The Religious Body (6 page)

In the tradition of the Convent an empty place was left at the refectory table where Sister Anne had always sat, her napkin laid alongside it. It would be so for seven days and then the ranks of nuns would close up as if she had never been. And Sister Damien and Sister Michael who had sat for several years on either side of Sister Anne would now for the rest of their mortal lives sit next to each other instead at meals, in Chapel, and in everything else they did as a Community.

“I think we will have our cloister now,” Sister Damien had remarked as they tidied up the refectory together.

“Our cloister? Now?” Sister Gertrude stopped and looked at her. The Convent had always lacked a cloister but to build one as they would have liked by joining up two back wings of the house was well beyond their means. “We shall need one very badly if they build next door, but where will the money come from?”

Sister Damien assiduously chased a few wayward crumbs along one of the tables. “Sister Anne.”

“Sister Anne?”

Sister Damien pinned down another crumb with her thin hand. “She knew we wanted a cloister.”

“We all knew we wanted a cloister,” said Sister Gertrude with some asperity. “It's very difficult in winter without one, but that doesn't mean to say that …”

“Sister Anne was to come into some money and she's left it to us.”

“How do you know?”

“She told me,” said Sister Damien simply. “She didn't have a dowry but she knew she was going to have this money some day.”

Sister Gertrude pursed her lips. Money was never mentioned in the ownership sense in the Convent. In calculating wants and needs and ways and means, yes, but never relating to a particular Sister. And the size of a dowry was a matter between the Mother Superior and the Novice.

“So we'll be able to have our cloister now and it won't matter about the building,” went on Sister Damien, oblivious of the effect she was creating. “That's good, isn't it?”

Sister Gertrude busied herself straightening a chair. “Yes,” she said in as neutral a voice as she could manage. “Except for Sister Anne.”

Sister Damien wheeled round and caught her arm. “But she is in Heaven, Sister. You don't regret that, do you?”

But Sister Gertrude did not know what it was she regretted, and at the first sound of the Convent bell she thankfully fled the refectory.

It was unfortunate for her peace of mind that the first person she bumped into was little Sister Peter. She was walking up the great staircase looking rather less cheerful than Mary Queen of Scots mounting the scaffold at Fotheringhay. She was holding her hand out in front of her with her thumb stuck out in odd disassociation from the rest of her body.

“Hasn't the Inspector finished with your thumb, Sister?” Sister Gertrude asked.

“Oh, yes,” she said mournfully. “He's fingerprinted my hand, and confirmed that the blood did get on the Gradual from my thumb.”

“Well, then,” said Sister Gertrude a little testily, “surely you can put it away now?”

Sister Peter regarded the offending member. “He doesn't know how the blood got on it and neither do I. I've shown him everything I did this morning after you woke me—my own door, two flights of stairs to the long landing, the gallery, this staircase and straight into the Chapel. The Chapel door was open, Sister Polycarp does that. Sister Sacrist had got the Gradual ready like she always does. Besides everywhere's been cleaned by now. I just don't know …” This last was said
tremolo
.

“Neither do I,” said Sister Gertrude firmly. “But you've helped all you can.…”

“I can't think why anyone should want to harm poor Sister Anne.”

“Neither can I,” said Sister Gertrude somewhat less firmly. “It might have been an accident, you know.…”

Sister Peter looked unconvinced and continued on her way.

“Now, Sister St. Bernard, I realize that this business must have given you an unpleasant shock, but I would like you to describe how you found Sister Anne.”

Sloan was back in the Parlor with Crosby in attendance facing the Reverend Mother with Sister Lucy at her side. Sister St. Bernard was standing between them. There would come a time when he would want to see a nun on her own but that time was not yet. Sister Lucy looked anxious and strained, but the Reverend Mother sat calm and dignified, an air of timelessness about her.

Sloan was being the perfect policeman talking to the nervous witness. There was no doubt that Sister St. Bernard was nervous. Her damp palms trembled slightly until she hit on the idea of clasping them together in front of her, but she could not keep a faint quaver out of her voice so easily.

“We were asked to help look for Sister Anne about an hour after Mass this morning in case she had been taken ill anywhere. Sister Lucy and the others were going through the upstairs rooms and Sister Perpetua and I were doing the downstairs ones.…”

Sloan was prepared to bet that Sister Perpetua was as young as Sister St. Bernard and that no one had expected either of them to find the missing Sister.

“I don't know what made me open the cellar door.… I had been in all the rooms along that corridor and—”

“Was it closed?”

“Yes.”

“Properly?”

“Yes.”

“Was it locked?”

“No.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Oh, yes. It was because it was usually locked that I put the light on when I opened it. Otherwise I don't think I would have seen Sister Anne.”

“The door is normally kept locked, Inspector,” explained the Reverend Mother in a very dry voice, “on account of the danger of falling down the steep steps in the dark.”

“I see, marm, thank you. Then what did you do, Sister?”

She had done very little, decided Sloan, except give the alarm and encourage the destruction of useful clues by opening and shutting the cellar door and fetching people who went up and down the steps.

And Sister Peter had been scarcely more helpful.

When she had gone the Reverend Mother beckoned Sister Lucy to her side. “What was that address?”

“Seventeen Strelitz Square, Mother.”

The Mother Prioress nodded. “Inspector, that was the address from which Sister Anne came to us.”

“It's a very good one,” said Sloan involuntarily.

“She was a very good nun,” retorted the Reverend Mother dryly. “It was, of course, some time ago that she left home, but in the normal course of events I would telephone there to establish whether or not she still had relatives.”

Sloan took a quick look at his watch. “Perhaps I'll telephone myself, marm.”

Standing in the dark corridor where the nuns kept their instrument he wondered if it wouldn't have been wiser to go to London. When he was connected to 17 Strelitz Square he was sure.

“Mrs. Alfred Cartwright's residence,” said a female voice.

“May I speak to Mrs. Cartwright, please?”

“Who shall I say is calling?”

“The Convent of St. Anselm.” That would do to begin with.

“I will enquire if madam is at home.”

There was a pause. Sloan heard footsteps walking away. Parquet flooring. And then they came back.

“Madam,” said the female voice, “is Not At Home.”

“It's about her daughter,” said Sloan easily. “I think if she knew that she—”

“Madam has no daughter,” said the voice and rang off.

Sloan went back to the Parlor. Only Crosby was there now.

“A bell rang, Inspector, and they both went—just like that. I didn't know if you wanted me to stop them.”

“You? Stop them?” said Sloan unkindly. “You couldn't do it. Now, listen …”

There was a knock on the Parlor door and Father MacAuley came in.

“Ah, Inspector, found the glasses?”

“Not yet, sir,” said Sloan shortly. It was bad enough investigating a death in the alien surroundings of a Convent without having a priest pattering along behind him. And MacAuley wasn't the only one who wanted to know where Sister Anne's glasses were. Superintendent Leeyes would be on to their absence in a flash, and a fat lot of good it would be explaining to him that he and Crosby had looked everywhere for them.

“Did you get anything out of Lady Macbeth?” asked the priest.

“We confirmed all of Sister Peter's statements,” said Sloan stiffly.

“She's walking up and down the corridor muttering ‘What! Will these hands ne'er be clean?'” He squinted at Sloan. “All the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten that little hand.”

“No, sir? The Mother Prioress tried an old Army remedy.”

“She did?”

“Spud bashing.”

“A fine leader of women, the Mother Prioress.” Father MacAuley grinned suddenly. “I hear that the chap across the way—Ranby at the Agricultural Institute—he's gated his students for the evening. All to be in their own grounds by four o'clock this afternoon.”

“Can't say I blame him for that,” said Sloan. “Last year they burnt down the bus shelter and there was hell to pay.”

“Nearly set the Post Office on fire, too,” contributed Crosby.

“Polycarp says all buildings burn well, but Government buildings burn better,” said the priest.

Sloan rose dismissively. “I don't think Bonfire Night at the Agricultural Institute will concern us, sir.”

Wherein he was wrong.

CHAPTER SIX

It was still damp in the grounds, and for that Sloan was grateful. It meant that the footprints Crosby had found not far from the cellar door were perfectly preserved.

“Two sets, Inspector.” He straightened his back. They were in the shelter of one of the large rhododendron bushes. “One of them stood for a while in the same place. The earth's quite soft here.…” He slipped out a measure. “Men's.…”

“Perhaps.”

“It was a man's shoe, sir …”

“But was there a man inside it? Don't forget that this lot wear men's shoes—every one of them.”

Crosby measured the depth. “If it was a woman, it was a heavy one.”

“Get a cast and we'll know for certain.” He looked round. “It would be a good enough spot to watch the back of the place from.” From where he was standing he could see the kitchen door, the cellar steps, a splendid collection of dustbins and a small glass door which presumably led to the garden room. A broad path led round towards the front entrance of the house, and along this now was walking the Caller, Sister Gertrude.

“Inspector, Mother says will you come please? She's had a letter.”

“It was handed to Sister Polycarp a few minutes ago,” said the Reverend Mother, “by one of the village children from a gentleman who is staying at The Bull. He says in his letter that he proposes to call at the Convent at four-thirty this afternoon in the hopes of being able to see Sister Anne.”

“Does he?” said Sloan with interest. “Who is he?”

The Mother Prioress handed over the letter. “It's signed ‘Harold Cartwright.' A relation, presumably.”

“Do you know him? Has he been here before?”

She shook her head. “No. I do not recollect Sister Anne having any visitors. Do you, Sister?”

Sister Lucy looked up. “Never, Mother.”

“Would she have seen this man in the ordinary way?”

“Not if she did not wish it, Inspector. Nor if I did not wish it. Sometimes visitors are no great help—especially to young postulants and novices, and are therefore not allowed.”

“He says here he hopes no objection will be raised to his visit, which is of considerable importance,” said Sloan, quoting the letter.

“To him,” said the Reverend Mother. “Visitors are rarely important to us. Nevertheless, I think in this instance that we had better ask Sister Polycarp to show him to the Parlor when he comes.”

He arrived promptly at four-thirty, a man aged about fifty-five in a dark gray suit. He was heavily built and going gray. He wasted no time in getting to the point.

“I am Harold Cartwright, the cousin of Sister Anne, and I would very much like to see her for a few moments.…”

“I am afraid,” said the Reverend Mother, “that that will not be possible.…”

“I know,” said the man quickly, “that she probably does not wish to see me or any of her family, but it is on a matter of some importance. That is why I have traveled down here in person rather than written to her.…”

“
When
did you travel down here?” asked Sloan.

Cartwright turned. “Last night. I stayed at The Bull.”

“What time did you arrive?”

“Is that any concern of—”

“I am a police officer investigating a sudden death.”

“I see.” Again the man wasted no time in coming to the point. “I got to The Bull about seven-thirty, had a meal and a drink in the bar and went to bed.”

“Straight to bed?”

“No. If you're interested I went for a quick walk round the village to get a breath of air before going to my room.”

“I see, sir, thank you.”

“Mr. Cartwright,” the Mother Prioress inclined her coif slightly, “how long is it since you last saw Sister Anne?”

“Almost twenty years. I went to another Convent to see her. Hersely, it was.”

“That would be so. We have a House there.”

“I went to ask if there was anything she wanted, anything we could do for her.” His mouth twisted. “She said she had everything and I came away again.”

“Mr. Cartwright, you must be prepared for a shock.”

He laughed shortly. “I know she'll be a changed woman. No one's the same after twenty years. I'm not the same man myself if it comes to that.”

The Mother Prioress lowered her head. “I have no doubt that great changes have been wrought by the passage of time in you both but that is not the point. I am sorry to have to tell you that the sudden death into which Inspector Sloan is enquiring is that of your cousin, Sister Anne.”