Vow of Penance (2 page)

‘Very well.’ Having considered the matter Mother Dorothy gave her judgement in her usual brisk fashion. ‘In your spare time, and provided it doesn’t interfere with either your religious life or your secular duties then I see no reason why you should not embark on this task. I am sure it isn’t merely an excuse to have a good browse through all the local scandals.’

Behind her spectacles her eyes had held a
disconcerting
twinkle. Mother Dorothy, Sister Joan thought, carefully scissoring out an account of A.R.P. work and clipping it to the 1940 pile, knew her charges very well.

The fob watch pinned to her belt warned her that recreation would soon be drawing to a close. Sister Hilaria had already returned with her pink-smocked charges to the old dower house at the far side of the abandoned tennis courts which served as the postulancy.

‘Trees damaged on local estate’ ran the next headline. Twenty years old, Sister Joan noted, and scanned the item hastily. A large number of trees had been attacked by someone with an axe who had lopped off branches and left deep cuts in the trunks. Mindless vandalism and the only reason for preserving the cutting was that the trees had formed part of the estate on which the convent stood. It had not then become a convent but was still in private hands. Nevertheless it was worth keeping. She cut round it, clipped it to the requisite pile, and rose, switching off the light, making her way past shrouded packing cases to the tiny washbasin where she could rinse her hands before descending into chapel for the final benediction that heralded the grand silence.

The community filed in, heads bent, hands candled. Against the walls their shadows made Gothic shapes. At such times their separate personalities were merged into
the image of devotion and dedication that marked every religious. Delicate seeming Sister Martha who did the bulk of the gardening singlehanded and still looked as if a breeze might waft her away became, like the large boned Sister Perpetua, merely another facet in the diamond bright virtues of the Order.

‘We will pray tonight for Father Malone’s happy and holy sabbatical and his safe return to us,’ Mother Dorothy said, rising. ‘Let us also pray for Father Stephens whose work load will be greatly increased during this coming year.’

Prayers over there was a brief period of meditation before the recitation of the rosary began. Sister Joan bowed her head, lips tracing the familiar words, thoughts of the great art treasures that Father Malone would have the chance to see firmly banished. Envy had no place in the nature of a Daughter of Compassion. However a touch of wistfulness remained.

‘Sisters, go in peace.’ Mother Dorothy’s voice sounded calm and sure amid the shadows cast by the flickering candle flames.

Did the prioress still harbour worldly desires? Did she, in some corner of her disciplined heart, regret never having seen or done something or other? Kneeling for the blessing, the light sprinkling of holy water, Sister Joan considered it unlikely.

She waited until the last of the community had filed out, received Mother Dorothy’s final goodnight nod, and began her rounds. Candles to be snuffed, missals to be piled on the shelf, doors and windows to be locked and checked. At her heels Sister Teresa pattered silently. In the kitchen Alice lay curled in her basket by the stove. Night came down gently over the convent.

The final smiling nod exchanged and the two sisters separated, each entering one of the two lay cells off the kitchen. Long practice had accustomed Sister Joan to undressing, washing hands and face and cleaning her
teeth without the aid of a mirror. On the rare occasions when she caught a glimpse of herself in a mirror she was always agreeably surprised to discover that she looked about ten years younger than her actual age, her cheeks rosy and her dark blue eyes marked only by the faintest laughter lines. She slipped the long white nightdress over her head, ran a comb through her short, shining blue-black hair, and got into bed, wishing as her hip bones contacted the thin mattress on its wooden base that she was a little more generously endowed with curves. There remained only her private prayers to mouth silently and a last whimper from Alice, chasing tails in her sleep.

Over in the postulancy Sister Hilaria took a final peep at her two sleeping charges and padded down the stairs to check that the door was bolted. She had already checked it or thought she had, but since practical matters were apt to confuse her she always made a point of doing everything twice in case she had forgotten the first time.

When a new lay sister could be found Sister Joan would rejoin the general community and take up her duties as assistant novice mistress. Sister Hilaria smiled at the prospect. Sister Joan was lively and funny and never forgot to lock up or sweep out the cells. With Sister Joan around she could spend more time on the spiritual lives of the two girls in her charge. Sister Hilaria stared vaguely at the door, wondering why she had come downstairs. To check the door had been bolted. Yes, that was it. She turned the handle and was only mildly surprised to find out that the door opened at once. How wise she had been to check twice since it was clear she had neglected to bolt up the first time.

Outside a low wall separated the small building from the old tennis courts. The posts were still there, gleaming faintly as the moon emerged. At the other side of the courts a path wound up through the shrubbery to
the walled enclosure with its small cemetery, its flowers, fruit and vegetables. At this month of the year only the holly bushes dotted about on the open ground outside the enclosure wall were leafy, berries still gleaming like scarlet beads against the dark green. Not that one could distinguish colours in the moonlight, Sister Hilaria mused, holding the door ajar, sending good thoughts across to the sisters in the main house. Those who slept deeply or tossed on their thin mattresses would have been astonished to learn how much the unworldly mistress of novices knew about them. Sister Hilaria was never quite sure exactly how many were in the community nor who performed which duties but she knew the essence of each soul, knew who was troubled about some small personal fault, who felt stirrings of rebellion or missed their family in the mundane world. She could recognize evil too, could smell it on the wind before it had made itself manifest.

She could smell it now, far off, faint. Not yet here but coming. For a moment she stood frowning, then with a little shiver she closed and bolted the door.

The row of bonsai trees stood on the wide windowsill, each branch, each leaf a perfect miniature. The tiny oak spread itself as proudly as its full-sized brother; the willow created a filigree umbrella over the smooth surface of a tiny pond edged with shards of coloured glass. The hands that moved gently, inexorably, towards the tiny trees held a sharp pruning knife, razor honed. Delicately the tip of the knife sliced into bark and bud, and the lacy filaments of the willow fell and lay like strands of silk on the surface of the tiny pool. There was no sound save the pleased intake of breath as the sap began to trickle down, the despoiled foliage to wither and when the knife was withdrawn only a few branches remained, holding up their dwarfish arms like small penitents pleading for mercy.

‘How the parish will manage when you’re away we can’t imagine, Father,’ Sister David said mournfully.

‘Everybody will manage very nicely,’ Father Malone said cheerfully. ‘There’s nobody who’s indispensable, you know, and to tell the truth there are those who regard me as a mite old-fashioned in my thinking.’

‘Not in this convent,’ Mother Dorothy said.

Mass was over and they were standing in the refectory, eating the bread and fruit and drinking the one cup of coffee which was their staple breakfast while Father Malone chatted about his forthcoming trip.

‘We’ll be stuck with Father Stephens,’ Sister Perpetua said.

‘What Sister means,’ said Mother Dorothy, ‘is that Father Stephens will have a very heavy burden and less time to devote to his various commitments.’

Father Malone, who knew very well what Sister Perpetua had meant, threw her a reassuring glance.

‘We’ve been very fortunate,’ he said. ‘The bishop is sending a temporary replacement for me during my sabbatical. Father Matthew Timothy is recently ordained and fresh out of the seminary.’

Mother Dorothy pursed her lips slightly but gave no other sign of disapproval. In her experience young priests fresh out of the seminary were usually still wet behind the ears and full of bright reforming ideas out of which she considered it her duty to wean them. For the
moment, however, she held her peace.

‘I shall be assisting at a concelebrated mass in St Peter’s on Easter Sunday,’ Father Malone was saying with shy pleasure. ‘I’m really overwhelmed by the honour.’

‘You’ll see His Holiness,’ Sister Katherine said.

‘Indeed I will though it’s doubtful if His Holiness will see me!’ Having chuckled at his own small jest Father Malone shook hands all round, promised to send postcards, and bustled out, flinging the ends of his muffler over his shoulders as he went with the air of an elderly schoolboy let out for half-term.

The normal routine of the conventual day continued. Cells must be swept and the two bathrooms at the end of the upper corridor scoured before the sisters repaired to their respective duties. The Order of the Daughters of Compassion was semi-enclosed, there being some latitude permitted if a nun was required to work beyond the enclosure. At the moment however, with the school closed and Sister Joan undertaking the task of lay sister, nobody needed to leave the grounds apart from Sister David who occasionally sought permission to go to the public library on matters connected with her research. Eventually the series of children’s stories she was writing might find a publisher and bring in some much needed revenue. For the rest Sister Martha sold what vegetables were in season after the convent had been supplied and Sister Katherine had a regular list of customers for her exquisite lace and embroidered accessories.

And I, thought Sister Joan, scowling at a washrag, could earn more for the Order if Mother Dorothy would allow me to sell some paintings.

The mother prioress had not, however, suggested that her talents should be put to such practical use. She probably thought that such praise would go to Sister Joan’s head. In which belief she was very likely justified, Sister Joan thought ruefully, giving the wash basin a
final rinse before she went downstairs to start polishing the entrance hall.

From the passage that led past infirmary and office into the kitchen a voice said with a querulous edge, ‘So we are to have a new priest inflicted upon us just when I was hoping for some peace and quiet!’

‘No you weren’t, Sister Gabrielle,’ Sister Joan said, straightening up. ‘You loathe peace and quiet. You know you do.’

‘I like a nice mixture,’ Sister Gabrielle said placidly. ‘Do you know anything about this Father Timothy?’

‘Only that he’s newly ordained.’

‘Oh dear!’ The old nun pulled a wry face. ‘That means he’ll probably want to jazz up the mass with guitars and amplifiers and things.’

‘I imagine Mother Dorothy would have something to say about that,’ Sister Joan said, amused.

‘Well, God speed Father Malone anyway,’ Sister Gabrielle said. ‘I hope they don’t recognize his exceptional qualities in the Vatican or we’ll never get him back. When is this new priest arriving?’

‘Fairly soon I imagine, Sister. It’s a lot of work for Father Stephens to handle all by himself.’

‘You’d better get on with your polishing then,’ Sister Gabrielle said.

‘Yes, Sister. I stopped to talk to you.’ Sister Joan went floorwards again.

‘I don’t know what you young girls are coming to,’ Sister Gabrielle remarked. ‘In my day we managed to work and to exchange the occasional scrap of conversation at the same time.’

She tapped her way back down the passage. Sister Joan paused long enough to chuckle and went on with her work.

‘Sister Joan, the dog got into the parlour again.’ Mother Dorothy emerged from the anteroom beyond which her parlour lay, the puppy scampering round her
ankles.

‘I’m very sorry, Mother Dorothy.’ Sister Joan captured the wriggling bundle.

‘I agreed to our having a dog on the premises provided the animal was trained as a guard dog and not permitted beyond the kitchen,’ Mother Dorothy scolded.

‘Yes, of course, Mother. It’s time for her training session now,’ Sister Joan said, escaping kitchenwards.

Alice frisked happily at the end of her lead, a mood that would rapidly change, Sister Joan knew, when she was required to walk to heel.

‘Come on, sweetheart. Walkies!’

She opened the kitchen door and went out into the yard. The recent cold snap had left pools covered with a thin film of ice between the cobbles and the sky overhead was still a dull, uniform grey. From her stall Lilith, the convent pony, whickered a greeting.

‘Sister Joan, put on your cloak!’

Sister Perpetua barged out of the back door, waving the said garment ahead of her.

‘Thank you, Sister.’ Sister Joan hung it about her shoulders.

‘The idea of going out in this weather with nothing extra on! I have my hands full with the old ladies without having to break off because a silly girl catches double pneumonia!’ Sister Perpetua scolded.

This was the second time in one morning that she’d been scolded like a schoolgirl, Sister Joan thought ruefully. To the older members of the community she must seem very young and inexperienced, but the plain fact was that in less than a month she would be thirty-seven years old. Not that the slightest notice would be taken of her birthday though her family would send cards. When she had taken her final vows she had left earthly anniversaries behind her. Perhaps that was one of the reasons that religious looked young. They were not obliged to count the years.

Holding the lead firmly she went through the stableyard and round the corner into the garden. This being February Sister Martha’s gardening duties were lighter and she was busily lagging pipes and checking for leaks in the cistern. Sister Joan skirted the low wall and the little cemetery beyond where one day – but not, please God, too soon – she would lie beside her sisters, and made her way along the rough sloping track that ended in a shallow flight of steps leading down to the tennis courts. Here it was safe to let Alice off the lead and begin the task of teaching her to stay and come and sit, all instructions which the puppy reacted to as if they were couched in an incomprehensible foreign tongue she had no intention of learning.

‘Stay. Good girl, stay.’ Sister Joan backed off, Alice immediately springing after her.

‘Good morning, Sister Joan. Good morning, Alice.’

Sister Hilaria, emerging from the postulancy, greeted them cordially. She looked tired, Sister Joan thought, or perhaps it was the greyness of the morning.

‘Are you feeling all right, Sister Hilaria?’ she asked on impulse.

To enquire after the well-being of another sister could scarcely be regarded as an infringement of the rule even if it was Lent, but Sister Hilaria hesitated before she answered with some reluctance, ‘I’m afraid I slept badly, Sister. I was just wondering if it might be permissible for me to go over to the main house for an aspirin.’

‘I’ll get one for you unless you think the walk would do you good,’ Sister Joan said promptly.

‘Sister Elizabeth and Sister Marie are busy cleaning,’ Sister Hilaria said. ‘I told them – yes, I’m sure that I did tell them – that I was stepping out for a few minutes. Yes, a walk might do the trick.’

‘Would you like me to come with you, Sister?’ Sister Joan enquired.

Sister Hilaria might well wander elsewhere, rapt in some spiritual contemplation of her own, and forget about the aspirin. There had been a time when she had marvelled at Mother Dorothy’s having appointed the dreamy and absentminded nun as mistress of novices but she had begun to realize the sound sense behind the prioress’s train of reasoning. Eager young postulants embarking upon the religious life needed to learn that common sense wasn’t supposed to be left along with one’s worldly goods at the convent door, but it was important for them to have as model a nun who was a genuine mystic even if she lacked the practical skills with which most nuns were endowed.

Sister Hilaria checked her slow stride, said in a surprised tone, ‘Sister Joan, Alice is with you.’

‘I was trying to train her to come when I called,’ Sister Joan said.

‘Just use her name,’ Sister Hilaria said, raising her voice slightly as Alice went flying off into the shrubbery. ‘Alice, come along now.’

Alice turned and trotted back to Sister Hilaria’s side, treading neatly at her heels like the well-trained guard dog she was expected to become.

‘Well, she won’t do that for me!’ Sister Joan exclaimed in exasperation.

‘Probably because you don’t expect her to obey,’ Sister Hilaria said kindly. ‘She is a very pretty little dog, isn’t she? But I do wish that it wasn’t necessary to have a guard dog on the premises.’

‘In view of what happened last autumn, Sister, Detective Sergeant Mill thought it advisable,’ Sister Joan reminded her.

‘That was a dreadful business.’ Sister Hilaria looked distressed. ‘However I doubt if anything similar will ever happen again, and a dog can only keep us from physical harm. Real evil isn’t physical, is it?’

‘No, Sister. No it isn’t,’ Sister Joan said gravely.

‘I was always rather struck by a remark of St Bernadette’s,’ Sister Hilaria said, apparently flying off at a conversational tangent. ‘She was asked once what sanctity was and she answered that it was like perfume: only the one who was wearing it couldn’t smell it.’

Sister Joan who was beginning to learn how to untangle the labyrinth of Sister Hilaria’s thought processes said, ‘And evil is a stink in the nostrils? Is that why you couldn’t sleep?’

‘Something is casting a shadow over us,’ Sister Hilaria said. Her large, pale face quivered slightly with some unexpressed emotion. ‘It isn’t here the way I feel it. Coming like the shadow of a shadow. It troubled me. It troubled me very much, Sister.’

‘I’m sure nothing dreadful will happen to any of us,’ Sister Joan reassured.

‘Not to us.’ Sister Hilaria gave her a faintly surprised look. ‘No, I have no fears for us, Sister, but the one who casts the shadow of a shadow – they stand in very great danger.’

They had reached the low wall of the enclosure garden, the bare soil neatly raked, the paths still glistening with half-melted frost, the first crocuses and snowdrops rising up bravely in the borders. Perhaps it was the sudden gust of bitter wind that shook the leafless trees and set the jewelled holly bushes quivering which sent a shudder through Sister Joan which chilled her to the marrow.

‘I think our little talk has done me good,’ Sister Hilaria said. ‘I hope it could not be construed as chattering during Lent, but we have been discoursing on spiritual matters, haven’t we? Goodbye, Alice. Be a good dog.’

She turned and wafted back towards the tennis courts, the need for an aspirin apparently gone. People meeting Sister Hilaria for the first time were apt to glean the impression that she was slightly lacking in her
wits. Those who knew her better were aware that she merely framed her thoughts on a different level.

‘Is everything all right, Sister Joan?’ Mother Dorothy straightened up from one of the graves she had been tidying and came over.

‘Sister Hilaria marches to a different tune, doesn’t she?’ Sister Joan said.

‘Yes, Sister. Yes she does.’ The prioress smiled slightly. ‘You haven’t answered my question.’

‘Nothing’s wrong as far as I know, Mother,’ Sister Joan said carefully. ‘Sister Hilaria came for a short walk to try to rid herself of a headache.’

‘She needs an assistant,’ Mother Dorothy said. ‘I told you before that when the opportunity arises I will appoint you as assistant mistress of novices, but for the moment you are more useful where you are. However whatever help you can give in any area will be appreciated.’

She gave the brisk little nod that marked the end of a conversation and went off again, greyish light haloing her figure and glinting off her spectacles.

Luncheon was soup without bread. The most that could be said in its favour was that it was hot. The soup was drunk standing, each sister cupping her hands about the large earthenware mug. Afterwards the community continued with the everyday work, Mother Dorothy retiring to her parlour to wrestle with the accounts, Sister David crouched over her research work in the library above the chapel, Sister Perpetua mixing some potion in her office, Sister Gabrielle and Sister Mary Concepta propped up in the infirmary and knitting. Sister Martha led Lilith out for a demure walk and Sister Katherine retreated to her cell to work on her lace before the light began to fade.

‘And you will spend the rest of your life doing the same things day after day,’ Jacob had said when she had told him that she was going into the convent. ‘Your time
will be divided into little parcels by the ringing of bells.’

Impossible to try to explain to Jacob whose religious traditions were so different that by disciplining the physical it was easier to free the mental and spiritual. Jacob, with his keen, subtle, Semitic mind, his wild enthusiasms and prickly obstinacy placed no limits on any freedoms. Yet in the end he had found it impossible to marry a Gentile just as she had found it impossible to lay her faith aside and convert to another.