A VOW OF COMPASSION an utterly gripping crime mystery

by Black, Veronica

  ‘No, not at all, but our prioress, Mother Dorothy, was her godchild. She asked me to look in on Mrs Cummings during my visit here today so naturally she’ll be very shocked to hear the news. I wondered if you could possibly give me any further details.’

  ‘No more than any of the nurses,’ he said. ‘Sister Williams, one of the student nurses, alerted me just after midnight. The old lady had clearly suffered a heart attack. She had been dead at least two hours. Her case notes showed that she’d been treated by her own GP for some time for possible angina. Yesterday there was a muddle in the hospital computer and as a result her hip replacement was delayed. She’d been very agitated about that and she was also apprehensive. You may tell your prioress that she died almost instantaneously.’

  ‘If she’d died about two hours before then it seems odd that nobody noticed her sooner.’

  ‘Nothing odd about it at all,’ he said with an edge of irritation. ‘The nurses do a quick check every couple of hours or so. At midnight the ward sister who’s on duty does general rounds with one of the student nurses. Ward Sister Sophie Meecham’s on duty this week. Sister Williams — she will attain the dizzy heights of ward sister once she’s qualified — went with her.’

  ‘And Ward Sister Tracy Collet was on that particular ward. She’s on reception this morning.’

  ‘When she should be off duty. We’re short of staff, Sister. Some of the nurses have to do double shifts once a month, but if you’ve your mind tending towards compensation you can forget it. We do our job properly.’

  ‘I wasn’t forgetting that you’re all dedicated people,’ Sister Joan said.

  ‘And efficient.’ He looked at her crossly. ‘We don’t put patients at risk, Sister. Sister Collet had no reason to check on her patients more than once in every two or three hours. What’s the point in disturbing them if the patients are sleeping peacefully?’

  ‘You wouldn’t know about the funeral arrangements?’

  ‘Not my department. If you phone later on and ask for the almoner then you’ll receive the requisite information.’

  ‘Thank you, Dr Geeson.’

  She shook hands again and retraced her footsteps down the corridor with the vague feeling that she ought to ask Tracy Collet a couple more questions. That odd remark about having been too peaceful a death for example. It had probably meant nothing in particular, Sister Joan thought, glancing at the fob watch pinned to her bodice and remembering that she still had Sister Marie and the groceries to collect.

  ‘It’s an impacted wisdom tooth,’ Sister Marie informed her, emerging from the dentist’s as Sister Joan arrived. ‘He’s given me painkillers but he thinks I ought to go into hospital to have it out because there’s a nasty infection there.’

  ‘Has he made the arrangements?’ Sister Joan enquired.

  ‘He’ll phone when he’s got a firm date. Did you have a nice visit?’

  ‘I got through it,’ Sister Joan said. ‘We’d better get the groceries, Sister, and then head home. We’ll only just make lunch.’

  Not that missing lunch would be a great sacrifice! Soup and a salad sandwich followed by a piece of fruit was the unvarying menu.

  Mother Dorothy was in her parlour when they reached the convent. Sister Joan left Sister Marie to carry in the shopping and hurried through to the antechamber beyond which double doors led into what had once been a large and elegant drawing-room.

  It still retained traces of that elegance in the silk panels set at intervals into the pine-clad walls, the finely moulded ceiling with gilded cornices, the long white velour curtains at the French windows, but the polished floor was bare of carpet, the Adam chimneypiece surrounded a bare grate; a row of steel filing cabinets stood against one wall; a handsome flat-topped desk and chair and a row of stools had replaced the sofas of an earlier age.

  ‘Dominus vobiscum.’ Mother Dorothy answered Sister Joan’s tap-tap on the door with the customary salutation used when the Prioress was in her own domain.

  ‘Et cum spiritu tuo.’ Sister Joan knelt briefly, then rose, hands clasped at waist level within her wide sleeves according to custom.

  ‘You completed your hospital visit?’ Mother Dorothy settled her spectacles more firmly on her nose.

  ‘Yes, Mother Prioress. I took Sister Marie with me because her toothache has been very painful. She’s been advised to go into hospital to have an impacted wisdom tooth removed.’

  ‘Is that necessary?’

  ‘Apparently there’s an infection. The dentist says he’ll contact the hospital and make the arrangements. There’s usually a waiting list for minor ops so Sister Marie may have to wait a week or two.’

  ‘Anything more?’

  ‘Your godmother, Mrs Louisa Cummings.’ Sister Joan hesitated. ‘I’m very sorry, Mother, but she died of a heart attack late last night before the hip replacement could be carried out. I spoke to a Dr Geeson who has advised that you telephone the almoner later on. She will know about funeral arrangements etc. I’m very sorry, Mother Dorothy.’

  ‘Auntie Lou dead.’ Only the unexpected diminution of the name betrayed feeling. Mother Dorothy crossed herself slowly, murmuring the accepted formula. ‘May her soul and the souls of all the faithful departed rest in peace.’

  ‘Through the mercy of God. Amen.’ Sister Joan crossed herself too. ‘I’m sorry to bring you such news, Mother Dorothy.’

  ‘We hadn’t met for many years, but she was very kind to me when I was a child. Thank you, Sister. I’ll ring the almoner later on today and also Father Malone. I imagine he will be offering the requiem Mass. I shall attend it myself if my duties permit. You’d better go and help Sister Teresa to lay out the lunch. Sister Marie won’t be feeling well. Dominus vobiscum.’

  ‘Et cum spiritu sancto.’

  Glancing back as she left the parlour Sister Joan saw that her superior had risen and moved to the window where she stood gazing out, shoulders tight with unexpressed pain.

  It wasn’t until the following afternoon that the Prioress referred again to the death, waiting until her nuns were ranged on the stools before her desk in readiness for the afternoon talk which occupied the hour between three and four every weekday and usually consisted of the exploration of a spiritual or moral theme. This month they were going to concentrate on the seven deadly sins and the consequences of committing them. Mother Dorothy, however, surveyed the expectant faces before her measuringly before she said, ‘I had intended to begin analysing greed today which is, I am convinced, a natural outcome of our present materialistic society, but something has occurred of which you must be informed. By coincidence the event has some bearing on today’s subject. My godmother, Mrs Louisa Cummings, died very recently at St Keyne’s Hospital from a heart attack. She was seventy-five years old and had, I understand, had heart problems for some time. We had not met for several years but we did maintain an occasional correspondence.’

  ‘May I offer condolences on behalf of the rest of us?’ Sister Perpetua said.

  ‘Thank you, Sister. You’re very kind.’ Mother Dorothy inclined her head and was interrupted by Sister Hilaria, who sat next to her novice, her somewhat prominent grey eyes fixed on the large crucifix behind the desk.

  ‘I often think,’ she said in the lightly accented voice that was so much at variance with her gaunt face and frame, ‘that we ought to offer congratulations when someone dies. They are after all going into a better life.’

  ‘And leaving the rest of us behind,’ Sister Gabrielle said. ‘I, for one, will be highly offended if you all start congratulating one another when I go.’

  ‘Then we should condole with people when children are born,’ Sister Katherine reasoned, ‘since they’ve just come from Heaven into a very troubled world.’

  ‘Sister, the newborn are sparks of divinity intended for Heaven after their lives on earth,’ Sister Mary Concepta objected.

  ‘Seems a bit of a waste of time when you think about it,’ Sister Teresa said thoughtfully. ‘I mean if we’re all d
estined for Heaven then why get born at all?’

  ‘We have to earn our place there,’ Sister Martha said.

  ‘But if the mercy of God is infinite then we’ll all get there anyway,’ a voice murmured.

  ‘Speak for yourself, Mary Concepta!’ Sister Gabrielle said. ‘If that’s true there are certain people in the afterlife with whom I certainly won’t be hobnobbing!’

  Mother Dorothy’s small wooden gavel tapped on its block.

  ‘May we keep to the point, Sisters?’ She paused for an instant to collect her thoughts, then went on, ‘Death is never easy for those who are left behind. My godmother had no family to mourn her. She was childless and had been widowed for several years. I spoke to the almoner and also to Father Malone who will conduct her funeral service tomorrow morning. I have also heard from her solicitor. She has left her property to me. You see now how apt our subject for discussion today is.’

  ‘Was she a millionairess?’ Sister Katherine asked.

  ‘No, Sister, but her husband left her fairly comfortably provided for,’ Mother Dorothy said with a rebuking glance. ‘She owned a small house in Devon, near Plymouth, which is left outright to us, and the sum of fifty thousand pounds. It is a grave responsibility since, of course, it goes to our community.’

  ‘Wow!’ said Sister Teresa and clapped her hand over her mouth.

  ‘After the legal fees,’ Mother Dorothy said with another quelling glance, ‘her estate will total about one hundred thousand pounds. Her house which we can either sell or rent is valued at fifty thousand and we may expect fifty thousand from the rest of her estate. That is a very great deal of money, Sister, and I wouldn’t feel justified in keeping the whole amount solely for our own use. I’m sure you agree with me on that?’

  There were nods, some more enthusiastic than others.

  ‘I will send twenty-five thousand pounds to the Mother House to be distributed among our other convents,’ Mother Dorothy said. ‘As for the remainder we must not be selfish with it.’

  There were more nods.

  ‘I therefore propose to donate two thousand pounds to four charities and two thousand to Father Malone.’

  ‘Father Malone will be over the moon!’ Sister Marie exclaimed. ‘He’ll give most of it away, of course!’

  ‘And that will make his pleasure the greater. I also propose to donate two thousand five hundred pounds each to the children’s home and to St Keyne’s Hospital. The remaining ten thousand will be placed in our bank account against future need. That, I’m sure, meets with everybody’s approval?’

  ‘What about the house?’ Sister Perpetua asked.

  ‘I have asked the solicitor to have it securely locked for the moment. Later in the year someone will be deputed to go over and check the contents and by that time we shall have more idea what to do about the property. Now, shall we begin the afternoon’s discussion. Greed is a most serious sin so let us begin with a prayer to God to protect us from it.’

  Bowing her head with the others, Sister Joan thought with a touch of sadness that no death was entirely without gain to somebody. Yet the money and the house would be useful.

  ‘Sister Joan.’ As they filed out at the end of the talk Mother Dorothy detained her for a moment.

  ‘Yes, Mother?’

  ‘Tomorrow afternoon I shall be going to the funeral of my godmother so you will drive me and accompany me to the service.’

  ‘Yes, Mother Dorothy.’

  It would be a solemn occasion but not one marked by much personal grief, she reflected. The passing of Louisa Cummings had caused no more than a ripple on the surface of the everyday.

  The next day brought sunshine and a stiff breeze. Sister Martha had made a wreath of bronze and white chrysanthemums to be laid on the coffin, and Mother Dorothy appeared at the side of the van with a black mourning band around her arm.

  Driving the Prioress into town wasn’t like driving any of the rest of the community. Even if the occasion hadn’t been a solemn one Mother Dorothy would have been unlikely to bend from her customary dignity, and Sister Joan resigned herself to a largely silent and decorous trip.

  She was surprised to find several people in the church. Sister Jerome, Father Malone’s dour housekeeper, was there, of course. Sister Jerome attended every service. And there was the usual sprinkling of elderly folk who were drawn to other people’s funerals as if they were practising for their own. There were also a couple of nurses from St Keyne’s and Sister Joan glanced at them with interest, thinking that it was good of them to come, and then that one looked familiar.

  Not until they were leaving the church did she remember as the taller of the two stopped with her hand outstretched.

  ‘Isn’t it Sister Joan? We met briefly a couple of years ago. I’m Ward Sister Meecham.’

  ‘You were walking on the moor.’ Sister Joan shook hands. ‘Mother Dorothy, may I introduce Sister Sophie Meecham? She’s a nurse at St Keyne’s.’

  ‘I was the one doing the ward round with Sister Williams here when we found Mrs Cummings,’ Sophie Meecham said. ‘Sister Williams is a student nurse and was naturally distressed at the event. At least we can both assure you that she died peacefully.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Mother Dorothy inclined her head graciously. ‘These occasions are always sad ones. My late godmother would have appreciated your being here.’

  ‘We brought a spray of carnations,’ Sister Williams said shyly.

  She was a fresh-complexioned girl who would be plump later on if she didn’t watch her diet. Her cap was slightly crooked and there was something endearingly puppyish about her. Her companion looked more tense and tired as if her seniority weighed her down.

  ‘We have Mrs Cummings’s possessions at the hospital,’ Sophie was saying. ‘Only what she brought with her when she came from Devon, but we weren’t sure—’

  ‘I am her sole heir,’ Mother Dorothy said. ‘Sister Joan, instead of coming to the graveside perhaps you’d be good enough to drive to the office of the — almoner?’ She glanced at the nurses.

  ‘Yes. The almoner has them ready,’ Sophie Meecham nodded.

  ‘Shall I come back here then, Mother?’ Sister Joan enquired.

  ‘No, Father Malone has kindly invited me to have supper with himself and Father Stephens, and one of them will run me back to the convent later,’ Mother Dorothy said. ‘Collect the things and — perhaps you’d look through them yourself, Sister? I confess that I would find the task somewhat upsetting.’

  ‘I’ll go now then, Mother. If you’re sure there’s nothing else I can do—?’

  ‘Ask Sister Perpetua to take my place at supper. I’ll be back directly after recreation.’

  Dismissed and somewhat relieved that she wouldn’t have to endure the half-hour in the cemetery, Sister Joan stood back, waiting until the coffin with its two floral tributes had been loaded into the hearse and Mother Dorothy, flanked by the two nurses, had stepped into the following car before she turned and went to get into the van again.

  At least she had a sound excuse for going to the hospital again. If Sister Collet was on duty she’d ask her what she’d meant by her odd remark about Mrs Cummings having died too peacefully. The words had stuck in her mind and refused to be dislodged.

  She was in luck. The same nurse was at the reception desk in the main building and looked up with a smile as Sister Joan came in.

  ‘Are you visiting again, Sister?’ she enquired.

  ‘Not really. I’m here to collect Mrs Cummings’s belongings,’ Sister Joan said.

  ‘They’re in the almoner’s office, first right down the corridor. Would you like a cup of tea, Sister?’

  ‘Thank you. Will you be on duty for a while here?’

  ‘Worse luck!’ Sister Collet made a wry face. ‘I’m on double duty this week. Walking the wards most of the night and answering the telephone here alternate mornings and afternoons. I tell you, Sister, anyone who goes in for nursing these days has to be crazy.’

  ‘I some
times feel the same about religious vocations,’ Sister Joan said, heading for the almoner’s office where, after signing an official-looking paper, she was allowed to take possession of a suitcase.

  At the reception desk, Sister Collet was already sipping her tea. A second cup covered by its saucer waited for Sister Joan who balanced herself on the high stool and murmured her appreciation.

  ‘There’s nothing like a nice cup of tea or coffee, especially after a funeral service,’ she said.

  ‘Yes, poor Mrs Cummings!’ Tracy Collet looked suitably grave. ‘Not that I knew her, mind you. She’d only been on the ward a few days and she wasn’t the chatty sort. Rather an imperious old lady if you know what I mean. But not difficult, not really.’

  ‘She was upset that her operation was postponed, I understand.’

  ‘More irritable about it,’ Tracy Collet said. ‘She grumbled about the muddle and said she really had hoped to get the whole business over with but she’d settled down all right by the time supper was brought round. I certainly never expected her to have a heart attack about it later on, but you never can tell with old ladies.’

  ‘And you checked up on her about ten o’clock?’

  ‘Like I told Dr Geeson. I sat at my desk at the top of the ward near the door most of the time. Then every couple of hours I’d walk up and down a couple of times, checking here and there. Mrs Cummings was asleep.’

  ‘And then you went to the toilet you said?’

  ‘I checked the patients at ten and then again at eleven,’ Tracy Collet said. ‘One of them wanted a glass of water. The others were all fast asleep. I didn’t look at anyone closely. Then I went to the toilet just before midnight. When I got back Sophie Meecham and Ceri Williams were there with Dr Geeson.’

  ‘You must’ve been a long time in the loo,’ Sister Joan said mildly.

  ‘Longer than I wanted to be,’ Tracy Collet said, ‘but I’d had a queasy stomach all evening. In fact I was sick a couple of times. Something I ate I daresay.’ She was looking slightly puzzled at the questioning.

  ‘I wondered why you said that Mrs Cummings had died too peacefully,’ Sister Joan said.