by C. J. Archer
"My name is Matthew Glass," Matt said in a pleasant voice, "and this is my friend, Miss Steele. We'd like to see the mother superior about a donation."
The hazel eyes widened then disappeared altogether. The panel slid closed and the door swung open. The hinges groaned.
"Welcome to the Order of the Sisters of the Sacred Heart," the nun said. It was difficult to tell her age with the bandeau covering her forehead and hair but I guessed her to be mid-thirties. "Come with me."
She led us toward the back of the house, passing a young nun carrying a mop and bucket. She gasped when she saw us and blushed profusely when Matt smiled, before hurrying on her way, head bowed. Our guide left us in a plainly furnished sitting room where the pope's portrait looked down at us from his lofty position above the fireplace. A large wooden cross with a crucified Christ hung on the wall, and a tapestry depicting him preaching to a flock of listeners occupied a prominent position on the opposite wall. We sat on stiff-backed chairs nestled around a table with a black leather-bound bible in the centre. The wooden floor was bare and the curtains didn't look particularly thick. It would be a cold room in winter.
I shifted on the hard seat, unable to get comfortable. "Do you think they consider cushions to be a sin?" I whispered to Matt. There was no one near to overhear us, yet I felt the need to keep quiet.
"Perhaps," he said, his attention focused on the view out of the large bay window. A simple rectangular building had been attached to the back and one side of the main convent building. It faced a courtyard paved in the same bricks as the house. Knotty roots from a large lime tree had erupted between the pavers and seemed out of place in this orderly, no-nonsense setting.
A bell rang, and a few seconds later, girls dressed in simple gray dresses surged out of the doors leading from the attached building and into the courtyard. They giggled and talked and skipped in the sunshine until two nuns shushed them. The girls quieted but continued to talk eagerly, as if they'd been waiting an age to do so.
"Our pupils," said a nun standing in the doorway to the sitting room. I hadn't heard her enter, despite the lack of carpet. She moved as stealthily as Matt. "They're all from poor homes and are in desperate need of basic schooling to make them valuable members of society instead of a menace to it."
We both stood and Matt made our introductions. The nun introduced herself as Sister Clare, assistant to the mother superior. Going by the lines on her face and the sagging cheeks, I guessed her to be about sixty. She had kind eyes that smiled even when her mouth did not.
"I hope this isn't an inconvenient time," Matt said. "I'm sure you're very busy."
She removed work-worn hands from the voluminous sleeves of her habit and clasped them in front of her. "Sext prayers are at midday, so now is the best time. The sisters are all at work, either doing their chores inside or out in the garden, or teaching in the school." She glanced through the window. "The students are having a short break for morning exercise now."
The girls had formed several rows and proceeded to swing their arms back and forth at the instruction of the two nuns leading them.
"Do the students live here?" I asked.
"No, we're a day school," Sister Clare said. "The school opened only five years ago. Perhaps one day we'll take in those students with no homes, but we simply don't have the space currently."
She led us up a flight of creaking stairs and through a corridor and outer office paneled in dark wood that made the walls feel close. The door to an adjoining office stood open, and the nun behind the desk looked up upon Sister Clare's light knock.
"Reverend Mother, this is Mr. Glass and Miss Steele." Sister Clare smiled as she introduced us.
The mother superior did not return it. She indicated we should sit and clasped her hands on the desk in front of her. She was similar in age to her assistant, but that was where the similarities ended. Her face was gaunt, as if her cheeks had been scooped out between cheekbones and jaw, and her eyes were sunken inside their sockets. There were no jowls to speak of, and her eyes lacked sparkle. They were as gray as London's sky mid-winter.
Her office was just as unfriendly. An elaborately carved wooden crucifix hung above a bookshelf, but otherwise the walls were bare. The bookshelf housed some old books, and along with the desk, they made up the entire contents of the mother superior's office. The filing cabinets and a large dresser with dozens of small drawers were all in the outer office.
A simple cross hanging around the mother superior's neck bumped the desk as she leaned forward and appraised Matt. "You wish to make a donation."
"A sizable one for the continuing education of local girls in need," Matt said.
"Why?"
Behind me, Sister Clare made a small sound of protest.
"I know someone who was in need of your help some years ago," Matt said. "When I learned of her plight, and how this convent assisted her, I wanted to see if there was anything I could do as a show of appreciation."
"Ohhh," came Sister Clare's soft voice.
"Sister Clare, you have work to do," the reverend mother snapped. "Close the door on your way out." She waited for her assistant to leave before she said to Matt, "And who is this woman to you? A relative?"
"An acquaintance." Matt was not ruffled by the mother superior's brusqueness, although he was not using his charms to their fullest effect, either. He must have suspected they wouldn't work on her. "But the baby son she gave into your care is very important to me."
The mother superior's knuckles whitened. "I see. And you want to know what happened to him after he left here in exchange for your donation."
"You are very astute, Reverend Mother. That's precisely what I want."
"Then I cannot help you. Information about the children who pass through this convent is confidential. As a gentleman, I'm sure you understand that, Mr. Glass."
"It's in the boy's best interests that I locate him," Matt said. "And the best interests of at least one other God-fearing person."
"Then God will guide him to that person." For the first time since our entry, her eyes flared brighter. She enjoyed this verbal sparring.
"Sometimes God needs a helping hand from his earthly agents."
"It's not our policy to give away personal details, Mr. Glass." She did not take her gaze off him and he did not look away, either. Nor did Matt look disappointed. He expected this opposition, and he had come prepared for it. "The Convent of the Sacred Heart provides a confidential service to both the mothers who give up their children and the couples who want them," the reverend mother went on. "We cannot break that confidence and trust."
"What amount can I donate to convince you that it's in your best interests to give me his details?" Matt insisted.
The mother superior merely shook her head.
"Five thousand pounds?" he asked.
I held my breath. That was quite a considerable sum.
She stood. "No, Mr. Glass."
"Twenty thousand?"
Twenty thousand pounds!
The reverend mother unclasped her hands and flattened her palms on the desk. She stared at Matt yet seemed to be looking through him. Perhaps she was calculating all the improvements that could be made to the convent and school with a twenty thousand pound donation.
After a moment, she shook her head. "I'm afraid it's not possible."
"No one need know," I said. "We won't tell his mother or him that we learned his whereabouts through you."
"God will know, Miss Steele."
I gripped my reticule tighter. "Why don't you contact him on our behalf, Reverend Mother? He's an adult now and ought to be allowed to make up his own mind."
She didn't answer; she simply strode to the door and opened it. She moved so quietly that she caught Sister Clare listening on the other side. Sister Clare quickly scurried back to her desk where she pretended to read a document.
"It's a matter of life and death!" I cried.
Sister Clare lowered the document and gawped at us.
<
br /> "Good day, Mr. Glass, Miss Steele," the mother superior said, not unkindly. She seemed a little sorry for us and not as severe. Perhaps my pleas were getting through to her. "I hope you understand that the poor mothers must be protected, and the children, too."
"Please," I begged, wanting to take her hand but not sure if touching a nun was allowed. "The mother wasn't poor, and as I said, her child is an adult now. Indeed, his mother was a noblewoman and Phineas Millroy would be a man of twenty-seven."
Sister Clare's gasp echoed around the bare outer office. The reverend mother's face paled.
"Twenty-seven years ago," Sister Clare whispered. "That was when—"
"Sister Clare!" the mother superior snapped.
The assistant clamped her lips shut and pressed her fingers to them.
The mother superior drew in a deep, shuddery breath. "Sister Clare, see our guests out." She retreated to her office and shut the door.
Sister Clare indicated we should walk ahead of her. Her outstretched hand trembled.
I waited until we'd reached the front door before stopping and rounding on her. "You remember him, don't you? You remember Phineas Millroy?"
Sister Clare gave the door a longing glance. "Please, Miss Steele. I should not answer your questions."
Should not was better that could not. "You must! A very dear friend's life depends on us finding him."
"How? I don't understand what you mean."
"India," Matt warned. "Let's go."
"But Matt—"
"We won't get any answers here today. It's all right."
It wasn't all right. It was very far from all right. If we couldn't get answers by offering a sizable donation or appealing to the nuns' consciences, then how would we get them? Aside from breaking in and rifling through their records in the night, I could think of no other way.
Perhaps Matt was desperate enough to break in, although I suspected he would hate himself for it afterward.
"Please, Sister Clare," I said. "The baby known as Phineas Millroy, who came here twenty-seven years ago, tell us where to find him."
"That's the entire problem," Sister Clare added in a conspiratorial whisper, "I don't know where he is. Listen. Twenty-seven years ago, something happened here that bothers me to this day. But it may or may not involve the child."
"Go on," Matt said.
She glanced over her shoulder then leaned closer. "We're a very quiet community here. We're not a cloistered order, but we keep to ourselves. We rarely go out into the world. There's simply no need, what with our own garden supplying us with most of our food, and a large kitchen to make our own bread. We have a little shop attached to the school, where we sell things we make to earn money to buy what we cannot produce ourselves. So when something of an unusual nature occurs, we tend to close up, not ask for outside help." She looked around again, and I was afraid she'd change her mind and stay silent.
"Sister Clare, are you asking for our help?" I asked. "We're good at solving mysteries, if that's what you require. And we are discreet."
"Extremely," Matt assured her. "Unburden your conscience, Sister Clare, and allow us to help if we can. What happened twenty-seven years ago that has you so worried?"
A nun walked past carrying a covered basket. Sister Clare nodded at her then ushered us outside to the porch and made as if she were sending us off. "The police got involved but nothing came of their inquiries."
Now I was intrigued. "Did a crime occur here?" I pressed.
"I'm not really sure. It has concerned me all these years, and I know we should keep our convent life to ourselves, but…this is different. This could be an earthly matter, not a spiritual one." She drew in a deep breath and gave a firm nod, as if she had finally convinced herself to leap off a high wall. "The previous superioress, Mother Alfreda, disappeared twenty-seven years ago. Here one day and gone the next, without telling a soul where she was going."
"Did she take any of her things with her?" Matt asked.
"We don't have things, Mr. Glass. We give up all worldly goods when we take our perpetual vows. She left with only the habit she wore."
"Did anything else of an unusual nature happen around the same time?" I asked. "Any break-ins? Did she have a disagreement with anyone?"
She walked us slowly down the steps to our carriage, glancing left and right. "Something did happen at the time, but I didn't connect the two mysteries until later. And now here you are, asking about that baby after all these years. I remember his name very clearly because he was one of the children who disappeared around the same time as Mother Alfreda."
Chapter 2
"Disappeared!" I cried.
Sister Clare shushed me and glanced back at the open door of the convent. "It seems too coincidental for two babies to go missing and the mother superior to leave without a word. Don't you agree?"
"You remember that one of the babies was named Phineas Millroy?" Matt asked. "It was a long time ago."
"I have an excellent memory. I keep the records of all the abandoned children and where they go when they leave here. I created the records for those two babies when they arrived, then after they disappeared, I went to update them but couldn't find them."
"The records went missing too?" I asked.
She nodded. "I asked Mother Alfreda—our previous superioress, the one who disappeared—and she said one of them died in the night, but…it seemed unlikely. He was a healthy baby and, well, her answers were evasive."
"You think she took the children?"
"I don't know. The thing is, shortly after the second baby's disappearance, she too disappeared, and Sister Frances became our new Mother Superior."
Two nuns rounded the far end of the building, heads bent in quiet conversation, their gait ambling. Sister Clare bit her lower lip as she watched them approach. "I'm sure I'm worrying about nothing. I doubt anything untoward has happened. It's just that hearing the name of one of the missing children brought it suddenly back to me and I have been wondering all these years. I thought perhaps…" She shook her head then tucked her hands into her sleeves. "Never mind. It was a long time ago, as you say. Good day." She turned and hurried back inside.
Both of the approaching nuns looked up and paused upon seeing us. They looked old enough to have been here twenty-seven years ago. Matt must have had the same idea because he did not make a move toward our carriage.
Both nuns had friendly faces and warm smiles. One carried a wooden box by its handle and the other a basket filled with sewing needles, pins, fabric and cotton reels.
"Good morning," I said cheerfully. "Lovely day for a stroll."
"It is," said the one carrying the wooden box in a strong Irish accent. "Are you visiting the reverend mother? Can we fetch her for you?"
"We've just come from there." Matt gave them a little bow. "My name is Mr. Glass and this is Miss Steele. We offered the reverend mother a donation."
"Oh, how marvelous," said the one with the basket. "The school needs all the funds we can get. We're in sore need of more supplies for the girls to practice the domestic arts." She held up her basket. "It's difficult to teach them how to sew when we don't have enough cotton."
"Not to mention this old house needs some love and attention," said the Irish sister with the box. "The window frames are rotting on the upper floors and the roof leaks. I'm too old to clamber over roofs now but we can't afford to pay someone to look at it."
"Our little shop doesn't bring in enough to cover such large expenses," the nun with the basket said.
"I'll take a look at the roof free of charge," Matt said. "It might be just a loose tile."
"Would you?" The Irish nun with the box brightened. "I'm Sister Bernadette and this is Sister Margaret. It's my job to see that the convent and school are well maintained, but it's difficult with limited funds."
"Not to mention your age," Sister Margaret teased.
"You're just as old as me," said Sister Bernadette. "Brings us closer to God, it does." She winked at us
and I couldn't help smiling.
"Your donation will be greatly appreciated," said Sister Margaret to Matt.
"It wasn't accepted," he told them. "Your mother superior didn't like my condition."
I held my breath as the nuns' smiles faded.
Sister Bernadette swung the box in front of her and placed both hands on the handle. It was a toolbox, although I couldn't see what tools she had inside it thanks to the closed lid. "And why is that?"
"We asked nosy questions about a baby that disappeared twenty-seven years ago and she didn't like it," Matt said.
The nuns exchanged glances.
"Were you both here twenty-seven years ago?" he went on.
"Yes," said Sister Margaret, her gaze drifting away from Matt's.
"But we don't know anything about missing babies," Sister Bernadette said, her accent sounding even thicker. "If you'll excuse us, we have work to do." She shuffled her feet as though she wished to walk away.
Matt looked hopefully at Sister Margaret. "The boy we're looking for, and one other, disappeared from the convent's care around the same time the mother superior left without a word. You remember it, don't you, Sister?"
"Of course I do. Our life here is unvarying. Those few weeks were…an upheaval." She lifted the basket into her arms and clutched it to her chest. "It was a disconcerting time, what with Sister Francesca leaving too. She didn't disappear, just decided the convent life wasn't for her. She renounced her vows and went to live out in the world." She shook her head, as if this event was far more serious than the disappearances. "Silly thing, she was, but she'd been a kind friend to me when we were postulants and novices together."
"Sister Margaret," hissed the Irish nun. "Her leaving is no one else's affair."
Sister Margaret dipped her head and hurried after her colleague.
"Shall I come back this afternoon to look at the roof?" Matt called after them.
"That is for the Reverend Mother to decide," said Sister Bernadette.
We watched them disappear in the direction of the school then climbed into our carriage. "I'm sorry we didn't get any answers," I said as we drove off. "It seems as if we've hit another dead end."
