Vow of Penance (9 page)

‘Yes, Reverend Mother.’

Rising, Sister Joan made her way across the hall into the chapel corridor. The chapel itself was silent, only the sanctuary lamp burning to remind those who came that the season of penance wouldn’t last for ever. She knelt down in her customary place, blessed herself, and asked silently for some guidance. In her experience it was often better to send up a simple request and wait for the answer which always came though not always in the manner one expected.

Her petition winging on its way she rose and went up the stairs into the library. During Lent secular books were not read and Sister David used the breathing space to rebind, to check on stocks. She was here now, carefully pasting in small cards inside the front covers, her little rabbit face intent on her task.

‘Sister David?’

‘Sister Joan, how nice to see you here!’ The other looked up with genuine pleasure in her face.

Sister David wasn’t the easiest of the community with whom to get along. She was inclined to pedantry and any sense of humour she might have possessed was well hidden. But there was something touchingly sweet about her earnestness.

‘Father Stephens sent me over with the books you needed for your project,’ Sister Joan said. ‘They’re on the back seat of the car. Would you like to come down and we’ll carry them up?’

‘Oh, I can manage them, Sister. How kind of Father to remember. He must have so many extra duties too since Father Malone went – no, I shall manage perfectly. Thank you.’

She darted out, her sharp little nose positively quivering with eagerness. Sister Joan smiled after her and went on into the storeroom. If there had been time she would have spent half an hour sorting out the newspaper clippings for her scrapbook of the history of the district, but time was limited if she was to get back to the presbytery and make supper. Nevertheless she went over to the table and looked down at the neat piles of clippings.

Someone had moved them. Not only moved them but also muddled them up. Irritated, she ruffled through a couple of the piles, seeing that not only days but years had been transposed. Someone had gone through the clippings, and clipped the piles together again at random.

There wasn’t time to do anything about it now, and in any case it would be quite useless to try to guess if anything had been removed. She left the cuttings where they were and went back to the library as Sister David returned, books piled to her chin.

‘You should have let me help you, Sister.’ Sister Joan hastened to relieve her of her burden.

‘Oh no, Sister.’ Sister David pushed her spectacles higher on her nose. ‘It gives me real pleasure to be able to see and touch books that they seem quite light when one comes to carry them! I couldn’t have asked for a better selection.’

‘How is your work going?’ Sister Joan asked.

‘Slowly but surely.’ Sister David flushed a little. ‘Of
course one cannot spend too much time on it during Lent but eventually if it does find a publisher then the community will benefit quite considerably. At least one trusts so.’

‘And you might find yourself famous, Sister.’

‘Oh, God forbid!’ Sister David said with genuine horror. ‘That would be dreadful! Having one’s name known and reporters coming and – oh, I couldn’t bear that! No, I shall publish it anonymously of course.’

‘Sister, has anyone been up here recently?’ Sister Joan changed the subject somewhat abruptly, feeling as usual inadequate in the face of real humility.

‘Not to borrow any books, Sister. Not during Lent. Some of the sisters have brought books back, of course.’

‘So someone could have come up here?’

‘Why, yes, Sister, at any time, I suppose.’ Sister David looked bewildered. ‘But why would they?’

‘Some of the newspaper cuttings I was sorting out have been disturbed.’

‘The cuttings for the scrapbook? Oh, that’s dreadful!’ Sister David stared at her. ‘I hope that you don’t think that I – I would never do such a thing!’

‘No, of course I don’t,’ Sister Joan said warmly. ‘As you say anyone could have slipped up and taken a look and – muddled them. There’s no need to mention it. I don’t suppose that it’s important.’

‘But nobody has the right to meddle with someone else’s papers,’ Sister David said, distressed.

‘It’s not important,’ Sister Joan repeated.

Going downstairs again she wondered if the rule of not meddling also applied to the possessions of the dead. Perhaps it was justified when one was trying to find out the truth.

Sister Teresa was in the enclosed part of the visitors’ parlour, cleaning the grille that separated it from the part where visitors from outside the convent could enter through a side door that opened on to the garden and
sit chatting for the permitted twenty minutes.

‘Sister, how are things going?’ Sister Joan entered the parlour and sat down on one of the two stools there.

‘Oh, all the sisters are being very helpful,’ Sister Teresa said. Her eyes were downcast and there was something evasive in her voice. Sister Joan, glancing at her sharply, decided that Reverend Mother had reason for concern. Teresa was a sturdy young woman whose placid manner and rosy cheeks betokened a contented nature and a healthy body. Today she looked pale and there were shadows beneath her eyes.

‘You’re not driving yourself too hard?’ she queried anxiously. ‘I think it was Saint Clare who told her nuns not to be too hard on themselves because bodies aren’t made of brass. You’re not fasting beyond the rule?’

It was not, she reflected, any of her business but Mother Dorothy had requested her to have a quiet word, and Sister Teresa answered docilely, ‘No, Sister. I eat everything that’s allowed.’

‘In just over a year you’ll be a fully professed member of the community,’ Sister Joan said cheerfully, wondering if the trouble lay in the spiritual realm. ‘You must be feeling rather nervous at the prospect of a year’s seclusion but it isn’t as bad as one always imagines. Mother Dorothy and Father Malone will be talking to you and Sister Hilaria, of course, and the rest of us will be praying for you.’

‘Oh, going into seclusion doesn’t trouble me,’ Sister Teresa said. ‘It will give me the chance to look into my own heart before making the final commitment.’

‘But something is troubling you.’

‘Sister Joan, if someone you knew was doing something against the rule, something very much against the rule, and you weren’t yet fully professed, what would you do?’ Sister Teresa blurted.

‘Does this breach of the rule involve cruelty or distress to anybody else?’

‘No. No, I don’t think so. Nobody else knows about it except me. They’re all asl—’ Sister Teresa bit off the last word, looking painfully guilty.

‘You know sometimes the rule can be interpreted in a fairly relaxed way,’ Sister Joan said carefully. ‘When I had to ride Lilith to the schoolhouse every day Mother Dorothy allowed me to wear jeans under my habit. If it is medically advised a sister is permitted to eat meat for a period. These are all matters decided between the nun and her prioress.’

‘Surely a sister wouldn’t be allowed to go out walking all night!’

‘Out walking? You mean when the rest of the community is asleep? After the grand silence?’

‘I can’t help but hear the back door being unbolted,’ Sister Teresa said, looking miserable. ‘The first night just for an hour, but last night it was nearly time to get up again before Sis— the person returned.’

‘You’re talking about Sister Jerome, of course? She sleeps in the cell next to yours just off the kitchen.’

‘I do hate telling tales.’ Sister Teresa looked uncannily like the schoolgirl she must have been not many years before.

‘Nobody likes a snitch,’ Sister Joan agreed, ‘but when the rule is flouted then it is a big temptation to say something if only to prevent one’s Sister in Christ from falling into sin. It doesn’t mean we’re being spiteful.’

‘You’ll not say anything?’ Sister Teresa looked imploring.

‘Have you asked Sister Jerome why she goes out at night?’

‘Sister Jerome isn’t the kind of person one can easily ask.’

‘No. No, she isn’t.’ Sister Joan gnawed at her lower lip for a moment. ‘Where is she now?’

‘She went out mid-morning,’ Sister Teresa said. ‘She had leave to drive down into town to see the doctor
there. Mother Dorothy gave her some things to buy – candles and polish and so on, and some garden tools, so she had quite a lot to do.’

‘Even though she’s sick?’

‘I don’t think she’s sick, Sister. She goes regularly to a doctor for some medicine or other, and as she’s only just come here she’ll need to sign on with a new doctor.’

‘Well, leave it with me.’ Sister Joan endeavoured to sound casual. ‘I’ll have a word with her if I see her – don’t worry, I’ll keep your name out of it. She may have leave to perform some unusual, and private penance, you know, so I’d put it out of my head if I were you.’

‘Thank you, Sister.’ The other looked marginally happier.

‘And I have to go or Father Stephens will be screaming for his supper. Do you know what medicine Sister Jerome takes? Another time I could pick it up for her myself.’

‘Valium,’ said Sister Teresa. ‘She takes a Valium before every meal. Sister Perpetua reckons that at the rate she takes them she must get through bottles of the stuff.’

What she needed to do was to find somewhere quiet where she could sit down and sort out the information she had into some kind of coherent order. For the moment however that was a luxury she couldn’t afford. She said reassuringly if inaccurately to Sister Teresa, ‘There, you see! Poor Sister Jerome suffers from insomnia. That’s probably why she was prescribed Valium in the first place. There’s nothing to worry your head about.’

She went out into the passage briskly, wondering if that particular drug was ever prescribed for insomnia. Her own experience of medication was limited to an occasional aspirin and Sister Perpetua’s cough mixture. She had, however, set Sister Teresa’s mind at rest for the moment.

‘Are you going back now, Sister?’ Sister Mary Concepta’s voice drifted plaintively out of the infirmary.

‘Very soon, Sister, but I have a few minutes.’ Sister Joan went into the warm, pleasant room where the two old ladies were living the long twilight of their old age, spending much of their time in the two basket chairs by the winter fire but still managing to get to most of the devotions and even, on occasion, to get up the stairs to eat and join in the recreation.

‘Don’t do us any favours, girl.’ Sister Gabrielle spoke crustily, her eyes holding a decided twinkle. ‘You’re probably longing to get back to the fleshpots of the
outside world.’

‘Take no notice of her, Sister. She’s only teasing you,’ Sister Mary Concepta said.

‘Good heavens, Mary Concepta, the child knows that!’ Sister Gabrielle said.

‘And there aren’t many fleshpots around the presbytery,’ Sister Joan added.

‘Not with that new priest there,’ Sister Gabrielle said, her grin stretching into a grimace. ‘I never saw such a joyless creature in my life. All starch and no smile.’

‘Sister, he is a priest,’ Sister Mary Concepta gently reproached.

‘I wasn’t under the impression he was a rabbi,’ Sister Gabrielle said, looking pleased with her own wit. ‘I’ve known priests of all shapes and conditions in my life and this one doesn’t please me at all. He trotted in here after mass this morning and told us that it wouldn’t be very long before we were released from our earthly exile.’

‘Well, I suppose that it’s true,’ Sister Mary Concepta said.

‘Of course it’s true,’ Sister Gabrielle said impatiently, ‘but I don’t need to be reminded of it. Sister Joan, hand me my stick and I’ll walk out with you to the car.’

Sister Joan did as she was bade wondering if the old lady were merely indulging a whim or if she had something private to say. It was evidently the latter since, the moment the back door had closed, the other said, ‘Suicide, accident or have you hit upon a murder?’

‘There has been a murder,’ Sister Joan said. ‘A body was found on the railway track, unidentified; a man apparently who’d been stripped naked and was very badly mutilated.’

‘What has that to do with the housekeeper?’

‘Her niece, a Miss Potter, was expected today. Father Timothy waited for hours at the station but she never turned up. Meanwhile Father Stephens had a message telling him her body had been found at the side of the
railway track, a few miles up the line.’

‘In the same condition?’

‘Mutilated but not stripped,’ Sister Joan said tersely. ‘It’s possible she fell and was dragged along. They don’t know yet.’

‘Sister Jerome sleeps badly,’ Sister Gabrielle said. ‘I don’t sleep so well myself and I hear her walking, walking. It bothers me to see a fellow religious in trouble, but she’s not the type to invite confidences. She’s out today else I’d suggest you had a word with her.’

‘She’s hardly likely to confide in me,’ Sister Joan said.

‘Don’t underestimate yourself, girl. You’re the kind of person that people do confide in,’ Sister Gabrielle said unexpectedly. ‘You look sympathetic, you see, and as if nothing in the world could shock you. Yes, she might talk to you. There’s some great burden that woman carries and it’d be well to get it out of the way.’

‘It’ll have to wait. I’ve supper to cook.’ Sister Joan eased herself into the car.

‘You know if I’m ever tempted to take Father Timothy down a peg or two,’ Sister Gabrielle said, ‘I restrain myself by remembering that he has to eat your cooking and that’s penance enough for anybody. Go with God, girl, and come back safely.’

‘Thank you, Sister.’ Sister Joan drove slowly out of the yard.

She was near the main gates when she heard an excited yelping and slammed on the brakes in time to stop herself from running over the gambolling Alice who bounded round, her feathery tail wagging, her plump little body wriggling with joy as Sister Joan got out of the car.

‘I hope you recognize me and don’t greet everybody like that,’ she scolded. ‘You are training to be a guard dog.’

‘She’s young yet.’ Sister Jerome spoke in unwontedly mild tones as she came through the gates.

‘Good afternoon, Sister Jerome.’ Sister Joan straightened up, summoning a smile.

‘I have been into town,’ Sister Jerome said. ‘One has to sign on with a new doctor whenever one moves these days and they insist on a health check. Then I had to go to the next town because they didn’t have the gardening tools that Sister Martha required.’

‘It must have been a tiring day, Sister,’ Sister Joan said, wondering why the other was troubling to explain her movements.

‘I’m not complaining about it,’ Sister Jerome said, returning to her usual sullen manner. ‘One isn’t put on this earth to fritter away one’s time in idle pleasures. Even the dog will have to learn that.’

‘Surely you didn’t walk up from town!’ Sister Joan looked at the large, bulging bags the other was carrying.

‘Reverend Mother instructed me to take a taxi,’ Sister Jerome said. ‘I dismissed it before we reached the gates. Money, like time, ought not to be squandered.’

‘No, Sister, of course not.’

It was impossible to like the woman, to feel the slightest warmth towards her, Sister Joan thought in despair. She stood there, weighed down by the heavy bags, her large white face impassive, her eyes hard and flat ringed with dark shadows.

‘You don’t look well, Sister.’ She spoke impulsively. ‘Are you settling in at the convent? The first few days in a strange place can sometimes be difficult. I remember when I first came—’

‘One does not expect to be influenced by one’s surroundings to any great extent,’ Sister Jerome said quellingly. ‘The interior life is what matters, Sister. Come, Alice!’

She walked on up the drive with Alice immediately deserting Sister Joan and trotting obediently at her side.

‘You were wrong, Sister Gabrielle,’ Sister Joan muttered, getting back into the car. ‘I am not the sort of
person that some people would ever confide in!’

And part of her irritation, she admitted ruefully as she drove back to the presbytery, was due to the fact that Alice had gone off so happily without a backward look!

‘Take the beam out of your own eye, dear, before you start fretting about the mote in your brother’s,’ she admonished herself under her breath as she drove into the garage at the side of the church.

She would have liked to spend a few minutes in the church but Father Stephens was at the front door and she hurried up the path.

‘There you are, Sister. No trouble with the car, I hope? No scrapes or scratches?’ In Father Stephens’s world females couldn’t drive past a road sign without knocking it over.

‘I managed beautifully, Father. Sister David was most grateful for the books. She asked me to thank you.’

‘I started supper, Sister.’ He hovered by the kitchen door as she went in. ‘Not that you’re late but you do seem to have rather a lot to do, so I took the liberty.’

‘That was very kind indeed of you, Father!’ Sister Joan looked in dismay at the enormous pan simmering on the cooker. From its size she guessed that Father Stephens had used up every vegetable in the place. ‘Stew, is it?’

‘Just vegetables, Sister. I thought we might sprinkle a little grated cheese on top when it’s brought to table. With some bread it ought to be very tasty.’

‘It looks as if you made sufficient for tomorrow too,’ she commented.

‘Yes, it can be heated over,’ he agreed. ‘I managed to contact Miss Potter’s friend. A young lady called Stephanie Hugh – a fellow schoolteacher. She is arriving on the late train. Not a Catholic, by the way, but she accepted my invitation to stay here so the guest room will be used after all.’

‘If she’s not a Catholic perhaps I ought to meet her,’ Sister Joan said. ‘I mean she may not feel at ease with a priest.’

Even the most fervent Catholic might have found it hard to be at ease with Father Timothy but she managed not to say so.

‘That’s very kind of you, Sister. Perhaps you can go after supper. I enquired of Miss Hugh if she would like a meal prepared but she said she was eating on the train.’

Sister Joan, going to taste the vegetables and finding them unexpectedly good, hoped that Miss Hugh would have the good sense to travel in a crowded compartment and keep away from train doors.

She served the stew to the two clerics, receiving a courteous thank you from the one and a curt nod from Father Timothy who had just come through from the sacristy, ate her own portion in the kitchen, and slipped out into the back yard. In the gathering darkness of evening the wheeled refuse bin crouched like some robotic beast.

‘Sister Joan!’

Father Stephens stood on the back step, peering out. There was no time to lift the lid and find out if the substitute parcel had gone.

‘I was just taking a breath of air,’ she said quickly. ‘Did you want second helpings, Father?’

‘I am not so fond of my own cooking as all that,’ he said, chuckling at his own small joke. ‘No, I think you ought to start out fairly soon for the station, in case Miss Hugh takes an earlier train. I’d not want her to arrive at a strange town with nobody there to meet her.’

Or the wrong person waiting in the shadows? It would do no good to ask him. Father Stephens believed the least said the sooner something was mended.

‘I’ll go at once, Father,’ she said. ‘Will you have your coffee later then?’

‘Yes, when Miss Hugh arrives. Thank you, Sister.’

He was holding open the door for her and there was no excuse to linger. She went inside and put on her cloak again, took the keys from the hook by the door and went out.

At least she had been given leisure in which to think. She made good use of the ten minutes it took to cross the streets towards the station. Head bent into the wind, arms shrouded by her cloak, she banished the surroundings with the latecomers on their way home, the street lights casting pale pools of light on the road, and itemized events in her mind.

A body had been found by the side of the railway track – stripped, mutilated, unidentifiable. Further down the track another body had been found, clothed, and easily identified. Near the postulancy trees had been slashed and chopped and in the border of the presbytery garden the spring flowers had all lost their brave, bright heads. Mrs Fairly had wanted to speak to her about the new lay sister up at the convent, that same sister who repelled any overtures of friendship and went out at night. Went out during the day too, Sister Joan reminded herself. Granted she had gone with permission to see the doctor, to buy some articles for the community, but she had gone further afield to buy the gardening implements. Sister Joan stopped dead, mentally kicking herself for not having asked a simple question.

Sister Jerome had driven into town in the convent car but she had taken a taxi back to the convent. So where had she left the convent car and why? Had the car broken down or had she had some sort of accident in it? She’d shown no trace of anything having happened but Sister Jerome had one of those faces one sees at a poker table.

She had reached the station. A few teenagers stood round the machine that dispensed chocolate. A nice bar
of nutty milk chocolate would have been just perfect at this moment, she thought, and hastened her step on to the platform. There were a few people waiting here too, looking curiously lost on the almost deserted platform.

Sister Joan walked to the end and sat down on the bench there. The next train was due in twenty minutes and then there was a fairly long wait. She wondered if she would be justified in getting herself a cup of coffee. Probably not since there would be a cup available when she got back to the presbytery.

‘It’s Sister Joan, isn’t it?’ Someone had paused to look at her more closely.

‘Constable Petrie! I have the money for the groceries for you.’ She fumbled for her purse but he shook his head.

‘Tell Father Stephens that it’s on me. I popped in to get a quick cup of coffee though I’m actually on duty.’

‘I won’t tell,’ she said solemnly.

‘Are you meeting someone, Sister?’ He sipped from the plastic mug he was holding. ‘Oh, I’m sorry. Would you fancy a coffee? It’s not very good.’

‘Not for me, thank you. I’m waiting for Miss Hugh. She was Miss Potter’s friend, a fellow schoolteacher – Miss Potter was Mrs Fairly’s niece.’

‘Bad business that!’ He frowned. ‘Bad business in both cases. You’ve heard the latest?’

‘I’ve heard nothing.’

‘The doctor up at the hospital took a closer look at Mrs Fairly’s body. She had a needle mark on her wrist and a bit of a bruise as if someone had held her arm very tightly.’

‘Detective Sergeant Mill told me about the needle mark.’

‘He was off up north today making a few enquiries,’ Constable Petrie said. ‘Anyhow up at the hospital the pathologist made some further tests – he found insulin.’

‘What?!’ Sister Joan sat up straighter. ‘Insulin?’

‘That stuff some diabetics have to inject themselves with to avoid going into a coma,’ he said.

‘Yes, I know. Was Mrs Fairly diabetic?’

‘Not according to her medical record,’ Constable Petrie said. ‘It looks like she only gulped a mouthful of the tea with the Valium in it, enough to make her feel whoosy, they reckon, and then she was pumped full of insulin. It was the insulin that killed her, not the drug. Seems a funny way of committing suicide.’

‘You don’t still believe she killed herself?’