A VOW OF POVERTY an utterly gripping crime mystery

by Veronica Black

  ‘Yes, Mother Prioress. There weren’t very many people there so Mr and Mrs Sinclair appreciated your sending me.’

  ‘You’d better get back to the clearing out,’ Mother Dorothy advised. ‘Oh, if you wish you are excused from the discussion group this afternoon. We are going to debate the rights and wrongs of individuality in the religious life — hardly a subject on which you require much enlightenment.’

  ‘No, Mother,’ Sister Joan said, somewhat heartened by the twinkle behind the steel-framed spectacles.

  In the chapel she knelt briefly to pray for the souls of Jane Sinclair and Jeb Jones, and then went up to the library. Sister David was on her way down, pausing to ask anxiously, ‘I hate to trouble you, Sister, but you did mention finding a lock for the cupboard.’

  ‘I hadn’t forgotten, Sister. I’ll see to it as soon as I can.’

  ‘Thank you, Sister.’

  Sister David went down the stairs with her little scuttling step which made her look more like a rabbit than ever.

  The storerooms were dim even on the brightest day. This afternoon they were less gloomy than usual, probably because she’d shifted some of the boxes away from where they obscured the light. The spaces between were wider now and once she had pushed up the sashes of those windows she could reach the air seemed to be marginally fresher.

  She started on the smaller boxes, salvaging a rather nice cream jug which might be late Victorian and a lamp which was possibly Tiffany though its shade was stained and ragged. One tin box held a variety of small, rusted tools and a couple of old curtain rings together with what looked like a sound bolt and padlock. That would please Sister David. She took the tin downstairs and put it in the shed next to the stable. As soon as time permitted she’d clean off the rust and make the books that Sister David prized so greatly a secure home.

  ‘You didn’t have your tea, Sister.’ Sister Perpetua had come into the kitchen.

  ‘I forgot it,’ Sister Joan said.

  ‘Wash your hands and I’ll pour you one now,’ Sister Perpetua said. ‘Yes, I know you’re still clearing out the storerooms but you can’t miss your cup of tea. So drink it down without argument. I’ve got to get Sister Gabrielle and Sister Mary Concepta to the discussion group. Mary Concepta will doze off gently and Gabrielle will hog the conversation, insisting that individuality isn’t approved in any nun under the age of seventy-five! Bless their hearts!’

  She pressed the scalding mug of tea into Sister Joan’s hands and went out.

  But we are all quite distinct and definite individuals here, Sister Joan thought, gulping down the tea and returning to the storerooms. Sister Perpetua would be a force to be reckoned with anywhere, and even Sister Katherine who’s so quiet and never tries to put herself forward, has her own unique brand of sweetness. Yet we wear the same habit, follow the same rule — just like policemen save that some of them wear plain clothes, but they’re all separate personalities too from Constable Petrie who hadn’t yet recovered from his astonishment at finding himself married to the girl of his dreams to Alan Mill. And I’m not up here to let my mind stray! I’m supposed to be looking for something that will sell and keep the wolf from the convent door.

  She disentangled a chain which might be silver from a jumble of toothpicks and nails, set it aside with the Tiffany lamp and the cream jug, pulled some cardboard boxes crammed with the insides of old toilet rolls off the top of a long wooden chest that stood against the wall and sat back on her heels.

  The chest was of good, well-seasoned oak and, as far as she could see without looking at the other side, had repelled woodworm. It was plainly made with oak leaves carved in relief round the sides. Jacobean? Unfortunately it seemed to be locked. She stooped to search for the keyhole but there didn’t seem to be one.

  ‘Now if I was a burglar I’d have a jemmy in my pocket,’ she muttered, leaning her hand against the carved leaves on its side as she straightened up.

  There was a sharp click and the lid sprang open an inch. Not Jacobean then but one of the puzzle pieces of furniture the Victorians had loved. Stepping to it she lifted the lid and smelt the sweet sickly perfume of mildewed cloth.

  ‘Yuk!’ She pulled out a couple of blankets, holding them at arms’ length, and dropped them in a cleared space on the floor.

  Some part of her hoped for brocade and delicate lace, for plushy velvet and embroidered silk from India, brought back by one of the earlier Tarquins. Blankets that were definitely twentieth century and more than a little odorous were a grave disappointment.

  The last blanket tugged free and she pulled off the pink sheet folded beneath it. There were no more blankets in the long chest, only the young girl who lay, her thin frame covered by a shortie nightdress with a pattern of rosebuds on the collar, her eyes closed and her face still swollen so that the marks of strangulation about her young throat were obliterated by more than time.

  Eleven

  ‘This is most distressing.’ Mother Dorothy’s face was drawn tight with dismay and her back was ramrod straight as if she held her emotions in check with difficulty.

  ‘We’ll try to cause you as little inconvenience as possible,’ Detective Sergeant Mill said.

  ‘I wasn’t thinking of our inconvenience.’ There was a faint shade of reproof in her tone. ‘I was thinking of that poor girl in the trunk. Who was she and how did her body get there? Who could possibly have done such a terrible thing?’

  ‘All questions to which we hope to get answers very shortly,’ he said. ‘Mother Prioress, I will be leaving a man up in the storeroom area overnight. The forensic team will be here first thing in the morning. There’s no way they can reach the upper storey without going through the church?’

  ‘I’m afraid not. We finish our morning devotions and Mass by eight o’clock. After that your men must do whatever is necessary. They will, I’m sure, respect the fact that they will be coming and going on consecrated ground?’

  ‘Anyone who doesn’t will soon be reminded,’ he said grimly.

  ‘And what remains in the storerooms?’

  ‘Will be sifted with a fine-tooth comb. Anything that isn’t relevant to the investigation will be returned to you. Would you like us to sort out the rubbish from what may be of value? It would save Sister Joan a lengthy task.’

  He sent her a smiling glance which Mother Dorothy intercepted with a sharp, ‘Sister Joan is hardly overburdened with activities, Detective Sergeant Mill. However your offer was kindly meant and is gratefully accepted.’

  ‘If you can let me know exactly when you’re all in chapel we’ll try to work round it as far as possible,’ he said, bringing out his notebook.

  ‘Sister Joan rises at four-thirty to rouse the community at five,’ the prioress said. ‘We are in chapel from five-thirty until eight when we have breakfast and clean our cells. After that we are engaged in our various tasks until four, with an interval of one hour for lunch and exercise. At four we have a cup of tea followed by a debate or talk here in the parlour. At five we return to our tasks until six when we go into chapel again for an hour. Supper is at seven and is followed by recreation until nine-thirty. Then we go into chapel for the final prayers and blessings of the day. Grand silence begins at ten. Naturally the sisters often visit the chapel during the day when they have a few spare moments to renew their spiritual life.’

  ‘It sounds a punishing routine to me,’ Detective Sergeant Mill said frankly, snapping his notebook shut.

  ‘We are all strongly motivated,’ Mother Dorothy said with a gleam of humour.

  ‘Even so!’ He rose from the chair. ‘All that without overtime! You have my sincere admiration, Mother Prioress!’

  ‘We’re so devoted to our boss,’ Sister Joan couldn’t help remarking, ‘that we don’t mind working for nothing!’

  ‘Sister, really!’ Mother Dorothy was smiling. ‘Detective Sergeant Mill, any help we can give you we’ll do so gladly. I have, of course, informed my community of what has transpired and asked them to think
very carefully to see if any of them can shed any light on this affair, but I doubt if they can. That chest, I imagine, has been there for many years.’

  ‘At least twenty and probably more according to preliminary findings,’ he said.

  ‘Then by now surely—?’

  ‘Three stranglings, all connected with the Tarquin family, would be an amazing series of coincidences,’ he said. ‘We must work out what connection if any binds them.’

  ‘Yes, of course. Detective Sergeant, is there any way of keeping the media out of this?’

  ‘I’ll give instructions they’re to be discouraged, but these are fairly extensive grounds and I can’t muster sufficient men to throw a cordon round the place. I can leave a couple of men to patrol — and I’m afraid the chapel area will be off limits to the public until we’ve finished.’

  ‘Thank you. I shall, of course, instruct the sisters not to speak to the media, and to stay as close to the main house and the postulancy as possible at all times. Will you require any further assistance from Sister Joan?’

  ‘It’s more than likely.’

  ‘Very well. If there’s nothing more—?’

  ‘Not this evening. Thank you, Mother Prioress.’

  ‘Sister Joan, show Detective Sergeant Mill out,’ Mother Dorothy said.

  ‘Dominus vobiscum.’ Sister Joan bent her knee and went out ahead of him.

  ‘The Lord be with you,’ he echoed quizzically when they were in the hall. ‘Does that phrase have any meaning for you all but — no, it can’t have? It’s automatic as “How are you?” when we really don’t want to know.’

  ‘The phrase becomes automatic I suppose,’ Sister Joan said thoughtfully, ‘but that doesn’t detract from the value of the phrase. If you own a valuable painting you might take it for granted but that doesn’t detract from the value of the painting . . . that girl — she looked as if it happened recently — apart from the slight swelling.’

  ‘That’s due to adipose tissue, caused by some slight dampness seeping through, from the blankets possibly. We’ll know more after the autopsy, but the doctor reckons that she was probably strangled and put in the chest about twenty-five years ago. We shall find out who she is, of course. The adipose tissue only distorts the features very slightly.’

  ‘A local girl?’

  They stepped through the front door. The ambulance had gone but there were police cars parked down the side of the building. Through the darkness an occasional police torch flared.

  ‘We’ll see.’ Bending to open the car door he said, ‘I shall press now for an exhumation of Grant Tarquin’s body. I think the Sheriff will be more inclined to grant it in view of this latest event, but I must tell you that I’m still pretty certain we’ll find Grant Tarquin’s body exactly where it’s supposed to be. Goodnight, Sister.’

  ‘Goodnight. God bless.’

  She stood back as he got behind the wheel and drove away.

  ‘Supper’s going to be a few minutes late,’ Sister Teresa said, coming out to the front steps. ‘I made a winter salad with some grated cheese and soup to start. Do you think the policemen require something?’

  ‘I’ll ask. Here’s Constable Petrie.’ Sister Joan nodded towards the uniformed figure coming round the side of the building.

  ‘This is a bad business, Sister.’ The young constable who seemed determined to model himself upon all the slightly bovine policemen found in detective novels of the thirties, greeted them gravely.

  ‘Very unpleasant,’ Sister Joan agreed. ‘Are you going to be here all night, Constable?’

  ‘Yes, Sister, begging your pardon. Up in the storerooms just to make sure that nothing’s disturbed. Not that you good ladies would but there are no security locks on those windows and we don’t want anyone nipping in to take away evidence. Not that I think it likely myself. After twenty odd years I doubt there’ll be much to find. Oh, there’ll be a couple of men patrolling the grounds until the morning too.’

  ‘They’ll need to be fed,’ Sister Teresa said.

  ‘I think we have all eaten, thank you kindly, Sister,’ he said. ‘A pot of tea might be very welcome later on though.’

  ‘I’ll make some sandwiches and leave them on the kitchen table for you.’ Sister Teresa whisked indoors.

  ‘Collect them before I lock up,’ Sister Joan said.

  ‘I’ll do that, Sister. Thank you.’ Constable Petrie paused and added, ‘There’s talk all these deaths are connected. I think there might be something in that. Only problem is that the first one seems to have happened a long time ago. Same method, different motive, d’ye think?’

  ‘I don’t know any longer what to think,’ Sister Joan said frankly. ‘Constable, do excuse me but I have to go.’

  ‘You go and do what you have to do, Sister,’ he returned amiably. ‘I’ll ask one of the others to give Alice a bit of a walk round the grounds later if that’s all right. It’ll all help towards her training.’

  ‘Alice’s training,’ Sister Joan said, amused, ‘isn’t coming on very fast, but she’ll enjoy a walk. Thank you, Constable.’

  Supper was different this evening. It simply wasn’t possible not to be affected by violence so close at hand even if it wasn’t recent violence. The atmosphere was sombre and she read badly, her attention straying from Jeanne d’Arc’s visit to the garrison at Vaucouleurs to the unseen but strongly felt presence of the police with their probing torches.

  At recreation Mother Dorothy had a word to say.

  ‘As you all know the body of a young girl has been found up in the storerooms. It seems from a preliminary examination that she died at least twenty years ago when this whole estate was in the possession of the Tarquin family, so it is highly unlikely that any of us will have any relevant information to impart since we were not here at that time. If any sister does feel she can contribute some small piece of information, apart from theories, then she must come down to me in the parlour before chapel and if I regard it as pertinent I’ll inform Detective Sergeant Mill in the morning so that he can follow up with an interview. When we learn the identity of the poor girl I will of course let you know. Meanwhile there is to be no discussion of this affair among yourselves and you will certainly not talk to any outsiders. The media are bound to descend in force, seeking some sensational revelations which they will very likely invent if they can’t find anything. You must therefore keep within doors as much as possible and when you have to go into the grounds wear your veils and keep your eyes firmly on the ground. Sister Joan, your reading tonight lacked a certain liveliness. You described your patron saint’s ride to Vaucouleurs as if she was taking a shopping trip to the local supermarket. We must none of us permit these outside events to supersede our first duties to the community.’

  ‘Does anybody know anything relevant?’ Sister Gabrielle looked round at the semicircle of silent faces when the prioress had gone. ‘No? Right then, let’s get on with enjoying the recreation!’

  Which was all very fine, Sister Joan thought, as she darned a stocking, but when a particular subject has been forbidden it’s amazing how nothing else seems worth talking about!

  It was a relief when the bell signalled the end of the period and they could troop down to the chapel. Here the police had been as good as their word. The tactful Constable Petrie was nowhere in evidence and only a rope across the head of the spiral staircase and the locked outer door showed that anything unusual was happening.

  Sister Joan went back to the kitchen where three neatly wrapped piles of sandwiches and three small flasks of tea were set. Sister Teresa, since her final profession, was becoming a marvellously practical and obliging lay sister. Not to be compared with Sister Margaret, however, who had carried saintliness as easily as a bag of feathers. Sister Joan sighed and smiled as she always did when she thought of Sister Margaret and putting the food and flasks in a carrier bag set off back to the chapel. She had realized that Constable Petrie, having been instructed to guard the storerooms, wasn’t likely to desert
his post.

  He was in the library, seated at the desk and leafing through a book from which he looked up as she unhooked the rope across the stairs and brought in the snack.

  ‘That’s very kind of you, Sister. Oh, sorry, you’re not allowed to speak now, are you?’ He had lowered his voice respectfully. ‘I hope it’s all right to look at a book. It’s got some views of France in it. The wife and I had our honeymoon there, you know. Very nice but I wasn’t too keen on the food. We stayed in Paris and took trips. The Louvre, Napoleon’s Tomb, Versailles, Chartres and I don’t know what else. There’s a lot to see. We went to Reims too, where the statue of Joan of Arc is. Now that would interest you, Sister. Funny, isn’t it, to think they burned her up and threw the ashes into the river, and then later on made her a saint and built statues to her? Rather puts you off turning Catholic!’

  Sister Joan would have liked to argue but speech being forbidden she merely grinned, shook her head, put sandwiches and flask on the desk and went downstairs again.

  A burly policeman whom she didn’t recognize barred her way as she crossed the yard, his tone avuncular as he relieved her of the carrier bag.

  ‘This is very kind of you, Sister. I’ll see my colleague gets his share. I’ll take the dog with me if that’s all right with you. Always a good idea to have a dog. Will she come?’

  Alice, who had smelt the fish in the sandwiches, had already joined them, sitting on her haunches and putting her head on one side with great charm.

  ‘Now you get back inside, Sister, and lock up tight,’ he was continuing. ‘You can all sleep safe in your beds tonight.’

  Sister Joan smiled and went back into the kitchen, wishing that it had been possible to tell the policeman that they all slept soundly most nights without any physical protection save a few locks and bolts which, Detective Sergeant Mill had once observed, could be dealt with by any junior Bill Sykes with an average IQ.

  Everything was silent and serene. She checked locks, bolted the door leading from the chapel to the main house, then unbolted it with the reflection that Constable Petrie might appreciate some freedom of movement if anything untoward occurred and certainly wasn’t likely to invade the sleeping quarters, and went up to her own cell.