A VOW OF DEVOTION an utterly gripping crime mystery

by Veronica Black

  Sister Joan thought briefly of the island in the Scottish loch where Brother Cuthbert lived in company with his fellow religious. It hadn’t struck her as a hotbed of social dissipation.

  ‘It must be nearly two years since you came up on retreat there,’ he was continuing.

  ‘Two years this autumn. You were very helpful to me then.’

  ‘All part of the service, Sister.’ He laughed again as if the joy of living were too overwhelming to be contained in a smile.

  ‘And you’ve come down here to be a hermit?’

  ‘Father Prior agreed that a change would benefit me spiritually. I’d completely forgotten that your convent was in this area. Well, this is marvellous! To arrive in a strange place and meet an old friend straight off!’

  ‘You’re supposed to be here as a hermit,’ Sister Joan reminded him.

  ‘Very true, Sister. You do well to remind me.’ He looked as contrite as a large young man with a perennially cheerful expression could look. ‘However I don’t start being a hermit proper until tomorrow. And I’ve not taken any vow of silence. So how can I help you?’

  ‘Mother Dorothy, our prioress, sent down supplies for you. They’re in the boot of the car.’

  ‘I say! That was kind. Everybody has been marvellous. I called in at the presbytery in town to get the key but the place was unlocked when I got here.’

  ‘You met Father Malone then?’

  ‘Father Stephens. Father Malone was making a school visit, giving a talk about the pilgrimages he took last year. With illustrated slides and photographs.’

  ‘Which Father Malone will show you the first chance he gets.’

  ‘That will be a real treat,’ Brother Cuthbert said without irony. ‘Shall I carry in the supplies, Sister?’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Sister Joan opened the boot and watched him heave up the big box. Since meeting this particular monk she had ceased to regard Cuthbert as a somewhat wimpish name for a saint.

  ‘Come along inside, Sister,’ he invited over his shoulder. ‘The good fathers have taken immense trouble over the place. A shower and two toilets and a Calor gas stove to cook on, and a marvellous bunk bed — my only worry is that I shall be too comfy here. A hermit’s life should be more ascetic, I feel.’

  ‘You’ll find it pretty lonely here all by yourself,’ she answered.

  ‘Then that will be a new experience for me,’ he said cheerfully, setting the box down. ‘I’ve been round congenial people all my life so it will be interesting to find out how I manage by myself. Oh, apples and pears! And spaghetti and potatoes and dried milk and tea — how much do I owe you for this, Sister?’

  ‘It’s a gift.’

  ‘That really is kind,’ Brother Cuthbert said. ‘Do you fancy a cup of tea now, Sister? It’s been a long drive down from Scotland. I slept in the van last night and it was quite comfortable but I’m out of practice behind a wheel.’

  ‘That’s your van?’ She looked at the gaudily painted vehicle.

  ‘Father Prior thought that it would be a good idea to have some transport. I bought that in Peebles — two hundred pounds and the engine goes beautifully. Not that I expect to use it much. Stand back, Sister, while I light the gas. No, I shall emulate the hermits of old and walk everywhere. Stride across the moors early in the morning with the breeze sweet as honey.’

  ‘And the rain dripping down the back of your habit,’ Sister Joan scolded. ‘Brother Cuthbert, you’re a romantic!’

  ‘And wouldn’t it be a dull, grey world if all the romance was drained out of it?’ he said. ‘Sit yourself down, Sister. It’s a real treat to play host. Have you been keeping well since we met?’

  ‘Very well.’ Sister Joan pulled up a chair. ‘And everybody up at the loch? Are they all well too?’

  It would have been useless to mention individuals. Her time in Scotland had been marked by sinister and threatening events of which the young monk remained serenely unaware.

  ‘Everything runs along peacefully,’ he said, bringing in two mugs of tea. ‘There we are, Sister. Now tell me — this used to be the old schoolhouse, didn’t it? Father Stephens did mention it.’

  ‘It’s convent property but since the school closed down not much use has been made of it. I used to teach here myself — the children who couldn’t get easily into the state schools in town, but the local authorities laid on a bus and I was suddenly made redundant.’

  ‘But the work you did here must have given the children a splendid start in life,’ he said. ‘And being redundant means you can spend more time in the enclosure. Are you still painting, Sister? That’s a marvellous talent you have.’

  ‘Not recently,’ she said regretfully. ‘Are you still playing the lute?’

  One of the more surprising things about Brother Cuthbert was his skill on the lute. It was more than a skill, she remembered. Under different circumstances Brother Cuthbert could have taken his place on the great concert platforms of the world.

  ‘Oh yes. The lute and I can’t long be parted.’

  ‘I’m sure that Mother Dorothy — she’s our prioress — will want you to play in chapel. Would you be willing to do that?’

  ‘I’d be very flattered to be asked, Sister. Music always draws the soul nearer to God, don’t you think?’

  ‘It depends on the music,’ she said cautiously.

  ‘Real music,’ he said. ‘Pure harmony and notes that are true. But I’d not wish to push myself forward.’

  ‘You won’t,’ she assured him, privately resolved to do a little pushing herself. ‘You’ll be coming to Mass at the convent, I hope?’

  ‘Oh yes, since that will do away with the need to mingle with crowds — not that your services are not well attended, of course. I didn’t mean to imply—’

  ‘There’s just the community,’ Sister Joan said, amused. ‘Father Malone and Father Stephens take it in turns, week and week about. Mass is at seven in the morning and we have a benediction proper twice a week at six.’

  ‘It will be a nice walk,’ he said happily.

  ‘And I have to get back. Oh, there may be more people on the moor than you bargained for. We have an invasion of new-age travellers disporting themselves around the place. I thought one of them was squatting here when I saw your van.’

  ‘Well, live and let live,’ he said with undiminished good humour as she went out.

  ‘I hope they don’t disturb you anyway.’ She turned to shake hands again.

  ‘Nothing much disturbs me at all, Sister,’ he said cheerfully. ‘Is that the convent car?’

  ‘For its sins,’ she said darkly.

  ‘I was just wondering,’ Brother Cuthbert said, ‘if it might not be a good idea if you used the van while I’m here. I don’t know too much about cars but that one does look a trifle elderly, don’t you think?’

  ‘I couldn’t agree more,’ she said fervently, ‘but you’ll need the van yourself. I mean if you go to church in town or—’

  ‘I intend to live as much like a hermit as possible in this modern age,’ he said. ‘No, Sister Joan, you take the van and leave the old boneshaker here. It’ll make me feel that I’m doing something to repay you for all your kindness.’

  ‘In that case I’ll accept it as a loan,’ she said gratefully. ‘Thank you, Brother Cuthbert. I’ll just transfer some odds and ends and then leave you in peace. When you need supplies just let Sister Perpetua or myself know. She’s the infirmarian but she helps out in a variety of ways, and at the moment I’m acting lay sister.’

  ‘Thank you, Sister. I’m hoping to grow some foodstuffs myself,’ he said, looking round optimistically at the uneven turf and its patches of heather and bracken and its farther stretches of dark peat. ‘I’ll see you again then. God bless!’

  ‘God bless, Brother Cuthbert!’

  And God bless the van which purred into motion as sweetly as any engine she had ever heard!

  Had anyone bought a van for a couple of hundred pounds, she mused, the vehicle wo
uld have broken down within ten minutes of the money changing hands, but either Brother Cuthbert had been born under a lucky star or something about his transparent honesty called out a similar quality in others. Whatever the reason she luxuriated in the well-sprung suspension and smooth gears.

  Sister Perpetua had hinted strongly that it would be a favour to the rest if she didn’t get back in time to cook supper.

  ‘And who am I,’ said Sister Joan aloud, veering off the track, ‘to disappoint dear Sister Perpetua?’

  It would do no harm to take a closer look at the invaders. The cars and caravans had stopped and as she drew nearer the sounds of dogs barking, children crying and someone playing guitar rather badly reached her ears.

  There must have been about 150 of them, she reckoned, stopping to wind down the window. They merely seemed to be more. They were not all young either. She noticed several elderly men, even an elderly woman, seated on the steps of a trailer and smoking. A bored housewife escaping from mediocrity? The woman raised her head and fixed Sister Joan with a long, hard look out of dark eyes set in a handsome, haggard face. Two youths, one with a ponytail, the other a Mohican haircut, strolled up and also stared at her.

  ‘I’m Sister Joan, from the convent.’ She wound down the window. ‘Are you here long?’

  ‘A week, a day, a year. Not important,’ said the Mohican in an educated drawl.

  ‘It is to some of us,’ Sister Joan said. ‘I asked because some of you may be Catholics in which case—’

  ‘I worship the goddess,’ Ponytail said.

  ‘Fine,’ she retorted amiably. ‘I’m not here on the business of conversion. We do have a chapel and you’re welcome to visit. Mass is at seven in the morning if there are any Catholics around so you might spread the word.’

  ‘Fine, Sister, we’ll do that.’ Mohican sounded bored.

  ‘Well, as long as you know.’ She caught the dark, intense gaze of the elderly woman fixed on her relentlessly and had a sudden feeling of vulnerability.

  ‘Hey, are you really a nun?’ Ponytail demanded. He probably didn’t mean to sound aggressive.

  ‘Yes. I really am.’

  ‘Fasting and praying and all that?’

  ‘The whole works.’

  ‘And no sex.’

  ‘I’ve been a virgin for nearly ten years,’ Sister Joan said solemnly.

  ‘Hey, you’re cool, Sister!’ Ponytail said. ‘Right up front cool. Any time you want something you ask for me. Name’s White Wind.’

  ‘I bet it isn’t,’ Sister Joan said.

  ‘Right again,’ said White Wind, and laughed. ‘Hey, you fancy some grass?’

  ‘She’s probably here to check on stuff like that.’ The haggard woman had uncoiled herself from the steps of the trailer and lounged over.

  She was a tall woman, dark hair streaked with grey, small hoops in her ears. She reminded Sister Joan of Rosa Dartle in David Copperfield, lacking only the scar.

  ‘We don’t plan to cause any damage,’ she said. Her voice was husky and pleasant, at variance with the hungry stare. Perhaps there was more than just tobacco in her cigarette.

  ‘I’m sure you don’t,’ Sister Joan said appeasingly. ‘I drove over to let a few people know they’ll be very welcome in our chapel for Mass if they wish to come.’

  ‘Gathering souls, Sister?’ There was a slyness in the woman’s smile at variance with her voice. ‘You’ll need a long fishing rod!’

  She moved away, pulling her long shawl round herself. Under it she wore jeans and a long knitted tunic that emphasized her gaunt figure.

  ‘Take the grass and have a good life,’ White Wind said, thrusting it at her. If she accepted it that meant less for someone else. Sister Joan put the small packet in her pocket, repressed a crazy impulse to give him the flick knife in exchange, and drove off.

  Mother Dorothy and Sister Perpetua were standing on the front steps, clearly enjoying the early evening cool, when she drove up and swerved to a halt. Their faces would remain in her memory for a long time.

  ‘What,’ said Mother Dorothy, when she had caught her breath, ‘is that?’

  ‘It’s a van, Reverend Mother.’ Sister Joan switched off the engine and sat meekly.

  ‘We can see it’s a van, girl!’ Sister Perpetua said impatiently. ‘Where did you get it? Good Lord, you haven’t joined up with those new-age travellers we’ve been hearing rumours about, have you?’

  ‘It’s a loan from the hermit, Mother,’ Sister Joan said. ‘He drove down from Scotland in it and, as he’s determined to go everywhere on his own two feet and our car has almost given up the ghost and he made the offer, I said I’d accept subject to your approval.’

  ‘But, good heavens, child, we can’t drive round the district in that!’ Sister Perpetua exclaimed.

  ‘Actually it looks rather cheerful,’ Mother Dorothy said unexpectedly. ‘The colours are too bright but the designs aren’t actually offensive.’

  ‘They knock your eyes out,’ Sister Perpetua said. ‘What sort of hermit are we harbouring?’

  ‘An old acquaintance of mine.’ Sister Joan smiled at them both. ‘When I went to Scotland to spend a month at our retreat there—’

  ‘A very peaceful month,’ Sister Perpetua said wistfully.

  ‘Brother Cuthbert is one of the monks from the monastery there. He’s a very nice young man, Mother, and has chosen to spend a year in virtual seclusion away from his order. Oh, and he plays the lute beautifully and would be happy to play at Mass if you wished it.’

  ‘And he drove down in that? He must be colour blind,’ Sister Perpetua said darkly.

  ‘Take the van round to the yard, Sister, and then make ready for chapel,’ Mother Dorothy instructed.

  ‘Yes, Mother. Sister.’ Starting the engine up again she drove decorously round to the yard and parked there.

  It was, she thought, a splendid van. Sister Perpetua would get used to it in time. Meanwhile she’d better get rid of the ‘grass’ she’d been given. She opened the glove compartment and leaned to check there was space inside. There was plenty of space. The only thing the glove compartment held was a dark red rose, wilted now from the heat of the engine, but still retaining the essence of its perfume, the thorns stripped neatly from its stem.

  Five

  The roses were a series of messages, meant, she guessed, for Magdalen Cole. A lover trying to lure her back from the religious life? It was the logical answer but would Magdalen be so terrified of a lover as to want to protect herself with a flick knife and carry a rape alarm? One rose had been left on the step of the chapel door, the second in the library, which linked them to the intruder. The third had been in Brother Cuthbert’s van. That argued that the lover — it was reassuring to picture him as a suitor rather than an intruder — had slipped it into the glove compartment while she and Brother Cuthbert were enjoying their cup of tea in the old schoolhouse.

  But why put it there? If he had wanted to bring it to Magdalen’s attention it would have made more sense to put it in the convent car. What was certain was that she needed to talk to someone pretty soon.

  At supper Mother Dorothy waved aside the reader and beckoned her.

  ‘Sister Joan, instead of the usual extract from a book, perhaps you would tell the community something of the hermit?’ she invited.

  ‘There really isn’t very much to tell.’ Sister Joan obediently took Sister Katharine’s place at the lectern. ‘The year before last, as most of you know, I went up to our retreat in Scotland for a month. The retreat is built into the side of a cliff overlooking the loch and in the loch is an island where monks have lived since the days of the Saxons. Brother Cuthbert was deputed to give me any help that I required and he was very helpful. Nothing was ever too much trouble for him. I understand that he wished to spend a year living away from his community in order to follow more closely in the footsteps of the old holy men, though he would be the last person to describe himself as worthy of them. He is young and strong and he plays the lu
te like an angel. He will be coming here for Mass and to benediction but for the rest, though he’s taken no vow of silence, he intends to depend on his own resources as much as possible.’

  ‘Will he be offering Mass himself, Sister Joan?’ Sister Gabrielle asked.

  ‘He isn’t an ordained monk,’ Sister Joan said.

  ‘Thank you, Sister. You may sit down.’ Mother Dorothy rapped her spoon. ‘We will get on with our supper in silence if you please. It would be useful to think about the spiritual benefits the presence of a hermit might bring to our community. Next week Sister David will be reading for us for supper. We shall be hearing the story of Saint Bernadette.’

  She smiled in the direction of Bernadette Fawkes who smiled back cheerfully.

  ‘I didn’t know Saint Bernadette was a hermit,’ she remarked.

  ‘She lived a recollected life, my dear, which amounts to the same thing,’ Mother Dorothy said. ‘Sister David, you might want to prepare a little talk on hermits proper? Saint Peter of Alcantara springs to mind.’

  ‘Yes, Mother.’ Sister David looked pleased at the prospect of doing anything vaguely connected with research.

  The rose had been stuck in a jug of water behind a large packet of washing-up liquid. When Magdalen came to help she’d see the bloom and Sister Joan was interested to see her reaction.

  ‘The meal is ended. Go in peace.’ Mother Dorothy blessed them as they rose and filed into recreation, Sister Hilaria gathering up her charges for the walk over to the postulancy where Sister Teresa would be eating her solitary meal.

  She stacked the dishes, hearing Sister Gabrielle say behind her as she leaned on Bernadette’s arm for the short trip into recreation, ‘So we’ve got a resident hermit in a manner of speaking? If you ask me this place is becoming as crowded as Piccadilly Circus on a Saturday night!’

  ‘Doesn’t Sister Gabrielle like people coming here?’ Magdalen arrived in the kitchen on Sister Joan’s heels.

  ‘Sister Gabrielle adores lots of company,’ Sister Joan said. ‘She also loves to grumble. She regards it as a privilege of old age.’