A Dark and Sinful Death

by Alison Joseph

  ‘ ... they have dug a pit before me, but have fallen into it themselves.’

  Agnes caught Teresa’s eye and, despite her fatigue, almost laughed.

  She went to the staff room, made some coffee, and pretended to read a newspaper.

  ‘Sister.’ Philomena sailed across the room towards her.

  Agnes looked up. ‘I’m sorry about my lateness this morning.’

  ‘Bad example to the girls.’

  ‘Yes, I know.’

  ‘And your house on duty this week.’

  ‘Yes. I’ve put up the prefect rota.’

  ‘So, back in the mess, eh?’

  ‘I’m sorry?’

  ‘No skulking in your quarters this week. Sharing the trough with the rest of us.’

  ‘Yes, of course, Sister.’

  ‘How’s the Swann girl?’

  ‘I’ve arranged to meet her in about three minutes.’ Agnes stood up, relieved to have an excuse to leave.

  *

  ‘You wanted to see me.’ Rachel Swann stood by Agnes’s door. Agnes ushered her inside. She stood, tall and awkward, in the middle of the room, her long fringe of chestnut hair falling across her face.

  ‘Won’t you sit down?’

  Rachel sat down on the nearest chair.

  ‘Would you like some tea or coffee?’

  Rachel shook her head. Agnes drew up a chair and sat down opposite her. ‘How are you?’ Agnes began.

  ‘Fine, thanks.’

  Agnes sighed. ‘Sister Philomena is concerned about your eating.’ Rachel said nothing. ‘Or, rather, your lack of it,’ Agnes went on. ‘Apparently this happened last year too.’

  ‘They’ve told you all about me, then?’

  ‘I share their concern, that’s all.’

  ‘I’m fine. I ate breakfast this morning, didn’t your spies tell you that?’

  Agnes got up. ‘I’ll tell you how things stand, Rachel. You can eat or you can not eat. That’s your choice. Personally, I feel it would be a terrible waste if you starved to death.’

  ‘That’s what they all say. A waste of a brilliant pupil. Think of those A grades I’m going to win for the school, my scholarship place at Cambridge to study medicine, not to mention my brilliance at music too.’

  ‘How’s the music going?’

  ‘Which one, piano or violin?’

  ‘Both.’

  ‘I just passed my Grade Eight with distinction in both. Didn’t you hear? It was announced in assembly.’

  ‘I try to avoid assembly.’

  Rachel glanced at her, then fell silent.

  ‘I didn’t mean a waste of a brilliant pupil,’ Agnes said, sitting down opposite her again. ‘I mean a waste of a human life. It seems to me that everyone’s so dazzled by your brilliance they’ve lost sight of the person behind it.’ Rachel brushed her hair from her eyes. Agnes went on, ‘If you choose not to eat, the school plans to admit you to hospital again.’

  ‘They can’t.’

  ‘It seems, they can.’

  ‘I won’t go.’

  ‘You’d better eat then.’

  Her lip trembled. ‘They can’t send me back there, it was horrible last time, food the whole time, people watching you eat, it’s gross, it’s just disgusting, I won’t go.’

  ‘It’s not my approach,’ Agnes said. ‘And if it came to it, I’d fight them too. But we’re responsible for you, Rachel. Sister Philomena’s watching you fade away to nothing. She doesn’t know what else to do.’

  ‘I won’t go. I’ll take them to the European Court of Human Rights.’

  ‘You’d probably win as well.’ Agnes stood up and opened the door for her. ‘You see, we can offer you all the counselling you want, all the care and concern in the world. But it’s still up to you.’

  Rachel stood up to leave, pulling her cardigan around her.

  ‘Even if you want it all to stop,’ Agnes said, as the girl hesitated in the doorway, ‘it doesn’t have to be you that stops. It can be everything else. The music, the exams. Just stop. As it is, it’s you that’s trying to call a halt, when everything else is just carrying on, dragging you with it.’

  Rachel looked up at her. She shook her head. ‘What would they say? I can’t just stop.’

  ‘They’d have to accept it, wouldn’t they? They can either have a gifted daughter who’s at death’s door, or a healthy daughter who they’ve yet to get to know. It’ll be an adventure for them, to meet you for the first time. “Hello,” you can say to them, “I’m Rachel. You don’t know me, I’m not the Rachel who’s going to be a brilliant brain surgeon and give concerts with the Berlin Philharmonic in between operations. I’m Rachel, this one. I’m going to be — ’’ The possibilities are endless, aren’t they? “I’m going to be an international body-piercing artist. I’ll head up a UN peace-keeping force in Bosnia. I’ll be a mother of five, all by different fathers — I’m going to be a lazy slob who does nothing at all —”’

  Rachel was laughing.

  ‘“ — I’ll be all or none of the above,”’ Agnes went on, “‘but what I am, is your daughter. And it’s time you got to know me.”’

  Rachel’s eyes filled with tears. She looked at Agnes, tried to say something, then shook her head and went out of the door. Agnes heard the door of her room slam behind her.

  *

  ‘Her parents insist she’s gifted,’ Teresa said at lunch. Across the dining hall, Rachel sat, sipping on some soup. ‘She was advanced a year, she’s very young to be taking A levels.’

  ‘I think hospital is the worst thing we could do.’

  ‘Agnes, it was hell last time. She got down to under five stone. We had to. We tried everything else, nothing worked.’

  Rachel gave up with her soup and sat staring at her bread roll.

  ‘She is very bright,’ Teresa said.

  ‘Yes, but at what cost?’

  Rachel glanced around, stood up and left the dining hall.

  Agnes finished her last piece of cheese. ‘Perhaps there’s something to be said for my parents after all. They wanted me to be pretty and marriageable and not too bright. At least I ate.’

  ‘Sister — ’ It was Charlotte, standing at her elbow.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Can I have a word?’

  They left the table and went out into the corridor. ‘You see, I got a phone call today.’ Charlotte kept her voice low. ‘From Anthony Turnbull.’

  ‘You know Turnbull?’

  ‘Through Mark. Through the sports centre. He was asking me about some papers.’

  ‘What papers?’

  ‘Mark was treasurer of the committee, he kept various files.’

  ‘But why is Turnbull asking you — ’

  ‘Mark had some papers which he needs, and with Mark not being there any more ... he’s looking for them. That’s all.’

  ‘Do you know where they are?’

  ‘Haven’t a clue. He knew I was helping with typing stuff, which I was, but only the odd thing, on the computer here. But when I told him that, he was really angry. As if he thought I was lying. It upset me.’

  ‘Well, he knows now.’ Agnes looked at Charlotte. She was pale, chewing her lip, scuffing the floor with one toe. ‘How are things these days?’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘I’m here if you need me.’ Agnes watched her go, her retreating form clothed in grief. She turned and went into the staff room.

  ‘Phone message for you, Sister,’ Mary Watson said. ‘Some woman with a Greek name, said she was risking returning to the frozen north against all her instincts, and could I let you know.’ Mary handed Agnes a scrap of paper, pursing her lips.

  *

  ‘Sweetie, they told you! I had my doubts. Saturday, how about lunch?’

  ‘Lunch would be lovely, Athena.’

  ‘That woman on the phone was rather prickly.’

  ‘Athena, it may have escaped your notice, but some of the people who live here actually quite like it. The odd one or two, anyway.’
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  ‘Takes all sorts, sweetie. See you Saturday.’

  Agnes put down her phone, then picked it up again and dialled a number.

  ‘Hello, David?’

  ‘Who is it?’

  ‘Sister Agnes.’

  ‘Ah, the so-called Sister Agnes. And what can I do for you?’

  ‘I’m sorry to intrude — ’

  ‘So you should be.’

  ‘I don’t know how to say this, but — ’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Reg Naismith.’

  The line went quiet. Then David said, ‘Yes. I know.’

  ‘The same as — ’

  ‘The same as Mark. I know. And where do you come in?’

  Agnes took a deep breath. ‘I have this photograph.’

  ‘What photograph?’

  ‘It’s of your athletics team, from the mill.’

  ‘What, with Mark? Am I there?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And — hang on a minute. You mean, Reg’s there too.’

  ‘Yes.’

  Agnes heard him breathing. Then he said, ‘Have you told the police?’

  ‘Not yet. I’m going to pop in there tomorrow morning.’

  ‘It won’t change anything. They think it’s just coincidence.’

  ‘Do they?’

  ‘Doesn’t mean they shouldn’t catch the bastard.’

  ‘No. David?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘If it’s not coincidence ... ’

  ‘Now there’s a thought. Someone working their way through the team. After all these years. Two down, eleven or so to go. Including me.’ He gave a sharp bark of laughter. ‘What are the chances, Sister?’

  ‘I don’t deal in chances.’

  Again, his silence. Then he said, ‘Has Jo been in touch?’

  ‘No. Should our Head appoint a new art teacher?’

  ‘Don’t ask me.’

  ‘David — ’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You are in contact with her, aren’t you? You do know where she is?’

  ‘You’ve been spending too much time with Sugar Daddy Turnbull, haven’t you?’

  ‘I’m concerned for Jo, that’s all.’

  ‘He’s very unsuitable company for a nun. Under all that jollity lurks a rotten heart. To listen to him, you’d think I’d bricked poor old Jo into a wall with only a grille for communication.’

  ‘Whereas in reality — ’

  ‘What’s reality? It’s all illusion, you people should know that better than the rest of us.’

  Agnes smiled. ‘He’s been asking Charlotte about some papers.’

  ‘Oh, that again. He’s been on about those ever since Mark died. There was a box of stuff from the sports centre at Mark’s place, he reckons. But after Mark died, his place was done over. Usual ritual on Millhouse. The papers have vanished, along with other stuff. Turnbull thinks it’s a conspiracy against him. He should know it’s just boredom. Cosmic boredom.’

  ‘One more thing.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Do you know Lianna Vickers?’

  ‘A bit, yes.’

  ‘Do you know where she lives?’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Can I be blunt?’

  ‘It’s the only language I understand.’

  ‘Mark was seeing her.’

  ‘What, “seeing” seeing her?’

  ‘So she says. She told the police.’

  ‘At the same time as Charlotte? The old devil.’

  ‘Charlotte’s upset, she wants me to visit Lianna, and she said you’d know where she lived.’

  ‘Yes, sure. Hang on a minute.’

  He came back on the line and Agnes took down the details.

  ‘So you really do work with Jo?’ he said. ‘At the school?’

  ‘Yes, I do.’

  ‘Honest to God?’

  Agnes laughed. ‘Isn’t God an illusion too, as far as you’re concerned?’

  She heard the catch in his voice. ‘You tell me how your God can do that to my brother.’

  ‘I believe — ’ She stopped. ‘David, I have no answers.’

  ‘It’s lucky I had no faith,’ he said. ‘I’d have lost it by now. Keep in touch.’ He hung up.

  *

  She went to the office, and made copies of the tribunal papers that Nina had given her. She copied the press photo of the athletics team three times. She closed the lid of the copier and turned to go.

  ‘Oh, Elias ... ’

  ‘You look busy.’

  ‘Yes. I was just doing this, I’m going to see the police in the morning.’

  ‘You’re a great one for Doing, aren’t you?’ He smiled, faintly.

  ‘At times, yes.’

  ‘Admirable.’

  Agnes felt she was being laughed at. And how long have you really known the Baines family, she wanted to say. ‘There must be times when action is the best way, don’t you think? For example, when people are in danger, maybe — then, surely, the right response is to take action?’

  ‘But it’s illusory, Agnes — the feeble strivings of humanity in the face of inevitable tragedy — ’

  ‘Don’t you have hope, Elias? Don’t you believe in anything?’

  Elias met her gaze. ‘I believe I’m here. Now. I believe that eventually I won’t be.’

  ‘And God?’

  ‘That is God.’

  ‘And love, and compassion?’

  ‘Ah, yes. Love, compassion.’ He took a few steps towards the door.

  ‘We’re born with compassion,’ Agnes said, keeping her voice level against a rising wave of anger. ‘It’s the natural state of the human heart. And I know terrible things happen to knock it out of us, but isn’t faith on our side? Doesn’t our faith allow us to hold on to our compassion? Isn’t that what we should strive for, not stillness in the face of suffering, but compassion instead?’

  ‘I wouldn’t know.’ Elias’s expression seemed to have shut down. Their eyes met, briefly, then he turned and left the room.

  *

  Janet Cole pored over the photograph of the athletics team. She ran her finger along the list of names. Then she placed it on the desk with the tribunal papers that Agnes had brought.

  ‘It may be helpful,’ she said. ‘It’s difficult to tell at this stage. We’ve already spoken to a lot of the names there. It’s such a tight-knit community, you see, everyone’s connected to each other.’

  ‘And the tribunal? And Billy Keenan?’

  Janet sighed. ‘That name comes up time and time again. He was the last person to see Mark alive, which doesn’t help.’

  ‘So I heard.’

  ‘He gave him a lift that night. Claims he dropped him off near the crag, he was driving across the moor to some club or other. We have a record of his arriving at the club.’

  ‘And Mark was bird-watching?’

  ‘He was keeping tabs on a couple of peregrine falcons, yes. There were sightings of a man up there, behaving suspiciously towards the nest. Apparently if someone wants to rob the eggs later in the year, they start preparing now.’

  ‘And Billy dropped him off there?’

  ‘That’s what he said. No one else saw him, that’s the problem. We’ve had Billy in a couple of times. But then, those Keenans know this place like it was their second home. We’ve had him in before, suspected arson, never proved.’

  ‘Where was Reg found?’

  ‘In the hallway of his house. He’d let in his attacker, there was no forced entry.’

  ‘Not on the moors then?’

  ‘No.’ Janet chewed the end of her pencil. ‘He’d been stabbed, like Mark. And the eyes were the same.’

  ‘How did — ?’

  ‘A knotted rope, tightened. Not very nice.’ Janet dropped the pencil. ‘How’s Charlotte?’

  ‘She seems to have settled down. Our chaplain’s helping her, he seems to know a lot about grief and loss. She wants me to find out about Lianna Vickers.’

  ‘Oh. Yes. We had to ask her
about that, I’m sorry. This girl, Lianna, she might be making it up, sometimes people get fixations, usually with murderers, but sometimes with the victims. It becomes a sort of fantasy. And I’m afraid Lianna’s grasp of reality is pretty thin at the best of times.’

  *

  The estate still looked desolate, despite the chilly sunlight which flashed across its windows. Agnes was glad she’d worn a thick Shetland jumper under her coat.

  She knocked again on the door. The remnants of a creeping rose clung to the outside of the house, as if trying to drain the life from it. She heard movement inside, and a voice said, ‘Wha’you want?’

  ‘Lianna?’

  ‘I said, Whaddya want?’

  ‘My name’s Sister Agnes. I wanted to ask you about Mark. Mark Snaith.’

  The letterbox lifted a crack. ‘Who sent ya?’

  ‘No one. I’m a nun.’

  ‘A what?’

  ‘Can’t I come in?’

  ‘I’m not supposed to — oh, all right then.’ The door opened a fraction, and Agnes saw a mop of bleached hair and eyes thick with mascara. The door opened slightly wider, and Agnes found herself in the dimly lit hall, with Lianna turning the key in the lock again behind her. The cheap turquoise of the carpet was littered with unopened mail. Lianna went into the front room. The curtains were still drawn, and the sun filtered through the floral pattern, casting a flat orange light. The room smelt of soap and smoke. Lianna flung herself into an armchair and looked at Agnes.

  ‘Nun, did you say?’ She laughed, flapped her hand towards Agnes’s clothes, reached for a packet of cigarettes, lit one with a slight tremor in her fingers, and then laughed again. ‘And,’ she said, drawing deeply on her cigarette, ‘you wanna talk about Mark.’

  ‘Yes,’ Agnes said. She noticed how thin the girl was, stick-like in hipster jeans and a white T-shirt.

  Lianna suddenly looked up at her with huge dark eyes, the lines around them accentuated by the smears of makeup, despite her youth. ‘I don’t know owt about it.’ Again her fingers trembled as she smoked.

  ‘Lianna — I didn’t come here to worry you or frighten you. I’m not from the police. The only reason I came here is — ’ Agnes breathed in the stale air. ‘You see, I know someone called Charlotte Linnell. She says she knew you.’