‘Judge not that ye be not judged’ had been one of the maxims that had been drilled into her by her first novice mistress. There is never any good reason for murder, her own mind argued.
She had reached the steps leading to the tennis courts and she risked turning the torch on full and sweeping it in a wide arc over the hanging nets, the grass-grown courts. It was silent and deserted, mist beginning almost imperceptibly to lift, to billow in great curtains before her. The air smelt of damp earth.
She walked steadily down the steps and across the courts. The postulancy was in darkness. She opened the low wicker gate and went to the front door, pushing it and finding it, as she had expected, unlocked.
Inside the narrow lobby-like hall was empty, her own shadow leaping against the whitewashed walls as she swung the beam of light around. She shone the torch up the stairs and called softly,
‘Magdalen? Magdalen, it’s safe to come down now.’
From the top of the stairs a shadow uncurled itself from the deeper shadows. Magdalen came slowly down the stairs, her coat huddled around her. She looked tired and strained, her clear grey eyes dark circled.
‘How did you guess that I was here?’ she asked.
‘I didn’t think you’d leave the enclosure and it occurred to me that you might have taken the spare key to the postulancy when you were with Bernadette. This would be a safe place to hide.’
‘I had to hide somewhere,’ Magdalen said. ‘We went out to look for you, Sister. I really didn’t want to go but when Bernadette volunteered then I didn’t like to refuse. It was scary out there with the mist so thick and even our footsteps muffled. I let go of Bernadette’s arm and switched off the torch and melted away. It took her a minute before she realized she was by herself, but I heard her voice calling and one of the other sisters answering so I knew she’d be all right.’
‘And you made your way to the postulancy?’
‘I hid in the shrubbery for a bit but I didn’t feel safe there, and then I remembered that I had the key so I came here and let myself in.’
‘And left the door unlocked?’ Sister Joan said mildly.
‘I must’ve forgotten it,’ Magdalen said. ‘Sister, there’s a murderer about and yet you sound so calm! Doesn’t anyone care?’
‘Why did you leave the door unlocked? Were you waiting for Sylvia Dacre?’ Sister Joan persisted.
‘Who?’
‘Sylvia Dacre had an accident earlier this evening while she was riding her bike over the moor.’
‘Then I don’t have anything to fear any longer!’ Magdalen’s voice vibrated with relief.
‘You were afraid of Sylvia Dacre?’
‘Oh yes.’ Magdalen paused and sat down on the stairs, leaning her chin on her hand. ‘She has been pestering me for ages, you know. A dreadful, twisted kind of devotion. That’s wrong, isn’t it, Sister? Against the law of God!’
‘The Old Testament does seem to be clear on that point,’ Sister Joan said.
‘Wicked, twisted desires,’ Magdalen said. ‘I thought that I’d be safe here, that she wouldn’t find me, but I was wrong. She’s still hunting, Sister. Was it a bad accident she had? Is she going to die?’
‘I don’t think so. She was coming here with a letter for you but for some reason she didn’t deliver it.’
‘A letter? Where is it now?’ Magdalen’s voice had sharpened.
‘I said that I would deliver it. I think it contains a rose.’
Sister Joan took out the thick envelope and handed it over.
‘A rose?’ Magdalen’s fingers tore open the envelope.
‘Why roses?’ Sister Joan asked. ‘There were other roses left, ones that you didn’t find. Why roses?’
‘She owns a small florist’s shop, very exclusive.’ Magdalen took out the flower, held it between the tips of her fingers, and dropped it on to the floor.
‘If she means to harm you why should she try to send you warning?’ Sister Joan asked.
‘How should I know?’ Magdalen shrugged impatiently.
‘When Sister Marie was grabbed near the tennis courts – Sylvia Dacre couldn’t have mistaken her for you surely, even if she was wearing your scarf?’
‘She wanted to attract Sister Marie’s attention, to ask her if I was here.’
‘Then she wasn’t sure?’
‘Probably not, since I tried to cover my tracks,’ Magdalen said. ‘She probably went to the priest and charmed him into telling her where I’d gone. Not his fault. He assumed we were just friends.’
“You were more than friends?’
‘I don’t know what you mean.’ Magdalen’s expression was sulky. ‘She pestered me, that’s all. Why are you asking me all these questions?’
‘Because it doesn’t make sense,’ Sister Joan said. ‘You say this woman was after you, meaning to do you harm because you wouldn’t give in to her advances?’
‘Exactly! She was pestering me. It was exactly like that.’
‘But you just said that your parish priest assumed you were friends. Did Sylvia Dacre have any reason to suppose that you might not mind her affections?’
‘People can get tired of people,’ Magdalen muttered. ‘We’d been together for five years. That’s a long time. I was sick of her, sick of being adored and cossetted and wrapped up in loving care. I wanted to get away and she wouldn’t let me go. She said that she’d always follow me, always be devoted to me – and she’s old! She’s nearly fifty and I wanted to be free of her.’
‘You lived together then?’
‘We weren’t legally bound!’ Magdalen had half-risen, anger in her face. ‘I told her to find a new partner but she kept saying she was devoted to me. Then I decided to enter a convent.’
‘I’m sorry to disappoint you,’ Sister Joan said dryly, ‘but your way of loving is most strongly discouraged in the religious orders.’
‘Everybody has a chink in their armour,’ Magdalen said.
‘Did Sister Elizabeth?’
‘She was so quiet and gentle.’ Magdalen’s eyes clouded briefly. ‘I thought that she had a loving heart. When we were going round the postulancy I lagged behind a little and put my hand over hers, just to test the waters, so to speak. She drew away and gave me such a cold look, a shrinking look. You could tell she had a dirty mind. Certainly she wasn’t fit to be a nun.’
‘She was innocent but not ignorant,’ Sister Joan said.
‘She would have told somebody,’ Magdalen said. ‘I knew she would have felt obliged to tell someone, to make more of it than it was.’
‘So you killed her?’
Her heart was hammering again.
‘It was necessary,’ Magdalen said, with what seemed like genuine regret. ‘I couldn’t have them deny me entry, you see. She didn’t suffer. Honestly, she never even woke up.’
‘And then you opened the inner door leading to the chapel wing hoping that an intruder from outside would be blamed.’
‘I did think of admitting that I’d done that by accident,’ Magdalen said. ‘I did say that I’d been into the chapel. I was afraid that one of the old nuns in the infirmary might have been awake when I left the room, so it would have looked suspicious if I hadn’t said anything at all. And then afterwards it occurred to me that I might get sent away anyway for being so careless so I blamed Bernadette. She isn’t a very suitable candidate either. Did you know she was engaged and broke off her engagement when she came here?’
‘And Sylvia Dacre? What of her?’
‘She was coming through the mist to find me,’ Magdalen said tensely. ‘It was the most dreadful situation, Sister. Knowing she was coming and not being able to do a thing about it. I slipped out just after supper while they were deciding whether or not to go in search of you and I saw her, looming up like a great bat. I was in the driveway and I told her what I’d done. I told her that she’d be blamed for Sister Elizabeth’s death. I told her there were clues. She wheeled the bike around and set off like a – a bat out of hell! That’s rather
a good simile, isn’t it, Sister? A bat out of hell! She was frightened, you see. So frightened that she forgot to deliver the rose. They were always the token of love between us in the old days. She was always stupid and sentimental.’
‘She’s going to testify against you,’ Sister Joan said. She spoke gently, holding herself tensely in the light cast by the torch.
‘No she won’t.’ Magdalen’s voice was soft. ‘She’s devoted to me, Sister. She won’t repeat what I said to her. And you won’t either.’
‘Won’t I?’ Sister Joan asked.
‘This is the grand silence. If you confess you broke the grand silence they might send you away from here. That’s a very strict rule, isn’t it? Anyway, you do like me, don’t you? Don’t you? You’re a pretty woman, Sister. A very pretty woman. Do you never think of that in the night when you lie in your cell? Do you, Sister?’
Magdalen was reaching for her, their two shadows leaning together in the confined space.
The door was behind her. She took a step backwards and wrenched it open, turning to flee, feeling a blow at her shoulder as she fled, hearing the clang as the torch clattered to the floor.
She was running through the jagged curtains of mist, making her way blindly across the tennis courts, hearing Magdalen’s voice too close behind.
‘I won’t need a trowel now, Sister! I’ve got the torch. I’ve got a heavy torch! We can be friends you and I! I don’t have to do this! Come back, Sister dear!’
She had reached the steps and stood for a moment, panting, sweat mingling with the coldness of the mist. Behind her Magdalen ran forward, switching on the torch, its long beam sweeping round in an arc.
Sister Joan ran up the steps and stumbled along the narrow path with its high borders of shrubbery. There was another sound now – the rustling of wet leaves on their evergreen stems, the sound of a voice hissing.
‘Left, turn left.’
At the last moment, as the torch descended, she flung herself sideways and landed in a patch of bramble on her hands and knees. There was scuffling close by, a voice shouting in impotent fury, ‘It wasn’t me! She is not running away from me!’
A stronger light shone on her face. An arm reached down and hauled her to her feet.
‘You can relax, Sister,’ Detective Sergeant Mill said. ‘We have Magdalen Cole in custody.’
‘How did you get here?’ She leaned limply against the trunk of a nearby tree, pulling her cloak about her, shivering.
‘Let’s get you inside first. Come along.’
His hand was beneath her elbow and she went unresistingly, surprised at the shakiness of her legs. Ahead of them a violently protesting Magdalen was being thrust into a police car by two uniformed constables.
There were lights in the kitchen with Mother Dorothy astonishingly brewing tea and Sister Perpetua peering anxiously out of the back door.
‘You need not trouble to tell me that you’ve broken the grand silence,’ Mother Dorothy said, pouring tea and nodding towards a chair. ‘I am of the opinion that this evening constitutes a legitimate emergency. You are not hurt?’
‘No, Reverend Mother. A few scratches, nothing more – but how on earth—’
‘I called in at the station on my way home and saw Constable Petrie who told me about Sylvia Dacre’s accident,’ Detective Sergeant Mill said, accepting a cup of tea with a murmur of thanks. ‘He said you and the reverend mother here had just started back from the hospital and that he’d given you the letter for Magdalen Cole found on Sylvia Dacre. I picked up a couple of lads and drove here after you. I’d made several phone calls this afternoon. Magdalen Cole’s parish priest told me that she and Sylvia Dacre shared a flat over the florist’s shop. He regarded them as good friends but Sylvia Dacre became so upset when she learned that her friend intended to become a nun that her reaction worried him. Anyway when I arrived you had just slipped out, leaving the kitchen door unlocked. Mother Dorothy was still awake and on the verge of setting out to look for you with Sister Perpetua here.’
‘But how—?’ Sister Joan looked at them both.
‘We know you far too well to believe that you’d go tamely to bed when one of us was missing,’ Sister Perpetua said.
‘We requested the sisters to stay here and followed you,’ Detective Sergeant Mill said. ‘Unfortunately we were a good distance behind. By the time we reached the shrubbery you were fleeing for your life across the tennis court. We’d no option but to lie low and grab her as she reached the top of the steps.’
‘Then you didn’t know that she had killed Sister Elizabeth?’
‘Not really. I mean that at that stage we had no proof. It was only a hunch on my part. Wherever we turned in the case Magdalen Cole kept popping up, as the really intended victim according to the sequence of events, but when the intended victim keeps escaping then it’s time to turn things around, look at them in another way.’
‘Meaning that nobody wanted to hurt Magdalen at all?’ Sister Joan said, gulping tea.
‘If you’re trying to sneak up on someone and kill them then you don’t drop roses around the district to hint at your presence,’ he said. ‘And her asking you to get her a rape alarm – if she was truly frightened then surely she’d have bought one before she came.’
‘Did you know that Magdalen – I suppose she is the person responsible?’ Mother Dorothy glanced at the detective.
‘Seems clear enough from what she was yelling,’ he said, distaste in his face. ‘She was sick of her partner, Sylvia Dacre, and thought she might find a younger friend within the convent.’
‘Detective Sergeant Mill, we don’t go in for that kind of thing here!’ Sister Perpetua said, outraged.
‘She made a tentative advance to Sister Elizabeth,’ Sister Joan said. ‘When Sister Elizabeth drew away, looking horrified, she was afraid that she might say something about the incident so she killed her, left the inner door open, and hoped that if we did link her with Sylvia Dacre then we’d assume that Sylvia Dacre had sneaked in to attack her and mistaken Sister Elizabeth for Magdalen since they’d just changed cells.’
‘That wouldn’t have held water,’ Detective Sergeant Mill said. ‘Since Sylvia Dacre didn’t know who was sleeping where why should she have made straight for the cell where Sister Elizabeth was?’
‘She still might have had some explaining to do.’ He set down the cup and rose from the chair where he had been sitting. ‘We’ll be talking to Miss Dacre in the morning when she’s fully conscious, but I reckon that she followed Magdalen here hoping to persuade her to go back with her. Hence the roses, her attempt to speak to Sister Marie – yes, I’m fairly certain that she was the intruder in the grounds. Again not a case of mistaken identity at all, but it suited Magdalen Cole to pretend to believe that it was. She could have had Sylvia Dacre picked up for harassment, attempted abduction, whatever.’
‘And in the end she could have accused her of murder,’ Sister Joan said.
‘Let us hope that she wouldn’t have allowed it to go so far,’ Mother Dorothy said.
‘I’d better get down to the station and contact the hospital again,’ Detective Sergeant Mill said. ‘My apologies for disturbing the grand silence. Goodnight.’
‘I’ll see you to the door.’ Mother Dorothy went with him into the corridor.
‘I knew there was something peculiar about her,’ Sister Perpetua said. ‘Couldn’t put my finger exactly on what it was. Well, I suppose the only good thing to be said is that she’d left her partner.’
‘Hoping to find someone younger among the community,’ Sister Joan said bleakly.
‘And poor Sister Elizabeth was the one chosen.’ Sister Perpetua shook her head. ‘Love has some twisted paths leading to the heart of it! Sister, go to bed now. At least we can keep silence from now until morning. Come morning I’ve no doubt that Mother Dorothy will be wanting a few words with you.’
‘I know she will,’ Sister Joan said gloomily, and went tiredly into the lay cell, closing the door softly,
moving to shutter the window.
Outside the mist was blowing spirals round the corners of the stable. As it lifted from the ground like billows of dense white lawn the gleaming wet cobbles were revealed, shining faintly under the emerging moon.
She leaned her forehead briefly against the smudged pane and sighed. Love had indeed many twisted paths. Somewhere at the place where they all met was the truth of it but it was hidden like the cobbles beneath the mist. Suddenly she wanted to cry.
Sister Teresa had made a beautiful bride. Her velvet dress with its heart-shaped cap from which a short veil floated, the delicate sheaf of flowers, had given her height and dignity. Her short brown curls had clustered around her face and her smile had been joyful. Spring with all its promise of eternal life was surely the best time to make one’s final profession, Sister Joan mused, rising as Sister Teresa, now lay sister in the Order of the Daughters of Compassion, re-entered the chapel in the grey habit and short white veil she would wear from now on. The velvet dress would be given to a bride as a gift from the convent but Sister Teresa would have her photographs to remind her. Those and the well-wishers who had come to see her make her final vows.
The ceremony was ending. Sandwiches, wine and coffee had been set out in the dining-room for everybody who cared to partake of them. As Brother Cuthbert’s lute caressed the air the procession formed, Sister Teresa blushing and beaming in her new habit as she came down the short aisle to receive congratulations.
‘Bernadette!’ Coming out into the main hall, Sister Joan spotted the swinging plait and merry dark eyes. ‘How kind of you to come!’
‘Didn’t Mother Dorothy tell you?’ Bernadette shook hands warmly. ‘I’ve been accepted for the novitiate. I start next month.’
‘That’s marvellous!’ Sister Joan’s smile widened with pleasure. ‘I’m really pleased you’re joining us though it’ll be a couple of years before we can chat together freely again.’
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