A VOW OF FIDELITY an utterly gripping crime mystery

by Veronica Black

  But in college Paul, as far as she could remember, had been sweet-tempered and gentle. Sister Joan wondered why she should recall him differently from the way in which Dodie described.

  ‘The lecture room is on the left here, with the library and recreation room next to it,’ she said hastily. ‘I’m afraid the books are mainly paperbacks. I bought a pile to replace the ones the postulants are allowed to read, and there are jigsaws and Scrabble in the recreation room, in case it suddenly pours with rain. Would you like to bring your luggage upstairs? Your names are on the doors.’

  ‘I’m surprised you’ve got men and women accommodated in the same building,’ Derek said.

  ‘Mother Dorothy may be moral but she isn’t a fool,’ Sister Joan said, amused. ‘She leaves other people free to lead their lives according to their consciences. Anyway sex isn’t always confined to the bedroom, is it?’

  ‘You can assure Mother What’shername that I’m the last person to drag any innocent maiden off into the shrubbery,’ Paul said.

  ‘There are two small bathrooms at the end of the passage.’ Sister Joan held down the lid on her bubbling temper. ‘I’ll go down and make you a cup of tea.’

  She went downstairs again thankfully, hoping that Paul wasn’t going to ruin the entire retreat. She surely would have recalled if he’d been so unpleasant as he was being now when they’d been at college! What had happened to twist his sweet temper into bitterness? There being no immediate answer she put on the kettle and got out the cups and saucers.

  The rapping of the knocker sent her to the front door where she was confronted by two heavily burdened figures, Serena in politically incorrect mink, Fiona looking drop-dead gorgeous in a skirt that displayed her long legs and oughtn’t to have looked so good on a woman of nearly forty.

  ‘The dearest little nun told us the way to come,’ Fiona said. ‘She was up a tree.’

  ‘Sister Martha. She’s our gardener. Come in. Dodie and Derek and Paul are here.’

  ‘We saw the car at the side,’ Serena said, lugging in her suitcases. ‘Where shall I put these?’

  ‘Upstairs.’ Sister Joan gave the luggage a glance of amused dismay. Serena and Fiona had brought sufficient for a month! She wondered what they expected a retreat to entail.

  ‘This is a lovely place,’ Fiona was crying as they ascended. ‘Such peace and quiet! Honestly I begin to understand the attractions of a monastic life.’

  ‘Conventual,’ Sister Joan said pedantically, her mouth repressing laughter.

  ‘That’s only women, right?’ Fiona turned her blonde head and gave a large wink. ‘No, Sister, I used the right word the first time! There’s limits to that there peace and quiet.’

  There were sounds of greeting from above, Derek’s deeper tones underlining Paul’s lighter voice. Sister Joan hurried into the kitchen to add a couple of extra cups and brew the tea. She added biscuits from the tin on the shelf, carried the tray through to the lecture room which would serve as temporary dining-room during the week, and allowed herself to relax for a minute.

  The retreat was underway. Nothing she said could stop it or send them all away. At least she’d enjoyed a sound sleep the previous night, waking in the morning to find the sergeant’s car gone as unobtrusively as it had arrived. It had been good of him to stay — also faintly troubling since it meant he was more concerned about the situation than he’d been willing to admit.

  ‘Where’s the tea then?’ Dodie was poking her neatly permed head round the door.

  ‘It’s all ready here. Can you look after yourselves for an hour? I have to go out.’ She wanted to meet Barbara by herself and seize the chance to ask a few pertinent questions.

  ‘You really can come and go as you please then?’ Dodie looked surprised.

  ‘Not exactly. We’re not entirely enclosed,’ Sister Joan explained. ‘The lay sisters usually do the shopping but Sister Teresa doesn’t like driving much and Sister Marie is still a novice and confined to the enclosure, so I often go into town to run any errands. The rest can leave when there’s grave necessity and with Mother Dorothy’s permission. If anyone has a job outside the convent such as teaching or nursing then clearly they’re permitted to go to that. Dodie, am I chattering too much about the community?’

  ‘Oh, take no notice of Paul!’ Dodie advised. ‘If he doesn’t want to hear about nuns then he shouldn’t have come to a convent!’

  ‘You know I’ve always rather prided myself on being perceptive about people,’ Sister Joan said. ‘When we were at college I never guessed that Paul was — oh, I know he didn’t date any of us — or did he?’

  ‘Not even Fiona,’ Dodie said with a grin that made her look younger, less like a textbook copy of the conventional middle-aged housewife.

  ‘I’d better go. See you later!’

  Hurrying back to where the van was parked she realized that not one of them, herself included, had mentioned Serge’s death. It was as if his name, his fate, had suddenly become a taboo subject.

  Brother Cuthbert came out of the schoolhouse as she drove towards it, flapping his arms.

  ‘Is anything wrong, Brother?’ She slowed and stopped.

  ‘Only my own bump of curiosity,’ he said. ‘Two big cars went by. Have you found visitors for your retreat?’

  ‘Did nobody tell you? I’m so sorry!’ She bit her lip in contrition. ‘Yes, the old college friends I met in London have come for a week.’

  ‘That’s a feather in your cap, Sister!’ His honest young face split into a wide beam. ‘They must be very fond of you.’

  ‘Fond of me?’ She rolled the word round her tongue, feeling it didn’t taste right. ‘Actually we were none of us particularly close even at college.’

  ‘Then you did a wonderful job of salesmanship, Sister! Congratulations!’

  ‘If I stopped by very often to talk to you, Brother Cuthbert,’ she teased, ‘I’d soon be confessing the sin of pride! Which reminds me! How would you feel about giving a talk on the monastic life to the visitors? On Tuesday?’

  ‘Sister, I couldn’t possibly!’

  ‘I’m sure it wouldn’t alter your character for the worse.’

  ‘It isn’t that, Sister,’ he said earnestly. ‘I could talk about the rule and the routine, even relate some very amusing anecdotes but — how can you describe the scent of a flower to somebody who has no sense of smell? I would be inadequate.’

  ‘Whenever I’m tempted to think that I’m getting somewhere in my spiritual life I compare myself with you and tumble off the mountain,’ Sister Joan said darkly.

  ‘You will have your wee joke, Sister!’ Brother Cuthbert laughed, showing his strong white teeth. ‘If you’re really wanting to entertain your visitors I’d be happy to play a couple of tunes for them, if that wouldn’t be pushing myself forward?’

  ‘That would be marvellous and I ought to have thought of it myself! Sunday afternoon would be nice. The community have a little free time then so they could enjoy it too.’

  ‘Sunday it is, Sister! It’s very kind of you to indulge me,’ he said. ‘Not that your friends won’t have heard better performers but as Father Prior is always telling me, when you have a tiny bit of talent you ought to polish it up as a compliment to the Good Lord who gave it to you in the first place.’

  Sister Joan nodded and started the van again, thinking privately that if Brother Cuthbert’s superior truly believed his talent was tiny then he must be tone deaf!

  She drove on into town, parking neatly in the station yard and checking the time on her fob watch.

  ‘Good afternoon, Sister.’ A voice broke in upon her thoughts.

  ‘Detective Sergeant — Alan! What an immense surprise to see you,’ she said, heavily ironic. ‘Have you taken to checking for stolen cars these days?’

  ‘Someone has to keep an eye on you,’ he said.

  ‘Look! You’re very kind and I did appreciate last night’s vigil,’ she said, ‘but you really can’t follow me around everywhere just in case s
omeone tries to bump me off! That marked photograph was probably a spiteful bit of humour. Nothing more.’

  ‘Any ideas who might have sent it?’

  ‘Nothing tangible. That’s the problem! There’s nothing tangible about any of this, nothing to get your teeth into. But you really don’t have to go on mounting guard on me! Believe me, but there’s nobody gets up early enough in the morning to catch me!’

  ‘Very modest,’ he said, smiling slightly.

  ‘I’ll confess it,’ she said impatiently. ‘Look, I’m on my way to meet Barbara Ford. The others arrived. I can’t pretend that I really like them all, but the idea that one of them might actually — well, sorry, but it’s not feasible! Derek is clearly still mourning Sally and Dodie and Fiona and Serena wouldn’t harm a fly.’

  ‘And Paul Vance?’

  ‘He’s come out of the closet with a vengeance,’ she said with a grimace. ‘But that doesn’t mean he’s been going round killing people! No, there has to be some other explanation! Someone else.’

  ‘What about the missing link?’ He kept pace with her as they went beneath the underpass towards the platforms.

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘The person who took the photograph,’ he said. ‘Think about it, Sister.’

  ‘I can’t remember who took it,’ Sister Joan said. ‘I’d forgotten all about even having had it taken until it arrived! Shall I ask one of the others?’

  ‘Wait a while. See if anybody mentions it. Are you still going to be sleeping over in the postulancy?’

  ‘There’s a lock on my door which I intend to use,’ she assured him. ‘You don’t have to miss any more sleep.’

  ‘You’ll take care?’

  ‘I always do.’ She lifted her hand in a half salute and walked on, aware that he was frowning after her.

  The London train was just drawing in. She watched the passengers alight, gripped suddenly by the irrational fear that Barbara wouldn’t be there. Then she saw her, dark hair gleaming, emerald-green trouser suit the last word in elegance as she stepped on to the platform and looked round.

  ‘There you are! I was wondering if this place ran to a taxi in case you hadn’t come. Are the others here yet? I had the most damnable journey. Two old dears who sucked peppermints very noisily and kept yelling across me.’

  Her smile was wide, her voice light and cheerful. No trace here of mousy Barbara who had left college to nurse a seriously ill father who hadn’t been ill at all.

  ‘I’m afraid you’ll have to put up with the old van,’ Sister Joan said aloud. ‘We used to have an even older car but Brother Cuthbert adores delving into engines so we did a swap with him. We have supper at seven, so you’ve plenty of time to change and settle in.’

  There was no sign of Detective Sergeant Alan Mill as they went beneath the underpass towards the car-park, but she would have laid odds on his having had a splendid view of the newcomer already.

  ‘It looks very nice,’ Barbara said politely as they reached the vehicle.

  ‘It looked nicer before,’ Sister Joan said. ‘I painted murals all over it but Mother Dorothy had a fit and made me repaint it all grey. However it gets us from place to place. Make yourself comfortable.’

  ‘Brother Cuthbert’s your tame hermit, isn’t he?’

  ‘Brother Cuthbert is a treasure.’ Sister Joan slid behind the wheel. ‘I met him when I went up to Scotland on a retreat and it was a real pleasure when he came down to Cornwall to do his sabbatical.’

  ‘And the others are here.’ Barbara adjusted her seatbelt and shot Sister Joan a questioning look.

  ‘They came early.’

  ‘Saying nothing about anything, I suppose?’

  ‘Anything?’

  ‘Serge being dead,’ Barbara said. ‘When you telephoned and told us it was a nasty shock, cast a gloom over the rest of the day. I’ll bet nobody’s mentioned him though since they all arrived.’

  ‘Not a word.’

  ‘I can’t believe that Serge killed himself,’ Barbara said vehemently. ‘He was always so full of life. Moody, yes, but I used to think he put that on because Russians are supposed to be moody and emotional sometimes. He was so kind.’

  ‘He had a girlfriend,’ Sister Joan said carefully. ‘Did you know?’

  ‘I assumed he had heaps of them,’ Barbara said.

  ‘A girl called Patricia Mayne. I met her briefly when I went to his flat. She was more like a protégé, I think, very young and very lonely. Serge had been kind to her and she repaid him in the only coin she had.’

  ‘Nice to know he had someone,’ Barbara commented. ‘I suppose she’s terribly upset?’

  ‘She’s dead,’ Sister Joan said flatly.

  ‘Dead? But you said—?’

  ‘That I met her. Yes. She was killed round about midnight on the same evening. Someone found her in Putney Walk with her throat cut.’

  She had given the unvarnished truth, hoping for a reaction. For an instant there was silence. Then Barbara said in a choked voice, ‘Please can we stop for a moment? Just stop?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  Sister Joan steered the van on to a grass verge and Barbara unsnapped her seatbelt, wrenched open the van door and was promptly violently sick, her head leaning over the grass, her face chalk white.

  ‘Come and sit on the step!’ Sister Joan hastily alighted from the driving seat, snatching a box of tissues as she did so, and came round to the passenger side. ‘Here! I’ve a small bottle of mineral water in the back. I’ll get it. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize it’d affect you so badly.’

  ‘I’m all right.’ Barbara wiped her mouth, drank from the bottle of water, and sat up straighter, her face gradually regaining a tinge of colour. ‘I can’t bear hearing about violence, that’s all. I never could. I’m so sorry.’

  Under the exquisite make-up and smart suit the old Barbara, shy, quiet and apologetic showed momentarily, then was gone as she lifted her head, stepped back up into the van again, and reached for her seatbelt. Only the faint tremor of the pink-tipped fingers betrayed her.

  ‘Are you sure you’re all right?’

  Starting the van again Sister Joan sent her a worried look.

  ‘Fine. Sorry to be so squeamish.’ Barbara gave a pale smile. ‘Poor girl! Let’s not talk about it anymore, or mention it to the others! This is going to be a happy week!’

  ‘Of course it is.’ Sister Joan turned off onto the moorland road, storing away for future reference the fact that Barbara hadn’t asked if anyone had yet been arrested for the girl’s murder.

  ‘What a glorious view!’ she exclaimed a moment later. ‘You’re lucky to live here.’

  ‘Yes, it’s beautiful.’ Sister Joan kept her tone casual and cheerful. Now wasn’t the moment to ask why Barbara had lied about her father.

  ‘Do you do a lot of painting?’ the other was asking.

  ‘Not very often,’ Sister Joan confessed. ‘One has to have permission and anyway there’s always so much else to do. That small building over there is the old school. It belongs to the community and I used to teach the local kids there when I first came, but the council closed it down and laid on a bus to take them to the school in town, so now Brother Cuthbert is spending a year there.’

  There was, however, no sign of Brother Cuthbert. Probably he’d been too shy to stay visible in the face of another visitor.

  ‘Here we are!’ Sister Joan drove through the gates and round to the yard where the van lived under a stretched awning in lieu of garage.

  ‘Is this the last one?’ Sister Perpetua came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron. ‘Welcome to our community.’

  ‘Barbara Ford, Sister Perpetua, our infirmarian,’ Sister Joan made the introduction.

  ‘Miss Ford.’ Sister Perpetua shook hands briskly. ‘You look a little pale!’

  ‘Barbara was travel sick.’

  ‘Then I’ve just the thing! Come into the kitchen and we’ll have you feeling better in a trice,’ Sister P
erpetua said, cheering up visibly at the prospect of a patient. ‘You run along, Sister, and round up the others! Miss Ford can sit quietly and get her breath back.’

  Barbara had been taken in tow, Sister Perpetua being completely unfazed by the exquisite make-up and elegant suit. Sister Joan lingered to give Lilith a pat on the nose and the whispered promise of a canter soon, then went with somewhat mixed feelings over to the postulancy, hailed on her way by Derek who was halfway up a ladder in the garden picking the last few apples from the top of the tree, while Sister Martha stood meekly below with her basket.

  ‘As you can see,’ he called, leaning out at a dangerous angle, ‘I’m making myself useful!’

  ‘He did offer,’ Sister Martha put in.

  ‘I didn’t think you’d dragged him over the wall against his will,’ Sister Joan quipped and walked on.

  Perhaps the retreat wasn’t going to be so bad after all. She would take each day as it came.

  A lilac dusk was already edging the postulancy. Lights were on everywhere. She hoped that the modest fees the visitors were paying would leave something over when the week’s electricity bill had been paid. Silly to worry about that when in the background something hovered, something deadly. Four people dead, the last definitely murdered, Barbara’s lie about her father, Paul’s unexpected malice. The photograph with its brutal black crosses and the circle round her own youthful face.

  She shook her head slightly and went in. Serena, wearing an expensive dinner dress and contriving to make it look like a reject from a thrift shop, was in the lecture room, collecting up cups and saucers.

  ‘I thought I’d lend a hand,’ she said amiably as Sister Joan looked in. ‘Paul went off for a walk by himself and Fiona wanted to have a look at the chapel.’

  ‘Where’s Dodie?’

  ‘Upstairs, getting herself ready for dinner — or is it supper? I won’t be eating very much so do please explain that it’s no reflection on the food, merely that I’m slimming, will you?’

  ‘Yes of course I will,’ Sister Joan said gravely, and went on up the stairs.

  The door of Dodie’s room was barely ajar. She tapped and pushed it open as Dodie whirled round, clutching a bathrobe about her.