by Anne Bennett
But the priest had seen the disgust on her face and it had enraged him. What right had she to look at him, a man of God, in that way?
‘Father, it was dark,’ she said. ‘There’s a blackout in England and in this pitch blackness I was attacked on my way home from work.’
‘D’ya expect anyone to believe that?’
Lizzie gave a sigh. Despite herself and her trepidation of the position she was in, the fact that she’d told the truth and that pervert was working himself up over it inflamed her. ‘D’you know, Father, in this place I don’t, for all it’s the truth, that I’d swear on my mother’s life. Here they bend the truth for their own ends.’
‘You are a harlot! A whore!’
‘I am not, Father.’ Even in her anger, Lizzie quailed. What was she doing, answering back to a priest? Sister Jude would kill her for this.
Father Conroy saw the fear flit across Lizzie’s face and he smiled, and the maliciousness that Lizzie read in that smile made her stomach turn over. ‘I’ll tell you how you earned your money,’ he said, and she saw the lust in his eyes and his hands worked faster. ‘You lay down and let men have their way with you. His voice was now punctuated with pants. ‘If you were attacked at all, it was because you wouldn’t give the man what you’d promised him.’
‘No, Father, no. Jesus Christ!’ Lizzie had risen to her feet. ‘Please, please let me go, Father.’
The priest’s face was crimson, she noted, his voice guttural as he said, ‘I know how it was. I know how you girls are, parading yourself, selling your bodies, craving sex.’
‘I’m not, I wouldn’t. Dear Christ, believe me, Father,’ Lizzie cried, leaping towards the door. ‘I can’t stay here. It’s wrong. Sister Carmel will…’
‘The other girl will have told her I have need of you,’ the priest said, as he came from behind the desk and began to approach her. ‘And by Christ I have. Do you know what you have done to me, girl?’
Lizzie began backing away from him, until her knees connected with the chair and she sat on it and watched the priest approach her, soutane lifted, so she saw his penis hard and erect before her. ‘You’re a mass of sin, if you can work a man like me into such a state. Well now you’ll pay for it, you whoring temptress. Take it in your hands.’
‘Oh God Almighty, I can’t, Father, really I can’t,’ Lizzie cried, and tried to screw herself further into the chair.
The priest reached out, plucked the hat from her head and grabbed a mass of Lizzie’s curls, and then jerked her towards him with such force she fell onto her knees, inches from the vile thing the priest was pushing at her. ‘Take it,’ the priest thundered. ‘Or by Christ I’ll beat you black and blue.’
Lizzie knew the man meant it, and in the state he was in he could easily kill her. Then the nuns would name some disease that she’d died from and that would be that, and so she took the pulsating organ with hands that shook.
For all her married state, Lizzie had never held or seen a man’s penis. Steve wasn’t into the niceties of the act. A wife’s duty was to submit to her husband when he wanted sex, and lie passive beneath him while he took his pleasure. Lizzie accepted it as part of marriage, pleased when she enjoyed it, and took the other assaults on her body without complaint.
But now, for the first time, she held a man’s penis, and felt it pulsating as the blood pumped through it. She saw the testicles hanging like two wizened sacks and the mass of brown curly hair, and felt nausea and revulsion course through her.
‘Put it in your mouth.’
Lizzie stared at the priest, unable to believe she’d heard right. He couldn’t mean that. God Almighty!
‘Your mouth,’ he screeched.
She shook her head. ‘I couldn’t, Father. Please don’t ask me.’
‘I don’t ask you, whore, I’m telling you,’ the priest said. ‘I know you’re gagging for it.’
Lizzie was unable to make a reply, for suddenly the priest’s hands were either side of her head, crushing her ears, and he began pushing her head down. Her mouth was fixed open as she’d tried to speak, and now she couldn’t even cry out a warning as she felt sickness rise in her when the penis was just an inch or so from her lips. She tried to move her head, but it was held fast in his hands like a vice, and the priest had his eyes closed and he was groaning. Suddenly, she could hold the nausea no longer, and she vomited over him, his soutane, her hands and down her dress.
Fury like he’d never felt before pounded through the priest’s body. He caught Lizzie under the chin, as he lifted his foot and kicked her with such fury she hit the wall with a sickening thud and slithered to a heap on the floor.
Father Conroy looked at the girl slumped against the wall and her pallor and stillness terrified the life out of him. He cleaned himself off as well as he could and wiped the vomit from her hands with his handkerchief before feeling for her pulse, relieved to find one. He noted blood dripping down her front from the cut on her chin and seeping into her curls from the one at the back of her head.
He arranged her inert body in front of the desk and went for Sister Jude. He didn’t know if she believed his explanation of how Lizzie sustained her injuries, but he didn’t really care. She’d never betray him and just nodded sagely when he explained how the girl had stumbled and caught her chin on the desk before falling to the floor and banging her head. ‘We must take her into the infirmary,’ Sister Jude said, ‘before we decide what to do.’ She thought the girl might be roused as she was carried on a stretcher, but there was no reaction, and as they laid her on one of the beds she said, ‘I think we must fetch the doctor.’
‘Do you think that’s necessary?’ Sister Benedict said. ‘I’m sure I can cope. Sister Maria can help.’
Father Conroy, who’d followed, was thoroughly alarmed. ‘What happens within these walls is sacrosanct, but outsiders ask awkward questions. Doesn’t she just want a wee sleep and she’ll be as right as rain?’
‘Maybe, aye. But what if she needs more than that?’ Sister Jude said. ‘Remember, this one has a brother who’s concerned for her and comes to see her every fortnight. He might make trouble.’
Father Conroy knew he might. He’d caught sight of the young man himself and so he bowed to the inevitable. ‘Maybe,’ he said to Sister Benedict, ‘you could take off her soiled clothes and put her in a nightdress before the doctor sees her.’
Doctor Murray was very worried about Lizzie and not at all convinced by the explanation of how she came by her injuries. He examined her gently all over and then asked for help to turn her over so he could see if there was further damage and he whistled at the extent of the bruising on her back. He didn’t like the set-up here at all. He hadn’t liked it the last time he was here, when he lost the girl and baby in childbirth because they’d left it too late to call him in.
He knew Sister Jude ran this place and so he spoke to her. ‘She’s a sick girl, Sister,’ he said. ‘I’ll not beat about the bush. I don’t know what goes on in this establishment and maybe you have reason to behave as you do. But now this young woman is my patient and you ignore what I say at your peril, for if anything happens to her through neglect, I’ll hold you responsible.’
‘Are you threatening me?’
The doctor gave a grim laugh. ‘You give it whatever name suits. I’d call it more in the nature of a warning. The cuts beneath her chin and on her head will not close on their own and she’s lost enough blood already. She is deeply concussed and in shock and I wouldn’t be at all surprised if she doesn’t go into premature labour.’
‘Now.’ he said, when he’d finished stitching and dressing the wound, ‘someone must stay with her night and day until she regains consciousness. When she does, phone me, I will need to test for brain damage. If she shows signs she is going to lose the baby, conscious or not, again send for me.
‘Once conscious she will need bed rest for a week, more maybe. In fact, I’ll tell you when she can get up. Her bottom teeth were loosened by the blow to her jaw, bu
t they’ll probably bed back in the gum and so nourishing broths will probably be best at first.’
‘It was no blow,’ Sister Jude said. ‘It was…’
‘It was a blow, Sister. She wouldn’t have sustained an injury like that smacking it on the table, and from the shape of the wound I would say a toecap did it.’
‘I assure you…’
‘I’m a medical man, Sister,’ Doctor Murray said. ‘I’ve attended accidents before and seen the result of a kick. And if she then banged the back of head on the floor, she’d have had to turn a somersault before she fell. Quite a feat, don’t you think?’
‘I think your manner offensive.’
‘My manner, you say? I feel what happened to that young woman was offensive. Be careful, Sister. I’m not one of your wayward girls to be cowed and frightened half to death, and once through that door a few words dropped in the right ears would mean, at the very least, you’d have to answer very difficult questions.’
‘Really, Doctor…’
‘Really, Sister,’ Doctor Murray cut in. ‘I’ve stitched and dressed both wounds, they won’t need touching yet awhile, and though I’ve left more salve she shouldn’t need it again until tomorrow and I will administer it myself when I call. I’ll see myself out. Good day to you.’
Sister Jude sat back in her chair, stunned. For the first time in her life that she could remember, she was lost for words. Completely nonplussed. Damn the girl, she thought. And damn the doctor too. But she didn’t give voice to these thoughts.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Muzzy unformed memories swirled in Lizzie’s brain, as if they were shrouded in grey mist. She was aware of pain and discomfort, and her eyes felt heavy when she tried to lift the lids, but when she eventually peeled them open she snapped them shut again at the glaring whiteness of everything.
Slowly she again opened them just a little and gazed about her. She knew she was in the infirmary and wondered why. The slight movement had been spotted, and the next moment a shape loomed above her. As her eyes focused, she recognised Sister Benedict. ‘So, you’re awake at last.’
Lizzie felt she had to make no reply to that comment, so she asked instead, ‘What happened?’
‘You had a wee fall.’
‘A wee fall!’ Lizzie repeated. She tried to cast her mind back, despite her head throbbing in protest.
‘How are you feeling?’
Never in the months she’d been in the convent had a nun asked her how she was feeling. It gave Lizzie quite a jolt. And, really, how did she feel? Awful! Bloody awful! Everywhere ached, even her face and her jawbone and her head thumped. Should she say? Would the nun care? She decided to say nothing about how she felt, but again she asked, ‘The fall, where was it?’
‘In the sacristy.’
The sacristy! That word produced a window through the fog. The sacristy and her and Celia, their arms full of vestments going in there, thinking it empty and finding Father Conroy still there.
And at the remembrance of the priest, Lizzie’s skin began to crawl, for the memories now crowded inside her. She remembered being forced to hold the throbbing penis of that perverted excuse for a man of God, and then her head being pressed down so that her mouth, held open, would take it between her lips. And if I had, she thought now fiercely, I’d have bitten the bloody thing off and taken pleasure in it.
She wanted to fling this at the nun looking at her now in consternation, tell her the manner of priest they served and sought to please, but Celia’s warning to say nothing stilled her tongue. But, by Christ, why should he get away with it?
Nevertheless, she knew he would, like the pervert who raped her. She lifted her hand and tentatively touched her jaw and felt the dressing there, and then her probing hands touched the bandage encircling her head.
‘You caught your chin on the desk as you fell and then gave your head quite a crack,’ the nun said.
Lizzie remembered the priest’s red face suffused with rage as she vomited all over him. She didn’t see the boot, but she’d felt the crack of impact that set her against the wall with such violence she lost consciousness. ‘A fall,’ she repeated ironically. ‘Is that the name they put upon it these days?’
She saw Sister Benedict’s face flush. Was it embarrassment, or shame, or guilt? She wasn’t sure, nor was she sure how much the nuns were aware of. She might never know, but it wouldn’t matter really because she knew they’d stick to their story, and if she was to voice hers and continue to voice it she’d be speedily whipped away to a place where no one would listen. Who would take notice of the ramblings of a mad woman incarcerated in the asylum?
And so she met the nun’s look levelly, but said nothing. And the nun said, with a hint of satisfaction, ‘Some of your hair had to be shaved for the doctor to stitch the cut. You will have to explain to your brother.’
‘The doctor? They called the doctor?’
‘Oh aye,’ Sister Benedict said, and gave a sniff of disapproval and went on, ‘He was very worried about you. Gave specific instructions. You have been in that unconscious state over thirty-six hours, for it’s Monday morning now.’
‘Monday morning?’ Lizzie wondered if her mind was affected. She seemed only able to repeat what the nun said.
And now Sister Benedict bobbed her head and went on. ‘Aye, thirty-six hours. The man himself will be along shortly. Glad to see you so recovered, I imagine. Now, do you want a nice bowl of nourishing broth?’
‘Nourishing broth?’ There she went again, but nourishing broth was not on the menu for the sinful inmates of that place. She wasn’t hungry, and yet it might be a while before anything else was offered, and she’d like to see their bowl of nourishing broth.
But when it came, on a tray carried by Celia, which made Lizzie’s eyes light up, it was thick and rich and filled with meat and vegetables. ‘Leave the tray and return to your duties,’ Sister Benedict said curtly, and to Lizzie she said, ‘You’ll be all right on your own? I need to pop along to the nursery.’
‘Aye,’ Lizzie said, but barely had the door closed behind the nun when Celia, putting the bowl of broth down on the locker beside Lizzie, said, ‘What did that bastard do to you?’
And Lizzie told her, just as it was, and noted that Celia didn’t seem even mildly surprised.
‘You too?’ she asked, and Celia nodded miserably.
‘It happened three times to me.’
‘Oh, Celia!’
‘I never thought of vomiting over him, though.’
‘I couldn’t help that.’
‘He very nearly killed you,’ Celia said. ‘I heard the doctor giving out to Sister Jude when I was clearing the hall outside the room. We were all hugging ourselves with delight, though I was real worried about you.’
‘I’m all right,’ Lizzie assured her. ‘Though a bit sore still, and I’m not at all hungry, so you eat that broth.’
She saw the longing on Celia’s face and yet she shook her head. ‘I can’t.’
‘Course you can, I don’t want it.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Positive, and eat it quick before the old harridan comes back.’
Celia needed no further urging and Lizzie smiled at the look of pleasure on Celia’s face as she emptied the bowl in seconds. ‘Oh God, I’m full for the first time in months and warm inside. Oh, Lizzie, thanks. That was terrific.’
‘Good,’ Lizzie said with satisfaction. ‘Leave the tray, or they’ll know you stopped too long.’
‘You’re right,’ Celia said. ‘But I’ll be back if I can. Most of the girls know we’re friends, so they’ll let me come if there is ever a choice in it.’
‘Well, go now in case Sister Benedict comes,’ Lizzie said, ‘for if she imagines we are friends I’ll never see you in here again, and she’ll find ways of making our lives more miserable than ever.’
Celia saw the wisdom of Lizzie’s words and she hadn’t been gone that long when Sister Benedict came back and was pleased to see the bowl emp
ty. ‘Soon have you strong and healthy again,’ she said, ‘with food like that. Now, I’ll let the doctor in. He arrived some minutes ago.’
Lizzie had never seen Doctor Murray before, though she’d glimpsed him through the gloom when he’d come in to attend to Cora. She found him kind and gentle, and he asked her questions and held up cards for her to describe and looked into her eyes with a special instrument. He was able to say with a smile that there was no sign of any brain damage. Sister Benedict left them alone in the end and the doctor, as he examined her physical condition, asked, ‘How did this happen?’
‘Did they not tell you? I had a fall.’
‘They told me,’ the doctor said grimly. ‘Now I want you to tell me who kicked you in the face?’
‘No one kicked me…’
‘Give me some credit.’
‘Then give me some consideration,’ Lizzie retorted. ‘What you want me to say could sign my death warrant, or as near as in this place. My friend said normal rules don’t apply here and she’s so bloody right. Until I’m well away, from here, with the stink of it washed from my body, I’ll tell not a soul about what happened in that sacristy. I fell, and we’ll leave it so.’
The doctor, though shocked by Lizzie’s outburst, was perturbed enough to protest. ‘No one should get away with kicking you.’
‘Ah God,’ Lizzie said with feeling. ‘If that was all it was! Look, Doctor, I know the townfolk think of us as whores and harlots inside this place, but I’ll tell you how I came to be here and I’m not the only one by any means.’
And Doctor Murray listened to a tale so horrifying he might have doubted it if he hadn’t seen the pain reflected in Lizzie’s eyes as she repeated and relived it. He imagined her panic as she realised she was pregnant, and could even see her parents’ desire to hide her away someplace till it was over; but this place…God, the whole ethos of it sickened him.
If there was the slightest doubt lingering, that was dispelled when he saw the scar running down Lizzie’s abdomen as he gently examined her there too. ‘Any pains?’
