As Death Draws Near (15 page)

“Mother Mary Fidelis. Where is she?” I asked the third girl, not about to give Miss Walsh the stage.

I glanced down at the blond girl's drawing as I waited for the giggler to find her tongue, recognizing it to be a credible effort. Though I could see she had not been able to resist including the two girls on the bench in it rather than just sketch the flowers. She glanced up at me, almost defensively, and I knew without her having to say a word that she would resent any compliment I tried to give her. So I decided to offer her some assistance instead.

“Don't forget which direction the sun is shining in,” I murmured, trusting she would understand what I meant.

She dropped her gaze to examine her sketch, then compared it to the scene in real life and nodded.

In the meantime, the other girl seemed to have gathered herself. “She went toward the orchard,” she told me, her eyes cutting down the path.

I started to thank her, but she surprised me by stammering more.

“But she's been gone a long time.” She glanced around at the others. “We . . . we were just wonderin' how soon it was 'til our next class. Whether we should go back inside.”

A tingle of uneasiness began at the base of my spine. “I imagine she's just helping another student,” I replied calmly.

“Jane, most likely,” Miss Walsh remarked under her breath, and one of the girls on the bench tittered.

I ignored them. “I'm sure she wishes you to continue working on your sketches. I'll see if I can find her.”

The girl nodded, her shoulders lifting, happily passing the burden on to me. However, I noticed the blond student had looked up, and she was observing me more closely. I offered her a reassuring smile and turned to go.

I passed several other pairs of students, seated on benches tucked in about the flowers, and they all pointed me in the same direction. None of them expressed concern, and I didn't wish to alarm them by asking too many questions, so I continued to stroll toward the orchard. There at the end of the trail, just before the arch, sat one lone girl on a blanket spread on a bench in a patch of sunshine. Her eyes were clouded with worry.

“Are you here alone?” I asked.

“No. Molly . . . Miss O'Grady . . .” she corrected herself “. . . went into the orchard to look for Mother Mary Fidelis to ask her a question. But they've both been gone a
really
long time.”

I didn't know this girl well enough to guess whether her emphasis meant they had actually been absent a significant amount of time or merely a few minutes, but I decided it was best not to dawdle asking questions. Instead, I turned my footsteps toward the arch. “Do you want to search with me?”

Her expression made it clear she did not, so I told her to wait there. I set off, calling each of their names in a normal manner, hoping one of them would answer. That tingle at the base of my spine had begun to crawl upward toward the base of my neck, making the tiny hairs stand on end. I forced my feet to move at a sedate pace, my voice to remain even, though I wanted to rush forward and demand they answer me.

I wove through the trees toward the back corner, concluding they must have headed in that direction. I don't know how or why I decided that. There was as yet no indication that anything was wrong other than the ambiguous statement of one girl. But I didn't stop to analyze my decision. I simply moved.

The closer I drew to the wall, the more certain I was that something bad had happened. It hovered in the air, like a falcon waiting to strike. No one was answering my queries. No sound was being made at all, not even by the birds. I quickened my steps, rounding one of the last rows of trees when out of nowhere something flew into me.

I gasped and stumbled back a step, barely keeping myself from being knocked to the ground. My arms had instinctively wrapped around whatever had lunged at me, and I realized on an exhale of relief that it was a trembling girl. Her words were stuttered and incoherent, even as I tried to calm her. Eventually, I was forced to grab her by the shoulders and shake her.

“Miss O'Grady,” I snapped. “You must calm down.”

Her eyes were still wide with fright, but her stammering words stopped.

“Now, try again.
Slowly
.” I searched her face. “Where is Mother Mary Fidelis?”

She blinked once, twice, and then pivoted to glance toward the last tree standing between us and the gap in the wall. “There,” she croaked. “She . . . she . . .” She swallowed. “She's dead.”

H
er words were like a punch to the abdomen, driving the air from my lungs. I stared down at her tear-streaked face as dozens of questions formed in my mind, and most of them were just as quickly discarded. My eyes lifted to stare over her shoulder at the fluttering leaves, a kaleidoscope of greens, blocking my view through the gap in the wall to what lay beyond.

The girl hiccupped on a sob, recalling my gaze and my attention. I opened my mouth to ask her my most pressing questions, but then I realized it was pointless. She was in no state to respond, and I would discover the answers to most of them myself in a moment.

Instead, I grasped her shoulders tighter. “Miss O'Grady, I need you to listen to me. I need you to go and tell the mother superior what you've just told me. I need you to do so now, and I need you to do so calmly.” I stared into her glazed eyes. “Do you understand me?”

She nodded.

“Then repeat what I said.”

“Ye . . . ye be wantin' me to go tell the mother superior what I j-just told ye.”

“I'm counting on you,” I added for good measure, hoping this weight of responsibility would help her gain better control of herself. “Now, go.”

I watched her disappear beyond the trees, wishing for a moment that I could go after her. Then I forced myself to turn and face what lay outside the wall.

My steps felt strangely sluggish even though my thoughts were sharp and piercingly clear. Almost without being conscious of it, I drew my reticule forward and slipped my hand inside, feeling the comforting chill of cold metal. I slid my fingers down over the barrel to the smooth wood of the handle and repositioned the pistol I now almost always carried, pulling it closer to the opening. Whoever had killed Mother Fidelis was likely gone; otherwise they would not have allowed Miss O'Grady to escape unharmed, but I'd learned it was always best to be cautious.

I pressed my other hand to the rough, gritty stone at the gap in the wall, gazing out over the field. Her body lay a short distance away, closer than even Miss Lennox's had lain, the black of her habit a pool of darkness against the sea of green. My heart pounding loudly in my ears, I cautiously leaned forward, looking to the left and then to the right. Seeing no one, I released my grip on my gun, letting it fall back into my reticule, and stepped through.

The grass here was still damp, lying in the shadow of the wall, but the ground near Mother Fidelis was drier, passing in and out of cloud and sunshine. She'd fallen in a patch of clover, the bright red of her blood splattering some of the pale white flowers. She had also been struck by a stone, but this time the blow had come to the side of the head, above the temple, and the rock which had done the damage had been cast aside just a few feet away. I could see blood marring the surface closest to me.

Why? Had the killer had less time to escape, and so he had not wanted to be caught removing the stone? Or had he more time to think since the first murder, realizing that by leaving it he created more confusion? Whatever his reasoning, it seemed clear we could now rule out the possibility that Miss Lennox's death had been an accident.

I moved closer, slowly lowering myself to my knees beside
her, uncaring now if the skirts of my dress were ruined by dew or something much worse. Mother Fidelis's eyes stared blankly off into the distance, and the first thing I did was to close them. There was no reason to wait. I could examine her while we were alone, and then she could be removed and laid out properly in the abbey's small chapel. A minimum of fuss. I suspected that was what she would have wished.

I carefully removed her veil and linen cap and prodded the wound, finding bits of dirt and grit and small bone fragments, some of which I removed and set aside in my handkerchief to be examined more closely. Then I scrutinized the rest of her scalp for further injury, an effort made easier by the short length of her fair red hair. Once finished, I rolled her flat on her back and inspected the rest of her from head to toe. There were no other wounds that I could see, not even a bruise or a small cut. I rolled up her sleeves to check her arms and lifted her habit to view her legs to just above the knees, but seeing no visible marks or reason to suspect I needed to continue, I spared her the indignity of any further examination. It appeared that the only damage to her body had been that fatal blow.

I couldn't help but wonder if she'd seen it coming. Had she turned her head? Is that why the blow fell to the side and not the back, as with Miss Lennox?

“M'lady?”

I glanced up from my contemplation of Mother Fidelis to find Bree standing at the gap in the wall. Her eyes darted back and forth between my face and the corpse lying before me.

“I was comin' to find ye when tha' girl came runnin' by. I couldna make heads nor tails o' what she was sayin', except it was somethin' awful.” Her eyes dropped to the body. “Is it . . .”

“Yes,” I replied wearily. “One of the sisters. Mother Mary Fidelis.”

She nodded, her eyes wide. “What would ye like me to do?”

“Stay there for now, and keep back anyone else who comes this way.” I picked up the veil and draped it over Mother Fidelis's
head, hiding the wound and her face. There was nothing I could do for Miss O'Grady, but I could spare everyone else the sight.

When that was done, it seemed appropriate that I should say some sort of prayer, even just a short one. It was undoubtedly not the correct one according to Catholic tradition, but it was the best I could do. Then I pushed to my feet and picked my way across the field, conscious of the fact that the damp ground might have preserved footprints of some kind. I leaned down to look at the stone which had been used as a weapon, but other than the blood there were no other discernable markings. I decided it would be best not to move it until Gage arrived, and to allow him the dubious honor.

It wasn't long before the mother superior and Mother Paul arrived, peering around Bree through the gap in the wall. From my position standing solemnly next to Mother Fidelis's body, I could see the pale wide-eyed strain on their faces, the lines of grief.

“It's true then,” Reverend Mother exhaled.

“I'm afraid so. I'm sorry,” I offered after a pause, feeling as if those two words were wholly inadequate.

She nodded in acceptance. “I know, child.” Her eyes stared at the veil covering her sister's face. “Is it the same?”

I knew to what she referred—the same wound as Miss Lennox, the same method of murder, the same killer. “It appears so.”

She wavered on her feet, bracing herself against the wall to keep from falling. Mother Paul and Bree both reached out to steady her.

“Reverend Mother, perhaps you should sit,” Mother Paul suggested.

But she held up her hand. “No. I'm fine now. 'Twas merely the shock.” She inhaled shakily. “In any case, someone should say a prayer over her.”

“I said something,” I murmured and all three women turned to look at me. “I . . . I'm sure it wasn't the correct words . . .” I added uncertainly.

“I'm sure they were sufficient,” Reverend Mother assured
me. “The Lord understands what we mean to say with our hearts, even if our words fall short.”

I nodded, grateful I'd not unwittingly insulted them. “At any rate, it would be best if we kept everyone away until my husband arrives.”

“Mother Mary Paul has already sent someone for him.” She straightened, regaining some of her strength now that the worst of the shock was over. “Once we could make sense of what Miss O'Grady was trying to tell us, we realized that was certainly what you would wish.”

“Yes. Thank you,” I replied, grateful she'd thought to do so, and grateful we would have less time to wait until Gage reached us. “I suppose you sent Mr. Scully for him.”

“Or Davy,” Mother Paul said. “Whomever Mrs. Scully could locate first.”

“The students have all been taken to the refectory with the other sisters,” Mother Superior added, reciting as if to be certain herself that she had thought of everything. “Except Miss O'Grady, of course. I thought it best not to excite the other students. Sister Mary Xaveria will know how to comfort her.”

Having seen Miss O'Grady's panic and distress, I concluded she was right. Some of them would have seen her frantically fleeing toward the building, but one could hope they had not understood precisely why.

She shook her head. “The poor lass. That she had to be the one to find her and witness such a sight.”

I was more concerned with the fact that she and the rest of her class had been so close by when the attack occurred, but that could be addressed later.

I turned aside, wondering what else could be done as we waited. I stared awkwardly off into the distance, trying not to think about the body that lay at my feet, or the blood staining the leather of my gloves. A sudden chill breeze sent a shiver through me, and I noticed for the first time the gray clouds gathering again in the west. The morning's sunshine had been a lull between storms then. Within another half hour, I gauged the rain would be falling in earnest again.

Not willing to risk the possibility that the shower would wash away what little evidence might be there, I decided to begin pacing the field myself rather than wait for Gage.

“Bree, can you assist me?”

“O' course.”

“Come closer, but mind where you step. That looks like rain blowing in and I want to examine these footprints before it's too late. Start near the wall . . .” I pointed “. . . and look for steps that were made after the rain, smashing down the grass and leaving a muddy impression.”

“What precisely am I lookin' for?” she asked, her voice muffled from being bent forward. “A man's large print?”

“We can't yet say whether this was done by a man or a woman,” I replied, keeping my eyes averted from the sisters. “So any impressions you find are pertinent. We can rule out those made by your and my shoes, and Mother Mary Fidelis's later.” I refrained from mentioning what it would mean if we did not find any prints other than those made by the three pairs of shoes I mentioned, but anyone who was thinking logically would realize it. I'd noticed earlier in the mud room that all of the sisters wore the exact same style of outdoor footwear. If we found prints made by ours and Mother Fidelis's shoes and no others, then that must mean some of the prints attributed to Mother Fidelis's could be attributed to another nun. The rest did not bear thinking about until it was necessary.

I exhaled at the sight of the large print stamped in a spot on the ground where the vegetation was sparser, more relieved than I cared to admit by the evidence that at some point there had been an outsider present. The print was a few paces from the body, and decidedly large enough to indicate there had been a man here at some point between midnight and Miss O'Grady's arrival. I could not say for certain anything beyond that, nor could we discard the possibility that another sister had also been here, but the evidence was beginning to point toward a man being our culprit.

The gentleman Davy had seen? Miss Lennox's “suitor”?
There was no way yet to know for sure whether they had anything to do with it.

“I've found a man's footprint,” I called out to tell Bree as I opened my reticule to rummage inside. “Let me know if you find any others.” At the bottom lay a blue ribbon which had fallen out of my hair at some point probably months ago that I'd tossed inside and forgotten. I pulled it out and carefully laid it beside the impression to measure it. Then I folded the ribbon to mark the length and clamped it between the pages of a small book I also found inside my bag before resuming my search for more prints.

Between us, we located three credible prints made by what appeared to be the same man's shoe. We also identified which prints were ours, as well as four that matched those from Mother Fidelis's shoes. There were any number of smashed or scuffled areas, but without a definitive impression, they were unhelpful to our efforts. I also paused to remember to examine the substances on Mother Fidelis's shoes, ignoring the looks the sisters undoubtedly sent my way as I leaned forward to smell them.

It was in this undignified position that Gage, Anderley, Marsdale, Davy, and several members of the constabulary turned the outer corner of the wall a short distance away to find me. My face flooded with color as Bree helped me to my feet.

“Stop!” she called, and I was grateful she'd had the presence of mind to do so while I was fighting embarrassment.

The men looked to her in surprise and confusion, but followed her order. She stood stiffly beside me, looking slightly horrified that she'd raised her voice to Gage and Marsdale and some of the others.

“We've found several footprints that should be examined more closely,” I hastened to explain. “So before you trample them, let us point them out.”