by Rhys Bowen
“So are we ever allowed out to go down to the town or for a walk?” I asked. “Or do the girls sometimes slip out when Sister isn’t looking?”
Elaine laughed. “Allowed out? Slip out? Honey, we are prisoners here. Haven’t you noticed Sister and her keys? We can’t even get to the nuns’ part of the building.”
“What about the chapel?” I pictured it in my mind’s eye, with each half open to the altar. “All one has to do is go up to the altar and walk around into the nuns’ half and leave through their door.”
“I tried that,” Elaine said. “When they are at one of the services in chapel they lock our door. When they are not they lock their door.”
The tension that had been steadily growing inside me was ready to explode. This charade had gone on long enough. I would go to Sister now and tell her that I had changed my mind and no longer wanted to stay. Blanche could have her bed back and I’d be leaving.
“I need to go and find Sister Jerome,” I said.
“I wouldn’t if I were you,” Elaine warned. “She’d think you were trying to get out of work, and you don’t want to annoy her on your first day.”
“But I’ve changed my mind. I don’t want to stay,” I said.
This made Elaine laugh. “Oh, that’s a good one,” she said.
“What do you mean? She can’t keep me here against my will.”
“My dear sweet innocent, she wants that red-haired baby. She wants it badly. There is no way she is going to let you go,” Elaine said. She threw another raspberry into the basin, then paused to brush back a wayward curl from her face.
“Surely, if I went to the other nuns and explained to them—Sister Perpetua seemed nice enough. They’d understand, wouldn’t they?” As I said this it occurred to me that perhaps they enjoyed their share of the money that Sister Jerome earned for them and they too were looking forward to the money this red-haired baby would bring in.
“You’d never have a chance to speak to them. We’re cut off from them, in fact the only time we see them at all is through the screen at morning mass.”
“What about all the other times they go to pray? Don’t nuns have services in chapel all the hours of the day and night?”
“They do, but I told you—they lock our door when they are in chapel.”
My indignation was now rising. “This is ridiculous,” I said. “I’m not going to stay against my will. What about those girls who act as porters? They can open the front door. Doesn’t she worry about them getting out?”
“You’ll soon notice that the only girls selected to be porters are those who really want to be here and have nowhere else to go. Also those who aren’t likely to have a beautiful baby.”
I listened to this in stunned silence. It was almost too much to believe. Then I shook my head. “Very well, if she thinks she can keep me locked away in here, I’ll escape. There must be a way to climb out somewhere.” As I said this I looked at the wall with its broken glass on top.
Elaine shook her head. “In case you haven’t tried yet, none of the downstairs windows open and the upstairs windows only open onto this garden. And there is only one door that connects our part of the building to the front part where the nuns live, and that door is always kept locked.” She moved conspiratorially closer, lowering her voice even though we were far enough away from the bean pickers. “To tell you the truth I’ve been itching to get out of here myself. Not to run away or anything. I know I’ve got to see this through if I want to have a chance at a normal life. But just to be part of the outside world for a while—for the hell of it. So now that you’re here, we can maybe work on something together. There may be a way to climb over the wall from the roof of the henhouse. We’ll have to experiment.” She grinned. “Yes, that sounds like fun. You’ve cheered me up a lot.”
She hadn’t cheered me up at all. I looked across at the chicken run, tucked in the corner against the far wall. It was completely exposed to the convent building with not a single tree or bush in front of it, and what’s more, I couldn’t see any way that we could climb up to the roof of the henhouse unless we could get our hands on a ladder to use—but if the nuns locked us in so securely, I doubted that they’d be careless enough to leave a ladder lying around. And then there would be the small matter of hauling ourselves over that wall with its broken glass—and lowering ourselves down the other side. I didn’t fancy my chances of climbing or dropping down the other side in my current condition.
But one thing was sure. I was leaving this place one way or another. Keep calm and think logically, I told myself. There was no need to panic. I would first ask Sister Jerome if I could leave. She seemed to have taken to me, as a fellow Irishwoman. If she denied my request, I’d have to think again. Then I realized that I did have a way to contact the outside world and let Sid and Gus know about my predicament. Blanche was due to leave in the morning. All I had to do was to find a pen and paper and write a message to them which Blanche could deliver to The Lighthouse Inn or even mail to them. It was at the most only a matter of waiting. Thus relieved I went back to work.
Twenty-six
I went back to picking raspberries, my hands trembling a little. Now I knew that I had to tread very carefully. From everything I had seen, Sister Jerome was a ruthless and determined woman. I had to make sure that she did not suspect I wasn’t who I claimed to be. I had to play the sweet, obedient Irish girl and look for my chances. She had to sleep sometime. Where did she put those keys when she slept? Did she lock her own door at night?
Now that I realized I was probably committed to spending the night here, my thoughts went to Sid and Gus again. They would be so worried about me. I just prayed that they didn’t try to send a message to Daniel about me. I’d never hear the last of it if he knew what a stupid thing I’d done. Hear the last of it. I toyed with the words. They had such a ring of finality to them. Then I told myself that I was perfectly safe for now. Sister wanted that red-haired child. She would do anything to keep me alive and healthy, at least until my baby was born.
I went back to my raspberry picking until a bell started tolling from the chapel tower.
“What’s that for?” I asked.
“It’s four o’clock. Time for the nuns to head back to chapel,” Elaine said. “They have an office every four hours, day and night. You wouldn’t catch me wanting to be a nun.” She laughed. “Not that I have the temperament for it. I enjoy the pleasures of the flesh too much. In fact if Sister only knew how wicked I really am, I’d probably be kicked out tomorrow.”
“So we don’t have to stop and pray or anything?” I asked.
“We just keep on working until suppertime at six,” she said. “Then it’s bedtime at eight-thirty, up at six in the morning, breakfast then mass then work. It’s like school, isn’t it?”
I nodded, distractedly, because something had just struck me. I had my escape route—my way out of here. It was the chapel. All I had to do was to go up to the altar and then cross into the nuns’ side of the screen. A priest would be there. He would surely come to my aid if I appealed to him for help. Now I felt a little better. And hungry. I realized I hadn’t eaten a proper meal all day. When the bowl of raspberries was full I volunteered to carry it through to the kitchen. The kitchen was a cavernous room with only a high window that showed a square of blue sky. It was like a Turkish bath in there with big pots bubbling away on a woodstove and three girls stirring away at them, looking like the three witches in Macbeth.
They looked at me inquiringly as I came in.
“Where did you spring from?” one of them asked.
“I just arrived,” I said. “I’m Molly. Here are the raspberries Elaine and I picked.”
“And where’s Elaine?” the same girl asked with a belligerent tone to her voice.
“Where do you think?” another girl said, chuckling. “Off lollygagging somewhere to get out of her share of the work. That’s what we’d expect from Elaine. Never done a real day’s work in her life.”
“Welcome to the female answer to Sing Sing, Molly,” one of the girls said. “I’m Gerda, this is Alice and Ethel. When is your baby due?”
“Another month,” I said, trying to remember exactly what I had said to Sister Perpetua.
“Same for me” the skinny, undernourished creature called Alice said. “Maybe we’ll be lying side by side, calling out to the saints to save us.”
“What a charming prospect you paint,” I said and all three girls laughed.
I looked around the kitchen. “I don’t suppose there is any food I could have, is there? I arrived at lunchtime and I haven’t eaten a bite all day. I don’t think I can hold out until supper.”
Gerda, who seemed to be in charge, pointed at the shelves along one wall. “There’s bread and butter there, and cheese and tomatoes. Help yourself. The one thing they don’t stint on here is food. They recognize we’re eating for two and they want healthy babies. So we can eat all we want.”
I was already on my way to the bread box and started carving myself a hunk of bread. It was freshly baked and I was positively salivating as I spread thick butter onto it and then a good slice of cheese.
“And Sister likes us to drink plenty of milk,” Gerda said. “To make sure we’ve got enough of our own to feed the baby. The milk is kept down in the cellar while the weather is as hot as this. It’s nice and cool down there.”
“The cellar?” Images of rats, spiders, and cockroaches jumped into my head, and those broken steps down which Katy had plunged to her death. “Oh, no thanks,” I said. “I don’t fancy going down to the cellar by myself. Water will do.”
“Oh, it’s not bad,” Gerda said. “Come on. I’ll show you where things are kept. You’ll have to go down there all the time when you’re on kitchen duty.”
She went across the room and into a scullery where clean plates were drying on a rack beside the sink. In one corner a stair led down by the outside wall of the building. I followed her cautiously, then saw that the stair was broad and smooth from continuous wear. What’s more it consisted of six steps, then a little landing, then a ninety-degree turn, and six more down to a narrow room. It also had a good handrail. Surely nobody could have fallen to their death down these stairs?
And when I reached the cellar I saw that it had a high window near the ceiling that let in a shaft of natural light. Gerda went ahead of me, took a dipper from the wall, and ladled milk from a churn into a tin mug. “Here you go. Get that down you,” she said. “We also keep the meat, fish, and fruit down here. As you can see it’s always cool. Apart from that window it’s all underground, sort of cut into the hillside.”
I was staring up at that window. If I piled boxes on the kitchen table it was just possible that I could reach it. However was it wide enough for me to climb through in my present state? And there didn’t appear to be any way to open it—unless I smashed it. I tucked it away as a last chance solution. I drank the milk gratefully, then came up the steps again to the kitchen. After I had eaten heartily of bread and cheese I supposed I should go out to the garden again to do more fruit picking, but it was the first time I’d found myself alone.
As I came out of the kitchen I could hear the sound of chanting coming faintly from the chapel. I went over to try the door for myself. It was indeed locked. I wondered if Sister Jerome was in there with the other nuns. I was sure the door locking must be her idea. I wondered if the other nuns had any idea that she went to such great effort to make sure that none of her charges escaped. But then of course they would all be glad of the money that our babies brought into the convent. They might know everything that was going on with us. If only I could find a chance to talk to one of them.…
I walked the length of the downstairs hallway but found no door apart from the one that led through to the chapel and the nuns’ part of the building. I went through to the extra wing that contained the laundry room downstairs and the maternity ward upstairs. Again I could hear the pathetic cry of a newborn. I felt a wave of contraction through my own body in reaction and tears came into my eyes. I could feel all too strongly what it would be like to go through the pains of labor, to hold a precious child in my arms, and know that it was about to be taken from me. No wonder Maureen changed her mind.
I have to get out of here now, I thought. The only windows in the laundry room opened onto the garden with its high wall. It seemed my only option was the chapel. If I could find somewhere to hide when the nuns weren’t occupying it, then I could slip out while they were concentrating on their office. I hadn’t really taken in the details but surely chapels always had side altars and statues and banks of candles—and enough shadow to hide me. If they were currently chanting in there then the next opportunity would be when they returned for the next service at eight o’clock tonight. Elaine had said there was one office every four hours, day and night. Nighttime would be a better idea, as I could melt into shadow more easily in a poorly lit building.
As I stood looking out of the laundry room window I noticed a patch of bare earth. It looked as if someone had started to build something—maybe a raised bed for vegetables. Not deep enough to bury anybody, Elaine had said. And then suddenly a thought came to me, so awful and violent that I had to grab onto the window ledge to support myself. Another patch of bare earth and the maid Anna saying that Mrs. Mainwaring had suddenly taken it into her head to build a summer house. Mrs. Mainwaring, usually so cold and withdrawn, who had been quite emotional that Maureen had not returned. I had been blind and naïve about the Mainwarings’ baby. Had I been equally blind about what happened to Maureen? What if she had returned to the Mainwarings unexpectedly and tried to take back her baby? And what if the Mainwarings weren’t about to give it up and had killed her … and buried her on their own property, building a summer house to cover the evidence forever? Now that this thought had entered my head it seemed entirely possible. Perhaps Mrs. Mainwaring did meet Maureen when she came to the convent and the almighty row Maureen had was with her former employer. What if Mrs. Mainwaring took the baby and Maureen followed, tried to take her child back and …
I now had an even stronger reason to get out of here immediately. I had to tell Daniel right away and let him take it from here.
“You, girl, what are you doing?” asked a voice right behind me. And there was Sister Angelique right behind me. “I thought I assigned you to garden work.”
“I just brought in a full bowl of raspberries to the kitchen,” I said, “and I wanted to see if there was a way out to the garden through here. But there wasn’t.”
“No, there is only one way out to the garden. You must realize that we are an enclosed order. This convent was created to keep the outside world at bay and to protect ourselves. We are a band of defenseless women, ma petite. That’s why we take such precautions. And we have to protect our young women from threats. We have had abusive and drunken louts hammering at our doors before now, demanding the return of their womenfolk.”
It was an uncanny feeling, almost as if she could read my mind. Had she spoken with Elaine, I wondered. Did she know that I had been querying being locked in here? I decided I had to act now.
“I’m so glad I’ve found you, Sister,” I said. “I’d like to be taken to Sister Jerome, because I’ve changed my mind. I’ve decided that I don’t want to stay here and give up my child. I’m going to go home to Ireland and ask for my family’s forgiveness.”
She put a hand on my shoulder. “My dear, you are saying the same thing as every girl who comes to this place. It’s that moment of panic after they realize what they have committed themselves to do. They know it makes sense to give up their child so that it can have a better life, but they don’t think they can go through with it. And this convent is not the most inviting of settings for those who have come from a warm and friendly home, is it?”
I nodded. “I miss my family so terribly,” I said. “I really can’t stay here. I know you’ve been so kind to me in allowing me to just come in off the street, but I have t
o go. Please let me go.”
“Of course, my dear,” she said. “We never would dream of keeping anyone against her will. But don’t make a hasty decision you’ll regret one day. There is no future in this world for an illegitimate child and no hope of his mother making a good marriage. No man will want you or your child. You will be outcasts—shunned, scorned. Is that what you really want for your baby?”
“No, but … my young man may still be alive in Panama. If he hears about his child I know he’ll return home and do the right thing,” I said. “And if he returns home and hears that I’ve given up our child, then he’d never forgive me.”
I wished I was the kind of woman who could cry at will. But I couldn’t. “I was too hasty in coming here. It was a moment of panic and I’m thinking clearly now. This is not what I want. So if you don’t mind, I’ll take off this uniform, pack up my things, and go before it gets dark.”
The bony hand was still on my shoulder. I felt pressure now, those fingers digging into me. “All in good time. I think you should at least stay the night. I will speak with Sister Jerome about your dilemma and suggest to her that we discuss it in the common room tonight with the rest of my sisters. We will pray together and let their wisdom advise you on what is truly the best path for you and for your child. We will let the Holy Spirit guide us, don’t you agree?”
I sensed the hand on my shoulder trembling and I found myself wondering if this scene had happened before. Had Maureen come to her in the same way and announced that she was going to leave? And Sister had been reasonable and gentle and holy in trying to persuade her to give up here child as promised. And the moment Maureen came into my mind I realized something—something that should have been so obvious that I wondered why I hadn’t seen it before. Sister had said that Maureen ran away during the night, before breakfast. But Elaine, daring, resourceful Elaine who didn’t mind breaking rules, had confirmed that there was no way out of here, unless one stole Sister Jerome’s keys from her belt. I remembered something else too—something that Blanche had told me. She’d said Katy had been worried about something before she died. Katy had said, “She never takes them off.” Did she mean those keys that hung from Sister’s belt? Had she realized, as I had also now done, that Maureen hadn’t gone anywhere, that it was impossible? And had it cost Katy her life? I wanted to escape as urgently as ever, but I made myself a vow. Before I left this place I had to do my best to find out what had become of Maureen.
