Vow of Obedience (14 page)

‘Oh, it’s not too bad. As I said the plants are often fallow in winter – oh, you mean poor Sister Hilaria. At least she is in good hands.’

‘The doctors are very efficient,’ he nodded.

‘I was talking about God,’ Sister Martha said, looking at him blankly.

‘Yes, of course. That too.’ He looked faintly embarrassed.

‘And of course we are all praying for her,’ Sister Martha said.

‘You were praying in chapel last evening?’

‘After supper, instead of having recreation, we returned to the chapel for an hour before night prayers and the blessing.’

‘Was anyone absent?’ He asked the question casually, bending to pluck a grey sprig and twirl it idly in his fingers.

‘Yes, I think so. Sister Joan came in late because she is helping out with lay duties now,’ Sister Martha said. ‘Sister Perpetua went out for about ten minutes. She had a bad coughing fit and didn’t wish to disturb anyone.’

‘Nobody else?’

‘No, I’m sure not. I might not have noticed but I think not. I’m afraid my attention was not as concentrated as it might have been. I was thinking about Sister Hilaria, trying to work out why she had gone beyond the gate. I must remember to mention my fault in general confession this evening.’

‘Thank you for your help anyway, Sister.’ He smiled at her and walked on.

‘It isn’t possible,’ Sister Joan said vehemently as soon as they were out of earshot. ‘Sister Perpetua wouldn’t dream of hurting anyone. She’s the infirmarian.’

‘She may have seen something,’ he said mildly. ‘In any case she ought to have mentioned her absence.’

‘Why should she? She doesn’t know anything about the luminous writing,’ Sister Joan protested. ‘Mother Dorothy considered it wiser not to alarm the rest of the community.’

‘Then it’s time Mother Dorothy thought again,’ he said with a touch of sourness. ‘Ignorance is no protection against lunacy.’

‘You can tell her over your cup of tea,’ Sister Joan said sweetly, leading him into the anteroom and tapping on the parlour door.

She herself went swiftly into the kitchen where she began collecting tea cups and hunting for the biscuit barrel. Outside Sister Teresa was sweeping the yard and crooning to the pony who occasionally tossed her head and whinnied in lieu of applause.

Elsewhere in the convent came the small sounds of industry that marked each morning. The soft tread of Sister David coming across the hall with a pile of textbooks, the swishing of Sister Katherine’s broom as she cleared up the bits of cotton left over from her latest piece of embroidery. In the infirmary there was the click-clack of knitting needles and the sound of an occasional remark dropped by one of the old nuns into the pool of silence.

The kettle added its singing to the day. She brewed the tea, picked up the tray, and carried it through to the parlour.

When she entered, placing the tray on the desk, kneeling to answer the traditional greeting, she felt immediately the tension in the atmosphere. There was nothing overt but it was present in Mother Dorothy’s thinned lips and the detective’s long fingers drumming softly on his trousered knee.

‘You may remain, Sister.’ Mother Dorothy indicated a stool, but didn’t suggest that she bring an extra cup.

Sister Joan sat down, folding her hands, feet neatly side by side.

‘Detective Sergeant Mill is of the opinion that we need more security precautions at the convent,’ Mother Dorothy said stiffly. ‘What is your view of the matter?’

‘Of our having extra security? On a temporary or permanent basis?’ She asked both questions as a delaying tactic, aware that two opposite reactions were expected from her by the other two.

‘Permanent,’ Detective Sergeant Mill said firmly. ‘I’m not talking about armed guards and barbed wire, but of a simple system of electronic …’

‘Far too expensive even if we wanted it which we don’t,’ Mother Dorothy said.

‘This is in an isolated situation,’ Detective Sergeant Mill said. His level voice held barely suppressed impatience.

‘Sister?’ Mother Dorothy looked at her. They both looked at her.

‘I think that it would go against the spirit of our order if we
surrounded ourselves with security devices,’ she said slowly. ‘There would be initial expense and running costs, but I do understand we live in a changing world. A more violent world.’

‘You’re sitting on the fence,’ he accused.

‘I was wondering …’ She hesitated, then went on, ‘I was wondering if it might be possible to get a dog – a good guard dog whom we could train to patrol the grounds at night and give warning. There isn’t anything in the rule against the keeping of animals, is there, Mother Dorothy?’

‘Pets are discouraged,’ the prioress said.

‘But a working dog, trained to accompany any of the sisters when they were alone anywhere in the area and to give warning of intruders at night? An Alsatian, perhaps?’

‘I shall put the idea to the community after general confession,’ Mother Dorothy said. ‘I must say it strikes me as an ideal compromise, but we shall see.’

‘If you decide in favour,’ Detective Sergeant Mill offered, giving in gracefully, ‘I’ll look out a good one for you from a healthy litter. And in future it would help if you made sure the doors were bolted in both the main house and the postulancy.’

‘You really take this threat seriously, don’t you?’ Mother Dorothy lowered her head bullishly and stared at him.

‘Yes I do.’ His tone was uncompromising. ‘Someone ran Sister Hilaria down and someone painted those words on the door of the postulancy and tore up the diary. And someone killed two young girls in a particularly nasty way. I strongly advise you to inform the whole community of the risks and move your novices into the main house. I take it you have room?’

‘Yes. We number only eleven, counting everybody. Except myself.’ She smiled slightly. ‘I’m afraid the habit of humility can lead to inaccuracy sometimes. We are twelve. I think twelve of us can deal with any trouble. Is there anything else – excuse me.’

At her elbow the telephone shrilled. She lifted the receiver, listened, spoke briefly and replaced it. ‘That was the hospital,’ she said. ‘Sister Hilaria, thank God, has woken up. Sister Joan, you had better go down to the hospital. Take the car.’

‘She can come in the police car,’ Detective Sergeant Mill said. ‘I’ll see she gets back safely.’

‘Very well. That’s very kind of you, Detective Sergeant.
Sister, you will stay with Sister Hilaria for as long as you deem necessary, and do make sure she is not subjected to a long inquisition of what she may or may not have seen. Our first concern must be Sister Hilaria’s speedy return to full health. Is that clear?’

‘Yes, Mother. Of course.’

Kneeling for the blessing, conscious of the detective’s somewhat jaundiced gaze, she went out into the hall. Outside a second police car had drawn up, presumably having brought the extra police.

‘Get in, Sister. We’d better get to the hospital as fast as we can,’ he said.

‘Yes, of course.’ She got in and fastened her seat belt rapidly.

‘What an obstinate crowd of females you are,’ he commented, half amused and half annoyed as he started the car. ‘Determined to cling to your independence.’

‘There are twelve of us,’ she reminded him.

‘So there are.’ He cast her an ironic glance. ‘Mother Dorothy who is small and wears spectacles and has more power in her tongue than her fists, the two old dears in the infirmary, three young novices conditioned not to think for themselves, the one that looks like a rabbit …’

‘Sister David,’ Sister Joan said incautiously and flushed.

‘I see you know the one I mean,’ he said straight faced. ‘Sister – Katherine and the gardener.’

‘Sister Martha.’

‘Three more delicately made, smallish women.’

‘And Sister Perpetua,’ she added.

‘Tough enough, I grant you, but close on sixty. Hardly an army.’

‘You’re forgetting me.’

‘No indeed, Sister Joan. You are the one I don’t forget,’ he informed her. ‘The oddest mixture of medieval superstition and hard common sense I ever knew. I’m sorry for the woman who had you as a novice.’

‘It isn’t the way you think,’ she said earnestly. ‘We are encouraged to think for ourselves but within the limits of canonical discipline. Can’t you go faster?’

‘Not without breaking the speed limit. Hold onto your veil, Sister. We’re almost there.’

He swung the car round a curve and at a speed perilously close to the illegal roared in at the hospital gates.

Here was the scrupulous cleanliness and swift, padding footsteps of women that reminded her of the cloister, but the smell was different. It was, she thought, as she accompanied the detective along the corridor, the smell of suffering and death. In the cloister it was life that was celebrated, and that was something she couldn’t explain.

‘She woke up and had some tea,’ the constable said, rising from his seat as they came in. ‘She said her head was aching, that’s all. Then she dozed off again.’

Sister Hilaria had been slightly propped up. Her cheeks held a faint and welcome tinge of colour and the blue tint about her lips was fading.

‘Sister Hilaria?’ Sister Joan bent over, keeping her voice low and calm. ‘It’s Sister Joan. You’re looking much better, Sister.’

‘There may be some degree of amnesia for several days.’ A white-jacketed orderly had entered. ‘She’s in no state to be questioned yet.’

‘Of course not. I merely wanted to assure her that she’s in good hands and the entire community is praying for her,’ Sister Joan said.

‘Which she probably knows,’ the orderly said.

‘Yes, of course. Everybody sends love and you’re to have a good rest, Sister.’ She spoke gently, her tone conventual. Inside she wanted to raise her voice, to demand …

‘Sister?’ The novice mistress’s eyes were open, her expression puzzled.

‘You’re in the hospital and you’re going to be fine, thank God,’ Sister Joan said.

‘You don’t understand.’ Sister Hilaria’s voice was
gratifyingly
strong. ‘It ought to be have been a donkey, you see. That was the whole trouble.’

And, lids fluttering down, she slipped into healing sleep.

‘Did the remark make any sense to you, Sister?’ Detective Sergeant Mill asked.

‘Not yet, but I haven’t had time to think about it.’

They had left the side ward where Sister Hilaria lay and were pacing the forecourt of the hospital. Around them the air was cold and brilliant, the silence punctured by the sounds of cars and ambulances stopping and starting.

‘It ought to have been a donkey,’ he repeated thoughtfully. ‘That has to mean something surely, unless it was one of those meaningless remarks people make when they’re emerging from unconsciousness. Some very respectable people swear like troopers.’

‘Not Sister Hilaria,’ Sister Joan said decidedly. ‘She meant something when she spoke.’

It occurred to her with a little shock that the novice mistress, for all her dreaminess, had a habit of bringing forth phrases that, though slightly out of context, illumined the situation.

‘Let’s hope the amnesia doesn’t last long,’ he said. ‘I’ll make sure there’s someone with her at all times.’

‘No luck yet in finding the car?’

‘No luck at all. Of course it’s possible it wasn’t damaged when it struck her, in which case it won’t have been handed in for repair at any garage. In any case our main concern still has to be the murders.’

‘And there’s no news there else you’d have mentioned it.’

‘Only the negative kind. The dresses the girls were wearing were made of a cheap silk that can be bought almost anywhere including in the markets, and thousands of those cheap sandals have been sold during the last year or two. Same goes for those lace insets – cheap lace you can buy
anywhere by the yard though it was all hand-sewn beautifully. They were wearing their own underwear and we haven’t found their nightclothes yet. I’m trying to keep the media interest low key to prevent public panic and so far it seems to be paying off.’

‘But not having information must be frustrating,’ she sympathized.

‘Ninety per cent of police work is frustration, five per cent is sweat and five per cent is the lucky hunch,’ he told her. ‘So far I haven’t had the lucky hunch. Now we’d better get you back to the convent or we’ll have Mother Dorothy on our tails.’

‘I’m going to get the bus back,’ Sister Joan said firmly. ‘There is one that drops me off not far from the industrial estate and it’s only a fifteen minute walk from there – no, honestly, it’s a fine morning and it’ll be in the nature of a treat for me.’

‘You’re not thinking of indulging in a spot of amateur deduction of your own?’

‘No, of course not. I promise.’

‘If that’s what you want, Sister. Thanks for coming down with me.’

‘Sister Hilaria will be safe in the hospital, won’t she?’ she paused to enquire.

‘There’ll be a police officer with her at all times until she’s well enough to return to the convent. What I’d like to do is put a couple of men on lookout there as well, but the truth is that I can’t really spare anyone. One advantage of a place like this is the generally low crime rate; the big disadvantage is that when there is a serious crime we’re hard pressed to find extra men.’

‘There’s always Sergeant Barratt,’ she said demurely.

‘Hardworking, competent, meticulous – all the right qualities but so far he hasn’t lowered the barrier to let us find anything behind it.’

Because he used these qualities to advance his career and thereby avoid the pain of admitting his sexual impotence? She said nothing, not being at liberty to betray a confidence.

‘Take care, Sister.’ His parting salute held an undercurrent of anxiety.

‘I will.’

Shaking hands, she turned and went with the swift gliding walk of the professed out of the forecourt and along the road to the bus-stop. One of the rare buses of the day was just arriving and she clambered aboard and seated herself by the window.

People watching was always a fascinating occupation. Settled near the door she was able to run her eye unobtrusively over the other passengers. A couple of women with shopping bags, another who sat by herself with a little secret smile on her face – Sister Joan noted the maternity smock over the faded jeans, and smiled too. A first baby perhaps? Eagerly awaited by a loving young couple. It was a pleasant thought to balance against violence and murder.

A group of teenagers shoved their way on, arguing and gesticulating. Sister Joan noticed that they scrupulously avoided the empty seat next to her and rushed up to the back to sprawl over the seats there. The bus driver glanced at them but said nothing. Nobody ever did say anything these days, she thought, for fear of possible retaliation. It was a sad comment on the way the world was going. Yet their brashness might well serve them as armour against greater dangers. The girls who had died had been young for their years, well reared, polite. Their innocence had been no protection. She frowned at her faint, shadowed glass reflection as the bus stopped again.

‘Hello, Sister. I didn’t expect to see you here,’ Padraic Lee said in surprise, plonking himself down beside her. ‘What happened to the convent car?’

‘Nothing at all. Good morning, Padraic. I went into town by police car.’

‘You want to watch it, Sister,’ he advised earnestly. ‘You’ll do your reputation no good if you ride round in police cars too, often.’

‘Oh, I hope my reputation would stand it,’ she said solemnly. ‘Why are you on the bus?’

‘Some fool borrowed my pick-up and dented it,’ he said gloomily. ‘Not too badly, but I take a pride in that pick-up so it’s being seen to and I’m taking buses.’

‘At which garage?’ she asked sharply.

‘Do me a favour, Sister,’ he implored. ‘Why would I let myself get ripped off at a garage when I can do a fair repair
job myself? I thought I’d paint the old girl too. A nice cheerful blue.’

‘Padraic, have you any idea who borrowed your pick-up?’ she asked urgently.

‘If I had you’d recognize him by his black eye,’ he retorted.

‘Would you mind if I paid a visit this morning?’ she asked.

‘Glad to have you visit any time, Sister,’ he said welcomingly. ‘We can walk over together if you like.’

‘Fine. I’d like to have a cup of tea and a chat.’ She smiled at him, deciding to say nothing yet about Sister Hilaria.

The bus stopped at the corner where the raw, red roofs of the houses on the industrial estate began. Padraic, alighting from the vehicle with Sister Joan at his heels, gave them a scornful look.

‘’Orrible,’ he pronounced gloomily.

‘I’m inclined to agree with you, but people have to live somewhere,’ she said.

‘Me and the wife will stick to our caravan,’ he said firmly. ‘The council can grumble about it until the heavens fall down. If they put some money where their mouth is and laid on a decent water supply and a few drains we’d be a lot better off.’

‘How is your wife?’ Sister Joan asked delicately.

‘Not too well if the truth were known,’ he informed her. ‘Gone to stay with her cousin for a bit. These murders have shook up her nerves.’

Which meant either that Padraic’s adored wife had vanished on one of her periodic binges or was drying out in some clinic. Padraic himself would never say and she honoured him for his loyalty and regretted that it was spent on someone unworthy of it.

They strode together along the track that straggled to the Romany camp. The caravans, some brightly painted, others faded and in need of repair, the washing lines strung between them, the small bonfires with the cooking pots hung over them, the odorous midden round which the lurcher dogs snuffled, had no place in a clean, sanitized society, but it was her considered opinion that something of value would be lost when the day of conformity arrived. Padraic, less romantic than herself, nodded towards the camp as they approached.

‘Smells to high heaven when the wind’s in the wrong direction,’ he said. ‘The kids don’t think much of the new
school, by the way. Too many in the class and no Sister Joan.’

‘I miss them too,’ she confessed. ‘Right now I’m helping out with lay duties.’

‘And with the novices until Sister Hilaria gets on her feet again?’

‘You know about that?’

‘Give me credit,’ he said.

Sister Joan, remembering the mysterious grapevine that ensured the Romanies knew about everything that happened almost before it occurred, gave him credit with a questioning glance added.

‘Found with her head stove in, wasn’t she? I’d’ve mentioned it but you didn’t say anything so I figured you wanted it kept quiet.’

‘She was hit by a vehicle, fortunately not as badly as you seem to have heard,’ Sister Joan began.

Padraic was ahead of her, his black eyes kindling as he spoke.

‘You think my pick-up hit her? You should’ve said, Sister.’

‘I didn’t think you were the one driving,’ she protested.

‘Even so …’ He gnawed his lip for a moment, then relented. ‘You’d not want the rest of them on the bus to hear our private business. Well, someone borrowed my pick-up and put a dent in it. You’ll be wondering whom.’

‘Surely not one of your people,’ she said.

To her surprise, instead of agreeing vehemently, he gave her an uneasy sideways glance, saying, ‘You take a stool, Sister, and I’ll bring out the tea. Gets a bit lonely with my good lady away.’

Surely not one of his people, she reflected, seating herself in a patch of sunlight. Poaching, occasional petty thieving, the odd drunken brawl were the limits of their criminality. No Romany of her acquaintance would deliberately run down a nun and leave her there. No Romany of her acquaintance …

‘There we are then, Sister. Nothing like a cup of tea on a cold morning.’ Padraic emerged with two mugs and a flowered china bowl of sugar arranged rather touchingly on a tray.

‘Nothing in the world,’ Sister Joan agreed, noting the over-hearty manner.

‘One thing I must say,’ he continued, ‘is that the kids are getting a good midday meal at that town school. No reflection
on you, Sister, because I know you used to feed ’em hot drinks off that little primus, but the school food is pretty good.’

‘I’m very pleased,’ she assured him. ‘Sooner or later all the children would have grown far beyond my teaching powers. But I shall miss them for a while. Padraic, hasn’t your cousin recently joined you?’

His swarthy skin had reddened but he answered coolly enough, ‘Luther? Yes, he’s joined us.’

‘After eighteen months – away?’

‘In gaol,’ Padraic said reluctantly. ‘And if you’re thinking Luther pinched my pick-up then you’re way off course, Sister. Luther ain’t a thief.’

‘But he was in gaol?’

She watched the inward struggle mirrored in his face. At last he said, ‘Can you keep this to yourself?’

‘Not if it has a bearing on Sister Hilaria’s accident,’ she said honestly.

‘It don’t have – doesn’t.’ In moments of stress his carefully articulated sentences unravelled. ‘It doesn’t have, Sister. Luther wouldn’t run anyone over.’

‘Why was he in gaol?’ she persisted.

‘When I said gaol,’ Padraic said uncomfortably, ‘I didn’t actually mean gaol. I mean not gaol exactly – more hospital really, for tests.’

‘Psychological tests?’

‘So they call them,’ he nodded. ‘Nothing wrong with Luther but nerves …’

‘Nerves?’

‘He gets notions,’ Padraic said with extreme reluctance. ‘He gets notions that young girls fancy him and he follows them to give himself the chance of being courted by them if they’ve a mind. It’s a harmless fancy but some folk complained and he was taken to the hospital. He’s cured now. He must be else they’d not have let him out, so it hasn’t anything to do with anything.’

‘Where was he in hospital?’ she demanded.

‘Up in the Black Country. One side of our family camps out by the Wrekin.’

‘Near Birmingham.’

‘In that area, yes. But he was never brought up for
anything. He agreed to go for treatment, and he’s cured of following now.’

‘I agree with you that it doesn’t seem likely he’d have knocked Sister Hilaria down.’ she agreed, finishing her tea. ‘Padraic, where’s your pick-up now?’

‘Beyond the camp under a tarpaulin,’ he said, obviously relieved to change the subject. ‘You’ll be wanting to take a look?’

‘If you don’t mind?’ Rising, she waited for him to lead the way beyond the caravans where the few older people sitting on the steps greeted her as she went by, past the shed with chalkmarks still visible on the grass though the restraining string had gone, to the tarpaulin cover stretched over tent poles under which the pick-up truck stood forlornly.

‘I’ve not knocked out the dent yet,’ Padraic said. ‘I’m looking for new tyres – well, as good as new but at this time of year and with the recession – it’s all money and the lack of it, isn’t it, Sister?’

‘I’m sure you’re right.’ She stooped to the dented bumper. Whoever was driving it would have hit Sister Hilaria a glancing blow but surely low down. Unless Sister Hilaria, in turning to flee, had tripped and fallen and the truck had swerved towards her, then swerved away again. Panic or design? She shook her head and straightened up again.

‘You have to report this to the police,’ she said. ‘Before the dent is knocked out. You must, you know.’

‘Couldn’t you report it for me, Sister?’ he asked.

‘If you like.’ She nodded reluctantly. ‘Meanwhile, don’t touch it.’

‘But I don’t want the police bothering Luther,’ he warned.

‘But they have to be told,’ she protested. ‘Surely you can see that …’

‘What I told you about Luther was in strict confidence, Sister,’ Padraic said. ‘Luther never took my pick-up anyway. Why would he when he only had to ask? And he certain surely wouldn’t knock down a nun. You’ll say nothing, Sister.’

‘For the moment,’ she temporized unwillingly, ‘but if you mention it to Detective Sergeant Mill he’ll be able to eliminate your cousin from his enquiries.’

‘Pardon my frankness, Sister,’ Padraic said with dignity, ‘but you don’t know what you’re on about. There were
complaints made about Luther and though he never meant any harm or got into the dock his name’s known. Detective Sergeant Mill is decent enough but that new fellow, Barratt, is an unholy terror. Throws his weight about something shocking. Only let him get a whisper and there’d be no peace for poor Luther.’