Vow of Penance

by Veronica Black

‘In the same condition?’

  ‘Mutilated but not stripped,’ Sister Joan said tersely. ‘It’s possible she fell and was dragged along. They don’t know yet.’

  ‘Sister Jerome sleeps badly,’ Sister Gabrielle said. ‘I don’t sleep so well myself and I hear her walking, walking. It bothers me to see a fellow religious in trouble, but she’s not the type to invite confidences. She’s out today else I’d suggest you had a word with her.’

  ‘She’s hardly likely to confide in me,’ Sister Joan said.

  ‘Don’t underestimate yourself, girl. You’re the kind of person that people do confide in,’ Sister Gabrielle said unexpectedly. ‘You look sympathetic, you see, and as if nothing in the world could shock you. Yes, she might talk to you. There’s some great burden that woman carries and it’d be well to get it out of the way.’

  ‘It’ll have to wait. I’ve supper to cook.’ Sister Joan eased herself into the car.

  ‘You know if I’m ever tempted to take Father Timothy down a peg or two,’ Sister Gabrielle said, ‘I restrain myself by remembering that he has to eat your cooking and that’s penance enough for anybody. Go with God, girl, and come back safely.’

  ‘Thank you, Sister.’ Sister Joan drove slowly out of the yard.

  She was near the main gates when she heard an excited yelping and slammed on the brakes in time to stop herself from running over the gambolling Alice who bounded round, her feathery tail wagging, her plump little body wriggling with joy as Sister Joan got out of the car.

  ‘I hope you recognize me and don’t greet everybody like that,’ she scolded. ‘You are training to be a guard dog.’

  ‘She’s young yet.’ Sister Jerome spoke in unwontedly mild tones as she came through the gates.

  ‘Good afternoon, Sister Jerome.’ Sister Joan straightened up, summoning a smile.

  ‘I have been into town,’ Sister Jerome said. ‘One has to sign on with a new doctor whenever one moves these days and they insist on a health check. Then I had to go to the next town because they didn’t have the gardening tools that Sister Martha required.’

  ‘It must have been a tiring day, Sister,’ Sister Joan said, wondering why the other was troubling to explain her movements.

  ‘I’m not complaining about it,’ Sister Jerome said, returning to her usual sullen manner. ‘One isn’t put on this earth to fritter away one’s time in idle pleasures. Even the dog will have to learn that.’

  ‘Surely you didn’t walk up from town!’ Sister Joan looked at the large, bulging bags the other was carrying.

  ‘Reverend Mother instructed me to take a taxi,’ Sister Jerome said. ‘I dismissed it before we reached the gates. Money, like time, ought not to be squandered.’

  ‘No, Sister, of course not.’

  It was impossible to like the woman, to feel the slightest warmth towards her, Sister Joan thought in despair. She stood there, weighed down by the heavy bags, her large white face impassive, her eyes hard and flat ringed with dark shadows.

  ‘You don’t look well, Sister.’ She spoke impulsively. ‘Are you settling in at the convent? The first few days in a strange place can sometimes be difficult. I remember when I first came—’

  ‘One does not expect to be influenced by one’s surroundings to any great extent,’ Sister Jerome said quellingly. ‘The interior life is what matters, Sister. Come, Alice!’

  She walked on up the drive with Alice immediately deserting Sister Joan and trotting obediently at her side.

  ‘You were wrong, Sister Gabrielle,’ Sister Joan muttered, getting back into the car. ‘I am not the sort of person that some people would ever confide in!’

  And part of her irritation, she admitted ruefully as she drove back to the presbytery, was due to the fact that Alice had gone off so happily without a backward look!

  ‘Take the beam out of your own eye, dear, before you start fretting about the mote in your brother’s,’ she admonished herself under her breath as she drove into the garage at the side of the church.

  She would have liked to spend a few minutes in the church but Father Stephens was at the front door and she hurried up the path.

  ‘There you are, Sister. No trouble with the car, I hope? No scrapes or scratches?’ In Father Stephens’s world females couldn’t drive past a road sign without knocking it over.

  ‘I managed beautifully, Father. Sister David was most grateful for the books. She asked me to thank you.’

  ‘I started supper, Sister.’ He hovered by the kitchen door as she went in. ‘Not that you’re late but you do seem to have rather a lot to do, so I took the liberty.’

  ‘That was very kind indeed of you, Father!’ Sister Joan looked in dismay at the enormous pan simmering on the cooker. From its size she guessed that Father Stephens had used up every vegetable in the place. ‘Stew, is it?’

  ‘Just vegetables, Sister. I thought we might sprinkle a little grated cheese on top when it’s brought to table. With some bread it ought to be very tasty.’

  ‘It looks as if you made sufficient for tomorrow too,’ she commented.

  ‘Yes, it can be heated over,’ he agreed. ‘I managed to contact Miss Potter’s friend. A young lady called Stephanie Hugh – a fellow schoolteacher. She is arriving on the late train. Not a Catholic, by the way, but she accepted my invitation to stay here so the guest room will be used after all.’

  ‘If she’s not a Catholic perhaps I ought to meet her,’ Sister Joan said. ‘I mean she may not feel at ease with a priest.’

  Even the most fervent Catholic might have found it hard to be at ease with Father Timothy but she managed not to say so.

  ‘That’s very kind of you, Sister. Perhaps you can go after supper. I enquired of Miss Hugh if she would like a meal prepared but she said she was eating on the train.’

  Sister Joan, going to taste the vegetables and finding them unexpectedly good, hoped that Miss Hugh would have the good sense to travel in a crowded compartment and keep away from train doors.

  She served the stew to the two clerics, receiving a courteous thank you from the one and a curt nod from Father Timothy who had just come through from the sacristy, ate her own portion in the kitchen, and slipped out into the back yard. In the gathering darkness of evening the wheeled refuse bin crouched like some robotic beast.

  ‘Sister Joan!’

  Father Stephens stood on the back step, peering out. There was no time to lift the lid and find out if the substitute parcel had gone.

  ‘I was just taking a breath of air,’ she said quickly. ‘Did you want second helpings, Father?’

  ‘I am not so fond of my own cooking as all that,’ he said, chuckling at his own small joke. ‘No, I think you ought to start out fairly soon for the station, in case Miss Hugh takes an earlier train. I’d not want her to arrive at a strange town with nobody there to meet her.’

  Or the wrong person waiting in the shadows? It would do no good to ask him. Father Stephens believed the least said the sooner something was mended.

  ‘I’ll go at once, Father,’ she said. ‘Will you have your coffee later then?’

  ‘Yes, when Miss Hugh arrives. Thank you, Sister.’

  He was holding open the door for her and there was no excuse to linger. She went inside and put on her cloak again, took the keys from the hook by the door and went out.

  At least she had been given leisure in which to think. She made good use of the ten minutes it took to cross the streets towards the station. Head bent into the wind, arms shrouded by her cloak, she banished the surroundings with the latecomers on their way home, the street lights casting pale pools of light on the road, and itemized events in her mind.

  A body had been found by the side of the railway track – stripped, mutilated, unidentifiable. Further down the track another body had been found, clothed, and easily identified. Near the postulancy trees had been slashed and chopped and in the border of the presbytery garden the spring flowers had all lost their brave, bright heads. Mrs Fairly had wanted to speak to her
about the new lay sister up at the convent, that same sister who repelled any overtures of friendship and went out at night. Went out during the day too, Sister Joan reminded herself. Granted she had gone with permission to see the doctor, to buy some articles for the community, but she had gone further afield to buy the gardening implements. Sister Joan stopped dead, mentally kicking herself for not having asked a simple question.

  Sister Jerome had driven into town in the convent car but she had taken a taxi back to the convent. So where had she left the convent car and why? Had the car broken down or had she had some sort of accident in it? She’d shown no trace of anything having happened but Sister Jerome had one of those faces one sees at a poker table.

  She had reached the station. A few teenagers stood round the machine that dispensed chocolate. A nice bar of nutty milk chocolate would have been just perfect at this moment, she thought, and hastened her step on to the platform. There were a few people waiting here too, looking curiously lost on the almost deserted platform.

  Sister Joan walked to the end and sat down on the bench there. The next train was due in twenty minutes and then there was a fairly long wait. She wondered if she would be justified in getting herself a cup of coffee. Probably not since there would be a cup available when she got back to the presbytery.

  ‘It’s Sister Joan, isn’t it?’ Someone had paused to look at her more closely.

  ‘Constable Petrie! I have the money for the groceries for you.’ She fumbled for her purse but he shook his head.

  ‘Tell Father Stephens that it’s on me. I popped in to get a quick cup of coffee though I’m actually on duty.’

  ‘I won’t tell,’ she said solemnly.

  ‘Are you meeting someone, Sister?’ He sipped from the plastic mug he was holding. ‘Oh, I’m sorry. Would you fancy a coffee? It’s not very good.’

  ‘Not for me, thank you. I’m waiting for Miss Hugh. She was Miss Potter’s friend, a fellow schoolteacher – Miss Potter was Mrs Fairly’s niece.’

  ‘Bad business that!’ He frowned. ‘Bad business in both cases. You’ve heard the latest?’

  ‘I’ve heard nothing.’

  ‘The doctor up at the hospital took a closer look at Mrs Fairly’s body. She had a needle mark on her wrist and a bit of a bruise as if someone had held her arm very tightly.’

  ‘Detective Sergeant Mill told me about the needle mark.’

  ‘He was off up north today making a few enquiries,’ Constable Petrie said. ‘Anyhow up at the hospital the pathologist made some further tests – he found insulin.’

  ‘What?!’ Sister Joan sat up straighter. ‘Insulin?’

  ‘That stuff some diabetics have to inject themselves with to avoid going into a coma,’ he said.

  ‘Yes, I know. Was Mrs Fairly diabetic?’

  ‘Not according to her medical record,’ Constable Petrie said. ‘It looks like she only gulped a mouthful of the tea with the Valium in it, enough to make her feel whoosy, they reckon, and then she was pumped full of insulin. It was the insulin that killed her, not the drug. Seems a funny way of committing suicide.’

  ‘You don’t still believe she killed herself?’

  ‘No, Sister. I was on the telephone earlier to Detective Sergeant Mill and he said the result didn’t surprise him. He reckons that someone spiked her late-night tipple, but the taste must have been pretty foul so she didn’t drink it all and then someone went into the room just as she was starting to feel dizzy and injected the insulin. She probably didn’t have time to struggle or cry out.’

  ‘And then the – person threw away what she hadn’t drunk and left sufficient residue in the cup for everybody to think she’d died from the effects of the overdose.’

  Sister Joan shivered suddenly, thinking of the scene. Not wanting to think of the scene because it had a horror pervading it that made her feel physically ill.

  ‘I didn’t mean to upset you, Sister,’ he said quickly. ‘Look, let me get you a cup of coffee. Warm you up a bit.’

  ‘Thank you, that’s very kind of you.’ She sat motionless until he came back with another plastic mug.

  ‘You drink it down, Sister. You know, with being on the force, and with your good self having helped us before, I’m inclined to forget that you’re not used to this kind of thing. I’ve had to develop the objective approach.’

  ‘Does anybody get used to murder?’ she asked, gulping the hot, oversweet liquid.

  ‘Probably not, Sister,’ he agreed, ‘but this ties in with Miss Potter’s death, don’t you see?’

  ‘She obviously didn’t fall out of the train,’ Sister Joan said. ‘Thank you for the coffee. I needed it.’

  ‘Train’s about due.’ He took the empty mugs. ‘I’d better get back to the squad car, see if there are any messages. You’ll be all right, Sister?’

  ‘Perfectly all right,’ she assured him. ‘Am I to tell Miss Hugh what has been found out?’

  ‘Better let it lie until it’s all official, Sister.’ He saluted her smartly as if, she thought with a spasm of amusement, she were a senior member of the force, and went off towards the exit.

  The signals were intimating the approach of the train. Composing her face which must, she feared, still bear the imprint of shock, she rose, and stood poised, waiting.

  ‘Sister Joan! Sister Joan!’

  Constable Petrie was loping back into the station, his voice urgent. One or two of the others waiting on the platform turned to look at him.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Could you come out to the car for a moment, Sister?’

  ‘The train’s coming in. Miss Hugh may be on it.’

  ‘Right now, Sister. If you please?’ He sounded official suddenly as if he were about to arrest her.

  She went without further argument, hearing as she left the platform the onward rush of the approaching train.

  ‘There was a message from the station,’ he said as they got into the squad car.

  ‘Yes?’ Sister Joan reached for the seat belt automatically.

  ‘Seems they’ve found another body, Sister. When I told Detective Sergeant Mill that I had just been talking to you he asked me to bring you along.’

  ‘Another—?’ Sister Joan closed her eyes briefly while she endeavoured to control her voice. ‘Did he say who it was?’

  ‘A young woman called Stephanie Hugh according to the identification she had on her.’

  ‘But I’m meeting her off the train,’ Sister Joan said stupidly.

  ‘Yes, Sister. You told me.’ He swung the car out of the parking space.

  ‘How did she—?’

  ‘I don’t know yet, Sister. Detective Sergeant Mill said he’d fill me in on the details when we got there.’

  ‘Where is there?’ She was struggling to regain her composure, to take in the fact that the woman she had been expecting to meet was dead. Suddenly and ruthlessly dead, for it was beyond the bounds of possibility that this death was a natural one.

  ‘On the outskirts of town, Sister. We’ll be there in a few minutes.’

  She nodded, biting her lip, her hands tensely locked together beneath the folds of her cloak. They had left the main street and were turning into a long steep side road, with houses dotted along it and a garage at the top.

  Another police car was drawn up in the forecourt of the garage and an ambulance was pulling in. A man in overalls stood engrossed in conversation with the tall, familiar figure of Detective Sergeant Mill.

  ‘Petrie, glad you got here so fast.’ He broke off his conversation and came to the side of the car. ‘The photographer’s already here and the fingerprint people are on their way. Make sure that nothing is moved until all the usual routine’s been followed, will you? Sister Joan, thank you for coming. Petrie mentioned that he’d been talking with you just before I contacted him.’

  ‘I was waiting for the train.’ She alighted from the car and moved with him towards the brightly lit façade of the garage.

  ‘You went to meet Miss Hugh,
Miss Potter’s friend?’

  ‘Father Stephens invited her to stay at the presbytery. Why are we here at this garage?’

  ‘Miss Hugh’s body was found here,’ he said.

  ‘When? How?!’ Bewildered she looked up at him. ‘I don’t know why but I expected her – no, of course, I didn’t expect a body until Constable Petrie told me – but after he told me I pictured it as lying by the railway track like the other two.’

  ‘The owner of the garage is short staffed this week,’ Detective Sergeant Mill said. ‘He closed the garage at six and went off home for a meal. When he came back at seven he decided to start work on a car that had been left here earlier today for some minor repairs. He worked on it for a bit and then he noticed the boot was unlocked. He opened it and – she was bundled inside it. He rang the police at once and I’d just walked into the station when the call came so I grabbed a car and drove out here immediately. The young woman had cheque book and address book in her handbag, so it seems fairly clear that she is Stephanie Hugh.’

  ‘Is it possible to identify her otherwise?’ Sister Joan asked steadily.

  ‘She was killed by a blow to the back of the head,’ he told her. ‘Looks as if someone took a swing at her with an axe but her face is undamaged. You never met her?’

  ‘I’ve seen a photograph of Miss Potter taken when she was a schoolgirl but I never met either of them. I’d be unable to identify—’

  ‘That wasn’t why I asked Petrie to bring you along,’ he broke in. ‘Sister, the garage owner didn’t recognize the car she was in but I did. She’s hidden in the boot of the old car you sisters drive at the convent. One of the other sisters brought it in earlier because the clutch was going. She left it at the garage and phoned for a taxi to take her the rest of the way back. Can you tell me anything to throw light on this?’

  Ten

  For a moment she was silent, thoughts spinning in her head. Then she said, ‘The new lay sister at the convent, Sister Jerome, spent much of today out of the enclosure. She had to register with a new doctor and buy several things – gardening tools mainly – that were needed by Sister Martha. She took the car.’