A police car driven by Constable Petrie would whisk Amy and Shirley Fleetwood to Plymouth as soon as darkness had fallen, avoiding the town. Everything was set up.
‘Is Luther supposed to be here with us too?’ Mother Dorothy had enquired.
‘Yes. Dr Meredith has been given to understand that Luther can identify the person who took Amy. We haven’t, of course, let it be known that it was Luther himself who took her.’
‘So many untruths,’ Mother Dorothy had murmured, shaking her veiled head slightly.
‘In police work they’re often necessary.’
‘I wasn’t criticizing you, Detective Sergeant Mill,’ she had said. ‘I was merely regretting the necessity for them.’
Betty Foster was emerging from the main building, her face lighting into a smile as she saw Sister Joan.
‘Have you heard, Sister?’ Her voice was slightly breathless. ‘They’ve found Amy and she’s unharmed! Dr Meredith told me on the quiet earlier this afternoon. He must’ve guessed that I’m her mother or else why tell me? Apparently the police want the news kept quiet because until whoever took her is arrested she might still be at risk.’
‘Then I hope you haven’t gone blurting it out all over the hospital,’ Sister Joan said severely.
‘No, of course not!’ Betty Foster looked indignant. ‘I care a great deal for Amy, Sister, even though I mightn’t show it. I’ve had to bite my tongue sometimes when I’ve heard some of the others say how dreadful it must be for a child to have no mother. I’ve wanted to shout out that I’m her mother even if she doesn’t know it yet. I thought it better to keep quiet about it.’
‘And telling a nun doesn’t count,’ Sister Joan said dryly.
‘But I’ve not said a word to anyone else,’ Betty Foster said. ‘I’ve been hugging myself inside for the last couple of hours. I’ve been making plans too, Sister. I’m going to apply to the court for full custody of Amy. I don’t want her fostered any longer or stuck in a children’s home. I’m in a position to care for her myself now.’
‘Thanks to your gentlemen friends,’ Sister Joan said.
‘Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it, Sister!’ Betty Foster looked suddenly charming and impertinent.
‘I won’t!’ Sister Joan said, laughing as she turned and walked on.
‘Has something happened? I heard you laughing!’ Ceri Williams looked up from the reception desk as Sister Joan went in.
‘The news about Amy. Didn’t Dr Meredith tell you?’
Ceri Williams looked at her blankly.
‘He hasn’t said anything,’ she said. ‘Is she all right?’
‘We found her with Luther. They’re both fine. Dr Meredith was asked to tell the staff quietly since the police are still keeping the matter under wraps. Keep it to yourself.’
‘I will,’ Ceri Williams said solemnly. ‘I daresay Dr Meredith thought that a student nurse wasn’t important enough to be trusted with a secret. I don’t really know him very well at all, him only being part-time. What happened? Why was Luther with her?’
‘It’s a long story,’ Sister Joan said, wondering how to avoid a direct lie. ‘If Dr Meredith had managed to get hold of you he’d’ve told you that Luther can identify the person who took Amy and so they’re both in a very, very safe place.’
‘The convent. Convents have always been sanctuaries, haven’t they? Oh, I’m so pleased that it turned out well,’ Ceri Williams said softly.
‘I’ve all my fingers crossed,’ Sister Joan said, beginning to ascend the staircase to the upper floor.
Outside the staff sitting-room she met Dr Geeson.
‘Here again, Sister?’ He looked at her coldly.
‘Like an avenging angel!’ Sister Joan said lightly. ‘May I ask you a question, Doctor?’
‘I have a few minutes to spare.’ He glanced at his watch and turned back into the sitting-room.
‘I take it that Tracy Collet’s funeral will take place soon?’ Sister Joan said, following.
‘I’ve no idea. Presumably the almoner will know.’
‘I would’ve thought that you might have been interested in the funeral arrangements or are you simply too relieved that she and her child are dead to bother any longer?’
‘You’re making an unwarrantable assumption, Sister.’ His fingers had involuntarily clenched.
‘I don’t think so,’ Sister Joan said calmly. ‘You and Betty Foster were both at Battersea, weren’t you? Then you came here and so did she shortly after her daughter was born. You do know that Amy is her child, don’t you?’
‘I had suspected that she might be,’ he said.
‘You knew it,’ Sister Joan said with equal coldness. ‘Having seduced her and refused to take any responsibility for the coming child you transferred to this hospital and she followed you here, not merely because her little girl was being fostered in the same area but because you were here and she hoped that the affair might start up again. But you’d embarked on another affair with Tracy Collet though you weren’t aware that she too was pregnant. So that was another responsibility you could reject.’
‘Your imagination has taken wings, Sister.’ He looked faintly amused. ‘You haven’t the least proof of any of this. So, Sister Foster and I were at Battersea together? So were other doctors and nurses. Coming from the same place doesn’t necessarily create a bond.’
‘Betty Foster knows the father of her child,’ Sister Joan said. ‘She’s a decent young woman and she didn’t choose to make trouble for you. Neither did Tracy Collet. She tried to persuade herself that you cared enough about her to marry her, but you didn’t, did you? The truth is that you care for nobody. It may make you an efficient doctor but it doesn’t make you an admirable one. Only the father of Tracy Collet’s child would’ve been so relieved by her death that he strolled through the gate whistling!’
‘I trust you don’t intend to make this matter public,’ Dr Geeson said. ‘The laws of libel and slander apply also to nuns.’
‘Oh, I daresay there are others know about it without my having to say a word,’ Sister Joan said coldly.
‘If you’ll excuse me I have patients to attend.’ He looked at his watch again. ‘You may find this difficult to understand from the sentimental fog in which you dwell but there are some people who actually prefer a highly trained doctor with a scientific mind to a muddled old fool from Wrexham. Good day, Sister.’
‘Wrexham,’ Sister Joan said under her breath, watching him stride out. ‘Wrexham?’
In her mind a fact she had barely noted was surfacing. Two of the staff of St Keyne’s had come from Wrexham. Well, it was a large town but, all the same, people who had trained in the same place even if not at the same time might well exchange notes when they found themselves in the same smallish hospital far from home. Turning, she almost ran back along the corridor and down the stairs. There was nobody at the main reception desk as she sped across the forecourt towards the residents’ unit. The door of the unit was open and to her relief Dr Meredith was seated in the common room, sipping a small whisky. He looked up tiredly as she came in.
‘Why didn’t you tell Ceri Williams about Amy’s being found and kept in a safe place?’ she demanded.
‘It was somewhat difficult to contact all those whom the detective sergeant wished to inform,’ he said.
‘No, that wasn’t the whole reason,’ Sister Joan said. ‘You come from Wrexham and Ceri Williams comes from Wrexham too. Did you know her before she came here as a student nurse?’
‘I settled in Cornwall in 1963. Ceri Williams is twenty-three.’
‘Had you heard of her? Did you know the family?’
‘My late wife was a cousin of Gwyneth Williams who was Ceri’s grandmother.’ He set down the glass carefully. ‘We went back to Wrexham every year to see family and friends. I knew of Ceri. We met her once or twice when she was a child.’
‘And then she came here to train as a nurse. You must’ve taken some interest in that. Did you recommend her
?’
‘No.’ He spoke flatly, definitely. ‘I was not asked for my opinion but I was worried when Ceri Williams arrived here.’
‘Why? Doctor, you must tell me!’
‘There was a younger sister.’ He spoke slowly and reluctantly. ‘Nesta Williams was a Down’s Syndrome child, eight years Ceri’s junior. She was found with a plastic bag over her head. Verdict: accident. I was uneasy about it. When my late wife and I visited the family after Nesta’s birth we spoke briefly to Ceri. I believe we said something trite about having a special sister and Ceri looked up and said, ‘They don’t live long, do they? It’s better for them not to live long’. She might’ve been echoing something she’d heard an adult say but there was something most unchildlike in her eyes. Later on we heard the little girl had died. My wife was quite ill by then and I’d my hands full but I did worry about it. No proof of course.’
‘And then years later she turned up here as a student nurse?’
‘Two years ago. She didn’t really remember me. And she’s an excellent student, most caring and compassionate. I decided my original worries were groundless.’
‘When the old tramp died three months back, were you in casualty that day? Was Ceri Williams?’
‘I was there when he was brought in. I knew him slightly. He never would tell me his name — a slight degree of paranoia there, but I had treated him for diabetes. I told Ward Sister Meecham to type a note to that effect when he was moved from casualty on to the general ward. Then I went off duty. Sister Collet had just come on duty.’
‘Isn’t there a time overlap as one member of staff goes off duty and another comes on? From whom did Sister Collet take over?’
‘From Ceri Williams,’ he said. ‘She was making hot drinks for the patients when I went off duty.’
‘So she could have sugared the cocoa and then simply left it to Sister Collet to hand it to him. Did you make full enquiries?’
‘He died in a diabetic coma,’ he repeated.
‘But you didn’t ask who actually put the sugar in the cocoa? The dregs of the cup weren’t analysed?’
‘There was no reason for them to be. Sister Joan, there was no proof of malice against anybody. To have begun asking a series of leading questions may well have placed a black mark against a student nurse at the beginning of her career.’
‘Did you know that Tracy Collet had signed for a quantity of digoxin just before the tramp was brought in?’
‘At that time, no.’
‘And nobody would miss an old tramp who wouldn’t even tell his name.’
‘There was no proof,’ he said.
‘On the night Louisa Cummings died,’ Sister Joan persisted, ‘Ward Sister Meecham made the ward rounds at midnight with Ceri Williams. Where was Ceri Williams earlier in the evening?’
‘I don’t know. I wasn’t on duty.’
‘So while Sister Collet was in the toilet being sick she could’ve slipped up the back stairs, poured the dose of digoxin down the old lady’s throat or forced in a couple of tablets, smoothed the sheet and gone away again ready to accompany Sister Meecham on her ward rounds.’
‘That’s a possible hypothesis,’ he said, ‘but there was no proof, no reason to suspect the death wasn’t a natural one.’
‘And Madge Lee? Sister Collet was summoned to the children’s unit by a scribbled note. Couldn’t Ceri Williams have scribbled the note herself? Sister Collet said that Sister Williams was making a hot drink for a patient? Was she making black coffee for Madge Lee? Dr Meredith, she could’ve dissolved more digoxin tablets in that black coffee! Then all she had to do was put the opened bottle of brandy in Madge’s hand and go back to the main ward. It was assumed that Madge had somehow or other got hold of the brandy herself, drunk most of it and died of alcoholic poisoning. Dr Meredith, didn’t that thought occur to you?’
‘It wasn’t my business.’ His hand shook as she faced him. ‘I’m not a well man, Sister! I’ve not been well since my dear wife died! It wasn’t my business!’
‘But you didn’t tell Ceri Williams that Amy had been found. Why not?’
‘The little girl used to bang her head and scratch her arms and legs,’ he said. ‘Nobody actually caught her doing it. Of course, children can be secretive. I recall Sister Merryl saying that the child ought to be more carefully watched and Ceri Williams said, “Poor little soul, what future has she got?” There was an expression in her eyes that reminded me of the day my wife and I went to see her newborn sister. I thought it best not to tell her.’
‘But I did tell her!’ Dismay flooded Sister Joan’s whole being as she stared at him.
‘That’s not important now,’ he began.
‘Not important!’ She whirled about and made for the door. ‘I have to get back and stop her!’
She was running to the van and the elderly doctor was lumbering behind her, no longer arguing but climbing into the passenger seat.
‘She’ll be on her way still. We can intercept her,’ Sister Joan said, starting the vehicle with a jerk. ‘Dear God, when Sister Collet died of an overdose of digoxin why didn’t you do something, say something?’
He made no answer, but sat hunched up beside her.
The van speeded down the hill and along the main street and turned on to the moorland track.
‘There she is!’ Sister Joan slowed abruptly, her eyes on the figure ahead.
Ceri Williams was running, her plump figure moving with astonishing speed.
‘She’s making for the old schoolhouse. She must’ve guessed that Luther would be there!’ Sister Joan pressed down on the accelerator and swung the van in a wide circle to cut the flying figure off.
‘She’ll do no harm now,’ Dr Meredith said. There was a strange, sad note in his voice.
The figure had stopped abruptly, holding one hand to its side, sinking down into the bracken like a rag doll thrown down by a bored child.
‘I saw you arriving,’ Dr Meredith said in a tired, defeated tone. ‘I knew Ceri was on the reception desk, that she’d fall into your trap. I slipped a very large amount of sleeping powder into a cup of coffee and took it across to her. I expected it to work more swiftly but she is obviously in a heightened state of excitement and terror which delayed the effect.’
‘What effect?’ Sister Joan clashed the gears as she drew to a halt and jumped down.
‘The inevitable one.’ Dr Meredith was following her more slowly. ‘Digoxin isn’t the only dangerous drug we keep in the hospital. I signed for this yesterday because I had an idea that I might be forced to use it.’
‘Then you—?’
‘I never killed anybody before.’ He had reached the figure lying in the bracken and was looking down with an expression on his face that stopped Sister Joan in her tracks. ‘It works very quickly at the end. I couldn’t let the poor child go to trial. She would never have endured that, being questioned, having her good intentions misinterpreted. She had the very best intentions, you know. Last night we had a chat and she admitted to me that she’d slipped across to give Sister Collet something for her constant nausea. Sister Collet was a very trusting young woman. Ceri told me how sorry she felt for her, being pregnant and knowing her work was suffering and she was becoming careless.’
‘There’s more.’ Sister Joan was on her knees, frantically feeling for a pulse. ‘There has to be more!’
‘Her mother’s name was Ceri too,’ Dr Meredith said. ‘She was a lovely woman. My own dear wife never wanted children, wasn’t very keen on that side of marriage. Nobody ever knew, of course. We’d left the district before anything started and it was a very brief affair, but I couldn’t let the law get my own daughter, could I? I couldn’t do that!’
Ward Sister Sophie Meecham had taken advantage of the fine afternoon to walk out on to the moor. At this time of year the bracken had a purplish tinge and the edges of the leaves were crisp and brown as toast. She walked briskly, enjoying the frost on the wind, the sensation of being high above the ordinary world.
As she neared the gates of the convent she slowed down, her attention caught by the slim figure in grey around whose legs a half-grown alsatian dog gambolled.
‘Here, Alice! Good girl!’ Sister Joan’s clear voice recalled the animal as Sophie Meecham paused and then came on again slowly.
‘Good afternoon, Sister Joan.’ Sophie Meecham spoke somewhat shyly.
There had been a moment during the preceding investigation when she had wondered if it might be possible to make a real friend of Sister Joan, but the moment had passed. Life itself had changed for her.
‘Sister Meecham, good afternoon to you.’ Sister Joan looked cheerful. No doubt her faith had sustained her during the past trying days.
‘I hoped that I might run into you,’ Sophie Meecham said. ‘I wanted you to know that I think you did the right thing.’
‘What right thing?’ Sister Joan frowned slightly.
‘Well, asking all those questions, finding out what had been going on,’ Sister Meecham said, feeling suddenly awkward.
‘There’ll be no trial,’ Sister Joan said.
‘Surely that’s better all round?’ Sophie Meecham ventured. ‘After all you couldn’t possibly have known that Dr Meredith had already taken a fatal dose of the sleeping draught in the whisky he was sipping when you saw him in the residents’ unit.’
‘Justice should be seen to be done,’ Sister Joan said. ‘If I hadn’t left Dr Meredith with the body and driven on to the convent to alert Detective Sergeant Mill I’d have seen him fall.’
‘But you couldn’t have done anything,’ Sophie Meecham said.
‘So everybody told me.’ Sister Joan looked unconvinced, then cheered up as she asked, ‘How is Amy? Have you heard anything?’
‘Yes, as a matter of fact I have!’ Sophie Meecham beamed at her. ‘Sister Foster has applied for full custody of her and there’s every chance that she’ll get it. She’ll work flexible hours at the hospital and she has already put down a deposit on a nice little apartment near the infants’ school. Amy’s taken to her wonderfully but that’s to be expected, I suppose, seeing they’re blood relatives. That always creates a bond.’
A VOW OF COMPASSION an utterly gripping crime mystery Page 20
