In that case they must have been hiding nearby. The confessional. That box with its closed door, its secret darkness where sins were whispered into Father Malone’s ear every Wednesday afternoon — that would have held person and crucifix. She hadn’t stopped to search.
‘And they lived happy after ever,’ Madelyn said.
‘Thank you, Madelyn. That was very nice,’ Sister Joan said, pulling her mind back. ‘Now who is going to be next?’ She smiled round expectantly.
The others looked at one another.
‘I know about Robin Hood,’ Billy said unexpectedly.
‘Good. You tell us the story about him then.’
‘He lived in Sherwood Forest and he took things from the poor — no, that’s wrong. He took things from the rich and give ‘em to the poor and everybody loved him very much, except the Sheriff of Nottingham but he went out and stuck a sword through the Sheriff of Nottingham and then pricked him all over with arrows and then cut off his head,’ Billy said with relish.
‘That’s a horrid story, isn’t it, Sister?’ Samantha said primly.
‘No, it’s jolly good,’ Timothy began and stopped dead, uncertainty in his face. After a moment he said lamely, ‘I guess it is horrid too, more horrid than good.’
‘Do you know a story, Samantha?’ Sister Joan asked.
‘There was once a lady and a gentleman and they got married and had a little baby girl and lived in a very nice house and lived happily afterwards until they were all a hundred years old and then they all went straight to heaven,’ Samantha said.
‘What happened to them before they went to heaven?’ Billy enquired.
‘Nothing,’ said Samantha serenely. ‘Nothing ever happened to them at all.’
‘Wasn’t that a bit dull for them?’ Sister Joan asked cautiously.
‘Oh, no, Sister, it was just lovely!’ The child’s green eyes blazed suddenly, lighting up the plain, pale little face. ‘It was just lovely.’
‘I think that was a very nice story,’ Madelyn said.
‘Yes, but—’ Sister Joan broke off at the sound of an approaching lorry. ‘Excuse me for a few moments, children. I think the others may have arrived.’
When she went out to the front, however, where the drizzling rain had lessened to a wet mist hanging on the air, only Padraic Lee alighted, jumping down from the driver’s seat and squelching towards her through the wet grass.
‘Good morning, Sister. Sorry to interrupt but I was wondering if Petroc had turned up at school,’ he greeted her.
‘None of the Romany children are here. You should know since you drive them.’
‘It was raining.’ He gave her a reproachful look.
‘The children won’t melt in the rain,’ she said irritably, aware of a nasty, sinking feeling at the pit of her stomach. ‘And Petroc isn’t here.’
‘Then I reckon he’s nipped off to try and see his dad,’ Padraic said. ‘Funny though, not to leave word with someone. He knows that I’d try to argue him out of it but I’d never stop him if he’d fixed his mind.’
‘Mr Lee, your nephew is twelve years old,’ she reminded him. ‘He’s a child. You can’t let children do whatever they fix their minds on.’
‘Petroc’s a sensible lad,’ his uncle argued. ‘I didn’t take much note last night when I went by his wagon and he wasn’t there. I figured he’d gone off to do a bit of—’
‘Poaching,’ Sister Joan said severely.
‘Nature watching,’ he substituted with a grin. ‘Anyways this morning seeing it was wet and all was peaceful-like, I figured we’d sleep in and I let him be, but then I minded myself that I’d some scrap to pick up in Bodmin so I went over to see if he’d a fancy to come and he wasn’t there. Bunk not slept in. So I wondered if he’d hightailed it over to school.’
‘None of your children came this morning,’ Sister Joan said. ‘Mr Lee, if Petroc is missing shouldn’t you get the police?’
It was, of course, entirely the wrong suggestion. She knew it even before his face closed against the idea of authority and he said defensively, ‘No need to bring the law in on this, Sister. Before you know it we’ll have them social workers down about our necks like fleas. My good lady would be very upset about that.’
Sister Joan doubted if his ‘good lady’ would recognize either policeman or social worker through the alcoholic haze in which she dwelt but it would have been unkind to say so. Instead she said, ‘Has Petroc ever done this before?’
‘Not stayed away all night, Sister. He likes his bed that lad and it came on to rain around midnight, so he’d have come home for sure.’
‘Have you asked around the camp? — yes, of course you’ll have done that. Had he taken anything with him?’
‘I had a quick look round, but I couldn’t see anything gone though I didn’t look close.’
‘Had he money on him?’
‘A couple of pounds. Never any more.’
‘That wouldn’t get him very far on a train or bus,’ she began but he interrupted, ‘He wouldn’t go that way, Sister. He’d likely walk until he could pick up a hitch.’
‘But surely that’s terribly dangerous?’
‘Suicidal these days with all the rogues and criminals about,’ he agreed, ‘and Petroc knows enough not to do it. But he were that upset about his dad being framed though he never let on — has his pride that lad. But he might have took it into his head.’
‘If you will wait a few moments, Mr Lee, I’ll ask the children.’
Going back inside she met the curious gaze of five pairs of eyes.
‘Aren’t the others coming, Sister?’ Timothy enquired.
‘Not today. Children, have
