‘It’s a very neat piece of workmanship.’ He screwed in his eyeglass firmly and peered at it. ‘Rather an old-fashioned setting. Stones not very high quality — the chips at each side of the solitaire are diamante. The gold isn’t of such great value either, rather worn. But it’s a pretty piece.’
‘How much would it be worth?’
‘About four hundred pounds? For insurance purposes I’d plump for three hundred.’
Behind her an amused voice said, ‘Going in for a bit of jewel-fencing now, Sister?’
‘Good afternoon, Detective Sergeant Mill.’ Sister Joan turned to greet the tall police officer who’d just come in. ‘No, I’ve not yet been driven to crime. How are you?’
‘Fine.’ His dark eyes under the winged black brows assessed her. ‘You’re looking well yourself. This hot summer doesn’t seem to have drained your energy.’
‘It has been lovely, hasn’t it?’ Her own blue eyes sparkled. ‘We really have enjoyed it. We did most of our work out of doors to take advantage of the sunshine. Your boys will have enjoyed their holidays too, I daresay.’
‘They went off camping with friends for most of the time. A couple of parents went along too to keep an eye on them, so that was reassuring.’
She had never seen his two schoolboy sons nor enquired their names. They were away at boarding-school anyway. Neither had she ever met his wife though she knew that the marriage had been through some sticky patches.
He spoke of her now, abruptly and factually.
‘Samantha and I went to visit her parents for a couple of weeks.’
Samantha, not Sam or Sammy. She hadn’t heard his wife’s name before. On the occasions that she and Alan Mill had collaborated on some mystery his private affairs had scarcely been mentioned.
‘I’m sure you could both do with the break,’ she said. ‘Mr Trevellyan, can you write down the valuation for me? For insurance purposes?’
‘Right away, Sister. And I’ll waive my charge.’ Drawing a piece of paper towards him he began to write on it neatly.
‘Mother Dorothy’s godmother died recently,’ Sister told Detective Sergeant Mill, ‘and willed her estate to her. Mother felt that the nurse who cared for Mrs Cummings should have a memento.’
‘The lady who died at St Keyne’s recently?’
‘Yes. Did you know her?’
‘Not at all, but Constable Petrie makes it his business to keep a list of local deaths. He’s secretly hoping for another murder investigation, I think.’ The detective chuckled. ‘He keeps wistfully harking back to past cases. You may not realize it, Sister, but he’s your second biggest fan.’
His sudden teasing smile informed her who was the first. Hastily Sister Joan turned back to the counter and received the ring and the valuation.
‘No problems, I hope?’ Mr Trevellyan looked warily at his second customer.
‘None as far as I know. I’m here to buy something for my wife,’ Detective Sergeant Mill said. ‘Something suitable for an anniversary.’
‘Congratulations,’ Sister Joan said, preparing to leave.
‘Sixteen years.’ His face bore no particular expression. ‘She wears suits quite often so a brooch might be appropriate.’
‘The sixteenth is silver hollowware,’ Sister Joan said. ‘A silver-plated vase or something like that.’
‘Fancy your knowing that!’ He stared at her for a moment.
‘We have anniversaries in the order too. Of our final professions.’
‘And your next one will be—?’
‘The sixth. I made my final profession just before Christmas.’
She remembered the fall of embroidered white silk against her legs as she moved up the aisle, her own quick sideways glance towards the grille behind which her family stood. Jacob hadn’t been there and she’d felt a mixture of the most intense relief and the most crushing disappointment.
‘And what’s the appropriate gift for the sixth?’ he enquired.
‘Iron.’
‘Steel under velvet would be more appropriate,’ he said. ‘So it’s silver hollowware? Show me a couple of vases or something, will you?’
‘I must go. Nice seeing you again, Detective Sergeant Mill. God bless, Mr Trevellyan.’
As she left the shop she heard him say carelessly, ‘That one will do. Looks rather elegant, don’t you think?’
Sister Joan shook her head mentally at the casual tone and went back to the van where she found Constable Petrie regarding the vehicle gloomily.
‘If you’d been one minute longer I’d’ve had to book you, Sister,’ he said. ‘On a double yellow line you are!’
‘Surely not! Constable, I’m sorry but there isn’t usually a double yellow line there, is there?’ Sister Joan said in dismay.
‘There’s always a double yellow line where you park, Sister,’ Constable Petrie said, grinning at his own wit. ‘If you drive off now then I won’t have seen you, will I?’
‘Thank you, Constable Petrie!’ Climbing behind the driving seat she asked, ‘Are all well at home?’
‘Right as rain, thank you, Sister. The wife’s expecting again. Number three this one will be.’
‘You must be very pleased,’ Sister Joan said.
‘Well, to tell you truly we’re both tickled pink, Sister!’ He beamed at her. ‘My Sally is a wonderful mother, you know. Absolutely first class. Yes, we’re both pleased!’
And ‘my Sally’ would get a gift on her anniversary chosen with loving care, Sister Joan thought with a tinge of sadness, driving away from the offending double yellow lines and heading out past the railway station and the bingo hall towards the hospital.
Nurse Ceri Williams raised her face from the list she was studying and greeted her with a smile that was still more enthusiastic than professional.
‘Yes, Sister, may I help you?’
‘You were with Sister Meecham when Mrs Louisa Cummings was found?’ Sister Joan stopped, seeing the distress that flashed into the young face.
‘I was due to make the rounds of the wards at midnight,’ the girl said, ‘so I went up to the office and told her it was time to start.’
‘Sister Meecham has her own office?’ Sister Joan said, surprised.
‘No, there’s an office on the third floor of this main building,’ the other explained. ‘The hospital computer, we call it Clarrie, is kept there. Whoever’s on ward rounds usually waits in the office, writes up her notes and takes telephone calls until it’s time to go round. A student nurse goes round too, to get the feel of the thing so to speak.’
‘How many student nurses are there?’
‘There were three of us, but Ann Croft had to give up the course and go home when her father was taken ill, so there’s just Carol Prince and me. Carol was on holiday that week.’
‘And it was Sister Tracy Collet who was nursing Mrs Cummings?’
‘Well, she wasn’t exactly ill, Sister,’ Ceri Williams said. ‘She had a bit of a heart problem and she had a lot of trouble walking. She’d been waiting several months for a hip-replacement operation and in the end they transferred her here because there was a bed available, but she wasn’t bedridden really. Sister Collet had quite a time persuading her to stay put and not go limping around the place. She was quite a — difficult old lady.’
‘A feisty old gal!’ Sister Joan said, smiling. ‘Where’s Sister Collet this afternoon?’
‘She’s on the ward, Sister. Is anything wrong?’
‘I have a small token of appreciation from Mother Prioress for her,’ Sister Joan said. ‘The surgical ward’s on the floor above this one, isn’t it? I remember from when Sister Hilaria suffered a slight accident and was brought here.’
‘You can take the lift.’
‘I’ll take the stairs,’ Sister Joan said. ‘I need the exercise.’
‘Was that all you wanted?’ Ceri Williams detained her for a moment. ‘I mean — there isn’t any trouble, is there?’
‘What kind of trouble should there be?
’ Sister Joan countered.
‘Oh, none.’ Ceri Williams looked uncomfortable. ‘It’s only that — well, I was a bit surprised that Mrs Cummings died when she did, that’s all. I mean, when someone has a heart attack they generally make a few groaning, gasping noises, and Mrs Cummings apparently didn’t. Of course the other patients were asleep and Sister Collet did leave the ward a couple of times, but even so!’
‘When you found Mrs Cummings how was she lying?’ Sister Joan asked.
‘On her back. Her mouth was slightly open. Her hand was clenched into a fist. She must’ve had a last spasm or something. I’d never been at a death before — well just after a death to be more accurate. It hits you even when you hardly know the person.’
‘Two hours after the death,’ Sister Joan said. ‘Yes, it must take time to get used to the more unpleasant aspects of nursing. Do you remember anything about the covers on the bed?’
‘On Mrs Cummings’s bed?’ Ceri Williams looked puzzled. ‘No, I wasn’t looking at the covers. Why?’
‘No special reason,’ Sister Joan said. ‘I’d better get up to see Sister Collet before she goes off duty or something. Thank you, Sister Williams.’
She went briskly up the stairs and emerged on the wide upper landing with arrows pointing to the various wards. The old maternity wards had been incorporated in the new maternity unit as had the former children’s ward been shifted into another new building. The old wards seemed to have been transformed into a lecture room, a couple of sitting-rooms and a long narrow kitchen in which two women in green overalls were washing the floor.
Sister Joan excused herself and followed the arrows in the opposite direction towards the surgical ward. Two smaller wards intended for seriously ill patients preceded it.
The swing doors of glass gave her a good view of the long, gleaming ward with its rows of white-covered beds before she stepped through and approached the desk at which Sister Collet was seated.
She didn’t look well, was Sister Joan’s first thought as she raised her head, blinking slightly. Her face was pale and there were dark shadows beneath her eyes.
‘Oh, Sister Joan.’ She rose, obviously pulling her concentration back from some private train of thought. ‘How nice to see you.’
‘Can you spare me a couple of minutes?’ Sister Joan asked.
Tracy Collet looked at her fob watch and nodded. ‘I’m due over in the children’s ward in ten minutes anyway,’ she said. ‘Sister Prince, will you take over here? They’ll be bringing the teas round soon.’
A dark-haired nurse halfway down the ward looked up and nodded.
‘Carol Prince?’ Sister Joan said.
‘She’s our other student nurse. Quite promising but rather apt to jolly the patients along when they just want to be left in peace. Sister Williams has a more sensitive manner. But they’re both good nurses. I’ve a bottle of Lucozade in my locker. Would you like some?’
‘It’d be a lovely change,’ Sister Joan said truthfully.
‘Well, it peps up the energy levels,’ Tracy Collet said, leading the way into one of the sitting-rooms. ‘Sit down, Sister Joan. I’ll get a couple of mugs.’
The drink was golden and sparkling. Sister Joan sipped with relish.
‘You wanted to see me, Sister?’
Tracy Collet had taken a chair opposite, leaning her elbows on the small table between them with an air of utter weariness.
‘With rather pleasant news actually,’ Sister Joan said. ‘You nursed the late Mrs Cummings.’
‘Not actually nursed,’ Tracy Collet said quickly. ‘She wasn’t actually ill.’
‘Well, you made her comfortable during the few days she was here. Anyway Mother Prioress wishes you to have a small souvenir of her godmother so she hopes you’ll accept this. It was her engagement ring, not very valuable but I had it assessed for insurance purposes.’
Opening the little box she held it out. To her astonishment Sister Collet took one look and burst into tears.
‘Oh, please!’ Sister Joan stared at her in consternation. ‘It really isn’t anything to upset yourself about. I’m sure that Mrs Cummings would’ve been glad for you to have it.’
‘I’m sorry!’ The other groped for a tissue, held it to her eyes and scrubbed at her eyelids fiercely, her breath coming jerkily. ‘It’s only that — I never expected for a moment. How silly you must think me!’
‘You’re probably overtired,’ Sister Joan said.
‘Yes, I think I must be. Shortage of staff, long hours — I do apologize.’ She blew her nose vigorously on the tissue and dropped it into a wastepaper basket at the side of her chair.
‘It must be exhausting work even though it is so worthwhile,’ Sister Joan said.
‘Oh, it can be very rewarding. This is a lovely ring!’ Tracy Collet took it out of the box and slipped it on to her middle finger. ‘It was really good of your prioress to think of me. Look, I have to be in the children’s ward in a few minutes, but I must just write a little thank-you note. Would you like to go over there and wait for me?’
‘Fine. I’ll see you there in a few minutes then.’
Sister Joan finished her drink and rose, giving the other a smiling nod as she went out. No doubt Tracy Collet wanted to compose herself before going across to the children’s unit. It must be as hard for a nursing sister to learn objectivity as it was for a nun.
Halfway down the corridor she turned back into the surgical ward. The student nurse who’d been left in charge looked up from the desk, slight trepidation in her voice as she said, ‘There isn’t anyone here who’s terribly ill, Sister.’
‘This isn’t an official sort of visit,’ Sister Joan said chattily. ‘How are you enjoying working here?’
‘So far!’ The girl grinned cheerfully ‘Mind you, I was ready for my holiday. We went to Spain.’
‘We?’
‘Me and my boyfriend. It was all very respectable, honestly.’
‘I bet it wasn’t really,’ Sister Joan said with a twinkle.
Carol Prince looked at her and giggled. ‘Well, it was nothing heavy,’ she said.
‘You’re Carol Prince?’
‘Yes, and you’re Sister—?’
‘Joan. So how do you manage to get all the work done when St Keyne’s is so short of staff?’
‘Everybody works flat out most of the time,’ Carol Prince said. ‘Of course we do have some volunteer ladies who come in to make tea and bring round library books and so on.’
‘But they don’t come in the evenings?’
‘No. In the evenings we often have to do double duty,’ Carol Prince grimaced. ‘Even the doctors have to work very long shifts. I don’t think that’s right, do you, Sister?’
‘No, I don’t.’
‘It makes them very irritable,’ Carol Prince confided, dropping her voice. ‘Mind you, that Dr Geeson is bad tempered even when he’s had twelve hours’ sleep straight off! He’s ever so abrupt and po-faced. Sister Collet cannot stand him! Oh, she’s never said so, of course. She’s very discreet, but I can tell from her manner. And he can speak quite sharply to Ward Sister Meecham too, and she’s the senior ward nurse! Did you want to have a word with any of the patients?’
‘Were any of them here three weeks ago?’ Sister Joan enquired.
Carol Prince shook her head. ‘No, when I came back from holiday there were all new faces here,’ she said. ‘Most cases heal up quite quickly these days and we don’t encourage them to stay bed-bound. It’s very bad for the heart and anyway there’s always a shortage of beds.’
‘With you spending your time rushing up and down the wards.’ Sister Joan clucked her tongue. ‘You must walk miles!’
‘Oh, it’s not so bad. Actually if you look down there you’ll see a door, right by the corner bed,’ Carol Prince said. ‘We can slip down to the kitchen and make a quick cup of coffee and slip back upstairs in a jiffy. It’s very handy.’
‘I’m sure it must be.’ Sister Joan gazed thoughtfully down the wa
rd, aware that the patients had left off their own murmured conversations and were looking in her direction.
They probably think I’m here to convert them, she thought with an inward grin.
‘Ward Sister Meecham is supposed to be coming to relieve me in a few minutes,’ Carol Prince said. ‘Sister Collet was due in the children’s unit.’
‘Which is where I promised to be,’ Sister Joan said. ‘Thanks for the chat. Don’t let yourself get too exhausted! I’m sure it doesn’t make for more efficiency.’
‘You’re right, Sister.’ Carol Prince nodded as she half rose to shake hands. ‘When people are tired they’re apt to make mistakes — feeding Clarrie with the wrong information, not putting the right amounts on the drug register, forgetting who takes sugar in their cocoa. Nice meeting you, Sister.’
Sister Joan went down the main staircase and through to the reception area. There was a youngish man in a blue overall at the desk whom she recognized.
‘Mr Johns! Nice to see you again.’ She greeted him cordially. ‘I thought you’d retired.’
‘For about five minutes. I got very fed up just hanging around the house getting under the wife’s feet so about ten days ago I offered to come back part-time. They were very glad of the offer especially as I only get expenses. There’s no money available any more, Sister,’ he said. ‘Mind, you being a nun wouldn’t notice.’
Sister Joan smiled and went on through the main door, refraining from pointing out that even at the convent bills had to be paid, some groceries bought.
Outside, the air was unseasonably warm considering that the year was sliding towards October. The sky was a bright, hot blue, the flower heads in the border drooping. She crunched over the gravel and went into the unit, hearing the rising and falling of young voices and a more mature voice laughingly disclaiming something or other.
Someone had emerged from a car in the car-park and came in behind her. Sister Joan, half turning, recognized one of the social workers from the children’s home.
‘Sister Joan, are you hospital visiting?’ The square-shouldered young woman shook hands briskly.
A VOW OF COMPASSION an utterly gripping crime mystery Page 5