He himself had gone back to the McHattie cottage and walked slowly from room to room, trying to see if there was a clue of any kind as to what had occurred. Something they may have missed. Nothing.
Finally, he decided to call it a day. He went out to the front entrance, where Constable Mortimer was stationed.
“I’m ready to leave, Constable. Frankly, I’m whacked. I think we both need some sleep. Are the guards in position?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. You can fetch the motorcycle and we’ll get back to the station. And, Constable, go a bit easier this time. My nerves can’t take it.”
“Yes, sir. Sorry about that. My mother complains constantly about the way I drive.”
“Does she indeed?”
“Don’t worry, sir. I’ll get you home safely. The road is very familiar to me.”
Despite his admonition, Constable Mortimer still drove too fast for his comfort, but they made the journey intact. She swept into the station car park and jolted to a halt. Tyler climbed stiffly out of the sidecar.
“Thank you, Constable. Get off now while there’s still some daylight. Be back at the station at seven sharp.”
“Yes, sir. Absolutely. I’ll just lock up the motorbike and be on my way. Good night, sir.”
“Good night,” Tyler said. “And by the way, Mortimer, you’ve done a great job.”
“Thank you, sir. And may I say that I think you, too, are doing splendidly.”
Tyler smiled to himself. Constable Mortimer would never be described as subservient.
He walked the few yards to his house.
When he entered the kitchen, the curtains were drawn and the lights were on. To his surprise, he found Sergeant Rowell sitting at the table, his head resting in his arms. He woke immediately.
“You didn’t have to wait up, Sergeant,” said Tyler.
“It’s been a long day, sir. I thought you might appreciate a nightcap. I’ve got some hot cocoa on the stove all ready.”
“Thank you. Very thoughtful.”
Rowell went to the stove and began to pour the cocoa into Tyler’s cup.
“Anything new since we spoke last, sir?”
“Nothing. No helpful confessions. No accusations other than the one about Alfie that I told you about.”
Rowell brought over the cup of cocoa. He’d placed a biscuit on the saucer.
“What a good dad you are,” said Tyler.
Rowell blinked. “I would’ve liked to have had kiddies. But it was not to be. Won’t happen now.”
Tyler felt like an insensitive oaf. Once again, he’d put his foot in his mouth. He took a sip. The cocoa was too weak for his taste, and tepid to boot. A shot of brandy might liven it up, but he was too tired to fetch the bottle from his room.
“Delicious. Thank you.”
Rowell sat down at the table. “Doctor Murnaghan telephoned about an hour ago. He wants you to ring him in the morning.”
“That’s all?”
“Yes, sir. He sounded a bit fuzzy, if you know what I mean. Said he had a headache.”
“Nothing about any results?”
“No, sir.”
“Pity.”
“What’s on the agenda for tomorrow, sir?”
“I’m planning to leave early for St. Anne’s. I’ll have the constables do more house-to-house calling. We’ll just have to go further afield.”
Rowell tried unsuccessfully to stifle a jaw-breaking yawn. “How did Constable Mortimer work out, sir?”
“Very well indeed. She’s a capable young woman. I’ll be just as glad to have the car back, but that’s beside the point.”
“I’ll follow up with the garage. Put some ginger on their tails.”
“Please do. Sergeant, you look as knackered as I feel. Get off to bed.”
They said good night and Rowell went to leave but halted at the door.
“Goodness me, I almost forgot. I brought over the post for you. I put it in the hall.”
He went to get it and returned right away with a bundle of envelopes. He hovered for a moment while Tyler riffled through them.
“Good night, Sergeant. Thanks for the cocoa.”
“My pleasure, sir. I’ll be off then.”
At first glance there didn’t seem to be anything that could be from Clare and he felt the usual sharp stab of disappointment. What the hell was she doing? He could only hope she was still alive and well. He knew that Grey at least would inform him if she wasn’t – but that didn’t stop him from worrying. He’d write again soon, but it was like tossing pieces of paper over a cliff for all the response he was getting.
There were two letters from local merchants complaining about rationing inequities on the part of other shopkeepers. Both would have to be followed up on. Tyler was determined to come down hard on profiteers and black marketers. A third letter was from somebody with an address on Broad Street who welcomed him to Ludlow and invited him to tea next week. The signature was spidery and indecipherable. He suspected the writer might be old Mrs. Yardley, who had already dropped in to the station to introduce herself. According to Rowell, her husband had been a chief of police in Warwickshire and she seemed to feel the need to stay connected with the police life. He put the letter aside. He had an excuse for not accepting for the moment. Then he picked up the last envelope.
DETECTIVE INSPECTOR THOMAS TYLER c/o LUDLOW POLICE STATION
Goddamn it. He recognized the tidy black printing at once. The envelope had been franked yesterday at the Ludlow post office and must have been delivered in the afternoon post.
Gingerly, he took out the sheet of paper and started to read.
She and her husband have talked in whispers about what is going on. She was glad when she first heard that the Devil had died, but her husband, wiser in the ways of the world than she was, shook his head. “It will bring no good to us,” he said.
A police officer had pounded on their door with the orders to stay inside and not look out. He is young, and she can smell his fear. All she says is, “Where are their men?” but he scowls at her. “Mind your own business, missus. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll not ask questions.”
Today, she is very careful, lifting the curtain ever so slightly. In front of the schoolhouse there is a long line of canvas-topped lorries, the drivers standing at the ready beside them, smoking their cigarettes. There are even more soldiers than before. Nobody is talking. Then the women are led out. There are no children with them and all of them are weeping. No hysteria, just tears. Who are they? They are not from this village. All around them are soldiers, all weighed down with their weapons. What are they armed against? The withered old grandmother? The young woman holding her swollen belly?
The women are loaded into the lorries. The soldiers brook no dawdling and she can hear one of them shouting. None of the women resist. It is as if they are drugged. By despair, not anything else. One by one, the lorries are closed, doors snapping smartly. At a whistle from the sergeant, they start to draw away, one a few feet behind the other, moving slowly, like a funeral procession.
She knows she should move from the window, but she is powerless to break away. The line of lorries has barely disappeared from view when the two large coaches that arrived earlier draw up in front of the schoolhouse. The double doors open again and this time two columns of children emerge. They are quiet too, smaller ones holding hands with older sisters or brothers. Each clutches a brown paper parcel, the little ones holding them close to their chests the way children do if they have something precious. One of the soldiers directs them to the first coach. The windows have been darkened, so she loses sight of them once they are inside. There are about forty or so in each coach.
Another whistle from the sergeant and the coaches drive off. Faster than the lorries. They leave swirls of dust behind them. Careful not to attract attention, she lowers the curtain.
Her body shudders as she weeps.
The world must weep also.
Tyler pla
ced the sheet of paper on the table. Like the first letter, this suggested reprisal, again against innocent people, this time women and children. The narrator is female but also an observer. Directly so in this case. A woman who witnesses what is happening but is unable to act.
He read the piece again. What it was describing seemed even worse this time – children separated from their mothers. The narrator asks the police officer, “Where are their men?” She had to be referring to the men described in the first missive. The villagers who were being shot in cold blood. The tale appeared to be ongoing. A serial of sorts. Who was the Devil she referred to? He has died and she is glad, but her husband is worried. Is it his death that caused the reprisal? The last sentence was underlined. “The world must weep also.” Must as in should or must as in will? Heaven knows there was enough tragedy occurring in the world right now that future tears were guaranteed. But to his eyes, the implication was more censorious. A wrong had been done and the world ought to respond.
33.
SISTER IVY LIKED THE CALM OF NIGHT DUTY. DAYS could be busy, what with patients to tend to, prayers to say. Tonight the quiet was particularly welcome as it had taken a long time to settle everybody down. All of them were upset by what had happened. So far, nobody had stirred again, but she was jumpy. The slightest noise startled her. She heard the McHattie cat yowl in the back garden. Poor creature. They’d fixed it up as best they could. The wound from Alfie’s pellet rifle was superficial, but the cat was still terrified.
She heard a floorboard creak somewhere deep in the old house and brought her silver cross to her lips and kissed it. “Lord, keep me safe from harm,” she whispered. She made a rather furtive sign of the cross on her chest. The community of Mary Magdalene had many practices in common with the Catholic Church, but crossing oneself could be a bone of contention for the purists. Sister Ivy herself liked the rituals of the older church.
Somebody spoke, sharp and anxious. She recognized the voice of Eddie Prescott, speaking in his sleep. Was he going to have a full-blown nightmare? No – he fell quiet again.
She took a sip of her cocoa. Darn it, the milk was on the turn. She reached into the cupboard behind the desk for the bowl of sugar, scooping a heaping spoonful into her cup. She promised herself she’d scrimp on sugar in tomorrow’s drink. She tasted the cocoa. Hmm. Still off. She added another spoonful of sugar. Better. She took a sheet of paper out of the drawer, dipped her pen into the inkwell, and started her letter.
To Sister Rebecca and to Inspector Tyler. I am very sorry, but I …
Oh no. She’d made a blot on the paper. She was having a hard time keeping her thoughts straight. But it had to be done and she persisted to the end, writing slowly and carefully. Once she had finished, she read it over, sighed, hesitated, then signed her name. Sister Ivy Packwin, R.N.
At this point, she was overcome by a wave of fatigue and she rubbed hard at her forehead to make herself wake up. She could hardly keep her eyes open. Maybe just a short nap would set her to rights. Just a few minutes, that’s all. She folded her arms on the desk and let her head sink forward. Within moments, she was fast asleep.
She didn’t hear the soft footsteps in the hall, didn’t see her death moving towards her.
34.
THE PERSISTENT RINGING BEGAN TO PENETRATE Tyler’s unconscious and he stirred groggily. He’d set his alarm for six o’clock, and he was reaching over to switch it off before he realized it wasn’t that making the din. It was the telephone. The clock showed ten past five. Suddenly fully awake, he jumped out of bed and raced downstairs.
He snatched up the receiver.
“Tyler here.”
“Inspector, this is Sister Rebecca. There has been another death.” Her voice was shaky and she sounded as if she had been running.
“What!”
“One of our sisters has died. Sister Ivy. Dai Hughes discovered her body this morning. She was at her desk on the ward. She has been dead for a while.”
“How?”
Sister Rebecca paused. “It appears she took her own life. She had inhaled chloroform. There was a vial of it on the desk and a mask on her face.”
“Did she leave a note?”
“Not that I found.”
“I’ll be there right away. Please don’t let anybody touch anything.”
“Hughes thought it best to cover the body, and he’s put up a screen, but that is all.” She took a deep breath, but he could tell she wasn’t smoking this time – she was trying her utmost to compose herself.
“Good. We must take the same precautions as before. Nobody is to leave, and please don’t discuss anything with the residents about what has happened.”
“I don’t know what has happened, Inspector. I have no information to impart. Sister Ivy is the last person I would ever think would take her own life.”
Perhaps she didn’t, thought Tyler.
“You’ve been a stalwart, Sister. Don’t falter now. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
They hung up and Tyler hurried back upstairs to get dressed. Sergeant Rowell opened his own door at that moment.
“What’s up, sir? Sorry I didn’t get to the telephone.”
“There’s been another death at St. Anne’s. One of the nuns. Possible suicide.”
“Good God.”
“I’m getting right over there. Do you have a bicycle, Sergeant?”
“I do, sir. It’s in the shed at the back of the house.”
“I’ll use that if you don’t mind.”
“Do you think the sister is the one who did for the others? Guilty conscience?”
“It’s hard to believe,” said Tyler. “She didn’t seem either the murderous kind or suicidal to me. Sergeant, will you go and man the station? I’ll ring you there once I get the lay of the land.”
When he came back downstairs, Rowell was waiting with a plate in his hand.
“There wasn’t time to make you a cup of tea, sir, but I thought you might do well to swallow down a slice of bread and jam at least.”
Tyler took it gratefully. Then he picked up the letter from the night before, stuffed it into his pocket, and hurried out to the shed.
35.
THE SCENE AT ST. ANNE’S WAS EERILY SIMILAR TO that of the previous morning. Sister Rebecca was waiting on the front steps and she came to meet him as soon as he entered the gate. She was fully dressed and looked neat and tidy, but there were dark circles underneath her eyes. The young constable who had been on night duty was standing right behind her and looked as pale as she did.
“I’ll take your bicycle, sir,” said Constable Mady. He grabbed it from Tyler and went to wheel it to a place by the steps.
“Hold on a second, Constable. You know what has happened, I presume?”
“Yes, sir. Sister Rebecca has told me. I’m flabbergasted. Sister Ivy was a jolly person if ever there was one. It’s so hard to believe. She did do it herself, did she?”
“We’ll know soon enough. The almoner here believes Sister may have died in the middle of the night. Did you hear anything out of the ordinary then?”
“Nothing, sir. Not a thing. Well, that is, I heard Constable Biggs coughing now and again. He’s got asthma and the sound carries in the night. He was on guard at the cottage.” He stared with round eyes at Tyler. “I was sat here all night. Right there in the entrance. And it was black as Hades. I swear nobody could’ve come through the gate or over the wall without a light, in which case I would’ve seen them.”
“What about the rear of the house?”
“Constable Chase is there. He’s been apprised, but I told him to stay right where he was. We both patrolled the grounds every hour during the night and it was utterly quiet. We all three conferred throughout and nobody reported anything amiss.”
“All right, Mady. Stay here for now. Don’t let anybody in or out.”
“Yes, sir.”
Mady wheeled the bicycle away and Tyler turned to the almoner. “Tell me what you know, Sister.”
> “Our community rises early to say matins. We were all gathered in the sanctuary, except for Sister Ivy, when Dai Hughes came in. He beckoned me to come outside, which I did.” She was speaking rather slowly and deliberately and Tyler could tell she was trying to anticipate the sort of things he might need to know, trying to put events that were without sense in order. “He told me that he had found Sister Ivy’s body. Hughes acted very sensibly. He immediately put a screen around the desk and ran to fetch his brother. Evan Hughes remained on the ward while Dai came to get me.” She glanced up at the brightening sky. “The residents will be getting up very soon.” She clasped her hands together tightly. “Do you think we should evacuate everyone, Inspector? There seems to be one tragedy after another. Some of our patients are very fragile mentally.”
“Let’s hold off on that for now.”
Sister Rebecca nodded. “With your permission, I will proceed with the breakfast routine and have them taken into the common room again. Shall I tell them what has happened or would you prefer it came from you?”
“I’d like to have a look at the body first. Have you informed the other sisters?”
She shook her head. “Frankly, I didn’t know what to say. Obviously, they know something has happened. But they don’t know what.”
“And the McHatties?”
“They’re still sleeping.”
“Good. Let’s leave them for the time being. What about Mrs. Fuller?”
“She was already in the kitchen. I simply said there had been an accident. Thank heavens she didn’t press me.”
Tyler inhaled. “Shall we go inside, Sister?”
She turned to lead the way.
“And of course, if there is anything you can tell me about Sister Ivy that might be relevant, I would appreciate it.”
The almoner halted. “Relevant? Relevant to her taking her own life? I can think of nothing. She has been with our community for thirteen years. She was upset, as we all were, about the McHatties, but I never imagined she would do something like this.”
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