‘Yes.’ Sister Marie started on the second half of her sandwich, her face troubled.
‘What do you think of Magdalen Cole?’ Sister Joan asked bluntly.
Sister Marie’s round face flushed and her eyes shifted slightly.
‘We made her very welcome,’ she evaded. ‘We showed her round the postulancy and told her something of our daily routine and she was very interested, very eager to find out everything we could tell her.’
‘Why don’t you like her?’
Sister Marie blushed more hotly. ‘We’re supposed to love everybody,’ she said.
‘I said “like”, Sister. Do you like her?’
‘Not much,’ Sister Marie admitted. ‘I know it’s dreadful of me, Sister Joan, since I’ve only had fleeting glimpses of her and Bernadette before today. She’s very pleasant and quiet and yet she’s actually quite pushy. That’s how I came to lend her my bonnet.’
‘You lent her your bonnet?’ Sister Joan stared at her.
‘With Sister Hilaria’s leave, of course. Magdalen said she’d love to wear one of the postulants’ bonnets for an hour just to see how it felt. She looked straight at me as she spoke and I felt obliged to offer.’
‘So you weren’t wearing your bonnet when you went out to pick the mint.’
‘No, Magdalen lent me her white scarf and I had that on.’
‘So you were wearing her scarf and she was wearing your bonnet?’
‘Yes, but I don’t – you think whoever jumped at me thought I was Magdalen Cole?’
‘It’s possible, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, but—’ Sister Marie’s brows drew together into a frown. ‘How would anyone know that somebody was going out to pick mint at that particular time?’
‘They didn’t have to know. They were probably skulking about in the grounds, hoping to catch a glimpse of her. Then they saw the white scarf—’
‘And a pink smock,’ Sister Marie said. ‘Magdalen Cole was wearing a grey dress. Sister Hilaria remarked she looked like one of the professed sisters.’
‘Maybe she has a pink dress too,’ Sister Joan said, unwilling to relinquish her theory.
‘But why would anybody want to attack her personally?’ Sister Marie demurred.
‘You were grabbed, not actually attacked.’
‘Why would anybody want to grab her then? She mentioned that she’s quite alone in the world and she didn’t say anything about having friends or enemies.’
‘Magdalen Cole says precious little about anything at all,’ Sister Joan said. ‘Look, Sister, would you mind if we called at the police station before we drive back? Finish your tea. That’s definitely better than mine ever is! The point is that I’d like a few words with Detective Sergeant Mill.’
‘No, of course I don’t mind.’ Sister Marie finished her tea and dabbed her lips with the paper napkin. ‘That was lovely, Sister. The throbbing in my ankle’s less too. But are you sure that Magdalen is the one who was being followed?’
‘No, I’m not sure, but there is another matter I ought to mention to him. I’ll pay for this, Sister, and then we can get started.’
Leaving the waitress beaming at the generous tip that Sister Joan had recklessly bestowed, they made their slow way round the corner to the van.
‘I’ll wait inside while you go in,’ Sister Marie said as they drove into the station yard.
‘Give me five minutes, Sister, and then we’ll be on our way,’ Sister Joan promised. It was, in fact, less than a minute before she reappeared.
‘Detective Sergeant Mill was called out somewhere else,’ she said, climbing back into the van.
‘Was it important, Sister? What you wanted to tell him?’
‘I daresay it’ll keep,’ Sister Joan said, hoping she was right.
Magdalen Cole might not be the most charming of people but she was entitled to the same consideration as anyone else. It was time, now that there had been an actual attack on somebody, for Detective Sergeant Mill to be told that Magdalen had come to the convent expecting trouble.
Near the school she slowed and stopped as Brother Cuthbert emerged, beaming at them through the window.
‘Glad to see the van’s still going well,’ he said. ‘It was a real kindness your agreeing to take it off my hands, Sister. Walking suits me much better.’
‘We were wondering if we could repaint it, Brother Cuthbert, while we’re using it,’ Sister Joan said.
‘Do anything you like with it, Sister. Your old car’s perfectly safe here.’
‘I’ll talk to Mother Dorothy about it. Padraic Lee from the Romany camp deals in scrap iron and might give us something for it. Oh, I’m sorry! This is Sister Marie, who is just about to enter our novitiate.’
‘How are you, Sister Marie? It must be very exciting for you at this stage of your vocation,’ Brother Cuthbert said.
‘A bit too exciting,’ Sister Joan said dryly. ‘Sister Marie was attacked earlier today and might have been badly hurt if she hadn’t managed to get away.’
‘Attacked!’ Brother Cuthbert’s freckled countenance expressed the liveliest dismay. ‘Who in the world would attack a holy sister?’
‘Someone who was hanging about in the grounds. I don’t suppose you noticed anyone going in that direction?’
‘I’m afraid not, Sister.’ He shook his head regretfully. ‘I’ve been praying and meditating since this morning’s mass, so I wouldn’t have noticed if a legion marched past. I hope you reported it to the police?’
‘And got medical attention,’ Sister Joan said.
‘There’s such a lot of violence around these days,’ Brother Cuthbert said. ‘In the city one almost expects it, I suppose, but not out here. Tell you what, Sister, I’ll keep an eye open for anything unusual – and the next time I take a walk I’ll go in the direction of the convent. Reverend Mother won’t mind if I enter the grounds?’
‘No, of course not,’ Sister Joan said warmly. ‘She’ll be happy to know there’s a man keeping an eye on the premises. Oh, and she wants to know if you would be willing to play your lute at Sister Teresa’s final profession. It’s in just under a month.’
‘Oh, that would be super!’ Brother Cuthbert was beaming again. ‘What an honour! You’ll be wanting very happy music, of course. Tell Reverend Mother I’ll be delighted.’
‘That,’ said Sister Marie, a quiver of laughter in her voice as they drove off, ‘is a very large young man.’
‘I met him up in Scotland when I went there on retreat,’ Sister Joan told her. ‘He has a Degree in Music and gave up a promising career as a concert performer to enter the religious life.’
‘He played beautifully at mass,’ Sister Marie said, catching herself in a yawn. ‘Oh, I beg your pardon, Sister.’
‘What you need is a couple of hours sleep and then a quiet evening with your feet up,’ Sister Joan said, driving through the gates. ‘I’ve a feeling that Mother Dorothy will wish to take a few extra precautions until this prowler is caught.’
Her surmise was correct. During the afternoon, with Sister Marie resting in the infirmary (if listening to Sister Gabrielle fulminate about the increase in crimes of violence could be called resting), Sister Joan decided to catch up with the entries in her spiritual diary. Every nun, professed or not, was expected to keep such a diary which remained private until her death. Her own diary was, she suspected, hardly the stuff to inspire those who came after, being full of shabby little faults and usually several days out of date.
‘Sister Joan, can you spare me a moment?’
Mother Dorothy had opened the parlour door.
Sister Joan mentally consigned her spiritual diary into the bin marked, ‘Things to do when I’ve got time’ and followed her superior back into the wide, lovely room.
‘Dominus vobiscum. Sit down, Sister.’ Mother Dorothy resumed her seat behind her desk.
‘Et cum spiritu tuo.’ Sister Joan obeyed.
‘Sister Marie seems very much better. She’s a resilient young w
oman.’ As usual Mother Dorothy came immediately to the point. ‘My own view is that this was probably an isolated attempt by some sick individual to grab a female, any female. One reads about such things far too often these days. However until Alice is returned to us I think it unwise for Sister Hilaria and her charges to sleep over in the postulancy. Sister Hilaria can double up with me since my cell is large enough to hold a second bed, Sister Teresa will sleep in her old cell – you will remember she is still in strict seclusion – and Sister Marie can remain in the infirmary. Sister Elizabeth can occupy the lay cell next to your own, which leaves Magdalen without a room since she is now in Sister Teresa’s old cell.’
‘Magdalen Cole can take the other lay cell,’ Sister Joan said promptly. ‘I can bunk down in the kitchen on the old settee there for a few nights.’
‘Thank you, Sister. There was nothing found in the shrubbery by the way save a few broken branches, but Alice is always burying her bones there.’
‘I’m sure she won’t have any bad habits when she comes back,’ Sister Joan said.
‘Your optimism is very touching,’ Mother Dorothy said dryly. ‘There is another matter on which I’d like your opinion. Magdalen Cole.’
‘Yes, Reverend Mother?’
‘As you know, Sister, there is a sad shortage of vocations in every Order and when Sister Marie and Sister Elizabeth enter the novitiate we shall have no postulants at all. I cannot, in conscience, hold them back any longer on that account, but the postulants represent the future of our Order. Magdalen Cole has told me that she wishes to apply immediately to enter our convent. She is devoted to the ideals for which we stand and sees no reason for delay. That is what she says and I have no reason to doubt her, but I have reservations.’
‘Yes?’
‘She is all things to all men,’ the prioress said slowly. ‘When help is needed in the kitchen there is Magdalen washing dishes; when Sister Perpetua requires something there is Magdalen on the way to fetch it; when Sister Katharine needs help with the sewing Magdalen reveals herself as a very competent needlewoman.’
‘Surely it’s natural she should try to please, to fit in?’ Sister Joan said fairly.
‘Would you agree with me that it would be best to delay my decision until a few more days have passed?’
It was most unlike Mother Dorothy to solicit for opinions. Sister Joan guessed that like herself the prioress wasn’t sure what to make of the visitor.
‘That seems an excellent idea,’ she said aloud.
‘Thank you, Sister.’ Mother Dorothy nodded, signing the air with a blessing.
‘Is Sister Marie all right?’ Magdalen glided down the staircase as Sister Joan came into the hall with the prioress.
‘Much better,’ Mother Dorothy said. ‘Oh, there are to be changes in the sleeping arrangements for a few days. You won’t mind using the lay cell where Sister Joan sleeps?’
‘I’m bunking down in the kitchen,’ Sister Joan said cheerfully.
‘Oh no, Sister!’ Magdalen’s face had flushed. ‘I can bunk in the kitchen – no, I insist. I wouldn’t dream of taking Sister’s bed. Honestly!’
‘One could put up a fourth bed in the infirmary, I suppose,’ Mother Dorothy said.
‘Then with your leave I’d rather sleep there,’ Magdalen said quickly. ‘More company!’
‘Very well, if that’s convenient for the others.’ Mother Dorothy nodded and turned away.
‘Pushy’ had been the word that Sister Marie had used. Pushy in an oblique, subtle way. Magdalen had turned and was drifting away. Perhaps she was more nervous than she liked to admit, Sister Joan reflected. She wondered uneasily if she ought to have mentioned the flick knife to Mother Dorothy, but to have done so would have put paid to any hopes Magdalen entertained of entering the postulancy. No, she’d wait until she saw Detective Sergeant Mill again.
At supper word that sleeping arrangements were to be changed was greeted with a buzz of interest which Mother Dorothy instantly quelled.
‘Anyone would think you had been requested to emigrate,’ she said tartly. ‘It is merely a temporary measure to avoid having Sister Hilaria and the postulants walk through the grounds after dark. During the day they may return there, but never alone, until this prowler is arrested. It was probably an isolated incident but one likes to be sure. For the moment you should all try not to wander alone in the grounds.’
‘I can help Sister Martha in the garden,’ Sister David offered.
‘Thank you, Sister. Detective Sergeant Mill is of the opinion that one of the so-called new-age travellers may have trespassed in the enclosure and thought it a joke to frighten one of the sisters, and he has every confidence they’ll be moving on again soon. What is it, Sister Joan?’
‘I’m sorry, Reverend Mother,’ Sister Joan said, ‘but I forgot to mention that I spoke with Brother Cuthbert when I was on the way back from the clinic with Sister Marie. He would be honoured to play the lute at Sister Teresa’s final profession. I also told him what had happened here and he was very concerned about it. He says that he’ll take his walks in the convent grounds in future and keep a sharp eye open for any suspicious characters.’
‘Excellent!’ Mother Dorothy looked pleased. ‘Shall we now get on with supper?’ It was a vegetable risotto with tinned tuna mixed in, not one of her happier dishes, but it was eaten as usual with every appearance of enjoyment. Glancing down the table to where Magdalen sat, a white scarf wrapped again about her hair, she saw that the guest was also eating with a smiling face. It would have been more honest to have pushed the food about her plate, Sister Joan thought, and immediately blamed herself for being intolerant.
The truth was that she would never care much for Magdalen Cole whatever she did. That was something else to be recorded in her spiritual diary the next time she brought it up to date.
She was stacking the dishes when Magdalen came up, her eyes lowered as if she had already learned custody of them.
‘If you don’t need me, Sister, I would like to help bring things over from the postulancy,’ she murmured. ‘I haven’t yet met Sister Teresa.’
‘You won’t be meeting her until she is fully professed,’ Sister Joan said. ‘She speaks only to the priest, to Mother Dorothy and to Sister Hilaria. She eats her meals alone, sits separate in chapel, takes her exercise when the rest of us are working. It would be quite impossible for you to meet her.’
‘Yes,’ said Magdalen softly. ‘Of course I wouldn’t dream of approaching her, Sister Joan. That would be an infringement of the rule.’
‘You’re not bound by the rule but Sister Teresa is.’
‘Yes, of course.’ Magdalen hesitated, then said in the same low tone, ‘And the alarm you were kind enough to get for me? Do you think I ought to mention that I have one?’
‘Not unless you intend telling Mother Dorothy exactly why you felt you needed it in the first place,’ Sister Joan said coldly.
‘Better not. Thank you, Sister.’
Magdalen took a stack of plates and drifted out with them. Staring after her, Sister Joan bit her lip. There was never anything to complain of in Magdalen’s conduct. She did more in the way of chores than a visitor would be expected to do. Not once had she laughed loudly or raised her voice or broken the silence when silence was the custom. Her coppery hair was tucked away, her grey dress almost identical to the habits of those about her, and her face innocent of make-up. At the rate she was going she’d be a Living Rule before she was halfway through her postulancy.
Sister Joan picked up another pile of plates and went down to the kitchen, deciding that she’d take Lilith out for a gallop the next morning and work off some of her own ill-humour.
Nobody had gone to recreation. Bunk beds were being carried in and blankets sorted. Sister Hilaria walked across the yard, the heavily veiled Sister Teresa at her side.
‘We’ll go up the backstairs and get Sister settled,’ the novice mistress said.
‘Yes, of course, Sister.’ Sister Joan w
as aware of Magdalen’s grey gaze from the corner of the kitchen.
Sister Elizabeth came in, carrying her things, and bobbed her head in timid thanks as Sister Joan opened the door of the empty lay cell for her.
‘Sister, put on the kettle again, will you?’ Sister Perpetua popped her head in at the door. ‘Reverend Mother has ordered an extra cup of cocoa for everybody for us to drink before we go into chapel.’
Sister Joan filled the big kettle and reached up for the cocoa. From the infirmary came a burst of laughter. Sister Gabrielle was in fine form this evening, probably stimulated by Sister Marie’s presence. The feeling that they were all together under one roof was a good feeling. She felt suddenly more cheerful and managed to give Magdalen a genuinely sincere smile as they started to take round the trays of brimming mugs.
It had been a long day or, at least, it seemed to have lasted several hours beyond the usual number. Sister Joan was, for almost the first time in her religious life, glad when prayers were done and she could kneel for the last blessing of the day and then begin her final rounds.
The lights were low, Alice’s basket empty, a pale moon breasting the clouds. Getting wearily into bed she went through the doors she had locked or bolted in her mind. Front door, back door, door leading into the chapel wing, door from the chapel on to the side path – she must open that first thing in the morning. Her lids fluttered down and she slept.
Waking was difficult. She lay for several minutes trying to persuade herself that her watch must be wrong. Unhappily her watch was never wrong. She dragged herself into a sitting position, groped for her stockings and shoes, stood up and reached for her clothes, the chill of early morning striking her bare shoulders as she stepped out of her nightgown. By the time she had brushed her teeth, splashed cold water on her face and fixed her veil securely she was feeling more like her usual self.
Quarter to five in the morning was no rising hour for civilized people, she reflected as she went up the passage into the main hall. The rising bell was kept in the chapel. She put her hand on the bolt of the inner door and was suddenly wide awake. The previous night she had bolted the door. She knew it had been bolted. Now it was unbolted. One of the others must have risen very early to pray in the chapel. She opened the door and went down the passage to pick up the bell, raising her voice as she swung the clapper.
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