Vow of Evil Read online

  ‘Girls don’t want to go into convents these days,’ Mrs Roye said. ‘Right! Let’s take a look!’

  She went ahead to unlock the front door, a shaft of afternoon sunlight cruelly focused on her unfortunate legs.

  Sister Joan moved to help with the cases but was intercepted.

  ‘You leave that to us men, Sister,’ Ian Lurgan said.

  ‘In that case,’ Dawn said with an ugly bad-tempered note in her voice, ‘I’m not carrying anything either!’

  ‘You were never a man, darling,’ Henry said with a wink.

  ‘Nice of you to notice!’ She gave him a sideways grin and went after Sister Joan towards the front door.

  From the top of the stairs Mrs Roye called down,

  ‘I’m taking the room on the left next to the bathroom,’

  ‘But that’s—!’

  Sister Joan shut her mouth on the rest of the intended sentence. She had been going to say that was the room with the double bed in it, but it was none of her business how they arranged their sleeping quarters.

  ‘I don’t hold with constant sex,’ Mrs Roye announced.

  ‘I beg your—?’ Sister Joan looked up at her.

  ‘Constant sex,’ Mrs Roye said, coming down the stairs again. ‘Weakens the mind. If my Fred had listened he’d’ve been alive today. I’ll take the room on the left; Henry can have the small room while he’s staying and Dawn and Ian can take the room on the right. It’s got a nice view.’

  Also a single bed and a put-you-up sofa, Sister Joan thought. Not that other people’s sexual habits were her business!

  Dawn, leaning against the wall of the narrow hallway, was rolling a cigarette. Her eyes slewed towards Sister Joan and she pulled a face of exaggerated guilt.

  ‘We can smoke?’ she demanded.

  ‘Yes, of course, but not in the enclosure.’

  ‘Where we’re not allowed to go anyway. Like being at school!’

  ‘Stop showing yourself up!’ Her mother was manoeuvring the various portions of her anatomy down the stairs. ‘This is a lot better than Liverpool and the rent’s dirt cheap. Go and make yourself useful.’

  ‘Whatever.’ Dawn shrugged and wandered outside again.

  ‘Nice big sitting-room.’ Mrs Roye had flowed into the converted lecture rooms. ‘Very comfy!’

  ‘Well, I hope you’ll soon feel at home here,’ Sister Joan said, following her in as the others began carrying various boxes and cases up the stairs. ‘As you can see there’s no central heating, but the fires are laid ready for lighting and Brother Cuthbert has chopped extra wood and piled it in the shed at the back. At least he said he would.’

  ‘I thought this was a convent,’ Mrs Roye said.

  ‘Well, it is, of course, but Brother Cuthbert has leave from his monastery to live in solitude up in the old schoolhouse. We passed it on the way up though you may not have noticed. He’s a contemplative but not quite a hermit.’

  ‘And the rest of you live in the convent?’

  ‘Ten of us including myself. Well, twelve actually but Sister Teresa has taken leave of absence in order to care for her father and Sister Bernadette is in the mission field.’

  ‘Not many of you then?’

  ‘There are other Houses of the Order,’ Sister Joan said.

  ‘A lot of women all locked up together,’ Mrs Roye said with a sudden chuckling laugh. ‘As bad as constant sex!’

  ‘Actually we do have other things on our minds,’ Sister Joan said coldly. ‘If you’ll excuse me I need to be getting back. We have our own routines to which we try to keep whenever possible. Mother David will come over tomorrow morning just to see if there’s anything else you need, or any questions you need to ask. I’m afraid there’s no telephone installed.’

  ‘We’ve mobiles.’

  ‘Yes, of course. Most people have them these days. There isn’t any television either but it’s possible to hire one – as you can see it’s fully wired.’

  ‘We brought our own,’ Mrs Roye said. ‘Don’t you fret about us, Sister, we’ll make ourselves very comfy here. Oh, what about church?’

  ‘Of course you’re Catholics. Well, if you had transport then the parish church is in town but until then – our own chapel is always open and we have Mass there every morning at seven o’clock. Either Father Malone or Father Stephen offers it. You can walk round by the walls and enter the chapel without needing to go through the grounds. You’ll be very welcome.’

  It wasn’t true, she thought, turning to take her leave. She didn’t want these people here in the building Sister Hilaria loved so much. She didn’t, if she were to be honest with herself, want them anywhere near the convent at all.

  Walking back sombrely she chided herself for judging by appearances and for selfishly wanting to shut out the rest of the world.

  ‘Not having special friendships enables us to be friendly to everybody,’ her own novice mistress had instructed. ‘Detachment spares us from having to choose our friends on the basis of whether we are drawn to them personally or not. It shields us from selfishness.’

  ‘Did they arrive all right?’ Sister Dorothy was passing through the hall and paused to enquire.

  ‘Yes. There are four of them. A friend of the family came to help them settle in.’

  ‘As long as they’re not subletting. Oh, Mother David was telling me about your illustrating the book or books for the children – it’s a task you’ll enjoy doing.’

  ‘They’re booklets actually but they may be bound into four or five volumes,’ Sister Joan said. ‘My sketching won’t interfere with your work in the library?’

  ‘Not at all. You’ll be using one of the storerooms anyway.’

  She smiled and moved off. There was something friendlier and more relaxed in her attitude, Sister Joan thought. Probably she was starting to appreciate the burden of responsibility being rested on other shoulders.

  ‘Is there any more word about Mrs Pearson?’ Mother David asked when she went in to report the arrival of Mrs Roye and the Lurgans.

  Sister Joan shook her head.

  ‘Oh, Inspector Mill asked if it would be possible for me to help go through her belongings once the coroner has decided it’s all right,’ she remembered. ‘She had no family and no close friends apparently and as she was a Catholic—’

  Though not it seems a fully practising one,’ Mother David said. ‘Father Malone knew her slightly but she wasn’t among his regular communicants. He is having a requiem for her.’

  ‘On Sunday?’

  ‘On Wednesday. That’s when the funeral will be. If you are going to help sort her things then you could combine the two activities in one fell swoop.’

  ‘Yes, Mother.’

  ‘And don’t forget that on Wednesday evening Father Stephen is hearing our confessions. He’s offered to come over since Father Malone will be conducting the funeral.’

  ‘Yes, Mother David.’

  ‘And one other thing, Sister.’ The pale eyes twinkled slightly behind the round spectacles. ‘Do try not to hold up the rest of us while we wait for you to finish your confession.’

  ‘No, Mother Prioress.’

  Mother David, she thought as she quitted the parlour, had a jokey way of reminding her that her list of faults to be forgiven was generally a long one!

  She would take the repaired documents back to Father Malone on Wednesday too, she decided. The bleach had worked, eradicating the obscene little drawings and leaving a slight roughness only on the surface of the thick paper. It would be noticed by an expert but since Rome was hardly likely to demand submission of the documents to its archives the danger was very slight indeed.

  Nevertheless her mind remained preoccupied during the period of religious studies – today a talk on the meaning of Advent – thoughts crowding in and scurrying around like ants that it was no surprise even to herself when in answer to a question from Mother David about the relevance of Advent in the modern church she replied absently, ‘Guy Fawkes.’

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p; ‘Guy Fawkes Night is hardly a Catholic feast, Sister,’ Sister Perpetua observed.

  ‘Because he and his fellow conspirators failed to blow up the Houses of Parliament? Perhaps we ought to celebrate the attempt,’ Sister Marie began.

  ‘Oh please, no!’ Sister Mary Concepta’s gentle voice had risen slightly. ‘Please let us not—’

  ‘Sister Mary Concepta is quite right,’ Sister Gabrielle said. ‘It was a most unfortunate affair, best forgotten.’

  Sister Katherine enquired if they were going to have an Advent Calendar.

  ‘With teddy bears and rabbits on I suppose? Honestly, Sister!’ Sister Gabrielle said with a snort.

  Mother David, glancing at her watch, said brightly that she felt they had covered the subject sufficiently for one day.

  ‘As you have probably heard, the tenants for the old postulancy have arrived. I propose to go over tomorrow morning and welcome them,’ she said. ‘Sister Hilaria will accompany me. I wish to make it clear that we are, of course, pleased to have them here but that our lives must remain very separate. And, of course, they must feel comfortable about using the chapel since they have no transport. I think that’s all. Oh, one more thing. In our prayers let us not forget Mrs Pearson, the elderly lady who died of a heart attack. She apparently has no close relatives or close friends for that matter so we must pray for her with special fervour.’

  They made their way out, Sister Gabrielle whispering loudly that if anyone talked nonsense about Guy Fawkes again then she wouldn’t be responsible.

  ‘Actually,’ Sister Marie murmured to Sister Joan, ‘I had a bit of a crush on him when I was in my early teens. All that Spanish glamour and courage – you know.’

  ‘Guy Fawkes was a Yorkshireman in his early forties,’ Sister Joan said, amused.

  ‘Oh well!’ Sister Marie shrugged cheerfully. ‘Lucky we never met! It would have been such a disappointment!’

  There was half an hour before supper, Sister Joan thought. She could carry on with a few roughly sketched ideas for the illustrations.

  ‘Sister, there were some carrots in the van. Could I get them?’ Sister Marie was asking as they went into the kitchen. ‘I thought I’d grate one or two into the vegetable hotpot—’

  ‘The van!’ Sister Joan grimaced. ‘I left it outside the old postulancy and walked back without thinking! I’d better get it. In ten minutes you shall have your carrots!’

  She snatched her cloak from the peg, shut the door firmly against Alice who might delay her by hunting for rabbits, and walked rapidly through the already darkening gardens and past the shrubberies to where the stone steps led down to the abandoned tennis court.

  There were lights on in the downstairs window on the right. The curtains had been partly drawn but, as she moved closer, she could see through the wide gap that they were seated at the dining-table, clearly beginning their supper. Mrs Roye, head partly turned away, had taken the largest chair, excusable when one considered her bulk. The thin, pale son-in-law was pouring out the tea.

  And if they weren’t allowed to make use of the enclosure then she, by the same token, hadn’t the slightest right to watch them while they believed themselves to be unobserved.

  She turned aside and went through the side gate to where the van had been parked. The back had been secured but the driving seat door was ajar, the ignition key still in place.

  She climbed up, checked the bag of carrots was under the front seat where she’d tucked it, and backed out carefully along the outer walls.

  The sun had set almost completely, leaving a red rim of farewell below a lowering sky.

  A head appeared suddenly above the enclosure wall as she glanced to her left. Instinctively she braked, was blinded suddenly by the glare of a powerful torch and closed her eyes, hearing the wheels of the vehicle screech and stop.

  When she opened her eyes again the dazzle of the light remained on their retinas, causing her to blink rapidly. The only glimpse she obtained of the climbing figure was of a black cloak, flung across a face and head she had no chance to distinguish clearly.

  The torchlight flashed again and when she opened her eyes fully the track that curved round the perimeter of the enclosure was empty save for a few straggling bushes at the side.

  NINE

  ‘This is splendid, Sister!’ Father Malone beamed as he peered at the thin sheaf of documents.

  ‘Mother David thought you would like to have them,’ Sister Joan said.

  ‘Yes indeed, and I shall take care to lock them away most securely this time,’ he assured her, stooping to the drawer. ‘I had not spoken of their loss to Father Stephen or Sister Jerome.’

  ‘I see no need,’ she said, giving him, as he paused, the answer he obviously wanted. ‘They can have had nothing to do with it and, you know, Father, it is possible that you forgot to lock the drawer in the first place.’

  ‘That’s possible,’ he admitted. ‘I am inclined to be a mite forgetful these days. And this afternoon Mrs Pearson, God rest her soul, is to be buried.’

  ‘Did you know her well, Father?’

  ‘I’m sorry to say hardly at all,’ he answered. ‘She was a Catholic of course though not a regular communicant. Her husband was not of the Faith, but a good steady man for all that. Jim Pearson. Yes, a nice man. After his death she very seldom came to church but she liked to keep the old churchyard neat and free of litter. Some people get comfort from such things. Will you be coming to the funeral?’

  ‘If I get away in time. I’m deputed to help clear her things.’

  ‘Ah, now she’d’ve liked that,’ he said. ‘I mean, having a nun do the job is much better than having some inquisitive member of the public ferreting around. Perhaps I’ll see you later then, Sister? God bless!’

  She left him carefully and deliberately locking the drawer and got back into the van.

  To her pleasure, Inspector Mill was standing at the gate, having evidently just locked his car.

  ‘Good morning, Sister. No religious studies today?’ he queried.

  ‘Good morning, and sarcasm is wasted on me,’ she retorted equably. ‘I’m surprised to see you here though. Surely the forensic people—?’

  ‘Perfectly natural death,’ he said.

  ‘But the candles?’

  ‘Nothing in the law says people can’t burn peculiar candles. Sergeant Petrie’s inside making a rough inventory. So far he hasn’t come across a will.’

  ‘A will! Would she have had anything to leave?’ she asked, stepping past him towards the open front door.

  ‘The cottage was hers,’ he said. ‘That might fetch a decent sum these days. She lived on her State Pension and had five hundred pounds in savings. If there are any heirs then—’

  ‘She told me she had no relatives living.’

  ‘Well, you never know – a second cousin or someone might turn up if she died intestate. Petrie, anything up there?’

  ‘Not really, sir.’ Sergeant Petrie’s solid frame blocked the head of the stairs. ‘A big silver fob watch – probably belonged to her husband I should think, a few utilities bills all neatly clipped together, some old photographs in an album – childhood snaps I think – a couple of newspapers with plants pressed inside them.’

  ‘What sorts of plants?’ Sister Joan asked.

  ‘Witch hazel, bay, some roses and dahlias – pretty dried up by now – oh, and I had a look in the kitchen cupboard, sir, while you were on your way over. She has packets of beeswax, bottles of vegetable dye and enough sconces to light up St Paul’s!’

  ‘And there are the books,’ Sister Joan indicated them.

  ‘Catherine Cookson, Daphne du Maurier, Israel Regardie and Dennis Wheatley,’ Inspector Mill commented, ‘What you might call a Catholic taste.’

  ‘I had a word with one of the neighbours,’ Sergeant Petrie said coming down the stairs. ‘Mrs Trent. Her lad is working on the boats up-river.’

  ‘What does she have to say?’

  ‘That the old girl – Mrs Pear
son, that is – was a bit peculiar. Harmless enough but kept herself to herself, spent a lot of time tidying up the old graveyard, never wanted to stop and chat. Friendly enough but odd. Always talking to her cat.’

  ‘Which in the seventeenth century might’ve got her arrested and swum as a witch,’ Inspector Mill mused. ‘I wonder how many innocent old women ended up on the gallows because they cherished a pet animal and didn’t mingle with the crowd?’

  ‘Hundreds I daresay,’ Sister Joan said with a shiver.

  ‘Right!’ Inspector Mill looked round the room. ‘I suggest we make a general inventory and parcel up anything that might be of value, put a seal on the doors and windows and leave the rest to the lawyers.’

  ‘I’m not sure what possible use I can be here,’ Sister Joan said.

  ‘I thought your eagle eye might’ve lighted on something,’ he said with a teasing look.

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘In any case we prefer a woman to delve into a woman’s things. More fitting somehow,’ Sergeant Petrie added.

  ‘And Constable Seldon is manning the station all morning?’

  ‘She’s not in today,’ Inspector Mill said.

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Not the politest of recruits.’ He looked slightly annoyed. ‘No telephone call, just a note lying on my desk when I got in this morning. “Sorry. Family problem. Will contact you.” Anyway she clearly isn’t ill since she delivered the note by hand. Constable Boswell saw her going into the station. He was checking the duty roster in the outer office. I gave her a ring but her mobile’s switched off.’

  ‘Where shall I start?’

  ‘The bedroom – yes, I know, Petrie, you’ve itemized everything but it won’t hurt for someone to have a second look.’

  ‘Point taken, sir!’ Petrie said.

  Going into the front bedroom again gave Sister Joan a moment of unease. She could see again that staring figure on the bed, the candles burning, almost smell the sweetish, acrid smell as the smoke curled up lazily into the air.

  Imagination was a false counseller! The bed had been stripped, the wardrobe door with its few hanging garments and the spare candles and sconces was open, the two drawers of the low dressing-table partly pulled out. Everything was clean and everything had that faintly shabby air that denotes modest means. It was a double bed with two pillows at each side.