‘No. I didn’t see her on the train but it was pretty crowded anyway.’
‘And you can’t think of anything else to tell us?’
‘Nothing that has anything to do with Sister Elizabeth being dead,’ Bernadette said. ‘Perhaps there’s a maniac going round trying to kill nuns.’
‘It might be a good idea to keep the fruits of your imagination to yourself, my dear,’ Mother Dorothy said. ‘Whom would you like to see next, Detective Sergeant Mill?’
‘Sister Marie, if I may.’ He nodded towards Bernadette.
‘Shall I fetch her?’ the girl asked, rising. ‘She’s in the infirmary.’
‘She’s well enough to see us? I didn’t think her injuries were very severe.’ He looked surprised.
‘She’s fine, only a trifle shaken,’ Mother Dorothy reassured. ‘She slept in the infirmary, that’s all.’
‘Very well. Thank you, Miss Fawkes.’
‘That’s a nice child,’ Mother Dorothy said as the door closed behind Bernadette. ‘You don’t seriously think that she can have had anything to do with this terrible affair?’
‘I’ve an open mind at the moment.’ He tapped the tip of his pen against the notebook he was holding. ‘All I’m doing now is getting down a few facts, always bearing in mind that they may not be facts. Not that people deliberately lie, but the memory can play tricks. Anyway I’ll have your two guests checked out. Ah! Sister Marie, are you feeling better?’
Sister Marie, limping in, nodded doubtfully and gave her reddened eyelids a final rub with a crumpled tissue.
‘I just can’t believe that anyone would want to hurt Sister Elizabeth,’ she said dolefully. ‘She was always so good, so quiet.’
‘You slept in the infirmary last night?’ Detective Sergeant Mill smiled at her encouragingly.
‘Yes. There’s an extra bed there for anyone who might be ill. I went straight off to sleep and never heard a thing. I took some painkillers last night so I went out like a light.’
‘You’re a — postulant, aren’t you?’
‘About to enter the novitiate,’ Mother Dorothy interposed. ‘As soon as Sister Teresa makes her final profession both Sister Marie and Sister Elizabeth would have joined us in the main house.’
‘Leaving Sister Hilaria without any pupils?’ he asked.
‘If our two visitors make formal application to join the order that lack will be remedied,’ Mother Dorothy said.
‘What do you think of them?’ Detective Sergeant Mill asked.
His question was directed at Sister Marie who reddened and cast a glance towards her superior.
‘One must give the police every assistance, Sister, so feel free to answer frankly.’ Mother Dorothy spoke reassuringly.
‘They both seem very nice,’ Sister Marie hesitatingly. ‘Bernadette Fawkes reminds me of myself, always apt to put her foot in it and say the wrong thing. The other one is — she’s very quiet and devout, but somehow or other — I’ve only really seen her when she came over to the postulancy. She kept saying that she didn’t want to be a nuisance but the upshot was that Sister Hilaria offered to make some mint tea for everybody and I lent her my bonnet without really meaning to.’
‘Thank you, Sister. You’ve been very helpful,’ Detective Sergeant Mill said cordially. ‘Would you ask Sister Hilaria to come in?’
‘And keep off that ankle in case it starts swelling again,’ Mother Dorothy added as the girl limped from the parlour.
Sister Hilaria came in with her usual deliberate tread, planting one large foot in front of the other, her large hands folded in her sleeves, her gaze calm.
‘Good morning.’ She greeted the detective politely but without any sign of anxiety as if his being there was of small interest. ‘Mother Dorothy, are we to arrange a requiem for poor Sister Elizabeth? Father Malone came to the infirmary to console us a little, and wishes to know if he can be of use.’
‘Father Malone wasn’t here when Sister Elizabeth died, was he?’ Detective Sergeant Mill glanced at the Prioress.
‘I telephoned the presbytery and asked him to offer Mass early,’ she said.
‘Then I doubt if he can add anything to what little information there is,’ the detective said. ‘As to the requiem — I’m afraid the body of Sister Elizabeth will have to be forensically examined before we can release her to the convent again, but I’ll have the authorities make speed so as not to interfere with the funeral arrangements.’
‘Oh, Sister Elizabeth won’t mind,’ Sister Hilaria said peacefully. ‘She will be a little confused at the moment, of course.’
‘Sister.’ He bent forward slightly, his voice carefully neutral. ‘Sister Elizabeth is dead, you know.’
‘Very suddenly dead,’ Sister Hilaria said. ‘That is why she is now so confused. Our prayers will help her to settle happily on the other side.’
‘Yes. Yes, of course.’ He looked rather at a loss.
‘I don’t think that Sister Hilaria will have much to tell you,’ Mother Dorothy said. ‘She slept in my cell last night and as I didn’t hear anything—’
‘You didn’t wake up during the night, Sister?’ Detective Sergeant Mill asked.
‘No, I slept soundly,’ Sister Hilaria said.
‘Thank you.’ He sighed faintly as he made a note. ‘Perhaps I could speak to Sister Perpetua now?’
‘She went into the kitchen to prepare breakfast,’ Sister Hilaria said.
‘Sister Joan, if your presence isn’t essential here perhaps you might take over the task?’ The Prioress glanced at her. ‘I would like to stick as closely as possible to our normal routine. Detective Sergeant Mill, have your men finished in the lay cell?’
‘Constable Petrie is overseeing things there. Sister Joan is free to go, of course.’ Which meant, Sister Joan thought, genuflecting and withdrawing with Sister Hilaria in tow, that he didn’t expect to learn anything at all from the rest of the community that might help to begin solving the case. Everybody had slept peacefully; nobody would have heard anything at all.
In the kitchen Sister Perpetua was slicing bread with swift, angry strokes, her gingery brows drawn down.
‘They’ve just taken her away and locked the cell door,’ she said in a tense, angry tone that hid the grief which Sister Joan was aware she’d never display. ‘Poor little harmless soul! Well, no doubt they’ll find out who did it. Since you’re here, Sister, I suppose that means that Detective Sergeant Mill wants a word with me — not that it’ll do any good. I slept like a log last night. Never heard a thing.’ She took off her apron and went out.
Sister Joan went to the kitchen door and opened it. Outside the air was fresh and sweet. There was no sign of any ambulance but she guessed that it had pulled up nearer the main gates so as to avoid further upsetting the community. Poor Sister Elizabeth had left the convent as noiselessly as she had lived and died there.
She counted the slices of bread on to the large platter, checked that the kettle was simmering nicely and the two big coffee-pots ready, counted out pears into a bowl.
‘Sister Joan, I’m going off now back to the presbytery.’ Father Malone had come to the inner door. ‘I shall tell Father Stephens what has happened here and then go on to the hospital. There will be prayers to be said there before anything else. This is a dreadful occurrence, Sister.’
‘Yes, it is,’ she said soberly, turning back into the kitchen. ‘Have you had a cup of tea or coffee yet, Father?’
‘Sister Perpetua was kind enough to give me one. I shall come back later, Sister.’ He drew a blessing upon the air and went out.
Death or no death the routine had to continue as smoothly as possible. Sister Joan closed the outer door and started stacking coffee mugs on the big wooden tray. Sister Perpetua came back in, some of the tension drained out of her.
‘That young man knows his business,’ she said briefly. ‘I must see to Sister Mary Concepta and Sister Gabrielle. Can you manage the rest yourself?’
‘Yes, of course, Sister. Who’s in the pa
rlour now?’
‘Sister Martha who looks scared to death, poor child! As if she could possibly be suspected of anything!’
‘I don’t think any of us are,’ Sister Joan said. ‘It must have been someone from outside.’
‘How did they get in?’ Sister Perpetua demanded.
Sister Joan hesitated. The information that the door to the chapel wing had been open when she first got up hadn’t evidently become common knowledge yet.
‘It stands to reason,’ she said at last. ‘Nobody had any reason to kill Sister Elizabeth.’
‘From the community you mean? I suppose not.’ Sister Perpetua grunted an unwilling assent and went off again.
‘But someone wanted her dead, Sister.’
Bernadette came in from the yard, carefully scuffing her shoes on the mat.
‘You went out?’ Sister Joan looked at her.
‘I couldn’t stand just sitting indoors not knowing what was going on,’ Bernadette said earnestly. ‘I went out to talk to the pony.’
‘So I see.’ Sister Joan twitched a strand of straw from the end of her braid.
‘Animals are nicer than people sometimes, aren’t they?’ Bernadette said.
‘Sometimes I’m inclined to agree with you,’ Sister Joan admitted. ‘Would you like to help me carry the food upstairs? Everybody will be coming up for breakfast soon. There’s no point in dwelling on what’s happened unless we can do something about it.’
‘I hate death,’ Bernadette said, picking up the laden tray. ‘I always hated death. People ought to live for ever if they feel like it!’
‘I used to feel like that sometimes,’ Sister Joan said.
Suddenly she felt — not elderly, but no longer quite so young. It was a sensation that was entirely new and unwelcome.
‘Sister, may I have a word?’
This time it was Magdalen Cole, coming in and pushing the corridor door closed behind her. Her face was white, her eyes troubled.
‘What is it?’ Sister Joan started to pour boiling water into the jugs.
‘It’s my fault that Sister Elizabeth was killed,’ Magdalen said in a whisper.
‘What makes you say that?’
Astonished at her own presence of mind Sister Joan put down the heavy kettle with great care and turned to face the other.
‘Because I opened the door into the chapel wing,’ Magdalen said.
‘Why didn’t you tell Detective Sergeant Mill?’ Sister Joan asked.
‘I was scared.’ Magdalen twisted her hands together. ‘I woke up about — about two o’clock, I suppose. I’d had such a bad dream that I felt scared. Because of Sister Marie being attacked, I suppose. I’ve always been very sensitive. I was afraid to go back to sleep again straightaway so I slipped out of the put-u-up bed and put on my slippers and dressing-gown, and went into the hall. I thought it would be very calming to spend a little time in the chapel, so I unlocked the door and went through. It was peaceful there with just the sanctuary lamp burning. I sat down and said three Hail Marys, and then I went back to bed.’
‘Without relocking the door?’
‘I thought I had locked up again,’ Magdalen said, ‘but I was getting sleepy. I was getting very sleepy, and so it’s possible that I forgot.’
‘What about the others in the infirmary? Didn’t they hear you get up?’ Sister Joan asked.
‘I don’t think so, Sister. They were all fast asleep. Sister Gabrielle was snoring. And I was very quiet so as not to disturb them. If I hadn’t left the door open then Sister Elizabeth would still be alive!’
‘We don’t know that for certain.’ Sister Joan tried to speak kindly but she was shaken suddenly by temper at the other’s stupidity. ‘Anyway you’ll have to tell the police, you know.’
‘I couldn’t!’ Magdalen’s voice had risen slightly. ‘Not with Mother Dorothy there! If she knew I’d been so careless she’d send me away, Sister. I couldn’t bear to be sent away from here! I truly couldn’t bear it!’
Eight
Violent death had coloured the day despite all Mother Dorothy’s efforts to maintain a semblance of normality. The police had gone, leaving the lay cell where Sister Elizabeth had died locked. Breakfast had been a silent, hurried meal. The bright day outside the grey walls mocked the uneasy silence within.
Sister Joan had dismissed Magdalen Cole with a few soothing words, more to conceal her own state of mind than to comfort the young woman. Inwardly she was seething at the stupidity that had left a door unlocked at a time when security measures were more important than usual. Neither was she sure that she altogether believed the tale. Magdalen had woken in fright but had been clear-headed enough to move noiselessly through the darkness so as not to disturb her sleeping companions, had sat in the deserted chapel knowing that the outer door was unlocked, and had said nothing to anybody about her nocturnal excursion.
For the moment she had decided not to say anything to Mother Dorothy but at the first opportunity she would certainly inform Detective Sergeant Mill. Withholding evidence was a serious offence. On the other hand if Magdalen was sincere in her desire to join the community then her own personal dislike of the intending postulant ought not to colour her actions.
Father Malone returned before lunch and was closeted with the Prioress for over half an hour. Sister Joan, mucking out the stable, glimpsed him driving off and wondered what conclusions the priest had reached.
At lunch Mother Dorothy rose from her place after the soup and bread had been eaten, her voice clear and firm, her calm expression bringing a sense of security into the uneasy atmosphere.
‘Sisters, what happened here is both sad and shocking, an intrusion of evil into the peace of the cloister. I know how difficult it must be for all of you to continue with our routine of work and prayer as if nothing had happened, how hard it is to maintain our customary silence when our minds teem with questions. Father Malone tells me that Sister Elizabeth will be brought back to us tomorrow morning, and then we can prepare her for burial in our customary manner. Notice of her death has been sent to our other houses, and there will be a requiem Mass in the chapel the day after tomorrow. Two police photographers will be here this afternoon to take some extra photographs of the cell where she died and I understand that two constables are already searching the grounds for evidence of an intruder. Meanwhile we must try to go about our business in the usual way, confident that the murderer will be brought to justice and that Sister Elizabeth is now at peace. If any of you should recall some piece of information, no matter how trivial it might seem, please come and tell me about it at once so that I can pass it on to the police. Sister Joan, Father Malone wishes someone to drive down to the presbytery after lunch so that final arrangements can be made for the obsequies, and some additional flowers purchased to supplement our own offerings from the garden. Will it trouble you to go alone?’
‘No, of course not, Reverend Mother,’ Sister Joan said promptly.
‘Surely someone ought to go with her?’ Sister Mary Concepta ventured.
‘It’s kind of you to be concerned, Sister,’ Sister Joan said, somewhat hastily, ‘but I’m certain that I shall be in no danger at all. May I drive down in the van, Mother?’
Mother Dorothy sighed.
‘It would certainly be better if the vehicle had been repainted,’ she said, ‘but since that task hasn’t yet been embarked upon then there’s no help for it. And it was most kind of Brother Cuthbert to offer it to us. You might stop by and see that Brother Cuthbert is all right on your way to the presbytery. Father Malone informed him of the recent tragedy but a further visit from yourself might be appreciated.’
‘Yes, of course, Reverend Mother.’ Sister Joan sat down again, aware that she hadn’t asked leave to call in at the police station. To have requested permission to do so would have meant having to explain why, and until she had resolved the question with Detective Sergeant Mill she was reluctant to do anything that might get Magdalen into trouble.
Bernadette
put up her hand, offering to wash the dishes, and with that chore lifted from her shoulders, Sister Joan excused herself and went down to the van. Its vivid surrealistic patterns clashed with the sombre mood of the day. Fastening her seatbelt conscientiously she lifted a hand to Sister Perpetua who was sweeping the yard and drove down to the main gates, passing two constables who, bent almost double, were carefully examining the grass verges.
Brother Cuthbert was outside the former schoolhouse, fiddling with the engine of the old convent car. As Sister Joan drew up he turned, revealing an oil-streaked face and wiping his hands on a rag before he came over to open the van door for her.
‘This is a terrible affair, Sister.’ His freckled young face was grave. ‘Poor Sister Elizabeth! Father Malone was good enough to tell me what has happened and, of course, the police came.’
‘Surely they don’t suspect you!’ Sister Joan exclaimed.
‘Until the person responsible is caught they have to suspect everybody, I suppose,’ he said. ‘But they were more interested in asking me if I’d seen anyone going to the convent or, at any rate, in that direction, at any time during the night.’
‘And did you?’
‘I was fast asleep,’ he said simply. ‘I woke up at five as I always do and started my morning prayers out here. The air is so fresh and clear at that hour. If I didn’t have prayers to say I’d probably be tempted to caper all over the place praising nature.’
‘I hope you’ll go on resisting the temptation,’ Sister Joan said, amused, ‘in case someone sees you and gets the wrong idea.’
‘Oh, I do manage to restrain myself,’ Brother Cuthbert said. ‘The point is that I never saw anybody at all. I finished my prayers and decided to walk down to the parish church for Mass for a change. Father Stephens offered it. He recites it most beautifully — the Liturgy, I mean. I walked back here afterwards and had some breakfast, and I didn’t see anyone until Father Malone stopped off to tell me what had happened. Then a very pleasant police officer — Detective Sergeant Mill — came by to ask me some questions but I’m afraid I wasn’t able to help him very much.’
A VOW OF DEVOTION an utterly gripping crime mystery Page 12
