't wait for morning. I also had my doubts about the story, but I thought it plausible that he had died. I already knew the baby was a magician, so I was concerned for him. I'd held him once, when I had to relieve one of the sisters in the nursery. Like Phineas, he exuded magical warmth from his skin. I foolishly mentioned it to the Mother Superior. I didn't mention magic, of course, only his warmth. She touched him and said he wasn't. But a look came into her eyes then. A cold, cruel look that frightened me. She directed it at both the baby and me. She must have known somehow that what I'd felt was the baby's magic. I cannot tell you how deeply I regret bringing it to her attention. If I could go back to that day…" She smothered another sob with Matt's handkerchief.
"Did she accuse you?" Matt asked.
"No. She said nothing, but it was that night that the baby apparently died. Yet he was healthy. Despite my doubts, I kept my mouth shut. She no longer trusted me, I could see. Her attitude toward me changed, and I was terrified she'd expose me and send me away. But I couldn't take my mind off the baby, so I visited the morgue. No one had brought in a baby's body that night. I considered all other possibilities—adoption, placing him in an orphanage—but it didn't make sense. Why would she do that in secret? Why not make it official?"
"Hell," Matt said quietly. He seemed to know something I did not.
"What happened to him?" I asked in a rush of breath.
"I had my suspicion, but I needed to be sure," Sister Bernadette went on. "I didn't want to confront the reverend mother without evidence, so I spoke to Father Antonio instead. I asked him what happens if someone is suspected of witchcraft. I made it sound as if I was interested in the subject from a scholarly perspective. He told me about exorcism."
I placed a hand to my throat. "Oh God. That poor baby."
She blinked back tears and nodded. "Father Antonio explained the process, but it seemed too harsh for a baby to endure. I asked him if there was a minimum age for the subject and he said yes. Suffice it to say, a baby is too young. From the way he spoke freely to me, I didn't think he had performed the ritual on this baby. So I only had one option left to me after all."
"You confronted Mother Alfreda?" I asked.
"No. I said nothing. I thought I would but found I couldn't do it. I just couldn't. She already suspected me but hadn't done anything about it. I was afraid if I confronted her, she'd finally act and…" She swallowed.
"Yes, of course. So what happened then?"
"Phineas came to the nursery. Another magical baby. When I learned what he was, I grew instantly afraid for him. I prayed that Mother Alfreda would never find out. But she did. I know she did. To this day, I don't know how."
"Could she have been a magician too?" I said. "Perhaps she'd kept it secret."
"It's possible."
"There's another possibility," Matt said. "Did you confess to Father Antonio?"
"No. I'm no fool."
"Then perhaps Abigail confessed her suspicions about him and he told Mother Alfreda."
"It no longer matters." Sister Bernadette's tears had dried and her eyes took on a glassiness as she dug up painful memories. "I'll never forget when I saw Mother Alfreda leave the nursery one day with a hard gleam in her eyes and a twisted smile on her face. I knew then that she was the one possessed by demons. She was the evil one—not the babies, not me. And she was going to have the so-called devil exorcised from that tiny body too, just like the other one. I couldn't let that happen, not when I had the power to stop it. I suspected the first baby had died during the exorcism, and it was my duty to see that another innocent didn't suffer the same fate. So I stole him. I squirreled him out of the nursery one night when everyone else was asleep."
"And gave him to the childless couple," I said.
She nodded. "I begged them to take him. I already suspected the husband of being a magician, and my suspicion was confirmed when they took the baby in without question after I explained what had happened. The following Sunday, when I didn't see the wife in church, I asked where she was. Her husband said she'd gone on an extended visit to her sister's, to nurse her and her ill infant. A few weeks later, she returned with the baby, claiming her sister couldn't care for him. They raised him as their own, and I've watched him grow up." She drew in a deep breath and gave us a watery smile. "It has been my greatest joy to know that I saved his life. It has made everything worth it."
Matt rested a hand on the cart and leaned into it. "Everything?"
It took her a long time to answer, and for a moment, I thought she wouldn't. But eventually she said, "I've come this far, and perhaps it will ease my conscience to tell you."
"You'll suffer no censure from us," I assured her. "We will not judge you harshly."
"But God may."
"Or he may understand that you did what you could to rescue an innocent baby."
She bit her lower lip. "I killed her. I killed Mother Alfreda." She buried her face in her hands and sobbed. I placed my arm around her shoulders and waited for the trembles to stop before letting go.
"You don't have to tell us," I reminded her.
"I want to." She exhaled a shuddery breath. "Mother Alfreda suspected me of taking the baby out of the nursery and demanded I tell her where he was. It wouldn't have been difficult to work out that it was me, since she knew I was a magician. She came to my cell and accused me of being a witch, of being possessed by a demon, and said I needed to have the devil driven out of me. She wouldn't listen to reason. She didn't care that I was born like this, that magic is a God-given talent. I asked her how she would get rid of the devil and she said it would be exorcised from me by a layman she knew. A man with excellent results whose subjects always became meek and mild when he'd driven the demons from their bodies. She described to me how he did it. His methods were much harsher than Father Antonio described. The body was tied up and nails driven into the extremities to mirror the suffering of Christ. It was sickening. Utterly awful. I asked her if she'd taken the first baby there, and she admitted it and then told me he'd not survived." Sister Bernadette closed her eyes, but it didn't stop her tears streaming down her cheeks. "Mother Alfreda was glad he died. She claimed that the devil was too deep within the baby for the exorcism to work, and that death was the best result for such monsters. She smiled as she told me."
She leaned back against the cart as if needing the support. She was pale and shaking, her face red and swollen from crying. "I pushed her. I was so angry and terrified that I pushed her. She fell and hit her head on my bedside table. She bled to death right before my eyes. I watched her die. I did not call anyone for help. I did not try to stop the blood. I simply sat on my bed and waited for her to take her last breat
h. Sometime after midnight, I wrapped her body in my blanket, carried her to the wheelbarrow stored in the gardening shed, and wheeled her to the river. I found some loose bricks along the way and tied them into her habit. Then I rolled the body into the water. She sank and as far as I know, her body was never recovered. It was easy. There are few people out at that time of night, and those who did see me didn't ask." She huffed out a humorless laugh. "Nobody questions a nun, even one acting strangely."
"And the babies' records?" I said. "You buried them that night too?"
She nodded weakly and slumped against the cart, her shoulders hunched. The strong, fiery Irish nun looked defeated. "There could be no questions asked about either child or the truth might come out. I didn't dare risk it. Sister Clare caused a small stir when she said she couldn't find them, but the convent was a hectic place at that time. Nobody was interested in files when Mother Alfreda was missing."
"You confessed to Father Antonio, didn't you?" Matt asked. "The murder, I mean, not about your magic."
She blinked at him, surprised he knew. "I had to or my soul would bear the stain. I didn't tell him why. He knew nothing about the exorcisms. I simply told him we'd argued, that I'd pushed her and she'd fallen. He said he'd take care of the police and, true to his word, they did not return and ask questions after that first day. Thank God."
"We won't tell them either," I assured her.
While I believed in justice, and I trusted Detective Inspector Brockwell to reach the conclusion of accidental death, Sister Bernadette didn't deserve to go through the traumatic experience and have her reputation damaged. The matter was best left alone now. She believed she would face God's judgment one day, and worrying about that was punishment enough.
"But please, you must tell us where to find Phineas," I urged. "I know you think that we are playing God in keeping someone alive, but you said yourself that magic is a God-given talent, that he made us like this." I took both her hands in mine and dipped my head to meet her gaze. "If he gave us the magic to keep someone alive, isn't it our duty to use it to save the life of someone who is dying from a gunshot wound?"
