With Our Blessing

by Jo Spain

  ‘What?’ the nun roared back at her. ‘Speak up. Stop mumbling. Why does everyone mumble these days?’

  The nun beside her raised her voice further, though she’d been pretty clear the first time. ‘He’s here to find out about Mother Attracta.’

  ‘That bitch? Why?’ The elderly nun sat back, tore off a piece of bread with her teeth and chomped noisily, a mischievous look on her face.

  Tom nearly choked. Sister Gabrielle gasped and blessed herself. The nun sitting beside Sister Gladys groaned and placed her head in her hands.

  A shocked silence descended on the room.

  All eyes turned to Sister Concepta as she slapped the table and glared at the older nun.

  ‘Sister Gladys, you cannot use that kind of language. May God forgive you for speaking ill of the dead.’

  Tom waited to see how the chastised nun would react. She seemed belligerent, and up for a fight, but after Sister Concepta spoke, the elderly woman just bowed her head.

  Tom looked around discreetly. Sister Concepta was the youngest nun there, easily by ten years; yet she had assumed authority in the absence of Mother Attracta.

  The buzz of conversation struck up again.

  ‘I apologize for that little outburst, Inspector,’ Sister Gabrielle said quietly. ‘Gladys is our oldest sister. She’s in her mid-eighties and stroppy with it. We’re so used to hearing her ripping at one thing or another we barely notice any more. She suffers from a rare form of straight-talking. She has no politeness filter.’

  Tom laughed. ‘Isn’t that a great way to be, Sister? We spend so much time thinking about what we shouldn’t say, it’s a wonder we ever say anything at all.’

  ‘But can you imagine the chaos if we went around saying what we really thought about people all the time?’

  ‘Perhaps,’ Tom replied. ‘I suppose it depends on your nature. If you’re the sort of person who only thinks the best of people, it wouldn’t matter how honest you were.’

  ‘If you were the sort of person who only thought the best of people, you’d soon be dissuaded of that notion if everyone went around saying what they thought,’ the nun retorted.

  ‘You have me there, Sister. And what do you really think of people? What did you think of Mother Attracta, for example?’

  Sister Gabrielle smiled as she toyed with her food. ‘I should have realized you were leading me there.’

  He took a mouthful of the stew, savouring the delicious flavours. The beef was tender, the stew flavoured with bay leaf and thyme and fresh root vegetables. Paprika and black pepper gave it a subtle edge.

  ‘If you are asking me to be honest,’ she replied, ‘I have to say I found Mother Attracta to be a difficult woman, as did most of us.’

  Tom kept his face neutral.

  ‘I’m deeply shocked and saddened at the manner of her passing, but Mother Attracta was a hard, overbearing woman. If Sister Gladys had roared at you like that while Mother was at the head of the table, she’d have been on basic rations in her room for a week.’

  Tom looked around the table. Each nun was deep in conversation with those around her and he could see smiles, although there was the occasional nervous glance in the direction of the detectives. Or rather, every nun bar Sister Gladys, who was busy chewing her food with a force that could only mean she had all her own teeth.

  The atmosphere was very relaxed for a group of people who’d only found out that day that one of their members had been brutally murdered.

  Ding dong, the bitch is gone.

  Tom turned back to his neighbour.

  ‘Was there anybody here who liked Mother Attracta, Sister?’

  The nun bowed her head, embarrassed. ‘Of course, Inspector.’ She indicated the table behind her.

  Tom glanced over his shoulder.

  The table was largely abuzz with chat, but three of the nuns appeared to be absorbed in their meals. They weren’t engaging with the wider group.

  ‘That must be hard,’ Tom said, turning back. ‘To all live together, but in separate camps.’

  ‘It isn’t that black and white. We all have our confidantes. I can tell you what Sister Concepta would have done if she hadn’t become a nun. I can tell you which actor Sister Mary has a crush on. I know Sister Bernadette is afraid of the dark. I didn’t have that sort of relationship with Mother Attracta.’

  Several large platters of dessert treats were carried in after dinner. The tables heaved under the weight of apple strudel, Black Forest gateaux, pavlova with fresh cream and winter berries, and small mountains of cinnamon raisin cakes, glazed with syrup.

  Willie nearly expired with excitement as he helped himself to a little of everything. Tom, uncomfortably aware of an expanding midlife midriff, limited himself to a sumptuous cinnamon cake.

  ‘Don’t worry, Inspector,’ Sister Mary told him. ‘Nothing goes to waste. We bring all of our Saturday leftovers to the church hall on Sunday, and anyone from the parish can join us for lunch after Mass. It’s usually just our elderly parishioners but sometimes we have special community lunches.’

  Tom nodded pointedly in Willie’s direction. ‘I’d be less concerned about food going to waste and more worried about those old folks going hungry.’

  The nun gave another of her high-pitched giggles. She was evidently starting to relax around the officers, as were the other women. Sister Gladys kept winking at Willie, causing him to chuckle, until Sister Gabrielle explained that the elderly nun had a tick in her left eye that flared when she was stressed.

  As the meal came to a close, Tom found himself in the unfortunate position of bringing the new-found camaraderie to an abrupt end. He asked Sister Concepta if it would be possible for them to begin their interviews.

  ‘And could you possibly allocate us two rooms, Sister?’

  A nervous quiet greeted the inspector’s request. The nuns had been reminded that their unexpected guests weren’t there solely for the good food and company.

  Tom stood up and addressed the room.

  ‘Please don’t worry, Sisters. These interviews are routine. My colleagues and I will split into two groups, and perhaps you will decide amongst yourselves the order in which to come to us . . .’ He paused for a moment to observe the room. ‘We would like to express our condolences to you on your loss. I hope that we can return Mother Attracta to you for burial as soon as possible. Right now, we need to concentrate on finding her killer.

  ‘With that in mind I would ask that you use the opportunity of our time with you to tell us anything – and I mean anything – that you think is relevant to our investigation.’

  The nuns nodded their heads obediently.

  Chapter 21

  The detectives left the dining room and followed Sister Concepta through the kitchen into the corridor beyond.

  ‘I turned the heating on in a couple of the offices earlier, Inspector.’

  ‘Very thoughtful of you, Sister. Would it be possible for us to use one of the rooms as a base for our duration here? It might only be until tomorrow.’

  ‘Yes, of course, whatever you need. I’ll give you the key so you can lock it when you’re finished. Actually, you might like to have Mother Attracta’s office. I can have the radiators turned on in there for the morning, and you’ll have a computer at your disposal.’

  ‘Thank you. We’ll need about fifteen minutes to get ready. Oh, and Sister, please don’t forget to call in to see us yourself at some point.’ Tom smiled apologetically.

  Her return smile was less enthusiastic.

  ‘I fear it won’t be long before we start putting a strain on the hospitality,’ Tom said, when she’d gone. ‘Michael, could you get the tape recorders from the car? Now, Willie, fill us in on what you picked up in the village.’

  ‘What’s this about the village?’ Michael asked, clearly aggrieved at missing out.

  ‘You’ll catch up if you hurry, Michael,’ Tom said. ‘It’s just Willie’s adventures down in the local pub.’

  ‘I’ve always tho
ught drunks make the best witnesses,’ Ray quipped.

  Michael gave Tom a rueful look, then, taking Willie’s keys, left to get the interview equipment.

  ‘Let’s step inside one of these offices,’ Tom said. ‘No point standing out here in the cold.’

  The blast of heat hit the four officers as they entered the first room. Tom wondered why such a small group of nuns continued to rattle around a house so large they couldn’t afford to heat it. Were they hoping for a resurgence of applicants?

  The overhead light didn’t work but Laura found a corner lamp and flicked the switch, illuminating the room with a dimmish glow.

  The office was of moderate size and plainly decorated. A large crucifix hung between the two windows, behind the desk, and a small statue of the Virgin Mary stood on a chest of drawers in the corner.

  The desk had one chair behind it and two facing it. Two more straight-backed, functional chairs were stacked in a corner. There were few home comforts here.

  Ray arranged the chairs so there were two behind the desk and one facing, while Willie took another chair and sat to the side.

  The wood-framed windows here did not have their curtains drawn to hide the frigid night. Snow was falling heavily now on to the still landscape. Grey clouds loomed low and heavy overhead, giving everything an artificial, daylight-like glow. Tom sincerely hoped the weather wouldn’t impede the arrival of the crime scene technicians in the morning.

  The inspector sat down. ‘So, Willie, what did you find?’

  ‘Well, a lot of tumbleweed to begin with. There wasn’t a newsagent’s to be found.’

  Laura threw her eyes to the ceiling.

  ‘He’s a city boy, Laura,’ Tom said, and the young detective laughed.

  The inspector was Dublin born and bred himself but didn’t have the same ignorance about rural life. Willie seemed to spend more time exploring holiday resorts in Spain than his own country.

  ‘Anyway,’ Willie continued, unperturbed, ‘there’s more that unites our counties than divides them. Like any good village, there was a pub – more than one, in fact. It even had a shop in it. Brilliant, isn’t it? Shops in pubs!’

  ‘Okay, Willie, so we’ve established you’re in a scene from The Wicker Man, but can you get to the point? We only have about ten minutes.’

  ‘I’m getting there. Strange you should mention that movie, because I tell you, when I walked into the pub, every head turned. They don’t get too many strangers here.’

  ‘Willie, we’re just off the main road to Kerry,’ Laura exclaimed.

  ‘And who goes there?’ Willie retorted, triumphantly. ‘They were a friendly bunch in spite of it all. I didn’t say who I was or the reason we’re here. Just said my boss had business in the convent. Apparently, they’ve a couple of “newbies” in the village at the moment, as they put it – a man who was born here but left years ago for America, and some writer woman who’s renting a house. It’s becoming almost a tourist hotspot.

  ‘I bought a couple of pints for the old-timers at the bar, and that loosened their tongues enough to get them talking about the convent. Let’s just say there are mixed emotions about this place. The lads had some unpleasant tales. Thinking about what they said now, well, it wouldn’t surprise me if this place was haunted.’

  Willie’s usually cheerful visage had grown serious. His voice was grave and low. He looked around him shiftily, as if he expected a headless spectre to swoop down from the ceiling or through the door at any moment.

  It didn’t help that the combination of the dim lamp and the ethereal glow from the window gave the impression that a seance might be on the cards.

  Tom was happy enough to humour Willie’s dramatics. But even he felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise as the door handle creakily began to turn.

  The door opened and Michael barged in, breathing heavily, dusting white flakes from his shoulders and carrying the box from Willie’s car.

  ‘What have I missed?’ he asked.

  The tension was broken.

  ‘An ill-informed attack on rural dwellers, but aside from that we’re just starting,’ Tom replied. ‘Go on, Willie.’

  Willie resumed.

  ‘On the one hand, there was this old man singing the praises of this place,’ he said. ‘Talking about how great the nuns are, and all they’ve done for the parish over the years. He holds Mother Attracta in high regard. Reckons she had to be tough because of what she had to deal with.’

  ‘Meaning?’ Tom asked.

  ‘Meaning the wayward sinners the nuns were kind enough to take in, back in the day. He was in the minority, mind,’ Willie said, apologetically, glancing in Laura’s direction. ‘Two of the other locals near howled him down. They think this place is a stain on the town and they’d like to see it knocked down, even though they admit the nuns do good work in the community nowadays.’

  ‘Did they say why they hate it so much?’ Tom asked.

  ‘One of them, Henry Flannery, used to do all the deliveries to the convent for the village grocer. He said the girls were treated terribly. Said he saw things on occasion that made his blood run cold – girls down on bleeding knees scrubbing floors with toothbrushes; girls who’d been beaten black and blue. He also said that, despite the generous amounts of food he delivered, the girls he saw were skin and bone. They were all forced to wear these shapeless grey smocks so they wouldn’t be a “temptation” to men.

  ‘The other chap was more measured. He said the girls were supposed to follow convent life, and it wasn’t meant to be a holiday camp. But he agreed there was an awful coldness about the place. I suspect the truth is somewhere in the middle because it seems some of the girls were treated better than others, and some of the nuns were nicer than others. The ones in charge seemed to be the worst.’

  Willie sighed. ‘Flannery also said that when people refer to the Magdalene “girls”, they have a notion in their head that they were young women. But, according to him, they were often children. Said he saw some as young as thirteen transferred directly from the orphanages to the laundry.’

  ‘Good God.’ Tom felt an unbearable weight settle on his shoulders.

  ‘There’s more,’ Willie continued, shifting in his seat. ‘Flannery said this one girl, who used to work in the kitchen and take the deliveries, started showing she was expecting. After a while she disappeared and he never saw her again. But his point was, she’d been in the laundry two years straight and couldn’t have been more than fifteen when she arrived. If she was never out and she was never around boys, how had she gotten pregnant?’

  Laura shook her head, confused.

  Tom had a sinking feeling he knew what was coming next.

  ‘He suspects someone in authority was abusing certain girls. Apparently, there were a number of priests living in the parish house at the time, and one of them was moved suddenly in the sixties. But he reckons it happened again a few years later . . .’

  Willie took a breath. ‘Both men believe a lot of the nuns were intimidated by the sisters in charge and were afraid to challenge their brutal regime. Guess who was the worst of the lot? Mother Attracta. Or Sister Attracta, as she was then.’

  The inspector grimaced. ‘So, if she was like that to the girls in her care . . . after the girls stopped coming, did she stop being vicious? Or did she start directing it at the other nuns?’

  The sound of a door opening and closing in the distance alerted them. The inspector glanced at his watch; it was 8.45 p.m.

  ‘You better go in,’ Tom said to Ray. ‘See you in a couple of hours. Find out who drives. And who suggested they clean up the mess in the hall.’

  Chapter 22

  Sister Concepta ensured trays of hot drinks were brought to both rooms. Tom took a long sip of his strong, creamy coffee as he surveyed Sister Bernadette. Willie had ushered their first interviewee in, before braving the glacial air outside for a cigarette.

  The nun straightened her skirt and smiled nervously. Sister Bernadette was a kind-
looking woman with the leathery face of one who has been exposed to a lot of sun, large brown eyes and a broad smile. She looked in her late forties, but the hair peeking out from under her headdress was as white as the falling snow.

  She started talking before Tom could swallow his coffee.

  ‘This is all very CSI, isn’t it? Imagine, a team of detectives in our little convent!’

  Tom was struck by her remark.

  ‘I’m surprised you’re familiar with CSI, Sister. I didn’t see a television here.’

  She looked flustered as she tried to find her voice.

  Tom and Laura had seen this many times – perfectly innocent people, with nothing to hide, became quivering wrecks when put into a room with the police. Some people had to resist the urge to confess to crimes they hadn’t committed, such was their sense of misplaced guilt around the guards.

  ‘We used to have one,’ Sister Bernadette said. ‘Before, I mean. Not that I watched it a lot. I mean, I wasn’t addicted to CSI or anything. I don’t know anything about police procedure, really.’

  She clamped her hand over her mouth and looked at Tom, mortified.

  ‘I’m just curious, Sister,’ he said, kindly. ‘I can’t say I’ve come across too many murders committed by people using American cop dramas as their style guide.’

  The nun lowered her hand, the tension broken by Tom’s attempt at humour.

  ‘So, you used to have a television. Why don’t you have one now?’

  The nun chewed her bottom lip. ‘It seems so silly now. In light of . . .’

  Tom sighed. This merry dance again.

  ‘Sister, if you’re worried about telling us something because it shows Mother Attracta in a bad light, I’m afraid you’re going to have to get over that. Mother Attracta is the reason we’re here, and we need to know everything about her – warts and all. You were saying?’

  Sister Bernadette looked chastened.

  ‘Of course, of course. Well, we had a telly, but Mother Attracta got rid of it.’

  ‘Why?’ Laura asked.

  ‘One night, a few months ago, she barged into the sitting room and started ranting and raving that someone had been in her office without permission. We hadn’t a clue what she was on about. She said if whoever had been in her office didn’t confess, there and then, there would be consequences. Obviously, nobody confessed because nobody had been in her office. I mean —’ Sister Bernadette leaned forward conspiratorially— ‘I think she was going a bit doolally these last few months. She seemed on edge, even snappier than normal.