No Human Enemy (Suzie Mountford Mysteries) (23 page)

‘Related to Jeremy, I suppose.’

‘Tommy, shut up and listen. This could be important.’

‘Oh, it is, old darling. It’s very important.’

‘So important I think your friend Berry should know about it. His investigation originally, wasn’t it?’

Tommy nodded but didn’t say anything. ‘Berry should be out doing traffic duty in the Kalahari.’

‘He sounds hopeless.’

‘Outside the Yacht Club. No, the Kalahari hasn’t got a Yacht Club, has it? I’m thinking of the Gobi.’

‘In a minute you’re going to tell me that you’re personally going to make sure Berry never handles a case again.’

‘You’re right. I’m going to see to it personally.’

‘But they were German – at least he was, so I suppose Doris was … technically.’

‘A German murdered by a pro-German. Well, pro-Nazi. I have a theory about what they were up to.’

James was just greeting his Maren friend when Suzie and Tommy finally emerged, dressed and more or less in their right minds.

‘Shan’t be late. Emily’s got to get back by midnight or she’ll not get use of the jeep again for some time.’

‘This a regular thing with the Wren?’ Tommy asked.

Suzie said it seemed to be and he grunted. They went out to eat – the Savoy, Tommy’s treat, but were back in bed again by midnight.

Just as Suzie was sliding into sleep, Tommy stirred. ‘You talked to the parents of the other dead novice, heart? What was her name? Parson father? Harding, was it? Sister Bridget Mary?’

‘There hasn’t been time, Tom. I’ve been up to my ears with the bloody Lees-Duncans.’

‘Do it tomorrow then. And what about the third one? The one in hospital. Sister Monica?’

‘Tomorrow, Tommy.’

Bugger, she thought, then of course couldn’t get to sleep: tossing and turning all night with Tommy snoring like a doodlebug all the time.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Suzie dozed off at around five and woke with a start at seven feeling depressed and anxious, knowing immediately that she would have to go to the convent today.

Urgently.

Worse, the nuns seemed to be blessed with second sight. As she was organising transport – Tommy had to be at the Yard all day, ‘Dealing with bloody Berry,’ he said ominously – when Billy Mulligan came on the line. ‘Message for you, ma’am.’ The ‘ma’am’ sounded heavily laced with friendly insolence: Billy always thought of Suzie as a kind of superannuated schoolgirl – at least that’s what Suzie thought.

‘It’s them nuns…’ Billy said.

‘Yeees?’

‘Nun called Monica. Was in hospital after that doodlebug at the convinct. Wants a word.’

‘She’s out of hospital then?’ She was sure he was taking the mickey.

‘So it would seem, ma’am.’

‘Tell them I’ll be in today. The chief’s okayed Brian to drive me and I’d like to take Shirley.’

Billy said Brian and Shirley would pick her up in half an hour. Tommy was making his own way in, but his parting shot was that she’d better remember the other parson – ‘The one out near Bedford Park. Nun’s father. Sister Bridget Mary’s Pa.’ Tommy never missed a trick.

Memory like a Hefalump, Suzie thought.

‘Leave the talking to me, Shirl,’ she told Shirley Cox as they arrived in Silverhurst Road. ‘Take notes. Check and double-check. OK?’

Mother Rachel and Sister Eunice were waiting for her. Suzie had telephoned before leaving home and the gatekeeper led them straight to Mother Rachel’s office: the big room with the tall windows looking down on the cypress-flanked path to the chapel.

The scent of the place came up and whacked her in the face: the mixture of polish, incense and an almost tangible calm, taking her straight back to her schooldays at St Helen’s among the sweet rise and fall of plainsong and the quiet-spoken nuns who taught her. Quiet-spoken, that was, until tempers became frayed. The English teacher, Sister Mary Joseph, whose tones rose to a screech and who was not averse to rapping you across the knuckles with a springy twelve-inch ruler. Indeed there were passages from Shakespeare that always brought back a sharp agony to Suzie’s fingers. They said you couldn’t remember pain, but she’d like to differ.

Both of the nuns were standing by Mother Rachel’s desk, all traces of bonhomie gone, replaced by sober, almost gloomy, expressions. Sister Eunice was red around the eyes, as though she had been weeping.

Mother Rachel took a step forward and placed Suzie’s hands between her palms. ‘We’re so glad it’s you, my dear,’ she smiled, but without any twinkle. ‘We were concerned that it might be your colleague, Mr Livermore. He seemed a rather stern person and we were worried for poor Sister Monica.’

Stern? she thought: must remember to tell Tommy what an effect he’s had on the nuns.

Mother Rachel gestured towards a chair, and Suzie seated herself. Shirley Cox had moved a wooden stand chair into a corner and now sat there, quietly, as though not wishing to be noticed, notebook on her thigh, pencil poised.

‘And it’s really all my fault,’ wailed the Novice Mistress, her voice catching in a little sob.

‘Don’t be foolish, Eunice. It’s as much my error as yours.’

‘What error?’ Suzie asked.

‘The day of the doodlebug,’ Mother Rachel began. ‘That Sunday morning, early. We were both spending the weekend at our Farnborough house, the house of the Holy Family. You may recall…’

‘I recall it very well.’ In her head she had a picture of Mother Rachel’s anger on discovering nobody had warned her about the V-1 and the deaths here at the Mother House.

There are forty-five sisters in the convent and nobody had the wit to telephone our house in Farnborough, our house of the Holy Family, to inform us of this tragedy.

‘Early that morning we watched the postulants being driven away from the Holy Family. Starting on their journey to this convent, to prepare for taking their final vows. Three of them. A precious trio.’ The Mother Superior’s voice rose as she rapped out the names, ‘Sister Bridget Mary, Sister Theresa and Sister Monica. All three were novices actually. We watched them board the little bus that had come over from here, driven by Mr Taylor. We watched them.’ She was screeching now. ‘One two, three,’ a long pause, ‘four.’

Irreverently Suzie thought of the popular song:
We three, we’re all alone … My echo, my shadow and me.

Then the full significance hit her: four of them, starting their final journey towards death. Suzie gulped.

Sister Eunice said they both knew well enough that there were only three going to the Mother House. ‘Yet we stood by as four sisters boarded the bus. Stood there and waved to them.’

‘Didn’t question them. Didn’t see what was wrong. Four not three,’ the Mother Superior all but shouted. ‘And neither of us recognised the fourth. Sister Michael, so called. No wonder we didn’t recognise her. Neither of us was alert. It could have been Hitler getting into that vehicle.’

‘If we had questioned the fourth there and then this would never have happened.’

‘If we’d just realised there was a fourth.’

‘But we stood there,’ Mother Rachel’s lips were pursed. ‘We stood there. Like Patience on a monument.’

Suzie felt a reminiscent springe in her right knuckles. She knew too well how it could be. One quick distraction, a moment slipping from concentration. But, she argued with herself, playing devil’s advocate, these were disciplined women, holy women, used to meditation and prayer both of which demanded extreme attentiveness. Would their minds so easily slide from the fact of the situation? She decided they would. It could happen to anyone.

‘And Sister Monica?’ she asked, returning to the task at hand.

‘Well, you know she was terribly injured.’

She nodded. To be truthful she only remembered that Sister Monica had been unconscious and they had not been able to see her at the hospital.

Sister Eunice said Monica had suffered broken ribs, a broken arm, head wounds and severe shock, and Mother Rachel continued. ‘She’s still not sure what she saw and heard. I think some of it seems like a dream to her. Indeed, some of her memories are so extraordinary, so unpleasant, contain such heavy mortal sins, that…’ She foundered for words, stuttering slowly to a stop. ‘To my old mind it’s almost unbelievable. I mean, I knew that Theresa had lived a full life. We had a long talk when she first arrived here. A lot of women are concerned about their past lives – if they’re fit to become members of the order, if they’ve lived in the world for a long time, partaken of the fruits of life. My personal view is that the more they’ve experienced the better religious they’ll make. But you must hear for yourself.’

She seated herself behind her desk and pressed a bell-push near the telephone. A moment later there was a knock at the door and a nun, wearing a white veil, as opposed to the grey of the order’s habit, appeared, pushing a wheelchair in which Sister Monica sat – a small woman, slight, hunched, shrunken, and with a dreadfully pale face, except for her left cheek which was seared red raw, puckering the skin.

Sister Eunice introduced the white-veiled nun as Sister Constance, adding that she was one of the four trained nursing nuns belonging to the order.

‘And this is Sister Monica,’ Mother Rachel said, and Monica flinched, looking as though she was trying to get her body through the back of the wheelchair.

Suzie offered her hand and told her who she was, looking into the little nun’s pale grey, frightened eyes. The handshake had no grip to it and the nun’s palm was cold and damp.

‘I think we’d better leave you alone.’ Mother Rachel shepherded Eunice and the nursing nun to the door, turning back and stooping towards Sister Monica as she passed the chair.

‘Sister, there’s no need to be afraid of Miss Mountford. She understands. Just answer her questions as truthfully as you answered me.’

Monica gave a small nod, barely perceptible; Mother Rachel sounding somewhat condescending.

‘There’s no need to be any way frightened, Sister Monica.’ Suzie told her as soon as the door closed behind Mother Rachel and the other two sisters.

‘I … I’m not frightened of you.’ The voice was, like the person, slight, piping, pitched high. ‘I’m just … well, I’m just frightened all the time. It was so horrible and, to be honest with you, I can’t sort out what I remember and what I dreamt. Some of it is so awful that I can hardly believe it’s true.’ She gave a nervous little glance behind her, as if checking that Mother Rachel had left the room, and Suzie saw that she was forcing her hands down into her lap as if trying to stop them shaking.

‘Tell you what,’ Suzie began, ‘let’s just take it one step at a time. You do know that you had a man with you, dressed as a nun?’

‘Oh, indeed, yes. Sister Michael.’

‘How did that happen? How on earth were you taken in? Or were you not taken in?’

‘Sister Michael just appeared, joined us at the door as we gathered to leave. Some of the sisters were outside close to the little bus Mr Taylor had driven from the Mother House.

‘Sister Theresa explained who she was. She said, “Sister Michael has to come with us.” And she said something about showing us the ropes. That stuck in my mind because it was an odd expression for her to use. And I remember thinking that I hadn’t seen Sister Michael before. I wondered about Theresa as well. She always seemed to harbour a lot of anger.’

‘And you just accepted her, Sister Michael?’

‘I hardly looked at her. I was simply conscious of a tall nun, in the habit of the order. It was only later that…’ She swallowed audibly and moved uncomfortably in the wheelchair. ‘Theresa seemed to take charge. I think both Bridget and I were a little cowed by Theresa. She could be, well, explosive. There was a lot of anger buried in Sister Theresa, God rest her.’

‘So nobody queried her presence?’

‘It would seem not. We didn’t take much notice of anything. I wonder if you understand. This was a very serious time for us, the three of us. We were to take our final vows. Our minds were supposed to be on the great steps of poverty, chastity and obedience. In a week’s time we would make our dedication to the order, and be confirmed in our future lives, wedded to the rules of our order. The bishop of Oxford, Dr Kirk, was coming to conduct our Professing celebration. It’s a huge step and the days leading up to it are very special. We were holding ourselves apart. That’s why it seemed all the worse, what happened.’

‘Yes. Yes, I understand. Tell me what happened when you arrived at the convent.’

‘We were allotted to cells and we made our way to them, maintaining silence. No, Theresa left us. She broke the silence. She said she had to see Sister Sophia in the kitchen. Something about food she was not allowed to eat – it was a medical thing. No fat or something. I think she’d seen a doctor during the previous week.’

Handy, Suzie thought. Nipping into the kitchen and probably concealing a knife in the folds of her voluminous habit.

‘We were told there was ten minutes before refectory. The midday meal. I spent the time in contemplation. In my cell. Then I heard the sound of the flying bomb, that horrible burring engine noise. I was frightened and then I heard something else.’

‘Yes?’

‘Raised voices. A huge argument. Theresa and another voice, deeper, like a man’s voice and Sister Theresa shrieking, wild, most angry. The two noises appeared to merge together, the engine of the flying bomb, scoring across the sky, then the shrieking of Theresa’s angry voice.’

‘And…’

‘And suddenly the doodlebug’s engine stopped. Well, you know how frightening that can be. Waiting for the wretched thing to glide down and explode.’

Suzie nodded. Of course she knew. Just like everyone knew. The burring pop of the engine and the sudden cut-out that meant the bomb had ceased its flight, lowered its nose and come hurtling down to explode. It seemed as random as the ball on a roulette wheel. It
was
frightening. Far more terrifying than the aircraft, the bombers flying in and releasing their cargo, aiming at given points. These V-weapons seemed haphazard, making individual deaths a hit and miss business. James had told her that he had been on the parade ground at Deal and a flying bomb had puttered its way, right over the barracks. ‘We tried not to show fear,’ he said. ‘But we must have wavered, because our colour-sergeant shouted. ‘Stand still there. That’s nothing to do with you.’