by Rhys Bowen
“Very well, Sister,” I said. “I’ll stay just this one night. But then if I want to go in the morning, you and your sisters will agree that I can leave.”
“Of course,” she said. “We only want what is best for you, you know. You and the little one inside you.” The hand now slid down from my shoulder and took my arm. “Come along, let’s go and see how those lazy bean pickers have been doing.”
And I was led back outside.
Twenty-seven
Now that I realized it was possible that Maureen had never left the convent, I wondered what had become of her. Was she shut away somewhere—a prisoner in the nuns’ part of the building? Had she decided to join the order and now lived among the novices, or was it possible that she was no longer alive? If the latter, then who had killed her and where had they hidden her body? In an old building of locked doors like this it wouldn’t be hard to find a place to dispose of an unwanted body. I stopped my work as I watched Sister Jerome coming out of the building, her black veil and silk robes flying out in the evening breeze like an avenging angel.
I tried to tell myself that I was again being overdramatic and reading too much into this. Perhaps there was a perfectly logical explanation. After all, if I had come up with possible ways to escape couldn’t Maureen have done the same—she who had been here long enough to know the workings of the convent and the secret places of the building? Also she was no longer pregnant and encumbered, making it easier for her to slither through a window, climb along a ledge, or hoist herself over a wall. Perhaps she had climbed through that open window in the maternity room and managed to work her way around the outside of the building somehow. The stone was certainly rough enough for footholds and there were drainpipes and window ledges to hang onto. I’d have to check that out for myself if I could somehow get into that maternity room.
But there was one small thought that kept creeping back into my mind. If Maureen had managed to escape then what was Katy so worried about? And how could she have fallen to her death down those shallow, safe cellar steps?
I went back to harvesting crops with Elaine. It crossed my mind that Elaine might be the kind of person who was Sister Angelique’s informant. She wasn’t well liked by the others and Sister had certainly said some things to me that made me think she knew what had worried me. We filled the final basket of beans and carried it into the kitchen. New smells were now coming from the stove—onions frying and potatoes bubbling away. Dinner was being prepared. My next task was to write a letter to Sid and Gus and get it to Blanche without letting it fall into Sister’s hands. I could hardly ask her for paper and envelope since I had declared my intention of leaving in the morning.
“Is there anywhere we can find paper and envelopes to write a letter?” I asked Elaine.
“Sister Jerome has some in her office,” Elaine said.
“I don’t really want to ask her,” I said.
“I suppose I could let you have a sheet of mine. It’s in my cubby beside my bed—the one by the door,” she said.
“Thank you.” I beamed at her. “And do you happen to have a pencil or something to write with?”
“I’ve my fountain pen,” she said. “Only be careful with it.”
“A fountain pen! My word.” Fountain pens were a luxury I could never dream of affording.
“Given to me for my twenty-first birthday last year by my father,” she said.
“What a kind father you have.”
“Not really,” she said. “He always does the right thing—like giving generous presents for birthdays, but otherwise showed no interest in me whatsoever. I wasn’t a son, you see. He made it clear he was disappointed in me. That’s why a good marriage is so important.”
“Does he know about the baby?”
She gave a bitter laugh. “Of course not. None of them do. They think I’m off visiting friends out West. What’s more they will never know. I’m making my donation to the sisters out of a small legacy on my twenty-first.”
As I went up to find the writing paper it struck me how many secrets Sister Jerome knew and what a perfect opportunity she had for blackmail. I found Elaine’s cubby, stuffed with sundry little luxuries from eau de cologne to lace-trimmed handkerchiefs, and located the paper and the wonderful fountain pen. I sat on my own bed and wrote the note—short and to the point.
Trapped in convent. Come and get me out. Demand to see Sister Perpetua, not Sister Jerome. Tell her the truth—I’m not Molly, the deserted Irish girl.
I sealed the envelope, addressed it, and tucked it away into the pocket of my dress. Now I had to find a way to get it to Blanche. That way came just before dinner. I came downstairs in time to hear Sister Angelique saying, “Aggie, I suppose you’d better take some food through to Blanche. She’s spending the night in the nuns’ guest room. You’ve been the porter. You know where that is, don’t you?”
“Yes, Sister,” Aggie said.
“Could I go with Aggie?” I asked. “I’d really like to apologize to Blanche one more time about taking her bed and to wish her well.”
“Not necessary,” Sister said. “You were in no way to blame for turning her out of her bed. It was high time she left. She knew that as well as anybody.”
“Oh, but I’d like to bid her farewell.”
“Molly, Blanche is a highly emotional young woman. We don’t want to set her off crying again, do we? Go and fix her a tray, Aggie.”
I was not going to be allowed to join her, whatever I said. I waited until Sister moved away and then I wandered through into the kitchen. Aggie was ladling potatoes onto a plate. I crept up beside her. “Aggie,” I whispered. “I have to get a note out to friends. It’s really important. Can you give it to Blanche to post for me?”
“Put it on the tray, under the plate,” she said. I put down the letter and the plate came down on it in an instant. She picked up the tray and set off with it. I heaved a sigh of relief. In the hallway a bell rang and we were summoned to supper. The sisters came in to join us, standing at the head of the table. We said grace and then we sat down. Plates of food were carried in—liver and onions, beans and potatoes. Not bad at all. I glanced at the head of the table and saw that Sister Jerome had a large pork chop instead of our liver. What’s more she was tucking into it with relish, smacking her lips as she ate.
I had barely taken two bites when I heard the sound of running feet and a horrible wail echoing down the hallway. Aggie burst into the dining room.
“Sister, come quickly,” she shouted. “It’s Blanche. She’s hanged herself.”
Sister Jerome jumped up. “Sister, come with me,” she said. “You girls stay where you are. Get on with your meal.”
Aggie was as white as a sheet, her hand over her mouth, and breathing heavily. Other girls helped her to sit down and poured her a mug of milk.
“It was awful,” she gasped at last. “I’ll never get that picture out of my mind. Never. I went in and there she was—hanging from a stone buttress on the wall. All blue her face was and her tongue all swollen and sticking out. Horrible.”
And she started to sob. Arms came around her. She sat there with her head in her hands, her whole body heaving.
“I can’t say I’m surprised, can you?” Elaine said.
“Sister was wrong to make her leave before she was ready,” one of the other girls muttered. “Anyone could tell she wasn’t strong enough to face the outside world alone.”
I felt sick. I could sense the other girls staring at me and I knew what they were thinking. I told myself I had not forced Blanche to leave, but it was my coming that had precipitated things. So I couldn’t help feeling responsible. I also realized something else. Aggie had come back without Blanche’s tray.
“What happened to the tray you took?” I asked.
“I think I just dropped it. I was so shocked. There’s probably food everywhere and I’ll get into trouble.”
“No you won’t,” Elaine said. “Of course you were shocked. Anyone would be.”
So my letter to Sid and Gus was somewhere on the floor of that room with the spilled food. It would be only a matter of time before it was found and then Sister would know the truth about me. I didn’t have time to wait for rescue by Sid and Gus, or to find out about Maureen. I had to save myself somehow tonight.
“Do you think someone ought to go and clean up that tray?” I asked.
“I’m not going back in there,” Aggie said.
“I think we all ought to stay well away,” Gerda said. “They won’t want us getting under their feet and spilled food is the least of their worries.”
I just prayed that a letter hidden under liver and gravy would be the least of their worries enough to be overlooked until morning.
Nobody felt much like eating. I managed a couple of spoonfuls of rice pudding because that slipped down easily, but most of the food went back to the kitchen. The kitchen crew did the washing up and the rest of us went through to the common room. But nobody felt like talking either. It was growing dark in the room. A lamp had been lit and a couple of girls sat beside it, working at their sewing, one darning stockings, one mending sheets. One other was knitting a baby jacket. I had no work to do and perched on a hard chair, feeling awkward, wondering if there was any way I could get to the room where Blanche killed herself and retrieve that letter. They would have to summon a doctor to certify her death. And maybe a policeman too. The other sisters would have been called in. Would this be my chance to get out? It didn’t seem right that I should use poor Blanche’s death for my own advantage, but I worried what would happen if Sister read that letter and found out that I wasn’t who I claimed to be.
I left the other girls to their sewing and walked quietly down the hall toward the one door that led through to the other half of the convent. That door wouldn’t open. Even in her haste Sister had remembered to lock it. It was almost dark now in that windowless stairwell. A little light came down the stairs from above, enough for me to make out the shapes of the various doors. I went across the hallway and pushed open the chapel door. It swung open easily and I stepped into dark silence, breathing in the sweet incense smell. The chapel had been gloomy even in full daylight. Now that the sun had set it had faded into darkness. My heart was beating fast as I felt my way past the rows of pews, up to the altar steps then crossed to the nun’s portion of the chapel. I realized I hadn’t retrieved my things from the bedroom. But there was nothing of great value among them apart from my wedding ring and I wasn’t going to turn down a chance at freedom.
My eyes had now accustomed themselves to the fading light. I walked past the prie-dieux with their kneelers until I reached the door in the back wall. It was locked. It wouldn’t be opened again until the next office at eight o’clock, which must be quite soon now. If I could find somewhere to hide until then, I could wait until all the nuns were at prayer and slip out behind them. I looked for a place to hide. Day was fast dying now and in the gloom the chapel became a frightening place. Statues loomed out at me from their niches and I realized something unnerving—there was no form of proper lighting in this chapel—no electric light or even a gas bracket. There were occasional sconces for candles along the walls, and of course there were candlesticks on the high altar but I had nothing to light candles with.
I could not bring myself to stay here alone in darkness. Call me a coward, but I’ve always been afraid of the dark. I suppose it was the Irish upbringing with all our tales of ghosts and ghoulies and things that go bump in the night. During my life in New York I hadn’t really had to face this fear, with well-lit streets and electric lights. But in a place like this—a place of such tension and secrets, where girls had died—it resurfaced with a vengeance. I could feel panic gripping at my throat, making it impossible to breathe. As I stood there I felt a cold draft creeping around my legs and feet and it seemed as if I could hear someone breathing. The wind had picked up and was rattling at the tall windows, scratching at them like bony fingers, and through the sigh of the wind I thought I could hear voices—one voice maybe, whispering, “Come and find me, Molly. Come and find me.”
I didn’t wait a second longer. I stumbled my way back to the altar steps then all the way to the back of my side of the chapel. For a horrible moment my fingers touched rough stone wall where I thought the door should be. I felt my way around until finally I made out the doorframe and pushed open that door. I came bursting out to relative safety, still breathing hard. Then I hurried back to the other girls. Safety in numbers, I muttered to myself.
Of course once I was back in a place of light and company I felt ashamed of my moment of panic. If I had only held my ground, I might have found a hiding place and been out of that door within the next hour. I reasoned with myself that it would be more sensible to plan my escape for the eight o’clock mass in the morning, when girls and nuns were in the chapel at the same time. When a priest was here—an outsider who would surely help me. I would rise early and find my hiding place, and if I couldn’t find one, then I’d be ready to go up to the priest the moment mass had finished and beg for his help.
I realized too that I probably only had one chance. If that failed Sister Jerome would take stronger measures to keep me here.
Twenty-eight
No sooner had I returned to the other girls than the bell began to toll. Those girls who had been sewing and knitting put down their work, the lamp was extinguished, two candles were lit, and we followed the candlelight upstairs to the dormitory.
“I know I’ll never be able to sleep,” Aggie said, sinking down onto the bed next to mine.
I nodded sympathetically. “It must have been awful for you. I feel so badly. I didn’t want Sister to make Blanche leave, but she wouldn’t listen to me.”
“Of course not. She wanted Blanche out and nothing was going to change that.” She pulled off her uniform dress and knelt beside her bed to say her prayers. I was touched by her innocence and found myself wishing that my religion still meant something to me and that I could pray like that. I had plenty I wanted to pray for tonight, the most pressing item being that I’d be able to go back to my real life, my friends, and my husband, in the morning. That my baby and I would be safe. I too undressed and lay in bed, feeling the coarse roughness of the nightgown against my skin and breathing in the unfamiliar smell of damp and mold, mingled with a tinge of carbolic soap from the laundry and just a hint of antiseptic.
One of the girls went over and blew out the candles, plunging us into complete darkness. Used to a place of streetlamps and city noise that never died down completely, the silence and darkness were overwhelming.
Daniel, I wish you were here, I thought. I wish you’d come and take me home. I wouldn’t care how much you shouted at me for my stupidity. Because I have been stupid, and proud and overconfident in my abilities. As usual I haven’t thought things through to see what might go wrong. And I promise I’ll never do it again if only I get out of here safely.
One by one the other girls fell asleep and I lay there listening to their heavy rhythmic breathing. From outside came the hoot of an owl. Images danced in front of my eyes in the darkness. And that whispered voice in the chapel, Come and find me. Was that my heightened imagination or had I really heard something? How could I hope to find Maureen if I was locked away here, I thought. And my first task is to save myself and my baby. I can’t risk lingering any longer to see what might have happened to her. If she is among the novices, I’ll spot her during mass in the morning. If not, then I’ll have to admit that I’ve failed and she will never be found.
I suppose I must have been drifting off to sleep when I was awoken by a bloodcurdling scream. I sat bolt upright. Moonlight was coming in through that high window and I could see Aggie standing beside her bed, doubled over, clutching her stomach and screaming. On the floor at her feet I could make out a dark puddle.
“I’m dying!” she screamed.
Other girls were sitting up now. “She’s gone into labor. Get Sister,” one of them said. �
��You’re not dying, Aggie. Stop making a fuss. It’s only labor pains.”
“I’ll get Sister,” I said. My fingers trembled as I tried to light the candle. I felt my way along the hall, down the stairs. I knew which door belonged to Sister Jerome and I hammered on it now. It opened with great force and Sister herself stood there, dressed in a voluminous nightdress and a white cap on her head. “What is it?” she demanded.
“It’s Aggie. She’s gone into labor, I think. She says she’s dying.”
“Stupid girl. Always inconsiderate, going into labor in the middle of the night,” she snapped. “Hold that candle up so I can see.”
She took her habit from a hook on her wall, pulled it over her head, then tied her belt with the keys on it. Lastly she draped the veil over her head. “The wimple will have to wait,” she said, as she stepped into carpet slippers.
“Do you want me to wake Sister Angelique?” I asked.
“She sleeps in her cell with the other sisters,” she said. “I’ll go and wake her after I see what’s happening with Aggie.” She slammed her door behind her and took the stairs at a great pace. I tried to keep up without letting the candle be blown out.
“Stop this nonsense at once, Aggie,” I heard her say as she came into the dormitory.
“But I’m dying,” the girl gasped. “Look, there’s blood all over the floor.”
“That’s not blood. Your water broke, silly girl. Quite natural. Come on, let’s get you across to maternity.”
