Vow of Obedience Page 11

  ‘And nobody was ever killed for that reason,’ Sister Joan put in.

  ‘You’d be amazed what motives for murder have surfaced in my experience,’ Detective Sergeant Mill said gloomily. ‘However I take your point.’

  ‘Surely someone is examining the spot?’ Mother Dorothy said. ‘For tyre tracks and so on?’

  ‘Rough, pebbled surface, dry weather. Whoever hit her must have dented the bumper, I imagine, but until someone turns up at the garage with a damaged car – of course I’m putting someone on to check the spot. The trouble is that with two murder enquiries going on we haven’t many resources left to stretch. But we’ll do our best, I promise you.’

  ‘Which is all I can ask. Thank you.’ Mother Dorothy made a small gesture of dismissal.

  ‘I’ll get my report in and get back to work then.’ Rising from the chair on which he had been sitting, leaning forward slightly to shake hands with grave courtesy, he added, ‘Thank you also for allowing Sister Joan to give me some help with the other cases. Sometimes it’s valuable to get the views of an outsider.’

  ‘As Sister Joan is carrying out the duties of a lay sister at present she is less confined than the rest of us,’ Mother Dorothy allowed. ‘Sister, you had better drive over to the hospital and bring Sister David and Sister Katherine back.’

  ‘Yes, Mother.’ Sister Joan knelt briefly, aware of the detective’s faintly amused glance as the words of blessing were exchanged.

  ‘You find us medieval?’ She spoke challengingly as they went through the front door and towards the yard.

  ‘Quaint in some ways,’ he admitted. ‘However since I don’t really understand what causes a perfectly healthy, attractive young woman to lock herself up in a convent then I certainly can’t pretend to understand what keeps her there.’

  ‘Not bolts and bars,’ she assured him. ‘The few there are fasten from the inside. You know I might have seen the – accident to Sister Hilaria if I’d been a few minutes earlier getting back. I must have driven right past where she was lying.’

  ‘And you saw nothing?’

  ‘Only Sister Perpetua, just inside the gate. She was looking for Sister Hilaria. She was supposed to take our two novices over to the parlour in the main house so that Mother Dorothy could say a word concerning tragedies in the outside world having no bearing upon their spiritual development.’

  ‘Do you believe that, Sister?’ he asked abruptly.

  ‘“Every man’s death diminisheth me”. No, not really, but one comes to terms with the contradictions when one is professed. Novices are usually looking for certainties. Do you think that someone was deliberately trying to kill Sister Hilaria? The same man who killed the two girls?’

  ‘The only thing they all have in common is their Catholicism, surely?’

  ‘And you think that might be a coincidence? Cornwall, by tradition, is more of a Protestant stronghold, you know. We are fairly thin on the ground. But as for Sister Hilaria being lured away by a man – it’s unbelievable. I simply cannot think what could possibly have brought Sister out beyond the gates without permission.’

  ‘Something may turn up.’ He nodded as he got into the police car.

  Following him down the track in the convent car she glanced out towards the lone policeman who was measuring the ground painstakingly. Clues were obviously few. Perhaps non-existent, she amended, frowning as she turned into the main street.

  The hospital stood outside the town proper. What had once been a cottage hospital had been enlarged into a series of gleaming white buildings, each one neatly labelled. The nurses in their short veils and low-heeled shoes looked as if they were pretending to be nuns.

  In the corridor Detective Sergeant Mill joined her. ‘Sister Hilaria’s been put in a side ward,’ he said. ‘Fortunately I know the layout of the complex. My job brings me here all too often.’

  Sister David and Sister Katherine stood like twin guardian angels at the foot of the bed. At the side of the bed a police officer sat with notebook and pen ready. In the bed, as narrow and austere as her bed in the convent, Sister Hilaria lay, a drip attached to one arm, bandages coifing her head.

  ‘I’m to drive you home,’ Sister Joan said, lowering her voice instinctively.

  ‘The doctor says that her pulse is strong,’ Sister David whispered back. ‘They are going to take some more X-rays soon. Ought not someone to remain with her?’

  ‘The police constable will be staying. There’s nothing more you can do here.’

  ‘She hasn’t said anything yet,’ the constable interposed. ‘Anything your end, sir?’

  ‘On the other matter? Not yet, but it’s early days though you’d not think so to hear the Press baying. Someone’ll relieve you later on, Constable.’ The detective sounded brisk and normal as if coma and injury were too ordinary to whisper about.

  ‘I’ll keep an eye open, sir.’

  ‘Keep two,’ Detective Sergeant Mill advised. ‘Sisters.’

  ‘Will you be trying to find the car?’ Sister David ventured as they went back down the corridor.

  ‘Yes, Sister. The problem is there are plenty of garages in the area and even at this end of the year tourists travelling up and down. It may take a long time.’

  ‘Not that Sister Hilaria would want revenge,’ Sister Katherine said. ‘She would be the first one to find excuses for the person who ran her down. Oh, but how anyone could do such a thing is beyond my comprehension. Surely he must have seen her.’

  ‘One would imagine so,’ he said non-committally.

  A poker face, Sister Joan reflected, was probably one of the greatest assets a police officer could have. She wanted to ask him if he’d reached any fresh conclusions but he was turning away, getting into the police car. Perhaps it was a measure of the difference between him and Sergeant Barratt that he took any police car available, frequently driving himself, while his subordinate drove a sleek private car. She curbed her thoughts, realizing that she was allowing herself to dislike a man whose only faults, as far as she knew, were an officious manner and a mania for tidiness that clearly upset his wife.

  ‘He seems a very able officer,’ Sister Katherine said from her seat in the back of the convent car. ‘Poor Sister Hilaria – one cannot imagine what she was doing outside in the first place.’

  ‘Perhaps she had one of her visions,’ Sister David said. ‘Or she might have strolled through without noticing.’

  ‘She’ll be able to tell us soon.’

  Her companions murmured, ‘Please God’, and fell silent.

  When she entered the convent kitchen she almost skidded on the wet floor. Sister Teresa, on hands and knees, uttered a warning cry.

  ‘Oh, do be careful, Sister! We can’t risk another casualty.’

  ‘Then don’t lay traps for your unwary companions.’ Sister Joan righted herself. ‘What possessed you to start washing the floor at this moment?’

  ‘It was something to keep my hands busy, Sister. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Not your fault, Sister. I’m as tetchy as a wasp today,’ Sister Joan said in quick contrition. ‘Of course you need to keep your mind off it. Sister Hilaria is not yet conscious but the doctors are very hopeful. She has concussion with bruising and shock. Not that it isn’t most painful and serious, but it might have been worse. Can you finish off here? I must go and see Mother Prioress.’

  ‘Yes, Sister. I’m ever so glad about Sister Hilaria.’

  Sister Joan bit her lip as she went down the corridor. She trusted she hadn’t been too optimistic in her reassurances. Sister Hilaria might – but please God not – take a turn for the worse, or the person who had run her down might – she stopped dead as the question leapt into her mind. Did every victim of a hit-and-run driver have a couple of policemen taking turns to sit by her bed? Or did Detective Sergeant Mill have some reason for thinking that the driver of the car might return, find his way into the hospital, finish off what had been begun?

  She reminded herself firmly to curb her imagin
ation and went on to the parlour. It was nearing the hour when the various members of the community settled for their private studies. She herself was expected to write something about her recent retreat that might be used as the basis for a talk and a general discussion, but at this moment her weekend in Scotland had taken on the shifting hues of a visit paid many years before to a place only dimly recalled.

  ‘It seems that Sister Hilaria is resting quietly,’ Mother Dorothy said, looking up as Sister Joan tapped and entered. ‘Dominus vobiscum.’

  ‘Et cum spiritu sancto. Yes, Mother, she seems to be. We didn’t see any of the medical staff but Detective Sergeant Mill must have had information. There is a police constable by her bed.’

  ‘I have telephoned Father Malone and informed him of what has occurred. He will go to the hospital the moment he’s had his tea. I made him promise he wouldn’t rush off without anything. We will have an extra hour in chapel this evening instead of recreation in order to pray for Sister Hilaria’s swift recovery. Thank you for picking up the Sisters. They are relieved to be home again.’

  She made it sound as if Sister David and Sister Katherine had been away for weeks, instead of merely in the hospital for an hour or so, but to them it would seem like that, Sister Joan thought, kneeling for the blessing. Sister David had helped out at the Moor School, but though she had been fond of the children she had never managed to keep any discipline among them on the occasions when she had deputized as teacher, and going alone across the moor had made her nervous. She was much happier acting as secretary for the Prioress and working at the translations that were published in obscure journals and brought in a meagre but fairly steady stream of royalties. And Sister Katherine whose embroideries brought in more revenue was lost once she stepped beyond the grounds.

  And I, Sister Joan reflected wryly, am quite different. I love the cloister but going out into the world, involving myself, is still an exciting challenge.

  Firmly she shut the door of her cell, as firmly banishing the thoughts that jostled in her mind, and concentrated on the benefits and trials of her recent retreat. Had she learned in that Scottish fastness to know herself a little better, to cope with her faults? Had she succeeded in transcending her own littleness in the contemplation of a greater glory? Seated crosslegged on the floor she opened her notebook and read over what she had written, the outside world falling away as she pondered.

  * * *

  In chapel Father Stephens was celebrating the Benediction. Sister Joan slid into her place, a sidelong glance showing her Sister Perpetua in charge of the two novices. When Father Stephens had processed himself out into the sacristy where he disrobed and left without the cup of tea that Father Malone always accepted, there was an expectant stir among the community.

  ‘Sisters in Christ, after we have had our supper, we will return here to pray for Sister Hilaria’s speedy recovery and return to us,’ Mother Dorothy said, rising. ‘The loss of one recreation may be offered up for that intention. Sister Joan, you have done something about the preparation for supper, I trust?’

  Sister Joan’s cheeks went scarlet with mortification. This was the second time she’d forgotten that the lay sister left a few minutes early to set the tables and see to the final stages of cooking.

  ‘I’ll see to it at once, Mother.’ She went out hastily, catching up with Sister Teresa in the main hall.

  ‘I would have attracted your attention, Sister, but Sister Perpetua was looking in my direction,’ Sister Teresa said apologetically. ‘There’s vegetable lasagne to heat up and I made a syrup pudding earlier on. Is that all right?’

  ‘Sister, you’re worth your weight in gold,’ Sister Joan assured her. ‘I must be the most inefficient lay sister ever thrust into that job.’

  ‘Your mind’s on other things, Sister,’ Sister Teresa said. ‘Now I am never more content than when there’s a floor to scrub or a dinner to cook.’

  ‘And that makes you a real asset, Sister. Especially at a time like this when outside events impinge upon our life in the cloister. I’ll see to the cutlery.’

  If Mother Dorothy considered that the portions of lasagne were overgenerous she wisely held her peace, and with equal wisdom had chosen some incidents from the life of Saint Joseph Copertino as the mealtime reading. Nothing was better calculated to raise one’s spirits than the anecdotes of that delightful flying monk. For a little while the faint air of menace that seemed to be creeping about the convent was dispelled.

  The syrup pudding duly demolished and the reading completed, Mother Dorothy rose.

  ‘Sister Joan, when you have seen to the dishes please join us in chapel,’ she said formally. ‘If you can manage them alone …?’

  ‘Yes, of course, Mother. Sister Teresa has done most of my work today,’ Sister Joan said.

  ‘I will also require you to sleep over in the postulancy tonight,’ the Prioress was continuing. ‘Sister Perpetua is more accustomed to seeing to the needs of dear Sister Mary Concepta and Sister Gabrielle. After the great blessing take your things over there, will you?’

  ‘Yes, Mother.’

  She would have liked to spend the full hour in the chapel but Sister Teresa had earned her praying time. Sister Joan heaped up the cleared plates, piled them on the trays and began the toilsome business of carting them down to the kitchen. In the Tarquins’ day there had been a narrow flight of steps linking the kitchen to the upper storey so that maids could scurry up and down unobserved by the guests, but that had long since been blocked off.

  Outside darkness had fallen in the disconcerting suddenness of late autumn. Faintly from the chapel she could hear the sound of singing. Like sweet voices raised against the forces of the night, she thought, and frowned because the notion was disturbing.

  There was Lilith to feed. The next morning she would take the pony for a trot round, she decided. Lilith was used to being ridden to and from school and the accustomed exercise ought not to be entirely abandoned. She slipped on her cloak and went out into the cobbled yard. The wind caught at her veil and swirled it across her face, causing the pony to whicker nervously.

  ‘Steady, old girl. It’s only me.’ She leaned against the half-door, stroking the velvety nose. ‘I’ve a lovely lot of feed for you if you’ll be patient.’

  The feedbag against the inner wall of the stable was nearly empty. Aided by the light streaming from the uncurtained kitchen window she opened the stable door and went in to refill it.

  Behind her Lilith gave a sudden snort and clattered out happily, obviously more intent on exercise than supper.

  ‘Oh no! Bad girl, come here!’ Sister Joan made an unavailing grab at the pony’s mane but Lilith merely tossed her head, kicked up her heels in a defiant display of elderly skittishness and headed through the open gate with more energy than she ever showed when Sister Joan was riding her.

  ‘Lilith, here!’

  The pony trotted just beyond her grasp over Sister Martha’s cherished herb beds. Sister Joan changed direction, running round the walls with their fringes of peach and walnut trees to where the second gate led into the patch of open ground before the sunken tennis court and the postulancy beyond. The further gate was open. Perhaps someone had neglected to close it when Sister Perpetua had escorted the novices across for chapel.

  A cowled and veiled figure flitted past the open gate. The moonlight was not strong enough to define only to suggest, and the figure was gone in an instant.

  ‘Sister? Sis—’

  Sister Joan had reached the open gate. She closed it with a little snap and leaned against it, straining her eyes across the rough ground. The wind rustled the clumps of grass and threw a shower of tiny pebbles up into the air. They glinted like hailstones under the emerging moon and fell to earth again.

  Lilith, deciding on contrition, nuzzled the back of her neck.

  ‘Bad girl. Come and eat now.’ Her fingers twined in the rough mane she led the pony back through the garden. By the time the stable door had been secured on
ly ten minutes remained before the great blessing. She wiped her hands, adjusted her veil and walked swiftly through to the chapel. All the Sisters except Sister Hilaria were in their places, heads raised to the altar, rosary beads gliding through their joined fingers. Nobody looked as if she had moved since the hour of prayer had begun. Sister Joan knelt in her place, her hand moving to the rosary at her belt, the accustomed discipline of prayerful calm smoothing her face.

  The figure she had seen on the evening of her return, the figure she had glimpsed tonight, the nun who hadn’t offered the police constable the customary cup of tea – surely they were all the same person. Seen twice near the postulancy and once near the stableyard. Who?

  ‘… and in the hour of our death. Amen.’ Her voice chimed in with the others just before the final Gloria began.

  ‘I will let you have news of Sister Hilaria the moment that I hear from the hospital,’ Mother Dorothy said. ‘Sleep well, Sisters in Christ.’ She moved to the Lady Altar where Sister David waited for the small lamp which was raised over each member of the community as she knelt for the final blessing before the grand silence.

  There was no point in reporting what she had seen now. The figure was long gone, and it would be fruitless to demand a search.

  Sister Elizabeth and Sister Marie were waiting in the hall. Sister Joan, going past to collect her nightclothes from the lay cell, wondered if either of them ever felt the frustration that had bubbled up in herself when, as a novice, she had been escorted everywhere as if she had neither wish nor will of her own.

  Sister Perpetua, looking more at ease now that she was carrying out her accustomed duties, smiled at her from the doorway of the infirmary where she was helping the two old nuns into their beds.

  She rolled her things into a bundle and went back to the main hall. Mother Dorothy had remained in the chapel and Sister David waited to bolt the main door.

  It was as dark as midnight; the moon fled. Sister Joan switched on the torch she had snatched up, wishing she had had it earlier on, and led her charges through the garden and down into the tennis court. When she glanced back towards the main house she could see a faint glow from one or two of the upper windows. Then, one by one, they went out.