by Arthur C.
Beatrice stopped abruptly. Sister Vivien did not see the troubled expression on her sponsor’s face.
“I think you could have accomplished almost anything, B,” Vivien said. “You have so many talents.”
Vivien felt Beatrice’s hand on her arm. “I appreciate your compliments, Vivien, I really do,” Sister Beatrice said. She started to walk slowly. “But they are as inappropriate as the swollen pride I was just feeling. I had almost convinced myself that I was solely responsible for the Kensington Gardens expansion. That kind of overweening pride is a sin, Vivien, and I need you to help me guard against it. You must remind me when I seem unduly proud that my victories are God’s victories, and that I can achieve nothing without His guidance. Otherwise, my use in His service will rapidly diminish.”
Sister Vivien didn’t know what to say. “I’ll try, Beatrice,” she managed to reply, “but it’ll be hard. I still think you’re really special.”
4
Brother Darren was waiting for them when Beatrice and Vivien returned to their headquarters in Hyde Park. Darren was the clerk assigned to the eleven o’clock hearing, responsible for organizing all the meeting details. He was agitated.
“I thought you’d never get back,” he said, hurriedly pulling the two women into a small office. “We have a big problem.”
“Why?” Beatrice asked. “What’s going on?”
“The fight last night has mushroomed into a cause célèbre,” Brother Darren said excitedly. “Our entire Irish community is in an uproar. In their statements Mr. Malone and his companions said that Mr. Bhutto was in the act of raping Miss Macmillan, and that they only did what was necessary to protect her.”
“And what did Miss Macmillan say?” Beatrice asked.
“She was vague about what she and Mr. Bhutto were doing when the fight began,” Darren replied, “but there is no suggestion of any sexual assault. Mr. Bhutto’s statement, on the other hand, is full of details. He stated that his ‘intimate kisses’ with Miss Macmillan were interrupted when Mr. Malone, without any provocation, seized him from behind and began striking him in the head. He contends that he only fought back to defend himself. The stories couldn’t be more different. The young lady is unfortunately caught in the middle. That’s why Brother Hugo—”
Darren stopped himself and looked down at the floor.
“Continue, Brother Darren,” Beatrice said impatiently. “You were saying something about Brother Hugo?”
“I’m sorry, Sister Beatrice,” the young man said. “I know this hearing is completely under your jurisdiction. But when everything started happening this morning and you didn’t return my page, I panicked. I needed to talk to someone.”
“And what exactly did Brother Hugo say?” Beatrice asked.
“He said that it was your case, but that because of all the hoopla, plus the fact that Bhutto is still in the hospital, a postponement might be indicated.”
Beatrice thought for a moment. “And is Miss Macmillan in seclusion, as I requested when we first met this morning?”
“Yes,” Darren replied. “She is in one of those tiny private rooms down in the infirmary.”
“Thank you, Brother Darren,” Beatrice said. “Please carry on with the arrangements for the hearing.”
“So there’s to be no postponement?”
“Only if I decide in the next thirty-five minutes that one is indicated,” Beatrice said with a smile.
Beatrice turned to Vivien as soon as Darren left the room. “I’m going to need your help with this,” she said, grabbing both their shawls. “We must hurry… I’ll explain what I can on the way.”
“I know you’re nervous, Fiona, and that the start of the hearing is only half an hour away,” Sister Beatrice said to the young woman in a soothing voice, “but I thought it would be easier for you if I asked some of the more difficult questions in private. I would prefer not to embarrass you in front of the others… As I said earlier, we have received dramatically different statements from Mr. Bhutto and Mr. Malone. As the presiding official for the hearing, it is my duty to try to discover what really happened last night.”
Fiona Macmillan was obviously uncomfortable. She was sitting on the side of a small bed, looking down at the floor most of the time. When she did glance up, her eyes kept darting around the tiny hospital room. She didn’t seem to be listening to what Beatrice was saying.
“I’ve never been in any kind of trouble before, Sister,” Fiona said after Beatrice prompted her to speak. “Until I came to London, I’d lived my whole life in Ayrshire, not far from the sea, with my parents and my brothers. My dad told me I’d have a better chance of finding a job in a big city. All the shops back home have closed, so there’s no work for a girl.”
“You’re not in any trouble, Fiona,” Sister Beatrice said. “I just want to ask you a few questions about your statement.”
Fear appeared in Fiona’s blue eyes. “I told the truth, Sister,” she said, fidgeting nervously. “I swear I did.” She glanced back and forth from Vivien to Beatrice. “Could you tell me, please,” she said, “is Raza all right?”
“He’s recovering fine,” Beatrice said. “Fiona,” she added after a brief pause, “we know that you told the truth. But you may have omitted some things. For example, you did not say exactly what you and Mr. Bhutto were doing at the moment that you were discovered by Mr. Malone and his associates.”
“Exactly what we were doing?” Fiona repeated, as if she hadn’t understood the question.
“Yes,” Beatrice said at length. “Were you kissing,” she continued slowly, “or were you maybe petting, or having intercourse…? I’m sorry to ask you these explicit questions, Fiona, but I assure you the information is important.”
The red-haired girl again stared silently at the floor. “Sister,” Fiona suddenly said entreatingly, looking up at Beatrice, “I’ve been cooped up in here all morning. Could I please have a cigarette?”
Beatrice was momentarily taken aback. Before she could say anything, Vivien handed the young woman a cigarette and a lighter that she had pulled out of the pocket of her blue robe. Then Vivien walked over behind Fiona and opened the only window in the room.
“Thanks,” the Scottish girl said, inhaling deeply and blowing the smoke toward the window. She smiled at Beatrice and Vivien. “You really want all the details, Sister?” Fiona said, now clearly more relaxed.
Beatrice nodded.
“All right,” Fiona said, looking down again. “I guess I can do it.” She took another drag from her cigarette. “Well,” she began after a long pause, “we were kissing and petting, but we weren’t having sex, at least not yet.”
Fiona smiled nervously. “Raza was already big as a horse. I could feel him against my leg while he was kissing me on the ground… Are these the kind of details you want?”
Sister Vivien encouraged her. “You’re doing great, Fiona,” she said. “Please continue.”
“I had just started to slip my pants off,” the Scottish girl said, “when Allan grabbed Raza from behind and hit him in the face. I screamed—”
“Had Mr. Bhutto forced himself upon you in any way?” Beatrice interrupted.
“No, Sister,” Fiona replied. “Not at all… It was even my idea to go over behind the trees. You know, there’s so many people in this place—don’t get me wrong, I really love it here—I thought we’d have a better chance to be alone.”
“You’ve been very helpful, Fiona,” Beatrice said after another short silence. “I think we have enough information now… With your permission, either Vivien or I will summarize at the hearing what you have just told us. We don’t want you to have to go through all this again… I have only one more question. Could you clarify for me how you knew Allan Malone? Was he a friend of yours?”
“Oh, no,” Fiona answered. “I barely knew him. He had tried to flirt with me a couple of times in the cafeteria, but I never gave him any encouragement.”
“Thanks again, Fiona,” Vivien said, gathe
ring up the pair of shawls that Beatrice and she had draped over a chair. “We’ll see you at the hearing in twenty minutes.”
Vivien had to break into a trot several times to keep up with Beatrice as they walked back to the community headquarters.
“Did you believe her?” Beatrice asked at one point.
“Absolutely,” said Vivien.
“So did I,” Beatrice said, stopping for a second. “She strikes me as a straightforward country girl… I must admit that I’m relieved. This hearing is not going to be as difficult as I had feared.”
Beatrice smiled for the first time in over an hour. “Uh,” said Vivien quickly, “about the cigarettes…”
“I know,” said Beatrice, starting to walk again. “You’ve never really quit. I don’t like it, but I guess I’ll have to accept it. And I expect you to be discreet.”
“Always,” said Vivien, touching the cigarettes in her pocket.
When they reached the community headquarters, Beatrice stopped and glanced at her watch. “I’m going to stop by the imaging lab and pick up some extra evidence,” she said to Vivien. “Just in case I need it. Will you please check with Brother Darren and make certain everything is ready for the hearing?”
Vivien nodded and Beatrice dashed off toward the lab. By the time Vivien arrived at the room where the hearing was going to be held, a large group of people had already gathered. They were milling around in the corridors. Brother Darren was scurrying about, looking very nervous. He relaxed considerably when Vivien showed up and started helping him with the crowd.
Beatrice arrived just minutes before the hearing began. Vivien explained to her that the Malone family had requested an extra allocation of seats for friends who wanted to provide moral support for Allan. After making certain that Raza Bhutto’s family and friends were properly represented, Beatrice granted the request by the Malones.
“For those of you who are unfamiliar with one of these hearings,” Sister Beatrice said to start the proceedings, “let me explain briefly what will happen here today. Whenever an incident occurs in our community that is considered to be unacceptable by our order, we convene a hearing to investigate it. We encourage everyone who took part in the incident to offer testimony. What we are trying to determine is the truth, nothing more or less.
“Based on what is learned at the hearing, the presiding priest or priestess may take no action. He or she may, however, issue reprimands, or even define constructive penalties for those deemed responsible for the unacceptable actions or activities. In the unusual instance where a resident has done something diametrically opposed to the purposes and objectives of the community, the offending resident may be summarily discharged as a result of one of these hearings. Sometimes, in the most serious cases, this discharge is made with prejudice, and both the individual and the evidence in the case are turned over to the London police.”
Beatrice glanced around the room. “Following the opening prayer,” she then continued, “we will listen to the statements by the participants. I remind you that each witness has sworn to tell the truth. Since Mr. Raza Bhutto is not strong enough to attend this hearing, he will participate by televideo. He has asked permission for his father to read his statement, and I have agreed.
“When all the statements are finished, we will watch together an edited video sequence showing whatever information relevant to this incident was recorded by the community cameras. I may ask additional questions of the participants, both before and after the video. At the end of the official hearing, each of the principals will be allowed to have one person say something on his or her behalf. Then I will retire with Brother Husayn and Sister Alexis, who are sitting here beside me, to discuss what we have seen and heard. Ordinarily judgments are rendered in fifteen minutes or less…”
The hearing went smoothly. None of the statements was significantly changed from what had been received the night before. Early in the hearing, Beatrice summarized what Fiona had told them in the infirmary, having the young lady verify, with a simple no, that Raza Bhutto had not at any time sexually assaulted her.
After the videos incriminating Allan Malone were shown, Mrs. Malone made a long, passionate plea for clemency for her son. She pointed out repeatedly that the young man was both British and a Catholic, and had not been involved in any other unacceptable activity during his four months in the community. Mrs. Malone promised that she would keep a close watch on her son and she begged Sister Beatrice and the other two Michaelites to allow Allan to remain in Hyde Park.
The decision was reached quickly. When Beatrice returned to the room and announced that Mr. Allan Malone was going to be discharged from the community, with prejudice, his mother started to cry.
“Dear Ms. Malone,” Beatrice said in closing the hearing, “I offer you my sympathy. Although I have no children myself, I can well imagine how painful it must be for a mother to face being separated from one of her children.”
She paused for a few seconds. “Nevertheless, Ms. Malone, I believe that some of the comments you made during the hearing, especially those that suggested a British Catholic might be due a different kind of consideration than a resident with a foreign background, must not go unchallenged.
“Our order is trying to change the way people think and act. St. Michael taught that each and every human being is equal in the eyes of God. It does not matter, he said, what higher power an individual worships, or even if he or she does not believe anything at all. Every one of us is an integral part of God’s plan, whether we know it or not. And we are all, St. Michael said, single cells in one giant, connected organism that makes up the entire human race.
“The day will come, St. Michael taught, when each of us, each cell in that giant organism, will understand its interdependence on all the other individual cells. That is what our entire order is about, Ms. Malone. We are frying to prepare humanity for that glorious day when there will be harmony among us, and the final evolution will be complete.”
5
They barely made it to the train. Beatrice and Vivien walked out the Westbourne Gate only ten minutes before departure time. They hurried through the streets of London toward Paddington Station, slowing only when Beatrice was ready for another bite of her cucumber sandwich. The two Michaelite women had not been in their seats for more than thirty seconds when the train started to pull away from the platform.
“That was close,” Beatrice said.
“You cannot eat like that,” Vivien scolded. “It’s not good for you.”
“What choice did I have?” Beatrice replied. “I couldn’t very well tell Brother Hugo that I didn’t have time to talk to the mayor of Manchester.”
“Yes, you could have,” Vivien said. She shook her head. “B, it’s probably not my place, but if you don’t learn to say no, you’re going to be an old woman before you’re thirty. Look at you, it’s only one-thirty in the afternoon and you’re already exhausted.”
“You’re right, Vivien,” Sister Beatrice said after a few seconds. “I am tired. It’s been a hectic day… I know I should slow down. But I worry that if I don’t do things myself—”
“Then they won’t be done right,” Vivien said, finishing the sentence. “I’ve heard that argument before.” She took Beatrice’s hand in hers. “Why don’t you try to sleep?” she said softly. “We have forty minutes until we reach Esher.”
They rode in silence for several minutes. London’s economic decay was evident from the window of the train. Most of the industrial buildings near Paddington had been abandoned and were boarded up. Those that were still occupied by businesses were in dire need of paint and repair. Makeshift shacks had been constructed by the urban homeless on many of the vacant lots. On one small school playing field two dozen scruffy people stood idly in a circle around a fire built from trash.
Vivien turned on the entertainment console in her foldout table. She sorted quickly through the menus, and then selected a video of a current pop singer, a strange-looking boy who had painte
d his face three different colors. He sang a loud, pulsating song calling for all the world’s old people to get out of the way of the “new wave.”
The train had reached cruising speed before Beatrice fell asleep. Vivien finished watching the news on her tiny console and then stood up. She walked forward through the train until she found the smoking coach. Sitting down in an empty seat against the window, Vivien smoked her cigarette slowly, pensively, without looking around.
Meanwhile Beatrice was dreaming. She could hear her father calling her. “Kristin, wake up, darling,” he said.
She opened her eyes slowly. Her father was standing in the doorway, dressed in a blue suit. He was so tall. “Good morning, Daddy,” she said with a smile.
Her father crossed the room and kissed her on the forehead. “It’s snowing again, Princess,” he said. “Make sure you dress for the weather.” Her father’s eyes were bright and loving. He smelled like the forest.
In the dream she put on her blue robe and headpiece and climbed down the long staircase in the center of her house. Her mother and father were already eating breakfast in the nook. They did not notice her clothing. Her mother smiled pleasantly and went into the kitchen.
“Kristin,” her father said, glancing up from his newspaper, “you know we are very proud of you. Your grades are excellent. Your mother and I only want you to be happy.”
His face was serious. Beatrice felt a burst of anxiety. “But we do not understand why you aren’t singing anymore. Mr. Herbert called again last night. He said that a voice like yours only comes along once in a century. He said that the senior play was specifically selected to showcase your talents…”
Yes, Father, she thought in the dream. I will do what you ask. I will be your princess again.
The snowflakes were large and wet. They landed on her cheeks and mouth as she stood under the streetlight at the bus stop. She was wearing a ski parka over her blue robe. Howie came up beside her just as the big orange bus, marked EDINA PUBLIC SCHOOLS in large black letters, turned onto their street.
