The Dead Virgins (The India Sommers Mysteries Book 1)
Page 24
‘None of those,’ he said, producing a key on a chain from around his neck, ‘excuse me.’ He eased her to one side and placed a finger on a small brass plaque bearing the manufacturers name, sliding it to one side to reveal a keyhole. ‘Security,’ he said with an apologetic smile. He turned the key and to India’s surprise, the lift descended, rather than travel upwards.
A few seconds later they came to an abrupt stop but the view through the gates was obscured by a large door. The man slid the gate open and pushed the door away from them.
‘After you,’ he said and stood to one side to let India pass.
India stepped through but stopped suddenly as she saw she had entered a large, subterranean car park.
‘Wait a minute,’ she said, nervously, ‘are you sure…’
Her sentence remained unfinished as the man’s strong arms enveloped her from behind.
India’s eyes widened and she thrashed wildly for a few seconds before the stench of chloroform on the cloth enveloped her senses and she slipped unconscious to the floor.
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Chapter 28
England 2010
Sister Bernice left her cell and made her way to the kitchens. The last few days had passed so quickly, she had hardly had time to think. The senior sisters had become side-tracked dealing with the Mother Superior’s death and she had found herself being relied upon to step up and help with the day to day business of the rest of the order. This morning she was overseeing preparation of the midday meal and was making her way quickly to the kitchens. The eight kitchen staff stood silently in line, patiently waiting to be told what to do.
Bernice walked in and smiled at the girls. All were shaven headed and were novices who lived at the convent. Bernice looked back at the time she had been in their shoes with fondness. The work had been hard but she found it cleansed her soul and prepared her for the life of devotion she had craved since childhood.
‘Good morning, ladies,’ said Bernice.
‘Good morning, sister,’ they replied in unison.
‘Right, shall we get started?’ asked Bernice with a nervous smile.
‘Please forgive me, sister,’ said one stepping forward, ‘we didn’t expect to see you. On Wednesdays we are usually taught by Sister Agnes.’
‘She is busy today,’ said Bernice, ‘I will help and guide.’
‘Is everything okay?’ asked another.
‘Of course,’ said Bernice, ‘why wouldn’t it be?’
‘We heard there is a madman stalking us,’ said the girl.
Bernice stared at the girls. Sister Agnes had given strict instructions not to discuss the threat with the staff but they looked scared and had obviously heard something. She smiled gently and perched on the edge of the table.
‘Come here,’ she said kindly, ‘come on, gather around.’
The girls closed in to a semi-circle, facing Bernice with concern on their faces.
‘Look,’ said Bernice, ‘I am not going to lie to you. There has been an incident but it is well under control and you are completely safe here.’
‘What happened?’ asked one of the girls.
‘Oh, let’s just say that there was a prowler,’ said Bernice, hoping that they hadn’t heard any of the gory details.
‘Has he been caught?’ asked another.
‘No but the caretaker has checked the area and there is no sign of him. It seems he is long gone.’
‘Then why are we still locked down?’
‘Better safe than sorry,’ said Bernice. ‘To be honest, there are so many unsavoury characters out in the big wide world, we should have taken these precautions long ago.’
‘But who would threaten a convent?’
‘Sadly, it is often the way of the world, Sharon,’ said Bernice, ‘all we can do is continue in the service of the Holy Mother and pray for the souls of those who know no better.’
‘But what if they come back?’
‘Well, I have talked to Sister Agnes and she tells me that things have been put in place for our protection. Apparently, they have engaged a security company to look after us. Now, enough negativity, shall we get started on lunch?’
The group dispersed to their tasks while Bernice pulled down the recipe books from the shelves. Despite allaying the fears of the trainees, there were more questions than answers spinning around her mind. After a while, the thoughts eased as she became involved in the lunch preparations and for an hour or so, normality returned to the kitchen.
Suddenly, the relative calm was shattered as one of the girls screamed and dropped a pan clattering to the floor. Bernice spun around.
‘What’s the matter?’ she shouted, running over.
‘There’s someone there,’ shouted the girl, pointing at the door, ‘they tried to get in.’
Bernice stared in horror at the locked door. Despite the solid oak, the thought of less than two inches of wood between them and any potential attacker filled her with dread. She walked slowly to the door, while the rest of the girls gathered behind her, talking in hushed tones. Suddenly there came a loud knock on the door, making them all jump and a voice called out from the other side.
‘Hello, anyone there? It’s Maximillian, the door’s locked, can you let me in?’
Bernice let out a sigh of relief as she recognised the old man’s voice. Since the day of Mother Superior’s death, the convent had been locked down as secure as any prison and Maximillian and his son patrolled the outer corridors as if their lives depended on it.
Maximillian the caretaker was employed directly by the order. For the last few days, he and his family were the only ones allowed through the locked doors of the convent for security reasons. The caretaker and family had served the convent all their lives, as had their predecessors as far back as records had been kept. They were intrinsically linked to the convent and had unswerving loyalty to the order.
Maximillian, or Max, as he was known to the sisters, kept the grounds in shape and tended the allotments. His son, Jacob, saw to the minor maintenance around the buildings and maintained the cemetery. Maximillian’s ageing wife, Anna, carried out errands to the local village and liaised with the Mother Superior on all things to do with the outside world. In return, the family enjoyed rent-free accommodation in a small cottage in the grounds and received a modest yet adequate income from the estate. The whole family had been deeply affected by the death of the Mother Superior and had moved inside the walls of the convent to support and protect the sisters.
Bernice opened the door and allowed Max into the kitchen, locking the door behind him.
‘Thank you, sister,’ he said, stamping the snow off his feet, ‘any chance of a cuppa? It’s brass monkeys out there.’
‘I think we can do better than that,’ answered Bernice, ‘how about a nice bacon butty with freshly baked bread and brown sauce?’
‘Sounds wonderful,’ said Max, his face lighting up, ‘I don’t mind if I do.’
One of the girls brought the caretaker a cup of tea while another retrieved a pack of bacon from the fridge, before dropping four slices into an enormous frying pan. Within seconds, the delicious smell of sizzling bacon wafted across the kitchen. A few minutes later, Bernice ushered the caretaker over to the other side of the kitchen and waited patiently as he poured an unhealthy amount of brown sauce over the bacon, before replacing the top layer of bread.
‘Lovely,’ he said before stretching his jaws open to take a bite of his prize.
Bernice waited until the first sandwich had been demolished before speaking again.
‘Any news?’ she asked quietly.
‘No sign at all,’ said Max, licking his fingers, ‘there were some footprints in the snow but they’ve mostly disappeared.’
‘Has there been any contact with the police?’ she asked hopefully.
‘I don’t think so,’ he said picking up the second sandwich, ‘but there’s no need to worry. This place is like Fort Knox. No one is getting in here and besides, even if they
did, they’ve got to get past me and Jacob first.’ He bit into the sandwich again as Bernice looked on, handing him his cup of tea when he choked slightly on a stray crumb.
‘Thanks, sister,’ he said, taking the cup.
‘So Max,’ asked Bernice eventually, ‘what do you think is happening?’
‘Search me, sister,’ he shrugged.
‘But you must have some idea,’ answered Bernice, ‘you know more about this place than anyone. Weren’t you born here?’
‘I was,’ said Max, ‘but I keep myself to myself.’
‘Oh come on,’ said Bernice, ‘you must know something?’
Max replaced the third sandwich back on the plate and stared at the nun.
‘All I know,’ he said, ‘is that this convent holds a secret bigger than all of us. What it is, I don’t know and I don’t particularly want to know. But any madman, murderer, call them what you like, who thinks they can make the order of the Santa Rosa give up their secrets by threats of violence or even death, have a lot to learn.’
‘What do you mean?’ asked Bernice.
‘Look, sister,’ answered Max, ‘there are forces at work here that are greater than you or I can even begin to understand. This man, whoever he is, won’t be the first to threaten the order and probably won’t be the last but he, like all the others, will get nowhere. Trust me, the order is more than capable of looking after itself.’
‘I don’t understand,’ said Bernice, ‘how can a group of elderly women and novices, unversed in the ways of the world, overcome such a horrific threat?’
‘How long have you been here?’ asked Max.
‘Twenty two years.’
‘And what have they taught you in all that time?’
‘As in what way?’ she asked.
‘The history of the order,’ said Max.
‘Well, most of the time we spend in the worship of the Holy Mother…,’ said Bernice.
‘Yes,’ interrupted Max, ‘but what about the history of the order itself?’
‘Not much, really. The role of the novice is to rejoice in the glory of the Holy Mother and bring succour to the homeless and the needy. The history of the order is for the senior sisters only. I do know our history stretches back hundreds of years, right back to the time of the Normans.’
‘The Normans?’ said Max, sipping his tea thoughtfully.
‘Yes,’ said Bernice, ‘the order was one of the first formed in the UK.’
‘What if I told you that this order reaches back almost a thousand years earlier?’
Bernice looked confused.
‘You’re wrong,’ Max’ she said, ‘that would put our foundation as far back as the birth of our saviour himself. Even if we were the very first order in the UK, it couldn’t have been that early. At the very earliest it must have been after the visit of St Augustine.’
‘St Augustine?’
‘Yes, the revered missionary who brought the light of the church to Britain in 597 AD. ‘You see, even if you are right, we cannot possibly be older than that as there were simply no representatives of the Catholic Church before that time.’
Max sipped his tea again, looking over the rim of his teacup in silence.
‘You don’t agree?’ said Bernice eventually.
Max placed the cup down and stood up.
‘Look, sister,’ he said, ‘it’s not my place to give you history lessons but there is much you don’t know about your own order. Suffice to say, it is older than you can even imagine. Forget even the birth of Christ, for your order was old before he was born.’
‘Predates Christianity?’ she said cynically, ‘now you’re being absurd. How on earth can any organisation predate that which it was formed to revere? It doesn’t make sense.’
‘That’s because you are making the assumption that your order exists for the worship of Christianity,’ he said.
‘Max,’ said Bernice, ‘I don’t want to be rude but how can you sit there and tell me that I have devoted most of my adult life to a lie?’
‘You misunderstand me,’ he replied, ‘I do not criticise your commitment or indeed your devotion. You worship that which is placed before you, yet it is but a veil that blurs the truth.’
‘You’re making no sense,’ said Bernice.
‘I have said enough,’ he said and stood to leave.
‘So why, Max,’ asked Bernice, ‘why tell me this, now?’
The caretaker turned back and stared back at her.’
‘Because I like you, Sister Bernice,’ he said, ‘you have always been kind to me and see me as an equal, not a servant. The order is very strong with important friends across the world. They can look after themselves but I feel times are changing and not for the better. This new age of computers and the like is beyond me. I don’t claim to understand such things but what I do know is this. It is only a matter of time before the order’s secret is unveiled and when that happens, I fear our secure little world will come crashing down around us. You don’t deserve to be caught in the fall out. Now, I have to go but before I do, let me give you a piece of advice. You are a lovely person and I don’t want to see you hurt. Do yourself a favour and keep your distance from the senior sisters.’
‘But Max…’
‘I have said enough,’ said Max, glancing down at the last sandwich, ‘do you mind if I take this for Jacob?’
‘No, of course not,’ said Bernice.
‘Thank you,’ said Max, ‘stay safe.’
Bernice watched him leave and sat for a while mulling over the strange conversation. Max seemed genuinely concerned for her safety but rather than frighten her off, his comments only aroused her curiosity. Her thoughts were racing and there were far too many unanswered questions to let the matter drop. By the time she left the kitchen to return to her cell, she had formed a rudimentary plan.
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Brandon and Murray walked up to the closed gate blocking the way. Beyond the gate, the road was un-surfaced and disappeared into a wood that spread as far as the eye could see. A brand new chain and padlock secured the gate to the post, its message absolutely clear, keep out.
The two men climbed over the gate and walked toward the tree line but had not gone a hundred metres before a man emerged from the trees and walked toward them. Brandon and Murray slowed but continued walking.
The stranger was dressed in lightweight green trousers and a waxed Barbour jacket, with a pair of green wellington boots on his feet and a deerstalker hat on his head. It seemed an obvious attempt to meet the clichéd uniform of a gamekeeper, however the shotgun cradled in his arms focussed Brandon’s attention.
‘Can I help you?’ asked the man.
‘Yes, I’m looking for a convent,’ said Brandon, ‘I was told it was somewhere up here.’
‘Sorry, I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ said the man, ‘this is private property and I have to ask you to leave.’
‘Oh, sorry,’ said Brandon, ‘I didn’t realise. It’s just that I am doing some research for a book and was wondering what is actually up there.’
‘Nothing that concerns you,’ said the man, ‘now if you don’t mind.’ He pointed back down the track, making the instruction to leave crystal clear.
‘What’s your problem?’ asked Murray to the gamekeeper, ‘we won’t cause any damage, can’t you allow us half an hour? Your boss wouldn’t need to know.’
The man took a few paces toward him.
‘Sir,’ he said, ‘you have climbed over a locked gate and are on private property. I have already explained that we cannot help you. Now, I will ask you one more time to leave, otherwise, I will have you removed by force.’
‘Oh yeah,’ snapped Murray, ‘I don’t see any signs saying private property, so I can walk wherever I damn well want to.’
‘Really, well this says otherwise,’ said the man un-cradling the shotgun.
‘Don’t be stupid,’ said Murray, taking a step forward, ‘you’re not going to shoot us just for trespassing.’
‘Don’t be silly, Murray,’ he said, ‘you heard the man, it’s private property. Come on, let’s go.’
‘Listen to your friend, stupid,’ said the game keeper with a sneer, ‘or you may get hurt.’
‘No problem,’ said Brandon with a smile, ‘sorry for bothering you. Come on Murray, let’s go to the pub.’ He pulled the reluctant taxi driver away and they walked back the way they had come, closely followed by the gamekeeper. Five minutes later, they were driving back down the road toward the town.
‘Do you believe that prat?’ snarled Murray, ‘gamekeeper, my arse. He was nothing more than a jumped up gardener as far as I am concerned.’
‘He was no gamekeeper,’ said Brandon looking out of the window.
‘He looked like one to me,’ said Murray, ‘he even had all the clobber.’
‘He did,’ said Brandon, ‘but I’ve never seen a gamekeeper wearing Ray-Bans, have you?’
Murray looked in the rear view mirror.
‘Yeah, I noticed that too,’ he said, ‘and he had a strange accent.’
‘Italian.’ said Brandon.
‘So who do you think he was?’ asked Murray, ‘some sort of security guard?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Brandon, ‘but I intend to find out, stop here.’
‘But we’re in the middle of nowhere,’ answered the driver
‘Pull over,’ said Brandon, ‘there’s something I want you to do for me.’ A few minutes later, they were both standing alongside the taxi. Brandon was scribbling an address in his notebook.
‘I want you to drive to this address,’ he said as he wrote, ‘pick up a bag for me and bring it back here as soon as possible. I have made the arrangements, all you have to do is pick it up but I need you back here by dark. Do you think you can do it?’
Murray looked at the address.
‘I suppose so,’ he said, ‘but what about you? The forecast says there’s a bad snowstorm coming. You can’t stay out here all day, you’ll freeze your nuts off.’