With Our Blessing

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by Jo Spain


  ‘Yes, yes, I have a room. It’s the last one, mind. No, there’s no other B&B in the village. Nor a hotel. Well, now, that I couldn’t say, but it would be about a half-hour drive from there to here. In that awful weather, too.’

  He hung up, smiling, but composed himself when he saw Ray. He had the guilty air of a man caught capitalizing on a misfortune.

  ‘It’s awful, Officer, what happened to that poor nun and priest, isn’t it? I hope you catch the fella who did it. Terrible, altogether.’

  ‘Not bad for business, though,’ Ray said pointedly, eyeing the ledger.

  The other man looked at him uncertainly, unsure whether Ray was being genuine or baiting him.

  Ray’s face was open and honest.

  ‘Well, I won’t lie now, I have the whole place booked out for the next two nights. The press.’

  Ray grimaced at the B&B owner and shook his head. He’d be running some kind of macabre tour by Easter.

  He glanced at the ledger. Even upside down, he could see a name written there. A woman’s name.

  Ray snorted. McGuinness must have told her to come down. When Tom found out, there’d be another murder.

  He laughed all the way out the door, much to the B&B owner’s bemusement.

  The entrance to the pub next door was mere metres away, but the ends of Ray’s trousers still got soaked as he slipped and slid through the crisp, deep snow. He noticed that the night sky was not as overcast, and hoped this boded well for a better day tomorrow.

  It was the same pub he and Ellie had lunched in earlier, but now it was heaving. The comfortable fireside seat had been colonized by two old men, who were playing dominos and salaciously dissecting the events of a day that would go down in village folklore.

  Ray admired the villagers’ dedication to alcohol and gossip – even the bitter cold couldn’t keep them at home.

  He spotted Ellie and Jack at the bar. She was wearing a long-sleeved pink cashmere polo-necked sweater that clung to her body as though it had been designed purely for her. Every man in the pub was casting appreciative glances at the exotic stranger.

  A pint of Guinness sat beside her glass of white wine.

  He pushed through the bustling bar, avoiding chinking glasses and swaying customers. As he approached Jack from behind, he overhead the tail end of the man’s conversation.

  ‘I’m just saying, if one of my relatives had been in a place like that, I’d kill the bastards, too.’

  ‘Ray,’ Ellie said, and Jack turned round, startled at the interruption.

  ‘We were just talking about Laura’s aunt. We took a guess.’ She indicated the pint and the extra stool on which she had deposited her bag and coat.

  ‘Good choice,’ he said, raising the pint glass to his lips and savouring the creamy head of the black stuff.

  ‘I’m going to try and ring home again,’ Jack said. ‘See you later.’

  Ray stood up to let the other man pass. He sensed that Jack wasn’t best pleased by his arrival. Perhaps he wanted Ellie to himself.

  ‘Any news?’ Ellie asked, as Ray sat down.

  ‘It’s moving along. I had an idea earlier that could be another direction for us to look at.’

  In one corner of the pub, two fiddlers and an accordion player had struck up a reel. Ellie leaned closer, tucking her hair behind her ear so she could hear him. It was very distracting.

  ‘What’s your theory?’ she asked.

  ‘Mother Attracta and Father Seamus both appear to have done their religion a disservice. So I wonder if someone religious is punishing them.’

  ‘Like one of the sisters acting as some kind of avenging angel?’

  He nodded.

  She leaned her head to one side. ‘It’s plausible. A true Christian would surely be horrified by what went on in those laundries. But that poses a bit of a problem for you.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, there are plenty of nuns in that convent who would have been around during the laundry years. If you have someone exacting revenge on people of the cloth for besmirching it, why stop with Attracta and Seamus?’

  ‘It’s definitely crossed our minds, but I hope you’re wrong.’

  ‘Does your boss have any theories?’ Ellie asked.

  ‘He’s looking at the women who went through the place. Thinks someone directly affected by the laundry might have come back.’

  ‘When did the laundry close?’

  ‘In 1985.’

  ‘Surely they’d have done it before now. Twenty-five years! I prefer your theory. Someone who had to put up with Mother Attracta every day and knew what Father Seamus had done. Maybe one of the nuns has cracked.’

  She took a long sip of wine. When she put down her glass, she smiled and changed the subject.

  ‘We shouldn’t be talking about work. The whole point of me staying in the B&B is to clock off.’

  Ray was happy to switch to a more pleasant topic.

  ‘Tell me a joke,’ she said.

  He cocked his head, amused.

  ‘A joke? I don’t think I know any.’

  ‘Everyone knows a joke!’

  ‘The only funnies I know are my chat-up lines,’ he quipped. ‘They normally get the ladies rolling in the aisles.’

  Ellie, who’d just taken a sip of her wine, snorted and nearly fell off her chair.

  They chortled to themselves, drawing curious looks from their fellow patrons.

  ‘I can’t imagine that’s true,’ Ellie said. She was still smiling but her voice was serious.

  Ray blushed.

  They sat in companionable silence for a few moments.

  ‘The press will be in the village tomorrow,’ Ray said, suddenly remembering. ‘You won’t be able to stay in the B&B.’

  She shook her head. ‘Well, there’s no way I’m staying up in that haunted house. I’m hoping to head back to Dublin. I just need to check I haven’t missed anything at either site.’

  Ray looked at her over the top of his pint and felt a surge of disappointment.

  It must have shown on his face, because she placed her hand on his knee and leaned forward.

  ‘Don’t worry. When we get back to Dublin, maybe I’ll let you take me some place where the choice of wine extends beyond red or white.’

  *

  Tom had eaten with indecent haste the thick chicken and vegetable soup provided by the nuns. He couldn’t shake the feeling they were on to something with Liz Downes.

  As soon as he finished his meal, he found Concepta and requested her computer password.

  Back in the office, he reopened the master file.

  He scrolled back through the years, starting from 1976. Tom thought there had been an Elizabeth, but he wasn’t sure in what year.

  His heart skipped a beat when he found one in 1973. Elizabeth Carney.

  His eyes scanned the entry. She was thirty in 1973. That would make her sixty-seven now. The age made him uneasy. Sixty-seven was hardly ancient, but surely too old to be scaling walls? She had left the convent in 1976.

  Tom searched the records rooms until he found the 1973 files. Michael and Laura had marked the sides of the boxes with the relevant years, making his job easier.

  He found Elizabeth’s file. But as he skimmed it, hope faded.

  Elizabeth Carney had entered the convent voluntarily. She had worked as a prostitute in Limerick city and was destitute when she came to the nuns asking for charity. The file remarked on Elizabeth’s obedience, and on how determined she was to atone for her sins.

  The description did not fit that of a woman who might have gone on to seek revenge. There was no report of any pregnancies. The last entry showed that Elizabeth was moving to another laundry, to assist the nuns there, and would be going forward as a novitiate.

  The inspector slammed the file shut.

  Margaret Downes had to be the woman who’d made the calls.

  Hopefully, tomorrow would bring clarity.

  Day Four

  Monday
, 13 December

  Chapter 43

  Tom slept easier his second night in the convent. The bed was more familiar but the real explanation probably lay in the fact that he was dog-tired. The first thing he did when the alarm went off at 7 a.m. was check his phone.

  The reception bars were all there, climbing happily up his little signal icon. He had no missed calls – his wife obviously hadn’t been that worried about him. His 3G was also working, and he pulled up the news headlines.

  The main story reported how the weather had brought the country to a standstill. The government and county councils were blaming each other for a lack of preparedness; the councils didn’t have enough salt for the roads, the government had issued no severe weather warnings. Farmers were furious at being unable to access their livestock; children were thrilled because nearly every school in the state was closed.

  The headline that stated councils were out in force expending their limited salt supplies to clear roads reassured Tom. The local authorities were to be assisted by the army in isolated rural areas. He laughed to himself. An ordinary winter’s day for anywhere in Central Europe was an epic weather event by Irish standards.

  The second headline concerned the two murders. The state broadcaster was covering the story conservatively – the woman discovered in the Phoenix Park on Friday morning was a member of the Sisters of Pity order in Limerick. Her murder had been followed by what appeared to be another suspicious death, this time of the parish priest in her home village, Father Seamus McGahan. The police had made no comment following the second death, but the two appeared to be linked.

  The rest of the article was just trying to fill in the gaps, carrying outraged quotes from members of the Church and politicians. He sighed and put the phone down. Presuming the roads were made passable, the media would descend on the area like flies today.

  What an economic boost for the little village of Kilcross.

  He met Michael on the landing. Despite being the first officer to bed last night, the detective looked shattered. His eyelids drooped and his hair was dishevelled – the look of a man who had tossed and turned for a good many hours.

  He muttered a good morning as he stumbled past Tom on the way to the bathroom.

  The inspector put a hand on his shoulder. ‘Are you all right, Michael?’

  The detective started nodding but then shook his head and visibly crumpled. Leaning against the wall, he rubbed his eyes as if tiredness were now his master.

  ‘I couldn’t sleep.’

  ‘Why not?’

  Michael shrugged.

  Tom made a decision. ‘Put on something warm and come outside with me for a quick walk before breakfast. You can catch up on some hours this afternoon, if need be. But there’s no point in going back to bed now. I’ll wait for you downstairs.’

  Michael nodded dumbly.

  Willie emerged next, yawning and stretching sleepily in his doorway as he surveyed the landing.

  ‘I could get used to being down here,’ he said to Tom. ‘The wife normally wakes me by leaning over and telling me what she wants me to do before I leave for work or when I get home. Thirty years. I’d have been out already if I’d done her in.’

  Tom tutted.

  Willie and his wife bickered relentlessly. But if something happened to one of them, the other wouldn’t be able to function.

  ‘I’m going to get some air,’ Tom said. ‘By the way, did you get talking to Sister Bernadette about her “walk”?’

  ‘No. When I went looking for her, she’d gone to bed. And I had no desire to follow her up. I’ll find her this morning.’

  ‘Do that. Let’s pull together at breakfast.’

  While waiting for Michael in the hall he met Sisters Mary and Gabrielle coming back from morning prayers.

  ‘Are you ready for breakfast?’ Sister Mary inquired, cheerfully.

  ‘I’m actually going for a short walk. Work up an appetite.’

  ‘Oh, but you’ll freeze out there, Inspector. Are you going on your own?’

  ‘No, one of my detectives is joining me.’

  She placed a hand on a rotund hip. ‘Wait there,’ she commanded.

  She swished into the kitchen. When she emerged, a couple of minutes later, Michael was coming down the stairs.

  ‘Hot chocolate,’ she said, handing them an easy-sip flask each. ‘I put a nip of brandy in it.’

  Tom, bemused, thanked her.

  They stepped out the front. The flasks steamed in the cold air.

  ‘Shall we walk round the back of the house and check out the ruins of the laundry and orphanage?’ Tom suggested.

  Michael raised his eyebrows in assent, not really caring where they walked.

  The snow was still deep, but the morning was clear and crisp. The clouds weren’t as laden as they had been the previous day. It didn’t look like the government would have to declare a state of emergency, after all.

  They walked in silence. Tom realized if he didn’t start the conversation, nothing would be said.

  ‘What is it, Michael? I’m guessing it’s not the case. Are you still worried about Anne?’

  When the young man maintained his silence, Tom ploughed on.

  ‘Michael, you will get through this. You’re a strong couple. Children aren’t the be all and end all, you know. And if being parents is so important to you, have you considered other options?’

  ‘We know there are options,’ Michael said. ‘It was too soon, but I was going to raise it with Anne. Children are everything to her. That’s why we tried so many times. But the last time, it just did it for me. It’s like something snapped. This is killing us. It’s become like the third part of the marriage, you know? Like that empty space in the bed between us is actually filled with all the dead babies we should have had.’

  Tom was dismayed to notice tears starting to form in Michael’s eyes.

  ‘And what’s changed?’ he asked the young detective. ‘You can give it time and have that conversation, surely?’

  ‘What’s changed is she’s pregnant again.’

  Tom felt his head spin. Feeling completely inadequate, he racked his brain for the right thing to say. He considered himself fairly progressive for a man when it came to discussing emotional matters, but the last few days had been a stretch. There was a reason men didn’t engage too often in conversations about feelings.

  ‘How far gone is she?’

  ‘Twelve weeks.’ The detective kicked at the snow.

  ‘Michael, this is going to sound as clichéd as it gets, but you can’t spend every second worrying about this. No, listen to me; I know that’s harder than it sounds. But if something is going to happen, it will happen. Is she happy right now?’

  ‘Sounds delirious. She was miserable when I was leaving on Friday, then she did the test.’ He smacked his forehead with his hand. ‘Of course! She’s been in and out of that bathroom every hour for the last few weeks. She’s been a wreck, hasn’t looked herself at all. I thought she’d just given up, was depressed. It must have been the pregnancy.’

  ‘Didn’t she have those symptoms on the other pregnancies?’

  ‘She never had any symptoms with the others. We wouldn’t have even known she was pregnant half the time, except she stockpiled pregnancy kits.’

  Tom had a vague memory of Louise telling him once that sickness in the early stages of pregnancy was generally a good sign. He said nothing, not wanting to get the young man’s hopes up.

  ‘Let her have this, Michael. Don’t worry her because you’re worried. What good will come of that? And if it doesn’t work out, give it some time and then tell her you can’t do it again.’

  Michael sighed.

  Tom reckoned his hot chocolate might have cooled enough to drink by this stage. He took a sip. The brandy, poured with a generous hand, delivered a surge of heat down his throat. The breakfast of kings, he thought, as his eyes watered.

  ‘Jesus,’ he said. ‘Drink your brandy. There’s some chocolate in it.


  They started walking again, Michael gingerly sipping from his flask.

  ‘I wonder what McGuinness would say if he knew we were having alcohol for breakfast,’ he said, when he could use his tongue again.

  Tom smiled. McGuinness kept a bottle of Jameson in his office.

  ‘Can I let you in on a secret, Michael?’

  The younger man nodded, curious.

  ‘My Maria is expecting.’

  Michael did a mental double take. ‘That’s fantastic. She’s your only child, isn’t she?’

  ‘She is. But she’s only nineteen. First year in college.’

  They were at the back of the convent now. The ruins that Tom had seen from the upper floor the first night lay in front of them. Only the tips of some of the snow-covered stones were visible, and the two men had to be careful where they placed their feet. In other places, parts of the walls were still intact. Both of them shuddered as they walked between the old stones, and not from the cold.

  ‘Do you like Maria’s boyfriend?’

  ‘She doesn’t have a boyfriend.’

  They stopped and looked around, taking more sips from their flasks.

  ‘Last night, sir, after Anne gave me the news, I started thinking about the girls who’d ended up in this place after having babies, or for even looking like they might have kids out of wedlock. I was thinking they’d have given anything to have my problems.’

  ‘I know what you mean,’ Tom sighed. ‘It’s been playing on my mind, too. The thoughts of Maria being sent to a mother and baby home for being single, then ending up somewhere like this. It breaks my heart.’

  ‘Do you think any of the sisters were affected by what went on here?’

  ‘I know it. I spoke to Sister Gladys last night. She saw some awful things. She said that the only thing she could do for the girls was stay. That was her sacrifice. And she’ll probably never be recognized for it.’

  ‘The women she showed kindness to will never forget it.’

  Tom knew Michael was right.

  ‘Are you ready to go back in? There’s something I want to follow up on.’

  They turned back towards the convent.

 

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