Mortuus Virgo

by Kevin Ashman

  Brandon spotted an opening.

  ‘Excellent,’ he said, ‘There seems to be a very strong religious influence around here.’

  ‘You could say that,’ said the Priest, ‘Though our congregations are very old and very small, these days.’

  ‘I thought that Christianity was undergoing a bit of a comeback.’

  ‘Well, if you’re into rock bands and happy clappy Christianity, I suppose it is, but it’s not my cup of tea.’

  ‘You’re a bit more traditional, I take it.’

  ‘It’s what the people expect around here.’

  ‘Yes, I’ve noticed said Brandon,’ looking around, ‘I’ve even seen a few Nuns walking around the village.’

  ‘Really?’ asked the Priest, ‘That’s unusual for this time of the year.’

  ‘Oh, I thought they were based in this church.’

  ‘Heavens, no said father Grant, ‘We are far too small. We often get visitors but have no permanent nuns, though we do have volunteers from the local convent, occasionally.’

  ‘I didn’t know there was a convent around here,’ said Brandon, ‘What order would be?’

  ‘Santa Rosa,’ said the priest. ‘A very old order I’m led to believe.’

  ‘May be worth interviewing them,’ said Brandon, ‘Perhaps you could introduce me?’

  ‘I doubt it,’ said the priest, ‘They keep themselves to themselves. Very secretive.

  ‘What’s there to be secretive about?’ asked Brandon. ‘I thought the church was modernising.’

  ‘Let’s just say that some would rather cling on to the old days,’ said the priest.

  ‘Sounds fascinating,’ said Brandon,’ I’d really like to meet one of them, if I could.’

  ‘Waste of time said the priest. They are a silent order.’

  ‘What, they don’t speak at all?’ asked Brandon, thinking of what the cleaner had said about her conversations with Sister Wendy.

  ‘They do sometimes, but only out of necessity. They certainly wouldn’t consent to be interviewed.’

  ‘Do you mind if I try?’

  ‘Nothing to do with me,’ laughed the priest, ‘But I think you are wasting your time.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ said Brandon, ‘Are there any here at the moment?’

  ‘No, sorry, they are in retreat.’

  ‘In the convent?’

  ‘Yes, the Mother Superior sadly passed away this week. Very sad.’

  ‘And where is the convent?’ asked Brandon, finally getting to the crux of the matter.

  The priest paused for a few seconds.

  ‘Do you know what?’ he said, after a while, ‘I can’t really say. I’ve never thought about it before but I don’t really know where it is. Never had need to I suppose, I’ve only been here a couple of years myself.’

  ‘No idea at all?’

  ‘Oh, I know its somewhere near the old Roman Temple but I couldn’t give you directions.’

  ‘Never mind,’ said Brandon, ‘Probably a waste of time anyway.’ He spent another few minutes making small talk with the pleasant young priest before making his excuses and leaving. Murray watched him stride down the path.

  ‘About fucking time,’ he said. ‘Thought you done a runner there.’

  ‘Why would I do a runner?’ answered Brandon, ‘You’ve got a grand of mine in your pocket and I still got five hours left on the meter.’

  ‘Meter’s off,’ said Murray, ‘Remember?’

  ‘You know what I mean,’ said Brandon, climbing into the car.

  Murray got into the driving seat and started the engine.

  ‘Where to this time, 007?’ he asked, sarcastically.

  ‘Weycock Hill!’ answered Brandon.

  Murray looked at him through the rear view mirror, mild amusement in his face.

  ‘Oh for fuck sake,’ said Brandon, reaching for his I Phone. ‘Just drive northwards out of town. I’ll get a location from the web.’

  ‘Good things them interwebs,’ said Murray, gunning the engine. ‘Might be getting one myself, soon. Suppose I could get a good one for a grand.’ He smiled into the mirror, but though Brandon glanced up, he didn’t bite.

  ‘Just drive,’ he said as he waited to get a signal on his phone.

  ‘Roger Dodger, 007,’ said Murray pulling out into the traffic, laughing at his own joke as he went.

  Chapter 27

  London 2010

  When the taxi arrived at Victoria station, the stranger led her past the entrance to the steps of a beautiful house with an imposing entrance.

  ‘Where are we going?’ asked India.

  ‘Somewhere safe,’ said the man, breaking the relative silence he had maintained throughout the taxi ride.

  She followed him up the steps and watched him swipe a card across a magnetic reader, disengaging a lock and they walked into an imposing hallway with a gated lift at the far end. India looked around in awe. Having seen the man use the modern swipe card she had half expected to see a modern hallway but what she walked into took her breath away. It was as if she had stepped back in time.

  The decor was straight out of the thirties with walnut panelling lining the walls and lush carpets soft beneath her feet. Above her, several levels of landings circled the spectacular hallway and the biggest chandelier India had ever seen hung dramatically from the ceiling high above.

  ‘Wow,’ said India, ‘What is this place?’

  ‘You like it?’ asked the man, allowing himself a quick glance around as he removed his coat, before placing it on an ornately carved coat hanger. ‘It is rather quaint isn’t it?’

  ‘It’s beautiful,’ said India, in awe.

  ‘We like it,’ said the man.

  ‘Who’s we?’ asked India.

  ‘All in good time, please, come this way.’ He walked past the stairways, and slid open the gate to the lift. India followed him in.

  ‘Which floor?’ she asked as he closed the gates, her fingers hovering over the ivory buttons.

  ‘None of those,’ he said, producing a key on a chain from around his neck. ‘Excuse me.’

  He eased her to one side and placed a finger on a small brass plaque bearing the manufacturers name, sliding it to one side to reveal a keyhole.

  ‘Security,’ he said with an apologetic smile. He turned the key, and to India’s surprise the lift descended rather than travel upwards.

  A few seconds later the lift came to an abrupt stop bur the view through the gates was obscured by a large door. The man slid open the gate and pushed the door away from them.

  ‘After you,’ he said and stood to one side for India to pass.

  India stepped through but stopped suddenly, as she saw she had entered a large, subterranean car park.

  ‘Wait a minute,’ she said, nervously, ‘Are you sure…’

  Her sentence remained unfinished as the man’s strong arms enveloped her from behind.

  India’s eyes widened and she thrashed wildly for a few seconds before the stench of chloroform from the cloth enveloped her senses and she slipped unconsciously to the floor.

  Chapter 28

  England 2010

  Sister Bernice left her cell and made her way to the kitchens. The last few days had passed so quickly, she had hardly had time to think. The Senior Sisters had become sidetracked dealing with the Mother Superior’s death and she had found herself being relied upon to step up and help with the day to day business of the rest of the order. This morning she was overseeing the preparation of the midday meal and she made her way quickly to the kitchens. The eight kitchen staff were stood silently in line, patiently waiting to be told what to do.

  Bernice walked in and smiled at the girls. All were shaven headed and were volunteers who lived at the convent. It was a five year apprenticeship, designed to test the devotion of all who wished to join the order. Bernice looked back at the time she had been in their shoes with fondness. The work had been hard but she found it cleansed her soul and prepared her for the life of devotion she had cra
ved since childhood.

  ‘Good morning, ladies,’ said Bernice.

  ‘Good morning, Sister,’ they replied, in unison.

  ‘Right, shall we get started?’ asked Bernice with a nervous smile.

  ‘Please forgive me, Sister,’ said one stepping forward, ‘We didn’t expect to see you. Wednesday is usually Sister Agnes.’

  ‘She is busy today,’ said Bernice, ‘I will help and guide.’

  ‘Is everything okay, Miss?’ asked another.

  ‘Of course,’ said Bernice, ‘Why wouldn’t it be?’

  ‘We heard there is a madman stalking us,’ said the girl.

  Bernice stared at the girls. Sister Agnes had given strict instructions not to discuss the threat with the staff, but they looked really scared and had obviously heard something. She smiled gently and perched on the edge of the table.

  ‘Come here,’ she said kindly, ‘Come on, gather around.’

  The girls closed in to a semi circle, facing Bernice with concern on their faces.

  ‘Look,’ said Bernice, ‘I am not going to lie to you. There has been an incident but it is well under control and you are completely safe here.’

  ‘What happened?’ asked one of the girls.

  ‘Oh, let’s just say that there was a prowler,’ said Bernice, hoping that they hadn’t heard any of the gory details.

  ‘Has he been caught?’ asked one of the girls.

  ‘No, but the caretaker has checked the area and there is no sign of him. It seems he is long gone.’

  ‘Then why are we still locked down?’ asked another.

  ‘Better safe than sorry,’ said Bernice, ‘To be honest, there are so many unsavoury characters out in the big wide world, we should have taken these precautions long ago.’

  ‘But who would threaten a convent?’

  ‘Sadly, it is often the way of the world, Sharon,’ said Bernice, ‘All we can do is continue in the service of the Holy Mother and pray for the souls of those who know no better.’

  ‘But what if they come back?’

  ‘Well, I have talked to Sister Agnes, and she tells me that things have been put in place for our protection. Apparently, they have engaged a security company to look after us. Now, enough negativity, shall we get started on lunch?’

  The group dispersed to their tasks while Bernice pulled down the recipe books from the shelves. Despite allaying the fears of the trainees, there were more questions than answers spinning around her mind. After a while the thoughts eased as she became involved in the lunch preparations and, for an hour or so, normality returned to the kitchen.

  Suddenly, the relative calm was shattered as one of the girls screamed, dropping a pan clattering to the floor. Bernice span around.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ she shouted, running over.

  ‘There’s someone there,’ shouted the girl, pointing at the door, ‘They tried to get in!’

  Bernice stared in horror at the locked door. Despite the solid Oak, the thought of less than two inches of wood between them and any potential attacker the other side filled her with dread. She walked slowly to the door, while the rest of the girls gathered behind her, talking in hushed tones. Suddenly there came a loud knock on the door, making them all jump and a voice called out from the other side.

  ‘Hello, anyone there? It’s Maximillian. The door’s locked, can you let me in?’

  Bernice let out a sigh of relief as she recognised the old man’s voice. Since the day of the Mother Superior’s death, the convent was locked down as secure as any prison and Maximillian and his son patrolled the outer corridors as if their lives depended on it, taking it in turns to rest or eat.

  Maximillian was the caretaker and was employed directly by the order. For the last few days, he and his family were the only ones allowed through the locked doors of the convent for security reasons. The caretaker and his family had served the convent all their lives, as had his grandfather and his predecessors as far back as records were kept. They were intrinsically linked to the convent and had unswerving loyalty to the order.

  Maximillian, or Max, as he was known to the Sisters, kept the grounds in shape and tended the allotments while his son, Jacob saw to the minor maintenance around the buildings and maintained the cemetery. Maximillian’s ageing wife, Anna, carried out errands on behalf of the Sisters to the local village and liaised with the Mother Superior on all things to do with the outside world. In return, the family enjoyed rent free accommodation in a small cottage in the grounds and received a modest yet adequate income from the estate. The whole family had been deeply affected by the death of the Mother Superior and they had moved inside the walls of the convent to support and protect, not just the sisters.

  Bernice opened the door and allowed Max into the kitchen, locking the door behind him.

  ‘Thank you, Sister,’ he said, stamping the snow off his feet, ‘Any chance of a cuppa? It’s brass monkeys out there.’

  ‘I think we can do better than that,’ answered Bernice, ‘How about a nice bacon butty with freshly baked bread and brown sauce?’

  ‘Thank you Sister,’ said Max, his face lighting up, ‘Don’t mind if I do.’

  One of the girls brought the caretaker a cup of tea while another retrieved a pack of bacon from the fridge, dropping four slices into an enormous frying pan. Within seconds, the delicious smell of sizzling bacon wafted across the kitchen. A few minutes later, Bernice ushered the caretaker over to the other side of the kitchen, and waited patiently as he poured an unhealthy amount of brown sauce over the bacon, before replacing the top layer of bread.

  ‘Luverly!’ he said before stretching his jaws open to take a bite of his prize.

  Bernice waited until the first sandwich had been demolished before speaking again.

  ‘Any news?’ she asked, quietly.

  ‘No sign at all,’ said Max, licking his fingers, ‘There were some footprints in the snow but they’ve mostly disappeared.’

  ‘Has there been any contact with the police?’ she asked hopefully.

  ‘I don’t think so,’ he said picking up the second sandwich, ‘But there’s no need to worry. This place is like Fort Knox. No one is getting in here and besides, even if they did, they’ve got to get past me and Jacob first.’ He bit into the sandwich again as Bernice looked on, handing him his cup of tea when he choked slightly.

  ‘Thanks, Sister,’ he coughed, taking the cup.

  ‘So what do you think, Max?’ asked Bernice eventually, ‘What do you think is happening?’

  ‘Search me, Sister,’ he shrugged.

  ‘But you must have some idea,’ answered Bernice, ‘You know more about this place than anyone. Wasn’t you born here?’

  ‘I was,’ said Max, ‘But I keep myself to myself.’

  ‘Oh come on, Max,’ said Bernice, ‘You must know something?’

  Max replaced the third sandwich back on the plate and stared at the Nun.

  ‘All I know, Miss,’ he said, ‘Is that this convent holds a secret bigger than all of us. What it is, I don’t know, and I don’t particularly want to know, But any madman, murderer, call them what you like, who thinks they can make the order of the Santa Rosa give up their secrets by threats of violence or even death, have a lot to learn.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked Bernice.

  ‘Look, Sister,’ answered Max, ‘There are forces at work here that are greater than you or I can even begin to understand. This man, whoever he is, won’t be the first to threaten the order and probably won’t be the last, but he, like all the others, will get nowhere. Trust me, the order is more than capable of looking after itself.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ said Bernice, ‘How can a group of elderly women and novices unversed in the ways of the world overcome such a horrific threat?’

  ‘How long have you been here, Sister?’ asked Max.

  ‘Twenty two years.’

  ‘And what have they taught you in all that time?’

  ‘As in what way?’ she
asked.

  ‘The history of the order,’ said Max.

  ‘Well, most of the time we spend in the worship of the Holy Mother….,’ said Bernice.

  ‘Yes, interrupted Max, ‘But what about the history of the order itself?’

  ‘Not much really, the role of the novice is to rejoice in the glory of the Holy Mother, and bring succour to the homeless and the needy. The history of the order is for the Senior Sisters only. I do know our history stretches back hundreds of years, right back to the time of the Normans.’

  ‘The Normans,’ said Max, sipping his tea thoughtfully.

  ‘Yes,’ said Bernice,’ The order was one of the first formed in the UK.’

  ‘What if I told you that this order reaches back almost a thousand years earlier.’

  Bernice looked confused.

  ‘Your wrong,’ Max she said, ‘That would put our foundation as far back as the birth of our saviour himself. Even if we were the very first order in the UK, it couldn’t have been that early. At the very earliest it must have been after the visit of St Augustine.’

  ‘St Augustine?’

  ‘Yes, the revered catholic missionary who brought the light of the church to Britain in 597 AD. See, even if you are right, we cannot possibly be older than that as there were simply no representatives of the catholic church before that time.’

  Max sipped his tea again, looking over the rim of his teacup in silence.

  ‘You don’t agree?’ said Bernice eventually.

  Max placed the cup down and stood up.

  ‘Look, Sister,’ he said, ‘It’s not my place to give you history lessons here, but there is much you don’t know about your own order. Suffice to say, it is older than you can even imagine. Forget even the birth of Christ, for your order was old before he was born.’

  ‘Predates Christianity?’ she said cynically, ‘Now you’re being absurd. How on earth can any organisation predate that, which it is formed to revere?’ It doesn’t make sense.’

  ‘You make the assumption that your order exists for the worship of Christianity,’ he said.

  ‘Max,’ said Bernice, ‘I don’t want to be rude, but how on earth can you stand there and tell me that I have devoted most of my adult life to a lie.’