‘Some of the people in the camp are Catholics,’ Sister Joan said. ‘I didn’t know that Petroc was one. Romanies usually adopt the religion of wherever they happen to be, and this district is mainly Protestant so I would have thought—’
‘He didn’t mention it to you?’
She shook her head.
‘Whenever there’s a feast day all the Romany children claim to be members of the Church just so they can take advantage of the day off. Father Malone will know for certain.’
‘Yes, well — thank you again, Sisters. Goodnight.’ He unexpectedly thrust out his hand and shook hands with them both. ‘You’ll be having to get your chapel reconsecrated or whatever, I suppose. After having the body there, I mean.’
‘The body of a child does not soil any place,’ Mother Dorothy said. ‘Goodnight.’
Outside, cars were starting up. Going with the two officers to the door Sister Joan flinched as the light from headlamps illumined a stretcher being carried round from the side.
‘Nasty business, Sister.’ The other officer sounded angry. ‘Always nasty when it’s a child.’
‘Yes.’
There was, she thought, nothing more to be said.
‘I have asked Sister Margaret to invite the rest of the community down to prayers,’ the Prioress said, coming towards her. ‘The grand silence has been delayed already and I feel strongly that we need silence now, so that what has happened may be put into perspective. Oh, and if you wish to visit the camp in order to offer your condolences you may do so without first coming to ask for permission.’
‘Thank you, Reverend Mother.’ Sister Joan turned and went into the chapel wing. Nothing seemed to have been disturbed; the sanctuary lamp still burned with a steady blue flame; nobody lay before the altar. Then, slipping into her place, she noticed the seals on the doors leading to the visitors’ parlour and the confessional. Evidently a more thorough examination would be made in daylight.
The others were coming in, silently, heads bowed. Only Sister Mary Concepta was grunting a little with effort as Sister Teresa shepherded her to her seat. Sister Joan wished it were permissible to turn her head and study the faces of her sisters. Was it possible that one of them had — but who? She let their faces pass across the surface of her mind as the Prioress began the recitation of the rosary.
Not the old ladies and not the postulants who never went anywhere unsupervised. Not the Prioress or delicate Sister Katherine who often needed help before she could lift the piles of heavy linen. Sister Martha looked frail too but she was wiry; Sister Hilaria had large, powerful hands — stop it, stop it at once. Someone from outside did this and then brought him here. Why? Why not simply bury him out on the moor? It might be years before anyone ever found him. Why bring him here to the convent?
‘—as it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be,’ Mother Dorothy intoned. Hands raised, fluttered crosses in the soft lamplight.
‘You are all aware that the missing child, Petroc Lee, was found here earlier this evening.’ The Prioress was on her feet, facing them. ‘The cause of his death has not been established, but it seems certain that he died about twenty-four hours ago and that someone brought the body here. The police have asked for statements. Someone may have seen something, some tiny detail they didn’t consider important at the time. I wish the rising signal to be sounded half an hour early in the morning. You will all have had a night’s sleep and will employ the extra time before coming into chapel in writing a brief account of your own memories of the last twenty-four hours. You will also be required to have your fingerprints taken, for elimination purposes. What has happened is very distressing, especially for Sister Joan whose pupil the child was. For the rest we will continue as usual. The tragic event must not be made an excuse for idle gossip and speculation. Sister Margaret, as it is so late you and Sister Joan will accompany Sister Hilaria and her charges to the postulants’ quarters and return together.’
‘Please, Reverend Mother.’ Little Sister David had put up her hand. ‘You don’t think someone might be — lurking?’
‘No, Sister David, I don’t think anything of the kind.’ Mother Dorothy sounded wearily impatient. ‘Sister Margaret and Sister Joan, you are excused from observing the grand silence until you re-enter the main house. Let us pray.’
She lowered herself to her knees again, beginning to intone the prayer for the dead.
At the chapel door Sister Joan knelt briefly for the blessing, feeling the cool drops of water on her face as the Prioress sprinkled some from the aspergillum. Mother Dorothy was in shadow, only her eyes alive and troubled behind her rimless spectacles.
The five walked in silence through the garden and along the narrow path that led past the disused tennis court to the old dower cottage where the postulants lived under the gentle rule of their novice mistress. Sister Hilaria’s face, still shrouded partly by her scarf, looked strained in the light from Sister Margaret’s torch. The two white bonneted postulants walked close together. One of them let out a high-pitched nervous giggle and clapped her hands to her mouth.
The door of the postulants’ quarters closed behind them. Turning, Sister Margaret said in a reassuring tone, ‘There was no need for you to accompany me, Sister. I am quite sure there is not the least danger.’
‘I rather think that Mother Dorothy was heaping coals of fire on our heads to remind us that we’d both
