Vow of Evil Read online

  ‘Sad,’ Mother David said briefly.

  ‘Par for the course these days, Mother David. Not all couples live together happily after ever. Anyway he kept in contact with his daughter at fairly regular intervals. She kept his surname. She apparently got on well with her stepfather who died a couple of years ago. His name was—’

  ‘Bartlett?’ Sister Joan could contain herself no longer.

  ‘You’re ahead of me as usual, Sister. Yes, the stepfather was Philip Bartlett, and he and the former Mrs Seldon had a child – Simon.’

  ‘The unfortunate boy who—?’ Mother David looked distressed.

  ‘He definitely committed suicide,’ the inspector said. ‘He left a note. I’ve requested a copy of it. As far as is known he’d got himself mixed up with a pretty fast crowd and was being threatened. But it was suicide while the balance of the mind was disturbed.’

  ‘Of course,’ Mother David said. ‘Poor child!’

  ‘After the death of her second husband, Mrs Bartlett reverted to her original married name of Seldon.’

  ‘There was a reconciliation?’

  ‘No, Reginald Seldon had remarried. There had been a lot of publicity about Simon Bartlett’s death and I suspect she wanted to close that chapter in her life completely.’

  ‘And Melanie joined the Police Service,’ Sister Joan said.

  ‘She was apparently devoted to her half brother.’ His face was grave. ‘We can never be sure now but I would hazard the guess that she had some idea in her mind of bringing those who had driven him to it to justice.’

  ‘But she requested a transfer here,’ Sister Joan said.

  ‘Which makes me wonder if she wasn’t following some private agenda of her own. She seems to have left no written indications.’

  ‘And now she’s dead too.’

  ‘And it definitely was not suicide.’ There was distaste in his tone as he continued. ‘She didn’t drown. Someone hit her on the back of the head hard enough to kill her. Exactly where this happened we don’t yet know. Most of the bleeding would have been internal anyway. She was stripped to her underwear whether in her bedsit or elsewhere we also don’t know, wrapped in a cloak, a black evening cloak she possessed, and weighed down with stones. It was probably murder.’

  ‘Only probably?’ Sister Joan stared at him in astonishment.

  ‘Whoever hit her might not have intended to do more than stun her. When he or she discovered she was dead there may have been panic, an attempt to wash away the traces – who knows? Anyway there it is.’

  ‘She left a note saying there was family trouble on Wednesday morning, so—?’

  ‘The forensic people – I’ve just come from there – say she has been dead for about five days.’

  ‘Today is Saturday. That means—’

  ‘She was probably killed sometime on Monday, Tuesday at the latest. I don’t pretend to understand the science of it but they seem pretty confident.’

  ‘But she went into the station on Wednesday morning to say that—’

  Sister Joan broke off as his mobile shrilled.

  ‘Please excuse me, Mother David, Sister.’ Rising, he moved to the door, listening, rapping out an occasional word.

  ‘The note left by Simon Bartlett is on its way,’ he said, coming back to his seat. ‘There’s no doubt he wrote it. Sergeant Petrie just quoted its contents to me.’

  ‘Are we permitted—?’ Mother David looked a question.

  ‘Short and obviously emanating from a mind deeply disturbed,’ Inspector Mill said. ‘It was found in his pocket. “Sorry, sorry. Can’t go on. They are legion”.’

  ‘My God!’ Sister Joan had started up out of her chair. ‘Mrs Pearson said that to me when I was leaving her. “They are legion”. She said that.’

  ‘Meaning that in contrast to the Oneness of Good, evil is divided and split,’ Mother David said.

  ‘Theology was never my particular forte, Mother.’ He was rising, his expression still preoccupied. ‘Well, there you have it. I wanted to keep you in the picture.’

  ‘And to borrow Sister Joan no doubt?’

  Mother David had smiled slightly.

  ‘One hesitates to ask but—’

  ‘Sister Joan has a knack – a most worldly knack – of getting involved in the pursuit of justice,’ Mother David said. ‘Provided it doesn’t interfere with her religious duties then obviously like any member of the public she has my leave to co-operate to the fullest extent. Was there anything else, Inspector?’

  ‘The telephone call interrupted me. If – and it seems quite definite – Melanie Seldon was killed on last Monday or Tuesday then—’

  ‘Who took the note into the station on Wednesday morning?’ Sister Joan finished for him.

  ‘Constable Boswell was in the outer office. He saw her going past but they didn’t speak. She whisked into my office and left the note and presumably left at once while he was sorting out the duty rota.’

  ‘He saw someone in uniform going into the office,’ Sister Joan said. ‘Was the note in her handwriting?’

  ‘I brought it with me.’ He opened his briefcase again and took out the slip of paper. ‘It’s like her handwriting certainly, though if it isn’t I daresay an expert will spot the difference, and the signature—’

  ‘Has a backward loop,’ Sister Joan said, staring at the brief message.

  ‘There were no prints,’ he said.

  ‘But she surely wouldn’t’ve written it with gloves on?’ Mother David said.

  ‘No, it’s not very likely,’ he agreed.

  ‘Then it is a forgery?’

  ‘Probably, but there’s no way of telling. What you’re looking at is a photocopy.’

  ‘With back slanting loops,’ Sister Joan said again.

  Her voice was unusually subdued.

  ELEVEN

  ‘You’ve heard about the murder, Sister?’ Padraic Lee hailed her as she rode Lilith into the camp.

  ‘The woman police officer, yes. It was – shocking.’

  The word seemed inadequate but she couldn’t think of a more appropriate one.

  ‘Will you look into it?’ he enquired.

  ‘I think the police are already looking into it very thoroughly,’ she demurred.

  ‘Not that I’ve any love for the local bobbies, but we can’t have someone knocking them off, can we? Cup of tea, Sister?’

  ‘I won’t say no.’ She dismounted, tethered the pony loosely to a stake as he nipped into the vardo to emerge with two spotlessly clean mugs.

  A week had passed. The inquest had been adjourned and the funeral set for the following Monday.

  ‘I’m actually here to pay you for the last lot of fish you brought over,’ she said. ‘We had them with butter sauce. Sister Marie has herself a job for life, I think!’

  ‘Now you know perfectly well, Sister, that I take no money for any fish that happen to jump in my net when the convent’s short,’ he said reproachfully. ‘You put that away now and don’t go offering it again.’

  ‘Sister Marie said you’d say that,’ she told him.

  ‘Ah, she’s a nice young thing is Sister Marie. How is Sister Teresa though? Now she was a real nice one was Sister Teresa.’

  ‘Caring for her sick father. He has a wasting disease. Of course we hope she will eventually return to us but the Mother House may have other plans for her. Many are needed in the mission field.’

  ‘If you ask me,’ Padraic said, ‘there’s enough wickedness here without going looking for it.’

  ‘I suppose that’s a point of view. How are the girls?’

  To her surprise his face clouded slightly.

  ‘In school I hope,’ he said briefly.

  ‘You hope? Don’t you know?’

  ‘Edith’s no trouble,’ he said, still frowning. ‘She’s doing well, but Tabitha’s getting a mite above herself. Missing classes without leave and hanging round the amusement arcade on Saturdays. I worry about her.’

  ‘Tabitha’s fifteen. She�
��s trying her wings.’

  ‘She’s trying them too fast for my liking,’ he said moodily. ‘We Roms have always been respectable – well, bar the odd parcel falling off a lorry or a pheasant for the pot, but we don’t let our girls stray. If you see her I’d be glad if you had a word. Now what?’

  A sleek car was nosing round the perimeter of the camp where it stopped and an equally sleek figure emerged, carrying a bundle.

  ‘It’s Father Stephen!’ Sister Joan said in surprise.

  ‘What’s he doing here? Doesn’t usually stoop this low,’ Padraic muttered.

  ‘Good afternoon, Sister Joan. Mr Lee, isn’t it?’ Father Stephen deposited his bundle on the ground. ‘I heard of the loss of your lurcher and it occurred to me … my cousin keeps lurchers and one of them had a litter six months back. This young fellow needed a home and it occurred to me that you might find a use for him.’

  ‘You have a cousin who keeps lurchers?’ Sister Joan said in surprise.

  Somehow she had never considered Father Stephen as being a member of a family.

  ‘I wasn’t born wearing the stole, Sister,’ he said with unexpected humour. ‘If you think you can train the dog then he’s yours.’

  ‘He’s a fine youngling,’ Padraic said, lifting the squirming puppy on to his lap. ‘I’m obliged to you, Father. Now there’s a piece of luck to brighten the day! I’ll call him Kushti, Romany for good luck. And if you ever run out of fish—’

  ‘Oh, the presbytery is kept well supplied,’ Father Stephen said, somewhat hastily. ‘I must be on my way. Good afternoon to you both.’

  He nodded and took his leave, carefully sidestepping a burnt-out fire on the trampled ground nearby.

  ‘He’s not such a bad lad after all,’ Padraic said.

  ‘No, it appears that he isn’t,’ Sister Joan said, contritely, as she rearranged some of the opinions she held about the young priest. ‘I have to go myself. If I do see Tabitha I’ll try to have a word but I can’t promise anything.’

  ‘I wouldn’t want her disgracing the memory of her late mother,’ Padraic said, loyal as ever to the memory of his alcoholic wife.

  ‘I’m certain she won’t do that,’ Sister Joan said. ‘Thanks for the tea.’

  He lifted a hand as she untied Lilith and remounted.

  There was, she mused, as she trotted back to the convent, a lull in events. For a week she had been able to get on with her conventual life without interruption.

  There had been no sign of the tenants for days. Certainly they kept strictly to their own domain. Once she had seen washing on a line at the side of the postulancy and the car still stood there though whether any of the family ever used it to attend the parish church she had no idea.

  She drew rein as she reached the gate just in time to avoid colliding with Ian Lurgan who, clad in jeans and a bomber jacket, had just emerged from the side gate.

  ‘Afternoon, Sister,’ he said.

  ‘Good afternoon, Mr Lurgan. Settling in?’

  ‘No luck on the job front,’ he said, blinking up at her. ‘I was wondering if there was anything needed doing up at the convent.’

  ‘Doing?’ she queried.

  ‘Odd jobs, bit of painting, electrics – I can turn my hand to most things.’

  ‘Then surely you could find a job locally?’

  ‘Not easy in the winter,’ he said. ‘People get their houses done up in the summer before the rains start. And they don’t take to strangers round here.’

  ‘I don’t believe there’s anything but I can certainly ask. Do you have references?’

  ‘I could probably dig some out,’ he said.

  ‘I’ll ask Mother David. I can’t go employing you on my own account.’

  She gathered up the reins again but he shifted his stance, his hand on the pony’s nose.

  ‘It must be rotten being a nun,’ he said.

  ‘No, of course it’s not!’ she said, slightly nettled by what appeared to be sympathy in his tone.

  ‘No freedom?’

  ‘We’re all perfectly free. We can walk out any time we like.’

  ‘And no sex. Unless—’ He tilted his sandy head at her. ‘Is it true that all nuns are lesbians?’

  ‘It certainly is not! Now if you don’t mind—’

  ‘I didn’t mean to be rude.’ He had flushed slightly. ‘I just wonder about things from time to time, you see.’

  Some people did wonder she supposed, but few ever put the question bluntly.

  ‘You would do better to wonder about other things,’ she said aloud. ‘As a Catholic—’

  ‘Oh, I’m not a Catholic,’ he broke in. ‘Dawn and her mum are. I’m nothing in particular. I belong to every religion in a way.’

  ‘How confusing for you,’ she said coldly.

  ‘But we are married, even if it wasn’t in church. I mean God wasn’t around.’

  ‘God’s always around,’ she said firmly. ‘Mr Lurgan, I really must get on—’

  ‘And Dawn doesn’t really believe in anything,’ he went on regardless. ‘She wouldn’t act the way she does if she did.’

  ‘I don’t think—’

  ‘Other men.’ He mouthed rather than spoke the words. ‘Before we got wed, and afterwards. Women too. It bothers me sometimes.’

  ‘If you have marital problems Father Malone can recommend a good counseller – and there’s Relate.’

  ‘Oh, I couldn’t talk about it,’ he said. ‘I hoped after we got wed she might change but she never has. Sorry, Sister, I didn’t mean to make you late for anything.’

  To her relief he stepped back and she flicked Lilith so sharply on the nose that the latter fairly bounded forward almost unseating her.

  ‘You look hot and bothered,’ Sister Marie commented, when she went into the kitchen.

  ‘I gave Lilith her head on the way home,’ Sister Joan said.

  ‘Was Padraic Lee pleased with the payment for the fish?’

  ‘Oh, he wouldn’t accept the money. Here it is. If you still feel guilty about aiding and abetting a poacher you can put it in the collection box or something. Isn’t it nearly time for religious studies?’

  ‘Yes,’ Sister Marie said, wisely not commenting on the irritable note in her fellow nun’s voice.

  ‘This afternoon,’ Mother David said brightly, ‘we are going to consider the renewal of our vows which we take every year. Why do we renew them?’

  ‘To remind ourselves they are not just words,’ Sister Katherine said.

  ‘Indeed they are not. We vow ourselves to chastity, poverty, obedience and compassion. That last is peculiar to our Order. But shall we start with chastity?’

  ‘Cleanliness of mind and body,’ Sister Dorothy said.

  ‘But marriage is a sacrament,’ Sister Martha objected.

  ‘Chastity is equally valid in marriage as out of it. The only difference is that we have made a spiritual marriage and, just as a husband and a wife must remain loyal and faithful, then so must we. Chastity is not a negative thing.’

  ‘But sometimes,’ Sister Marie piped up, ‘one cannot avoid seeing someone, say a very handsome man and just wondering for a moment…?’

  ‘Looking at the cover of a book,’ Sister Dorothy stated, ‘does not entitle us to read it.’

  ‘And poverty?’ Sister Gabrielle tapped her stick on the floor.

  ‘I was just coming to that, Sister. Poverty is one of our great strengths. To amass wealth for one’s own selfish purpose is to be truly poor.’

  ‘Then God bless the government!’ Sister Gabrielle said loudly. They certainly help us keep that vow!’

  There were stifled giggles.

  ‘Poverty doesn’t mean that we must go hungry,’ Sister Marie said.

  ‘No indeed not, Sister.’ Mother David smiled. ‘We are all entitled to sufficient food to keep us healthy, sufficient heat to prevent us from freezing to death, and clothes to preserve our modesty. But the trappings of personal wealth only detract from the joy of knowing that we are not
here to lay up treasures on earth.’

  ‘And obedience?’ Sister Martha, asking the question, looked eager.

  ‘Obedience to that which is right and sensible,’ Sister Dorothy said.

  ‘And who judges that?’ Sister Mary Concepta asked gently.

  ‘Obedience to the Rule. Anything contrary to the Rule must be resisted.’

  ‘That’s the hard part,’ Sister Marie said. ‘When the grand silence begins I always remember something I forgot to tell somebody!’

  There were sympathetic murmurs of assent.

  ‘If you knit something,’ Sister Katherine said timidly, ‘and you drop one stitch then the whole garment is ruined.’

  ‘Exactly, Sister!’ Mother David looked gratified. ‘However we must always use our common sense in such matters. If the house is on fire or someone is taken suddenly ill, then the grand silence may be broken only to the extent that speech is absolutely necessary.’

  ‘Saint Teresa considered that blind obedience showed a lack of intelligence,’ Sister Hilaria volunteered.

  ‘Like when a novice came and asked her what to do with a worm she’d found in the garden and Saint Teresa joked she’d better fry it for supper and found the poor novice doing just that,’ Sister Gabrielle said with a snort of laughter.

  ‘Exactly! Common sense goes a long way,’ Mother David agreed. ‘So to compassion. How would you define that, Sister Joan? Sister?’

  ‘I’m sorry, Mother Prioress. What did you say?’

  ‘Concentration helps when we are discussing serious matters,’ Mother David said.

  ‘I’m sorry, Mother Prioress.’

  ‘We had reached compassion,’ Sister Mary Concepta said helpfully.

  ‘Ruth, pity, sympathy.’

  Sister Joan dragged her attention back to the matters under discussion.

  ‘Compassion for a victim is easy,’ Sister Dorothy said.

  ‘I sometimes feel that too much compassion for the wrongdoer is shown these days,’ Sister Martha ventured.

  ‘Only sometimes?’ Sister Gabrielle said. ‘I always think that. Whoever poisoned Padraic Lee’s dog and murdered that poor young police officer is an out and out criminal and I haven’t got an atom of sympathy for them!’