‘Christ is risen!’
From the infirmary came an answering chorus of sleepy voices. Sister Joan wondered if Sister Marie had slept well. Her ankle had received a nasty wrench and the palms of her hands had been lacerated.
‘Christ is risen!’
No sound from the lay cell where Sister Elizabeth slept. Sister Joan bit her lip. A postulant who ignored the rising bell was in for a good hard penance. She tapped gently on the door, rapped harder, opened the door a crack, and saw in the shaft of early light coming through a gap in the curtains the staring open eyes and bloodstained face of the postulant. She had been dead for hours, the blood caked and congealed, her eyes dull, staring at nothing.
Seven
Sister Joan stood rigidly, looking down. This wasn’t the first violent death she had seen but that didn’t make it the less horrible. Automatically the rules of commonsense came into operation, blanketing the shock. Nothing must be touched or moved. Sister Elizabeth was dead. Sister Joan broke her own rules and touched the inside of the dead girl’s wrist. The skin felt cold and damp. Her open eyes held no expression at all. Sister Joan would have liked to close them, to cross the stiffening arms on the motionless breast, but she turned away, went into the kitchen again, closed the door of the lay cell softly behind her.
Mother Dorothy was already awake when she tapped on the door of her cell. Her nightcapped head was raised from the pillow, one hand reaching for her spectacles, her voice low as she said, ‘Something has happened, Sister Joan?’
‘Sister Elizabeth is dead, Mother.’ Sister Joan spoke bluntly, aware that the prioress was one of the few completely controlled people with whom one could be blunt. ‘She didn’t respond to the morning salutation so I looked in on her. Someone bludgeoned her across the forehead as she slept, I think.’
There was a slight intake of breath. Mother Dorothy glanced across to the other bed where Sister Hilaria still slept.
‘Rouse the rest of the community for chapel,’ she instructed quietly. ‘I will telephone the police and inform Father Malone what has happened as soon as he gets here. I will break the news after mass. The police will be here by then and will wish to make the usual enquiries. You are sure Sister Elizabeth is beyond help?’
‘I’m certain, Mother Dorothy.’
‘Very well, Sister. Continue with the salutations.’
‘Christ is risen!’ Sister Joan backed out of the door, whirring her rattle again.
From within Mother Dorothy’s voice answered, ‘Thanks be to God!’
‘Thanks be to God!’ Sister Hilaria had woken and was dipping to her knees.
There was comfort in following the usual routine. Sister Joan went on down the corridor, making her announcement, hearing the responses in varying stages of alertness. Sister Elizabeth’s absence from chapel might be noted but nobody would comment on the fact yet. This early hour was for contemplation and worship.
She had reached the foot of the staircase when Mother Dorothy went past her, heading for the parlour. She would be telephoning the police. Sister Joan went on into the kitchen and stood uncertainly there, looking at the closed door of the lay cell. She was tempted to look in again, to see if anything out of place there had escaped her first horrified glance, but that would be for the police to decide.
‘Sister Joan!’ Mother Dorothy came in, her voice having regained its usual sharpness.
‘Yes, Reverend Mother?’
‘Did you unlock the door leading into the chapel wing?’
‘It was open when I came into the hall this morning,’ Sister Joan said.
‘Thank you, Sister. I’ve rung the police and also Father Malone. He will come at once to offer mass so that the police can get on with their enquiries as quickly as possible. Go into chapel now.’
Sister Joan went across to the chapel, genuflecting, slipping into her place as if this were still an ordinary morning. The rest of the community was filing in.
When Father Malone came from the sacristy there was a faint stir of surprise. Mass was not due to begin for nearly an hour. One or two glanced surreptitiously at the fob watches pinned to their bodices.
Father Malone looked pinched and cold. The news would have been a terrible shock, Sister Joan thought with a pang of sympathy. The priest took a fatherly interest in all the nuns but had a particular tenderness for the postulants. Further along the row Sister Hilaria knelt upright, her face calm. For the novice mistress death held no particular fear. She had achieved a quality of detachment that made the murder of one of her charges a sad but curiously remote event.
Mass began. Sister Joan concentrated with difficulty on the service, aware that she had begun to feel shaky and chilled, the usual symptoms of delayed shock. From beyond the walls she heard a car arriving, glimpsed Mother Dorothy as she rose neatly from her seat and made an unobtrusive exit.
The last blessing was given, the angel of the Presence permitted to depart. Mother Dorothy had returned, walking swiftly up the aisle and turning to face the community.
‘I am sorry to have to tell you that a sad and shocking event has necessitated my calling in the police,’ she said. ‘Will you please return to your cells for the moment and stay there until you are called? Breakfast will be at the usual time.’
She went out, followed by Sister Hilaria. Father Malone had gone into the sacristy. Sister Joan joined the rest as they filed out. She wished that she could have looked closely at each member of the community and reached some conclusion from their faces but the rule demanded that she pace sedately, keeping her eyes lowered.
In the kitchen Sister Perpetua had begun making tea. She turned as Sister Joan came in, her expression one of extreme distaste, her usual reaction to bad news.
‘There are two policemen in the lay cell. Did you know about this?’ she asked, not troubling to lower her voice.
‘I found her,’ Sister Joan said.
‘It’s a bad business,’ the infirmarian said. ‘On the verge of her novitiate too! What harm did Sister Elizabeth ever do to anyone? You’d better have a drop of brandy in your tea, Sister. You’re white as a sheet. One might’ve thought we’d all be safe enough in the main house! Evil gets everywhere, it seems.’
The brandy was a liberal measure. Sister Joan choked slightly as she drank the steaming liquid but the shakiness was abating. By the time the door of the lay cell opened and Detective Sergeant Mill emerged, followed by a subdued looking Constable Petrie, she felt calmer.
‘Good morning, Sister Joan.’ Detective Sergeant Mill greeted her soberly. ‘Petrie, you’d better wait here until the surgeon and the photographer arrive. If you smile nicely at Sister Perpetua she might give you a cup of tea. Sister Joan, you found the girl?’
Sister Joan nodded.
‘Then I’d better talk to you first. Mother Dorothy has put her parlour at my disposal. Bring your tea with you if you like.’
‘I’ve finished it.’ Sister Joan put down the cup and preceded him out of the room into the short corridor that brought them to the main hall.
Mother Dorothy was seated at her flat-topped desk, her head slightly bent over a typed sheet of paper. As they entered she looked up.
‘I have Sister Elizabeth’s details here,’ she said, her tone firm and businesslike. ‘She has no close relatives, I’m afraid. Her original home was in the Midlands. She is – was twenty-four years old.’
‘Young to have no close family.’ Detective Sergeant Mill took the typescript from her and frowned at it.
‘Her parents died when she was a child and she was reared by a grandmother who died just before Sister Elizabeth entered the postulancy. She has been with us for nearly three years and was an exemplary postulant as Sister Hilaria will testify. She can’t have had an enemy in the world.’
‘She had one,’ he said soberly. ‘Sister Joan, you found her?’
‘As acting lay sister it’s my task to rouse the rest of the community first thing in the morning,’ Sister Joan said. ‘When Sister Elizabeth
didn’t reply to the salutation I went into the cell and found her.’
‘You didn’t move anything or touch anything?’
‘I felt her wrist. There was no pulse and the skin was chilly.’
‘What was a postulant doing over in the main house?’ he enquired.
‘After the attack on Sister Marie I deemed it wise to have the entire community sleeping under one roof,’ Mother Dorothy said.
‘Sleeping exactly where?’
‘Sister Hilaria shared my cell which is the largest one; Sister Teresa who is on the verge of making her final profession and has been staying in the postulancy took her old cell, and Sister Marie slept in the infirmary. Magdalen Cole, the young woman now visiting us, offered to sleep in the infirmary so that Sister Elizabeth could occupy the lay cell.’
Mother Dorothy had stopped suddenly, frowning.
‘Are there any lights left burning in the cells at night?’ Detective Sergeant Mill asked.
‘Every sister has a candle to be lit in the event of an emergency,’ the prioress said. ‘There are dim lights left burning on the staircase and in the upper and lower corridors, and of course we have the perpetual lamp in the chapel.’
‘So whoever entered the lay cell would have had only the dim glow of the light in the passage,’ Detective Sergeant Mill said.
‘You’re suggesting that Sister Elizabeth may have been killed in mistake for someone else?’
‘I’m not suggesting anything, Reverend Mother,’ he said promptly. ‘Right now I’m merely considering all the options.’
‘Sister Marie lent Magdalen Cole her bonnet yesterday,’ Sister Joan volunteered.
‘When was this?’ Mother Dorothy asked.
‘Before Sister Marie went out into the grounds to pick mint. She had Magdalen’s white scarf over her head when the attack took place.’
‘And Magdalen Cole would have been sleeping in the lay cell if the sleeping arrangements hadn’t been altered?’
Mother Dorothy nodded. Her face was troubled.
‘We’d better have Miss Cole in then,’ Detective Sergeant Mill said. ‘Is it all right with you if Sister Joan stays?’
‘If you think it might help.’ Mother Dorothy sounded doubtful.
‘The door leading into the chapel wing was open when I got up this morning,’ Sister Joan interposed. ‘It’s always locked after the grand silence.’
‘Ever since you warned us that we ought to take more efficient security precautions,’ Mother Dorothy reminded him. ‘The door can be unlocked from this side, of course.’
‘Neither of you unlocked it last night?’ He glanced from one to the other.
‘I didn’t,’ Mother Dorothy said, ‘and I’m sure Sister Joan didn’t. She reported it to me this morning.’
‘Right then, we’ll have a few words with Magdalen Cole. What can you tell me about her, Reverend Mother?’
‘Not a great deal.’ Mother Dorothy folded her hands together judicially. ‘She is from London though she has no trace of an accent. Rather a quiet, reserved young woman, very devoted to the ideals of the religious life. Her priest sent a reference with her letter of application, but she comes from a large, inner-city parish so I have no idea how well he really knows her. Sister, bring Magdalen here, will you?’
It wasn’t an errand she particularly relished but she went obediently, tapping on the infirmary door before putting her head round it.
The four occupants were talking, or rather Sister Gabrielle was talking while the others listened.
‘—and someone has to tell us sometime exactly what – ah, Sister! Is it true that Sister Elizabeth’s been murdered?’
‘Oh, it can’t be!’ Sister Marie raised brimming eyes.
‘I’m afraid she has,’ Sister Joan said, knowing that prevarication never got one anywhere with Sister Gabrielle. ‘Madgalen, the detective would like a word with you.’
‘With me?’ Magdalen had risen, her already pale face whitening. ‘I don’t know one single thing about any of this!’
‘He’ll want to talk to everybody,’ Sister Joan said. ‘He has to start somewhere.’
‘Ought we not to be saying the prayers for the dead?’ Sister Mary Concepta said in her gentle old voice.
The two old ladies had taken the news more calmly than the younger ones. No doubt the horror of death, even of a sudden death, lost its power when one grew older.
‘Father Malone will be making the arrangements for that,’ Sister Joan said.
‘I can’t tell him anything useful,’ Magdalen continued to protest as they went down the corridor and across the hall.
‘Come in, Magdalen.’ Mother Dorothy spoke with brisk kindliness. ‘I’m afraid we have some very distressing news.’
‘About Sister Elizabeth? Yes, I know.’ Magdalen squeezed her hands together and looked round wildly as if she felt trapped.
‘I suspect Sister Gabrielle put two and two together,’ Sister Joan said.
‘Yes, of course. Sit down, Magdalen. The detective sergeant wants to ask you a few questions. Sit down, Sister.’
‘I don’t know anything,’ Magdalen repeated, sinking onto a stool next to Sister Joan.
‘These are just preliminary enquiries, Miss Cole.’ Detective Sergeant Mill had adopted his reassuring manner. ‘As Sister Gabrielle has surmised Sister Elizabeth has been killed.’
‘Killed!’ Magdalen’s voice was a whisper. ‘She didn’t just die then?’
‘Unfortunately, no. Miss Cole, did you know Sister Elizabeth before you came here?’
Magdalen shook her head. She had swathed her pale hair in the inevitable white scarf.
‘But you’ve talked to her?’
‘Only briefly.’ Magdalen sat up a little straighter, clearly trying to compose herself. ‘We – Berndadette and I – she’s the other guest here – went over to meet the two postulants yesterday and – but you know about Sister Marie being attacked. Sister Elizabeth was very quiet and scarcely said anything at all.’
‘Sister Marie lent you her bonnet?’
‘Only to try on for a little while,’ Magdalen said anxiously. ‘I hope to enter the Order here so naturally I want to know how it feels to be a postulant.’
‘It takes rather more than the wearing of a bonnet,’ Mother Dorothy said dryly.
‘And you lent Sister Marie your scarf?’ Detective Sergeant Mill sounded patient and plodding.
‘Only while she went out to pick mint for some tea.’
‘And was attacked,’ he said.
‘But not badly hurt, thank God!’ Magdalen said. A trace of colour dyed her cheeks.
‘And you offered to sleep in the infirmary so that Sister Elizabeth could sleep in the lay cell?’
‘I’m only a lay visitor,’ Magdalen said. ‘I was very comfortable on the put-u-up in the corner.’
‘But until last night you’d been sleeping in the lay cell?’
‘It’s next to the kitchen so I can lend a hand with the breakfasts,’ Magdalen said earnestly. ‘I want to enter into the life of the community – oh!’ She broke off abruptly, her lower lip trembling.
‘Miss Cole, can you think of anybody who’d wish you harm?’ he asked bluntly.
The grey eyes were wide and troubled.
‘I can’t think of anybody who’d want to murder me,’ Magdalen said.
‘Did you see or hear anything unusual during the night?’
After thinking for a moment she shook her head, her eyes dropping.
‘That seems to be it for the moment.’ Detective Sergeant Mill nodded pleasantly.
‘If there’s anything at all I can do—?’ Magdalen’s voice was a soft murmur.
‘Would you ask Bernadette to come to the parlour?’ Mother Dorothy said. ‘She is our other lay visitor, Detective Sergeant Mill, so you may wish to have a few words with her next?’
‘That’s an excellent idea, Reverend Mother,’ he said promptly.
Magdalen glided out. The detective was looking over some n
otes he had jotted down. A tap on the door brought Bernadette, her long braid swinging, a slightly crumpled brown skirt and sweater on.
‘I went back to change,’ she said slightly breathlessly. ‘I haven’t anything black with me but I thought one should wear something a bit mournful. Is it true? Has Sister Elizabeth really been killed?’
‘I’m afraid so, Miss—?’ Detetive Sergeant Mill looked a polite enquiry.
‘Fawkes. Bernadette Fawkes. I haven’t,’ said Bernadette with a show of spirit, ‘had a change of name since yesterday!’
‘No, of course not. Unfortunately one has to follow the usual procedure,’ he said apologetically. ‘You were in the postulancy yesterday when Miss Cole borrowed Sister Marie’s bonnet?’
‘Yes, just before Sister Marie went out to pick some mint. I don’t see what that has to do with Sister Elizabeth though.’
‘And you were with Sister Elizabeth and Miss Cole when Sister Marie came back into the postulancy?’
‘With her hands scratched where she fell on the gravel and limping because she’d twisted her ankle. Yes. She said someone had grabbed her from behind. I said all that.’
‘Just checking, Miss Fawkes. Now! You were sleeping in one of the upstairs rooms – sorry, cells last night?’
‘In my old cell,’ Sister Joan volunteered. ‘Now that I’m acting lay sister I sleep in the cell off the kitchen. Sister Elizabeth took the other lay cell next to it.’
‘Did you hear anything unusual during the night?’ Detetive Sergeant Mill asked. Bernadette shook her head.
‘Not a thing,’ she answered after a moment. ‘I always sleep like a log anyway.’
‘You come from Yorkshire?’
‘From Leeds, yes. Mother Dorothy has my address.’
‘You didn’t meet Magdalen Cole until you arrived here?’
‘Sister Joan met us both at the station. We’d travelled on the same train from London without realizing that we were coming to the same place.’
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