A VOW OF DEVOTION an utterly gripping crime mystery

by Veronica Black

  ‘It’s a dreadful business,’ Sister Joan said soberly. ‘If you do see anything that strikes you as unusual you’ll mention it to the police?’

  ‘Yes, of course, Sister, but the trouble is that I’m not a noticing kind of chap,’ he said apologetically. ‘A bit apt to wool-gather. Father Prior never stops scolding me about it.’

  An innocent who regarded the world as being as clean and clear as himself, Sister Joan thought, leaving him to delve into the old car again and climbing back behind the driving seat.

  She would go to the presbytery first, she decided, and then to the police station. If the information she felt obliged to give wasn’t considered of vital importance then, for the time being at least, she would say nothing to Mother Dorothy. It was clear that Magdalen was devoted to the idea of a religious life, and it would be unfair to cast any doubts on her character and possibly spoil her chances of entering the community.

  Both priests were out, but Sister Jerome handed over a touching wreath of spring flowers that some of the local parishioners had already made, expressed regret in her dour way and retreated indoors without further comment. Sister Joan drove on to the police station, parked neatly and went in, still wondering if she was doing the right thing.

  ‘Sister Joan, come in, won’t you?’

  Detective Sergeant Mill had opened the door of his office.

  ‘Thank you.’ Entering, she was struck as always by the impersonal atmosphere of the room. Everything was neat, clean, almost bare. Today even the photograph of his two boys wasn’t in its usual place.

  ‘I gave Father Malone all the information I could supply concerning the return of Sister Elizabeth’s body to the convent.’ He gestured to a chair and sat down himself.

  ‘Yes, I know. That isn’t why I’m here.’ She clasped her hands tightly together.

  ‘And it isn’t a social visit?’

  ‘You know perfectly well that we don’t run round paying social visits,’ Sister Joan said, returning his smile. ‘This has to do with — well, I’ve some information, Detective Sergeant Mill, and I feel you’re the best person to have it.’

  ‘And not your prioress?’ He shot her a keen glance.

  ‘I’m not sure.’ Sister Joan hesitated. ‘The problem is that I have information that might affect someone’s life injudiciously if it became general knowledge.’

  ‘I think,’ he said easily, ‘that you’d better tell me, don’t you?’

  ‘Our two guests — Bernadette Fawkes and Magdalen Cole — both of them wish to enter the novitiate. The final decision will be Mother Dorothy’s, of course. The point is that these days postulants aren’t expected to be Snow Whites but there are certain standards—’

  ‘Why not give me the information and let me decide if it’s relevant? I’m not concerned with personal morals, you know.’

  ‘Magdalen has told me that she woke up during the night and went to the chapel to pray for a little while. She unlocked the inner door but she can’t recall whether or not she relocked it on her way back to the infirmary. She assured me that she heard and saw nothing out of the ordinary but naturally she blames herself for having been so careless.’

  ‘Did she tell you what time it was when she woke up?’

  ‘At about two o’clock she said. Was Sister Elizabeth—?’

  ‘She died between three and four thirty or thereabouts. We haven’t found the weapon yet. She was struck ferociously across the forehead as she slept. She wouldn’t have known anything about it.’

  ‘So someone could have entered from the outside.’ Sister Joan bit her lip.

  ‘It seems probable.’ Detective Sergeant Mill made a note on the pad before him and raised his head again. ‘Miss Cole surely wouldn’t be barred from entry because a careless act had had tragic consequences? What else have you to tell me?’

  ‘Whoever grabbed Sister Marie might have thought he was grabbing Magdalen Cole since Sister Marie was wearing Magdalen’s white headscarf. Sister Elizabeth slept in the lay cell where Magdalen’s been sleeping.’

  ‘The postulants wear pink gowns, don’t they?’

  ‘Yes, but perhaps Magdalen has a pink dress. I haven’t asked her yet. It is possible that she was the intended victim, don’t you think?’

  ‘We’ve certainly considered it as a possibility,’ he said. ‘Have you any further reason for thinking so?’

  ‘Magdalen Cole is afraid of somebody,’ Sister Joan said.

  ‘You recently came for a rape alarm. Was it for her?’

  ‘Yes. Yes it was. She asked me not to say that it was for her.’

  ‘Did she tell you exactly why she was frightened? Was she scared of any particular person, for instance.’

  ‘She didn’t say. Only that the convent was in a lonely place and she would feel safer if she could summon help quickly. I assured her that we were absolutely safe — a bit stupid of me in view of what’s happened.’

  ‘Nobody could have foreseen it,’ he said.

  ‘There is something else.’ Sister Joan hesitated. She had begun to tell Detective Sergeant Mill about the flick knife she had confiscated from Magdalen, but to own one was illegal. He might regard it as his duty to take official action.

  ‘Yes?’ He was looking at her.

  ‘I don’t like Magdalen Cole very much,’ she said, hastily choosing a different topic. ‘That’s why I didn’t say anything until now. I wasn’t sure how prejudiced I was against her.’

  ‘Whether you like her or dislike her doesn’t alter the fact that you were quite right to tell me about her going into the chapel in the middle of the night. Your conscience is too tender, Sister.’

  ‘My conscience,’ she said ruefully, ‘is the bane of my life sometimes. Well, I shall try to persuade Magdalen to tell Reverend Mother about her forgetfulness. I’m sure it won’t make any difference to her entering the community. Thank you.’

  ‘Don’t go yet, Sister.’ His gesture sent her back to her chair. ‘Tell me about Sister Elizabeth.’

  ‘Didn’t Mother—?’

  ‘Mother Dorothy gave me the official line — an orphan, no close relatives, a good, pure girl, an exemplary novice. I want the unofficial version. What was she really like?’

  ‘There isn’t an unofficial version,’ Sister Joan said. ‘She was exactly as Mother Dorothy described her. Very quiet and reserved, gentle in her ways. That sounds like an epitaph, doesn’t it? Gentle in her ways. I don’t think she ever broke a rule in her life.’

  ‘She sounds dull,’ Detective Sergeant Mill said.

  ‘Yes. Yes, she was very dull,’ honesty compelled her to admit.

  He laughed suddenly, leaning back in his chair and raising a dark eyebrow. ‘It never fails to astonish me,’ he said, ‘how you walk a tightrope between being the perfect nun and a woman with strong opinions of her own.’

  ‘That’s one of your less perceptive remarks,’ she challenged. ‘Surely you know by now that being a nun never stopped anyone from having strong opinions.’

  ‘Then it must be the way you express them.’ He sobered abruptly, leaning forward again. ‘I asked you about Sister Elizabeth because it’s useful to know as much as possible about the victim — unless it’s a random attack, and even then the personality of the victim must play a part. But this wasn’t a random attack by some deranged person. This murder was meant. And you tell me that nobody had any reason to harm Sister Elizabeth.’

  ‘She might have been mistaken for Magdalen.’

  ‘As Sister Marie was?’

  ‘It was dark in her cell,’ Sister Joan reminded him. ‘Whoever opened the door could have gone in, delivered the blow that killed Sister Elizabeth, and left without knowing that he had the wrong person. Magdalen had volunteered to take the other lay cell when she first arrived, but when Mother Dorothy decided that we ought all to sleep in the main house because of the prowler, she offered to sleep on the put-u-up in the infirmary so that Sister Elizabeth could have the lay cell.’

  ‘And everybody
knew about that?’

  ‘Yes, of course, but you don’t really think one of the community killed Sister Elizabeth, do you?’ she said, startled.

  ‘Someone from outside might have mistaken Miss Cole for Sister Elizabeth in the dark, or the other way round — whatever! That presupposes that someone knew where Magdalen Cole was sleeping when she first arrived. Has she made any telephone calls? Written any letters?’

  ‘Not as far as I know. If she is afraid of someone she’d hardly let them know where she was sleeping, would she?’

  ‘Which brings us back to Sister Elizabeth who might have been the intended victim all along. You can see now why I asked you about her.’

  ‘Nobody from the community would have killed her,’ Sister Joan said firmly. ‘Nobody from the community could possibly kill anybody. It’s absurd!’

  ‘Oh, we’re all capable of murder sometimes.’ He looked down at his hands.

  ‘Of thinking about it. Not of carrying it out. I really ought to go now, Detective Sergeant Mill! I have to catch Father Malone at the presbytery. Some of the parishioners have been kind enough to donate a wreath and — oh, the roses!’

  ‘Roses?’

  ‘It probably hasn’t anything to do with anything, but someone’s been leaving roses all over the place — expensive hothouse roses.’

  ‘Leaving them where exactly?’

  ‘On the day that our guests arrived,’ Sister Joan said hesitatingly as she cast her mind back, ‘I thought that I heard an intruder up in the library over the chapel. I went up to check and someone rushed past me — swirled past me down the stairs and then was gone. I found a rose on the doorstep of the chapel the next morning. I’d taken the precaution of locking the outer door for once so I got up early to unlock it and the rose was there. There was another rose in the little washroom that leads off the library when I went to check later. They didn’t come from our garden.’

  ‘Did you report the prowler to Mother Dorothy?’

  ‘No. No, I didn’t. No harm had been done and I really didn’t want to alarm her. Someone might have brought the roses as an offering for the altar and not wanted to be seen.’

  ‘Come on now, Sister! You don’t really believe that,’ he said.

  ‘I’m not certain what I believe,’ she said, colouring slightly. ‘I was confused because it was dark and — I know that I ought to have called one of the other sisters or turned on the lights or something, but I didn’t. There was something — unreal about what was happening. What went past me was blackness against blackness, like a great bat.’

  ‘Next time you ought to provide yourself with a bunch of garlic,’ he mocked.

  ‘It sounds ridiculous I know,’ she admitted, ‘but no harm was done. And by then Magdalen had made it pretty clear to me that she was nervous about someone or other. So I said nothing. Sorry.’

  ‘Have there been any more roses?’

  ‘Two. One was in the glove compartment of the van that Brother Cuthbert drove down from Scotland in. He bought it cheaply in Glasgow. The other one was in a jug on the table in the schoolhouse where he’s staying. He thought that someone had put it there as a welcoming gesture.’

  ‘Did he tell you who sold him the van?’

  ‘He didn’t say. He paid two hundred pounds for it.’

  ‘We’ll see if we can trace the owners. Roses.’ Detective Sergeant Mill drew one thoughtfully on his pad. ‘I can’t see how they fit in, but you’ll let me know if any more turn up?’

  ‘Yes, of course. I should have said something before. Things seem to be happening so fast.’

  ‘Too fast,’ he said soberly.

  ‘I’d better get back to the presbytery. I’ve taken up a lot of your time.’

  ‘That went too quickly too,’ he said. ‘Sister, be very careful, won’t you? Keep away from lonely places.’

  ‘Yes, I will. Goodbye, Detective Sergeant Mill.’ She shook hands more briskly than she felt and went out.

  ‘Did you drive down here in the van?’ He had followed her into the reception area.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Could you walk to the presbytery?’ he enquired. ‘I’d like the fingerprint boys to have a look at the vehicle.’

  ‘Yes, of course. I’ll walk there and walk back in about — half an hour?’

  ‘That ought to be long enough — not that I’m expecting any results. Kids scrumping apples wear gloves these days,’ he said.

  Father Malone had returned and opened the door to her himself, clucking apology. ‘I was called away — a baby to baptise in a hurry, but the little mite was already rallying when I finished the sacrament. That often happens, you know. The dying often revive and decide to go on living after they receive the sacrament of extreme unction. Come along in, Sister. Sister Jerome went over to the hospital to keep vigil beside Sister Elizabeth. They were very kind there, very discreet about all the sad forensic business. You’ll have a cup of coffee?’

  ‘Thank you, Father.’

  Going into his comfortably cluttered study she remembered the bleakness of Detective Sergeant Mills’s office.

  ‘This is a terrible business, Sister.’ He poured coffee and added cream and sugar with a generous hand. ‘Now you drink that. Lent or no you need the extra energy!’

  ‘Ought I to go to the hospital too, do you think?’ she asked.

  ‘Sister Jerome will manage very well. Not that a vigil will benefit poor Sister Elizabeth but I believe that mourning rites are more to comfort the living than anything else. Did you know the poor child had no close relatives?’

  ‘Yes, I know.’

  ‘Though I’m sure she looked upon you as her family,’ he said kindly. ‘And if she had neither kith nor kin then she wouldn’t have found any difficulty in detaching herself from the personal friendships, so in that she was blessed.’

  ‘But not in her death,’ Sister Joan said.

  ‘The doctor said that she could have known nothing about it. She went to sleep as usual and woke up in heaven. That can’t be too bad, eh, Sister?’

  ‘Not if you think so, Father,’ Sister Joan said politely. Privately the idea horrified her.

  ‘They’ll bring her up to the convent by nine tomorrow morning. I’ve seen the coroner so that’s all arranged. A biscuit, Sister?’

  Sister Joan shook her head.

  ‘Mother Dorothy sent down a novice’s habit by me for Sister Elizabeth to be buried in,’ Father Malone said. ‘She felt that as the poor child was about to enter the novitiate it would be a nice gesture.’

  ‘It must make Sister Elizabeth feel heaps better,’ Sister Joan said, tersely. ‘I’m sorry, Father. That was rude of me.’

  ‘You remind me of my old mother back in Ireland,’ he said, unoffended. ‘A tongue like nettles and a heart like roses. More coffee, Sister?’

  ‘No, thank you, Father. About tomorrow—?’

  ‘I’ll come up as usual to offer Mass and wait for Sister Elizabeth to be brought back. Brother Cuthbert would play for the requiem, I’m sure. That’s a very nice young fellow.’

  ‘Yes he is.’ Thinking of Brother Cuthbert made her feel marginally more cheerful.

  ‘Until tomorrow then, Sister. You didn’t walk here?’ Escorting her to the front door he looked out with some anxiety.

  ‘I came in the van. It’s parked — near the police station.’

  ‘Drive carefully, Sister. Until this man is arrested it’s as well to be cautious.’

  ‘Yes, Father. I will.’

  Walking up the street she resolved to drive very carefully. It was no business of hers that Detective Sergeant Mill had a bleak, impersonal office.

  Constable Petrie met her in the station yard.

  ‘Have you come for the van, Sister?’ he asked. ‘It’s been dusted for fingerprints but there are so many prints, including, I’m sure, Brother Cuthbert’s and your own that it’ll take a week to eliminate them from the enquiry. Detective Sergeant Mill sends his regrets but he had some paperwork to finish.’
<
br />   ‘Thank you, Constable Petrie.’

  Was the detective also driving carefully? She climbed up into the van and closed the door.

  ‘Don’t forget your seatbelt, Sister!’ The constable grinned and raised his hand in salute as she drove out into the street.

  The rule of compassion for all but no special lay friendships was her emotional seatbelt, she reflected. Irritatingly restrictive at times but a protection against disaster.

  Within sight of the schoolhouse she veered away, bumping over the grassy contours of the moor towards the rash of lorries and caravans that disfigured the horizon. The new-age travellers were still here then, and apparently not causing any bother, though she hoped they’d pick up their garbage before they went.

  She slowed down as a lanky frame topped by a ponytail hailed her.

  ‘Good afternoon, Wind.’ She wound down the window and smiled at him.

  ‘Is it true one of your lot’s been blown away?’ he demanded. ‘We’ve had police round all day asking questions.’

  ‘One of the sisters had been killed, yes.’

  ‘Hey, man! that’s bad news.’ His face had lengthened.

  ‘Very bad,’ she agreed sombrely. ‘I take it that you weren’t able to tell the police anything useful?’

  ‘Not a thing. We never met the sister. Are you getting out to stretch your legs, Sister?’

  ‘If I do,’ she hesitated, ‘will I come back to find the wheels gone?’

  ‘It’ll be safe as my virginity, honest!’ he said.

  ‘In which case,’ said Sister Joan, removing the ignition key and climbing down, ‘I shall be very wary of leaving it for more than five minutes.’

  ‘Are all the nuns here like you?’ he demanded.

  ‘They’re much nicer than me.’

  ‘The one who was killed?’ He shot her a sideways glance. ‘Have you any idea who did it?’

  ‘An intruder. One of the other postulants was attacked in the grounds but happily more shocked than hurt.’

  ‘Didn’t the guard dog bark?’

  ‘Guard — oh, Alice! Alice is in kennels completing her training at the moment. Anyway the enclosure is being very closely watched at the moment.’