Vow of Obedience

by Veronica Black

  ‘We shall hang the one of the retreat,’ Mother Dorothy said. ‘It’s many years since I was there and I had quite forgotten how steep the ascent to it is. When the council of prioresses is held we must discuss the matter.’

  ‘You are very talented, Sister,’ Sister David said wistfully.

  ‘But I can’t translate Greek into Latin and back again.’

  ‘We all have talents that can be put to God’s use, Sister,’ Mother Dorothy said, picking up the remaining three pictures. ‘These should fetch a very good price at the bazaar.’

  ‘Shouldn’t they be signed?’ Sister Gabrielle who was attending recreation piped up unexpectedly.

  ‘Sister Joan has no wish to bring herself to public notice,’ Mother Dorothy said.

  ‘Hasn’t she?’ Sister Gabrielle’s face expressed innocent astonishment. ‘My, but the retreat has changed her a lot then!’

  There was a ripple of laughter as the sisters took up their work and settled down.

  ‘I think it’s wonderful the way Sister Joan helps the police and carries out her duties,’ Sister Katherine said loyally. ‘I’m sure I would be terrified if I had to answer questions about a murder.’

  ‘It really wasn’t like that at all,’ Sister Joan began. ‘I found the poor girl so naturally I had to give an account of it. And Sister David and I both went to have our fingerprints taken.’

  ‘This is hardly a fitting subject for recreation,’ Mother Dorothy said, drawing in her mouth severely.

  There was an immediate outbreak of self-conscious chatter from several of the company. In the midst of it Sister Teresa’s voice could be heard, brightly declaring, ‘Painting must be so satisfying to the soul but I think cooking can be too. My best friend in school, Tina, used to say that she was convinced a good meal was as important as a poem.’

  ‘Tina?’ For the life of her Sister Joan couldn’t have held her tongue.

  ‘Tina Davies. She and I were in the same class – oh, I beg pardon.’ Sister Teresa had blushed scarlet. ‘I completely forgot one must not talk about one’s previous life.’

  If she learned now that her school-friend was a second victim she would never say anything worth hearing. Sister Joan cast Mother Dorothy an imploring glance.

  ‘Speaking of friends can never be wrong,’ Mother Dorothy said in a thoughtful fashion. ‘Because we have entered the religious life it separates them from us in body but surely not in spirit. We still wish them well, pray for them, remember them. Your friend, Tina, became a cook?’

  ‘Oh no, Mother.’ Sister Teresa looked relieved. ‘She took a job in a breadmaker’s though, a really old-fashioned type of shop where they bake their own dough and it smells heavenly. Of course she may have left by now. I haven’t seen her since I entered.’

  ‘She seems like a nice friend,’ Sister Joan said with some difficulty.

  ‘She’s a nice person,’ Sister Teresa said. ‘We took our first Holy Communion together.’

  ‘She’s a Catholic?’

  ‘She’d hardly be a Muslim if they took their first Holy Communion together,’ Sister Gabrielle said dryly.

  ‘I had a Muslim friend once,’ Sister Perpetua said surprisingly. ‘She had very strict fasting laws and her parents married her off to a cousin she’d never seen.’

  Impossible to keep custody of the eyes one moment longer. Sister Joan raised her own dark blue orbs and sent Mother Dorothy another imploring look.

  ‘Sister Joan, bring the three paintings for the bazaar down to the parlour, will you?’ Mother Dorothy had risen, her tone casual. ‘The rest of you will excuse us, I’m sure. I’m hoping that Sister Joan will prepare a little talk for us on the spiritual benefits she derived from the retreat.’

  Sister Joan followed her superior, hearing her own footsteps on the uncarpeted stairs as the slow tolling of a bell.

  ‘Close the door, Sister, and put the pictures on the table.’

  As they entered the parlour she seated herself at her desk and motioned the other to a stool.

  ‘Father Malone was called away?’ she ventured.

  ‘So Father Stephens told me though he didn’t inform me of the reason. He was obviously called out to comfort the family of this second victim. Two good Catholic girls most brutally killed in the same district. You don’t think there is some religious fanatic abroad?’

  ‘It could just be a coincidence, Mother. Not that the man isn’t a madman, whatever religion the girls had.’

  ‘I would not have blurted out the news of Sister Teresa’s friend’s death,’ Mother Dorothy said with a hint of reproach.

  ‘No, of course not, Mother. It was only that – well, as soon as anyone learns that someone has died then they are unwilling to speak frankly about them. The dead are always perfect. I wanted Sister Teresa to be frank.’

  ‘She spoke of her school-friend as a nice girl who enjoyed cooking.’

  ‘And still works in an old-fashioned bread shop,’ Sister Joan said. ‘Valerie Pendon was a nice girl too. An innocent girl, young for her age, with no boy-friends, you know? Two nice, shy, quiet, rather dull girls.’

  ‘We don’t know they were dull,’ Mother Dorothy said.

  ‘No, of course not, Mother.’

  ‘And it isn’t for you or me to speculate on their personalities. Sister Joan, I have given you permission to help the police with their enquiries if they deem it necessary. You do understand that does not give you permission to rush in and offer your services.’

  ‘No, of course not, Mother.’

  ‘But you want to help. Your heart has a habit of overriding your head, I fear.’

  Sister Joan bit her lip.

  ‘You think I’m being unjust?’ The eyes behind the spectacles were piercing. ‘I give you full credit for your intentions, Sister. The road to hell is said to be paved with them. These two deaths are not directly connected with our order. We will condole with the families; we will send flowers and pray for the souls of the victims and for the souls of their murderers or murderer, but unless we are asked specifically for help we will not rush in and play amateur detective. That isn’t why we entered the religious life, is it?’

  ‘No, Mother Prioress.’

  ‘On the other hand, if Detective Sergeant Mill seeks your active co-operation then you must give it in full measure. There is one other matter.’ She hesitated, frowning.

  ‘Yes, Mother?’ What, Sister Joan wondered, was coming now?

  ‘In spite of my initial doubts as to the wisdom of permitting you to place yourself in an occasion of sin, I am disposed to trust your good sense.’

  ‘Occasion of sin?’ Sister Joan stared at her in bewilderment.

  ‘Detective Sergeant Mill is an attractive man whose marriage, I am given to understand, is not ideal. Your being thrown together could present problems.’

  ‘Not as far as I’m concerned,’ Sister Joan said firmly. ‘I promise you, Mother, that nothing has or could pass between us that you couldn’t witness yourself.’

  ‘And no thought that I could not read has strayed into your mind?’

  ‘I can’t speak for Detective Sergeant Mill,’ Sister Joan said with a glint of humour, ‘but for myself – Mother Dorothy, I already have a Bridegroom and I’m not about to settle for second best.’

  ‘You’ve spoken with good sense.’ Mother Dorothy had risen, looking down at the veiled head. ‘Naturally I trust your common sense, Sister. As you say, why should any of us be tempted to settle for second best? Even before I entered the religious life it never occurred to me for one moment that I might marry – but then I was never pretty, God be praised. Now I must see Sister Teresa and inform her of the death of her old friend. She will, I feel sure, take it calmly. Then there will be chapel, a chance to clear our minds of the unpleasant events taking place beyond our enclosure. We must pray for guidance, Sister.’

  ‘Yes, Mother Dorothy.’ Sister Joan genuflected briefly and rose. Both small women, they stood for an instant eye to eye.

  ‘I
hope you can be of help in this matter,’ Mother Dorothy said unexpectedly. ‘The violent pointless death of a young creature is an affront to God.’

  ‘I’ll do my best – if I’m asked.’

  ‘Don’t be afraid of giving Sister Teresa a few extra duties if you have other things to do. She will grieve less if she has plenty of hard manual work. When we find a permanent lay sister I am thinking of making you assistant mistress of novices.’

  ‘What?’ Sister Joan forgot every precept of conventual courtesy as she spoke.

  ‘You might provide a little common sense to balance Sister Hilaria’s extreme spirituality. She is a true mystic, Sister, and a pure soul, but every day I sense her moving a little further away from the mundane world. I learned from one of the postulants that Sister Hilaria is experiencing visions. She has said very little about them and it’s not for me to probe into her soul until she tells me of her own volition, but some extra help would be appreciated once the question of lay duties is totally settled. Send Sister Teresa to me now, will you? And don’t encourage talk of any kind about recent events.’

  ‘Of course not, Mother Dorothy – and thank you.’

  Going out, Sister Joan paused, to brace herself for the inevitable questions that would accompany Sister Teresa’s summons, to wonder how much Mother Dorothy had been trying, in her own, oblique way, to warn her against.

  Five

  Morning woke her before her alarm clock went off. It was, she thought, a good start to the day. She washed herself in the tiny washroom next to the lay cells, put on habit and veil rapidly with the ease of long practice, went into the chapel to light candles and check on the flowers there. It was odd how a good night’s sleep changed one’s perspective. It was unlikely, she decided, that her help would be needed again by the police. She would be able to concentrate on her duties.

  ‘Whatever task is given you,’ Mother Agnes had said, ‘you must do to the best of your ability. If you are told to slop out the pails do it as perfectly as if Our Lord Himself were coming round to inspect them.’

  Going up the stairs, preparing to raise her voice in the morning greeting, she wondered if the words spoken by one’s novice mistress remained throughout the rest of one’s life. Mother Agnes, with her El Greco face and beautiful hands, had been first her novice mistress and then her prioress. There were still times when Sister Joan missed her counsel. On the other hand Mother Dorothy was revealing unsuspected depths.

  Father Malone came to offer the morning mass and to join the Sisters afterwards for a cup of coffee as they ate their breakfast in the refectory. Father Stephens usually had pressing duties elsewhere. Father Malone enjoyed a mild and unmalicious gossip. This morning he stood, talking quietly to Sister Teresa, whose drawn young face bore witness to the shock her friend’s death had afforded.

  Somehow or other word of the second murder had spread on the convent grapevine. Nobody said anything but there were glances of sympathy, laced with curiosity, sent towards Sister Teresa.

  ‘Good morning, Sister Joan.’ Father Malone had drifted towards her, his kind, elderly face heavy with concern.

  ‘Good morning, Father.’

  ‘This is a tragic affair, Sister.’ He had lowered his voice slightly. ‘Detective Sergeant Mill tells me that you saw the poor child yesterday and were able to help them in their work.’

  ‘Not very much, I’m afraid.’

  ‘I was hoping you might be able to help me this morning if Mother Prioress can spare you. I have to see the Davies family again and I’m required at the hospital. Father Stephens would go in my stead to both places but he has other duties. I feel very strongly that the Davieses need constant spiritual support at this time, but I was forced to cancel my visit to the hospital last week too and the children get disappointed.’

  ‘You want me to go down and see the Davieses?’

  ‘Only for an hour if it’s possible. I will make my hospital visit short. I would not have asked but Mother Prioress intimated that you might be able to undertake the task.’

  ‘As soon as I’ve seen to the breakfast dishes and fed Lilith I’ll be at your service, Father. If you give me the address I can follow you in my car. Mother Prioress has already given me leave.’

  ‘Splendid.’ Father Malone looked marginally more cheerful. ‘They live over on the industrial estate – Princess Royal Road, number twenty-five. Very nice people.’

  ‘They are parishioners of yours, of course?’

  ‘Yes indeed. I knew Tina very well. A good, quiet girl, never caused her parents a moment’s trouble. It’s very good of you to go, Sister.’

  ‘I will be as quick as I can be,’ she promised.

  Even though she hurried it was past nine o’clock before she had finished clearing away and washing up, helped by a silent and sorrowful Sister Teresa. It was a relief to go out to the stable and check on Lilith who looked as if she expected some exercise.

  ‘Later on, old girl, if I can possibly find time.’ Sister Joan gave her a sugar lump by way of compensation and went back indoors to leave instructions about lunch.

  ‘Soup again, Sister?’ Sister Teresa looked faintly disconcerted.

  ‘Soup and a tomato sandwich, please,’ said Sister Joan, with a feeling of recklessness. ‘The sun may be shining but it’s a cold day. Oh, and skin the tomatoes for Sister Gabrielle’s sandwich. She believes that tomato skins wrap themselves around one’s appendix or something.’

  Sister Teresa, despite her sombre mood, giggled. Sister Joan went out briskly and met Sister Martha coming in from the garden.

  ‘There are some more dahlias, Sister. Mother Dorothy said you were going to offer our condolences to another family. It doesn’t seem possible, does it?’ She was clearly referring to the murders and not to Sister Joan’s suitability as a visitor of mercy.

  ‘Thank you, Sister. That was most thoughtful of you.’

  The dahlias were streaked with bronze and gold, the petals autumn large. They had a faintly exotic quality.

  She put them on the passenger seat of the car, together with the attached card in Mother’s neat convent hand and drove away. From the front door she thought she caught a glimpse of Sister Perpetua gazing wistfully after her. Until now Sister Perpetua had frequently driven the car when it was necessary to go beyond the confines of the enclosure. She would find it hard to adapt to staying within bounds.

  The new industrial estate wasn’t a place where she had ever had occasion to go before. It lay at the end of a track that curved away from the convent, past Farrer’s Field with its attendant farmhouse, past the path that wound to the Romany encampment, and looked raw and unused.

  What unimaginative, underfunded planner had set the half-dozen streets in parallel lines, each semi-detached dwelling roofed identically in virulent scarlet, each gate bearing an identical wrought-iron nameplate. Attempts had been made to give some individuality by the owners themselves, with rockeries instead of lawns, front doors painted in contrasting tones, a white statue of a nymph brooding sadly over a plastic-lined pool. The general effect was depressing. Sister Joan’s artist’s eye was offended by dead symmetry and colours that hit the senses instead of wooing them into surrender.

  At number twenty-five a crowd of people surged round the gate, held back by a stolid policeman. Stolid was the mask he wore, she guessed, parking her car and edging through the eager, shocked, sensation hungry faces; some of them looked so familiar that she had the indecent impression they had set off in a bunch from the Pendon gate and dashed here for some glimpse of the latest murder.

  ‘Good morning, Sister.’ The stolid mask remained in place even as he muttered, shifting his eyes towards the crowd, ‘Wish they issued us with the odd burst of tear gas.’

  The house had drawn blinds that necessitated the switching on of the lights. She rang the bell, was conscious of being scrutinized through a spy hole and let in, the door being closed behind her before she had fully squeezed through. She made a grab at her veil and found hersel
f being shaken vigorously by the hand.

  ‘You’ll be Sister Joan. Father Malone has told us that you might be coming. God bless you for doing so, Sister. Not that we see anything of the Compassion nuns but we’re always aware they’re up on the moors, watching over us in a manner of speaking. You’ll have a cup of tea, Sister? My sister-in-law’s seeing to all that.’

  Valerie Pendon’s mother had found relief in serving food like some robotic waitress who doesn’t know when to stop; Tina Davies’s mother found relief in talking. Small and brown, twittering like the sparrow her physical appearance brought to mind, she talked about the terrible shock, the kindness of her friends, the awful questions the police had asked, the unnerving curiosity of the sightseers.

  ‘One might almost think that they believed themselves at the cinema, Sister, the way they stand gawping and there’s nothing to see. They took Tina to the mortuary. Better that way my husband said. Bill usually knows best.’

  ‘Have you had any further news?’ Sister Joan broke into the deluge of words.

  ‘About Tina? She wasn’t – wasn’t interfered with, if you know what I mean, Sister. That’s a great comfort to us as you can imagine, since Tina was a good girl. We brought her up to respect her body, not to give herself outside marriage.’

  ‘But she had boy-friends?’

  ‘Not for the last couple of years. There were one or two before that, nothing serious. She says – used to say she liked staying home and watching the telly, not ramshackling round Bodmin.’

  ‘One of my companions in the convent knew your daughter very well. Sister Teresa? I believe that was her original name – sometimes the name is changed if the Sister wishes to adopt a particular saint.’

  ‘Of course I remember Teresa,’ Mrs Davies said fiercely, pecking at the words. ‘I haven’t seen her since she went into the convent. My Tina was quite cut up about it at the time. The two of them used to go around together and when Teresa’s family moved north she lived here for a few months while she was waiting to start as a novice. She’ll be upset to hear, I daresay?’