Vow of Evil Page 4

  ‘So it might’ve been someone playing a nasty joke?’

  ‘I hoped someone else might’ve reported it,’ Mrs Pearson said simply. ‘Nobody had. Oh, the police were very kind, took my statement – but it was obvious they thought I was a bit touched in the head.’

  She grimaced slightly as if the possibility hurt her.

  ‘I’d better be going!’ Seeing the small clock on the bookshelves Sister Joan rose hastily.

  ‘You do believe me, Sister?’ Mrs Pearson had also risen, pleading in her face.

  ‘I believe you saw what you thought was a devil,’ Sister Joan said cautiously. ‘Whether it was or not, nobody has the right to go capering around graveyards after dark frightening people. If I were you I’d confine my cemetery visits to daylight hours. Look, I really must go! I’m going to be late for lunch at the convent.’

  ‘Well, it was kind of you to come and see me,’ Mrs Pearson said in a defeated tone.

  ‘May I come again some time?’ There really was no need, she thought privately, but the old lady seemed lonely. Which raised the possibility she had seen nothing at all and merely craved a bit of company. No, her account had been too brief, too logical for that.

  Passing the bookshelves she glanced at a couple of the titles and felt belief shaking.

  Psychic Self-defence. Phantasms of the Living. Astral Projection. Mixed up with The Devil Rides Out and various thrillers and romances. Somewhat suspect reading for a woman living alone and partial to messing about in cemeteries!

  ‘Any time, Sister,’ Mrs Pearson was saying. ‘No, Malkin, you stay right here! I hope the dog didn’t take too much hurt.’

  ‘I’m sure she didn’t,’ Sister Joan said.

  A moment later she was belting up the alley towards the van. She was going to be late and she hadn’t the smallest excuse for it.

  ‘Sister Joan!’

  She had slowed down momentarily by the church when a cassocked figure bumbled out of the gate, one hand raised in either salute or warning.

  ‘Glory be to God but I thought I’d missed you!’ He panted up to the side of the van as she braked sharply.

  ‘I’m awfully late for lunch, Father Malone,’ she began.

  ‘Have a bite with me. I’ll phone the convent.’

  ‘I can’t. Lunch is in the van – at least some of it is. Sister Marie is the new cook.’

  ‘Come in for just a moment then. I’ve a small problem.’

  Defeated, she parked the van at the kerb and followed him up the side path to the presbytery.

  ‘It’s Sister Jerome’s day off but she left sausage rolls,’ he tempted, as he ushered her into the study.

  ‘We’re vegetarian as you well know, Father, so get thee behind me!’ she retorted with a grin.

  ‘Aye, if it were that simple!’

  His jollity suddenly dwindling, he indicated a chair and moved to the table to pour out tea.

  ‘No, really, Father – oh, thank you.’ I will be awash with the stuff before the end of the day, she thought gloomily.

  ‘When you’ve heard me out,’ he said, seating himself in an adjacent chair, ‘it’ll be the brandy you’re needing.’

  ‘What’s happened?’ She leaned forward, conscious suddenly that he looked unusually pale.

  ‘You know after I’ve been up to the convent to offer Mass for all of you I come down and offer it for the general parishioners. I’ve a dispensation to do that when Father Stephen’s away.’

  ‘He’s still on holiday?’

  She wasn’t altogether sorry that Father Stephen was still away. There was something about the sleek, mellow-toned young priest that grated on her. No doubt he was an estimable curate, but to her mind his eyes were already fixed far too intently on a future bishopric.

  ‘He returns in a couple of weeks,’ Father Malone said. ‘It’s by way of being a working holiday for him. He’s writing a paper on church murals during the sixteenth century.’

  And that would be absolutely riveting reading for the people on the local council estate or the Romanies in their vardos, she thought cynically.

  Aloud she said, ‘So what’s the problem, Father?’

  ‘Finish your tea and I’ll show you,’ Father Malone said, gulping his own and rising again, ‘I have said nothing to Sister Jerome. Happily that particular cupboard is kept locked so she seldom tidies it.’

  He was leading the way through the door, down the short passage and through the door leading into the sacristy.

  ‘The cupboard here,’ he said in the same hurried manner, ‘holds baptismal certificates dating back to the eighteenth century. Of course the parishioners of that day will have been given copies, but the originals are still held here – many most beautifully decorated and, of course, in copperplate script. I would not be showing this to anyone else, Sister, but you have some experience of the world. Your fellow religious would be unable to bear the shock, so they would!’

  The carefully preserved, yellowing pieces of vellum looked at first glance undamaged. Only when she held them to the light could she see the nastily obscene little drawings that disfigured almost every capital letter.

  ‘If this were to reach the ears of Rome!’ Father Malone said, on a dying fall.

  ‘Has Rome asked for them?’ she enquired.

  ‘Thanks be to God, no, but with Rome one never knows,’ Father Malone said. ‘It might just enter someone’s head that a small town in Cornwall in the eighteenth century was worth researching. Methodism had a strong hold here then you know – John Wesley – an excellent man, but sadly mistaken in many ways. Now could you be doing something with them, Sister?’

  ‘You mean repairing them?’

  ‘You being an artist so to speak. Could they not be cleaned up?’

  ‘Depending on what was used. Pencil might – but these seem to be done in ink. I can take them away with me and test a couple, Father. I’d have to tell Mother David of course.’

  ‘Ah yes, the new prioress! Sister Dorothy rang me to inform me. Of course you must, Sister, but the nearer we can keep this to ourselves the better.’

  ‘You say the cupboard was locked?’

  ‘Oh yes.’

  ‘Where is the key kept?’

  ‘On my keyring.’

  ‘There’s no spare key?’

  ‘There might be. One usually has a spare key made for fear of losing the original. I couldn’t swear there is one.’

  ‘And the church is locked at night?’

  ‘Last thing. It’s a sad necessity with the crime wave soaring out of sight. You heard about Mrs Pearson?’

  ‘Seeing what she thought was the or a devil? Yes.’

  ‘Some nasty piece of work trying to frighten an old lady.’

  ‘She thought it real enough.’

  ‘Well, moonlight can play tricks. It’s a sad world, Sister.’

  ‘In many ways, yes,’ she said sombrely.

  ‘But we must look on the bright side!’ He locked the now empty cupboard and rooted around for a folder in another drawer. ‘Here we are! I’d not want the other dear sisters to see them! You will do what you can?’

  ‘Yes, of course, but I can’t promise complete success,’ she warned. ‘Drawing and painting are not the same as restoring manuscripts. You’d do better to put the whole thing in the hands of an expert.’

  ‘Which would only spread the infection,’ he said gloomily. ‘No. You do your best, Sister. One cannot ask more than that!’

  Infection. The word stayed in her mind as she drove away. An unusual term to describe a spot of rather nasty vandalism but – infection?

  It was past lunchtime, a fact she glumly checked on her watch before she carried the shopping inside.

  ‘Detective Inspector Mill rang from the station,’ Sister Marie said, pausing briefly in the washing-up. ‘He told Mother David about Alice and that you might be delayed. He said you were leaving her at the vet’s. How on earth did she get on to the quay?’

  ‘Wandered away probably,’ S
ister Joan said. ‘Will you excuse me, Sister? I need to see Mother David.’

  ‘There’s some lunch for you if you haven’t eaten. I made a potato gratin with the rest of the cheese since you couldn’t get the groceries here on time,’ Sister Marie said brightly. ‘We shall have salad sandwiches for supper as a nice change. I saved you some of the gratin.’

  ‘That was kind, Sister. First I must speak to Mother David.’

  Extracting the folder from the rest of the shopping she headed for the parlour.

  ‘Dominus vobiscum.’

  It might have been Sister Dorothy seated behind the desk so alike were the alert posture and level intonation of the customary greeting.

  ‘Et cum spiritu sancto.’

  Sister Joan kissed the floor in token of unpunctuality and seated herself.

  ‘Did it take you the whole morning to check on Alice?’ Mother David enquired.

  ‘No, Mother Prioress, but Father Malone wished to see me.’

  As well not to mention her call upon Mrs Pearson.

  ‘Oh?’ Mother David adjusted her spectacles, looking rather like an inquisitive little owl and less like the rabbit Sister Joan imagined her resembling.

  ‘He wants me to do what I can about these. I shall need your permission.’

  She leaned forward and laid the folder on the desk. Mother David took it up slowly, slid out the documents and visibly blenched.

  ‘What happened, Sister?’ When she raised her head her visage was subdued, almost grieving.

  ‘They were kept in a locked cupboard because of their historic value,’ Sister Joan explained. ‘Father Malone went to the drawer and found them in this state. I might be able to remove the – er – sketches.’

  ‘You have my permission. Why did Father go to the cupboard?’

  ‘He didn’t say, Mother. I think he had an idea that he ought to check on them in case Rome showed an interest.’

  ‘And he has the only key?’

  ‘He believes so, Mother, but of course a duplicate key might have been made.’

  ‘The cupboard wasn’t forced then?’

  ‘Not as far as I could tell,’ Sister Joan said.

  ‘Is it possible that he left the cupboard unlocked on a previous occasion? He has so many duties that he might well have neglected to check properly.’

  ‘It’s possible.’

  ‘What does Father Stephen make of it?’

  ‘He’s still on his working holiday.’

  ‘And Sister Jerome?’

  ‘Her day off. Father Malone had only just discovered the – vandalism. He spotted the van and rushed out.’

  ‘You must be wanting some lunch, Sister. Fortunately Sister Marie rustled up something very tasty and kept some back for you. You may eat it in the refectory.’

  ‘And the documents?’

  ‘You may do what you can to minimize the damage, Sister. Leave them with me. I shall take them up to the library and secure them. I am only sorry we two were forced to see them.’

  ‘Yes, Mother. Oh, I had—’

  ‘Please don’t tell me how many cups of tea you have drunk this morning.’ There was a glint of amusement behind the round spectacles. ‘I am in no condition to receive fresh shocks.’

  ‘Thank you, Mother. Dominus—’

  ‘You say Father Stephen is still on his holiday?’

  ‘Yes, Mother. He’s writing a paper on church murals. Why?’

  ‘Here and there….’ Mother David bent her head over the documents again. ‘Father Stephen makes rather elaborate capitals with a reverse loop on the g and the y. There are similar reverse loops on the – er body parts of these unspeakable sketches. Probably a coincidence. Dominus vobiscum.’

  ‘Et cum spiritu sancto,’ Sister Joan said numbly.

  A coincidence. Yes, it had to be a coincidence. Sister Joan got herself out of the parlour and stood for a moment in the antechamber, fighting an unaccustomed wave of depression that swept over her like fetid water.

  A couple of days before, she mused fretfully, the most exciting thing on the horizons of convent life had been renting out the postulancy and the election of the new prioress. Then a series of isolated incidents had changed life’s perspectives – or were they isolated? Was there some link between Alice shivering on the quay and the loops on a lewd sketch?

  ‘Am I to take your lunch up to the refectory or will you be having it with me in the kitchen?’ Sister Marie enquired, coming out with a covered tray.

  ‘Mother Prioress suggested the refectory. I can carry it, Sister.’

  Relinquishing the tray, Sister Marie shot the other a worried look.

  ‘You look all of a doodah, Sister,’ she said. ‘Are you sure Alice is going to be all right?’

  ‘Positive! I’ve had a bit of a busy morning, that’s all,’ Sister Joan said.

  The refectory opened on to the wide landing at the top of the beautifully carved staircase, and led thence into the recreation room.

  It too bore traces of former glory in its panelled walls and polished wooden floor. A long table and stools and a low sideboard now comprised its furnishings. By rights the refectory would be more conveniently situated on the ground floor since the older members of the community were finding it increasingly difficult to struggle up the stairs, but to have suggested they eat in the infirmary would have hurt their pride.

  She applied herself to the warmed over potato gratin to which Sister Marie had thoughtfully added an extra layer of hot cheese and drank the accompanying cup of tea.

  In her mind disparate events revolved uneasily. The painted obscenity under the sink in the postulancy, Alice’s escapade, Mrs Pearson seeing a devil, the defaced books in the postulancy and the documents in the locked cupboard of the church sacristy.

  Were they connected or simply random events that occurred by chance around the same time? Not necessarily the same time, she thought. There was no knowing exactly when the books had been despoiled and the ugly word painted in the tiny kitchen. Father Malone, she guessed, had probably not looked at the old documents for months.

  But who had access to the church and the postulancy? Who, for example, could have been cavorting around in the graveyard a couple of evenings before? As far as she could recall all the sisters had, as usual been indoors. Or had they? Sister Marie had been excused from recreation in order to help Sister Hilaria pack up some things in the postulancy. She had seen Brother Cuthbert emerging from the postulancy. Was he in the habit of wandering around the unlocked building?

  Groundless suspicions were useless! She finished her meal and walked through to the recreation room. Its long, elegantly sashed windows looked out over the enclosure with its fruit trees, flower bushes and the neat rows of vegetables that were Sister Martha’s pride and joy.

  There was no Sister Martha to be seen, only the ungainly figure of Luther as he squatted, head bent over something he was digging with a small trowel.

  ‘Sister Joan! Mother David wishes to see us in the parlour!’

  Sister Dorothy, two purple ribbons adorning her sleeve, had come in.

  ‘Is something wrong?’ Sister Joan asked.

  ‘Goodness me, I have no idea,’ Sister Dorothy said, reverting briefly to her previous position of authority. ‘We had better hurry on down. Have you finished your lunch? No, I’ll take the tray.’

  Sister Joan hastened. At some point she would have to tell Sister Dorothy, in the latter’s new capacity as librarian, that she was doing some restoration work on some old documents, but for the moment that would have to wait.

  Mother David looked pleased and slightly excited as the sisters filed in. She hadn’t yet grown into her position, Sister Joan thought with a flash of sympathy. Prioresses were calm and concise, seldom betraying emotion. Mother David was beaming.

  ‘I have just received excellent news, Sisters,’ she said without preamble. ‘I have received a letter from a Father John Fitzgerald in Liverpool. Sent express. It concerns the renting out of the postulancy.’<
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  ‘We have prospective tenants?’ Sister Hilaria sounded slightly nonplussed. ‘Nothing is really ready, Mother David.’

  ‘A lady called Mrs Winifred Roye,’ Mother David said, referring to the letter before her, ‘is anxious to move to Cornwall following the death of her husband last year. She lives with her married daughter and son-in-law who will be accompanying her. Apparently the son-in-law, a Mr Ian Lurgan was recently made redundant and hopes to find work down here. He has, Father Fitzgerald informs me, several likely interviews to attend. They are Catholics – though I didn’t specify any tenants should be – but being of the Faith they will be more likely to understand the rules of semi-enclosure and keep to their own part of the grounds.’

  ‘When do they want to come?’ Sister Perpetua asked.

  ‘In two weeks’ time. They have only personal possessions, no furniture. We must make a list of essential items to be purchased.’

  ‘There are already beds there,’ Sister Hilaria said.

  ‘Husbands and wives usually have double beds,’ Sister Gabrielle remarked, ‘unless customs have changed since my youth.’

  ‘Thank you, Sister. I believe we are all aware of that,’ Mother David said.

  ‘And a cot.’ Sister Katherine spoke dreamily.

  ‘No children are mentioned,’ Mother David said.

  ‘I only thought – after the double bed?’ Sister Katherine’s delicate features were bright red.

  ‘Sister Joan, you had better help me draw up a list and then we can calculate cost,’ Mother David said. ‘Sister Dorothy, your advice would be invaluable in this matter. I have decided to accept Father Fitzgerald’s recommendation and write to inform him we shall expect Mrs Roye and Mr and Mrs Lurgan in a fortnight’s time. I think we’re all agreed this is very welcome news.’

  There was a general chorus of assent before the customary farewell. In the hall again Sister Joan found herself hesitating. She ought to start on the documents, she supposed, and give Sister Dorothy some hint of what it was all about, but she felt disinclined to cloister herself up in the library.

  Instead she went through the kitchen, paused to promise Lilith a ride later, and strolled round to the vegetable garden. There was no sign of Luther but the hole he had been digging was neatly filled in.