The little schoolhouse looked as deserted as Luther had said. She slipped from Lilith’s broad back and unhooked the large bag of onions and lettuce and cress that Sister Martha had provided and went briskly to the door, raising her voice as she knocked.
‘It’s only Sister Joan! Anyone in?’
For a moment there was no answer then footsteps sounded within and the key was turned.
‘Are you by yourself?’ Caroline asked, opening the door a bare two inches.
‘Yes, of course. I’ve brought some salad to add to your supplies.’
The door opened wider and Caroline stood aside, pulling a cardigan round her shoulders, its colour the same drab brown as the rest of her outfit.
‘Is anything the matter?’ Sister Joan carried the bag into the living-room and looked with concern at the younger woman’s white face and dark shadowed eyes.
‘A man was prowling around,’ Caroline said. ‘A very peculiar looking man. He came right up to the window and tried to look in, but I ducked down and just prayed that he wouldn’t see me. I was scared that Michael Peter had sent him.’
‘That was Luther,’ Sister Joan said. ‘He’s a mite simple but perfectly harmless. He’s nothing to do with your brother-in-law. Anyway why should Michael Peter send someone over to check whether or not you’re here? He doesn’t even know you’re in the district.’
‘You haven’t told anyone?’
‘I told Mother Dorothy that a Miss Hayes had taken the place for a week because she wanted some peace and quiet,’ Sister Joan said patiently.
‘You didn’t mention—?’
‘No, I promised that I’d say nothing. Look, here’s some salad for you. It needs washing but it’s all home grown. You are eating, aren’t you?’ She looked sharply at the other, anxiety creeping over her as she noted the twitching fingers of the thin hands. The girl looked close to a breakdown of some sort.
‘I’m being stupid,’ Caroline said. ‘I know I’m being stupid. Coming down here like this and not having the guts to face Michael Peter and demand to see my sister! I know I’m being stupid.’
‘Not so stupid,’ Sister Joan said quickly. ‘You haven’t heard from Crystal for over two months and then you get the initial telling you she needs help, and the letter you gave me to read – she sounds very nervous. If she was my sister I’d be alarmed too.’
‘Do you have a sister? I mean a real sister?’ Caroline asked.
‘Only two brothers.’
‘Then you can’t really understand,’ Caroline said, picking up the bag of salad and clutching it to her like a barrier. ‘Crystal and I are devoted. We always lived our own lives, of course, because we’re very different but there’s nobody else in the world who understands me so well, not even Dad. We absolutely adore each other, Sister Joan, and if anything’s happened to her I simply won’t be able to bear it!’
SIX
The rest of Saturday had passed quietly enough, with minds concentrated on the general confession which followed the benediction. Sister Joan had returned the letter to Caroline Hayes and urged her to get some rest.
‘That’s all I am doing, Sister!’ Caroline’s eyes were wide and strained. ‘I sit here and go over and over things in my mind. I ought to be doing something but I don’t know what to do. I have this awful feeling that if I do move then something dreadful will happen.’
‘Look, tomorrow’s Sunday,’ Sister Joan said. ‘We have the afternoon largely to ourselves to read, write letters, take a walk. I’ll ride over to the house and have a word with Mrs Rufus. Then I’ll come over and let you know if I’ve found anything out.’
‘You won’t let her know that I’m in the area?’
‘No, of course not, but Mrs Rufus isn’t likely to do you any harm!’
‘She works for Michael Peter, doesn’t she?’ Caroline said tensely. ‘In one of her letters Crystal said that she told him absolutely everything that went on. If he knew that I was here he might come looking for me.’
‘To do what?’ Sister Joan demanded. ‘Look, he seems to be spreading it about that your sister has gone off on a touring holiday with you and the parents. We know that isn’t true because you’re here and your mother died some time ago anyway. This time you could go to the police and get a hearing.’
‘And Michael Peter would explain it all away,’ Caroline said. ‘He’d deny having said anything to you, or he’d twist it about somehow so that you ended up looking a fool, and then he’d be on his guard and we wouldn’t be able to find out anything else at all. Please wait a couple more days!’
She had agreed unwillingly and ridden back to the convent with a weight on her mind that would, she knew, become intolerable if it wasn’t soon resolved. Not until the recreation which was shorter on Saturday nights did the chance come to unburden herself. Sister Gabrielle, who usually struggled up to meals and recreation even when her joints were inflamed, excused herself.
‘I’m perfectly well,’ she said quickly in response to Sister Perpetua’s anxious enquiry. ‘I merely feel like a bit of a change, that’s all. Sister Mary Concepta will keep you in good order until chapel. Sister Joan, at this moment what I crave most in the world is a nice mug of cocoa, made with milk and plenty of sugar.’
‘I’ll ask Mother Dorothy if you can have it,’ Sister Joan said.
‘But ask Sister Teresa to make it,’ Sister Gabrielle said. ‘You’re bound to leave lumps in it. I’ve not recovered from the last jug of custard you produced when you were doing the cooking!’
‘She’s not ill, is she?’ Mother Dorothy asked when the request was put.
‘I don’t think so, Mother Prioress, though her rheumatism pains her more than she’ll admit,’ Sister Joan said.
‘By all means let her have her cocoa then and she’s excused from this evening’s period of recreation. If she seems to want company then stay with her.’
‘Yes, Mother Dorothy.’
Having duly received the cocoa from Sister Teresa, Sister Joan went into the infirmary which was the only room in the building where a fire was permitted. Sister Gabrielle was seated by it, her old eagle face turned to the door as Sister Joan came in.
‘Ah! Cocoa!’ Her tone was triumphant. ‘Did Sister Teresa make it?’
‘Yes, Mother told me to tell her to get it ready.’
‘It looks rather hot,’ Sister Gabrielle said, peering over the rim of the mug. ‘Would you be kind enough to drink some of it yourself before giving it to me? Sister Teresa has filled it rather too full.’
The drink was hot, sweet and comforting. Sipping it, Sister Joan caught Sister Gabrielle’s eye on her and found herself laughing.
‘What’s going on, Sister?’ she asked. ‘This cocoa was made for you, not me.’
‘Drink some more and I’ll finish it up,’ Sister Gabrielle ordered. ‘Now, sit down and tell me why your mind is jumping about like a cat on a hot tin roof.’
‘Sister!’
‘I’ve read my modern literature,’ Sister Gabrielle said, accepting the half emptied mug. ‘You’re thirty-nine years old and at that age many in the religious life wake up to the fact that life means life, that they won’t be finding a husband or raising a family in this world. And you’re in the unfortunate position of not having a definite job assigned to you. So if you feel like talking about it—?’
‘My mind is troubled,’ Sister Joan said, ‘but it’s got nothing to do with sexual frustration, honestly. I have a problem, and I know what I ought to do as a good citizen, what Mother Dorothy would tell me to do, but I’m not sure.’
‘About what?’
‘You heard about the man I found in that old chapel over on the east side of the moor?’
‘Yes, of course. Mother Dorothy said he’d died of a heart attack. Do you know who he was?’
‘I believe so.’
Swiftly Sister Joan outlined the events since.
‘I ought to tell the police but if I do that then Caroline Hayes’s presence in the district will co
me out and since Michael Peter was the son-in-law he’ll obviously be informed too. Then he’s bound to realize that he’s under suspicion and take steps to cover his tracks. I simply don’t know what’s best to do and with Detective Sergeant Mill on holiday and Constable Petrie down with the measles—’
‘You haven’t got the local police force in your pocket any longer,’ Sister Gabrielle finished. ‘This man who died. Why wasn’t his identity discovered at once?’
‘Because there was nothing on him to identify him.’
‘Can’t they check dental records, hospital records?’
‘Since it was a death due to natural causes I don’t think very extensive investigations have been carried out.’
‘And of course Detective Sergeant Mill wasn’t there to do anything. Well, my dear, if the poor man had nothing on him in the way of identification then I’d say he was anxious to keep his identity a secret, wouldn’t you?’ Sister Gabrielle said. ‘If the sister is worried about Crystal Peter’s whereabouts then surely the father is too. So he encourages his other daughter to go off for a break with her friends and comes down to Cornwall instead of going into hospital for treatment as he’s supposed to do. He removes anything on his person that might reveal who he is and sets off for Michael Peter’s house, perhaps intending to represent himself as a fellow down on his luck and looking for work. He starts to feel ill, and goes into the old chapel to sit down, and dies there, his mission unfulfilled.’
‘You think I ought to say nothing for the present? But Caroline still thinks that he’s alive.’
‘Bad news will always keep for a little,’ Sister Gabrielle said. ‘Right now she’s desperately concerned for her sister and afraid that Michael Peter might discover she’s in the district. “Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof”. And what are you going to do about it?’
‘I don’t know,’ Sister Joan said. ‘This isn’t an official case. It isn’t a case at all really. Nobody’s been reported missing, nobody’s been murdered.’
‘But this young woman came to you because she’d seen your name in a newspaper article. She asked you to help her. I think you should do. Go over and see this Mrs Rufus. She probably knows a great deal about her employer. Have you checked on any part of Caroline Hayes’s story?’
‘I’ve sent off to St Catherine’s House for details of both sisters. I asked them to reply urgently so hopefully I’ll get a letter during the week.’
‘Then go and see Mrs Rufus,’ Sister Gabrielle said.
‘Oh Lord!’ In the act of rising Sister Joan clapped her hand to her mouth. ‘My wits really are woolgathering! Mrs Rufus doesn’t work at the house on Sundays!’
‘Do you know where she does live?’
‘She said something about having a house over on the estate. Anyway she’d think it a bit peculiar if I went looking for her on her day off. I shall have to leave it until Monday.’
‘Go back to the old chapel and poke about there for a bit. You might,’ said Sister Gabrielle with relish, ‘find some clues.’
‘And turn myself into Sister Sherlock!’ Sister Joan said. ‘You’ve been a great help, Sister.’
‘The cocoa helped,’ Sister Gabrielle said with a twinkle in her eye. ‘You ought to learn not to get so personally involved with other people’s problems, child.’
‘I know.’
‘On the other hand,’ Sister Gabrielle said thoughtfully, ‘the fellow who was mugged in the Gospels wouldn’t have fared very well if the good Samaritan had simply rushed past on his way to the temple to worship his Creator! Shall we go into chapel now?’
Yes, it had been a peaceful day and she had woken on Sunday morning with a lively feeling of anticipation.
‘Is it all right if I leave the grounds this afternoon Mother Dorothy?’ Asking for the customary permission she received a brisk nod.
‘You’ll be looking in on our temporary tenant, Sister?’ Mother Dorothy said.
‘Later on, yes, Mother.’
‘I hope she’s not finding it too peaceful,’ Mother Dorothy said, as she turned back into her parlour.
On her way out she came across Sister Hilaria, with the pink-smocked, white-bonneted postulant, Bernadette, tagging along meekly.
‘We are picking wild flowers, Sister Joan,’ Sister Hilaria said. ‘We shall decorate the postulancy with them and meditate on the meaning of beauty.’
Her rather prominent eyes were more accustomed to surveying the clouds than the earth, Sister Joan thought, with a tremor of affectionate amusement. As a novice mistress she gave her charges an example that was hard to follow but which Mother Dorothy insisted would act as an inspiration.
At her heels the solitary postulant the convent at present boasted cast down her eyes in the approved manner but not before she had favoured Sister Joan with the hint of a wink. Life would liven up when Bernadette joined the novitiate, Sister Joan thought, leaving them to their wild-flower gathering along the borders of the shrubbery and giving Lilith her head as she cantered out on to the moor.
There was no sign of life from the schoolhouse. Was Caroline sleeping or simply sitting, eyes wide and frightened, ears pricked for the threat of an unfamiliar footfall? There was no point in disturbing her, anyway, until there was some definite news to impart. She rode past the building and headed the pony in the direction of the swells and hollows that concealed the old chapel.
This afternoon it was as deserted as usual, its roof partly fallen in, the long grass that grew up around the stone walls waving in the breeze, though whether in welcome or warning it was difficult to tell. She dismounted and went inside, treading with care over the heaps of mossy rock and fallen stone.
Sister Gabrielle had suggested looking for clues. Sister Joan doubted if any clues remained to be found. All she had was the torn strip of paper with the name and number of Michael Peter on it. Presumably Mr Hayes, if he was the man who had died here, had found it in a pocket he believed he had emptied and hastily scuffed it down into the dirt with the heel of his shoe. Clearly he’d been on his way to the Peter house and that suggested that his appearance was unknown to his son-in-law. Caroline had mentioned a photograph of herself and Crystal together which made it impossible to hide her identity should she run into Michael Peter. Apparently there was no photograph of Mr Hayes. Which might mean anything or nothing, Sister Joan mused, and stiffened as a little fall of pebbles outside the entrance heralded a newcomer.
Turning slowly, she saw the tall figure of the man she had been thinking about stoop beneath the lintel and straighten up, staring at her.
‘Is it—? The light is not so good in here,’ he said.
‘It’s Sister Joan, Mr Peter.’ She went forward, raising her voice slightly.
‘Sister Joan? Ah, yes. We seem to keep running into each other, Sister.’
‘I brought our pony, Lilith, out for her exercise,’ Sister Joan said. ‘This is a curious old building, isn’t it?’
‘Eighteenth century. It was a Methodist meeting house until the middle of last century, and then a bigger chapel was built on the outskirts of town and this fell gradually into decay. Such a pity when that’s allowed to happen, don’t you think?’
‘Yes, indeed.’ Sister Joan stepped past him into the open air. ‘Our own convent was once a handsome estate, the property of the Tarquin family. We try to look after it but money’s always pretty tight.’
‘But the place is lived in,’ Michael Peter said. ‘Houses require company, Sister. I have always believed that.’
‘Yes.’ She moved to Lilith’s head, reaching for the reins, wishing that he didn’t loom so as if he were gathering himself together to spring.
‘I don’t suppose you would accept a cup of coffee?’ he said, not springing anywhere but looking anxious. ‘Mrs Rufus doesn’t come in on Sundays but I can make a very decent cup of coffee and she made some buns yesterday.’
‘A cup of coffee would be very nice,’ Sister Joan said.
She’d prayed hard for guidance
that morning, for a way forward to be shown to her, and it looked as if God had been paying attention.
‘Come along then. It isn’t a very long walk – but you’ve already taken it! I forgot. You found that unfortunate tramp in the chapel here. Did I interrupt you? Were you praying for his soul?’
‘Not exactly,’ Sister Joan said, resolving to do so at the first available opportunity. ‘Mrs Rufus told you about that?’
‘Mrs Rufus tells me a very great deal.’ He gave a slightly twisted grin. ‘Of course, she’s alone all day so when I run her home she fills in the drive with words. Long streams of words about the most unimportant details of her day. It’s very wearing.’
‘Surely she has your wife to talk to?’ Sister Joan ventured.
‘My – oh, yes, Crystal.’ He shot her a startled look. ‘But my wife’s away at present, touring France with her family. I believe I already mentioned that.’
‘Yes you did. You haven’t heard anything?’
‘No. I don’t expect to yet. These two fields also belong to me. I grow corn in them or rather a local farmer rents them to grow corn in. The soil isn’t very fertile but the grain seems to do fairly well. Are you interested in conservation, Sister?’
She longed to reply she was more interested in finding his wife at that moment but murmured politely in response and was treated to a long discourse of infinite tedium on the benefits of organic farming as they traversed the two fields and approached the long, low, stone house with its neatly planted rockery.
‘Is your house old?’ she found the chance to say as they entered the front door, leaving Lilith tethered to the gate.
‘Almost a hundred years old,’ he said. ‘It was a farmhouse but the people moved to the city and I bought it and extended it. Personally I hoped to maintain its character both inside and out but housekeepers demand electrical gadgets and plastic stuff.’
‘It’s still a lovely house.’
‘Thank you.’ He looked pleased. ‘I spent a long time over the renovations and redecoration. My mother was still alive when we moved here, and she always took a keen interest in the place. Now, make yourself comfortable and I’ll get the coffee.’
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