The Good Sisters

by Helen Phifer

  As they walked further into the house, Oliver just hoped that Kate had the money to turn it from this into something habitable. He knew that Martin had taken everything away from her after the court case and he couldn’t help wonder where she had got the money to buy it from. Maybe it was a severance gift from Martin.

  ***

  They walked from room to room. There were a lot of broken windows, which was why it was boarded up, and there were also an awful lot of crosses on the walls. They were everywhere and Kate felt a cold draught run down her back. It was creepy to have so many in one house. Even the church didn’t have so many of the damn things plastered around. Whoever lived here must have been some kind of religious nut. She made up her mind the first job would be to take them all down when she came back with boxes, bags and a huge skip to fill with all the junk from inside.

  She was also going to do some digging and find out the house’s history. When she had a minute she would go to the records office attached to the local library and see what information they had on it. She wanted to make a scrapbook about the house now and what it would be like when it was finished. Something for her girls to treasure and that guests who stopped by might find interesting. This was her house now and whoever lived here before her had left years ago. She would turn it into the kind of home she’d dreamt about since she was a teenager.

  There were still a lot of pieces of furniture that had been left behind, which was a nice bonus. Most of them were covered in dirty, grey dust sheets and she lifted the corners to take a peek at what was hiding underneath. Although some of it was no good, there were some pieces that were still okay. She would put them all in the outhouse and either sell them or have a go at restoring them herself to use in the bedrooms. Once they’d been painted white or grey instead of the dark, almost black oak they would be much brighter and look a lot better.

  ***

  Oliver and Kate cautiously made their way from room to room. The ground floor was pretty solid. There were a couple of holes in the floorboards in three of the rooms, but the other five were not too bad. The plaster was falling off some of the walls and the wiring wasn’t very good. Oliver didn’t think it would be a huge job to knock out walls and add en suites to the bedrooms. Years ago he’d owned a thriving building business – which had refit offices, hotels and pubs – so this wasn’t going to be anything that he couldn’t do. The only reason he’d sold the business was because his wife Ellen had been diagnosed with motor neurone disease and he’d wanted to take care of her.

  He began to feel excited at the prospect of some real work, a proper project to get his teeth into. Martin Parker was an egotistical prick, but he’d come in handy and Oliver had needed something to do to keep his mind from dwelling on Ellen’s illness and her awful, drawn-out death. The odd jobs he’d done for him had kept him busy enough that it kept some normality in his life.

  ***

  It was much colder on the first floor than downstairs and Kate found herself wishing she’d worn her jeans and not a pair of cut-off shorts and a strappy vest top. It was dark and gloomy, and there were even more of those bloody crosses. She couldn’t wait to come and rip them all down. They came to the smaller staircase that led up to the second floor and attic. Oliver went first and she followed close behind.

  It was a little lighter up here because there were a couple of gaping holes in the roof. There were fewer rooms up here, but they were huge. This floor would be perfect for her to have a large en-suite bedroom and the girls could each have a large room. Not to mention their own living quarters if they decided that’s what they wanted – and if she could afford it after the work had been done on the rest of the house.

  There were some crumpled boxes shoved into one corner and she pushed one open with the tip of her torch. Inside were piles of old leather Bibles and psalm books. Whoever had lived here must have been a travelling Bible salesman. The thought made her smile. Either that or some kind of religious fanatic. She wondered what the previous owner would have made of a woman buying this house all on her own. She did the same with the next box, which had an old, wooden cigar box inside it. She pulled it out to take a closer look.

  Oliver was studying the holes in the roof and had dragged a wooden trunk over that he could stand on to get a better look. Kate opened the cigar box and smiled to see a thick, navy blue book with gold edges on the pages and the word ‘Diary’ stamped in gold on the front. She picked it up, wondering who it had belonged to and if whoever it was had loved this house the way that she did.

  Across the room, Oliver was making lots of ‘ah’ noises. She stood up and walked towards him. Halfway across the huge, open space she heard the sharp sound of scratching coming from one of the darkened corners and paused. Her heart began to race. Oh God. Mice she didn’t mind, but that sounded loud. Too loud to be a mouse. She’d die if the house came with resident rats.

  She waited and listened to see if it happened again. Relieved that it didn’t she put it down to a bird or maybe one of those nuisance grey squirrels that everyone kept saying were vermin, but that she found cute. She could cope with mice, birds and even squirrels. She wasn’t even going to acknowledge that bigger things with long tails and sharp teeth could be behind the noise. That way it wouldn’t be true, would it? She reached Oliver and shone her torch at the gaping hole, not really understanding what he was finding so fascinating about it.

  ‘So here’s the big question: what do I need to have fixed first and would you be willing to come and work for me full-time?’

  He stepped down off the trunk. ‘The roof. You need to make the building waterproof before you even think about doing anything else in here. As keen as you are to get started, if we don’t seal these holes you might as well take your money and throw it on a bonfire.’

  ‘Can you do it for me, or if not do you know someone who could?’

  ‘I can do it. I’ve got a few jobs on for Martin, but they’re only small so I can make a start. I know a couple of lads who’ll labour for cash, but this isn’t going to be cheap, Kate.’

  ‘I know, don’t worry. I have the money. I’ll pay you a lump sum up front and the rest on completion. Can you draw me up some plans or do I need an architect?’

  ‘It’s up to you. I know a very good architect if you’d like me to give him a ring and get him to come out for a site visit. I can’t really give you a proper price until it’s all been taken into consideration.’

  They made their way back downstairs and she breathed out a sigh of relief. She didn’t like the attic as much as the rest of the house. Even though it was open in places it felt as if the air was much heavier up there. She was sure once the roof had been fixed and there was working electricity it wouldn’t feel so dark and oppressive. Back on the ground floor she went back to the large room, which was off the huge room she assumed had been the lounge. It was in pretty good condition. The windows in here weren’t broken and the floor had no holes in it.

  ‘Please can you take these boards off for me now? I want to see what this room looks like in the daytime. I might have to set up camp in here until there’s a room upstairs ready.’

  ‘Kate, are you being serious? I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but you really can’t live here, in this house, with it in this condition.’

  ‘Yes I am – and why can’t I? As far as I can see it only needs a couple of new windows, doors, electrics and the roof fixed. It looks structurally sound. You said so yourself. The rest is all cosmetic work.’

  ‘I did, but it’s a wreck. It hasn’t been lived in for how long? There’s no heating or hot water. How will you manage?’

  ‘I have a bed, sofa, camping stove and a cool box. I’ll be fine; I might look like a complete wuss, but I can assure you that I’m not. I’m not saying I’ll like it, but I’m desperate to get started and I can’t stop in that flat another day. If I check into some hotel while I’m waiting for a room to be ready I’m wasting money, far too much money. I can be clearing up whilst I’m h
ere and getting on with jobs that aren’t too difficult.’

  ‘Well you’re braver than I am. I like my home comforts too much.’

  ‘Yes, well so did I, but since Martin decided to take away everything I had I’ve sort of got used to doing without. Except for the wine – I can’t do without that. My life wouldn’t be worth living if I couldn’t have a glass or two to numb the pain.’

  She started to laugh and he joined in, only they both knew that she meant it. Although she would never admit it to anyone, Kate knew she was an alcoholic. It had all stemmed from her teenage years of drinking every weekend down the park with her friends, then when she was old enough nights out in the pub. It got even worse after her miserable marriage to Martin, when he would tell her he was working late and she knew he was out wining and dining his latest conquest.

  Then the shock of Amy’s terminal cancer diagnosis had been the thing to tip her over the edge and turn her into a full-blown, can’t get through the day without a drink alcoholic. Maybe one day when this place was finished and her life looked as if it might get back on track, she would get some help to tackle it. For now she would try her best not to drink too much, even cut it down to one bottle a night instead of the usual two.

  ‘That’s emotional blackmail, making me feel sorry for you – you know that, don’t you? Right then, I’ll take these boards off and we’ll see what we can do. Where’s your stuff?’

  ‘Back at the flat. I’ll have to find someone to help me bring my bed and clothes here. I don’t think they’ll fit on the back of my pushbike.’

  ‘Well let’s see how bad this room is and then if you decide you’re going to do this, I’ll drive you in the van to see what you need and bring you back.’

  ‘Really? Thank you so much, Oliver. I’ll pay you for your time.’

  ‘No you won’t. I’ll do this because I think you’re mental and also because you’re a friend.’

  She squeezed his arm. ‘Aw, you’re such a sweetie. Thank you.’

  4 January 1933

  Mother Superior Agnes Nicholas looked outside the window at the snow-covered garden and shivered. It was cold enough inside the convent and they had roaring fires burning in the lounge, kitchen and upstairs bedrooms. To be outside in this weather didn’t bear thinking about. She hated the cold. It made her swollen, arthritic bones ache.

  Sisters Mary and Edith had spent most of the morning filling up the wood baskets so they wouldn’t have to go out into the garden when it got dark. Now that only the three of them lived here, the convent was far too big. Poor sister Emily had died of pneumonia in the hospital three weeks ago, and Agnes couldn’t shake the sadness that filled her entire being, every minute of every day. Emily had been far too young to die. In turn it had made Sisters Bernice and Joanna realise life was far too short to waste on God, and they had decided to leave the next week. Leaving just the three of them to it.

  Agnes wouldn’t be surprised if the church shut this place down and moved them somewhere else; it was far too big of a house for three women to run. Since that strange woman had turned up at their door that night, hammering on it as if the devil himself was chasing her, things hadn’t been quite right. The woman, who finally told them her name was Lilith Ardat some hours after she had been inside their home, had been crying and begging for their help. All three of them had been loath to turn her away, despite Agnes’s nagging feeling inside the pit of her stomach that she was bringing trouble to their door.

  Edith had silently pleaded with Agnes, imploring her with those huge, blue, innocent eyes until she’d relented. Agnes had nodded her permission at Mary, who had then ushered the woman inside and down to the kitchen, wrapping her in a thick woollen blanket. She had sat her down by the crackling fire. Edith had fetched the woman a small glass of sherry and then they’d all sat down and asked her what was wrong and how they could help her.

  The story the woman confided in them was one of horrific abuse, which had sent shivers down Agnes’s spine, but despite the horror she was hearing and the fact that she was a nun, there was a part of Agnes that didn’t like Lilith Ardat. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but the sly smile that would spread across her face after she finished each sentence had something to do with it. Agnes got the impression the woman was enjoying sharing her tale of violence and woe with the three of them.

  If Lilith was telling the truth, then the poor woman had been severely mistreated, but Agnes wasn’t convinced that she was. Although Agnes had no idea why Lilith would turn up at the convent so late on such a cold night if it wasn’t true, she couldn’t shake the niggling feeling from the back of her mind that Lilith wasn’t entirely what she seemed, or that she wasn’t the person she was trying to portray.

  Mary loved a good tale of woe and despair, however. She had been sucked in wholeheartedly, gasping and making loud noises of objection throughout the woman’s tale of horror at the hands of her husband. Edith had only just said she was bored of not having anything more exciting to talk about than what Father Patrick might preach about in his Sunday sermon. She sat transfixed by the small, raven-haired woman in front of them.

  Agnes had kept her distance. She didn’t know whether it was her intuition or her basic mistrust of most human beings that had stepped in, but she hadn’t gone too close. The woman had skin that was whiter than the driven snow, and lips that were red – blood red. There was a blue and yellow bruise beginning to form across her left eye and forehead.

  She told them it was where he’d hit her, but Agnes thought it looked more like the kind of injury you got when you were in one of those motor cars and it stopped suddenly. As if the woman’s head had hit the steering wheel with force; although why this woman would be out driving a motor car at this time of night in this weather God alone knew the answer. This was not the sort of weather to be out gallivanting around in. It was far too cold and dangerous with the ice that covered the roads and paths.

  ‘She can stay in Sister Emily’s room. I’ll go and make up the bed myself.’

  ‘No. I don’t think that would be appropriate, Mary.’

  ‘Why not? It’s not like Emily is going to need it any time soon is it?’

  Agnes stared at Mary in horror; the girl was so insensitive at times. It didn’t seem right to put her into Emily’s room so soon after she had passed away.

  ‘She can stay in Sister Bernice’s room, Mary, and I’ll have none of your petulant arguing. Have some thought about you.’

  ‘Yes, Mother Superior. Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. I’ll go and make the bed up.’

  Edith glanced across at Agnes. She too seemed glad that they weren’t about to move a complete stranger into Emily’s room so soon. It wasn’t right and she would tell Mary this when they were alone, but she wouldn’t say anything in front of their guest. It wasn’t the time or the place.

  ‘Whilst Mary makes up your bed, would you like something to eat? A sandwich perhaps, or some toast?’

  ‘No, thank you, I’m not hungry. I don’t eat an awful lot. I have a very small appetite.’

  As the woman said this she glanced across at Edith, who was the complete opposite and had a very big appetite with a fuller figure to complement it. Agnes noted the faint redness that crept along Edith’s cheeks. The girl had major issues with her weight and her even larger appetite. Not that it mattered to Agnes: everyone was different. The world would be a very strange place if everyone looked the same. Lilith stood up, shrugging the blanket from her shoulders.

  ‘Would you mind if I used your bathroom? I need to clean myself up a little. I must look a complete mess. I’m so embarrassed because I never leave the house looking like this. What on earth must you think of me?’

  Edith smiled and stood up, leading the woman from the kitchen to the first floor bathroom. Agnes couldn’t help but shudder when Lilith passed close by her. The woman didn’t seem to notice and she was grateful to God for that small mercy. Agnes had no idea what was wrong with her, but every single nerve in her
body was screaming at her to stop the clock and make the woman leave, only she couldn’t do it. How could she send such a small, slight thing out into the sub-zero, freezing temperatures? She would more than likely freeze to death before she reached the village; in fact it was nothing short of a miracle that she hadn’t frozen to death before she’d reached the convent, because it was so far off the beaten track that most people who were actually looking for the place in broad daylight couldn’t find it.

  Agnes could hear the muted whisperings of the strange woman and Edith’s voice as she led her along the first floor corridor to the bedroom that had once belonged to Sister Bernice. After what felt like for ever, Mary came downstairs, followed by Edith.

  ‘I trust you’ve made our guest comfortable for the night?’

  Both women nodded in unison.

  ‘Good, I’m tired so I’ll be off to bed now. Make sure that you double check all the locks on the windows and doors. I don’t want any more unwelcome visitors tonight. Do you hear what I’m saying? I don’t care who is knocking on that door – we don’t let anyone else in. Especially in case it’s Lilith’s angry husband. I’m too old and too ugly to be fighting drunken bullies at this time of night. Goodnight, sisters. Let’s hope we all get some sleep.’

  Agnes caught the look of fear that passed between the two much younger women in front of her and was glad. They were no match for a violent bully of a man and she would rather scare them into making sure they were safe than have them opening the door for every man, woman and child. She slowly shuffled up to bed; there would be no kneeling on the cold, hard, wooden floor tonight for her to say her prayers. She’d never be able to get back up again; instead she would climb between the heavy cotton sheets and pray. Surely God wouldn’t mind an old cripple seeking a bit of comfort on this cold, bitter night?