Vow of Chastity (15 page)

‘Not a very respectful or religious man,’ Mother Dorothy was continuing, ‘but it is always a mistake to judge a book by its cover. Possibly contact with our community will be of benefit to him. The study period is almost upon us. Are you meditating on the four branches of the rule? An essay at some future period might be of help to Sister Hilaria for her postulants. She is often short of new material.’

‘Yes, Reverend Mother.’

‘I suspect,’ said Mother Dorothy unexpectedly, ‘that you find it strange I should have retained so unworldly a person as novice mistress.’

‘She isn’t very practical,’ Sister Joan said, startled into candour.

‘Sister Hilaria lives already half in the next world,’ Mother Dorothy said. ‘It is of inestimable benefit to the
postulants to be exposed to such holiness early in their religious lives. It is also of benefit to Sister Hilaria to have the company of lively young girls whose problems and personalities tie her more closely to earth. She has the gift of reading souls, Sister Joan, a rare and valuable
accomplishment
in the religious life. Stand a postulant – stand anyone in front of Sister Hilaria and she will tell you the innermost heart of that person. And she is completely modest about it, believing that any of us could do the same with a little effort. So an essay from you will help her in her duties. Now you had better get to your studies. Tomorrow is Saturday so you will have the weekend in which to concentrate on your spiritual duties.’

‘Yes, Reverend Mother. I was wondering –’ Sister Joan hesitated. ‘Is Petroc to be buried on Monday? If so then it would be a mark of respect to close the school.’

‘I have already asked Detective Sergeant Mill to inform the parents there will be no school on Monday, the day of the funeral. You and I will attend the requiem – also Sister David who has connections with the school since she was the teacher there before you joined us. Father Stephen is very kindly giving us a lift as Father Malone will be conducting the service. Oh, the child’s father will be there. Detective Sergeant Mill informed me that he had, as he termed it, pulled a few strings and the man’s sentence is to be commuted immediately on
compassionate
grounds.’

‘That was very nice of him!’

‘As I said we ought not to judge a book by its cover. Thank you, Sister.’

Sister Joan collected some paper from the library and went to her cell. Writing an essay for the benefit of the postulants was a daunting task. How could she honestly explore her own thoughts and feelings when whatever she wrote would end up as instruction for the postulants? Her fingers ached for brush and palette, for the means to express her thoughts in vivid, living colours and shapes that leapt from the canvas.

‘If I can’t be the best then I won’t settle for mediocrity,’ she had told Jacob.

‘I’d say that made more sense than burying your talents completely in a convent‚’ he’d answered.

‘They won’t be buried. Our skills will be used in the service of the community.’

‘If the Mother Superior so decrees. So give up any idea of marrying me but don’t stifle everything else in yourself.’

‘I would marry you, Jacob, but you want your children to be Jewish and I’d want them to be baptised.’

‘I want you to be happy,’ he’d said with the disarming gentleness that shook her resolve.

But her resolve had held, right through her lonely and doubt-ridden postulancy to the moment when, clad in white, she had lain spread-eagled before the flower-filled altar, making her vows, and not known until hours later that in the joy of that bonding she had not even paused to wonder if Jacob were present.

Chastity
she wrote swiftly,
is
not
confined
to
the
celibate
though
the
vow
of
chastity
we
take
when
we
enter
the
religious
life
includes
celibacy.
But
that
celibacy
need
not
be
a
barren
denial
of
life.
It
can
be
the
raising
of
our
instincts
into
a
freer,
wider,
more
universal
loving.
Other
women
vow
to
love
one
man.
We
vow
to
love
all
mankind
through
the
merits
of –

Mankind was Petroc, playing in the water, of the innocence of an adolescence that had been cruelly cut short. Mankind was someone who had arranged to meet that little boy and coldly, callously, given him his death potion. Her written words seemed glib and facile when she read them over.

Filing into chapel with the rest of the community at the end of the study period she noticed that Sister David was back. Evidently nothing untoward had happened in school. Indeed the day’s activities and the long walk across the moor had brought a pink glow to the other’s cheeks. It would be a courtesy to ask if Sister David might help out more often in the future. A way too of distancing herself from the children in preparation for the time when the school would finally be closed down and the pupils be allotted to schools in Bodmin.

Father Stephen had come to give Benediction. He was
a tall, thin young man with, according to Father Malone, ambitions to end up as a bishop.

‘Or a cardinal, God save us all!’ Father Malone had said in his dry manner. ‘And the boy only just ordained. Optimism is a wonderful thing.’

Father Stephen was reputed to be clever. Sister Joan reflected that it was more fitting that little Father Malone would be offering the requiem mass. Father Malone hadn’t learnt any new theology since his training in the seminary as a young man, but his inarticulate sympathy with the bereaved and troubled savoured of more true godliness. Hastily she reminded herself that it wasn’t her place to criticize the local curate and bowed her head again.

Father Stephen departed, looking faintly relieved as he always did. She suspected that the overwhelmingly female aura of the convent discomposed him, unlike Father Malone who liked a bit of a gossip when the service was over.

When this is all over, she decided, I will ask permission to spend the summer holidays in retreat.

Supper was spaghetti, a dish she had never much liked unless it were consumed in a trattoria with a bottle of good red wine. She wound the slippery strands around her fork and imagined lashings of pesto sauce while Sister Katherine finished the book about the Magdalene, her pretty face tense with nerves for of all things she dreaded her turn at reading aloud.

At recreation, the slow-growing knitting in her hand, she listened to Sister David rattling on about her day at the school –

‘– really I had forgotten how tiring the profession is. But the children were very good. Quite apart from the present sad circumstances I am sure that Sister Joan has established discipline among them in a way that I never could.’

Sister Joan hastened to disclaim the compliment. ‘They’ve been good ever since term began. If I knew the recipe for it I’d bottle it.’

‘Speaking of which –’ Sister Perpetua leaned forward,
reddish eyebrows working. ‘There is a rumour that after this evening’s culinary demonstration the postulants are going to be let loose in the kitchen to cook the evening meal. I hope Reverend Mother can dispel the rumour else I shall have to lay in extra stocks of bicarbonate of soda.’

Her little joke made she uttered a sharp bark of laughter and was silent.

‘The postulants may turn out to be very good cooks,’ Mother Dorothy said, smiling slightly. ‘However you need not fret, Sister. They will help Sister Margaret only when their spiritual duties permit. Sister Katherine, your reading tonight was most eloquent. I find myself always so deeply moved by the recognition in the garden. Grief transmuted into the promise of resurrection.’

‘I wonder if that poor child thought of that when he was dying,’ Sister Martha murmured, sounding
unwontedly
cross.

‘The child’s funeral is to take place on Monday,’ Mother Dorothy said, picking up the subject but ignoring the comment. ‘Sister Joan and Sister David will
accompany
me to the requiem mass and to the funeral service. I think that on that morning private prayers for all the faithful departed should be the burden of our devotions.’

Conversation languished. It was difficult to make pleasant little jokes and sprightly conversation when the murder of a child hung on the air.

‘It is time for chapel.’ Mother Dorothy folded up her own work and put it into the canvas bag. ‘The grand silence has already been delayed on one evening this week. I’d not wish to repeat the fault.’

Hardly a fault, Sister Joan thought, putting away her own knitting with relief, since reporting the finding of Petroc’s body couldn’t be left until the following
morning
. At least Mother Dorothy hadn’t mentioned that the grand silence had also been broken earlier on in the week.

‘The battery’s running out in my hearing aid,’ Sister Gabrielle was grumbling.

‘I’ll get it for you, Sister. Sister Teresa is helping Sister Mary Concepta,’ Sister Joan said.

‘I can see that perfectly well,’ Sister Gabrielle enjoined her irritably. ‘That’s why I mentioned it to you.’

Sister Joan turned in the direction of the infirmary where the spare battery would be in Sister Gabrielle’s locker.

Coming out with it in her hand she almost bumped into Sister Hilaria who was escorting her charges out of the kitchen. With their dark blue smocks and white bonnets they both looked like a pair of wooden dolls clad in peasant costume. From the kitchen the scent of baking wafted.

‘We have been Marthas,’ said Sister Hilaria. ‘I fear that my cake didn’t turn out very successfully – I beat the mixture for too long.’

The postulants, cheeks scarlet from the heat of the oven and eyes lowered, had primmed up their young mouths, in an effort, Sister Joan suspected, not to giggle. She wanted to reassure them that giggling was not a mortal sin, but the rule forbade her to speak to them save under the most extreme necessity.

‘Is it prayers already?’ Sister Margaret emerged,
pulling
off her apron and looking flustered. ‘I am all upside down and back to front today. Sister Hilaria said
something
that suddenly caused me to remember – but it must wait until tomorrow.’

‘Sister Margaret!’

The lay sister had hurried past her, composing her face, anxious not to break any more rules.

‘Remembered what, Sister?’ Sister Joan persisted, catching her up in the corridor.

‘The dirt and my broken beads,’ Sister Margaret hissed. ‘So clear now, and yet I still cannot believe –’

‘When you are quite ready, Sister Margaret – Sister Joan, we will begin evening prayers,’ Mother Dorothy said icily from the door.

And after the prayers the blessing and the grand silence folding them round. She had expected to dream but her sleep was empty of images, a peaceful blackness
out of which she rose into the consciousness of morning.

Dawn or the middle of the night? Her senses told her the former but the sound of a rhythmic snoring from the cell next to her own hinted at the latter. She sat up and groped for her slippers and dressing-gown, padded to the door and opened it. The dim light from the corridor illumined the tiny hands of her fob watch. 5.15? No bell for rising had sounded which could only mean that Sister Margaret had spent rather too long chatting to her Dear Lord.

Another door opened further along the passage and Sister Perpetua stuck out her night-capped-head, hissing, ‘It’s terribly late. Grand silence should have been over fifteen minutes ago. Run down and find out what on earth Sister Margaret thinks she is doing, if you please, Sister.’

Sister Joan tied the cord of her dressing-gown, adjusted her own night-cap, and went swiftly across the landing and down the staircase. Outside she could hear the first twittering of the birds.

‘Sister Margaret?’ She risked a low call as she went along the chapel corridor. Not much of a risk, since from above she caught the sounds of other doors opening, of muffled whispers.

The chapel was empty. Having expected to see Sister Margaret there she paused, biting her lip. Above the altar the crucifix glowed softly in the light from the Sanctuary lamp. Flanked by – only one candlestick? What had happened to the other one?

A draught of air blew with sudden strength and the door leading to the visitors’ parlour banged.

She crossed the chapel in two strides, wrenching open the door that should have been closed, almost tripping over Sister Margaret who lay, head at an unnatural angle, coif and veil half torn from her head, not moving. Never moving again.

‘This seems to be getting to be a habit with you, Sister Joan.’ Detective Sergeant Mill spoke in a quizzical tone that didn’t blend with the sombre atmosphere of the parlour where he sat at Mother Dorothy’s desk with his partner at a side table. Raising indignant blue eyes she met his considering gaze and repressed the reply on the tip of her tongue.

‘Sister Joan went down to find out why Sister Margaret had not rung the rising bell,’ the prioress said coldly.

‘At a quarter past five?’ He consulted his notes.

Sister Joan nodded.

‘You went immediately to the chapel?’

‘Sister Margaret rose at about 4.30 and went into the chapel to pray before waking the community. I went in and noticed at once that a candlestick was missing from the altar. Then the door leading to the visitors’ parlour banged. I opened it and –’

‘The outside door was open?’

‘Yes, but it was locked last evening. After evening prayers Sister Margaret went to lock it and then rejoined the rest of us as we filed out.’

‘The candlestick was on the altar during the evening prayers?’

‘Definitely. We would have noticed immediately had it not been,’ Mother Dorothy said.

‘The outer door showed no sign of having been forced,’ the detective sergeant said.

‘There are two keys. I keep one myself and Sister Margaret had the other. As you know we have only just
begun to lock the outer door at night. It doesn’t appear,’ said Mother Dorothy with a note of gloomy satisfaction in her voice, ‘to have done any good.’

‘The only prints on the handle are those of Sister Margaret herself‚’ he told them. ‘The key wasn’t in the lock but apparently still on her key-ring.’

‘Which is attached to her belt by a fairly long chain‚’ Mother Dorothy pointed out. ‘The keys were then slipped into her pocket. It wasn’t necessary for her to detach any from the chain in order to open a door.’

‘And she would have opened the door if anyone had knocked for admittance?’

‘I suppose so, but who would come knocking at the door before five in the morning?’

‘The killer‚’ he said bluntly.

‘Coming to kill Sister Margaret – one of the other sisters? Why? What possible motive could there be?’

‘Mother Dorothy, last night before we went into chapel for prayers Sister Margaret said that she had remembered – I took it to mean that she recalled where she had lost her rosary‚’ Sister Joan said. ‘There was no time for her to say more. We were almost late for chapel. Oh, and she said something about having to think about it until the morning. But the – person who killed her couldn’t have done so for that reason because I was the only one she said it to –’

She broke off abruptly, looking at him in dismay.

‘At this stage‚’ he said dryly, ‘I am not putting you very high on the list of suspects, Sister.’

‘There is another thing, she said hesitatingly. ‘I didn’t mention it before since it didn’t seem relevant. Things have been disappearing from the chapel – candles, some daffodils from a vase on the Lady Altar, holy water from the stoup. I went into chapel during the week and the crucifix was missing from the altar.’

‘Why on earth didn’t you report it to me?’ Mother Dorothy demanded.

‘I came into the main building to do so, Reverend Mother, but you had just taken the postulants into the parlour for their instruction, so I came back into the
chapel to wait and the crucifix was back on the altar. I told myself that I’d imagined it.’

‘I instruct the postulants on Monday afternoons‚’ Mother Dorothy said.

‘When did you notice the other things were missing?’ he asked Sister Joan.

‘I noticed there were no flowers in the vase early last Saturday morning. Sister Margaret was in the chapel at the same time and commented on the fact that there had been daffodils there the previous evening. I think it was then she mentioned that we seemed to be using candles at a tremendous rate. It was Sister Margaret’s job to buy fresh supplies.’

‘And the holy water?’

‘Sister David found the stoup empty on – Wednesday – yes, for she said there was sufficient for the blessing and Sister Margaret took the water cans over to the
presbytery
on Thursday morning.’

He was making notes, his face absorbed.

‘So someone was in the chapel on Friday night – between the grand silence which begins at – 9.30? and 4.30 when you and Sister Margaret were in the chapel; the same person, presumably, was there on Monday afternoon – at what time?’

‘At 4.30. I rode Lilith home from school, had a brief word with Mother Dorothy, unsaddled Lilith and rubbed her down and went into the chapel to pray. It was just past 4.30.’

‘Sister Hilaria had brought the postulants over from their quarters,’ Mother Dorothy confirmed.

‘And school finishes?’ He glanced up.

‘At 3.30 on a normal day – sometimes a little earlier or later. It takes me about half an hour to clear round, lock up and ride home.’

‘So long? The school’s only a couple of miles from here, isn’t it?’

‘I don’t indulge myself with tearing gallops across the countryside,’ she said coldly.

‘And the holy water would have been taken sometime before Wednesday evening. Did anyone notice how
much water was left on Tuesday evening?’

‘The aspergillum was full on Tuesday and almost full on Wednesday – it is used for Benediction and the blessing before grand silence, and refilled as necessary. There was a trace of water in the stoup. I recall thinking that Sister David must refill it.’

‘From the cans?’

‘Yes, but they were due to be refilled anyway,’ Mother Dorothy said. ‘Usually Father Malone comes up to bless the water, but on Thursday morning he rushed off before Sister Margaret could ask him, so she drove over later in the morning to the presbytery.’

‘That seems clear enough.’ He frowned at his notes. ‘Mother Dorothy, I want you to ask your nuns to sit down and go back over the entire week in their minds. Did any of them notice anyone hanging round the convent? As the outer door to the visitors’ parlour was kept unlocked the person must have entered through that way.’

‘And that door is at the side, not overlooked by any windows other than the storerooms above the chapel wing. Anyone could have come and gone.’

‘You didn’t notice anyone following you home on Monday afternoon?’

Sister Joan shook her head. ‘One or two cars passed me in the distance on the road beyond the moor. I didn’t pay them any attention.’

‘The community is in a state of grief and shock,’ Mother Prioress said. ‘Will it be necessary for you to question them immediately?’

‘Not if I can avoid it, Mother Dorothy, but make sure they start thinking hard about the events of this week. About Sister Margaret?’

‘When the pathologist has made his report we shall expect her to be brought here to be laid in the convent cemetery,’ the prioress said. ‘I have telephoned her parents and they will be here in a few hours. For the present Sister Teresa will take over the duties of lay sister, with help from the rest of the community.’

‘I can have the bod – Sister Margaret brought back here by tomorrow evening.’

‘The funeral will be on Monday. In the afternoon since Petroc Lee is to be buried in the morning, and both Sister Joan and Sister David ought to be present as well as myself. Thank you, Sergeant.’

‘I doubt there’ll be any surprises,’ he said, rising and beginning to collect up his notes. ‘She was clearly killed by a blow to the temple with some heavy object. I’m hazarding a guess that when we find the missing candlestick we’ll have the murder weapon. Possibly she heard someone trying to get in at the side door, opened it and whoever was there rushed past her, seized the first heavy thing to hand and hit her with it as she was re-entering the door.’

‘Her coif and veil were half off,’ Sister Joan said.

‘Then possibly Sister Margaret was on her way through the door and the other yanked her back by her veil and struck her as she turned.’

‘Sister Margaret was a plump woman,’ she frowned. ‘She was physically quite strong.’

‘Suggesting the attacker was a heavily built man. We shall know more about that when we know the angle at which the blow was struck. Meanwhile, Mother Dorothy, please accept my condolences. I am treating the two deaths as connected for the moment but there is also the possibility that they are not.’

‘Sister Joan, please see the officers to the door,’ Mother Dorothy instructed.

On the front step Detective Sergeant Mill paused, waving his companion ahead. ‘I brought back the rosary. Sister. No prints on it except Sister Margaret’s. Not as many of those as I’d have expected either. Looks as if someone wiped it clean. Oh, and there are none of the lad’s prints on it. So it was put into his pocket after he died.’

‘You had it mended.’ Taking it from him she held it up.

‘It was described and photographed in its original state in case it ever figures as evidence. I reckon it’s no use to her now.’

‘It will be buried with her, according to custom. Thank you.’

‘Sister.’ Nodding, he looked for a moment as if he wanted to say something else, but instead turned and went down the steps towards the police car.

‘Mother Dorothy.’ Turning back into the parlour she spoke abruptly. ‘May I use the car?’

‘For what reason?’

‘I want to go over to the school and check the place. Nobody thought of searching there, and there may be something – it’s better than sitting still.’

‘You will have to make greater efforts to control your restlessness, Sister,’ the prioress said severely. ‘However it may yield some result. Please be back in time for study period.’

‘If I need to drive anywhere else –?’

‘If you consider further driving absolutely necessary,’ Mother Dorothy said wearily, ‘then you have my permission, Sister. I would remind you that your first duty is to your sisters here.’

‘I thought of going to see the parents to tell them –’

‘I imagine the police will do that if and when they consider it necessary.’

‘Yes, Reverend Mother.’

Going out to the car, passing the kitchen where a red-eyed Sister Teresa was washing dishes, she felt her restlessness mount into impatience. If she could have talked to the parents perhaps an unguarded word, an expression inappropriate for the occasion, might have given her a clue that the police might miss. On the other hand her own efforts might well hamper them.

The school building looked as if it were crouching in its hollow with the green buds of the gorse springing around it. That, she reminded herself, would have to be cut back before much longer. A car was approaching, swerving nearer and stopping, as she alighted from the old jalopy.

‘Sister Joan, glad I caught you!’

‘Mr Lee, what happened to the pick-up?’ she enquired.

‘Flat tyre, so Gideon Evans lent me this. Keeps it very nice, Gideon does, but I’m not at home in it so to speak.

I was on my way to the convent. Someone told me there’d been police cars and an ambulance heading in that direction early this morning.’

‘I very much fear‚’ she said gravely, ‘that the person who killed Petroc has – well, Sister Margaret was found dead this morning in the little corridor between the chapel and the visitors’ parlour.’

‘I don’t believe it.’ He spoke almost angrily. ‘Not Sister Margaret, not – why, she was one of the nicest women you could hope to meet. Sensible and understood how folk ticked – not a bit like a – begging your pardon, Sister. What happened?’

‘We don’t know yet. Apparently she opened the side door and someone rushed in and killed her.’

‘How? She was a bonny woman and would’ve fought back.’

‘She received a blow to the temple hard enough to kill her instantly. There is a candlestick missing from the altar – what is it, Mr Lee?’

‘A big silver candlestick? Heavy? With a square base and bits of wax in the top where a candle had been?’

‘Yes. Have you seen it?’

‘Not more than a couple of hours ago. I was taking a look through the scrap – a big pile of stuff was collected recently and with all the grief over Petroc nobody’s sorted it out yet. There was a candlestick lying on top. My Tabitha said she’d seen it lying at the edge of the camp and put it on the pile.’

‘What did you do with it?’ she asked urgently.

‘I set Tabitha and Edith to polishing it,’ he said, looking anxious. ‘I was going to ask around because I’d have sworn it was good silver, but then the pick-up wouldn’t start, and it went clean out of my head. I’d better tell someone or perhaps you’d –?’

‘Mr Lee, this time you have to make your own report,’ she said firmly. ‘The police have been very decent – releasing your brother before time –’

‘As they should him being innocent and Petroc his only boy – all right, Sister, I’ll drive straight into Bodmin and let them know.’

‘If someone else had thrown it on the scrapheap,’ she detained him to ask, ‘wouldn’t the camp dogs have barked?’

‘Them animals is always barking. Nobody pays them heed.’

‘I see. Mr Lee, I was so sorry about Petroc.’

‘No sorrier than his killer’s going to be when I get my hands on him.’ The dark face was grim. ‘You think the same person did in – killed Sister Margaret too? You ought not to be wandering about by yourself, Sister.’

‘Oh, I’m perfectly safe,’ she assured him. ‘Do go and report that candlestick now.’

Unlocking the door, she stepped into the little hall with the cloakroom off at one side and the classroom ahead. With its chemical toilets which the Council emptied every other week, its wood-burning stove, its paraffin lamp to be lit only on the darkest winter morning it was a far cry from the technology of more modern schools but she had liked it the moment she had laid eyes on it the previous year. There was an air of cosiness about the long room with its two groups of desks, the swivel blackboard, the children’s drawings tacked up on the wall. The familiar scent of chalk and polish hung on the air.

She moved from desk to desk, lifting each lid. The children usually carried their books to and from school and the shelves at the side held the supply of textbooks – all, she reflected, slightly out of date but when she had suggested buying new ones Mother Dorothy had demurred.