The Reverend Mother felt annoyed. Sister Bernadette was gentle and hospitable. This woman had upset her and the Reverend Mother rose to the occasion.
‘Oh, dear, Sister Bernadette,’ she said, ‘I’m sorry that you have been disturbed, and on your busiest day of the week. I am so sorry this has happened.’ She left a pause and then changed her tone of voice for an authoritative one. ‘Major,’ she said firmly, ‘please go with Sister Bernadette and bring your sister to see me. I presume she came to see me.’
Sister Bernadette looked startled and even more embarrassed at the prospect of the major in all the splendour of his uniform, being sent on this errand, but the Reverend Mother felt rather pleased with herself. She stayed sitting down until they had left the room, but then left her seat and went through into the corridor to wait in stony silence to receive her uninvited guest. And, of course, to avoid any whispered conversations between the two as they walked through the empty space.
Kitty, she thought, had a belligerent look about her. She glimpsed the Reverend Mother, standing in a pool of light outside her door, but she did not call out a greeting and instead talked to her brother, loudly and aggressively, about the huge amount of money that the broken glass roof would cost. She did not even greet the Reverend Mother when they arrived at the door to her room, but went on talking about glassmakers to the major.
‘Nonsense,’ said the Reverend Mother firmly. ‘A couple of sheets of hardboard will tide you over until the shop is emptied. Now do come in, Miss Fitzwilliam. Come in and sit down on that chair by the window. What we need to discuss now is the problem of poor Brian Maloney. After all, for a fourteen-year-old boy it has been a terrifying experience. To find out that someone is trying to kill you would be horrendous for any adult, but for a child of that age …!’ She left her sentence unfinished and eyed them both.
The major was looking uncomfortable and ill-at-ease, but Kitty threw her hands in the air and exploded into a hearty burst of laughter. The Reverend Mother suddenly recollected the words spoken by her cousin Lucy. I believe that one of the twins, Kitty, I think, used to go in for amateur dramatics at one stage.
‘That boy!’ exclaimed Kitty when she had milked the last drop of merriment from her laugh. ‘That boy, Reverend Mother, he is the greatest liar that you could ever meet. You wouldn’t believe it if I were to tell you some stories!’
The Reverend Mother turned an interested and attentive face in her direction which disconcerted her for a moment. The words flowed on, but now she directed them at her brother.
‘Robert will tell you, James, the trouble we have had with Brian Maloney. Mr O’Connor took such pains with him because his mother disappeared once she had paid down the apprentice fee and Mr O’Connor was sorry for the boy. But there was no doing anything with Brian Maloney. A liar and a thief, Reverend Mother! That’s Brian Maloney for you!’ She had whirled around to face the Reverend Mother. The silent reception of her words seemed to disconcert her again. She looked from one face to the other, stopped to draw breath and then said emphatically, ‘I wouldn’t believe a word that he said.’
‘What would you expect him to say?’ The question, thought the Reverend Mother was an innocuous one. And she uttered it blandly. It interested the major, but it irritated his sister.
‘Lies!’ She almost spat the words. ‘He’d tell lies. That’s what I would expect.’
‘But he did have six gas canisters placed in his bed.’ The Reverend Mother glanced at the major for corroboration, but he remained silent.
‘Put them there himself,’ snapped Kitty. ‘Looking for attention, making trouble.’
‘Who would he have been making trouble for?’ The major asked the question before the Reverend Mother could frame it. She was conscious that there was a shake in the woman’s voice. What was she so worried about that the boy might have said? During the silence that followed her mind went to Brian’s words. Only one person had possible access to the dormitory during the day and that was Mr Séamus O’Connor. The boys were only allowed to go there during the day on a Sunday, otherwise the room was kept locked, and the key in his possession, until nine o’clock bedtime when the twenty apprentices were herded in and locked up until six o’clock in the morning. Brian’s story about a possible love affair between Séamus O’Connor and his employer’s daughter came to her mind and she decided that there was probably some truth in it. She looked across at the major and saw irritation, but not suspicion on his face. He did not appear to want an answer to his question, or at least he didn’t feel inclined to push for one, because he followed up his words without waiting for an answer.
‘I don’t know what all of this is to do with you, Kitty,’ he said in authoritative tones. ‘Now I think it would be best if you got back to the shop and leave this business for me to handle. Come along, Kitty. The Reverend Mother will excuse you, I’m sure.’ And then he took his sister by her arm, ushered her through the door and in a moment his firm footsteps sounded in the passageway outside.
Kitty had gone with him, had gone without a word of protest. There had been an odd sound to the major’s voice, almost a warning note. Did he know something about his sister, something that ensured her obedience? He was an intelligent man, a qualified barrister; had acted as an army judge on occasion. It would, she thought, be hard to pull wool over his eyes. On the other hand, he would want no scandal, no suspicions that a daughter might have been involved in the murder of her father. The Reverend Mother put a few more pieces of coal onto her fire and sat back on her chair and awaited, with folded hands, the return of Major Fitzwilliam to her room. And while she waited, she turned over the whole matter in her mind, bringing up the various points such as profit, accessibility, knowledge and probability. In the end, she sighed. It had to be like that, she thought and the consequences of the revelation would have to be faced. Murder could not be ignored. She sat very still and stared, without seeing anything, through the window and into the fog-wreathed bushes in the garden.
He was longer than she had expected. She heard his voice. Greeting Sister Bernadette, assuring her that she could rely on him to close the front door carefully, joking with her, commenting on the weather and that cold north-easterly wind, congratulating her on the beautifully polished hall table, pretending that he was scared to dull it by placing his hat on its surface. A dialogue. The major’s jokes, Sister Bernadette’s giggles, her soft country accent. But not a word from Kitty as he took her out to the front door. Not even after Sister Bernadette had returned to her kitchen.
But there would have been words. Kitty, thought the Reverend Mother, must now be in her forties. This late romance would have come at a time in her life when she had almost given up hope of escaping the dreary treadmill of her existence. And Major James Fitzwilliam would not want any interference in his own plans. Sell the shop, settle his mother, pay off his brother, get one sister, at least, married and off his hands. She tried to imagine what the last words exchanged between the brother and sister on her doorstep might be and came up with one phrase. Leave it to me, she imagined him to say and then there was a crisp bang of the front door, quick footsteps coming back down the corridor, her door opening without a knock, or even a hesitation.
‘Now, Reverend Mother, perhaps I could see the boy.’ The words were uttered before the door was closed with a smart click. This was a man who had a piece of business to accomplish and was determined to get it over and done with as quickly and smartly as he could. The Reverend Mother considered the matter.
‘Why is your sister involved in this affair?’ She asked the question with an air of mild surprise and told herself that he couldn’t object to her curiosity. After all, the manager of the shop was Robert and he had not made an appearance.
The question flummoxed him for a few seconds. And then he made a quick recovery.
‘She takes a strong interest in the welfare of the apprentices,’ he said blandly and then when she said nothing but looked at him with what she hoped was an expression
of mild surprise, he hastily amended his reply. ‘Yes, welfare, behaviour, all of that sort of thing,’ he said with a careless wave of his hand, and then reverted to his question. ‘And the boy; where have you hidden him?’
In answer, the Reverend Mother got to her feet. ‘Follow me,’ she said and went straight through the door and down the corridor. As she approached the kitchen she could hear Sister Bernadette chatting to a young lay sister. Her normal practice was to knock and to wait for an invitation to enter, but she knew that Sister Bernadette would not mind and so she opened the door very quickly and walked through, allowing him to follow her. Her eyes were on Brian as he looked quickly from her to her companion.
The expression on the boy’s face was one of pure relief. No hesitation whatsoever. He had been on his knees in front of the opened oven door of the enormous black range where Sister Bernadette and her assistants cooked meals for the community, but as soon as the major appeared, he was on his feet, his eyes shining.
‘Finish your job, lad,’ said the major and the Reverend Mother silently applauded the words. There was something much friendlier about the word ‘lad’ than the rather cold and contemptuous use of a surname only when addressing a boy not far past childhood. ‘Well-scrubbed potatoes,’ he added approvingly. ‘What do you think, sister?’ He addressed himself to Sister Bernadette and she beamed approvingly at him.
‘Brian was always a good lad,’ she said fondly. ‘I remember him when he was no higher than that stool there. Never known him to tell a lie,’ she added with a slight measure of defiance in her voice.
‘So he’s told you the whole story, has he?’ The major lowered himself onto the stool and absent-mindedly ate a piece of raw pastry from the edge of the rolling pin.
Sister Imelda silently brought forward a chair for the Reverend Mother and she sank onto it and watched the boy and the man.
‘Terrible, wasn’t it?’ Sister Bernadette chopped deep lines into the rim of an enormous pie and then pierced a few holes around the centre of it. Brian hastily lined up the baked potatoes onto the bottom shelf and then got neatly out of her way. He went straight to the sink and cleaned out the left-over dirt from the sides. He then picked up the empty potato basket and went off to the yard with it, carefully closing the door after him. The major, thought the Reverend Mother, gave him a glance of approval as though he were a new recruit to a regiment, but said no more until the boy returned to the kitchen.
‘How’s he getting on?’ he asked, then, directing the question at Sister Bernadette as she bent down to put the tray in the oven. Brian stiffened and looked at the nun, also.
‘He’s a good lad,’ said Sister Bernadette straightening herself. ‘A good worker. Could do with him every day, couldn’t we?’ She addressed the words jokingly to her helper, young Sister Imelda, but the major took her up instantly.
‘You’d have plenty of work for him, then, around the kitchen, would you?’ he said sounding like someone who has just been struck with a good idea.
Sister Bernadette looked dubiously at the Reverend Mother. Brian looked surprised and then interested. He stood there, looking from one to the other and the Reverend Mother was struck by the expression of hero worship on the boy’s face.
‘Yes, Brian is a good boy,’ she said and waited for the next move in the game.
‘He’d like to be a soldier, isn’t that right, Brian?’ The major’s eyes were on Brian. Was there a hint of something akin to a challenge in his voice? The Reverend Mother found it hard to be sure of what she heard, but was sure that there was an undercurrent.
‘Yes, sir.’ There was no mistaking the boy’s enthusiasm.
‘What I was thinking of, Reverend Mother, was if Brian could stay here for a few days, he would be …’ The major hesitated and then finished by saying, ‘He would be happy, here.’ The Reverend Mother wondered whether he had been about to use the word ‘safe’. ‘And then,’ he continued, ‘if Brian wished for it, my batman is going over to Liverpool in few days’ time, on the night ferry and …’ He hesitated again and then finished by saying, ‘You’re still keen on joining the army, Brian? Is that right?’
‘Oh, yes!’ Brian breathed the words, his eyes shining.
‘Surely, he’s too young,’ said the Reverend Mother. But she was conscious that her voice held a questioning note and that she did not, out of hand, reject the notion.
‘Not to be a drummer boy,’ said the major. ‘I’ll cover the expenses,’ he added.
For a rich man it would not be an over-large sum, but it was, nevertheless, a generous offer. Moreover, it seemed as though it would involve the major in a fair amount of trouble.
Why was he doing it? Was it sheer goodness of heart?
‘What do you feel about that, Brian?’ she asked.
‘You won’t be a nuisance to the sergeant, will you?’ put in the major. ‘Not too much chatter.’
‘I won’t say a word,’ breathed Brian. His face was pink with excitement and his eyes shining with sincerity.
‘What about your mother, Brian?’ asked the Reverend Mother. That thought about the boy’s mother had been so much in her mind that she was surprised when he turned a bewildered face towards her. The major, also, looked taken aback.
‘She won’t care! It’s nothing to do with her! I’m grown up, now. She don’t want nothing to do with me.’ There was a note of almost panic in the boy’s voice. Frightened lest the dream of joining the army would be shattered at the last moment. His eyes were fixed imploringly on the major.
‘Do you write to your mother, Brian?’ The major sounded, thought the Reverend Mother, as though he knew the answer to that question.
‘Nah, I told you, sir. She don’t write to me and I don’t write to her.’
There was a ring of truth in that. Sister Bernadette raised her eyes and looked fleetingly at the Reverend Mother before lowering them again to the flour-covered table. Sister Imelda washed the pastry cutters as silently as she could. Sister Bernadette folded dishcloths and stuffed them into a drawer, but her eyes were alert. The Reverend Mother thought about what Sister Bernadette had told her of Brian’s mother, but decided not to involve her in the conversation.
‘Has your mother gone back to where your grandparents live, Brian?’ she asked and he shook his head violently.
‘I don’t know where she is. She could be in Timbuktu for all that I know. She told me that I was getting a new dad, but I never saw him. Don’t want to either. I’m too old for any new dad. I look after myself. I’m an adult. You can rely on me, sir.’
Brian addressed the last words to the major. He had, thought the Reverend Mother, sized up the situation and was willing to throw in his lot with an unknown future in the British army as a substitute for the unsatisfactory and uncongenial position as apprentice in a shop which was now about to be closed down. And, perhaps he was right. She got to her feet.
‘Perhaps I could have a word with you, Major. You stay here, Brian. Sister Bernadette will find you something to do.’
Once they were back inside her room, she made up her mind. ‘Mallow isn’t a big place, Major. Would you be willing to send a messenger there to track down his mother?’
He frowned in an irritated fashion. ‘You’re asking too much of me, Reverend Mother,’ he said, raising his voice to a pitch which she felt more suitable to the parade ground than to the cloistered quiet of a convent. ‘You may not realize it, Reverend Mother, but I’m an extremely busy man. You wouldn’t believe all that I have to do. I’m arranging for my brother’s situation as a manager in Blarney Woollen Mills. Much of the stock is being transferred there and most of the apprentices, also. And then I have to see to the future of my sisters, and of my mother. I can’t possibly run around the county of Cork looking for the mother of this lad. In any case, the chances are that she takes no interest in him and that I would be wasting my time. You heard his words, yourself. No, he has a chance to go to England with my batman, or else he will transfer to Blarney Woollen Mills wi
th the other apprentices. I’ll go and have a word with my batman now. He lives not far from here on George’s Quay and I’ll make sure that he is happy to take the boy with him. Tell the lad to go back to the shop and he’ll find out what’s happening. I think they are rigging up somewhere for the boys to sleep in the basement so he should be all right for a few days. I’ll be in touch, Reverend Mother.’
And then with a decisive nod to her, he took up his hat from the table and let himself out of the front door. He closed it behind him with a very definite click and for a moment she thought that the next click was an echo. And then she realized that it had come from the door of the kitchen. So Brian had been listening in. Well, it was not surprising. After all it was his future. The Reverend Mother went meditatively back to her own room. She would try the effect of a letter, she thought. Marking it: ‘Mrs Maloney, Mallow’ was not a very accurate address. If the woman was in the town, it might possibly reach her, but Mallow had a large farming hinterland. And Brian’s mother might no longer be known by the name of Mrs Maloney.
Nevertheless, she took some care over the letter and explained the situation as clearly as she could to the woman. When she had finished, she sealed the envelope and stamped it and then rang her bell.
‘Oh, Sister Bernadette,’ she said when the lay sister came in, ‘I wonder could Sister Imelda take this to the post for me. And could you send Brian to me, please.’
‘Yes, Reverend Mother, well, no, Reverend Mother …’ Sister Bernadette hesitated a little. ‘Brian has gone out, said that he had to go to confession.’ Sister Bernadette half-smiled. ‘Said that he had a really, really big sin to confess so he had to go straight away. He was gone before I could stop him, Reverend Mother. Went out the door just after the major.’
The Reverend Mother nodded resignedly. Not surprising, really. After all the boy was thirteen or fourteen and had been without a parent for many months. He would consider himself capable of looking after his own future. A sharp boy. There was no doubt about that. But the Reverend Mother recalled a saying by Sister Philomena. ‘Too sharp for his own good,’ she would declare. ‘Mark my words, that boy will cut himself before he’s much older.’
Murder at the Queen's Old Castle Page 23
