Somewhere, not far away, I heard the sound of a door banging. It made me jump.
‘What’s wrong?’ she asked.
‘I heard a noise,’ I said. ‘Sounded like a door banging in the wind.’
‘Oh dear. That’ll be the side entrance door! Matthew always forgets to close it!’
‘Matthew?’
‘The young man who sometimes helps with the heavy work in the yard. He’s inclined to be a bit forgetful. His mind’s always on that motorbike of his—Blue Streak—and never on his work. He dotes on that machine like a mother on a baby.’ Sister Jerome sighed. ‘I’d better go and lock the door.’
She vanished to go and close the door. I pulled out my phone and called Boges again.
Finally, he picked up.
‘I spoke to Winter,’ I said. ‘Now before you get mad, just listen to what I have to say.’
‘Go ahead,’ he said, unsurprised.
‘According to Winter, there’s something written on the Jewel. Something revealing that concerns the Ormond Singularity.’
‘She’s dreaming. There’s nothing written on it. We would have seen it by now if there was. Hang on while I get it.’
I waited until Boges returned. ‘Like I said. There’s nothing written on it. That girl is trouble. Why would you believe her?’
‘Have you got a magnifying glass?’ I remembered Dad taking a magnifying glass to his photos. ‘Surely you have something like that lying around in your room?’
‘Why?’
‘Please just get one and go over the Jewel really carefully. All over. There might be something that we’ve missed. Winter also warned me that Sligo has a few leads on my location. I’m hoping no-one’s on their way here.’
‘You’re at Redcliffe?’
‘At Manresa Convent, can you believe it? Millicent’s a nun! She goes by the name of Sister Mary Perpetua!’
Boges’s deep laugh echoed down the line. ‘Bet you didn’t see that one coming!’
‘I sure didn’t, but it’s no laughing matter—apparently she hasn’t spoken for twenty years!’
I heard Boges exhale, frustrated, on the other end of the line, putting a quick end to his laughter.
‘Somehow, I have to break through the wall of silence. Otherwise this trip will have been a waste of time.’
‘What makes you think she’ll speak to you?’
Sister Jerome wandered back into the kitchen.
‘Gotta go, Boges. Promise me you’ll go over the Jewel with a magnifying glass?’
‘Why should I? Just because that sneaky girl, Winter, wants to hook you back onto the line?’
‘Just do what I say. Please,’ I said, then hung up.
‘The side door was wide open!’ said Sister Jerome, once I’d buried my phone back in my pocket. ‘Anything could have blown in! Just as well your ears are sharp. I think that door needs attention. I don’t think it’s always Matthew’s forgetfulness. I’ll have to have a word to Sister Mary Bertha. She’s the handyperson round here when we’re left to our own devices. She’s as strong as an ox!’
Sister Jerome hung the laundry key on a peg on the wall. Among the collection of keys beside it, I could see a set of car keys on a Saint Christopher key ring. The minibus, I thought. The nuns must have outings after all.
‘I’ve also just spoken to Mother Superior about you,’ Sister Jerome continued, ‘and because of the weather and because you’re the nephew of one of the sisters, she says she’s happy for me to make up a bed for you.’
‘What about seeing my aunt? I really need to speak to her. Even if she won’t answer me.’
‘Let’s talk about it in the morning. It’s getting rather late now. After evening prayers we go into the great silence. I shouldn’t even be speaking now,’ she said with a cheeky grin. ‘Nobody speaks until after breakfast tomorrow.’
The great silence? Maybe that’s where my great-aunt had learned her skill, I thought.
I followed Sister Jerome along several gloomy corridors lined with closed doors, until we came to a door halfway down a long hall. The nun opened it and I found myself in a small room with barred windows, a narrow bed, a table and chair, and a stone floor. I’d slept in a lot of strange places, but a convent? This was the eeriest yet.
‘It’s almost like a cell,’ I said, before realising I probably sounded rude.
‘It is a cell,’ said Sister Jerome. ‘And the nun who used to sleep here has gone to her reward.’
‘Her reward?’ I asked, confused.
‘Yes. She’s with the Lord now.’
So now I was sleeping in a dead nun’s bed. It just got better and better!
‘All the cells along this corridor used to be filled with nuns, back in the old days. But the world has changed, even more than we realise, I expect, and this is the only empty cell still made up with furniture and bedding. There are extra blankets in a box under the bed.’ She patted the end of the mattress and a thick cloud of dust lifted.
‘I’ll bid you goodnight then,’ she said, clapping the dust from her hands. ‘We get up at five o’clock so don’t be alarmed if you hear people moving around in the dark.’
After she closed the door, I went to the window and peered through the bars, watching the rain slash against the glass. Compared to the warmth of the kitchen, this cell was cold. Outside the strong iron bars the wind was howling in the storm.
I should have felt safe but I didn’t.
I kept my clothes on and crawled into the bed, thinking of my great-aunt—Sister Mary Perpetua—sleeping somewhere in this convent, lost in silence.
166 days to go …
cal. ok, ok, i’m sorry. winter was right. there is something written on the jewel! not sure what, yet, but it’s in french.
unreal! call u soon.
Sister Jerome fed me again in the large kitchen—porridge and toast. We had the place to ourselves, she told me. Apparently most of the nuns ate together shortly after dawn, then headed to the small chapel that was attached to the building for Morning Prayer.
The roar of a powerful motorbike made me jump as it pulled up outside.
‘Ah,’ said Sister Jerome, ‘there’s Matthew on Blue Streak, arriving for work. Perhaps you could give him a hand today? I’m sure he’d love the company of someone other than us nuns, for a change!’
‘Sure,’ I said, ‘but can I see my aunt first?’
Sister Jerome patted my hand that was resting near her on the kitchen bench. ‘Don’t worry, dear, I’ll see to it that you have your time with her. Just don’t expect too much from it. Understood?’
I waited behind Sister Jerome as she knocked gently and then opened the door of a cell upstairs. I followed her in.
In a chair by the window, with a blanket over her knees, sat a very old nun, swathed in black robes and a veil, with a white band across her forehead. She had the waxy, pale skin of a woman who’d been cooped up inside for a long time.
Millicent.
As we walked towards her, she slowly turned in our direction. When her gaze moved from Sister Jerome to me, her face turned as grey as death.
She shuddered and gripped the arms of her chair with her bony old hands and attempted to stand up, stumbling and almost falling. Sister Jerome and I rushed forward to help steady her.
She pushed us both away and stepped back, looking dumbfounded. Her voice came in a hoarse whisper.
‘Barty?’ she croaked. ‘You’ve come to see me? Barty!’ she repeated. ‘My little brother!’
I heard a startled gasp from Sister Jerome. ‘Mother of God, she spoke! Perpetua spoke!’ She ran to the door, opened her mouth as if to call the other sisters, then must have thought better of it. She returned to the side of the stooped old nun. ‘Perpetua, dear, you must sit down again. Here, let me help you.’
I took her other fragile arm and we supported her and guided her back into her chair.
Sister Jerome stared at me and tried to speak quietly into my ear, but her excitement was impossible to
subdue. ‘They are the first words she’s spoken in twenty years! This is remarkable!’
It was remarkable, but I wasn’t Barty. And it made me sad knowing that I had to look into her hopeful eyes and let her down.
‘I’m not Barty,’ I finally said to my great-aunt as she searched the evidently familiar features of my face. ‘He’s my uncle. My great-uncle,’ I added. ‘I’m Cal, not Barty.’
‘You must look like he did—when he was a boy,’ Sister Jerome whispered to me. ‘She’s a tad confused.’
Again, my great-aunt tried to stand up, but this time her strength failed her and she fell right back into her chair.
‘You mustn’t tire yourself like this, Perpetua,’ said Sister Jerome tenderly. ‘We’ve all been wondering if we would ever hear your voice again. Praise the Lord. Speaking after twenty years. You’ve worked a miracle, young man,’ she said to me, with a pat on my back. ‘Now you two stay here, and I’ll fetch us some warm drinks.’
I stood there looking at the old lady whose features reminded me of Great-uncle Bartholomew—without the bristles. Well, without all the bristles.
‘Sister Mary Perpetua,’ I started, sitting on the edge of the bed beside her. ‘I’m afraid I’m not Barty. I’m your great-nephew, Callum Ormond. Tom’s son and William’s grandson.’ I thought of William, the grandfather I’d hardly known. The family lost him shortly after I was born.
‘I visited your brother Bartholomew recently,’ I said, hoping it wasn’t too early to be drilling her with questions. I didn’t want to waste time, so I pressed on. ‘He told me that you might have information about the Ormond family—about a will made by Piers Ormond. It’s really important that I get hold of anything you might have. It’s more important than anyone could imagine.’
She didn’t move or speak for what seemed a long time, and I wondered whether she’d even heard what I’d said.
‘I have been praying this moment would never come,’ she finally spoke again, in a voice that cracked and scraped like a rusty gate. ‘For a moment, I thought eighty years had slipped away and I was a girl again. Silly Milly,’ she said with a hint of a childish smile.
‘What do you mean, you’ve been praying this moment would never come?’ I asked.
The hint of a smile disappeared and her lips tightened. She shook her head, remaining silent.
‘Please, please tell me? What did you mean by that?’
I leaned forward as her rusty voice returned. ‘Because it means that Billy’s boy—your father …’
‘Yes, please go on,’ I begged. ‘What about my father? Please tell me?’
It was just days away from the anniversary of Dad’s death, and I had a queasy, sick feeling around my heart at the thought of him. I stared into Millicent’s eyes, urging her soul to open up to me. Her silence almost made me feel like shaking it out of her—it was obvious there were many memories stirring inside. But when I saw that tears were now rolling down her pale, wrinkled cheeks, I calmed myself down.
‘Please Sister,’ I said in the gentlest voice I could manage. ‘What does my visit mean? What does it mean about my father?’
‘It means,’ she said in a voice so soft that I had to move closer to hear, ‘it means that your father is dead.’
Her words floored me. How did she know that?
‘He wrote to me, asking me about the Ormond Singularity,’ she said.
I could hardly breathe.
Suddenly questions poured out of me as tension and exhilaration battled in my mind. ‘And did you have any answers for him? Do you know anything? Can you tell me? Did he say what the Singularity was? Or what it was about? Please, it’s crucial I find out.’
Outside the convent window, magpies were carolling.
‘I left all family matters behind when I entered the convent,’ she said. ‘All the papers, all the information on the Ormond Singularity, were put away. In a big envelope.’ The old woman took a deep breath. ‘I couldn’t help him. I only remembered it being spoken about when I was a girl.’
‘Do you remember what was said about the Ormond Singularity?’
‘Only that it was a secret kept in our family— a deadly secret. It has been the death of all of the Ormonds who have tried to unravel it. It should remain a secret.’
I shivered. It killed your father. It’ll kill you, the staggering man had warned me on New Year’s Eve.
‘And that’s how I knew he must be dead,’ she continued. ‘Because anyone who starts to investigate the Ormond Singularity … winds up in a casket …’ My great-aunt’s voice trailed off and she stared silently out into the distance through the window near her chair.
So many people wanted me dead. I knew that already. But was she saying the Ormond Singularity killed Dad?
I waited a moment before changing tack. ‘Do you have any information about a relative of ours—Piers Ormond?’
‘Our family is full of secrets,’ she whispered, ‘and the Ormond Singularity is the deadliest secret of all. My grandfather, may he rest in peace, warned me of that.’ She stopped for a moment. ‘Piers gathered a lot of information about the Ormond family.’
‘Do you know anything about his will?’
I took one of her frail hands in mine, but her glazed eyes showed her attention had drifted away again.
‘Sister, do you know anything about what the Ormond Singularity is?’ I was still hopeful my questioning might stir up old memories, old files, stored deep in her mind.
‘Come closer, nephew,’ she beckoned. I shuffled in, heart racing. Did she have some information after all? ‘The Ormond Singularity is the great secret of the Ormonds.’
‘But what is it?’ I persisted.
‘Did Bartholomew send you?’
‘Yes,’ I said, awkwardly, not wanting to have to tell her that the lethal Ormond secret had killed him too. I recalled the old man lying on the floor as the flames raced through his house downstairs. ‘He told me you were like the family historian and that you looked after all the family papers and documents, including information about Piers Ormond’s will.’
‘Do you know we’re twins?’ she said with a smile, dismissing what I’d just said. ‘Bartholomew and I.’
‘Twins?’ I asked, surprised.
Her smile quickly transformed into something much more serious and fearful.
‘I heard,’ she said, nodding, and looking deep into my eyes, ‘about the two babies. Something terrible happened.’
The newspaper clipping—had it been about them? Bartholomew and Millicent? It had looked old, but not that old, and I’d been feeling more and more like it had something to do with me.
‘Who were those babies?’ I asked. ‘They were twins—you and Barty?’ I suggested. ‘What happened to them?’
She shook her head slowly, but I wasn’t sure whether it was in response to my question, or a reaction to the memory.
The old nun started weeping, and then in a quavery voice she started singing.
‘Two little lambs in the cold night frost, one was saved and the other one lost.’
The song unnerved me. It was haunting, and somehow familiar, even though I’d never heard it before. Almost as quickly as she’d started singing, my great-aunt stopped, looking at me in a puzzled way.
‘Tell me, again. Why are you here?’
I was frustrated, confused, spooked. For the moment, I had to leave the mystery of the abducted babies behind and concentrate on why I had come.
‘I hoped you had important family documents,’ I reminded Sister Mary Perpetua, ‘that could help me. You said there was an envelope?’
‘All of my things have been put away,’ she said. ‘I don’t remember where they are. But why would a youngster like you be interested in the affairs of an old woman like me?’
The brightness in her face faded. It seemed she’d forgotten pieces of our conversation. Her eyes clouded and she slowly started muttering the song again, caught up in another world.
‘Two little lambs in the cold
night frost, one was saved and the other one lost,’ she repeated in her crackly voice. ‘That’s how it was,’ she said, turning back to me. Tears were falling gently down her face. ‘One was returned safely, the other one was lost. Gone. We leave our worldly life behind us when we come into the convent,’ she said in a different voice, as if she were quoting someone else’s words.
Sister Jerome returned with a tray of sandwiches and hot chocolate for both of us. She put them down on a small table by the wall and sat down beside me. I was edgy, restless, eager to find out where the family papers had been stored.
I tried again. ‘Sister Mary Perpetua, where did you store everything? The family documents?’
She ignored me, focusing on humming her strange, sad song. She stared out the window once more. I turned to Sister Jerome. Her kindly face was creased with anxiety. She shrugged her shoulders as if to say: sorry, I can’t help you.
‘Please, Sister Mary Perpetua, tell me.’
But it was no use. As suddenly as her voice had returned it had left again. She had closed down. She ignored the tray Sister Jerome had brought in and sat slumped in her chair, as though she’d used up the last of her energy in the burst of cryptic words that had broken her twenty-year retreat.
I’d spent days on the road, pinning my hopes on finding Bartholomew’s sister, Millicent. And now I had found her, and she had confirmed the danger that I knew surrounded the Ormond Singularity, but the rest of the information I needed was trapped in her befuddled mind.
‘She put everything away,’ I said to Sister Jerome as she ushered me towards the door. ‘She said something about a big envelope.’
Sister Jerome smoothed out her robes, and grinned. ‘I think I know where it is!’
We left my great-aunt behind, humming away, and Sister Jerome hurried me downstairs.
‘Where are we going?’
From a fold in her robe, Sister Jerome drew a ring of old-fashioned keys. ‘To the archives!’
She led me to a door at the end of a corridor. I waited while she unlocked it, stepped in and switched on a light. We were faced with a creepy opening in the floor—a flight of stone stairs descending into the darkness of a cellar.
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